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whatavery · 3 months

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Zester (Comm.)

A little commission for Rhys (ChessSoot) over on Twitter, featuring his OC Chester Woods and everyone's favorite mess of a man, Zib having a little talk after Chester's first show.

...

Stepping off the stage, the high that came with performing for the first time didn’t leave Chester, his heart beating with a strange, fluttery feeling. It was exhilarating, exciting to be up there in front of so many people. It was his first time, despite how long he'd spent practicing with the band and not just his first time performing with them, but his first time on stage altogether.

Well, that wasn't entirely true.

Chester had played for people before, but not on a stage as big as this one. Sure the crowds weren't big these days, but it was still quite an experience. He was grateful for Mozzie Alonzo, the resident pianist letting him play tonight. Chester was the reserve; he practiced with the band just the same as Mozzie, but he didn’t usually go on stage.

Being dressed in an outfit of white and gray, Chester felt like he fit in with the band, even if his attire was considerably less colorful than theirs. Just being dressed similarly gave him a sense of belonging, which had been a rarity since his Atlantic crossing.

Chester emerged from the Artist’s Lounge backstage where the rest of the band were packing up; being a pianist, Chester couldn’t exactly pack up the piano. Zib, had left his saxophone in the large arm chair back there, and exited rather hastily. It had been a long night of playing, they’d gone through their set list, even with the limited audience present.

Dorian Zibowski was an interesting man. Although Mitzi May was his employer, Chester still looked to Zib as his unofficial boss. Entering the rather sparsely populated speakeasy, Chester spotted him up by the bar.

As he crossed the cave floor, Chester glanced upwards. Seeing cave ceiling was something he’d never get used to… same with the entire idea of speakeasies. Here in the States, he couldn’t just walk into a pub and order a pint of whatever he wanted.

“Some show, eh?” Chester asked in a politely upbeat tone as he sank down on the stool next to Zib. The red-clad cat was slouched over the counter, smoking a cigarette. His red hat partially covered his eyes, but he adjusted it to fully reveal his face when Chester spoke.

“Ah, right, that was your first time. How’re you feeling?” Zib asked with the slightest hint of a smirk on his lean, angular, handsome face.

The Somali cat offered Zib a small smile as his fluffy, brown tail gave a twitch. “I had a great time. Hopefully Mozzie lets me do some more shows soon-… What?”

“Oh, nothing,” the orange tabby replied, still smirking. “Just still can’t get used to how you talk.”

“Ah… well, I have been practicing my American ac-”

Zib shook his head, before he blew a swirling puff of smoke up towards the ceiling. “No need, it’s charming, I like it.”

Charming? Chester was taken aback and Zib seemed to chuckle at the look on his face. Slightly flustered, Chester smiled at Zib. “Well, thanks… So, you’ve all been playing a lot of shows in here, right?”

“We have. We’ve been employed here for a few years now,” Zib said, his tone turning a bit sour, which didn’t escape Chester’s notice. He shook his head before taking a drag of his cigarette again. “Things used to be a lot more lively, but we make do.”

Chester nodded slowly. He had heard that Lackadaisy used to be the talk of the town, although it had been in decline for a while. “Did you all meet here?”

“Oh, no. Well, we met Rocky here; the rest of us used to play together before then. Hey, big guy.” As Zib called out to the tall bartender, he tapped his slender fingers on the counter. “Could we have… whatever’s good?”

The bartender was a man of few words, and Chester felt as though the fewer words he exchanged with him the better. Tall, stout and one-eyed, he was an intimidating presence. Without as much as a word, he poured two glasses of… Actually Chester wasn't sure what it was. Regardless, he thanked him without meeting his eye.

“Drink’s on me tonight, bud,” Zib said casually, before he took a sip of his own glass. Based on the look on Zib's face, it was something strong and Chester gave it a cautious sniff, before taking a sip. He shuddered slightly. “Hah, you get used to it. Anyway, where were we? Ah, right. Well, we met down in New Orleans and we spent years on the road together.”

“Really? That sounds interesting. I bet you’ve seen a lot of places,” Chester said curiously, his dark-tipped ears perked up. “Must’ve been a damn good offer from Ms. May to get you to stick around.”

“Oh, no, she wasn't the reason we- well, in a roundabout sort’a way.” Zib paused, Chester's attention focused solely on him. He almost forgot he had a drink, until he reminded himself. Taking a big sip, Chester nearly gagged, but he resorted to coughing as the strong, burning liquid went down. “She used to travel with us, you know. She played with us, before she entered this business.”

Chester gaped at Zib in silence. The idea that a woman as well-adjusted to the finer things in life as Mitzi May used to be a traveling musician seemed like an outrageous claim. It was hard to picture someone wearing such fancy dresses and furs living a musician’s life.

“Best close that mouth before something lays eggs in it,” Zib chuckled at Chester, before he reached a hand over, using his finger to push Chester’s lower jaw up till he closed his mouth. “It’s true, she used to travel with us. Then she met her husband while we were in town and… here we are.”

Chester's cheeks were a bit flushed, though his fur hid it, thankfully. He cleared his throat. “Seriously? No kidding? Interesting. I would never have guessed. I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.”

“Oh, she’s… something. Don’t let her pretty face fool you, she knows what she’s doing in this business. But enough about us…” Zib took another big swig of his drink. “Tell me about yourself. We’ve been practicing together for a while and I still don’t know anything about you. I’m curious.”

“Me? Well…” Chester hadn't counted on being asked questions himself. He scratched at his left cheek self-consciously. “Well…”

“Well…?” Zib asked, raising an eyebrow, though his tone was encouraging. He smirked. “Maybe we ought to get deeper into our glasses so that tongue loosens up. Cheers.”

“Oh, cheers, mate,” Chester said as their glasses clinked together. He took a swig on par with Zib's, even despite how strong the burn was, once more leaving him coughing. “Oh, goddamn… Ahem… Anyway, after I left home and came here, I didn’t really think my music would amount to much. I would’ve taken any kind of job, but I guess I got lucky.”

“How long have you been playing?”

“Not for long – not as long as Mozzie anyway,” Chester replied with a light shrug of his shoulders. He knew from casual conversation that Mozzie had played piano nearly his entire life. “I just sort of taught myself back in England. The place I worked had a piano lounge and-”

“Hold up… You taught yourself while you were at work? So, during your breaks and such?” Zib asked, tone rather skeptical as he looked at the taupe cat. Bright eyes locked with his, Chester nodded at which point Zib let out a low whistle. “That’s impressive. Must have some real talent in those fingers.”

“Oh, thanks, Zib. It’s weird to think that I’m a professional now-”

“Hah, you only get to call yourself a pro once you’ve gotten your first paycheck,” the orange cat teased him, before taking a sip of his drink. “Till then, keep doing what you do. I’ll see if I can’t figure out a way for you and Mozzie to take turns at the piano.”

Chester nodded eagerly and took another swig. He stifled a yawn, reaching into his pocket to check the pocket watch he always carried with him. It was old and had certainly been through some stuff, but Chester would protect it with his life.

“Bedtime for you already?” Zib offered a cheeky smile as Chester looked at him again.

“Maybe it is – I’m not used to staying up this late… It’s almost morning…” Chester had to stifle another yawn. He took another swig of his drink and put his pocket watch back where it belonged. “But thanks for the drink, Zib.”

“My pleasure. You should come sit with us backstage sometime – we meet there even when there ain't any shows,” Zib explained, before he rose to his feet, downing the rest of his drink in one go. He crudely wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He lit a new cigarette and looked at Chester after placing down a few bills onto the counter. “Will you be fine walking home?”

“I think so, yeah,” Chester replied, though he wondered if Zib would have offered to walk him home if he said no. It wasn't too far, though – he’d be fine. “You have a good night, Zib. I’m looking forward to playing with y’all all again.”

Zib smirked at Chester's attempt at an American accent and nodded. “Take care out there. Be seein’ you around.”

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy fanfiction #lackadaisy oc #oc x canon #dorian zibowski

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yfloresalonzo · 11 months

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hey! - 💌

My name is yuliza flores-alonzo and my pronouns is she/her/hers. I am 21 years old and studying ethics and public policy with a minor in political science and earning a certificate on entrepreneurial management on the pre-law track. I am currently on my fourth year at the university of iowa (currently on the verge of tears). Any advice and tips are extremely helpful since I still have no idea what I am doing lol :) I speak spanish and english and i can understand french.

Currently, I am studying for the lsat, which is the law school admission test in order to be accepted into law school! (which i’m very anxious about).

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✧˖° about me

my hobbies include reading, making jewelry, listening to music, cooking, watching modern family and trying new hobbies!

my favorite artist is: kanye wear, kendrick lamar, mac miller, JID, j cole, 21 savage, drake, frank ocean, kid cudi, the notorious b.i.g, joey bada$$, childish gambino, a$ap rocky, travis scott, lil uzi vert, isaiah rashad, sza, the weeknd, brockhampton, don toliver, tyler the creator, harry styles, davis kushner, artic monkeys, the neighborhood, the 1975, lana del rey, and cigarettes after sex.

some things that I love and it makes me happy are autumn, the color black, white, and shades of grey, rainy days, flowers, candles, shopping, sunset, vinyls, horror movies, and the way my desk is set up for when I study.

things that I HATE are presentations or reading aloud in class. I want to work on it so if you have any tips and tricks, please let me know.

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— spotify | aesthetic blog

(🪩) — flipd: I had recently made an account on flipd which is a study app that let’s you time your studying and also study with a group or a friend! add me: @yfloresalonzo.

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as-above-so-below-story · 2 years

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23. Camisado

Series: Fullmetal Alchemist ( Brotherhood ) Word count: 2,876 Warning: Violence

“ I can’t believe you let her just leave like that.”

Greed had taken his designated spot on the leather couch, his legs crossed over each other. He offered Dolcetto a glance before he shrugged,

“What? She’s a big girl. She can handle herself.”

“Yeah, she’s also very drunk,” Martel growled. Sure, men could walk the streets blasted out of their minds, but it was a different story for a woman. Even as a chimera, Martel wouldn’t dare walk in the dark if she wasn’t in her right mind. “ Besides, didn’t you bring her here because she was a fugitive?”

“I brought her here because I was curious. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” Greed let his head fall back against the couch. He was visibly annoyed with his subordinates questioning him. “She had a hefty price tag on her head, so I was expecting a little more excitement. Turns out she’s just another sloppy--”

Martel’s hand came up and slapped the backside of Greed’s head, rendering him silent for a moment. It wasn’t like it hurt – obviously, it took a lot more than that to put a dent in the Ultimate Shield – but the implication of it left the homunculus confused. Greed rubbed the back of his head and raised his eyebrows at her,

“ What’s got you all so riled up anyways? You barely know the girl. Geez.”

Dolcetto and Martel fell silent, sharing glances before they decided it was best to end the conversation there. He was right. Kijo was a stranger to them, so what did they care what happened to her? Martel didn’t want to say it. That it was the first time they’d seen the bar this lively in ages. That, albeit she was a strange girl, she had a magnetic personality and they’d been enjoying her company; But Greed was happy to let the bar fall into mindless background noise as the two finally dropped it.

She’ll be fine, Greed thought to himself. His eyes stared up into the ceiling, watching tuffs of cigarette smoke roll against the peeling paint. She’s running back to whoever that Leo guy is and she’ll be his problem instead.

“Who are you, Kijo? You can tell me. I’m great at keeping secrets. ”

“...I don’t think you want to know, because if I told you, it’ll change everything.”

What the Hell did she mean by that, though?

“ Greed.”

The homunculi had been so deep in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed the overwhelming silence of the bar. Martel’s concerned tone had him snapping his head forward, and he was surprised to find them surrounded by several men with various appearances – scars on their faces, indicating a rough life. Greed flashed his sharp teeth as he spotted a familiar man in the crowd,

“ Well well well, if it isn’t Mr. Armato. What a pleasant surprise.”

Greed’s amused smirk dropped when the green eyed man stepped away from the front door. Behind him, the same two goons that had given Kijo grief the first day she’d showed up, were holding up a body –

“Greed, what did you say about Kijo being able to handle herself?” Martel snarled. There was an accusatory tone in her voice, like she was telling him, this is your fault, but Greed didn’t offer much more than a grunt.

“ Please, Mr. Armato was my father. Call me Alonzo,” green eyes flashed mischievously in Greed’s direction. He nodded at the two men and the one with the scarred eye nodded. He licked the tip of his finger and stuck it into Kijo’s ear who immediately bolted upright, shouting out in surprise,

“ WHAT THE FUCK--”

Her face immediately soured and she shook her head, which only encouraged a more pained look on her face. Being slammed into a brick wall wasn’t exactly the best feeling thing in the world – how many times had that happened at this point? Was she losing brain mass because of it? When Kijo finally became coherent, she realized now wasn’t the time to ponder these questions. She blinked at the current situation in front of her before she realized the predicament she was in. Immediately, Kijo began squirming,

“ Let me go--”

“ Now, Greed. About our prior arrangement. You promised us a chimera soldier in exchange for use of the underground tunnels. We delivered on our promise, but you have yet to uphold your end of the bargain,” he jutted a finger at Kijo, grinning, “ so you either fulfill that request, or we’ll just make one out of your precious woman here. Or, perhaps, we’ll turn her in for that generous bounty that’s on her head.”

“ Oh. She’s not my woman.”

Silence.

Confused faces glanced between each other as a bead of sweat dripped down Alonzo’s face.

“But… Earlier, you called her--”

“You misunderstand. She’s still not my woman.”

“But you said--”

“GREED YOU ASSHOLE!” Kijo suddenly roared out, her legs kicking angrily in tandem with her rage. Every expletive known to man came flying out of her mouth, and her insults were so vulgar the two men holding her couldn’t help but blush, “ ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?! They’re going to cart me off and turn me into a fucking chimera because you have no integrity, and thats what you’re concerned about?! Labels?!”

“ Whoa, whoa, calm down, Toots. I’m just trying to make sure everyone’s on the same page here,” Greed raised his hands defensively. Martel and Dolcetto stared at him from behind with incredulous expressions. He continued, “ anyways. Who said anything about letting them run off with you? I was simply distracting the poor idiot.”

“ Distracting?” Alonzo shot a confused look backwards and, looming just behind the man with the scarred eye was Roa. His sledgehammer came swinging, and the man’s head blew clean off – Kijo lurched forward in surprise as blood sprayed through the air. The other man holding her barked out in shock and yanked her backwards.

“See, while she may not be my woman in the general sense, that doesn’t mean I hadn’t planned on changing that.” Kijo’s face flushed when she made eye contact with him. “ And if you take her, unfortunately, I’ll consider that stealing from me. And nobody steals from me.”

“ Tch,” Alonzo sneered. He had just enough time to turn and bark at the man holding Kijo, “ what are you doing? You want your head smashed to pieces too? Get a move on! The rest of you – START SHOOTING!”

Shooting?!

In all the threats to exist in this world, Kijo had forgotten about the one that shared a commonality with hers, and that was guns. So now she had to add those to the list of things that could end her life prematurely. She shrieked as the bullets started flying, allowing herself to be pulled away as she ducked down to avoid being hit.

Greed watched after them for a moment before he turned, grinning. With a flex of his hand, his skin shifted into his Ultimate Shield and he advanced towards Alonzo with a threatening aura,

“ Hey, you just did me a favor – now I don’t have to worry about her getting caught up in the crossfire..!”

–

“ Would you let me go already?!” Kijo desperately tried to pull herself free of the man’s grip but it was to no avail; he outclassed her in strength, and she was certain her pulling and tugging was akin to that of a small animals.

I have to get away from this guy or I’m in serious trouble! Alonzo’s threat of turning her in hung in the back of her mind. If she was turned in, that would mean that the homunculi would have her again, and she’d have to return to that God forsaken cell. She gritted her teeth at just the thought of being at Envy’s merciless taunting and that damn flickering light bulb.

It was that, or being turned into a chimera, and neither of those options sounded good.

Kijo’s free hand dipped into her pocket, searching for anything that could help. Her finger’s brushed against the handle of the knife Leo had given her and she pulled it out. Its blade shone in the dim passing light overhead. That’s it.

Without hesitation Kijo brought the blade down on Snaggle Tooth’s wrist, the blade piercing right through the thickest part. He released a pained howl, his grip loosening, and Kijo was able to pull her arm back. He reared on her quickly but the wind left his body as Kijo’s boot suddenly came in contact with his sternum and he stumbled back, loosing balance. Now’s my chance!

Kijo growled and threw all her weight against him and he slammed into the wall, his head hitting it with a sickening crack.

“ Hah! Take that, asshole!”

Kijo quickly made a break for it, leaving the man disorientated as she escaped. She wasn’t sure where she was going, though – all she knew was that she needed to find somewhere to hide.

That somewhere manifested in what appeared to be some sort of storage room; It held nothing but filled shelves with various things and a few crated boxes. Kijo was perturbed by a suspicious rust colored stain on the ground and when she turned to shut the door, she realized it was made of solid iron, much like the ones that had kept her sealed in that cell.

She didn’t spend much time thinking about it. Kijo pushed the door shut and focused her attention on one of the large, wooden crates. It didn’t take much for her to pull the lid off and slide inside, and once she was certain she was hidden well, she allowed herself to catch her breath and put her thoughts together.

Damn it! I should’ve known better than to try and tag along with Greed! Kijo cursed herself, gritting her teeth. She damned her hormones, blaming them for her poor decision making – it really had just been that. All Greed had to do was flash that arrogant smirk at her and she was jelly in his hands. How pathetic was that?

I’m making the same mistakes here that I was making back in my world… Kijo frowned as she pulled her knees to her chest. She stared at a piece of wood that splintered off of the crate’s paneling, and she busied her idle hands with it, letting myself think I can rely on someone for a change. I let my guard down and get burned every fucking time.

Kijo’s brows furrowed in frustration. Even with her newfound power – be it alchemy, magic, whatever – she still found herself totally helpless when things got rough. The only way she knew how to use it was by bleeding, and she was getting real tired of having to spill her own blood just to get out of these tough situations. Everyone else around her was completely useless though. The only person that had managed to deliver on their promise of keeping her safe had been Leo, and look at how she burned that bridge. Typical of Kijo to take a good thing and set it on fire.

Ugh – I can’t sit here feeling bad for myself. I need to focus. Should I wait it out? How long could this go on? Kijo curiously began looking around the crate. She could barely see through the gaps in the panels but they provided just enough space for her to keep an eye on the door and see if anyone was approaching. Kijo couldn’t help but wonder; if someone did come in, would she be able to transmute something out of the crate to protect herself? She’d been successful when she’d focused on transmuting Envy against the concrete wall that one time, but for the most part, her transmutations had been pure luck.

That was the thing, though. From what Kijo understood, you had to be incredibly intelligent and have a good understanding of science to be able to perform alchemy. Even though she was sloppy, as was Ed’s observation, her ability to practice alchemy didn’t make any sense. The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell was the only scientific fact she had memorized. That shouldn’t have been enough to grant her these amazing capabilities.

But Kijo knew that concrete was just various aggregates and water combined. She also knew that the wood of the crate she was sitting in was made up of pine. Maybe she wasn’t a scientist, but in her world, she was a practicing witch, and she had a good grasp of how elements worked.

Maybe I’m not practicing alchemy in the true sense of the word, but something else…? But if that were the case – why do I have to bleed for it to work? Is this all because I went through the Gate?

Kijo was pulled from her thoughts when she heard the iron door creaking open and she felt her body grow tense. Through the cracks of the crate she could see the man from earlier – Alonzo, she remembered – and his face was shining with a trail of blood. There was a noticeable limp in his gait and he winced as he pushed the iron door shut. It was evident that Greed had really roughed him up.

Good, Kijo scowled.

“ Damn it,” Alonzo panted. His side burned with a hot pain and when he pulled his hand back, it was sticky with his own blood – that bastard had gotten a good swipe in. Damn near pulled a chunk right off his stomach. Alonzo had been lucky to get away, but he knew it was only a matter of time. “ I didn’t ask for this shit… I shouldn’t have taken this fucking job..!”

Kijo squinted through the cracks. It seemed like an odd time to regret a career path – surely, he must’ve known the risks before stepping into a line of work like this. Kijo wasn’t one to talk, though. After all, she had been more than willing to give up her prior life for this one, and there hadn’t been a day she didn’t regret it.

Kijo watched as Alonzo stumbled over to the wall, gripping it to steady himself. His blood was practically pouring out over the floor and he gave a strangled gasp of pain as he moved.

Bleed out faster, you dumb fuck.

Kijo grew mortified. Did she really just think that? Of course Alonzo didn’t deserve much sympathy – but to sit there, counting down the minutes until he dropped dead from blood loss was below her. What was this world doing to her?

“ Boss, boss, are you in here?!”

“ Sharptooth--” Alonzo dug his fingers into the wall he leaned against as he barred himself against the pain, looking over his shoulder. The iron door was once again pushed open and the man that Kijo had successfully gotten away from earlier came rushing in. Kijo was amused to learn that his real name hadn’t been far off from the nickname she’d given him in her head, but she doubted it was anything more than some sort of title. She watched the two as they exchanged words,

“ Looks like she did quite the number on you,” Alonzo nodded towards Sharptooth’s bleeding wrist. The larger man snarled, holding his bloodied arm up.

“ I’m going to ring that neck of hers,” he growled. “ I’m going to find her, and I’m going to snap her in half.”

“Now, now, don’t go doing that. We have to get something out of this job, remember? You saw how big that bounty was.”

Sharptooth grumbled defiantly but didn’t seem to be feeling argumentative. Kijo attributed it not only his injured wrist, but the nice welt shining at the top of his head. She grinned to herself.

Plenty more where that came from.

The two continued talking, planning out their next steps – they seemed really hell bent on finding Kijo and using her as bait, but Kijo didn’t understand why. Greed had made it clear that it wouldn’t work.

“She’s not my woman.”

Kijo grumbled to herself,

“ Way to throw me under the fucking bus...”

Immediately, her hands slapped over her mouth as she realized she’d said that out loud. Alonzo and Sharptooth grew quiet, the only sound being the blood pulsing in Kijo’s ears.

Damn it, damn it, damn it –

Why did she have to open her big mouth? Why did Kijo have such a big habit of talking to herself?! That habit was only quirky and cute when it was in shows that didn’t have life threatening situations – now it was just getting her into trouble! Kijo could’ve screamed angrily at herself, but unfortunately, that would’ve only further complicated her situation. So instead, all she could do was sit and hope that they would assume it was rat and continue on.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, as the lid to the crate was suddenly ripped straight off and Kijo sat, staring up into the eyes of the man that had just been discussing how eager he was to fold her like a pretzel.

He grinned,

“ Found you.”

#fma story #chapter 23 #weeeee

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mistocore · 2 years

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do you have cute/comfortable headcanons from that skimble version of you?

BOY DO I !!!!!

Like I said, the guy can COOK !! He can make a simple, cheap pack of ramen noodles into something rich and flavourful with a few shakes of some spices and a few cut up veggies. He loves hearty meals and avoids a lot of snacks!! Doesn't stop him from shovelling a few bags of peanuts into his mouth whilst working nights, however.

His favourite season is spring. He loooooves flowers !! As a florist myself, If i were to make a vase arrangement for Skimble I would pick: Hyacinths (yellow or blue), antirrhinum in white, green Celosia and for a small pop I would shove in some Orange Anenome !! All very bright, seasonal, delicate flowers, something I don't think people would expect from him! But I think he would cut flowers and Gus would set them up in a glass container on their coffee table !! Every spring they'll have flowers in their flat.

He also likes winter. Loves the feeling of burrowing his face into a thick scarf, warming his hands on a paper coffee cup, watching the gentle snowfall outside of his upstairs window. I think christmas time is very nostalgic and a time for him to really relax. Grizabella died around Christmas time, so I assume it's also a time to really appreciate the world and people around him. Reminds him that wooly cotton brain of infancy is long gone and he's really on his own now. It helps with giving him monents to lament on his past holidays. It's treasured, bittersweet.

Gus taught him how to sew and knit. Skimble has probably knitted scarves for Cassandra and Bomba in the past, maybe a wool hat for Alonzo!

When he retires, relinqushing ownership of the bar to Tugger and the others, he wants to move with Gus to somewhere rural. They'd probably get a nice home by the beach and take strolls in the local park.

Night's after they close are his favourite. Those 3-5am pauses where he can sit by the open window and smoke a cigarette, put on his old spongey, flimsy headphones and listen to his music. He'll always fall asleep listening to an old tape he made in university, or an audiobook disc of something that Gus lent him.

Whilst grocery shopping during the day, he'll take public transport. Maybe a train into the city. He'll lean his head against the window or watch the world file by behind the glass. It's a weekly moment of clarity for him to relax.

#I may have a few more but this is all i got so far >;]#asks #black sheep #au

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christophe76460 · 1 year

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Regardez "L'addiction à la cigarette | Yentl Campion & Alonzo Gueglio | C'est possible #jeunesse" sur YouTube

youtube

#Youtube

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rere-the-writer · 2 years

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Part one

Title: Be mine; Planning a marriage

Summary: Rebekah took it upon herself to plan Elijah's wedding while Leona is seemingly not caring for the whole thing and Elijah gets a taste of just what it is like to have a Mob boss for a wife.

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Warnings: Fluff, Mob stuff, Some angst, Elijah trying to be a loving husband, Leona is no good with feelings

Rebekah huffed seeing Leona working and not going to the wedding dress fitting that the vampire had scheduled for the Mob boss instead the blonde was in her office speaking in Italian as she was on the phone.

Leona looked at Rebekah hanging up the phone looking at her soon to be sister-in-law who stared the human down.

"Here to get me to agree to that dress fitting?"

"Yes! Why aren't you planning anything!?"

"Because I don't care. Look Rebekah, it is adorable that you and Elijah are hellbent to get me excited for this. But this is just a deal, just two people doing business."

"But you are going to be family and Elijah is going to be adoring you." Rebekah tells the mobster pulling a sigh from her, Leona got up knowing Rebekah won't let it go.

The human had only been engaged to Elijah for a month and both Rebekah and Elijah have been planning the wedding.

While Elijah had been nothing but good to the woman seemly trying to win her over with gifts and soft affections, Elijah had moved into her home so new Leona came home to a nice cooked meal and a warm body.

"See, this isn't so bad." Rebekah tells Leona as the woman wasn't really listening to the vampire as she was staring at the dress that she wore.

It was a gorgeous white mermaid with long flowing lace sleeves tastefully low cut and backless, the bodice was beaded with soft pink gems with a long train vail and beautiful tiara. Leona thought she looked like a bride as a unfamiliar emotion bubbled in her chest.

"This dress will do." Leona said pushing away whatever she was feeling as Rebekah watched her with a knowing look in her eyes, Leona had spent the day with Rebekah just doing bride things when she got a call that Elijah had been taken.

"Alonzo, what is all this?" Leona asked eyes narrowed seeing Elijah on his knees hands tied behind his back, suit bloody as Elijah looked over his fiancee seeing her deadly calm demeanor as there was a flickered of anger in her normally beautiful calm blue eyes.

"You choose to marry this man?! I have made many many offers to marry you!" Alonzo said voice shaking with anger as he pointed a gun to Elijah's head while Leona lit a cigarette and her right hand man, Angelo, stood next to her.

"Oh dear Alonzo, has your father taught you nothing? Always bring men to a meeting." Just as Leona that, Giovanni had grabbed the man into a choke hold as Angelo walked up untieing Elijah placing him in the back of the car.

"Boss?"

"Put him in the trunk, Alonzo needs a lesson on not touching what is mine. Also burn his car, send a massage." Leona said getting in the car after Elijah as the men did as told. The car rode home was quiet and Leona shooed people away and took care of Elijah. The boss had sat Elijah down on a stool as she began to clean him up.

"You are being soft."

"You are Klaus's brother, just protecting my deal." Leona said cleaning Elijah's face seeing most of his wounds had healed as Elijah leaned in cupping her cheek as Leona felt her cheeks warmed as Elijah's breath hit her lips.

Chocolate brown met light blue as Leona gripped his shirt trembling feeling Elijah grab hold of her hips getting closer to kiss her but the blonde was snapped out of the trace by a phone ringing.

"Hello?" Leona answered pulling away from Elijah who frowned hearing her begin to speak Italian with whoever called as Elijah thought he was finally getting somewhere with Leona.

"My little brother is coming to the wedding....how did your sister get hold of his number?" Leona asked hanging up as Elijah found it hard to read her as her tone was even. Elijah looked at his hands then to her back smiling gently when she turned around staring at him.

"Rebekah has her ways. Are you angry?" Elijah asked watching her closely as Leona thought over his words as she wasn't angry just annoyed with how much Elijah was taking this seriously and hated the feelings Elijah made her feel.

"No....it'll be nice to see Elio again." Leona said walking pass Elijah heading up to her bedroom leaving behind a every pleased Elijah.

"You and Elijah seem to be getting cozy."

"Yes, Klaus. Please come in." Leona said annoyed rolling her eyes as she was working when the vampire walking her office, Klaus smirked sitting in a empty chair watching the mobster. Angelo walked in pausing seeing Klaus but continued leaning down whispering something in the boss's ear then walked out.

"I must thank you for saving my big brother."

"Just protecting my deal with you."

"You're a survivor, aren't you Miss Valentine? Pushing Elijah away so he doesn't get too close." Klaus says smirking making the woman look at him with narrowed eyes and hid how well Klaus's words were correct.

Leona leaned back against her chair looking at the vampire wondering why the Mikaelsons were pushing her to be affectionate to Elijah, to play the role of a loving wife.

"Why does it matter? This marriage is nothing but a business deal between you and I. Love is not part of the deal so Elijah will have to get use to a wife not caring."

"And if my brother takes a lover?" Klaus asked searching for any sign that Leona could have some form of affection for Elijah. Leona paused feeling a bit of jealousy and hurt bubble in her chest but killed that feeling real quick.

"So? I won't stop him." Leona says getting back to work as Klaus studied her a bit more before standing up to leave.

"Keep telling yourself that....sister." Klaus said walking out as Leona paused at Klaus seeing that he left and her chest began to ache. The blonde pushed away the wanted feelings and just hoped she could get though her own wedding.

#rere's stories #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson x oc #Elijah Mikaelson #elijah mikaelson fluff

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seancekitsch · 3 years

Text

I was Never Young: A Klaus x Reader fic

Anyways uhhh heres my fic based on the Klaus spin off series!! I made sure not to really spoil anything in the series if u guys haven't finished it yet but it does take place after the series events. there's no smut which is weird for me bc i usually write just smut but like yolo this is where it went.

Klaus had been through the ringer. Los Angeles seems to just be more of the same, so why even leave home? Right, he’d been kicked out and cut off. Well, at least one of those problems has disappeared, he thinks as he pats the ugly little satchel full of money at the side of his hip.

He meanders down the street, no real direction or motive as he shuffles down. The diazepine is starting to wear off, and he’s going to need something to dull the corners of his mind in about an hour. A neon green sign draws his eyes, looks as sick as he’s about to be.

‘Cobra’s’ the sign says, and this one is probably as good as any.

The bar has exactly six people inside of it, he realizes as he pushes the door open. It’s hazy, full of the stale and welcoming scent of menthol tobacco. Perfect, Klaus thinks.

The bartender is a stern looking man, like he used to be a wrestler. Maybe this is what Luther or Diego will look like in thirty years if they don’t eat their wheaties.

There are two other men sitting in a booth by the corner, deep in conversation with one another. They’re boring suits, no one that Klaus could have for company. He’s just looking for someone alive to have a conversation with while he numbs himself. Someone alive, he clarifies to himself. His last friend left for heaven’s greener pastures, which he’s happy for him, but maybe the guy could have stuck around on this plane of existence for a weekend longer.

There’s a couple at the end of the bar that looks like they're on a date. In the middle of the day? Wonder if their spouses know they aren't at work. Klaus laughs out loud, poor bastards.

And then there's you, with your mixed drink, absentmindedly swirling it with your little stirrer. You seem like a safe bet, so his feet drag him over to sit down at the middle of the bar near you. He more or less throws himself into the chair, his feet immediately feeling the relief. He’s still clammy and feverish in the come down, his stomach hurts, but that’s nothing a little booze and sugar can’t help.

You notice the guy as soon as he walks in. Of course you do. After a few years, you start to recognize people even if you don’t know them. You don’t recognize him. He looks paranoid, fresh off a set and worried about what a job will do, for and to him. Poor thing. Probably one of those River Phoenix types. Young, pretty, and overwhelmed. In teen mags one day, in the obituaries the next. All preventable, hundreds of people that could step in if money meant more than the people around you.

“Hey,” the guy next to you greets you, his voice uneven, watery and cautious. His hands shake a little as he pulls a stack of cash out of his threadbare satchel, pulling a few bills from the rubberband holding it together and flattening them out against the bar.

“Hey, yourself. You new here?” He looks surprised as the words leave your lips, but is interrupted by the bartender approaching.

“Yeah, whatever that special is for today, that’ll do,” he orders like he doesn't really know what to do at the bar. He turns back to you, looking ever so boyish and lost with his big green eyes.

“How did you-?”

“How did I know you're new here?” You throw the rest of your drink back, carelessly placing it at the far end of the bar from you, “Because you don't look absolutely beaten down. I mean, you look a little twitchy, but you look fresh.”

Fresh? That’s not at all how Klaus would describe his look, having not slept in days and having been using an extreme amount of controlled substances, even for his standards.

The bartender slides a glass towards him, and he scrambles to catch it. There’s a total of two umbrellas, a flamingo stirrer, and two straws in it. In all, garish and hard to look at. The bartender takes the money, and they nod at each other.

“You look kinda young to be here,” with that remark, Klaus takes a long sip of the fruity cocktail he ordered, a sickening blue color so intense you bet it could substitute as hair dye.

“You do too,” you quip. You’d been working in this town for a few years now, on and off movie sets and bartending clubs with live acts. This boy? He looked fresh. Like he’s just been taken for his first ride. He looked rough and unused to it.

“How old are you?” he asks, he can’t place your age or accent. You look just as young as him, if not younger. You sound southern- Boston- Chicago- western and somewhere European he can’t place. Is that what Hollywood does to people's speech patterns? Is that gonna happen to him? But you seem to be as much an anomaly here as he does.

“How old are you?” you mimic back.

Klaus stares in awe as you rest your elbow against the bar, making sure he sees that as you snap your fingers, a cigarette materializes between them. You quickly shift the rolled tobacco to rest between your index and middle finger, ready to place it against your lips.

“Listen, I’m old enough.” That's all you have to say about that.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “Sometimes I think I was never young.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, the hint of a laugh.

“Yeah, alright.” You fish around in your jacket pocket for the lighter and ask, “Do you wanna get out of here? Only smoking bar in town, but it ain’t got hotdogs.”

Hotdogs, Klaus thinks, He remembers having sausage back home, but he’s never had a hotdog.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that? You never been to a baseball game or something?”

He shook his head, no. Klaus hadn’t ever seen a baseball game. He knew the history of it, the impact it had on American society. All from a very clinical and academic standpoint. Sports weren’t really his thing.

“Nah, I always preferred activities with a bit more... uh, substance.” He laughs at his own joke, whether you get it or not really doesn’t matter.

“Right, right. So River, what’s your real name?” You talk with the cigarette but between your teeth, lighting it quickly, before the lighter in your hand vanishes from sight.

“It’s….. uh, It’s Klaus.”

You give him your name, and he repeats it, tests the name out on his tongue.

You take a deep inhale, blowing the smoke out of the corner of your mouth.

“So Klaus, wanna buy us some hotdogs?”

You leave as soon as he finishes his drink, and he talks in a way that he thinks might be too much. But you listen. You’re the first living person that’s actually listened to what he had to say since he got here. He asks about you, your story, but he doesn’t get as much as he wants. You like your smoking, you’re a special effects designer, you dropped out of high school to come out here, and you fucking love Alonzo’s hotdogs.

“Hey ‘Lonzo!” you shout, interrupting Klaus mis sentence, raising both arms above your head, the baggy sleeves of your jacket falling closer to your elbows.

“How’s my kid doin?” The man shouts back. A tall man, with heavy brows and a mustache. “And who’s this?”

“My friend Klaus here just directed a movie! With Vivian Clarke, and the kid’s never had a hotdog! Can you believe it!” Your footfalls come quicker, starting to jog as you clear the end of the block, Klaus starts to shuffle quicker to catch up. When he gets to see the man up close. clear chocolate brown eyes greet him. He looks pretty trustworthy, Klaus thinks, Like Santa Claus, or John Stamos. Basically, like anyone but Dad or Viv.

Alonzo asks all about Klaus’ recent accomplishment, not exactly something he wants to talk about, but he likes that Alonzo is genuinely curious and polite. The only thing you say is “extra relish, on both. Big shot director pays.” during the conversation, focusing more on finishing your cigarette and stubbing it out with the toe of your boot. Klaus looks down and the cigarette butt leaves no trace on the concrete.

“So back there,” he says as you wait for your dogs to be handed over, “That cigarette business, are you a magician?”

“Nah,” you say, not fully meeting his gaze, “I’m a Libra.”

You nod at the guy as he finally pulls the dogs over the edge of the cart he operates. Extra relish, just like you asked. When he places the hotdog in Klaus’ hands, the redhead’s eyes go wide. Guess he wasn’t kidding about never having relish, you think.

“Huh,” he starts, dumbfounded by the hunk of grease and meat and relish in his hands, “I’m a Libra too, actually.”

“Guess that’s something about balance or something,” you say, effectively ending the conversation again by opening your mouth as wide as you can to accommodate the sheer mass of one of Alonzo’s hotdogs.

He looks at the meal, his first and probably only for today, and then takes your lead, opening his mouth as wide as he can before finally chomping down on a huge bite of it. The bite is… heavenly. Pickled vegetables and chutneys exploding on his tastebuds, the coolness of it contrasting with the fresh off the grill meat. No offense to mom or Pogo, but none of their cooking could ever hold a candle to this street hotdog.

“Good, yeah?” Your voice, distorted by a mouth full of food, breaks his almost nirvana like trance.

“So good,” he tries to say, mouth just as full as yours. He finishes chewing, swallows with a huge gulp.

“You got any more food spots to show me?”

#my work #klaus hargreeves x reader

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the-cat-at-the-theatre-door · 9 months

Note

“Are you okay?” - sentence prompt

“Are you okay?” Demeter asks, shifting back to balance on her heels to survey her handiwork. The bulb above them shudders as the boards beneath her protest; she wonders how those are at all connected.

“I will be,” Alonzo affirms, wincing as he rolls his shirt back down over Demeter’s patch job. And it really was a patch; neither of them were trained in anything close to this kind of stuff, but both were certain her kitchen napkins were being grossly misused in this situation. Demeter had muttered something about stitches and Alonzo had snorted; as if you'd catch him within ten feet of a hospital. Demeter reads the implication between the statement lines silently, as she does anything else.

Alonzo looks put out - more like a child fallen from his new bicycle than a grown man attempting to uphold his dignity on a dirty linoleum floor on a Thursday evening. It would be funny in another circumstance. “Thanks.”

"You going to tell me what happened now?"

Alonzo hums, noncommittal. "I got in a fight."

"With?" Demeter prompts, folding her legs beneath her skirt.

Alonzo leans back against the cabinets; Demeter sees the muscles in his jaw clench. "Someone who brought a switchblade to a scuffle, obviously."

Demeter purses her lips, thoroughly displeased by the flippancy. "You don't think you owe me more than that?"

The chuckle that escapes from her companion is humourless; more like a noise of discomfort than anything resembling pleasantry. "I was just talking to this guy," he offers eventually, pointedly avoiding identifiers. "He said some things, I said some things back that may or may not have been about his mother. Boom, bang, you know how it is. Cops came, we scattered, that's all it is.” Alonzo punctuates his story by fishing around in his breast pocket - a signal he was done talking - and unearthing a nearly empty, crumpled box. He slips one of the cigarettes between his teeth, strikes the broken Diamond match, and makes to light it. Demeter figures that's all she'll get.

"I don't like when people disrespect you," he murmurs out of the side of his mouth before he holds the tip to flame. The statement is faint and quiet, like an exhale - so quiet Demeter almost thought she was hearing things; not an uncommon thing as of late. So quiet, in fact, she wonders if he'd realized he said anything at all as he blows the match out. It's the only context she needs. It settles heavily in her stomach, and a retort pinches beneath her tongue, but all that turns in her mind is how much older he had looked in the seconds illuminated in the flickering light; how Macavity doesn't like it when she smokes in the house.

Blood reblooms in a small poppy on the fabric of Alonzo's shirt.

“You want a drink?" Demeter prompts before the thought settles. She doesn't make any move to stand up. "I think I've got…something lying around."

The cigarette pauses halfway back to his lips, considering. Hesitating.

"Well…" Demeter notes how his eyes dart towards the door over her shoulder, and she holds her breath; Alonzo's smoke curls there in wait. There is something suffocatingly intimate about it; only then she realizes he wasn't bringing the cigarette back to himself - he was holding it out to her. She takes it.

"If you're offering...why not? I've already been stabbed once today."

Send me a sentence and I’ll fill at least five more in after it for a little mini-fic.

#i'm still alive #Alonzo #Demeter #Human!AU #demlonzo #fanfiction #my fanfic #jellicles ask because jellicles dare #anonymous #technically mob activity but it's not mentioned #human au because i can #set around the 1930s also because i can #you were stabbed LIGHTLY stabbed and in a non-critical area thanks #anything else is wholly implied but i think you can fill in the blanks #someone asked alonzo a question that may or may not have been both insulting and a if this gets back to macavity we're dead #also not that anyone cares but i keep hearing hozier's unknown/nth in my head rn

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tomorrowimjustdirt · 3 years

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The night of April 3, 2004 would be the last time 23 year old Alonzo Brooks was seen alive.

Brooks was one of five children born to Billy Brooks Sr and Maria Ramirez in Kansas. He was quiet, well liked, and loved to play football.

Brooks lived with his mother in the suburban city of Gardner, Kansas where he worked as a custodian at Countryside Maintenance.

While Brooks had many friends who he spent time with, he loved to be home with his mother and siblings.

So, when Ramirez received a call on the morning of April 4, 2004 asking if Brooks was home and she found that he wasn't, Ramirez knew something was very wrong.

The night before, Brooks and his younger friends Justin Sprague, Daniel Fune, and Tyler Broughard set out to the rural city of La Cygne, Kansas for a party.

Brooks and Sprague had made the hour- long trip together. As they drove up the long gravel driveway they could see a small creek and all the party guests that had already arrived.

Over the next few hours Brooks drank, played cards, talked to his three friends and the other guests, and overall it's said he had a great time.

Around 11p.m. Broughard left the party with Fune soon following.

At some point, Sprague and Brooks ran out of cigarettes so Sprague left to go pick up a few packs at a nearby gas station. 30 minutes later, Sprague calls a friend at the party and asks him to tell Brooks he made a wrong turn and is now lost and got his car stuck in the mud and wouldn't be coming back. The friend states he would give Brooks a ride back home. But when noone can find Brooks the next day, that friend says he didn't see Brooks again and figured he got a ride from someone else so he left.

Brooks' best friend, Rodney English, knew something very wrong had happened when he learned Brooks was missing. That morning he had the other three friends, who he had never met before, take him and Brooks' family members to where the party was.

After looking around the vacant property for just a few minutes, both of Brooks' boots and his hat were found.

Ramirez quickly notified the police who along with the Kansas Bureau of Investigation came to search the property but, found no other trace of Brooks.

Sprague, Fune, and Broughard were not suspects but were questioned about the night. Fune and Broughard comment that they didn't know over half the people who were at the party and Brooks was the only African-American person there. Fune also tells police at one point he had to step in to break up an arguement between Brooks and another partygoer over a girl Brooks had been dancing with.

Sprague gives his story of being lost but, Ramirez states he has changed that story in some way over six times.

On May 1, 2004 Brooks' family is allowed to come back to property and search it more throughly themselves. Not even an hour into the search, Alonzo Brooks' body is found in the shallow creek.

The autopsy did not show any signs of blunt force trauma, broken bones, or drowning so no cause of death was listed.

In June 2020, the FBI reopened the case and offered a $100,000 award for any information given. US Attorney Stephen McAllister stated, "It is past time for the truth to come out. The code of silence must be broken."

A month later, Netflix rebooted the much loved show Unsolved Mysteries, which included Brooks' case in the episode titled 'No Ride Home.' Also in July 2020, Brooks' body was exhumed and the Armed Forces medical examiner concluded the injuries sustained were not consistent with decomposition.

As of 2021, the FBI has stated they are now investigating the case as a homicide and possible hate crime.

If you have any information please call 816-474-TIPS

#true crime #true crime community #true crime research #unsolved mysteries

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tcm · 4 years

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Joan Crawford and The Man of a Thousand Faces By Jessica Pickens

Joan Crawford was one of Hollywood’s top stars, eventually winning an Academy Award for Best Actress in 1946. But she credited growing as an actress to an actor who has been forgotten by many: Lon Chaney. Dubbed “The Man of a Thousand Faces,” Chaney was known for transforming physically for many different roles, often donning makeup or costumes that were painful in order to get the right look. “He will do anything, and permit almost anything to be done to him, for the sake of his pictures,” said director and frequent collaborator Tod Browning.

Chaney transformed into Quasimodo for THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME (’23), the acid-burned PHANTOM OF THE OPERA (’25), a sharp-toothed vampire in LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT (‘27) and an armless circus worker in THE UNKNOWN (’27). It was the latter that Crawford, then early in her acting career, worked with Chaney in. “Mr. Chaney was known as a generous man to young actors. He certainly was to me,” Crawford is quoted as saying by biographer Charlotte Chandler.

In THE UNKNOWN, Chaney and Crawford are circus performers. Chaney is Alonzo the Armless, a knife thrower, and Crawford is Nanon, his assistant during the act and the daughter of the circus’s owner. Due to having been groped and harassed by men, Nanon does not want to be touched by men and has a fear of their arms and hands. Because of this, she feels safe around Alonzo but rebukes the advances of Malabar, the circus strongman, who is in love with her. However, Alonzo has a secret … he actually does have arms but is hiding from the police, so he transformed himself into an armless performer to change his identity. To keep Nanon, Alonzo takes drastic and horrifying measures.

By 1927, Chaney was one of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer’s top stars and Crawford was a “little contract player,” as she called herself. But as Chaney had done with other young actors — like Loretta Young — he helped Crawford and she cited him for the rest of her career as someone who influenced her career. “With him I became aware for the first time of the difference between standing in front of a camera and acting,” Crawford said. “Until then I had been conscious only of myself. Lon Chaney was my introduction to acting.”

When they first met, Crawford said Chaney greeted her like a long-lost daughter and treated her like she was the star of the picture. But once he had his costume and make-up on, he became that character. “He had such a friendly, charming manner, except when he was getting into costume and putting on his makeup,” Crawford told Chandler. “He did this in his dressing room for a couple of hours before we started shooting. Then, he became Alonzo. That is when you had to be careful.”

THE UNKNOWN was directed by Tod Browning, who was known for his eerie films with a seedy atmosphere, like WEST OF ZANZIBAR (’28) or FREAKS (’32). Working together several times, THE UNKNOWN is considered Chaney and Browning’s best collaboration … and also their most bizarre and unnerving, according to Chaney’s biographer Michael Bliss. With most of their films, the plot idea started with a situation or a character type. Then the script was built around that idea. In the case of THE UNKNOWN, it was starting with a scenario of an armless man.

In many of his films, Browning’s depictions of people with disabilities are negative; often linked to crime or something horrific. THE UNKNOWN is no exception. In the film, Chaney’s Alonzo is pretending to be disabled to hide from the law for a crime he committed. Because he can be identified by a double thumb, he uses a corset and layered clothing to strap his arms to his body. Even while hiding out, he continues to commit crimes and murder. Alonzo also lusts for Nanon, and the young girl becomes an obsession. And while Nanon cares for Alonzo, she doesn’t consider him as a romantic partner.

As the armless man, Chaney’s character uses his feet for ordinary tasks, like smoking and strumming a guitar. Crawford said that Chaney had to learn how to hold a cigarette with his toes. Other actions were performed by a double. Paul Desmuke (or Dismuki) was a real-life armless circus performer who performed the knife throwing and other action in scenes.

Tod Browning tried to place his characters in believable surroundings, rather than putting his characters in supernatural or storybook settings, like Frankenstein’s monster or the Mummy. “The thing you have to be most careful of in a mystery story is not let it verge on the comic. If a thing is too gruesome and too horrible, it gets beyond the limits of the average imagination the audience laughs. It may sound incongruous, but mystery must be plausible,” Browning said.

The film was met with favorable reviews, but also astonished audiences and reviewers. “It is gruesome and at times shocking, and the principal character deteriorates from a more or less sympathetic individual to an arch-fiend,” said the June 13, 1927, review in the New York Times. The New York Times also compared the story to a mixture of “Balzac and Guy de Maupassant with a faint suggestion of O. Henry plus Mr. Browning's colorful side-show background.”

Even 93 years after its release, THE UNKNOWN confuses and shocks audiences. Many continue to call it one of the strangest film plots, according to the Museum of Moving Image. Even the British Film Institute calls the film “Out-there stuff.” Rest assured, at one point in the film your jaw will drop during THE UNKNOWN. And oddly mixed into this sadist tale, is the story of the budding career of Joan Crawford.

#Lon Chaney #Joan Crawford #horror #Tod Browning #circus #TCM #Turner Classic Movies #Jessica Pickens #silent film #old hollywood

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stuttershook · 3 years

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@invino asked:

it's been several days consecutively now that this strange human has left food out for alonzo (or another stray in the area, if there are any), but it's the first day alonzo has taken it upon himself to approach while the human is still around. since there haven't been any signs of traps these past few times, he's decided to take his chances and extend a paw. metaphorically, of course. (based on the Brief Exchange we had that once!)

an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear, this is his first day off in at least a week (or something to that effect- the detective hasn’t been keeping track, he’s busy)- but no matter how busy he’s been, he’s been putting food out for the cat- or cats, he’s not sure how many are around if there are any- daily. today’s food is a mix of chicken, rice, and carrots. not far off from his own meal. probably.

the man rubs at the back of his neck, groaning to himself when he notices - the cat is approaching. although he’s tired, a smile appears on his face. “hey there,” and nudges the food bowl closer before he steps back to sit on the steps leading up to his back door. “don’t think you’ve come this close to me before.”

#YES kitty!!!#modern; ╱ »does it feel like a trial? «#(I really wanted to write in his modern verse bc i have Thoughts & Feelings)#(also thank u im v excited for this!!!)

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crocodilenialledfics · 4 years

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story page // masterlist // wattpad

join the taglist

five: I wanna be sedated

word count: 2751

warnings: contains swearing, mentions of guns, and extreme violence

“Roz,” he murmured, stepping up to the side of her bed. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Look at ya. Ya look terrible.”

Rosalind let out a breath, fighting her laugh off. “Thanks.”

“I can’t believe this happened,” he mumbled, pulling a chair up beside the bed. “Who did it?”

“I don’t know,” Rosalind shook her head. “Lots of people want me dead.”

Rosalind spent the week, wracking her brain over ways to escape the situation with Mario. She couldn’t find a single way and it drove her insane, clenched fists and swear word insane.

She felt that way toward everything and everyone. When Luca came over to her apartment, Rosalind felt the urge to hit him, so she did, punching him in the nose. Luca stumbled back against her bedroom door, holding his nose. Rosalind swung again, this time for his stomach but Luca grabbed her fist, pushing her backwards.

“Fuck you!” Rosalind yelled, stumbling on her feet.

“Fuck you!” Luca yelled, wiping his bloody nose on the back of his hand. “What’s your problem? I come in to get you out of bed and clock me?”

“I didn’t ask you to come here,” Rosalind seethed, feeling the anger bubble up inside of her again. “And I’m sure as fuck not going out tonight to sit around with you pathetic fuckers.”

“You listen to me,” Luca snapped, stepping towards her, hand wrapping around her throat. “I don’t care if you’re my boss or not. You put your fucking hands on me again and you’ll be wearing cement fucking shoes.”

Luca let her go. Rosalind fell back on the floor, clutching her throat. She coughed, eyes squeezed shut. Luca shook his head, disappearing into the bathroom to grab a wash rag.

“Get dressed. We’re going to Al’s,” Luca told her, heading for the door. “I’ll be in the car.”

Rosalind picked herself up off the floor, wiping the tears from her eyes. It wasn’t that she respected Luca. They were blood, grew up together. She knew Luca would kill her, he meant his words, always.

Rosalind didn’t own her words. Hardly ever. Most times her words were just words, no actions behind them. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

It didn’t take Rosalind long to get ready. She pulled on clean clothes and brushed her teeth, deciding it was good enough. She adjusted her jeans, slipping her gun in the waistband. She put clutched her phone with her cigarettes and her lighter, stepping out of her apartment.

Luca was waiting for her, as he’d said. He was halfway through a cigarette, Ramones on the radio. Rosalind slid into the car wordlessly, shifting in her seat. “Ready?” Luca asked, looking over at her.

“Considering that I don’t want to fucking go,” Rosalind snapped. “No, I’m not ready.”

Luca let out a sigh, putting the car in reverse. “Rosalind, I’m only telling you this because it’s been brought to me by... others.”

“What?” She asked, eyes narrowing at him.

“It might be a good idea to talk to someone,” Luca suggested, choosing his words carefully. “Your anger seems to have gotten bad again and-“

“I don’t need to talk to anyone,” Rosalind cut him off, shaking her head. “And the fact that you would even suggest that is-“ she cut off with a shaky laugh.

“You’re acting out of anger always,” Luca shook his head. “I mean, you punched me in the face, for what?”

��You pissed me off,” Rosalind mumbled, sitting back in her seat, turning her head to look out the window.

“Well even so, it’s the actions that follow the anger,” Luca explained. “A hot head isn’t a bad thing but when you get too hot you can say or do things you regret.”

“I’ll think about it,” Rosalind told him, though she knew she wouldn’t. “I haven’t had time to get to the gym. That’s where I work through it all.”

“I know,” Luca agreed.

Rosalind lit her own cigarette, taking a slow drag. She relaxed against the seat, feeling grateful Luca dragged her out of the apartment. She’d go and have a few drinks, let her hair down. Maybe she’d find someone new to take home.

As soon as they pulled into Al’s, though, Rosalind felt a surge of anxiety bubbling in her belly. The kind of existential dread she hadn’t felt in years. Rosalind shifted in her seat, looking out the window. “I don’t think I should go in there.”

“Don’t fuck around,” Luca muttered, turning the car off. “Get out of the car.”

Rosalind did, stepping out of the car. The gravel crunched under her boots. She felt another surge of the dread, as they walked toward the door of the bar.

Luca pulled the door open for her and Rosalind stepped in, a breath escaping her lips at the atmosphere. The loud music made her heart race even harder. Luca nodded toward their table in the back and nudged her to walk.

Rosalind pushed her way to their table, eyes darting around, unable to focus on a spot for too long. Finally, she slid into the booth, shoulders bumping into Maria’s. She exhaled, hands pushing through her hair.

The Ramones began to play out of the speakers. Rosalind’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked around. Her mind began to race, the possibility that something bad was going to happen.

“Everything alright?” Maria whispered into her ear, a warm hand on her thigh.

“I gotta get out of here,” Rosalind shook her head, standing up.

Rosalind pushed her way back through the crowd until she pushed the front doors open, stepping out into the fresh air. “Fuck,” she whispered, looking around. She was alone.

Rosalind leaned against the building, pulling out a cigarette. She’d barely gotten her lighter out when the car pulled up, sleek and black with tinted windows. Instinctively, Rosalind reached behind, fingers wrapping around her gun but it wasn’t quick enough. Two shots, both in the stomach.

Rosalind fell forward, gasping at the blinding pain, her gun falling onto the concrete beside her. The club doors opened and there was Maria, by her side, hand on her back.

“Roz,” she cried, pushing the hair from her eyes. “Fuck,” she mumbled, scrambling for her phone. “Fuck talk to me, Roz.”

But Rosalind was losing it, vision going dark, the pain was too much. It was blinding, searing through her body in a way that made it so easy to closer her eyes.

Just before Rosalind lost it, she could hear the voices of all her men. Luca, Jonny, Gio and Alonzo. In that moment, though, she pictured her alternate reality where Niall was pushing his fingers through her hair, lips on her neck, where she wasn’t bleeding out in front of a bar that Luca said was safe, where she wouldn’t be wondering if it was Niall who did this to her.

In the time after Rosalind lost consciousness, the ambulance arrived. The paramedics pushed everyone away, giving Rosalind the air she’d been longing for.

Rosalind was a fighter, unwilling to go out without a fight and just a little bit of drama. In the ambulance, her heart stopped twice, and her blood pressure dropped as the paramedics tried to stop her bleeding.

Rosalind’s eyes fluttered open as she took a gasping breath. The tube down her throat sent her into shock, chocking. She had to close her stinging eyes. Just as fast as the feeling hit her, it went away. She opened her eyes to the nurse, her intubation tube in her hands and a bright smile on her face.

“Ms. Civella, we are so glad to have you back,” the nurse murmured, adjusting her pillow. “Quite a scare you gave us.”

“Always the theatrics with this one,” Luca murmured from beside her. “You ever pull that heart stopping shit like that again, I’ll kill you myself.”

Rosalind tried to smile but she felt so weak, eyes fluttering a bit. A hand slid into hers and she didn’t have to open her eyes to know it was maria’s ice cold fingers.

“Rosalind don’t worry we’re gonna get the guys that fuckin did this. I’ll use my bare hands to kill those fuckers,” Alonzo said, a heat to his voice that Rosalind loved to hear.

“Alright,” the nurse said, quieting the room. “Give her some quiet, would ya? She’s in lots of pain.”

Rosalind found it in her to open her eyes again. Her throat was too raw to talk. She wanted to scream though. She wanted to claw her way out of her body because it didn’t feel like hers anymore. It felt disgusting and gross with the stain of someone else’s sin.

The days moved slow, a blur of blinding pain and a room full of people that were hellbent on talking up a storm. Rosalind listened to it, though, not quite ready to talk back to them.

Only when the room emptied, did the nurse come in, her bright smile making Rosalind feel some type of way. She smoothed her blankets out and checked her vital signs. “Now it’s been nearly a week,” the nurse said. “Have you tried talking, yet? Are we sure the cat hasn’t got it?”

“W-we’re sure,” Rosalind mumbled, voice scratchy.

“Ah,” the nurse smiled, straightening up. “You’re secret’s safe for me just as long as I can share one with you.”

“Okay,” Rosalind nodded, looking up at her.

“There’s a man who’s been coming around,” She told Rosalind. “Dark hair, blue eyes and worry lines that look permanent.”

Rosalind hummed, nodding, “we’re not supposed to see each other.”

“Well I think you should see each other,” the nurse said. “Maybe tomorrow before your room fills up. It’ll be our secret.”

Rosalind gave her a smile, eyes falling to her bedsheets. Visions of their last encounter replayed in her mind and it wasn’t good, they words they’d said. Rosalind didn’t mean it.

She thinks if she really saw him, she’d tell him that. Rosalind would tell Niall that she’s sorry- really sorry this time and she’d give him anything he wanted.

That felt like alternate realities, though. Rosalind turned the television up, shifting only slightly. She learned that movements too quick clenched her stomach in a way that made her feel like vomiting.

The pain dulled with the drugs they’d given her. Just Tylenol, she said, adamant on not receiving anything that would fuck with her. It was painful and excruciating but Rosalind wanted it that way.

“Every day the pain gets better little by little,” the nurse told her and Rosalind didn’t believe it.

Mentally, Rosalind wasn’t okay. She replayed the events of that night over and over in her mind until tears pricked in her eyes. It didn’t make sense in her mind, the way she felt like something bad would happen. It shouldn’t have happened like that.

The police came nearly everyday, asking Rosalind new questions, the same questions, and questions that didn’t make sense to her. They were saying it was just a drive by but drive by’s have a reason. Someone wanted her dead, and she’d find them and kill them herself.

Nothing prepares Rosalind for what she felt laying eyes on Niall. It was early in the morning, Rosalind was barely awake when her door opened and shut quietly. Her eyelashes fluttered as she watched him. Her instinct was to cry but she didn’t.

“Roz,” he murmured, stepping up to the side of her bed. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Look at ya. Ya look terrible.”

Rosalind let out a breath, fighting her laugh off. “Thanks.”

“I can’t believe this happened,” he mumbled, pulling a chair up beside the bed. “Who did it?”

“I don’t know,” Rosalind shook her head. “Lots of people want me dead.”

Niall hummed, reaching out for her hand. “I wanted to come sooner. To see you. I just...” he trailed off. “Didn’t know if you wanted me to. If I should if we’d be caught if I did.”

“So many ifs,” Rosalind commented, letting her eyes take in the sight of him, for real. His tired eyes and disheveled hair.

In her alternate reality, it was Sunday morning. They were fighting over who would make breakfast this time. Niall thought it was her turn and Rosalind knew it was but she’d fight him on it until he offered to help her. And Rosalind knew they wouldn’t even make it out of bed before Niall peeled the layers from her skin to kiss her everywhere.

“Did you hear me?” Niall asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

“No,” Rosalind mumbled, rolling her head to look at him.

“I said Sean has a letter for you. Should he bring it here or the shop?”

“The shop,” Rosalind answered, not wanting to talk about business when her mind was full of things to say to him. “Luca’s acting right now. Till I’m better.”

“How long?” Niall asked.

“A month. Maybe more. Soon as the wounds heal I get to do PT,” she said, shrugging lamely. “Lots of waiting around.”

“When can you go home?”

“Soon,” she murmured, looking up at him. “You gonna come see me at home?”

Niall let out a hum, shrugging his shoulders. “Dunno if we’re like friends again.”

“We’re always friends,” Rosalind told him, urgently.

“I...” Niall trailed off, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to fight with you like we did before.”

“I feel like you want more from me than I can give you,” Rosalind admitted, letting the words roll off her tongue despite how sour they were.

“What just an ounce of kindness is out of your range?” Niall asked, eyebrows raising. There wasn’t heat in his voice but Rosalind wished there was.

“If I’m nice to you, you’re going to fall in love with me,” Rosalind told him, voice quiet. “And I can’t have you falling in love with me. I’d have to kill you.”

The irony almost swallowed Niall whole. He nodded his head slowly, not having it in him to argue with her words. Though, he was almost sure he was already in love with her, and he was one hundred percent sure he’d die of it anyways.

Rosalind wasn’t in love with him, but she didn’t know what love was. She can’t recall a time in her life where she’s ever been in love but it always took her a while longer to catch on.

“Well I’ll come visit you, then,” Niall finally decided. “As friends. No funny business, of course.”

“Until I’m better,” Rosalind clarified, eyes shifting away from him. “If I’d known my last orgasm was my last orgasm I would’ve made it count for something.”

“If only you’d know,” he agreed, shifting in his seat, checking his watch. “I should go.”

Rosalind nodded, watching him stand up. Niall slid the chair back away from the bed, straightening up. “Call me when you come home. I’ll come over.”

“Okay,” she murmured, the apology she wanted to give him on the tip of her tongue as she looked at him looking at her. “I’m sorry,” she told him.

“It’s okay,” he shook his head. “I’m sorry too.”

“I’m going to talk to someone,” Rosalind told him, fingers twisting into the sheets, eyes darting away from him. “About my anger.”

“Wow,” Niall murmured, almost astonished. “That’s good, Roz. Something to be proud of.”

But it felt like Rosalind’s weak spot. Saying she gets too angry, can’t even control herself let alone the people that work for her. Rosalind nodded her head, though, looking up at him.

Niall’s feet were glued to the floor, just staring at Rosalind. He couldn’t tear himself from her just yet. Rosalind’s tongue was heavy in her mouth with the weight of everything she wanted to say to him.

Niall leaned toward her, brushing the hair from her eyes. Rosalind’s eyes fluttered at his touch, just the pads of his fingertips had her longing for more. “Hey Roz,” Niall said, voice crackling. He cleared his throat, not awaiting her response when he asked, “can I... can I kiss ya just-“ he sighed. “I missed you so much.”

Rosalind nodded, looking up at him. Niall leaned down, tilting her chin up. He licked his lips, exhaling out of his nose before catching her lips in a gentle kiss. Rosalind whimpered against his lips, eyes slipping shut.

The kiss was short lived, Niall pulling away to brush his thumb over her bottom lip. “Feel better, Roz, okay?”

“Okay,” Roz mumbled, nodding.

“If there’s anything you want me to.... take care of,” Niall told her, heading toward the door. “Let me know.”

Rosalind nodded, watching him leave. The absence in the room beside her felt like it’d eat her alive. She closed her eyes, shifting in bed. She wished she told him everything when she and the chance.

taglist: @swasanfrancisco @halluciniall @coconutdawn @exoticniall @missy14us

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eeveevie · 4 years

Text

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (8/18)

Chapter 8: A Left-Handed Form

After securing an important piece of evidence from the Third Rail, Madelyn and Deacon fill Nick in on the evening’s events and come to a startling revelation. At Railroad HQ, more secrets are revealed in the hunt for Boston’s crime-lord, while members of the team are threatened. Proof of his crimes in hand, Madelyn and Nick finally make their move against Eddie Winter.

“After all, crime is only...a left-handed form of human endeavor.” - Alonzo D. Emmerich as played by Louis Calhern (The Asphalt Jungle, 1950)

While the entire work has a content warning for ‘graphic depictions of violence’, the warning kicks into high gear in this chapter, specifically in the last section.

[read on Ao3] x [chapter masterpost]

April 11th, 1958

Midnight.

Madelyn felt like she had déjà vu—sitting in the back of a taxicab with Deacon’s hand wrapped tightly around hers, the two rushing away from another devastating scene. Instead of the fiery destruction of Ticonderoga, however, it was the chaotic crowd of the Third Rail, still reeling over the murder of their leader, Skinny Malone. She glanced to Deacon, catching her unrecognizable reflection in his sunglasses—that was the face of a woman who had nearly kissed him under the guise of husband and wife. If only they had more time to stay in those personas—Kitty and Johnny—long enough for her to finally act on her feelings. But Madelyn knew better—knew she couldn’t find comfort in a fantasy life when she hadn’t come to terms with how she felt in reality. Though, matters of the heart were hardly her concern when she had the Eddie Winter case to focus on. While the undercover job was over, their work was hardly done.

Just as Madelyn had done on that cold February evening, she instructed the driver to escort them to the agency. With Skinny Malone’s pocketbook in hand, she didn’t want to risk going anywhere else. There was also the small fear in the back of her mind that she and Deacon had been made—she wasn’t about to lead mobsters to her apartment or the Railroad headquarters. The faster she got to work on analyzing the planner’s contents, the faster a potential lead could be discovered.

“Look’s like the detective is in,” Deacon mused sarcastically as they arrived on the darkened Fens street, helping her from the cab with his lips in a flat line.

With no time for his and Nick’s sustained rivalry, she brushed his hand away and quickly strode to unlock the front door. Madelyn continued towards Nick’s partially closed office door and the light within, grateful for his late nights. Just as she crossed through the doorway, hand on the doorknob, a familiar giggle echoed through the room and she knew she had interrupted something intimate. Jenny was perched upon the large oak desk, one hand wrapped around Nick’s tie and the other hooked around his shoulder as she kept him standing between her legs, the two locked in a passionate kiss.

Madelyn was just about to step backwards out of the room when she bumped into a sturdy chest, tilting her head back to find Deacon—he had covered his natural hair with one of his black pompadour wigs—had he stashed some of his disguises in her office since they became partners? When he noticed what she had stumbled upon, he smiled and let out a low whistle, catching the couple’s attention.

“Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds,” Deacon spoke casually, much to Madelyn’s mortification. He rested his hands on her shoulders, and she smacked a hand to her face. “We have good news and bad news.”

“Oh, don’t mind me, Mads!” Jenny’s amusement wasn’t all that comforting, especially when Nick’s expression was a mix of embarrassment and irritation. The other woman hopped down from the desk to stand, smoothing out the fabric of her dress before flashing a wink. “Humphrey Bogart, good to see you again.”

Deacon barked a laugh. “Always a pleasure, Miss Lands.”

“I’m sorry Nick,” Madelyn sighed, moving into his office—no use in leaving now. “We wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important.”

The detective readjusted his tie and if she didn’t know any better, flushed at the smear of lipstick on his shirt collar. As he tried in vain to wipe it away with his fingers, he shook his head. “Shouldn’t you be at the Third Rail?”

“That’s the bad news,” Deacon said, relaxing into one of the empty armchairs. Nick’s annoyed expression intensified at the ominous tone. “Skinny Malone is dead.”

At that, Jenny drifted towards the doorway. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

Nick waited until his fiancé was out of earshot to ask his questions. “What the hell happened? Weren’t there supposed to be a whole group of undercover cops at the joint? Where was Marty?” he pinched the bridge of his nose before dragging his hand down to rub at his chin in thought. “Do I even want to know the good news?”

Before Deacon could make some kind of snide remark or explain in his own colorful way, Madelyn approached, placing the pocketbook she had taken on Nick’s desk. She kept her hand atop the leather-bound covering while he eyed it curiously.

“In order? He was poisoned. Marty was nowhere to be seen, but neither were Winter’s men,” she explained, tapping the book again. “I took this off of Skinny Malone while pretending to be a helpful nurse,” The memory made her stomach churn. “I hope it was worth our trouble.”

Nick took the worn book from her and sat down in his office chair, carefully tugging at the elastic bands that held it closed. Meanwhile, Jenny reappeared with a small tray of coffee, handing a steaming mug to Deacon before approaching the desk. She passed a blue ceramic cup to Madelyn—already made the way she preferred—and another to her fiancé with a grin. But Nick only regarded her with a worried frown.

“Jenny dear, you should take the keys and—”

“What and let the three of you have all the fun?” she smirked, eyeing the way Madelyn was still dressed in her borrowed gown. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, Nicky. I know you want to protect me from all the nasty details, but don’t think I haven’t gleamed enough from what you’ve brought home.”

The redhead circled the desk to sit in the other empty armchair, sipping her coffee as if she was satisfied that she had made her point. Nick sighed, knowing he was better off not arguing with his lady-love. Instead, he focused on Skinny Malone’s notebook, flipping through the pages that were filled top to bottom with scribbled writing. Almost immediately, his brows furrowed, and he reached for his pack of smokes, bypassing the cup of coffee.

“Don’t tell me it’s just a log of when he goes to the can,” Deacon mumbled from his spot. Madelyn shot him a warning glance from over her shoulder and he flashed a coy smile.

Nick ignored his comment, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Seems Skinny and his men were monitoring Winter just like us,” he started, finger dragging across a few lines of fountain pen. “Wiretaps at several locations, stakeouts since he was released from prison and a handful of men on the inside.”

“Did they discover anything?” Madelyn asked.

Working outside of the law, the Triggermen must’ve been able to find more evidence than the agency. Nick flipped through a few more pages, pausing to flick stray ashes into the nearby tray and take a sip of coffee when Jenny gave him a knowing glance. His eyes widened and his smoke nearly fell from his lips as he slammed his palm against the book.

“They followed him to his base of operations!” he exclaimed, turning the pages around so Madelyn could read for herself. With the notebook in hand, she looked over the text—Joe’s Spuckies Sandwich Shop, near Andrew Station in South Boston, underground cellar and bunker—Nick exhaled, “We’ve got him.”

Madelyn wasn’t swayed as she read on.

“Not so fast,” she warned. “The agency is named in here—you specifically—here,” she passed the book back to Nick so he could read. “Eddie Winter has been watching our movements and the Triggermen knew about it. But it looks like Winter didn’t feel too threatened until recently.”

Nick’s expression darkened as he silently looked over the writings with a careful eye. Madelyn could only stand and watch in silence, gazing over her shoulder to find Deacon studying her with concern. Jenny appeared equally anxious, quietly drinking her coffee as she observed her fiancé fretting over the notebook’s contents. Finally, Nick let out a long sigh, cigarette smoke hanging in the air around his head.

“It seems like Winter has been feeling cornered,” he began. Under different circumstances, he would’ve been happier to give such a statement. “He’s been struggling to turn the last batch of cops and detectives across Boston P.D. including the Chief Sergeant.”

“Sergeant Sullivan?” Madelyn clarified, to which Nick nodded. The Boston Chief had always given Nick and Madelyn trouble and the two had always figured he was one of the first to be in Eddie Winter’s pocket. “If Danny Boy hasn’t been compromised, then maybe we can go to him with our findings.”

“Oh, so we’re going to trust the police now?” Deacon quipped, disapproving of her suggestion. “Same ones that left us high and dry at the Third Rail?”

She didn’t want to admit that he had a point. “Marty should’ve been there, I know. After he gave us that holotape from police custody…”

Deacon leaned forward, curious. “What holotape?”

“Apparently, it has Eddie Winter’s voice on it, along with some damning evidence,” Madelyn explained. Her Railroad partner’s expression shifted as he nodded, and she realized she’d seen that look earlier in the evening. “Back at the Third Rail—you said he looked familiar. What did you mean?”

“You won’t like this,” he winced, before continuing with a strained sigh. “He’s the one I saw in the rearview mirror, walking away from the other car out front of Ticonderoga, right before the explosion.”

“Bullshit,” Nick immediately replied. “Like I’d believe a word you have to say.”

Madelyn was just as unnerved by the allegation, look to Deacon who only held a sympathetic frown. “I don’t understand.”

“I’d recognize that kitschy tie anywhere,” he continued. “For a crooked cop working undercover, he didn’t try hard enough to blend in.”

“Says the man who never takes off his sunglasses,” Nick said, mockingly. “Marty’s an ass, but one of Winter’s murderers? That’s a hell of a leap,” he shook his head. “Why would he stick his neck out for us time and time again, if he’d been playing for the other side the entire time?”

“Either he’s one hell of a double agent,” Deacon shrugged. “Or the worst.”

“Deacon,” Madelyn caught his attention, so he’d look at her. “Are you sure? Are you sure you saw Marty that night?”

“Charmer,” he spoke her codename with such sincerity. “I swear.”

Nick still wasn’t convinced, rubbing at his temple in frustration as he lit the end of a new cigarette. “I’m not going to condemn a man over a tie.”

Jenny spoke up for the first time since they had started their conversation about the case. “What did you always say to Marty, Nick?” she said, in a calm even voice—so unlike the usual bubbly tone Madelyn was used to hearing from the feisty woman. “That either his drinking or ambition would get him into trouble one day. Well maybe he was stupid enough to let the greed take over.”

Nick locked eyes with his fiancé, quietly contemplating her words. Jenny tilted her head to the side and grimaced. “He always did wear the most God-awful ties.”

Madelyn struggled to hold back her smile at the way Nick rolled his eyes, conceding with a sigh. If anything, he looked to be disappointed—Marty was somebody he considered a friend. “It would explain why he and the other undercover police disappeared from the Third Rail tonight.”

Deacon hummed, catching their attention. “Are we saying that instead of sending his own men, Eddie Winter had Boston P.D. off Skinny Malone?”

This time his suggestion wasn’t met by outright objection and silence filled the room as they considered the implications. Madelyn hadn’t noticed anything unusual when she was at the speakeasy—then again, she had been frequently distracted by Johnny—maybe that was part of the plan on Winter’s part. Nobody would suspect an inside job. But that still left more than a few questions that needed to be answered. What was on the holotape, and what was Marty’s true role? Another thought crossed her mind.

She pointed at the notebook laying on Nick’s desk. “Anyone find it convenient that Skinny Malone had such an important piece of evidence on him?”

“Like it was meant to be found?” Jenny questioned. What she said wasn’t too far off, but Madelyn had other ideas.

“Or he was planning to hand it off,” she suggested instead. “Didn’t expect to be double-crossed by a bad batch of bourbon.”

Nick nodded, agreeing with her train of thought. “Even with the chips stacked against us, we have the upper hand here with Skinny Malone’s notebook and the holotape.”

Jenny groaned, shaking her head as she finished off her coffee. “There he goes again with the poker analogies…”

“Considering who it came from, that could be a dead-end.” Madelyn noted, solemnly. “We have to listen to it first.”

“You’re right,” Nick replied. “Where would we get access to a holotape player?”

Deacon clapped his hands together, grinning in an all too self-satisfied way. “I think I know a guy.”

Desdemona wasn’t pleased when Deacon showed up at the Old North Church with Nick Valentine unannounced, but wherever the holotape went, the detective followed. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Madelyn to keep the evidence safe, but he needed to hear what was on the recording for himself. While Deacon gave a report of the evening’s events to the Railroad’s leader by the main dais, Madelyn and Nick sat preoccupied by Tinker Tom’s ramblings. The Railroad engineer and self-described inventor was a few screws short of a hardware store, but besides offering the occasional outlandish conspiracy theory, he hadn’t done anything to offend Madelyn since she joined the Railroad. His behavior was something she was used to—Nick, however, looked uncomfortable.

“I wish I would’ve met you sooner, man,” Tom said with a bright smile, gesturing to Nick’s prosthetic hand. “If you want, I could replace that with some top-notch robotics. State-of-the-art circuitry you wouldn’t find anywhere else.”

Nick tried his hardest to maintain an air of civility. “I’m sure the folks at MIT set me up well enough.”

“Oh no, see, that’s where they’ve got you, man,” Tom frowned, shaking his head in earnest. “You can’t trust those scientists.”

Before he could go off on another tangent about how the college was poisoning the water supply, or how to avoid their microscopic food robots, Madelyn decided it was time to steer the conversation to the reason they were there to begin with.

“Deacon said you could help us with this,” she nodded to Nick who hesitated before pulling the holotape from his trench coat pocket. Tom carefully examined the small, yellow, plastic-encased recording and broke out into a grin.

“Oh man, it’s been ages since I saw one of these,” he explained, pushing away in his rolling office chair to a different desk where a large electronic device was set up. Tom swiveled to face them, beckoning them over with a wave of his hand. “After you and my man Deacon went through the Switchboard, a few more agents have been making salvage runs. You’re looking at certified US government property.”

Madelyn wished Tom knew he was admitting to the possession of stolen property to a lawyer—but beyond her agent codename, there was little he knew about her—that was the whole point of codenames and secret identities, to avoid learning too much and forming attachments. She wondered where Deacon had lost his memo. Or maybe she’d lost hers.

“…I’ll just pop this in here and—”

If Tom had been speaking, she had zoned out, and pushed forth a polite smile to compensate. Nick finally looked invested in what the other man had to say, now that they were making progress. With the holotape inside the device, he pressed a few buttons, but nothing seemed to be happening, much to the detective’s frustration.

“Memory hiccup, but…” Tom mumbled, adjusting a few knobs.

Deacon appeared next to Madelyn, gently brushing a loose brunette strand behind her ear. She’d almost forgotten she was still wearing the damn wig and was half-tempted to tear it off when she remembered the ungodly number of bobby-pins keeping it in place. Just as quick as he made the adjustment, his hand swiftly returned to his side. That was one noticeable trait—that when they were around other Railroad agents (other than Drummer Boy) or at headquarters, he was reluctant to be as physically close to her as he usually was when they were alone. It was difficult not to read into, but she found comfort in the tiny gesture nonetheless.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked. Rather than anyone in the group responding, the holotape began its playback.

Message to Robert Cooper—You did good, Bobby. The wife and girl won't be saying anything. No worries. Hell, once those fat life insurance checks start rolling in, Mrs. Montrano will wish her fat slob of a husband had eaten that bullet 5 years ago. As for what happens next - up to you. Beach, sub shop, car yard - doesn't matter where he ends up. I don't give a shit - I just want him in the ground. So long as Johnny Senior never finds out what happens to his little meatball, we're set. Eddie Winter, signing off.

There was a long pause and Nick nearly toppled out of his chair. “Is that it?”

Tom shook his head, raising his hand to hush him as he toyed with the dials. “This baby has a lot more where that came from.”

“Did you hear that though?” Madelyn was breathless. She’d heard Winter’s voice on the television and radio broadcasts during his criminal trials the previous year, but in this context it was far more frightening. There he was, admitting to the assassination of Johnny Montrano Jr, more or less. “Why would he record something like that?”

Deacon scoffed, bewildered. “He’s insane, this is way past conceited, like he thinks he can get away with it.”

“Shh! Shh!” Tom quieted them as the tape crackled to life again.

Message to Marty Bulfinch—Listen Marty, I know you’ve got a history with that private dick, so right now you’re the only thing standing between him and a .44 caliber bullet to the brain. If you want to keep insisting Mr. Valentine has got nothing to hide, then you must not value your life or career. Since everyone already knows about your drinking problem, maybe they wouldn’t be surprised to learn about your gambling debts, or how Mrs. Bulfinch left you to live in New York. Have you seen her Manhattan apartment? Green carpet and white tile in the bathroom? You must pay a pretty penny on those alimony checks. Reconsider my offer, maybe I’ll sweeten the deal with some booze. Eddie Winter, signing off.

“Marty was blackmailed,” Nick spoke the moment there was another break in the recording. He snapped his gaze to Deacon who furrowed his brows in annoyance.

“He still murdered my friends,” he spat.

Madelyn rested her hand on Nick’s arm, trying her best to ease the tension, silently reminding him of where they were. While it was important to learn the circumstances behind Marty’s choices, the decision had resulted in the death and destruction of the Railroad agents—the very people that were helping them now. It wasn’t worth reminding him how she almost died that night as well, if it hadn’t been for Deacon saving her life. The detective sat back in his chair, jaw clenched. Tom took that as his cue to start the holotape again.

Message to Vinnie Vannucci—It’s time. Start having the boys ask around for that broad the detective is sweet on. Find everything you can on that dame of a partner while you’re at it. Hear she’s some lawyer with the District Attorney’s office—she’d be useful if we can bribe her. Otherwise, I know how good you are at magic tricks. Let’s see if you can make two more nosy dollies disappear. Eddie Winter, signing off.

Madelyn could feel Nick trembling from where her hand was still resting on his arm, fists clenched tightly as he struggled to maintain his composure. A personal threat, almost as if Nick was meant to hear it. Then again, it had been personally delivered to them by Winter’s inside man, so it might as well have been a personalized greeting from the crime-lord himself. Even she had been targeted, but strangely enough, she hardly felt as frightened as she did for the other implicated woman.

“That’s all she wrote,” Tom said, ejecting the holotape from the device reader. “Well, he—this Eddie Winter guy sure sounds—”

“I’m going to kill that son-of-a-bitch,” Nick muttered, standing before she could stop him.

No matter how riled up he had gotten over each new piece of news or evidence in the case against Winter, Nick had never escalated towards vengeance. Even with all the corruption, the detective still believed in justice, still valued the court system and hoped the right people could put Eddie Winter away for good. But now, it was personal.

“What are you saying?” Madelyn asked, watching as he paced in a small line. It only made the panic rooted inside her chest spread. “Nick?”

“We need to head back to the agency and strategize a plan of attack on his base of operations,” he explained. “No more waiting around. We strike as soon as possible.”

“One step at a time,” she urged, waving her hands in protest. She understood the importance of striking while the iron was hot, but if they charged in blind, they were only setting themselves up for failure. “What about Jenny?”

Her open-ended question alluded to the thinly-veiled threat Eddie Winter had placed against her on the holotape, and the devastation etched into Nick’s expression told her he had nearly forgotten in his eagerness to leave. He scrubbed at his growing stubble, at a loss for words.

“The Railroad can help,” Deacon offered, breaking the silence. “We—I—can go pick her up and take her to a safehouse. Make sure she’s protected until this ordeal blows over.”

Nick wouldn’t be so easily persuaded. “I don’t trust you.”

“Nobody does,” Deacon replied, soberly.

Without any other options, Nick flicked his gaze to Madelyn and nodded. “She trusts you. That’s enough for me,” he let out a long sigh. “Deacon, you keep my Jenny safe, or there’ll be hell to pay, you hear?”

“Anything for you, Valentine.”

With one last nod, Nick took possession of the holotape from Tinker Tom on his way towards the staircase that led back through the catacombs and church basement. Madelyn turned to face Deacon who was pensive, expression disconcerting for how well-dressed he was, still wearing the suit from the Third Rail. She likely looked just as out of place, and hardly felt as confident as she had when she first put on the sparkly black dress hours ago.

“I better…” she trailed off, knowing she needed to leave to catch up with Nick.

Before Madelyn could leave, Deacon reached out to grasp her hand, holding it in a firm grasp. His thumb brushed over her knuckles in an affectionate sweep as his lips twitched to the side in a brief smile.

“Keep yourself safe, Charmer,” he said, softly. She squeezed his fingers back in reply.

“I promise.”

April 12th, 1958

No amount of careful planning could’ve prepared Nick and Madelyn for what they faced when they traveled into South Boston the next evening, breaking into the Joe’s Spuckies Sandwich Shop when the coast was clear. They had trailed Eddie Winter to the location and watched the building from afar for hours before advancing, hoping they could corner him in the underground bunker. The two slowly crept through the darkened halls, pistols drawn—of course, that didn’t stop two of Winter’s men from sneaking up on them from behind, incapacitating them both with a hit from the blunt end of a gun.

The first thing Madelyn heard when she started to regain consciousness were the opening notes to a Bobby Darin album. Her vision blurred as she peeked open her eyes, and it took several blinks to realize she had been moved to a new location—she wasn’t even sure if she was in the sandwich shop anymore. She tried to move but her hands were bound behind her back—as well as her chest and arms—keeping her secure in the chair she occupied. A little resistance proved that her wrists were bound to another pair—Nick. As she struggled to get a glimpse of him over her shoulder, a hand came and jerked her chin from view.

“This one’s awake,” the guard grumbled.

She glared up at the imposing man, wincing at the throbbing pain at the base of her temple where she had been struck. If she were lucky, she didn’t have a concussion. Then again, if luck were on her side, they wouldn’t be tied up in Eddie Winter’s basement. The guard was lucky they had secured a cloth gag in her mouth, otherwise she probably would’ve made to bite at his thumb that still pressed against her cheek. He shuffled away when a new person entered her field of vision—Eddie Winter himself. Tall, lean but muscular, dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Befitting of the Boston crime-lord, he wore an immaculately tailored suit, grey in color, with a little white pocket square. If he wasn’t the scum of the earth mob-boss, she might’ve called him handsome—until he smiled, confirming he was nothing but evil.

“Madelyn Hardy,” he grinned, petting at her hair, inspecting a few golden strands. “You are far prettier than I expected.”

Before he could say anything else or run his grimy fingers across any more of her, Nick began to rouse, which spiked Eddie’s excitement. “Come on Detective Valentine, it’s time to wake up. You wouldn’t want to miss out on all the fun we’re about to have,” he gave a light tap to the side of Nick’s head, to which he recoiled, shaking his head in earnest. If he weren’t gagged, he’d be giving the mobster an earful.

“Oh no,” Eddie softly chuckled, leaning away so the two could see him easily. He had inferred a lot from Nick’s resistance. “You brought her into this, so any harm that comes to her is your fault.”

Madelyn steadied herself at the veiled threat. Clearly the man had a plan for them that evening and judging by the other guards that occupied the room, it couldn’t be good. Nick fidgeted, his hands fighting against the binds in vein while Eddie watched, a wild glaze in his eyes. Deacon was right—the man was insane and wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied. She was briefly reminded of Doctor Crocker, but Eddie’s methodical madness was far more terrifying.

“That’s what I like to do, Valentine,” the man said, slowly reaching into his jacket and retrieving his .44 pistol. “Teach lessons.”

She was momentarily confused—expecting far more from the man who had murdered his victims in extravagant ways—until he raised the weapon and quickly shot not at her and Nick but at the two guards standing watch over them. His aim was deadly, each man only needing one bullet each to the center of their skulls before they dropped to the floor with a loud thud. Madelyn flinched at every movement and sound, yells muffled by the gag, trembling at the mix of fear and relief—was she next? Nick’s curses were equally stifled, and more than ever she could feel his fingers working to loosen the ropes. Eddie hardly had a reaction to killing his own men, running a hand through his hair with a disgruntled sigh.

“I can’t even trust my own men, stealing right from under my nose,” he waved the gun to one of the dead men. “Making moves on my girl. Small offenses to some, but to me? Don’t you know who I am?”

The record player switched over to a new song, and Eddie smiled, mumbling to himself about how he adored the song. After adjusting his suit jacket, he sidled back towards them, with a little dance in his step. Madelyn had never been more alarmed by an action—as the man said—this was fun for him.

“You know Valentine, that’s why when I found out you and your no-name agency were snooping around, I wasn’t in the slightest bit threatened,” he shook his head. “A laughing-stock detective and some reject from the D.A.’s office—don’t you know where the fairer sex belongs, dollface?”

Madelyn gritted her teeth, wanting nothing more than to shoot the man herself. Regardless of the unknown factors, it was now just the two of them against Eddie. If they could get their ties free, perhaps they could end this nightmare once and for all. He backed away, twirling in a two-step to the rhythm of the song.

“Still, never can be too careful,” Eddie continued, walking towards an armchair with a large plastic tarp draped over it. Only then did Madelyn notice feet were sticking out at the bottom, and the droplets of blood splattered across the concrete flooring. “I should’ve picked a better inside man. One that wasn’t so blindly loyal to you.”

Whatever Madelyn expected to see beneath the sheet, it was far worse when Eddie yanked the plastic away, revealing the mutilated corpse of Marty Bullfinch. Not even the scene at Earl Sterling’s apartment could’ve prepared her—the only recognizable part of him left was the bright yellow tie around his neck.

“Poor Marty,” Eddie frowned, tilting his head to inspect the body. “But what a piece of art this is, don’t you agree? One of our new contractors, Mr. Pinkman—wouldn’t want to be alone with him in a dark alley.”

“I suppose Marty did what I asked of him,” Eddie sighed, turning to a small table where he placed his weapon back in the holster of his jacket. Madelyn wasn’t relieved, however, as he swapped it for a short combat knife. “But that idiot had it in his head that he could still help you, leak information that would end the empire I’ve built.”

The man crossed back over to where the two were tied up, focusing his attention on Nick. Madelyn craned her neck to see that Eddie was balancing the knife’s edge under his chin, smirking as he tugged the cloth from the detective’s mouth.

“Now, Valentine,” he said. “You’re gonna tell me everything you know. I know you’ve been dying to say something all night.”

Nick moved and Madelyn realized that in all the time Eddie had been monologuing, he had been breaking free of his binds. “Yeah, don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.”

Nick brought his arms out from behind him in one swift movement, using the forward momentum as he stood to tackle Eddie to the floor. Madelyn felt a surge of adrenaline rush through her veins and she rushed, fingers fumbling to loosen her ties so she could help. From over her shoulder she could see the two struggling to gain control of the knife, Nick finally tossing the weapon far away and out of reach. The next move was to reach for the gun holstered in Eddie’s suit. Panic started to rise in her chest—just as the ropes fell from her wrists and she pulled the gag from her mouth, a shot rang out and she froze, turning to see what had happened.

Another shot and her worst fears started to envelop her as Nick slumped to the ground, Eddie’s hand gripped firmly around the .44 pistol. He was breathless and disheveled, but the look in his eyes was rabid as he locked onto her. Before she could stand, he had stumbled over to her, discarding the gun as he pushed her to the ground. Madelyn was splayed against the hard, concrete floor as he straddled her body, large hands wrapping around her neck and pressing down on her windpipe.

“I like to be intimate with my dollies,” he hissed.

Madelyn wouldn’t surrender to the terror—she wouldn’t die like this. She knew there wasn’t much time to enact a plan of escape and squirming beneath him only made him squeeze harder. But she had a promise to keep, and damnit if she wasn’t going to see Deacon again or bring Nick home to Jenny. It was now or never. If anything, she was spurred on by the repulsive way he was half-singing along to the song still playing on the record-player, smile a sickening a sight.

“Could it be our boy's done somethin' rash?”

She twisted her body, reaching down to bunch up the left side of her skirt so she could feel at the cool metal of her holstered pistol. The guards hadn’t bothered to check her for the hidden weapon after taking the one from her hands, and it would be their folly. Eddie’s grasp on her throat made her concentration waver, but she fought through the pain and dizziness. As soon as she had the gun in hand, she pressed the muzzle to his body and fired.

Madelyn sucked in a gasp of breath as his hands released her neck, Eddie’s body falling off of hers as he fell to the floor in anguish.

“Bitch!” he yelled, rolling away and snapping his hands to the wound on his side, blood soaking through his grey jacket. She scrambled away, struggling to stand to keep her weapon trained on him. At her feet, she saw his .44 and swiftly kicked it away. Eddie groaned, snarling up at her. He shook his head and laughed. “You won’t kill me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he barked, gradually pushing himself up to stand. Eddie gestured to where Nick was laying motionless on the ground, a slow puddle of blood had started to form beneath him. “He’s not dead. But he will be. Better act fast if you want Valentine to live.”

Madelyn didn’t think twice, rushing to her partner’s side. Eddie took the time to make his slow escape, pulling himself up the basement staircase and out of sight, a trail of blood following him in his wake. She wondered just how far he’d make it in his escape—but the man was resourceful. Right now, however, she had larger concerns. She collapsed on the ground next to Nick, examining his injuries. He had been shot twice—once to his shoulder which was responsible for the visible pool of blood, but there was another wound to his chest which shook her straight to her core.

Just like Nate.

Except, there wasn’t as much blood, and Nick appeared to be half-conscious as she gripped his hand, trying with all her might to rouse him. She wouldn’t lose him like this. Not after everything they’d been through—not in the same way she’d lost her husband. God—if he even existed—wouldn’t be so cruel to her in such a way.

“Come on, Nick,” she wept, the tears already streaming down her face. His eyes lifted, just barely and she gasped, gripping his hand tightly. Her encouraging words were useless, but she spoke them anyways. “You have to get up, we have to get out of here.”

His breath was shallow and ragged, before his eyes closed again. “Tell Jenny…”

Instead of slumping over his body and sobbing, Madelyn moved, on the hunt for a phone to call for help. He could tell her himself.

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #nick valentine #jennifer lands #tinker tom #eddie winter #also some spoiler characters #eddie winter dances like a psychopath ala american psycho #you may never be able to listen to bobby darrin again #anyways see you next week :D

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