#churches and slaughterhouses

[sailinhaze]

afternoon with @etherealcry

[jewish-sideblog]

I feel like people have such a limited view of the Shoah as something that killed religious Jews living in Eastern Europe. Certainly, that’s the majority of Jewish deaths from a raw numbers perspective. But that narrow view erases so much suffering.

Imperial Japan was allied to the Nazis, so Jews in East Asia and the Pacific forced to flee or die as Japan expanded their empire. Fascist Spain was sympathetic to the Nazi cause, and it’s not like the Sephardic Jews could easily flee into France after 1940. The Axis powers had colonized Algeria, Iraq, Libya, Morocco, and Tunisia at that point, so North African Mizrahi Jews weren’t spared the horrors. While the US government didn’t directly kill Jews, they denied us refugee status during the Shoah, and they did nothing to prevent the spread of multiple US American fascist parties and white suprematist groups. The Vatican, unofficially allied with Fascist Italy, handed over the names and locations of Jews they had converted to Catholicism decades or centuries prior. Families who didn’t even know they were ethnically Jewish were dragged out of Catholic Churches during Mass and sent to slaughterhouses hundreds of miles away. There were precious few diasporic communities throughout the world where Jews were safe in the 30s and 40s.

The Holocaust spanned entire continents. The Holocaust was global.

Edit 04/02/24: This post wasn’t written about Israel, and you shouldn’t make it about Israel. In either direction. The Shoah should not serve as a justification for the unnecessary abuses of the Palestinian people by the Likud government. Simultaneously, the Shoah was not a “lesson” to be learned by Jews, you cannot make a reasonable comparison between the Shoah and Gaza. This post is not about Israel and Palestine. Do not make it about Israel and Palestine. The deaths of our ancestors are not a tool with which you can make your argument.

[thatnightlamp]

WEDDING WITH KONRAD CURZE. part 2 of Konrad courting gifts

a little husbandry AU if you squint. Thank you for 50 followers hehehehehee

You didn’t have the heart to do anything that day, or the day after. Of course you didn’t. Would you do something knowing you were about to be married off to what looked like a corpse that look like a serial killer and had all the charm of a wet dishrag dragged through a slaughterhouse?

No. You paced. You bit your nails. You Googled “how to break off a wedding with a cryptid.” (No helpful results, by the way.)

And when the sun began its slow crawl toward the horizon, you did what any reasonable, terrified person would do.

You locked every single door and window. You barricaded the porch with your entire living room set. You made a crude weapon out of a broomstick and a steak knife. You were ready.

At least, you thought you were.

It started with the bat. Hundreds of them, shrieking, wheeling in the sky above your house like a omen. Then came the fog, thick and unnatural, slithering in like a living thing. The air got cold. Unreasonably cold. Every breath was a cloud.

And then, he arrived.

Konrad Curze.

Because of course it was Konrad Curze.

Tall as a nightmare, draped in his grotesque leathers and armor that seemed to drink in the light. His eyes, glowing in a face like a skull stretched too tightly over something far worse. You hadn't noticed before, but now - now you did. He wasn’t alone.

Figures emerged from the fog. Towering giants, each one cloaked in darkness and etched with runes of terror, their armor decorated with skin, bone, and the symbols of the Night Lords Legion.

You watched, slack-jawed, as the entire warband of actual, for-real Astartes gathered on your lawn. Your poor neighbor, Mrs. Maurine, peeked out her window, saw many seven-foot-tall murder cryptids polishing a flensing blade, and promptly fainted, her Slamander carefully watching from her window. You couldn’t blame her.

You did the only thing left to do.

You ran.

You launched yourself out the back window like a startled raccoon, hit the ground, and sprinted for the woods. Heart hammering. Blood thundering. You didn’t care where you ended up, Canada, Alaska, anywhere but here.

Behind you, you heard a sound. A low chuckle. A voice that could make bones shiver.

“Ah… the chase. Nostramo's traditional rite.”

No. Nope. NOPE.

Branches whipped your face, thorns tore your clothes, but you didn’t stop. Not until the ground was ripped out from under your feet and you were hoisted into the air like a sack of potatoes.

He’d caught you.

Because of course he had.

You dangled helplessly over his armored shoulder as Konrad trudged back through the forest like this was all perfectly normal. You beat your fists against his back, which, you quickly realized, was about as productive as trying to punch a cement wall covered in knives.

“LET ME GO!”

“You are excitable,” he observed, his tone almost... pleased? “It will make the ceremony lively.”

You screamed something very rude in response.

“Many attempt to flee,” he continued as though you hadn’t just cursed out his ancestors. “It is the way. The bonding hunt. You honored tradition.”

“Oh my god, it wasn’t a ritual, I was just trying to survive!”

He paused, then turned his head slightly, letting you see the faintest flicker of what might have been amusement behind the horror.

“That too.”

By the time you were brought back, someone had fashioned a crude arch out of bones, chains, flowers and stolen church candles. The choir? Screaming servo-skulls and a very off-key Vox recording of the Imperial Hymn, sung backwards.

It was, in short, the worst wedding ever. Or the most metal. Hard to say.

You were dropped in front of the arch. Konrad stood beside you, radiating death and weird possessive pride. The other Night Lords loomed in a loose circle, watching with impassive curiosity, like this was the strangest tea party they’d ever attended.

A servo-skull floated forward, holding a rusted book and a jagged, ceremonial knife.

Konrad turned to you.

“Speak your vow.”

You opened your mouth to protest-

He tilted his head. “Say it, or we begin the bonding scarification in silence.”

You said it.

You absolutely said it.

Because you’d rather be fake-married to a corpse-goth warlord than find out what “bonding scarification” meant.

Konrad smiled.

It was awful.

And thus began your new life: married to a Primarch, hunted for sport by his sons when they got bored, and forced to sit through meetings that usually ended with someone losing a limb. Possibly you someday.

You really should’ve just ignored the dead rats.

[loveemagicpeace]

Astrological Life Events🌠

Fire venus -feel fun, drive at the beginning, but if they don't feel the same energy over time and if you don't stimulate them, then they usually lose interest. They need constant passion and playfulness. Especially from the beginning (because they want the person to show interest in them). They like more dramatic love and a relationship that is more spontaneous and interesting. They will never think you are too much for them because they like the energy when someone is more direct with actions and shows emotions.

Earth venus- they are initially cooler and observe the situation and think. And later they become more fixated on the person and then they become really devoted to that person. They don't like to rush into something because they are afraid that they will be hurt again later. So they do things more slowly and carefully. But when they really care about someone, they will really invest a lot in that relationship.

Leo rising people choose a spouse who usually does not suit them as much as they thought at the beginning. They can go into something very quickly and then regret it later. They can go very recklessly into something.

Capricorn rising will always test you before going into a relationship with you. They actually spend a very long time thinking about whether the person is right for them. They are very deliberate and make very deliberate moves. You think you know them, but you really don't. They observe your movements in silence all the time (similar to scorpio rising). They will always be one step ahead of you.

One of the reasons why fire moons are not compatible. The moon represents emotions, home, comfort, safety, care, etc. Fire signs don't feel so comfortable in water energy by themselves. Fire Moons often grow up independently and feel more distant from their family even in childhood. They can do many things on their own and the mother can be quite alienated. Especially with (aries moon and sagittarius moon). Therefore, these people are looking for someone who understands them emotionally, accepts their feelings and will be able to open up emotionally and be able to rely on someone and feel that the person will really be there for them. And when two fire moons are together, this creates emotional distance in the long run and not dependence (reactions are often similar) and emotionally the two people may not be able to complement each other because they both want a safe space for their emotions. Therefore, fire moons would be more compatible with water moons, because these give them the feeling that they can open up emotionally and make them feel that they can be vulnerable.

A balance between starchy and acidic foods is important for people born under the sign of Libra. They need lots of fresh air and moderate exercise. They should be careful about what liquids they consume.

The places ruled by the scorpio are: slow and muddy streams, calm ponds, swamps, vineyards. They also rule slaughterhouses, operating rooms, garbage disposals. As for food, people born under the sign of Scorpio should be careful to eat a lot of cooling food and fruit. Spicy and meaty food can bring them negative qualities.

Sagittarius is an optimistic sign and their health often depends on the mental attitude they have towards themselves. Sagittarius is connected by open places for exercise such as tehnis, horse riding. Therefore, people who have Mars in Sagittarius need to relax with a way to have fun: for example, jumping on a trampoline, rollerblading.

Capricorn is a dark sign in itself and rules places such as: tombs, cemeteries, morgues, dungeons. It also rules cellars, dark holes, abysses, frozen places, monasteries. They are supposed to rule even old churches, dark forests. Capricorn rules the skin and skin diseases, such as eczema, rashes.

From a medical perspective, Pisces rules the feet, the psychic mechanism of the mind. The bones they rule are: knuckles, ankles. The sign of fish also rules the veins of the feet. Problems such as colds, excessive sweating, dropsy, infectious diseases are also the result of the negative influence of fish on the soul. Most people with this sign are hypersensitive to medications and should avoid them. Pisces can be very sensitive to things and their environment affects them a lot. Whereas virgins are just the opposite. Virgos are actually very resistant to certain things and can heal quickly if they so desire. But they can be obsessed with overdoses of medication and can overdo it.

The ascendant shows your personality, how you behave, how you express yourself, how people see and perceive each other. The sun shows who you are and what your mission and inspiration is. The moon shows how you express your emotions, where you find comfort, your home. Mercury shows how you express yourself, communication, mentality, thinking, intelligence, your first impressions of childhood and environment. Venus shows your experience of love, how you look at love, how you behave in a relationship and what kind of partner you are. Mars shows your anger, energy, competitiveness, possessiveness, sexuality, and since Mars rules the first house, it also shows part of your personality.

Aspects in Astrology:

✨A conjunction is when there is no distance between the two planets, but the planets are equal to each other. It has the characteristics of the sun, for it represents strength and dynamism.

🍓The sextile is an opportunity complex and we associate it with Venus. It symbolizes harmony, harmony, love and lightness.

🚀The square is a destructive complex that the individual causes himself, either consciously or subconsciously. He has the characteristics of Mars, so he is more energetic, intense and determined. But it can also cause conflicts.

🎯The trine is a luck complex and is always auspicious and also has an auspicious nature. It has the energy of Jupiter, which means that it acts as an aspect that offers opportunities and lucky coincidences. In the synastry chart, it can show a chance / fateful meeting with a person.

🪼Inconjunction is a stress complex, it is considered an uneasy aspect. But it has the energy of Saturn, which means physical or mental illness or a strong sense of guilt.

🌙The opposition is a disturbing complex. It symbolizes duality. It has the energy of the moon (although many people think it has the energy of saturn). It is an aspect that causes a dual emotional energy that oscillates between one energy and another.

Mercury in Scorpio - they have a need for analysis, secret communication. They are bright, cunning, sarcastic. They are secretive and good at keeping secrets. They are susceptible to the weaknesses of other people, they are critical, doubtful and suspicious. They make quick ends of things. They don't forgive, they don't forget and they don't trust. As a child, you were privy to a lot of other people's secrets and you weren't allowed to tell them.

Mercury in Sagittarius - they need open, free communication. They are generous, know how to help, honest, independent and do not care about other people's opinions. They have an expressive way of expressing themselves, they like sports, they like authority. They are interested in philosophy, religion and law. Quickly earns the trust of others.

Mercury in Virgo - they have a need for stable and realistic communication. They often criticize others and notice small things. They have a good sense of detail and judgment.

Mercury in Cancer - the need for careful, personal communication. They are tactful, discreet, flexible, pleasure-loving, friendly. They are emotional and like their comfort. They are interested in home, family, security and sometimes they can depend on the opinion of the family.

Mercury in Leo - the need for creative, fun and joyful communication. They tend to be self-centered and domineering. They are sociable and popular and sometimes consider the opinions of society. They are fiery, quick to anger, stubborn, persistent, compassionate.

Mercury in Pisces - the need for idealistic, inspiring communication. They are often artistic, spiritual, and have rich intuition. They are imaginative, prone to absorbing other people's emotions. They like music, poetry, water. They are strongly influenced by the environment because they are hypersensitive. They are easily hurt and resentful. They tend to abuse alcohol and drugs. They are often more concerned about others than themselves.

Mars in Taurus -these people are jealous, possessive, combative and persistent. Sexuality is important to them. At first, they don't show much energy outwardly, but the energy shows later. They know how to appropriate people and secretly want them to be theirs. Maybe they don't feel that way at first, but they don't like to share someone with another person. This is often the case with earth signs, that the energy is not noticed immediately but later.

The Sun in the first house indicates a person who is more egotistical, has a strong personality and is confident. The individual is generous, talkative, independent. The Sun in this house brings problems due to haste, quarrelsomeness or recklessness.

The Sun in the 5th house brings small families. It can sometimes mean that there are no children (the individual does not want them), there can be problems with conceiving. The individual tends to dominate. This position often brings spiritual inclinations, artistic and creative talents.

Sun in the 6th house - makes a personality that feels good when serving others. They are interested in health, both personally and publicly. The individual is usually careful, orderly. Since this is a descending house, the individual may miss many opportunities that arise in the early years of his life.

Sun in 8th house- The individual is quietly ambitious to achieve a powerful position in life. He is usually fearless. Problems can arise due to lending money. The financial situation can improve after marriage because this is where an individual can gain the most from marriage. This position also indicates long life. People with this position can be careful of straining their bodies, especially the heart.

Sun in the 9th house - makes a personality that is noble, idealistic, enthusiastic. However, a person can be capricious or changeable and show a dual nature. It makes a personality that tries to maintain its position in life. Relationships are often very important. Success is usually far from the place of birth. It also indicates living abroad. The person loves art, music and literature.

People who has neptune, jupiter & uranus 1st house makes them very special and different from the rest. Because all planets stand out in their own way. Neptune gives a person a magical and special appearance. The person looks like they are not real. Emphasize their eyes, which look hypnotic and dreamy. Jupiter gives the person visibility and luck in appearance. Many people notice them quickly, they also look spiritual and fiery. Uranus makes a person different from others, their beauty is more outstanding and special. They can wear something that will look good only on them. They know how to wear things in their own way and thus stand out.

-Rebekah🍓🧚🏼‍♀️✨

[chanelgrll]

HIYAAA !!1!!1! could u do the killer chat w a mafia related reader????? Idk if you've done it before. Maybe a bartender that gives info out, a avvocato (the one that manages their legal troubles) or sm else entirely!!!! The possibilities are a looooott

A/N: ofc!!! I like the bartender idea so I'm gonna use that! cw: alcohol, suggestive scene, blood, ronin route spoiler

The bar you work at is older than sin and twice as dirty, a little pocket of cigarette smoke and whispered names tucked into the edge of a crooked city. The light barely touches anything but the edges of tumblers. You keep your mouth shut, your ears open, and your clientele coming back.

You're not mafia in name, not officially, but you serve them. In this line of work, loyalty is a currency, and you’ve been spending yours carefully: one pour, one favor, one secret at a time. You make your living off of people's drunk confessions, and sometimes off silence.

That’s probably why he showed up.

Ronin. Or as the server calls him, <goreboy>. That smug bastard with a smile like a knife burning slow, dangerous, a little too intoxicating. You'd heard about him through the usual whispers: a man who murders with no mercy, who laughs while he sharpens his blades. The Devil's Butcher, he found you with some digging, invited you to the server, that was 1 month ago.

But now he sits at your bar, one hand curled around a glass of neat whiskey, eyeing you like you’re the only person in the room who’s real. "Don't tell me you're quiet out of modesty,” he asks, voice smooth and low. “That would ruin the fantasy.”

You raise a brow. “Maybe I just don’t talk to devils.”

His smirk grows. “Darlin’, that’s not what I’ve heard. Word is you know everyone.” You don’t answer. You keep pouring. The first night he finally visited you, he says little, other than asking questions you pretend not to answer. The second night, he starts teasing. By the third, he’s stealing sips from your glass and telling you things no one’s supposed to know.

Like the way he sleeps with a knife under his pillow. Or the time he strangled a man in a church confession booth. Or how he doesn’t actually know how to tie a tie properly, but fakes it well enough.

It’s dangerous, how close he lets you. Even worse is how much you enjoy it.

You don't give information away for free, But when Ronin’s visiting, you slip a few things under the table. Names, meeting spots, small details.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That your heart doesn’t leap a little when he calls you darlin’, or lean a little too close when he reaches for his drink. That the way he watches you when your hands move over a glass isn’t bordering on reverence. Then there are the nights he comes in with blood on his knuckles and a split in his smile. The nights he doesn't talk much. You pour something strong for him, and you don’t ask questions.

Eventually, you hand him a rag and nod toward the sink in the back. That becomes your ritual. No questions, just warmth and a glass and the hush of jazz playing under the buzz of neon. You patch each other up in pieces. He doesn’t say thank you, not aloud, but he’ll linger longer when he leaves. Let his fingers brush yours when he takes his coat.

Once, just once, he kisses your knuckles like you’re royalty and he’s about to die.

The Slaughterhouse Losers is always full with chats. You’re not on it often, but Ronin gets giddy when he can drag you into voice. Your screen lights up with the familiar chaos one night while you're closing down. <goreboy> Guess who just saved their pretty little bartender from being snitched on <Angelic> Did you actually kill someone for LOVE??? <hitmeuppp> WHAT spill the lore IMMEDIATELY <You> didn’t ask for saving

<LUCA_IS_COOL> okay but did you mind tho... <goreboy> Didn’t see you complaining when I showed up <You> i was holding a bat and 2 broken bottles. i was fine. <goreboy> You looked like a fallen angel in a dirty apron. I had to intervene.

Your fingers hesitate. Then you type: <You> …thank you

<goreboy> Anything for you, darling

You minimize the tab before anyone else can see your face turn warm. The thing about the life is that it always comes knocking. Doesn’t matter how neutral you try to stay, how many drinks you pour, how many names you bite your tongue not to say. One day, the wrong man walks through your doors. He’s a cop. And he’s asking questions that cut too close.

“You see Ronin Beaufort in here often?”

You clean a glass. “Never heard of him.”

“Heard he’s tight with a bartender. One who keeps a lot of secrets.”

“Maybe you’ve been drinking in the wrong bars.” You’re not stupid. You don’t send a message. You don’t reach out. You wait. But you know the walls have ears, and the floorboards here are soaked in enough sins to make evil spirits quiver. Ronin doesn’t show that night. Or the next. On the third, just as you’re locking up, you feel the chill behind you.

"You always this good at lying?” his voice murmurs near your ear.

You spin, and he’s there, blood spattered across his collar and cheek, eyes wild like a storm.

“What the hell happened?”

“FBI,” he spits like a curse. “One of them followed me. I left him unconscious in a dumpster, but the fucker had a mic. Thought you might’ve cracked.”

Your jaw tightens. “You really think I’d talk?”

He watches you, a long beat. Then his voice softens. “No. But it scared me, is all.” You should push him away. You should be furious. Instead, you reach out and wipe the blood off his cheek with your thumb.

“I’ve seen you bleed, Ronin. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop standing next to you.” He exhales like that undoes him. Like he wants to sink to his knees. Instead, he kisses you, tasting of copper and want.

The night becomes a fever dream of heavy breathing, bodies tangled in the back office where the city can't see you sin. He kisses like he means it, touch like he’s memorizing every scar. You don't let anyone this close. Not usually. But Ronin’s not anyone. He's chaos, and you're the fool who thinks you can dance in fire without burning.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters against your skin.

You pull his hair until he groans. “Then die pretty.”

He laughs, god help you.

You don’t sleep that night. You just lie tangled with him on the old couch, the scent of whiskey and sweat and blood between you, the server buzzing somewhere with chaos you don’t care about. In the early hours, while the neon dies and the street outside is silent, he whispers,

“If I asked you to run with me, would you?” You don’t answer right away. But you don’t say no. The heat dies down eventually. The feds move on. A bribe, a corpse, a misdirected tape , whatever it was, Ronin never tells you, and you don’t ask. But things change after that.

He’s softer with you. In private. Still smug. Still lethal. But sometimes you catch him staring like you’re a ghost that haunts him sweetly. You start marking his usual spot with a napkin and his favorite drink. He starts leaving you little things, like a necklace he said reminded him of your smile. A bullet casing with your initials scratched into the side.

“I’m sentimental,” he shrugs. “Sue me.”

You grin. “I’m your bartender, not your lawyer.”

“That so?” he leans close. “Then pour me something dangerous, sweetheart.” You do, every time.

<goreboy> My bartender just stabbed a guy with a corkscrew <Angelic> LMAO WHAT <You> He threatened Ronin. I got creative <hitmeuppp> im gonna SCREAM this is ROMANCE

<LUCA_IS_COOL> do you guys even need us here? i feel like i’m 3rd wheeling <goreboy> Only when you’re useful, Luca <K9> Can everyone shut up

“You know,” he says one night, “if the world ended tomorrow, I’d still come here. Just to see you pour one last drink.”

You shake your head. “That’s dramatic, even for you.”

He leans over the bar, eyes dark. “Yeah, but it’s true.”

You pause. Then nod. “Same.” You don’t need more than that. The way he looks at you, the way he stays even when he should run, tells you what he can’t quite say. You kiss him across the bar. Let him taste the parts of you that don’t belong to anyone else.

You pour another glass.

He drinks.

And you stay.

Together.

[undyingdecay]

bucharest blues — 01

pairing: james buchanan (bucky) barnes x reader cw: mentions of violence, mention of disability (a character is deaf), sort fresh out of hydra bucky (just before civil war took place), eventually smut (not in this chapter), eventually violence, eventually drug use. a/n: i had no plans to post this, but it was sitting in my drafts so why not. depending on how it does, i may continue it

this had to be hell.

hell brought to earth — but in a way so personal, so surgically precise in its cruelty, that you began to wonder if it was crafted just for you. the kind of punishment not doled out in fire and brimstone, but in endless gray skies and streets slick with yesterday’s rain. was this karma?

you leaned against the wooden pillar beside you. careful not to put too much weight against it, lest a splinter find its way beneath your skin. the old woman who owned this rickety shop-home hadn’t sanded the wood in, well, maybe ever. it was the kind of place time forgot, where nothing new arrived unless it came in the back of a dented white truck with a cartoon cow on its side, grinning ear to ear like it hadn’t seen the slaughterhouse yet.

bucharest in winter could be beautiful, you supposed. if you squinted past the cracked sidewalks and graffiti-tagged alleyways, past the old churches with their stone faces weathered by centuries of rain and sorrow. but to you, it was less a city and more a purgatory — a place where sound went to die and people faded into themselves.

silence ruled here. not the kind of quiet you get in the lull before a storm, or in a church pew. no, this was the heavy kind. the kind that settles in your bones. it made you wonder if maybe silence wasn’t just the absence of sound, but the presence of something else entirely. a lingering, oppressive weight.

the tourists were sparse this time of year, which made your so-called job harder. less people meant fewer pockets to pick, fewer naive foreigners to overcharge for “freshly-picked local goods.” in truth, you had no real idea where any of it came from. every morning like clockwork, the same tired truck would rumble to a stop in front of the shop. same driver, same clipboard, same cartoon cow. the old woman, too frail and half-deaf, would wave you out to scrawl a name you weren’t even sure belonged to either of you.

you didn’t know her real name. nobody ever told you. the locals called her the little deaf girl in that shop when they spoke of her past — if they spoke of her at all. she had been all you’d known for as long as you could remember. a silent, sharp-eyed woman who communicated with curt hand gestures and smacks to the back of your head when you failed to pick up the alphabet in sign. you still hadn’t learned.

the crates in front of you were an uneven arrangement of bruised apples, plums, glass jars of god-knows-what preserves, and dusty glass bottles whose labels had long since faded. the goods themselves weren’t important. the game was. find a mark. spot the outsider. reel them in.

you scanned the passing faces. a woman dragging a child by the wrist while haggling with a jeweler — too much trouble. two men in round sunglasses, despite the cloudy sky. you rolled your eyes. no. not them.

and then you saw him.

“hey!” you called, cupping your hands around your mouth as though it would somehow make the sound sharper, carry farther.

he turned before the word even left your lips. like the syllable itself was a trigger. his head snapped toward you in a way that made the hairs on your arms stand. a soldier’s reflex. or something worse.

the man was built like a warhorse — broad-shouldered, thick through the chest, with long hair that brushed his jaw and a few days’ stubble along his sharp jawline. dark jeans, a black henley that clung to him like it had been made for his frame. but it was the gloves that caught your eye.

black leather, even in the chill. not the kind worn for fashion, but for necessity. for hiding something. a glimmer of old movies flickered through your mind — soldiers in war-torn cities, secret agents slipping through crowded streets. you didn’t know it yet, but you were staring at a ghost. not the white-sheet kind. the kind with blood under their nails and a thousand-yard stare.

you realized you were still staring.

and he was staring back.

his gaze was sharp, not wide-eyed or startled, but measuring. as if he was calculating a hundred things about you in a single heartbeat — how fast you could run, how loud you could scream, how easily you could disappear. you swallowed hard, the taste of metal and old fear heavy on your tongue.

this was not a tourist.

this was not someone you could sell dusty jars of pickled cherries to.

but you damn sure could try.

the money never went to you. never had. not a single crumpled bill or faded leu note ever found its way into your pockets. it went to the old woman in the sagging chair by the window upstairs, who counted every coin like she was still trying to win a game she didn’t even remember the rules to. but for her, anything was worth it. a sale was a small victory against the world’s indifference.

so you moved.

sweaty palms against frayed fabric as you left the stand unattended, weaving through the thin stream of passersby. a few curious glances flicked your way — not at you, but at him. because even in a city that saw its share of ghosts, this one stood out.

when you stopped in front of him, the world felt quieter somehow. like the air thickened between you, sound getting stuck somewhere in the space that separated your two chests. you’d never been superstitious, but some part of you whispered that if you said the wrong thing here, if you made the wrong move, your bones might be found in some alley three weeks from now, gnawed on by stray dogs.

god, if he killed you… who’d tell the old lady?

you forced yourself to breathe.

“would you like to buy any of our goods?” you asked, words tumbling out with a roughness you hadn’t intended. you turned partway, gesturing toward the stand as though it was something worth being proud of. “pickled cherries. apricot preserves. apples… a little bruised but still good.”

his gaze didn’t follow your hand.

didn’t look at the stand.

didn’t even blink.

he just looked at you. that unreadable stare — the kind of eyes that didn’t live here. didn’t belong to these streets, this time, this decade. you saw it then. the ghost of old wars. of a man who might’ve once walked with steve rogers on cold european battlefields, heard the whistle of artillery shells overhead, smelt blood in the mud.

the gloves shifted against his palms. black leather flexing faintly. a twitch, maybe. you wondered if it was nerves or habit or something worse.

his jaw tensed. a flicker of hesitation.

then, a word — low, rough, american.

“no.”

simple. final. like a verdict.

but something in the way he said it wasn’t unkind. it wasn’t sharp, or angry, or cruel. it was tired. the kind of no someone gave the world when they’d long since stopped wanting anything from it.

and yet, he didn’t move. didn’t walk away.

people like him didn’t stay in plain sight for long. you didn’t know his name, didn’t know the sins sewn into his skin, but you knew that. he should’ve left already. slipped away like smoke between buildings. but here he was.

there was a long, heavy second where neither of you spoke. the world around you blurred at the edges. the hum of a distant car radio. a child laughing two streets over. somewhere, a dog barked.

he finally let out a slow, almost soundless breath through his nose.

“you shouldn’t yell like that,” he said quietly, voice hoarse, like it hadn’t been used much in a long, long while. his eyes flicked to the corners of the street, the rooftops, the windows where curtains shifted a fraction too quickly. he didn’t look at you when he spoke.

“not safe.”

and with that, he turned.

started to walk away.

something in your gut turned to ice. not because you feared him — though you probably should have — but because you knew what that was. that wasn’t a threat. that wasn’t some local tough trying to scare a street kid. that was a warning from someone who understood how ugly the world could get, someone who’d seen it firsthand and was still carrying its weight. you could see it in his shoulders. the way he walked like a man who never let his back face an open room.

but it was a damn shame you never cared much for warning signs.

especially not when you hadn’t made a single damn sale all day.

not when she was counting on you, sitting up there by the window like a ghost of her own, waiting for the clink of coins in the old glass jar.

so you moved. quick steps. your heartbeat in your throat, the cold air biting at your skin. you caught up to him before your better judgment had time to scream what the hell are you doing?

and you grabbed his wrist.

a mistake.

the world tilted in a blink — faster than your eyes could follow. one moment your fingers brushed cold leather, the next his grip was around your wrist like iron. not painful, but firm. enough to tell you, without a word, that if he wanted, your bones could shatter like glass.

his head turned. that same look.

“one fruit,” you blurted, desperate now, voice cracking a little. “just one. apples. dragon fruit. plums—”

that one word seemed to catch him.

his eyes flickered, a subtle shift you might’ve missed if you weren’t already watching for something — anything. not a wide-eyed recognition, not some dramatic gasp. just a flicker. a memory, maybe. some shadow of a time before metal arms and cold rooms with flickering lights. a memory of simpler things.

plums.

you latched onto it.

“they’re good,” you said, softer now, sensing the tightrope you were on. “we don’t get them often. imported. little soft, but… sweet.”

a beat passed.

the street moved around you. life went on, as if it didn’t realize it was holding its breath.

and slowly, his hand loosened from your wrist. he didn’t move away. didn’t say anything.

you took a chance. “you don’t have to eat it. just… take one.”

for her.

for you.

for whatever stupid, stubborn part of you didn’t want to go home empty-handed again.

another beat.

and then, wordlessly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a coin — old leu, worn thin from years of handling — and pressed it into your palm. his gloves brushed your skin. cold as hell.

he nodded, once.

a barely-there thing.

and turned away again.

not a word.

not a look back.

karma had to be real.

you didn’t believe in much — not saints or fate or any of those old bedtime stories the village grandmothers told in crumbling dialects over cracked cups of tea. but standing here now, stomach gnawing itself hollow, knuckles whitening around the wicker handle of a half-empty basket, you were damn sure something in the universe was watching and having a good laugh at your expense.

because there he was.

again.

the man from yesterday.

the one you’d harassed for a coin.

the one with the winter-gray eyes and the leather gloves and the presence that clung to him like a shadow no amount of daylight could chase off.

and now he was standing directly in front of the meat counter.

you stared. couldn’t help it. couldn’t seem to look away. he stood there, broad shoulders squared, watching the butcher weigh a few cuts of something red and marbled with fat. his hair was tied back this time — a messy, too-long knot at the nape of his neck. a few loose strands brushed his stubble-darkened jaw, and for some stupid, irrational reason, it made your throat go dry.

of course.

because it wasn’t enough for him to be intimidating — no, the bastard had to be hot, too.

your grip on the basket tightened, the frayed handle digging into the crease of your fingers. you should’ve turned around, ducked down another aisle, abandoned the meat and the stew and any shred of dignity you had left. the old woman would understand, right? you could almost hear yourself explaining it to her later:

‘sorry, couldn’t get the beef because the super hot guy i harassed for spare change was standing in front of it, and i didn’t feel like getting murdered in the frozen foods section.’

yeah.

that’d go over real well.

but your eyes drifted to him again, and this time you noticed it — the way his shoulders seemed too stiff, how his gaze darted up toward the mirror bolted into the corner of the shop ceiling, scanning the handful of people wandering the aisles. he was watching, not shopping. every inch of him looked like it wanted to disappear through the wall.

you should’ve let him.

should’ve minded your own business, grabbed a loaf of bread and called it a night. but something — stubbornness maybe, or that same reckless streak that’d made you grab his wrist earlier — kept your feet rooted to the cracked tile.

and before you could talk yourself out of it, your voice cut the stale air.

“hey.”

quiet this time. not a yell, barely a murmur, but somehow his head still turned.

those pale eyes landed on you, and for half a second you wished you’d swallowed your tongue.

he didn’t say anything. just waited.

you coughed, shifting your basket higher on your hip. “you, uh… never took your plum.”

a flicker in his expression. not a smile, not even a smirk, but something — a twitch of his brow, a tightening around his mouth. like he wasn’t sure whether you were trying to be funny or just terminally stupid.

“i didn’t want one,” he said, voice low and rough. the kind of voice that sounded like it hadn’t been used much lately. like maybe words felt heavier for him than most.

you shrugged, pretending your stomach wasn’t a mess of nerves. “didn’t say you had to want it. it’s already paid for. be a shame to let it rot.”

his gaze didn’t soften. didn’t harden either. just lingered on you a second longer than you expected. the butcher behind the counter said something in romanian, something about prices rising again, but neither of you moved.

you forced a lopsided grin. “not poison, if that’s what you’re thinking. promise. i mean—” you gestured at yourself with your free hand, “if i wanted you dead, probably wouldn’t have chased you down for pocket change.”

that earned you a breath — not quite a laugh, but a huff of something close to it. his eyes flicked to the front of the shop, then back to you. always watching the exits.

“you follow everyone you harass,” he muttered, the barest ghost of dry humor in his tone, “or just me?”

you blinked. then grinned, a real one this time. “only the ones built like tanks.”

a pause.

then, against all odds, he let out a quiet exhale that might’ve passed for amusement if you weren’t sure he was incapable of it.

“show me,” he said.

and for a moment you thought you’d misheard. but he was already moving, tucking his wrapped package under one arm, cutting through the narrow aisle with that same silent, predatory grace. you scrambled after him, basket bumping against your leg.

outside, the air hit colder than before, sinking teeth into your skin. the sun had dipped lower, the streets thinning of people. you could hear a dog barking somewhere, a distant radio playing a scratchy folk song.

you led him back toward the stand, heart hammering, wondering what the hell you were even doing. when you reached it, you plucked the best-looking plum from the pile — a little soft, sure, but still a deep, glossy purple — and held it out like a peace offering.

he stopped in front of you, staring down at it. didn’t take it right away.

you rolled your eyes. “c’mon. it’s not gonna bite you.”

slowly, he reached out, leather glove brushing against your fingers as he took it. he turned it over in his hand once, studying it like it might reveal some hidden message.

“i don’t eat sweets,” he muttered.

“good thing it’s a fruit then,” you shot back.

and for the briefest second, something cracked through that impossible wall of his. a tiny, sardonic twitch at the corner of his mouth. gone almost before it appeared, but you caught it.

without a word, he reached into his pocket and dropped another coin into the old jar by the stall. you stared down at it.

“you didn’t have to—”

“keep it.”

and then, like smoke, like a ghost, he turned and vanished down the narrow street, leaving you standing there with a half-full basket, a fading grin, and a heart still racing like you’d just outrun the devil.

the plum pitifully soft in your palm.

karma, you thought again.

yeah, she had a hell of a sense of humor.

[timetopractice]

So we know that the games hire a lot of very young people to be soldiers (in both season 1 and 2 we have a scene where a player remarks about how young the soldier they unmasked is (moreover, in both cases it is also a square) - so it had to be done on purpose)

Inspired by that I wrote something about the soldiers' side (it's a part of my fanfic but can be read as a standalone)

Soldier 99, Park In-su, was 17 when he first landed on the island.

He remembers the day as if it were yesterday. When the man in the black mask visited him in juvie and informed him, that he could work off his debt to society in other ways, than rotting behind bars for the next 20 years. He didn’t care about society much. Not after it abandoned him to his fate as his father and mother tortured him throughout his childhood. And when he finally decided to save himself and pay them back for everything they had done to him, it was he who was considered a monster by them.

A 16-year-old psychopath who ruthlessly murdered his parents in their sleep - decent citizens who sat in the front pew at church every Sunday and were known for their involvement in the local community.

He treated the man's offer as a second chance. A new beginning. 

His first visit to the island left him emotionally devastated. For months he had nightmares and everywhere he turned he saw the faces of the people who had died there. He heard their screams and desperate pleas for mercy.

However, when he got a business card the following summer, he still showed up when called. He didn't regret coming here.

After the third time, everything became easier. Paradoxically, working with weapons was easier than being an ordinary worker. It allowed him to distance himself. The screams no longer made such a big impression on him, the nauseating sights were now only a slight discomfort. The officer's advice to not think of them as humans helped. Thinking that they had decided to come here themselves and were only here because of their own stupidity helped. Generally, not thinking at all helped.

Come to the island, follow the rules, don't ask any questions, collect your payment.

15 million for 10/30 days - depending on whether the players decided to leave after the first game.

Considering the circumstances, it wasn't a lot of money, but in the real world he would have to work like an ox for over half a year, delivering food or doing any other minimum wage job. They changed some information in his file, but he was still a former juvenile detention center resident so he had no hope of getting a good job. All in all, he had it better than a lot of people out there.

When in his fourth year he was offered the opportunity to transport organs, he did not hesitate for a moment. His income doubled. Now, in the off-season, he didn't have to work at all. Life was... life. Not good, not terrible. He didn't have to worry about what he would eat and where he would sleep. He had it figured out.

The moment of sobering comes when he arrives for the organs too early and sees them carving up a man like a pig in a slaughterhouse while he writhes in pain and tries to get away.

He comes to the conclusion that maybe people were right about him after all. Because no one with even a milligram of morality would agree to participate in something like that.

And then he meets 100.

The man was getting on his nerves from the very beginning. Which was quite an achievement considering they couldn't talk to each other. It was clear from the start that he wasn't cut out for the job. He flinched every time the guns went off, his hands shook when he had to deal with bodies, and on the second day he almost got himself killed when, during a game, one of the players who had just lost lunged at him. In-su shot him before he could rip off his mask.

That same day, when he went to bed, he heard an annoying cough. He probably wouldn't have paid much attention to it if it hadn't sounded like someone was coughing their lungs out. Maybe 100 needed money for treatment, which was why he came here. Only after listening for a while did he realize that it sounded suspiciously like Morse code. He knew it a bit from the juvie, because the people there used it to smuggle drugs and warn each other about their guardians.

He catches the last thank you, the man coughs up.

Coughing, he tells him to shut the fuck up.

In response, the man wishes him good night.

This is how their nightly conversations begin. In-su is initially reluctant towards them, but the lack of human contact and loneliness took their toll, especially when they had to wait a dozen or so days for the players to return and spent their days on routine maintenance and cleaning.

When a year later his transport partner is shot by the Frontman, he offers the place to 100.

That evening, as they descend into the cave, they see each other's faces for the first time. From that moment on he is lost. No, he was lost until that point. Now he was saved.

Leaving the island a few days later, In-su repeats to himself the phone number he has memorized. It takes him two months to work up the courage to call Park Ki-hyun.

They live an hour away from each other. In-su will soon begin to cover that distance several times a week.

He meets his 5-year-old sister, Ha-eun, whom Ki-hyun takes care of. She is so small, so innocent. In-su wonders if he looked like that at her age. When his father broke his hand for the first time, for an offense he doesn't even remember.

That night, something inside him breaks. He cries for the first time since he was a child, before his parents beat that out of him too. He cries until his head hurts and his eyelids stick together with tears. He confesses the whole truth to a worried Ki-hyun.

When he wakes up the next morning, he expects that the man will want him gone. Instead, Ki-hyun sends him grocery shopping with Ha-eun.

That day, he decides that he will do everything to protect them. To make sure they lack nothing.

The months go by.

When the shop on the ground floor of Ki-hyun's building is looking for an employee, he applies. After work, more and more often he spends the night on the couch he has to share with the man, instead of going back to his place, until he barely goes there.

They share a moment of panic when the next invitation for him arrives at Ki-hyun's apartment, but when they do not receive any reprimand during the games, they breathe a sigh of relief.

Three days after the games end, In-su takes his few belongings from the rented room and ends the contract.

*

They listen silently for the sounds coming from the bathroom. Ki-hyun shifts his weight from one foot to the next. He didn't like the plan from the start. It was only the prospect of the additional 20 million they were supposed to get that made him reluctantly agree to participate.

"Everything will be fine, hyung." In-su says quietly, turning off the voice modulator for a moment. Careful not to be caught on camera, he squeezes the man's hand in a reassuring gesture. "Remember our plan?" Ki-hyun nods.

They are going to quit after these games.

Ki-hyun spent all his earnings on paying off the mortgage his parents left him with, when they died in a car accident. He was in his last year of high school at the time and had to drop out of school to earn a living for himself and his then 4-month-old sister.

Now, after 4 years of working here and despite In-su's support, they still had 200 million to pay off. After this year's game, they would be able to pay off another 50 million and still have some left for a rainy day.

If it were up to In-su, he would prefer to work a few more years and pay off the mortgage in full, but Ki-hyun begged him to stop now. From the beginning, he had been more affected by what was happening here and even though it was his 5th time on the island, he still hadn't lost his empathetic side.

In-su preferred to be more pragmatic about it. Their absence wasn't going to change anything. Whether they participated or not, people were going to die. Despite that, he agreed to leave. For them.

They both worked full time jobs, and even if the salary was not the best, it allowed them to cover basic expenses and mortgage installments.

They were going to start over. Together.

When the sounds of the scuffle fade, they enter the bathroom.

Player 456 stands over Player 001 stiffly, staring at the body with a blank stare. The bathroom looks like a set from the Z grade horror movie that 100 tried so hard to convince him to watch, only to spend the entire movie hiding behind him. There's blood everywhere - on the tiles, the sink, both players' clothes.

Player 456 takes a step back as they approach, the hand holding the bloody knife still shaking. How did this guy win 4 years ago if a little blood made him look like he was about to faint? He has no idea. It doesn't really matter anymore.

For helping to get rid of 001, the officer promised the man that he would let the survivors go. A promise he obviously had no intention of keeping. A shame. The guy could have lived like a king for the rest of his life, but he chose this. If Park In-su were in his place he would never come back. That kind of money would have completely changed their family's life.

Ki-hyun leans over the body with the scanner.

In-su turns to 456 and raises his rifle.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up as Ki-hyun lets out a strangled moan behind him.

He turns in time to see player 001 tackle him to the ground where they begin to scuffle.

Without a second thought, he rushes to his rescue, not wanting to risk hitting Ki-hyun with his weapon, only to be met with excruciating pain when player 456 stabs him in the back of his thigh. Taking his rifle away is embarrassingly simple after that.

He does not care. His eyes are on the man lying on the bathroom floor, just like player 001 did a moment ago. His mask is gone. A thin trickle of blood marks his temple.

"Hyung." He crawls towards him, ignoring the pain. "Hyung."

He grips the unconscious soldier’s suit. His chest moves almost imperceptibly.

"Please. Don’t hurt him." He addresses the men towering over them, taking off his mask.

Player 001 watches the scene dispassionately, but he sees hesitation on Player 456’s face. He focuses his eyes on him. He knows the chances of them leaving him alive are slim, but he has to try. Not for himself, but for Ha-eun.

"He didn’t- he never killed anyone. He was just on the maintenance team. He has a little sister to take care of. If he dies, she will have no one. Please. He wasn't even planning on coming here this year. He's only here because I talked him into it."

His heart stops as player 001 points the gun at Park Ki-hyun. In-su acts on instinct. He covers the unconscious man with his own body.

The last thing he hears is player 456 screaming and a gunshot. A moment later his head is pierced by a terrible pain.

As he plunges into darkness, he regrets coming to the island for the first time. Not because he dies because of it. No. He deserved to die a long time ago.

He only regrets what his presence here did to Ki-hyun. He thinks of Ha-eun, who will never find out what has happened to her big brother. 

The last two names join the long list of people whose lives he has ruined over the years.

[xjulixred45x]

PLEASE GIVE US ALUCARD X YUI KOMORI READER IM BEGGING YOU!!!

My boy alucard deserves someone so heavenly and my girl yui deserves a good vampire lover 💗

Alright!

Alucard Tepes x Yui Komori! Reader

Genre: Headcanons

Reader: female

Warnings: typical canon violence of Castelvania, Reader has the background of Yui Komori, so this may content like abuse of power, violence, Harrasment, mistretment, etc. Alucard has His own PTSD problems. Fluff, hurt with comfort. This is set between Castlevania and Nocture.

• Living in a town in the middle of nowhere had its advantages. Like, for example, you don't usually get into the dramas of big cities, everyone is independent, and best of all, it's so remote that no one would think of attacking or robbing there.

• That was the life that reader had known most of the time, since she arrived in that village, she was able to know a lasting peace. She had been born somewhere else, but had been abandoned in a church by her parents, leaving nothing behind.

• They were hard times after all, when Valakya was being rebuilt from the ravages caused by vampires. Reader's parents probably didn't even have where or how to take care of her thanks to that, it was the best they could do for her, give her a better life.

• Despite everything, reader wanted to live life with positivity, having been raised by a loving father, she was always willing to help in the church she lived in, being recognized in the village as a young woman not only of great beauty, but of a big heart and an unwavering faith.

• Faith that would be put to the test, when one night everything changed.

• reader could remember that night, the screams in the early morning, the doors of the church breaking, a group of vampires entering, covered in blood.

• It was easy for a relatively small group of vampires to take control of a tiny village. It seemed that they intended to use the village as a kind of slaughterhouse, so that they would always have food available. Since the village didn't really have neighbors, they were stuck with these monsters.

• They always demanded a young woman as a sacrifice every month (which in the best case they never saw again, in the worst, they found their mutilated bodies days later), or else they would kill the entire family to feed themselves. They were days full of fear, anguish and despair for everyone.

• But none of that compared to when they demanded a sacrifice from the church.

• A part of the reader didn't want to have to do it, but she didn't want to imagine what would happen if any of the other girls from the church (younger, with a chance of surviving) were handed over, a difficult decision had to be made. And so it was.

• They were the worst days in the reader's life, she could hear the echo of her father's crying, telling her that he was going to save her, find a way, while she was tortured by those monsters.

• The reader could never fully understand how she held on for so long, only that one day her father had arrived with the necessary reinforcements to kill the bastards, seeing it with her own eyes, something that seemed like magic.

• She wasn't even aware of when she fainted during this time, only that when she finally woke up, it wasn't in those vampires' lair, but it definitely wasn't her house. It was much bigger, older…

• Her father was beside her bed, sleeping peacefully, reader didn't feel brave enough to wake him up until she noticed there was another person in the room.

• A man, with long blonde hair, wearing fine clothes, seemed to be cleaning something (bandages, reader noticed she had them all over her body, it seems that was the man who saved their lives).

• When reader was about to speak, the man turned around. A part of reader was alert, there was something familiar with this man, but not something familiar good.

• The man introduced himself, Alucard (That sounded familiar too), he explained why they were there. It turns out that reader was really bad from the blood loss, and he had more medical resources here, in his castle, than those in the village had, so reader's father (who was finally waking up) insisted.

• Reader almost felt embarrassed by her father's behavior. Doesn't he know how to have a little more manners? As she lightly reprimanded him, apologizing on his behalf for the inconvenience.

• Alucard, surprisingly, smiled amused at this, saying that it was okay, and that he was actually calm knowing that she was alive and well (after everything her father said about her, she seemed like someone very dear to her people).

• Reader stared at him for a few seconds, not knowing what to answer. As Alucard left, Reader realized why that man looked so familiar to her... his teeth.

• (a good portion of the morning was reduced to reader asking her father why the hell she was allying herself with a vampire after everything that happened, reader having a panic attack thinking she was going to be vampire food again, and her father trying to explain to her that TECHNICALLY Alucard was only half vampire - there was nothing to worry about! And so on)

• Alucard probably managed to hear at least a little of the fuss, and honestly can't blame reader for being cautious. I mean, after going through that hell with vampires? It makes sense (he was like that with humans for a while after all, he understands it just fine).

• The surprising thing, though, was that Alucard ended up running into reader watching him from afar, as if she was making sure he wasn't going to do anything. Although she wasn't against talking to him, asking him questions, and helping out with certain chores (not too heavy, obviously).

• But at the same time, he couldn't feel any hostility, he just watched as Reader's fawn eyes followed his actions closely and with great curiosity. It was kind of adorable, how she tried to stay away, but at the same time she was so expressive that it gave away her real intentions.

• Reader's father and her were going to stay in the castle for a few days, at least until Reader was recovered enough to leave, which didn't seem to be soon, both due to the great loss of blood and the injuries caused during her captivity.

• Fortunately, Reader was more curious about Alucard than scared at this point, so this leads to several interesting interactions.

• If we go by the relationship in general, it's quite a cute thing.

• Reader is definitely very, VERY interested in braiding Alucard's hair, I don't make the rules (IT'S SO LONG AND NICE--)

• It's no surprise to anyone, what Alucard loves most about his partner is their positive attitude, it's probably where he applies the opposite poles a bit, no matter how bad things are, reader always sees the positive side, it's something that puts him in a better mood.

• They both have PTSD from their respective traumas (it takes Alucard longer to open up about his, but it happens), and they are honestly each other's best support, precisely because they KNOW what the other is going through.

• The sleepless nights, the nightmares, the scars, are things they have in common, they have a level of understanding that no one has. United by love, united by pain.

• Angst aside, I think Alucard would be especially cuddly and clingy with such a partner, simply because he can't help but find her adorable, it's like a Cute Agression attack, he just wants to be able to hug her and squeeze her (without hurting her of course).

• Reader definitely ENJOYS the educational materials that Dracula's castle has, she always wanted to learn more than what they taught in her village, and now she can! There are times when she comes to Alucard just to dump all the information she learned that day, while Alucard just listens happily, glad that reader is enjoying the resources at her disposal

• (wait until she sees the Belmont lair, she's going to faint from excitement. Much to Alucard's fear).

• Let me tell you this, Alucard would never, ever, ever, ever try to drink reader's blood. Number one, WHY THE HELL WOULD HE DO THAT?! The literal thing that traumatized her possibly FOR LIFE—

• Even with the kind of life she leads, Alucard doesn't pressure reader to get over her phobia of vampires, he just assures her that he'll always be there to protect her from now on (and that if she wants, he can always turn her into one and even the game)

• Reader is somewhat naive, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, Alucard likes to have a different vision of the world, beyond the pain and misery he may have, but he definitely makes sure to get defensive when someone tries to take advantage of said vision.

• He knows that Reader isn't stupid, that she's a grown woman who can take care of herself well, however, it's something like an instinct that comes out on its own, he wants to take care of one of the few good people he has left. He takes protecting his partner very seriously. Don't test him.

• I like to imagine that reader probably didn't have a lot of clothes the first few months she moved into the castle, so Alucard lent her some of Lisa's dresses (or clothes of his that were big enough that reader choked on fabric. He still laughs about it to this day. No, he won't let her forget it)

• Did you see that Yui can canonically play the organ piano? Considering there used to be one in the castle, it's not surprising to think that reader probably plays when she's really overwhelmed. It's nice to have noise in the castle again.

• Of course, sometimes said noise is Reader falling off a shelf, or down the stairs, at this point Alucard developed a sixth sense for when Reader is going to have an accident and catches her before she falls (it definitely makes reader a little dizzy when he moves so fast, but she appreciates the concern)

• he is like a mother hen in that aspect, scolding (with love) Reader for not taking care of herself, for not eatinf enough iron, for the bruises that appear out of nowhere. He takes it so SERIOUSLY that is kind of funny.

• reader would be super touched to see Alucard’s childhood room, even if it’s trashed, you can hear her talking quietly about how nice it would be to use that room for her future children. But that’s a topic for the future~

• Overall, two tormented souls who found the right person to spend all Eternity with.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[kagecreep]

Til Death (VxMC)

(Killer Chat)

Description: (Spoilers for KC) Accosted constantly by the police, V has little choice but to go into hiding. You want to go with him. A wedding seems the appropriate way to go.

Notes: plotted by some friends on rosesrot's server (:< a lot of fluff and humour of the slaughterhouse losers gathered together IRL WC: 3k

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Despite being a spur-of-the-moment decision, you had never been more sure about anything else in your life. You made the plans quickly; somehow, everyone in the server was able to attend. Misaki happened to have a hit in your town and would be there for a decent duration of time; both Vince and Angel were free for the weekend, and Ronin––well, Ronin was hardly ever busy anyway. Getting Felicie and Luca to come was a little more difficult, but you managed it through some convincing, and an offer for them to stay free of charge at your house for their trip.

The two of you had chosen a prime spot, secluded away from society deep within the woods. It was close enough to his home that it wouldn't take long to return, but far enough away that, those who didn't already know where he lived, wouldn't be able to find it. An abandoned cabin perhaps wasn't the most romantic spot to hold a wedding; Ronin found it absurdly amusing. You didn't care. The forest surrounding you was in its' early bloom, the cool vestiges of winter clinging to the buds of spring.

Recently given to the woods, the structure had yet to grow dilapidated, with the insides still well-preserved from the elements. Vines and thorned leaves had just barely begun to crawl up the edges of the outer walls. With a little sweeping and dusting, preceded by a little breaking-and-entering, it was a suitable place for you and V to dress in your respective outfits.

Valentin, as much as he proclaimed to be happy, had the most miserable look on his face.

"Y'know, traditionally, the bride n' groom aren't supposed to see each other before the ceremony," Ronin drawled from the next room.

"No one said anything about this being a 'traditional' wedding, Ronin," said Angel, her voice quieter and more muffled from the wall between you. 

"Indeed. This is quite an untraditional ceremony, in fact," said Vince.

"Pff. You guys are no fun. Personally, I'd love to get them apart. Dig into their little brains on this 'special day'," Ronin said, and you could imagine his pouting lips at the end.

Then came his voice––clear and deep, like low pipe organs echoing in an empty church.

"Why do you bother yourself with listening to them?" Valentin asked.

You turned around from the wall, facing V, who was looking at himself in a large, floor-length mirror. His suit, like everything else about him, was well-manicured and fit precisely for him. The black of his coat was a rich shade and accentuated his waist and shoulders, while his trousers fit perfectly around his hips, and cut off just above his ankles. Just over his shoulder you could spy his face in the mirror, and the way he fixed his bowtie with long, nimble fingers.

"I'm curious," you said. "Ronin seems to be rather critical of the whole ordeal."

"He would be," V growled. 

He pulled one end of the bow too tight, and set the whole thing off balance. He groaned, arms falling to his sides in a show of exasperation.

"Let me help," you said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He turned round and his expression softened, a quiet smile appearing as he warmed himself on your glowing face. You smiled in return and set to work correcting his tie.

"It's very nice of you to let everyone attend," you said.

"I didn't let them. They all invited themselves."

"Well, you allowed it to happen anyway," you chuckled.

"I cannot believe that... abomination walking in human skin is going to be the best man for my wedding," V seethed. "Not to say he will be in the same area as you. I loathe the mere idea. If my wish were truth the two of you would never meet."

"If that were so, I wouldn't meet you either," you pointed out. "And besides, Ronin is the closest thing you have to a friend."

"Ronin is a criminal and a pollution upon the earth. To consider him a friend is to consider my life a failure."

You couldn't help but laugh.

"I wouldn't worry about it. I said he's the closest thing you have to a friend, not that he is your friend," you said.

"Regardless, it isn't an accurate statement. You should know better. You are my friend. My... 'best friend', as they say," he said softly.

You smiled up at him, finished with fixing his bowtie.

"You're my best friend, too," you said.

Even now on the verge of a marital ceremony, he blushed at your words, his face blooming into a warm colour.

"I am pleased we can agree on that," he said with a smile.

The final touches of Valentin's outfit were ones you insisted on. He had, at first, assented to them, but upon realizing that Ronin would be attending, quickly rescinded his agreement. It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to accept once more.

He sat, facing you, as you placed flowers along his braids, tucking the stems in so only the petals showed. Atop his head you styled a garden, filled with rosebuds and blooming white daisies. Rows of white, gold, and crimson.

When you finished, he looked properly fantastical––as though he had stepped out of a dream, glowing in the rays of sunlight stretching through the dusty windows. He spun in front of the mirror, checking each piece of his suit, flattening his lapels before puffing out his chest. As traditional as his outfit was compared to yours, you couldn't help but stare enamoured at him.

He turned to you with a smile, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

"Are you ready, my love?" He asked, tilting his head toward you.

"Ready as ever," you breathed out, grinning.

"Very well. Luca will come for you when we are ready. I shall go now, and... see to things. Try not to listen into our conversations, alright?"

You chuckled and nodded.

"I'll do my best," you said. 

The door hinges creaked and the wood groaned as he opened and shut the door behind him. The silence he left you in was near deafening. 

When you were young, you had imagined your wedding and who your partner would be. Out of all the different variations your mind had supplied you with, you had never pictured getting married to a vigilante serial killer in an abandoned cabin in the middle of the woods. You supposed life was funny like that. Still, you wouldn't want it any other way; your marriage would be as strange as you were, so you considered it a fitting end.

A few minutes later, Luca knocked at the door, and with your permission locked arms with you.

"Ready for your big day?" He asked, wiggling his brows.

"I'm dressed, aren't I?" You chuckled.

"Yeah. You look great, by the way. Can't believe you're getting married before me and Felicie," he said.

"You did say you wanted to take things slowly," you pointed out.

"Yeah, but not so slow that you and V, who got together after us, may I point out, would get married before us," he joked.

"Such is life, my friend," you laughed. "Now are you going to walk me down the aisle or not?"

"Of course. Jus' had to get a few of my thoughts in first."

"Of course."

You smiled and the door opened, revealing the green meadow just beyond the cabin, where all your friends stood in waiting. At the end, beneath an archway entwined with vines and flowers, stood Valentin in his suit, his hands folded in front of him and a soft smile beaming in his eyes. Standing at his side was Ronin, smug as ever in fitting attire. Angel, Felicie, and Misaki, the maids of honor (and wrath, as Misaki requested they be referred as) stood on the other side of the arch. In the center was Vince––still hiding his identity behind a mask.

Angel pulled out her phone, tapped it a few times, and music began to play. Some quiet piano piece. Something V had likely picked out. Luca took you down the faux aisle of flowers, and upon delivering you to the altar, took his place standing beside Ronin.

You stared up at Valentin, heart pounding, and took his hands. For a moment the world seemed to fade into the early sunset, veins of gold and red speckled through the forest leaves like freckles on his face.

"Dearly beloved friends," Vince began, his voice uncharacteristically deep and rough for the speech, "we are gathered here, for the first time, to celebrate the union of two of our... slaughterhouse losers. It is a joyous occasion and I am honoured to be officiating. While this may, in some way, be a marriage of convenience, we have all watched the love grow between V and (Y/N) over the last few months. I am sure they will have many happy, bloody days ahead of them."

Valentin pursed his lips in irritation, but said nothing. You giggled.

"Now we will listen to their vows, which I know will be as titillating as they are romantic. You may proceed."

V sighed roughly, straightening his jacket subtly.

"I do not wish to speak my vows aloud in front of the present company. However... in the interest of ceremony..." he groaned, pursing his lips again, "... I will say... something."

You gave a small nod, gently urging him on.

"... I... love you, (Y/N)," he said as though it was painful. 

Behind him, Ronin was positively beaming.

"This, to me, is no marriage of convenience. I fully intend on pledging my life and soul to you." He paused. "That is all."

Quiet giggles sounded from behind you.

"Ever the romantic," you said, earning only more laughter from your friends. "Indeed, we are surrounded by people whose names we do not fully know. Who do not know our names, either. And, indeed, this ceremony was hurried. For that we have the police and their idiotic search to thank. But... it is brought forth by your kindness, V. You spared the server––people you claimed to hate––and sacrificed yourself to this. I hope that my presence with you as you go into hiding is solace––some consolation in return for your act of selflessness. Each day in your presence is a gift. I look forward to our many years together as I do each second that I am able to stand with you, in peace, content to know the sensation of true love. That is to say... I pledge my life and soul to you, too."

In the presence of the server members, V kept his composure quite well––but the shine in his eyes, apparent only to you, gave away the loving turmoil within. He slipped a pale golden ring over your finger––you settled a diamond-embedded ring over his. You barely processed Vince's final words before the two of you came together, soft touch upon softer lips, spirit intermingling with body as you kissed. He pulled you in, passion brimming at his fingertips but never released. You kissed and pulled away, and stared into one another. Therein was your home.

A crackling gunshot bolted through the air and you jumped, hand whizzing up to grip V's upper arm.

"What the fuck?!" Misaki yelped.

"Ronin!" Angel yelled, fists at her side.

"What?" He said, still holding a smoking gun pointed towards the sky. "'S a shotgun wedding, ain't it?"

"Technically speaking, a shotgun wedding occurs when the bride is pregnant before marriage, and the bride's father threatens the groom with a gun to marry the pregnant daughter," Vince said.

Ronin shrugged.

"Close enough," he said.

"Not close enough," Angel said, storming over and yanking the gun out of his hand. "Don't pull any more bullshit or I'll shoot you in the foot."

"Pff. I don't have anything else planned. Besides, I think it made the day more... special," he said, smiling at you.

V held you tighter.

"The sun has almost set. Now is the time to throw your bouquet," Vince said.

"Oh, right," you mumbled.

You turned, taking the bouquet of flowers from Angel. It was a smattering of wildflowers and exotic flowers V grew in his bunker, creating a palette of dark green leaves and pale purple, white, and blue petals.

Misaki, Angel, and Felicie excitedly gathered behind you. 

"Ready?" You asked, grinning all the while.

"We are ready!" Felicie said.

With that you threw the bundle of flowers behind you, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes of a more blind throw. A few gasps sounded around you. When you opened your eyes, you found the bouquet stuck in the branches above you. Your eyes widened. Then, with a gentle breeze, the branches stirred and dropped the bouquet. It fell through the air and landed directly on Luca's face, falling into his arms as he spluttered from the pine needles and leaves.

Silence settled over the entire gathering for several seconds before everyone devolved into laughter, Ronin's cackling sounding about it all.

"Oh my God," Luca said, spitting out the last pine needle. 

"Ha!" You laughed, "looks like you'll be getting married after all, Luca."

"No," he said, "looks like Felicie will be getting married."

With a dramatic swoop of his arms, he knelt down in front of Felicie, and with faux tears in his eyes offered the bouquet to her.

"For you, my dearest beloved," he said, clutching his heart.

"I hate you," Felicie said in a pained voice.

"You love me."

"You wish."

You watched them bicker with much delight, returning to lean against Valentin's sturdy frame. His arm wrapped around and settled his hand on your waist–-a comforting warmth in the cool of the coming evening.

The rest of the evening was spent around a fire eating less than lavish food, the former courtesy of Ronin and V's teamwork, and the latter supplied by Misaki and Angel. You considered going to a restaurant for the last time before going into hiding, but all of you together was a mite suspicious, especially considering Vince's reluctance in taking off his mask. V mostly kept quiet and stayed dutifully at your side, socializing little and eating even less. At times a snide remark would slip out of his lips and delight the surrounding company. Such moments were especially entertaining for Ronin, who took a special joy in teasing V. Otherwise, you enjoyed your last day of socialization, imprinting each moment into your memory for safekeeping. It was likely the last time all of you would gather together.

In the end, they all parted in separate directions. Only when the last of them had gone did V deem it safe to return home, carrying you bridal style to his car. The drive was short enough, and he decided to carry you further into your now-shared home, only setting you down when he reached the couch. He quietly locked the door before returning to you.

Some of the flowers had fallen out of his hair, but the majority of them remained, partly wilted but still bright in colour. For a little while the two of you sat in silence staring at each other.

Then he broke the spell, gaze falling to his lap as he spoke.

"I, um... I did prepare my true vows. I just... did not wish to speak them in the company of serial killers," he said quietly.

"I understand," you chuckled. "You want to say them now?"

"If you are not too tired, I would like to, yes," he said.

You nodded. He gave a curt nod in return, and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket. His eyes flickered from the paper to you, and he cleared his throat, nerves ringing in the silence.

He began.

"My dearest love... there are a great many evils in this world. Each person one meets carries this within them––the mark of failed morality, and we are, each of us, in some way tainted by our decisions. Long ago I lost hope for humanity. We are an animal species, untamed by our supposed society. Feral despite our religion, our understanding; and our connection to both divinity and impiety, our free will to choose, has proven without fail that given the opportunity, humans will choose to fall. Why this is I cannot say. It is only what I know to be true." 

He paused, glancing up to make sure you were still paying attention. 

You were. He continued. 

"Just as all creatures do, you, too, have faced such decisions; the choice between goodness and cruelty, oppression and kindness. Just as all creatures have, you have experienced cruelty against you––injustice and wickedness from the blackened hearts of humanity. It is all too easy to mirror such actions when they are done unto you. Yet despite that you have chosen kindness, even when it is more facile to turn to brutality. Trust when it is more comfortable to doubt. And... love, when it is easier to abandon."

He reached out, fingers barely touching your hand. You reached the rest of the way and held his hand in yours. He swallowed thickly.

"It is an odd phrase to thank you for loving me. Still, it feels appropriate. I am not an easy man to love. I scantly admit it but I am, indeed, a killer––even with my just reasonings and my logic, I have committed myself to a lifestyle that has marked me both an outcast and a criminal to common society. I long ago gave up the ideal of having a beloved. Such is the cost of justice." He set the paper down and looked you in the eyes, taking your other hand in his. "You are my revelation. My salvation. You are some divine gift, some salve to my poisoned way whose justice comes at the price of my life. But no longer. You are my life, now. Above all it is my duty to protect you. As the ribcage protects the heart, I will shelter you from harm. As compassion safeguards life, so shall I keep you. A beacon of hope. Hope that... perhaps... humanity is salvageable. That my bitter contempt was wrong. It is my wish thusly to be with you, as long as you will have me, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, till death do us part––till we meet again in our next life, to love one another once more."

You could barely breathe. As you expected, his vows were long, the words meandering. He often spoke like that when it met his fancy. But the sincerity behind it, coupled with the shining, stray tears brimming his eyes––it broke you down into your purest parts, shattered about the floor till only the glowing soul remained seated in his hands.

You wrapped him in your arms and did not let go.

[sugarglider-s]

We are brothers in the same way a slaughterhouse is a church

[ID: a digital sketch of mokuba and Noa, noa being in an older android body closer to a late teenager. The two of them sit together on a couch, and Mokuba clings to Noa with his eyes screwed shut. Noa looks conflicted, but is hugging back Mokuba. End ID]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Song of the Day - “Compared To What”

Today marks the 55th anniversary of the recording of this fantastic track.

On June 21st, 1969, Les McCann and Eddie Harris laid down their superlative version of this standard tune, in concert at the Montreux Jazz Festival in Switzerland. ...

Written by Gene McDaniels, “Compared To What” had been covered by some 270 artists…

But THIS is the version…

With Les McCann on piano and vocal, and Harris on tenor sax, backed by Leroy Vinegar on bass, Benny Bailey on trumpet, and Donald Dean on drums, they tweaked the lyrics a bit to reflect the current angst with the Vietnam War. … see the lyrics below in comments…

A great track… best played pretty loud…

Resonates profoundly today…

(Mary Elaine LeBey)

I love the lie and lie the love A-Hangin' on, with push and shove Possession is the motivation that is hangin' up the God-damn nation Looks like we always end up in a rut (everybody now!) Tryin' to make it real, compared to what? C'mon baby!

Slaughterhouse is killin' hogs Twisted children killin' frogs Poor dumb rednecks rollin' logs Tired old lady kissin' dogs I hate the human love of that stinking mutt (I can't use it!) Try to make it real, compared to what? C'mon baby now!

The President, he's got his war Folks don't know just what it's for Nobody gives us rhyme or reason Have one doubt, they call it treason We're chicken-feathers, all without one nut. God damn it! Tryin' to make it real, compared to what? (Sock it to me)

Church on Sunday, sleep and nod Tryin' to duck the wrath of God Preacher's fillin' us with fright They all tryin' to teach us what they think is right They really got to be some kind of nut (I can't use it!) Tryin' to make it real, compared to what?

Where's that bee and where's that honey? Where's my God and where's my money? Unreal values, crass distortion Unwed mothers need abortion Kind of brings to mind ol' young King Tut (He did it now) Tried to make it real, compared to what?!

Tryin' to make it real, compared to what?

Donald Dean, Leroy Vinnegar, Benny Bailey, Eddie Harris

[richardmurrayhumblr]

COMPARED TO WHAT I love to lie and lie to love I'm hangin' on they push and shove Possession is the motivation That is hangin' up the goddamn nation Looks like we always end up in a rut Everybody now Tryin' to make it real compared to what Slaughterhouse is killin' hogs Twisted children killin' frogs Poor dumb rednecks rollin' logs Tired old ladies kissin' dogs I hate the human love of that stinking mutt I can't use it Tryin' to make it real compared to what President he's got his war Folks don't know just what it's for Nobody gives us rhyme or reason Have one doubt they call it treason We're chicken feathers All without one nut goddamn it Tryin' to make it real compared to what Church on Sunday sleep and nod Tryin' to duck the wrath of God Preachers fillin' us with fright They all tryin' to teach us what they think is right They really got to be some kind of nut I can't use it Tryin' to make it real compared to what Where's that bee and where's that honey Where's my God and where's my money Unreal values a crass distortion Unwed mothers need abortion Kind of brings to mind old young King Tut He did it now Tried to make it real compared to what Tryin' to make it real compared to what Songwriters: Gene Mcdaniels. The first song on roberta flack's first album is the song above, don't let the haters lie to you, Roberta Flack is pure black https://aalbc.com/tc/events/event/204-roberta-flack-born-1937/

#rmaalbc

[cobrastarsludge]

SMARTPUNK's new Warped Tour compilation features Cobra Starship - Bring It (Demo). Wonder if this is the same version floating around or a different one. You can get the cd for $5 at the shows or the SMARTPUNK webstore.

Full tracklist:

Disc 1  1. Less Than Jake - All My Best Friends Are Metalheads '23 2. The Wonder Years - Goddamnittall 3. Not Enough Space - Primitive 4. Koyo - A Mile A Minute 5. Honey Revenge - Airhead 6. Keep Flying - Mistakes 7. Fame On Fire - Nightmare (The Devil) 8. A Loss For Words - Weird Motivation 9. Origami Angel - Dirty Mirror Selfie 10. Kerosene Heights - Waste My Time  11. Kami Kehoe, Colorblind, Ekoh - Safehouse 12. The World Alive, Bad Omens - One Of Us 13. Arrows In Action - Cheekbones 14. Drug Church - Demolition Man  15. Gideon - More Power, More Pain 16. Ava Maybee - Gold Star Sticker 17. Reconciler - Stockholm Syndrome  18. Microwave - Bored of Being Sad 19. Sweet Pill - Chewed Up 20. The Home Team - Loud 21. Carpool - Can We Just Get High? 22. Rain City Drive, Dayseeker - Medicate Me 23. Four Year Strong - Uncooked 24. Sace6 - Devotion 25. LØLØ - Hot Girls in Hell

Disc 2  1. Cartel - Honestly (2025) 2. The Paradox - Do Me Like That 3. State Champs - Too Late To Say 4. Destroy Boys - Shadow (I'm Breaking Down)  5. Bryce Vine - Yea Yea Yea 6. Anberlin - High Stakes 7. Slaughterhouse - DNA 8. Debt Neglector - Apocalypse Soon  9. Cliffdiver - Dayz Gone 10. Lil Lotus - She's A Vampire 11. Cobra Starship - Bring It (Demo) 12. If Not For Me - Feel Me Now  13. Knuckle Puck - Nice To Know Ya 14. Gully Boys - Love Me 2  15. Chandler Leighton - Get You Going 16. Somerset Thrower - Motor City 17. TX2 - Hostage (They Will Not Erase Us) 18. Hail The Sun - Maladapted 19. Point North - World vs Peace 20. Wounded Touch - Shield Of White Roses 21. Fever 333 - New West Order 22. The Dreaded Laramie - The Gettier Problem 23. Sainthood Reps - Blue Nothing 24. Goldfinger - Untouchable (ft. Iann Dior) 25. We The Kings - Are You Here

[sepublic]

Acknowledging that I may be missing the point by trying to figure out the in-universe explanation and logistics, rather than focusing on the metaphor and symbolism behind Emesis Blue;

I think the Plague Doctor might be Fritz Ludwig from the future, possessed and/or under control of his alter ego (Hence the uncharacteristic act). There’s the obvious fact that Jeremy treats Fritz with hostility and fear, and Fritz’s own hallucination of killing Jeremy’s mom. He has the gouged-out eyes and smile, which Fritz receives at the end of the film after crashing.

At the end of the film, Fritz is brought back in the respawn machine, amidst a bunch of fire. In Archibald’s PSA to newly-respawned mercenaries, there’s an inexplicable fire that enters the room just offscreen, so I think there’s a deliberate connection. The only other possibility is that Fritz respawns as the Conagher Slaughterhouse burns down near the end of the movie (note that this would require someone to perform the manual input on the respawn machine, possibly the Plague Doctor). The abrupt fire at the end of the PSA feels too deliberate of a detail to otherwise ignore. Note that right after the video ends with fire, we cut to some photos taken presumably around that time, including of a burning Fritz…

Likewise, we have an example of time travel being an actual thing, and not just a Diazepam-induced hallucination (note Soldier claiming to have never taken any of the pills, only to later interact with his future self). This would explain how Fritz is in two places at once, which he needs to be, given we see him drive past Soldier in his ambulance, followed by the Plague Doctor’s hearse arriving just moments afterwards.

Now Fritz normally would have no reason to kill Jeremy’s mom, but that’s assuming it’s him in control; More than likely, it’s his alter-ego. Now I’ve watched TheWhat Show’s video on Emesis Blue, so I’m inspired by a lot of what he suggested here. But if we go with the idea that Fritz is being possessed by the spirit of the Tenth Class, this may explain a bit...

Dell’s Bar seems to be the limbo, the purgatory, the waiting room that the mercs and others who go through respawn wait in. And we know the respawn machine creates a fresh duplicate of one’s body, meaning respawned mercenaries can interact with their previous corpses; Hence the motherload of identical dead bodies all over the place. 

There’s also the hallucination Fritz has, where he’s trapped in a casket inside the church, while the Plague Doctor watches; Foreshadowing both the church he kills Pyro in, and later his own funeral assassination. But it could also symbolize Fritz’s mind/soul being locked away in his body, or perhaps in a briefcase/limbo, while the Plague Doctor takes over...

If we go by the theory that the Plague Doctor is the vengeful ghost of the Tenth Class who has possessed Fritz, I think things begin to come together. After crashing at the end of Emesis Blue, Fritz’s soul is stuck in limbo, awaiting his next respawn. Due to time loop shenanigans, he is respawned in the past as Archibald records his PSA, possibly with only the Tenth Class’ soul inside; Fritz’s soul may have been left behind in limbo, which may be located within the briefcase. Either way, the Tenth Class in total control now.

The fire is an interesting detail; Did the respawn machine malfunction? And this malfunction caused both the flame and the retrieval of future Fritz, instead of his current self? Or maybe, and this is a bit out there but I just want to say it; Maybe the Tenth Class’ soul was plucked straight from Hell, and in doing so brought some hellfire with him that burned the Conagher Slaughterhouse, the first time. We see an apparition of the Tenth Class when Soldier is about to jump over the chasm leading to ‘Hell’, after all; Maybe the Tenth Class went there.

Something I find interesting is that the Plague Doctor seems to be working with BLU Heavy, Pyro, and Zed and Maynard Conagher. Somebody else was holding up Mama Scout’s head when Pyro kidnapped Jeremy, and it appears BLU Heavy was supposed to pass the briefcase to the Plague Doctor near the start of the film. The Plague Doctor’s hearse is a convenient vehicle to transport BLU Heavy’s body to the Conagher Slaughterhouse, to later be revived by RED Medic into a Mr. X reference.

We know Maynard was the one to lock up Jeremy, “according to specification” as he tells Zed. And the Plague Doctor’s hearse is seen right outside the Conagher Slaughterhouse, burning just as its driver did when he first arrived in the past... Obviously the Plague Doctor isn’t being totally honest with the Conagher brothers, since he presumably gave the key to Jeremy’s casket to Fritz; Zed is confused as to how Jeremy escaped.

If the Plague Doctor is a possessed/evil Fritz from the future, that could explain how he has the key; That, or there's a second copy of the same key that Zed and Maynard don’t know about. Maybe there’s only one key and they threw it out, only for the Plague Doctor to retrieve it behind their backs... OR, Fritz held onto the key after freeing Jeremy, bringing it with him all the way to the film’s end; So when he respawns in the past, he has the key with him. And he slides it under his past self’s door near the start of the film.

What puzzles me is what the Plague Doctor’s goal and motive is; Did the Emesis Diazepam lead to memory loss, meaning he doesn’t realize he’s reliving the same events, just from a different role? Is he trying to end the cycle? Set up Soldier to arrive at the Conagher Slaughterhouse, learn the truth, and kill Redmond and Blutarch, breaking free? How did he convince BLU Heavy, Pyro, the Conagher brothers, and presumably RED Sniper into working with him? Is Archibald aware of and working with these guys? Being led to believe they’re helping him lay low, when in reality he’s just bait for Fritz, BLU Soldier, and BLU Spy? 

RED Sniper asks Soldier if he wants to die for something worth dying for, after deriding Archibald; Indicating he’s knowingly a part of some plan to end the Gravel Wars. But why try to kill Soldier at the start? Was that just Plan A, and Plan B was to inspire him to end it? Is BLU Heavy even collaborating with the others after being revived, or has his undead state turned him into an uncontrollable monster on nobody’s side? 

[hellostarposts]

Episode 72 - Takeaway

Craig Goodall

Maxwell Reiner mentioned

The peoples church of the divine host

BASIRA WHAT ARE YOU DOING

Torches need so many.

Jon is literally like “well that sucks for Basira anyways”.

Self claimed cannibal

Jon Haun?

He murdered his family and sold the flesh as meat in his restaurant.

It was probably the kebab.

Looking up what humans would taste like is definitely a flag on your ip address.

Just meant the shop owner is a good cook?

At least he was supporting a local.

Okay yeah this dude is a cannibal.

“Meat is meat” will haunt me

How do you suppose that he made chicken wings that were actually human.

Unless its boneless wings which is worse.

Okay the sign just saying food is hinting that it was always human meat.

How many times do they say kebab before it no longer sounds like a real word.

It being too clean is definitely suspicious.

Curiosity killed the cannibal.

Squatters would be a funny twist but I know that’s too normal.

They didn’t remove the crime scene tape? That is like a magnet for teenagers.

Ah white boy, typical but not what I guessed.

Why are you dragging others into this?

Consulting for committing crimes I see.

Why have I had the feeling that Jared is going to be encountered again.

I mean at least the kid wasn’t putting satanic symbols everywhere. Just what the shop owner said.

Nothing in the freezer is what you expect.

There better be fanart depicting the shop owner under the table with bolt cutters. I need to see if my mental image is correct.

There was nothing.

Now Craig will be meat.

Human fat candles.

Definitely always had been human meat.

He may become a meal but he’s not a racist

Damn that's a sharp knife.

Is the bit about Romans persecuting christians for allegedly being cannibals true? That's not something I’m willing to look up.

Ah the whole “body and blood of christ”

Yeah I can see why that was a thing.

Not listening and waiting to be killed is a mood.

HUge dark shape?

LEROY

Okay the implications about the lack of lost limbs is not good.

Well we know why the kitchen was clean.

That guy definitely survived.

Damn a fake name.

Noticeable lack of self defence wounds.

ITS THE NEPHEEW

Tom Han! The guy from the slaughterhouse.

Supplemental

No more tunnels.

But yes cult leaders.

Um okay so what the fuck. I honestly wasn’t expecting there to be a tie in to the slaughter house episode. I was shocked by the mental image of an asian man hiding under a counter with a grin. Is actually terrifying. I’m assuming that the next episode is about cult vs police. So I'm going to keep going.

[randomnameless]

It's still wild to me that people will go to bat for the nothing characters that are Randolph and Fleche as proof of Dimitri being bad; we know next to nothing about them, they have miniscule screentime, what little we do know of Randolph paints him as human scum who'd do horrific things if it meant a chance at a promotion, and Fleche illogically only ever holds a grudge against someone for killing her brother if that someone is AM!Dimitri, with her completely vanishing from the game in every other route.

Eh,

I'd say they play the same purpose than this random child in TS in Roland's story - at this point, both lords want vengeance, and they have to face someone who also wants (misdirected!) vengeance at them, smth smthg like war sucks because people die.

But it's completely wasted in FE16, because, as you said, Randy isn't a random or a civilian or a war orphan, he is a general leading an attack on refugees/civilians/randoms to gain more fame, and dies in the process.

Now, can we say Flèche's anger and death are ultimately directed at Randolph, who died for nothing and took his sister down with him in his quest for "muhrit" ? Or are we supposed to think that this scene is important because Dimitri, the Blue Lord, isn't supposed to fall as low as the Imperial Army - something he comes close to (apparently?) ?

And yet again, it completely fails.

Because for one Randolph - who also had a family and loved ones - we have 50 Waldos and Baldis, whose lives aren't given any fuck about.

We don't see a war prisoner, or an Adrestian civilian accusing Supreme Leader of having sent her/his wife/husband/daughter/son to death with a conquest they never asked and trying to off her.

Only Dimitri receives this backlash from - invaders who wanted to invade and suddenly remember they have loved ones so are very sad when their loved ones dies - Flèche, but not Claude nor Billy, as you rightfully pointed out.

And Supreme Leader never receives any backlash - or wake up call - from a real third party/civilian/casualty who could have done the exact same thing.

Emile mentions how, during her attack, the Holy Grounds near Garreg Mach were turned in a slaughterhouse, why don't we have any civilian who survived from that try to take a jab at Supreme Leader? Waldi's best friend? Baldo's mother? A war captive from Leicester/Faerghus or a conscripted Adrestian?

I laughed about it with friends earlier, and again with the teatime paralogue, but it truly feels as if only 1/3rd (since the church doesn't count) of the cast will face consequences for the war and suffers backlash from the constant fighting (they didn't even start!).

Whenever you have to deal with serious stuff in Fodlan, it'll be for the BL members.

The rest? Will sip tea, talk nonsense, try to solve "mysteries" and live as if nothing is happening in the background.

Just imagine how both deer routes could have been much more impactful and interesting - instead of being a recycled Billy route with a different infodump at the end - if Raphael's sister popped up to a War Council, asking Claude to stop coddling the Empire because their lands were invaded, her grandfather put to Aymr and her inn destroyed by the Imperial Army, or how Ignatz's older brother discovers how Adrestia is burning pieces of art and history and every material related to Leicester and Faerghus history because they want to push an "Adrestia Eternal" narrative. Heck, Claude could even discover more "lore" by picking a Leif route, sort of rescuing the people "handpicked" to become new Baldos and Waldis, discovering the secret of the artificial crest stones and maybe having an infiltration map where, lo, instead of receiving an info dump, they maybe witness Rhea being turned in a relic or used to "produce" artificial crest stones.

War BaD, but only when we can make the BL suffer for it, for the rest, it's just a bgm.

And even then, it can't be too critical of Supreme Leader, because she was made to sell alts in FE heroes or dubious Cipher Cards.

"Supreme Leader", "cute girls" and "I want to see how Faerghus and its knights will deal with the aftermath of the Tragedy while defending against the invading forces".

Tl; dr : Flèche and Randolph are named, which is a cheap way to make people care for them despite their role in the plot, but the demonic beasts and the civilians dying aren't mentionned nor talked about.

Hell, why do you think I gave names to the artificial demonic beasts? The game doesn't want you to think too much about them, but if I talk about Baldo and Waldi, maybe the fandom will?