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manias-wordcount · 1 year

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Hi I'm so sorry if you got similar requests and this is weirdly specific but can you write some nice heavy sebastian fluff and smut but make it like set in modern times and not at the phantomhive manor cuz I'm really more interested in seeing his demon self outside the contract rather than his butler self this is embarrassing but I'm really in need of some demon 🌽 right now lmaoo also with a fem!reader only if you're comfortable hope you have an amazing day love your writing! 🖤

Rules (Sebastian Michaelis x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗹𝗲𝘁'𝘀 𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛. 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 "𝗼𝗸𝗮𝘆, 𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘆 𝗽𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘆 𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻 𝗮𝘂, 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗶-" 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗲𝘀 "𝗢𝗞𝗔𝗬 𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗜𝗙 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗜𝗙 𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗚𝗘 𝗔𝗨 𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗛𝗘'𝗦 𝗜𝗡 𝗔 𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗧 𝗦𝗢𝗖𝗜𝗘𝗧𝗬 𝗧𝗬𝗣𝗘 𝗙𝗥𝗔𝗧. 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗜𝗙 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗗𝗜𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧" 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗺. 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻, 𝗶 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 𝗺𝘆 𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀. 𝗦𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗜𝗧𝗦 𝗦𝗢 𝗠𝗨𝗖𝗛 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬 𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗛𝗔

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚!! 𝗦𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁, 𝘃𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝗲𝘅

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

All your life, you’ve known about rules. Social norms, moral codes- all types of rules. Some made sense. Some didn’t. Though with your upbringing, you found that the rules tended to apply to everyone else besides you. But you knew about them all the same.

But if you had to say that it all started somewhere, you would have to say that it began with a tradition started by your great-great-grandfather when he was first starting university.

And then he passed it on to his son, your great-grandfather. Then, of course, it made its way to your grandfather. And naturally, your father as well once he was of age. Though by the time you were of age, things were a bit different. People could tell that it wouldn’t be a good fit for you. That it wasn’t exactly your crowd. A tradition you were meant to carry on. And that made you glad. You were more than happy to be passed over for something like this. Besides, your older brother was always a better fit for your great-great-grandfather’s prestigious fraternity.

Still, that doesn’t stop you from calling it the secret society that you know it to be. Even if their name is known and their house address is public, there was still so much left to the imagination. Just like it never stopped you from going to the university where it all started. A place with your last name plastered all over buildings and dorms and historical signs all around. No, it’s not something you desired to advertise. Not something you desired to have the world know about you either. But no matter how many times you try to keep quiet, there’s always something out there who recognizes your name and the family you come from. In the same way there always seems to be some frat brother- on the way to class or while you’re out with friends- to recognize you when you least expect it. To ruffle your hair and make a comment about your brother or to ask you how your classes have been going. And truth be told?

It isn’t so bad.

You’ve been a frat sweetheart- no, a frat princess- since birth. Being a member of the founding family and still living close to the school of origin made that more than easy. And so generations and generations of members have been spoiling you since you could remember. A different set of brothers to look up to year after year after year. And luckily for you, they were all real gentlemen. At least, they were as gentlemanly as college boys are capable of. As a little kid, you would show up to their outdoor parties and they’d also have little child-size snacks for you. And for the biggest and most prestigious awards, you won growing up? You could always count on a crowd of Economics and Business, and STEM and Communications (with a few stragglers in between) sitting in the back row, ready to get loud.

Even now, you’re almost untouchable. No one is allowed to pick on you. No one is allowed to hurt you. Hell, you’re off-limits to date for the fear that someone might use you to get something that they wanted. And lord help the next person who makes you cry on this campus. Lord help them all.

It doesn’t change the whispers you hear about them. The discussions you see online. The rumors you watch get spread right before your eyes. In your mind, there’s not a lot of good associated with frats. There just isn’t. You’re not blind. And you like to think you aren’t biased either. With them, there are too many secrets to not hold concerns. Too many things your brother won’t show you. Too many things your father won’t tell you. And too many things your grandfather won’t let you hear no matter how sweetly you plead.

But the despite this, you still somehow trust them. You trust your brother, and all his brothers and all the men before them too. Because you didn’t have to worry about scandals with them. You didn’t have to worry about fights in the front yard or a party gone wrong. No, because at every party you went to since starting college, you were there as your brother’s special guest. Treated with nothing but kindness and respect. Waited on hand and foot with a little extra annoyingly overprotectiveness in the mix. And every boy you ever met who took the same pledge as your father and his father before him and his father before that? They were nothing if not sweet to you. Especially…

“Ah...Sebastian…”

…him.

“Mmm, not so loud love.” Sebastian purrs from right beside you. His body is so, so warm as it presses against yours. Your arms are circled around his shoulders and his hands have a tight grip on your hips. A cool breeze from a cracked window blowing against your bare skin now wouldn’t have cooled down the fire burning across your skin. But it would only serve its purpose to ground you every moment you spend with him. The roll of his hips. The whisper in your ear. It takes you away. It makes you forget who you are, who he is, and the fact that your big brother is supposed to be in the room down two doors down the hall. “You know I’m not supposed to have you here. You know I need you to be quiet for me when you come over here, right pet?”

Sometimes a little too much.

At the call of such a familiar little title of endearment, you feel him pull out of your warm, wet walls only to slowly press back in and fill you up once more. Even though it’s predictable- even though it doesn’t catch you off guard, the tiniest of gasps still pour out of your mouth. It’s the only sound that exists between these four walls. He slowed his onslaught on your spent, spent cunt and has since demoted himself to a lazy, sideways fuck. Your moans have since stopped, but you just can’t stay silent. Not with his everlasting energy and his ability to keep just keep on fucking.

Still, you find room in your focus to nod, earning you a more than a gracious pat on the thigh and a kiss to the nose. Sebastian is right- you’re growing far too loud. The walls are very thin, and this room is hardly spacious. A single bed pressed against a wall with another one on the other side. Desks and dressers and chairs and all sorts of personal items for each member who occupies the room liters the ground. But for now? The space belongs to Sebastian. As does your body. Your pleasure. And your mind.

The scent of sex has claimed it as his ever since the moon began to rise. And your only job is to sit back and tell him how you like it. The same job you always had ever since the two of you started hooking up. He’ll take care of the rest. You know he will. He always does.

But now, he’s slowing down. He’s giving you your time to rest from the intense session he put you through today. And while your body appreciates the gesture after spending hours and hours being folded in half, fingered, fucked from behind, bent over, and so much more, you can’t help but grow a little bit sad. At this point, you don’t know how many minutes it’s been since the two of you started, but you both know that you’re running out of time until the sun rises. Because once it does, the two of you go back to where things were. To where things should be. He’ll just go back to being Sebastian Michaelis. You’ll go back to being just you.

Because to the rest of this university, you’re just a girl with daddy’s money, a currently campus-famous brother, and long, long roots in this school. You’re a hard worker and just another student trying to keep up with assignments and your social life at the same time. People know your name because they know your brother’s and your father’s and a couple of the old men in your family too. People know your face because they’ve seen you show up on social media posts advertising alumni families and highlighting platinum-level donors. But that’s all that the outside world cares about. Because that’s all that the outside world sees.

To the rest of this university, Sebastian is a resident pretty boy from overseas in the Business Management major. His impressive height and his handsome looks were enough to catch every at your small, selective university off when he first arrived on campus in the fall of last year. And the English accent he sports was more than enough to get everyone to deem him as both quality real estate and a fuck boy at the same time. Despite this, all those who you knew met him at the start of his and your brother’s freshmen year said he was charming and polite and all kinds of perfect mixed in there. So it wasn’t too surprising for you to hear that he was starting to become popular and that he was hanging in the same friend group as your brother.

Just like it wasn’t surprising to see him in your living room one day as your brother introduces Sebastian to you as the newest member of your great-great-grandfather’s fraternity.

But that was a year before you arrived. And that was a year for him to learn all the rules and norms of the university and its traditions and its rules. That was a year for him to learn that he wasn’t allowed to touch you. That he wasn’t allowed to kiss or fuck or love you. Not while he still belongs to your great-great-grandfather’s pride and joy of a society. But it seemed he didn’t learn. He didn’t learn the rules. Or maybe he didn’t want to follow them. Whatever the answer may be, you found that you just didn’t care. You’re just glad he didn’t listen. You’re just glad he didn’t follow.

Because if he did, then how else would you end up here, laying in his arms with your face pressed against his next and his cock stuffed up your pussy?

#sebastian x reader #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian black butler #sebastian michaelis #black butler x reader #black butler fanfic #black butler fanfiction #black butler #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji fanfiction #kuroshitsuji fanfic #kuroshitsuji #x reader #xreader #fanfic #fanfiction

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kentopedia · 2 years

Text

the thrill of the rush

nanami kento x f!reader wc: 3.0k

summary: your appetites are different, but you and nanami love just as humans do.

contents: vampire!reader and vampire!nanami, so much blood, so much praise, nsfw mdni!!!!!!, violence, gothic romance, ambiguously early 20th century

Lanterns burned bright like a siphoning beacon as the festival lived on around you.

It made for the perfect hunting grounds. The blood of an entire town pooled in one great arena, each vessel just waiting to get picked off.

The merriments raged on, despite beginning hours before. Crowds continued to show up with no end in sight.

There were too many temptations. It was hard to deny yourself any longer.

Nanami stood beside you, his presence undeniable. Centuries had yielded him, regimes rising and falling without a wrinkle appearing on his face. A force all his own, he was your lover and your maker, the two of you against the world.

He surveyed the area, his arms crossed over his chest as you waited, impatient.

His dark eyes saw through every one of the potential victims. With just a glance, Nanami knew exactly who would fight back and who wouldn’t. Who was healthy. Who was stupid enough to be lured home by two unassuming vampires.

“It’s taking you a lot longer this time,” you said, sniffing with disdain. Enough people had passed that would have sufficed for a meal.

Of course, you usually picked your victims at random. Nanami preferred to take his time, no matter how small the crowd of mortals was.

The taste was off if he didn’t choose wisely, he had told you. And perhaps, that was true—but you just believed all his years had made his tastes too sophisticated.

“You’re welcome to go off on your own,” he said, keeping his eyes on the crowd.

“Why would I do that?” you asked sincerely. “It’s so much more enjoyable with you.”

Though he didn’t say anything, you could see the small quirk of his lips, satisfied.

“There,” he finally said, nodding to a pair of men across the boulevard. They were a larger, sturdier duo of individuals. Enough to keep you fed for the next couple of days. “Think you can take care of them?”

“I thought you’d give me more of a challenge.”

You began your advance on the two individuals, a grin sweeping onto your features.

Nanami muttered something in response behind you, but you couldn’t hear him. You were already intent on stalking your prey.

As you approached, the gentlemen were laughing, smoking together in the dreary dusk. The carousel played an endearing tune behind them, more foreboding from your perspective.

“Evening, gentlemen,” you said with your biggest smile, stumbling over to them carelessly.

The older of the men’s gaze caught onto you immediately, eyes wandering in places they shouldn’t be. You could feel Nanami’s sharp presence behind you, eager to tear into the very soul of the other man.

“Evening,” he said, blowing smoke right over your shoulder. “You out here all by yourself?”

You shrugged, smiling as you played coy. He had no idea the trouble they were about to get themselves into.

They never did.

“Unfortunately,” you said, playing on your gloom. “I got a little lonely back at home, and I thought this might be the perfect placed to find some company.” You gestured towards the crowd that surrounded you.

The other man’s interest was piqued as well—arguably, he was the more handsome of the two. Perhaps Kento would let you have him. “Hard to believe a pretty little thing like you doesn’t have a man of her own.”

“I find it best not to limit myself to one singular man. Makes things so much easier, don’t you think?”

His eyes flashed, the blue in them darkening to intrepid navy. “I tend to agree with you, miss. We need more women with these modern sensibilities of yours, don’t we John?”

“Sure,” the man said, stamping out his cigarette. “Don’t meet too many decent women like that.”

You refrained from snorting a laugh, feeling the sharp eyes of your beloved on your neck. Instead, you weaved your way in between the two men, edging closer to them with every utterance.

“So, I have the pleasure of meeting mister John and mister…” You gazed up at the other, younger man from under your thick eyelashes.

“Louis,” he said, taking your hand to kiss the back of your palm in a gentlemanly manner, though his intentions were anything but.

You introduced yourself, allowing idle chatter to take over after that. Neither of them doubted your intentions. You were just a poor, innocent woman, and every syllable that left your lips was just another reason for them to trust you.

Minutes passed. They felt slow, even to your own immortal internal clock.

You quickly grew weary of the games and feigned a dramatic yawn, leaning into the shoulder of Louis. “I hate to ask this,” you said, darting your eyes away. “But would either of you mind taking me home?”

The two of them exchanged a look—much two predictable.

“I walked here this evening, and I’m much too scared to walk back in the dark.”

“Where do you live?” John asked without hesitation, and you felt a dark grin creep onto your face.

By the end of the ride, the two men had deduced your true intentions—at least, the ones you wanted them to believe. Everything was falling right into your hands, the lives of others like putty to mold to your own advantage.

Louis had placed a careful hand on your thigh throughout the ride, though you pushed him off, insisting on patience.

Truthfully, you never had any aim of really seducing your victims. Romance of mortals had since then repulsed you, years of seeing them as nothing more than meat hardening your view.

Your mortal life had been lackluster. Then you’d died, been reborn, and found your true soul in Nanami Kento.

“I had no idea you lived on this side of town,” John said, gazing at you expectantly.

The houses had grown larger on each avenue, increasing from the tenements near the fairgrounds, to modest family households, and then to the looming mansions where your own residence was.

It was unexpected for many reasons. Most aristocrats didn’t walk to a festival on their own at night. You also dressed modestly during your hunts, not wanting to draw more attention to yourself than necessary.

“I acquired a large estate upon my parents’ passing,” you shrugged. “Though that was about all that they left me.”

A lie, of sorts. It was less complex than the truth.

The two men fawned over you up the walkway to your front door, like some evil beasts were to jump out of the neatly trimmed shrubs.

Desperate to get their hands on you, they pushed you along quickly. You would have thought they were afraid of the dark themselves.

“Does anyone reside in the manor with you?” Louis asked, looking at the dark, looming building skeptically. It seemed unattended at this present hour, only the faint candlelight livening it.

“Oh, a butler here and there. No one will bother us.”

You opened the door for them, letting them go before you. They seemed amazed by the building, despite their fine dress and pompous manner. Perhaps they weren’t as wealthy as you’d surmised.

The door clicked behind you, and Louis was upon you rapidly, his teeth bared with a grin. “So, which of us goes first? Or perhaps the both of us at the same time?”

You blinked. That was much faster than you expected.

“Well, I don’t know.” You pushed past him with the inhuman strength you hadn’t displayed before. “I’ll let Kento choose.”

You yawned, suddenly bored with the two toys. The hunger was leading to fatigue, it seemed.

“What?” John began, his confusion evident as your lover began his descent down the stairs.

The two men stared at the unwelcome figure as he entered the atmosphere, commanding the attention of his guests entirely.

“This performance was particularly convincing, my love,” Kento smiled at you, placing a gentle kissed on your forehead before stalking towards the victims.

You brightened under his praise, suddenly in a much better mood than you’d been while seducing your guests.

“The same routine gets so boring. We need to come up with something new.”

Nanami sighed, shrugging off his expensive coat in an effort to keep the blood off of it. He blinked at your wearily. “I suppose you’ll want the younger one, then?”

“You know me too well.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” John began, more angry than panicked. “What’s going on here?”

“We certainly didn’t agree upon a third party,” Louis hissed, pointing in the direction of the blond vampire.

“We didn’t really agree upon anything.” You frowned, looking between the two men. “You must have misunderstood.”

“Fucking hell.” John began to make his way to the door, his features contorted. “I’m getting out of here.”

“Not quite.” In a flash, Nanami was before him, the speed startling the aged man. He stepped back away from Nanami, who was still much faster. His teeth had sharpened into razor edges. “Now might be the best time to start making your peace with God.”

Though, really, John didn’t have much time to object or say a prayer before his throat was ripped open. Blood spurted down his dark coat.

Louis, the obviously smarter one, caught on before John did. He’d begun to sneak away, though it didn’t escape your notice. As Nanami drained the other man, you zipped towards the fleeing victim, in front of him before he could reach the threshold.

“Sweetheart,” Nanami said from over the shoulder of John, blood soaking the space between them. “I’ve told you to kill them before they try to run.”

“And I’ve told you it’s so much more fun this way.” You stared into the deep irises of your victim, watching each emotion flit through them.

“You’re a devil,” he said, blinking. The fear evaporated any rationality left in his body. “With the face of an angel.”

“Isn’t she?” With the blood drained to the brink, Nanami dropped the lifeless body. He returned to your side, fingers caressing you gently between your shoulder blades. “My own beautiful angel of death.”

“You’re distracting me, Ken." You were falling into the luxury of his soft touches, his lingering glances on every inch of the body that was borne to him.

“Sorry.” It was unapologetic. “I just want to watch.”

You traced your tongue against the sharpened edges of your canine teeth as the man before you trembled in fear. Louis was petrified as he stared at the body of the friend he’d lost to a monster.

"Please," he said, growing desperate. "I'll do anything."

“Alright, enough of that.” Before he could bat an eye, you were on Louis, fangs fastened onto the pulsing vein of his neck.

The blood flowed, a steady stream into your mouth as you sucked in the last drops before death. It was satisfying, feeling the very last light fade from their body. One that was like no other as you pulled away before they could take their last breath.

You could feel Nanami’s fingers back on your spine, encouraging as always while dually entertained.

The body grew heavier and heavier under your hands as it released its airy soul, weighing you down. Once the heart in his chest had run dry, you dropped the body with a heavy thud, turning to face Nanami.

He was beaming, face and clothes equally stained with red. As you wiped the drying blood from your hands, Nanami tugged you close to him, every touch delicate and caring.

“You did so good, darling,” he said, his thumb tracing your chin before his hand flowered across your jaw. He smeared the blood on your lips with his thumb, then tasted it with his own tongue.

“I learned from the best.” You smiled, but there was still the ache within you, one that wasn’t satiated by the blood of the worthless men from the streets. “Yet, after all that,” you darted your eyes away for just a moment, embarrassed. “It’s still not enough, Ken.”

He studied you curiously. Blood dripped off the sharpened lines of his face, staining the white lapels of his shirt. “I must have chosen poorly this evening.”

You watched him with fangs bared menacingly, jutting against your bottom lips. “Perhaps you did.” You pressed your fingers against his neck, a silent plea that you knew he would relent to.

Without another word, Nanami titled his neck, exposing the pulsating vein there. It strained against his pale skin, the deep blue a stark contrast.

You kept your eyes on his as your lips drew to his skin like a magnet, desperate for what lie beneath it. Nothing in Nanami’s eyes fluctuated. It was a constant stream of adoration.

“Go ahead.”

It was enough for you to break, and you latched onto the vein, breaking the skin easily. The warm liquid, fresh from the recent kill, drained into your mouth easily. You lost yourself after that, the taste of Nanami’s blood more intoxicating than anything you’d ever known as a mortal.

“That’s it, my love,” he said, caressing the top of your head as you depleted the supply, careful not to drain him of his life as well. “As much as you need.”

“Tastes so good, Kento,” you whined, savoring every heavenly drop that fell against your lips. As many times as you’d tasted it, it was always better—the sweet nectar unlike anything you’d ever had on earth. It was pure ambrosia.

You clutched onto his shirt helplessly, losing yourself in him. Your other hand dangled limply between the two of you, and Nanami grasped it gently, bringing it to his own, red-stained lips.

He kissed your wrist, a question, a consent.

“You never need to ask.” You broke away from him for just a moment, taking an unnecessary inhale against his skin. “I’m yours for the taking.”

He smiled. You could feel the fangs protruding at the action. “I lived so many centuries without you,” he muttered, closing his eyes as he inhaled the scent of your cold skin. “That now I feel like I’ve reached Heaven.”

His hand drifted to your lower back, pulling you up against him. Chest to chest, you drank from one another, two lifeless hearts becoming one.

When you finally broke away, you were buzzing, the energy in you renewed.

You pulled your wrist away from Nanami’s lips, tearing the skin even further in the process; the blood seeped down your arm.

He frowned, eyebrows pulling together in displeasure, though the action didn’t last long. Your lips were on his immediately, your own blood leaking onto the roof of your mouth.

“Ken, please,” you said, pulling him closer and closer until there was no space between you. You took his wrist, guiding his hand down to the place that you needed him most.

He smiled against your lips, already anticipating your desire. “Please?”

“Please,” you said, insistent. His fingers brushed against your already dripping cunt, though they only lingered there for a moment before pulling back. “Need you so bad, Kento.”

“Alright, alright.” Nanami pushed aside the flimsy cloth of your panties, already soaking through from the taste of him running through your veins. “Only because you did so good this evening.”

He ignored the open vein on your wrist, opting for the one on your neck instead.

Nanami grazed the soft skin under your ear with his nose, licking a strip across the vein before piercing the skin. It was only a small bite, to keep your blood from releasing in just a small stream.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” he said, brushing a finger over your covered folds.

“Always, Ken,” you said, eyes rolling back as he slipped a finger inside you. Your moan rang out loudly, and you dropped your head against his shoulder as he dragged a finger in and out of you slowly, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

You felt him drawing more blood from your neck—just two punctures this time, leaving you with breathy whimpers.

“Feel good, sweetheart?” he asked against your lips, adding a second finger into your tight hole as you clenched around his thick fingers.

You nodded, breathing heavily as he kissed the sensitive skin under your jaw. “Yeah,” you said. He brushed the sweet spot inside you, and you jerked towards him. “Fuck, right there.”

He rubbed at the spot slowly, consistently, and you could feel the pressure building in you.

His other hand grazed across your chest, brushing over your hardened nipple before pinching it between his thumb and index finger, eliciting a strangled sigh from you. You squirmed closer to him, desperate for any touch.

“Look so pretty like this,” he praised, and you tugged at his hair. Nanami ran his thumb back over your nipple before abandoning it, focusing on your aching cunt instead. “Love you so much.”

“Love you too, Kento,” you said in a breathy whisper. “I’m close.”

“Yeah?” he asked, pumping his fingers in and out faster as he rubbed your clit. “You gonna cum for me, angel?”

You whined, gushing more on his fingers as you grew nearer to your climax. As you panted, Nanami kissed you hotly, gripping your bloodied cheek in his hands with admiration.

“So good for me,” he said, watching the blissed expression on your face. “Let go, darling.”

With his encouraging words, you came, clenching around his fingers while the tension in your abdomen released. Your breathing grew heavy as you slumped against Nanami, feeling his strong arms catch you wearily.

You mumbled against his chest, tired and worn from the evening. You could feel the sun beginning to rise, the orange hues filtering out the darkness.

“Come on, love, off to bed,” he said, and he began leading you to the room on the second floor where the shared coffin lie.

You shuffled alongside him, eyes dropping wearily. “But what about you?” Despite your exhaustion, you were no fool to the straining bulge against his tight pants.

He kissed the top of your forehead, carrying you up the stairs. “Don’t worry about me.” He smiled, before peering back over his shoulder at the rising sun. “I’ve still got to dispose of the bodies.”

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fortheloveofwonderland · 7 months

Text

Rusty | Chapter 4 | S.R

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Chapter Summary - Whilst you get acquainted with the locals, Spencer deals with the aftermath of his dissociation. You have a little too much to drink and another fight ensues.

A/N - tread lightly from here on out and please read the trigger warns. It’s going to be a lot going forward. I hope to not offend anyone with my portrayal of the locals, it’s meant to be over exaggerated and comical.

Paring - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - swearing, drinking, slightly pervy men, smoking, blood, accidental self-harm, mental health diagnosis, PTSD, dissociative amnesia, Spencer’s dirty thoughts and intrusive thoughts, tears, mentions of male masturbation, arguing, drunk reader.

WC - 6.2k

Chapter 4 - The Ballad of the Lonesome Cowboy

You drove for miles. You drove for miles but somehow didn’t make it very far.

Your intent, after you stormed out of Spencer’s ranch, was to continue your drive to Mexico and never look back. You had no ties here, no reason to return.

Spencer had coerced you into helping him when you hadn’t wanted to and when you finally agreed he’d snapped at you for doing the one thing he’d asked of you.

No, you didn’t allow anybody to talk to you like that no matter how pretty they were.

You tried to follow your original path, back on your route further down south but for some reason you just kept driving in circles. Up to Pipe Creek, back down to Bandera Town, back up to Pipe Creek and so on.

You wished you’d had the forethought to grab the bottle of scotch before you’d left. Not that you condoned drinking and driving but you were just so fucking angry.

So you continued to drive. Up and down. Up and down. The same stretch of road passing before your eyes again and again.

Heading back through Bandera you saw it. It was like a sign from the heavens, a flashing beacon of good fortune.

You pulled the car to a stop on the other side of the road and didn’t hesitate in jumping out. Crossing the empty street you glanced up at the old rickety looking building, that seemed to be moments away from collapse.

11th Street Cowboy Bar. Don’t mind if I do.

Outside sat three motorcycles and one lone horse tied to a hitching post. You gave the creature a wide berth. You stepped up the high curb, under the rusty tin awning and shoved open the saloon style doors.

As soon as you breached the entrance, five sets of eyes landed on you and you instantly froze in your tracks at the heavy, penetrating stares.

Two old men with thick grey beards, stetsons, and dressed head to toe in denim perched on bar stools, eyeing you up as though you were a large steak and they were hungry wolves.

The bartender peered at you between them, he was slightly younger but still ebbing into his late fifties. He had thinning dyed black hair, a comically oversized moustache and a red neckerchief tied snug around his throat.

At a table nearby two other older gentlemen, in the midst of a game of cards, halted their game to stare at you too.

You swallowed, unsticking your dry tongue from the roof of your mouth and tugging at the hem of your oversized sweater.

The ten wandering eyes stayed on you as you took a few hesitant steps forward.

To call this place a bar would be overselling it. It was no more a shack, barely bigger than Spencer’s living room. It was warm and musky, the scent of sweat and tobacco heavy in the air.

It became apparent as you got further in the room that the man tending bar was chewing on tobacco between his rear teeth. One of the old men at the bar puffed on a cigar. You approached with an abundance of caution, rolling your lip between your teeth as you pushed towards the bar.

“Howdy there ma’am.” The bar tender offered you a smile in which you caught a glimpse of the soggy tobacco in his cheek. “We got ourselves a city slicker, boys.”

You ground your teeth together, figuratively and metaphorically holding your tongue from saying something you would regret.

“I reckon you’re about as pretty as peach.” The old man and his smoky cigar breath moved closer, lingering.

“Now, now Boone, don’t scare the little miss. Don’t mind him. Not his fault, he just didn’t know any better.” The tender spoke first to the cigar huffing old man - Boone - and then to you.

“No bother.” You replied curtly. “This a place where a girl can get a drink?”

“‘Pends what she’s drinking for.” The other elderly man piped up.

You narrowed your eyes on them both and from this close there were distinct similarities between the two. As if reading your mind, the bartender spoke again.

“Twin brothers, ma’am. This here is Boone and Butch. Regulars by all accounts.”

You turned back to him briefly, looked back at the brothers and smiled as amicably as you could.

“Charmed, I’m sure.” You nodded.

“And I’m Cole, the proprietor of 11th Street.” The bartender - Cole - got your attention back.

“Elizabeth.” You offered him a nod too.

“What brings you to our neck of the woods, Miss Eliz-a-beth.” Boone spoke again, puffing smoke at you and pronouncing the name as if it was three separate words.

“Oh you know, running from old Johnny law.” You winked at the old man and he blanched beneath his beard.

Butch slapped a meaty hand on a meatier thigh and yee-hawed loudly, almost knocking himself back off the bar stool.

“Funny and pretty, hot damn.” Butch cackled.

You glanced over your shoulder briefly, the two other men had now resumed playing cards and weren’t paying a blind bit of notice to you and the others.

“Most definitely running from something though, am I right sugar?” Cole picked up a tumbler from under the counter, eyes sparkling as he eyed you in a knowing way.

“What gave you that impression?” You huffed.

“See here,” he pointed over his shoulder to the clock hanging on the wall. “It ain’t even lunchtime. People only drink before lunchtime when they’re running from something or they miserable.” He nodded his head towards the twins and you stifled a laugh.

“I’m simply passing through.” You drew your pack of cigarettes from your pocket and cradled one between your lips.

Before you could even think about looking for your lighter, Boone was proffering one towards you, flame flickering.

You leaned a little closer until your cigarette touched the flame and nodded at him in thanks.

“Didn’t I see y’all earlier in the General Store with that Cosmo?” Cole cocked an eyebrow which hit his receding hairline.

He was scooping exactly three cubes of ice into the bottom of the tumbler.

“Might have done.” You spoke between drags, following Boone’s lead and flicking the excess ash on the floor.

“Strange one he is.” Butch spoke up now, cupping his bearded jaw in mild contemplation.

“How so?” You gave him your attention.

“Something…off about him. Don’t sit right with me.”

“Nor me.” Boone agreed. “He thinks the sun comes up to just hear him crow.”

You turned back to Cole who was now pouring three fingers of a rich amber liquid into the tumbler. Your expression asked silently for an explanation.

“We’re friendly folk, ma’am.” Cole began, setting the bottle back in its rightful place. “Some might say we’re cliquey, maybe we are. We take care of our own for sure, but we’re amenable to new faces. Cosmo never so much as stepped foot in here, never said a damn word to any of us. Heard more outta your mouth right now than I ever heard him.”

“What d’ya know about him?” Boone leaned closer again.

“Nothing really. Only met him yesterday, he was in a spot of trouble and I helped him out.” You shrugged. The tumbler of amber was being slid towards you and you gave Cole a curious look. “I didn’t order.”

“I know what folks are hankering for, Miss Lizzie.” He winked at you and you fought back a smile.

You picked it up with your free hand and swirled the liquid and ice around the glass. You brought it to your nose and sniffed. You detected notes of woody grains, a mild hint of fruit and after a second sniff, even a touch of caramel.

You tentatively lowered it to your lips and took a small sip. You held the liquid in your mouth and swilled it around a few times. It was smoky and a little nutty with undertones of that fruity scent. Certainly whiskey but not a variety you had ever tasted before.

You swallowed it down, it burnt a little as it went but it was pleasant. Strong though, incredibly strong.

“You like that missy?” Cole smirked at you and you nodded. “My own concoction. Stronger than any other whiskey you can buy from that damn general store.”

“Stuff’ll put hairs on your chest.” Butch cackled again.

You took a drag on the cigarette, flicked the ash on the floor, and brought the glass to your lips again. The three men watched in amazement and mild horror as you downed the remains in one.

Once it was emptied you slammed the glass on the counter and pushed it closer to Cole who looked utterly speechless.

“Keep ‘em coming.” You told him with a tilt of your head.

“Sure thing, sugar.” He took the glass and poured you another while Boone and Butch stared on.

***

When Spencer came to he was sitting in his bathtub, completely naked aside from the cast on his arm, the shower was off. The first thing he was consciously aware of was the pain which seemed to encompass every fibre of his body.

The second thing was the fact he was covered in blood.

He blinked against the pain, trying to piece together how in the hell he had ended up here. He remembered your argument, you storming out and the rage bubble brewing in his stomach. And then...nothing.

His first experience suffering a dissociative episode was a few weeks after his release from prison. It was possible that he’d undergone a minor one when he had Cat Adams up against the wall with hands around her throat but he couldn’t be sure.

But the first one he was aware of happened a few weeks after his release.

The last time he’d dissociated was the day after he’d arrived home from being held hostage by Ben’s Believers.

That was when he made the decision to leave, to walk out on the team and move somewhere far away in the hopes of protecting those he loved from his inner Hulk.

But the anger still swelled inside of him, the bitter pill that was losing someone he loved because of the trauma he’d sustained in prison, the trauma which had been completely out of his hands.

He had let the anger consume him and he’d dissociated. When he came around that last time after his close brush with death, his apartment was trashed, books ripped apart at their spines, pages torn into confetti. His beloved chess set was even snapped clean in half.

But the more worrisome thing was the blood.

He’d found the source of the bleeding with ease, a six inch cut down the centre of his left forearm starting at his wrist. Blood poured from the wound and he’d quickly tried to stop the flow with a shirt he’d found on the floor.

He’d had to drive himself to the emergency room, given the amount of blood seeping through the shirt he held pressed against it, they saw him pretty quickly. When he was asked by the kind nurse who was stitching him up what had happened he told her the truth: he didn’t know.

Well, that’s not to say he didn’t have an idea. There was no one else in his apartment and he was almost certain he hadn’t gone out in the time he had been detached from reality so it stood to reason the wound was self inflicted.

And that was why Spencer knew, as he laid in his bathtub now with blood coating his one good hand, he’d inevitably hurt himself again.

His left arm was encased in his cast so he looked further down his body. Sure enough it wasn’t long before his eyes landed on a series of horizontal cuts on his left inner thigh; six of them to be precise.

The wounds weren’t entirely shallow but weren’t as deep as the cut he’d inflicted on his arm before. The blood had mostly pooled in the basin of the tub, trickling down towards the drain which he sat upon. It was then he realised he could feel the sticky substance coating his backside.

He groaned viscerally at his utter stupidity. Spencer had, what was surely, a multitude of mental health issues, both diagnosed or not, but he’d never entertained the idea of self-harm, at least not until he dissociated.

He had been diagnosed after prison with PTSD and mild Dissociative Thematic Amnesia. Combine that with a sprinkle of social anxiety and you got a Spencer Reid cocktail.

But he wasn’t depressed, he wasn’t suicidal - was he? No, he didn’t think so, at least Spencer Reid didn’t. But maybe his inner Hulk did.

The weapon for his self-inflicted wounds lay abandoned in the tub. He wasn’t surprised it was the same culprit as last time: the shiny blade from inside his shaving razor.

Without thinking he brought his good hand to his face and rubbed but stopped quickly when he felt the sticky claret transferring to his skin.

He groaned, throwing his head back in frustration against the lip of the tub. The effort caused his back to hum in disapproval but he ignored it.

“Why am I like this?” He mumbled under his breath, staring up at the shower head. “No wonder he left you, it's no surprise he walked out, you’re a goddamn lunatic!”

He let out a scream, sitting back up and once again ignoring the pain pulsing through his spine.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve got to get your shit together, Reid. Fucking hell you’re a mess. A fucking goddamn mess!” He slammed his hands against the side of the tub, his cast thumping against the porcelain and the impact vibrating up his arm and ricocheting through his broken bones. “FUCK!”

He started screaming at the top of his lungs, a long, constant sound that would be swallowed up by the rolling hills outside long before they met any prying ears. He screamed until his throat was ravaged, his voice tapering off when he physically couldn’t scream anymore.

By the time he was done, hot tears seared down his face. He shook his head, huffing out a breath. He needed to clean himself and try to shake this off.

He braced his right hand against the side of the tub and trying to use only his uninjured leg, attempted to push himself up. He groaned in pain, which irritated his scratchy throat. It took several failed ventures and caused a lot of agony, but eventually he was on his feet.

His knee throbbed with the effort, his back achy and his arm pulsed beneath the cast. He switched on the shower, only realising his oversight once it was too late and the water was already flowing.

He hurriedly stuck his casted arm out from behind the shower curtain in a vain effort to keep it dry. He had the sleeve the doctor had given him but would cause further irritation to his sore limbs to try and scrambled out of the bath and back in again.

Instead he tried to shower with one arm sticking out to his side, which was no easy feat. He picked up the bottle of body wash, rolling his eyes as he popped the end of it in his mouth. He held out his right hand and using his teeth, squeezed the little bottle until enough pooled in his palm. He dared move his face towards his left hand peeking out of the shower and managed to deposit the bottle between the fingers sticking out of the cast without getting it too wet.

He was gentle in rubbing the shower gel against his inner thigh, lightly lathering it over the dried blood and open wounds. The blood mixed with the soap creating some kind of pink froth which made him oddly think of Penelope.

Once the wounds looked clean he moved his lathered hand around to his backside where he could still feel the blood clinging to his skin.

In an attempt to distance himself from the idea that he’d hurt himself in this way again and he was having to clean his own blood from his skin after another episode, he closed his eyes and thought about you.

He focused his mind back to earlier in the day sitting in your car outside his lodge and the words you’d uttered which had caused a flurry of excitement in him.

“They aren’t the kind of stallions I usually like to have between my thighs, if you know what I mean.”

“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, the same vague twitching it had elicited in his groin when you said it afflicting him now. “Come on, come on.”

He pictured your face, the flirty smirk you sent his way. He imagined your sinful lips on his body, trailing lower…lower…lower…

Another fluttering in his stomach and a twitch of his groin. His hand moved from where it had been cleaning himself to glide across the planes of his stomach.

Lower…lower still until they reached right where he needed them to be. He screwed his eyes shut tightly, picturing you on your knees in the tub, water droplets beading on your flesh.

“They aren’t the kind of stallions I usually like to have between my thighs, if you know what I mean.”

Another flurry, blood was unhurriedly rushing south. He inched his hand lower until his fingers were in his pubic hair.

Your lashes wet from the shower, large eyes looking up at him as you took him in your hand.

With that he dared wrapped his hand around the base of his semi-erect cock. It was the most tumescent he’d been since…since -

“Oh my god, he’s enjoying it! Fucking punk is enjoying it!”

- Prison.

In an instant his shaft was flaccid again and his hand fell to his side as his eyes shot open.

“GOD-FUCKING-DAMNIT!” He screamed, tearing his throat further as he slammed his fist against the wall.

It didn’t hurt. Or maybe it did. It wasn’t any worse than any other pain he was suffering at that moment.

Hot tears escaped his eyes again and not caring if he was clean or not, he shut off the shower. He lowered himself to the lip of the tub gently before swivelling his way out, disregarding the pain it caused.

He hobbled to the towel on the back of the door and slung it around his waist, tears still hindering his vision.

In truth, Spencer had never been a regular at self pleasure. He wasn’t an overly sexual person, didn’t necessarily find himself getting turned on unless he was with another person and there was kissing and touching and preamble.

There were odd occasions when he used masturbation as a tool for escapism. After particularly bad cases, when his stress levels were high. Self stimulation allowed the logical side of his brain to shut down, to turn off all the insipid thoughts that followed him after bad cases.

The flood of dopamine, the pleasure chemical and oxytocin during orgasm was a nice reprieve to him when he was low or frustrated. But it was merely a coping mechanism, not something he held much stock in or something he was bothered to indulge in most of the time.

But it was always good to have that on the table, the idea he could do it should he need to.

But that ability had been taken away, snatched from him as though in punishment for lack of use. He couldn’t masturbate if he couldn’t get an erection. And he couldn’t get an erection without thinking about -

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.”

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!”

It was a natural response, logically he knew that. Fear caused a narrowing of attention - tunnel vision - making it difficult to think of anything other than the perceived threat. If the threat is external then it can cause a groinal response.

Fear increases the heart rate which in turn increases blood flow. It made perfect, rational sense that while his heart was furiously pumping his blood through his veins that some of that blood would travel south.

He’d been in a horrifying situation and his body had simply acted on impulse. And the irony was that in getting aroused at quantifiably the absolute worst possible time, he now couldn’t get erect at all. Not without an immeasurable amount of guilt setting in before inevitably becoming flaccid soon after anyway.

He padded over to the medicine counter, grabbed his bottle of pills and swallowed one dry, ignoring the ache in his throat from his previous screams.

Prison had taken so much more from him than anyone would ever know. What he’d endured in his time at Milburn, he’d never told another soul. How could he? They would never look at him the same again.

He’d never been exactly normal but this just made him a whole new level of unusual.

He grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet before closing it and hobbling to the toilet. He lowered himself slowly until he was seated on the lid and used the towel to pat dry his inner thigh.

On further inspection now the cuts were clean he could tell they weren’t deep enough to warrant medical attention. What a relief that was, he had no way of getting to the hospital anyway.

He retrieved a large reel of gauze from inside the kit and began wrapping it around the wounds. Round and round it went, creating layer upon layer of barriers between his eyes and his idiotic dissociated cutting.

He pinned it together with a safety pin to keep it in place and it took great effort to push himself back to his feet. He limped his way back to the bedroom to dress in a pair of clean jeans and a fresh t-shirt.

As he wondered, in absent-mindedness, where you may have gone, if he ever might see you again, the landline in the kitchen started to trill.

A frown adorned on his features, in two years of living here that phone had never rang. He sometimes wondered if it even still worked.

Using the kitchen counter to aid his balance, he dragged himself over to the handset, brow still furrowed. He picked it up off of the latch and held it to his ear.

“Uh, hello?” He leaned against the wall.

“This Cosmo?” A thick southern drawl met him.

“I, uh, I guess so.” His frown was still deepening. “Who is this?”

“Names Cole, I own the 11th Street Bar.”

“The old bar down on 11th Street?” The words came out of his mouth before he had a chance to realise how stupid that sounded.

“Well looky here we have a smart one.” Cole chuckled.

“How did you get my number? I don’t even know my number.”

“You live out at the old Clements ranch. Jimmy Clements and I, we went way back.”

“Uh…okay? What can I, uh, help you with?”

“Git a friend of yours down here in a spot of bother.”

Spencer straightened against the wall.

Friend? What friend?

His brain started firing off thoughts quicker than he could focus on them. Penelope? Emily? JJ?…

…Luke?

“Sorry, what friend?” He forced the words out.

“Pretty young thing. Elizabeth I think?” Cole huffed out.

Elizabeth? Who on earth is…

“Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Elizabeth Parker of Bonnie and Clyde fame.”

Goddamnit.

“Right, uh, is she okay?”

“Just a little on the dangerous side of tipsy is all. I had to confiscate her keys so she wouldn’t go and drive herself to her death. Said she knew you, chance you can collect her?”

God-fucking-damnit.

“I don’t have a car.” Spencer scratched the back of his head.

“Git a horse dontcha? Seen ya riding her around town.” Cole scoffed.

“Yes but I’m…” he trailed off. Doctor Rhodes had advised him not to ride until his pain subsided. But this was an exigent circumstance wasn’t it? “I’ll…I’ll be by as soon as I can.”

“Right you are. I’ve cut her off and I’ll keep an eye on her for ya.”

“Thank you.” Spencer breathed with a nod of his head before hanging up the phone.

You were starting to become a hindrance. He’d asked you for help but you were causing him more grief than anything. Frustrated, he threw his jacket on and toed on his boots whilst using the wall to try and alleviate some of the pain warping his spine and flooding his knee.

He grabbed his keys and hobbled out of the lodge, cursing you as the pain shot spikes though his leg as he pushed up towards the stable.

It was still light out but due to his dissociation he had no idea what time it might be. A glance up at the sun's position in the sky he would estimate it to be around three pm.

It took him longer than usual to trudge up to the stable and his leg was howling by the time he made it. He unlatched the barn and was greeted with three sets of happy mewls from his companions.

“Hey guys,” he whimpered a little in pain.

He patted Franklin on the snout and the younger of the two stallions neighed and nuzzled into his owner's palm. He gave Wilbur the same treatment but he wasn’t quite as receptive, slightly more aloof than Frank.

Willow actually seemed as though she lit up when she laid eyes on him, she often had this look when she saw Spencer. Her large eyes grew larger and she tapped her front hooves in a little dance.

Spencer couldn’t help the smile he offered in return. Willow was his lifeline. He loved all his animals but he had a special bond with the blue roan. Willow had given Spencer a reason to get out of bed in the morning even on the days he felt crippled by his trauma. She tethered him to reality when nothing else could ground him.

Maybe Alvez was wrong about dogs being man’s best friend, because Willow was without a doubt Spencer’s.

“Hey girl,” he patted her head and then frowned a little upon seeing her riding gear still atop her back. He shook his head in displeasure at your oversight. “I’m sorry Will, she doesn’t know.”

Willow snuffled and then neighed, as if trying to tell him it was okay. He unlocked her paddock and took hold of her reins, leading her to the mounting block which she happily complied.

Stepping up on the block was a struggle in itself and he used Willow’s strong body as leverage. Leg throbbing, he clenched his jaw as the realisation hit him.

He’d been taught to mount a horse from the left side, the only way he’d ever mounted a horse. However this meant his left foot was the one slotting into the stirrup, essentially taking his full body weight while he swung the other over the horse's body.

His left knee was his injured knee. And given his left arm was in a cast it meant he couldn’t use it to counterbalance any weight off of his leg.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, eyeing up the stirrup. “This is going to fucking hurt.”

He let go of Willow’s reins for a moment to grab his wallet out his jacket pocket. If he screamed he would startle his horses and he didn’t want that. Instead he stuffed the leather wallet in his mouth, between his teeth and bit down on it. He took hold of the reins again and counted to five in his head.

He stepped up, toed his left foot into the stirrup and tugged himself upon the horse using the reins. His weight bared down on his leg, sending stabbing pains through his knee.

He moaned around the wallet, a few tears pricking at his eyes as he tasted the leather on the roof of his mouth.

He got situated on the saddle, got his right foot in the other stirrup while removing the wallet from his mouth. A trail of saliva dribbled down his chin. The teeth indentations in the leather were so deep they pierced through it.

He continued to grind his rear molars as the pain didn’t let up. On top of his knee, his fresh thigh wounds were rubbing against Willow’s body and they hadn’t even started moving yet.

This was going to be hell.

His heart was hammering from the intense pain and his hands were sweating around the reins. The hardest part was over. He would be okay.

He took a moment to calm his breaths before giving Willow an almost imperceptible tap with his right heel and immediately she started trotting forward through the gate.

His face was contorted in his anguish as he passed by his two stallions. As was customary, Willow stopped in her tracks outside of the stable so Spencer could lean over and lock the barn door behind himself.

It was made considerably more difficult with the use of only one hand and took longer than usual to achieve. Once he had it locked, he tapped her gently again and Willow was on her way.

***

You sat on the curb outside 11th Street Bar, sucking on a cigarette and hugging your free arm around your body.

The street around you spun from the alcohol consumption. You couldn’t see straight, not even as far as your car on the other side of the road.

It was still daylight, not late enough to warrant being this drunk.

The cigarette was acrid on your tongue and you ended up dropping it on the floor and trying but failing to stamp it out.

You lost track of time but at some point the sound of hooves on the asphalt alerted your attention. You could make out the blurry outline of a large horse with someone on top of it heading your way but Cole’s homemade whiskey didn’t allow you to make out any features.

“I hope you know what a huge inconvenience this has been for me.” A male voice you recognised but couldn’t place entered your ears.

“Huh?” You swayed where you sat.

“I am in agony, Y/N! Or should I say Elizabeth.”

That tone…that irritating, grating, slightly whiny…

“Spencer?” You frowned.

“Yes it’s me, who the hell else would it be?” He came to a stop in front of you and you glanced up at him, blinking against the sunlight.

“How’d you find me?” You slurred.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m taking you back to the ranch.”

You tried to stand but stumbled back down. You tried again and were slightly more successful.

“I’m not getting on that…” hiccup “creature.”

“Well there is no way I am getting off of her without the help of a mounting block so you’re either getting on or walking. Your call.” He spat.

“I don’t want to go anywhere with…” hiccup “you!”

“Too bad. I pride myself on being private, and you’ve been here all of five minutes and the nice lady at the general store thinks we’re screwing and now the bartender of a place I’ve never been to has my phone number. You will come back to my ranch and sober up and then you can do whatever the hell you want.” He was gripping Willow’s reins so hard and the leather was abrasive on his palm.

“You’re a real jerk do you,” hiccup, hiccup “know that? No wonder you want to keep yourself to yourself! No one wants to know you!”

Your words were knives, flying from your tongue straight to his chest. He wobbled a little on Willow’s firm back and grit his teeth hard.

“You want to be a petulant child, fine. I offered you a place to stay. I can see you’re running from something, whether it be real or imagined I don’t know. But I was trying to help you because god knows I’ve been there. And no one helped me.

“I know what it’s like to feel as though the world has turned its back on you and I thought, hey maybe we can be of assistance to each other. But if you’re going to be like this then you’re on your own.”

With a light tug on the reins and an even lighter tap of his right foot, Willow turned back to face the direction she’d just come and started trotting back down the road.

You clenched your hands into fists at your sides watching them go. A fury rose within you, you couldn’t let him have the last word.

Your legs wobbled as you started after him, jogging to catch up with the mare and swerving on your feet as you did so.

“F-fuck you!” Hiccup. “Did it ever occur to you that I didn't…” hiccup “want your help? You self right…right…” hiccup “righteous asshole!”

Spencer didn’t look at you, kept his eyes trained forward and kept a tight grip on Willow’s reins, his casted arm resting against his chest.

His leg was on fire. From his knee up to his thigh. He was taken back to his early days of learning to ride and the burning in his thighs as they rubbed against the horse.

“Does it always…chafe so much?”

“You’ll build up a tolerance to it.”

And he had over time. But the wounds on his leg, despite being wrapped in a thick layer of gauze, were rubbing rampantly against his trusty mare’s side.

“I’m so sick of arguing with you.” He sighed with a soft shake of his head. “I have barely had any human interaction in two years and you are exhausting me.”

“I’m exhausting…” hiccup “you?”

He took a corner with a nudge of Willow’s reins and you scrambled to take the turn with him.

“I appreciate you helping me yesterday but consider yourself off the hook. I’ll make do on my own. I always have.” He hated the self pity dripping from his words.

“Fine.” You huffed but you continued following him anyway. “Why are you…” hiccup “like this? You asked me for help and then when I actually tried to help you, you…” hiccup “push me away!”

“It’s better that I do, trust me.” He petted Willow’s neck encouragingly.

“There you go with your damn self deprecation again.” Hiccup. “Goddamn fucking hiccups!”

“It’s not self deprecating, it’s a fact.” He hissed through a new wave of pain in his thigh. “I am not good to be around. I have a lot of issues that I would rather not drag anybody else into.”

Willow seemed to speed up, or maybe you slowed down but you hurried to catch them up.

“That’s what paroxetine is for, right?” Hiccup.

Tugging on her reins, Willow came to an abrupt stop and so did you. Spencer turned his head and looked down at you, scorned.

“How the fuck do you know about my medication?” He growled, feeling the telltale signs of the rage bubbling in his stomach once more.

He knew how, it was a redundant question. The only way you could know was by going through his things.

He was partially to blame for letting a stranger into his home while he wasn’t there. Some of that anger was directed at himself. But he’d thought himself a good judge of character, he had not seen this betrayal of his privacy coming.

You didn’t speak. You averted your gaze to the floor with another hiccup hiccup hiccup, whilst scuffing your toe in the dirt.

“You went through my things.” He answered for you. “Unbelievable.”

He gave Willow’s side a light pat with his heel and she was moving again. You looked up when you heard the hoofbeats on the ground and quickly followed.

“I had a headache,” hiccup “I was looking for pain meds.” Despite your inebriation, the lie came easily to you. You hurried after him but he wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t talk to you. “So what is it? Depression? Anxiety? PTSD?”

You saw his jaw twitch at the last one, barely perceptible but even in your intoxicated state you noticed it. He clasped his hand around the reins, squeezing, releasing, squeezing, releasing.

“That’s none of your goddamn business.” He spoke harshly, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him. “You shouldn’t have been going through my things, it's a complete invasion of privacy. I am not well, okay? Mentally speaking. And I think it best once you sober up that you leave. It’s safer that way.”

You opened your mouth to speak - hiccup hiccup - but before you could reply he’d given Willow another soft tap to indicate to her to pick up her speed which she did. She went from a slow trot to a canter, not so fast that you couldn’t keep up but it was certainly made a lot harder and you assumed that to be his goal.

The last thing you remembered was running to stay close, your lungs on fire with the exertion, before the alcohol cleansed you of any more memories.

@andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @muffin-cup @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland @theblooomingeagle @kalulakundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0_0 @bakugouswh0r3

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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wastelandmoony · 3 months

Text

Déjà Vécu: Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two : Choices

Summary: Regulus f*cking Black, ladies and gentlemen.

Characters: Remus Lupin/Reader, Sirius Black/Reader (no use of y/n), James Potter, Petter Pettigrew, Regulus Black, Marlene McKinnon, Mary MacDonald, Lily Evans

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI; language, violence, mild peril?

Déjà Vécu Masterlist

Companion Playlist

Read on AO3

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November 11th, 1975

Regulus Black had officially become the Slytherin’s new seeker, much to Sirius’ vexation.

“He’s just trying to copy me, he’s never been interested in Quidditch a day in his bloody life!” He whined over breakfast the morning that the new rosters were posted.

“I mean, isn’t that what younger siblings do?” She asking through a bite of toast, “They want to be just like the older one?”

She looked to Peter for confirmation. As an only child, she had no idea what sibling dynamics were like, though she doubted they were always as erratic as Sirius and Reg though.

Peter shrugged and shoveled eggs into his mouth.

“Thanks for the help Pete,” she muttered sarcastically.

“Anytime,” he smiled, elbowing her in jest.

Sirius groaned loudly, “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

She stared at him incredulously, “I’m sorry, but what exactly is happening to you?”

“Just promise me you’ll knock that cocky prick off his broom,” he avoided the question (as he tended to always do when he was being overly dramatic), “Hufflepuff faces Slytherin before we do, so you’ll be able to draw first blood.”

“Jesus Christ, Sirius, I’m not going to purposefully aim bludgers at your brother just because you’re mad at him.”

He scowled at her from across the table as if she’d struck him.

She gave him a pointed look as she threw the strap of her bag over a shoulder, rising from the table, “I’m a professional, I don’t take out petty grudges on the pitch.”

James looked up at her and nodded with pride. Sirius aggressively stabbed a sausage with his fork.

“With that in mind,” she said primly, “If a bludger just so happens to come a little too close to Reggie’s sparkly new broom, I can’t be held accountable for just doing my job as beater.”

Sirius looked up at her with a devilish grin, as James opened his mouth to more than likely recite something from the ICWQC handbook, but before he could begin, she turned on her heel and headed to Potions.

———

November 26th, 1975

Regulus stared at her from across the pitch.

She knew it was supposed to be a fear tactic, but Sirius’ words were still ringing in her ears from earlier that morning: I’m rooting for you, little bee.

She was a better player than Regulus, but by the looks of his slick new broom, she wasn’t sure if she could out maneuver him.

The whistle blew from below, and both teams erupted into motion. Immediately she lost sight of Reg, a bludger shooting right towards her courtesy of a Slytherin beater. She quickly smacked it away, aiming towards the opposing chaser making a (rather impressive) dive towards the Hufflepuff player currently holding the quaffle tight under their arm.

The match was a brutal one.

She tried to keep one eye out for Regulus at all times, Sirius having warned her that he wouldn’t play fair. Sure enough, during the second half of the game, he almost ran her into the stands, cutting so close to her broom that she was forced to swerve aggressively towards to a cheering section of second year Hufflepuffs. As she righted herself, Regulus continued his ascent, turning back with a sly smirk.

Fuck playing nice (She’d say that to James’ face later).

Gritting her teeth, she shot after him, adjusting her stance to increase speed. Suddenly, his head snapped to the side, and she knew he had spotted the snitch.

Regulus bolted towards the left, and she quickly followed, weaving around players as they soared through the air. She knew her captain would have some choice words for her later, but in the present moment she couldn’t care less.

It happened in the blink of an eye, and in hindsight, she could retrace all of her mistakes, but as Reg kicked the bludger towards her, she couldn’t move quickly enough.

It smashed through the front of her broom, causing her to lose control and plummet towards the ground. Pulling up on the broken handle with as much force she could muster, flashbacks from her first time on a broom ricocheted through her mind. Please don’t let me fall in front of all these people, she thought desperately.

Meters from the ground, she finally leveled out well enough, the old school-issued broom slowing enough to let her feet hit the grass at a speed that wouldn’t break any bones. Her toes scraped against the packed earth, sending her flying from the seat and onto the wet grass. She closed her eyes right before impact, rolling onto her side protectively.

The crowd gasped, but there was no whistle.

Mentally, she assessed her body for injury. She wiggled her toes, followed by her fingers, and then twisted her neck slightly. She was okay, there would most definitely be a mean bruise on her side by tomorrow, but nothing was broken. Opening her eyes, she rolled onto her back and watched as Regulus did a victory lap around the pitch, snitch in his outstretched hand.

———

“That fucker did it on purpose!” Sirius yelled, almost having to be physically restrained by a professor as he ran from the stands onto the pitch.

She had chucked the shattered broom onto the grass, leaving it in her wake as she stormed back towards the changing rooms. She couldn’t believe that she was bested by a brand new seeker, let alone Regulus fucking Black.

Sirius ran up beside her, cutting off the path and grabbing her face.

“Are you alright?” He asked, eyes scanning every bit of her body for injury.

“I’m fine,” she growled, trying to break out of his grasp. At that point, the other three boys had caught up.

“Brilliant save,” James crowed, “that could’ve been catastrophic!”

She ignored him entirely, pushing past Sirius to continue her walk of shame. None of them tried to chase after her, and for once she was thankful.

After a scalding hot shower, during which she stood under the spray and let the water wash away the layer of brash anger coating her body, she finally emerged from the changing room feeling slightly less irate. The pitch was empty, the crowds having gone back to either the Slytherin common room to celebrate, or to the Great Hall to wallow.

As she turned the corner of the stands, she heard someone speaking in a low, gravely voice. Following the angry tone, she found Remus, wand out and pressed against Regulus’ neck.

“—you’re pathetic,” Reg spat, backed against the wooden stands.

“And you’re a fucking coward,” Remus pressed closer, causing the younger Black to shrink further into the wall.

“If you so much as breathe near her again—“

“Remus!” she hissed.

He snapped his focus to her, but didn’t remove his wand from underneath Regulus’ chin.

“We were just having a chat,” he said, turning back to face Sirius’ brother.

“I bet,” she stated calmly, though her heart was beating erratically in her chest, “Let’s go back to the tower, Moony.”

He nodded, pressing his wand into Reg’s neck one last time for good measure. As he walked to her side, she took one last look at Regulus.

“Until next time, Reggie,” she said softly, grabbing Remus’ arm before leading him back toward the castle.

Once they were out of earshot, she dug her nails into his bicep.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing?!” She whisper-screamed, “He’s Sirius’ little brother!”

Remus shook his head, “I assure you, Sirius would’ve done worse.”

The tone in his voice made her pause.

“What are you talking about? He might fight with Reg, but he’d never threaten him like that.”

Remus’ expression was contemplative, like he was once again holding onto a secret he didn’t want to share. The thought made her bristle.

He sighed when he saw her face harden, “You left before it happened.”

“Before what happened?”

“Sirius got two months of detention,” he breathed.

“For what?!”

“One for his ‘exceptionally colorful language’ as McGonagall called it, and one for taking a swing at Reg.”

Her eyes were so wide that they might fall out of her head. “W-what?”

Remus gave a half-hearted shrug, “I grabbed him before he could make contact, but McGonagall saw, and after she handed out detentions to both him and James, she ordered Sirius back to the castle.”

“James?”

The corner of Remus’ mouth quirked up, “He may have had some choice words for Regulus as well.”

She’d never condone their actions, but her heart was swelling at the image of the boys standing up for her over something so trivial. Lacing her arm back through Remus’ elbow, they began their walk back across the grounds, as she rested her head on his shoulder.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fluff #marauders era fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black angst #sirius black imagine #sirius black fic #marauders x reader #remus lupin x you #sirius black x you #james potter fluff #Sirius Black slow burn

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wellpresseddaisy · 1 year

Text

9 January, 1978

Lucius stood courteously at the head of the dining room table as the ladies filed out with Cissa. When the door shut behind the last rustling skirt, the gentlemen sat, relaxed now they were alone. The candles burned low in the candelabra down the great length of the table, the flame occasionally picking out the tawny gleam of decanted port.

Velvet curtains of the deepest silver were closed against the chill of the winter night. Snow lay thick across the park, though the waxing moon and cloudless sky they'd been promised meant travel wouldn't prove too treacherous later.

"Excellent dinner, Lucius, as always." Yaxley smiled thinly. "If you'll excuse me, though, I should find my wife. Had something I wanted to ask her."

"I'll pass on the compliment to Narcissa." Lucius nodded at the man as he left the room, ignoring the wafer thin excuse.

"Now, Lucius, there's something more important than dinner to discuss." Avery slapped the table. "An' I'm going to be indelicate, but it's Snape. High time you found someone for him. He's eighteen! Not gettin' any younger."

Lucius stared at the man. Avery and Mulciber had taken Severus under their dubious protection when he left Hogwarts. He really hadn't known what Severus saw in either of them, but the boy took to the pair like a puppy. They must have seemed glamorous, somehow, two years older than him.

"Wanted Mulciber and the Mudblood." Rowle, deep in his cups and thankfully at the far end of the table, chortled. "At's 'is problem. 'E wanned both."

Everyone stared as he thumped forward onto the table.

"Thankfully, I had warned the footmen." Lucius drawled.

A guilty snicker ran around the table.

"No one ever knew what he wanted, was the problem. Except potions and he's doin' a Mastery already. Could sponsor him to Oxford, I suppose. S'what you do with brainboxes, isn't it?" Mulciber sighed. "Always had too much brain, Severus did. Brain and nerves."

"Why, if we're being indelicate, is it my responsibility to find our problem child a match?" Lucius asked lightly.

"You and Narcissa know everyone, Lucius. Simply everyone. Surely you know someone who'd…well…take him in hand. As it were." Avery insisted. "He needs a nice…er…husband, maybe?"

"I have suggested no less than seventeen suitable matches, to date. He doesn't want a husband." Lucius sighed.

"Not want a husband?" Avery repeated. He tended to do that, as if he could only understand a concept from his own mouth. "Why the devil not? He doesn't want a wife, does he? Never been that wrong about a chap before."

"He does not." Lucius assured him. "Your reputation is safe, Waltham. Druella Heathcote was interested until he spent an entire dinner explaining the best way to gut rats."

"Rats?" Mulciber's voice had a strained quality. "The poor gel. Cathcart's given him a look or two. Good chap, Cathcart."

"He'd rather purposefully spring a were trap on his leg and then chew himself free. He's willing to leave the leg."

"Gibson?" Avery tried.

"I believe he felt drowning in flobberworm mucus preferable."

"Witherwaite? He isn't gettin' any younger, but he's always wanted a sharp one."

"Boiled in his own cauldron."

"Hallowfield? He's a bit like old Withers but a bit more biddable. As they go."

"Trampled to death by toads."

"The trouble is, we've spoilt him." Mulciber growled. "What about one of those Russians you know? They seem the imperious type. He likes that, y'know."

"He threatened to move to…where was it? Ah, yes, Outer Mongolia. Or possibly Newfoundland."

"What about you and Narcissa? She seems to like him well enough? You'd keep him out of trouble." Avery grasped at straws.

"The Malfoy contracts are strictly bi-partite. The only one coming to my marriage bed is Narcissa. Regrettably for both of us." Lucius winked at the pair.

Was he a bit foxed? He hoped not, but the port was particularly nice. How did one measure one's level of foxedness?

"Damn!" Avery muttered. "There's got to be someone he'll take."

"He told me that husbands stopped you doing anything really interesting and he likes what he's doing now." Mulciber admitted it mournfully. "He especially said anyone with, well, our ideals, wouldn't let him do anything remotely fun."

"Of course they wouldn't!" Avery slapped the table again. "He'd be…he'd be taken care of. Properly. His blood line's good enough if you ignore the father and his manners are…there…if you ignore his habit of hissing at people he doesn't like. But he shouldn't be running about loose like he is."

"He's too bloody independent. And spoiled." Mulciber declared. "We should have been…well I don't know. He bit you if you tried to tell him what to do. Not you, though, Lucius. Or Narcissa."

"He knew much better than to bite Narcissa." Lucius agreed.

"I just want to see him…cared for." Avery spoke quietly. "And…and out of this damned mess. If he had a husband like you he wouldn't be in it." He gestured at Lucius.

"I've suggested everyone like me I could with a clear conscience. Unfortunately, I'm not head of his family. I can't really make him do anything." And he'd certainly looked for any connection at all.

The Princes had a habit of marrying outside England. The sods. The one time he wished for a family connection and the magical community's marriage habits let him down completely.

"We looked, as well. They marry out. Always have. Suppose that's why his mother…well, the less said the better." Mulciber traced patterns in the damask tablecloth.

"Surely he'd take Hadley? Absolute sport, Hadley." Avery tried one last time.

"He would rather snuggle a hippogryph."

#Severus Snape #Lucius Malfoy #Severus Snape the death eaters problem child #he's having fun getting his mastery and spying #he'll be having less fun in about two years but right now it's exciting #hp society/the ton #hp the season/the ton au #hp the season au

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amandacanwrite · 5 months

Text

Ole Adelaide ☼ The Hallowed Wilds ☼ Chapter Seven

POV ;; Ezra ☽ 11 y.o.

Summary ;; Ezra Visits an old woman in the village per his mother's request.

Warnings ;; n/a

Author Note ;; If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging! It really helps me out when it comes to getting more eyes on this story that means so much to me. Thank you!

I couldn’t stomach the idea of seeing Aurelia for a while after the body in the patch of morning glories. It was too far of a leap to make; the Aurelia I thought I knew and the one that was fine with some poor old drunk getting strangled to death by vines of weeds.

Every time I thought of her doll-like skin and her sunflower eyes, my guts twisted into knots, and I wanted to scowl.

There were still mornings that I’d wake up and hear that low whistle of the forests. I would look out my window across the giant fields of rye that looks like a stream of gold in the grey and white winter. My mouth would taste like medicine and brandy all day long on those days.

Ma was getting irate with my sour mood and started sending me out on errands instead of letting me play with the other kids in town. I think she thought some ornery neighbor boy was teaching me bad manners.

Truth be told I didn’t know why I was in such a bad mood all the time. As the days started to pass, I didn’t feel so bad about the man Aurelia had shown me in The Wilds—especially not when wanted posters started showing up in Dewsbury. The man was a murderer and a thief, just as Aurelia had said. It seemed The Wilds knew what they were about after all.

I still couldn’t bring myself to go back, though. Not when every time I thought about it, I remembered shouting at Aurelia that I wasn’t like her.

A fortnight after the morning glories, Ma sent me on a longer errand. She wanted me to go a couple miles up the road to the Ole Adelaide’s house to pick up some special teas for her midwifery.

It’d been a long while since I’d seen Ole Adelaide. When I was little I was afraid of her. All the older kids in Dewsbury said she was one of the witches from The Wilds and that she liked to cook kids up in her oven and eat them in pot pies.

After knowing one of the real witches for a few months, though, the idea of Ole Adelaide’s crinkled fingers and milky eyes didn’t seem so threatening anymore. I knew now that the witches in the forest never left, anyway.

It was a tough trek. The woman lived far off the beaten path and didn’t have a son or husband to help her tend her land, so the weeds and trees got craggy and hard to navigate. I thought I’d offer to come and help her with it when the bitterness of the winter started to give way to the spring.

It took me a couple of hours to get there with the slippery packed ice and the cumbersome vegetation. I was sweating under my coat as I climbed up her decaying wooden steps and knocked on the door. I heard the creaking of her steps as she walked through the house and she opened the door.

She was much kinder looking than I remembered, and so much smaller than I remembered too. I counted the years it’d been since I’d been here with Ma or Pa and realized that I must have been five or six the last time. My memories of her were of an angular, knobby, unsettling looking woman with skin that barely covered her decrepit bones. I’d realized how wrong those memories were as I looked at the woman who stood before me now.

Her eyes were milkier than I remembered, but she had a pleasant softness to her that reminded my of my own grammy. She had a pleasant button nose above a thin smile and full cheeks that sagged a bit. Her shoulders were hunched with age, probably from all the gardening she’d done her whole life, but the rest of her was all roundness and worn—like Pa’s well-loved chair at home.

“Hello there,” she said in a fragile warble.

I took my cap off before speaking, because that’s how gentlemen are supposed to act.

“Hello, Miss Adelaide. My mama says you have some special teas for her midwifing.”

“Yes, I do, come on in, son. Can you help me get around—these old eyes aren’t good for much anymore.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, using the manners my mama always taught me.

I shoved my hat into my trouser pocket and I stepped past the threshold. I offered the old woman my arm. She snaked hers around my own and took hold of my hand. Her skin felt like softest silk—like Aurelia’s shawl she sometimes wore.

“It’s off in the kitchen,” Adelaide told me. “I think off this way.” She pointed to the left and I shored up my shoulder to support more of her weight as we walked. She felt like she might topple over at any moment.

I walked with her into her tiny kitchen. An entire wall was taken up with tiny drawers like they had at the clinic down the hill in the city. Each one was labeled with an ancient, yellowing slip of paper.

Yarrow, mayapple root, basil, St. John’s wort, so many varieties of mint, clary sage, on and on and on the labels went.

“We need some mugwort, and some penny-royal, parsley too—your mother said she had some but just in case.” the old woman said. “Should be up and across the top somewhere. Do you read?”

“Yes’m,” I said as I led her along.

I found the herbs in question and helped Old Adelaide into a chair while I collected them. She instructed me in how to wrap them up so that they didn’t get damp in the winter air outside and after tying some string around them I tucked them into my coat’s inside pocket.

“Anything else, Miss Adelaide?”

“Can you sit for a spell?”

“Yes’m,” I said.

I didn’t really want to sit with her, but I figured she must be lonesome up here with no one to help her or talk to her. I could stay for at least a little while. I sat at the small dining table with her in the kitchen and fiddled with my hands.

“So, little Ezra, tell me what bothers you,” she said with that ever-present smile.

I dropped my mouth open and stared at her stupidly for a moment before remembering myself.

“I’m not bothered, Miss Adelaide,” I said.

“Sure, you are. Some matter of the heart, a bit of sourness.”

“What’d Ma say? She complain about my temper to you?” I asked a bit defensively, “I told her I’d work on fixing my face. You don’t have to lecture me about it.”

“No, no, no. I just have a sense for these things my boy—your mama didn’t say anything against you.”

Ole Adelaide rose to her feet and put a kettle on and started to put together a pot of some mystery collection of herbs. I started to feel a bit skeptical about drinking or eating anything she gave me. Her ‘sense’ of me was making me feel a little unsettled.

It made me think of Aurelia—how she could always read things about me like she was reading a passage in a book.

My mouth screwed and I looked away from the old woman.

“There it is—that’s what I sensed earlier.”

“I’m fine,” I snapped.

She looked sidelong at me with those milky eyes. I shrank from my own rudeness. Mama would have whooped me if she heard me talk to an elder that way.

“Pardon my tone, Ma’am,” I said.

“No, no. Forgive this old woman for prying,” she said, still smiling. “I just don’t like to see people unhappy. I so rarely have a chance to help anyone these days, so I get a little overzealous.”

I shrank a bit more in my chair, guilt settling in fully.

“It’s hard to explain without getting myself into big trouble,” I said.

“I see,” she said. “Well you know that no one comes up this way to ask me about much. In the past year or so I’ve only seen your ma and pa and maybe a few of the odd travelers.”

“My parents are the ones I’m worried about, Miss,” I grumbled.

“Of course, of course,” she said.

Quiet fell as she waited for the kettle to boil. I watched quietly as she smeared some butter on a couple of fluffy biscuits and covered them in dark purple preserves. I wondered if it was blackberry or mulberry. My heart squeezed remembering the time that Aurelia and I found a bush so covered in mulberries that we could barely see the leaves and ate them until our bellies were full.

“Do you really promise not to tell anyone?”

I think I was more surprised by my words than she was. She turned and set the plate of biscuits on the table, and I realized she’d never promised that at all. Even so, she still smiled at me and nodded.

“Of course. I promise, Ezra,” she said.

She turned to pour our tea and I nervously spun one of the biscuits on the plate.

“I’ve been going into The Wilds—I made a friend there.”

Adelaide didn’t pause, didn’t balk. She didn’t yell or even falter as put a few spoons of sugar in our tea and squeezed a lemon into them, so I continued.

“H-Her name is Aurelia. She’s one of the witches. And I’ve been going to play with her almost all winter. We even have the same birthday.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said as she brought the teas over and set them down, sipping from hers.

“It was—” I said. “B-But something happened the last time I went, and I realized that we’re just…too different. Too different to stay friends.”

Adelaide nodded quietly as she set her cup down on her saucer.

“Did she say something cruel to you?” she asked.

“No.”

“Did she try to hurt you?”

“No, of course not!” I scrambled. “Actually the first time I went in I broke my arm and she healed it. Healed it like it never even happened.”

I looked down at my hand still on the biscuit and finally took a bite. My throat tightened as I chewed. It was mulberry. I realized I wanted to bring some preserves for Aurelia to try.

“The truth is,” I confessed. “I was mean to her. I felt like she didn’t care about something awful that happened and I…”

I tried to find words for what I felt when we buried the drunkard in the forest. Or maybe it was the feeling when she said the forest listened to me like it listens to her. Or should I talk about what I felt when I learned the dead man had been a killer.

It was so jumbled and messy—these were all so much bigger feelings than I’d ever felt before. It wasn’t the same anger when I got into a fistfight with one of the neighbor boys over a toy or got mad when Ma sent me to bed with no supper.

“Did it frighten you?” she asked.

The simplicity of the question struck me like a slap.

All at once I felt so relieved and so stupid.

That was what it was. It was fear. Fear that Aurelia was the monster that the rest of the world thought she was. Fear that if she found me dead in the forest like that she wouldn’t care—just shrug and leave me for the birds to pick at while my Ma and Pa wondered where I went for the rest of their lives. I was afraid I didn’t know her like I thought I had.

“Yeah,” was all I could manage to say.

Ole Adelaide smiled and nodded.

“Fear is a very destructive thing, you know. It’s the opposite of love.”

“I thought hate was the opposite of love,” I said.

“I suppose that’s true, but where does hatred come from? Most of the time it’s a lack of understanding—a refusal to learn because we’re afraid to let go of some idea we have in our head. Something we’ve learned from our friends or our family.”

I thought of the morning glories and the thing Aurelia said to me that filled me with so much anger.

The forest listened to you, it bent to your will. Like it does for me.

My eyes burned and I rubbed at one of them.

“I don’t hate Aurelia.” I sniffed. “I love her. I think she’s wonderful and beautiful. She’s like a princess out of a fairytale.”

So why did her telling me that I was like her scare me so much? Why was I so torn up by the idea that I could be even a fraction as magical as she was? I felt like such a little boy, crying into my food.

Even not looking at Ole Adelaide I could hear the smile in her voice as she reached over and pet my hair.

“The people we love are the most likely to scare us, because they’re the ones that know us the best and the ones that are most important to us,” she told me. “But that love grows when we look past that fear and make ourselves bigger than it. And love is what builds homes and families and friendships, sweet boy.”

Even though her words made me feel better, I only cried more. The old woman was quiet as I sat and sobbed there. She didn’t tell me to toughen up like gramps always used to, only pet my hair and let me get it all out.

When I was done, I could feel my eyes were puffy and swollen. I was still sniffling as I looked up at her. She only gave me a warm smile and swiped the lingering wetness off my face with her silky thumbs.

“Better?” she asked.

I sniffed and nodded, using the rough fabric of my sleeve to dry off the rest of my face.

“I’m sorry for crying,” I said.

“It’s the most natural thing in the world to cry over a friend you love,” she said. “Now eat up and drink your tea. And then I’ll read your tea leaves for you,” she said.

“My tea leaves?” I asked. “Like—fortune telling?”

She nodded, sipping at her own tea.

“Well, you gave me a secret of yours. It wouldn’t do for me not to return the favor, would it?” she said with a wink.

My mouth dropped open, and I looked back up at all the tiny drawers of dried herbs and it was as if my eyes saw more than they had when I first came into the unassuming little cottage.

Hanging bundles and swags of drying herbs, candles of all kinds of different colors, garlands of dried oranges. A moth-wing shawl hanging from a hook on the wall, one just like Aurelia’s.

I looked back to Ole Adelaide and saw someone new there.

She was still old, but her frailty was gone.

In front of me sat a straight-backed woman with long, waving, cornsilk hair. Her sagging features had receded, as if she’d turned back the clock on her life. I looked at her beautiful face and she looked as if she could be no older than Mama. I traced her pretty smile lines to the lines of her eyes and met them.

And was greeted by sunflowers.

Just like my Aurelia.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

@eldritchx

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#writing community #writing #authors #my writing #writers on tumblr #book quotes #pirate book #romantasy #historical fantasy #writeblr #the hallowed wilds #chapter 6 #my wrtitng #writing update #fanfic writing #fic writing #snippet

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jirachis-tag · 2 years

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~Ghetsis X Reader~

Word Count: 1906

Content: SFW

-Trojan Horse-

It's a well known saying - there's a first time for everything. Everyone makes at least one fatal error in life. Yours just occurred to be an unfortunate acquaintanceship with a certain man, and as harmless as it may sound, had given you more trouble than one could ever expect.

Ghetsis Harmonia is his name. You took him as just another greedy sycophant, a fool that nobody would take seriously, a swindler chasing money and fame, a shameless politician proposing an irrational idea that would never come true. All of those could apply depending on what words he'd choose to feed you at a given moment. And nobody suspected a thing.

It was unusual; the way he spoke about what he seemingly believed, offering a different outlook on what the citizens of Unova understood as mundane. The worst of all, some people actually blindly believed his absurdities, proceeding to apply his philosophy to their day-to-day life.

Ghetsis was in another meeting with influential big shots in Castelia City, renting out an office in a building you happened to work at. It was on the top floor with a grandiose view of the horizon, facing the harbor. As an amateur, you could've only drawn one conclusion: he's a rich nitwit with a distaste for subtlety, already making himself intolerable in your eyes.

You were assigned to clean up after everyone leaves, even though that wasn't your job in the slightest. In short, nobody else in your district wanted to get their hands dirty, not even the janitor, so, of course, they all scurried off home leaving you no choice but to take the task upon yourself, ruining your mood altogether.

Already angry and impatient, you tapped your foot like a child, pacing back and forth near your work desk, occasionally leaning against it to check your Xtransceiver for any calls or messages to respond to in order to kill some more time.

After what felt like another painful hour, the sound of chairs being moved around as well as overlapping muffled voices signified the end of their discussion. People in expensive suits and new shoes started walking out and towards the exit, laughing, chatting and exchanging thoughts, all of which you paid no attention to. Not that you were being interesting to them either. You were just glad it was over, praying that they were at least as civilized as they looked, enough to not leave behind an outright mess.

"Lord Ghetsis?", a short, older man called out, his hand pressed against the door frame.

You could see the aforementioned Ghetsis Harmonia sorting through some papers with a content smirk on his face.

"Go ahead, Zinzolin. I'll be there shortly."

Zinzolin nodded, leaving without further question or complaint. His hasty footsteps echoed for a short time, your gaze darting towards his attire, it being far more sophisticated than what you've seen Team Plasma usually wear.

Just when your lips have finally folded up in an amused smile, it faded as fast as the hope in your eyes the moment they've accidentally locked with Ghetsis's. His gaze was cunning, sharp and cold, yet intrigued by your lonely presence.

"You've been idling there for a while, so may I ask what business you have at this time?", his way of speaking was a bit outlandish, yet exquisite and poetic, somehow resembling a forced formality, despite appearing pleasant.

"Cleaning up, unfortunately", you explained briefly, not in the mood for tying yourself up with the man whose looming intimidation managed to reach you abnormally fast.

"You poor thing. Those 'gentlemen' have made quite a ruckus around here. You wouldn't happen to want some company while tending to the office? I was hoping I'd be on my way by now, but alas, these contracts and other written matters won't read and sign themselves, I'm afraid."

You raised an eyebrow, asking for reassurance, wondering at the same time why he wouldn't leave that for when he arrives back.

"I can't stand much noise nor waiting for too long, if my guess about the question on your mind is correct. So go ahead, I don't mind. After all, who knows, maybe this encounter is meant to be", absolutely not.

Alarms were going off inside of your head, red flags raising themselves, yet there didn't seem to exist a polite way to kick him out. You ended up nodding in defeat and stepping in, only to be appalled at the sight of the dirty floor and full trash cans.

"You're an employee here?", his voice delayed your train of annoyed thoughts, and you looked over your shoulder at him, having been filling a large garbage bag with cans, plastic cups, used tissues and other such waste.

"Yes, why ask?", your tone came off as a little hostile, but Ghetsis paid it no mind.

"Curiosity. It's truly an unlucky occurrence you've found yourself in, I notice. May I assume you're an important member of the staff?", he flashed you a smile which you internally groaned at.

"You could say so", you growled under your breath, a creeping feeling of humiliation tickling your cheeks as they grew red in embarrassment.

"Would you care to have coffee with me afterwards? I'll notify my people to retire for the day, so I won't be in a hurry."

"I apologize, it's your reaction that brought me much amusement! A hard worker deserves some peace after a job well done, and I wouldn't want to abandon you."

You blinked at him, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. Was he about to chat you up on some nonsense like he does with everyone else?

Surprisingly, the man let out a heartfelt laugh.

"Excuse me, not meaning to be rude, but why even pay attention to me at all?", you asked, having grabbed a mop to begin wiping footprints and stains of various beverages off the initially bright tiles.

"And why not? Shouldn't I have expressed interest in you? Did it come off as unpleasant or intrusive? If so, I'll withdraw and leave you to your own devices", he brought his hand up as a means of promise.

You sighed quietly and shook your head.

"No, it's alright. I was just bewildered, is all. I wouldn't have ever expected Ghetsis Harmonia to talk to me directly and personally like this."

"Pay it no mind. I'm just a person after all", he chuckled.

"Be it, then. I'll go brew us coffee, will be right back."

On your way you were wondering why you've even agreed to that. You felt him stare at you as you were exiting the office, which made you shiver afterwards. Surely, he had an ulterior motive. Was it in his nature to casually converse with regular people?

His redundant grinning was undeniably charming, as much as you were consciously trying to avoid discerning it. You acknowledged the likeliness of villainous intent. Nevertheless, you haven't been given adequate attention for quite some time, the realization of which made you press the back of your hand against your mouth, both in annoyance and silenced anticipation of what's to happen next.

Your wrists were trembling more than usual while carrying the coffee cups. To emphasize your anxiety or even fear, it was becoming increasingly tougher to swallow, your eyes darting from your feet to the corner you were supposed to turn in order to face the man once again.

To make matters worse, the moment you did, his stinging look fixated on you immediately, corners of his lips curling up in an inviting, mysterious, yet sly expression. His gloved hand had been slowly tracing circles on the table's surface up until then, after which his finger ended up sheepishly twirling a strand of his let down hair. He never broke eye contact.

"Here you go", you muttered, more as a formality, before sitting down on an empty seat next to him. You'd considered making the distance between the two of you wider for safety and comfort, but it really would've looked rude, so you gritted your teeth and abode your manners.

"Much appreciated", his soft snicker stroked your ears in a satisfying way. You had to gently bite the tip of your tongue in order to maintain a straight face.

"Not a problem at all."

It was embarrassing. He had never managed to make such an unwanted impression on you before. Of course, those weren't personal, real life encounters, though either way, was it possible to make that big of a difference? Always so extravagantly clothed, same as his followers, suggesting some kind of grotesque dress code. Even at that moment he was more or less a manifestation of a dark fantasy prince character, with a black cape draped over his right side, a matching eye patch and a contrasting pale complexion. Surely, one glance at him suggested that he possessed a twisted mind, but wouldn't it just be easier and kinder to trust his momentary selfless support and recognition of your tiredness and solitude?

"May I question the reason you're looking at me for so long, dear? Am I that worthy of your admiration?"

His words snapped you out of your thoughts, having you immediately avert your gaze, ending in a self directed eye roll.

"Didn't mean to", you replied in a dull tone, earning you an ardent laugh.

"You're simply delightful."

"What?"

Ghetsis shrugged, accepting your decision to reject the implied flirtatious compliment. He licked his lips, teeth just barely grazing them before speaking:

"And what would your name be?"

He had taken only half a step back, still fully intending to win you over as fast as possible, being aware of how little time he has in play. That thought crossed your mind, but it wouldn't linger.

"(Y/N). I didn't even realize I hadn't told you earlier."

"(Y/N)…" he hummed.

You shivered at the careful pronunciation, the way he was tasting the sound of it didn't bother you in the slightest.

He cleverly gave up on compliments, sensing they would repel you further. And you, you weren't stupid. He noticed your suspicion and cautiousness right away. To him it felt like he was trying to crack a code of sorts, a combination of words, phrases and gestures that would grant him that satisfying click in the end.

Forget about the men in suits who firmly believe they would finally get the key to power and wealth from him; you didn't have a goal like that in mind. He himself is supposed to give you a reason to stick around, make up a desire of yours from scratch. That's what made that game so fun.

Did he dare test his luck after all?

He put his hand over yours, completely ignoring the coffee in front of him, deeming it just a prop to accentuate his innocent, vulnerable visage. He had prepared a myriad of lies to recite to you, to hypnotize and entice you, ready to see where that would take you eventually.

"Do say more about yourself then. I'm itching to get to know you."

"Oh, is that so?", you chuckled, distracted by his touch, "I suppose I could, now that you've asked."

He caressed your fingers contently, almost as he would a cat. Another amiable grin spread across his handsome face, which you this time returned.

Now, he could only sit back and watch in anticipation, waiting for the exhilarating moment when you'd desperately start struggling.

So you better not disappoint.

#ghetsis x reader #team plasma ghetsis #pokemon ghetsis x reader #ghetsis pokemon #ghetsis harmonia #pokemon #pkmn #pokemon bw #pokemon b2w2 #pokemon trainers x reader #pokemon fanfiction #pokemon reader insert #x reader #reader insert #art is mine #gender neutral reader

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megashadowdragon · 3 months

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reddit comments

Especially considering that Arthur apparently resembles Lostbelt Uther, since his sprite was used in Shadow Servant form for a battle against a "memory" of Uther, one of Morgan's most steadfast loyalists and friends, possibly even love interest, before he died.

3 yr. ago So….Morgan is a brocon?

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User avatar level 2 Creticus · 3 yr. ago Who knows?

Even in general Arthuriana, her relationship with her brother is ridiculously complicated. Sometimes, she starts out as a relatively satisfied member of Arthur's court (perhaps because her marriage is consistently depicted as being awful), which gets ruined by either Guinevere revealing her adultery (while being adulterous) or her coming up with a very yandere plan to make her lover Accolon king (which ignored the fact that Accolon was an Arthur loyalist).

Other than the Acclolon plot, Morgan's plots tend to be directed at either Guinevere (because she's kind of angry about the adultery thing) or Lancelot (because she has a thing for brave fighter dudes), though one can't help but wonder if her preferences for these two targets are connected in some way. Also, her plots tend to be hilarious, see the time she tried to scare Guinevere to death using the Green Knight as well as the time that she tried to reveal Guinevere's adultery by sending a cup that couldn't be drank out of by an adulterous woman but winded up revealing Iseult's adultery instead.

Eventually, Morgan presumably makes up with Arthur because she's pretty consistently one of the queens who bring him to Avalon. Indeed, there's one story in which the two just bump into each other one day before making nice, presumably because they were too old and too rich to bother with stupid shenanigans anymore.

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User avatar level 3 134_ranger_NK · 3 yr. ago · edited 3 yr. ago Gudako and Gudao: Mechas are cool! Still holding out hope for the Green Knight to appear, he would be the perfect candidate to talk about Morgan's blunders and, maybe, live another day.

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User avatar level 3 Titanfel · 3 yr. ago Morgan's plots tend to be directed at Lancelot (because she has a thing for brave fighter dudes)

Damn with Guinevere and two Elaines it's already four of them

He is truly a harem protagonist of Arthurian legends, isn't he?

Gudako: it was the one time I had ever seen the gentlemen-knight king sour his face; "oh, its you."

Aight, whenever I see male Arthur, I can't comprehend why that hoe Guinivere would go off with some overemotional baguette instead of that young piece of british cuisine known Arthur Pendragon.

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User avatar level 2 Cipher-One · 3 yr. ago There was this one fan comic I found and posted a while back that went with the idea that Guinevere cheated on Arthur because she felt too insecure about the fact that she was getting older and how he wasn't, and that between her and Merlin, Merlin knew Arthur far better which caused her to get really jealous.

This caused her to go with Lancelot who like her was human.

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User avatar level 3 No_Wait_3628 · 3 yr. ago That makes way too much sense considering Arthur wouldn't need to hide his true nature from Guinevere

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User avatar level 3 Armorwing01 · 3 yr. ago Damn…

#fgo fancomic #arthur pendragon #fgo arthur pendragon #fgo morgan

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katieb96 · 1 year

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What if Penelope had gone with the boys to Romney Hall?

A/N: Hi! I’ve never written anything before, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. If you happen upon this, thanks for reading! Also, if other versions of this story exist, I want to read them! So please tag me if you write them, or shout out other writers in the comments so I can hype them up!

As he nears unconsciousness, the Viscount Bridgerton pinning him to the wall of his dining room by his throat, Sir Phillip Crane wonders if Eloise will stay to care for the children after he’s gone, when suddenly…

“BRIDGERTONS!” A new voice rings out through the hall, and the siblings freeze, eyes wide. “Penelope?” He believes he hears Eloise whisper in disbelief. Phillip blinks through the haze of his blurred vision to catch a glimpse of the savior who had caused the viscount to loosen the grip on his neck.

He must be more oxygen-deprived than he had realized, because he is having a hard time believing that the small, soft, redheaded woman standing in the doorway could be the one striking such fear into all five Bridgertons.

“Have you all lost your minds completely?” The tiny terror bellows, planting her fists on her hips. “Anthony, unhand the man at once. Eloise, get off of your brother’s back this instant. And you two,” her commanding glare turns on the men who had kept their distance, “Were you just going to stand there gawking like schoolboys while your brothers brutalized this man in his own home?”

The older of the chastised schoolboys approaches the crimson angel, warily, but protectively. “Pen, darling,” he coos, eyes pleading, as he reaches her side, “we agreed that you would stay in the carriage until we knew it was safe.” The woman, who Phillip deduced must be his wife, eyes him reproachfully before replying, “And that would have been a fine plan if you lot hadn’t left the singular family braincell in there with me!”

The young lady, ‘Penelope’ he reminds himself, takes a deep, cleansing breath, and sets her eyes on Phillip, softening significantly. “Hello, Sir Phillip,“ she smiles sweetly, “I sincerely apologize for my husband and his brothers. They tend to take leave of their senses when they suspect one they love to be in danger. Especially when that one flees London without a word in the middle of a ball, forcing her best friend to ransack her bedchamber in search of any clue as to her whereabouts or safety while the rest of the family comforts their panicking mother.” Her unamused gaze had turned toward Eloise, wringing her hands and avoiding Penelope’s stare.

For a second, Phillip thinks he might have an ally in this fight. But then he sees the instant Penelope notices Eloise’s black eye. Oh, he’s a dead man.

He watches her posture stiffen, eyes momentarily darkening with quiet fury. She regains her composure remarkably quickly and turns back to him with the calm, powerful expression of a woman who knows she holds his life in her hands. This expression seems far too at home on her kind face, and Phillip wonders how many men she has destroyed in her few years.

Her eyes do not leave Phillip as she says, “I suggest you gentlemen return to dinner while Eloise and I assist each other in freshening up. It has been a long day for all of us.” Phillip, he is an educated man, after all, sees this for what it actually means, “I have decided to spare you. For now.” Oh, she is very good.

“Please,” Phillip rasps, his voice just now returning to him, “ask the housekeeper for anything you may require.” The terrifying woman gives him a small smile and a nod before turning to Eloise. “Shall we?” Eloise nods sheepishly and begins walking toward the hall, Penelope following behind.

Before she exits, Mrs. Bridgerton turns toward her husband and brothers-in-law. “We shall return shortly,” she says with a smile, though everyone can see the warning in her eyes. There will be consequences if they do not play nice while she is gone.

The youngest man turns toward Mrs. Bridgerton’s husband, exasperated, “You just had to bring her, didn’t you Colin?”

Mr. Penelope Bridgerton puffs his chest, “Greggy, if you are ever fortunate enough to have a wife as… clever as mine,” the unabashed desire in his voice making the rest of them quite uncomfortable, “just try convincing her that she must not only be separated from her husband of only a few weeks but also entrust the safety of her dearest friend and sister to said husband and his idiot brothers.” The viscount scoffs at this.

“As if you even tried to fight her,” the brother Eloise had tackled now teases with a crooked smile. The goddess’ humble servant husband simply shrugs. “Well, she can be very… convincing,” he says, grinning wickedly as he sits down to dig into the bowl of soup he had somehow acquired amongst the chaos.

‘Bloody hell,’ Phillip thinks to himself, ‘what have I gotten myself into?’

#bridgerton #polin #penelope bridgerton #colin bridgerton #philoise #phillip crane #eloise bridgerton #penelope featherington

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fanficdumbchic · 2 years

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I have a SFW Tombstone request, for when you have the time of course, but I've always been curious as to what the boys would do when taking their lover out on a date.

The Boys of Tombstone Taking You Out For a Date

Headcanon - Boys of Tombstone x Reader - SFW

AN: Thanks for the request Anon! Hope you enjoy!

Wyatt Earp

Most likely, Wyatt would really try to take you out for a nice night. He seems like the kind of guy who would want to ask you to dinner at a nice place.

He would enjoy asking you questions and learning about you and your life, just generally getting to know you better over a nice meal.

He is very polite to the wait staff and tips very generously.

But something would probably go wrong. As much as he may want to settle down and live a simple life, he has a tendency to attract chaos.

Be ready for you date to be interrupted by some sort of drama. Types like Curly Bill probably coming by your table just to insult Wyatt or try to ruin your date. Wyatt will tell them off, and either he gets the last word or things escalate.

Wyatt is the kind of guy where you may just end up in a shoot out on your first date. But it comes with the territory when you're courting Wyatt. He's good at making enemies.

Virgil Earp

Virgil is the kind of guy that when he asks you out for a drink, you're caught off guard. He is definitely the serious older brother. He tends to keep what's on his mind under wraps until he's pushed to the point of action.

He shows up politely early to pick you up or escort you to the saloon on his arm.

It's hard to tell what he's thinking when he's with you but he clearly goes out of his way to be a gentlemen, pulling your seat out for you or holding doors open for you.

You end up sitting at the saloon for hours just talking. Though he may be quiet usually, he really is a great conversationalist.

He is careful not to drink too much as he doesn't believe it's appropriate on a date. His focus is on you, not the booze.

As the night progresses, he warms up to you more and more. He is careful to not overstep boundaries.

Definitely the guy who holds your hands over the table and is oblivious to the world around the two of you while he's in your presence.

Doc Holliday

Doc is very chaotic and a date with him couldn't be anything less than an evening you would never forget.

He doesn't care much for the culture of women having to "be ladylike". He's going to invite you out for a night of gambling and hard drinking. If you manage to keep up with him, he will be impressed and also slightly concerned for you.

If Johnny Ringo makes an appearance at any point of the evening, Doc will be obligated to talk mad shit, he'll fall deeply in love with you if you join in and insult Johnny Ringo with wit. Will definitely bond with you over the mutual hatred.

Spending time with Doc feels incredibly liberating and like all rules are off the table. You feel like you can be yourself.

He has a tendency to bring out the wild sides in the people around him. You find yourself enchanted with his devilish allure.

While he certainly pushes his drinking to the extreme, he still manages to keep his wits about him. While many men are repulsive under the influence of such concerning amounts of liquor, Doc is goofy and charming regardless. His compliments are doting and sweet.

The night will most likely conclude with making passionate love as the sun rises the next morning.

Morgan Earp

Morgan is a hopeless romantic. He'll most likely take you to see a play or on a picnic.

He will show up with a handful of freshly picked daisies and fashionably late as he knows his tendency to be eager.

He will be a bit nervous but will try not to show it. But it's pretty obvious when he always wipes the sweat away from his hands before holding yours.

He will immediately start in on talking about something he has read recently or something he is excited about to get the conversation rolling.

He gets a big, goofy smile whenever he manages to make you laugh or if you kiss him on the cheek.

He would definitely love to take you on a horseback ride through the surrounding wilderness, constantly looking back to see your smile.

He definitely kisses your hand when you offer it to him.

Curly Bill

No. No you wouldn't.

If you did show up to a date with Curly Bill, it was by means of a cruel deception or a horrific misunderstanding.

And lets be honest, probs rude af to the wait staff.

Johnny Ringo

You know you shouldn't but that bad-boy allure is insane.

A date with Johnny Ringo is by all means chaotic.

Probs the kind of guy to throw pebbles at your window because whoever cares about you would scold you if they ever found out you were even considering seeing him.

He'll ride into town, planning a clandestine meeting around midnight. He will probably be a half hour late.

If you try to turn him away, he'll charm the hell out of you until you change your mind.

Rides out of town with you in the moonlight, and you both share a bottle of whiskey around a campfire at a makeshift camp.

You get drunk under the stars and make out like horny teenagers.

He brings you home in the wee hours of the morning before sunrise, helping you sneak back into the house if you live with family.

Before you shut the window for the night, he playfully chides you, "No goodnight kiss, darlin'?" You oblige him and he gives you a strong, passionate kiss before riding off like a bat out of hell.

#Tombstone 1993 #fanfic #fan fiction #x reader #Morgan Earp #Virgil Earp #Doc Holliday #Wyatt Earp #Johnny Ringo #Curly Bill

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goonersaurus · 3 months

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Please, I'm still waiting for more explanation about the "emewy and awteta mutual cannibalism brainrot" 👀 👀 👀

lollllll OKAY so there were once two little basque men called unai and miki and they were very very hungry… for football, of course! nothing could satisfy them like a game of football: the intellectual pleasure of a tactical plan played out, the intense physicality of the game! as they became older their hunger only grew and grew. their craving for football became more unbearable like an itch that won’t go away and becomes scratched bloody raw.

they knew of each other by the way and they had respect for each other, but the day when they both happened to be put into a room together their mad desire led them to admit they had a shared curiosity of this hypothesis: if the work of flesh and mind was put into football and suffused them with its decadent taste then surely the work of football can be put into somebody’s flesh and mind and give them that same irresistible flavour? and unai and miki being both gentlemen agreed this would be interesting to explore and so proceeded to tear each others’ clothes off and rip each other apart with their finest silverware.

did you know basque cuisine is one of the best in the world? miki tends to brag about it and even claims that the food is what makes basques so good at coaching. the thing is that they have access to high quality, unique local ingredients. it can be brutal and painful to procure and prepare the ingredients (and that’s putting it lightly) but to finally eat it is so rewarding, and almost like, a spiritual experience, bordering an erotic experience. red, red, red meat, as red as a man’s hard work, as red as a certain football club, as red as the meat that the catholics forbid to be eaten on fridays lest carnal passions are aroused.

it’s very indulgent, as indulgent as lust or hatred. is it either lust or hatred that got one of them to turn the other into the jam to fill an etxeko bixtotxa? possibly, though the love of football is certainly a motivation :))

(it’s more like the thrill is in the symbolism than the literal act right?? the perfect metaphor for forbidden desire and toxic relationships and losing humanity etc etc it’s just so (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡)

#lol soz to keep you waiting but i’m very happy to elaborate on that #thanks for the ask #beloved basques

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scarlet--wiccan · 10 months

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Mild spoiler warning for today’s scarlet witch regarding the character who was teased a few weeks ago

So it seems like “magneto” is Joseph. Idk if you have any thoughts on that (I really don’t) but if you could have Wanda hang out with one relatively distant/obscure family member(/adjacent magneto relative) in this book, who would it be? My vote would be Zaladane

I want to see the emancipation of Luminous.

Generally speaking, I do tend to overlook the Uncanny Avengers miniseries. It's kind of a weird blip in the development of Wanda and Pietro's new backstory, and even Luminous, as a character, doesn't make much sense-- Remender gave her Wanda's full suite of powers in spite of the fact that chaos magic can't be cloned. There is a part of me that would have been happy to see her fade into obscurity, and that's sort of what I thought would happen... until she turned up again in X-Men (2021).

So, if the character is going to persist, then I want the weirdness of her existence to be addressed. Thinking about this from Wanda's perspective, I think it's important to remember that Luminous is a creation of the High Evolutionary, and has been his puppet her entire life. That's something Wanda should feel very strongly about. Thus far, Luminous seems to be entirely loyal to Wyndham, and she hasn't exactly done anything to deserve a "redemption," but I believe that Wanda would believe Luminous deserves the freedom of choice. I believe Wanda would fight for her, given the chance. It could be a really great story, and very consistent with how Orlando approaches her treatment of family, blood or otherwise.

My initial thought on the Joseph situation is that it's not 100% confirmed yet, so I think it's a little presumptuous that the Marvel Wiki already has an updated blurb on his page about it.

But, seriously, I would shocked if Marvel relegated Magneto's official resurrection to a subplot in a non-X-Men title, so I think it's gotta be Joseph, or something along those lines. I'm not sure where we left off with Joseph's age, though. I know that he was supposed to be younger, physically, that Magneto, and here, they're playing him as an older gentlemen. So, that's a little confusing to me. Joseph is also a character whose actions and morality seem to be... inconsistent. The last time he died, he was definitely not a good guy. If Orlando wants to rehab the character, though, this is the book to do it-- he's really set Wanda up as somebody who'll go the extra mile for anyone she thinks deserves it, especially if they're part of her weird, complicated family.

Oh, speaking of family, this scene from #6 reminded me how much I want to see Wanda and the Kaplans together. We got hints that have a positive relationship in Young Avengers (2013), but there was also mind-control going on, so I'd like another take. I genuinely think her and Rebecca should be friends.

#luminous #joseph #scarlet witch (2023)

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cakelanguage · 11 months

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Guess who finally wrote stuff that they’re posting? ME. I got to write a gift for @twistmyleg for the IgNoct 2023 Gift Exchange @ignoctgiftexchange. I hope you enjoy this fic!

You can also read it HERE

Battles against Nifleheim’s Magitek soldiers weren’t out of the ordinary at this point. Ignis had perhaps grown too used to the rumbling of the aircrafts overhead and the mechanical clanks of the soldier’s joints as they marched disjointedly alongside each other.

That didn’t make any of the encounters less harrowing than the last. But repetitive encounters did make one grow lax to certain features. The soldiers tended to attack in swarms and focused their attention on Noctis for the most part, using their numbers to try to box Noct in. Having Noctis be cut off from their protection had panic clutching at Ignis’ throat the first few times, but the soldiers weren’t particularly strong. Gladio could take out a soldier with a single swipe of his broadsword and Prompto had gotten quite adept at aiming his bullets at key joints in the armor to remove limbs with jubilance.

Ignis preferred infusing his daggers with magic or a polearm to create distance between him and his opponent. If a tiny bit of the reason he preferred the daggers more was that Noctis’ magic was warm under his hands—no matter what elemental he’d channel through the blades—no one had to know.

But as he’d mentioned, repetitive encounters didn’t mean they’d always be the same. There were still times they were caught unaware or the soldiers did something unpredictable. Which led them into the situation they were in now.

The air in Duscae was humid and heavy with the scent of incoming storms. They’d had a day of hunting, collecting money so they’d have enough to not only pay Cid for the repairs of the Royal Vessel but money for weapon upgrades and more healing supplies as they’d grown terribly low over the course of the week. With everything that had gone down in the Steyliff Grove ruins and Gladio’s self-discovery trip with Cor, they’d worn themselves down perhaps a bit too much.

While most of the group had been more than happy to accept some leisurely time spent at Cape Caeum with Iris and the gang, Gladio had been full of vigor to continue to power through. He seemed to have found a renewed passion for not only his duty but his belief in his own power. Gladio’s enthusiasm had only spurred Prompto into giving in to the older man’s desire, though Ignis had a feeling it was so Prompto could snap more pictures of Gladio’s new proclivity to forego wearing his shirt for extended periods of time. Noctis hadn’t had much of an opinion on the matter so that had been that.

With exhaustion tugging at his limbs and four contracts completed for the Hunter’s Guild, Ignis thought they were doing fine. Tired, but fine.

Until the aircraft showed up.

Dread hammered at him as the aircraft came to a standstill not twenty feet away from them. Gladio was the first to summon his sword. “Looks like we’ve got company,” he grunted.

Prompto let out a sound between a whine and a groan. “Can’t they leave us alone for a day?” Prompto asked, summoning his guns to his hands.

“The world would end before they did that, Prompto,” Noctis said.

Prompto whipped his head around with a glare. “Don’t give the world any ideas.”

Ignis couldn’t suppress the tiny smile that always came out when the group teased each other. “Duly noted, Prompto,” Ignis said. With a shatter of luminous crystals, the weight of his daggers settled in his hands. Despite the long day they’d already had, the familiar weight of the blades was just as comforting as always. “Shall we gentlemen?”

Noctis flashed him a confident smile, bright and boyish despite everything. “Bet I can defeat more than Gladio; what do you think, Specs?”

Ignoring Gladio’s vehement denial, Ignis made a considering hum. “Perhaps if Gladio decides to try and show off again, you can take out an extra soldier while he postures for one of his spins.”

“It’s an effective move!” Gladio argued over Prompto and Noctis’ laughter. Rolling his eyes, Gladio turned his eyes back to their enemy who was jerkily making their way over. “Whatever, you're on, Noct.”

Noctis’ engine blade gave a rumble as he too turned his attention to the soldiers. “Let’s do this.”

Watching Noctis toss his sword and warp towards the enemy in a shatter of crystals, Ignis dashed forward letting lightning crackle through his daggers. With a deft strike to the left, he struck the neck of one of the Magitek soldiers. The body jerked angrily, a feeble swing of its sword missing by over a foot before falling into a heap of metal.

Turning towards the sound of gunfire, he caught Prompto and Gladio coordinating a combo that involved Prompto using Gladio’s back as a springboard to come down on a soldier with his chainsaw weapon he was still mastering. The whoop of success from the two must’ve meant the two had nailed the combo they’d been trying to get down for a while.

He focused back on his next opponent and switched his daggers out for his polearm to sweep the three soldiers that had gotten too close to a more manageable distance away. He contemplated pulling out a flask of ice to halt the soldiers in place but knew it would do more harm to the team than good. Close-quarter fighting was not the time to use Noctis’ bottled elements. They’d all learned this the hard way on multiple hunts with burns and threatening hypothermia.

A yelp jerked his attention towards Noctis, who was surrounded on all sides. Ignis immediately clocked the stream of blood that flowed from the cut on his upper arm. He couldn’t tell if it was serious, but by the way Noctis was clenching his jaw, it was at the very least painful.

Ignis threw a dagger at a soldier that was getting distressingly close to Noctis’ back while the man in question was focusing his assault on the three soldiers in front of him. Ignis tried to follow the path of his dagger, pulling his polearm back out to vault himself into the air to come to Noct’s aid when he felt it.

Shooting pain radiated from his shoulder as he was impaled on the end of a soldier’s sword. Hot blood gushed from the puncture and instinctively Ignis grabbed at the blade that stuck out of him to try and prevent the sword from being pulled out. The bleeding would only increase if the metal was removed and he couldn’t risk that.

He’d been distracted, too caught up in making sure Noctis was defended even though he had two additional people he could rely on to watch Noctis’ back. It wasn’t even a lack of trust that caused him to react in such a way. Gladio was Noctis’ shield for Astrals' sake. No, it’s just that Ignis had a hard time stopping himself from constantly trying to be at Noctis’ side. To provide aid in any way he could.

An electrical current travels down the blade and through his shoulder in a dazzle of red bolts. He chokes on a scream, body jerking uncoordinated in its failed attempts to distance itself from the bolts frying the edges of the wound. It's an odd mix of detachment and all too aware agony that the current flows through him.

A gurgling moan reached his ears and vaguely realized it was coming from himself. Ignis could hear an uproar around him and maybe his name, but none of it was registering as more than nonsense in the wind. That wasn’t good, especially since they were all in the midst of battle. Ignis needed to get out of this situation. He needed to go help Noctis.

With an angry cry, Ignis shifted himself to the right in a quick motion, dislodging the sword from the soldier’s grip and somehow managing not to have the sword shift in his body. Probably because his collarbone and shoulder were doing an excellent job at halting the sword’s progress. Panting, he blindly backed away from the soldier who was quickly taken out by a swing of a glowing sword.

Ignis frantically tore his gaze toward the location he’d last seen Noctis only to be met with the sight of broken Magitek armor. The shattering of crystal breached his senses and he turned once more to the sky to see Noctis levitating off the ground, his arsenal floating around him in a defensive circle.

Spectral swords of old reigned terror on their foe, but Ignis had eyes only for his prince. Furious and terrifyingly beautiful—no, this wasn’t just his prince, his king, this was Noct. His precious Noctis. The boy who used to walk hand-in-hand with him in the royal gardens donned with flower crowns. The boy he tucked close to his side up in the highest tower, blankets around their shoulders as they stared up at the constellations they could make out amongst the light pollution from the city. The young man who tried to live up to everyone’s expectations no matter how monumental a task that might be.

Despite Ignis’ fading vision, he couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze from Noctis’ rampage. Even when he felt hands grasping at his shoulder to try and maneuver him into a better position to supposedly try and treat his wound, his focus was on Noctis.

“Iggy, you’ve gotta lay down,” Prompto said, his voice cutting through the fog.

Ignis wanted to protest, to urge Prompto’s attention back to the battle, but all he managed to croak out was, “Noct?”

Prompto let out a nervous, high-pitch laugh, the kind he let out when he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle the situation and he needed to break the tension. “Noct’s got it under control.” Prompto prodded delicately around the sword still lodged through him and Ignis hissed at the fresh wave of pain that cut through the numbness that was threatening his consciousness. “Shit, okay sorry, Iggy. We’ve gotta get this thing out of you.”

Ignis lazily shook his head. “The bleeding.”

“No, I know you’re bleeding, that’s why we need to heal you.”

He wasn’t positive but he knew their stock of potions was running low and he was determined to make sure Noct was looked at first. “Save them for Noct,” Ignis grits out.

There was a thud beside him and a meaty hand joined Prompto’s in inspecting his wound. “Yeah, Iggy, don’t even start with that crap,” Gladio said. “Noctis will throw a fit if he hears you say that.” Perhaps, but Ignis could be stubborn about this until he knew the extent of Noctis’ injuries. “Can’t believe I have to do this… Noct, get over here!”

He squinted at the blast of crystalline magic that Noctis’ practically erupted out of in his mad dash to reach him. It was almost laughable, the way his limbs almost got tangled up in each other as he collapsed in a messy kneel on his good side. Maybe he was a bit worse off than he originally thought.

“Hey, Iggy,” Noctis said. Noctis’ voice was always so soft when he said Ignis’ name. A hand cupped his cheek and Ignis leaned into Noctis’ hand because it had to be his. He recognized the callouses against his skin, the little scab on Noctis’ thumb from a mishap with one of his lures that he figured would heal on its own. “You seem a bit pinned down.”

Ignis let out a weak, amused snort. “Didn’t quite make the cut I suppose.” Not his best work as far as puns go, but he blamed the blood loss.

Noctis’ chuckle was music to his ears. “That was terrible, Specs.”

“You still laughed.”

“It was a pity laugh.”

Ignis gave a noncommittal hum. “Maybe so, but a laugh is a laugh.”

“Can we heal Ignis now, or are you two going to continue flirting?” Gladio asked. “Because you’re seriously losing too much blood.”

Ignis probably would’ve had an intelligent retort about Gladio and Prompto’s own flirting attempts if he didn’t lose consciousness before he could respond.

He comes to with a familiar grogginess clinging to his mind. It should alarm him that he's used to waking up like this, the dredges of a potion still faint in his mouth. But Noctis has taken to experimenting with the different drinks he uses to make his healing concoctions and always tries to give Ignis the Ebony-flavored ones.

The weight of a hand curled tightly around him pulls his attention toward his companion. Noctis is hunched over beside him, his head periodically dropping as he fights sleep. Ignis knows that Noctis will be regretting that posture later when his scar tissue flairs in angry stabs along his back. He wants to reach out and correct it or at the very least pull him down so that Noctis is laying beside him. He just can't get his arm to cooperate.

Settling to verbally get Noctis' attention, he quietly cleared his throat. "Noct," he said, voice rough with sleep. Ignis can't quite hold back the snort of laughter he lets out at the disgruntled jerk Noctis makes at the noise. "You should lay down."

"Ignis," Noctis breathes, a smile wrinkling his eyes in the beautiful way Ignis wants life to document Noct's joy. "You had us worried."

The battle is fresh in his mind, the pounding of boots as Magitek soldiers swarmed them. He remembers the flash of steel before it'd skewered him through the shoulder. The Lichtenberg of electricity that'd raced down his arm and fanned out from his fingertips. The spasming of his limbs as the power took its toll on him.

But mostly he remembers Noct. He remembers the fury in Noctis’ actions and the gentleness he returned to Ignis’ side with. He vaguely remembers sharing a few words together, a contentedness warring with the state of his body at the time, and then nothing.

He wets his lips and tilts his head to examine Noctis closer. “Are you alright?” Ignis asked.

Noctis rolled his eyes with a huff and flopped over beside him like a child. “Of course, that’s the first thing you ask,” Noctis said, but he didn’t sound upset, more disgruntled than anything. “I’m perfectly fine, you’re the one who was really injured.”

“Good thing I had you to come to my rescue.” The soft teasing at his own expense is a small price to pay for Noctis’ annoyance shifting to a familiar smirk.

“I’d always come to your rescue, Iggy.” The smirk shifts to a quiet, honest smile. “Always.” He still looked concerned as he ran his free hand down the new scars on Ignis’ arm. “Would you let me use another potion?”

Noctis knows that he’s plenty capable of doing what he wants, but the fact that he still asks Ignis these things reminds Ignis of how much his lover cares about Ignis’ opinion. He may not always listen, but he asks.

The numbness in his arm is still strong, but the Lichtenberg pattern that had crept towards his hand has faded some since it first marred his flesh. Likely a hi-potion will take care of any lingering effects but Ignis is hesitant to use a resource that they're running low on when he can allow the wound to heal after a night's rest. "I'll be right as rain tomorrow," Ignis reassured.

Noctis sent him a skeptical look, his other hand not currently holding Ignis' reached up to cup Ignis' face. "Promise me that if it still hurts in the morning you'll use another potion," Noctis said.

Any reluctance he had about using a potion wilted under Noct's pleading face. “If it will assuage any fears you might have about my well-being, I promise.”

The victorious grin he received made his heart flutter violently in his chest. He tugged Noctis’ hand closer to him until Noctis picked up on his desire and shuffled closer until he could plaster himself to Ignis’ side. He carefully laid his head against Ignis’ chest and let out a content sigh. “Wake me if you need me?”

“I always need you.”

A muffled whine was buried against his chest. “Sap,” Noctis whispered like it was a secret how much they cared about each other.

Ignis only pressed a kiss as well as he could against Noctis’ head.

#ignoct #ignoct fic #ffxv fic #ignoct 2023 gift exchange #gift fic #protective ignis #protective noctis #bamf!Noctis #fluff #hurt/comfort #my fanfic #my fic #fanfiction #ffxv fanfic #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv fic

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terrorpenned · 9 months

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DOSSIER : VICTORIA WINTERS

Studies in: parasitic obsessions with the past, entanglements with old families, Jane Eyre and Mrs. de Winter, the genre-dysphoric protagonist, transmutable identity, hauntings by the women of the narrative.

FULL NAME: Victoria Winters AGE: early 20's BIRTH DATE: March 4th, 1946 ETHNICITY: white, American GENDER: cis woman ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: biromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual RELIGION: Protestant, but not devout SPOKEN LANGUAGE: English CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: in a room at Collinwood OCCUPATION: governess, tutor

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: unknown (Betty Hanscombe and Danny Taylor) SIBLINGS: none SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Burke Devlin (present, presumed deceased), Peter Bradford (1795)/Jeff Clark (present), Barnabas Collins (ish, present) CHILDREN: none

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOUR: blue HAIR COLOUR: brunette HEIGHT: 5'6″ BODY BUILD: thin TATTOOS + PIERCINGS: no tattoos, ear piercings NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: hair often tied back into a half-up ponytail with ends flipped. favors comfortable clothing like loose cardigans and jackets. captivating, haunted-looking eyes : sometimes more like a spirit, than a girl.

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: mixed bag, definitely not the brightest. very book smart, especially when it comes to history, which is a fixated interest of hers –– to the point it is regarded as an unhealthy obsession by everyone else. she can name every president in US history in order, one of her only party tricks. once she begins working for the Collins family, she undertakes study of their own family history as well, especially the story of Josette Collins. quite decent at mathematics, geography, and basic science, as well as teaching them, and overall makes David a fine tutor: his aptitude and questions help her learn more too. socially, though, she struggles with a lot of social cues, and very frequently gets herself into a lot of trouble by oversharing with the wrong person, or misreading situations with those she's close with, or misreading situations period; in a modern era, she might be diagnosed on the autism spectrum. the intensity of her obsession with the past tends to put people off. while she’s often oblivious, she’s not completely helpless, and has successfully solved some complicated supernatural mysteries and managed to save David’s life, but she also stays on at Collinwood after repeated kidnappings so… not the sharpest tool in the shed.

LIKES: fresh coffee (hot and iced), sherry, soda, the smell of the sea and sounds of the waves, old books, family stories and oral histories (including ghost stories), antique stores - old jewelry and paintings, knitted cardigans, pop music: (including The Beatles, the Monkees, Lesley Gore, the Everly Brothers), some classical music, namely for piano, and jazz (she doesn’t have a large record collection of her own, so usually ends up either listening to the radio or borrowing Roger’s) , music boxes, movies of old Hollywood - Gene Tierney, Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth, Jane Russel, Audrey Hepburn - equally noir (Rebecca, Wuthering Heights, Niagara, The Phantom of the Opera, The Bride of Frankenstein, The Invisible Man) and technicolor musicals (The Court Jester, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Mary Poppins). The writings of Austen and the Brontë sisters, radio dramas. She doesn’t watch much television, but she does enjoy The Twilight Zone. Museums: art or history, it doesn’t matter. she tends to prefer older art to modern art in general, but she does like photography and surrealism

DISLIKES: any hard liquor and for the most part, drinking in general, though she’ll occasionally have some champagne or a glass of sherry out on a date; the smell of cigarette smoke (cigars and pipes are better, though she doesn’t smoke herself and generally dislikes the habit), canned food - especially fish, she’s quite sick of it by now, and she doesn’t care much for crab, shrimp, or oysters; the cubist movement, most non objective art (though she has a secret soft spot for Rothko). I wouldn’t call it an outright dislike, as she appreciates it in other women, but she doesn’t have much interest in keeping up with fashion or hair/makeup and she hates shopping for her own clothes (though she’ll happily shop for David, or accompany Carolyn out on a shopping trip). any horror film with a lot of gore and on-screen violence. the only history she’s not much interested in is military history. and she tends to be uncomfortable around firearms and the thought of war in general: though she’s never going to be a passionate political activist, she is staunchly against the war in Vietnam, and opposes the draft.

DISPOSITION: quiet, naive, goody-two-shoes. can occasionally be too blunt and too honest (to her own harm). “this may as well happen.” extreme fortitude in the face of continual Shenanigans that would rival Marcus Aurelius.

Biography:

“Because she’s lost and lonely. Because she looks in shadows.”

For eighteen years of her life, Victoria Winters lived in the Hammond Foundling Home in New York City. At a few months old, she was dropped at the freezing doorstep with nothing but a note: “Her name is Victoria. I cannot take care of her,” and she was given the name Winters in honor of the season. Though she waited for her birth parents to come back and take her into the fold, no one did; neither did anyone have any clues about her past, and her family, or any place where she might belong, despite her desperation in the search. Her one link was the anonymous gift of $50 every month, postmarked Bangor, Maine, that came regularly until she turned 16 years old. Once she turned 16, she took a job at the foundling home helping to take care of and tutor the younger children, and she became a favorite of her students and staff alike.

Her work at the orphanage continued for two years. Shortly after her eighteenth birthday, Victoria received a letter from Elizabeth Collins Stoddard requesting her to the great old house of Collinwood, in Collinsport, Maine, to serve as governess. No one at the foundling home was able to give her any answers as to why she was thus requested: no one knew the Collins family. Victoria seized on the job eagerly as an opportunity to learn more about herself, and her past, convinced that the answers lay in the bay of the old fishing town. She took a train from New York to Bangor, and never looked back (despite everyone begging her to)

With the Collinses, Victoria found the home, and the family she had longed for in the howling old house. Once used to sleeping in iron cots, Vicki is given Mrs. Stoddard’s former childhood bedroom, and treated much as one of their own within weeks of her arrival. Carolyn, the heiress beating at the walls of her ivory tower, became a proto-sister and her fastest friend. Elizabeth, the matriarch and ghost in a house of ghosts, treated her much like her own daughter. Roger, Elizabeth's wayward brother, though initially hostile, became immensely fond of his son’s governess … probably more than he should have been. David, her student, proved more trouble than she expected, and was the source of some of her earliest severe trials in the house, both threatened and realized: including aiding and abetting her kidnapper, as well as locking her away in abandoned rooms at Collinwood himself. After sustained effort, she was able to finally befriend David, a little worse for wear but staunchly resolved.

Though not for Roger's lack of trying, the man that captures her attention is Burke Devlin, a handsome, well-travelled and wealthy businessman, whom she was soon to learn was an avowed enemy of the entire Collins family. Wrongly convicted of vehicular manslaughter ten years ago, Devlin had returned to Collinsport to take his revenge out on the man who had gone free in his stead (and who had married the woman he loved), Roger Collins. Burke doted on the pretty, doe-eyed governess and though her loyalties were technically with her employer… she wasn’t long to resist his charm. The two of them became engaged, initially despite the Collins wishes, but eventually with their blessing, and even intended to buy a house on the Collins property: a beautiful old house called Seaview.

"What am I?" "It's a toss-up between a chocolate malt and champagne."

Eventually, the ghosts of the Collinwood estate and the wailing of the widows materialize themselves into tangible spirits, overshadowing Roger’s legal troubles and ten-year-old wounds. First, it is the ghost of the murdered Bill Malloy, covered in sea weed and dripping salt water onto the basement floor. Then, the ghostly bride of Jeremiah Collins, Josette, who makes herself Victoria’s spectral protectress when she is once again kidnapped and locked away on the Collinwood grounds. Then, Roger’s estranged wife, Laura, who reveals herself to be far more than an unfit mother, but a reincarnated phoenix, who attempts –– unsuccessfully, due to Victoria’s intervention –– to kill David. And then there is Barnabas. The Collins ancestor, lately returned from his coffin, who adores the past and scorns all modern amenities, charms Victoria, and she never suspects that the young women dying all over town might result from his gentleman’s hand. Conveniently, Burke Devlin’s plane goes down over the jungle right before they are to be married, making way for Barnabas to hypnotize his way into Victoria’s heart.

The defining event of her stay at Collinwood –– more than the murders, the many, many kidnappings, and the rotating circle of suitors –– is her travel back to the year 1795 in the midst of a séance, where she is able to pay witness to the early Collins family history herself and the earlier existence of Angélique Bouchard ( though, importantly, missing the evidence of Barnabas’s monstrous transformation ). Victoria is tried and hanged as a witch, which jerks her back to the present, after which she becomes obsessed with finding her lost love from the past, Peter Bradford, and miraculously succeeds, though Barnabas, as per usual, regards this engagement as just another inconvenience.

A note on Vicki’s parents: even though it’s the dominant theory, I won’t be following Liz as Vicki’s mother, at least on this blog, for these purposes (unless written as an au!). Instead: Vicki is the daughter of Betty Hanscombe, a former servant at Collinwood who was a lover of Elizabeth’s. Her father was Betty’s husband: a loveless, normative marriage. As the Collins family hushed the affair, Betty was institutionalized at Windcliff for homosexuality, a victim of American hysteria in the Lavender Scare. The intensity of the aversion therapy and other “treatment” received worsens her mental health, and though she is released before Vicki’s birth, Betty commits suicide only six months later at Widow’s Hill. Betty’s husband absconds to New York and abandons Vicki at the foundling home, leaving her with the note. Elizabeth, through the use of private investigators, is able to locate Vicki and send her regular payments, and later, to bring her to Collinwood under her personal protection. She feels an immense connection to Vicki both out of her love for her mother, as well as her tremendous guilt for her part in her fate. She’s also willing to let her suspect she is her mother, because it distracts from other secrets she’s not ready to disclose; nor is the town at large (including Sam Evans) willing to discuss what exactly happened to Betty, so it’s simply said she went away and died soon after.

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