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imaginethathaikyuu · 1 year

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don’t lie to me - part one

akaashi keiji x reader

a con-artist, lovers-to enemies-to lovers au

the GUIDEPOST the MASTERLIST

synopsis: You have nothing to lose, and that’s exactly why you love to go after those who do. Lying is as easy as knocking down a house of cards, revealing truths of corruption underneath. You and Akaashi are leaders of your own team of Robin Hoods, but you can’t keep up the act forever, can you? When you threaten trading this life in for something more romanticized, you and Akaashi fall right back into your old, hateful ways.

tags: lying stealing robbing etc., lovers to enemies, con-artist/spy!au, haikyuu x the great pretender crossover, not very relationship forward, but a lot of fluff sprinkled in, arguments, fights, angst, a break up

word count: 8535

Hitoka Yachi was a liar. She was a thief. She was a con artist. And she could not tell you how she got to this point in her life.

And there she sat in the living room of an affluent old lady who knew nothing about the telephone package Yachi was trying to sell to her.

That’s what made her the perfect target, an ideal victim to scam out of a few hundred bucks. Just like the others in this neighborhood Yachi had already meticulously gone after.

“Let me make it simple for you,” Yachi told her, putting on her best and brightest smile, “You can give me a down payment now - of eight hundred dollars - and when our team comes for the installment, you can make your decision then. We can deduct any extra payment from next month’s bill.”

The woman took a deep breath and used the pause for thought to adjust her shawl on her shoulder. “Well…”

“And this is the last day for this offer! Remember, this is a huge holiday discount. Even if you wait until tomorrow - it would be triple the price!”

It wasn’t a holiday or anywhere near.

“I probably shouldn’t pass this up, then…”

The woman reached for her large purse and Yachi shot out of her seat in excitement, raring to snatch the payment from her.

“Thank you! We’ll be in contact about the installation day! Thank you!”

With the money in her hands she darted out the door, leaving behind every pamphlet and example photo she had brought with her. All she cared about was getting outside so she could do her happy dance in private.

What she was doing wasn’t wrong. These people already have enough money to afford their nice homes and retirement dreams. Yachi was simply taking advantage, and she was doing it to survive.

She started walking in a random direction and stopped at the first restaurant she came to. She stuffed her hand deep in her pocket to tuck her money inside - first, she pulled out a sliver of paper. Written on it was the name and phone number for the woman she just had a meeting with.

As she walked inside, she wadded the note up and threw it toward a trash can nearby. It bounced off the edge and landed on the ground.

Yachi’s only friend was a woman older than her, cooler than her, and meaner than her. Tanaka Saeko played drums for a band, drove a beat up van, and frequented all the restaurants Yachi loved. That made them friends by default.

She was telling Saeko all about the recent job and how she made a new eight hundred bucks, while Saeko was barely listening, stuffing her face and kicking rocks under the picnic table.

“I actually need a favor.”

Saeko grunted.

“Help me out, and I’ll give you half.”

Yachi pulled a brown wallet out of her back pocket.

Saeko rolled her eyes. “Again? Really?”

The two of them did this every day.

“Come on,” she whined, “it’s fun! Look, the woman in the purple ordering at the counter - she’ll be perfect for it.”

The street was nearly empty, save for the few people eating at tables or walking by. It was the perfect day for making more money, and Yachi would do just that.

You were standing in front of a food stall sipping lemonade when you got a tap on your shoulder.

“Excuse me - did you drop this?”

“I’m sorry?”

“This wallet was on the ground, it’s yours, right?”

The girl opened the wallet and showed the cash inside, knowing it would pique your interest, and then let you take it from her hands.

Yachi put on a sweet smile until Saeko came over to wipe it off.

“It’s mine. Hand it over.”

Saeko took the billfold from you, but Yachi snatched it right back from her then stuffed it in her back pocket.

With her arms up in innocent defense, “You know what, I’ll just take it to the police.”

“I told you, it’s mine.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“What, do you want a reward or something?”

While they bickered, you finished your drink. Then, you pulled two twenties from your purse.

“It is mine, actually. Here’s your reward.”

And Yachi smiled at you, pulled the wallet out, and handed it over to you as she took your money.

“Thank you so much,” you said, being so sweet it felt fake, and then you wrapped your arms around her, giving her the most awkward hug of her life. “I appreciate it so much, thank you. Have a great day.”

Then, you walked off.

You were hardly out of earshot when Yachi started laughing to herself as she pulled the real, money filled wallet out of her pocket.

“It’s just so easy these days!”

Saeko held her hand out expectantly. Yachi slapped a bill in her hand.

“Thanks for playing,” she said, and Saeko said nothing. “You still hungry? It’ll be my treat!”

Just to brag, she pulled the wallet open, showing Saeko her earnings. The extra twenty she just stole from you didn’t seem like much in comparison to the hundreds in the pouch, but it all adds up. Every cent counts when you’ve got rent to pay.

And Saeko was laughing. Cackling like a bird.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“What are you going to buy?” she said through bursts of laughter and tears, “free samples?”

“What are you talking about?”

She looked down at the wallet and -

- it was empty.

Empty.

Her money was gone.

“You gave away the wrong one!”

Yachi felt her heartbeat in her ears. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head and landed right in the money pouch. She could have laughed, too, out of pure anger.

“I didn’t. I didn’t - I’m not stupid! I wouldn’t mess up that badly - did she…?”

She turned around, looking all over for you, then went running in the direction you had gone.

Yachi already figured out what you had done.

When you hugged her, you pick-pocketed her.

You knew she had given you an empty wallet, so you took the one with the money.

That’s the only explanation.

She ran down the block and easily found you, standing in front of a stall selling jewelry. And she was more than ready to make a scene in order to get her money back.

“Hey! Hey!”

You ignored her until she was standing right next to you.

“You stole my money!”

You glanced over at her, then said, “Hm? Aren’t you the one who found my wallet?”

“It wasn’t yours!”

You let a smile slip. “It wasn’t?”

“Look, just give it back.”

You walked away from the jewelry booth, but Yachi peddled behind you.

“Why would I do that? You gave it to me, said it was mine - so, it’s mine.”

“Well, it was a mistake! It wasn’t yours - it was mine, so I need you to return it.”

“Are you trying to steal from me?”

“What? No! I’m trying to get my money back!”

You didn’t reply, and Yachi didn’t know what else to do, so she kept following you.

She was stuck walking in your footsteps, letting you guide her wherever you were going, because she had no other ideas.

The only thing she could do was nag you until you gave in.

“All of my money was in that wallet. Like, all of it. At least eight hundred dollars. You’re stealing all of my money, and I’m already poor, so you’re just making me even more poor. Are you really okay with that?”

You said nothing.

“My name is Yachi, by the way. Hitoka Yachi. I’m pretty popular around here, actually. Are you new to town? I could show you around. For a price, anyway. Hey, if you give me my money back, I could show you how to make all the money in the world - I know the easiest ways.”

She meandered around you, stopping you in your path, finally getting the chance to speak to your face. She gave you a smile that was as genuine as it was frustrated; all you could do was laugh.

“How long do you plan on following me?”

Her smile fell. “Until I get my money back.” She was pouting, looking like she was trying too hard to look angry. You gave her a look that turned her anger up higher. “The money you stole from me.”

“In the wallet you said was mine?”

She stomped her foot; you didn’t hold back your laughter at her.

“What a con artist you are. Aren’t you clever?” you joked as you walked ahead of her, and her footsteps quickly followed yours.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, or who you think you are, but I know what I’m doing here. So maybe you should watch your tone.”

You tried not to laugh, you really did, but the sound erupted from your lips before you could seal them shut. Yachi stopped in her tracks at the sound.

You turned around, continuing to walk backwards as you said, “It seems like I’ve scammed the scammer, then, haven’t I?” And then you turned again, not stopping until you reached your destination.

Neither of you said a word until you were opening the gate outside of a quaint home.

“Where are we? What are you doing here?”

“I’m going home,” you said. “Do you want to camp out here, or come inside?”

Yachi peered behind you to look at the house, but the only thing that caught her eye was a man standing at the door. He stood there like he was a guard.

“Who is that?”

“Who?”

Yachi pointed, and you turned to glance behind you.

“He’s just someone I work with. I’m not sure what he’s here for… maybe something I owe him.”

You sighed, and Yachi got the idea that you weren’t happy to see this guy. She was immediately intimidated by the man - his gaze alone was enough to send her shrinking into herself. Dressed in all black, his strong looking arms crossed, and his jaw locked - according to Yachi’s low standards, he looked like someone she wanted nothing to do with.

You began walking away, into your gate and toward the house.

“Hey! What about my money?!”

“You mean my money?” You walked back over to her then pulled an ink pen and an old receipt out of your purse. “Here’s my name and number. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

You shoved the paper in her hand and then you left, into your house, and the man didn’t follow. He stood in the same spot, watching Yachi’s every move. She kicked herself out of his eyesight, fast.

The money in that wallet you stole was for a late rent payment. Her shitty apartment wasn’t worth what she paid for it every month, but it held her few belongings and kept her warm enough. And it was getting harder and harder to lie her way out of paying the bills on time.

And now that money is gone.

She could have just followed you into your home, but even she isn’t stupid enough to walk into a situation like that one.

Besides, that guy was scary enough that she was grateful for being out of his sight.

She’d just have to cut her losses. You can’t win ‘em all - she’d happily lose this time if it meant she never had to see that guy again. And that wasn’t the first time she had less than a dollar to her name. She’d just have to work a little harder tomorrow.

She looked down at the note you gave her. It did in fact have a name, and a few numbers written down, but it wasn’t enough to make a phone number. Of course. Yachi didn’t expect any better, but she swore the next time she saw you, she wouldn’t let you go.

Her walking was directionless, and she didn’t know where she was, but eventually the neighborhood turned familiar enough that she felt alright to slow her pace and catch her breath. She was only wandering, looking for something to stop her, when -

“Oh my god! There she is! Right there! That’s her - that’s the girl!”

One second she was kicking a pebble down the street - the next, she barely had the time to turn and run from the two cops chasing her, who were directed by the old woman from the telephone scam.

It was one thing after another.

She turned one corner then another before she found her escape. It looked like it was placed in front of her by God himself - too good to be true - and, of course, she took the path that was laid out: a taxi stopped on the side of the road with a familiar person getting into it - you. Yachi dived into the door you had left open and slammed it behind her.

“Let’s share the ride!” she said, trying to hide how out of breath she was. Your mouth hung in surprise but you only nodded, and the driver took off. Yachi looked back - not a cop in sight.

Safe at last.

“Back already?”

Yachi sat back in her seat and relaxed, because she finally could. But the silence took over fast, and she had to strike up conversation.

“Seriously, who was that guy?”

“Oh, don’t mind him. I took care of him.”

“You - did you -”

“Kill him?” Yachi gasped, you laughed. “No, god no - who do you think I am?”

“I have no idea who you are,” she said, and you laughed. Then, she realized, “Where are we going?”

“The airport,” you replied. You turned to look at her, your makeup still perfect, your hair only slightly messier than it was before, red lips in a sweet sneaking grin. “Then to LA.”

“LA?”

You nodded.

In the rush of the series of events, Yachi thought of this as an offer. A way out. A new market.

Technically, she was on the run now, and she still had to get back what you took from her, and she had nothing here to leave, anyway. Most of her things were in the tattered backpack she took everywhere with her.

“I’ll come with - if you buy my plane ticket.”

You refused. But she’d convince you.

“What are we doing here, anyway?”

“I’m here for work - I don’t know where you’re going. I need to make a stop by my place.”

“Well, you’ll let me stay with you for the night, right?”

There were hours of traffic between the two of you and your destination, and Yachi got to sleep through it until you forced her awake and brought her inside of an extravagant house. She didn’t get the chance to examine the outside - you walked too fast for her to keep up.

She developed a quick habit out of following you around. She didn’t know what else she was supposed to do, and her one goal was to take her cash back from you, afterall.

But when you led her into a big, open room, it seemed like you had enough of having her as your shadow.

“Can’t you go somewhere else?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” you sighed. You plopped down on the long velvet couch that faced the large window, then said, “Show yourself around. I’m waiting for company.”

“Fine.”

Looking as if she was trying to be passive aggressive, she trotted back out the door the two of you came through. Outside of it was a long hallway with many doors on either side; she didn’t know which room she should go into first.

With the blue carpet catching her footsteps, it was a soft walk to the first door. Yachi swung it open brazenly to find - a bathroom.

Plain and boring as they come. A stark opposite from the rest of the house that she’d seen - the main room was lavish, filled with furniture and decorated perfectly, windows lining an entire wall with beautiful paintings hanging on the rest of them.

She thought mansion bathrooms were meant to be fancy - with toilets made of gold and water fountains rather than sinks and a swimming pool for a tub.

Maybe you sunk your budget in the living room.

She decided to leave the door open, just to be rude, before she went to the next one.

There wasn’t time for her to open it before a door at the main end of the hallway opened seemingly on its own. Yachi was curious, wondering what kind of person would be walking through it.

When she saw him, she ran, and she loudly encouraged you to do the same.

The lazy way you stood up made it obvious that you weren’t bothered at all.

“What are you doing?”

“Running away, because that scary man followed you all the way here and it’s probably because he wants to kill you,” she said, all in one breath, the entire sentence sounding like one word.

You only crossed your arms. Yachi didn’t understand.

“Excuse me.”

The sound of his voice behind her made her yelp, and she ran straight to hide behind the couch.

“Whatever she did has nothing to do with me!”

The only part of her body visible was her eyes, peeking out just enough to see what this man’s next move was.

He completely ignored her, gunning straight for you. He reached his arms out and Yachi didn’t want to look - she couldn’t bear to see what he was about to do to you.

The man looked strong, and maybe you were capable of fighting but Yachi wouldn’t bet her stolen money on it. You weren’t even stepping away, in fact - you were stepping toward him.

He wrapped his arms around you and that was it, Yachi thought - he was probably going to squeeze you until you popped. She clamped her eyes shut, but then opened one of them because she couldn’t help herself. She just had to watch as he -

Kissed you.

Yachi really did not understand.

“Keiji, I missed you to death.”

“You couldn’t stand a couple days apart?”

“It felt like forever. I think I should just stitch myself to you, I’d be happier that way.”

Yachi shot up out of her hiding spot.

“I thought this was the guy you owed!”

“I did owe him. I told you I took care of him, didn’t I?”

The wink you sent Yachi’s way had her dropping her jaw in a realizing, disgusting anger.

“By the way,” Keiji said, “Where’s the big scary man who’s trying to kill you?”

Yachi didn’t care about a thing the man said, and she didn’t care about the joyous look on your face. All she cared about was getting answers.

“Who the hell are you? What do you want from me?”

“I told you who I am. You’re the one who’s been following me around this entire time - remember?” You weren’t even looking at Yachi. Instead, you were busy straightening Keiji’s collar. You kissed him once again and then stepped away, saying, “Could you bring me that briefcase, babe?” and he did as he was told.

She stood on the couch and then jumped over it, landing on her feet with a punctuating thud. “Because you stole my money. All of my money! And I want it back!”

“Right - about that money… Where’d it come from, exactly?”

Keiji sat the briefcase on the table in front of you. You opened it and pulled out three different things.

Yachi didn’t try to explain herself. You already had all of the answers, and you held them up for her to see.

The terrible pamphlet for the phone company she handmade, the contract signed by the woman she had scammed, and the crumpled note she had thrown away.

And she felt like a child again, being scolded by her mother for her bad grades. Like she was small, like you were bigger than her so that meant you were right. It didn’t feel fair.

“Where did you get those?”

You offered no explanation. “That poor, innocent woman,” you said with a tut. “But she wasn’t the first, was she?”

“So what? Are you going to rat me out or something?”

“No. Honestly, I couldn’t care less about it.”

“So what is this for?” Yachi took a loud step toward you, trying to make herself feel bigger, stronger, smarter. “Just give me my money so I can leave.”

“I never said I had your money.”

Yachi froze.

“What?”

You shrugged. “I don’t have it. You assumed I did.”

“Then who does?!”

“The girl you were with - she got a hold of it.”

“Saeko?!”

Then, Keiji stepped into it. “I think you might’ve taken this one too far, sweetheart.”

“But she knows what she’s doing,” you said, and the sweet voice you used with him sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “I didn’t do anything. Every choice she made was completely independent.”

The worst part?

You were right.

Yachi chose to take that old lady’s money. She chose you out of the crowd to play the wallet scam against. She chose to follow you home, to leave you at your house, to seek refuge in the taxi you were in. And then, on top of it all, she followed you to a brand new city.

And you didn’t suggest she do a single thing. You just let her.

It was her own fault. So she crumpled to the ground, because there was simply nothing left for her to do.

She fell for every word that left your mouth - and you didn’t even ask her to.

It was pathetic. She was pathetic.

You stood in front of her, tossed the pamphlet on the ground for her to look at. “It doesn’t feel good, does it? Being stolen from?”

Yachi didn’t reply.

“Do you want some advice?”

Yachi watched as you knelt down in front of her. She looked up at you, at your too sweet smile. Still, there were no cracks in your image. It was strange, and it was enticing, and it was maddening.

“Learn how to choose your targets, sweetheart. Maybe you should pick a different line of work.”

You wadded up the note and threw it down in front of her, just like she had thrown it to the trash. Your words were cutting, even as you got up and walked away. You had just given her a failing grade on the one thing she felt like she was good at - it hurt.

And she was all alone now, on the floor in a random home in this strange city. And she wished she had somewhere to go.

Until a hand reached out to her.

Keiji.

She took it, because she didn’t have any other choice - besides sitting there forever.

“She can be a little mean sometimes. Don’t take it too personally.”

Yachi didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

“Do you want to make your money back?”

Yachi nodded.

“Then let’s go. We’re already late.”

Maybe you were too mean to the young girl, but it definitely wasn’t your fault. It’s just the way things happened to play out.

Keiji obviously believed otherwise.

“I’m just saying - she’s just a kid. You didn’t have to go so hard on her.”

“I was teaching her a lesson!”

“You could’ve been a little nicer about it. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Keiji, you were in on it.”

“Hey, you were the boss - I was just doing what I was told!”

“Can you stop talking about me like I’m not right here?”

The both of you turned around to see Yachi behind you, tagging along like a third wheel. Keiji mumbled a quick apology; you continued walking without a word to her.

“Where are we even going?” the girl asked.

“To strike up a deal,” you said, feigning excitement so it would get her in a better mood.

And it worked like you were rubbing paint off your hands onto her. She piped up immediately, getting a spring in her step.

“Okay, what’s the plan?”

“You’ll see.”

“Nothing you need to know yet,” Keiji said as you all stopped in front of a large ornate gate; behind it, the biggest house Yachi had ever seen.

“Whoa. Is this some door-to-door scam for millionaires or something?”

You groaned loud. “Something like that.”

Keiji dropped your hand and moved to press a button on the intercom next to the fence. In less than a minute, three men came walking down the path on the opposite side; one of them used a key to open the gate.

All of them looked rough and mean. Dressed in leather jackets and lazily buttoned patterned shirts, gold chains around their necks and rings on their fingers, Yachi could easily assume these guys were cheap security for whoever lived in this mansion. She didn’t like the look of them.

The man in the center pulled his sunglasses off then shook Keiji’s hand.

“About time,” he said, then started leading your group inside.

Around the back of the house was a pool and a party. The bright blue water looked refreshing enough to jump into fully clothed, and all of the beautiful girls in bikinis had Yachi feeling self conscious of the little effort she put into her appearance. You had thrown a button up shirt and black pants at her and made her get changed in the car, and she was feeling far from herself.

She watched you and Keiji shaking hands and making conversation with the person who seemed to be the owner of this house - a tall woman who wore glasses and had long, pin straight, jet black hair.

Yachi wasn’t doing such a good job at following your conversation, but she heard the tail end of what the woman was saying.

“...This will be so great for both of us, I’m so excited to finally be finishing this deal. Um - where is the… supply?”

“The delivery should be here soon,” Keiji said, checking his watch. “Set to arrive around back.”

“Right - of course. No point in risking traveling alone with something so important.”

“In the meantime,” you said, and you wrapped your arms around Yachi’s shoulders and pulled her to stand in front of you. “This is an intern of ours - the one we were telling you about. She has been paramount in developing the new product.”

Yachi forced a fake, awkward smile at the woman.

“Oh, it’s amazing to meet you!”

“The two of you should get acquainted. Just don’t spill any secrets.” You winked at her and then took a step back. “The two of us will head over to the warehouse and we’ll give you a call when the goods arrive. Sound good?”

Leaving no chance for Yachi to reply, you and Keiji left her alone, walking past the party down a path that led behind the house.

Keiji asked you, “How do you think she’ll do?”

You shrugged. “She can’t fuck it up too badly. We’re already in the homestretch.”

The warehouse was exactly that - a large building with two garage doors and no windows, with its only entrance door guarded by two men. One of them short, thin, and balding; the other tall, with salt and pepper hair and too much muscle. You greeted them both then swung the door open and walked into the fluorescent lights inside.

The building was mostly empty now; Ten, your current client, had gotten rid of nearly all of her inventory after the first meeting she had with you. To make room for the stock you’d promised.

Arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you in. “We’ve got time to kill, baby.”

You looked back at him, kissed his cheek. “Not as much time as you need.”

“You only need five minutes.” He pulled away just enough to turn you around, then pulled you right back against him, teasing a kiss against your lips. “I thought you missed me?”

He kissed you soft, just enough to get you to want more - to remind you what you were missing. As headstrong as you were, Keiji was the only one who knew how to crack your resolve.

You let him kiss you as much as he wanted to, because you weren’t ready to put up a fight yet.

“You know I missed you,” you whined against his lips. He caressed your pouting bottom lip with his thumb.

“You’re a sweetheart. My sweet girl. Why don’t we just get this over with so I can show you how much I missed you?”

You kissed his finger, then his palm, and looked up at him with bright eyes and a swelling smile.

“I think we have five minutes to spare.”

Yachi had been alone with this woman for half an hour, and getting through the conversation felt like swimming in putty.

At this point, she felt like she deserved a fucking degree in bullshitting, because even though her words made no sense to herself, the woman ate them up like candy.

Yachi had learned very little, and yet way too much about the business practices here.

The woman’s name was Ten, and she’s worked in Hollywood as a film director for nearly twenty years, and the product she was buying off of you was… drugs. All of her money didn’t come from the shitty movies she’s made, but from the drugs she’s been peddling.

So Yachi had gotten tied up with drug dealers. She could handle your lying and stealing, but this was too far for her.

She wouldn’t realize the irony in that sentiment.

“I was skeptical before, to be honest. But after meeting you, I’m nothing but excited,” Ten told her.

It all felt surreal even though she was clueless of the situation. She had Ten convinced that she was a pharmaceutical technician who lacked experience but had an abundance of knowledge - a great mind who would become a pillar in the industry, someone who would change the drug industry and make people like her even richer.

Your call to Ten was a saving grace.

“Perfect. Send one of the guards up to escort me with the money. I’ll be right down.”

Yachi joined Ten, a muscular guard, and four briefcases to the warehouse around back. On the walk, Ten explained how she did all her business in cash, because it was easy payment with no risk of being tracked - even though Yachi never asked.

When they entered the building, Yachi held her breath, preparing to witness her first ever drug deal, and she had no idea what she was in for.

It was a giant room that was completely empty. There was a table in the center, a briefcase on top of it, and the fluorescent light shining directly onto it looked like a spotlight.

Yachi was confused, and Ten seemed even more so.

High heels echoed on the concrete floor as the woman walked to the case. She opened it, and then she snapped her head around to glare at Yachi.

The briefcase was empty.

“What’s going on here?”

She made her way back to Yachi quickly; arms came out to grab her, and she ducked underneath them. She fell onto her hands and knees, turned around, and crawled toward the door before clambering back up to her feet.

“Honestly, I have no clue!” she called back.

She pushed the door open, she saw safety in the sunlight outside. She only got to take one step on the grass before she was cut off by the guard who was with them before, still carrying the cases of money under his arm.

There was no way she was fighting him off, so when he picked her up, she let him. He threw her over his shoulder and all she could do was beat on his back with small fists.

“Let me go!” she cried. “I have nothing to do with this! Seriously! I don’t even know those two! Just let me go!”

When he finally put her down, it was onto warm metal. She opened her scared eyes to find she was in the bed of a pickup truck and so was her kidnapper.

With the truck moving she had almost no balance, but she was able to find her way to her hands and knees so she could look through its back window.

You stared at her in the rear view mirror. You even gave her a little wave, one that was all confidence and cockiness and made Yachi want to scream.

“What the hell was that?” She turned around, glared at the man who had captured her. “Who are you?”

He laughed, grinned wide, and stuck his hand out for her to shake.

“Bokuto - nice to meet ‘ya!”

You had been pulling the wool over Ten’s eyes for months now, building a relationship and rapport that seemed fruitful for the both of you. Ten shared secrets with you that you never needed to know, because you already had a plan scratched out before you ever met her.

She dealt the kind of drugs that killed people. The deeper the cut, the bigger the profit - that’s how she spoke of her cheap sales. It was easy to take advantage of her greed, convince her to only buy from you, pretend you were bringing something to the table she couldn’t pass up. So she cut her ties even though she was already bleeding money, and she put her last couple millions into the briefcases you stole from her, and if she ever recovered you’d give her a round of applause.

Maybe she would learn her lesson. Or maybe she wouldn’t. But your work with her was finally done.

The group of you were gathered on the terrace, drinks in hand, for an evening celebrating a job pulled off.

“All that work for one day of fun,” Bokuto sighed.

You were quick to scold him, “It’s not meant to be fun, Bo, it’s supposed to be work.”

The night sky was clouded by city lights; the stars were replaced by lampposts and neon signs. This town was alive beyond the balcony rails ahead of you. But you were only watching Yachi, who sat across from you, on the ground behind the table. She had her knees up, hugging them like she was afraid of taking up too much space, as if she had ever seen a terrace this large.

You sat up from your seat - which was Keiji’s lap - and placed your drink on the table, before sitting down on her level.

“How much did you say was in that wallet?”

She huffed and avoided your eye contact.

“I don’t know… eight hundred dollars.”

You slid a stack of cash across the table to her. Her eyes grew, and she sat still.

“For your work today,” you said.

“How much is that?”

“A few thousand. You weren’t too integral - just a distraction, really - so it’s not much.”

“...Thanks.”

“You could stick around, if you want.” It was a delicate offer, one that didn’t mean much to you, just like the money you handed over. “We always have room.”

She didn’t reply, not at first, but after a moment she gave you a meek nod.

“And I’ll get paid more?”

You stood back up then sat next to Keiji, and he pulled you in close; a kiss on your head, then your cheek, then your neck, and you were ready to forget about the world and only think about his lips.

“There’s always more to be paid,” you told her. “If you’re going to stick around, you should probably get acquainted with everyone.” You pointed to your left, “That’s Bokuto. You already met him, I think. He’s the muscle.” You meant it as a joke, but he flexed a bicep that proved your words. Then, you gestured to your right, looking at the old man laid across the wicker couch. He still wore the security guard disguise. “That’s Kudo.”

He gave a weak hearted salute. “Sure am.”

“There’s others, but they don’t always come around. You’ll meet them if you’re on the team long enough.”

“Team?”

It was innocent, the way she said it - with her head turned to the side and her eyes squinting. You were sure that you had felt the way she was feeling, back when you were five years younger and just meeting this group for the first time.

“Yeah, we’re a team, I guess. That’s the best word for it.” Try as you might to be nonchalant, you couldn’t completely cover the pride in your tone. “You’re in, if you want to be.”

You already knew she would stick around, because she had nowhere else to go. Anybody else who offered her refuge wouldn’t have good intentions, and you weren’t sure if she knew that or not - and that’s why you were making this offer in the first place. When you had heard about Yachi from Saeko, you knew she needed a place to fit - and that you had just the spot.

Even if you had to teach her a tough lesson the hard way, you meant well. And those lessons were far from over.

“Think about it,” you told her, and that was all of the time you were willing to give for the moment - because the alcohol had you buzzing, and Keiji’s arms around you were pulling you away.

So you let him take you off your seat and toward the door, but you had one more bit of information to share with Yachi.

“Oh, and - remember the old woman you stole that money from?”

Yachi perked up.

“She’ll be here tomorrow.”

Something about spending the evening outside made you wish to be swallowed up by the night time. Your bedroom was perfectly warm yet your hands were frigid. You were completely relaxed but your shoulders still felt tense.

Nights like those carried a different feeling. One free of planning, lying, and conning; it was the release of all of those things settling in the celebration of success. Like the clouds finally parted and you could see the stars with childlike relief. You no longer had to worry about getting away with something.

With your back to Keiji, you let your face fall. You took a breath and held it, because no one was waiting for you to exhale.

“What a day,” you said to yourself. “Now that it’s over it feels like a perfect night for running away.”

“Away from me?” Keiji joked.

You turned your head only slightly. Enough that he could see that your guard was down, but you didn’t dare give him your eyes.

“With you.”

He pulled his t-shirt on and came to sit next to you. “And where would we go?”

“Anywhere,” you said with a shrug. And you thought about his question, and if your answer would be the right one. If it should be the truth, or another lie. “Somewhere normal, maybe.”

Keiji laughed. “Normal? You’d get bored of that in a day.”

“I would not,” you replied, “not if you were with me.”

“Don’t get all romantic on me now.” He got up, got into bed.

You might have been sitting on the edge of something you didn’t want to fall off of.

“You don’t want to run away with me, Keiji?” You couldn’t tell if you were making a joke or not, and you didn’t know if you wanted to hear his answer at all.

Because, in reality, you knew what his real answer would be. You knew his honesty was ugly and that’s why he showed you half truths.

You guessed he decided to ignore it all together. “Come to bed with me, baby.”

You stood up, walked around the bed and sat too close to him. He pushed your hair back away from your face, held you and looked at you.

“Why are you pouting?

“I’m serious,” you said.

“About what?”

“I don’t know.”

He laughed at that, all lighthearted and soft, and kissed you like it’d make you drop it. “Let’s talk about it later, baby - turn around, let me unzip your dress for you.”

“No, Keiji,” and you pulled away just enough that you didn’t have to look at him. “You don’t ever think about what it would be like?”

“It feels like we’ve talked about this before,” he said. “What are you getting at?”

“I just think it would be nice if things changed.” You stood up, and for a split second you thought about dropping it.

The last time you had a conversation like this was years ago, when you finally had enough money to retire and live easy. Keiji had brought it up, just offering the idea, and you had to remind him that it would never work out. Not with the two of you, anyway - not with the relationship you had.

Because nothing lasts forever, and you’re better than settling down, and you weren’t going to let yourself get hurt again. You promised each other that either of you could walk away any time, so don’t get too attached.

And if a break up never came, well - both of you had been scarred by the vision of death, witnessing it literally - viciously. You don’t have a particularly safe job, and history tends to repeat, and it was easier to move on if your life didn’t revolve around the other’s beating heart.

But it was too late for those sentiments to matter anymore. It had been almost three years since then, and you didn’t fear the future anymore. Keiji stayed, even though you thought he never would - even though no one ever stuck around that long - and you were starting to think that, maybe, he was going to be there forever. Maybe it was okay for you to ask him to.

So you wouldn’t let it go.

“We could have more than just… this. You know? What if we just bought a big house in a suburb? We could have pets, and… We could get married, even! And go on a honeymoon to some place nice - and we’ll be there to have fun instead of - I don’t know - rigging sports bets or stealing paintings! And it would all be so simple and easy!”

“Where is all of this coming from?”

You didn’t even know. But you meant it, all of it, and you wanted him to understand.

“I just - I… I want to have a life with you, Kei.”

“We have a life together,” he said, like he was confused, and he got up and walked over to you, he tried grabbing at you like he could put you back together. Like he could fit you in his hands. “This is our life. Can you seriously imagine us living like that? Getting married?”

“Can’t you?”

He knew his answer, he just didn’t want to say it.

“This is too much,” he said. “We’ve talked about this. I thought you didn’t want that.”

“What if I changed my mind?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say -”

“I want you to agree with me!”

“I don’t! And you know why - I…” He reeled his next words in, it seemed. He took a breath and calmed down and tried to speak softer. “You just want to… quit?”

He pulled you closer, like he could tell you were trying to run away.

“We’re so close to figuring everything out. We can’t just give up.”

“I know that.”

“Okay?” You looked away from him and he let you. “That’s why we’re here. That’s why we’re together.”

“Have all of these years together just been a waste, then? If you can’t even entertain the thought of having a life with me other than this?”

You were holding onto him so tight and you didn’t care if it hurt. Keiji had been your one constant for years now - there was no way he was still afraid of committing to you, when he had basically already done so.

But it was like tying down a wild dog. You couldn’t.

“Why didn’t you bring this up sooner? Our goal was never to settle down and have kids some day - it’s not - we’re not like that!”

“Not like what?” you asked. You were completely disheartened, now, dropping the grip you had on him. “Not serious? Not real?”

“Not normal!” he said, loud, and then he laughed, like he thought you were being funny. “I mean - we’ve never even been an actual couple - did you really think we would end up like that?”

“Maybe I did. What’s so wrong with that?”

“You know I don’t want that,” he said. “We aren’t together to have some happy ending - I never wanted that with you.”

And that was it. The last push.

But it was into anger rather than sadness; a rage instead of a broken heart; a free fall instead of a straight plummet.

“You did a great job at acting like it, Keiji.”

He laughed again, and you realized the irony in your words. The fact is that all he ever does is put on an act for other people because lying for money was his job, and you had the heart to believe he’d been real with you.

“I was never acting - obviously you can’t say the same.”

For the first time in your life, you let him have the last word. You were quick to collect some of your things and leave the room with a slamming door, and you stormed to a guest bedroom without a thought in your mind.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t let yourself feel sad. You were angry and annoyed and exhausted - maybe even a little embarrassed. And that anger kept you distracted, so you latched onto it and let it burn.

The next morning, you assumed everyone had already left. When a job was over and everything finally settled, most of the crew found other places to go - because they had money to spend. So you weren’t expecting to interact with anyone.

But Yachi was waiting in the hallway, still in her pajamas.

“Finally! I’ve been waiting forever for you to wake up. What took so long?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Fine. Gosh.”

“What do you want?”

“Well, I just had a few questions.”

You walked to the bathroom and she followed you into it. She closed the door behind her and then hopped up onto the counter next to the sink.

“Now that I have my money back I need to figure out what to do with it. I think I should get some new clothes, but mostly I just want to find some good food - what are the best restaurants around here, by the way? Honestly, I think you owe me lunch for the last few days. It’s the least you could do to make me feel part of the team.”

Out of nowhere, the door opened. Keiji was standing behind it.

“Can you knock?!” you immediately said, making him scoff.

“Can you learn to lock the door?”

You slammed the door in his face, and it made you feel marginally better. Then you looked over to Yachi, remembering her existence, and opened it again.

“Can I get some privacy? Please?”

“Yeah,” she said, stumbling over her words to land on her feet. “We’ll catch up later, I guess.”

You hoped later never came.

And instead of a peaceful, empty home, you were met with a full house of expectants, because you had already promised them more work to do.

“I thought you liked to get an early start.” It was Keiji, and he was talking like he wanted to start a fight. “It’s noon.”

“You could have started the meeting without me. You have all the information I do.”

“This one was your idea.”

“They’re all my ideas,” you said.

You pushed by him and went into the living room where everyone was waiting for you.

The only silver lining was seeing Ms. Kim, who had finally arrived sometime last night. She sat on the couch with a giant ball of yarn next to her, and the makings of a blue scarf sat on her lap as she knitted away. Her straight hair was shorter than it was a few weeks ago, and she had new glasses that sat on the tip of her nose, but she had the same familiarly grumpy look that always made you smile.

If you were honest, you didn’t even know what you were supposed to be talking about with them. Keiji always helped you get things in order, line up plans, and work out the tempo of meetings like these.

“Do you have the layout of the bar?” you asked him.

He was just sitting down on the couch when you looked at him. “No,” he said, arms crossed.

“Why not?”

“You didn’t tell me to get it.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you. Did you do nothing? Where’s the list of the employees?”

“Do you think I’m your assistant? Do you think I spend twenty-four hours a day doing shit for you?”

“Am I supposed to do it all on my own?”

“It’s not that difficult, I’m sure you’d figure it out if you put in some effort. But it might take a few tries.”

“Fine,” you said. You looked around the table in front of you to see empty folders and blank papers. “Since Akaashi didn’t do his job we’ll just have to delay this a few days. And everyone can thank him for that.”

“Just because you say it’s my fault doesn’t mean it’s true. You haven’t figured that out already?”

“Since you don’t want to help I’ll just go ahead and cross you off the list of team members needed for this job - does that work for you?”

“Sounds great,” he said. “It sounds wonderful, actually - I can’t wait to see you try to do something all on your own.”

“And I can’t wait to stop hearing your voice!”

Both of you stormed out of the room at that, and slamming doors were heard on opposite sides of the house.

The silence in the living room was deafening.

“Did something… happen?” Yachi eventually asked among the group.

Ms. Kim was the first one to speak up, “They used to act this way… Must’ve had a fight.”

That made Kudo perk up with a gravelly laugh, “Oh, a lover’s quarrel.”

Honestly, Yachi couldn’t believe it. She had never seen the two of you act any way other than repulsively in love. She would have thought you had never fought before - everything seemed just perfect between the two of you.

But she was immediately interested in knowing about your past. No one had told her anything about how they got started, or what kind of work they did before now, and she was dying to know something.

“What do you mean? They used to argue a lot?”

“Ha - you could say that.”

“They were unbearable,” Bokuto said. “More unbearable than they are now, if you could believe it…”

“I don’t,” Yachi said. “Tell me about it.”

Her request was directed at Ms. Kim who did nothing but blink at her.

“Can’t you ask someone else? I’m not a storyteller!”

“Come on, Kim,” Kudo said, “we all know you love reminiscing on the good old days. Tell the newbie all about it.”

“Five years ago aren’t the good old days,” she said. “Fine. I’ll give you the quick version and spare the details. Don’t get comfortable.”

... ... ...

thank you for reading!

taglist: @luveill @angelssnight @justsomeonewhoyoudontknow @mapleseries @pyara2seok @tsukiran

send an ask to be added to the taglist for part two

#don't lie to me #akaashi keiji #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #akaashi keiji x reader #haikyuu #hq x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x you #akaashi keiji x y/n

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robyn-the-writer · 2 years

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Misappropriating Michael Corleone: toxic masculinity in The Godfather

In celebration of this glorious Pacino Saturday, I bring you this essay commission I wrote earlier this year about toxic masculinity in The Godfather with something the commissioning editor didn't get - GIFs from the wonderful Godfather / Pacino community! Enjoy.

The final shot of Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather Part II is probably my all-time favourite ending to a film. Dressed for a chilly autumn, Michael Corleone – played like one of Shakespeare’s tragic princes by Al Pacino – sits alone, wearing the ring from his long-jettisoned marriage even as his hair fades to grey, pondering the question he will be pondering for the rest of his life: was it worth it? Cinema’s most famous eyes, haunted by a thousand ghosts, stare out over a kingdom of ashes. The last of the Corleone family’s enemies is dead, but there is no Corleone family left to share in Michael’s victory. He has won – and lost everything in the process.

So I can’t get my head around the misappropriation of Michael Corleone as some sort of sigma male fantasy figurehead. How can you walk away from that final disarming fade-to-black and think, in all sincerity, now there’s a man content with his choices. I’d like to be just like him.

The Godfather trilogy is a story about how a young man with everything becomes an old man with nothing. Coppola intended it to be, as has often been said before, an allegory of American capitalism – all actions taken in pursuit of money and power have victims. To me, it’s also a story about toxic masculinity.

The phrase ‘toxic masculinity’ didn’t exist when Francis Ford Coppola made The Godfather, but it did exist when I studied the film at university more than 40 years later. Like any cinematically-minded eighteen year old who studies The Godfather, I was fascinated by it. In particular, I was interested in how the war hero at his sister’s wedding becomes the gangster who murders the man she married. What force on Earth is powerful enough to destroy a man’s soul the way Michael Corleone’s is destroyed by the end of Part II?

All three of Vito Corleone’s sons are trapped in his shadow. Their choices are dictated by a well-worn rulebook of how men should behave. By fighting heroically for his country and courting a respectable outsider (Diane Keaton’s Kay), Michael attempts to rewrite this rulebook. Initially, he is interested in performing masculinity on his own – and, arguably, lawful society’s – terms.

But in the world of The Godfather, wars aren’t won by playing by society’s rules. Vito Corleone represents the pinnacle of a different kind of masculinity, one that, though it rejects the principles of law, is nonetheless built on American values: ambition, individualism, strength of mind and body, power. Michael’s campaign to ‘be his own man’ is superficial from the start. Although he wants nothing to do with the family business, he doesn’t speak out against it. He is unbothered by the story he tells Kay, of a gun, a contract, and an offer impossible to refuse. Michael is so immersed in the world into which he was born that it has become impossible for him to escape. And, I suspect, he wouldn’t escape it if he could. Michael Corleone loves his father, and all along, there is a part of him that admires the toxic ideal Vito represents.

So what makes the Vito Corleone brand of masculinity so ruinous? As portrayed by two of our all-time greatest actors in a pair of stunningly charismatic performances, Vito is ruthless but fair, demanding but loyal, marble-hard to his enemies and kitten-soft to his friends. He is protector, provider, patriarch. His logic is unchallenged, his judgement unquestioned. He is everything a man in his world should be. Anything less would be a failure of manhood. Vito believes it is sloppy to let on how you’re feeling (“Never tell anybody outside the family what you’re thinking”), unmanly to show emotions (“You can act like a man!”, roared at his mopey godson, Jonny Fontaine), weak to let your guard down (“Women and children can afford to be careless but not men”). Although none of them are capable of living up to the ideal established by Vito, the Corleone boys are expected to live by this hard-and-fast guide to masculinity. One by one, they die by it.

Toxic masculinity manifests differently in each of Vito Corleone’s three sons, and it destroys each of them in a different way. Broad-shouldered in his wifebeater, James Caan’s Sonny is a textbook man’s man, and he acts as he believes a man should. A rough-and-tumble action-man, Sonny is a dominant hand at the helm of the good ship Corleone while his father is in hospital. He rises to the challenge Vito has set for him. He becomes the protector, the provider, the patriarch. When it comes to defending the family, he is as ruthless as his father has taught him to be. And it is that instinct to protect, that assumption of a power inherited, those toxic learned behaviours, that get him killed on the causeway, falling for a trap that would never have fooled his father.

Sliding down to the other end of the spectrum, John Cazale’s Fredo is about as far from a masculine stereotype as you can get. But he isn’t free from the burden of its expectations. It is precisely Fredo’s exclusion from the Corleone ideal of masculinity that traps him in its toxic web. From the moment he is born sickly, Fredo is told that he is weak and stupid and unworthy of the Corleone name. His mother tells him that he must’ve been left on the doorstep by gypsies, so far removed is Fredo from the masculine ideal represented by his father. But he isn’t weak and he isn’t stupid and he does deserve to be a part of this family that has left him behind. So, fighting for some ounce of the respect that he, as a man in the Corleone mould, is owed, Fredo fights back. He is killed for his masculine pride, for his one attempt to be as ruthless as his father wished him to be.

Of all Vito Corleone’s sons, Michael is the one who takes his father’s lessons most to heart. He’s also their most tragic victim. He recalls his father’s advice (“keep your friends close but your enemies closer”), repurposes his words (“I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse”), and abides by his golden rules of masculinity: never tell anyone what you’re thinking, never reveal your emotions, and don’t be careless. He is a ready-made don-in-waiting, rotten to the core with inherited notions of toxic masculinity. His destiny in inescapable.

In our very first glimpse of him, Michael is recently returned from war. He has been decorated for bravery (in a deleted scene, Vito mocks his medals as “Christmas ribbons”). We do not know what Michael saw and did in the war, but we know it know it made him a hero. So it can’t have been anything good. He is forced to surrender his civilian life in defence of his family. While he’s in hiding for the murder of his father’s enemies, his brother is killed. His lovely young wife is blown to bits by a car bomb that was meant for him. His father dies. He is betrayed by men who have known him since he was a baby. Yet for all this grief and trauma, we never see him mourn. There is barely one scene in The Godfather or its first sequel in which Michael expresses a thought or feeling.

Too often, I see this absence of expression misconstrued as an absence of emotion. To me, Michael Corleone is not a villain. He is not a stone-hearted sociopath. In fact, he’s nothing but emotion. He just has no outlets for it. He has grown up in an environment where sharing feelings and expressing emotions is seen as weakness and foolishness, something to be avoided by any self-respecting Corleone man. Without this knowledge of self-expression, or anyone he trusts enough to express himself to, the enormous amount of anger and pain inside Michael is left to bubble and boil over. He is unable to articulate his frustration to his wife, so he socks her in the face instead. Fredo’s murder is not the ruthless act of an uncaring monster, but the whim of a broken heart. Michael doesn’t know how to share his pain with Fredo, wouldn’t even know how to start a conversation about how much his betrayal hurts, so he responds in the only way he knows – with a permanent solution to a seemingly incurable ache. With a masculine instinct for action, not emotion. Michael ends up alone because he doesn’t know how to let anybody in. He lives in a world where to trust somebody is to make yourself weak. He lives in the world his father has made for him. In the end, it is the very repression of the emotions he has been taught to repress that destroys Michael.

So if it’s so terrible to be Michael Corleone, why do we end up with glorifying articles like this one from a 1995 edition of Esquire? Because the type of toxic masculinity he represents persisted in 1995, and it persists in 2022. People continue to misappropriate Michael because they continue to misinterpret his fate. The “exultant glimpse of male nature” offered to viewers of The Godfather continues to seduce some with an illusion of power, success, and victory. We are willing to overlook, then, the price of such exultant masculinity. Who needs the love and trust of your friends and family when you’ve got a big-ass house by Lake Tahoe and business interests worth millions?

The truth is that the masculinity some exult is the cancer at the heart of the Corleone family – and Francis Ford Coppola knows it. Mario Puzo may have named his central family “lion heart”, but Coppola is sparing with his lionisation. By enforcing his single-minded view of a masculine ideal, Vito Corleone traps his children in a self-destructive cycle of generational violence. Coppola shows us how it consumes everything – the lives of women, children, and innocent people, all secondary to the glory of a Corleone man’s victory. I’m certainly not the first to suggest that The Godfather is “not a monument to male chauvinism but a condemnation of it” (Nicholas Barber for the BBC earlier this year). But for me, Coppola’s film isn’t just about how male chauvinism pervades certain times, places, and people. For me, it’s about how the very nature of toxic masculinity, how it is created and maintained. It’s about the price of buying into that illusion. For Michael Corleone, the price is everything. And for those who misappropriate him, it’s worth it.

#the godfather #1970s cinema #francis ford coppola #al pacino #pacino saturday #gdamn this is long

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foundtherightwords · 1 year

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Love in a Mist - Chapter 6

Pairing: Hellcheer Regency AU or Regency!Eddie Munson x OFC (for more info, see A/N of Chapter 1)

Summary: Christine Conyngham, a young debutante whose marital prospects are less than ideal, believes her happiness is secure when she falls in love with Joshua Craven, the handsome future Duke of Hauxwell. However, after her lack of a fortune prevents her and Joshua from marrying, Christine impulsively accepts the proposal of Edward Munson, the eccentric Baron Hurstfield, who is in need of a wife to obtain an inheritance. But with her heart still pining after Joshua, can Christine learn to love her husband and build a life with him?

Series Warnings: sloooooow burn (it's a fucking novel, I'm sorry), angst, suicide attempt, mentions of domestic abuse, some smut in later chapters. Also, my deepest apologies to the people of Yorkshire for the accent and any other details I might have butchered.

Chapter Warnings: mostly fluff, some mutual pining and a bit of anxiety toward the end. Smut is coming though!

Chapter word count: 3.7k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Chapter 6

At last, the dreariness of Hurstfield Hall lessened. Perhaps it was the bright summer sun that chased away the gloom, perhaps it was the garden that kept her mind and her hands busy, or perhaps it was simply the fact that she had gotten used to the house and its people, but Christine no longer felt that life was not worth living.

A sense of familiarity between her and Edward had replaced the awkwardness in the early days of their marriage, so now they could talk, or practice the pianoforte together, or simply sit in easy silence in the parlor. It was only late at night, when she was lying alone in her bed, that some of her old pains returned, though they, too, were more tolerable. With the ring hidden away and her mother no longer mentioning Joshua in her letters, his memories became fainter, like those of a lost love.

Sometimes Christine wondered if Edward would ever want to share her bed again, after their two dreadful failures. Though the shame had faded somewhat, the thought of those nights still made her tense up. What would he do if she was never ready to accept him? Would he fulfill his needs somewhere else? She had heard too many horror stories about unsuspecting wives being confronted by their husbands' mistresses and illegitimate children, or servant girls getting dismissed and farmers' daughters having to flee their home after falling victim to men's beastly "needs", but she knew Edward was too honorable for that. There were couples who had come to an "understanding" and lived separate lives, the husband free to pursue any woman he wished - just look at the Prince and Princess of Wales - but somehow, the idea of Edward having affairs was uncomfortable and distasteful to her.

She caught herself having these thoughts again while they were sitting together in the study, the parlor having been closed off for the time being so a door to the conservatory could be put in. Edward was bending over a drawing of some sort. He kept brushing his hair away from his face, and Christine found her eyes being drawn to his hand, which made her blush, then she got annoyed with herself for blushing.

"Would you consider having a haircut?" she said, after he had to brush his hair back yet again.

"What's the matter with my hair?" Edward looked up, sounding offended.

"Nothing, if you're a tragic hero in one of Mrs. Radcliffe's novels," Christine teased him.

"Perhaps I am," he shot back with a playful grin.

"You're as much a tragic hero as I am a damsel in distress," she said. As he looked down at the drawing, another careless curl fell over his forehead. Without thinking, Christine reached out a hand to brush it back, but before she could touch Edward, there was a crash from outside, followed by Henderson's voice shouting, "Watch it, laddie!" Christine drew back, crossing the treacherous arm across her chest. Her eyes fell on the drawing Edward was perusing and saw that it was a plant for a mill.

"Oh no, please tell me you're not thinking of building a mill as well!" she exclaimed.

"No. Mr. Clarke and I were trying to teach the children about mills, but they don't seem interested."

Mr. Clarke was the schoolmaster that Edward had finally found, an old gentleman born in Hurst itself. He had spent most of his life as an Oxford scholar, but in his late years, had tired of the world of academia and wished to give something back to his home. Now that it was the height of summer and work on the farms wasn't so busy, Edward could focus on his pet project again and spent a lot of time with Mr. Clarke, discussing ways to bring more children to the school. However, attendance was still low. The farmers didn't see much use to schooling, or they would only grudgingly agree to reading and some arithmetic, and the children themselves weren't so enthusiastic either.

"I've brought them some books from the library," Edward said, "but they don't even want to read them."

"Has it occurred to you that you may read too much?" Christine asked.

"Nonsense! How can anyone read too much?" Edward retorted, but he seemed thoughtful.

He disappeared for the rest of the day, though Christine heard him moving about in the attic and calling out for canvas and rods, amongst other things. Having gotten used to his eccentricity by now, she paid no attention to it, not even when Edward drove off in the gig the next day, with two old hobby horses and an armful of what looked like kites or sails on the seat next to him. She supposed they were toys to be given to the schoolchildren. Well, if he thought bribing them with toys would make them more willing to go to school, he would be sorely disappointed.

Later, as her daily walk took her toward the village, Christine suddenly decided to look into the schoolhouse to see if Edward's attempt was a success. She had visited it a few times since Mr. Clarke's arrival, but the children were always so stiff and carefully well-behaved in her presence that she felt rather sorry for them. However, when she arrived at the building, she found it deserted, much to her puzzle. Seeing the vicar outside the church next door, she asked if he knew where the children were.

"Last I saw, Lord Hurstfield and Mr. Clarke were leading them toward the mill," he replied with a sniff to show his disapproval of such unorthodox schooling.

Christine followed the stream that ran alongside the village's main thoroughfare, toward the gray stone mill standing at a bend on the road. Before she arrived, excited shouts and laughs had already reached her above the bubbling of the water.

A strange sight greeted her: on the green outside the mill, several children stood in a row, each holding a pair of sails in their arms and whirling them around, while Edward, riding a hobby horse and brandishing a long stick, took a run at them, followed by another small child with a hobby horse of his own.

"Upon seeing the windmills move, Don Quixote believed them to be giants attacking him," Edward was saying, "and, heedless of the warnings of loyal Sancho Panza, he charged at them at full gallop and drove his lance at them - thus!" At this, he pretended to thrust his stick at one of the sails. The child holding it staggered, but Edward shouted at him in encouragement, "Steady on your feet! And keep moving those sails, you're a windmill! The sail was moving so powerfully that Quixote's lance was shattered and both he and poor Rocinante were swept over the plain - thus..." He flung the stick aside and rolled around on the ground theatrically. The children playing the windmills - and Sancho Panza as well - crowded around him, shouting triumphantly, "We won! We won!" and Mr. Clarke tried in vain to restore some sort of order.

Christine burst out laughing. Edward caught sight of her and looked slightly self-conscious, but he quickly scrambled to his feet, regained his composure, and turned back to the children. "But of course, those were windmills that Quixote was fighting," he said. "This is a water mill. Now, if you want to know how it works, Mr. Clarke will show you..." The children, jumping up and down eagerly, followed Mr. Clarke into the mill, while Edward joined Christine.

"You are quite the actor," she said with a smile.

"That was your suggestion, in fact."

"Was it?"

"Well, you said I might read too much, so that gave me the idea of acting out the story and weaving it into the lessons to make it more interesting to the children. Traditional pedagogues may not approve, but I think it worked."

He was so animated, his eyes bright with excitement, his hair all tousled from tumbling on the ground, that this time Christine didn't hesitate to reach out a gloved hand to brush away the strands stuck to his sweaty forehead. Time seemed to slow as they stood there, her hand on his face, their eyes locked. Edward brought his own hand up to touch her wrist, as if to make sure that her hand was real. She felt his fingers brush the skin just beneath her glove, and shivered. Then Mr. Clarke poked his head out of an upper window of the mill, shouting, "Aren't you going to join us, Lord Hurstfield?", and the spell was broken.

Christine and Edward both dropped their hands and looked up with flushed faces, like two naughty children caught in some mischievous act. Mr. Clarke saw Christine and had the grace to look embarrassed. "Oh, I didn't see ye there, Lady Hurstfield," he said. "Of course, you're welcome to join us as well."

Christine didn't know if she should thank or curse the man.

***

It was almost Michaelmas, and Edward decided to give a feast on that day to celebrate the harvest. The whole village was abuzz with excitement. Christine, who had never attended any village fair, didn't know what to expect, but in the days leading up to it, she had a great time working with the women and children, decorating the village green. Tables were set up, cover with the finest linen cloths, and draped with garlands of wheat and corn and wreaths of Michaelmas daisies. Lanterns were strung between poles topped with more bunches of wheat. A platform was set at one end, hidden behind displays of other choice crops, to serve as seats for the musicians.

Despite being a little shy around Christine at first, the women soon got used to her and even taught her to make corn dollies (she was surprised to learn corn dollies were in fact made out of wheat straw, not corn.) Her dollies were clumsy and lopsided, but the women hung them up amongst the lanterns with all the others just the same. They even gave her a lovely spiral-shaped one. "'Tis for hangin' above th' marriage bed, m'lady, to bring children," they told her and laughed when she blushed.

It had been an unusually warm September, and the day of the feast was even warmer. The sunrise was an angry red. All day, low clouds covered the sky, trapping the heat like a heavy blanket, and the air felt closed. But the rain held off, and the heat didn't let up even as Edward and Christine set out for the village that evening. "Are you all right to drive?" Edward asked when he saw Christine wiping her face with her handkerchief.

"Oh yes." Edward had found an old mare called Starlight, so named for her silvery white coat, and had made another attempt at teaching Christine to ride and drive. Starlight was so gentle that Christine soon learned and now tried to practice whenever she could, though she still preferred walking. "Do you think it is going to rain?"

"Red sky in the morning..." Edward mumbled, looking at the bruised sky with a frown.

"Would it spoil the feast?"

"It's not the feast I'm worried about." He looked to the west again, but said no more.

The green was lit up by the time they arrived. Fire pits had been dug around it for roasting meat, and their flames added to the candles and lanterns burning amongst the decorations that Christine and the village women and children had crafted so lovingly, giving the whole scene the air of a medieval banquet. It was a very informal affair. They had all attended a Thanksgiving service in church that morning, so Edward only said a few brief words to thank everybody for their hard work and start the feast. Christine watched the villagers, all dressed in their Sunday best, as they walked about, talking and laughing, eating and drinking, and realized this was the first time she attended a party where everybody was there to enjoy themselves. There were no judging eyes, no malicious whispering, no ostentatious flaunting, no furtive scheming, just pure, simple pleasure, and she was delighted to be a part of it.

After people had had their fill of the roasted geese, the new bread, pies, cakes, and cider and ale, the tables were pushed further back and the dancing began. A violin, a fife, and a tambourine started up some lively song, and soon people were jumping and twirling and stomping with all their might. Again, Christine was struck by their abandoned joy. At first, not knowing the steps, she was content to just watch and clap along to the music, but then someone drew her into the circle, and she realized there was no need to know the steps. She simply moved to the music and moved with her partner, or partners, for there were no set couples here. Someone took the garlands apart and wove them into wreaths, and put them on all the women. In her sprigged muslin dress and her hair coming loose under its wreath of wheat and daisy, Christine felt like a harvest goddess, freer in her body than ever before.

Edward was also somewhere in that crowd of music and dancing and laughter. Christine almost didn't recognize him at first, for he, too, had changed. He had always been energetic in his movements, but something about the free and easy atmosphere of the feast seemed to make him come alive, and the nervous quirks she often observed in him were gone. It was as if he had to restrain himself to fit into the mold of society and his energy only escaped in little bursts, but here, he could be entirely himself and his vivacity was running free. At some point, the dancing brought them face-to-face, and he laughed and wrapped his arms around her and swung her in a full circle, leaving her breathless. The crowd surged forward, pressing them close together, close enough to touch, then drawing them apart again. She tried to catch sight of him amongst the dazzling glow of the candles and the fires and the frenzied dancing, but saw him no more. She felt like one in a dream, a wild and confusing dream, but exhilarating at the same time.

She was brought back to reality by a flash of lightning which tore the sky apart, followed by a clap of thunder. A child screamed. The music came to a halt, to be replaced by the ruckus of people scrambling to clear up the food and drinks before hurrying home to see to their crops and stock. The fires bent under a cold wind that drove away the sultry air, the horizon lit up with an unnatural glow, and thunder boomed again and again, like the sound of an approaching army.

Christine was helping the women with the tables when she found her arm seized by Edward. "Leave those," he said, both to her and the women. "Take the children home, quickly." As the women went to gather their broods, he hurried Christine to their gig and took the reins.

The rain hit when they were halfway back to Hurstfield Hall, big, fat drops that hurt when they struck bare skin. Edward gave Christine the reins while he put up the hood. Soon the rain was coming down so heavy and fast that they could barely see in front of them, and despite the hood, Christine was getting soaked, from the puddles below as much as from the rain pouring down from above. She found herself having to cower to avoid the worst of the splashing. Without saying a word, Edward wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close to him, while still keeping a steady hold on the reins with his other hand. Leaning against his shoulder, she looked at him as the lightning illuminated his face in brief flashes, and it seemed to her he had transformed yet again. He was similar to the quiet, calm man that had come to her rescue at Covent Garden, but also different, closer, warmer, and she felt she could trust him with her life.

When they reached Hurstfield, Edward drove around to the back so the horse and gig could be taken to the stable, and they ran under the covered walkway into the house, through the cascades of rain rushing from the roof. For a moment they stood in front of a fire in the hall, panting, water dripping from their hair and clothes, looking as if they had just waded through a flood. Then Edward's eyes traveled downward from Christine's face, and his breathing slowed. She was suddenly aware that her dress was clinging to her body and he was taking it all in, his eyes sending a wave of warmth coursing under her skin. There was no sound, except for the crackling of the fire, their quiet breaths, and the beating of their hearts. Then Christine tentatively lifted a hand, and they moved imperceptibly closer together, as if drawn by a magnet, until she could feel his coat buttons graze her breasts.

Suddenly, the door leading from the kitchen into the hall burst open and one of the footmen rushed in. "Sir, the Ure's risin' fast!" he shouted. "They say 'tis close to overflowin'!"

Edward sprang into action. "How many men do we have?" he asked, getting out of his sodden coat.

"Six, sir."

"We'll call more on the way. Tell them to saddle Warlock, and bring me a change of dry clothes."

"Aye, sir."

As the footman ran out again, Christine grabbed Edward's sleeve. "What's happening?"

"The river's flooding," he said. "The farmers are going to need help bringing their stock to higher grounds."

"Surely you're not thinking of going yourself?"

He gazed at her, conflict running across his face. His lips trembled with almost visible words, then stilled again. "Don't worry" was all he said, before hurrying off.

Christine stood in the hall for a moment longer, not knowing if the tingling of her body was from his touch or merely from the fire on her rain-soaked skin. Then she went to tell the kitchen to prepare some hot drinks and food, knowing the men would need it once they returned, before going upstairs to change her clothes.

***

It rained all night. Christine couldn't sleep, partly from the relentless drumming of the rain on the roof, partly from the fear that plagued her whenever she thought of Edward in the dark and the cold, battling against the unstoppable water. She kept her ears strained for any noise that indicated his return, but she couldn't hear anything over the roar of the deluge. She must have dozed off eventually, because when she opened her eyes next, the windows were gray instead of pitch black, and the candles had burned down into puddles of wax. The rumble of the rain had diminished somewhat, though when she looked out the window, everything was still obscured by a steel-colored curtain. She went into the kitchen, where she found the staff huddled by the fire, looking as bleary-eyed and worried as herself. Only the women and Henderson were left, the able-bodied men having all gone around to the farms to help.

"Any news, Mrs. Wayne?" she asked.

"'twas a fair heavy flood, ma'am," the housekeeper replied. "They said some bridges an' path were washed clean away. 'Tis fortunate th' harvestin' was done and th' crops were safe."

"Seventy years, an' I never seen th' likes," Henderson said, shaking his head still in its customary hat.

"Do you... do you think they will be safe, his lordship and the others?" Christine asked, her voice trembling.

"Aye. The water's high but slowin' now. There's naught to vex thysel' about, m'lady," Mrs. Wayne said soothingly.

"Aye, they'll be safe alright," Henderson chimed in. "If they could get to th' higher pastures in time, that is," he added grimly, ignoring Mrs. Wayne's glare.

Christine went into the parlor, but the solitude made her even more anxious, so she ended up staying in the kitchen with the staff, finding comfort in sharing her fear with them. Midday came and went, the rain lessened to a drizzle, and still there was no sign of the men. Mrs. Wayne tried to force some food on Christine, but her throat felt parched and she couldn't eat.

Around mid-afternoon, there was a shout from the stable. Christine was one of the first to run out. The men were returning, bedraggled and exhausted, but unscathed. Edward wasn't with them.

"Where is his lordship?" she called.

"We dunno, m'lady." It was Will that answered. "He were with us all night. But this mornin', on our way back, he said he'd check on th' Hoppers' farm." The Hoppers were an old couple living by themselves at the foot of the hills. Their farm was out of the way, so it was likely that others might have forgotten them in the chaos of the flash flood. "We thought he might've gone home ahead..."

Before he could finish, there was the sound of hoofbeats, and Warlock, Edward's chestnut stallion, came thundering into the yard. He was foaming and shaking all over, and his saddle was empty.

The sight of the empty saddle sent a shock through Christine. Her heart started pounding when she realized what it could mean, and she began to shake almost as badly as the poor animal. The stable hands, scrambling to hold the horse and calm him down, all turned to her, and the rest of the house staff had gathered around as well, drawn by the commotion. She saw her own fear reflected in their faces. Nobody knew what to do.

"Saddle Starlight for me," she ordered.

"M'lady?" Will piped up, bewildered.

"Saddle her. I'm going to find his lordship."

Chapter 7

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheer au #regency au #eddie munson #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson au #eddie munson x oc #joseph quinn #grace van dien #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn smut

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disco-elysium-via-polls · 9 months

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I'm electing to put a point into Endurance, which should hopefully stop us from dying all the time. In the future, I'll probably get you all to vote on which stat we level up, unless there's something pressing.

Not much has changed upstairs.

DOOR, ROOM #1 - This is the door to the room you *redecorated*.

"Good night, lieutenant."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Just a moment. You had some questions earlier, I believe, and we should talk about our progress on the investigation. Let's go out to the balcony."

"Alright, let's go."

KIM KITSURAGI - The air outside is brisk, the lieutenant is silent for a moment. He listens to the traffic hum, then...

"Where shall we begin? We should talk about the investigation first and foremost, but I also remember you wanting to discuss the RCM?" He lights a cigarette.

"I didn't know you smoked, Kim."

"How do you think today went?"

"So what are our powers exactly? The RCM?"

Say nothing. Just look into the night.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I have a cigarette every night when I go over my notes. It's something of a ritual."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - Oh man, he looks so devastatingly *cool* with that cigarette.

"I think I might want to pick up smoking. Do you have any more cigarettes?"

"How did you get so cool, Kim?"

"Right then -- the debrief." (Return to it.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "I apologize, but I only brought one with me. I have exactly one cigarette every night while going over my notes."

2. "How did you get so cool, Kim?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "You mean this?" The light of his cigarette illuminates a fleeting smile. "This isn't cool -- it's an unnecessary trial of will. And unhealthy." He flicks the ash.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - Keeping the habit within the parameters he's given himself takes a lot of focus. It would be easier to simply quit.

3. "Right then -- the debrief." (Return to it.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes," he pulls on the cigarette. "It's been a long and eventful day. "

2. "How do you think today went?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Well, we inspected the victim's body. So that's good -- it was not easily *approachable* in that state, but we did it."

"Our inspection *could* have been more thorough -- as it always can -- but we have some leads we can follow up on."

"Then you shot him in the chest, which... wasn't ideal. And we still have to get him down from the tree."

"I just wanted to make sure he was really dead."

"I admit, I'm a little out of practice."

"I still can't believe I missed that shot!"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Being sober also tends to help with precision. But, moving on to the interviews..."

"We weren't able to find the Union leader, Evrart Claire, much less interview him. So that's on the to-do list for tomorrow."

"We tried to interview the Wild Pines rep, but she asked us to do something for her first. Fine. So be it."

"I have a feeling Joyce knows how dangerous the situation really is. We *have* to get her to talk to us." He purses his lips.

"Above all, though… today was exhausting. What's with all the *running*? You run a lot. Is that a standard Precinct 41 practice?"

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi

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anthonysstupiddailyblog · 2 years

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Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (189): Tue 20th Sep 2022

Today was the first day of my first holiday since Italy / Portmeirion. The plan was to spend the whole day watching zombie movie but annoyingly it was fairly sunny outside and it kind of kills the mood when you're watching a horror movie if there's bright sunshine, birds chirping and kids playing outside. So I had to wait until late afternoon to get started. First off I watched Tombs of the Blind Dead an Italian zombie flick where long deceased members of the Knights Templar rise from their grave to rink the blood of those who trespass on the ruins of their old ministry. This film looks and sounds amazing. A large chunk of the movie takes place in real ruins, the Santa María La Real de Valdeiglesias in Pelayos de la Presa to be exact and these bad boys are a perfect horror movie setting. They are ideal for conveying the feeling that something sinister happened in this place many years ago and there's still a residue of that evilness stll lurking. The mood is also helped by the constant sound of creepy druid chants whenever the ruins or knights are seen. I'm not that keen on the look of the Knights, I just think it would have been cooler if they kept their faces hidden for the entirety of the movie because the skulls that weirdly still have goatees and Fu Manchu moustaches for some reason are a little distracting. However the way these knights move is really good. The ghostly way they move is really good and the fact that they move so slowly shows that they're so confident that they can catch their victims that they just take their time (like Nosferatu). This is a bit of a double edged sword however as it does make the victims look like total morons as they can't escape a group of thousand year old knights who walk at a pace of one mile per month. There's one cool shot that I love of the ruins of the grand hall from the start of the movie in darkness as the zombies ride their horses through it. It's like something out of a nightmare (Must resist urge to make "Knightmare" reference!). Come to think of it all the time the knights are on screen it's like something out of a nightmare where no matter how fast you try to run you can't seem to out-run you pursuers, again like Nosferatu with a little Rosemary's Baby thrown in for good measure. The movie doesn't entirely goes for full on scares as it also tries to create a feeling of unease in the audience which it manages through scenes like the start where the young girl is sacrificed and has her blood sucked out and the scene at the hospital where we see the unique and unpleasant image of a frog hopping around in the blood. The two female leads Lone Fleming (Betty) and María Elena Arpón (Virginia) let out screams that are bloodcurdling, almost worthy of Marilyn Burns in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Also even though they are somewhat naïve their characters aren't unlikable so we still feel for them throughout the picture and hope they get away. It's also revealed early on in the movie that they were lovers which is a touchy subject for both of them. The fact that this is introduced early in the picture naturally leads you to believe that this will play into the rest of the film as it needs to be resolved. However this is just to lead you into a false sense of security so that it's more effective when Virginia gets killed. At first I thought this lesbian subplot was just in there for titillation but it turns out it does serve a purpose. However some of the sex in the movie is just in there for the sake of it. At the end there's a rape scene that strangely isn't made that big of a deal of. Pedro just forces himself on Betty out of nowhere and in the next scene she's seen putting her clothes on and doesn't even seem that bothered that she's been subjected to an act that would emotionally cripple a lot of women. Maybe it was put in to illustrate how traumatized Betty was from Virginia's death that other trauma just didn't phase her. Maybe it would be so that we'd be glad when Pedro died. Whatever the reason I think that the film would have been better off without this un-necessary scene. Even though the movie gets the mood spot on and the cast more than pull their weight this is a far from perfect movie as the amount of plot holes, leaps in logic and under-thought out writing really drag the picture down. For starters I'm not sure why Virginia gets off the train. I know she's annoyed that her boyfriend isn't even trying to hide the fact that he wants to bang her female friend who she also wants to bang but I don't think this would be enough to make any sane person hope off a train in the middle of nowhere rather than just wait until they got to their destination then leave her boyfriend. The whole scene where Virginia is chased by the Knights through the ruins is kind of scary but Virginia is played as so dumb and un-resourceful throughout. She runs into a courtyard and clearly sees a ladder but it takes her a minute or so before she starts climbing. Too many women in horror movies are made to think that as long as they've temporarily blocked the path of their pursuer then they will be fine rather than doing what most people would do which is get as far away from them as possible without looking back. Although the image of the knights rising from the soil begs the question: Who re-buries them after they rise each time? After they kill Virginia they go back into their graves but how do they get under the Earth again? There must be one knight whose job it is to bury all the other knights and then just wait above ground for the next time they rise up. Also these Knights have pretty nice graves and tombstones for people who were executed due to practicing witchcraft. Surely the people who executed them would have just chucked them in a ditch. The sight of zombies on horseback is a treat for the eyes but it's always distracting seeing these zombies who can only walk at a snails pace but when on top of one of the horses they're twisting their entire bodies around in order to stay on and control the horses. Also: why are the horses zombies? Are they zombies that have been created by the knights? Were they regular horses that found themselves in the ministry and ended up being attacked and turned into zombie horses by the knights? Or did these horses commit some sort of evil act while they were alive, were buried in a cemetery for evil horses and ended up bumping into the Knights during a midnight stroll and broker a working relationship? I just can't figure it out. There's a very very minor moment that ended up bothering me a whole lot too. During the scene where Virginia is trying to escape the knights she drops a shoe and the camera zooms into her shoe coming off her foot and falling to the ground. As is to suggest "Remember this, it'll be an important plot point later on" and sure enough Betty and Roger find the shoe in the ruins later on which confirms Virginia was there. By showing us this you're just spoon-feeding the audience that it'll play a role later on. Either don't show it or don't make a big deal of it when you show it. Eagle eyed viewers will notice when something like this happens, you don't need to spell it out. The dumbest part of the movie is the scene where zombie Virginia attacks the girl in the mannequin shop. In terms of scares it's effective but the set-up defies all logic. Virginia re-animates at the hospital and then the next time she's seen she's at Betty's mannequin store. How is zombie Virginia not seen by anyone at all during her stroll from the morgue to the mannequin factory (a store owned by her friend that she only heard about just before she died)? I think this is what they call the "Nuke the Fridge" moment of the movie. My major problem with the picture is a particular edit / creative decision they made that I think really under-delivers. At the start of the movie we're shown a shot of Betty (covered in coal) screaming which we later find out is from the very end of the episode. I guess it was put there to make us wonder throughout the movie what it is she ends up screaming at. However once we get to the actual end of the movie we see this scream comes just after the incredible scene where the seemingly abandoned train pulls into the station. It would have been SO much more effective if they'd have played this scene at the start of the film and let the audience spend the rest of the movie wondering how the movie is going to end with an empty train pulling into a station.

As with most zombie flicks there's also some (I think) un-intentional humour to be found. There's a strange moment where one of the cops uncovers the wrong dead body at the morgue apologizes then just moves on. We get this weird line from Pedro's girlfriend: "I once had a man who liked to drink champagne from my shoe. It was the only thing that excited him"...thanks for sharing. And while Betty and Roger are discussing the possible cause of Virginia's death Betty asks about the result of the autopsy but she pronounces it "atop sea" which got a bit of a chuckle out of me. So while they got some elements of the film right most notably, look, sound, atmosphere and (for the most part) performance there's still a lot of silliness and bad creative decisions that drag down the rest of the film. I think what's left after you subtract the negative from the positive just about warrants a recommendation. And even though this film was heavily influenced by Night of the Living Dead, director Amando de Ossorio did take influence from other area (mainly the horror literature of Italian writer Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer) and did at least attempt to do bring something different to the genre rather then just rehash NOTLD entirely.

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rumblelibrary · 3 years

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hii!! i saw your requests are open, if you’re not too busy could you write something about Laszlo falling in love with reader (she’s a friend of Sara’s and helping with the case) but he keeps trying to avoid his feelings and remain professional and friendly until then he gets jealous of Marcus (or maybe John whoever you think works best) and starts being mean and pushing her away and then John or Sara are like “really?? can you not see that she likes you?” and he apologizes and it’s all fluffy at the end??

that was a bit long sorry, i hope you’re having a great day💗💗

Worlds Apart [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Reader]

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Laszlo being his usual adorable dumbass

Author’s note: Thank you so much for giving me the chance to write your story, hope you’ll enjoy it 💗💗

The first time your presence graced him was on an infamous rainy day. He didn’t mind rain, but it was the kind of storm that forced kids inside the Institute and some of them really benefitted of the time spent outside. So when you appeared at his doorstep escorted by Cyrus, a little of wetness on your shoulders and your hat, arms tightly grasping a big bunch of paper folders, untouched by the heavy weather clearly at your expenses, you looked like a gift from the above.

“Sara Howard contacted me, My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I work for the Town Hall Archives” you introduced yourself, a polite smile softening him. “It is my pleasure to finally meet you, Dr Kreizler” you added.

He blinked realising he was staring while your words moved past him without affecting him.

“Please, Sara told me you are going to be vital in the unravelling of this case, call me Laszlo”

He opened his arm on side letting you in as Cyrus walked away closing the door behind himself. A sense of guilt creeping over him, he realised how low his mind went to appreciate your physical side first and your sweet smile next, if men were anything different from the beasts, then why indulge still in such raw details. From that moment on, he decided, he would not do you the same disrespect. Little he knew that once he forbid himself to take grace of the sight of you, he would be overwhelmed by your bright mind. As you exposed those files to him you two started working together, day after day, time after time, a little dance of turning pages, soft smile, excited discoveries. Your smile affecting him in unpredicted ways, your good heart weakening his mask, your calm demure forbidding his raging fits. Anything of you made him better, any part of you was loved and worshipped by him, your position quickly transitioning from helpful hand, to admirable being and now to an ideal. A sense of necessity creeping over him every time you closed the space between the two of you to show him something, every time he stared at you wrapped up some archive ladder to find this or that file. Another thing you earned from him with time, the hardest maybe, was the ability to make him chuckle. You weren’t a goofball but you knew when to break down his thought process to bring him back to a quieter state. He liked you, he was even considering to offer you to leave the Town Hall Archives to work as his secretary at the Institute. The benefits of your presence made his work better and your natural tendency to method blessing his day to day activities with balance. Laszlo didn’t like to admit it, but a sense of possessiveness was also growing on him, he knew what was going on in his mind, or to better say it in his heart, but he refused to acknowledge it. The case was on, after the case maybe.

Or maybe never.

That’s what he thought when, after an interview at the house of a potential future patient of the institute, he took a stroll on the main road, his eyes darting on the flower shop only to recognise you there. Your figure associated with the colourful gifts of nature made his heart skip a beat, a sense of joy filled him soon to disappear when Marcus Isaacson figure appeared beside you holding three or four different kind of flowers in large bouquets, all of them meaning something love related: attraction, desire, kinship.

Those meanings pestered his thoughts, your soft laugh hitting his ears like an angel choir. Your hand lifting up as Marcus bowed his head toward you, your bare fingers running through his curls pulling out some wild leaf that got tangled among them.

“Silly me” he chanted like a child that has zero guilt about earning something undeserved “Come on Y/N, pick your favourite, I can’t hold them all forever”.

Laszlo’s eyes narrowed on him, hating the urgency in his voice, before drifting on the big bouquets, the carnations attracting his gaze, the meaning: pure love, faithfulness, also motherly love.

“The carnations” you said without a doubt moving your arms among the flower to pick them, the closeness you shared rubbing Laszlo in the wrong way.

A sudden realisation hitting him, rage boiling as he turned on his heels to rush to the Institute. What a fool he was, mistaking your natural kindness for…what? Interest for a cripple? Tenderness for a lonely angry man? His jaw clenched, rage surging through him, on that day the door of his office slammed so hard nobody dared to call for him, not even for dinner. When the next day you came to bring some papers and revise some new information, he was keeping a two meters distance all the time, if not more. Anything you said was welcomed with sounds the usual good morning disappeared.

“Laszlo” you called him after more than one hour spent welcomed by only silence and grunts “Did something happen? Maybe, I could help..”

“What exactly gives the impression I need your help?” He shot back before you could even mutter another sentence or even conclude the one you just begun.

His eyes raising from the papers he was holding, his hand moved to his glasses taking them off “As far as my knowledge goes, you’re here to support the investigation with documents and research, not to interfere with my personal life or a job like mine that requires not only tact but also a severe respect of the patient’s privacy”

You closed your mouth suddenly as he never reacted in such a way toward you. Usually he seemed to like to engage with you, to hear your thoughts and opinions, now his hard glare was dooming over you like the Judgment Day.

“I apologise” you resumed to say, maybe it was a bad day, those bad days John teased him about so many times, but that you never encountered before.

So you moved back to your spot respecting the distance he wanted, he put his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

Nothing more was said.

That evening when you were about to leave you thanked him and wished him a good night, as you always did. Silence again, only one hand to be lifted as he didn’t even turn to talk to you. His reaction gutted you and from that day on to visit him turned into the heaviest hours of the day. There was no room for chat, no room for accommodation. You even brought some sweets one day thinking he might like it and he handed those just as quickly to the kids. You even asked him if you wronged him and he said there was nothing wrong.

After two weeks like this, you sat behind your desk at the Town Hall resigned to live with his silence, you stared at a little note he wrote to you once to thank you of your help with some documents titles underneath.

I admire your dedication to the case. Your help is invaluable L.K.

You read, but that didn’t stand anymore, for some reason.

“What’s that long face for?”

Sara asked leaning against your desk as you slipped that piece of paper underneath your notebook. You already gave Laszlo all the documents requested, you could throw that away, but you didn’t.

“I think I upset Dr Kreizler”

Sara looked at you surprised by the way you resumed calling him by his title, like you were trying to gain distance from him. You looked at her incisive look as you quietly explained to her your fears and doubts, what was going on and how you probably should ask John a way to repair the situation, because you were clueless. After your conversation Sara didn’t think about it twice and after concluding her duties she stormed at Laszlo’s office only to find him engaged in the billionth argument with John.

“What have you told to Y/N?”

She asked, a proper mad mama bear as she stared at him mercilessly, she was aiming for the throat and John looked at him puzzled.

“What have you done Laszlo? Having a fine woman interested on you hits so differently?”

Laszlo was about to answer Sara when he suddenly felt attacked on too many fronts.

“Wait, I beg your pardon? I think you have got into some mistake, John”

John looked at him and then at Sara as she shook her head impatiently and already fed up with Laszlo’s ways.

“She does like you Laszlo, where is your problem about it?” She inquired more “Is she not a doctor enough for your likings? Do you want a duchess or something? Because I don’t understand, if you’re not interested to her at least be human”

By this moment Laszlo was still incredule and a chuckle almost left his lips

“I think you are mistaken Sara, Y/N is in a relationship with Marcus Isaacson, I stumbled upon them already”

“Marcus? I thought he was seeing that Esther girl, Lucius complained about his lack of focus more than once, how did you manage to erase her interest that quick Laszlo?” John said surprised and Sara had to hold onto her iron will not to slap the both of them in their faces.

“You two are worse than any little town blabbermouth” she snapped.

John frowned feeling accused and Laszlo was ready to give her a lecture that could last until the end of times when you walked inside in a rush.

“Excuse me” you said out of breath, mud stained your dress as you clearly run your way to her Institute handing them a file “This just came”.

You gulped down as Sara glared at Laszlo while she guided you to have a glass of water.Laszlo studied the document without even acknowledging your presence, another victim served on a plate.

That evening he went to see the body, the Isaacson’s giving a full display of the wounds and marks on the body to him and John. By the rules of the obituary, you and Sara weren’t welcomed inside as they were. You sat silently, slowly tracing the stain on your skirt thinking how bad Laszlo’s impression of you must be now that you even showed yourself in such an improper manner, such a gentleman like him witnessing you in such a state. When they came out of the obituary Sara stood up as you remained sat, the warm presence of Laszlo now hunting you like a ghost every time he is around.

“The murderer knows we re close” Laszlo stated as he sighed, ashamed that another life was lost “I think that this victim in particular..”

“Y/N!”

Marcus interrupted him rushing out of the obituary with his bloody apron still on, his less than sanitary clean hand on your shoulder as Laszlo was ready to reduce the both of you to dust for interrupting him.

“Excuse me Doctor” Marcus head shot up to him before looking back down at you “Thank you for helping with the gifts, Esther adored them, we are going out again tonight” he said excitedly to you and a big smile, the first of the day, blossomed on your lips.

“I told you, you should trust me more often” you said and he nodded vehemently “If things go this good, I will come to ask you to help me with the ring” he said completely hyped up, bouncing curls everywhere, as you crossed your fingers for him and he repeated the gesture before disappearing again called by his brother who was fed up with his love talks already.

Sara crossed her arms as John’s stare went up to Laszlo’s face, the sudden realisation of his mistake hit him like a bag of bricks. A mix of shame and happiness filling him up. And now the doubt: did he ruined his chances forever? The next morning you came into his office, you never stopped wishing him good morning and being polite, no matter his attitude.

“Y/N” he called you as you were placing your belongings aside. Your surprised look due to his softened tone was unmissable to him.

“Come here, I wish to talk to you”

You grew nervous as he didn’t say much else, so you walked to him sitting on the couch beside him, the one where you shared so many talks not too long before, even if now it felt like an eternity.

“I want to apologise to you” he blurted out all together, no need to move around the topic even though that only affirmation run over you harder than any other phrase.

You didn’t reply, allowing him to proceed.

“I apologise, because I have been selfish and foolish” he said, the fingers of his left hand touching nervously the armchair “I have been mistreating you only because my pride was hurt, I have acted like a man without means and courage.”

You parted your lips but he interrupted you before you could even begin.

“Please, let me finish, I have felt from the beginning a prominent fondness toward you. Your character and your kindness make you a remarkable person, you have the talent of bringing out the best out of most people, me included. But I have misread your ways and pointed your natural disposition to a form of romantic interest directed on me and our common friend Marcus Isaacson”

He was still excluding the possibility of you being attracted to him.

“I thought there was something behind it and I acted like a child instead of asking you directly, and I am ashamed for that”

You stared at him, a little smile creeping onto your lips.

“I think you misread only half of the situation Laszlo, as always you’re too unkind on yourself” you said gathering all the courage you had “because my interest toward you was honest while my relationship with Marcus is nothing by friendly”

Now it was Laszlo’s turn to be silenced, a new realisation creeping into his bones, a hope becoming a possibility.

“And is that honest interest still alive after my despicable ways?”

Your smile grew pulled by the redness spreading on your cheeks.

“Maybe” he interrupted. He didn’t want to wait for your answer, your smile spoke for you “maybe we can further bring this conversation to Delmonico’s, tonight, just the two of us”

Your smile grew bigger, his eyes shining for you.

“It will be my pleasure” you answered only, not knowing a bouquet of carnations was already being delivered at your house to welcome you once you’ll be back.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

#dr laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler x you #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #laszlo kreizler x y/n #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreisler x reader #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler headcanons

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just-an-enby-lemon · 2 years

Text

I decided to elaborate in my OUAT AU where Emma is adopted by Batman:

Tired of watching kids being adopted, eleven year old Emma Swan run away from her group home in Boston.

At the same time twenty-one years old Bruce Wayne, recently back into the public eye is in Boston to attend a charity event. Or so they say, He has been Batman for a little over a year and that is the first time a investigation brings him outside Gotham, he is really worried that this means Gotham's corruption is bigger than he thought. Still Falcone being involved and possibly leading a human trafic ring around the country is a serius deal and he has to stop it.

So Emma is magically created to be the savior and that means that recently made street kid or not she cannot see bad things happening and do nothing. She hears weird noises in a supposed abandoned building and she runs into it. She finds a man dressed as a bat punching some guys with guns and is that people in cages?

Well a random kid just poped up and tried to free the victims and she was almost shot and weirder things happened in Gotham but this is not Gotham and THAT was real weird. On the good side that is kindda hopefull and she did help. On the bad side he was totaly shot trying to protect her. She was also not happy when she heard the sirens and while she was probably hurt she still hidded from the cops and the ambulance and there was no way he could show them where she was without showing himself to the Boston PD and he could only see that as an unecessary fight who would end badly no matter the results. Also he was shot so very not ideal circuntances.

Now Bruce is new on the whole Batman thing and he is trying real hard. He got the information he needed in Boston and he saved some people and there is a hurt kid who hidded from both the police and the ambulance and cried when he asked if she wanted him to call her parents or something (a kid who was weirdly calm with the whole crime figthing thing). Maybe is the panic or the blood loss or that he never knew what to do with misserable children or just the lack of experience but somehow he ended up just steathly bringing her to his improvised "batcave" and fortunally fainting before he had to explain the hurt kid who seemed pretty content sitting in the batmobile and playing with the radio to Alfred.

Emma Swan doesn't follow the news and she isn't from Gotham so seeing the face behind the mask and the very nice old man who is asking her a bunch of questions and called her smart when she said she didn't wanted a cookie from a strange old man even when it looked real good means nothing to her. She is worried. The bat-guy saved all thoses people and he got hurt protecting her and she doesn't want him to die because Emma couldn't just be quiet and let the adults deal with things (especially huge things like whatever the fuck was happening in that abandoned buiding).

She doesn't know WHO is Bruce Wayne but she knows HE is Bruce Wayne and to worsen things he is pretty sure that if he let her go she will just jump into another mess except there is no hero in Boston and she will be dead and he cannot aford to be resposable for another death. So the logical decision is to train her. Alfred is having a headache.

So Bruce Wayne adopts a orphan kid to try help them overcame their trauma and not end up like himself. He promises Emma will be the only one. He is also pretty sure he will only be a mentor and not a father. He is wrong in both accounts. Alfred of course knows that imediately.

Emma is ecstatic to finally have a family and she may or may not fell like a princess when she sees the mansion that is now her new house. Emma Swan becames Emma Wayne.

Seventeen years old August Booth is sitting in a bar trying to write his first short story when he hears the name of the girl he should be protecting on the TV. He almost has a breakdown when he notices she's being adopted by a fucking bilionary. He keeps an eye on Bruce Wayne just to make sure he isn't a weird pedophile like most rich reclusive white guys. He seems to be odd but inofensive and Emma seems happy so good for her. He just hopes this doesn't stops her from breaking the curse whem time comes.

After one year of training and bounding, Batman has his first sidekick: The Swan.

Next post: Dick, Barbara, Nealfire, more August, Jason, Lily, Henry, Tim and Steph

#ouat au #batman au #batfamily au #bruce wayne #emma swan #august booth #alfred pennyworth #bruce is trying #good dad bruce wayne #superhero emma swan

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half-bakedboy · 3 years

Text

it’s okay (not to be okay)

(read on ao3)

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: General Summary: “Great idea. Eddie really shouldn’t be exerting himself right now.”

“Seriously, Buck?” Eddie asked, standing up with a huff.

Buck didn’t have time to be frustrated, because Bobby was instructing him to assist with other patients and he had a job to do.

(Two jobs, if he counted protecting Eddie from himself.)

___________________________

[From: Ana]

Eddie had a panic attack and was taken to the hospital. He’s okay, but he’s struggling, Buck. I can’t get through to him, but I think you can.

[From: Ana]

He doesn’t want anyone to know. Chris had to tell the doctor he was shot. I don’t know what to do.

[From: Ana]

He just dropped me off at my house. Maybe someone should check on him later?

Buck stared down at the messages on his phone, panic thrumming through his body with each passing moment. He ran his fingers through his hair and held in the breath he had sharply inhaled to hold back his own alarm. It was a feeling he was used to, one that he grew to absorb and hold back because he couldn’t let it interfere with his life, his job. He needed a clear head and when he didn’t have one, the panic would become too much to handle, a cross he couldn’t and wouldn’t let himself bear.

Eddie didn’t panic. Eddie was the one who didn’t make rash decisions, who thought through everything before he acted, who kept everyone else calm in each crisis the team had. His level head made him an amazing soldier, a phenomenal firefighter, an ideal father, and… well, everything Buck had ever wanted to be.

So to say he was worried about Ana’s texts was an understatement.

He held his phone up to his ear and when the sound of Eddie’s voice rung through the speaker, he deflated. The familiar sound of Eddie’s always professional voicemail pissed him off more than anything so he wasn’t about to give up. He dialed the other number saved into his favorites and after a few rings, rustling sounded through.

“Buck?” Christopher asked, voice muffled with sleep. Buck checked the time on his watch and sighed.

“I’m sorry, buddy, you go to sleep. I was just trying to reach—”

“Dad’s not gonna answer.”

Christopher said the words so matter-of-factly that Buck felt his heartbeat speed up.

“You think so? Why is that?”

“He told me and Ana not to tell anyone,” Christopher began.

Buck could hear his pout and he wanted to ruffle his hair and tell him that everything was going to be okay, but he had to convince himself of it first. Christopher could see right through him and he wasn’t willing to have the kid lose sleep over his own nerves.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Buck promised, “but can you let me know what your dad is doing right now?”

“He’s in bed. He didn’t even take a shower and he loves showers,” Christopher exaggerated. Buck let out a huff of laughter.

“You’re observant, you know that?” A few moments of silence passed and even through the phone, Buck could hear Christopher’s worry. “Hey, he’s okay, right?”

“I think so.” He didn’t sound sure.

“Well, both Ana and I are looking after him and you know who else is?” Buck asked.

“Who?” Christopher whispered. His breathing was starting to slow, his voice sounding even more muffled as he slowly lulled himself to sleep.

“ You . He’s okay because he has you, just like he always has, got it?”

“Got it,” Chris agreed quietly. “Love you, Buck,” he added.

The line went dead before Buck could say it back, but he figured Chris knew what his response would be anyway.

___________________________

Over the next day, Buck did what he did best. He watched. He noted Eddie’s behavior. He considered the inflections of his voice, the content of his words, the way he handled himself. To any outsider, it was like nothing ever happened.

Buck wasn’t just anyone, especially to Eddie.

He pretended not to notice Eddie’s hesitation when he was tasked with helping Chim wire the air traffic controller. He pretended that Eddie’s hand didn’t feel too heavy on his shoulder when he stood up to quickly diagnose the other man with a potential panic attack.

He pretended he didn’t see the way Eddie’s hands trembled a little more than they usually did after a call while they made their way to the fire truck and ambulances with the victims. He pretended not to see Eddie close his eyes for a few moments and take a deep breath, in and out, calculated like it wasn’t quite second nature anymore.

It wasn’t until they entered the emergency department that he had ammo for confrontation.

“Hey, what was with that doctor on the way in? Why is she asking if you’re alright?” Buck asked. He played nonchalance really well but he could be proud of himself for that later.

“It was nothing.” Buck just stared and Eddie sighed. “I wasn’t feeling well the other day, so… she checked me out.”

“She’s a cardiologist. At a hospital,” Buck supplied. He knew Eddie didn’t think he was that stupid—or at least, he hoped. “Are you saying you had a heart attack?” Buck asked, immediately concerned that maybe he didn’t let Ana and Christopher in on the full story.

“No, I’m not saying I had a heart attack. I’m saying the opposite,” Eddie said smugly, “I’m saying I didn’t have a heart attack.”

“But you did think you were having a heart attack,” Buck appended. He was leading Eddie to the point, feigning dumb for the good of the situation, but Eddie wouldn’t budge.

“Can we just drop this?”

Before Buck could argue, Hen walked over and asked, “Guys, want us to tag you out?” Eddie agreed, but Buck felt his annoyance rise within him. He couldn’t stop himself from his next words.

“Great idea. Eddie really shouldn’t be exerting himself right now.”

“Seriously, Buck?” Eddie asked, standing up with a huff.

Buck didn’t have time to be frustrated, because Bobby was instructing him to assist with other patients and he had a job to do.

(Two jobs, if he counted protecting Eddie from himself.)

___________________________

The front door to Eddie's apartment slammed and Buck could see the tension jerk at Eddie’s shoulders.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Buck questioned.

“There wasn’t anything to tell, Buck,” Eddie said stubbornly. Buck would have smacked him if he wasn’t so worried.

“Nothing to tell, huh?” He held up his hand and counted off his fingers as he listed off, “You had a presumed heart attack and were sent by ambulance to the hospital. Turns out it was a panic attack and when asked if there were any stressors lately, you lied to the doctor about getting shot—”

“I didn’t lie, I—”

Eddie stopped himself when Buck’s glare narrowed even further.

“Your son had to tell the doctor that you were shot,” Buck corrected. Eddie pressed his lips together, unwilling to argue. “You almost have another panic attack on a scene and tell approximately no one only have a full-blown meltdown on a helicopter that’s hanging on by a thread in the middle of a rescue. Am I missing anything?” Buck asked, though it was clear he wasn’t looking for an answer.

“I’m fine—” Eddie began.

Buck waltzed up to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him as hard as he could while still being aware of the bullet hole-shaped scar left behind from those few months ago. The scar that might have physically stayed on Eddie, but lingered in the back of Buck’s mind every single day.

“You’re not fine, Eddie! You almost died and you’re sitting here like life goes on and nothing has changed.”

“Nothing has. It was a panic attack, not another near-death experience.”

“You say another like it’s a normal occurrence in people’s lives,” Buck exclaimed. “It’s not! It’s not normal for people to get shot and survive—not once, but twice. It’s not normal for people to just move on with their lives like they weren’t nearly ended. It’s not normal to carry on like nothing is wrong when something is fucking wrong, Eddie!”

“Buck, you should take a step back—”

Buck pushed himself away before Eddie’s hands could press against his shoulders, that thumbprint on his pulse that reminded both of them that they were still there. He leaned against the wall behind him, unable to hold himself up without assistance anymore, and sighed.

“You didn’t tell me,” Buck said, a whisper of admission into the air between them like a secret Buck wasn’t ready to tell.

“I couldn’t,” Eddie muttered.

“You couldn’t?” Buck scoffed. “You didn’t trust me? You didn’t want me to exhaust you with my worry? Give me one good reason why you couldn’t tell me!”

“Because then it’s real, Buck, okay?!” Eddie yelled. He ran his hands through his hair before he pounded a fist against the wall beside him. It would hurt in the morning, that much was obvious by the sound that echoed through the empty room.

“What?” Buck asked quietly. Eddie breathed deeply like he hadn’t taken in air in months. Buck wasn’t convinced he had.

“If you don’t know, then I can forget it’s happening. I’m not reminded of that moment where the pain was so great that I couldn’t hold myself up and only trusted myself to reach out to you to pick me back up. I’m not haunted by the fact that I almost made my son an orphan for the third time in his life. If you don’t know, then I can pretend it never happened and move forward.”

“From what, Eddie? You can’t just move forward. You know that,” Buck prodded.

“Yeah, well, I sure as hell can try .”

They both paused, taking the moment of silence to breathe, to think, to figure out what was next.

Eddie made the first move, walking over to where Buck had leaned back against the wall and matched his position. He pressed their shoulders together, his eyes glued to the way Buck’s chest moved up and down slowly, imitating the movement as if he wasn’t sure he would be able to do it himself.

Buck yearned to reach out and hold him, but instead, he asked the questions that lingered on his mind.

“When are going to let us—any of us—in? When are you going to let me help you ? When are you going to admit that you’re not okay?”

Eddie didn’t—couldn’t—answer, but the shake in his shoulders was unmistakable.

As he slid down the wall, Buck followed his every move, wrapping an arm around his waist to ease the fall. When they landed, Eddie pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and let out a gutwrenching sob that had tears bubbling behind Buck’s eyelids. He held them back as best he could because, at that moment, nothing else could matter but Eddie.

Cries of pain, anguish, fear, every horrible emotion that had been welling up inside of both of them burst from Eddie’s mouth and he fell into Buck for the support he extended. He clawed at the collar of Buck’s shirt, his nails raking against the skin of Buck’s chest, but nothing was as painful as the way Eddie gasped at the breaths that didn’t seem to come as quickly as he needed them to.

Buck held Eddie’s hand to his heart so he could feel the simple rise and fall of his chest and mimic it again. His other hand grasped at the shirt of Eddie’s back to keep his panic away, his own way of anchoring himself there so he could continue to be the solid weight Eddie needed to push through.

Every part of them was entangled and Eddie had no choice but to press his face into Buck’s neck. Buck hoped his heartbeat stayed solid enough to remind Eddie they were both still alive, even if it felt like they weren’t.

“I’ve got you, Eds, I’m here. I won’t let you go, never.”

It was too much to say, too easy for Eddie to read into the double entendre of his words and Buck selfishly hoped he was too lost in his own mind to realize it.

But the words or the touch or the steady calmness Buck forced himself into seemed to ease Eddie out of the attack of emotions that surged through him. Little by little, Eddie’s sobs turned to hiccups, his tears turned to trickles, and the white-knuckled grip he had on Buck loosened but didn’t fall. He breathed in time with Buck, his heartbeat slowing to its correct rhythm, and the tremors in his body settled to occasional chills.

“Buck?” Eddie asked, as if he barely realized what was happening inside of him.

“I’m here,” Buck reassured.

Eddie shook his head and when he finally glanced up, all Buck could see was the redness around his eyes and the tear stains that looked too permanent on his skin.

“I’m not okay,” Eddie admitted— finally —before pressing his face back into Buck’s neck with a whimper like the words were painful to acknowledge out loud.

“Yeah, Eddie, I know.”

Buck couldn’t resist kissing the top of his head and letting his lips linger for just a second too long.

“I need your help,” Eddie said, his voice graveled with emotion.

“You’ve got it,” he promised again.

“Yeah, Buck, I know,” Eddie teased because of course, even in his darkest moment, he had to get the last word in and it had to be something full of that sarcastic barrier he protected himself with.

Buck let him, though, because he figured Eddie knew what his response would be anyway.

#911 on fox #buddie #911 #911 spoilers #5x1 coda #evan buckley #eddie diaz #my writing #im so happy this season has started #coda fics are gonna own me for the next few months alksdjfl;asd #911fic

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the-dimitrescu-seamstress · 3 years

Text

I Won’t Be Long - A rather long one shot

(I have been working on this, what I call “Magda’s Worst Day”, for a while, and I only recently was inspired to finish it. Hence why I’ve been rather quiet in terms of posts. I can only torture my muse so much.

Basically, this story came about because of the “What have you done to my daughter?!” line. Alcina was in her chambers while saying that, therefore unable to see or know that Ethan was outside. So how did she know what happened to Bela, and who told her?

My answer? Magda.

I did my best to follow the game’s timeline, but there might have been some condensing or stretching in order to make things fit. I’ve also included some brief cameos from other OCs Magda has interacted with.

Please note, this is not an “Ethan Hate” story. Magda is simply reacting as one would in their given situation. Is this a sad story? Yes, in parts. Will you hate me for writing this? Maybe. Will you still enjoy reading it? I hope so.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You must hide. The man is a danger, and I wish for you to be safe. Do your best to keep out of all this. If he approaches you, play the helpless victim. Do not help him, but please do not hinder him either.”

“But I want you to stay safe.”

“You know that I always do, dearest. He is nothing but a man.”

“You literally just said he was a danger.” The press of Bela’s lips against Magda’s was enough the hush the smaller woman and soften her demeanor. “Kissing me in order to maintain the last word is technically cheating, you know.”

“True, but I did learn it from you,” the witch smiled. “I won’t be long.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That conversation happened a little over an hour ago. Since then, Magda had quietly paced the floor of her workroom, occasionally stopping to listen for any sound outside her door. She prayed she’d hear the familiar drone of flies, but nothing came. Everything was unnervingly quiet. Magda did her best to reassure herself. She kept telling herself that the man was outnumbered three to one, that the girls would work together and remove him as a threat, that they couldn’t be killed.

The sudden barrage of nearby gunfire and shattering glass ripped away any comfort she had tried to retain. It wasn’t terribly close, but then again it wasn’t terribly far either. Worse yet, there was no celebratory laughter that accompanied the silence that soon followed. Worry gnawed at Magda’s insides, and she did the one thing that Bela had asked her not to do. She unlocked the door to her workshop, and left her hiding place.

Magda went through the halls in sock feet, wanting to make as little sound as possible. The last thing she needed was to run into the man by accident. Thankfully, the courtyard was deserted. Freezing, especially without shoes or a coat, but it was empty. Even better, the door leading to the dining room was still locked. That meant the intruder had not found a key or harassed one of the few servants who had a skeleton key to the various entryways. Magda was one of those servants. Being a seamstress, and a trusted one at that, gave her a few perks.

As much as she wanted to rush in, Magda knew better. She turned the key slowly, as the locks were heavy and made a distinct and rather loud click when undone. The door she also took time opening, just in case there was an armed madman standing on the other side. Finding none, she closed and relocked the door behind her. Best to keep him confined.

Cassandra’s laughter coming from the Main Hall signaled that she was keeping the intruder well occupied and, rather than risk an interruption, Magda turned to the much plainer door which lead to the kitchen.

Normally the kitchen was a warm place, full of the sounds and smells of cooking food for the human staff, but the rush of cold air that blew in as she entered confirmed a fear she had. Hurrying past the preparation table and ducking under the cuts of drying meat, Magda stopped short in the doorway to the connected storage room. What she saw squeezed her heart like a vice, making it difficult to breath.

Shattered glass and the remains of broken boards framed a large, collapsed pile of frozen flies. The room wavered and suddenly felt hot, despite the open windows. Maybe… maybe this wasn’t Bela, she tried to reason. It wasn’t Cassandra, as she had heard her laughter not moments ago. A small, hateful voice in her head whispered that this was Daniela, that Bela was still alive inside the castle, perhaps happily carving up the man with her sister, and what laid before her was Daniela. Magda hated to even think that, but right now she was mental begging the powers that be for that to be the truth.

Step by hesitant step, she approached the pile, acting as a windbreak when she knelt between it and the broken window. Tears began to cloud her vision as she saw pale yellow flies mixed in amongst the brown and black insects. Again, her heart wrenched inside her chest. Her skin burned and the walls of the room closed in as her anger grew and burst forth in a ragged scream of rage, sorrow, and anguish.

Why?! Why did he do this?! How did he even know?! Did he just get lucky with a stray bullet breaking a pane of glass? Why did he kill her? Why did he go after her? The cold would have been enough to stop her! She would have stopped the chase, and he could have gotten away, but he still decided to kill her! He killed her while she was hurting! He killed her while she was cold, alone, and separated from everyone. He killed Magda’s stea mică… her little star…

He didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone.

Magda’s guttural scream was echoed by a rasping, undead one crawling up from the once boarded up passageway that led to the dungeon. In her emotional state, she hadn’t put two and two together. The boards were smashed going into the storage room rather than out into the passageway. The man had come up from below, meaning he had created a potential access point for the thralls to get upstairs.

“Căcat!” she cursed, scrambling as quickly and as quietly for a container in the other room. It would take the thralls a bit of time to coordinate and stumble their way up the stairs, but they would eventually make it and Magda was not about to let those disgusting things trample all over what was left of Bela.

She would also need to tell the Countess.

Grabbing one of the large basins used to hold drained blood, as well as any discarded towels or cloth she could find, Magda carefully moved every single fly she found into the container, scouring the floor for any the wind may have blown about, but always keeping a careful eye on the dungeon passage. The last thing she needed was to be attacked by those damn thralls as she finished.

The basin was… not as heavy as she thought it would be. That knowledge made her stomach sink and made her feel that much worse. She was carrying her love’s body, and it wasn’t heavy. It needed to be. The woman was seven feet tall! It should have been heavier! These stupid, unimportant thoughts made her tears start to once again fall as she returned to the dining room. “Dammit. I’m sorry, Bela,” she mumbled as a few hot tears fell on the flies.

One twitched in response.

Magda stopped at that. She was seeing things. In her grief, her mind was clearly playing tricks on her. Bela was dead. The cold killed flies. She was dead and the tear hitting the fly only made it look like it moved.

That was when the worst feeling in all of creation latched itself onto her.

Hope.

Leaning in close, she breathed a few times on a small clump of flies, letting her warm breath roll over them. And then she waited… Her heart pounding in her chest as she watched for something. Anything.

…A leg spasmed.

It was small, almost imperceptible, but Magda took it as a sign. A possibility. A tiny one at that, but she grabbed onto it and refused to let it go. Hope was evil like that.

Covering the basin to shield the flies from the cold, she ventured back across the courtyard and towards Alcina’s chambers, locking any and all doors behind her because fuck this man and his doings. Make his shit life harder.

The Countess’ chambers were empty, which sent a chill of dread and terror down Magda’s spine. Had she fallen to the man as well or was she simply hunting him along with her daughters? Should she wait for her to appear? Right now, searching the castle was not the ideal thing to do, as she was unarmed, human, and she had no idea if the intruder would have mercy on her if she encountered him. Thankfully, her questions were answered as familiar heavy footfalls were heard coming up the stairs. Now all she had to do was explain to Alcina what she thought was possible. And hopefully not die in the the telling.

“If I can’t, I’ll do my best to bleed on you as I die, sweetness,” she told the basin of flies, trying to make a joke and do her best to smile. The latter crumbled as soon as the chamber door opened.

“Countess?” Magda’s voice was weak and shaky, full of fear, and she immediately regretted opening her mouth due to the look on Alcina’s face. It was one of surprise mixed with displeasure, which made sense as Magda should still be locked in her sewing room, not running around as she was currently doing.

“Are you not aware of our current situation, Magdalena?” Her tone was cool and reserved, as if she were waiting on Magda’s answer in order to decide the best manner of action to take.

“I am very much aware of the situation, Countess. Which was why I came here as quickly as I could.” she replied, uncovering Bela’s remains. The candelabra the taller woman had been holding streaked towards Magda’s head and the seamstress barely had time to duck.

“What have you done to my daughter?!” she roared, lunging forward and grabbing Magda by her neck. For a moment, fear and terror filled the seamstress’ mind, but she somehow managed to find her voice despite the vice-like grip upon her throat.

“It wasn’t me… the man… did this… the flies… not… not dead…” Darkness had started to creep around the edges of her vision before Alcina finally released her. Landing on the ground hurt, but the deep breath of fresh air she took afterwards was incredibly sweet.

“Explain yourself,” Alcina growled, stretching out those two words in a low and menacing fashion, one not at all suitable for a woman of her standing, but perfect for a mother seeking justice for her child.

“I heard the fight,” Magda rasped, throat still sore. “It was in… the kitchen. I found… Bela. I thought she was dead… but some flies reacted to my tears…. and warm breath. There’s a chance. That cold state they go into. She told me about it. Bela might not be dead. Only hibernating. If she can be warmed, maybe she can be saved.” Magda watched Alcina, eyes never turning away or blinking too rapidly. She didn’t want to give the woman any excuse or reason not to believe her.

The quiet between them lasted for what seemed an eternity, only to be interrupted by a low rumbling and draining of liquid coming from the next room over. They both heard it, though Alcina only gave the most subtle of glances in its direction. The pool in the Hall of Ablution had been emptied. The Countess’ iron grip was suddenly around Magda’s arm, pulling her back to her feet.

“You will take my daughter back to your workshop and you will keep her warm,” she hissed. “You will not leave her side, not even for a moment. Should I find you disobeying my instructions and wandering these halls while that impudent wretch is still in my castle, your life is forfeit. Is that understood?” Magda nodded, fear in her eyes. She picked up the basin, replacing the cover before being roughly escorted out of the chamber.

Once safely back in her workshop, Magda set about gathering her thickest fabrics; the wools, flannels, gabardines, and anything else heavy she had. She removed the blankets and comforter from her bed and did what she could to form a nest or bed for the flies. For a moment, she even considered cutting her forearm and dribbling some blood onto them, but if they weren’t moving then they weren’t feeding, and the last thing she wanted to risk was them somehow drowning in her own blood.

Magda did her best to obey the Countess’ instructions, as she was not about to risk Alcina’s wrath, not with her life on the line. However, if she did end up being wrong about Bela, maybe it would be better to join her in death. What was she thinking? Magda likely would die anyways. But, in terms of when, it would just depend on Alcina’s mood. So, the seamstress sat in silence, waiting and praying to hear the soft buzzing of fly wings as they slowly warmed up.

Instead, she heard someone faintly plinking the keys of the piano in the Opera Hall. Rather badly at that. Naturally, the all too familiar footfalls of an enraged Alcina soon followed. He must not have realized she was hunting him, Magda thought. Because what idiot would actually take the time to play the piano if they were actively trying to stay hidden? The brief retort of gunfire seemed to prove her point. Although she could only hear what was going on, Magda still had a brief chuckle as she imagined the man scrambling for his life away from Alcina.

Not that he had many places to run to. It was either to Magda’s workshop or the library, and as the noise of confrontation began to distance itself from her hiding place, she breathed a sigh of relief. The library it was then.

“How has this man managed to survive this long?” she softly asked Bela’s remains. As if in answer, gunshots rang out once more and the seamstress stood, wondering who he was fighting now. The previously reassuring knowledge that bullets couldn’t harm anyone in this house re-entered Magda’s head… but it was quickly dashed to pieces as she glanced back at Bela. Who had he gone after now? She needed to know.

For five long minutes, Magda stood at her sewing room door, with it cracked open enough to listen. But she heard nothing. No footsteps, no gunfire, no sounds of anyone.

If Alcina caught her, it would be death, a voice in her head reasoned.

So she simply would avoiding getting caught, another replied.

The distance to the library wasn’t far, and she could easily hear the Countess’ footsteps well in advance, allowing her to hide as she approached.

“I’ll be back soon, stea mică. I won’t be long,” she softly told the flies. A few seemed to twitch in response. God, she hoped that she was right in the foolish ‘not dead, only hibernating’ theory. Basin and flannel cloth in hand, Magda made her way to the library, hoping she wouldn’t need what she carried.

Her heart sank upon feeling the chilly air inside. Papers were scattered, vases lay shattered, and, near enough to be in the light cast from the glass skylight which acted as a central decorative point for the room, was another large pile of immobile flies. Magda actually needed a moment to sit and collect herself with this discovery. Little flies, whose bodies glittered in the light, matched Daniela’s hair color.

Alcina will weep, Magda thought as she did her best to keep her own tears from falling once more. Gathering up these remains took longer than Bela’s, but not because they were scattered about. No. For as messy and wild as Daniela was in life, she had collapsed in a neat little pile. It was the weight and knowledge that this was the baby of the family which made this such a long and arduous task.

“You’re not alone, Dani. I’m not letting you be alone. I’m taking you to your sister. You’ll be safe in my sewing room,” She told the flies. Could this have been the first sign of madness? After all, Magda was talking to a container full of potentially dead insects. She recalled the character of Renfield from Dracula. The man went mad in an effort to serve and worship his vampire lord. Perhaps she was becoming something along the same lines. Perhaps she was already dead; killed by the intruder, and this was her own personal hell of gathering up mounds of flies throughout the castle for the rest of eternity, all the while avoiding Alcina. If Bela’s nest was not in the workshop when she returned to it, Magda figured this terrible thought would be reality.

Thankfully, upon opening the door to her workshop, the comforter and blanket that Bela was nestled in was still where the seamstress had left it. So maybe she was not dead and this was not hell. Little miracles were all she could hope for right now.

Magda took her time making Daniela’s nest, listening for anything that would signal they were victorious and this man-thing was dead and gone. She shook her head a little as she used that term. Normally, Magda did not join in on calling men that, but this was a special case. This individual didn’t seem human. The fact that he could best two of the daughters worried her, and a dread feeling that, unless mother and daughter combined forces, Cassandra could fall as well filled Magda’s stomach like a lead weight.

The daughters were monsters, yes. By the classic definition, that’s what they were, and Magda did not deny any of it. Blood stained dresses, screams and laughter coming from the dungeon, or even the rare times when Bela’s kisses had a slight hint of copper or something raw tasting to them. They weren’t normal. Alcina was also a monster; perhaps even more of one. The height, the claws, the gray skin that she hid beneath layers of foundation. All four of them shared that same inhuman appetite for blood and flesh. But, they also had human tendencies. They laughed, they cried, they screamed in fright the odd times they were scared or taken by surprise.

Then again, humans could be monsters as well. History showed how terrible they could be. Magda was certainly no angel, and she had the odd feeling that this man wasn’t entirely a good person either. Maybe she was wrong. Magda didn’t know. All she knew was that she was trying to save the small group of friends and family she had left in this world.

Minutes ticked by and still her wing of the castle remained quiet. The longer it stayed quiet, the more she worried. If the man was dead, Alcina would have come to her workshop to see to her daughter. But if the quiet persisted? Magda didn’t want to think on that.

“Should I go out and search?” she asked her charges. Of course, no reply came. Magda thought she saw more movement from Bela’s flies, but she had no idea if they all needed to be restored to a proper temperature, like a hive mind, before they could respond. With the way Magda had layered everything, they would warm up slowly and naturally. No artificial heaters or fires were being used, as she didn’t want to risk damaging them. After watching both mounds for a few minutes, the seamstress nodded, knowing once more what she had to do.

The castle had an unusual quietness, a stillness she had never felt before. There was always at least some sort of background noise; the shuffling of servants, the daughters’ laughter, the general noise of a home being lived in. Where was everyone? Had the man killed them all? Or were Sylvia, Andre, Samuel, Bianca, and the rest hiding in the servant’s quarters, having barricaded themselves in? Vulga likely would have escaped into the walls upon hearing the first gunshot, so she was probably safe.

At least there would be some survivors of Castle Dimitrescu.

Finding Cassandra took a long time. Besides hiding from both the constantly patrolling Alcina and the seemingly trigger happy mad man, Magda had to think like the middle child, who had the tendency to spend time in the oddest of places. While Bela and Daniela could be found in seemingly normal locations in the castle, Cassandra explored. She found hidden areas that were unknown to most of the inhabitants, hard to get to, or simply dilapidated enough and impossible to access unless you could fly. Magda assumed she enjoyed being hard to find.

The seamstress had searched damn near every room, after having briefly hidden for a few heart-pounding minutes in one of the dressing room wardrobes upon hearing Alcina’s approach. Currently, she was sitting in the back hallway, taking a moment to try and mentally collect herself. Magda hated failing, and right now she was absolutely in sync with the idea that she was a failure. Cassandra, as far as she knew, had simply disappeared. Had the man shattered a window and thrown her outside? If that was the case, then the chance of finding the young woman dropped to impossible odds. The castle was surrounded by woods and cliffs with sheer drops. Maybe… if the snow and cold somehow preserved her through the winter, Cassandra would show up in the spring, like crocuses.

At that thought, Magda let slip a sharp little laugh while, at the same time, her eyes began to water. Cassandra would hate being compared to a flower. She would absolutely have hated it. And for as much as Magda wanted to continue to both laugh and cry right now, it would certainly draw unwanted attention from one of two parties currently in the castle. Possibly both.

Wiping her face with her sleeve, she allowed herself a few calming breaths before pushing herself back to her feet and continuing this fruitless search.

The slight draft blowing on Magda’s hand from beneath the door stopped her. Yes, castles were drafty, but not this one. Alcina made certain to insulate everything as best she could so her daughters could survive the winter in relative comfort. But, there was a definite bit of air movement coming from under this door.

Opening it, Magda found the Statue of Pleasure…. with an animal skull in place of the sacrifice’s head. Not even Cassandra or Daniela would be foolish enough to ruin one of their mother’s statues. So, on top of being a murderer, this man enjoyed defacing both art and private property. What the fuck was wrong with him?

The indignity aside, the windows in this room were intact, so where was the draft coming from? The only other option was the fireplace, but if the chimney was that badly cracked, why wasn’t it sealed? Crouching in front of it, the reason quickly became apparent as the entire back of the fireplace has been removed, and the hole led to a set of stairs.

“Cassandra, you little shit.”

Crawling through the passageway, Magda entered what looked to be the remains of a hidden armory, or at least a place to stash and work on things a certain daughter didn’t want her mother to learn about or her sisters to interfere with. It would have been a lovely little room had it not been for the gaping hole in the wall, letting in all the cold air. And there, near enough to the stairway, laid what was left of Alcina’s middle child.

“At least you were smart enough to fight him in a room without windows,” Magda commented as she gathered her up. Cassandra was vicious and violent when she wan’t to be, but she was also calculative and observant. Perhaps that’s why she lasted as long as she did. Had she sacrificed her sisters in order to study this man? If Magda were the girl’s mother, they would definitely be having a talk about that later.

With the last of the Dimitrescu daughters safely bundled up, Magda began to make her way back to the workshop. As it was nearly on the other side of the castle with no direct route, she took great care to move as quietly as possible. She paused repeatedly, and scanned the Main Hall, looking for signs of the the woman in white. For as large as she was, Alcina was a stalking beast. She could be incredibly quiet if she wished to be.

As she crouched in one the small balconies, Magda heard movement coming from below her on the floor of the main hall. However, it didn’t sound… right. It couldn’t have been the intruder, unless he was gravely injured. But If that were the case, Alcina wouldn’t have been far behind, and Magda didn’t hear her at all. Speaking of the Countess, it certainly wasn’t her, as the noise was far too small to be anyone remotely her size.

Chancing a look, Magda peeked over the edge, and a soft gasp of surprise, sounding so devastatingly loud in this silence, escaped her lips as she saw what was beneath her. Luana, the castle’s head servant, the personal watchdog for the Countess, laid collapsed on the marble floor, clothes stained red with blood. Where had they been all this time?! Magda had scoured entire castle… Had they been outside and only just now managed to get in? This just made her life ten times harder. Not only did she have Cassandra to carry back, but now there was the issue of Luana as well.

She could have left them where they were. She could have. After all, Magda was currently disobeying orders and Alcina was already displeased by her previous actions. She should have taken Cassandra back to her workshop and then returned. By then, perhaps Alcina would have discovered Luana herself and… done what? She was hellbent on hunting down the intruder. Would she even have stopped and tended to her servant? Magda couldn’t say. She also had no idea what would have happened if the man found them first. Would he finish the job he clearly started? In all likelihood? Yes.

Tucking Cassandra safely in an out of the way corner by the top of the stairs, Magda made her way down to her fellow servant, glancing into the Hall of the Four as she went.

The doors leading to the Temple of Worship were open.

In all her years there, Magda had rarely seen those exterior doors stand open as they were now. The Countess was strict in her orders about that portion of the castle being forbidden to everyone save herself, and now the seamstress was watching her tall figure ascend the temple stairs. An unknown fear filled Magda with dread at that sight, and she hurried towards Luana.

Rolling the head servant over onto their back, Magda gave them a quick look over. Buckshot, and a few normal bullet holes, peppered Luana’s blood soaked torso. A normal human would have been dead from such injuries and blood loss, but Luana was thankfully not fully human, rather a Lycan-cross. They usually preferred not to speak of their heritage, but Magda hoped they would be happy to have it just this once.

“Luana? Luana, dear, can you hear me?” she asked, opening their eyes to check for any sign of life. She was met with slurred, half-conscious Portuguese. “You know damn well I don’t speak that, but right now any response is a good one, so I’ll take it.” The bleeding had stopped and their breathing seemed normal from what she could tell; no gurgles, bloody froth in the mouth, or sounds of difficulty.

“…Apologies…” they said in Romanian, doing their best to sit up.

“You’re fine. I’m just happy to see someone else, aside from the Countess, alive,” she replied. Their uniform already ruined, Magda removed Luana’s jacket and began tearing off bandage strips. Or at least she started to, as a distant crash and a devastating roar from outside quickly stopped her efforts. Whatever injuries seemed to be afflicting Luana were momentarily forgotten as they did their best to stand, only to collapse almost immediately. As they attempted it a second time, Magda moved to support them. She didn’t even say a word or caution them to take it slow as the two of them made it to the open doorway.

And what they saw? There were no words.

It was huge. A great beast, vast and terrible, with an immense wingspan, lashing tail, and a toothy, gaping maw circled the top of the temple tower; sometimes flying, sometimes crawling along the stonework. It was pale white with streaks of pink flesh, slick and glossy looking as the sun hit it. Muscles bulged as if barely contained by the skin, as tendrils curled and whipped about in an independent fury. It looked both cancerous and incomplete while at the same time horrifically beautiful and awe-inspiring in some inexplicable way. And to top it off, as if in an absurd gilding of the lily, Alcina’s upper torso, looking flayed and monstrous, erupted from between the beast’s shoulder blades. Her voice was distorted, both by rage, vengeance, and sorrow, but also by this transformation. She was lost in this madness, fully given in to it.

Magda’s knees gave way, and she fell to the floor, unintentionally bring Luana down with her. The seamstress was lost. How was this even possible? How had Alcina become this gargantuan beast? Could she change back? A sudden sick feeling rolled over her as all these questions and more filled her head. She was sure Luana was thinking similar things.

All they could do was watch this battle as it unfurled. Stonework and roofing tiles fell freely as the dragon creature did its best to pursue its quarry. Gunfire was heard regularly as Alcina taunted, threatened, and cackled in her torment. The fight moved steadily upwards, with more and more of the building being destroyed until a bloodcurdling shriek was heard and something structural gave way.

Multiple somethings.

Large plumes of dust, broken window, and cracks forming in the side of the building were the indication that the dragon had fallen through all of the interior floors of the temple, landing with a massive crash.

Magda and Luana looked at each other and then back towards the temple. “How about we wait and listen for movement?” the seamstress started to offer, but the head servant was already stumbling towards the building, trying desperately not to once more fall onto their face. They didn’t get very far before collapsing, but Magda was there to lift them back up. “How about a compromise? We get to the temple door and listen before barging in?” At that, Luana nodded a little sheepishly.

If Magda had thought the castle had been quiet, the inside of the temple was a veritable tomb. She just hoped it wasn’t a literal one. At least not for Alcina. Let the man be buried under all that rubble. Unfortunately, her wish was not yet granted, as she saw the limping figure of a man leaving through the lower level door. All she needed was a gun. Why didn’t she or Luana have a pistol? One bullet through the back of his damned head, that’s all that was needed and all this terribleness would be over with.

But instead, Magda just stood there, watching him leave before her gaze turned to Alcina’s body. It was still that dragon creature, but she had just come to accept that this was the Countess. Luana was already making their way down to her, carefully using the broken rubble as a stairway. Magda reluctantly followed suit.

The beast may have remained, but the human torso that was Alcina? That was gone, crumbled to ashes. The body was also still. Seeing that, Magda sat down hard, shocked by it all. Luana at least made it to the corpse, but they soon collapsed as tears began to fall.

Theirs was an ugly crying, one that Magda had never heard from them before. It was a full body shaking, heaving from the gut sort of crying. Luana had been serving House Dimitrescu since they were a teenager, and they saw Alcina as a mother figure, so Magda could only imagine what they were going through.

Letting them grieve for a few minutes, Magda eventually stood and walked over to Luana, placing a hand on their shoulder.

It was then that the beast took a great, shuddering breath.

Instincts quickly took hold and Magda scrambled backwards, not wanting to risk being eaten, while Luana did the opposite and moved closer, overjoyed to see some sign of life coming from the creature. She expected to hear a scream or cry of pain from Luana, imagining the creature lunging forward and devouring the head servant in one or two gulps. But instead, when the seamstress looked back, she saw Luana petting its head, saying soft things to it in Portuguese as it just laid there, barely making any noise.

“You are either very brave, very trusting, or very stupid to be petting that thing,” Magda hissed, keeping her voice down low, as if raising it would trigger the beast to attack them both.

“It knows me… us. It won’t hurt us,” Luana replied calmly.

“How do you know that? How is it even still alive?! Alcina’s torso is gone! The thing should be dead!” In response to Magda’s outburst, the thing growled, slightly turning its head in her direction. “… All right, I’m clearly wrong in my assessment of life and death. But that still doesn’t explain why or how.”

“Separate functioning systems? Maybe it all… pinched shut when the torso disintegrated? Like a limb or a tree branch that’s dying? Save the main body?” Luana offered.

“I would have thought Alcina would have been the main body. Can she regenerate from this?” Magda asked. Luana simply shrugged.

“We take her back to the castle and see what happens over the next few hours or days.”

“Easier said than done,” Magda replied, gesturing to the rock they scaled down and the all too small door was the only other exit.

“If it is a simple creature, then it will respond to simple things like food. She will need to eat anyways. We lure it back with food,” Luana reasoned.

The kitchen was thusly raided and a good bit of the meat that was there removed; both cured and what was still fresh. Amazingly, despite having heard the shrieks of the thralls earlier, the kitchen was now devoid of them. Had they wandered back down into the dungeon after finding no prey? Or were they all dead? Magda could only wonder as she glanced towards that corridor, her eyes wanting to linger on the spot where she found Bela. No, she thought. No, Bela was safe in the sewing room with her sisters. Magda had made a brief detour to deposit Cassandra there, as well as retrieve a pair of shoes for herself, before joining back up with Luana in the kitchen.

Along with the meat, they also brought along two barrels from the tasting room, placed at strategic points along the route back to the castle, in case extra bribery was needed for the beast. By the time they had finished setting everything up, the Alcinadragon… for what else would you call it?… was on its feet, clumsily walking around its temporary enclosure. Naturally, after throwing down the first piece of meat, with it being consumed in a single bite, the beast’s attention snapped to the two of them as it began the effort of climbing its way up towards freedom.

Magda knew better than to run. After all, doing so would likely trigger hunting and chasing instincts. But still, once the massive forelimbs appeared and the beast pulled itself up and over the lip of the hole, she made sure to be a good distance away, keeping Luana between it and her.

While this was something she normally would never state, on pain of death, it was rather easy to lead this version of Alcina around by her stomach. So long as they had a trail of food, she was easy to please and keep relatively docile. In the end, they only needed one barrel as a treat, though it wasn’t quite that. As they passed it on the bridge, the creature must have smelled the contents, or perhaps recognized the shape…. but how that was possible, Magda had no idea, as it had no discernible eyes right now. Either way, the tooth lined maw easily engulfed the barrel and bit down, splintering the wood and draining the contents quickly. Afterwards, the creature seemed more agreeable.

Maybe it had just needed a drink.

By the time they had entered the Hall of The Four, the remaining castle staff had emerged from their hiding places. There were no reprimands or excuses given, only looks and sighs of relief. Bianca, Sylvia, and Mihaela quickly flocked to the form of the Countess who was currently gorging on wine and meat. Samuel latched themself onto Magda with a tight hug; one that she was not exactly ready to receive, but she was also not about to deny them this comfort. Vulga also soon joined in, likely in an effort to make Magda feel even more uncomfortable.

“If you two insist on being this close to me, I will be putting you to work,” Magda told them both before taking them to her workshop and retrieving the three sisters. Sam took Daniela, Vulga carried Cassandra, and Magda held Bela close. The urge to place the daughters next to their mother was great, but caution won out instead. Who knew if or how the Alcinadragon would react to seeing her children as nothing more than collections of flies? Yes, they were becoming more active, but there was no indication they were on their way to reforming back into their human shapes. They just need time, Magda thought. That’s all. They’ve been through trauma, and they just need time to recover.

Even though it was not yet midday, It was decided that everyone would spend the night in the Main Hall. It was the inner most room, central to most of the castle, and it was big enough to house all of them comfortably, even a dragon with a massive wingspan. There would be safety in numbers.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Magda asked Luana quietly.

“No. As far as he is concerned, everyone here is dead. Whether that is true or not…” They paused, not wanting to say the unthinkable. Understanding, Magda nodded and finished their sentence.

“…It’s best to keep up that appearance.”

“Precisely. We keep everyone centralized for the time being. Close off and safeguard the exit points, stay quiet, and wait. With any luck, things will be different twenty-four from now. Or at least there will be an indication of a difference.” The look the two of them shared was one of tiredness and threadbare hope. There wasn’t much left to run on, but so long as the lady of the house still drew breath, no matter what form she took, they still had their duties to attend to.

“Even if the man isn’t coming back, no one is going down to the outer gatehouse and drawbridge by themselves. One of the lords is currently weakened, you are still recovering from being shot multiple times, and while my mind may be playing into the medieval hierarchy of things, I wouldn’t put it past other things going wrong and our current situation being taken advantage of. We’ll go together. It’ll be faster that way.”

Despite initial outward appearances, the castle was rather impenetrable once locked down. A drawbridge, three heavy doors of varying designs dividing the exterior gatehouse, a massive portcullis at the Carriage Gate, and a smaller, but just as fortified, portcullis on the interior of the entrance hall that kept the front doors closed from the outside. For all intents and purposes, they would be safe and secure.

More of the staff wanted to assist in the closing of the gatehouse, but they were dissuaded by a few other duties; securing the door leading to the temple, keeping an eye on Alcina, and gathering up any supplies they would need for the night. They were also greeted by another unexpected task upon opening the castle doors.

In the middle of the Carriage Gate rested four crates; three of a similar size and one that was noticeably larger. Nothing had been ordered, and the Duke had packed up his caravan, vacating his usual spot some time during the battle with Alcina. Yet the note tacked onto the larger crate was in his elaborate, flowing script:

I’d wager these treasures are of more use to you than I. Think of this as a thank you for your years of patronage, as well as a farewell gift for the time being. Keep them safe.

Bonne chance,

The Duke

The lids came off easily, and inside, nestled amongst packing material were… statues? Odd ones at that. Beautiful, crystalline, and perhaps a bit macabre, they were three busts and one massive torso with what seemed to be very familiar proportions. Either the Duke had a sick sense of humor or this was something else.

“Take these inside,” Magda instructed, still a bit confused as to what they were. “Be careful with them. Don’t damage them.” She then hurried to catch up with Luana who had decidedly not stopped to investigate the crates.

While neither of them ventured out into the village, the lack of the noisy day to day life that would normally filter up from it was obvious and more than a bit unnerving. Yes, there were the occasional barks and growls from whatever lycans were still prowling around the buildings, but there were no sounds of people. That lack of background noise twisted Magda’s stomach and made her raise the drawbridge that much faster.

“Tomorrow… Tomorrow, we will search the village. Look for survivors,” Luana reassured her.

“I don’t think there are any other survivors,” she replied morosely, as her thoughts immediately went to the one person outside the castle that Magda actually cared about. Stay safe, Donna. Please God, keep her safe.

With each barricade put into place, Magda felt both safer and more alone… cut off from everything. But this was what needed to be done. As the final portcullis fell into place in the entrance hall, a burden lifted from her shoulders. There was still that sick feeling in her stomach, but her back felt lighter.

Why? She didn’t know. She didn’t deserve to feel better.

Everything was starting to blur together, and she didn’t care anymore. Magda remembered entering the Main Hall and seeing the Alcinadragon curled protectively around the crystalline torso that shared the measurements of the Countess, growling at anyone who came near it. She didn’t care or wonder why. Someone called out her name as she climbed the stairs, but she ignored it, legs carrying her faster and faster as she went. She didn’t want to talk. Her head, neck, and chest felt hot. She felt smothered and unable to breathe. She needed to get away.

By the time she was in the Hall of Joy, Magda was running. The library was a blur, as was the opera hall. Her eyes were open, but they saw nothing, as if her brain was on automatic. All she cared about was getting away.

She slammed the door to her workroom shut, turning the lock as well in order to keep herself physically, mentally, and emotionally away from everyone. She managed to go a few steps into the room before her knees gave way and she collapsed into a heap. That’s when the floodgates of emotion just opened up. She screamed and wailed, tears falling uncontrollably. All the pain and the burdens accumulated from this day, from these past few hours, came roaring out.

She had no idea how long she cried, nor how many in the castle heard her. She didn’t know if anyone knocked on the door to check on her, nor did she care. She would have ignored it anyway. At one point early on in her anguish, her stomach heaved. Only bile came out, as she had eaten nothing this entire day, but the wretching continued until even that was entirely discarded from her system. She cried until her tears ran dry; until only hiccuping breathes and weary, burning eyes remained.

Throughout all of this, there was one constant in Magda’s mind. She knew that if anyone, and she did mean anyone, interrupted her in this moment, there would be hell to pay. The staff had seen her mad and frustrated before, but they had never seen her rage. If anyone tried to comfort or hold her right now, they would be met with punches, thrown objects, and a slew of filthy, hate-filled words that she would likely regret at a later date. Perhaps even shears to the intruder’s throat, if she could reach them in time.

She didn’t want comfort. She wanted this pain. She wanted to hurt.

But most of all, she wanted her Bela.

Eventually though, the pain did subside. It slowly dulled and dissipated. To say it was completely gone would have been a lie, but it had settled for the time being. Magda’s body ached, as did her head. The floor beside her was a mess, but she made an effort and took the time to clean up the bile. She couldn’t stand having such a thing lingering in her workshop, no matter her mood or the circumstances. The process also helped the seamstress return to a semblance of herself.

After a change of clothes, a quick washing of her face and brushing of her teeth, Magda made her way back to the main hall. Samuel was lingering in the hallway, shuffling around a bit in an effort to entertain themself while probably waiting for Magda to re-emerge.

“Hey, Magda? Are… are you okay? Do you need anything? A hug maybe?” they asked, holding their arms open. Magda just shook her head and continued on. “Ice cream, maybe? We could sit and watch a movie together Not a scary movie or anythin’, but I’ll sit and watch something you’d like if it makes you feel better.” At that, Magda just sighed.

“Sam? Right now, what I want? I can’t have. So, please? Just let me go sit in peace next to what is left of the woman I love. All right?”

“Yeah, um…. about that? Okay, so we brought the statue things in like you said, but as soon as we did, the dragon thing that Lady D turned into? Yeah, she got real defensive and grabbed the big statue and isn’t giving it up. So, we then took the smaller ones and the fly piles got really active. Like super, super active. I mean, they’re not buzzin’ around like normal or human, but-“ Magda didn’t even wait for Sam to finish. Once more, she was off and running.

The daughters were on the opposite side of the fireplace from the Alcinadragon, though pretty much everyone was on the opposite side from her, as she took up an entire length of the hall. Samuel had actually been right, as the flies were more active since the last time she saw them. While not swarming, they were crawling over the statues, or rather, individual statues. Now that she was able to look at them properly, Magda could discern the shapes of the daughters in the torsos. Bela’s she knew well enough, and Daniela was a bit slighter than Cassandra… and all the while the appropriate flies were crawling over the appropriate statues. She still had no idea what they were for, but clearly they held some importance.

Whether it had been intentional or not, someone had set Bela in the alcove under the stairs, allowing a bit of privacy and seclusion if it was needed. Obviously, Samuel or someone else had taken Magda’s breakdown into consideration. Normally, the seamstress did not enjoy having special things done for her, but at the moment, she was not about complain.

Sitting on a blanket with her back against the wall, Magda actually managed to take a breath and relax for the first time that day.

They were alive.

Whether due to the added heat, time to recover, or whatever these odd statues were, the daughters were alive and moving around. They would be all right. The Alcinadragon had a forelimb curled around her own statue, surrounded by her favorite maidens, and was practically asleep, if her breathing was any indication. She would be all right. None of the servants had been gravely injured in the long term. The current state of the castle was an odd miracle, but it was a miracle nonetheless.

Looking at the crystalline statue beside her, Magda gently placed her fingertips upon it, in hopes that it would pulse or feel abnormally warm. That wasn’t the case, but one of the pale yellow flies that had been idly traversing the torso’s clavicle almost immediately changed direction and climbed onto her hand. Smiling, either from happiness or exhaustion, she brought the insect closer as it proceeded to march into the palm of her cupped hand. It happily buzzed and bumped its head against her skin, settling down in the warmth as Magda gently stroked it.

As if energized by her touch, the fly took to the air and landed in the hollow of the seamstress’ neck, where it buzzed and bounced around more; its little wings tickling her just enough to elicit a soft laugh from Magda.

“Hi, stea mică…” she said softly, body instinctively relaxing to that sensation. Magda wasn’t sure if it was her exhaustion or something else, but as her eyes closed and sleep began to take her, she could have sworn she heard Bela’s voice in the drone of the fly.

I won’t be long.

EPILOGUE:

“Magda? Magda, wake up. Somethin’s happening,” Sam’s voice cut through the blackness of sleep. The seamstress groggily rubbed her eyes and looked around, remembering where she was. Instinctively, she looked over at the Bela statue, worried for a moment at that she would find. The concern was unfounded as it was mostly covered by a swarm of flies, more than what she had seen prior to falling asleep.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, standing up. The Alcinadragon was still asleep, her harem of maidens still tending to her. If it was possible, she too looked healthier.

“There’s something goin’ on in the village. Luana told me to get you. They’re in Lady D’s bedroom.” That made sense. The Countess’ chambers had a view that overlooked the village. It was a smart place to scout from.

Making her way there, Magda discovered that night had fallen, meaning she had slept most of the day away. Why hadn’t they woken her up sooner? She didn’t need to have her sleep schedule even more messed up. However, the not so far off explosions made her decide otherwise, as she quickened her steps up the stairs.

Luana was out on the balcony of Alcina’s chambers, watching a veritable firefight going on in the village. Massive waving tendrils were erupting from the ground, knocking what looked like military helicopters out of the sky as explosions and gunfire rocked what was left of the buildings.

“Have they come towards the castle?” Magda asked after taking it all in.

“No,” Luana replied.

“Then unless they come towards the castle, it’s not our fight. I’m not about to start something with a group that has guns, explosions, and…” An airstrike briefly interrupted the seamstress as she talked. “Whatever the hell that is!”

“I simply thought you would like to be made aware of this. It was wise that we closed up everything when we did.” Magda didn’t know why Luana was making her seem more important than she actually was. They were the head servant. She was just the seamstress.

“…… You’re going to sit out here until it’s over, aren’t you?”

“Of course.” At that, Magda sighed.

“I’m not staying out here all night. It’s too cold. I’d suggest that you come in from the cold as well, but you’re just as stubborn as I am. I’ll be inside on the chaise lounge if you need me. Please don’t freeze out here, Luana. I’m not about to lose you after keeping you alive.” With that said, Magda went back inside and made herself comfortable on the Countess’ furniture, something she’d never do normally, but this wasn’t exactly normal circumstances. Come to think of it, the large hole in the floor was also out of the ordinary. That hadn’t been there earlier today… What had happened here after she left with Bela?

She must have fallen asleep, since the next thing she knew, Magda was woken up by the sudden slamming of a door, followed almost immediately by being rocked off the chaise lounge by an earth shattering explosion. Broken glass rained down on her as the shockwave smashed the windows. For a brief moment, she thought a nuclear device had gone off and she waited for the incineration wave to burn her to a crisp. When none of that happened, and the castle remained standing, she looked around.

Luana was crouched against the door leading to the balcony, covering their head out of instinct. Brushing the glass from her hair, Magda cautiously stood up and looked out the window. Smoke filled the air, but as the wind carried it away, she could see a decently sized crater in what had been the ceremony site. There was nothing left of the tendrils from last night, just like there wasn’t much left of the village.

“What in the hell happened?” she mumbled. “Do you even now think there are survivors?” she asked Luana. In response, they simply pointed to the distant shape of a quickly retreating helicopter. For a moment, anger blossomed in Magda’s chest. If that man was on that thing? How dare he be able to escape so easily after causing all this destruction. But the feeling and hatred vanished along with the helicopter. If he was gone, then so much the better. Better for him to be gone and forgotten than to remain a problem for them all.

“Goodbye and good riddance, stupid man-thing,” Magda said, before turning her back on the sunrise and returning, with Luana, to her family.

#drabble #one-shot #LONG oneshot #bela dimitrescu #Ethan Winters #alcina dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu

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reinersbb · 3 years

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𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 [𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 / 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔] Chapter One- Pumpkin Spice

DISCLAIMER: I do not own AOT/SNK or the characters.

WARNING 18+: Heavy Sexual Themes/SMUT, Alcohol Consumption, Drug Usage, Profanity, Violence, and Some Uncomfortable Themes.

Click away now if you’re uncomfortable with anything listed above.

The fresh mid-October air plunged into your lungs after inhaling deeply through your nostrils as soon as you broke through the doors belonging to the lecture hall. Though the temperature outside was brisk, the sun was still shining above brightly. The white blotchy clouds were condensed together almost like puzzle pieces that were yet to fit together.

You were grateful for perfect weather on a day like this, and couldn't help but smile to yourself out of pure bliss. Because in all honesty, being stuck inside of lectures for the majority of the day wasn't ideal, but you sure were paying good money for it.

Pinching at the thin cotton material of your jacket, you pulled the fabric closer against your body when a gust of wind whipped past you. Maybe you should've thrown on a thicker jacket, but it's not like you took the initiative to check the weather for the day ahead when your attention was focused on making it out of your dorm room before being late for your eight am. Stopping at a large water fountain that was positioned perfectly center in the intersection of two walkways, you took a slight step with your left foot to turn and look around at all of the people floating about. Awkwardly searching for a particular face in the crowd as the sound of water gently overlapping played in your ears from the old fountain. Today, you had plans to hang out with your boyfriend, the plan was to meet up with him at this exact location. 'Maybe he's running late...' When another two minutes passed of you keeping an eye out for his familiar face, and there was still no sight of your boyfriend, you pulled out your phone to see if he'd sent you a text of his whereabouts or any piece of information. A clear notification screen surprised you, maybe even worried you just the slightest bit, but you shoved that hollow feeling down deep inside of you to tried to ignore it. 'Okay, maybe I should just text him.' Today 15:04 Where are you?✓ Your message had been sent, all you had to do now was play the very annoying waiting game. 'He wouldn't just ghost you for no reason without an explanation.' You tried reasoning with yourself. Your eyes tore away from your phone screen, deciding it was better to distract yourself with something instead of aimlessly waiting around for who knows how long. With only one glance around the perimeter, you elected that a nearby coffee cart parked further down away would be your means of distraction. What's a better distraction than caffeine? As you closed in on the dark oak wooden coffee cart, you couldn't help but notice a familiar face standing behind the cash register. The young man stood slumped over, a disengaged expression on his face, almost as if he were frowning. You lifted a brow quizically, taking the last few steps of your stride towards the cart. The man with blond hair and prominent sideburns perked up behind the register as you stood adjacent to him, "(L/N), is that you?" "Yeah, hey, Thomas! I didn't know you worked here. It's been a while since we've last spoke, how have you been?" You smiled, reminiscing in the few friendly memories you shared together. Thomas was in your German class at the beginning of the semester until you decided to drop the class and swap your minor out for French instead. There hasn't been much or any conversation between the two of you since then. "I just started two weeks ago, and about that..." the slight smile he'd managed to put on his face when you originally approached the cart faded away momentarily, "not so good actually," his cheeks flushed out of embarrassment and his smile kept wavering. "What happened? Are you okay?" You asked, genuinely concerned about your friends' feelings. "My girlfriend broke up with me yesterday," he admitted with a sigh. "Mina?" You asked and Thomas nodded, "that must suck, weren't you and her together for a while?" You could remember the few mentions of his ex-girlfriend in some of the conversations you had together before. "Since junior year of high school, she was my first girlfriend," his light brown eyes fell to the counter. "It was so... all of a sudden. She didn't even tell me why, but, in all honesty, I think it was for another guy," his fingertips tapped away at the counter anxiously. Hearing Thomas tell you about the recent breakup with his ex made your stomach twist and turn into knots for some unknown reason. There was suddenly a burning temptation to check your phone, but you refrained from doing so. "I'm sorry to hear that, and I wish there was something I could say to make you magically feel better," you shot him a sympathetic smile when he finally lifted his eyes to look up at you. "You know, I kind of feel a little bit better talking to you about it," Thomas admitted with a meek chuckle. "Anyways," he flicked the brim of his visor, "enough about me, is there anything I could get you?" He suggested to the menu of drinks. "Surprise me?" A small grin pulled at his lips, "on it." You couldn't help but notice how Thomas's emotions seemed to have pulled a full one-eighty compared to when you saw him standing idle behind the counter just a few minutes ago. "Here you go, one large pumpkin spice latte from our seasonal menu," Thomas reached over the counter, handing you a rather large paper cup, "careful, (L/N), it's hot." You accepted the latte with slight hesitation, "thanks, how much do I owe you?" You were struggling to reach your wallet inside of your purse when Thomas said, "don't worry about it, the drink is on me." "Are you sure? Because I can-" "Think of it as thanks for talking to me," Thomas showed a genuine smile while plucking a napkin from a dispenser to give to you, "just in case you need one of these." "Fine, but I'm paying for my next drink," you said, but still feeling reluctant to just walk away without paying for the drink. Quickly, you reached into your purse, feeling around for any loose money lying about. After a few seconds, you swiftly inserted a few crumpled bills and loose change into the nearly empty tip jar without even examining the tip amount. Thomas laughed after watching your efforts, "see you around, (L/N)." "Bye! Thanks again, Thomas," you sipped on your hot beverage as you steadily walked away from the coffee cart. When you passed by someone looking down at their phone, it reminded you to check yours to see if there was any response from your significant other. To no avail, there were no new messages on your lock screen, only a single notification that alerted you of a spam email message. You tabbed into your text messages once again because the curiosity gnawed away at your insides. Today 15:02 Where are you?✓✓ Immediately you felt your heart sink through your chest as you noticed that he'd definitely read your message. The same annoying worrisome thoughts intruded your mind once again, and this time it was difficult clearing them from your headspace. Today 15:09 Floch?✓ Unfortunately, the smile you had plastered on your face quickly faded away. You groaned under your breath, casually placing the hot beverage just at your lips, the scent of various warm spices tickled your nose as you precariously watched the chat bubbles appear then disappear, and reappear once again. The hot liquid almost scorched your mouth as you anxiously drew in a sip, and then another, all while waiting for his response. A sense of bile rose through your throat as the chat bubble disappeared and finally a response from Floch appeared. You read the message over and over again, trying to decipher if there was some hidden intent behind it. Floch❤️: I'm at your dorm building The page stilled for a moment when the second message of his came through. Floch ❤️: We need to talk 'We need to talk... that could only mean one thing.' In a complete utter panic, and with every intent on running to your dorm room, you forced your phone into the depths of your pocket. You carelessly cut a sharp right, the thoughts in your head running rampant as you headed for your dorm to see what it was exactly your boyfriend wanted to talk about. Your mistake was forgetting to double-check for any people around you before taking off into a sprint. Because now you came into contact with what felt like a slab of concrete in a head-on collision. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. The fresh latte flew from your grasp and tumbled onto the sidewalk, splashing you with its scorching hot liquid mid-process. Your purse fell from off of your arm as you landed flat on your back in front of everyone, and your victim had fallen to the ground with you- wait- on top of you? "I'm so fucking sorry," you hissed at the burning sensation from the drink, but also at the pain you felt from falling onto your back, the contents of your backpack digging into you. Hovering above you was a man dressed in a heather grey tracksuit. In one ear was an earbud, while the other earbud was detached and dangling in your face from the neck slit of his hoodie. A few pieces of his hair fell over his forehead and the sides of his face. You swore you could hear the faintest music pumping through his earbuds. You blinked a few times, unsure if you were seeing things clearly as he pushed himself off of you and held out a hand for you to take. Without another word, or any hesitation whatsoever, you placed your hand into his and he firmly clasped it, pulling you up onto the solid ground. The two of you bumped into each other but you promptly took a step back after you found your equilibrium. "I hope I didn't crush you, are you alright?" "Huh?" your eyelashes fluttered together rapidly, snapping yourself out of the weird trance you were in. The unnamed man chuckled dryly, "are you okay? That was quite a nasty fall. I hope I didn't break you or anything," he said with a hint of amusement in his voice, but overall it seemed that he was genuinely concerned about your well-being. "Oh, yeah, I'll be okay," you said, taking a look at your ruined jacket and shirt that was damp and beginning to grow cold from the latte, "shit." His intense light brown eyes stared down past your feet, examining the spoilt cup of coffee and the rest of the scene itself. "Here," he scooped up your purse from off of the ground for you. You awkwardly accepted your purse from the man and readjusted both straps of your backpack on your shoulders. As he stood in front of you, you couldn't help but stare at him, fully taking in his features. He was tall. Much taller than your boyfriend. His long jaw was sharp and perfectly lined with facial hair. His hair was long and a nice shade of light ash-brown and seemed to be shaved on the sides like an undercut. But, it was hard to tell since locks and strands of his hair were sporadic from the fall. Some pieces of his hair were stuck to his forehead from a thin layer of sweat. It was now that you realized how his chest was rising and falling rather rapidly with quick heavy breaths. It seemed that he'd been on a jog before you came crashing into him, at least it would explain the outfit. "Again, I'm sorry for running into you like a crazy person," you breathed out an anxious breath, "but I have to get going now, I have somewhere to be." You snatched the littered coffee cup from off of the ground and shoved it into the nearest wastebasket as you cleared the scene. You could've sworn that you heard the man calling out to you, but you refused to turn around, leaving him in the same exact spot of the incident. All you wanted to do was get to your dorm, talk to your boyfriend, and change clothes. **************** "Hey babe," you said uneasily as you saw Floch standing outside of your dorm. Floch had his back pressed against the door, his eyes glued to his phone, and his face was expressionless as the blue light fanned over his skin. When he heard your voice, he slowly tucked his phone away into his front pants pocket. Forwarding his attention to you, you opened your arms widely to greet him with a hug, but at the last second, you decided against it due to your damp top. "What the hell happened to you? You look like shit," he said with a slight chuckle as he examined your appearance. His words stung a great amount, causing you to bite at the inside of your lip, but you ignored him. "I fell on my way over here, my latte spilled on me in the process," you groaned, remembering the incident that happened not even ten minutes ago. "Do you want to come inside and talk while I change out of this mess?" You asked, heading for the door with your key. "No, I wanted to make this quick actually," he exhaled uneasily. "Okay," you wrapped your arms around your chest, holding onto yourself tightly. Your pulse quickened at the suspense, and the air around you could be cut with a knife while you waited for him to speak. It felt like an eternity had passed until those dreadful words left his lips. "There's no easy way for me to say this, so I'm just going to come right off the bat by saying that I think we should break up and see other people." Those dreadful words felt like the ripping of a bandaid, that or a complete slap to the face. The horrible predictions you tried to ignore happened to be true. Oh, how you wished you were wrong. You stared at him like a deer caught in headlights, trying to make sure that you heard him correctly. "Wha.. what?" you croaked, your mouth was dry. The silence was deafening, and the ringing sensation buzzed your ears. You watched as Floch's mouth moved, but no words could be heard over the persistent ringing in your ears. Floch gracelessly went for a hug, and even though you wanted to hug him- cling onto him and try to talk things out, he'd already let go of you. The bitter scent of citrus, the smell of him, plagued you and almost brought you to your knees with a wave of emotions following along with it. "I'm sorry," you were finally able to hear him once again. "Floch... can't we just step inside my room and talk things over?" You didn't want to sound like you were begging for him to stay, but you didn't just want to break up as if your relationship meant nothing either. "Are you sure about this?" You and Floch had been dating for not as long as Thomas and Mina were dating, but you two were going to be going on three months whenever the next month arrived. The two of you met on your first day at university, somehow he charmed you in a dorkish-way and the rest was history. And all this time you were thinking that you were in love with him. "(Y/N), it's been fun, but I think we'd just be better off going separate ways," Floch took two steps back as he stared at you, but your eyes weren't on him, but rather at his feet. "Again, I'm sorry for this." The sounds of footsteps grew distant until there was no more sound left, as your eyes stayed nailed to the spot where he once stood. He was gone. For good. You blinked an infrequent amount of times, only being pulled out of your hypnotic state when the sound of people walking down the hall caught your attention. As soon as you looked up to examine the hall, you made contact with some girl who was blatantly staring at you. Ignoring the unknown girl, you turned to your door and fumbled with the lock and key for more than a handful of tries. But eventually, you pushed through the oak door with a breeze you closed it behind you. As soon as you were alone in the dimly lit room is when a wave of emotions overcame you and the tears began rolling uncontrollably.

#attack on titan #aot #aot smut #aut au #jean #jean kirstein #jean kirchstein #jean x reader #jean smut #snk #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #snk x reader #fanfic #aot floch #jean kirschtein x reader

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mca-attack21 · 3 years

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The Case of the Killer Lightbulbs

Hi guys! This mini-series is based off an episode of criminal minds called ‘Amplification’. You can find more of my writing on my Masterlist here.

Working alongside Sherlock and John had put you in numerous compromising and even dangerous situations. It was not a rare occurrence to find yourself in harm’s way, but that never discouraged you. The way you had always viewed it was that John and Sherlock had gotten on fine before you, and they would continue in that fashion if for some reason you were incapacitated. Furthermore, you felt that there was no nobler way to die than saving/protecting the lives of others, especially those you cared about. This mindset of yours never faltered, even during “The Case of the Killer Lightbulbs” as John named it on his blog.

You were at the market when you got the call informing you to stop what you were doing and go outside where a car would be waiting for you. You were used to it by now, Mycroft was known to be the dramatic type. The ride was long and you wondered what the nature if thus case would be: Murder? Blackmail? Theft? National Security? Or, was it just Mycroft trying to get information on his little brother again? Whatever your thought process was during that car ride, it did not prepare you for what was coming next.

You were taken to Scotland yard which was swarming with various officials from detectives, to the military, to the CDC. You were led through to a room where Mycroft, John, and Sherlock sat.

“Okay, you may go now, shut the door on the way out,” Mycroft said to your escort.

As she did, he passed a folder to you, Sherlock, and John and began debriefing, “Yesterday 24 people checked into local area hospitals, all of them with the same symptoms, all of them had been at the same park around 4 pm yesterday. Now at just after 8 am, 14 of the 24 are dead. Lung failure and black legions among a myriad of other symptoms.”

“Anthrax?” John asked.

“Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast,” you replied.

“Unless it has been genetically altered,” Sherlock surmised, “What do we know about this strain?”

“The spores are weaponized, reduced to a spiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs. They are both odorless and invisible. The normal antidote is not effective against this strain,” Mycroft explained.

“Why exactly are we here?” John asked.

“We believe that this was a trial run, but don’t know what for. An outbreak in London would be detrimental, so we’ve called you lot in,” Mycroft replied, “You have full access to any resources you deem necessary,” he added handed you special badges, “Finally, here is Cipro, we don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s worth a shot. I wish you the best of luck.”

You, Sherlock, and John downed the pills and were left alone in the office as Mycroft had to step out.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you said, still trying to get your head around the idea.

“It isn’t the first time, and most definitely won’t be the last,” Sherlock replied.

“So, where do we even start?” John asked.

Over the next two days, the three of you visited the hospital and spoke with remaining victims, analyzed the strain in the lab, located a second but smaller attack that happened weeks ago but only affected 4 people, and started to narrow in on a suspect list. You also created a list of possible targets, however it was too large to do any good. The three of you had come to realize that you were looking for someone with a significant background concerning biological agents. You knew that the person you were looking for most likely was in cohorts with the military or CDC and had a relation with the bookstore that was the target of the first attack. It wasn’t long before Sherlock had discovered who was behind it all.

This led you and Sherlock along with a team from the CDC to the home of Alfred Wilson to further investigate. John was at the hospital lending his medical assistance. And Mycroft and his men went to Wilson’s workplace and other known frequented locations. You and Sherlock stood outside as you waited for the all-clear.

“While they are doing that we should probably take a look around,” Sherlock decided.

The two of you walked towards the back of the house looking for anything out of the ordinary. Sherlock was distracted by a phone call from Mycroft explaining that the lab was clean and Wilson was still MIA. Sherlock turned to inform you of this news but realized that you had wandered off.

“Y/n?” he called and looked for you. He found the path that you must have followed. “Y/n,” he called again. He saw the shack and darted towards it, “Y/n!”

That is when you came into his line of vision, “Sherlock get back! Get back, get out of here!” you shouted frantically locking the door.

“Y/n? What are you doing? I don’t-” he started, but then he saw the broken container of white powder and the ventilation system. This was where Wilson had developed and even tested the strains. And you had already been exposed, which meant that if the Cipros was ineffective as it most likely would be against this mutated strain, you had less than 24 hours.

He called Mycroft who got the necessary people there. They wanted to get you out and to the hospital as soon as possible, that was not your plan though.

“Y/n, the CDC is here, they are preparing to extract you,” Sherlock explained through the phone.

“There’s no point, I’ve already been infected, I might as well work to solve the case,” you argued.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mycroft interjected.

“Sherlock, take me off of speakerphone,” you ordered.

“Alright, tell me what you see,” Sherlock humored you.

“Alright, well first off Dr. Wilson is dead, so we can rule him out. There are two workspaces and two sets of handwriting on the papers. So he either had a partner or protege,” you paused as a fit of coughing took over, “I’ve read through everything in here, the cure isn’t here. But maybe they can take the spores and reverse engineer them.”

“Okay, Y/n. Is there anything else that sticks out to you?” he asked.

You were going to continue but the coughing took over again. You hung up the phone to spare Sherlock. By the time you caught your breath John was entering in an orange hazmat suit.

“Orange is not your color,” you joked, “On a serious note how are the patients at the hospital?”

“Right now, let’s focus on you,” he redirected, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” you replied.

“Are you sure? I could give you something to ease the pain,” he explained.

“I’m fine and I don’t want to take any narcotics,” you snapped.

“Okay, no narcotics, got it,” he confirmed, “how can I help?” he asked.

“I read through all of the papers and none of them talk about the cure, but I think that it has to be in here somewhere. Probably hidden considering that Dr. Wilson was a former military scientist. He was paranoid and most likely tried to protect the cure from his partner. So look for something innocuous, something that you wouldn’t expect,” you explained, starting to feel slightly light-headed. That is when your phone rang again.

“Yes Sherlock?” you answered.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“That is irrelevant, why’d you call?”

“Mycroft said that Wilson’s co-workers were unaware of him having a partner. Is there anything else you can tell me about him?”

You went over to the desk again scanning for what you missed. It was like it was on the tip of your tongue, but your brain was too foggy to see it.

“Just list off everything that is on their desks,” Sherlock said wishing that he was in there with you.

“Wait, I’ve got it,” you replied, “Dr. Wilson was a professor. He has syllabi and a framed picture of him teaching. I even read a paper that he graded, or so I thought. He wouldn’t let just anyone into his lab but clearly,” you started before being interrupted by a wave of painful coughing, “he valued himself as an educator. What if the second desk wasn’t a partner, but a student? And the paper, it was formatted like a thesis. See if Mycroft can crossmatch the list of Wilson’s students and/or students at the university that Wilson taught at with past employees or customers of the bookstore.”

“Okay, will do,” he said hanging up.

“Y/n, you did good, now we need to get you to the hospital,” John tried.

“Okay,” you conceded knowing that there wasn’t anything else you could do there. A couple of CDC workers came and took you to a decontamination shower that they had set up, with John close behind.

“John, go help Sherlock,” you instructed.

“I’m gonna stay here and see you off to the hospital,” he insisted.

“I am about to be stripped down and bathed, my pride can’t take the thought of you witnessing that. Besides the way I see it, you can either stay here and watch me die or go out and prevent it from happening.”

“If you’re sure,” John replied, feeling torn.

“Go on,” you reassured him.

———————

Tags: @fanfictionsilove @delightfulheartdream

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list :)

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock imagine #sherlock imagines #bbc sherlock imagines #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock #sherlock fic #sherlock holmes imagine

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stxrrywildflower · 4 years

Text

out of the old (1)

pairing - spencer reid x reader

summary - you think about quitting the bau

warning - cursing, mentions of case

series masterlist

everyone in the bau had their breaking point.

for some, such as former agents jason gideon and elle greenway, they snapped and left the organization as a whole. for others, such as emily prentiss and aaron hotchner, they had taken a leave of absence before returning and relying on their bau family.

but you, you had no idea where you were. all you knew is that you had reached your own personal breaking point.

ever since you were a little kid, you know that you wanted to be apart of the fbi. you knew the hard work it would take and personal strains of moving from california to washington d.c. but you had enrolled in the academy and gone from there.

director erin strauss had immediately taken a disliking to you. your superiors at the acadamy had only spoken good things about your work and strauss had to meet you in person. you almost wished you hadn’t agreed to seeing her because that’s where everything fell apart.

after meeting her, your superiors began to expect more from you and the pressure grew. you had ultimately discovered that strauss had told them to be harder on you, but not for good reasons. she wanted to see you crack as if you weren’t meant for the fbi.

once graduating top of your class, you were recruited onto the bau team. from there, you made fast friends and the team had taken a strong liking to you. they loved how you fit within the team and your personality as a whole.

erin strauss, however, was less than thrilled. every moment you messed up in the slightest, you were in her office being scolded. most of the time, you had received a warning. after a rookie cop had almost gotten you killed, you were the one being yelled at, not him. and finally, when strauss heard that you and spencer were dating back almost a year ago, she had pulled you into her office instead of spencer. he didn’t even get a look in his direction from her. she had threatened to suspend you if hotch hadn’t stepped in.

there was a strong bias against you by strauss and everyone on the team knew it.

the last case was the final straw for you. the team had been sent to pheonix and had remained there for almost two weeks. the outcome wasn’t exactly ideal but the positives outweighed the negatives.

it had come down to you and the final unsub. the others had been taken in as well as the victims saved. however, in the middle of you attempting to talk the unsub down, he had put his gun to his throat and pulled the trigger, killing himself instantly.

the whole ordeal had left you a little bit shocked, both at what you had witnessed and how you knew strauss would react. after a long flight, which everyone had slept on, the bau team made their way back to the office. everyone needed to get their stuff and paperwork before being allowed to go hone.

walking in, spencer held your hand tightly. you then let go and made your way to your desk, tossing your bag on the floor next to it. as you went to sit down, you heard a recognizable voice behind you.

“i would suggest you remain from sitting down, agent y/n. my office, now,” strauss demanded, her tone harsh. she walked out of the doors and you had no choice but to follow. you glanced back one more time at your team who all gave you pity looks.

once entering strauss’ office, you stood hands behind your back and looking straight on. strauss however, sat down out her desk and pulled it the most recent case file.

“i assume your know why you are here,” strauss started. you nodded to her words, trying not to give her the satisfaction of you looking scared. “i’m going to be a little nice here. i’ll let you go free tonight but know that i expect to see you in my office tomorrow morning at nine am sharp so we can discuss this,” she spoke, motioning to the graphic case photos. you once again nodded and turned around, walking out and back towards the bullpen.

on your way in, you encountered rossi and j.j. who were leaving to head home. you knew that j.j. was desperate to get home to see will and henry so you didn’t want to hold her up. however, rossi shot you a comforting smile as j.j. squeezed your shoulder.

spencer was there to greet you when you walked in. you shrugged his hand off of your shoulder and ignored derek and emily’s concerned looks. instead, you grabbed your bags and exited the building without another word.

strauss was making you hate your job and there wasn’t anything that could be done that would benefit you.

____

the following day, wednesday morning, you stepped into the bau. you first walked up to hotch’s office, tossing your report from the case on his desk with sad eyes.

“good luck,” hotch spoke to you as you walked out. you slightly smiled before making your way to strauss’ office.

this time, she motioned for you to sit down. you did just that and placed your hands in your lap.

“i don’t know what i’m going to do with you agent y/n. over the past few months you have made countless mistakes. you were placed in the bau team for a reason even if i was strongly against it. personally, i don’t think your profiling skills are up to par but you get one more chance. the next mistake you make, i will have no choice but to suspend you,” strauss informed you.

anger slowly bubbled up inside you. thankfully, you kept your shaking hands in your lap and kept yourself from lashing out. “suspend me? with all due respect ma’am, others on my team have made mistakes but they haven’t been called into your office,” you responded politely.

strauss suddenly threw the case file down and glared slightly at you. “oh so now you’re throwing your team under the bus? this further proves my suspicions of you not fitting in and not working well with them. don’t get me started on your relationship with dr. reid. furthermore, agent hotchner will be hearing about your behavior agent y/n. you are dismissed.”

with that you took a sharp breath and did everything in your power to not storm out of the office. the first thing you did when you re-entered the bullpen was go straight up to hotch’s office. the door was open so you entered and closed it behind you. your boss’s eyes looked to you, a concerned look forming when he saw your state.

“i can’t do it anymore hotch, i really can’t,” you spoke, voice incredibly shaky.

“do what?” hotch responded as he finished scribbling down a few things on a file. you rubbed your eyes as tears began to form.

“be on this team. next time i make the simplest mistake even if it’s suggesting the wrong thing, i’ll be suspended. i can’t remain on this team knowing that i’ll have to walk on eggshells for an unknown time. i know strauss doesn’t want me in the fbi anymore, she told me herself. i just can’t be here anymore,” you revealed, getting choked up in the end.

hotch stopped writing and placed his pen down. “she said that?” he asked. you nodded with a frown. “she told me that my profile skills are not up to par and i shouldn’t be at the bau.”

with that, you realized just how mentally exhausted you were. ever since you got to the bau, you’ve had to constantly prove yourself and after all this time you still seem to not do your job right. you just wanted it to stop.

“and there’s nothing i can do about strauss. so, i would like to request a resignation form,” you concluded.

hotch’s eyes widened at your request. “is there anyway i can convince you to take the rest of the week off to think about it? you can let me know monday morning,” your boss tried to convince you. you thought about it for a slight moment before agreeing.

“i’ll let you know monday morning,” you confirmed. once exiting the office, you noticed your entire team in the bullpen including garcia who was sitting with derek. you ignored them as you grabbed your work bag that had yet to be unpacked and your go bag. you pressed your lips together and rolled your eyes sarcastically as you looked at your name plate. ‘ssa y/n y/l/n’ it read. you flicked it down before leaving the building without another word.

rossi, who had stepped out of his office just in time to see you leaving, looked at his team who were all sporting confused expressions. he then walked down the catwalk and into hotch’s office.

“what’s going on with y/n?” rossi asked.

hotch motioned to close the door and then sit down. rossi sat across the younger man who then sighed.

“she’s reached a breaking point with strauss’s harassment. and dave, from what she’s told me it’s never been this bad. she requested a resignation form,” hotch revealed causing rossi’s eyes to widen.

“she’s quitting?” he asked shocked.

hotch shook his head, “i managed to convince her to take the rest of the week off to think about it. i just don’t know where she’s going to go. and i mean what is there to do about strauss. nothing we could even discuss in a work setting.”

“we can do a team meeting at my house tonight. send a text using the personal numbers. oh and tell garcia to bring her computer,” rossi suggested before exiting to room to avoid suspicion.

spencer looked out confused as his girlfriend exited the bau abrubtly, bags in hand and tears in your eyes. he knew he could go after you but had realized you probably wanted to be alone.

a buzz from his personal phone broke him out of his thoughts. judging by the rest of the teams expressions, they had received one too. it was a simple message from hitch.

“team meeting at rossi’s at 7pm. do not mention it to anyone outside of the team. garcia bring your laptop.”

he looked towards emily who simply shrugged. they had no doubt that it was most likely about your sudden exit.

____

meanwhile, once exiting the bau, you quickly drove home as fast as traffic and the speed limit let you. you then stepped in your apartment, thankful at that moment that you didn’t share with anyone.

the first thing you did was pack your bags. you left your work bag at the table and packed a backpack with personal items such as a few books and electronics. then, you packed a suitcase full of clothes. finally, you changed out of your work attire and into sweatpants and a t-shirt which was obviously much more comfortable.

you sat on your couch, opening up your laptop to american airlines. after finding a flight that was leaving in an hour and a half, you booked it before putting your laptop back into your backpack and standing up.

before you left, you placed your gun on your table. this wasn’t a flight with the bau so you couldn’t bring your gun for obvious reasons. your badge remained in your coat pocket just in case. as you looked back at your apartment, you sighed.

there was only one thought that crossed your mind; spencer. your boyfriend obviously wouldn’t react well to you just getting up and leaving so suddenly. well, no one would, but, you didn’t want to leave him in the dust. you knew he would come to your apartment after work so a note was the easiest option. you quickly grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and began writing.

spencer,

“goodbyes are bittersweet. but it’s not the end, i’ll see your face again”

i know it’s cliche to put a song lyric but i figured it was fitting. i really just need to get away for awhile and clear my head. text me and let me know you’re alright, okay?

i love you,

y/n

you folded it up before neatly printing your boyfriends name on the front. with that, you were out your front door and on the way to the airport.

close to seven hours later, you arrived in san diego. the warm heat of the city welcomed you as you felt your nerves seemingly melt away. after taking a cab, you arrived to your families home.

you first knocked timidly on the door before stepping back. moments later, a figure appeared before the door swung open.

“hi mom,” you spoke with a small smile.

#criminal minds #criminal #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #derek morgan #penelope garcia #david rossi

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duhragonball · 3 years

Text

Hellsing Liveblog Afterward

So, this is just a place for me to toss in some other Hellsing stuff I wanted to talk about outside the reading of Hellsing itself.

Okay so first off, I wanted to document this cool trivia I noticed about Rip van Winkle, the werewolf(?) with the musket that fires magic bullets. Her weapon is based on the 19th Century German opera Der Freischütz. The opera is based on a story published by Johann August Apel in 1811, and this writing was based on German folklore. The legend involves a marksman who makes a contract with the devil and receives seven magic bullets. Six will hit whatever the marksman wants, but the seventh is at the sole discretion of the devil himself. In Hellsing, the Major speaks to Rip about her own musket and reminds her that the opera ends with Zamiel, the devil, coming to claim his due. This is intended to foreshadow Alucard counterattack on the H.M.S. Eagle, where he plows through Rip’s defenses and kills her in gruesome fashion.

So I went back and counted all the times Rip van Winkle shoots her musket, just to see if there was any special significant to it. The first was when the old Nazi officers complain to the Major, and Rip shoots the Colonel’s cane before he can strike the Major with it. At least, I’m pretty sure that was the idea here. The cane breaks and everyone looks around and Zorin points to the lady with the gun to indicate who just did that. So that’s one bullet.

After assuming control of the H.M.S. Eagle, Rip van Winkle meets with the Eagle’s first officer, who betrayed the crew to Millennium in exchange for vampire powers. She then betrays him and his fellow traitors, killing them all with a single shot from her musket. This is where we first find out what her ability is. So that’s two.

The British Navy tries to take back the ship by sending a helicopter full of SEALs, but Rip destroys the entire team with another shot from her musket. So that’s three shots fired.

While Hellsing prepares their own response, the Navy tries again, this time sending a fighter plane to sink the Eagle with missiles, but Rip shoots down the missiles and the plane with one bullet. Four.

This is where I started to wonder if there was a particular pattern to Rip’s use of the musket. I’m pretty sure she just uses one bullet and can fire it as many times as she pleases, but she was literally singing songs from the opera and it seemed kind of superfluous to have her foil two separate attack by the Navy. The first one showed us that conventional forces wouldn’t get the job done, so the second one only makes sense if Kouta Hirano was just trying to add to the count.

Then Alucard arrives aboard a modified SR-71 Blackbird. At 85,000 ft in the air, he’s out of range, but then he nosedives onto the deck of the ship. Rip fires again to destroy the Blackbird before it crashes into them. Five.

Alucard survives the crash and wipes out all of Rip’s soldiers while she has a panic attack. Cornered, she finally gathers her wits and attacks Alucard. Her bullet hurts him, but he eventually catches it in his teeth, neutralizing her weapon and leaving her at his mercy. That’s shot number six.

I was hoping this shot would be the seventh, since the seventh bullet in Der Freischütz belongs to the devil, and Alucard caught this one in his teeth, but no. Then I remembered that the musket gets fired one last time...

... in London, when Alucard releases the familiars of all the victims he’s consumed over the centuries, including Rip Van Winkle. She fires the musket once more, but this time it’s Alucard directing the shot into the helicopters of the Ninth Crusade. Shot number seven is at the discretion of the devil himself, and “Dracula” is a diminutive of “Dracul”, a Romanian word for “devil”. Neat stuff.

Okay, so now let’s talk about Seras, because that’s kind of my jam. What’s the deal with this line? “Her existence is somewhat of a marvel. You could say it’s somewhat of a joke. Perhaps she herself has not even noticed yet!!”

That’s the Major discussing Sir Integra and Seras in Volume 5. He stresses that neither is to be underestimates, and I think he makes a good case for Integra, but with Seras he never actually comes to the point. So what’s up with that?

Of course, there’s the truth we saw in the final battle. Once she finally drank blood of her own volition, Seras became a full-on vampire and one of the most powerful warriors on the field. She destroyed the Captain quite handily, and he was the strongest guy Millennium had. But this seems a tad obvious? Why not just spell it out for Zorin. “Hey, our intel says she’s weaker than expected because she won’t drink blood, but that could change at a moment’s notice, and she’s still strong enough to take down a lot of our soldiers, so proceed with caution.”

I’m not saying the Major is wrong. He told Zorin not to engage, and he made the right call. I’m just wondering what the “joke” is exactly.

I think it might be one of two things. By the end of Hellsing, Seras demonstrates a similar level of ability to Alucard. Sunlight appears to have no effect on her, she can summon familiars like Alucard, and regenerate her wounds with great alacrity. I’m pretty sure she’d be about as hard to kill as Alucard himself, which Integra said was a product of Hellsing “enhancements”, rather than natural vampire power. Except Seras was never “enhanced”, she seems to have just inherited these “super-vampire” powers from Alucard when he turned her. The Major and Doctor may have anticipated this, and the “joke” was that Seras could completely upset the balance of their plans, except she’s too squeamish to drink the blood that would make this possible.

Or, the joke might be that Alucard turned Seras at all. He just sort of did this out of nowhere, and I’m pretty sure no one saw that coming. Millennium and Walter had been keeping tabs on Hellsing for decades, and not much changed until Alucard decided to add Seras to the group. The vampires in Millennium’s Last Battalion were all produced through the Doctor’s artificial vampire research, which was based upon intense study of Mina Harker, the last person Alucard turned into a vampire before he met Seras.

So from that standpoint, Seras represents a superior version of Mina, who represents the ideal that the Doctor was trying to achieve. At best, his finest artificial vampires could only be as strong as Mina Harker, and Seras got that way in one night by a twist of fate.

I guess there’s no way to be sure what the Major meant. I checked the OVA subs and dubs and they basically repeat the same line, so there’s nothing for me to triangulate there. And maybe it only refers to Seras being a joke in the sense that she was mostly comic relief up to that point. Even that badass moment she had against Jan Valentine’s ghouls probably didn’t impress anyone at the Millennium office.

Finally, I checked out Hellsing: The Dawn, and it really wasn’t worth the trouble. I couldn’t find any official English release, so I sort of gave up on it, but I finally ran across it last week and decided to check it out.

Basically, it’s only six chapters, and very little actually gets done in those six chapters. I’m not sure if Kouta Hirano is just running super late on the thing, of if he abandoned it completely, but my guess is he got this far in and decided there really wasn’t any point in continuing.

Let me break it down for you.

Chapter 1: Walter is sent to the Major’s facility in Warsaw, to destroy the vampire research. He jumps out of a plane with Alucard’s coffin.

Chapter 2: The Doctor reports on his progress to the Major, and they briefly discuss “She” aka Mina Harker. From what I gather, Mina is still alive/undead in 1944. Then Walter crashes into their facility and declares his intentions to kill them all.

Chapter 3: The Major is impressed with Walter’s power and offers him a place in his command. Walter refuses and the Major leaves him to die at the hands of the Captain.

Chapter 4: Walter fights the Captain, and Alucard finally emerges from his coffin in Girlycard form.

Chapter 5: Walter and Alucard fight the Captain, who now stands revealed as a werewolf. The Major somehow recognizes Alucard on sight and takes an interest in observing the battle.

Chapter 6: Alucard leaves to go hunt down the Captain’s superiors, leaving Walter to fight alone. Alucard then encounters Rip van Winkle and defeats her with ease. He seems like he’s about to kill her when some menacing figures approach from the shadows...

In other words, not a whole lot actually happens that we couldn’t have guessed from the original Hellsing manga. At the rate he was going, it would have taken Hirano maybe 30 or 40 chapters to actually get to anything truly juicy, and I’m not sure the audience would have wanted to wait around for that. The main problem is that we already know how this ends. None of the good guys or bad guys die, because they all show up in Hellsing 55 years later. The Major will lose badly enough that he has to evacuate the whole operation to Brazil, and that interests me because somehow he has to lose this battle, but not so badly that he can’t escape.

What disappoints me is that there’s really only three things of interest about this part of the Hellsing mythos: Walter’s decision to betray England, Alucard’s relationship with Walter, and the Major’s relocation from Euope to South America. The Dawn appears to gloss over all of these. The Major asks Walter to switch sides in their very first encounter. Walter refuses, but we know he’ll say yes later, so there doesn’t feel like there’s any conflict to this. So far, Walter comes off like a little shithead, so if he changes his mind at the end of this story it’ll seem completely capricious. I’d like to think the Major could say something persuasive to convince him, or Alucard could piss Walter off enough to push him into the Major’s arms, but none of that seems to be happening.

The Girlycard form is taken completely for granted. Al shows up and Walter immediately takes offense. He knows Alucard doesn’t normally look like this and he sees no reason for this new look. Al just says the same thing he says about it in 1999, that form and appearance mean nothing to him. Well if it doesn’t mean anything to Alucard or Walter, what’s the point?

The way I always imagined it, the Girlycard form had a lot of emotional baggage for Walter. I figured he met Alucard in this form, and they spent some time together hunting down the Major. Walter fell in love with Girlycard, even though he should have known better, and when Alucard finally abandoned the form, he knew that there was no way his feelings would ever be returned. And this would build resentment within Walter, making him more interested in joining the Major.

Instead, none of that seems to be happening. This is just one big long fight in one building. Hirano already threw his biggest gun at Walter, so there’s no buildup to the Captain. Alucard won’t fight the Captain, but it’s unclear what else he’s supposed to do instead. There might be a good story in all of this, but these first six chapters don’t encourage me. Also, they keep jumping over to check in on Arthur Hellsing in London. I don’t think this guy is Integra’s father, but maybe her grandfather had the same first name? He looks cool, but he has nothing to do. He’s like thousands of miles removed from the action, so anything he says or does just comes back to him talking about how tough and cool Walter is. So yeah, I think The Dawn is a huge waste of time, and maybe Kouta Hirano reached the same conclusion.

And... yeah, that’s all I’ve got. In May, I’ll be liveblogging another comic. Will it be as successful? Only time will tell...

#2021hellsingliveblog #hellsing #hellsing: the dawn #alucard #rip van winkle #seras victoria #walter c dornez

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astarryon · 4 years

Text

1980s Horror Film

No Good Deed

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: typical criminal minds stuff

Chapter Summary: You’re beginning to think your unadulterated hatred for unknown phone calls is actually justified.

A/N: The first installment of my Halloween inspired mini series! This fic was dreamt up during a very long, very intoxicated conversation with @johnmulaneyslut and my mind hasn’t been able to focus on anything else since! I hope y’all enjoy, and if you want me to add you to this fic’s masterlist, shoot me an ask or a message!

Masterlist

—

“There are horrors beyond life’s edge that we do not suspect, and once in a while man’s evil prying calls them just within our range.”

- H.P. Lovecraft

—

The agents were starting to get on your nerves.

There really wasn’t any good reason for it. They were being perfectly kind — when they bothered to talk to you like you were actually in the room, that is, though with three other victims of the deceased variety and a serial killer actively gunning for you, you figure you shouldn’t take that too personally — and the one named Jennifer had asked more times in the last hour than anyone else in your life had in maybe, well, ever if there was anything she could get you. You declined each time, sometimes rudely, sometimes in defeat, but that never stopped her coming back to ask again. When this was all over — and you prayed that an end would come quickly, if only so you could go back to not being quite so on edge — you’d need to be sure to thank her for all her efforts to make you comfortable.

But that wouldn’t come until later, when you were safe, and each of the agents in the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI didn’t pause every six seconds to analyze you in some attempt to figure out the psyche of the serial killer gunning to cut you open. In some ways, you understood — you were, currently, the only direct key they had to understanding how the serial killer who was after you selected his victims, though it wasn’t like you could answer any of the questions they had about the matter. Just because you understood, though, didn’t make the wandering eyes any less irritating, and you were counting yourself lucky that they were all just about to head home for the night so you wouldn’t have to worry about snapping in the next few hours.

“Okay,” Jennifer began as she approached, yet another kind smile occupying her features. “I’m stepping out for the night. The rest of the team will be leaving shortly, but our colleague Agent Anderson won’t be far. If there’s anything he can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You try for a small smile of thanks, but it’s hard to say whether it reaches your eyes. Judging by the poorly concealed concern in Jennifer’s gaze, you don’t think it does. “Thanks, but I’m all set. I already got this cozy cot set up in your boss’ office. What more could a girl ask for?”

Jennifer frowns, something like guilt tightening her perfect features. “I know the situation isn’t ideal, but this is—“

“The safest place for me to be, especially since this psycho likes to strike at night,” you sigh, unable to help a dejected roll of your eyes. “I know. I’m grateful, truly, but this still isn’t exactly what I would call great.”

“We’re gonna catch him,” Jennifer assures you. She sounds so resolutely positive that you’re inclined to believe her, even though there’s the issue that they still can’t even tell you who he is. “Just… try and get some rest tonight, okay? You’re safe here. I’ll have whoever from the team leaves last come check on you one last time before they head out. Good night.”

“Night,” you tell her, and she smiles one last time at you before heading out the office door, once again leaving you to your lonesome.

You should try to get your mind off it, you know. Thinking of something else was imperative to getting to sleep for the night, and though that was the last thing on your mind right now, trying to wind down was certainly more productive thank sinking into your own body numbing panic. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done, and now that you were by yourself, you had all the time in the world to think.

Someone wanted you dead. Someone out there in the world, someone you’d had contact with in your daily life, someone wanted to kill you. You hadn’t managed to get much information out of anybody — There’s no point in working yourself up over it, Jennifer had told you. You’d wanted to scream at her, tell her she’d be of a different opinion if she was the one whose life was hanging in the balance, but you’d managed to hold yourself back. Though you had every excuse in the book to lose your cool, she didn’t deserve you your verbal abuse. Even in your state of frightened paranoia, you could recognize that none of this was her fault.

Why this was happening to you, you didn’t know. You wished you did. If whatever was making you a target for the rampaging serial killer was something changeable, you’d take care of it in a heartbeat. If it was the way you dressed, you’d fix it. If it was your willingness to be kind to strangers, you’d be meaner. Anything, anything to get you out of this terrifying mess. Anything that meant you got to go home and sleep in your own bed and not have to worry about whether someone was going to break in to your apartment and—

“Are you doing okay?”

The gentle voice startled you out of your reverie, though you couldn’t help flinching out of reflex at the sudden intrusion despite how quietly it had been spoken. Blinking yourself back into focus, your eyes shot over to the door, where you found the tall, lanky frame of one of the BAU agents taking up space in the doorway. The one with softer features than the rest, though you didn’t know whether that spoke more to his youth or his naivety. The one with a certain boyish quality about him that you couldn’t quite place, though he carried his head high and had a surprisingly confident set to his jaw, one that contrasted directly with the sheepish, almost bashful tone of voice he’d had when speaking to you. The one whose name you couldn’t quite recall, which was a testament to the ordeal you’d been through in the past few hours because you’d never be careless enough to forget the name of such a beautiful man on any regular day.

The itch of tears trailing down your skin brought you back to your senses, and as you reached up to swat them away, you realized there was no way he hadn’t seen them. “Just peachy,” you snarked, instantly feeling badly over the tone you’d taken. Whatever; there was nothing to be done for it now, and you could agonize over your rudeness when a pretty stranger wasn’t busy witnessing your terror. “Really just having the time of my life. Can’t you tell?”

And you swear if you concentrate, really concentrate, you can just make out the ghost of an amused smile curling the corners of his lip upward in response to your bitter attempt at sarcastic humor, but it quickly becomes overshadowed with concern at spying the tears still brimming in your eyes. “Sorry to interrupt it,” he murmurs, stepping out of the entrance and closing the door behind him, and something about his tone is so meaningful that you believe he’s genuine. He detours by the desk at the far side of the room to pick up the box of tissues sitting on its corner before making his way over to you and setting them on the filing cabinet just beside your cot. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. Agent Jareau asked if I would check in on you before I went home for the night.”

You blink, reaching for a tissue and wiping the rest of your tears away, thankful that this man is kind enough not to force you to talk about your emotional state. At his introduction, though, you pause, the familiarity of the name taunting at something in your mind. “You… you’re the one who called me. Before.”

Spencer nods leaning his weight against the filing cabinet he’d set the tissues on and absentmindedly tucking a particularly unruly strand of hair behind his ear. “That was me,” he confirms, leveling another kind smile your way. “I, um, I was actually the one to get you out of your house, too, but… I mean, you were pretty upset, so you might not remember much of that.”

The unfortunate truth, actually, was that you remembered Spencer collecting you from your home and escorting you into the protective arms of the FBI a little too well. More specifically, you remembered having nothing short of a mental breakdown on the phone at the news that a serial killer was targeting you, looking to murder you in some horrible, awfully gruesome manner, and all for some reason that Dr. Reid had declined to inform you of over the phone. He’d been kind enough to talk you through all your debilitating paranoias, kind enough to stay on the phone with you until he’d gotten to your home with his partner — Morgan, if you remembered correctly — and rushed in to make sure you were in one piece. Though he’d told you on the phone that they were just outside, though he’d warned you that they’d be coming in to collect you and take you into protective custody, you’d still lost your mind at the sight of a stranger in your home and immediately rushed him, kicking and screaming and begging for your life, your safety, your… well. Everything, really.

Luckily for Spencer, you were a horrible right hook and ended up doing more damage to yourself than to him, but unluckily for you, you’d been out of your mind in that moment, and had lost the impulse for self preservation. Spencer had calmed you down and restrained you long enough to stop your attempts at gouging his eyes out in self defense, but every last bit of composure you’d been clinging to instantly vanished, and you’d been left a bawling mess, falling apart in the loose, awkward embrace of his arms as you begged him not to let anything happen to you, as you desperately implored him to keep you safe.

More than a little embarrassing once you’d managed to calm down, to say the least.

“Right,” you muttered, dropping your eyes to the floor. It was nothing against Spencer, with his kind eyes and reassuring expression, but you were just about at your wit’s end, here, and you really didn’t have enough composure left in you to be the sweet, dainty girl you assumed he’d enjoy interacting with. “Well, all things considered, I’m just fine. So, if that’s all…”

Instead of taking the hint, instead of leaving you to your solitude and allowing you to wallow in your misery, Spencer simply readjusted his position against the filing cabinet and folded his hands together. “I’m… Look, I don’t mean to pry, but you’re crying, and I… kind of get the feeling that when you say you’re fine, you’re not really telling me the truth.”

“An astute observation, Dr. Reid,” you muttered, wringing your hands together. “Really, someone ought to give you a medal.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind passing that along to my boss,” Spencer chuckles, and the gentle joke is so at odds with the defensiveness that anyone else would have responded with that it practically jolts you into civility. By the time you realize this, he’s already shifted from the filing cabinet to sitting at the edge of your cot. Not quite close enough to invoke feelings of familiarity, but just enough to let you know that if you want to, you can confide in him. And, it’s silly, but you kind of think you want to. “So… you don’t have to tell me why you’re crying—“

“Oh, thank you for the permission.”

“— but if you want to,” Spencer presses on, “I’m here to listen. No offense, but I imagine pretending nothing’s bothering you gets to be exhausting after a little while.”

“You’d be the expert,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest, but you turn more fully to face where Spencer’s seated himself.

He was being kind to you — that alone was reason enough to grasp at some manners and stop being so defensive, but there was another, more personally beneficial one as well. Jennifer had been awfully tight lipped about the man pursuing you — who he was, what he did to his victims, why he was so interested in you. But… Spencer wasn’t Jennifer. Spencer also felt kind of bad for you. Taking all that into consideration, maybe he would be more willing to give you the answers you were looking for.

More willing, and more interested.

“You know, I do have a few questions” you begin, hugging your legs to your chest and tucking your chin against your knee. You wondered if you looked as small and pathetic as you felt. “I don’t… know that you’d be willing to answer any of them, though.”

Spencer arches a brow at you, and you subconsciously take note of the way that his eyes narrow the slightest bit, though it’s hard to tell whether that’s fascination or a sweeter kind of curiosity. “Well, I can’t try to answer them until you try asking them.”

Alright, well. Worth a shot at least.

“I was wondering...” You trail off and set your jaw, clearing your throat before trying again. “I want to know about the man who’s trying to kill me.”

—

#spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #cm #mgg #matthew gray gubler #mini series #this fic is partially inspired by the songs 1980s horror film and drunk on halloween by wallows #tis the season i guess #mystery #angst #thriller

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maribabyart · 4 years

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Do you have any Demon Martha headcanons? How do you think her reunion with Mrs. Mayberry (The teacher who paid for her assassination) in hell would go?

OK YES I HAVE HEADCANONS FOR THIS HERE WE GO --

MARTHA HEADCANONS <3

So, I’m gonna start with her before she died so I can fully get into why every part of her is the way she is as a demon.

Martha is light skinned Latina woman with family coming from Venezuela. Her mother has a much darker skin tone than her, but her father is far more light-skinned, where she gets her complexion from. While she was raised in America, her parents were immigrants. She was born at home, and she didn’t get a birth certificate until she was four, the year before she started schooling.

She has three older brothers. They were very rambunctious with Martha as a child, pulling pranks on her/with her, taking her hunting, etc.

She was raised out on a farm in the middle of a forested area in Kentucky. They raised cattle, sheep, chickens, and horses. Martha’s main job on the farm was to groom/ride horses and feed chickens.

She learned her sharp-shooter skills in a more intense version of something like 4H unique to her area. She was fantastic with a bow and arrow, and even better with her firearms.

Cannibalism was normalized in Martha’s life from a young age. She knew that it must be kept secret from the outside world, and that it wasn’t accepted. However, it wasn’t something she found to be horrid.

Her family -- and their close friends -- came from a long lineage of Satanic cultists that practiced cannibalism to purge any bit of, “soul” remaining in the corpses of their sacrifices. Due to this, Martha had evolved to be able to be immune to the ill side effects of cannibalism, along with the ability to not feel repulsed by the idea of eating human meat.

Her favorite part of the body growing up was the brain, and it still is to this day. She loves the frontal lobe slathered in spices and hot sauce.

She began her cultish killings at age fourteen, when she officially joined the cult of her family’s descent -- Compañerismo de la Fruta Prohibida (Fellowship of the Forbidden Fruit, a refrence to their following of Lucifer)

Martha didn’t love Raphael Peterson, or, “Ralphie”. She was married of to him at age sixteen, when she became a, “Woman” in the cult��s eyes. They were both meant to appear as an ideal couple so that people wouldn’t suspect them, as their parents before them have.

Ralph and Martha always saw each other as friends with benefits.

They moved to Dayton, Tennessee to start their family when they turned eighteen.

In Nashville, Martha started singing to music her husband played in Taverns. Think Dolly Parton style music. She sounded a lot like that.

Their first child was born when Martha was eighteen: Their daughter, Jolene Peterson. Two years later, they had their son, Beau Peterson.

Martha was always really involved with her kids’ school activities, and she was always volunteering to work events, and her kids were in every activity they could be.

She used her physical attractiveness to seduce and kill men.

While sex favorable, Martha is on the aspec -- greysexual (sexual pleasure is irrelevant to her, and she only engages in it to appease her partner generally. She only finds sexual attraction in people while in the act.) Because of this fact, Martha only has affairs for the sake of gaining trust to bring the men home so they can be killed and eaten.

When Martha was shot, the community villainized Mrs. Mayberry because the town darling, Martha Jane Nunez Robles-Peterson, would NEVER cheat, right? The situation was misread: Martha was just talking to Jarold Mayberry that night about t-ball-related things, right? He WAS the the little league captain for her 6-year-old-son’s league, wasn’t he?

Martha was gifted millions by the community, and people were insanely supportive of her. They wanted the sweet Martha they, “knew” to get better soon. They loved her so -- such a darling woman!

Her music became more well known, and soon, Martha was all over TV. Her big musical break came from when she auditioned for American Idol and made it. Her sob-story propelled her, and she eventually won.

Martha was a hero to everyone around her -- surviving a traumatic event that was uncalled for, while also being so damn chipper and kind.

Hell, did you guys see the background in one of those scenes?! Martha was canonly proclaimed a SAINT! People loved her that much.

She used the public trust to lure in more victims and never be suspected.

Martha was 28 when she died. Ralphie was 28 as well. Jolene was 10, and Beau was 8.

Ralphie managed to survive the explosion, albeit he was completely paralyzed, and the two children went to heaven. Ralphie repented during his last month alive, and confessed to his crimes. He was sent to heaven as well.

Martha and the children were declared to have died in a bear attack, as Compañerismo de la Fruta Prohibida covered up their true demise with ease.

People were heart broken -- Martha’s music was used in sad collages on Youtube, Tik Toks had Martha’s face in them for memorials.

No one ever realized her crimes.

Now! As a demon....

In hell, Martha picked up the alias Hero -- it’s what she was in life, right? I’ll be calling her Hero from now on.

Hero is both different and similar to how she was when she was alive. She’s still the got her kind-hearted, southern mama vibe going for her: She tends to be able to fit into any demonic crowd well, either by attractiveness or by sheer, overwhelming allure -- she’s a very magnetic personality.

As far as powers go, Hero’s are mostly related to firearms. She’s acquired these powers through deal making and soul dealing, as most demons do. Her charming aura very quickly lure people into thinking she’s naive or really just being honest with them.

Her nails can peel back to allow her to shoot from, “finger guns”. Each finger is a different gun, besides her middle and index fingers. They are both shotguns. Together, they make a double barrel shotgun.

When in full demonic form, Hero’s bandages become sentient. They peel away from her wound, revealing a minigun like weapon in the hole in her head. This can rapid fire while the bandages can grab onto things or hoist Hero up. She can make this last for five minutes -- ten at the longest -- before she gives out to sheer exhaustion and needs to eat demon meat to replenish herself.

Within her first week in hell, she was known to be powerful. Not quite an overlord, but powerful enough to hang around overlords.

She hit overlord status three months later, during the terf war seen in Hazbin Hotel’s pilot: She took several areas of land, and was seen to have several lesser demons flocking to be on her good side.

Hero used her land to build up a bar and grill that serves strictly demon meat and blood, where demons can play music and dance. It’s like a fucked up country dinner. It’s an insanely popular addition to Cannibal Colony, where she lives.

The place is called La Cocina de la Calle Kuru (The Kuru Street Kitchen)

Hero REALLY wants to get her hands on exterminator tools, but she’s not really a fan of black market deals -- it’s too “trashy” for her.

Hero knows Alastor pretty well, as he’s came in for meat and to watch the music. They’ve had pretty decent conversations while she was on break, seeing as they were both influential southern, cannibalistic serial killers. It’s a running gag between them where they jokingly talk about who was more iconic -- “I bet I took out more belles in a lifetime than you could in your entire afterlife!” “Well hon, at least I could eat the brains without gettin’ Kuru!”

She talks to Rosie a lot about business, and has met Niffty and Mimzy before. (Al hooked a bitch up with some friends lmao)

She REALLY likes Mimzy. She reminds her of Ralphie, and they became super fast friends.

Vox and Hero have a confusing sort of friendship, as neither really wants to be seen with the other -- In his case, because she’s much lower on the overlord spectrum than him, and in her case, because she’s no stranger to Alastor and Vox’s hatred for one another. However, she often finds herself consoling Vox on sleepless nights after closing up the bar, trying to convince him that Valentino is NOT worth his time. Beyond that and him occasionally paying her back in tech at random hours of the morning, they don’t talk often.

Hero LOVES dancing! Like, a lot.

She’s seen Charlie’s ad for the Happy Hotel. Her and Mimzy watched it, and they both thought it was the stupidest damn thing they’d ever seen. However, Hero said she was happy Charlie got up there, because she was just, “Cute as a button, that lil’ sweatpea was!”

Hero’s best friends are Mimzy and an unnamed demon who specializes in black market, extermination tool selling (the one seen in in Addict -- Cherri Bomb’s former lover).

These two people, and these two people alone, can call her “Martha”

Hero cooks whenever she’s stressed. She also adores sewing and binging soap operas and reality shows on Voxflix.

Hero’s Instagram would be, “HeroicMelodies” in reference to her music career and name.

Hero gets hit on A LOT, and she despises it. She doesn’t need to seduce people anymore to get away with murder, and she doesn’t want to. She dresses the way she does because she LIKES that clothing. People can fuck off.

The reason Hero is white and pink is to show how innocent she looks. Her pitch-black eyes show her dark soul.

Hero sings in Spanish to herself when cleaning up.

Sometimes, Hero and Rosie spend holidays going around with ground demon meat to throw to the hell crows and other critters. They find it peaceful.

Hero, shockingly, holds no hatred for I.M.P., and commonly jokes about how the I.M.P.’s, “Did her a favor” by sending her somewhere she can actually be her. She has no idea who called for the hit, though.

Hero finds Blitzo’s Instagram posts being poorly spelled to be, “Damn near precious”.

She thinks he’s a teenager, and probably would think it less adorable if she knew he was a grown man with a grown kid.

Hero doesn’t care about Mrs. Mayberry at all. Like, at all. She honestly assumes the woman is in heaven. She knew Mayberry wasn’t bad -- she probably wouldn’t care if she was in hell, though. Oh well. Sucks to suck, bitch.

Husk frequents La Cocina de la Calle Kuru to drink and engage in the gambling scene. Hero finds him trashy, but can’t say she hates him. She finds him funny as hell, and enjoys the business. Just not someone she’d personally hang out with.

#Helluva Boss #Hazbin Hotel #Martha #Demon! Martha #Hero #Alastor #Vox #Rosie #Husk #Niffty #Mimzy #Headcanons #Head canons #AU #Sort off?#Hell #Mrs. Mayberry #Ralphie #Murder Family

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