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Let Me in Your Life (and I Swear I'll Never Leave It)
As one of Lewis Hamilton's oldest friends, you're sure he'll be nothing but happy for you when you're finally offered a Formula One contract. Lewis, however, remembers what competition like that can do to a friendship, and his reaction isn't what you expect.
masterlist
You don’t know it’s over until you see him.
That shouldn’t have been enough. It wouldn’t have been enough for anyone else. They would have seen his smile and thought that he was genuinely happy for you when you told him that all of your wildest dreams were finally coming true. So much of you wanted to believe him when he told you that he couldn’t be more proud that you almost convinced yourself of it.
Almost. Unfortunately, the part of you that has known Lewis Hamilton since you were a kid also knows his tells, and you watched the way his fingers twisted in front of him until you couldn’t take it any longer. Until you knew what he wouldn’t say to you on a perfectly good night like this, which is that Lewis was not pleased that you were finally entering Formula One, and no amount of wanting will fix that.
It cuts to the bone. This had been a lovely evening. You only get so many chances to spend time with Lewis outside of the media circus of a Formula One or Two paddock, so you really wanted to make this one count. You had even kept your good news to yourself just in case he wasn’t as thrilled about it as you were, feeling the secret burn against you all through the dinner at the nice restaurant whose menu you double, triple, and quadruple-checked to ensure that there were good vegan options. You withheld the news through wine, through pleasant laughter, even through the check, but you couldn’t keep it back afterwards.
The restaurant was nice enough. Lewis always looked good in expensive places. He fit in quite well in any scenario, but his smile was practiced and he never missed a social cue so long as he could help it. That’s what years of constant scrutiny does to you, you suppose; never again will the two of you be thirteen years old and utterly ignorant of the difference between salad and dessert forks. You miss the boy who could mess up around you. You haven’t seen him in a while, even ignoring both of your hectic travel schedules.
Lewis tends to get antsy after a heavy meal, the product of too much time spent around Mercedes-grade nutritionists and personal trainers, so the two of you went on a walk outside after leaving the restaurant. The air was crisp and cool, and dark enough that you could walk freely without being recognized. You had looked up at the stars overhead and made a wish that nothing would hurt you tonight.
Maybe you whispered the wish aloud as you said it, or maybe Lewis has always been able to read your mind and ruined the magic that way, because it wasn’t even half an hour before that desperate plea to the heavens was shattered along with your peace of mind.
You couldn’t keep it in any longer. All your life, you’ve wanted to make it to the Formula One circuit. Lewis has known this just about as long as you. You met him while karting, and you’ve been best friends ever since. You used to race everywhere– on the track, down the hall, whoever could make it to the door of their hotel room wins bragging rights for the next night at least– but over time, Lewis was able to make it up the Formula One ladder faster than you, and then you weren’t racing together any more but watching each other race in different circuits.
You did your best not to let it sting. Lewis has faced far more than his fair share of roadblocks. Maybe he always wanted it a little more than you, then, because no matter how hard you tried to follow in his path, your feet keep dragging in his dust. It took forever to get to F3, and you never thought you’d ever see the day when you made it to F2.
Now you’re just one good finish away from winning the Formula Two driver’s championship, and better still, you’re about to sign a contract with a Formula One team. After all this time, it’s finally yours. You’re still in talks about the nuances of the legal binding, but it’s basically in the bag.
Your family is aware, but you knew you needed to tell Lewis as well, even before the signing, because he’s basically your other half. You had always assumed that he would take it well, that he’d be just as thrilled for you as Nico was for Lewis when he first signed. When you bring up the subject, though, you can tell from the delicate shuttering of Lewis’ face that you were, for the first time in a long time, completely wrong about him.
The two of you are walking down a moonlit bridge when you finally say it. “I was meeting with an F1 team yesterday,” you tell him, “I think they’re going to sign me. We’ve been going over the contract for a while now and it’s basically all ironed out. The only thing left is to actually shake on it.”
You pause, waiting for the hearty congratulations he doled out when you made it to F3, then F2, but for F1, you’re only greeted with silence. You look at him, heart in your throat, but when you finally bring yourself to meet his eyes, you’re only greeted with– disappointment.
When the silence gets painful, Lewis coughs and looks away. “That’s– that’s great, Y/N. Really.”
You stare at him in disbelief. “Really?”
Lewis has the grace to look ashamed. “I know I might not sound– it’s a fantastic accomplishment. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I am,” you say slowly, “but are you proud of me? Because you certainly don’t look it right now. And it’s not just an accomplishment, Lew, this has been my dream for years. You know that.”
“I do,” Lewis answers you, but his voice is distant and he hasn’t looked you in the eyes since you first brought up the news.
It makes your blood run cold in your veins. In all the scenarios you’d imagined of how he’d react, you pictured his jaw dropping with surprise, his face immediately lighting up, him immediately texting his brother and the rest of his family the news. You never expected that he would actually be unhappy about it.
“Then why are you acting like this?” You gesture at him. “At least fake a smile, Lewis, I know you can.”
He looks at you at last, and you wince at the genuine hurt blinking back at you. “Don’t do it, Y/N,” he says suddenly.
You feel as if the breath has been stolen out of your lungs. “What?”
“Don’t do it,” he repeats, “Go to Indycar or Le Mans or Race of Champions. Do something crazy, something fun. Hell, try them all. Don’t let this be the end-all, be-all of your racing aspirations.”
There’s no way you’re hearing him properly. “You think I shouldn’t join Formula One? After all this time practically killing myself to get in, you want me to just walk away?” You shake your head slowly. “You had better have a good reason for this, because you’re my oldest friend and I know that friends wouldn’t do this to each other. You could have just said you were happy for me.”
Lewis’ gaze turns pleading. “You don’t know what it’s like in there. We go for each other’s throats all the time. I can’t let it destroy us.”
The night is silent. You watch the water lapping at the shores below as if in a dream. All is dark. Even the stars seem burned out overhead. Nothing good has happened here. Nothing worth the light of the moon above.
He says, “I don’t want to lose you. Not like everybody else.”
You say, “If you don’t let me do this, you will have lost me before I even start.”
You give him one last chance to change his mind. When he stays silent, you turn on your heel and leave. The sound of your shoes clicking against the cobblestones is maddeningly loud, drowning out all but the tumultuous beat of your heart. He doesn’t try to stop you. He does not do anything at all.
You call a taxi. The ride is quiet. You have half a mind to direct the driver to a club or something instead so you don’t have to live with that engulfing silence any longer, but instead you just have him drive you to your door and leave you there. You barely make it inside before breaking down in loud sobs that wrack your entire body. He should have told you how much he wanted you there. He should have told you how much he wanted you.
You wait until your tears dry, then call up the team principal of the F1 team and tell him you’re interested in signing the contract as soon as possible. They’re glad to hear it, and pleased enough that they don’t hear the wobble of your voice on the other end.
The rest of the season passes without a hitch. You win the F2 championship and are able to announce your contract not soon afterwards. All of the F1 drivers who cross your path make sure to congratulate you, and every one of their declarations of praise only hurts twice as much when you remember the one man who hasn’t said a word to you yet.
Winter break is eventful, even more than you were expecting. There are a hundred forms to sign and a thousand videos to film, countless mechanics to meet and endless trainings to complete. You’re given enough team kits to clothe a small nation. You officially meet your teammate on your first tour of the team facilities, and he is perfectly civil to you, even kind. He isn’t Lewis, though, and that’s enough for you to be disappointed.
At last, you reach the week before testing starts for the new season. You’re in a hotel room booked under your new team. It’s strange being here now after wanting this for so long. For years, you’ve dreamed of what it would be like to finally be here, and now you’re flopped on your hotel bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if it’ll look different when you’ve raced in a Formula One car for the first time.
Truth be told, it’s terrifying. You thought you would know what to do by now, having repeated this process in the previous two series, but everything feels different now that you’re at the top. No one expects championships from a rookie in her first season, but you can’t help but feel that eyes are on you.
A knock on your door, and you’re immediately grateful to whoever it is for interrupting your relentless panicked musing on the infinite ways that tomorrow could go wrong. You pad over the door and open it without checking, expecting to be greeted by your teammate or your trainer or any one of the staff of your new team.
Instead, you swing open the door to find Lewis staring at you, hands in his pockets. You immediately jerk to a stop, so surprised that you even forget usual pleasantries like saying hello or asking how he’s been.
Lewis forgets too. The two of you stare at each other for what feels like centuries but could just be a few moments until he coughs, looks briefly at his feet and then back at you, and says, “I remember that you always overthink things the night before a big change. I wanted to see how you were doing.”
You nod a little too quickly. “I’m fine. Just, yeah, overthinking.”
A ghost of a smile flickers over Lewis’ lips, then disappears just as quickly. “Thought so. Do you mind if I come in? There’s actually a lot I need to say.”
An ugly, cruel part of your brain immediately whispers oh, now you have a lot to say? But you manage to shut it up before you say it and wordlessly gesture for him to enter the hotel room. You check the hallway before shutting the door, but no one’s there, no cameras. This isn’t a trap. It’s just a friend visiting a friend, something he used to do all the time before he decided that he would not be able to live with himself if he didn’t stop you from trying to reach your biggest dream.
When you head back inside, Lewis is leaning against the windows, idly peering outside. “You have a good view,” he notes.
You fold your arms across your chest. “You’re not here to discuss the perks of my hotel room.”
“No, I’m not,” Lewis agrees. “I’m here to apologize.”
This takes you by surprise. “You are?”
He nods. “I shouldn’t have tried to stop you. God knows I would have hated it if you had said something like that to me before I joined McLaren.”
Your brow furrows. “Then why did you say it to me?”
Lewis lets out a quiet, horror-struck sigh. “Because I meant part of it. I am terrified of losing you, Y/N. I know how competition can get in between friends. You know how well I know that. Nico’s already– we’re different now, and I can’t take it if I lose you, too.”
He breaks off, lost in thought, and you feel a pang in your heart as if struck by a blade. You and Nico were friends separate from the great doing and undoing of Lewis and Nico, but that was sort of inevitable. It feels as if every kid who was good at karting in your area eventually became friends, but all that did was give you a front row ticket to the so-called Silver War. What a terrible thing, to know someone like a brother and then only be able to speak to them through corporate meetups and scheduled interviews. What a horrific end to something that had once been, well, everything.
Your hands tense at your sides. “I’m not Nico.”
“I know that,” he says, almost frustrated, “I know. Trust me, I know. I have always known you. I know that we’ll be able to make it through anything, but I’m afraid of risking it. I knew at some point you’d get called up here, you’re too fast for them to ignore you, but I was hoping to have at least a little more time.”
You tilt your head to the side, frowning. “I thought you guessed already. Isn’t that why we scheduled that dinner?”
“No,” Lewis murmurs, “I scheduled that dinner because I wanted to tell you that I loved you.”
The ground has been pulled out beneath your feet. No, not just the ground– the very earth itself, every star in the sky and every heavenly body in the cosmos. You are abruptly removed from everything you have ever believed, because you know Lewis better than anyone and so you would have known if he loved you, you would have figured it out a long time ago. There is no way you wouldn’t have been able to tell. No way he could take you by surprise like this.
“No,” you whisper.
“Yes,” Lewis says simply. “I was going to do it after keeping it a secret for so long. And then you told me that we were going to be competitors, and I thought it was all going to be over. And I panicked and told you to leave, and you hated me, and it turns out I didn’t even need us crashing into each other on track to kill our friendship. I did that all by myself.”
“It isn’t dead,” you tell him fiercely. “Not in the slightest.”
He doesn’t seem to believe you. “We fought. We never do that.”
“That’s unrealistic,” you point out. “Everyone fights. Even married couples.”
“We’re not married, and you don’t even love me back,” Lewis argues.
You arch a brow. “How do you know that?”
“I would know,” he says without a trace of suspicion.
God, he’s just as stubborn as you. Just as set in his own ways. Maybe that’s why it has always been the two of you, even after everything. Maybe that’s why you always chose him in every friend group, in every issue, in every race. No one understands you like Lewis, and no one ever will. No one will stand by your side no matter what, no one will say what you need to hear because no one knows exactly how you work like Lewis does.
Still, you can surprise him from time to time. He certainly doesn’t expect it when you cross the room in a few brisk strides, when you reach across the chasm of one fight and one great misunderstanding to kiss him. It takes him a moment to realize what you’re doing and what this means, and then his hands are on your hips, pulling you closer, because Lewis will never give up an advantage when it is offered to him and right now Lewis wants this more than anything. He wants you, more than anything.
“You’re never going to let me hear the end of it when you finish ahead of me in a race, are you?” He asks in a half-mumble against your lips.
You smile, and you can feel his returning grin when he kisses you again. “Absolutely not. You never let me off that easily when we were kids.”
“We’re not kids anymore,” Lewis points out.
“No,” you say slowly, “We’re not, are we?”
It is not a bad thing. In fact, looking at all the years you have, all the races together, all the plane tickets you’ll book side by side, all the hotel rooms you’ll share, you think you like this new era of your life quite a bit better than anything. Lewis would have to agree, if the shine in his eyes means anything at all. Both of you will never be the same, but you will never be like this again, either. We are all different, all the time, but the one thing that will never change is how you do it: together, always together.
f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey
all tags list: @wordsarelife
#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton imagines#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton oneshot#f1#f1 imagines#f1 x reader#f1 oneshot#formula one#formula one imagines#formula one x reader#formula one oneshot#f1 lewis#f1 lewis imagines#f1 lewis x reader#f1 lewis oneshot#sir lewis hamilton#sir lewis hamilton imagines#sir lewis hamilton x reader#sir lewis hamilton oneshot
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Idk what to call this so you make up the title
@huskers-bar x @nunalastor
Tags: enemies to lovers, angst?, eventual fluff, yearning?, soft huskers-bar, both mods are separate people, no beta we die like i do in this fic (not yet though), minor character death, ooc, au: hellaverse (hazbin hotel), nunalastor is head of the marketing department of the hazbin hotel (lucifer grabbed them randomly), jealousy?, huskers-bar is an employee at voxtek, lulu and angie as villains, lulu is a dog
chapter: 1/? Word count: 1,431
Featuring: babygirl anon and (eventually) @xxx-angie . I may add more along the way depending on who wants to be added. I can probably shoe-horn-in a few more characters
For the sake of not tagging people a million times, I will call nunalastor as a single entity nunalastor, traumatized mod dickmaster and cursed mod nun. and huskers-bar just husk. babygirl anon will be babygirl anon. i will be shortened to lulu but I don't appear in this fic yet. Angie doesn't appear yet, but he will be angie.
A/N: anyway this is 100% going to be a huskers-bar harem fic because i can write whatever i want. This first chapter kinda boring but it gets better (source: trust me bro). Lemme know if you'd like to see any changes. Anyway, goodbye for now. I have uni to get to so less frequent posting (sorry dickmaster, you'll have to live without any of my horrid art for a little while)
"Did you know that Alastor made a happy deer squeak during this scene?"
Ah, yes, the words that twist people's dreams into nightmares. Innocent innitially, and maybe even amusing for a good while, but the longer one lingered, the more their skin would crawl with irritation and burn their insides. Especially when one knew the context surrounding this particular phrase. And boy, did Nunalastor know the context.
~
"Another day, another inbox to slay, another heavenly lord to betray" Dickmaster accessed their and Nun's shared blog, unsurprisingly to hundreds if not thousands of asks invading their inbox, all of which were echoes of different variations of *thumps* and *squeaks*. If Nunalastor hadn't already grown accustomed to such deviancy, they would be horrified. Still, the depraved ideas these people came up with never failed to send shivers down their spine, and not the pleasant kind.
And why do they subject themselves to this? you may ask. It was simple. In exchange for free housing, food and supplies, Lucifer Morningstar, the devil himself and father of Charlie Morningstar had requested their help. You see, originally their blog was not this unfortunate cesspool of deranged demons who wanted to see the devil, overlords and sinners squirm under immense sexual pleasure. It used to be a simple marketing tool for the Hazbin hotel, but as all things in hell, it never goes smoothly. It wasn't like they had a choice in the matter anyway, refusing the king of hell's requests was not an option! His commands were absolute.
Dickmaster took one deep breath, running both hands through their hair and clearing their mind, preparing for probably several hours of torture that was going to be their asks. They poured themselves a drink, setting down in front of their screen. Taking a few moments to relish the silence, they closed their eyes and listened to the soft hum of their beaten up 1950's style computer, courtesy of Alastor's ban on Voxtek products at the hotel. Clicking on their inbox tab, they mentally braced themselves. even if they knew, they could never truly predict the horrors hell had to offer.
"time for #housekeeping" They declared, stretching their fingers, getting their reaction images on the ready and sifting through their own version of digital hell. It would only get worse from here.
~
As Nunalastor started to clean their digital home, erasing one cursed ask after another, responding to one alastor circus theory after another, One ask in particular caught their attention. It was definitely a surprise, and a welcome one at that. It stood out like a sore thumb, simple yet elegant, divine and a blessing among heaps of cursed messages that would have asmodeus and satan themselves shaking in fear.
"hi dickmaster" - anon
Nunalastor couldn't explain it. They don't know what came over them, but they felt a strange sense of attraction to this one particular anon. They were sweet, they gave them a place of solace from the dread that was piss kink headcanons and cursed deer facts, equivelent of the clogged up plumming disasters alastor had to fix with his bare hands at the Hazbin hotel. It was the piece of gold nugget hidden in a swamp full of moss and dog urine.
Dickmaster stared at the message for a good few seconds, really taking in the plainness and beauty of the two words before their eyes, appriciating all that message was as a small smile made its way up their face. This called for a special occasion. Dickmaster gripped their keyboard, nearly smashing it with the force. Their fingers danced along the keys and crafted a response like no other, one worthy of this random anon that managed to make their day a bit brighter.
"Hi babygirl" - Nunalastor
~
On the other side of the pentagram, a kind, sweet and not at all deranged huskers was scrolling through hells version of tumblr. Voxtek devices had proven to be quite useful in the underworld. It served as the main source of entertainment and escape for the lonely, not only for husk, but other sinners alike. Besides, being an employee meant he had extra privileges with Voxtek. Regardless, it introduced husk to the nunalastor blog, which was the best moment of their life (or lack thereof, considering they're dead).
They'd quickly grown accustomed to the undeserved hate thrown their way upon their first ever interractioin. Though they didn't understand, they could play along. They found strange comfort in the twisted logic that any form of attention was better than none. After all, being singled out meant they were special in the eyes of Nunalastor, right? that's how husk comforted themselves anyway. And they haven't seen Nunalastor actually reply to anyone with actual love before.
That is... until it happened. Someone who would later reveal themselves as babygirl anon, husks worst adversary and the unfortunate victim of lulu's slander showed up on their feed.
"hi dickmaster" - anon
"Hi babygirl" - Nunalastor
Husk stared at the screen in shock, their eyes widening and heart growing heavy. Countless questions and conflicting emotions swirled within them, each clutching their hold for attention. 'Is nunalastor serious? Do I not want them to be serious? Why can't I be treated the same? What did I do?' And amidst the chaos, one thought rose to the surface, crystal clear in Husk's mind.
'I want to be loved like that'
The frustration of being at the end of every one of Nunalastors verbal spears finally caught up to husk. Every small jab they'd written off as jokes suddenly felt like small pin needles scraping their skin. Unable to deal with the whirlwind of emotions and the confusion of it all, Husk sought solace in the one place they could always trust, the bottom of a bottle.
So they took a swig. And another. And another. Intil there wasn't a shred of emotion left to feel. Not a single thread of frustration left in them, not a nerve of anguish, not a line of confusing verbal spewage...
And not even a speck of self-restraint
~
"THEY JUST KEEP COMING" Dickmaster exclaimed, more like yelled as their inbox was flooded with more cursed asks at a rate faster than they could answer. At this pace, they'll be there all day, answering these asks like a poor overworked minimum wage employee at a call center.
"They'll run out of ideas eventually" Nun responded, nonchalantly, leaning against a nearby wall, sipping on a drink of their own. Nun watched as dickmaster struggled to find another reaction image fast enough so they could call it quits and leave the rest of the struggles for future Nunalastor to handle, or more accurately when it would be nun's turn to answer all the unhinged people in their inbox.
The hurried clicking of the keys on a keyboard could be heard throughout the entire room, bouncing off the walls, reflecting exactly how much infestation was actually happening in nunalastors inbox by the minute. "it would be great if you could answer a few you know, my fingers are dyin-"
And then it suddenly went quiet. The clicking died down and the unbelievably loud buzzing of their computer, along with the hitched breathing of Dickmaster was the only sound bouncing around the room. Nun of course raised a brow at this. "what's the holdup? we can't afford to take a break you know" they said, as if they were the one answering all of the asks in the first place.
nun walked over, curious as to what exactly had stopped dickmaster in his endless pursuit of emptying their inbox, considering they were always the more enthusiastic one of the two. "are you okay?" nun asked, half sarcastically. Their eyes landed over the current ask in their inbox.
"I wish you'd love me" huskers-bar
and suddenly the silence made sense. the pause had been a justified one.
dickmaster inhaled, followed by a deep and saddened exhale. they didn't want to take their eyes off of those five words. they could stare in awe and amazement at them for hours. it wasn't even the fact that it was just another ask that wasn't cursed, but because it was huskers-bar that sent-
a hand on dickmasters shoulder snaps them out of their daze, being brought back to reality, the pitiful reality. they were in hell for a reason, they reminded themselves.
"you remember our deal, don't you, dickmaster?" nuns voice cut through the buzzing, sounding deep, gruff, threatening and slightly saddened.
"yes of course" dickmaster turned back to the monitor, giving one last look at the ask before typing out what nunalastor has agreed would be the appropriate response.
"you'll get over it. #we are a huskers-bar hate blog"
#i'm kind of sorry but i cant take writing seriously when i called one of yous dickmaster askfdjaslkdfjoasidjgf#huskers-bar x nunalastor#i hope at least. idk i dont read this shit back to myself. my self esteem is low enough already#lulu is delulu#nunwhiskers
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No One Can Know... (4/?)
Word Count: 2,270
Chapter 4
"Meet me on your best behavior, meet me at your worst…" - Death Cab for Cutie
Wondering who-the-fuck-in-Hell would be there knocking this late at night; Lucifer opened his door. Seeing that it was, in fact, Alastor standing at his threshold with a seemingly pleasant smile across his face; Lucifer immediately bristled.
“What in fuck’s – wait. Is that wine?” Lucifer peered behind Alastor’s waist; seeing his separated shadow clasping a large bottle of Riesling and a pair of wine glasses.
“Yes. I thought it might pair well with our…discussions. May I?” Alastor asked him, politely.
“…yeah, ok.” Lucifer stepped aside; letting him in.
Alastor stepped inside; his shadow following close behind. The shadow paused briefly beside Lucifer; offering him the bottle. Lucifer took it, and the shadow swept further inward to be closer to Alastor. Looking at the label; Lucifer closed the door.
“Where in Hell did you get this!?”
“I don’t just deal in souls; your grace.” Alastor told him. “And I’m rather partial to a rare vintage every now and again. This one has been made ready for us to enjoy.”
“No shit. Damn.” Lucifer led him to a small suite; directing him and his shadow to some plush chairs and an ornate table for them to recline by. There were less rubber ducks and circus trinkets scattered throughout here than were piled in his work-room. Alastor didn’t seem to pay much attention to the surrounding room though; his gaze never straying across items, walls, furniture, etc. He was very focused on his business here.
Alastor’s shadow; taking the bottle from Lucifer – opened it and began pouring wine into the two glasses. Alastor and Lucifer both sat down. Lucifer reached across for his wine glass; then leaning back he asked:
“So…what the fuck do you want to talk about?”
“I’m sure you are well aware of the subject matter that I wish to address with you tonight.” Alastor said; taking his own glass from the table and gently swirling the liquid. His shadow excused itself into a dark corner nearby.
“Hm…how forthright of you. You seem to be in a more…agreeable…mood tonight than you were yesterday.”
“The extermination is merely a couple months away…I had hoped that I might avoid having to address my…“rut” until sometime after, but I’m afraid that won’t be the case.” Alastor explained. “I’d like to discuss the best…approach to the problem; if you are so inclined.”
“Uh, huh.” Lucifer said dismissively. “So, what exactly are we discussing then?”
“I’m afraid that the effects of the cycle will greatly influence my duties in safeguarding Charlie and the hotel. During that time, I won’t be getting much sleep and –“
“Do you actually sleep?” Lucifer interrupted, prodding him.
“Yes.” Alastor answered him honestly. “Maybe not as much as most but I do require a reasonable amount.”
“I must have really taken the wind out of your sails.” Lucifer tipped his glass to his lips. “I didn’t anticipate you coming here and being so candid with me.”
“Yes, well, I can admit when I’ve made an ass of myself.” Alastor allowed.
Knowing this was as close to an apology as he was liable to get; Lucifer stated: “Well, I won’t say that I’m sorry. If anything, I think I should have gutted you sooner.”
Lucifer waited for Alastor to make a quip at that but then; he said nothing. Instead, he raised his own glass to sip from – offering no comment.
Interesting.
“Ok, so I assume you are wanting to formulate some plan going forward, is that it?” Lucifer clarified.
“Indeed. Initially, I preferred the idea of you safely displacing me from the hotel until I cycled out but, the timing is not ideal. There’s too much to be done and I don’t like the idea of leaving the hotel unguarded for any extended length of time.”
“Ah, lock you away in a tower just like you’re Rapunzel and I’m the dragon.” Lucifer japed; unable to help himself.
“I don’t recall a dragon in that particular fairy tale.” Alastor remarked.
Lucifer nearly choked on his wine. “The fuck do you know about fairy tales!?”
Alastor shrugged then waved him off; “Essentially…I suppose, but it’s not a good solution; not now.”
“Oh?” Lucifer absently traced a sharp claw around the rim of his wine glass. “How long do these things usually last for you, anyway?”
“You are somewhat familiar with Cervidae demons, yes? You’ve commented on it once before. We are commonly known for our deer-like tendencies. One very prominent one being that we experience fluctuating periods of cyclic mating periods or “the rut”. There’s a lot that gets rather muddled with it though; it’s confusing even for us demons that experience it because each and every individual is different in the timing, frequency or intensity of their own personal mating cycles.”
“Sounds frustrating.” Lucifer offered.
“It…is. I never know when a rut will happen or for how long. I can usually tell when one is approaching due to certain…changes. Even now though; I know one is coming I just don’t know when. I could start the cycle tomorrow or in a couple of weeks; it’s terribly inconvenient. Judging by personal experience; my cycles range anywhere from part of a day to several weeks. Unfortunately; avoidance is what lengthens the period. If I…sate, the need and rather quickly, the period tends to be much less.”
“So what if I contact Asmodeus? I’m sure we could find you some willing participant from the lust ring to fulfill whatever needs you need satiating.” Lucifer suggested. “He might even have another Cervidae in mind.”
Alastor shook his head. “I’m not comfortable with that. I assume when you offered and agreed to our deal that it was implied that you would be the actual one to…manage this. I’m afraid now it might have to be quite literal. Lilith wasn’t wrong in saying that I’ve killed other demons during my rutting. After your explicit demonstration yesterday; I am confident you would be well equipped in governing my actions.”
“Honestly, I meant it in whatever way you wish to take it. I’m no prude.” Lucifer shrugged; tipping his glass. “While we’re on the subject though; I’d really like to know –“
“If you are referring to my moment of sexual homicidal infamy; I’d rather not discuss it.”
Lucifer very much wanted to prod more into it; but, he could see that Alastor was making a great effort here in being professionally courteous. Which led him to his next question;
“So, what exactly is your deal with all of this?” Lucifer asked him; setting his wine glass down now. “You’re here pitching off your plans to me like we’re discussing something terribly unpleasant. I get that you might think sex is beneath you; or rather you’d prefer you didn’t need it but, c’mon…if you have to go through it anyway, why not own it and enjoy it?”
“You misunderstand. It’s not my perception of sex that has anything to do with it.” Alastor told him. “I simply don’t…care for it.”
“What?”
“Apart from when I am in rut; it holds no interest to me.”
“None? Whatsoever, just….nothing?” Lucifer gaped at him.
“Truly.”
“So, you just can’t get it up unless you are in one of your rut thingy’s?” Lucifer was trying to make sense of this.
“Not exactly…” Alastor huffed. “With enough effort; stimulation and finding the right mindset – sure…but, it doesn’t just happen. It’s really and truly something I don’t care to think about or pursue, otherwise.”
“I can’t…I can’t wrap my head around that. I mean I-I could fuck anything that moves. Not that I really would but, well…you know.” Lucifer shrugged.
“No…actually, I don’t.” Alastor reaffirmed.
“So, do you – do you like know what you want to actually like…do?” Lucifer asked him.
“How do you mean?” Alastor’s ears slightly leant back; whether it was him being uncomfortable by the question or a display of true confusion; Lucifer couldn’t tell.
“Mutual masturbation? Oral? Anal? What have you?” Lucifer threw out.
Alastor’s ears stiffened; pressing further back. Definitely discomfort.
“When I’m in in rut; I’m sure anything and everything will be open and on the table.” He sighed.
“So do you like, turn into an even bigger asshole when your rutting?”
“No, not quite…that more tends to happen to the time leading up to it.” Alastor was telling him; briefly remembering his friend Rosie dismissing him from a brunch they were having in Cannibal Town once telling him: “come back after your damn rut; honestly, you’re worse than a woman!” He couldn’t remember details; only that he was terribly aggravating to her that day.
Meanwhile; Lucifer was waging an internal battle. So, you were PMS-ing yesterday? He very badly wanted to say it…he very nearly did, but he reigned it in; feeling it prudent to continue with the good footing they had established here.
“It’s more that I’m…” Alastor was continuing with his answer. “I’m just – Well, I can be a lot in those moments.”
The Radio Demon promises a good time… Lucifer thought, then he asked:
“Ok, so circling back. When or where are we going to…hash this all out?”
“I’m naturally crepuscular; and I’m generally more nocturnal in my activities. I can easily manage myself during the day. If we spend too much time at the hotel; even in my radio tower – we run the risk of being found out or discovered. If I spend too much time here or elsewhere; it leaves the hotel vulnerable. I propose we go back and forth; it won’t be so different to my normal activities – no one would think to question it at this point – and I have Niffty and Husker established so that if anything were to happen while I’m away; I’d know and can be there almost immediately.”
“Hm…yes, that might be wise. We can always tell Charlie that you and I buried the hatchet, as it were, and are meeting to discuss ideas with how best to proceed with the upcoming exterminations. She’ll wish to be included – of course – but if I tell her it’s something you and I are bonding or getting to know each other over; she’ll let it be.”
“How…very manipulative of you.” Alastor commented; ears perking up. He was…impressed.
“Yes, well…” Lucifer reached back for his wine; lost for a moment in his thoughts. Then leaning back in his chair again; he offered:
“You’ve been very…frank with everything tonight. Do you have any questions you wish to ask me?”
“This meeting Charlie has with Heaven…do you think it will accomplish anything?” Alastor had in fact; been holding onto some questions.
“No.” Lucifer told him bluntly. “I don’t but, Lilith foresaw Charlie asking me to arrange it. I’m not…comfortable with it but Lilith will be there – Charlie won’t know that, of course – but it’s the only reason why I’d allow my daughter to go up there without my being there with her.”
“Do you think Lilith will succeed with her plans?” Alastor asked him, wanting to know. “Do you think that she can actually overthrow Heaven?”
“If anyone; it would be her.” Lucifer finished off his glass; Alastor’s shadow quickly slid out from the corner to refill it for him. Lucifer nodded to it, taking a sip as it shifted itself back away. “She’s been planning this for some time now, making sure everything falls into just the right place at just the right time. The only hiccup we’ve ran into was you slipping yourself between the cracks but maybe that was fortunate for us – it remains to be seen.” He gave Alastor a hard look.
“If I get what I want from this, I’ll be as beneficial to your cause as I possibly can.” Alastor told him. “But, why are you choosing to do this? Weren’t you amiable toward Heaven; even after everything?”
Lucifer sighed. “Lilith has been with me through all of it…since the beginning. I’ve tried to make the amends to my mistakes; tried to make Heaven see that what we did…it wasn’t for the intentions that they thought. I’ve been fighting a losing battle for thousands upon thousands of years…Lilith stood by me; supported me all that time. Now, it’s time I stood by hers. We got nowhere with my plans and ideas for our future; so it’s time I supported hers.”
“How disgustingly devoted of you.” Alastor made a face and movement of his tongue; like he had actually tasted something terrible.
Lucifer laughed. “That’s just who we are. We depend and rely on each other.”
“So…she really has no issues with…this? What you and I are going to be doing?” Alastor asked him; wondering. “Call me ‘old fashioned’; but I’d hate to come between a man and his wife.”
“Lilith never would have agreed to it if she had reservations.” Lucifer told him. “She wasn’t lying when she told you that our relationship has been…unconventional, at times.”
“Hm…” Alastor remembered his wine and sipped from the glass.
“How long has it been for you anyway?” Lucifer asked him. “I’ll be coming out of a bit of dry spell myself; Lilith tends to get focused on other things when they’ve claimed her interest and I haven’t found much motivation in seeking out an outlet.”
“Years?” Alastor though. “Very nearly a decade, maybe.”
“Fuck.” Lucifer blurted. “You’ve got me beat then. You weren’t kidding when you said these mating cycles of yours were unpredictable.”
“Also part of the reason that I’m relying on you…specifically. I’m not sure just how…enthusiastic I might be.”
“So, how will I know that you are in rut?” Lucifer questioned him.
“Oh, don’t worry – my King.” Alastor fixed him with a sharp gaze. “You will know.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scene inspired by: @applepartysins fanart/comic here
Chapter 5
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel fandom#alastor#fanfiction#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel fanfiction#my fanfic#lucifer morningstar#hazbin lucifer#lucifer magne#alastor and lucifer#alastor x lucifer#lucifer x alastor#hazbin hotel lucifer#radioapple#lucifer hazbin hotel#appleradio#alastor's shadow
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Masterlist
Although this a blog for yandere literature, please be mindful that the content may contain triggers.
Furthermore, these stories/headcanons are for entertainment purposes only. The behavior depicted here is not unhealthy and should not be encouraged.
If you wish to read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events, here is the link to my other blog, @an-idyllic-novelist
For everyone else, welcome~!
Manhwa
The broken ring, this marriage will fail anyway
yandere!carcel escalante with ines!reader scenario
I’m a villainess but I became a mother
Pink Venom [yandere!calix x loure!reader]
Father I don’t want to get married
I’m not seducing the female lead’s obsessive father! [yandere!regis floyen x agent!reader]
[completed]
part one
part two
part three
part four
part five
Who made me a princess
yandere!athanasia de alger obelia with fem!reader headcanons
Manga
The dark history of the reincarnated villainess
It Appears That I Have Been Reincarnated as a Draconic Villainess in a Self-Indulgent Fic! [on hiatus]
[ poly!yanderes x Iana magnolia!reader]
part one
part two
part three
part four
part five
part six
part seven
Record of Ragnarok
yandere!thor headcanons with fem!kokushibo!reader
yandere!poseidon headcanons with fem!kokushibo!reader
yandere!loki with fem!kokushibo!reader [request]
yandere!Jack the ripper with fem!tanjiro!reader
part one
part two
yandere!poseidon with muichiro!fem!reader [request]
yandere!poseidon with shinobu!reader headcanons
platonic!yandere!shiva with nezuko!reader headcanons
yandere!aphrodite with muichiro!fem!reader headcanons
yandere!apollo with fem!giyuu!reader scenario
yandere!beezlebub with makima!reader headcanons
Chainsaw Man
False Garden of Eden [csm!various x stoic!reader]
Anime
Mononoke
yandere!kusuriuri with chise!reader headcanons
[completed]
part one
part two
part three
Bastard!! Heavy Metal, Dark Fantasy!
Yandere!Dark Schneider with Shinobu!reader headcanons
The Case Study of Vanitas
Tanz des Todes [yandere!Vanitas with gender neutral! Addams! reader]
[completed]
part one
part two
Danmei
Scum Villian's Self-Saving System
yandere!luo binghe with shixiong!male!reader headcanons
The White Husky and His Pet Cat Shizun
yandere!merman!chu wanning with male!researcher!reader scenario
Web Series
The Amazing Digital Circus
yandere!Jax with gender neutral!magician!reader headcanons
yandere!Ragatha with gender neutral! rabbit plush! reader headcanons
yandere!Jax who is touch-starved for gender-neutral!reader scenario
Hazbin Hotel
yandere!Alastor with gender neutral!tinkerer!reader headcanons
yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario
yandere!Vox with fem!reader scenario
yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader Valentine's Day scenario
platonic yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario
yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario
[part one]
[part two]
[part three]
Cursed Cat!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader [ask]
yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario: jealousy
Original Works
yandere!emperor with empress!reader scenario
yandere!literary agent with fem!reader scenario
[1] [2] [complete]
yandere!holy knight with saintess!reader scenario
[1] [2] [3] [epilogue] [complete]
yandere!ceo with villainess!reader scenario [1] [2]
Progress Bar [as of 4.21. 2024]
yandere!ceo with villainess!reader scenario part two is finished, currently editing. Outline for part three is done.
Outline for yandere!fairy king with villainess!reader is finished.
Reading the following book(s): The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store by James McBride
#masterlist#forbidden-sunlight#yandere#yandere manhwa x reader#x reader#secondary blog#pinned post#yandere hazbin hotel#poppy playtime
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For the there was only one bed prompts: 13 for False and Cleo?
schaumi you have blessed me with this prompt, i love it so much. this uh turned out a lot longer than expected. count on me to suddenly write 1K of fluff. have some fluff featuring a pining idiot cleo. content warning for alcohol consumption. rated t due to cleo's vocabulary.
"I can take the floor?" "No it's alright, besides it's big enough for the both of us."
Suite Night
"Ugh." Cleo sighed, following False into the hotel suite. "I love X, but next time he and Keralis fall ill he can get someone else to fill in for him." She dropped her suitcase near the door. There was probably a stand somewhere, the hotel had four stars after all, but she couldn't be bothered. False chuckled.
"It's not that bad. The representatives weren't too bad this year!" She stretched, and her powder blue dress shirt came free from the waistband of her skirt, exposing the slightest strip of her bare abdomen. Cleo raised an eyebrow.
"We're we talking to the same idiots?" They walked up to False and pressed the back of their hand to the other woman's forehead. "You haven't got a fever, so you're not delirious. I counted three separate comments on your breasts, one on my arse, four zombie racists, and I stopped tallying the amount of times I got misgendered after seven." False's shoulders and face dropped, and Cleo immediately felt like biting her own tongue off.
"I really am sorry about that, Cleo. The sponsors, they're old money. Stuck in their ways."
"Even super glue has a solvent," Cleo muttered. They sighed. "Thank you for correcting them when I got tired of it, I do appreciate it." Smiling, False replied: "You're welcome."
"Well then." Cleo awkwardly cleared her throat. "I'm about ready to tear this penguin suit off and sleep for twelve glorious, uninterrupted hours before this circus starts all over again."
"Hm, I could go for a shower before bed." False was already digging through her duffel bag and retrieving various items.
"You do that; I'll order us something to drink and to snack on and pick a bed." Cleo grinned, already on their way to the phone.
"I'll take an ice cold white wine," False decided. "I won't be long." Cleo nodded, and False disappeared into the bathroom. It was a decently large suite, with a seating area with a tv and a dining table with room for two. The entire hotel was booked, with all servers looking to find sponsors for the new season. Xisuma had gotten lucky when he booked that there was a suite available at all.
The receptionist had a pleasant voice and took Cleo's order of a chilled bottle of white and a variety of charcuterie, put it on Mr Void's invoice. If Cleo was stuck here playing lust object for old white men, she was at least getting some decadent snacks out of it. The kitchen informed her they would bring it up to them within fifteen minutes, which would be just long enough for Cleo to choose the bed they wanted. Grabbing their suitcase, they walked over to the ensuite.
"Oh crap."
There was only one, king-sized bed.
Fuck! Xisuma had booked the room for himself and Keralis, of course they wouldn't want separate beds! No-one had thought of that when she and False had rushed to the event in their place this morning. Now what?
Cleo wasn't sure how long she had been standing in the doorway, but suddenly she heard False's voice behind her: "Claimed the nicest bed for yourself yet?"
"Uh. About that." Cleo stepped aside, trying not to stare at False as she entered the room clad only in an oversized tee.
"Oh." False bit her lip. "Guess this was booked for our lovebirds, huh?" She walked up to the bed and picked a rose petal off of the sheets.
"Yeah, but it's fine. I can sleep on the floor!" Cleo blurted out. They ran a hand through their hair. "I'm sure I can ask for a cot or an extra mattress or something. It's fine!" Her voice had gone up an entire octave as she spoke.
"Don't be ridiculous, Cleo." False turned to face her. "It's more than big enough for the both of us. I don't mind sharing." Suddenly, her voice got quieter. "... unless you do? Mind?"
"No, not at all!" Cleo really needed to get their volume and pitch under control. "We can-- yeah, we can share!" False yawned.
"Great. Then I vote for wine in bed, because I'm going to have to wear heels for at least five hours tomorrow as well as dance in them, and I want to get my feet up for as long as I possibly can in advance." A knock sounded at the door. Room service! "I'll go get the door so you can change. Just yell when you're ready, yeah?" Cleo nodded wordlessly.
As Cleo opened their suitcase, they cursed quietly. Out of all things she could have grabbed to wear to bed, why did it have to be an old tee and baggy shorts? She had blindly taken some things from her wardrobe this morning, and this is what she had ended up with. At least there weren't any holes in them, they supposed. Cleo quickly took off her suit and changed into her nightclothes. She replaced the bandage on her bite with a fresh clean one, and pulled her hair into a ponytail.
"Ready!" they yelled into the general direction of False when they had shoved their suitcase under the bed and had gathered the rose petals into a small pile on one of the nightstands. The blonde quickly reappeared in the bedroom, carefully carrying a tray with Cleo's order on it.
"Great choices," False commented as she placed the tray on the foot of the bed. "This looks amazing. Got a preference for a side?" She motioned at the bed.
"I prefer to be furthest from the windows," Cleo admitted. "Sunlight's not deadly, but it's not comfortable either."
"You got it!" False elegantly climbed into the far side of the bed, taking care not to kick their wine or snacks. Once Cleo had gotten in on the other side, False admitted: "I do feel bad for Xisuma and Keralis. This was supposed to be their date night, I guess."
"We'll have to make sure we enjoy it on their behalf then," Cleo replied without thinking. When they realised what they had just said, they stammered: "I mean, uh..." False smiled and handed her a glass of wine.
"I think I get what you mean. Cheers." As their glasses touched, False pressed a kiss to Cleo's cheek. "Out of all the Hermits I could be sharing a bed with right now, I'm happy it's you."
"Yeah..." Cleo fell quiet and quickly took a sip of their wine. False grabbed the remote control from her nightstand.
"Wanna watch some bad late-night TV?" Cleo breathed a sigh of relief.
"Sounds good to me." False smiled, and Cleo had to remind herself to breathe. As the noise of some random talkshow filled the room, False shifted closer to her so she could grab a piece of cheese. Their thighs touched, sending electricity down Cleo's spine. They tried to stay calm as False nestled herself against their side, her head resting against their chest. If she noticed how fast Cleo's heart was beating, she didn't say a thing.
"Glad it's you," False repeated, already beginning to sound sleepy.
"Me too," Cleo replied this time. "Me too."
#belle answers questions#belle writes#hermitcraft fanfiction#hermitshipping#falsesymmetry#zombiecleo#false/cleo#abschaumno1
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Who was inspired by these fandoms from your childhood and adulthood?
Poppy Playtime or “Smiling Critters”
The Amazing Digital Circus
Powerpuff Girls
Uglydolls
Happy Tree Friends
Object Land
Number and Alphabet Lore
Trolls, World Tour, and Band Together
My Little Pony
Hanazuki Full of Treasures
LEGO��s
Animal Crossing
Just Shape & Beats and “Pink Corruption”
Murder Drones
Mr. Men Show
Sanrio
Wild Kratts
Making Fiends
Splatoon
Cuphead
Minecraft
Billie Bust Up
Pinkfong
Yokai Watch
Five Nights at Freddy's
Security Breach
Over The Moon
BT21
Ruby Gillman Teenage Kraken
Yandere Simulator
Pokemon
Inside Out
Steven Universe
Among Us
Super Mario Bros
Just Dance
Garten of Banban
South Park
Vocaloid or Project Diva
Danganronpa
Pop'n Music
Sonic the Hedgehog
Friday Night Funkin
Spooky Month
Rainbow Friends
Angry Birds
Cookie Run
Wreck it Ralph
Mixels
Numberblocks
Sesame Street
Care Bears
Sailor Moon
Pucca
Undertale
Homestuck
Hazbin Hotel
Cult of the Lamb
Hollow Knights
Baldi's Basics
Yo Gabba Gabba
Looney Tunes
Teletubbies
Bloody Bunny
Puyo Puyo
Pleasant Goat and Big Big Wolf
Strawberry Shortcake
Monster High
Milky Way and the Galaxy Girls
Disney Pixar “Cars”
Disney Pixar “Planes”
Disney Pixar “Boats”
Disney “Princesses”
Portal
Thomas the Tank Engine
Foster Home and Imaginary Friends
Gacha Life
Poptropica
Lilo and Stitch
Duolingo
Dr Seuss
Bluey
OK KO Let's be Heroes
Miniforce
Roblox
Power Rangers
Elemental (Disney Pixars)
CRiTORA
Tamagotchi
Skylanders
Kinoko and the Cult of Galaxy
Kirby
Robots (Blue Sky Studios)
Chikn Nuggit
My Singing Monsters
D*ck and Chick Figure
The Heroic Six
Land of the Lustrous
The Bad Guy's
Marvel
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Todays rip: 06/03/2024
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and the days of high quality rips?
Season 7
Featured on: Rips of Christmas Present
Ripped by berg8793
youtube
Requested by itsyeeted! (Discord)
Funny thing - I was supposed to have posted this far closer to new years, but then somehow convinced myself that I'd...already posted it? Just marked it as done in the spreadsheet and everything. Bizarre. Well, its never too late to celebrate the new year, is it? Especially not with a rip as sincere, wholesome, downright pleasant as Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and the days of high quality rips? - This is the kind of rip to remain on the laid-back playlist all year long.
I'm sure a lot of people were a bit puzzled to see a game like Tetris on CDi even *get* rips, let alone any form of non-ironic memes. I mean, its the Philips CDi, it's the meme console with Hotel Mario and the bad Zelda games! But this is another case of what I brought up back in Viva La Robocop, another case of one of SiIva's most fascinating phenomena: when otherwise wholly obscure games are kept in discussion through the surprising quality of their music. With only some exceptions (such as the games composed by the Follin brothers) that discussion seldom becomes widespread, usually staying contained to enthusiasts of VGM: such as the very people behind the SiIvaGunner channel itself! And while many of these soundtracks are kept relevant by chiptune artists, with examples like the aforementioned one, Never Gonna Give Up Mahjong and Beautiful! ~ Curveball of Sean Kingston - Tetris on CDi is, as the name of the console suggests, full-on CD quality, with a sound so stunning beautiful and atmospheric for a game series otherwise so content in reusing and remixing the typical Tetris theme. In the words of Jack Yarwood - "Before 'Tetris Effect,' There Was the Vaporwave Bliss of Tetris on the CD-i".
The wonderous atmosphere of this otherwise entirely obscure release of Tetris has kept its heart beating ever so faintly in the 32 years since its release, and Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and the days of high quality rips? feels just as much like a love letter to this game's vibes as it does a soothing celebration of the new year's beginning. Level 6's soothing tune is used as the backing instrumental to an original cover of the Scottish folk song Auld Lang Syne, one typically sung to inaugurate the beginning of the new year. And it's one that I, despite being from all the way over in Sweden, swear I must've heard in a film or show at some point - its lyrics and melody felt immediately comforting and familiar as soon as I started listening to the rip. Part of that comfort is of course the vocals, berg8793's vocal performance is positively soothing, but it may also be from how the vocal performance is implemented into the rip. It's given a layer of compression to it that matches the quality of early CD games, and indeed the quality of the CDi games' soundtracks themselves, a comfy faint noise and static stitching the two pieces of the rip together as a seamless whole. berg8793 has previously mostly been featured on here in rips that appeared as if they were borderline painful to make, such as Banjostruck and Kirby Joins the Circus!, so it was a delightful surprise to see him having made a rip like this. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and the days of high quality rips? not only feels like a welcome break in energy from the guy's typical output, but also shows me that he's got a genuine talent for singing - one I hope he finds use of in rips to come!
There's little else to say - Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and the days of high quality rips?, much like Wham! Into Dreams, feels like a cover from the heart, a cover made with the intent of pure celebration, to band us faithful viewers together for the new year in the comments section. Amidst all the shitposts and insane-scale collaborations, it's...nice, to have rips like these to return to for the quieter moments in life.
#todays siivagunner#season 7#siivagunner#siiva#berg8793#tetris#cdi#philips cdi#tetris cdi#Jim Andron#90s music#ps1#vaporwave#ps1 aesthetic#Auld Lang Syne#Youtube#Bandcamp#new year 2024#happy new year
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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic
<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3 || My Website
Chapter 37: December 1999
Gerard stumbles down an alley, derisive cries still ringing in his ears, and ducks behind a pile of boxes to catch his breath. He listens to the footsteps pounding away down the streets as the pack of—he can only assume—schoolboys that decided to try taunting him runs past, laughing and shouting. His understanding of the local language is still rough around the edges, but he catches the cry of “’Azharnahu!”—We showed him!
Showed him what, he has no idea, unless it’s that people around the world are stupid and not worth his time. It isn’t like Gerard goes around trying to make friends with people anyway. The sorts of people his mother usually consorts with aren’t the sorts he wants to spend much time with if he can help it, and most mundane people are just so…ignorant. It’s more annoying than it should be. About the only people he wants to spend time with are Martin and Melanie, and they’re back in London.
Gerard idly traces patterns in the drifts of sand, then hastily wipes them out with his hand when he realizes he’s been drawing the sigils his mother has been teaching him. No need to call that sort of thing down on his head, not when he’s got an afternoon free for the first time in forever. Despite the frustration of having been chased for blocks by a pack of kids mocking him for being different, it does at least mean that he’s been neatly separated from his mother, and she doesn’t know where he is. He’ll make his way back to where they’re staying eventually, but for now…
For now he’s free. For now he’s got time to spend on his own. For now he doesn’t have to think about Smirke’s Fourteen, or Leitner’s books, or any of that. For now he can just…be.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the little packet of Turkish cigarettes he got from one of the merchants his mother dealt with in Rome last month, who’d wanted to give him something but deemed him too old for a sweet, and the box of matches he swiped from the hotel bar. It’s taken him a bit, but he’s finally got the technique of lighting and smoking the cigarettes down; he can’t do it often, mostly because he’s still technically too young to be smoking and he knows it’s not going to be easy to get another pack once he finishes this one, but it helps with the stress. Or so he tells himself.
Once the cigarette is lit and he’s taken a couple drags on it, he gets to his feet and heads down the alley, curious as to what might be on the other side of it. He can hear a babble of voices, some regular chatter and some the louder cries of a hawker trying to draw attention to something, and he wonders if it might be a circus or a carnival. He’s never been to either, but he’s always wondered what they’re like. The idea of exploring one with Martin and Melanie sometime appeals to him in ways he’s not sure he can articulate.
Venice, he thinks to himself. The Carnevale in Venice. He doesn’t know exactly what it entails, per se, but it sounds good, and someday he’s going to take Martin and Melanie to it. Without his mother or Aunt Lily. Uncle Roger can come…maybe…but Gerard really wants it to be just the three of them.
He stops, momentarily surprised by the direction his thoughts have gone, and turns them over for a moment. He’s come to care about Martin and Melanie a lot in the last couple of years. They’re his friends, the only ones he’s got really, and he really likes spending time with them. They make the boring lessons more interesting and those rare free afternoons a lot more pleasant, and they’re both quick to come up with plans and include him in them whenever they get the chance.
But except for the idea of sneaking out of London for day trips on Martin’s birthday, Gerard hasn’t been the one to come up with any of their plans. He’s happy to be included, but it never occurs to him to include them in things his mother hasn’t already included Aunt Lily in. Mostly, he has to admit, because most of what he does isn’t something they should want to be involved in, and considering the risks—to Martin in particular, although Melanie is already proving adept at drawing aggravation from things—he shouldn’t let them. He’s never really considered plans farther ahead than an afternoon.
Yet here he is, thinking about something that’s going to require at least a year’s worth of planning and preparation. Or if they’re going to do it spontaneously, they’ll all have to be grown-up to do it—well, grown-up for real, since Gerard already thinks of himself as mature and world-weary, but legally he’s still only thirteen and a half and there aren’t many places that would consider that a man. Either way, for the first time, Gerard is thinking about the future, and a future that doesn’t involve monsters and things that go bump in the night, but does have Martin and Melanie in it.
He kind of likes that.
Smiling to himself, he takes another drag on his cigarette and looks to see where he’s ended up. The alley opens up onto a street boasting, not a circus or carnival, but an open-air market. There’s the smell of good food cooking and spices he can’t identify, bright colors everywhere, and the salesmen cry out for people to come try their wares, in three or four different languages that all blend together. It’s crowded, but not overly so.
Gerard ambles onto the street proper, looking around him. It seems like the kind of place where he might find an artifact of power, at least at first, but the more he looks, the more he revises. It’s not like Portobello Road or a swap meet or anything like that, it’s just…well, a market. It’s bright, and open, and honest about what it is. He’s more likely to find something tied to the Fourteen in a Tesco.
He stops to admire the wares displayed at one particular booth, brightly-colored quilts and hangings that catch his attention. The man in the booth eyes him suspiciously at first, but when Gerard asks him a question in halting, stumbling Arabic, he relaxes and engages with him readily enough. These aren’t Gerard’s thing at all, but they look like the sort of thing Martin, who’s keenly interested in textiles and the like, would be fascinated by, so he gets as much information as he can and stores it away to tell Martin about later.
“Do you make these yourself?” the man asks, or at least Gerard thinks that’s what he’s asking.
“My brother,” Gerard says. “He—” He flounders for a moment, trying to come up with an explanation with the extremely limited knowledge of the language he has, and eventually settles on, “He makes shirts with sticks.”
“Ah.” The man grins and says a word Gerard presumes translates to knitting. Pointing down the street and speaking in an English about as good as Gerard’s Arabic, he says, “Down that way, around next corner, you can find a maker of yarn.”
Gerard thanks the man profusely—he hopes—and heads off in that direction. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him, and he ducks into another alley to reach back into his pockets.
He comes up with a battered leather wallet that once belonged to his father and opens it surreptitiously, then riffles through its contents. Someone bought a book off him right after they arrived, and because it was his book that he’d bought (for a song, really, in a charity shop because he thought it might…but Martin, who’s picked up ancient Greek better than Gerard has, assured him it’s just a book of poetry), he got to keep all the money he made from the sale. It’s a decent amount, would be more if the book had been in better condition, but it should be enough.
They’re going to be back in England next week, his mother says, and they’ll be there for at least a month, which means they’ll be home over Christmas. Gerard suddenly decides that he’s going to buy presents for Martin and Melanie, proper presents they’ll actually enjoy. And he has a lead on what to get Martin, thanks to the man at the textiles booth.
He keeps an eye out as he walks, ambles really, but he doesn’t see anything that screams Melanie before he gets to the corner. (Well, he does, but even he’s not stupid enough to buy her a bladed weapon. Yet. Maybe in a couple of years, when she’s proved she won’t fillet someone at school if they look at Martin crossways.) When he goes around the corner, it doesn’t take him long to find the booth the man told him about. Brightly colored skeins of yarn hang in long, loose loops from the sides and drape across the counters, and behind it sits a woman humming as she teases long strands out of a curious wooden device. At least, it’s curious to Gerard. He’s sure if he knew anything about this sort of thing, it would be commonplace.
But no less magical, he thinks. Watching her work, he feels the same sort of wonder as when he watches Martin’s plump, patient fingers twisting and wrapping in and out of sticks and wool until he has a dishcloth or a scarf—the awe of creation, the surprise of taking something so unexpected and turning it into something else. The act of making something that didn’t exist before from something as innocuous as a ball of wool or a pile of fibers. Magic.
The elderly woman speaks less English than the man who directed Gerard here, but her Arabic is somehow easier to understand and she’s patient enough with Gerard’s fumbling attempts. He’s surprised—although he’s not sure why—to learn that all of the yarn she offers for sale isn’t spun from sheep’s wool at all, but some kind of plant; he assumes it’s cotton, but the stuff she’s working from doesn’t look like cotton. Either way, he’s impressed. He’s not sure if Martin will be able to work with it, but it can’t be that different, can it?
The skeins of yarn are in all colors of the rainbow, bright and vibrant, solids and ombres and rainbows, but one in particular catches Gerard’s eye. It goes from blue to green to a kind of muddy greenish-brown, like the woman was trying for a yellow and it didn’t work quite right. It’s also kind of shoved in the back of the counter. He points at it and asks, “How much?”
The woman’s eyebrows shoot up, and she shakes her head, then indicates another skein closer to the front of the booth, one that proves Gerard’s initial thought—that she was trying for a blue-green-yellow shift and the colors bled together improperly. “No, no, this will look much better. This is the one you want.”
“No, no, the—” Every color word Gerard has ever learned, which isn’t many, goes out of his head. Finally, he touches the blue on the skein closest to him as lightly as possible, so as not to damage it. “This is my sister’s eye.” He touches the green and adds, “This is my brother’s eye.”
Meeting the woman’s gaze as understanding begins to dawn, he taps just below his own eye, then points at the skein in the back and asks again, “How much?”
She smiles, and sells it to him for well below what he’s pretty sure it’s worth.
Buying a present for Melanie continues to be trickier. It’s not that he doesn’t know her as well as he knows Martin at this point, it’s just that her interests, at least at the moment, are not ones that can be easily catered to by a street market in old Cairo. He’s determined to buy it here, though. It just seems…important somehow. The things being sold in these booths are things that exist because someone wants them to exist, not because someone wants to sell them or to push an agenda or anything like that. He wants Martin and Melanie to be able to hold their gifts and feel the love and care that was taken in their creation, because Martin and Melanie deserve to know that’s how he feels about them. Uncle Roger is kind, but vague, and however much he loves Aunt Lily he’s still not completely over losing Melanie’s mother—and Gerard’s seen enough pictures to know that Melanie, except for her eyes, is her mother in miniature. Uncle Roger’s even called her “Amy” once or twice. They both deserve to know that someone cares about them just because they’re them, not because of what they can do or who they remind someone of.
He loves them, and he wants them to have something that lets them feel the love, too.
It’s halfway down the street that he finds it—a stall with a collection of bags of all shapes and sizes. Melanie isn’t one for purses, and she’s not thrilled with backpacks, but she needs something to carry her books to school in and tote her treasures around, maybe to pack as a weekend bag if she goes up to visit those few of her relatives she still wants anything to do with. Gerard peruses the selection carefully until he finds the perfect bag—big enough to carry what she needs but not so big it’ll overwhelm, sturdy enough to last but pretty enough to be enjoyable. And unlike the others, the embroidery on it doesn’t make him think of the Spiral.
Negotiating—haggling really—for the bag takes a while, especially as the man doesn’t seem to understand English and pretends not to understand Gerard’s Arabic either. Eventually, though, he comes away triumphant, his wallet significantly lighter but the bag tucked into the basket with Martin’s yarn. He’ll have to find boxes to put them in, some pretty paper to cover the boxes with, but he’s done it, he’s actually bought presents, and they’re perfect. Or at least as perfect as he can do, since Gerard is about as far from perfect as it’s possible to get.
Still. He’s actually excited. For the first time in his life, he looks forward to Christmas, because he’s looking forward to seeing the looks on Martin and Melanie’s faces when they see their gifts, see that even when he was halfway around the world, he was thinking about them.
He slips down a side alley to leave the market, lights up another cigarette, and begins making his way back towards the hostel.
#ollie writes fanfic#to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#tma fanfic#gerard keay#smoking cw#it's a chapter where nothing bad happens and everything is fluffy#it's a miracle
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Gorgeous Manchester Weekend
29/02-03/04/2022
With the gf going away to do her own thing, I jumped on the opportunity to catch up with a friend and tick something off the bucket list that had been there for a while…a girly trip to Manchester!
The trip started in girlmode on the Friday….travelling on the train for 4hrs 50 minutes! Was slightly nerve-wracking waiting for the train…which wasn’t made any better when I realised there were a lot of people waiting for said train and it was only two carriages! The next handful of stops were like being in a tin of sardines…but it eventually thinned out. It wasn’t anything exciting, but I can still say that I have done a long train journey in girlmode.
Got to Manchester train station and then hauled my large (very heavy) suitcase to the hotel. Unfortunately, my tights were having other ideas! They decided they didn’t really like staying up and kept falling down every 30 seconds! It meant I literally had to stop about 8 times in the 500 yards that it was from the train to the hotel!
I was happy to get checked in and in my room at the Doubletree. It was about 9pm by the time I got settled so I just caught some Zzzzs after that.
The next morning, I got up and got ready, meeting my friend off of the train at 11am. Just jeans and a white vest…a nice casual look. She arrived and then the good times could begin! We went around some of the shops that Manchester had to offer….having a nice shmooze around the Northern Quarter, getting a lovely cup of tea in Afflecks. It was so lovely to be out again and moving around so freely. Had a lovely lunch at the Wilson’s Social. The waitress was a gem and the people next to us were happy to have some banter…treating us like normal people, not like freakshows!
After more shmoozing, it was time for dinner. Pizza Express on Piccadilly Square. Nothing groundbreaking, but was more than pleasant. Ironically, we both had pasta! No funny looks from anyone….Manchester has a real metropolitan feel!
Then it was time for Night Out #1…our first taste of Canal St! Dressed to the nines in my little black bardot dress and silver sparkly heels, we strolled out of the hotel and took the very short stroll to Canal St. The first bar we came to was okay….it had a disco dancefloor that lit up…but the music annoyed slightly with a lot of remixes….tunes from one song being mixed with lyrics from several others. We decided to move on to the Pop Bar…which we stayed in for the rest of the night! 80s/90s pop cheese…heaven! A lot of dancing followed until about 1am, when our bodies and feet could take no more! I was aching…but it was worth it. Nothing makes me feel more free than being able to have a good boogie and look gorgeous doing it.
Typically, I was awake at 6:30am the next morning. Feet had recovered though….time to get ready for the day again. Decided to go with the white and blue striped day dress that had served me so well in London, with leggings and black boots. It was time to goto the Trafford Centre. We hopped on the tram at Piccadilly Circus and made the 45 min journey to the Trafford Centre. A little amount of looking around followed, until realising we needed feeding. TGI Friday played host for lunch…with sesame chicken strips being the dish of choice for both of us. Also got to have a real good chat…learning some things about each other that we hadn’t known before and a deeper understanding of who we are and what we’re about.
Fed and refuelled, it was time to tackle the rest of the Trafford Centre. An impressive cavalcade of shops, but we didn’t find much to tempt us to part with our money. But, as always, it’s not necessarily about finding things to buy…it’s just nice to be out, presenting as female and putting it out there for the world to see.
Back to the hotel…time to get ready for Night Out #2. A pretty white floral dress this time…but the same sparkly heels. We decided to wander a bit to try and find a bar with nibbles before heading back to Canal St…but that turned into a full blown meal at Franco Manca! Not the intention at all….and there were certainly nerves approaching the door realising we would be far and away the best dressed people in the restaurant! But I didn’t care. I felt gorgeous and wasn’t going to let it stop me. The pizza there was really nice. And the staff were fabulous. So friendly and welcoming. Even in a packed restaurant and wearing ridiculously glam outfits, there were no second looks, sniggers or pointing.
We then went to a pub in the gay district which had Smash Hits posters in the doorway! They had a drag act who was quite funny hosting karaoke. It was busy in there…and was one of the only times through the whole weekend that we saw other tgirls.
The next bar was around the corner….we were lured in by promises of a good atmosphere. And it seemed promising to begin with….until some lads and girls that had clearly been drinking all day decided to turn up…and then did the sort of dancing you’d find more in a mosh pit than a dance floor. The girls tried to keep the lads in control but they weren’t up for it. The female security guard warned them several times….looked like she wanted to chin them! We gave up quickly…we weren’t about to put up with that, so it was time to move on.
Bar #3 - back to the Pop bar. A drag act was going to be on for the night, so it seemed like a good place to be. We had some drinks and a bit of a dance…ended up being complimented on my dress by a lovely (and very tall!) guy called Adam and his girlfriend Leonie. They seemed lovely and we had a bit of a boogie with them. Unfortunately something happened…I don’t know what was said, but I could hear him say that he’d take them outside if needs be. They said goodbye shortly after and decided to leave. It was ashame…they seemed like genuinely nice people. It got to 11pm and the drag act started…or at least we thought it did. It was just the prelude to performances later in the evening which would be spaced out till 1am! So we decided we didn’t want to wait that long…and moved on.
Bar #4 - the same as Bar #1 from the first night. Went in there mainly because it was a bit quieter and we could sit down. Managed to have a nice chat and rest our feet. Despite being the same heels, my feet were particularly painful that night. Music was the same…annoyingly remixed. Hard to dance to when the beat changes from what you expect. We had a few drinks then moved on.
Bar #5 was a cosy little place playing some great pop tunes. Abba, Spice Girls, High School the Musical…allsorts of cheese! Managed to find the power in my feet to continue dancing. My friend was feeling it at that point so she just watched me shake my thing! Eventually though, the pain caught up with me and it was time to quit at 1am. Thankfully the hotel was a minute away so it was easy to lightly treat back and crash out.
Next day…another early waking. Time for me to get ready for the day…a pink crop top and high waisted jeans…and time for my friend to go home. I saw her off at the station and then was left to my own devices.
I hit up a few charity shops and did some more wandering…but I quickly ran out of steam. I decided rather than burn myself out, I would give myself some time to recover and then have one last hurrah all glammed up before the weekend ended. I went back to the hotel and just had a chill (thank you Nintendo Switch!) until 6pm…then mustered the energy to get ready again. Another floral dress, different to the previous night (and shorter!) with black strappy heels. I was ready to hit the streets again by 9pm. Took a little strut around, just to enjoy being out, before hitting up the Pop Bar again. Much quieter that night…but not surprising for a Monday night. The music was good, I had a little boogie sat at my table, but wasn’t long before heading back. As much as it’s lovely to be out and feel good about my look, it’s not the same doing it on your own. But I was still happy that I’d made the effort to do it.
Tuesday morning and it was time to get the train back. Made the decision to go back in drab…the need to work on the train drove that one. But my weekend was complete - it had been everything I wanted it to be and I was so happy that I got the chance to do it. Canal St was great….surprising that we were pretty much the only tgirls there, but still a great experience. Everyone was so friendly and smiley. I would definitely go back.
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11 - Van Halen...
Hi there one and all.
Can I first start by saying farewell to Cozy. I've known him for about fifteen years and would not say he was a close friend or anything, but whenever we caught up with each other there was always time for a beer and chat. He was an A1 guy and will be greatly missed as a person and as a brilliant drummer. When John Bonham died he left the crown for the best rock drummer to Cozy, and I can't think of anyone worthy enough to take over. When Bonzo died we were doing a show at Madison Square Gardens, and as they were going into Champions Fred said, "This one's for John Bonham." The place erupted. If that's Bonzo's song, then I think Cozy should inherit We Will Rock You, because he was THE best rock drummer.
My social life has been quite hectic again. Caught up with Status Quo when they played here recently, they're always good fun to chat with, and they still put on a decent show. Next Sunday I'm gonna see Matchbox 20. Have a listen to their album, it's really good. Last night was the all new Van Halen, and thanks to my mate Nick I had one of those wonderful VIP passes hanging round my neck. I, along with the rest of the world was curious to know what Gary Cherone was going to be like. Brilliant. This has to be the best VH line up yet. The show was being filmed by MTV, so if you see it and the camera pans around to the sound desk, just look for the best looking guy in the building and that'll be me, standing next to him.
Anyway, back to VH. They are still a great rock band, a great live act and great musicians, and I still hate drum solo's. But back to Mr Cherone. We all know what he did at the Tribute, and we all know he's a huge Queen fan, and he's the closest singer to Freddie I've ever seen. His outfit, black satin shirt and flared black satin pants. I seem to remember FM wearing that around 75/76. His mic stand is the FM 'wand', except it's a lot longer. His movements are very theatrical, and dare I say camp at times, with lots of twists and turns, very Freddie. Don't get me wrong here, I'm not knocking him at all, he is an amazing showman and doesn't stop all night, even jumping into the crowd and running up the steps to the top of the arena, and then tumbling down like a stuntman. It's good rock 'n roll, so try and check them out, I don't think you'll regret it. (I've become concert reviewer all of a sudden) At times he even sounds like another singer, but I won't keep on, I'll leave it to somebody else. On the rock station, Triple M, one of the jocks this afternoon said, "He's been watching to many videos of our dear departed friend Freddie Mercury. His movements were exactly like his."
The first time I ever saw Van Halen was at a place called the Circus Krona(!) in good old Munich. I went along to see them with the curly one, and when we got there I had to instantly phone the studio and try and get Rog to come along because it was the biggest PA system I had ever seen in a place that size. When they started the intro tape it was so loud I thought my chest was gonna cave in, the bass just pinned you to your seat. Needless to say Brian was like a pig in shit. Before I tell you my little Queen story, I have to tell you about what I consider to be the best onstage patter I think I've ever heard. David Lee Roth was talking to the crowd between numbers and somebody in the crowd chucked a paper cup or something at him, he stopped talking, looked round in the general direction and said, "Hey man, you can throw what you like at me. Because tonight I'm going to f**k your chick." 20,000 people loved it, and so did I cause I still remember him saying it.
OK. We were touring the States, probably around 81/82, and we were flying to Portland. The band entourage were traveling on a wonderful private plane, and as the crew would have been in the bus for about 24 hrs we took as many as we could with us. The date was Sept.1, I remember because thats my birthday, and when we boarded the plane there was a huge cake with 'Happy Birthday Crystal' on it, and even more booze than we normally had. (Somebody must have expected something) One of the nice things about private planes is that you can make detours and the pilot flew around Mt St Helens a few times so we could see right into the crater, and it was still steaming, an amazing sight. Back to my birthday and a few of us needed some privacy, so Jim 'Mary' Devenney, Jimmy ' Idiot Boy' Barnett, Peter 'Feebie' Freestone, Roger '*******' Taylor and myself stocked up with a couple of drinks and retired to the Master Bedroom for a discussion on world politics. When the plane landed we were still a few thousand feet up in the air, legless is the best way to describe us. Hey, it was my birthday after all. We fell into the limo's and headed to the hotel, and the crew went on to theirs.
On arrival I found out that Van Halen were staying there, and they were playing that night, so I secured a few million passes and went looking for somebody to go partying with. After all it was 4pm and if I went to sleep I'd wake up feeling awful so I had to continue. RT said he was gonna crash, but Feebie and Terry were ready to go, so we said we would go to the first bar we came to. As it turned out it was a topless joint, and needless to say I was shocked and stunned, but a deals a deal. We were drinking shots of peppermint schnapps with vodka and orange chasers, very intelligent. At about 8pm we all shot off to watch VH, and they were great. After the show both bands arrange to meet in the bar at the hotel, but the bar is one of those stupid ones in the middle of the lobby. So there we are, the four Queenies, Feebie, Wally, Tunbrige, Terry and me, and the four Van Halens, all sitting around having a slurp, and VH's minders running around like headless chickens in the CIA. Outside the main doors were hundreds of fans, with a VH gorilla keeping them out, even to the point of stopping Ratty coming in. I had to argue with this moron to let one of our crew in, and he said, "If he goes anywhere near David or Eddie I'll throw him out." I could only answer with that wonderful two worded phrase starting and ending in F. Because it was like being in a fish bowl we decided to leave the bar, and everyone wandered off to various rooms to continue, the biggest bash being in Rogers suite.
At some unknown hour whilst I'm having a very pleasant conversation with a charming lady who called herself 'Naughty Nancy,' Jobby says to me, "I've been looking for you, Tunbridge wants you to call him now, it's urgent, Brians had an accident." Jobby was very drunk and I didn't know if he was serious or joking, so I phoned Tunbridges room and there was no reply. What do I do now? If Brians asleep and I wake him I'm in trouble, and if he has hurt himself and I don't call I'm still in trouble. What do I care? I'm drunk and fearless, so I phone and Tunbridge asks me to get there asap.
When I go in, Brians lying on the bed on his side, with the waste paper bin close at hand, and Tunbrige is grinning and mopping his brow with a damp cloth. Brian was mumbling stuff like "Don't let me die." (I'm sure most of us have been there at sometime or another) I probably shouldn't say this, but I had to grin, I thought it highly amusing. I got an explanation and told Tunbridge not to let him sleep on his back, and call me if there were anymore problems. I then returned to NN.
It turned out that when we all left the bar, Brian had gone to Eddie's room where they consumed huge quantities of Jack Daniels, and Brian not being a bourbon drinker, went to the toilet to worship the porcelain god, and threw up with such gusto he hit his head on the cistern, split his head open and nearly knocked himself out. The following night we played the same place VH did, and Mr May with band aid on head, played a blinder. A couple of years later, in the Rainbow in LA, I met Alex Van Halens estranged wife, and that, as they say, is another story all together.
Crystal
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catch me if you can
Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman
Genres: Mystery / Romance
Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.
Chapter 11/?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Сhapter 9
Chapter 10
The gala was so much grander than anything Hange could have ever imagined.
The Reiss manor looked imposing and splendid enough from the outside, but the interior was something else entirely, straight up from a fairytale.
As they walked through the black heavy doors, a magnificent stairwell stood in front of them. The stairs were covered by a red carpet, the railings adorned by flower arrangements and all around them were tall candelabra that bathed the room in a gentle, yellow light.
If that’s how the hallway looked, Hange didn’t know what she should expect from the ballroom.
“We should be more careful,” Ackerman whispered in her ear, startling her. With all that beauty around, she forgot that he was walking by her side. She almost forgot why they came here in the first place. “There is a shit ton of security.”
“Huh?” mouth open wide, Hange turned her head from one side to another, looking around the room. How did she miss the security?
“Four-eyes,” Ackerman hissed, pulling on her hand. “Stop acting like a child in the circus. You’re the inheritor of the biggest hotel chain in the country, remember? Behave accordingly.”
“Right, right,” Hange mumbled, lifting her chin and relaxing her shoulders. While giving her a suit, Ymir also assigned her a role. She had to play it off accordingly. “Do I look arrogant enough now?”
Ackerman’s eyes ran through her entire form, following every inch of her burgundy suit. Hange almost blushed under his gaze. “You’re fine,” he breathed out finally. Dressed in a black three-piece suit and with his hair sleeked back to reveal his face and steely eyes, he looked more than just fine. But… Hange didn’t come here to ogle the man. She had a job, she just had to keep that in mind. “And there,” he leaned closer to her, discreetly pointing out at the men in black suits that stood in every corner of the room, still as stone. “That’s where security is. You would have noticed them have you not gaped like a fish.”
Hange ought to kick him for that. At the very least, she ought to throw some curse at him. But his proximity had her heart racing and his hot breath on her cheek had her skin flashing. It had her remembering the today’s morning, when she had woken up to find Ackerman sleeping on her couch. He looked so damn adorable, his mouth slightly open, his face relaxed and so damn attractive. Hange stood there for a long, long minute, staring at him, peacefully snoring, before she surrendered to her weakness and went back to the bedroom to bring a blanket and drape it over him.
She ran into the bathroom immediately after, in dare need of a long, relaxing shower. As she finished, she walked into the hallway and was met with a strong smell that had her mouth filling with saliva. Cautiously, she travelled to the source of it. That’s where she saw Ackerman, who was now wide awake and standing in her kitchen, cooking breakfast out of what little he could find in her refrigerator and humming some pop song under his breath. The sight was so fucking domestic that Hange had to stop herself from sneaking up on him to hug him from behind.
That urge was so sudden, so absurd, it came out of nowhere.
She blamed the weird, annoying impulse on the hangover that had her head pulsing for hours after she had woken up. It also made her feel nauseous but Hange wasn’t entirely sure if the heavy and uneasy sensation was caused by the alcohol, the events of last night, and, especially an accident with Erwin, or the damn butterflies that fluttered around in her stomach every time hers and Ackerman’s eyes met.
Focus, she scolded herself, moving away from Ackerman. Just a few inches were separating them now, but even that was enough to bring some clarity to her thoughts.
“Everyone here is so fucking rich,” she mumbled more to herself than her companion. “I bet that lady’s dress costs more than my annual income. How did Ymir manage to get tickets to this thing?”
“More scamming on her part, I presume,” Ackerman muttered, his lips sliding downwards in the expression of displease. Oh, right, Hange had almost forgotten about the tender bond Ymir and Ackerman had formed during last evening. “And she made me donate a fucking insane amount of money to some charity fund.”
“You donated… stolen money?”
“Of course, I donated stolen money,” he snapped. “I don’t have any kind of other money. In that regard, I’m not so different from these pigs around us. At least, I don’t try to appear nobler than I am.”
And yet Ackerman was noble, even though he was so adamant at hiding this part of him from the others. He could have left her behind last night, could have escaped to attempt to find his uncle on his own. But he hadn’t left. He hadn’t escaped. He had called Erwin and asked him to take care of her.
Hange still didn’t know what to make of it. Ackerman’s kindness confused and perplexed her. It made her wonder how much of his Levi’s persona was a lie.
Was it a lie, at all?
The sight of a grand ballroom in front of her snapped Hange out of her reverie.
The room was majestic – high golden ceiling, adorned with white, intricate ornaments, tall windows, marble statues that stood by the walls, a giant, glistening chandelier that showered every inch of the room with warm, gentle light. On the other side was a stage, where an orchestra was placed. A dozen musicians prevailed over the chatter of the guests, the violins, piano, cellos and trombones worked as one to enhance the atmosphere of the event with a slow, pleasant melody.
Remembering Ackerman’s advice, Hange paid a more thorough attention, not only admiring her surroundings, but also keeping a close eye on every guest, searching for Frieda Reiss’ youthful and pretty face.
“There she is,” Ackerman pointed his chin at the woman in blue dress that was standing next to a balcony.
“We can’t go there now,” Hange shook her head, taking note of the several men that were conversing with Frieda. A little distance away she also saw a couple of men in black that watched the perimeter. “It’d be best if we attract as little attention as possible. Let’s wait until she is alone.”
“While we’re waiting, we can—”
“No!” Hange grabbed his wrist, pulling Ackerman back to her. “We’re not going to snoop around the house until we talk with Frieda. This will be our last resort.”
If someone would catch them in the act… A shudder ran through her at the mere thought.
In her haste to stop Ackerman, she didn’t think twice about touching him. As she realized that her fingers were still wrapped around his slim wrist, Hange wanted to pull away. But just as she was meaning to let go, Ackerman took a hold of her palm, intertwining their fingers.
“If we continue staring at Frieda like that, we’ll be sticking out like a sore thumb. We have to mix with the crowd.” Hange felt her stomach drop. She was almost certain what his next words would be. And she didn’t like it. “We can go and mingle with the guests…”
And possibly risk exposing themselves and alerting every one of their true intentions in the process.
“Or…” Ackerman had his gaze focused on the center of the room, where a dozen or so couples were spinning around in tact with the music. “How about we take it to the dancefloor, detective?”
Logically, Hange knew that it was a good idea. If they go dancing, they wouldn’t attract much attention and they would be able to discreetly track Frieda’s movements. But from a personal standpoint… she couldn’t imagine a prospect that was more undesirable to her.
She swallowed, accepting her fate. The logical part of her won.
“Let’s do this,” she pulled Ackerman closer, approaching the dancefloor like she was marching to war.
Once they were there, surrounded by laughing, happy couples, she put her hand on the small of his back, her other clasping his palm. His suit was soft under her touch, his warmth radiating through the fabric. His hand was rough and calloused, but his grip was gentle, feather light.
“Be careful”, Erwin had said to her last night, his blue eyes boring into hers with intensity that was so rarely aimed at her, “you’re playing with fire.”
She scoffed at his dramatics last night, but now she could almost feel the flames, licking at her feet. They grew bigger, hotter as she looked into Ackerman’s eyes. They were the color of the stormy sky, dangerous and beautiful. Mesmerizing.
“The music choice is awful,” she complained with feigned discontent, a vain attempt to distract herself from the effect that bastard had on her. “This song is probably older than I am.”
“But it’s pleasant,” Ackerman remarked.
Hange couldn’t protest. The song was pleasant. The musicians were talented too, the trombone, cellos and piano mixed together wonderfully, creating a melancholic and magnificent melody. And dancing with Ackerman, being close enough to feel his body heat, to hear his breathing, to smell his woody cologne… it was pleasant as well.
Turning away from him, Hange forced her attention on the other side of the ballroom, where Frieda was now talking with an elderly couple. Frieda was smiling, brightly and genuinely. Her smile was almost identical to Historia’s. Perhaps, it would help them win Frieda’s favor today.
“It looks like we have to continue dancing,” she spun them around, providing Ackerman with the view of their target. With nothing else to do now, Hange continued talking, hiding her uneasiness behind mindless chatter. “You are a better dancer than I thought.”
“Once Kenny decided to steal a painting from the Opera House. I had to seduce one of the dancers to get the entrance key.”
In spite of herself, Hange chuckled. “Did you succeed?”
“Let’s just say that I was much more efficient at dancing than at seducing,” he said, his lips curling up. “And you? Where do detectives learn how to dance?”
“I was a member of the drama club, remember?”
Judging by Ackerman’s wide eyed look, he not only remembered about the drama club, but he was also surprised that Hange remembered talking about it.
Perhaps… she had disclosed more than she should have. Perhaps, it would have been wiser to play the drunken forgetful fool card. But before she could bath herself in mortification, Ackerman squeezed her hand a little tighter and whirled her around, compelling her to move forward.
“Frieda is alone,” he explained curtly. “We need to hurry.”
___
As it turned out, there was no need for hiding in the plain sight. Frieda was already aware of their presence.
“Hange Zoe,” as they approached, Frieda took a step forward, a sweet smile already on her lips. “My father has spoken highly about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Although, I do wonder,” her bright violet eyes glistened in the light, as she slowly looked both of them over. “What is a busy detective doing on my gala?”
“Investigating, of course,” Hange countered easily. “Would you mind answering a few questions?”
She didn’t have her trusty notebook with her, and its absence was felt keenly by her. Without it, Hange didn’t know where to put her hands. Distraughtly, she brought them behind her back, wringing them slightly. Her wrist was discreetly slapped not a second later.
Startled and confused, she threw a brief look at Ackerman. He was staring back at her, ‘don’t act so skittish’, his eyes seemed to tell her. Hange scoffed and kicked his foot. As if she didn’t know that already.
“You can ask your questions,” Frieda replied. “But I fail to see how my answers can help you find that missing girl of yours.”
“Ah, so you’re aware of my case? And Krista Lenz’s disappearance?”
“Perhaps, you’re also aware that Krista isn’t her real name,” Ackerman added.
There was a slight pause, a beat of silence that excited Hange. Did they manage to catch Frieda off guard so easily? But a moment has passed, and her composure returned. Her eyes narrowed, her gaze filling with suspicion, as she stared Ackerman down.
“My father failed to mention that you have a partner, detective Zoe. Didn’t you use to work alone?”
Ha! Hange thought. Frieda had to do a little better than that to keep her on her toes.
“This investigation is complicated, I need all the help I can get. And, Miss Reiss,” she held Frieda’s gaze, slowly curling her lips in a smile. “You haven’t answered our question. Do you know that Krista Lenz isn’t the girl’s actual name? Do you know that her real name is,” Hange paused, sharing with Ackerman a look full of anticipation. “Historia Reiss, which would make her…”
“Your sister,” Ackerman finished.
They’ve got her, Hange could feel it. They’ve laid all of their cards, now they just needed to give a final push and Frieda would crack. She could see those cracks already, appearing on her beautiful face.
Hold on, Historia, I’m coming for you
“If you know something about her disappearance, we’d be happy to—”
“No.” Frieda said, cutting Hange off.
“Huh?” Hange’s thoughts came to an abrupt stop after the sudden interruption. “No as if—”
“No as if I won’t help you. No as if I have no idea what you’re talking. No,” Frieda’s eyes flashed menacingly, as she stepped closer to Hange, “as if I don’t have time for this. No as if leave my house before I call security on you.”
“Wait a minute, I—”
“Hange,” Ackerman had his hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her away from Frieda. “No means no. Let’s go before we get into trouble.”
Hange let him take her away. She wasn’t ecstatic about their plan B, but she knew now that they had no other choice. If Frieda didn’t want to share the information willingly… they would take the information from her.
“Thank you for your time and enjoy your evening.” She told Frieda, before they disappeared back into the crowd.
___
With her hand securely grasped in his, Ackerman led her forward, effortlessly moving through small groups of people. He kept his head straight and his expression seemed nearly relaxed, but Hange could see the subtle movements of his eyes. He slowly swiped his gaze from one side of the room to another, noting a hundred different things, no doubt.
“You’ve studied the blueprints, right?” he asked in a voice no louder than a breath.
Hange nodded, an image of the map materializing in front of her eyes. If they were in the center of the house, then—
“We need to get to the left wing, Frieda’s room is at the end of the hallway.”
If Ymir’s map was correct. If no one would see them enter another – probably, locked - part of the building. If they wouldn’t get—
“Relax,” Ackerman gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It will be fine.”
“But what if we will—”
“We won’t.” He calmly promised. “I won’t allow it. I’ll keep us safe, trust me.”
“I trust you,” she said. She didn’t add ‘to keep us safe’. Ackerman seemed to take note of that.
“Did you tell your boss about our plan?”
Did she tell Erwin? Of course, she did not. After a stern talking off she had received last night, she thought it was for the best if she didn’t share the details of their wonderful plan that involved breaking inside Reiss’ manor.
“I forgot to mention it last night.”
“What did—” Hange knew what he wanted to ask. But, perhaps, Ackerman wasn’t ready to hear her answer yet. She could relate with him on that. Hange also hadn’t been ready for everything Erwin had said to her. But she had no other choice. “Never mind, let’s focus on the plan.”
It was hard to do as he said, when Ackerman’s thumb kept brushing her knuckles with enough gentleness to make her weak in knees. Hange wasn’t sure if he was even aware of what he was doing, but her heart noticed, and now it was performing cart-wheels in her ribcage. This whole horseshit with feeling was starting to get really fucking annoying.
Hange yanked her hand out of his grasp with a loud huff. Ignoring Ackerman’s bewildered gaze, she continued moving through the crowd, evading dancing couples and laughing guests. Ackerman was at her heels, following her just a breath away. Even so, with their distance so miniscule, she felt so much better and calmer now.
But not for long. As soon as they approached the entrance, leading to the hallway, Ackerman wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing her flush against him.
“Play along,” he whispered, before walking up to the two guards. “I’m sorry, but where is the bathroom? You see, my date here had a little too much champagne…”
He spoke so smoothly and confidently, going as much as adding a touch of caring to his voice. Hange wouldn’t let him best her at this, she was a member of the drama club for fuck's sake. She leaned heavily against Ackerman, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. Feeling him froze and his heartbeat pick up was the most delightful thing that happened to her the entire evening.
It was good to know that she wasn’t the only one who had her body rebel against her mind.
The guard guided them to a door on the other side of the stairs, and Ackerman thanked him and started dragging her towards it. Hange giggled, when she heard him let out a quiet curse.
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” he hissed, pulling another giggle out of her. Something witty and sarcastic was on the tip of her tongue, when Ackerman added, “I’ll be having my fun later.”
Huh? Before Hange could ask him to elaborate, Ackerman pushed her through the door inside the bathroom.
“Wait!” something very close to dread started to sink in her stomach. “Why are we here? Weren’t we supposed to get inside Frieda’s room?”
“Does Frieda’s room have a balcony?” Ackerman asked, ignoring her question completely.
“According to the blueprints, it does…”
“Can you find it from the outside?”
“I probably could, yes, but…”
“Excellent,” he promptly walked up to the window, opening it. “Then let’s go.”
Before Hange could protest, before she could curse him to hell and back, Ackerman lifted his leg, climbing out of the window. Hange watched him, eyes wide.
“What are you waiting for?” he urged, hanging from the windowsill. “Did you have another way to get inside her room?”
“I imagined it wouldn’t involve me jumping of the windows.”
“Don’t jump, climb out.”
Hange couldn’t fucking believe him. Don’t jump, he said as if it was a completely normal situation. Climb out, as if she knew how to do this shit.
She told Ackerman the very same thing.
“It’s easier that it looks,” he shrugged, still effortlessly hanging of the fucking window. Just how strong the bastard was? “C’mon, four-eyes, we don’t have all night. I can go alone if—”
“No.”
It was her fucking case, her investigation. And if she needed to climb out of the fucking window to finish it, then so be it.
“If I fall, I’m going to blame you,” she warned, as she threw over her leg. “Erwin will have your head for it.”
“You won’t fall,” he said. “I won’t let you.”
Hange looked him in the eyes to see if he was joking. She saw nothing but sincerity.
Fuck.
She threw her other leg over the windowsill, now hanging of it with her legs dangling in the air. She tentatively put them on a thin patch of cobblestone, testing her grounds.
Huh, it wasn’t as difficult as she had expected. The parapet underneath the window was wide for her to stand almost comfortably.
“Good thing Ymir got you a suit and not a dress,” Ackerman said. “Now where to?”
“Move to the left, to the end of the wall. And…”
“Yes?”
“Go slowly, alright? In case—”
“I got you, four-eyes. Don’t worry.”
Somehow, his words actually made her feel more at ease. And as she felt the wind on her face, Hange allowed herself a little grin. It was rather exciting.
Together, they started to move.
Hange never thought she’d be scaling a fucking wall, but here she was. As she tentatively travelled from one windowsill to another, she tried to breathe as quietly and calmly as it was possible. Her arms hurt from the exertion of supporting her weight, her legs were shaking and every time she caught the glimpse of the ground underneath, her excitement faded and her panic grew, closing up her throat and sending her insides flying. What made the whole ordeal just a little more unbearable were Ackerman and the way he easily performed his every move, calm and controlled. Hange would have snapped at him, if she wasn’t so afraid that opening her mouth would send her plummeting to her death.
“You won’t die if you fall down,” Ackerman said, possibly sensing her mental state. Or catching sight of her wide, terrified eyes and trembling hands. “You’ll just break your legs and arms and possibly injure your spine.”
Was it his attempt at giving comfort? He sucked at it.
“Just shut up,” she gritted through her teeth. Thank god this part of the building had no lights on. Hange didn’t even want to think what would have happened if someone saw them. Falling to her death didn’t seem that grave of a prospect compared to it.
Only a couple of windows stood between them and the balcony in Frieda’s room. Hange eternally thanked all the times Mike dragged her out the office and into a gym. Thanks to his insistence, her brain didn’t splatter across the pavement.
Hange released a sigh of pure relief, when she saw Ackerman reach the railing of the balcony and swing his legs over it.
The experience wasn't completely awful, Hange even enjoyed the surge of adrenaline and the wind gushing through her hair, but still... thank fuck, this nightmare was almost over.
But just as she had lifted her hand to touch the metal bar of the railing, her right foot slipped, missing the next cobblestone. She cried out, as her arms flared up, desperately trying to get a hold of something stable enough to support all of her weight. But the railing was still out of her reach, her other leg buckled under her, and Hange felt her heart stop, as she dangled from the wall, holding onto it with one trembling hand.
Her fingers were sliding down, slowly but surely. Hange closed her eyes, preparing for the fall.
But it never came.
Just as she started to descend, her arm was grasped, roughly yanking her upwards. Hange shot her head up, meeting the steel grey eyes. They were opened wide – worried, frightened.
“I’ve got you,” Levi husked, his voice thick with panic. “Hange, I’ve got you.”
He was craning over the railing, his upper body hanging of it. But despite the danger he was facing, he hold onto her tightly, grunting as he started to lift her up.
Hange did her best to assist him, grabbing the metal bar as soon as it was close enough. Even then, when she had it secured with a white-knuckled clasp, Ackerman didn’t let go of her hand.
With the last bit of effort, he got her out, flinging her over the railing and to the balcony marble floor.
Oxygen was able to enter her lungs only after Hange felt the ground beneath her body. Despite the precarious situation, her landing was not painful at all. It was rather soft, and Hange almost marveled at it out loud.
But then she finally made sense of her surroundings. She didn’t fall onto the ground. She fell on Ackerman.
This was starting to become a pattern.
Shocked and overwhelmed, Hange knew only one way to let out her emotions. She started laughing, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.
“Are you alright?” he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, sounding as shaken as she was feeling.
Still laughing like crazy, Hange gave him a nod, rolling off him. “Sorry,” she mumbled, pushing her sweaty bangs from her face. “I didn’t mean to— well, you know.”
“You didn’t want to paint that lovely patch of ground with your blood? Good to know, four-eyes, I was starting to get worried.”
“Asshole,” despite herself, she snickered again. Jesus, she almost fucking died. But she didn’t, because of Ackerman. “Thank you, by the way. If it weren’t for you—”
“You’d be a mess, and you know how much I hate it,” he said, curling his lips up in a slight smile. It suited him, that smile. Hange almost reached towards him—
Perhaps, she had hit her head after all.
She turned away, getting to her knees. Her legs were still shaking, but she managed to get up. As soon as she was up, Ackerman appeared beside her. He took out the knife that was strapped to his calf and approached the balcony door. It was a tall glass door that consisted of two parts. Naturally, it was closed. Ackerman kneeled before it and with a move so swift Hange almost didn’t catch it, drove the knife in the slit between two parts of the door, moving it upwards until he heard a click. The door was opened in the next moment.
“Ready to find out what Lady Reiss is hiding?”
“As ready as ever,” Hange muttered, following Ackerman inside.
Frieda’s room looked exactly as Hange had expected the room of a rich heiress to look like. It was spacious, with high ceilings and tall windows that were partially covered by heavy green curtains. A large oak desk stood near the entrance to the balcony and next to it was an easel. The easel was enclosed by a white cloth.
Curious, Hange took it off, revealing an unfinished painting. Despite the drawing being nothing more than a rough sketch, that bright smile and big eyes were easily recognizable.
And Frieda had the gall to claim that she didn’t know Historia. Now they had a proof it was a lie. Well, she could continue lying all she wanted. Hange was going to uncover all of her secrets anyway.
“Go over her papers,” Ackerman said, taking a seat at Frieda’s desk. “I’ll see what she has in her computer.”
“What if it’s protected by a password?”
“That’s why I’ll be taking care of it. Unless… you know how to hack into computer?”
“You know how to hack into computer?” Hange asked incredulously.
“I’m a thief that police couldn’t catch for years, remember? A computer is nothing for me.”
Of course, of course, how could Hange forget that Ackerman was also a little cocky shit? However…
“I almost caught you,” she noted, matter-of-factly.
“You tricked us.”
“Traute tricked you. I merely asked her to do it.”
“That still counts as cheating.”
Cheating, Hange rolled her eyes. As if their game had any rules. As if it was a game at all.
“Where is Traute now, by the way?” Ackerman cautiously asked. “Is she…”
“She is alive, if that’s what you’re worried about. And in prison, serving her time. After she found out that your uncle is still free, she was more than happy for the opportunity to hide.”
“Oh, well, I’m glad she is well.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Had she not only failed to apprehend Ackermans but inadvertently caused the death of another person, Hange wouldn’t know what to do with herself after that giant of a fuck up. She wouldn’t know how to continue working after that. She wouldn’t know how to look in the mirror. She—
She shook her head, getting rid of these thoughts. Traute was alive and well, paying for her crimes in the safety of prison walls. She had a more pressing matter on her hands right now.
With moonlight serving as her lamp, Hange shifted through a pile of documents, official letters and sketches, all done by Frieda’s skillful hand. She carefully studied each piece of paper, hoping to find some kind of a clue.
She wasn’t that lucky.
And as she looked through page after meaningless page, her eyes started to wander. To the painting on the wall, to the beautifully decorated wardrobe, to the man sitting next to her – to his face, illuminated by a pale blue light of the computer screen, to his eyes that swiftly moved from side to side, to his mouth that was slightly opened in concentration.
Hange cursed under her breath, averting her gaze before Ackerman could catch her in the act.
“Also I’m not sure if you’re aware,” she began, feigningly detachment. “But leaving stupid notes on the scene of crimes isn’t the best course of action for a thief.”
“What?” he looked up, meeting her eyes.
“The notes,” Hange repeated. “The ones I found after every heist.”
“Ah, that. It was funny.”
“Funny?!”
What the fuck?
“It pissed you off. Watching you run around and curse was hilarious.”
Ackerman had sure enjoyed himself in those moments, if his fond tone of voice was anything to go by. Which made Hange so angry, but also made her wonder…
“Wait, you’ve seen me doing all of that? How?”
Ackerman turned his eyes back to the computer screen. His lips were pressed in a tight line before he mumbled, “Sometimes I stayed behind and watched.”
“You— what? Why? When? How I haven’t noticed?”
“No one notices the janitor.”
Hange stared at him in shock. Perhaps, Ackerman truly had a reason to feel gleeful. How could she not notice him? She should have noticed an attractive janitor, shouldn’t she? But then again, Hange always had a tunnel sort of vision, while she was at work.
“Anyway, that was very shitty of you,” she concluded, returning to the papers. “Mocking me like that…”
“I didn’t mock. I teased.”
“Isn’t that same thing?”
“Not quite.”
Hange scoffed and rolled her eyes. She never knew that banter could be so frustrating. Usually she was the one who infuriated other people. But Ackerman was just as good at the back and forth. A tough opponent, that’s for sure.
“Have you found something?” she asked him, as she put the stack of papers down. She looked at them for long enough to realize that she wouldn’t find anything that might be useful for them in any way. Perhaps, her partner had a better luck.
“There is nothing here but pretentious hipster photos and email exchanges with corporate fuckers.”
Or… he didn’t.
“So…” Hange had another back plan prepared. It was just as illegal as their current one, and even more reckless. But… she had gone that far, stopping now would only squander all of their previous efforts. “Are you good at pickpocketing?”
“What?” Ackerman turned to her, his face incredulous. “Are you saying—”
“There is nothing on her desk, nothing on her computer. We have only one possibility left. We need to look through her phone.”
Something had got to be there, Hange was sure of it. Frieda knew something, had to. How else explain the unfinished painting then? And the familiarity with the case Hange was working on?
“You want me to steal her phone. Huh, you’re growing up, four-eyes.”
Ackerman looked actually impressed. Hange subdued a wave of delight she felt because of it.
“We would need to get close to Frieda again,” he muttered, scratching his chin. “And for that we need to get back to the ballroom and—”
“No scaling the walls anymore.” Hange announced resolutely. It was exciting, yes, but she had her fill of this particular exercise already. She liked her neck and her undamaged bones.
“What do you propose then?”
What indeed…
“I’ll figure something out. Just trust me, alright?”
“I trust you.”
He didn’t hesitate, Ackerman didn’t even think before he spoke. Was he telling the truth then? Did he really trust her, and so readily?
She didn’t know what to think of it.
Perhaps, she shouldn't think about it then.
You had a case you have to focus on, Hange reminded to herself.
"Let's get going then."
They moved everything to the way it was before - put the papers back into the neat piles, closed the door and turned off the computer.
Then they left the room, stepping into a dark hallway. They walked through it carefully, quietly.
Everything was going so well.
Until it wasn't.
They've heard footsteps first. Then, came the voices. And they were growing closer, headed in their direction.
Fuck, they had to do something and fast.
Hange had to do something. But only one thing came to mind. One foolish, stupid thing. It was all Hange had in that fleeting moment.
You’re playing with fire, Erwin had said. Well, Hange was ready to get burned.
___
Shit. That was the first and his only reaction to the newly arisen problem.
Someone was coming their way. Levi could see the light of flashlight just behind the corner.
They had no time to run. They had nowhere to hide. They—
"Play along," Hange hissed, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. Before he could comprehend what the fuck was going on, Hange had him pressed against the wall, her face incredibly close to his.
"It means nothing, Ackerman," she whispered, before she put her lips on his.
His heart stopped, his brain short-circuited. Hange was kissing him. Her hands were fisted in the lapels of his jacket, her lips were moving against his, her tongue slipped inside his mouth.
It was phenomenal. Fantastic, splendid, better than Levi could possibly imagine.
And at the same time, it meant nothing. Hange had said so, and who was he to argue?
It meant nothing, absolutely nothing, so he pulled her closer, put his palm onto her cheek to caress it gently. He allowed himself to linger, kept their lips connected even when the guards arrived.
“Hands up! And turn around!”
"Ah, sorry, sorry!" to Levi’s immense disappointment, Hange took a step back, a bashful grin appearing on her face. "We got carried away a little, that's so embarrassing."
She had laughed, her hand travelling down his chest. To the outside looker, they probably appeared like a madly in love couple. Nothing could be further from the truth but— Levi cherished that fleeting moment nevertheless.
The two guards that had caught them shared a look, full of incomprehension.
"This area is off limits," one of them, the taller one said. "How did you even get in here?"
"My boyfriend wanted to explore a fantasy of his... You know, there is no obstacle that can stop true love."
The expression on the guards' faces, the perfect mix of shock, confusion and disgust, was priceless. Levi could barely keep himself from laughing.
"We can't just let them go," the shorter one mumbled to his partner. "Maybe, we should take them to Miss Reiss?"
"Agreed. Let her take care of these weirdos."
The men stood behind them, pushing them forward. Catching his eye, Hange flashed him a victorious smile. Ah, so everything was going according to her plan. Good to know.
Levi leaned closer to her. "If you ever tire of being a detective," he murmured, "Think of becoming a grifter."
"Is that a compliment? Or a job offer?"
"Could be both," he shrugged and was rewarded by a quiet chuckle.
The guards led them out of the dark empty hallway of the left wing, bringing them to the bright and golden colored stairway.
"Stay here," the shorter guard instructed. "I'll bring Miss Reiss to you."
A couple of minutes later, Frieda came out to them, wearing the same sugary smile. That kind of smile was perfect for her father's campaign posters. Perhaps, that's why she had it refined it to such degree.
Still looking like a fucking fairytale princess, Frieda lifted her hand and let the guards return to their positions. The smile slipped from her face the moment the three of them were left alone.
"I told you to leave," her eyes narrowed, unmasking the anger she felt. Right now, she didn't resemble a sweet, pretty girl that was her sister. Right now, she looked exactly like her father. "Why are you still here? And what were you doing in that hallway?"
"With all due respect," Hange slightly bowed. Levi coughed to hide his snicker. "But I don't exactly kiss and tell."
Frieda seethed, color rising to her cheeks.
"I apologize for my partner," Levi put his hand on her elbow, his fingers blindly searching for his goal. He found it, and fairly quickly. Oh, how he loved dresses with pockets. Phone securely grasped in his fingers, Levi pushed it into the sleeve of his jacket. "And I apologize for our behavior. We didn't mean to cause you any harm."
He moved his hand away from Frieda, putting it inside the pocket of his pants. Once the phone was there, he gave Hange a small nod.
"Yes, it was a mistake that I hope you would forget," Hange gave Frieda a smile - a wide, radiant one.
Frieda scoffed, obviously not impressed. "You entered the private property without my knowledge or consent, I should call police." Levi tensed. That scenario was very, very unwelcome. "But my father spoke very highly of you, detective Zoe. And your Captain, Erwin Smith, is a man of great virtue. It’s because I respect both of them, I'll let you go. Just, for the love of God, leave this time."
"Already on it!" Hange exclaimed, taking Levi by the sleeve of his jacket and dragging him to the exit.
"Fucking hell," she cursed when they were a good distance away. "I thought she'd call Erwin on me. Imagine if that had happened!"
Levi did, albeit briefly. He winced as a very clear image entered his mind. Yesterday's fiasco was scary enough, he could only guess how bad it would be if he actually got Hange into some kind of trouble. Erwin would have torn his head off before Levi could say "It was her plan".
“You got the phone, right?”
“Of course, I’ve got it,” he waited until they were out of the house and fished it out, showing Hange a sparkling yellow phone case.
“Well, open it!” she urged, hovering above him, her hands resting on his shoulders.
Levi activated the screen, and, unsurprisingly, the phone requested a password.
“Do you know how old is she?”
“Twenty-seven?” Hange sounded incredibly unsure. Levi lifted his head to watch her bit her lip in concentration. The same lip he touched with his own not so long ago.
A wrong fucking train of thought, he chastised himself immediately.
“Or twenty-eight? Something like that, I’m pretty sure.”
Levi nodded and entered Frieda’s approximate birth year. It worked on a second try.
Apparently, their girl was a very busy person. She received more than a few dozen phone calls every day. However, there was one number that popped out with more frequency than the others. And usually the calls occurred after office hours.
It could be nothing. Maybe, it was Frieda’s lover. Or best friend. Or someone equally important to her. So important that she hadn’t even bothered to add their name to the phonebook.
It could be nothing. But Levi had a feeling.
Sharing a brief look with Hange, he dialed that number.
The call was answered just a second later.
“Hey, lady, weren’t you the one who told me not to call you? Or is your event for rich fuckers that boring that you decided to ditch them all and bother me?”
Levi froze in one spot, his mouth hanging open.
That voice, he could recognize in anywhere.
That voice, it belonged to Kenny.
#shout out to that anon who wrote about hange's mad skills at poker! i've included a small hint about it#the hint is miniscule but it's there because ily <3#levihan
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Machi Komacine x Male Reader (Valentine's Special 2022)
Constellation: Machi Komacine x Male Reader
Words I got: → Hot and cold → Not ready → Shaking
Rating: General Audience
.
►► You know, sometimes
Love doesn't need to grow.
Sometimes it just pops up
And shows you the perfect one. ◄◄
.
You can feel a sigh on your lips as you push your nose deeper into the shawl and avoid all the couples who make the whole day a vomit-sweet nightmare that no one wants to experience. At least no one who is single and doesn't like all this nonsense.
You, for example.
With your hands buried deep in your jacket pockets, you pull your head in to avoid being in the lovers' sights. You want to get to Machi as unharmed as possible. Because then you can spend Valentine's Day with her in peace. Two allied souls who think nothing of this bullshit.
Thanks to the tasks Chrollo has been handing out lately, you've been able to spend a lot of time with her. She's a woman with great skills and thinks at least as little of love as you do. At least, that's the image she gives you and the one she holds when she invited you to spend Valentine's Day with her so you wouldn't have to spend it alone looking annoyed at the masses. It's easier to survive days like this in pairs.
Your path leads you straight to a hotel where the rooms are easily accessible from the side. So you are spared a conversation with the woman behind the counter. Fortunately, Machi has given you the room number.
Your legs carry you forward. All the way to the door, where you knock timidly. It takes a moment before she opens the door and the smell of cake drifts outside. Behind it is the pink mop of hair.
She is already dressed, wearing a pretty yellow jumper under a brown leather jacket that looks surprisingly good on her. In general, you have to admit that the normal look suits her well.
“Any idea where to go?” you ask instantly, trying to get your mind off her. She looks ready to go somewhere, with those tight shorts, the pink cuffs that reach above the knee and the brown boots that start just below.
“Lunch,” she returns curtly, before stepping out and closing the door behind her. Immediately after, she pushes the pink checked shawl into place, sinking her nose into it in the same way you do. You really are alike in that way.
“Have you heard from the boss yet today?” You have to bring up a topic of some sort because the silence sounds almost as exhausting as the lovers' turmoil. Still, you end up in the middle of this creepy show, and even though you want to be a strong man, it's incredibly hard not to roll your eyes.
But with Machi at your side, it is bearable.
For a moment you look to the side.
Machi's wild hair bounces with every movement, while her sharp eyes remain fixed stubbornly ahead. She's really pretty. In the midst of these doting couples, she seems like the unapproachable ice queen, mesmerising you. You could look at her forever.
But when her gaze suddenly swings in your direction, you can't help but look away in a flash. Heat settles icy on your skin, makes you swallow. Hot and cold all at once, a confusion you don't understand.
Still, your shoulders shake a moment too long.
You have to get a grip, calm down, can't let yourself get sucked into this love circus that so moronically hopes for affection in February. You don't want to get caught up in this maelstrom.
But Machi's blue eyes fix you and it is impossible not to dare look back at her.
Her eyes have turned forward again so you can muster her once more. Machi is just a woman. A girl from the Phantom Troupe who doesn't often answer you, even when you ask her to. She is nothing more than that.
Is she?
Barely noticeably you shake your head. You are not ready to think about such trivial things. Yet your step slows. It is strange. Thinking about Machi has this pleasant sensation. A quiet tingling that you don't usually notice on missions.
It's probably just Valentine's Day fever.
“Hey.” From the side, Machi addresses you, stealing your thoughts for a moment until you realise she's not really at your side anymore. She has taken a few steps ahead of you and stops when she has your attention. In her hand is a small transparent plastic bag containing a few chocolate hearts. Her gaze is barely noticeable turned to the side and as she pulls the scarf down a little to free her mouth from the material, you feel as if you are going to suffer a tiny heart attack.
“Huh?” is all that comes raspily from your lips.
“If we're going to spend Valentine's Day together, I might as well give you something.” It sounds almost dismissive, like you're just a job, but her expression has a hint of shame about it.
And you feel your heart leap out of your chest.
In an instant, you overcome the distance and take her head between your hands to press a kiss to her lips. Her slender body comes frighteningly close to yours and you think this warmth is the right thing for you.
Machi is dreamlike.
And the throbbing in your chest is terribly childlike – terribly amorous – and a little insidious.
When you let go of her, however, no smile awaits you. The package lands in one of your hands and just as you are about to thank her, she rams her fist into your stomach. The air squeezes completely out of your lungs, making you double over and for a moment you think you won't survive the next four seconds.
Maybe you deserved that.
But watching her turn away and go ahead makes the pain worth it.
.
(Picture is from a card collecting game)
#Hunter X Hunter#hunter x reader#hunter x 2011#hunter x 1999#hunter x you#machi komachine#machi komacine x reader#male reader#valentine#love#fanfiction#fanfic#AO3 update
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Deja vu pt4
Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait! Who’s ready for 19 pages of Remus angst? If you’re new around [Here] is the first part, and [Here] is the previous chapter for those who want a refresher!
(To that one person who asked if Remus’s vision would get any clearer: I am so sorry.)
Summary: Remus has been able to see the future since he was eight years old. He thinks that maybe his mother would have loved him a bit more if he hadn’t. (aka, Remus calls home.)
Words: 7879
TW: attempted suicide, blood, death, bad parenting
Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist
By the time he’s twenty one and four months, Remus is no stranger to cross country traveling. He’s been all over the country, all over the back roads, the main roads, the highways and the interstates. He’s had paper maps from greasy gas stations stuffed in his go-bag since he was eighteen, and keeps souvenirs of his travels in the form of pins and buttons he’s clipped on the shoulder strap.
He had made it a habit to never travel with a plan. He had chosen directions on a whim, following signs when he felt the need to sleep somewhere, and picked up cars from dealerships when he had been too lazy to use his casino-breaking powers to get the cash to pay for it legally.
Travelling is something Remus has always been familiar with. The freeing feeling of pressing his foot to the floor and blowing through endless cornfields, of burning more gas than strictly necessary, of getting himself lost on backroads without cell service-- He loves driving with the windows down and the long distances. During the billions of times that he had slept in whatever car he was using, he had enjoyed climbing on the hood and staring up at the stars until sleep dragged him away again.
Travelling with Dee, however, is something else entirely.
At first it had been different just because there were two of them: the presence of another person made him feel the need to talk to fill the silence, made him actually have to answer the “where are we going” question, made him unsure of if what he was doing was the right thing to do.
(Not the morally right thing-- no that he knew the answer of. He meant the right thing as in the thing that Dee wanted him to do. He imagined in those first few weeks he acted a lot like a pet dog, always checking back to Dee to see that he was doing good, and wagging his metaphorical tail whenever the Shapeshifter gave him that delicious validation.)
Travelling with Dee almost means the death of sleeping in the car they were using. The Shapeshifter believes him when he says that they aren’t gonna be attacked in the night or the police aren’t going to come knocking on their windows, but Dee, as much as he tries to pretend he’s new to riches and money, is a fucking elitist.
“Why sleep in the backseat when there is a hotel with a bed and breakfast right there?” He used to ask, sometimes still asks, never needs to ask anymore. “Why act like a ruffian without a home when I can live like a king?”
And, well, Remus had looked into his eyes for too long and gotten lost in the depths of them. Dee was pretty, you see? And Remus’s stubbornness was a learned trick that Dee knew how to circumnavigate.
Travelling with Dee means hotels with beds and fake names in a log book. It means showers with mini bottles of shampoo and crisp covers freshly cleaned and watching the stars from the balconies while Dee smelled his money (again). It means complimentary breakfasts that aren’t super great, but they’re something that Remus hadn’t had in a while and sharing a room with another person who didn’t trust him not to run off with all their money, counting the near silent inhales and exhales, and trying not to think about stupid things like “family vacations” or “Just share the bed, Roman, its one night!”
It means no more stealing cars, because Dee rations out and puts aside money in the most atrocious order-- something that he won’t describe to Remus beyond “you’re cute, but not that cute” no matter how many times Remus asks, or when he asks. Somehow he always has the money for a new car and food and a hotel room and anything else they saw and wanted for whatever reason.
(“Not that one,” Remus had said, grabbing Dee’s arm before he could even look in the direction of the car in the lot. And Dee blinked but didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t pick out any other silver sedans and Remus managed to make it all the way to the bathroom before vomiting his guts up. Funny, isn’t it? That he can still see blood on a bumper and hear the screams of ambulance sirens thirteen fucking years later?)
Some things are the same, though.
Remus takes note of them as he drives calmly through the evening, like he used to in the four years where he had between running away from everything he’d known and running into Dee’s arms. The air still feels nice with the windows down, his eyes still burn when the opposite traffic forgets to turn off their high beams, the radio is still soft and soothing and plays along to his heartbeat. Dee’s still curled up in the passenger side seat, wearing a fresh pastel peach button up tucked into black dress pants and dress shoes bought straight from the rack.
He’s still cute like this, vulnerable, with scales on display and his seatbelt imprinting a line on his opposite cheek. There’s a duffel bag of stolen money at his feet, all counted and tagged in his pocket notebook that he never lets Remus flip through. In the backseat are two more duffel bags with just Remus’s atrocious half of the money and another couple of suitcases that contain their material possessions.
Something stirs in Remus’s gut at the sound of Dee’s soft snores. He really is asleep, really does trust Remus not to drive them into a guard rail or off a cliff or into another car. He really trusts that Remus hasn’t been hiding a switchblade in his sleeve, just waiting for the right moment to plunge it into Dee’s throat before making an abstract art masterpiece out of his blood. He really trusts Remus not to park somewhere on the shoulder and take all the money they have between them and disappear in the night without a trace.
He trusts Remus.
And he doesn’t have a clue how much that means.
Well, maybe he’s guessed a little. After all, Remus still gets that surprised look on his face when Dee actually listens to him, still finds himself rolling that purple coin from the Basilisk Casino that he’s kept, still gets a little shaky when he tells certain futures because this is it, this is gonna be the time where Dee says he’s stupid and crazy and dumb and he’s not gonna listen--
Trust was a hard thing to come by after Remus turned eight. How can you trust the crybaby that starts sobbing every time someone gets a little scratch? How can you trust the psycho kid who needs medication to go to school? How can you trust Roman’s Weirdo Brother when he says he can see the future like some sideshow circus attraction?
But Dee trusts him enough to keep travelling with him, enough to keep robbing banks with him, enough to let down his glamour and show his real self while he’s sleeping.
It's all well and good and fine.
Remus wishes he trusted himself the way Dee trusts him.
The music playing is still something that Dee had picked out hours before, classical and Remus doesn’t hate it necessarily, but he did turn it down so slow that the engine is louder than those stupid violins. Remus has an appreciation for people who find the screeching strings pleasant rather than just annoying, he swears. But the rumbling of the engine, the bump of every uneven bit of road, the slow winding turns is a familiar comforting melody.
Home, Remus knows, is more of the road than any building he’s ever been in. It’s more of the feeling of Dee’s hand in his over the console, more of the smell of pine tree air fresheners mixed with new car, than any concrete solid place he’s ever been.
Which is silly, maybe. Remus thinks if he squeezes his eyes closed really hard he can still picture the layout of the house he and Roman lived in. (Not “home”, not “the place he grew up in” and he definitely didn’t grow up in there-- because it wasn’t until he was seventeen and sleeping in gas station bathrooms in two hour spurts that he learned how the world really was.)
His mother really tried, Remus thinks. She really tried to be a good person, a good mother, a good role model. She made sure they cleaned their rooms and taught them how to do the laundry. She made sure he brushed his teeth and was fed and healthy and smil--
Listen when he--
Helped him take his med--
She tried, okay. Remus thinks that if he had been a normal child he might have grown up happy. He thinks that if she had had any other son to twin with Roman she would have been a fantastic Mom. He thinks that if he hadn’t gotten his power at eight fucking years old he would have been able to articulate what the fuck was going on and they might have had a chance.
Then he wonders what the hell they would have had “a chance” at.
And then he gets angry about himself even thinking about it and---
---drives his car directly into the guardrail. Killing himself instantly with the force of the side collision and the air bad while Dee gasps for life he desperately was clinging too and the car that had been behind them for three exits screeches to a stop a dozen yards ahead of them and with passengers scrambling from their pickup truck screaming for help---
---drives his car directly into the guardrail. Killing himself instantly with the force of the side collision and the air bad while Dee gasps for life he desperately was clinging too and the car that had been behind them for three exits screeches to a stop a dozen yards ahead of them and with passengers scrambling from their pickup truck screaming for help---
---drives his car directly----
And Remus keeps driving on the quiet road, switching lanes so he’s in the middle lane rather than the side one.
Its not a good night.
Well in all honestly it hasn’t been a good day either. They had spent most of it driving and Remus hadn’t meant to be quiet, but his thoughts had been so loud he forgot that not everyone could hear them. They felt like screams, like a blow horn directly into his ear drums, like his brain was being torn apart with each and every fire of a neuron.
Thinking hurt. He hated to do it.
Dee must have picked up on it, must have taken note of his change in attitude since that morning when he had grabbed the car keys off the dresser and hoisted their bags into the car. He had asked once, Remus thought, maybe. It would have been out of character for him not to ask what Remus was doing with the keys, but if he had asked he had only done it one time.
And Remus hadn’t answered it and Dee hadn’t asked again.
He also hadn’t asked where they were going. Remus thinks that was blessing, a mercy, a silent kindness that he was too selfish to even say thank you for. He didn’t know where he was driving to, just that he had blown through a full tank and a half and somewhere over ten hours of driving and that they had crossed timezones again.
And the concept of timezones had made him angry enough to slam his foot to the floor and nearly run a blue minivan off the road entirely.
He switches hands he’s steering with, flexing and stretching his digits to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
There’s four hours now.
And Remus knows this because even if he hadn’t graduated highschool he knew how to read a clock. Which was what he had been doing all day: watching the speedometer and watching the clock and watching his blood pressure rise with every mile he drove.
There’s four hours between them now. Which means nine o’clock for him, which means the dim sky, which means the peaks of the faint stars through the grey cloudy sky, the closed mom-and-pop shops and the dwindling number of other cars-- which means that everything around him currently is not the same thing for someone who is four hours behind them.
Dee is asleep, shifting tiredly, when Remus, grinds his teeth together so hard and violently and angrily.
His skin feels wrong, too tight, too small. It feels like someone else and he’s only borrowing it. It twists around his lungs, constricting around him like a python and stealing every breath from his chest and getting smaller with every inhale.
His legs burn with a restless energy and his eyes hurt from driving for so long and he’s hungry.
The radio fuzzes as he drives, as they reach the end of the station's signal range, as the violins finally die and leaves them with just static. The noise is grating in a way that Remus can’t quite place, something more annoying than the screeching of his own thoughts that won’t shut up. He reaches blindly for the power button, trying not to take his eyes off the road because he doesn’t want to plow them into the back end of the SUV they’ve been trailing behind for the better part of fifty miles.
The radio goes off.
Remus’s thoughts do not.
The cloudy sky makes it darker than it actually is, making him turn on his headlights and make him growl at the lane reflectors he comes across every so often. The words on the signs might as well be written in Greek because Remus doesn’t bother reading them at all.
Mostly.
He tries not to.
But there’s one that spells out “RESTSTOP” and it gouges its phantom fingers in Remus’s brain, refusing to leave him alone after he sees it. He drives and he tells himself it's because they haven’t eaten all day, because Dee probably needs to use the restroom, because he needs a stretch. Dee hasn’t complained at all, you know? Remus owes him a little bit of a stop. Maybe they can look for a fancy hotel with a penthouse edition and get himself drunk on the minibar delights.
That’s all.
It hasn’t nothing to do with the four hour time gap.
Dee doesn’t wake even when he pulls into a well lit parking spot. There’s a handful of other vehicles in the lot: a deep green hatchback with two bikes strapped to the top, a jeep with no doors and a lot of mud, a group of sixish motorcycles and the owners of them standing nearby talking quietly. He counts at least seven eighteen wheelers resting for the hour all with a collection of name brands and graffiti on the backs.
Remus puts their own car in park and sits back, taking it all in.
He’s no stranger to travelling, hasn’t been for a long time. At twenty one years and four months old he’s no longer scared of the dark and certainly not scared of going to a public restroom. The signs clearly mark eating areas, restrooms, the dark, creepy, not-at-all well lit path into the woods for those who need to stretch and want to be murdered by psycho crazy forest clowns. There’s vending machines that take credit cards for sodas and packaged foods and Remus even spots one selling cheap portable phone chargers.
There’s a payphone booth.
Three actually.
None of them are in use, currently.
Remus looks back at the clock in their car-- its a quarter past nine-- and wishes that he couldn’t do math so well in his head. Maybe if he hadn’t been able to count he would have been able to take the stupid urge by is scrawny neck and throw it out the window while he drove right on by. Maybe if he hadn’t been able to keep track of days so well he would have been able to ignore the date. Maybe if he hadn’t been so great at counting he could have been better at something else, anything else, something normal.
She had tried, hadn’t she?
So Remus should have been thankful, grateful, happy at least about that, right? It was his fault that he hadn’t been able to figure out that his visions were telling the future until a year later, until the doctors told him it was all in his head, until his own mother had decided he was making it up. She had listened to him those first few times, listened and reassured him, and held him close when he couldn’t breathe from the crippling fear that Roman was going to die. She had weathered each of eight-year-old Remus’s breakdowns with the patience of a saint.
And he still hadn’t been able to be that perfect son for her.
“Take your meds, Remus,” She had still told him when he was sixteen and had stopped crying when he watched her cross the parking lot without looking. “Take your meds and you’ll get better.” She had said even though that wasn’t what the meds did for people who actually took them. The meds hadn’t been the glue to piece him-- or anyone-- back together. They just reminded people of how their pieces fit without scratching and breaking and shattering even more.
And Remus hadn’t even needed them back then, because his problem hadn’t been like anyone else's.
It hadn’t been delusions and hallucinations in his head. It hadn’t been him going crazy, it hadn’t been him losing himself.
She had tried though. To be a good mother. To love him and all his….quirks.
“I don’t need you!” Roman had said. Very loudly, very openly, very angrily. And Remus thinks about that day a lot, often, all the goddamn time. Because they had been arguing all the way up the stairs, had been fighting verbally and their mother, their mom, Mom, had been just below them in the kitchen making dinner-- or maybe it had been a dessert, baking? Or just messing around in the kitchen. She had been there.
And they had gotten in trouble for arguing much quieter before.
Remus thinks about that day. He thinks about the vision of Roman dying by his own hand, of the blood and the gore and then fluttering pulse and the concept of a soul leaving the body. He thinks about how his parents would have come running the moment they heard Roman scream in pain.
He thinks.
Maybe he thinks too much.
And maybe one day he’d get the courage to ask himself the big looming question: Had she loved him? Or had she loved the concept of him?
Today wasn’t, hasn’t been, isn’t that day.
It’s nine thirty, here, at this rest stop somewhere in Oregon, where Remus is clawing his fingers on his thighs and letting his unevenly chewed nails catch on the holes in his fishnets. Its nine thirty here on the day where Remus is twenty one and four months old and staring at a payphone like it was about to ring all by itself. Its nine thirty one and Remus is thinking too much, too loudly, not enough.
It must be around five thirty for her. Right in the middle of dinner. Or after. Maybe she’s doing the dishes under scalding water that boils her hands right off. Maybe the dinner was poisoned and she’s clawing at her throat right now. Maybe she went out for the evening and got hit by a car when crossing the street.
Remus knows he could check. He doesn’t.
Because his skin is already itching and his breath is too hot and he wants to cry but he’s too old to be crying over things like this, just like his mom has said a thousand times over.
He wonders if she would believe him if he told her how many times she had cried over Roman, how many times she had frozen at the sight of her precious baby boy going still and silent, how many times she fell to the ground and clutched at his body screaming her sobs like there was a chance any god out there would hear her anguish and give her son back.
Like she had only one to love and cherish.
She had tried.
Remus wants to laugh so badly it hurts. The urge itself rips through his body, shredding his organs with a razorblade and filling his lungs with fluids followed and squirming its way up his throat inch by inch with a determination Remus hasn’t seen in himself since that gas station four years ago where he saw himself jump in front of an eighteen wheeler and felt his insides go splat! for the first time.
Remus wants to laugh, because she had tried, and it hadn’t been enough and Remus still---
He still---
Remus pulls the keys out of the ignition and throws them in the cupholder next to the sleeping Dee. He exchanges it for his wallet, which had seen far better days and been handled far nicer, but that’s beside the point. His driver’s license is overdue but nothing short of a nuclear bomb will get him back to the state he had once lived in-- he skips over it and the various rechargeable cards he had picked up over the years (Starbucks, Seven-Eleven, a Techron Advantage Card he got for fun and never actually used because Dee always paid for gas) and goes straight for the cash.
They’re all large bills. He takes a fifty.
Dee murmurs softly as he unbuckles his seat belt and flies into a wide blown panic when Remus opens the door. Quicker than Remus thought was possible for a guy to move, he springs over the dividing console and grabs Remus’s arm with-- OW FUCK DEE -- claws.
Remus yanks back on instinct, throwing himself against the already open door and tumbles into the empty parking spot next to them. His arm howls with pain, with an agony, with a cacophony that drowns out all his other thoughts for the moment.
The blood is red.
Remus is twenty one and four months old and his body wracks with such a vehement hatred for the color it makes the rest of his blood, the blood in his veins, the blood in his body, his blood boil. Its red, and he hates red, has hated red, will forever hate red.
Because red was the color of Roman’s favorite jacket when they were eight, the color of Roman’s shoes that he left out on the stairs too many times, the color of Roman’s blood too.
Red had been the color staining the bumper of a silver sedan, the color of a broken snow globe hitting the carpet, the color of Remus’s insides on the freeway, and the underside of an eighteen wheeler, and the bottom of the motel bathroom tub.
“Remus!” Dee yells from inside the car, morphing, changing, panicking in a way that is not like him at all. He clambers into the driver's seat looking too pale for a guy whose skin tone could be any color he wanted it to be. “I’m sor-- I didn’t know we ha--- Oh my god I’m sorry!”
He grabs all the napkins they have squirreled away in the crevices of the car, then the half empty tissue pack from the last time Remus had decided to check to see if the line in McDonalds was going to be long, then a scarf Dee had bought before he remembered that it was warm enough to cook eggs on the sidewalk in most of the places they went to. He spills out of the car even less gracefully than Remus had, bubbling up apologies like his mouth was a fountain. There’s an emotion wafting off him, something that taints the air and makes the hair on Remus’s neck stand on edge.
“It’s okay,” Remus whispers.
“You’re not okay!” Dee frantically responds, turning a stripe of his hair blonde and completely missing the part where Remus did not say he himself was okay.
Dee’s fingers feel like bugbites up and down his arm, like cigarette ends being jammed into his flesh, like he was the cake and Dee was placing enough candles in him to make up for every birthday his mother had missed celebrating.
“Its okay,” Remus says, tugging his arm away before Dee can turn him into a house fire that burns down the whole block.
“Remus--”
Remus stands up. “I need to make a phone call.”
Remus doesn’t need to make a phone call. He probably shouldn’t make a phone call.
“Remus!” Dee says standing up too. He’s taller this week, today, now, than he’s been before. He’s got an inch on Remus, and he uses that inch to look down at him and breathe like every inhale might be his last. There’s blood on his hands from trying to mop up where Dee had clawed him. Remus can feel the warmth of his blood trailing down his fingers even now.
“What the hell is up with you right now!” He demands in a way that makes Remus’s stomach churn, that makes his knees weak and his throat feel all lumpy in all the wrong places.
He should be mad. Dee should be furious at him for ignoring him all day, for driving them through a handful of states, for not pausing for bathroom breaks or any type of food, for not waking him when he stopped at the rest stop. He should be so angry he can’t see straight, so enraged that he stood up and grabbed the keys and drive the fuck away from here. He should be mad.
So why does he sound so scared?
“Is this about the Mall?” Dee asks, “I can do better, Remus, please! I’m sorry!”
He’s babbling like a brook, about things in the mall that Remus barely remembered because it was a day and a half ago and three, four, five states gone. He’s talking about the Mall the same way that eight-year-old Roman had been apologizing for name calling, while Remus was three sheets in the wind during a tornado on his own thoughts.
“No,” Remus says, which is about as effective as shoving his finger in a hole in a dam.
The parking lot lights make Dee look like he’s standing in a spotlight on stage. Remus hates the sight, hates the feeling that they’re putting on a production for someone else's entertainment, hates that he should know his lines by now and because he doesn’t he's ruining everything around him.
Dee moves like a clockwork mannequin with rusted gears. Remus thinks he can hear each individual gear screech as his back straightens and his weight shifts back and Dee looks more like Roman than he’d ever know.
“N--n--” Dee repeats, “No?”
As if he didn’t know what the word meant.
“Like….no I can’t do better?”
-- “Like, No Get Back in the Fucking Car, Dee!” Remus explodes.---
--“Like No, Leave me alone for five seconds!” Remus erupts.---
--”Like No, Its not your fault I’m a fucking mess!” Remus chokes.---
--- “Like No, Its not your fault. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”--
-- “Like No, I’m making bad decisions and I’m sorry and I don’t know what to do and I know that you don’t really love me the way you think you do because no one ever loves me that way. Like No, this is a future that I’m not going to choose but I wish I had because keeping this all in my chest hurts like a little bitch, Dee. It hurts so bad. Like no. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m going to have such a nose bleed from this one, and because you’re you, you’ll know that I’ve been bullshitting my way through this for a good while. My power’s broken, Dee. Don’t you see? And once I tell you what's going to be left for you to stay?.”---
“Like No,” Remus says, defeated. “I don’t even remember what happened at the Mall.”
Dee stares at him with stolen sapphire eyes, with an emotion he can’t place, with wordless questions Remus doesn’t want to answer.
He doesn’t know what time it is.
A drip of his blood leaks down his lip and lands on the asphalt at his feet. That’s okay.
He breathes in the dry air, feeling it scratch down his throat and butcher his lungs with each inhale. “I...need to make this phone call.”
“Why?” Dee pleads, and Remus thinks that if even Dee can tell it will end badly, he should know better than to go through with it.
But Remus has been thinking too much lately, about too many things. He’s been trapped up in his own head, and the last people he tried to let help him gave up on him.
And he still can’t give up on them.
“It’s her birthday,” Remus says with a smile that borders on deranged, “And she tried, you know?”
He doesn’t know. Remus can tell by the look on Dee’s face. But that’s okay. They made a pact after all, after that first night, that they wouldn’t get personal, that discussions of feelings were off the table. And Dee had said in a future that hadn’t happened that Remus was an investment that will pay out one day. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know.
“Remus,” Dee says, controlling the stage like he was born to do it. “What will she say?”
Remus shrugs and turns away because he’s never been able to make it past intermission of any production he’s watched. The fifty in his hand has splatterings of blood, his arm aches and whines as he uses it to smear away the waterfall from his nose. At least a couple of the sidewalk lights are broken so he doesn’t scare every single normal person chilling at the rest stop as he walks up.
Remus is twenty one and four months, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t waste forty seven dollars on snacks from a vending machine just to get the change in quarters to call cross country. He’s not hungry but he peels open a Cliff bar and takes a bite anyway. The rest of the food he leaves on the patio floor around the vending machine for whatever comes by, be it the kids he can hear yelling or the raccoons watching from the tree line.
He glances back at the car, their car, Dee’s car. Just to make sure its still there. That Dee didn’t drive off without him.
Dee hadn’t, didn’t, doesn’t. He’s sitting in the driver's seat with the door wide open, half in half out, and it looks like he was fiddling with the radio again.
Remus tosses the other half of the bar into the trashcan and walks the last three steps to the payphones.
She had tried. Remus puts the phone to his ear and tries to remember how to breathe.
The buttons are stiff. Remus’s knuckle leaves behind traces of his blood as he dials. The back of his throat tastes like his inside of his stomach. There’s a gritty feeling along his teeth and the bottom of his mouth from the Cliff Bar. He’s knees tremble to the sound of the ringing, leaving him swaying in the too-long silences, in the bated breaths, in the calm before the hurricane.
“Hi! It's the Regis Family! We’re not available right now, but if you leave your name and number, we’ll get back to you!”
Remus’s mouth tastes like blood. He swallows it down, breathes through the rest of the message, the beep and another moment where his chest just aches with a billion words he doesn’t know how to say.
“H….hey.” His voice is raspy. Why is his voice so raspy? He clears his throat. “I, uh...I was calling to say, Happy Birthday. Hope it was a good one. That’s all. B--”
“--Hello?”
Remus’s jaw clicks shut at the noise, the words, the voice. Because even four years later Remus knows it like the back of his hand, can still imagine it screaming his name in the store, of it laughing as she brushed through his curls, of it whispering softly that everything is fine, everything is okay, I’m right here, Remus.
“Ha, Hi! Sorry about that, you caught us just as we were getting back to the house! Oh, this is embarrassing… Who is this? Our caller ID isn’t working…”
She trails off.
Remus thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe.
She sounds out of breath, flushed and happy and excited in a way that he doesn’t remember her ever being before. His vision tunnels through memories, through scenes in his head where she’s smiled and laughed and giggled the way she’s doing right now. He’s coming up blank.
He grabs the wall to keep himself steady.
“Hello?”
“I’m here,” Remus croaks.
She’s different now. So is he. Everything is different and the world seems to stop at that mind blowing statement.
“.....I’m sorry,” She says, “I really need to know who this is, now.”
Remus should hang up.
Remus needs to hang up.
He laughs, like he’s on death row, like the barrel of a gun in on his temple, like his foot just left the ledge.
“What?” He asks, “Can’t a mother recognize the sound of her own son's voice?”
There’s a breath. A moment. A second. Remus feels it. Like it's tangible, palpable, real. Like all the clocks in the world decided to stop. Like a tick without a tock. Like the past and the present and the future didn’t exist at all. There’s a breath, and Remus thinks that she had tried once, maybe she could try again.
They both could try again.
“Oh my god. Is that...Baby, is that really you? I’m so sorry for what I said. You were right.”
“Wait--”
“You’re always right. And I’m sorry about-- about everything. Please let me make it up to you?” His mother says and Remus gets a sinking feeling in his chest.
“What--”
“Or at least talk about it? Can we do that?” His mother says and Remus should have hung up.
“Mom--”
“Can you come back home, Roman?” His mother says and Remus sees red.
Because, of course, she thought he was Roman. Of course.
Red is the color of Roman. The color of his jacket and his shoes and the ball Remus should have thrown into the road when they were eight. The color of a past Remus can’t get rid of because every time he does anything he can only hear Roman’s voice in his head or picture his mom with her red lipstick telling him to take his pills and stop being so abnormal. It’s the color of a future that he can’t reach because every time he gets a little bit of hope he’s reminded that he’s unnecessary and forgettable.
Red is the color of Remus’s blood that looks just like his twin’s but somehow has always been valued less to their mother.
He squeezes the handle of the phone so hard his fingers go numb from the pain, and the scarf around his wrist turns scarlet. His body trembles and bubbles and boils like its housing a volcano ready to erupt, or a thousand termites are trying to chew their way out of him, or every atom in his body is trying to shake themselves apart.
Remus is twenty one and four months old and he hangs up the phone so hard that it pops right back out of the slot and swings to the ground by its cord.
He doesn’t fix it. In fact he doesn’t even see it because he’s too busy seeing red. Too busy seeing Roman’s head collide with the bumper of a silver sedan, too busy seeing Roman’s neck break when he falls off the swingset wrong, too busy seeing Roman’s body on the ground of his carpet surrounded by the shattered remains of a snowglobe, too busy seeing all the things he should have done or let happen or helped happen.
Too busy knowing that hindsight is 2020 and Remus’s insides suddenly want to be outsides and his arm hurts and he wants to--
He wants to--
--“REMUS!” Dee shrieks from across the parking lot, sprinting towards him because he forgot that he can shapeshift into something faster. There’s a terror in his eyes, a fear, a horror in his expression that's like being stuck under a collapsed building and knowing that no one is gonna come. “REMUS! SOMEONE HELP!”---
--“REMUS!” Dee shrieks from across the parking lot, sprinting towards him because he forgot that he can shapeshift into something faster. There’s a terror in his eyes, a fear, a horror in his expression that's like being stuck under a collapsed building and knowing that no one is gonna come. “REMUS! SOMEONE HELP!”
But no one is close enough and Remus’s knots are a practiced stubborn thing that has his body convulsing before Dee remembers he can make claws and cut the scarf off.---
--“REMUS!” Dee shrieks from across the parking lot, sprinting towards him because he forgot that he can shapeshift into something faster. There’s a terror in his eyes, a fear, a horror in his expression that's like being stuck under a collapsed building and knowing that no one is gonna come. “REMUS! SOMEONE HELP!”
But no one is close enough and Remus’s knots are a practiced stubborn thing that has his body convulsing before Dee remembers he can make claws and cut the scarf off.
But by then Remus is already dead.---
But no that’s not right.
He doesn’t want to die.
His mouth tastes like metal, and he’s so sick of the taste of metal, of the smell of blood, of the sight of red on his clothes and on him. He’s so sick of being the weird twin, of being the one everyone wants to forget, of being gifted with a power that's so shitty it his own body rejects it. He’s so, so sick.
And tired.
And angry.
That he spent all day trying to figure out what to say to his mother and she doesn’t even remember him. That his family pushed him away and now he watches himself jump off buildings or into traffic or off tables at a rest stop. That his skin feels too small and his mind too big and that there is absolutely nothing wrong with him but everyone still treated him like there was.
“Pardon me,” A voice says to his left. “Hello? Sir? You seem to be bleeding...”
It belongs to a guy with glasses, big thick blocky glasses that match every other part of him: his sharp jawline, his stiff spine, his set shoulders. It belongs to a guy with hair so dark it might as well have been a black hole, with eyes swirling with so many blues they looked like nebulas, with skin so pale it might as well have been the surface of the moon. It belongs to a guy that reaches out oh so carefully and touches Remus’s shoulder to check that he’s alright and---
-- “A stick in the mud?” Logan suggests sourly as they walk. The rain speckles his glasses and plasters his hair to his head.
“I was gonna say prude, but that works too,” His younger brother shrugs, sipping loudly from his drink. “Girl, you really just need to loosen up. You’re always so stressed!”
“I do not need to loosen up,” Logan counters, “In fact, if anything, I need to tighten up my interactions with people more. You saw what happened to the baristas at the Starbucks.”
“Yeah, and it was Awesome!” His brother motions to the drink in his hand, “Free drinks!”
“Will it still be awesome when they get fired and lose their source of income because they unwittingly gave away merchandise to customers?” Logan asks. He tugs his jackets around him tighter, hunching his shoulders and wishing that between the two of them they had thought to bring at least one umbrella.
His brother rolls his eyes because the rain doesn’t bother him anymore than the slight chill or the cars passing dangerously close to their sidewalk. “Honey,” He says, “Its two free drinks. It’s not gonna kill the infrastructure.”
Logan grunts, dismissing the rest of the argument as he was prone to do more often these days. “Remind me again why we’re here.”
“That prince dude is supposed to be around here today!”
“You mean, Princeps,” Logan corrects. “Assumedly named after the swordsmen from Roman armies pre-Marian reforms. Which does not make any sense considering that he does not carry a sword and his perceived power does not--”
“I wanna get his autograph!”
Logan squints back at his brother. “You want the autograph of a man who is running around the country in tights? You don’t even have anything for him to sign.”
His brother shakes his mostly empty drink and points to the spot right below where the barista had scratched out his own name, not that Logan can see it, or anything. “Duh.”
Logan shakes his head, as his brother prattles on about Princeps face, his biceps, his thighs. And as much as Logan enjoys listening to his brother talk about things that interest him, he wishes that it was something other than men that thought “superhero” was a stable dayjob. He sighs and removes his glasses and to clean them as best as he can with the raindrops being the nice of dimes.z
He hates the rain, hates that he couldn’t ever see more than three feet when it so much as sprinkled, hates that his brother has no such problems at all and can continue walking without a care in the world.
“LOGAN!” His brother yells.
And Logan has just enough time to feel his stomach jump straight to his throat, before he walks blindly into an open manhole. His forehead slams on the outer rim so hard he sees actual stars in the corners of his blurry vision. And he fumbles and flails and falls and...
And the empty air catches him, covets him, carries him off. Because he’s dead as soon as his head hits the concrete floor ten feet below---
Remus inhales like he’s been drowning for the past four years, and hasn’t been able to find the surface. He stumbles back from the stranger who had approached him, from the man who has a younger brother, who doesn’t like superheroes, who’s name is Logan. He stumbles back and feels the whole Earth roll under his feet, turning the solid ground to an uneven puddy.
Logan jerks back as well, be it shock or surprise or something in between and equally bad. He looks at Remus, the way that the first dealer from the Basilisk Casino had, the way that the new freshmen at their high school had when the older kids told them to steer clear of the guy who looked just like the theater star, the way that Roman had when he had first seen the orange bottle of pills that were supposed to make Remus not cry all the time.
“My apologies, you seemed to be in distre--” Logan starts.
“Don’t touch me,” Remus says quicker, louder, angrier. Because Logan doesn’t know that he’s going to die some day in the future, that its going to be a stupid sudden death, that his brother that he actually loves and whom loves him back is going to witness it. Because Remus doesn’t know why he knows either.
His skin blisters and bubbles and itches in a way that tells him he needs to take it off. His arm burns from the scratches, his blood is making his hand and wrist all sticky and his head feels a bit like cotton. His mouth tastes like Starbucks Hot chocolate and ash.
“Don’t touch me,” Remus says again, because he feels radioactive and can smell petrichor in the air and everything about it is wrong. If he says anything else he thinks he might throw up or cry or both and he doesn’t think anything other than more blood can come up.
Remus turns and runs.
“Remus?” Dee asks, when Remus throws himself into the passenger seat the way he should have that morning.
Remus shakes his head. And keeps shaking it because if he stops his thoughts will catch up and then they’ll really be in trouble.
“Drive,” He manages between his inconsolable gulps for air.
“Where?” Dee asks.
“Don’t care.”
He doesn’t. He just needs to be somewhere other than here.
Remus is twenty one and four months and he’s no stranger to travelling without a destination. Dee buckles his seat belt and pulls out of the parking spot without another word. Remus brings his knees to his head and counts, and counts, and counts. If he closes his eyes he thinks that he might see the silhouette of Logan standing next to the payphones staring at his hand still so he doesn’t close his eyes.
“That’s just what I’m saying, John.” The radio says, “All these new people with what can only be classified as “superpowers” and what is the Police doing about this? Nothing!”
“Hotel,” Dee says, “We can order some food there and actually look at those marks on your arm.”
“Whatever,” Remus says.
“Well what do you expect the Police to do?” The radio says, “Their answer to everything is “shoot it.” I don’t know about you, but I don’t want the police shooting at a kid who just so happened to be able to make lightning. You heard about that incident in the Idahoan Mall didn't you? Times are changing. It's up to the people to police themselves now.”
Dee sticks his tongue out ever so slightly, like a snake smelling the air.
“You’re encouraging the actions of people like that dragon guy from that incident? The child from that event is in the hospital right now.
“So is the man that had been robbing the store. Which is better than him being the morgue. I’m not saying that I think that putting children in the hospital is a good idea! I’m saying that only protecting the lives of “good” people is telling everyone to become judge, jury, and executioner. The Idaho Mall Incident could have been handled better-- in fact I think if the new guy, the one around the east wearing the white? You know the one I’m talking about, Karen.”
“Yeah, yeah, the Prince? I think he called himself Prince.”
“Yes. If the Prince had been the one who had handled the Idaho Mall, it could have been handled completely peacefully, without either parties having ended up in the hospital.”
Dee grips the steering wheel, tightly.
Remus reaches out and turns the radio off.
[Part 5]
#Deja vu AU#remus sanders#Janus Sanders#sanders sides#Logan Sanders#roman sanders#tw:blood#tw:suicide#Remus is not having a good time#Demus#Oh look!! A wild Logan!!#And a peek at what Roman has been up too#oooh its almost like....Roman has a power too#ooooo#remus angst#this boy needs some therapy I'm so sorry#Anyone else really hate Remus's mom?
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I made a slightly condensed version of my Spooky Ref list; it still has a heck ton of movies and books, but now I combined certain categories, eliminated a few, and removed some of the titles that don’t quite fit. If you are looking for things to watch or read so you can get into the Halloween mood (or of you just like some creepy content), here you go!
Movies and Books for October
These range from children’s media to adult content, so be sure to check the ratings/reviews, this way you’ll find ones that are suitable for the right viewers. The dates of movies and names of authors for books are included to make searches easier
(a * symbol is for when a title is in both sections, a book that got made into a movie, ect)
Halloween and Ghosts
Movies- Hocus Pocus (1993), *the Halloween Tree (1993), the Nightmare before Christmas (1993), Trick r Treat (2007), Monster House (2006), Halloweentown (1998), the Legend of Sleepy Hollow (1949), Scary Godmother Halloween Spooktacular (2003), Poltergeist (1982), the Haunting (1999), Casper (1995), Ghostbusters (1984), the Haunted Mansion (2003), Thirteen Ghosts (2001), the Others (2001)
Books- How to Drive Your Family Crazy on Halloween by Dean Marney,*the Halloween Tree by Ray Bradbury, the Haunted Mask (Goosebumps) by RL Stine, Dark Harvest by Norman Partridge, Stonewords a Ghost Story by Pam Conrad, Deep and Dark and Dangerous by Mary Downing Hahn, Ghost Beach (Goosebumps) by RL Stine, All the Lovely Bad Ones by Mary Downing Hahn, the Crossroads by Chris Grabenstein, Wait Till Helen Comes by Mary Downing Hahn
Witch/ESP/Mental Powers
Movies- *Practical Magic (1998), *the Wizard of Oz (1939), *the Witches (1990), Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989), Scooby-Doo and the Witch’s Ghost (1999) *Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (2001), the Craft (1996), the Witches of Eastwick (1987), *Carrie (1976), *Firstarter (1984), *Matilda (1996), the Last Mimzy (2007)
Books- *Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman, *the Witches by Roald Dahl, Charmed Life by Diana Wynne Jones, *Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by JK Rowling, *the Wizard of Oz by L Frank Baum, T*Witches by HB Gilmour and Randi Reisfeld, the Worst Witch by Jill Murphy, *Carrie by Stephen King, *Firestarter by Stephen King, *Matilda by Roald Dahl, Scorpion Shards (Star Shards Chronicles) by Neal Shusterman, the Witch’s Boy by Michael Gruber
Vampire and Werewolf
Movies- Blade (1998), the Little Vampire (2000), Hellboy Blood and Iron (2007), *Hotel Transylvania (2012), Fright Night (2011), What We Do in the Shadows (2014), Alvin and the Chipmunks meet The Wolfman (2000), Ginger Snaps (2000), Van Helsing (2004) Wolf Children (2012), the Wolfman (1941)
Books- Bunnicula by James and Deborah Howe, Dracula by Bram Stoker, ‘Salem’s Lot by Stephen King, Red Rider’s Hood by Neal Shusterman, the Werewolf of Fever Swamp (Goosebumps) by RL Stine, Werewolves Don't Go to Summer Camp (Bailey School Kids) by Debbie Dadey and Marcia Jones, Blood and Chocolate by Annette Curtis Klause, Night of the Werepoodle by Constance Hiser
Zombies and Slasher/Gore
Movies- Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island (1998), ParaNorman (2012), Night of the Living Dead (1968), *Pet Sematary (1989), Zombieland (2009), Resident Evil (2002), Dawn of the Dead (2004) Scream (1996), a Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), *I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997), Kill Bill (2003), Happy Death Day (2017), the Hills Have Eyes (2006), US (2019), Friday the 13th (1980), the Thing (1982), *the Girl with all the Gifts (2016)
Books- *Pet Sematary by Stephen King, the Haunting of Derek Stone by Tony Abott, Welcome to Dead House (Goosebumps) by RL Stine, *I know What You Did Last Summer by Lois Duncan, the Dark Half by Stephen King, The Dead Girlfriend (Point Horror) by RL Stine, Another by Yukito Ayatsuji, the Prom Queen (Fear Street) by RL Stine, *the Girl with all the Gifts by MR Carey
Demons/Possession/Afterlife
Movies- the Omen (1976), Insidious (2010), the Exorcist (1973), *Christine (1983), City of Angels (1998), All Dogs go to Heaven (1989), Fallen (1998), *Rosemary’s Baby (1968), Bedazzled (2000), What Dreams May Come (1998), the Book of Life (2014), Flatliners (2017), *the Lovely Bones (2009), Coco (2017), Jennifer’s Body (2009), the Mummy (1999)
Books- *Christine by Stephen King, Needful Things by Stephen King, HECK where the bad kids go by Dale E Bayse,* Rosemary’s Baby by Ira Levin, Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, Paradise Lost by John Milton, Inferno by Dante Alighieri, *the Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
Monsters/Mythology/Dangerous Animals
Movies- Monsters Inc (2001), Godzilla (1998), *a Monster Calls (2016), *Jurassic Park (1993), King Kong (1933), Doug’s 1st Movie (1999), Darkness Falls (2003), Atlantis the lost empire (2001), Sinbad Legend of the Seven Seas (2003), *the Last Unicorn (1982), Urban Legend (1998), *How to Train Your Dragon (2010), the Flight of Dragons (1982), Shrek (2001), *the Hobbit (1977), Quest for Camelot (1998), Ferngully the last rainforest (1992), Lake Placid (1999), Jaws (1975), *Cujo (1983), Deep Blue Sea (1999), Anaconda (1997)
Books- *a Monster Calls by Patrick Ness, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, *Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton, Sasquatch by Roland Smith, *the Last Unicorn by Peter S Beagle, the Moorchild by Eloise Jarvis McGraw, the Lightning Thief (Percy Jackson and the Olympians) by Rick Riordan, the Boggart by Susan Cooper, *How to Train Your Dragon by Cressida Cowell, Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher by Bruce Coville, *the Hobbit by JRR Tolkien, *Cujo by Stephen King, Cat in the Crypt (Animal Ark Hauntings) by Ben M Baglio, Congo by Michael Crichton, Watership Down by Richard Adams, the Dark Pond by Joseph Bruchac
Dolls and Toys, Circus/Carnival/Clowns, Comedy Horror
Movies- *Coraline (2009), the Adventures of Pinocchio (1996), Child’s Play (1988), Toy Story (1995), 9 (2009), We’re Back a dinosaur’s story (1993), the Care Bears Movie (1985), Little Nemo adventures in Slumberland (1989), *Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983), *Big Top Scooby-Doo (2012), Killer Klowns from Outer Space, *IT (2017), *Beetlejuice (1988), Army of Darkness (1992), Gremlins (1984), Arachnophobia (1990), Jawbreaker (1999), Tremors (1990), the Frighteners (1996), Twilight Zone the Movie (1983), Little Shop of Horrors (1986), Eight Legged Freaks (2002), the Goonies (1985)
Books- Frozen Charlotte by Alex Bell, *Coraline by Neil Gaiman, No Flying in the House by Betty Brock, Doll Bones by Holly Black, Joyland by Stephen King, *Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, the Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, *IT by Stephen King, the Cuckoo Clock of Doom (Goosebumps) by RL Stine, a Dirty Job by Christopher Moore jr, Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (Treasury) by Alvin Schwartz and illustrated by Stephen Gammell, JTHM (Director’s Cut) by Jhonen Vasquez
Gothic/Dark Fantasy, Curse/Transformation
Movies- *the Addams Family (1991), Rebecca (1940), Edward Scissorhands (1990), Mama (2013), the Phantom of the Opera (2004), Crimson Peak (2010), Legend (1985), the Dark Crystal (1982), Labyrinth (1986), *the Neverending Story (1984), *the Secret of NIMH (1982), Anastasia (1997), Howl’s Moving Castle (2004), Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), Willow (1988), *the Last Unicorn (1982), the Princess Bride (1987), *Legend of the Guardians the Owls of Ga'Hoole, Beauty and the Beast (1991), the Princess and the Frog (2009), the Swan Princess (1994), the Thing (1982), the Mask (1994), Freaky Friday (2003), Song of the Sea (2014), Pirates of the Caribbean the Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Books- the Raven by Edgar Allen Poe, the Shining by Stephen King, Remember Me by Mary Higgins Clark, a Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket, Well Witched (Verdigris Deep) by Frances Hardinge, Poison by Chris Wooding, *the Neverending Story by Michael Ende, *Mrs Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert C O'Brien, a Tale Dark and Grimm by Adam Gidwitz, the Dark Portal by Robin Jarvis, Zel by Donna Jo Napoli, *the Last Unicorn by Peter S Beagle, *Guardians of Ga’Hoole by Kathryn Lasky, Owl in Love by Patrice Kindl
Mystery/Thriller/Psychological/Suspense
Movies- Clue (1985), *Holes (2003), Get Out (2017), Hot Fuzz (2007), Minority Report (2002), Kidnap (2017), Saw (2004), Wind River (2017), Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988), the Great Mouse Detective (1986), Eve’s Bayou (1997), Breaking In (2018), Cube (1997), *Secret Window (2004), Silent Hill (2006), the Sixth Sense (1999), the Good Son (1993), Psycho (1960), Donnie Darko (2001), Fargo (1996), the Game (1997), the Invisible Man (2020), Breaking In (2018)
Books- *Holes by Louis Sachar, the Lost (the Outer Limits) by John Peel, We’ll Meet Again by Mary Higgins Clark, When the Bough Breaks by Jonathan Kellerman, *Secret Window Secret Garden (Four Past Midnight) by Stephen King, House of Stairs by William Sleator, Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, Dolores Claiborne by Stephen King, Tangerine by Edward Bloor, Lord of the Flies by William Golding, the Girl who Loved Tom Gordon by Stephen King
Sci-Fi/Space Aliens, Robots and Technology
Movies- I Robot (2004), the Iron Giant (1999), the Terminator (1984), AI artificial intelligence (2001), the Stepford Wives (2004), Wall-E (2008), *Screamers (1995), *Sphere (1998), *Blade Runner (1982), *2001 a Space Odyssey (1968), MIB (1997), Mission to Mars (2000), Galaxy Quest (1999), Alien (1979), ET the extra terrestrial (1982), Independence Day (1996), Spaced Invaders (1990), Buzz Lightyear of Star Command the Adventure Begins (2000), Chicken Little (2005), *War of the Worlds (1953), *Contact (1997), Signs (2002), Treasure Planet (2002), Frequency (2000), Back to the Future (1985), the Time Machine (1960), Planet of the Apes (1968), Lost in Space (1998)
Books- the Terminal Man by Michael Crichton, Feed by Matthew Tobin Anderson, *Second Variety (Screamers) by Phillip K Dick, *I Robot by Isaac Asimov, Cell by Stephen King, *Sphere by Michael Crichton, *Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep (Blade Runner) by Philip K Dick , *2001 a Space Odyssey by Arthur C Clarke, a Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle, Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card, the Dark Side of Nowhere by Neal Shusterman, *War of the Worlds by HG Wells, *Contact by Carl Sagan, Childhood’s End by Arthur C Clarke, Aliens Don’t Wear Braces (the Baily School Kids) by Debbie Dadey and Marcia Jones, the Invasion (Animorphs) by KA Applegate
Dystopia/Disaster, Other Worlds
Movies- Waterworld (1995), the Matrix (1999), Escape from New York (1981), *Demolition Man (1993), the Day After Tomorrow (2004), Volcano (1997), the Fifth Element (1997), Titan AE (2000), Armageddon (1998), Twister (1996), the Birds (1963), the Book of Eli, (2010) Spirited Away (2001), *Alice in Wonderland (1951), Pleasantville (1998), *the Phantom Tollbooth (1970), *the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005), *Hook (1991), the Pagemaster (1994), *James and the Giant Peach (1996)
Books- Among the Hidden by Margaret Peterson Haddix, Uglies by Scott Westerfeld, the Road by Cormac McCarthy, the House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer, 1984 by George Orwell, Armageddon Summer by Bruce Coville and Jane Yolen, the Giver by Lois Lowry, the City of Ember by Jeanne DuPrau, *Brave New World (Demolition Man) by Aldous Huxley, Malice by Chris Wooding, * the Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster, *Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, the Golden Compass (His Dark Materials) by Philip Pullman, *The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe (the Chronicles of Narnia) by CS Lewis, *James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
Anime/Manga and J-Horror
Movies- Akira (1988), Perfect Blue (1997), Ring (1998), Dark Water (2002), Ghost in the Shell (1995), Tokyo Godfathers (2003), Cat Soup (2001), *Cowboy Bebop the Movie (2001), Blood the Last Vampire (2000), Pokemon the First Movie (1998), Sailor Moon R Promise of the Rose (1993), DBZ the World’s Strongest (1990), Digimon the Movie (2000), Ju-On (2000)
Manga- Claymore by Norihiro Yagi, Death Note by Tsugumi Ohba and illustrated by Takeshi Obata, *Yu Yu Hakusho by Yoshihiro Togashi, *Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa, *Blue Exorcist by Kazue Katō, *Soul Eater by Atsushi Ōkubo, *Inuyasha by Rumiko Takahashi,
Anime- *Yu Yu Hakusho, *Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood, *Soul Eater, *Blue Exorcist, *Inuyasha, *Cowboy Bebop, Mob Psycho 100, .hack//SIGN , the Promised Neverland, Paranoia Agent, Tokyo Ghoul, Hellsing Ultimate
Super Hero
Movies- Hellboy (2004), Ghost Rider (2007), the Incredibles (2004), Batman Beyond return of the Joker (2000), TMNT (2007), Logan (2017), Black Panther (2018), Sky High (2005), Spider-Man into the Spider-Verse (2018), Justice League Crisis on Two Earths (2010), Batman Under the Red Hood (2010)
Comics- Animal Man (New 52, 2011) DC Comics, Swamp Thing (New 52, 2011) DC Comics, BPRD Dark Waters (2012) Dark Horse Comics, Nextwave (Agents of HATE, 2006) Marvel Comics
Animated Series- Batman the Animated Series, X-Men Evolution, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2003), Darkwing Duck, the Powerpuff Girls, Teen Titans (2005), Static Shock, Green Lantern the Animated Series
Cartoons and TV shows
Over the Garden Wall, The Simpsons (Treehouse of Horrors), Regular Show (Terror Tales of the Park), Adventure Time (Stakes), Scooby-Doo Where Are You/What’s New Scooby-Doo, El Tigre the Adventures of Manny Rivera, Phineas and Ferb (Night of the Living Pharmacists), Gravity Falls, Good Omens, Miracle Workers, Grimm, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, What We Do In the Shadows, Hotel Transylvania the series, Wolf’s Rain, Danny Phantom, Aaahh Real Monsters, the Munsters, So Weird, Tutenstein, Gargoyles, Xena Warrior Princess, Are You Afraid of the Dark, Tales from the Crypt, Goosebumps, Samurai Jack, Metalocalypse, Super Jail, My Life as a Teenage Robot, Futurama, the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy, *Beetlejuice (animated series), Sabrina the Animated Series, the Owl House, Bewitched, Growing Up Creepy, the Addams Family (animated series), a Series of Unfortunate Events, Courage the Cowardly Dog, Star VS the Forces of Evil, Amphibia, Infinity Train, Penn Zero Part-Time Hero, Murder She Wrote, the Venture Bros, Avatar the Last Airbender, Invader ZIM, People of Earth, Star Trek Next Gen, Rick and Morty, Buzz Lightyear of Star Command
#text#ref#movies#books#spooky#horror#creepy#movie list#book list#halloween#halloween movies#halloween books
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My Best Reads of 2020 (So Far)
Now that we’ve made it halfway (and a bit) through 2020, I have decided to do a roundup of the best books I’ve read this year before the end of June. I usually do a retrospective of my favorite books at the end of the year, but this year I have read far more books than usual – the current count is 96. Books appear in alphabetic order. I have not included any old favorites that I have re-read this year.
10 Minutes and 38 Seconds in This Strange World by Elif Shafak
Elif Shafak is my favorite author and The Bastard of Istanbul is my favorite book. Every single piece of writing by Shafak I have read, both fiction and non-fiction, has been brilliant and this book lived up to my high expectations. The story of Tequila Leila is both extraordinary and relatable and I found the circle of close friends that she has taken as an adopted family to be powerful and heartwarming. Though the book is centered around the murder of Leila, the story does not have a heavy vibe. Instead, it is a celebration of Leila’s life and trials. Everyone should have such supportive and devoted friends. I’ll leave you with a thoughtful quote:
“No one should philosophize on the nature of humanity until they had worked in a public toilet for a couple of weeks.”
Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi
This one was very short and it only took me an evening to get through it, but it left an impression on me. I found the characters’ heartbreaks and hopes to be relatable and the writing style to be minimalist, but not sparing. It was a thoughtful escape from the stress of living under new lockdown restrictions and an opportunity for self-reflection. It also made me crave a nice hot cup of coffee.
Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo
I am not the only one to be enamored of this book, so I won’t say much about it, except that it lives up to the hype. It, alone, deserved to be the Booker prize winner.
I’ll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara
I consume a lot of true crime content, but this one is different from anything I’ve read or listened to before. McNamara has a special compassion for the victims of the Golden State Killer, which I also internalized, as the reader, without being saccharine, cheesy, or engaging in a creepy type of victim reverence that comes up in other high-profile murders, like JonBenét Ramsey. It also does not veer into reverence for the killer, in the way some content concerning Ted Bundy does. It has a balance and a sensitivity that all true crime media should aim for in their output.
Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel
I borrowed this from a friend over a year ago and I finally read this in early March, right when people started getting a little antsy about the pandemic. I found the parallels of the Georgia Flu to the current pandemic oddly comforting. Even after much of humanity has been wiped out by the virus, the survivors still produce and reproduce music and theater for entertainment. The story opens with the unrelated death of a famous actor, Arthur Leander, onstage and follows characters that are all linked to him in some way. The actor’s first wife, Miranda, was my favorite of these characters, and I found her arc and legacy to be the most poignant. I am on my library’s waitlist for Mandel’s next book The Glass Hotel and I am very excited.
The Camomile Lawn by Mary Wesley
My recent discovery (and binge) of Caroline O’Donoghue’s podcast Sentimental Garbage led me to this gem. I have many war novels, but this one has a unique vibe. The Camomile Lawn follows five young cousins, Calypso, Polly, Walter, Oliver, and Sophy, on the brink of adulthood at the beginning of WWII, their trials through the war, and their eventual reunion forty years later. Like 10 Minutes 38 Seconds, it’s a character-driven story and it outlines the ways in which all the cousins process their various war traumas. It captures the emotional rollercoaster of trying to carry on a normal life while the world is in pandemonium and moves between intense cruelty and pleasant lightness. I can’t wait to read it again.
The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern
I loved The Night Circus, so I was excited to read this book, and it far exceeded my expectations. The focus on stories, storytelling, books, and libraries warmed my little book-lover heart. The prose is beautiful, and the story is inventive. I was surprised by every twist and found nothing predictable. When I was finished, I had to fight the urge to start the book over again immediately.
#books#books and libraries#book review#10 minutes 38 seconds in this strange world#elif şafak#elif shafak#before the coffee gets cold#toshikazu kawaguchi#girl woman other#bernardine evaristo#i'll be gone in the dark#michelle mcnamara#station eleven#station 11#emily st john mandel#the camomile lawn#mary wesley#the starless sea#erin morgenstern
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