#he (laszlo) just looks so shattered
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i cannot stress how fucking broken I am over Laszlo trying to do better than his parents in regards to raising a child, and the child he tried to raise as best he could remembers nothing of his childhood.
#he (laszlo) just looks so shattered#so#i don’t know#exhausted#matt berry pulls out the fantastic acting yet again#wwdits#what we do in the shadows#what we do in the shadows spoilers#wwdits spoilers
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Tease | Laszlo Kreizler x gn!reader (🍋-ish)
Anonymous asked: seal anon- back on my bullshit
"Here, I'll teach you"- laszlo maybe some doctor or daddy kink plz
summary: Laszlo comes to stay with you while he’s on a break from work, and while at first everything is fine, certain desires do tend to get in the way.
tws: Daddy kink, dom/sub, swearing, mentions of collars/leads, mentions of handcuffs, mentions of rope, mentions of praise kink if you SQUINT
word count: 1000
MINORS DNI
Laszlo thankfully wasn’t working, for once, he had a little time off for himself and he could actually relax; there were no murderers on the loose to torment him, there were no cases to be solved, and the majority of his patients were more than looked after by the staff. He had been begged to take a break, practically forced to, and although at first he was bored and he was struggling to find anything to keep his mind busy, he soon turned to you; his dashing and handsome partner. He found himself spending more and more time with you, more than making up for the time that had been lost between him helping others and the cases he was involved in, he practically moved in with you temporarily. Your bedsheets soon started to smell like him, and his presence around the house was more than welcomed; sitting with him in the evenings, your head in his lap as he read one of your books, cooking together in the afternoons, with him often telling you to add one thing or to avoid using another, long walks together in the morning through the woods, with you more often than not stopping in your tracks to observe a fox or a deer in the distance. It was more than a welcomed occurrence, more than a comforting time together.
But Laszlo wouldn’t stay so domestically sweet forever, and you were counting down the hours until he would treat you how he usually did; the more dominant side coming out of him one bit at a time. You were more than excited for what was going to eventually happen, hoping that he had brought over the handcuffs, the collar, the lead, and the rope; you did your best to behave, to be good in hopes that he would reward you one way or another, but you also knew that his punishments were also so fucking good, and you couldn’t help but to act up just a little bit.
It was fairly late, around twenty to ten at night, and you and Laszlo were doing your usual; he was sat in the chair in the corner with the lamp on, reading through his current book and waiting for you to hurry up with the laundry so that he could move onto the sofa and you would put your head in his lap as you kicked your feet up on the leather arm and settled down for the night. He was waiting, looking up every now and then when you walked past the room with an armful of washing, although he had a feeling that the little routine would be shattered into a million pieces; he kept reading, and when you settled down on the chair at the opposite side of the room, he put the book down, and tilted his head to the side as he looked at you.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” you said with a shrug, looking at him with those big puppy dog eyes that you knew he could never and would never refuse. “I was just thinking about how awfully I’ve been good recently.”
Laszlo furrowed his brows a little, looking at you with that hungry gaze that always came to his big brown eyes when he knew that you were about to start acting up, when he knew that you were about to start being a tease. “Don’t start that with me now, nyuszi.”
You scratched at the back of your neck, tilting your head and looking at him with as much innocence and ignorance as you could muster. “I’m not sure what you mean, Daddy.”
His jaw clenched, and he clicked his fingers. “Here. Now.”
You smiled, a little smug as you made your way over to him, and straddled his lap, your breath hitching when he placed his hand at the bottom of your throat. “What?”
“I told you not to start,” he said lowly, his voice hardly even a growl as he kept his dark brown eyes on you, keeping you pinned where you were as he shook his head. “If you’re good, you know I’ll reward you later.”
You pouted a little. “Yeah, about that… I don’t think I can wait until later.”
Laszlo scoffed, biting down on the inside of his bottom lip as he let out a harsh sigh. “So you’re going to start being a brat? Is that it?”
“Well, technically, no,” you started, “first of all, it’s my house, so… my rules.”
Laszlo couldn’t help but to laugh a little, swiping his hand down his face when he let go of your throat. He nodded. “Of course, where are my apologies? Would you like to be the dominant one when we… when we go to bed, too?” He laughed again. “Here, I’ll teach you if you want.”
You rolled your eyes at him. “Daddy, you know that’s not what I mean. Don’t be a fucking dick.”
He shifted his hips, just enough so that you could feel him and you would let out a soft whimper of need. “Don’t be a brat.”
“I’m not the one acting like-”
He moved his hips again to shut you up, and although you tried not to for the sake of playing fair, you ground down against him, drawing a shuddering growl from the back of his throat. “You were saying?”
“Can we go upstairs?” You asked quietly, swallowing thickly. “Please, Daddy? I promise I’ll be good if we do…”
Laszlo considered it for a moment, thinking about the things he could ask you if you wanted, thinking of how he could possibly use it as an excuse to thank you for letting him stay with you, and although a thousand and one things crossed his mind, he narrowed it down to what he knew were your favourites; even if you were teasing him a little, if you were playing a little game, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to praise and reward you. “Alright, come on.”
if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - do not just leave a "like", REBLOG IT. you may also leave feedback in the form of asks, tags, etc which is greatly appreciated, but you SHOULD reblog it regardless.
#mlem writes#laszlo kreizler x reader#dr laszlo kreizler#laszlo kreizler#The Alienist#the alienist imagine#daniel bruhl imagine#daniel bruhl x you#daniel bruhl x reader#daniel bruhl#daniel brühl imagine#daniel brühl x reader#Daniel Brühl
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No Questions Asked (Laszlo Kreizler x reader) Chapter 8
No Questions Asked tag list: @fandom-lover-4, @ajeff855, @booksarekindaneat, @greeneyedblondie44
Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee
You enjoyed the early morning. When the city was just waking up and everything was peaceful. You perched yourself on the edge of the table as you looked at the chalk board. Theories were scribbled down and you frowned at one particular one. The word ‘sewer’ was underlined several times and you pushed yourself off the table and walked toward the board.
“Miss Howard won’t appreciate you breaking into her office so early in the morning.”
You looked over your shoulder and saw Laszlo standing in the doorway. He put his hat on the table and you looked back at the chalk board.
“And what would she say if she saw you here.”
“I was merely passing.”
“Passing, right,” you let out an unimpressed noise, “And thank you for the advice- next time I break in I’ll try to do it at a more socially acceptable time.”
You raised a hand and wiped off the lines under ‘sewer’. Your eye twitched at the steady footsteps approaching you.
“You don’t think it’s important.” Laszlo stated
“No.”
“Why?”
“It’s a convenient place to dump a body,” you said, “Who would want to go searching in a sewer?”
“So it was an accident that the body washed up.”
“I think you know the answer to that already.”
“Which raises the question- how many more bodies is down there.”
You glanced over and gave Laszlo and bitter smile.
“Why do you think I don’t want to go down there.”
“You’ve had enough of death.”
You stiffened at Laszlo’s words and pursed your lips. You lowered your hand as Laszlo continued,
“What was it like.”
“Hmm?”
“Whitechapel. That is where you’re from.”
“It is. But I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“The Rip-“
“I was a child at the time,” you interrupted harshly, “I didn’t know what was going on. No one did. The police were fucking useless but what can you expect?”
“You’re still bitter about it.”
“You expect anything less?” you turned around and glared at him, “You don’t know the sense of panic and mistrust that was built up. And people like you,” you sneered at him, “In your fancy houses and education thinking you know everything that went on. I bet you think you know who he is just by sitting in a room, on the other side of the world, just by reading newspapers.”
You ran a hand over your hand and had to force yourself to stop shaking. You knew that it was unwise to let yourself get so emotional in front of someone like Laszlo. He was too smart, too unsettling. You could give yourself away if you weren’t too careful. Everything you had built up would come crashing down around you.
“Which is why you left.”
“You don’t know what it was like. Wasn’t easy getting here but here is better than there.”
The door suddenly banging open caused both of you to jump. The strange spell that had been cast over the two of you was shattered. John stood in the doorway and a look of confusion passed over his face.
“Didn’t know you would be here, Doc.” He said
“You looking for Howard?” you asked
“Laszlo actually.”
“And your first thought was to come here?” you asked, raising your eyebrows
“I was told he was coming here.”
“What’s the matter John?” asked Laszlo
John took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face.
“Another body has been found.” He said
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I can’t even remember the last time Nadja has called him “gizmo” but I know it’s been a long while. I noticed she treats him better when Laszlo isn’t around. Whenever she would call him “gizmo” in the earlier seasons it would be right after she heard Laszlo call him that. Nadja yells at everyone though. That’s just her personality, especially now with this season really showcasing that with her ear-shattering scream whenever she’s really angry about something. She’s aware that Guillermo can get through to Nandor more than anyone in the household , that’s why she confided with him when Nandor was being obsessed with Gail and she believed that Guillermo could get through to him. So I think she’s aware of the influence that Guillermo has over Nandor at least. Nadja did show concern over Guillermo’s safety when all of them met with the werewolf pack in the first season (when they were all about to fly away and she was the only one to think about what would happen to Guillermo. Not even Nandor thought about him).
I was also looking forward to Nadja and Guillermo bonding more when they were in the UK together, but I ended up just looking like a clown. Oh well.
I agree that Nadja screams at everyone! That's because I do not think that Nadja respects the people around her. Laszlo sometimes? But even him not always. She loves him! But he exasperates her at times. Nandor... basically never. Guillermo also basically never. The Guide? Big no.
I think Nadja's inability to respect the talents and ideas of those around her is one of her bigger flaws, actually, and I think it's reflected in that one of the only characters she'll listen to and relate to is... her own ghost. She's self-sufficient to a fault and part of that is because she feels like she can't rely on anyone around her. And... I mean, to be fair, she is kind of surrounded by idiots. The problem is that she is also an idiot most of the time.
(And I do think that she recognizes that Guillermo can affect Nandor more than anyone else, but she also thinks that Nandor is an idiot with terrible taste so I don't know that that impresses her.)
I think the big difference between her and her husband's Gizmos is that I think Laszlo actually knew Guillermo's name lmao. He just calls him Gizmo to annoy him. (Sometimes it even sounds kind of fond?) But I think Nadja just straight-up forgets sometimes. Like how she forgot that she put Guillermo in a box. She... does not think of him often, not unless he is directly in front of her and demanding attention. I wouldn't be surprised if he just wandered around for a lot of their time in England because she certainly wasn't taking him to Council meetings.
I don't think Nadja hates Guillermo or anything... I just don't think that she respects him or even thinks about him at all when he's not there, no matter how much he does for her. Just like Laszlo is fully able to respect him without liking him, I think that Nadja's able to become fond of people without respecting them at all.
We still have The Pine Barrens, though...
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I Tried it at Home
Chapter 3: Ground Control to Major Tom
Thursday, December 14th, 2034 - 6:03PM
A 60 million year old dinosaur was not the first thing to come crashing through the Robinsons’ dining room window... Neither was Art’s UFO either, to be fair.
It was just the most notable.
Wilber had been booting up a game of chargeball when a massive crash shook the entire house. Carl came down the travel tube not 30 seconds later, wearing a heart-patterned apron from helping Franny recook dinner after burning the first one.
“Wilbur, what did you do?!”
“Why do you think I did something?”
Before Carl could respond, Cornelius’s voice sounded over the observatory’s intercom.
“Robinsons, we need urgent medical attention in the dining room! All hands on deck, we have an emergency!”
A quick exchanged glance and both boy and robot made a break for the travel tube.
Wilbur and Carl rushed in with the rest of the family to find Art’s UFO crashed into the floor of the dining room. It was scratched and dented, and its glass dome shattered, sending smoke billowing into the house. The hot spacecraft mixed with the cold wind outside felt odd. A frightening mix of heat and frost.
Cornelius quickly took charge.
“Mom! Dad! I want you and the kids somewhere safe! Fritz, I need a fire extinguisher! Carl, lift what you can! We need to find Art! Gaston-”
But Gaston wasn’t listening. Neither was Franny. When Cornelius looked over, they were both digging through the wreckage, lifting and throwing heavy pieces of metal with incredible ease. They were getting scraped and burned, yelping out in pain, but neither of them cared. They were just dead set on finding their brother.
“Art!” Franny cried, straining to pry open a piece of scrap metal. “Rghhh- help me!”
Gaston rushed over and helped her lift it and throw it aside. The other Robinsons quickly took initiative and joined in to help. “Art! Where are you!?” Gaston shouted, squeezing himself into the cockpit of the spaceship and coughing on the smoke.
Carl rushed around and opened windows, letting out the smoke so everyone could breathe safely. Cornelius felt a tap and looked over to see Uncle Joe holding up a fire extinguisher for him. “Thank you,” Cornelius nodded and hurried to put out any remaining flames. He suddenly caught sight of his son digging in the rubble.
“Wilbur! I want you outside where it’s safe!”
Wilbur only shook his head. “No, dad. This is my family, too. I need to help!”
Despite everything, pride bloomed in Cornelius’s chest for his son.
Carl began to throw broken pieces outside the already broken window so they could navigate better. Some of the metal plates were so hot, they hissed when landing in the snow. Laszlo lifted pieces off the top of the ship and helped Carl throw them outside. His helmet wasn’t strong enough to lift massive pieces, but he did everything he could to stop debris from falling on the others. Billie used her tools to take some pieces apart. She removed the golden door from its hinges and moved to throw it out. To her surprise, even Frankie and his band were helping lift smaller pieces of rubble and using their small sizes to squeeze inside the ship in search of Art.
“I can’t find him! Where is he?!” Franny shouted, her voice overflowing with panic.
“I don’t know… I don’t know!” Gaston didn’t sound much better.
Very few times had Wilbur ever heard his mother and uncle sound like that. His mother- the strongest, smartest person he knew, and Uncle Gaston- bold, fearless Gaston.
Suddenly… beeping.
A small broken beeping.
One by one, the Robinsons paused their search and went quiet. Where..?
Slowly, a familiar broad silhouette stepped through the snow and stood in the broken window. Ragged and scraped up… but alive.
He smiled through his pain and held up his cracked phone, still beeping.
“...has it been thirty minutes?”
“Art!” Franny and Gaston cried in unison, dropping everything and rushing over to their brother.
They barrelled into him so quick, the trio toppled back into the snow.
“What happened?!”
“Are you okay!?”
“Did you manage the double safety back roll?”
“Gaston!”
“...Sorry.”
Art laughed and squeezed the other two close in a big hug. “I came in far too quickly and the blizzard weakened my visibility!”
Franny and Gaston both scrubbed away tears and clung to their elder brother like their lives depended on it. Art saw and blinked away a few of his own. “Hey now, you know I’d never leave you both.”
The rest of the Robinsons excitedly climbed from the rubble and rushed over to join the Famaguccis. Even the frogs croaked with joy and hopped up onto the trio.
Art looked up at the mess his UFO made in the dining room and winced.
“About that…”
Wilbur laughed and elbowed Carl.
“You know, normally we’d be eating right now but we had to start over on dinner. Carl, you saved the day by burning the pasta!”
“What!?” Gaston squawked.
“You BURNT the PASTA?!”
#disney#meet the robinsons#mtr#disney fanfiction#fanfiction#franny robinson#art framagucci#cornelius robinson#gaston framagucci#wilbur robinson#carl robinson#billie robinson#laszlo robinson#tallulah robinson#joe robinson#frankie robinson#frankie frog and his frog band#fritz robinson#lucille robinson#bud robinson#petunia robinson#lefty robinson#so do I tag them if i don't mention them explicitly but they ARE there?#i tried it at home
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𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 ❧ seeking closure, you find Laszlo and learn what really made him push you away.
𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 ❧ 3.6k
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 ❧ massive angst but also some fluff, somewhat graphic description of self-inflicted injuries (please please do not read if this would be triggering for you!!), making up after a fight
⇥ 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ⇤
The sun warmed your skin on your walk, in a pleasant way— not the type to make you fear a burn tomorrow, if anything it soothed you slightly, and so you didn’t hail a cab even though it wasn’t an insignificant walk.
When you reached the corner of 17th and 4th, you hesitated; if you went left, you could go home. Right, and you’d be headed to the Kreizler residence.
John was right to get frustrated with you for going to Laszlo again. You were even frustrated with yourself as you made a right turn and headed the way you never truly believed you’d falter from. But, you could recall a time when Laszlo had actually been rather pleasant to you; at least, for him. You could recall the sensitivity and gentleness that attracted you to him in the first place. And even if you were well aware that you needed to move on from your affections for him, for his work alone you irrevocably respected him still; and, out of respect, you intended to clear the air before you decided if this was a professional or platonic relationship worth salvaging.
Alphas could get rash leading up to their ruts, after all, though society preferred to focus on the unpredictable moods of an omega approaching their heat; as much as that couldn’t explain every coldness of Laszlo’s, it was just enough to give you some consideration for his outburst a few days ago.
When you approached the house, you gathered yourself before leaving a knock that went unanswered. You furrowed your brow and rapped at the wood again, a bit harder, and though it didn’t garner a response from inside, it was enough to rattle the deadbolt— which made you realize it was unlocked. Nervously, you turned the knob and let yourself in, casting bright sunlight and your own shadow into the quiet foyer.
Memories of the last time you were here threatened to superimpose themselves right over where they’d originally occurred, but you looked away to shake them back into the recesses of your mind. You stepped carefully to prevent your heels from clicking and echoing too loudly, your heart beating a bit more quickly as your mind cycled rapidly between ideas that you might be alone or that you might not— and not being sure entirely which was preferable.
As you peered into the sitting area, you squinted at first, then widened your eyes at what you actually witnessed there: the curtains were drawn, and if it weren’t for the sun being so bright outside, the whole place would’ve been submerged in shadow. Instead it was just rather dim, yet clear enough for you to see the complete and total disarray his office was in.
Books on the floor, some pages torn out. Bottles of medications fallen from their shelves and scattered all over the room. Furniture ripped— nearly shredded, actually— and you had to wonder if it was really Laszlo that did all this, or some wild beast that came in through the front door after you left it open.
Instinctively, you began to attempt to tidy up: first the papers on his table and desk, then the medications and ointments (at least the ones whose bottles weren't shattered). You knelt on the floor to sort through them, occasionally quizzing yourself on what you knew about the drugs by name as you read each label; Laszlo used to lend you medical books to let you study at home, back when he was a bit more amenable to you. He stopped after a while, and you once found all the books you’d borrowed from him stowed away in some forgotten dusty corner of his study— like he couldn’t even bear to put them back on the shelf after you’d touched them. That was the first time you really suspected that he truly and thoroughly hated you.
You heard footsteps approach behind you and stop in the doorway, and when Laszlo called your name, you delicately stood up and turned to face him.
He looked easily more haggard than you had ever seen him before: his hair was unruly and unstyled (not to mention a bit greasy, like it had been sweaty and dried again without washing), his clothes were simply a pyjama set which appeared wrinkled and disheveled with a tear down the side, and most of all there was a darkness to his eyes… like he hadn't slept at all since the last time you saw him.
"It seems you're out of your rut by now," you observed coldly. "You look unwell. It must have taken a lot out of you."
"It took everything from me," he agreed, voice rough and exhausted. It tugged at a sympathy you hoped to ignore.
"What happened here?" you asked, wondering if it was insensitive but hoping there was some cause to his madness.
"I haven't had a rut in years, only a few since I first presented," he explained. "Some alphas are more practiced and as such can withstand their urges more easily. But I… well, I did this."
You weren’t sure what to say, so you didn’t say anything.
“And I did something else rather brutish, didn’t I? I struck you,” he recalled.
“Yes, you did,” you agreed. “Was that another symptom of your delirium?”
“No,” he stated firmly. “No, that was the last properly lucid thing I did.”
You exhaled through your nose, almost a laugh— because it was almost funny. Even now, he couldn’t give you any mercy. Not that you’d come here expecting any; you were in love, and hopelessly naive, but you weren’t stupid.
“You’re in the same clothes from before,” he noticed, “have you gone home since then? I wondered where you would go in that rain…”
The idea that he thought at all about what you might do after you were out of his sight took you aback. "Well, I've been staying with John and his grandmother for the past few days. I suppose I just didn't want to be alone after what happened."
"Is that why I can smell him all over you?" he asked, a hint of a sneer on his face; like he wanted to be angry at the same time that he knew he had no energy or right to.
You sighed and blinked down at the floor. "It's not just that," you admitted. "He and I… well, I suppose it's fine to tell you that we shared a kiss.”
“Only that?”
You wrinkled your brow a bit, looking up at him again but finding him looking at your skirt instead of your face. “Yes, just one kiss,” you answered, humouring him just this once but letting your impatience make itself known in your tone.
He sighed, a heavy exhale through his nose as he looked away from you. "It's a good thing I didn't find out any time in the past three days. I would've probably tried to kill him… and he would've easily bested me, in turn. But I suppose that's why you kissed him,” he shrugged slightly. “He's strong."
All this talk of John and Laszlo trying to kill each other was starting to wear on you; for once, you wondered if those things people said about how all alphas are at their core just hormone-ruled beasts of instinct were really true, which you’d never believed before because of gentle men like John and Laszlo. "Doctor, what are you talking about?" you asked with a frown.
"Well, that's traditional when alphas are competing for a mate,” he shrugged, like it was obvious.
"Laszlo, I— he's not my mate. He's not my alpha. We kissed but we ended the night as we began it: dearest friends, but nothing more."
"Don't pity me, it's all right. He's a fine man and you'd make a handsome couple."
You tightened your fists at your sides, daring to raise your voice. "Stop saying that! I don't want him, Laszlo!"
“Then what do you want?” he snapped. “Why are you here?”
You felt a little targeted by those questions, but decided to half-answer them. “I want to understand why you struck me a few days ago,” you replied.
"I was already becoming something I didn't want you to see, and I needed to make you leave.”
“But you didn’t need to make me leave! I wanted to stay.”
With a sigh, he reached up and began to unbutton his shirt— he seemed well-practiced at doing it with one hand, which made sense, and your breath caught when his chest was exposed. It was covered in dark red cuts, long and deep, clearly from his own hand. It was concentrated to the right side, since he did it all with his left, and your hand shook as it reached out to run over the marks.
“Oh, Doctor…” you breathed, “you must have been in so much pain, and all alone…”
“This is what I would’ve done to you, if I let you stay,” he explained. “And if it had to be one of us, then I’d rather it be me.”
There were so many things you wanted to say and yet none of them seemed to come to mind as your eyes began to water, fingers tracing over his newly-formed scars while he watched their path.
“I suppose I figured a slap was a little hurt to save you from much more. Though I’ll admit I wasn’t entirely capable of rational thought at the time. I think if you stayed even a moment longer I would’ve forced myself on you and that… I could never forgive myself for that.”
“Laszlo,” you sighed, “it wouldn’t have been forced, I would have given in to you.”
“Why? Because you’re an omega and your instincts guide you to submit to me?” he hissed, as if that were the worst thing he could imagine.
“Because I have feelings for you!” you shot back, surprised so much by his look of confusion that it knocked you right out of your state of frustrated outburst and into a moment of awareness of your own vulnerability. “Didn’t you know?”
“N-no, I… no,” he shook his head, speaking in a hoarse whisper.
“I figured it was obvious,” you chuckled sadly, softly.
He paused for a moment— one of those little infinite moments as you waited for his reaction. “I’ve been so awful to you,” he finally mumbled to himself.
You reached up to hold his face, watching his gaze run away from yours as your thumb stroked his cheek gently. “Yes,” you agreed.
He almost smiled— one of those sad, empty smiles that a man like Laszlo had mastered to perfection— and nodded slightly in the palm of your hand.
“And all this time, I loved you all the same anyway,” you added, making him look from the floor to your own eyes again, searching them for something carefully.
“What do I… smell like, to you?” he asked quietly, though he second-guessed himself instantly as he looked away. “Forgive me if that’s an odd question—”
“Jasmine tea,” you interjected suddenly, making him turn to you again. “A leather-bound book, freshly printed, opened for the first time. And bitters. There’s a pub on 82nd that serves an old-fashioned with bitters that almost smell right…”
“You go to pubs on 82nd street?” he asked, a little concerned.
“I go to that one,” you clarified, “nearly every night.”
He collected his breath for a second, and you became very aware of his chest being exposed by his unbuttoned shirt with the way it filled and sank for every breath. It was instinct that guided you to reach up and brush your fingers over his chest— over the scattering of soft brown hairs, over the freckles and moles and scars. Over a fresh wound that made his breath catch for a second.
Your gaze followed your fingertips at first, but then jumped up to meet his own; dark yet anything but threatening. There was something new in his eyes as they examined you… something you rather liked seeing, a softness he hadn’t allowed before. You glanced at his lips, wondering if you might impulsively kiss him, but you were pulled back to reality when they moved as he spoke. "Twice now, at least, you've seen me for the monster I really am. Why in god’s name are you still here?"
You wondered if you’d ever heard take anything in god’s name, and you wondered if it meant much if it was in reference to a god he didn’t believe in; you smiled slightly as you answered him. "I don't think you're a monster, Laszlo. I think you're so afraid of what you are that you wanted me to be afraid, too."
“And what I am— you mean an alpha, yes?”
You nodded.
“What I am is in love with you,” he corrected you softly. “That scares me much more.”
A lump formed in your throat, your eyes turning down to the floor again. You wanted to believe him, god you wanted to believe him more than anything, but you couldn’t give in to his moment of love after months of disdain. “I thought you hated me,” you mumbled.
“I imagine everyone thinks that. I certainly wanted to, it would’ve made things much easier…”
“For you,” you finished. “For you, but not for me. Because you never really thought of me.”
“No,” he disagreed with a sigh, stepping closer. “No, I thought of you constantly, that was what drove me to such lengths. I thought it would ease your plague on my mind if I pushed you away. It only made it worse, I’m afraid… and it cost me the only love I ever had.”
The way you bit your lip and looked away must have made it obvious that that wasn’t necessarily true; he perked up instantly, reaching up to hold your face, addressing you by name which was somewhat rare and made you look back up at him in surprise.
“You could forgive me?” he wondered aloud. “Tell me there’s a chance you won’t hate me forever.”
“I never hated you, Laszlo, not even for a moment,” you promised, “not even when I should have.”
He almost smiled at you, yet he still looked incredibly serious; it’s hard to describe his expression, but it made your heart sing. “If only I wasn’t unwashed and exhausted and a bit dehydrated, I’d consider giving you a kiss,” he admitted.
“If I wasn’t in old clothes after spending the weekend in John Moore’s spare bedroom, I’d consider letting you kiss me,” you replied coyly.
“The both of us need some time to recover, I think,” he suggested. “Go home, spend a night or two in your own bed. Maybe soon I’ll be presentable enough to come by and ask you on a date.”
Just the prospect of that made your stomach aflutter with butterflies. “All right,” you agreed with a shy nod, looking away in hopes of hiding your blush.
Realising there was little else to say, for now, you stepped back to leave— but he followed you with another step. “Wait,” he requested quickly.
“Yes?” you responded, turning slightly to look back at him.
“If I came by to ask you on a date, would you agree to it?” he asked.
“When you come by,” you corrected, “you’ll find out my answer for yourself.”
Your first order of business upon arriving home was a long, steamy bath; the kind so hot you only indulged yourself in it occasionally. An array of soaps, oils, and salts filled the damp air with fragrance— beeswax, bergamot, cinnamon, even cardamom from the East which had been a gift from your well-traveled great aunt— and it gave your mind and senses a chance to renew themselves.
After you’d soaked just a bit too long, you toweled off and were just about to slip into nightclothes (even though it was still just the late afternoon) when the phone rang.
You cursed yourself as you realized you’d forgotten to call John; if it wasn’t him, which it almost certainly was, you decided that you’d call him as soon as you were done speaking to whomever it was. But, just as you suspected, it was John’s low voice on the other end as soon as you answered.
“Are you alright?” he asked quickly, and you hated to realise that he’d been worrying about you all this time.
“I’m perfectly fine, John— I’m even well, dare I say,” you grinned. “I’ve just had a bath and you know that always makes everything better—”
“You know surely that I didn’t call to hear about your bath,” he interjected, his frown clearly audible: you hoped your eyeroll was just the same.
“Well, it was really nice so you’re missing out,” you scoffed, “but I did visit the Kreizler estate. Laszlo managed to explain himself well enough, and I think it’s all water under the bridge now.”
“Really?” John pressed. “I’m curious what explanation could justify an assault so quickly.”
“Well, it doesn’t quite justify it, just helps me to understand why,” you clarified. “He was beginning his rut—”
“Wait, wait," John interrupted already. "Did you know? I mean, when he hit you, did you know he was going into his rut?"
You felt a little uncomfortable talking about such a subject with John, but then again, you talked with him about a large manner of private things. "I-I mean, I sensed it…"
His laugh was probably at your expense and yet it still eased your spirits. "You're more naïve than I thought!"
"What? Why?" you frowned.
"If you had told me…" he began, starting again. "Of course he would've kicked you out when he started to go into it: he thought he would hurt you. I could've told you that, if you'd thought to mention it when you came by."
"Oh," you sighed. "I didn't realise it was so obvious."
"Look, it isn't to say that he should've been violent with you," John clarified, "but I imagine he was trying to save you from worse. It's hard to think of a man as… stoic as Laszlo in such an animalistic state as a rut, but honestly it seems all the more proof that he goes really ballistic in them, don't you think?"
"Why would that be?" you wondered.
"I just mean that someone so rigid probably has so much locked away," John pondered.
"That sounds like something Laszlo would say," you scoffed, "if a little less eloquent."
"Significantly less eloquent, but you flatter me," John chuckled.
Before you could assure that you had no intention to flatter him, a ring of your doorbell pulled your attention away. "Oh, there's someone at the door," you spoke, to both yourself and to John.
"Hang up for now and answer it," John recommended, in that way that meant 'I won't be offended if you do.'
"I will, but I need to get dressed first," you realised.
"Oh," John sighed awkwardly, "you really did just get out of the bath…"
"I'll call you later, alright?" you promised.
But if ‘later’ was meant to be ‘later tonight,’ then you broke that promise... because once you’d dressed enough to answer the door and find the delivery on the other side, suddenly your night was fully booked with only longing.
It was a bouquet in a vase— a mix so vibrant and exotic that you could only identify about half the flowers in it— and though the sender remained anonymous, you knew they were from Laszlo.
You excitedly brought them inside to find the perfect sunny place for them, only then noticing that a small envelope was tied to the ribbon around the vase; but when you opened it (with perhaps a bit too ferociousness, due to your excitement), in lieu of a note you found a page from a book, torn out and folded up into a small square.
When you managed to get it unfolded, you saw it was an excerpt from a poetry book, faded and wrinkled but still plenty legible:
“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.”
You read it over and over for the rest of the night, committed each word to memory, and imagined Laszlo saying them to you himself. He must've sent the poem because he knew he couldn't say the words himself. You didn't mind that, really; just to think of him seeing this poem and thinking of you and ripping it out of whatever book it came from to send you truly made your head spin and your heart soar.
You could only wait in ecstatic anticipation for when Laszlo would come by to ask you on a date. Even though it made you slightly antsy and threatened to overwhelm you, you were beginning to like the way that hope felt.
#laszlo kreizler angst#laszlo kreizler x reader#laszlo kreizler a/b/o#alpha!laszlo kreizler x reader
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Now that you are writing requests, I think it's only fair I send you a few after some of the ones you have sent me 😌 as you've said you were the original anon who requested Laszlo x Sapiosexual partner headcanons from me, I'm curious to see how you would write it. Take it in any direction you want to 😘
Thinking Alike [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Reader]
Word count: 3k
Warnings: Mention of physical violence, mild stalking, smut (yup, there it is!)
Author’s note: My first smut, something easy breezy to begin with. Laszlo is an awkward mess and I love him.
It was embarrassing for Laszlo at first, to admit a weakness, so bluntly. Such a vile thing to do for a man like him.He tried reasoning through it more and more, lonely men went often to prostitutes, John himself did and with the extraordinary result not be devoured by syphilis or other diseases.He didn’t hurt himself nor others in the process.
The first time he met you it was by accident, he was invited by one of his former patients to visit her at her university, nothing unusual, he remembered her well: Julia, shy, small, bent down and backwards by a family that abused her very being, that abused her mind, development and growth.But to see her now a young woman, studying literature at university, thriving in her life and taking her own choices, she even started an internship with Sara, that was something that made a man like Laszlo proud of his job.
Briefly: that day was a success for him: from the meeting to the lunch they shared, she showed in every given moment how she treasured everything she learned at the Institute and, even though hard times were not over, she felt like she was able to face them.Then Julia asked him to join her to listen to a lecture, assuring he would love it so he obliged as it wouldn’t be too bad to feel like a student again and maybe spark some new interest in him.So he did, he sat down and leaned his back on the seat, the soft scent of the woody desks and chairs taking over his nostrils. He remembered how he was at that age, hungry, unnecessary aggressive and lonely. He smiled to himself at the memory.Poor John, still there to look after him and trying to give him a minimum of social skills.
Then the room fell into silence as you walked inside, your choice of clothing a white shirt and a burgundy skirt, a pocket watch on your side. A simple style, you wish good morning to the class and don’t indulge too much into talk.And there is where the unexpected happened.You open up simply, a picture, a quote. The description of man as William Blake: poet, engraver, prophet.To transcribe your words would be similar to the conflict of any man that ever found himself in the duty of writing, or better, transcribing a sacred text.The way you spoke, the way you held everybody’s attention, the way you moved back and forth or wrote on the chalkboard. The passion surging by your words digging into his flesh and bones, every cell into his body surging into an agonising desire to hear more.
The way your words balanced, how you managed to go from interesting facts to more detailed ones, from hard critical informations to conceptual ideas.That was the beginning of something new, his brain wasn’t able to move past the thought of you.
Literature wasn’t his field, but he felt like you were the spring of all truths.
So it begun.
He brought the books, he came to the lessons.
He thrived in every stolen moment he got with you, he sulked when somebody caught your attention, even more if it was to make some silly comment or question, he adored the way your hands traced shapes into the air symmetrically, it triggered him to wonder if you ever studied dancing, the pose of your fingers always so balanced.
He learned every micro habit you had: the way you always looked at your pocket watch when it was almost half time throughout the lesson, how you changed pin in your hair every day, the way you tucked your reading glasses in your shirt only to then look for those when in need to read.
His favourite moments were the ones when everybody was leaving the class and he could see you relax on the chair, gift little smiles around as you collected our belongings.
Your presence was by now his safe place, those two hours he spent a the university were the only moments he felt free, even if unseen.
Until the day he was getting into the class to find it empty and you alone there.“Regular students got a card saying the lesson today was cancelled” you said and his heart sunk into his chest “I would be mad to have someone sneaking in my classroom, but I had the feeling to have seen you before”
He gulped down as you were so close by now, he could guess your favourite perfume.You handed him a book, his book with his picture inside followed by his name in cursive letters.
“What does an alienist says about my course?”
“I say, your dialectic is what many of my patients would need in order to survive”You were surprised, eyebrows raising and a slight tilt of the head, you expected to find him guilty and ashamed, surely he was, but that answer was bold.
“And you? Do you find solace in my dialectics?” He took a moment before staring up at you, you didn’t realised how tall he was by seeing him always sat in the back, but you noticed him at every lesson.
How couldn’t you?An handsome, elegant grown man hiding among those twenty something, the walking stick giving away always his calculated late entrance in class, his eyes always on you digging holes.
“Constantly”His answer surprised you, you expected to confront him and send him away and now you’re torn between the feeling of cradling him in your arms and, what?
“I could forgive you for a lunch” He smiles, his eyes shining “I know the perfect place”
That lunch became one of many lunches.Every time you had lesson he would wait for you and you’d share a meal.To open up to him felt almost too easy, but he was an alienist, that was his job. He also opened up with you, you shared books, and interests and long chats.
He wrote you cards and you wrote back to him, he sent you his articles and you sent him yours.
He asked for books to introduce children to literature and you visited the Institute helping him in the task in exchange of some entry level books about psychology.
Lunches became dinners, long walks became longer, soft smiles became him offering you his arm to walk together.
You were starting to develop some tenderness for him, you always wondered what he was thinking and what he would opinion over this or that, you craved to confront your opinions and Laszlo wasn’t feeling any less drawn to it.It was beginning to become difficult when you started to visit him in his dreams, he would dream of you in ways he didn’t dare to speak up about.
Only the way you talked when you grew passionate about something gave him a sense of tension, a deep desire going through him as he touched his thigh with his sweaty palm to ground himself.
You felt like he was growing distant, unaware of how he was growing somehow closer.
Closer to the point he couldn’t resist you anymore, hide behind simple touches of courtesy, to feel your hand only when gloved, stare at every little stand of hair move unruly on your neck while you spoke so highly of any topic.
It was unexpected the time, while sharing some impressions on a recent article, he put his hand flat over the page and leaned in capturing your lips in a sudden but awaited kiss.
You kissed him back realising how such a simple gesture meant so much to you. Your hand followed up resting on top of his still hiding the page from you. His lips soft, his beard tickling you lightly as your eyes shone.When he pulled back, only because in need to breathe not else, he looked at you but you smiled at him brushing your nose lightly against his making him break into a smile.
The happiest smile.
“Do you even realise how foolish is that?”
“Are you calling me a fool?” He growled at you. Yes, he followed a potential murderer across the city, got himself beat up, but he was alive and now he got more informations.
“I dare to say I am, loud and clear Laszlo”He frowned deeply, you calling him a fool?
“Take it back”
“No”
“I said” he grunted as he breathed heavily through his nostrils
“Take it back”
You never saw him this mad but you didn’t oblige his request, he made you sick worry and hid all this madness of crime cases from you through all this time, not even once he mentioned this …what? A hobby? Desire for adrenaline?
“A man that doesn’t stand up to his own truths is a fool to me” you said coldly “all this time spent to talk about nonsense and you’re working on solving crimes? Who is the man that I know then? Does he exists only when Dr Kreizler is without a case? There’s even a real interest in what you ever said to me? Or you just needed a distraction?”
“Don’t you dare to contradict me, I am no liar”You smirked, by now he was close, almost threatening even if you know well he wouldn’t ever hurt you.
“Then what are you?”
He froze, his eyebrows furrowed, what should he tell you? That he loved the way your brain worked? That every time you bounced ideas back and forth he felt aroused? That you provoked in him a thirst for more, more knowledge, more passion, more life.
You let out a breathy chuckle as he didn’t answer now, you were sad and disappointed.
You indeed believed you had found your match and not another double faced man.You picked your coat and left his office even if your heart was shattering on the inside and begging you not to leave like that.You spent two weeks apart, two weeks in which his spot in the classroom was empty, both of you ate alone, walked alone, lived alone.
An emptiness that was so heavy it felt like the sky would break under the weight of it.
But he couldn’t think of you, the case was on, the victims were falling one after the other, and yet he couldn’t think clearly.
Before just thinking of how you’d think helped him, but what about now?
He couldn’t reach for you. You were right, he hid part of himself to you and he couldn’t ask you to risk your life or spend nights and days exploring the dark sides of human nature, even though your sensibilities and introspection would have made you the most valuable asset in any research.
He locked himself in his office getting high on tea and pacing the room back and forth talking out loud trying to gain back the process you two formed together, the chemistry, the balance of thoughts.
Until your voice reached to him.
“What if it is not anger the motif?”You leaned against the doorframe staring at him, you gave up your anger.
You were there for him.
He stared at you like he wondered if you’re even real.
“How did you come in?”
“I said I was from Miss Howard”
“So you can also lie”
You chuckled
“Only for a good purpose”
You moved inside closing the door behind you as you took off your coat and hat, you moved closer to him offering him your hand, palm up.He stared at your eyes, there wasn’t much to add.He put the eraser in your hand as you cancelled the chalkboard from all his previous work.
What happened next was pure magic, clarity spreading through the space, every fact double checked by the two of you as now the facts spread in order, clear, in a linear way, nothing was left to causality.You two closing each other’s sentences, you handing him books and him handing others back to you, papers, scattered pencils.Even you wearing his glasses by accident and handing those back as you reached for your own.It was a frenzy, a dance, a song.
“So if this is a scheme…” you begin
“…the killer will strike again on Friday” he concludes.
You stare at him, a big smile creeps over your lips wide, you can save a life, it is only Monday now.He leans in holding onto your hadn’t with his left hand, but you’re just mimicking him as your lips collide.
“How can you be like this? How can you be so perfect?” He groans against your lips not able to part from yours but to praise you.
“We are” you correct him “we are perfect, together” he nodded slowly as you were completely right.
He let you pull him on the sofa where he slept so many nights when he was too tired to go back home, a very cold and empty home.
He took his time, he stood in front of you undoing those clothes he so carefully studied during your lessons almost to the point to know each item of your wardrobe.
As you undressed him you realised how you never minded his arm or to help him undo his shirt, you found it poetic, you always found beauty in him, you saw it like a punishment due to something more special given to him.The poet Homer had to be blind in order to sing the war of Troy, Laszlo had to lose an arm to be able to see through others.
So there you were, completely deprived of your clothing as he still conserved his bottom half, staring at each other’s eyes before he leaned his forehead against yours, shifting angle then to meet your lips with his.
“Don’t, I waited enough” you whispered to him as his left hand between your legs to caress your folds with his fingers triggering a shiver down your spine.
“I am the doctor here” he murmured as his fingers moved so smoothly over your slit gathering some wetness and spreading it together before pushing a finger inside you.
“I also am” you whispered back, voice shaking, even if a doctorate in literature doesn’t give you much of a position in this moment while standing helpless with him fingering you so nicely.
“I know, it makes you even more beautiful” he assures to you digging his head in the crook of your neck nipping and sucking over your skin slowly adding another finger.You whined not able to move away from his fingers teasing your insides, and yet not what you were looking for.
You pared your lips in a silent moan as he shook your hips making you grind slowly following his touch “I don’t want to play Laszlo” you begged “we have all the time to fool around, I missed you too much”
“You can’t always use your words to boss me around like this” He smirked as he pulled his fingers slowly out of you, too slowly for your taste, he did it like you had all the time in this word, his fingers brushing over you inside, slowly slipping out covered in your wetness only to trace your clit with their tips.
He pulled back sitting down on the couch like a king on his throne, parted legs and back slightly slouched, while staring at your naked form in front of him moving his left hand to undo his pants as you approached.
“You’re a vision”His whisper slowly pulling you in when you straddled him once his erection sprung free slowly guiding him to brush against your entrance. You looked up at him gulping softly before lowering yourself onto him. You stared at him as his eyes fluttered closer and you shook your hips a little trying to reach for the most comfortable position, he was thick stretching you deliciously and that little hint of pain only making it feel more complete, more needed, meant to be. A moan leaving your lips as you gasped for air, his weak right hand moving to rest on your thigh.You observed him as the desire was clouding your usual reasonable and efficient brain, his left hand grasping your hips when you begun moving on top of him.
The pace erratic at first before the instinct kicked in, no more witty remarks needed here, you couldn’t make up your mind now.He groaned, his soft gasps and growls being the best sounds along with your moans, two reasonable intellectuals now lost into the simplest and most natural of the acts.Your hips yanked and lost control for a moment as his hand moved to touch your clit
“So sensitive” he cooed, you were a mess of feelings, his head bowing down over your chest grasping your nipple between his lips.
He teased and sucked, making all his fantasies real, finally touching and feeling you, your shivers due to him, your pleasure and pain completely in his hands.You gasped as he sucked too hard, he seemed to know you more than he knew himself and maybe it was true. He spent so much time watching you, studying you, indulging in every little reaction you had. His eyes dropped down between your joined bodies, he was mesmerised by the shapes your hips were tracing, just enjoying the view of himself sinking inside you filling you up completely, your wetness so evident making the whole process terrifically easy.
“You’re close” he sentenced “you’re so close”
If you weren’t close you’d be after he said you were, like he decided it.His left hand leaving your clit as he wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you down over him. Now it was up to him as your mobility was restricted, he begun moving his hips up holding you down, he kept going so hard slamming inside you as he held you still with just that arm, the pleasure that his ruthless moves caused to you doing the rest. You couldn’t hold back any more, your moans getting lost into throaty sounds as your orgasm washed over you.
But he wasn’t done, he kept going as you rode down your orgasm until he tugged you down one last time filling your body, a little yelp of pleasure leaving your lips as you got so full of him and your eyes fluttered lightly because of such a raw basic feeling, that fullness that was proper of a basic instinct you felt rooted into you. If you were reasonable and aware you’d be worrying about things like consequences and having to talk about the future.
But you weren’t any close to it.You rested against him gathering air back in your lungs as he moved his hand on your lower back slowly moving it up and down, his right hand’s thumb brushing over that same thigh in the smaller and sweetest gesture of attention.
You shifted slightly after few moments to look at him slowly touching over his cheek with your fingertips.
“Truth for the wise, beauty for the heart”
He said, paraphrasing Friedrich Von Schiller, an author you used a lot in your lectures.
“Truth for the wise, beauty for the heart” you repeated.
That little motto became your code, the way you reminded each other the duality you were blessed with: your bright minds and your unfiltered passion.
And you’d use it from time to time.
You’d write it to each other’s notes.
It was your “I love you” before the love word was even pronounced.
Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra
Let me know if you want to get added <3
#dr laszlo kreizler#dr laszlo kreizler x you#dr kreizler x reader#laszlo kriezler x reader#laszlo kreizler fanfic#laszlo kreizler x y/n#laszlo kreizler fanfiction#laszlo kreizler x you#laszlo kreizler x reader
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Do you have any headcanons about Laszlo and toddlers ? ❤️😳
Hi! I usually don't write headcanons because I suck at it but I made an exception for you and tried 😁🥰 I hope you enjoy! 🖤
Word count: about 500
Warnings: none, just fluff. I didn't beta read, though, so maybe a few typos 😅
Laszlo was good with children. With toddlers, though? Not that much, he thought, as a commotion in the hallway disrupted the peace in his study where he was pouring over a text, and only seconds later, one of the maids looking out for the institute's children entered the study, a toddler - a little girl - in her arms and a distressed look on her face.
"Dr. Kreizler, I'm sorry - I needed to bring my daughter today - but the children have been playing with the ball in the hallway again and the vase has shattered and I need to clear away the shards before they cut themselves -"
Before Laszlo could utter a reply, the little girl was handed to him, and the maid rsuhed off. Laszlo tilted his head to glance at the little one who'd just been handed over to him. She was scanning his face.
Lazlo kept returning the stare the little girl gave him from wide blue eyes, the bow holding together her mane of curls nearly as large as her head, and there was curiosity in her wide eyes as she kept sucking her thumb while scrutinizing him.
Laszlo cleared his throat. He really wasn't used to toddlers. Most children at the institute arrived there at an older age, when they'd already developed the ability to wlak and speak - because that was when the first problems reveiled themselves, usually. Toddlers, though...you never knew what was going on in their tiny heads. It was one thing to carefully watch their behaviour and record it with ink on paper to glean valuable information concerning the development of the young human mind, but a whole other thing to interact with a toddler. Laszlo felt terribly awkward right now
Just as he thought, for a split second, the little one was laughing at him, she reached out with her tiny hands and placed them reverently on his immaculately groomed hair, like a priest would to bestow a blessing, before she burst into a fit of giggles bubbling from her lips
Laszlo couldn't help but smile in response. "That's...that's my hair," he finally explained, and the little one made a sound as if she tried to repeat the word. An idea took root in the fruitful soil of Laszlo's attentive mind. A toodler would speak their first words around the age of two, about six months after their first steps. This little girl couldn't have been older than a year, still a few months away from the first great milestones in the spring of her life, but it was never too soon to learn, right?
So Laszlo, the little girl in his arms, walked to the bookshelf taking up the space of the wall behind his desk, and carefully shifted the toddler in his arms to point his index finger at a book with gold letters adorning its back. "Book," Laszlo said slowly, and the little one made another bubbling sound, her little face scrunched up as if she were concentrating. It drew another smile on Laszlo's lips. "Not just a book," he began to explain, "It's written by Wilhelm Wundt." A dramatic pause fro effect, just as he would have done in a room full of actual students, before he continued, "Of course you want to know who this Mr Wundt is. Well, he was the first to declare the research on the workings of the human mind a science. You can tell he made a lot of enemies on the way, but he founded the first institute in Germany. And that's -" Laszlo pointed at the next book in the row, reading the stamped letters at its back before he frowned a little, "Um. That's a work by Sigmund Freud. He...I fear that's not the most appropriate content for a young lady." He moved on to the next book in the row. The little girl had started sucking her thumb once more, but her eyes were still bright with curiosity. Laszlo could tell she would grow up to be an intelligent young woman. She reminded him a little of Sara.
He didn't get to explain the next book. The door to his study creaked open, and Mary took the little girl from his arms with a tender smile playing on her lips. "Well, then. Off you go," he said softly to the little girl.
Laszlo taglist: @justfangirlthingies @boneheadduluc @trelaney @thesunflowersutra @sokoviandelights @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @stephlent @fandom-lover-4 @cazzyimagines @daniel-bruhhl @aisling1985 @roseabee25 @apparrio @cable-kenobi @marchingicenotes7 @rumblelibrary @lunarkittiecat
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fanfic writers tag game!
Tagged by the lovely @luninosity; thank you this was lots of fun! And my turn to tag @lyricfulloflight, @lachatblanche, @kianspo, @fullmetalcarer, @elenothar, @ikeracity!!!
Which of your fics…
* Did you think would get a bigger reaction/audience than it got:
I thought Obsession would find a bigger audience than it did, because it’s basically a fic about stranger Erik sexing up married Charles while his husband Logan watches. I guess the idea of Charles/Logan as the married couple might have diluted the appeal to some Cherik fans, which is too bad because the Cherik sex in it is some of the best pwp I’ve ever written lol.
Also, I thought for sure more people would like When Erik Met Charles than they did, because it’s a Cherik cracky romcom with the ‘friends to lovers’ trope (it’s a When Harry Met Sally au). :D :D :D
* Got a better reaction than you expected:
Do Not Answer Because The Sex Was Terrible - I banged this little gem out in one sitting and I honestly never expected people to like it as much as they did lol.
* Is your funniest:
Charles Xavier's Baby for sure! I loved writing ‘who’s the daddy’ with Charles as the hapless, if very annoyed father-to-be with a previously unknown mutation (getting knocked up!!!) and trying to deal with his ex (Erik) and current bf (Logan) constantly fighting over him and the baby lol.
* Is your darkest/angstiest:
From Here, To Here is definitely the angstiest angst that I ever angsted lol, and one of the rare times I wrote Major Character Death. I’m really proud of how hard it hits you in the feels though so I def. recommend ha!
I’m not sure I write really ‘dark’ fics (except dirtybad pornz!), though I guess the ending to my fantasy au The Painter (Masterpiece Remix) can be interpreted as being pretty chilling with what happens to Renaissance Painter!Charles...
* Is your absolute favourite:
We'll Always Have Paris - My Casablanca au, with Logan, Charles and Erik in the Rick, Ilsa and Victor Laszlo roles. I LOVE it; it came out exactly the way I had hoped it would and it has some of the most (tragically) romantic scenes I’ve ever written.
* Is your least favourite:
XXX-Men: Days of Future Ass - It’s dumb crack (vs funny crack) and there’s not much else I can say about it lol.
* Was the easiest to write:
The idea and the execution for my mob au The Hellfire Club came together so quickly and easily - I don’t think I’ve ever had a smoother writing process than for this story :D
* Was the hardest to write:
Gods or Mortals, my fantasy au continues to kick the crap out of me, which is absolutely crushing because this is the fic I most want people to read/remember me by.
* Have you re-read the most:
A tie between Charles Xavier's Baby and We'll Always Have Paris, and Sinful Days and Nights for PWP.
* Would you recommend to someone reading your work for the first time:
Setting A Different Course (DOFP ‘plane sex’ fic) and third time's the charm (XMA ficlet collection) for canon fic. We'll Always Have Paris, Lost and then Found (amnesia fic/modern au) and It's Been A Long Time (my ‘Call Me By Your Name’ au).
* Are you most proud of:
Gods or Mortals! I have put so much of my heart and soul into this story, and it has the most extensive world building I’ve ever managed. I’m really, REALLY hoping to get back into this soon.
* Has your favourite line/exchange/paragraph (share it):
This is from an alternate Cuba au where Erik hits Raven with the bullet instead of Charles.
----
“Charles,” he says, and Charles’ head whips around at the sound of his voice, his eyes boring deep rents into Erik’s soul. In all the time and all the ways they’ve known each other, Charles has never looked like this, red hot fury blazing like a firestorm under his skin.
“You,” he snarls, and Erik has to take a step back at the icy venom in his voice. “You did this.”
“I’m sorry,” is all that he can think to say. He stands on the edge of a growing chasm; helpless as Charles’ love and trust in Erik shatters. “I didn’t mean…I’m sorry.”
Charles shakes his head. “You’re sorry? You’re sorry? You killed my sister, Erik! Murderer!”
He’ll never forget the look on Charles’ face, just before they all disappear, as Azazel gathers the others around the telepath one by one. It’s not Charles’ disgust, or his rage that will stay with Erik and dog his every thought; not his pain or searing grief that will haunt his dreams.
“I should have never pulled you out of the water,” Charles says, his voice shaking and barely audible as he chokes on his tears. He stands, still cradling Raven in his arms, and stares at Erik as Azazel moves to grip him by the waist.
“I wish I’d never met you.”
It’s the look of regret, Erik thinks as they all disappear from the beach in a puff of sulfur. He stands amongst the wreckage now, the sun shining bright and beautiful on a cloudless day.
Alone, as he’s always been.
Alone, as it was always meant to be.
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Story: Death Is Not Defeat, pt.2
Sabbath arrived back at the compound known as Star Magnolia. All one could see upon approaching it is a large, brick wall. Inside of it’s walls laid a city, one that would be bustling if not for the people’s fear of the mafia that controlled the town. The Urshifu walked to a large brick scaffolding, where on it’s top rested Laszlo, a Snorlax who stared down at Miles.
“Ah, so we finally captured you, you spoiled little brat.”
Miles would look up in disgust at the Snorlax in front of her. She would get a good look at him, before chuckling. “Long time no see. You’re just as ugly as I remember you being.”
Laszlo shook his head. “Sharp tongue for a soon to be dead girl. We tried many times in the past to kill you. To end your bloodline. First with your parents when you were a baby, and again when we burned down the orphanage you lived at. Your family was nothing but trouble. Thieves, the lot of you. Now that we have you, your lineage ends here.”
Miles winced, tears running down her face. She didn’t know that this boss was out for her. Was out for her family since she was a baby. She was lifted up, her forelegs chained and leaving her in a crucifixion pose. Ready to be succumbed to her fate. But that’s when a voice rang out. One that caused her to look up in surprise.
“Miles! We’re here for you!” Urie yelled out, jumping off of Solaris’ back. As did Zane, Florence, Vance, Aurelio, Morello, Xan, and Isaak. The entire group lined up, staring down Laszlo and Sabbath.
“Oh? What do we have here?” Sabbath chuckled. “I thought I told you bringing anyone to save her would bring trouble, brat.” Beginning to appear out of the buildings were several of Laszlo’s goons, slowly approaching the team.
“I don’t give a damn what you said! We’re here to beat you, and get Miles back!”
The Snorlax began to laugh, standing on his feet. “Oh? Do you really believe that? That’s funny!” He looked down at Urie and the rest of the team. “Sabbath? Deal with them. We’ll keep Miles alive and let her watch all of her friends die.”
Sabbath nodded, and hopped down from the scaffolding, holding a paw out. “Men, attack them! Run them down!”
Solaris looked down at Urie. “We’ll keep them distracted. Get up to that scaffolding and get Miles.”
The Mawile nodded, going full sprint towards the scaffolding. The others charged as well, heading to fight against the goons. The mission to rescue Miles had begun!
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Back at the team’s house, Beck and Misha were attempting to hold back the Gengar that were beginning to overwhelm them. One would pin down Beck, holding his arms down to the ground. “I’m going to have a blast with you. I’m going to break all of your bones!” The Gengar disappeared into the ground, then suddenly appearing both below and above the Feraligatr. The Gengar taking the appearance of sharp, jagged rocks, they bore down on Beck, crushing and mangling his body. Various snaps and pops were heard from his body, as he screamed in immense pain.
“Shit. Beck!” Misha ran in, shooting a Blizzard in the direction of the Gengar over the Feraligatr. It made contact, sending him off of Beck and recoiling. Another Gengar appeared over the Ninetales, smashing hard onto his back. Another powerful snap was heard as Misha’s spine shattered, causing him to buckle and scream in pain.
Angel, upon seeing all of this, went into a blind rage, swiping down at the Gengar and placing herself in between her two teammates. She looked all around her. She was surrounded. She couldn’t handle them all together at once. Well, at least not without a certain move. She looked down, her body beginning to glow slightly.
“Angel, w-what are you doing?” Beck’s eyes widened. “I-Is that-?”
“It is.” Her voice sounded much more robotic. “I’m using this to save you guys. To save the team.” The glow around her body got brighter. She turned to look at the two. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you have to see this... But it’s the only way. No turning back now.”
Time seemed to stand still for Beck and Misha, who stared on with shocked and tearful looks. But there was one last thing that was said from the Silvally.
“Thank you... For everything.”
A large detonation came from Angel. The blast knocked Beck, Misha, and all of the Gengar away. She had used Self Destruct.
After a few moments, Beck and Misha looked to where the explosion came from. All they could see at first was a large dust cloud. Many Gengar bodies laid littered on the ground. Once the dust settled, the Feraligatr and Ninetales got a good look at Angel. And her state only served to make them cry even harder.
The Silvally remained standing, her body completely charred and blackened. But despite the state of her body, one thing stood out. And that thing was that Angel had a smile on her face.
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Notes on Robert McKee’s Story 30: How to Create Crisis in Your Story
Story design is broken down into five essential parts: (Clicking on 1 or 2 will take you to my previous posts about them if you need a refresher.)
The Inciting Incident
Progressive Complications
Crisis
Climax
Resolution
Today we have reached the final three parts, all put into one chapter in McKee’s book. They are all very important though, so I’ll be breaking Crisis, Climax, and Resolution into their own posts. And without further ado...
Crisis
Crisis means “decision.” Characters make spontaneous decisions each time they open their mouths to say “this” not “that.” In each scene they make a decision to take one action rather than the other. But Crisis with a capital C is the ultimate decision. The Chinese kanji for Crisis is two terms: 危機 Danger/Opportunity--”danger” in that the wrong decision at this moment will lose forever what we want; “opportunity” in that the right choice will achieve our desire.
In your story, your Protagonist has faced progressively difficult situations and decisions in order to achieve his desire, but now he has reached the end of the line. The Crisis is the "do or die" moment, the one that leaves your audience wondering, "How will this entire story turn out?"
From the Inciting Incident, the audience has been waiting with increasing eagerness for this scene. Take JAWS, for example. From the very moment we see the shark, we are all wondering whether they'll be able to defeat it or whether they too will lose their lives to it. The moment of Crisis in JAWS is that final fight on the boat.
"The Crisis must be a true dilemma--a choice between two irreconcilable goods, the lesser of two evils, or the two at once that places the protagonist under the maximum pressure of his life.
The dilemma confronts the protagonist who, when face-to-face with the most powerful and focused forces of antagonism in his life, must make a decision to take one action or another in a last effort to achieve his Object of Desire."
The choice that your character makes in Crisis will give the audience the deepest view into their deep character yet and is the ultimate expression of his humanity. It will also express the story's most important value. If there's been any doubt about which value is central, as the protagonist makes the Crisis Decision, the primary value comes to the fore.
Take the first Iron Man film for example. The film is about Tony Stark learning to put others before himself. At the beginning, he is a narcissistic weapons dealer who doesn't give a damn about anyone around him. As the movie progresses, we see a shift in his choices, leaning closer to selfless actions. However, almost all of his "selfless actions," such as returning to the terrorist group that captured him and wiping them out, could also be seen as Tony wanting to exact revenge for himself. At the Crisis Moment, Tony makes the ultimate decision to take Obadiah so high up in the atmosphere that Tony's suit freezes and dies, and there is a strong chance that he will not survive.
"At Crisis, the protagonist's willpower is most severely tested. As we know from life, decisions are far more difficult to make than actions are to take. We often put off doing something for as long as possible, then as we finally make the decision and step into the action, we're surprised by its relative ease. We're left wondering why we dreaded doing it until we realize that most of life's actions are within our reach, but decisions take willpower."
☝ Okay, time out. This paragraph had not stop and give a good hard think about myself and my life, not just stories. Thank you, Mr. McKee.
Crisis Within the Climax
"The action the protagonist chooses to take becomes the story's consummate event, causing a positive, negative, or ironically positive/negative Story Climax. If, however, as the protagonist takes the climactic action, we once more pry apart the gap between expectation and result, if we can split probability from necessity just one more time, we may create a majestic ending the audience will treasure for a lifetime. For a Climax built around a Turning Point is the most satisfying of all."
By the time we've reached the Climax, the protagonist has reached the limit. He thinks he knows his world and knows what he must do in the last effort. He summons the last wisps of his willpower, chooses the action he thinks will achieve his desire, but his world won't cooperate. Reality splits and he must improvise. The protagonist may or may not get what he wants, but it won't be the way he expects.
The most stunning, earth-shattering example of this that immediately comes to my mind is in Avengers Endgame when Thor swings Stormbreaker at Thanos and...well, I’m sure most people know what happened.
☝ Honestly, I forgot how to breathe when I saw this the first time.
The entire movie has been building towards this--Thor has just freaking withstood the power of a SUN to forge Stormbreaker, after having lost his brother and home world and everything he loves. Everything has been building towards him getting the justice that he and the entire world so badly deserves. We are all convinced that he's going to land that hit on Thanos and the world would be saved because this is a superhero movie and the good guys always win and Thor has worked so goddamn hard for this.
--But then the gap is opened between expectation and reality, and no one gets what they expected.
Placement of the Crisis
Generally, Crisis and Climax happen in the last minutes and in the same scene.
Here are some examples of different places you can put the Crisis, taken directly from McKee's book.
THELMA AND LOUISE: At Crisis, the women brave the lesser of two evils: imprisonment versus death. They look at each other and make their crisis Decision to “go for it,” a courageous choice to take their own lives. They immediately drive their car into the Grand Canyon—an unusually brief Climax elongated by filming it in slowmotion and freeze-framing on the car suspended over the abyss.
However, in other stories the Climax becomes an expansive action with its own progressions. As a result, it’s possible to use the Crisis Decision to turn the Penultimate Act Climax, filling all of the final act with climactic action.
CASABLANCA: Rick pursues Ilsa until she surrenders to him in the Act Two Climax, saying that he must make the decisions for everyone. In the next scene, Laszlo urges Rick to rejoin the antifascist cause. This irreconcilable-goods dilemma turns the act on Rick’s selfless Crisis Decision to return Ilsa to Laszlo and put wife and husband on the plane to America, a character-defining choice that reverses his conscious desire for Ilsa. The third act of Casablanca is fifteen minutes of climactic action that unravels Rick’s surprise-filled scheme to help the couple escape.
In rarer examples the Crisis Decision immediately follows the Inciting Incident and the entire film becomes climactic action.
JAMES BOND: Inciting Incident: Bond is offered the task of hunting down an arch-villain. Crisis Decision: Bond takes the assignment—a right/wrong choice and not a true dilemma, for it would never occur to him to choose otherwise. From this point on, all Bond films are an elaborate progression of a single action: the pursuit of the villain. Bond never makes another decision of substance, simply choices of which ploys to use in the pursuit.
The great risk of placing the Crisis on the heels of the Inciting Incident is repetitiousness. Whether it’s high-budget action repeating patterns of chase/fight, chase/fight, or low-budget repetitions of drinking/drinking/drinking or lovemaking/lovemaking/lovemaking, the problems of variety and progression are staggering. Yet mastery of the task may produce brilliance, as it did in the examples above.
Design of the Crisis
Okay, so where do you put the Crisis in your story? What works best?
Even though the Crisis Decision and climactic action usually take place at around the same time at the very end of the story, it's not uncommon for the Crisis decision to occur in one location and the Story Climax to happen later in another setting.
The value of love in Kramer vs. Kramer turns negative in the Act Two Climax as a judge awards custody to Kramer’s ex-wife. As Act Three opens Kramer’s lawyer lays out the situation: Kramer has lost, but he could win on appeal. To do so, however, he’ll have to put his son on the witness stand and make the child choose with whom he wants to live. The boy will probably choose his father, and Kramer will win. But to put a child at this tender age in public and force him to choose between his mother and his father will psychologically scar him for life. A double dilemma of the needs of self versus the needs of another, the suffering of the self versus the suffering of another. Kramer looked up and said, “No, I can’t do that.” Cut to the Climax: a walk in Central Park and a river of tears as the father explains to his son how their life will be now that they’ll live apart.
The Crisis decision must be a deliberately static moment.
This is the Obligatory Scene.
Do not put it offscreen, or skim over it.
The audience wants to suffer with the protagonist through the pain of this dilemma. We freeze this moment because the rhythm of the last movement depends on it. An emotional momentum has built to this point, but the Crisis dams its flow. As the protagonist goes through this decision, the audience leans in, wonder: “What’s he going to do? What’s he going to do?” Tension builds and builds, then as the protagonist makes a choice of action, that compressed energy explodes into the Climax.
In Summary
When you create a Crisis, make sure that it is a true dilemma that will draw out the deepest truth of your character.
Source: McKee, Robert. Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting. York: Methuen, 1998. Print
#writing prompts for friends#writing advice#writing tips#writing resources#creative writing#writer#writing#write#writers block#writing inspiration#writing inspo#creative writing theory#robert mckee#writing fantasy#writing fiction#writing fanfiction#writeblr#writing prompts for friends notes on story
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he’s polishing glasses when he hears someone sit down at the end of the bar , sets down the pint glass he’d just finished cleaning before he turns his attention to the patron , and he’s thankful he’s set the glass down before he looked because it would’ve been shattered on the floor else . brows raise , eyes going wide in some mix of surprise and confusion as he eyes the customer in front of him , and he can’t explain it but he’s never been so sure of anything in his un—life more than the fact that somehow , someway , the infamous BLACKBEARD is sitting in front of him . years of seafaring memories come flooding back , things he hasn’t thought of in centuries , and despite how fond and warm they sit in his chest he forces them down , because he’s not the dread pirate laszlo , nor is he staten island vampire laszlo cravensworth— he’s JACKIE DAYTONA , and the closest jackie daytona has been to the sea is when the girls volleyball team had a late night beach volleyball game by the pool at the rec center .
“ what can i do for you ? ” he manages , after he regains his composure , hands fidgeting aimlessly with the belt loops of his jeans . “ sorry for the staring , old chap , i’d just thought i recognized you . ” // @kraekns plotted !
#did Not mean to write this much but sometimes the spirit of jackie daytona possesses me#ic.#jackie daytona verse.#kraekns
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SESSION 7
After the town crier mentioned that the Burgomaster requested that each party member see him at once. The group decided to heave over, but amongst the crowd, Devotion and Zemotta went missing, and only Tomigot, Zoras, and Nori arrived outside the Burgomaster’s house.
In the front of the house on the road was an elegant round-top wagon adorned with bright colors and images of red roses. The Vistani commonly use these wagons and call them vardos. At the porch of the large house stood a tall, heavily armored guard. Zoras noticed the guard silently pointing and counting the heads, while looking puzzled once he counted only three.
“I thought there was five of you. What happened to the other two?” he asked.
Nobody was really able to explain where Devotion and Zemotta were. The guard still welcomed and motioned them to come inside.
The Burgomaster’s home was quite large compared to the other homes within the village leaving little doubt of who controls the purse strings. The furniture inside was adorned with many flourishes and rich with deep, vibrant colors on the upholstery. The faint scent of spices and well-oiled leather filled the air.
A large round table covered with a black velvet cloth dominates the parlor. At the far end sat a comely middle-aged woman dressed in bright colors. The party recognized her to be Sybil Rasia, the mother Gur from The Crossing Inn. As the three enter the room, Sybil pulled a deck of lacquered cards from her gown, spread them on the table in a graceful flourish, and bid the party to sit. Behind her, a rotund man in fine clothing stared out the window impatiently chewing on his thumbnail.
After a few uncomfortable moments, the Burgomaster introduced himself as Ivan Randovich, his armored guard as Kristofor, and could easily tell the group already knew Sybil. He explained that at his request, Sybil performed a reading for him earlier that day, and foresaw something ominous and, frankly, unusual. In her reading she event mentioned Tomigot, Zoras, Devotion, Zemotta, and Nori by name.
He paused and conducted a silent head count.
“Where are the other two?” he asked. Again, nobody could answer. So he steps aside and whispered to Kristofor to make sure someone goes and finds them. Kristofor relays the message to the thuggish guards standing outside.
“Well I was hoping everyone could be here, but perhaps it will still work with most of you here now.” He proceeds to tell of details from Sybil’s reading. There were signs of an army of the dead, a delicate powderbox, and a beautiful, yet powerful, woman. Meanwhile, Sybil shuffled the cards in a single hand; stopping every once in a while to flip one face-up onto the table.
Soon, the Burgomaster began to grow angry and curse.
Sybil ignores Ivan’s outburst and informs the group that perhaps a better reading can be done if they all participate. “It would only work if each of you participate. Kristofor, you can join them, too, if you like.”
Sybil Rasia deftly pocketed the Tarokka deck and withdrew a fist-sized sphere of crystal from what seemed to be the same pocket with a sing, fluid motion. She set the crystal orb on the table before her atop a silver stand.
“There is no need for caution. Close your eyes and clear your thoughts.” Sybils said, calmly. Tomigot, Zoras, Noris, and Kristofor obeyed.
As they closed their eyes, a feeling of restful warmth washed over each of them.
From seemingly nowhere, they could hear the delicate plucking of a harpsichord and images of objects fade into view. Eventually they found themselves in a lavish parlor in a large, thoughtfully decorated manor. A roaring fire crackled in the enormous hearth. Windows spanned one wall of the room – flooding light out onto a dramatic terrace overlooking the night-shrouded valley below.
Tomigot, Nori, Zoras, and Kristofor were also in the room. All were without their armor or weapons. Nori was dressed in a formal dress, while Zoras, Tomigot, and Kristofor wore fancy puffy sleeves.
Nori looked down at her dress and nervously admitted, “Well, I guess I have to tell you the truth. I’m a female.” It was easy to tell she was completely uncomfortable and not herself in this dress, while Zoras actually envied her attire and offered to switch clothes.
Meanwhile, Tomigot was in his own discomfort. More importantly, he wanted to see if he was wearing any underwear. He peeked down to check, with Zoras hovering by, to peek as well. To both of their relief, there was no underwear. While Nori and Zoras exchanged clothes, Tomigot ripped off the puffy sleeves from his shirt. He also noticed that Zoras seemed to have and additional feature that he didn’t notice before, once he was wearing the dress.
“What is that?” he asked Zoras.
“Oh, that’s just a front tail. Us Tritons, we have those.”
Tomigot was in awe of a front tail and asked to see how it worked one day. Zoras abliged.
A young girl in a white dress was facing the windows sitting and playing a large, keyed instrument. It was a child-like melody. Every now and then, a man’s cries of agony would ring out from behind one of the doors.
Isabella introduced herself. Her chest and arms were riddled with open sores, and the left side of her face was almost entirely rotted away. Despite the girl’s hideous disfigurement, she was quite friendly.
Kristofor recognized her. She was the daughter of Glovia and Lucian Falinescu, and had died a few years ago. Prior to Isabella’s death, the Falinescus were thought of as local royalty, and beloved by everyone in the village. But as their grief went on for years, attitudes changed from compassion to suspicion and eventually to rumor and fear.
Isabella explained that her mother, Glovia, told her to stay inside the room or else she would be scolded. Her mother said that she needed to be fixed, but wasn’t sure what that meant. “It must be very bad because it makes mommy very sad and Daddy very angry.” She mentioned that her mother couldn’t fix her without the help from a pretty lady, but wasn’t sure who the lady was.
When asked about the screaming outside the room, she responded with, “Oh that’s just my Daddy. He’s being fixed.” She went on to proudly say how good her parents were at fixing things. Her mother was just as good at fixing people as her father, Lucian, was at fixing toys. She then points out at the dozens of dolls, puppets, and toy soldiers placed around the room. “Aren’t the amazing!? My Daddy made each one!” Some of them were clockwork toys that could walk; others were dolls with features that moved such as blinking eyes or waving hands, and a few were marionette puppets.
Kristofor looked for an exit but realized that windows were sealed and the doors seemed to feel like a façade. As if they were cement walls with doorknobs fixed to them. He tried focusing on any sort of wall decoration, but the dream-state of the reading made it hard to discern.
Tomigot asked if there was anything to drink. Isabella brought him to the center table where on a tray there was four crystal cups. The aroma of the liquid filled the room. “It’s good for you,” Isabella assured. Without question, Tomigot takes a drink. The flavor of cider and warmth overcame his body. His reaction from drinking the contents eased the rest of the party, as they each drank from the other glasses. Tomigot asked for more, but unfortunately that was all that was available
Zoras noticed a delicate pair of glasses on the table, sporting amber lenses with slender slivers of green glass, resembling the vertical pupils of a serpent’s eyes. Once he placed them over his eyes, he noticed that Isabella looked normal and without disease. When he looked around the room, he saw a large portrait on the wall. It was a wealthy, attractive family. Centered in the picture was Glovia, resting her hand on the should of a young girl who looked like a healthy version of Isabelle. He removed the glasses to see if anything in the portrait changed, but nothing happened. He, however, noticed a ring on Glovia’s finger that depicted an empty heart.
Nori then asked if there was anything shiny in the room she could take a look at. Isabella skipped to the table upon which was a silver box. As she opened it, golden light spilled out. She reached in and pulled out a simple, wooden box, the source of the light, and showed it to Nori.
Just as the party was able to focus on the object to discern what it was, the serenity of the moment shattered as a figure came crashing through the window.
Thick strings of wispy ether were attached to his arms and legs, similar to those of a marionette. He snatched the wooden box from Isabella and with a backhanded wing of a lumber axe, struck the young girl’s head from her shoulders without so much as a glance.
The party recognized this to be Laszlo and the sight of the decapitation froze Zoras in his place, and caused Nori to swing her hand out in automatic defense, slapping Zoras in the face! Zoras, stunned while still wearing the glasses noticed that the strings attached to Laszlo lead to a giant image of Glovia, who also had strings attached to her.
“Bring it to me Laszlo!”, a voice boomed overhead. Seeming to snarl at the voice, the creature gathered his strings together and with a single sweep of his axe, severed them cleanly. Looking at the group, he issued a hissing growl before leaping out through the window and into the cold night.
The next thing the party can hear is the loud yell of the Burgomaster, “Run Oleg!” He then slapped everyone back to reality. Finally regaining control of their bodies, they return from the dream feeling refreshed and could see Ivan yelling out the window. A dark figure was chasing Oleg, Ivan’s servant, down the street; its head cocked strangely to one side. Screams were coming from all parts of the village. Ivan turned to the group and yelled, “Snap out of it! We’re under attack!”
As the party prepared to head out, Ivan was able to gather four healing potions as Kristofor was able to convince two of Ivan’s thuggish guards to assist.
Once outside, the party could hear a roaring voice echoing down into the village from the cliffs above. Looking up, they could see Laszlo holding a torch: “Glovia, What shall you do now? You can’t protect them all! I have what you seek and now you must betray them as you were going to betray me!” He then hurled his torch down into the village. It landed on the roof of one of the buildings, which immediately caught fire. This brought everyone’s attention to the village as they realized the horror that was happening all around. The dead had risen and were attacking the town. Looking back up, Laszlo had vanished from sight, but it seemed there were more immediate concerns.
The group ran to the middle of town. On the way there, a clump of fur in the dirty snow caught Zoras’ attention. He picked it up to see that it was a wolfskin cap that looked just like the one that Arik wore.
Once at the center of things, Kristofor and Nori saw zombies closing in on Oleg and two villages. Zoras heard shouts coming from a nearby burning building. Tomigot noticed that the roof of the town hall where the food supply for the village was located was on fire.
Oleg and a few villagers had been chased down a side alley and were cornered by a group of zombies that were shambling toward them. Kristofor ordered his two men to attack while Nori shot arrows from afar. One of the thugs, Paul, was able to pull the villagers out of harm’s way, while Kristofor tried to block the zombies from further approach. He noticed that there was a cart parked to the side the alley. He tried tugging at it to roll it into the middle of the path, but it seemed as if one of the cart wheels was lodged into a divot. Nori, Kristofor, and his men continued to take down each zombie, until they finally stopped returning to life after falling unconscious.
“Help, help!” shouted a disembodied voice that Zoras could hear coming from a nearby building. As he came closer, a head appeared in a barred window.
The building appeared to be a jailhouse of sorts and it was empty; the constable was likely out defending the town. The structure’s roof was well ablaze, and had a skeleton with a torch outside setting fire to more buildings.
With a few gusts of wind, Zoras was able to extinguish the fire on the roof, as well as the torch in the skeleton’s hand. Then after a few force blasts, he was able to take out the skeleton.
Meanwhile, the fire on the roof of the town hall building was rapidly getting out of control. Tomigot peeked inside to see five large crates. The roof was beyond hope of extinguishing, but with quick decisive actions, Tomigot figured he could be able to save the supplies within before the roof came down. Tomigot decided to protect himself from smoke inhalation by removing his wolf fur loincloth and covering his mouth with it. He took turns running into the burning building to grab each crate. Some were heavier than they looked, but for the most part he was able to avoid any fire damage.
Once the villagers were safe from zombies, Kristofor and Nori came over to help Tomigot finish pulling out crates from the town hall, while Zoras tried rescuing the prisoner. Rather than using thieves tools, he tried pouring and freezing water into the lock of the cell door. But the expansion of the frozen water didn’t work as planned. So he then took a swing at it with his sword, successfully busting the lock with great ease, thanks to the ice in the lock.
The prisoner grabbed a bag that was concealed in a pile of straw that he was given as a bed, and with a wink, he thanked Zoras for his bravery and handed him the satchel before turning into a raven and flying away. Kristofor witnessed this and was angry at Zoras for letting a prisoner free, but was equally confused because, not to his knowledge was anyone being incarcerated, prior to the fires. Zoras looked in the bag to find a potion of healing, 25 gp, and a brass key set with a purple stone. He then rushed over to the rest of the group to help the flames out at the town hall building.
Once the last few flames were put out, and all of the food crates were safely rescued, looking around at the chaos, one figure stood out from the others. A particularly ghastly looking creature seemed to be issuing orders to the others.
Tomigot ran to the ghastly creature as fast as he could, with Kristofor not far behind. Nori, Zoras, and the guards took shots at its minions; two skeletons.
Upon closer inspection, Kristofor recognized the ghast to be Jakob, once a butler of the Falinescu Manor. Tomigot just noticed the awful odor that emitted from the creature. It, however, was no odor that Tomigot couldn’t handle, especially not after just having his loincloth over his mouth.
After several shots of arrows, slashes from swords and axes, and for blasts, the party was able to kill the ghast and his skeleton minions. Zoras search the ghast’s body and found a jeweled butler’s ring. The rest of the party found old rusty swords, bows, and tattered leather on the skeletons.
As things grew quiet, and the remaining villagers were able to absorb the damage and chaos of the events that just occurred, the group was able to take a short rest. Then as the cleaning efforts began to wind down for the evening, a woman arrived; pleading hysterically for help. “You must help me. She has taken my girl! My Sorina is gone and my husband, Boris, has gone after them. I could not stop him!”
Kristofor recognized her as woman name Kala. He asked her for more details. The woman was the mother of Sorina, the young girl that worked at the hospice. She explained that Glovia cast a spell on she and her husband and took the girl. She was told by others that Sorina was seen leaving the town with Glovia, heading towards the Falinescu Manor.
While Kristofor had never been inside the Falinescu Manor, he knew where it was and lead the way, just outside of Orasnau proper. The road from the village had not seen wagon or carriage traffic in years became nothing more than a footpath.
The enormity of the home was in sharp contrast to the buildings in the village. Once a lavish estate that surely hosted many grand affairs, Falinescu Manor had fallen into dilapidation from neglect. An imposing granite structure perched on a bluff, the home boasted an impressive view over Svalich Woods to an ominious castle in the distance.
In front of the estate there was a circular path for carriages. Multiple gargoyles stared down from their parapets in disapproval. Huge black, wooden doors with rusted iron bindings offered a cold reception. Tomigot accepted the invitation and opened the unlocked front doors.
The grand foyer was obviously made to impress. The ceiling was open to the second story and ultimately to a glass paned roof, which was currently leaking very badly and forming a large puddle around the entryway. Pillars lined the sized of the room supporting an overlooking rail on the second story. An impressive staircase was opposite the front door.
With one step forward, the floor beneath him instantly buckled from his heavy half-orc weight, causing the entire foyer floor and the stairs up to the first landing to crumbled into the basement below. With a quick reflex, he was able to backflip back onto the threshold of the doorway. “Well, maybe we should go around to another entrance,” he said, embarrassingly.
The group decided to try following the path that lead to the left side of the Manor. The path descended to a lower level once they turned the corner toward the back of the house.
The side door that lead to the kitchen appeared recently used. The door was not locked. There was no food in sight and it was apparent that none had been prepared there in quite a while. A slow, steady dripping sound echoed through the room. A puddle collected inside the hearth. Nori set her released her dancing lights to illuminate the dark room.
Kristofor checked one of the doors in the room. It wasn’t locked, but he could hear movement coming from inside the room. The party readied themselves for whatever was behind the door. Paul and Hugh, Kristofor’s guard, flipped one of the kitchen tables to its side to act as a barrier of defense.
Kristofor quickly opened the door as swarms of at least 100 rats pooled out, hungry for their next meal. Tomigot, Kristofor, and Hugh took most of the bites, while Nori and Zora try firing arrows and setting bonfires on the rats from afar. No matter how many wings with axes or swords, or shots with arrows each of the party members took, it seemed as though the rats were just too quick to be hit. It took some time to skewer and roast every last rat. The party, especially Kristofor was completely exhausted after the encounter.
He mustered up the mental and physical strength to inspect the room the rats were in. The smell was nauseating. A combination of spoiled food and rat droppings, this one-time pantry and adjoining meat locker had become a nest for rats. Nothing of value or still worth eating could be found in this room, leaving Kristofor frustrated for having to survive the rats, all for nothing.
#dnd#dungeons and dragons#curse of strahd#marionette#rpg#role playing#game#tabletop#dm#dungeon master#story
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“Don’t worry, you’ll always be home with me.” Alicia reassures her daughter and together they follow Dr. Kreizler to another pretty building. It’s the home of young people in similar situations. They all need a second or new home and they’re all traumatised. Even a handful of Shurleys work here to help the project. A home for children that is actually that: a home. And not just a place for them to live until they’re old enough to get thrown out into the world, shattered and ruined for life. It’s beautiful inside. A nice, oldish home that looks quite luxurious with its wooden interior but it’s all lightened up with the various signs of children. Drawings, colourful shoes and jackets, toys and the likes. There’s a time table with names and each one’s weekly appointments. Therapy is in everyone’s section. Not only does everyone have normal therapy, but also a second and different therapy. Some have animal therapy, art therapy or sport therapy. Based on their interests. Alicia looks over the time table with a smile. She’d love that for Edythe. “Everyone’s at school or kindergarten at the moment, so the house is all yours.” Laszlo tells little Edythe. “So, what would you like to see first?” || “Each of them has sinned enough for ten lifetimes. We need to get rid of their ideologies and if they’re not willing to do so, we will get rid of them.” Adelheid smirks. “All I need you to do is be a good assistant.”
Edythe shrugs, holding onto her Mama’s leg. “Will Dita and Clari be here?” Edythe asks the doctor with concern as Dearbourne passes, humming quietly to herself. The Cupid glances over the Doctor and the Parent, nodding to them with a smile.
||
Up in his room, Alex fiddles with an ax as he stares over at Ivar who just smiles at him, playing quietly with a toy axe, pretending to chop off a teddy bear’s head.
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Well, I failed my September TBR by only reading 3 out of 7 books… Does it count that I am finishing up the 4th and am adding the 5th back on October’s TBR? No? Didn’t think so… Let’s hope I fare better in the month of October.
Let’s see what I am planning on reading this month, shall we?
*Book titles link to Goodreads
» Crooked Kingdom (Six of Crows #2) by Leigh Bardugo
Welcome to the world of the Grisha.
After pulling off a seemingly impossible heist in the notorious Ice Court, criminal prodigy Kaz Brekker feels unstoppable. But life is about to take a dangerous turn—and with friends who are among the deadliest outcasts in Ketterdam city, Kaz is going to need more than luck to survive in this unforgiving underworld.
This is going to be a buddy read with my friend Kirstie over at @Upside-Down Books
» The Tale of Despereaux, The Tiger Rising, The Magician’s Elephant & Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate DiCamillo
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Kate DiCamillo will be attending the Books by the Banks book festival here in Ohio at the end of the month. I am currently reading Raymie Nightingale, but have never read a Kate DiCamillo book before this. I’ve only heard wonderful things, so I am going to read as many of her books as I can before the festival.
» Replica by Lauren Oliver
Lyra
From a distance, the Haven Institute, tucked away on a private island off the coast of Florida, looks serene and even beautiful. But up close the locked doors, military guards, and biohazard suits tell a different story. In truth, it is a clandestine research facility where thousands of replicas, or human models, are born, raised, and observed.
But when a surprise attack is launched on Haven, two of its young experimental subjects—Lyra, or 24, and the boy known only as 72—manage to escape. As they make their way through a new and menacing environment, they meet a stranger named Gemma, who has embarked on a perilous quest of her own. And as Lyra tries to understand Haven’s purpose, she uncovers earth-shattering secrets that will change the lives of both girls.
Gemma
Gemma has been in and out of hospitals her whole life. A sickly child, she has grown into a lonely adolescent whose life is circumscribed by home, school, and her best friend, April.
But after she is nearly abducted by a stranger claiming to know her, Gemma starts to investigate her family’s past and discovers her father’s mysterious connection to the secretive Haven research facility. Hungry for answers, she travels to Florida, only to stumble upon two human models, or replicas, 24 and 72—and a completely new set of questions. As Gemma tries to unravel the mysteries of Haven, she learnes terrible truths about herself and her family that will threaten to destroy everything she loves.
Two girls, two stories, one novel.
While the stories of Gemma and Lyra mirror each other, each contains revelations critically important to the other story. Their narratives can be read separately or in alternating chapters.
Back from my September TBR, this is part of my Books by the Banks TBR. If anyone has any insight into how to read this book (separate narratives or alternating chapters) please let me know.
» The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
The quintessential novel of the Lost Generation, The Sun Also Rises is one of Ernest Hemingway’s masterpieces and a classic example of his spare but powerful writing style. A poignant look at the disillusionment and angst of the post-World War I generation, the novel introduces two of Hemingway’s most unforgettable characters: Jake Barnes and Lady Brett Ashley. The story follows the flamboyant Brett and the hapless Jake as they journey from the wild nightlife of 1920s Paris to the brutal bullfighting rings of Spain with a motley group of expatriates. It is an age of moral bankruptcy, spiritual dissolution, unrealized love, and vanishing illusions. First published in 1926, The Sun Also Rises helped to establish Hemingway as one of the greatest writers of the twentieth century.
My husband and I will be taking a vacation to Key West (Florida) the first week of November to celebrate our 5 year wedding anniversary. I figured I should probably read one of Ernest Hemingway’s books before I visit his home & museum in Key West 🙂 I picked this one because I remember my Mom (not a big reader) saying this was one of her favorite books that she read in college.
» Lucky Boy by Shanthi Sekaran
A gripping tale of adventure and searing reality, Lucky Boy gives voice to two mothers bound together by their love for one lucky boy.
Solimar Castro Valdez is eighteen and drunk on optimism when she embarks on a perilous journey across the US/Mexican border. Weeks later she arrives on her cousin’s doorstep in Berkeley, CA, dazed by first love found then lost, and pregnant. This was not the plan. But amid the uncertainty of new motherhood and her American identity, Soli learns that when you have just one precious possession, you guard it with your life. For Soli, motherhood becomes her dwelling and the boy at her breast her hearth.
Kavya Reddy has always followed her heart, much to her parents’ chagrin. A mostly contented chef at a UC Berkeley sorority house, the unexpected desire to have a child descends like a cyclone in Kavya’s mid-thirties. When she can’t get pregnant, this desire will test her marriage, it will test her sanity, and it will set Kavya and her husband, Rishi, on a collision course with Soli, when she is detained and her infant son comes under Kavya’s care. As Kavya learns to be a mother – the singing, story-telling, inventor-of-the-universe kind of mother she fantasized about being – she builds her love on a fault line, her heart wrapped around someone else’s child.
Lucky Boy is an emotional journey that will leave you certain of the redemptive beauty of this world. There are no bad guys in this story, no obvious hero. From rural Oaxaca to Berkeley’s Gourmet Ghetto to the dreamscapes of Silicon valley, author Shanthi Sekaran has taken real life and applied it to fiction; the results are moving and revelatory.
» The Heart’s Invisible Furies by John Boyne
From the beloved New York Times bestselling author of The Boy In the Striped Pajamas, a sweeping, heartfelt saga about the course of one man’s life, beginning and ending in post-war Ireland
Cyril Avery is not a real Avery — or at least, that’s what his adoptive parents tell him. And he never will be. But if he isn’t a real Avery, then who is he?
Born out of wedlock to a teenage girl cast out from her rural Irish community and adopted by a well-to-do if eccentric Dublin couple via the intervention of a hunchbacked Redemptorist nun, Cyril is adrift in the world, anchored only tenuously by his heartfelt friendship with the infinitely more glamourous and dangerous Julian Woodbead. At the mercy of fortune and coincidence, he will spend a lifetime coming to know himself and where he came from and over his many years will struggle to discover an identity, a home, a country, and much more.
In this, Boyne’s most transcendent work to date, we are shown the story of Ireland from the 1940s to today through the eyes of one ordinary man. The Heart’s Invisible Furies is a novel to make you laugh and cry while reminding us all of the redemptive power of the human spirit.
» The Alienist by Caleb Carr
The year is 1896. The city is New York. Newspaper reporter John Schuyler Moore is summoned by his friend Dr. Laszlo Kreizler—a psychologist, or “alienist”—to view the horribly mutilated body of an adolescent boy abandoned on the unfinished Williamsburg Bridge. From there the two embark on a revolutionary effort in criminology: creating a psychological profile of the perpetrator based on the details of his crimes. Their dangerous quest takes them into the tortured past and twisted mind of a murderer who will kill again before their hunt is over.
Fast-paced and riveting, infused with historical detail, The Alienist conjures up Gilded Age New York, with its tenements and mansions, corrupt cops and flamboyant gangsters, shining opera houses and seamy gin mills. It is an age in which questioning society’s belief that all killers are born, not made, could have unexpected and fatal consequences.
Which books are on your TBR for October?
Have you read any of the books on my list? If so, what did you think?
Comment below & let me know 🙂
See which #books are on my #TBR for the month of October! #BookBlogger #Bookworm #AmReading Well, I failed my September TBR by only reading 3 out of 7 books... Does it count that I am finishing up the 4th and am adding the 5th back on October's TBR?
#Am Reading#Bibliophile#book blog#book blogger#Book Dragon#Book Nerd#Book Worm#Bookish#Books#Bookworm#Reading#TBR
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Chapter 13
WC: 817
Rated: E
Chapter Tags: angst, mentions of injury, brief depiction of blood, humor, minor book/show canon elements, 😘😏🤭
A/N: so I’ve been told this is what happens in the book v. what they actually do in the show. Then again i haven't read the books. That being said you probably shouldn’t do this to an injury either
🧠
A knock at your door broke you from your inner turmoil. Light crept in from the hallway as Bitsy entered your room. She sees you laying in the middle of your bed, eyes on the ceiling, unblinking. “Why are you in the dark?” You don’t answer at first. “Are you alright?” She knew you had the tendency to have bad days every so often where you got too in your head, the darkness taking over.
You open your mouth to answer but no sound leaves you. It was like everything hit you at once. Trying again you mumble “something happened at work…”
Bitsy is defensive immediately. “What’d he do? Do I gotta go fight him ‘cause I will, you know.”
Dazed, you mumble “it’s not what he did. It’s what he didn’t do.”
_
“Would you mind?” he interrupts your concentration on your laptop. He stands next to you with a stack of books nestled in his left arm. You save the document you had been working on and stand up. You wove your arms around the texts to pull from his grasp. In doing so you felt just how muscular his left limb was after being reliant on it for many years. You don’t allow yourself to think too long about it.
“Where do they go?”
He leads you around his large desk to the highest shelf in the bookcase. It is just out of reach for you. Laszlo is already aware of this, as he begins to take each book individually and place them in their proper location. “Ah, so you just needed me to stand here and hold things for you?” you question lightly as you hand him the next one. His shoulder brushes yours with each movement.
“No, there are many things I need you for,” he teases as he slides another text onto the shelf. “It was pointless to have to walk back and forth from my desk for each book.” You hum in agreement at his logic.
You can smell his cologne again, that earthy, masculine, scent that threatens to overtake your senses. You breathe it in, filling your lungs. He studies you as you stand next to him. When you sigh in contentment he raises his brows in question at you. In place of an answer you give him a delicate smile and minutely shake your head.
Laszlo finishes the task at hand. You go to take a step back so that you can return to your desk, regretful at having to move away from his scent, but your foot catches on something. Stumbling backwards, his hand reaches out to clutch at your elbow. It is not enough to fully stop your descent.
The arm that he’s not holding shoots out to his desk. You catch yourself against the solid wood, but at the expense of knocking off his empty antique teacup. It shatters into a hundred little pieces.
“Shit, I’m so sorry, Laz-” you drop to the floor and begin picking up the ceramic shards. He pulls the trash bin over before he kneels in front of you to help. In your haste to clean up you prick your finger along a jagged edge. At your small cry he pauses. The gash isn’t deep, but a small crimson drop of blood beads at the tip.
“Oh. You’ve cut yourself. Doesn’t look too deep but it’s bleeding.” It’s all you can do to draw in a breath as he grabs your hand, before slipping tip of your finger between his lips, brushing his tongue along the wound. The wet heat of his mouth sends fire licking up your arm.
After what can only be a second or two, but feels like a lifetime, he removes the fingertip. “Saliva contains a natural coagulant; clots the blood and allows for hemostasis. It’s why animals lick their wounds.” He pauses, his hand still holding yours gently. You can only hope Laszlo is as affected by his actions as you are. He lets go. “The bleeding should stop now.” His voice is gruff and low.
You find yourself glued to your spot, unable to tear your eyes away from his. His face, flushed underneath his full beard, is barely an inch from your own. A stray lock of hair rests across his forehead, begging to be righted. The doctor’s gaze flicks down to your parted mouth. You lick your lips in anticipation, dropping your focus to his own. You hold your breath as he begins to close the gap. His breath is hot on your cheeks.
Suddenly he retreats from you and clears his throat. He stands abruptly, leaving you still on the floor of his office. He does not look back at you. “Leave the rest, I will take care of it later. You may go.”
You swallow back your own hurt at the rejection, packing your things and rushing out the door.
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#the interpretation of dreams#laszlo kreizler x reader#laszlo x reader#laszlo kreizler#laszlo kreizler fanfic#the alienist#the alienist angel of darkness#daniel bruhl#daniel brühl#daniel bruhl laszlo kreizler#scuttle-buttle
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