#jennifer holding the skeleton’s hand is taking me out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

psychedellic-phase · 4 years

Text

Ghosts & Icing

A/N: this request is adorable and I hope I did it justice!! I went with the seasons 12-15 gang because then there would be a ton of kiddos and also I love Luke Alvez and he deserves the world :)

TW: None fluff city

wc: 2.0k

Masterlist

“Spence, where does the green skeleton go? Between the pumpkins or next to the gargoyle?” You called up to Spencer, waddling over to the many boxes of Halloween decorations that your husband had accumulated over the years.

It was barely September 30th, and you were already decorating for his most beloved holiday. You didn’t mind; you loved him and he loved Halloween. So, naturally, you loved Halloween too. Before you met Spencer, you hadn’t even so much as carved a pumpkin each year, and the last time you wore a costume was at a college frat party. Well, if wearing a set of cat ears and drawn on eyeliner whiskers can even be considered a costume. According to Spencer Reid, it is not. But here you were, wearing a shirt covered in jack-o-lanterns and ghosts that barely fit over your protruding belly. Oh how life can change.

Spencer appeared seemingly out of thin air, looking frazzled, his hair more disheveled than usual, some fake cobwebs tangled in it, and orange lights draped around him like he was a Christmas tree.

“Don’t touch anything!”

You put your hands up in defeat, “Alright, I’ll let the Halloween king decorate his castle.”

You pottered over the front stoop, sitting on the hard concrete and watching him put fake cobwebs and oversized spiders in the bushes. You leaned back, rubbing your belly softly. It wasn’t that big, only twenty-four weeks, but you felt like you had stolen one of Spencer’s beloved pumpkins and shoved it under your shirt.

When you saw him again he was breathless. Only he could be overexerted from decorating.

“Should I put the tombstone next to the Frankenstein head? Or should I make a mini graveyard in the lawn?”

You grinned, admiring his child-like enthusiasm. He rarely had that anymore. Honestly, after all the real life horror he saw, you were surprised he still liked a jump scare. The second hand fear you felt for him everyday was more than enough; you didn’t need Freddy Krueger to supplement.

“I think you should do whatever you want, Babe.”

He groaned, “You’re no help!” “You’re the one that told me to not touch anything, Reid.”

He smiled, “You’re right, but now I need you to touch something.”

You wiggled your eyebrows and stood up, making your way to him. You smoothed out his sweaty t-shirt and moved his hair from his eyes, “I’ll touch whatever you want.”

He stifled a laugh, “I-I didn’t mean like that; that job has been done. I meant like you could put the ghosts along the walkway while I set up the orange and purple lights.” As soon as he finished saying it, the box of ghosts were in your hand and he was untangling lights.

“Hey! You forgot something!”

He stumbled over to you, looking side to side with wide eyes “What? What’d I forget?”

You puckered your lips and he smiled, planting a kiss on them.

“Thank you, and you better shower before everyone gets here. You stink Reid!”

“So do you, Reid! Love you!” He called after you before making his way back inside to find more decorations.

“Purple is the color of the seventh chakra, which represents the third eye and clairvoyance, so purple has become closely associated with the holiday as it is very spiritual in nature. Actually, purple has a rather complicated color symbolism because it is the mixture of calm blue and passionate red. The emotions attached to it vary, depending on whether or not it is a blue based purple or a red based purple. Which is actually an interesting conundrum when you look at the color spectrum-” Spencer rambled to the table of children and their parents who were just there to decorate sugar cookies and admire the ghost stickers on the walls.

Matt laughed, “Thanks for that, Reid. But I think Kristy was just complimenting the lights on the mantle.”

Everyone laughed and Spencer flushed a light shade of pink. You came up to him and admired the mess of a kitchen table in front of you.

On one side were the Jareau-LaMontagnes. Henry was old enough to try to make a ghost, but Michael was still too little to sit in his own seat. He was on Will’s lap, patting his hands on orange sprinkles and watching them stick to his little palms. Then he would clap and watch them fall to the ground around him, giggling every time.

“I’m real sorry about the mess, Y/N,” Will said in his sweet southern drawl.

You smiled, “Hey, I said we’d host Halloween cookie day. I’m more than happy to clean it up. Plus, it’s practice for this guy.” You patted your belly and he smiled.

On the opposing side of the table was the ever growing Simmons clan. David and Jake were squeezing green icing out of bags trying to make Frankensteins, and their younger sisters were hogging all the purple and drawing flowers on the cookies shaped like bats.

The kids weren’t the only ones having fun though. You set up a separate table for the adults. It was kind of like those wine and art nights, but in this case the art was edible.

Penelope got the short end of the stick (in her book at least) and was sitting next to Luke, aka Newbie, “You cannot just hog all the red icing! I swear to GOD Luke Alvez!”

Luke puckered up his face and mocked Penelope, “I swear to GOD Luke Alvez!”

“Oh SHUT UP SHUT UP! Just because you’re all macho and handsome doesn’t mean you get to hog all the icing!”

“Maybe you wouldn’t need the red icing if you hadn’t insisted on making the skull rainbow.”

Penelope groaned and looked across the room at you and Spencer, begging you to help her. The two of you just laughed and you leaned into Spencer’s side.

“When do you think she’ll finally admit she’s in love with him?”

Spencer laughed, putting his hand on the small of your back, “Never. Garcia is many things, and stubborn is one of them.”

Rossi was next to them, sitting back and not participating in the icing war that was going on in front of him. He just warned them that they better not get any on his brand new Italian silk shirt.

“It’s handmade, you know, only fifteen were even made. I had to call a guy who knows a guy who knows the maker’s sister to get one.”

JJ rolled her eyes, “Sure Rossi, and this shirt was actually worn by the Queen of England.”

She gestured to the black shirt she was wearing which clearly said, “Happy Halloween Witches!”

Dave scoffed, “Listen, Jennifer, I know Liz well. She would never wear something that tried to replace the word ‘bitches’ with ‘witches’. She’s classy.”

JJ laughed, taking another gulp of wine, “Liz? So what… you guys are on a first name basis?”

He shrugged, “Let’s just say, if Philip wasn’t in the picture…”

They were interrupted by Henry coming up to his mom and showing her the ghost cookie he had tried to make, “Do you like it, mom?”

“Wow dude! That is one scary ghost,” she said, taking it from him and licking some stray icing off her fingers.

He grinned proudly, and insisted on showing his favorite Uncle Spencer.

“Uncle Spence! Come look at my ghost!”

Spencer looked over at you, silently asking for permission to leave your side. You smiled and waved your hand, “Go! But please don’t get black icing on the ceiling again. This year, you’ll be the one cleaning it.”

He smiled and sat at the ridiculously small kids chair, looking like a giant, and picked up a few piping bags to make his own creation.

Suddenly Emily and Tara appeared next to you, holding an empty bottle of wine, “We need a refill, Mrs. Reid.”

You still blushed at the use of your married name, no matter how many times you heard it, “Follow me to the wine cellar, ladies!”

The two of them followed behind you as you walked carefully down the steps, “Spencer usually doesn’t let me down here. He says the steps are unsafe.”

“Uh, yeah, if I had known how narrow and steep they were I would’ve just asked you to direct me,” Tara said, looking for the light switch on the wall. She found it and soon the three of you were staring at the dark walls of the basement.

“Okay, maybe I lied. It isn’t so much a wine cellar as it is just a regular, creepy old basement.”

“Full of spiders,” Emily added, swatting at a cobweb on the extremely low ceiling. Spencer had to crouch when he came down here.

“That’s what you get for buying a house built in 1920, Y/N,” Tara added, as they both began sifting through the stray bottles of wine in a box on the floor.

“I know, but Spencer insisted because it ‘adds character.’”

“Being married to that man, I don’t know how much more character you need,” Emily said, pulling out a bottle of cheap Barefoot red wine, “I bet you miss this.”

You rubbed your belly, “I said I’m bringing a bottle of wine in my hospital bag.”

Tara laughed, “And what did Dr. Reid say to that? ‘Actually, Y/N, you can’t have alcohol in the hospital.’”

“No, no, I bet it was more like, ‘did you know that alcohol is a depressant? It slows down your cognitive functions, thus making it much harder to care for a newborn baby.’”

“Hey! Stop making fun of my husband!” you said, the two women looking as if they’d just seen a ghost, which was rather fitting for the occasion, “Only I get to do that!”

The three of you laughed and they helped you hobble up the stairs, where you were met by a sight you wished you hadn’t seen.

The first person you saw was Matt, white icing all over his red shirt and arms, and Kristy laughing next to him, using a finger to swipe some up and put it in her mouth. Next were the four Simmons children, each with varying amounts and colors of icing and sprinkles all over them. Then you saw Will, who for some reason had a chunk of cookie in his hair, and Michael on his shoulders. JJ was behind them, grabbing Michael’s hands and trying to wipe all the stickiness he had accumulated off of them.

Next was Rossi, who had an unmistakable drop of red icing on the arm of his Italian silk shirt. If he was a cartoon character, he would’ve had steam coming out of his ears. Garcia and Luke were next to him, each looking mortified and blaming the other. Garcia was smacking his arm lightly and Luke was shielding his face.

Then your eyes found the person you always looked for when you entered a room, and Spencer looked the worst of them all. His fluffy hair was matted down in places with green icing, cookie crumbs all over his cheeks and stuck in his scruff. His sweater was once cream colored, but now it was a mixture of green, purple, black, and gray. His hands were covered in icing and sprinkles and he was spinning Henry around in a circle.

You stood there and admired the scene in front of you for a moment, before Tara cleared her throat.

“What is going on here?”

Everyone stopped, and immediately Henry spoke, “He did it!”

He pointed straight at Spencer, who put his hands up, “Me? What’d I do?”

“Uncle Spencer started a food fight!”

“No, I think it was Garcia,” Rossi said and the room fell into a roar of laughter; Tara and Emily eager to get in on the fun and dip their own hands into some icing.

You admired them all one more time, rubbing your belly softly, before also diving head first into a mess of sprinkles and ghost shaped cookies.

This was your family, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #spencer x you #spencer #dr spencer reid #cm #criminal minds #cm fic #criminal minds fic #matthew gray gubler

287 notes · View notes

themilky-way · 4 years

Text

toil and trouble

gif credit: toyboxboy

pairing: spencer reid x gn! reader

summary: soulmate au!: halloween only comes once a year, and what it brings around tonight is a little more than just scary movies and ghost stories. based on this ask.

warnings: none i think. pretty sure this is gender neutral reader so i labeled it as such :)

author’s note: THIS IS SO BAD AND SHORT IM SORRY BYE

----------

none of it had been planned. as much as the team persisted that it’d been garcia’s idea, it wasn’t truly anybody’s. to have a simple gathering amongst coworkers to celebrate halloween had been a unanimous decision, one that required the toughest of the toughest to fit themselves into a costume. rossi had proposed his apartment as the location seeing as most of his team’s reunions predominantly occurred there. penelope being her usual preppy self volunteered to decorate, and so she set off to hang orange fairy lights, spooky props with boisterous sound effects, and to throw in a touch of her own glam, a couple of glittery jack-o-lanterns.

the rest of the unit debated between their most normal choices, and for a while they were puzzled as to what might be the right pick, but the date came too quickly. on halloween night, hotch appeared at the doorway dressed in his traditional suit and tie, claiming to be “too busy” to fix up a costume, and shook hands with an italian renaissance painter, rossi. morgan invested his creativity in wearing a purge mask with all-black loungewear, while to accompany him came penelope as a cat. her faux whiskers aligned perfectly, her pink nose scrunching up at whatever corny joke rossi shared. then, her feline ears picked up the sound of her other two friends, and looking over, she came face-to-face with a ladybug and a fairy.

“oh, look at these pretty ladies! where did you get those wings?” she animately asked jj. “nevermind, not important-listen, stay away from morgan, he thinks he’s a murderer or something.”

“what?” emily chuckled. the three women turned to observe what garcia implied towards, and they all discovered said man- mask on and everything- hitting the italian bob ross with a foam stick of some kind. they couldn’t resist breaking out into fits of laughter, eyes glued to the scene before them. “is that a pool noodle?”

“yes, he’s bonking him,” garcia managed to voice. she reached out to grab a hold of each of her friend’s hands to guide them to the kitchen for drinks. still in the effects of what they’ve witnessed, emily grabbed four mugs out of a cherry-red, wooden cupboard-one of them for you, she’d pointed out-and placed them on the counter next to the stove. in the meantime, jj busied herself in making the hot chocolate in a large saucepan. “hey, do any of you guys want some?” one polite refusal came from her boss, and a couple grunts were heard from the men still fighting their dual. so, she continued her portions for her friends who had agreed, and although you still weren’t present, she’d added extra ingredients just in case.

soon enough, the delicious smell of her concoction started flowing across the apartment, the spicy tinges of cinnamon, mixed with the sweetness of the chocolate and sugar, were enough to settle any tricks at hand. garcia was finished organizing the desserts on a skeleton platter, indulging in one as she rested an elbow on the counter to observe her friend’s cooking.

“so, what’s in the cauldron, weird sisters?” you’d been sneaky enough to tread inside the kitchen without them noticing, rather odd considering they were supposed to notice a foreign presence. they’d each produced their very own distinct response: prentiss jumped up and reached for a nearby butterknife, jennifer dropped her spoon, and penelope choked on a crumb of cookie. “geez, relax! it’s just me, i swear!” you yelped.

“you have a mustache, who are you?!”

“you seriously don’t know- it’s me, for god’s sake!” confused by their newfound inability to actually recognize you, you removed the imitation hair on your upper lip along with your top hat. “see, i’m friendly.”

“young lady, do you want to make me go into cardiac arrest?”

“no, but it’s halloween, so why the hell not, huh?” that earned you a not-so-friendly punch from the analyst. “i’m friedrich nietzsche, by the way.”

the rest of the night flowed calmly. board games were brought out, popcorn was made, candy wrappers compiled in a large bundle in the middle of the circle-it was a familial setting, a warmth encircling the room as everyone participated in announcing eerie ghost tales or rolled their eyes at a silly dare. not everyone was exactly present, though; somewhere in the back of your head, there lurked a tiny worry surround spencer’s absence. if he really had turned down his invitation to come, he’d tell someone, right?”

“where’s reid-do you know?” you whispered to morgan, leaning in to the side to ensure your question’s safety.

“he’s running late. he should be here any minute,” the agent caught the expression of worry, a hint of disappointment lingering in your features at his response. being the teasing friend he was known to be, he continued, “why, you got a thing for him?”

“what, me? no, i don’t-i was just asking. just being a good friend.” he flashed you his infamous smile, one that knew what you truly felt despite your superficial attempts to disguise those feelings, but said nothing else.

eventually, it was your turn to refill the snack bowls. your suit fit loosely around your form to help you maneuver in the ways you needed to. at the moment, that was to stretch high enough to reach the top of rossi’s fridge, which was ridiculously tall compared to that man’s actual size. seriously, he was five inches shorter than you, how could he reach these damned boxes?

“here, let me help you.” you recognized it instantly, and what made you fall back wasn’t the voice’s spontaneity, but the hand that elongated to grasp whatever the hell you were there for. “here you go.”

struck by the sudden lack of speech, you looked at spencer up and down, then a few more times for further inspection before it hit you. bewildered by this-and you by his attire-the both of you widened your eyes and stepped back.

“you’re checking me ou-”

“-you’re friedrich nietzsche!” and alas, the young, oh-so-intelligent man took the liberty of scanning you over to observe your claim. it was as if he were looking into the mirror, minus the the ownership of his own fake facial hair and differing height.

“no way! are we-did we-?”

“he’s my favorite philosopher, i had to,” you clarified.

now aware he was still holding a box of cheez-it’s, spencer quickly handed it back to you, interlocking his hands behind his back in a nervous attempt to hide his coyness. “he’s my fav-uh-he’s my favorite, too,” he stuttered.

as much as you resisted not to, you beamed at his attempt to sustain his formality, and you didn’t really mind being dressed as a super-ideological crazy man from the victorian era because, well, he was dressed like one, too. he came forward to help you refill the plates once the awkwardness fled the kitchen, and amidst minor cleaning and trash-bag replacing, you learned he couldn’t find a mustache that resembled the one he wanted. the only right thing for you to do was offer yours to him, which prompted a neat rebuttal from reid, yet you kept insisting he take it until his only option was that.

on the way back, you sat alongside each other with penelope on your left and morgan on his right. unbeknownst to either of you, garcia tugged on your sleeve while morgan pulled on his ear.

“you know he’s your soulmate, right?-” she’d said to you.

“-pretty boy, you know what this means, right?”

and with the luminous rays of the full moon, and the fragrant aroma of autumn enveloping you both, you answered in hushed unison.

“yeah, i know exactly what this means.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #my writing!#spencer reid drabble

133 notes · View notes

introductions-are-a-spook · 3 years

Text

Reblogs and feedback always appreciated!

@kissthe-gogoat Let me know if you want to be added to / taken off the tag list!

Aqua eyes slowly opened, and a hand reached to a pair of glasses nearby. Maxwell blinked a few times, adjusting to the light streaming through his curtains. And then he paused.

There, sprawled out on his couch, was Andrew. Sleeping peacefully, a piece of sheet music held over his chest. He looked very sunny, with rays reflecting on his hair and making his cheeks glow. Maxwell sat on the edge of his bed, still in yesterday’s clothes, and gazed at the other man a little longer.

Nothing had happened, other than them staying up far too late to keep working on the piece, which they had finished. Luckily it was the weekend, and while they had slept late, they had slept well. Maxwell checked the clock. Eleven. Stretching his arms above his head and throwing on a robe, he went to the kitchen and began to make breakfast.

He thought about the day before. What had happened to wanting to bring the hammer down? He had investigated Andrew a grand total of once, and even then, what had he done- look around his house a bit? Read over the obligatory and lifeless reports on him from the police department? And yet even that pathetic inkling of progress had been squashed as soon as he looked into Andrew’s indigo eyes.

Meanwhile, those same eyes were just beginning to open on the couch upstairs. He sat up with a start, before recognizing his surroundings and relaxing. He rubbed his eyes and looked around for his glasses. Stumbling his way across the room, he finally found them on Maxwell’s bedside table. Why were these here? He took a moment to remind himself that nothing like that had yet happened.

Yet. And that was the problem. Andrew wasn’t going to lie to himself, he had had a liking for Maxwell for a long time. And now he was almost certain that Maxwell felt the same, Andrew selfishly wanted more.

And yet everything screamed at him to turn back. Yes, Antigone was now the obvious reason. Who knew what he had in store? He seemed to think of Andrew as a sort of unwitting lackey. He might hurt Maxwell, might force him into the same position. Might simply manipulate him into going away. But what about the simple fact that Maxwell was a detective? Andrew had not missed the repetition of his own name on Maxwell’s case pinboard. What if this whole relationship was a ploy for information?

Maybe it didn’t matter, Andrew told himself. It was too early to tell much about these things, but it wasn’t too soon to attempt to continue the relationship, that both undeniably wanted.

As he thought, he found that he had wandered downstairs. He smelled something that had a burnt twinge to it.

“Max? Is something burning?” he called as he walked into the kitchen.

“Not anymore,” indeed, there he was, body failing to block the view of a singed frying pan dropped in a pot of water. “And did you just call me ‘Max?’”

Andrew tried and failed not to laugh. “Um. Yeah, is that okay?”

Maxwell hesitated for a moment. “I suppose I don’t see why not, if it’s just you. Just don’t confuse me for the cat.”

“Cat? What ca-” Andrew was cut off when he felt something soft and warm rub against his leg. Indeed, a black cat had taken to purring at him.

“Her name is Maxie, so you don’t get to call me that. So does this mean I can call- are you even listening to me?” Andrew hummed a yes while sitting down and petting the cat, who now had happily crawled onto his lap. Max chuckled. “I see you two are friends now. But if you’re going to call me ‘Max’ then I’m going to call you ‘Andy.’”

Another hummed a yes and a pitiful ‘no’ as the cat got up, stretched, and trotted off to find it’s water. “Sounds good to me. And…”

“Yes?”

“Maybe you should let me do the cooking and baking from now on.”

Max blushed. “Fine.”

~*~

The two had spent the day together, in Max’s library (luckily none of his siblings were around to ruin the mood). Occasionally they would stop to go on a walk or get sweets at the closed bakery.

When evening rolled around, Andy proposed the idea of a third date. There was a dance that he was invited to that evening, and he needed a partner. Max cheerfully agreed and they set to getting ready and meeting back up again when they were done.

Both looked positively dashing as they walked into the dance hall, turning a few heads. The room itself was beautiful, lit by a chandelier and decorated by all manner of gold. Mediocre in the eyes of the rich, but paradise in the eyes of the average. Someone called to Andy, to explain who his new partner was. Max laughed and dropped his grip from Andy’s elbow to his hand. And so, the music, drinking, and fun began. The two danced their way through the first few songs, laughing and talking like any other couple in the room.

“God, my feet are getting tired,” Andy laughed. “Where’d you learn to dance like this?”

Max grinned tipsily and relaxed in Andy’s arms. “My mother tried to teach me, but it was my sibling Casey who made me keep going. I suppose it paid off.”

“Hell yeah it did! I’m sure as hell glad you…” Andrew trailed off, eyes transfixed on a woman across the room. Her fiery emerald eyes shot right through him, holding his gaze and promptly sobered him up.

But just as Maxwell began to ask what was wrong, the next song started and Andrew’s mind cleared. The dance had them switch partners every thirty seconds or so.

They flitted from person to person, a cycle that eventually led Andrew to the green-eyed lady. As soon as he was up close to her. he recognized her. She was at the house he tried to burgle, just before meeting Antigone! But more than that, she was… Okay, stay calm, it’ll be okay.

She glared at him as she quickly and resentfully spoke. “Well, if it isn’t Andrew Winston. I figured you’d want to spend your evening on another heist.”

“Jennifer McAllen! I haven’t seen you since, uh, a while ago! Gee, I don’t think I know-”

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean.”

Andrew was going to ask more questions, but the music forced them to move along. But instead of continuing on, he pulled her out into the hallway. Away from prying eyes and ears, he became much more serious.

“Alright, cut the crap, Jenny. What are you talking about? What do you know?” he snapped at her.

“What don’t I know, asshole! You left me three years ago, just like that, and now you break into my house! And then you have the audacity to strut around with a goddamn detective? Especially Chapman of all people, what the hell is wrong with you!” Andrew tried to protest, but she cut him off and shoved him away.

They used to be best friends- partners in crime, even- before they had the argument. Jennifer wanted to settle down a bit as they got older, go back to her life as a higher-up, but Andrew wanted to keep going full speed ahead. They couldn’t work it out, and so one night, Andrew snuck out and drove to London, leaving Jennifer behind and taking her secrets with him.

Andrew shut up. He knew not to interrupt her when she got like this. She took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright, well, maybe this isn’t all bad. That pompous brat has been snooping around my life, trying to shake the skeletons out of my closet. Ones that you helped me get! So help me god, Andrew, if you don’t dump this guy and help me out, I will burn your life to the ground. Hear me?” Her words startled Andrew, and he backed away even further.

He took a moment to think and compose himself. He knew how conniving Jenny could be- he had seen it himself- but give up Maxwell to satisfy her? And then there was Antigone, who also wanted Maxwell gone. And he had shown that he was a much more violent man, over Jennifer’s scheming. The two of them combined, even if they weren’t working together, could be detrimental.

And yet, he simply wasn’t willing to let Max go.

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to give up the life I’ve built just to make you happy,” he said, beginning to walk back to the dance hall. Jennifer grabbed his wrist and dug her nails into his skin.

“If you think I’m not going to decimate you for this, you’re sorely mistaken,” she snarled.

Andrew laughed. “I know you, Jenny. And I know all your tricks.” He opened the door and took a step back inside. And then he hesitated.

“Tell you what. Since we both did some bad shit, if you get caught, I’ll give myself up too. Drop Max and everything. How ‘bout that?”

She raised an eyebrow and sneered. “Sure. But I’m going to hold you to it. I don’t believe for a second you’re going to do it on your own.”

“That’s my Gem!” He laughed. “Bring it on.” And with that, he shut the door and strode off.

#writing #my writing #📖 the detective and the crook 🖋#✒️ you write and i’ll read 📖

4 notes · View notes

eeveevie · 4 years

Text

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (9/18)

Chapter 9: Do Everything Before You Die

A bittersweet reunion occurs between the group at New England Medical Center, where a life still hangs in the balance. After recapping the previous night’s events, Madelyn is sent home under Deacon’s careful watch. In the quiet of her apartment, the two share a tender moment, until a phone call from Piper shatters the silence.

“I have a theory that you should do everything before you die.” - Bruno Antony as played by Robert Walker (Strangers on a Train, 1951)

[read on Ao3] x [chapter masterpost]

April 13th, 1958

Madelyn knew two facts about the New England Medical Center—that Jennifer Lands was employed as a registered nurse in the emergency department, and that according to an article in Massachusetts Surgical Journal, the hospital was recently responsible for coining the term ‘immunosuppression’. As she sat in the small waiting area just beside the nurse’s station, she wondered if ‘faulty fluorescent lighting’ should be added to the list, watching as the bulb above her head flickered ominously. The concept of time had been lost to her since she’d arrived, her body and mind on autopilot as it responded to the doctors and staff when necessary.

Hospitals always felt like stepping into a different reality. Deacon had once gone on a tangent about the psychology of liminal spaces—how they were transformative spaces, waiting areas between one point in time and the next—like a threshold between two worlds. Madelyn had compared it to a sermon she’d heard in Catholic school about sacred places, where Jacob dreamt of encountering God between heaven and earth and was imparted with holy knowledge. Their conversation ended with joking that maybe all hospitals were just purgatory in disguise.

With Nick’s life hanging in the balance, it was an unsettling thought.

All she could do after being cleared by a physician was wait in the emergency bay, grateful that the nurses were sympathetic enough to allow her to stay until someone she trusted came to pick her up. Despite being wounded, Eddie Winter’s whereabouts were unknown, and as long as he roamed the streets, nowhere in Boston was truly safe. Still, Madelyn found a small comfort in the sterile atmosphere of the hospital, finding shapes in the speckled pattern of the tiled floor to pass the time.

Piper was the first to arrive, bursting through the double doors with a loud demand that could only be expected of the reporter. She ignored the nurses that tried to stop her from proceeding, rushing over to the line of visitor chairs. Her frenzied expression was exaggerated by the visible lack of sleep and Madelyn wondered if she had been in the middle of an all-nighter when she received the news.

“Blue!” she carelessly tossed her red coat, half of her belongings spilling out of her satchel onto the empty chair. Her hands flew up in alarm, snapping to cover her mouth as she reacted to her friend’s injured state. “Holy shit, Blue, what the hell happened?”

Before she could respond, Piper continued, dark eyes blown wide. “Where’s Nick?”

Madelyn gestured towards a room in which she hadn’t been allowed. “We were separated as soon as we arrived. He’s—”

The emergency room doors swung open again and two more bodies came rushing through. This time the nurses were less inclined to stop the disruption once they saw it was one of their own, the realization washing over as confusion shifted into sympathy. Jennifer Lands paid them no attention as she ran as fast as her heels would allow her to the small waiting area, determination etched into her features. For a split second, Madelyn was worried Jenny was going to slap her for getting Nick in harm’s way—as close as their friendship was, her fiery spirit made her unpredictable at times. Instead, Jenny grabbed her by the wrists and hauled her from the chair into a crushing hug.

“Mads,” she spoke quietly. “Thank God you’re alive.”

Madelyn’s reaction was delayed, not anticipating the kind of reaction from Nick’s fiancé. Even though Jenny was a trained medical professional, she didn’t expect her to be so level-headed or strong. A small part of her was envious, but she squashed the feelings immediately—it wasn’t fair to Jenny when the love of her life came so close to death. She hugged her friend tightly, and the weight of her words came crashing down around her. She was alive and Nick—he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Madelyn pulled away with a sharp inhale, still holding onto Jenny’s arm as she reached up to wipe at the tears that were already threatening to spill over.

“Oh honey,” the redhead smoothed both of her hands across Madelyn’s face and hair. “None of that. You saved my Nicky’s life, you shouldn’t be crying.”

“I hardly saved him,” she protested. “Enabled him, is more like it. Followed him into the belly of the beast and—”

“What’s done is done,” Jenny spoke, a sharpness to her tone that had Madelyn falling silent. Perhaps Nick’s fiancé was handling her grief in different, more silent ways. “I wanted to tell you that Mr. Bogart did a wonderful job at keeping me safe.”

Behind Jenny, Deacon kept his distance from the three women, though it was evident from his expression that he was just as worried, if not as visibly panicked, as Piper. Madelyn was relieved to see him—more than she thought was possible—and resisted the urge to rush to his side in some kind of romantic reunion. If anybody needed to have a reunion right now, it was Jenny and Nick, and he wasn’t conscious to appreciate it.

“You should’ve stayed at the Railroad safehouse,” she complained. “We have no idea where Eddie Winter or his men have run off to, so we need to stick to the safety net—”

“My place is at Nick’s side,” Jenny interjected, sidestepping to take a seat, prompting Piper to do the same. With a long exhale, Madelyn followed, and Deacon copied, sitting in the chair opposite of her. The detective’s fiancé continued. “Tell us what happened tonight.”

Madelyn considered a condensed version of events, but Jenny resisted, prying her for more information as she outlined the operation that led to the break-in to Joe’s Spuckies Sandwich Shop. Upon her insistence, she outlined every gruesome detail—from their restraints to Marty’s death, to Eddie’s taunting set to Bobby Darrin’s Mack the Knife. She didn’t stop, even when it came time to explain how Nick was shot—the shoulder wound had torn an artery, and the bullet in his chest had ripped through his liver, missing his heart by a few centimeters. Her hands began to tremble when she recalled Winter’s attack on her, the grip of his hands around her throat so tight she thought she was going to die.

“How’d you get out?” Deacon stopped her short, realizing she was struggling.

Madelyn found her voice. “I shot Winter. He got away,” she said simply. “I had to get Nick to safety so…I took a risk and called the last person we might be able to trust in the Boston P.D.”

Piper leaned forward, shellshocked. “You called the cops?”

Jenny hushed her, allowing Madelyn to continue. Deacon looked equally skeptical, but she quieted his suspicions with a name.

“Sergeant Sullivan. He was mentioned in Skinny Malone’s book as being clean,” Madelyn blinked hard. “I gave him specific instructions and he brought a skeleton crew to clear the scene and escort Nick and I here. He gave me his word as an Irishman, a Catholic, and a Bostonian that he’d follow the case to the letter.”

“Well that middle one doesn’t do me well,” Jenny mumbled, before nodding. “Sounds like the boy doesn’t have an ounce of corruption in his bones.”

“Blue, are you sure about this?” Piper asked, ever the skeptic.

Madelyn shook her head, twisting her hands in her lap. “No. We shouldn’t trust anyone,” she shared a brief, knowing look with Deacon. “But Sullivan is our last shot at making sure Eddie Winter is captured. His reign of terror ends tonight.”

The group exchanged silent glances, confirming that while it wasn’t their first choice, it was now their only choice. Jenny glanced down the corridor where she saw an attending doctor standing outside Nick’s room.

“Mads, you’re an angel,” she sighed. “You’ve done more than enough tonight. Please, let Deacon take you home.”

Piper resisted the urge to make a snide comment, jaw set as she watched Madelyn reluctantly stand to gather her belongings. Jenny was right—there was little more she could do by staying at the hospital, and she was just about to fall over from exhaustion. With her Railroad partner at her side, the sound of her apartment sounded like heaven. Jenny pulled her into another hug and passed her off to Piper so she could say her farewells to Deacon as well. Madelyn swore she could hear the redhead mumbling something to him that made him stifle a laugh but couldn’t catch the words.

“You’ll visit tomorrow?” the reporter asked, pulling away to inspect Madelyn’s expression.

She nodded, stepping to stand next to Deacon as he offered her his hand. It felt like a lifetime since she last held it, a spark igniting up her arm and to her brain. Madelyn almost forgot to answer Piper. “Yes.”

She gave one last glance over her shoulder to her friends as they neared the exit.

Jenny smiled, waving in return. “Stay safe you two, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

It felt like weeks rather than a few days since Madelyn had last been at her apartment, running back and forth between the agency and Railroad headquarters before setting off with Nick downtown chasing after Eddie Winter. She climbed the stairwell in exhaustion, dragging her aching feet behind her and cursing the landlord for once again falling through on his promise to fix the elevator. Deacon quietly followed behind, and she knew if the circumstances were different he might have offered a clever quip about carrying her the rest of the way—she almost asked him to. Instead, on the fourth floor landing she balanced herself on his shoulder and discarded her heels, carrying them in one hand the rest of the way up. She still didn’t know what time it was, but the sun hadn’t risen yet, so she quietly wriggled her key into the lock of her apartment door before noticing that her partner wasn’t beside her. When she turned to spot him he was crouched in front of Drummer Boy’s door, sliding a small envelope beneath the crack.

“Recap of recent events,” he explained, standing to join her as she opened the door for them both. “So HQ knows where we are.”

As soon as they crossed the threshold of her apartment, a flash of silver met her peripheral in the darkness and she flinched back into Deacon’s chest.

“As I live and breathe!”

Codsworth’s alarmed voice echoed through the room as he cornered them in the tiny entranceway. Madelyn felt foolish for thinking the metal robot was something, or somebody other than her friendly—perhaps too friendly—Mister Handy. Dogmeat came running from the hallway, balancing on his hind legs so his front paws could press against the top of her thighs as he sniffed at her coat and dress, still covered in splotches of Nick and Eddie Winter’s blood. The shepherd barked, sniffing her more frantically before barking again, dropping to the ground so he could pace around her in a tight, anxious circle. Deacon closed the door so the sounds wouldn’t wake the neighbors. The dog’s actions made Codsworth inspect her with a zoomed in eye.

“Oh heavens, Miss Madelyn, have you been injured?” he asked, hovering close. She suddenly felt very crowded between her robot butler, Deacon and worried dog whimpering at her feet. “Should I phone for a doctor?”

Madelyn shook her head, raising her hands to try to create a buffer between them. She sidestepped towards the back of the couch, reaching to turn on the small living room lamp. “That won’t be necessary.”

The light only worsened Codsworth reaction, three arms spinning wildly. “Mistress, your neck!” He advanced again and conveyed as much concern as a robot could. “There’s bruises all over your lovely neck, mum!”

Instinctively, she turned away, covering her skin with her hand. She flicked her gaze to Deacon, but the subtlety in her movements made the Mister Handy unit gutsier. He turned his three-eyes to the man and tilted closer, nearly backing him against the door. “Was Mr. Deacon responsible for this heinous act?”

Understandably, Deacon looked horrified at the accusation, shaking his head in protest as Dogmeat barked at his ankles.

“Oh for God’s sake, no!” Madelyn reprimanded the two, wincing at the pain in her throat as she spoke. “Codsworth honey, I love you, but I don’t have time for this tonight,” she rushed through the apology, circling his metal frame to press at his shutdown button. “Passcode ice-cream.”

The Mister Handy unit crumpled to the floor in a dramatic crumple, causing Dogmeat to turn his attention away from Deacon momentarily to smell at the pile of robotic limbs. He let out a low whine at Madelyn, who only sighed in frustration—that was the last thing she wanted to do—but she could reactivate him and deal with the guilt in the morning. Codsworth, fortunately, wouldn’t remember a thing. She rubbed at her temple, leaning against the sofa for support as the fatigue and swirl of emotions from the last few days fell upon her. Deacon steadily approached, hands hovering over her shoulders as he dipped his head so he could see her eyes. He didn’t move to touch her, and she wondered if he was afraid to do so in front of the dog—like the shepherd would tear him to shreds if he made one wrong move.

“Ice cream?” he questioned with a smirk but didn’t give her a chance to respond. “I’ll take care of Snoopy here,” he joked, glancing over his shoulder to look at Dogmeat who was still investigating Codsworth’s still framework. “Just take care of yourself, Charmer.”

With a weak nod, she slipped away, lurking in the hallway for a moment to overhear Dogmeat softly barking at Deacon, and his voice echoing back through the apartment.

“I’ve had worse conversations with inanimate objects.”

As practical and wonderful as a soak in the bathtub sounded, Madelyn feared she’d fall asleep and drown. Not exactly the way she wanted to go out—especially considering she was not alone in her apartment—now was not the time to be naked and vulnerable. She opted for her bedroom instead, tossing her purse and coat in the general direction of her closet before turning on the bedside lamp. She was just about ready to collapse face-first into her duvet when she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror, puling a double-take when she didn’t recognize the reflection staring back. Hesitantly, she stepped closer, all the breath escaping from her lungs at what she saw.

Blood—dried red on her dress and stockings, faded smears on her hands despite the hospital visit—all reminiscent of a cold winter’s night in Boston Common two Christmases ago. Madelyn still had those ruined clothes, stained with Nate’s blood, tucked away in her closet like a morbid memento of the past. History wanted to repeat itself, it seemed, mirroring itself on another blue, A-line dress. She traced the outline with one finger, unsure where Nick’s blood ended and where Eddie Winter’s began—it didn’t matter—both men’s fate were unknown, and she only had herself to blame. Madelyn couldn’t have another death on her conscious.

The guilt overwhelmed her as she tore the dress and stockings from her body, adding it to the pile of earlier discarded items. She changed into a new set of underwear, slipping into a nightgown before securing a robe around her body for warmth. Her knees practically gave out as she collapsed onto her vanity bench, facing away from the mirror so she wouldn’t have to meet her reflection again. When she looked down, she noticed more blood coated over the silver band of her wedding ring, caught in the crevices of the diamond so the shine was dulled. Madelyn quickly removed the ring from her finger, twisting to place it in the jewelry dish on the counter. Her hand felt naked without it, but she couldn’t bear the sight of Nate’s gift to her tainted in such a way.

The tears came without warning and Madelyn succumbed to them with little resistance, unable to fight back with her mind any longer. She sobbed, covering her face with both hands to dull the sounds as the cries ripped through her chest—the sorrow went deeper than the previous night’s incidents. All at once the emotions she had been suppressing from the last two years spilled over in all their glory, threatening to shatter her in two. The remorse over Nate’s death and never solving his murder, High Rise and Henry—even Marty Bulfinch’s deaths weighed heavily on her mind as she wept, fearing she’d be adding another name to the list to mourn. It was much more than survivor’s guilt clawing at her soul. In some twisted sense, she wondered if the universe was dealing out karma for daring to move on from Nate so quickly. Maybe her conflicted emotions towards Deacon made the cosmic punishment against her worse. But then why had Nick been injured instead of her? Jenny didn’t deserve this kind of pain when the two were so in love and full of bliss. Madelyn deserved all the anguish, all the trauma.

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there, slumped over her vanity and crying into her folded arms when the hallway floorboards creaked, causing her to hold her breath.

“Decent?” Deacon’s voice quietly called out as her bedroom door creaked open. “I brought you some coffee—just the way you like it—and some whiskey, just in case—”

The words died on his tongue when he realized he’d intruded on her private outburst of emotions. She peeked through a small gap in her hair to find him frozen in the doorway, unsure on how to proceed. He balanced a small tray of drinks in his hand, the other gripped tight around the doorknob. Madelyn had cried in front of him before—that night in the agency after the explosion at Ticonderoga and at the hospital—but comparatively her outburst was tame. This was different. These were the tears of a broken woman who very likely couldn’t be put back together again. Maybe it was best Deacon be scared away now rather than later—at least he could reactivate Codsworth on his way out, right? She slowly sat up, sniffling as she frantically wiped at her cheeks and eyes.

“God, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t,” he said, stopping her short. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

Surprisingly (or maybe not) he didn’t retreat, crossing over to where she was, placing the tray down before sitting on the bench beside her. Madelyn opened her mouth to speak, but Deacon shook his head, adjusting so he could delicately wrap an arm around her waist.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he hushed, coaxing her to rest her head against his shoulder.

For a long while she stayed nestled there, wrapped in his loose embrace as the last of her tears fell away. Eventually, her breathing evened out and she focused on the steady pulse of his heartbeat echoing in her ear and how warm his arms were around her body—how safe she felt. Her conscience clawed at her, reminding her not to get swept up in whatever romantic feelings she held for the man—it would only lead to disaster and heartbreak.

“I’m going to start crying again if we stay this quiet,” she mumbled.

Deacon softly laughed, his hand running calming patterns along her back. “The sweater is very absorbent.”

Madelyn gradually pulled away, offering a small smile to match his smirk, unable to think of anything clever to say.

“Codsworth was right,” he broke the silence, frowning as he gestured to her neck.

Her eyes snapped towards the mirror and she hissed—she’d been so distracted by all the blood, she’d forgotten about the present Eddie Winter had left on her skin. The attending physician had informed her there would be no lasting damage, just some bruising and tenderness for a few weeks, and that it looked worse than it was. Of course, Madelyn wasn’t prepared for how bad—the blotches of purple and black a stark contrast to her light skin. She reached to hide the worst spots from view.

“I’ve never looked good in a scarf,” she tried to joke.

Deacon’s hand gently pushed hers aside, fingers delicately ghosting over the marks. His brows furrowed, lips pressed in a straight line as he outlined the shapes and imprints, breath shaky when he finally released the one he’d been holding. His touch lingered, combing back her blonde hair before settling against her shoulder in a soft caress.

“You shot him?” he questioned, and Madelyn nodded.

“I shot him,” she clarified, but she was filled with regret. “I couldn’t kill him. He mocked me for it.”

Deacon shook his head. “You’re not a killer,” he said. “You’re not a coward like some people are. Like he is.”

She had her doubts. “He’s still free,” she lamented.

“Only a matter of time before he fucks up and backs himself into a corner,” he offered, moving to grasp her hand. “We’ll smoke him out.”

Deacon ran his thumb across her knuckles, pausing when he noticed the absence of her ring. He didn’t say anything, rubbing over the divot of skin where the band had laid for twelve years. Her heart raced, unsure of the intimacy being created.

“It was covered in blood,” she explained, barely able to find her voice.

He remained silent, just nodding in response. There was a subtle shift in his mood and expression, but she couldn’t place it, made worse by his ever-present sunglasses. She stared at him, trying her best to visualize the steely-blue color she’d glimpsed in February—but it had only been a second in the dark—for all she knew, her mind was playing tricks. Ever since then, Madelyn had waited for another opportunity to sneak a peek, but one never came. Those eyes were as elusive as Eddie Winter—perhaps just as deadly—if she ever got an extended look.

“Tell me what you want,” Deacon prompted, cutting through the quiet with words that sounded more erotic than he likely meant. Madelyn wondered if that was his intention.

She gently removed her hand from his grasp, lifting both so her fingers brushed along the sharp corner of his darkened frames. “I want to see your eyes”

Madelyn expected resistance, but he only nodded, allowing her to carefully remove the glasses from his face. She set them down on her vanity, focusing on what they’d been hiding all this time. She thought perhaps she’d want to kiss him too, but instead she just stared—blue eyes on blue—inspecting every last detail she’d missed from before. The hint of crows’ feet, a speckle of grey in the iris, a dusting of freckles on the bridge of his nose. Deacon wasn’t just handsome, he was beautiful, and it was like seeing him for the first time.

“Will you stay with me?” she blurted, heat rushing to her cheeks when she thought of how promiscuous it sounded. Instead of fumbling over what she meant, she remained silent, hoping he’d understand as she continued to gaze at him.

“What will the neighbors think?” he teased, grasping her hands again in a chuckle.

Madelyn thought about responding with a joke of her own about how Drummer Boy already thought of them as a couple in the midst of a wild love affair, but held her tongue, opting to bask in the tender moment created. When the night began, she didn’t think she’d end up in his embrace, their eyes locked. Deacon eventually encouraged her to rest her head against his shoulder again, wrapping her up in his arms as he held her close to his chest, one hand sweeping along her back. It was the calmest she’d felt in recent memory.

She didn’t remember falling asleep.

When Madelyn awoke several hours later, she was tucked under the blankets of her mattress and the sun was filtering though the curtains of her window. The memories of the last several days flooded back in an instant, but the expected gloom was overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of calm and warmth. There was another body on the bed, and it didn’t take a detective to figure out who it could be. She slowly rolled onto her back, turning her head to find Deacon was already awake, body stretched out atop the covers as he faced her. His glasses were still on her vanity, but he’d also shed his black wig and Madelyn was awestruck at what the gesture signified. She doubted there were many people who had seen him in such a way, with the sunlight shimmering across his light-red hair, sleepy blue eyes twinkling as he smiled at her.

“Mornin’.”

She mimicked his expression, and felt warmth radiate from her cheeks to her toes. “You stayed?”

“Of course,” he answered, like it was the only answer in the world. A stretch of silence passed between them in which she shifted onto her side to face him. “Wonder what time it is.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, too preoccupied with memorizing the shape of his face, the color of his eyes in the morning light and the reddish-brown stubble that was more pronounced after days of not shaving. The desire to kiss him was stronger than it ever had been before as her eyes drifted across his lips, recalling every close-call they had shared in recent months. “Deacon…”

Madelyn had barely whispered his name when his hand reached across the small distance to cup the side of her face, thumb sweeping over her cheek as he shifted closer. She resisted from sliding her eyes shut, fixated on his burning, focused gaze as he angled her chin up, lips so close she could feel the heat of his every breath. He dipped closer and then away—she caught his last-minute hesitation and stilled, staring at him in silent disbelief. Despite visibly lowering his guard, emotionally, he wasn’t ready. Deacon’s expression shifted into one of shame and Madelyn had to wonder why—why couldn’t he kiss her? Insecurities and doubt began to flood her mind as she questioned every little touch, flirtation and perceived moment that had led up to now. She’d foolishly believed that maybe, he held the same romantic feelings towards her, despite their working partnership. Had she been wrong about him that entire time?

Before either could say a word, her phone began to ring, echoing down the hall from the kitchen. At first, she planned to ignore it, thinking Codsworth would handle the interruption before remembering he was a deactivated pile of metal in the living room. Just another thing to be guilty about. As the phone continued to ring, Madelyn snapped her eyes closed and shook her head in an effort to bring herself to reality.

“I should answer that,” she explained, already shifting to remove herself from the bed.

Deacon sighed, running a hand through his hair, and made to follow. “M—Charmer, wait—”

In her hurry, she hadn’t caught his near-slip. The phone rang the entire time she rushed down the hallway to the small nook, shooing away Dogmeat who was attempting to knock the offending noise down from the cranny. Whoever was calling was persistent, having not given up after so many rings. She answered, pausing to gather her bearings.

“Good morning,” she greeted, before swiveling to check the time on the wall—incorrect, it was well past noon. The caller didn’t care, however, as they immediately began spouting off incoherent information. It wasn’t until the connection cleared that she realized it was her friend on the other end. “Piper? Is that you?”

Deacon emerged from the bedroom and cautiously approached. Immediately, Madelyn’s heart was in her throat. “Is it Nick? Did something happen? We can be at the hospital in ten minutes.”

“No,” Piper interrupted with a heavy sigh, tone doing nothing to strengthen Madelyn’s confidence. “Nick is…Nick is fine. Same as before,” she explained, but her voice was shaky, and it was terrifying to experience. “I don’t know how to say it Blue, so I’m just gonna—damnit,” Piper sucked in a breath and Madelyn realized the woman had been crying. “Winter’s men ambushed the hospital.”

As soon as Piper spoke, the world around Madelyn slowed to a grinding halt, and she felt herself losing consciousness out of pure shock. Deacon caught her before she collapsed to the ground, the phone falling from her hand and bouncing against the linoleum tile of her kitchen as the reporter’s voice repeated—

“Jenny is dead.”

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #jennifer lands #nick valentine #piper wright #the UST is strong here #very strong #danger cliffhanger alert alert #and so much under the cut because of spoilers #now is a great time to jump in as we round out act 1 #please enjoy : )

24 notes · View notes

canadian-buckbeaver · 4 years

Text

Tales of Old and Bone

Beginning of a commission for a very special reader of mine :) @alextris

Chapter One: Horrortale Sans meets a friend

( @redtomatofan I think you would appreciate this too ;) )

The old lady stared at the fruit through her thin watery eyes, her hands slightly shaking. Was it a nectarine or a peach? Or maybe that weird apple that Jennifer was talking about yesterday. She wasn’t sure. There wasn’t even a fragrance that she could smell with it. She gave a soft sigh and put the fruit back. It had been so much easier when her husband was here. He always knew how to make her smile and forget about how the passage of time had not been kind to her. And yet she had still outlived him by at least ten years.

Well. She would see him soon… especially if the cost of groceries kept going up. She might find herself running out of money yet.

With a soft sigh she put back the fruit and shuffled over to the hazy yellow shapes, her gait unsteady. Those at least she knew those were bananas. And they were probably cheaper than whatever apple-hybrid that that new generation was eating. Where had the world gone so wrong? Back in her day her grandparents had retired at the ripe-old age of fifty and were able to afford their house, cars, groceries, have money left over to spoil grandchildren and even leave a healthy inheritance to their loved ones when they passed. The good old days. Before greed and capitalism took over and rotted everyone’s minds.

And nowadays she could barely afford to eat. Thank god that she and Harold never had any kids. She couldn’t imagine the disappointment on their faces when all she had to give him were the trinkets that dotted her little house. Tears dotted her eyes. She was so scared of the future. What would it hold for her? And…

She bumped into someone. “WATCH IT HAG!” The loud, acidic voice snapped. She couldn’t see the boy’s face but, judging by the way the voice wavered between octaves, he had to bet between fourteen and eighteen. Still so young.

And already so cynical with the world. She felt bad for him.

“My apologies, young man. I did not see you there…”

“Of course you didn’t, you old bat. Your glasses are about as thick as Kardashian’s pussy!”

The words were clearly meant to try and surprise her. Or maybe to make her disgusted. Such language. Children never truly changed, did they? Especially the ones with the high opinions of themselves…

* * * * *

The boy sneered to his friends as he pocketed the older lady’s wallet. It had just been laying on top of everything inside of her purse, just ripe for the taking. He couldn’t resist. They needed it more than her, the price of their favourite vodka had gone up. He doubted that she would even miss it. She had on a wedding ring. Her husband would just give her some more government-funded money and she could go out and buy more yarn and pea soup. He gestured at his friends to continue walking. Act natural.

“Seriously, I think it is about time that those older folks know your place and just die. Their time is over. Make way for the young. Over population is a serious issue these days and, you know what happens when a chicken can’t lay eggs or work anymore…”

His wrist, the one holding the lady’s wallet was seized, clasped tight in deadly grip, never letting go as they slammed the wrist into a nearby display. The boy cried out, pain radiating from his wrist and traveling up his arm, forcing him to drop the wallet. But that was the least of his worries.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?” he demanded, eyes unable to focus on the shadowy figure due to the pain. Whoever had attacked him had a death wish. But his mates weren’t backing him up. Instead he could see them slowly backing away, leaving him on his own. They were murmuring something as they disappeared to the other aisles.

Cowards. Here he thought that his friends were true. Fine. He could do this on his own if he needed to. He didn’t need anyone to hold him back.

When his vision returned, he could feel his stomach drop.

Long, curved bones were wrapped around his warm skin, just digging into him hard enough to make a slight mark. There was not an ounce of flesh on the bones, he could see every knuckle, every joint, every crack in the bone. And the noise…. He wasn’t sure how best to describe the grating noise that they made when they moved slightly. It was enough to cause a shiver to go down his spine. But still the boney hand held him tight, not letting him go. The grip was as cold as steel and just as strong, keeping him pinned where he was against the display with little effort.

Slowly, against his better judgement, the boy’s eyes traveled up, scanning his attacker. A dirty, threadbare hoodie caught his attention next. It was obvious that there had been an unsuccessful attempt at cleaning the rag before being seen in public, but whatever had been spilled over it had stained it. Deep browns mixed with a rust had intermingled and dried across what used to be a blue hoodie.

Up, up, up. What he saw made no sense.

A manic grin smirked, the grin unwavering, unflinching, at him, lending to the unsettling atmosphere. Two deep, flickering, red eyes stared him down, unblinking. Unafraid. Almost challenging him to make a move. Give him an excuse to attack and fight. The curve of the skull was interrupted by the chunk that was missing out of his skull…

Wait.

A skull. He was staring at a skull.

No. He was looking at the full thing. A real live, honest to fucking hell skeleton stood in front of him. Pinning him where he stood. But… but that was impossible. He had heard of the monsters escape, it had been all over the news. Hell, even his old man had joined an anti-monster gang to try and keep the monsters out of the school system and out of ‘regular’ areas.

And here he was, being pinned by one in a grocery store of all places. He could see that, up close, the skeleton wasn’t looking as smooth as he had originally thought. The monster was absolutely covered in scars and raised bumps. This… this monster had been in several fights.

The boy had the feeling that he did not lose.

“Let me go.” He snarled, trying to pull his hand away from the creature. The creature didn’t even move, made no indication that he had even heard at him. Those red eye lights just stared at him, unblinking. Uncaring. The boy yanked at his arm again. “OI I SAID LET-”

“Do you know what happens when a young rooster gets too big for his feathers?” a cracking voice asked. It sounded unused, unneeded. Like two rocks had been grinding together to make the noise. And yet it was so soft, the boy could barely hear it.

“I beg your par-”

“I asked you a question. Do you know what happens, when a young rooster gets too big for his feathers? Tries to take over the roost?” The voice had definitely come from the skeleton. The eyes were focused in on him, watching his every move, every struggle.

The boy tried to pull away again. “Let me g-”

“Answer the question first, and you’ll find yourself free.” The skeleton demanded, giving a yank to his hand.

Wincing slightly, the boy glared up at the monster. He would make sure that they would all pay. “No. What happens when that happens?”

The skeleton almost seemed to like that answer. The grin widened, stretching across his skull, the red eyes took on an extra sparkle. The skeleton’s free hand slowly reached down, pulling the hoodie away from his body…

Exposing the large, silver axe that he had stashed there.

His breath caught, his heart clenched, and he felt his arms and legs go numb. This wasn’t the first time that he had been in a life-or-death scenario. His gang initiations came to mind as well. Fight or flight.

But he didn’t have his knife or gun this time. His so-called friends had held them for him this time.

The skeleton gave a low, rumbling, sinister laugh. “The old rooster and the young battle it out. To the death. The loser loses everything, to be fed to the wolves or others that night. The winner walks away a proud winner, free to lead the hen house as he sees fit.” The skeleton leaned closer to him, dusty breath brushing against his ear and cheek. “Cock-a-doodle doo.”

Message loud and clear.

“What do you want from me?”

“Oh there is many things I could want from you. You to stop bothering the innocent patrons of this store. You to leave innocent old ladies alone. And for you to leave her wallet where it is.” This last little bit came out as a snarl.

The boy gulped. “I don’t have the wallet. I already dropped it.”

The skeleton took his time to appraise him and then check the ground. The pale, well-worn pink wallet was under the display that he had the boy pinned on. He gave a cold, satisfied, chuckle. “Good. Starting to learn already. Now. Go find your little groupies and get the hell out of here. And if I ever find you in this area again… well. You’re not the only rooster I’ve plucked and dressed for dinner.”

The threat was very clear.

The boy grit his teeth, hating every second, but ran off as soon as he was able to.

Sans watched him storm out of the store, swearing and stamping his feet, the little useless groupies soon following along behind him. He chuckled softly, letting the red eyes lose their glare, releasing the hold on his sinister magic. He hated doing that in public. Quickly, before any other costumer could get any bright ideas, he reached under and grabbed the woman’s wallet. “Excuse me, ma’am. I believe that you dropped this?” he said, limping up to the elderly lady.

#horrortale #ht!sans #old lady #punk ass kid #surface life #undertale monsters on the surface #robbery #tw #bad language #horrortale sans #axe #platonic relationships #why do i tag

22 notes · View notes

kantuck · 6 years

Text

WIP “The Princess, and the Pegasi”

My first new story in my 'Mountain Tales' storyline. A series of childrens 'fairytails' all set in Appalachia. This was from a dream that woke me about two days ago and I had to write out the skeleton. This is now offically the 1st re-write. A couple more is coming before I post it around Wensday on my FA acount. Still I thought you'd all like to read it. Yeah, I went overboard on this one, but I was having too much fun with it to give a damn. :) Comments are always appreciated, especially ones that will help improve it. (I use EMACS/Org-mode so ignore the **, and : formatting. Those won't be on the final version.) -- :info: The princess, and the Pegasus DOC: Thursday, June 28, 2018 version: 1140-063018-b1 :end: ** 1 - new A young girl peered out of the window at the gray landscape, deeply sighed. Before a storm rattled the dishes, and lashed the side of the small home with a waterfall. Now the pattering of the rain on the metal roof just made a soundscape of noise along with the gray haze that faded the mountains just a mile way. A deep fog adding to it, darkened the sky and noon-day. ** 2 new The red barn was barely visible though the haze, fog and mist. Nothing of remark, that old red barn. Happy memories of playing in it, a forrowed brow when she had to work in it. Jules Huffman, the WSAZ weatherman from Huntington, West Virgina said in his uplifting, smiling voice. "The rain's coming to an end, folks." But even Mr. Cartoon could barely register though the haze of her boredom. Wishing it was 3, so at least he could alliveate the bordem with Bugs Bunny, and Daffy Duck. Then on that non-descript barn, the door smacked the side with a loud CRASH!, and she yelled out "Pa!" But no answer, he was too busy working on the books of their business to hear their only child, "Ma?" Again no answer, since she was with Prince Valium now; snoring peacefully after a horrible night of sinisitus that kept her awake. Jessica was glad, at least she didn't get that from her. The door would be ripped off the hinges if someone didn't go and fasinit it. The water-soaked ground squished like a damp sponge under her bare feet, headed for the barn. At least the rain was so light it was more like walking though a cloud of mist. Her blond hair was straightening up down her shoulders, even if her sun-dress was barely damnpened. The barn's bone-dry floor coated her bare feet with a layer of dust. Holes made by the ant-lions dotted the floorscape, hand-hewn beams thrusted up toward the metal roof. Lined with the remaining dry and brown leaves of tobacco infusing the air with a strong sweet smell. A soft basey nickr came from a horse that peeked out from a cut window on a tan colored stall-door. "Old Rosie" the sign said. As Jessica opened, then walked into the belgim's stall she fluffed up the straw with a pitchfork, after pouring some new oats into her bucket. "Lousy day, hmm Rosie?" she asked the belgin as she stroked the broad roman nose. Rosie nickered, and nuzzled at Jennifer as if she was answener her. ** 3 new Suddenly there was a rapping, a rapping at the barn door. Who could it be now? As she opened it slowly, silver light flooded into the barn, and a black head thrusted into the door. The head pushed open the doors more, and followed quickly by a maginifiant black stallion! Not as tall as Rosie, but his sleek black body shown in blue-black from the light. Jessica was struck mute by her friend returning, for this black stallion had equally ebony wings tucked against his sides, the wings adorned with jet black feathers and she knew his wingspan was huge "Shadowfax, my old friend" she said as she wrapped her arms around his broad neck, He nickered at Rosie, nuzzling at her side, then nuzzled Jessica before he spoke, "Princess, the kingdom is being invaded, and we need you. I was asked to fetch you." he tossed his head to the side, as he said "They knew you are the only one I will allow to carry in lew of our friendship." ** 4 new The land was gold and jewels and people waved and cheered seeing Princess Jessica flying over them on her friend, Shadowfax, the good. Coming into the town was a huge, fat bloated ogre. How he could run with the blubber, like jello flapping with each heavy footstep, she couldn't tell. Clothed only with a set of bib-overalls that strained to hold the ogre in. But he too looked up and laughed. Seeing the pretty princess aside her broad winged pony. "Oh yes, a mosqueto comes to bite me?" it yelled in a gutteral voice. "Do your worse!" Suddenly Princess Jessica guided Shadowfax down into a dive right at the ogre. Not trying to guide the good pegasi, since the ogre would be hard to miss. But as the green giant picked up a side of a building as a club, Shadowfax suddenly flicked to the left. The princess as if she was mentally connected, leaned to the right her sword glowing blue "I shall!" she finally yelled at the ogre then a swip of Sting, her sword. The straps on his shoulders was cut, and the mighty ogre was show as the emperior he was! "NO!!!" he roared, dropping down to cover his...jewels. Then the pegasus turned, dove in for another and she swatted him on his ample behind! The ogre, now red, screamed out cuses and obsenities that would make a salior blush with shame then exploded in a puff of dandilion seeds that was scattered across the nine winds. ** 5 new Shadowfax looked over his shoulder at his princess, "That was too easy" She patted his side, and gave him a hand-full of sugar, "HOw so, faithful steed?" "An ogre is mearly muscule." he said, between munches, "They don't have the brains to chew gum and scratch their behinds at the same time. No, there is someone else. Someone far more cunning at work here" he then flapped his broad wings and flew higher, and higher to see the kingdom. The princess looked around at the layout of her lands. It was peaceful now in the main section since she dispached the ogre. But her excellent eyesight caught sight of movement on the east side, "There!" she pointed. "I see it" replied Shadowfax, and with a powerful sweep of his wings, the princess was hard pressed to hold on as he flew so forcefully toward the people running. ** 6 new "Oh no!" the princess explaimed, "The lion hord!" Sure enough, in a blitzkreg of huge white bodies, segmented into many sections with jaws like scyicles and two huge black eyes on a black head, the lion hord was a force to be reconed with. six huge steel legs clanked and squeeked along as they ran as fast as they could for one thing. The peaceful Ant village! A people her father had sworn to protect long ago, and she wasn't about to fail them! The ant people's screams was growing louder in Shadowfax and the Princess' ears as they swooped further down. The people was carrying squirming bundles of white babies in their own jaws, while warriors stood at ready with their own antenee, and jaws open and waving. At nearly ground level, the princess swung Sting but it was ineffective against the lion's body, Pegasus reared and kicked but he too wasn't able to make much progress. Finally she told him "Take to the clouds, my fine steed!" and without question he did with hard flaps of his wings. Higher, and higher he flew, while the ant people thought their defender had foresaken them. The warriors clashed, the others continued their exidist out of the town. But instead of foresaking them, mighty Shadowfax climbed higher until the very clouds was a ceiling to them. He hovered, and the princess rose her sword and yelled a spell out in Quentien. In a moment the sword once again glowed blue, but this time St. Elmo's fire gathered around her, then the pegasus. He laughed saying it was tickling him. She then pointed down "Dive, Shadowfax! Dive down into the town once again!" Again, without question he did. He even folded his wings to gain more speed and the princess held on tight, "How close?" he yelled, as the wind whipped though mane and hair. Her response; "Point blank range!" As soon as they came within roof top level, she pointed Sting down at the town, spoke a spell again in Quentin, and the blue fire surrounding them flowed from the sword down into the town, evenloping the lion hord. They twitched and convolsed as millions of volts cooked them, with a nice brown crust. Everytime a small bump popped out, the fire jumped from them into another, dodging and jumping over any ant and leaving none even touched but the lions, they fried like a good hog. Soon the air was filled with the scent of cooked ant-lions, and the princess quipped "We just need some garlic and basl, right Shadowfax?" she giggled. "Id add a bit of alfala as well" he added to that, as well as a throaty laugh. They circled the Ant town, as their cheers came up with their antenee, and front legs waving at them in thanks. ** 7 new All though this, neither was happy with this. The ogre could have been dispached by a child, the ant hord a little harder, "When do you think we'll see the mind behind this?" she asked. He flapped his wings, pulled higher into the air, "No idea. There is someone very powerful behind all this. ** 8 new Shadowfax pulled up, wings flapping hard as he squeeled, and snorted. The princess pulled her sword, "Oh no! It's the Witch Queen of Agrabar!" Without even trying the 50' tall queen reached out and grabbed the pegasi. The queen's silk robes slowly waved in the breeze, as the princess tried to get away. But she was powerless in the grip. What's worse is when the broad face came to the princesses she tried to cover her ears for it was said never let the Witch speak, less she hyponotize her. "I've called you three times for dinner. Put up Rosie, and come on in." Jessica blinked, and she was back in the barn again, "Ok Ma, feelin' better?" "Yeah, now comon" As they was walking to the house, the clouds had broken and some blue was starting to peek though the gray. Her mother looked down at her "Witch Queen of Agrabar hm?" Jennifer just nodded, "Uh huh..." She got her head fuzzled, much to her giggles. "Guess we'll have to get you some better reading materal. What say tomarrow we go to the drug store and you can blow your allance on comics?" "Yeah!!!" she jumped and laughed, as she closed the house door to dinner. end

5 notes · View notes

donaldresslerfanfic · 4 years

Text

No Secrets

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language, Sexual Content.

Word Count: 2761

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Eighty-Four

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Ressler.

I was onto something.

After I found out that Liz had lied to us in a case, I started to tie things together. Reddington has a secret. He'd gotten the duffel and the secret back, then he was incarcerated.

Liz lied about a case she was researching, and now we know nothing of it because the blacklister was dead. She told me the benefit of everything would outweigh the cost. The benefit, I assumed, was finding out Reddington's secret, and one death in the was was something she was willing to accept.

I was wrecking my brain about the blacklister, why would Liz want a killer who weights down pros and cons of killing somebody, and why Reddington had giving us the case about the man who killed people with beatles. I was definitely absorbed into everything as I was cleaning up the table when I heard Maggie call me from the front door. I walked to her and frowned when I saw her with the door open.

"What's-" I looked outside, finding Liz "Liz what's wrong?"

"I need to show you something" she said in a low voice.

"Okay" I said looking quickly at Mags. "I'll be right back"

"It's going to take longer than that" she assured. I turned in and grabbed a jacket from the hanger.

"Don't widow me" Maggie said as she closed the door behind me, I gave her a smile over my shoulder as she completely shut the door, then walked down the entrance to my house as I shrugged my jacket on.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Well, that's a stolen van" she motioned at the van.

"That's not that bad"

"Yeah, but there's also a dead body inside the stolen van" she said in a whisper as she continued walking.

"So" I said after we crossed the gate of my community and drove a few blocks in silence. "Who is the guy in the back?"

She let our a heavy sigh and gave me a quick look.

"I found out the truth that Tom died trying to uncover, the truth that Reddington has been hiding" she said heading towards a parking lot and parking the van. "Inside the bag, there was a skeleton, and with it, a DNA report that says that the bones are from Raymond Reddington"

I blinked, then squinted my eyes at her. Reddington was dead? Then who was the person who I'd been working with? For how long had I and everyone around them been fooled?

Liz began to tell me everything, from how she found out about the people who killed Tom, how she found out about the bones, how Reddington had been preventing her from finding out the truth, about Jennifer and her part in their search, her relationship with Garvey, how it was her who tipped the police, how she was tracking one by one the people who had been involved in Reddington's change of appearance.

"I'm sorry, I'm trying to wrap my head around this" I said after she hurriedly tried to explain everything to me. "So Reddington's not Reddington. He's-"

"An imposter" she confirmed.

"Who you turned in. I mean he's fighting the death penalty because of you"

"If I would've gone the the FBI he would've known about Jennifer and I"

I found that hard to believe. She explained further about the surgeon that changed Reddington's face, and how in the pursuit of one of the nurses, Jennifer had been taken, the guy in the back of the van was one of the guards.

"We're going to find her" I assured her, she gave me a little defeated look.

"How?" I exited the van and opened the door of the back searching in my pocket for a pocket knife.

"Same way we always do" I said looking for the dead guy's hand and applying a little pressure with the blade, cut his finger "evidence".

After a quick drive to the blacksite, I ran the print of the finger and Liz took care of seeing if she could track Jennifer's last movements.

After the finger threw some results, I told Liz everything I knew about the guard and who was he guarding. Marko Jankowics. I knew about him and the covert operations of the taskforce that tracked him down.

"These are the only pictures the Bureau has on Jankowics" I said presenting them to Liz, she instantly took one and showed it to me.

"This is her, the nurse, Renard".

"That's his girlfriend" I confirmed. We were tying things together little by little.

"I gotta call it in. Tell Cooper"

"You should've gone to Cooper a long ago, now it's way past that" I said, not giving it much hope to how Cooper was going to handle the whole imposter thing. It occurred to me that Liz could ask Reddington for help. Even though he was going to find out eventually, he was still going to help Liz, he had continued helping Liz and being there for her through enough betrayals already.

She left to talk to him, and I returned home for the night, not before making her promise me to look for me after she had a lead. I didn't wanted Liz getting into trouble by her own.

I snuck into bed at almost three AM, I didn't bother undressing, just took off my shoes and laid beneath one of the superficial covers. Maggie looked up with squinted eyes, moving her hair out of her face.

"You okay?" She asked, moving towards me.

"Kind of" I replied, holding her by the shoulders and pulling her to my chest. She sighed in comfort and hugged me by the torso. "We'll talk tomorrow" I placed a kiss on her forehead and rubbed her back. She fell asleep a few seconds after that.

I slept until past my alarm and Mag's, but luckily I didn't sleep through my phone's ringtone. I picked it up as I sat on the bed.

"Ressler" I answered, rubbing my eyes.

"Jankowics' smuggler, I have a description of her, she's arriving at the airport in an hour"

"Meet you at the blacksite" I said putting on my shoes again an walking out of the bedroom.

In there, we found the girl who was in his employ, and to our surprise, she was pregnant.

We took her back to my house, in the garage we sat her down at one of the laundry chairs and Liz began to interrogate her. After a few minutes of her completely avoiding our questions, the door of the garage opened. I looked over my shoulder and walked to Mags as she walked in with a frown.

"What are you doing at the house?" I asked, she looked over my shoulder with a frown.

"It's Saturday" she explained, then gave me a little inquisitive smile. "I don't even want to know what's happening" she said and then lowered her voice "I'm going to delete the video footage of the-" she motioned with the hand at the high security camera we had in the garage.

"That would help" I said with a nod "I'm interrogating a witness" I explained.

"It's fine" she said with a hand wave "just be careful"

"Thanks love" I replied, then saw her walk out of the garage and shut the door behind her.

"There's only one number saved to speed dial. It's got to be his, right?" I turned around and looked at the phone number. "If Sarkany trusts her to make deals, he'll probably trade her for Jennifer." I looked back at the door again, hoping Maggie wasn't on the other side listening. No, she wouldn't.

"Hey. She'll be okay" Liz said catching my attention, I nodded and took the phone from her hand.

"Yeah, I know. Let's talk about this trade" we walked further down the garage and I phoned the number with mine.

"Just ask for proof that Jennifer is alive, we'll met at the parking lot from earlier." I nodded and placed the phone in my ear to talk to Jankowics.

He refused to let me talk with Jennifer, and I couldn't hear anything in the background, but I was suddenly ripped off of the call by Liz calling frantically my attention. One second I was holding the phone, and the next I was opening up the stomach of this girl to pull out a silicone bag full of drugs out of her.

When I looked up at her, she was dead. Liz looked at me after she hung up on the 911 operator, there was nothing we could to about it. We placed her inside the van and the phone dinged with an address. It was a parking lot, and Liz and I got in motion to meet with Jankowics.

"Maggie, she was-" Liz began after I parked and sat silently in the van for a few minutes "awkwardly calm about you doing this"

I smiled to myself and nodded "yeah, somehow me helping you with a drug mule is very far on her list of worries, she has a two year old to take care of"

"Are you going to tell her?" She asked inquisitively. I looked at her and frowned.

"Of course"

"Even if her knowing could put her in danger?"

"What danger?" I asked even more confused.

"Reddington's"

I scoffed and dismissed her with a shake of my head.

"That's not going to happen" I looked back at her and sighed "don't take this the wrong way Keen, but your situation has made me realize I can't hold anything to myself. I promised to myself and to her I would never keep a secret. Maggie has been the only relationship out of the many I have had to dust me off after a hard case and send me off again, because she understands how important my job is to me. I owe her every bit of honesty"

The headlights of a car showed up in the entrance of the parking lot. I looked at Liz to make sure she was ready.

"We're going to get her back" I assured, then exited the vehicle.

I saw Jankowics intentions with the first sentence he said, and when I assured that we had his product and would get it as soon as he delivered Jennifer, I armed myself as I looked for the bag of drugs.

He quickly drew his gun after Jennifer was safe and sound with Liz, and I shot him through the bag that was concealing the gun, luckily Liz knew about the set up and quickly took care of the other armed guards.

I found myself with an opened bag of crystal meth, and a dead body in the back of my truck. I heard Liz talk to her sister on the front of the car and took the opportunity to dial Maggie.

"Hey love" she saluted "how is it going?"

"Not half bad, I've got a-" I looked between the body and the bag of ruptured drugs that littered the trunk of the car "mess in the car I'd like to get rid of. Do you know of someone?"

"Mmm" she hummed and heard her move stuff in the background "I can give you the address of someone who does"

"How much is that gonna cost?"

"I've been craving a brownie with ice cream for a while"

I smiled to myself and looked ahead, finding Liz talking to Jennifer still.

"I can do that. Send me the address"

"Will do" she hung up, and as I closed the trunk and walked to the driver's side, I got a text. I hopped into the car and waited for Liz and Jennifer to do the same.

"Jennifer can take us to Renard" she said. I turned on the engine and gave her a nod.

"We're getting rid of the car on the way there"

The address Mags had sent me was one of the blindspots in the city in the loading station of a set of stores. We exited the car, and I saw a guy walk out of an Audi. We didn't exchange much, just simply our keys. I guessed Maggie must've arranged the payment with him.

"Who's that guy?" Liz asked as she sat on the passenger side, I buckled in to drive to Renard's location.

"No clue" I answered simply "he's going to take care of the car for us though"

I drove to Jankowics' mansion, and in the way I learned that Jennifer told Liz that Renard said that Reddington's surgery had been arranged by Liz's mother.

Everything got more intricate by the second, and sadly we didn't find Renard in Jankowics' house, or much resistance for that matter.

I dropped Liz at her place, she didn't look to happy that we didn't catch the nurse. I was sure we were never going to hear form her again. She asked Reddington for help, and he must've acted on that Intel.

Before I returned to the house, I did drop by a place and bought Maggie some brownies, and it was a staple to have ice cream at the house.

Maggie was putting Alma to sleep when I arrived, and I made the time to serve her the brownie and scoop some ice cream on top of it.

"Oh, what did I ever do to deserve you?" She said as she walked in the kitchen and looked at the desert. She opened the drawer and took a spoon ready to go at it.

"Same. Same? Is that how you sat it?" She muffled a laugh as she had just bitten into the brownie, but gave me a funny look. I grabbed her by the waist and kissed her forehead.

I sat in the island stool, she was happily eating away, and I wondered how long was it going to take for her to question me about what I'd been doing all day and night.

She gave me a side look as she ate, and when caught me staring she turned to me and leaned on the island.

"What?" She asked, spooning another bite.

"I uh... I'm going to tell you what happen" she nodded.

"Okay" she left the spoon and pulled the other stool to sit.

"Reddington's secret. Liz figured it out. He was hiding that he's an imposter" he curved her eyebrows in a distrusting frown. "And Liz is trying to find out why on Earth would someone do that?"

"Furthermore, why would someone take someone's place to do like... Bad things, stain their name"

"Yeah, exactly" I nodded. She continued eating.

"And how are you feeling?" She said giving me a quick look "you can't be too happy to find out that the person who you've been hunting for years is not the person who they say it was"

"I am mad" I confirmed "I still have questions I would like answered" she hummed as she finished, licking her lips. "I guess I would be more mad if I didn't have anything else going for myself"

She chuckled, giving me a shy smile as she took the plate and left it in the sink.

"I'm going to help Liz in any way I can" I followed, she gave me a look with a nod, as if she knew I was going to say that.

"Wouldn't expect anything less from you Agent Ressler" she said, placing her hand on my back and leading me out of the kitchen.

"You don't seem to angry at the news?"

"Why would I" she said as we walked out of the kitchen.

"Well, for one, he didn't know your dad" I looked at her frown, and I saw her eyes move, as in searching for something in her brain.

"That's not entirely true, but I'm not mad because-" she waved her hand in the air with a scowl "because I don't know why he did what he did. So I don't think I have enough information to judge him"

"You're always on the side of your boyfriend Reddington" I joked as I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her up, she hooked her arms and legs around me

"Mmm, and are you jealous I'm stealing your boyfriend Reddington?" She said over my lips, then kissed me. I chuckled and opened the door of the bedroom.

"You can have him all for all I care" I closed the door quietly behind me and walked a few short steps to the bed.

"I prefer you" she said over my lips, then kissed me again.

#donald ressler #donald ressler fanfic #donald ressler x oc #the blacklist #the blacklis fanfict #fanfic

0 notes

kickstarter-promotion · 7 years

Photo

Another Amazing Kickstarter (Thank You For Sharing by Tim Kohler —Kickstarter) has been published on http://crowdmonsters.com/new-kickstarters/thank-you-for-sharing-by-tim-kohler-kickstarter/

A NEW KICKSTARTER IS LAUNCHED:

To say that I had found myself bit of a crossroads at age thirty would be a massive understatement. Having just left treatment for both addiction and depression, my musical future was uncertain. I had isolated myself from not just my family and friends but many of my musical collaborators as well.

I’ve been making music since I was fifteen years old, first behind the drum kit in high school jazz band, working my way over to guitar and then finally keyboards in various ‘indie rock’ outfits in high school and college. I’ve played in nearly every style, from the rustic pop-country of Waller to the high-energy, house-influenced Kid Stuff to the psychedelically controlled chaos of Hello Ocho. But songwriting has always been my true passion–the crafting, the arranging, the translation of raw emotion into art–and the idea of a record of my very own had always eluded me. There was just never enough time, never enough motivation. The short-lived Big Tent Revival Party was a solid first attempt to hone sincere, maximalist pop, but it was difficult to keep eight other musicians on the same schedule. Song Week, a recording collaboration with other songwriters, gave me an outlet for my evolving solo material, but by that point my obsession with excess had all but taken over.

And so 2015 opened with me very much on my own, having retreated to the suburbs and residing in structured living. I had little to my name or my spirit, other than my Yamaha keyboard and a used laptop with a copy of Fruity Loops programming software. With a clearer mind and a renewed sense of self, I began developing the blueprints of the songs that would make up my very first solo album. I wanted to use this opportunity of isolation to write a very personal record that captured both the sounds in my brain and the emotions in my heart. Something I could put my own name on. By the fall, I had eight inspired, concrete ideas, all laid out in the clicks, bleeps and glitches of MIDI.

My aspirations for this record didn’t start high. I wanted the laptop demos to sound like just that. A songwriter striking out on his own, figuring it out. I was just happy that the album could exist in any form at all, after surviving the storm of substance abuse I inflicted on myself and the people who loved me. After adding a handful of guitar and drum tracks with the help of the talented Eric Jennings, I reconnected with Song Week collaborator and great friend Mitchell Hardage, asking him to help fill out the album’s sound with bass guitar (an instrument not particularly in my skill set). Mitchell had other ideas for this record. He felt like the songs needed the touch of a real drummer, the warmth of real keyboards, the soul of real musicians. It was a proposition that was difficult to argue against. We had the time and resources to bring these songs to life, so why not?

And so Thank You For Sharing was slowly but methodically realized over six months, with Mitchell and I using our free Sundays to replace the bleeps and clicks of the laptop demos with live-tracked instrumentation. Gus Fernandez from Pony League added drums on the songs that were too sophisticated for my hands. Jennifer Zuiff, among others, sang some tremendous harmonies. I wrote string and horn charts for five of the songs and found the talented musicians to perform them, adding some elaborate arrangements to these quirky little pop songs.

After taking this record from humble electronic skeletons to full-blown technicolor productions, Mitchell and I are ready to take the next huge step. Just as the songs deserved to be performed instead of programmed, Thank You For Sharing deserves to be mixed and mastered by industry professionals. But the post-production on an album of this nature is far from cheap. And if we want this record to reach its full sonic potential, we’ll have to keep thinking big. This means that Mitchell and I will need:

The songs professionally mixed (about $2,200)

The album professionally mastered (about $1,200)

The session musicians properly compensated (about $900)

This way Thank You For Sharing will sound its very best and brightest. The time-consuming process of recording is complete, and now the post-production costs are the only thing holding this record back. Significant contributions will receive significant rewards, including a free copy of the album, unreleased tracks and much more! Each contributor will also be thanked graciously in the album’s liner notes.

If you guys are exceptionally generous and we reach our goal of $4,500 with time to spare, we could take Thank You For Sharing to an even higher level with further contributions. What does that mean?

It means that a STRETCH GOAL of $5,800, if met, will allow us to get Thank You For Sharing pressed on vinyl. Having this album preserved in record form would take this dream come true even further. Those who contribute $100 or more would receive a free copy of the album on vinyl if this stretch goal was met!

INFORMATION PROVIDED BY Kickstarter.com and Kicktraq.com VISIT PAGE SOURCE

#Kickstarter #Kohler #Sharing #Tim

0 notes

7r0773r · 4 years

Text

Flights by Olga Tokarczuk, translated by Jennifer Croft

. . . I realized that—in spite or all the risks involved—a thing in motion will always be better than a thing at rest; that change will always be a nobler thing than permanence; that that which is static will degenerate and decay, turn to ash, while that which is in motion is able to last for all eternity. (p. 40)

***

My set of symptoms revolves around my being drawn to all things spoiled, flawed, defective, broken. I’m interested in whatever shape this may take, mistakes in the making of the thing, dead ends. What was supposed to develop but for some reason didn’t; or vice versa, what outstretched the design. Anything that deviates from the norm, that is too small or too big, overgrown or incomplete, monstrous and disgusting. Shapes that don’t heed symmetry, that grow exponentially, brim over, bud, or on the contrary, that scale back to the single unit. I’m not interested in the patterns so scrutinized by statistics that everyone celebrates with a familiar, satisfied smile on their faces. My weakness is for teratology and for freaks. I believe, unswervingly, agonizingly, that it is in freaks that Being breaks through to the surface and reveals its true nature. A sudden fluke disclosure. An embarrassing oops, the seam of one’s underwear from beneath a perfectly pleated skirt. The hideous metal skeleton that suddenly pops out from the velvet upholstery; the eruption of a spring from within a cushioned armchair that shamelessly debunks any illusion of softness. (p. 17)

***

Description is akin to overuse—it destroys; the colors wear off, the corners lose their definition, and in the end what’s been described begins to fade, to disappear. This applies most of all to places. Enormous damage has been done by travel literature—a veritable scourge, an epidemic. Guidebooks have conclusively ruined the greater part of the planet; published in editions numbering in the millions, in many languages, they have debilitated places, pinning them down and naming them, blurring their contours. Even I, in my youthful naiveté, once took a shot at the description of places. But when I would go back to those descriptions later, when I’d try to take a deep breath and allow their intense presence to choke me up all over again, when I’d try to listen in on their murmurings, I was always in for a shock. The truth is terrible: describing is destroying. (p. 69)

***

WHAT THE SHROUDED RUNAWAY WAS SAYING

Sway, go on, move. That’s the only way to get away from him. He who rules the world has no power over movement and knows that our body in motion is holy, and only then can you escape him, once you’ve taken off. He reigns over all that is still and frozen, everything that’s passive and inert.

So go, sway, walk, run, take flight, because the second you forget and stand still his massive hands will seize you and turn you into a puppet, you’ll be enveloped in his breath, stinking of smoke and fumes and the big rubbish dumps outside of town. He will turn your brightly colored soul into a tiny flat one, cut out of paper, of newspaper, and he will threaten you with fire, disease and war, he will scare you so you lose your peace of mind and cease to sleep. He will mark you and record you in his records, provide you with the documentation of your fall. He’ll occupy your thoughts with unimportant things, what to buy, and what to sell, where things are cheaper and where they’re more expensive. From then on you will worry over trifles - the price of petrol and how that will affect the payments on our loans. You will live every day in pain, as though your life were a sentence. But for what crime? Committed when and by whom? You will never know.

Once, long ago, the tsar tried to reform the world but he was vanquished, and the world fell right into the hands of the Antichrist. God, the real one, the good one, became an exile from the world, the vessel of divine power shattered, absorbed into the earth, disappearing into its depths. But when he spoke in a whisper from his hiding place, he was heard by one righteous man, a soldier by the name of Yefim, who paid attention to his words. In the night he threw away his rifle, took off his uniform, unwrapped his feet, and slid his boots off. He stood under the sky naked, as God had made him, and then he ran into the forest, and, donning an overcoat, he wandered from village to village, preaching the gloomy news. Flee, get out of your homes, go, run away, for only thus will you avoid the traps of the Antichrist. Any open battle with him will be lost outright. Leave whatever you possess, give up your land and get on the road.

For anything that has a stable place in this world—every country, church, every human government, everything that has preserved a form in this hell–is at his command. Everything that is defined, that spans from here to there, that fits into a framework, is written down in registers, numbered, testified to, sworn to; everything collected, displayed, labelled. Everything that holds: houses, chairs, beds, families, earth, sowing, planting, verifying growth. Planning, awaiting the results, outlining schedules, protecting order. Rear your children thus, since you had them without understanding, and set out on the road; bury your parents, who brought you into this world without understanding – and go. Get out of here, go far away, beyond the reach of his breath, beyond his cables and wires and antennas and waves, resist the measurements of his sensitive instruments.

Whoever pauses will be petrified, whoever stops, pinned like an insect, his heart pierced by a wooden needle, his hands and feet drilled through and pinned into the threshold and the ceiling.

This is precisely how he died, Yefim, he who rebelled. He was captured and his body nailed to the cross, immobilized like an insect, on display for human and inhuman eyes, but most of all inhuman eyes, which take the most delight in all such spectacles; hardly a surprise that they repeat them every year and celebrate, praying to the corpse.

This is why tyrants of all stripes, infernal servants, have such deep-seated hatred for the nomads – this is why they persecute the Gypsies and the Jews, and why they force all free peoples to settle, assigning the addresses that serve as our sentences.

What they want is to create a frozen order, to falsify time’s passage. They want for the days to repeat themselves, unchanging, they want to build a big machine where every creature will be forced to take its place and carry out false actions. Institutions and offices, stamps, newsletters, a hierarchy, and ranks, degrees, applications and rejections, passports, numbers, cards, election results, sales and amassing points, collecting, exchanging some things for others.

What they want is to pin down the world with the aid of barcodes, labelling all things, letting it be known that everything is a commodity, that this is how much it will cost you. Let this new foreign language be illegible to humans, let it be read exclusively by automatons, machines. That way by night, in their great underground shops, they can organize readings of their own barcoded poetry.

Move. Get going. Blessed is he who leaves. (pp. 258-60)

***

This is how she understands it: life on this planet gets developed by some powerful force contained in every atom of organic matter. It’s a force there is no physical evidence of, for the time being – you can’t catch it on even the most precise microscopic images, nor in photographs of the atomic spectrum. It’s a thing that consists in bursting open, thrusting forward, in constantly going beyond what it is. That is the engine that drives changes, a blind and powerful energy. To ascribe goals or intentions to it is to misunderstand. Darwin read this energy as well as he could, but he still read it wrong. Competition shmompetition. The more experienced a biologist you become, the longer and harder you look at the complex structures and connections in the biosystem, the stronger your hunch that all animate things cooperate in this growth and bursting, supporting one another. Living organisms give themselves to one another, permit one another to make use of them. If rivalry exists, it is a localized phenomenon, an upsetting of the balance. It is true that tree branches jostle one another out of the way to reach the light, their roots collide in the race to a water source, animals eat each other, but there is in all this a kind of accord, it’s just an accord that men find frightening. It might appear that we are actors in a great bodily theatre, as though those wars we wage were merely civil wars. This – what other word to use? – lives, has a million traits and qualities, so that everything is contained within it, and there is nothing that might lie outside of it, all death is part of life, and in some sense there is no death. There are no errors. There are no guilty parties and no innocents, either, no merits, no sins, no good or evil; whoever thought up those notions led humankind astray. (pp. 286-87)

***

But children aren’t people. Children become people when they wriggle out of your arms and say “no.” (p. 349)

#olga tokarczuk #book quotes

0 notes