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slashwhores · 2 years ago

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how tall are they all compared to there slasher conterparts?

(When they were kids Gen and Bo placed a bet, whoever was the tallest by 19 won $8 and a dirty magazine )

Genevive pouts, her brows furrow and her fingertips tap against the rim of her glossy red mug she struggles to recall the last time she actually measured herself, She's pretty certain of Bo's height. Must've seen it in his medical records a half a dozen times by now, needs to know in case Vincent isn't around when if Bo gets hurt and she's forced to administrator drugs with a dosage reliant on the patients weight and height.

" Well Bo is 6'0ft basically 6'1 I'm think I'm just shy of 5'10 myself" ( ?)

She raises the mug. Till it just about barely grazes her bottom lip... thats when she senses something---someone loom over her, and before she knows it there's a strong force pressed against the top of her head.

" And don't you ever forget' it, darling"

Bo. Genevive sighs. Partly in faux annoyance and partly in relief.

He lovingly ruffles her hair as he scoots past her, entering the kitchen. His voice is fainter, farther away so he shouts

"Was silly of ya to ever think you could win that bet"

"My mother was 6'0ft! And I was 3 inches taller then ya back then'"

"Well my pops was almost 6'4 and your dumbass forgot girls grow quicker than boys- not taller"

"Psh Whatever..." She sips, from the mug. carefully avoiding the small chips. Bo bought it when she first moved in what used to be deep shaded maroon now a light mahogany, worn down. Well loved.

"Still owe me $8"

Bo smirks leaving the same way he came, a bag of frozen peas now hugged, albeit loosely under his arm, the door slams on his way out. He misses the faint smile on his girls face and the way her face burrows into her shoulder in an attempt to hide her laugh the question bringing back a fond childhood memory, something she considers pretty special, pretty rare...

"What the hell is he doing with a bag of frozen peas?"

*******************************************************************

Mona drops her brush, hopping off of an old stool and begins to sweep the rubber marks and pencil shavings from her desk "I'm 5'4 :)) Vinnies only an inch or two taller than Bo so that makes him... 6'2?" She scoops the lot into her ink stained,paint ridden,wax burnt, palms then her gaze lifts to that of her muses "Right hun?"

Vincent nods

Mona spins around, eyes scanning the room. Where the hell did she put the trashcan? Or her watercolours?

"The height difference actually has more advantages then you'd think you know?" oh the trash is under her desk, and the watercolours are in the old plastic box their always in. Danm she really needed some fresh air "Hey Vin could you please get me the Old Hollands? Their ontop of the shelf." He moves quickly, using it as an opportunity to break away from starring endlessly at a blank page that was supposed to be his latest masterpiece. The corpses was new courtesy of Lester though apperanyly the victim was tough, they'd cut his forehead with a glass shard they'd picked up from the side of the road. she thanks him- she should take a walk once she's organised her space, Vincent could give her a tour of the woods since he's free- that would be nice.

The shelf containing the couples supplies reaches alllllllllll the way up to the battered ceiling, the watercolours resting atop of Vincents half filled sketchbooks, sketchbooks he hasn't touched since childhood, they could be in galleries.

If Mona had attempted to scale the shelves (which she most definitely would've) theirs no doubt she'd have been crushed- flat as a pancake, however Vincent doesn't even need to tip-toe, he simply reaches and hey-presto the good watercolours, ready to be used.

"My hero!" Coos Mona dramatically swooning into his arms before he even has the chance to set the pallette down, his eyes roll and he shakes her off, hard. Probably harder than intended since Mona trips on her own feet- falling face first into the cold, hard floor, Vincent clasps both hands over his mouth, both from shock and amusement as he attempts to trap his laughter before it can escapes but hes unsuccessful, paints clattering toward to floor. Mona lifts up her head and a brush hits her, curtesy of Vincent, who is visibly shaking with laughter.

<<IM SO SORRY>> his signing is shaky

No your not! She laughs

He offers her a hand and helps her up, he helps dust off her skirt and gently places a kiss to her forehead.

*******************************************************************

"Lester- stop squirming! You'll hurt your self more babes!"

"I'm fine sweetheart promise" he sniffs,

"LESTER DAMIEN SINCLAIR" Kirby grits his teeth, breaking the name like glass, letters stumbling sharp from his mouth. "You are BLEEDING. For all we know you might have a concussion!!!!"

"Your real pretty when your stressed you know" Lester's smile slides up his face, anyone would smile at the sight, well, if it weren't for the blood dripping into his eye.

Kirby breathes in sharply

"You will age me horribly"

"I haven't already?"

"BOY! I SWEAR-" Kirby swatts at Lester's arm

But all he does is laugh

"I thought yous' was supposed to be taking care of me? Now your hittin' me like some nasty bug? How's that make any sense?" Kirby laughs at that and so does lester, weakly might i add.

"Still feeling" Kirby gestures with his hands, trying to remember the word used by his partner when he first saw his truck in the road.

"LooOOooppyyy" Lester draws it out in a singsong sorta tone.

"Yup"

"Yup!" Lester fixes his smile so it bears all his teeth , it still slants, ever so slightly.

"Do you think you can answear some questions while we wait for Bo?"

"Sure thing Sugar"

"Okay" Kirby pauses for a moment, thinking.

"How'd the car break down?"

"The Blonde bitch used the wrong fuel" he snarls.

"Did the blonde bitch stab you?" It's almost funny how sincere Kirby sounds

"Mmmmhhh no it was the one with tattoos" Lester closes his eyes "the one with the short hair... the nice one" He adds

"Can you keep your eyes open for me? Les?"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry" He cracks his eyes open ever so slightly, everything looks so... blurry. Except for Kirbys hand, which clasps his, the sun shines in his eyes covering his face, Lester isn't scarred though, he might pass out from blood loss but its not something that hasn't happened before.

He told his brothers he was only a little beat up though, which was a barefaced lie unless you consider the penny deep cut above his head and several jabs and stabs to the stomach a 'little beat up'

"Why was he nice?"

"He talked to me in the car about knives and guns and music and... you" Lester's head lolls downward a little but he smiles up at Kirby which makes the brunettes heart melt.

"How tall am I?"

"6'0ft, freak" Kirby rolls his eyes

"Okay how tall are you?" The sound of a car driving up the road perks up both men.

"7'7"

They hear the crunch of Gravel, its louder now

"Clearly"

A car door shuts, the sounds a little more distant than expected

"Just kiddin'" Lester laughs loudly

A familiar whistle

"I'm 5'10"

The sound of something falling to the ground

"LESTER!" Bo skids down scraping his knees of the hard Rock beneath him

"Shiiittt, I thought Vincent was coming" Lester squeezes his eyes closed not wanting to deal with his eldest brothers pestering

"DOES IT FUCKING MATTER?" Bo scoops Lester up in his arms which causes the youngest of the brothers to go wide eyed and groan loudly.

"Careful! Bo! CAREFUL!" Kirby stands quickly adjusting Lester's position

"Is he gonna-? Aren't you a dotor or something? What can I-?- What do we do?"

"He's a vet" adds Lester, weakly

"So?" Bo curses

"Well I'm not a fuckin dog am I?"

"Yes the fuck you are" Lester chuckles a little at that, his eyes close, he groans when he shifts in his brother hold

"Do you have any medical supply's?"

"A first aid kit in the back of my truck and uh- whisky and a bag of thawing peas"

Kirby pauses at the mention of peas but continues nevertheless

"That'll do, the rest of your medical stuffs back in Ambrose right?"

"Yup"

"Than come on, get in the car"

*******************************************************************

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multific · 1 year ago

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Small Kisses

Vincent De Gramont x Wife!Reader

Warning: mention of toxic obsession and kidnapping (not done by Vincent)

Summary: You loved the tickle of his lips on your skin.

Vincent loved to give you small kisses.

No matter the reason. He just loved doing it wherever you two were.

A formal event?

A simple dinner?

A small date?

Or just staying in bed all day?

You swore the reason Vincent lived was to give you his sweetest kisses. A man so cunning and proud as him, yet he would be the proudest and calmest whenever he was with you.

You were his beautiful wife whom he loved with all of his dark heart.

But you didn't mind the blood, the murder and the insanity of it all.

Because every time he killed someone in the most brutal way, he would also come home to you, his gorgeous suit covered in blood, and give you such a sweet kiss.

It was honestly confusing rather than anything.

Vincent was a very classy man. He enjoyed the luxuries in life. High-end products, and he always made sure that you lived in the same luxury.

On your last birthday, he gifted you an original Monét piece.

The painting is currently right above your bed.

If he could, he would buy you the Mona Lisa.

He would literally make sure that you are dripping in diamonds, much like how he did for his birthday when he got you a special gown, made out of diamonds.

Once he said: "I would change the Mona Lisa to a painting of you, you are far more beautiful, Mon Amour."

His sweet talking always worked.

No matter how angry you were because of something, he would always say the sweetest things and then give you a small kiss to your forehead.

“My Beautiful Wife, even stunning when she is mad at me.”

“I would kill any man for you, Mon Amour. You don’t have to ask.”

“I must apologise, I believe I have lacked in my duties as a husband, Mon Amour. I believe you forgot just how much I love you.”

He would always make sure that you are happy and protected.

Even when one time, he failed to do that.

Well, it was more like his men failed, not him.

When you were taken, he was furious. Too furious to say or do anything other than rage.

You were taken by a man. A man so insane, you never saw anything like this.

He kept on going on about how he knew you were in love with him, how he knew that you only married Gramont for the money and how now, you two can be together.

He scared you.

His obsession with you was toxic, you could see just how crazy he was in his eyes. Every time he used the word 'love' it sent a shiver up and down your spine.

When Vincent finally got to you, you were shaking in fear. The only thing that managed to calm you was Vincent's kisses.

The smallest little kisses he placed all along your body. He also spoke in French some calming words but you could only recall the tickle of his lips when he found a soft spot.

And when the next couple of days you woke up with a shiver, having nightmares about the man who abducted you, it was Vincent who calmed you down.

It was he who kept waking up with you, never leaving your side, promising he would never leave or let this ever happen to you while placing kisses on your hands, knuckles and palm.

Vincent loved to give you small kisses on any exposed skin that you have.

But you loved the tickle of his lips on your skin even more.

His little kisses were the true proof of his love for you.

Vincent Taglist: @l4venderia

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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fionaapplerocks · 1 month ago

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A wee list of musicians who are on record with their love for Fiona Apple / influence by her music:

Adia Victoria Aimee Mann Amanda Palmer Anoushka Lucas Annie Clark (St Vincent) Ariana Grande BANKS Billy Howerdel (A Perfect Circle) Caroline Polachek Christine and the Queens Corin Tucker (Sleater-Kinney) Dave Grohl Ben Weinman (Dillinger Escape Plan) Donald Glover (Childish Gambino) Emilee Petersmark (The Crane Wives) Florence Welch (Florence and the Machine) Gabriel Kahane (composer)

Halsey Hayley Kiyoko Hayley Williams (Paramore) Ingrid Laubrock (jazz saxophone) Jack Antonoff Janelle Monae Jason Isbell Jay-Z Jenny Lewis John Legend Julia Michaels Kanye West Katie Crutchfield (Waxahatchee) Katy Perry Kenny Mason Lady Gaga Lars Ulrich (Metallica) Lauren Mayberry (Chvrches) Lil Nas X Lin-Manuel Miranda Lindsey Jordan (Snail Mail) Lorde Madison Cunningham Magdalena Bay MARINA Maya Hawke Melanie Martinez Michelle Zauner (Japanese Breakfast) Natalie Maines (The Chicks) Olivia Rodrigo Mike Hadeas (Perfume Genius) Phoebe Bridgers Rina Sawayama Robin Pecknold (Fleet Foxes) Samia Sara Bareilles ('Little Voice' book) Shirley Manson (Garbage ) Sky Ferreira Solange Knowles Sondre Lerche Sophie Allison (Soccer Mommy) St. Vincent Tegan and Sarah Vanessa Carlton Yuna Zoe Kravitz

#fiona apple #influences #music #they cant all be wrong #a musicians musician #This doesn't include band members/other collaborators #as they kind of go without saying #or people who have just sampled Fiona's music #about 2/3rds are women

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popgirlshowdown · 2 months ago

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the tumblr pop girl showdown and it's the same but there's 96 more artists so it's not

ROUND 1 LINEUP

billie eilish vs naomi elizabeth: NAOMI ELIZABETH taylor swift vs nicola roberts: NICOLA ROBERTS lady gaga vs hannah diamond: LADY GAGA rihanna vs namasenda: RIHANNA sabrina carpenter vs isabella lovestory: SABRINA CARPENTER ariana grande vs nicole dollanganger: NICOLE DOLLANGANGER dua lipa vs kilo kish: DUA LIPA sza vs pussy riot: SZA shakira vs rebecca black: SHAKIRA adele vs brooke candy: ADELE lana del rey vs natalia kills/cruel youth: LANA DEL REY katy perry vs cheetah girls/3lw : THE CHEETAH GIRLS beyoncé/ destiny's child / the carters vs kelela: BEYONCÉ miley cyrus/ hannah montana vs lindsey lohan: MILEY CYRUS doja cat vs hemlocke springs: HEMLOCKE SPRINGS olivia rodrigo vs bree runway: BREE RUNWAY chappell roan vs lauren jaureggi: CHAPPELL ROAN charli xcx vs arca: CHARLI XCX camila cabello vs slayyyter: SLAYYYTER ellie goulding vs sky ferreria: SKY FERREIRIA halsey vs allie x: HALSEY britney spears vs sophie: SOPHIE madonna vs loona: MADONNA tate mcrae vs chloe x halle: CHLOE X HALLE selena gomez vs monaleo: MONALEO kesha vs japanese breakfast/michelle zauner: KESHA rosalía vs muna: ROSALÍA megan thee stallion vs shygirl: MEGAN THEE STALLION ava max vs hilary duff: HILARY DUFF anitta vs paris hilton: TIE cardi b vs janelle monae: JANELLE MONAE becky g vs fka twigs: FKA TWIGS mitski vs hayley kiyoko: MITSKI natasha bedingfield vs caroline polachek: NATASHA BEDINGFIELD christina aguilera vs rina sawavama: RINA SAWAYAMA nelly furtado vs flo: NELLY FURTADO jennifer lopez vs björk: BJÖRK raye vs rico nasty: RICO NASTY mariah carey vs solange: MARIAH CAREY avril lavigne vs tommy genesis: AVRIL LAVIGNE zara larsson vs princess nokia: PRINCESS NOKIA tini vs girls generation: GIRLS GENERATION whitney houston vs poppy: WHITNEY HOUSTON maria becerra vs ethel cain: ETHEL CAIN tyla vs fiona apple: FIONA APPLE florence welch/florence & the machine vs baby tate: FLORENCE WELCH dolly parton vs azealia banks: DOLLY PARTON gracie abrams vs robyn: ROBYN young miko vs st. vincent: ST. VINCENT kim petras vs haim: KIM PETRAS haley williams/paramore vs nessa barrett: HALEY WILLIAMS kacey musgraves vs ashniko: ASHNIKO amy whinehouse vs tatu: AMY WHINEHOUSE lorde vs donna summer: DONNA SUMMER clairo vs ayesha erotica: AYESHA EROTICA latto vs janet jackson: JANET JACKSON julieta venegas vs renee rapp: JULIETA VENEGAS beabadoobee vs addison rae: BEABADOOBEE cyndi lauper vs grimes: CYNDI LAUPER céline dion vs victoria monét: CÉLINE DION pinkpantheress vs villano antillano: PINKPANTHERESS carly rae jepson vs red velvet: CARLY RAE JEPSON kehlani vs diana ross: DIANA ROSS emilia vs aaliyah: AALIYAH gwen stefani/ no doubt vs doechii: DOECHII blackpink vs maggie rogers: BLACKPINK tinashe vs lily allen kylie minougue vs thalía madison beer vs saweetie little mix vs selena ludmilla vs marina diamandis/ marina & the diamonds tove lo vs elyanna laufey vs rita ora melanie martinez vs bad gyal aurora vs phoebe bridgers/ boygenius spice girls vs tokischa fergie vs normani willow vs cher lizzo vs flo milli kate bush vs pussycat dolls

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madebycloud · 2 years ago

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A Masterpiece

wednesday addams x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you led wednesday through the cavernous halls of the art museum. but for wednesday, there was only one work of art that truly mattered: you. warnings/themes: fluff, art museum date words: 0.8k (it's too short, im sorry) note: this fic is based on a song i listen to while I'm in class, so i hope you enjoy it! (ignore the grammar errors.)

Wednesday should've said no.

Her writing time was too precious to be spent in an art museum. She had plans to brainstorm more ideas for the stories and poems she wanted to publish in the near future. Wednesday had always been a writer at heart, and she felt like her creativity flowed best when she was alone and surrounded by her own thoughts.

But with your bright smiles and enthusiastic jumps, it was hard to say no. She knew that your love for art was endless.

For you, art is more than just a hobby or a passion, it's a way of life. You adore the colors, the details, and the meaning behind every brushstroke.

The prospect of seeing your face light up with excitement was all the motivation she needed to accept the invitation.

You walked through the museum, admiring the art, discussing history and technique, and letting your enthusiasm shine through.

Wednesday followed you, with soft music playing in the background. She could hear the footsteps of other visitors, the rustle of clothes, and the quiet whisper of conversations.

You stop to admire a famous painting, the Mona Lisa, and your eyes light up as you take in the beauty of Leonardo da Vinci's work.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" You pointed out the intricate details, the colors, and the perfection of every stroke. "I'm not sure which word is best, but it's certainly a masterpiece."

She couldn't help but turn to look at you as you stood before a painting, smiling as you admired it.

A masterpiece? Wednesday couldn't understand how you could refer to a painting with nothing but paint on it, just splashes all over, as a masterpiece.

Your hair, your eyes, your nose, your lips— Wednesday was mesmerized by your beauty, feeling as though she were looking at a work of art come to life.

That was the moment she realized that you were the true masterpiece, and no painting, sculpture, or drawing could ever compare to the beauty of you.

You looked at the painting and felt like a true artist. You knew you couldn't recreate the beauty before you, but your hands yearned to try. Your mind was abuzz with ideas, and you wanted to share your thoughts with Wednesday.

She was the masterpiece, your muse, the inspiration for everything you desired to create in this moment.

The way her brown eyes shone like the stars in the sky, her freckles dotting her skin like a constellation— she was the definition of perfection. You wanted to capture her on canvas, to preserve her perfection forever. But for now, you would enjoy her presence and let your imagination run wild.

You looked back at the painting. Feeling the blood rush in your ears.

"But you know, some people don't really appreciate art," you continued, referring to the people in front of you who were taking pictures. "They take pictures just to add to their social media, done. They don't try to understand the essence of the artwork, all the emotions and hard work put into it."

Wednesday nodded in agreement, understanding that some people just don't try to understand the emotions and hard work that artists put into their art. It takes years of practice to perfect their craft, and some people just look at the surface level of it.

You checked your watch and noticed it was time to go back. You asked, "So, which styles of art did you enjoy the most? Did you prefer classical, medieval, romanticism, basque, or could you relate to Leonardo da Vinci's art, maybe even Vincent van Gogh or Claude Monet's works? Tell me, my love." You asked, tilting your head as you walked, trying to make conversation and get a feel for her perspective on the artwork.

Wednesday paused for a moment, considering your question, before her eyes met yours. She finally spoke, her voice low and serious. "Your question is so banal and pointless," she said, rolling her eyes.

She continued, her eyes still locked with yours "Art is a subjective experience, influenced by myriad factors such as one's personal taste, cultural background, and emotional state. But if I had to choose, I would say that, to me, the most beautiful art is the art of life itself. And looking at you, my dear, I can't help but see the most exquisite and breathtaking work of art that I have ever had the privilege of laying my eyes upon."

You can't help but smile as you look down at her. Her slender frame, her pale complexion, her dark hair… everything about her seems to radiate a sense of beauty and mystery.

And as she leans in to loop her arm around yours, you realize that this is not just a moment, but a memory that you will cherish forever.

How did you manage to find someone as wonderful as her? You ask yourself as you look up at the sky.

Knowing that you want to share all of life's beauty and wonder with her makes you want to spend the rest of your days with her.

#wednesday addams imagine #wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x you #wednesday imagine #wednesday netflix #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega imagine #wednesday addams fluff #fluff #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x reader

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spockiguess · 5 months ago

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The Evangelical Counsels || Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader || Chapter 1 - Introduction

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune / Chapter 2

Summary: After turning away another child from the orphanage her convent runs, the reader finds help in the one person considered irredeemable by the Church, Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.

Warnings: Descriptions of Abuse Regarding Minors, Mentions of Poverty, Homelessness, and Starvation Regarding Minors, Mentions of Violence Against Homeless People (including children), Period-Typical Depictions of Homelessness, Criticisms of Organized Religion, Romance Involving Nuns, Age Gap (~20s/~40s), Eventual Smut

Pairing: Fem!Nun!Reader x Laszlo Kreizler

A/N: Hello everybody! Sorry for disappearing for over a year, but as per usual, life gets in the way of very necessary fanfic-writing. Anyway, I hope to post more often, especially with this story, which I have already prepared this chapter and another chapter for. Warning: the tags stated in the warnings are an explanation for things that happen in the plot, they are not a "factor" in the romance between the reader and Kreizler.

New York City has always seemed to exist within a perpetual dichotomy of exuberant wealth that can flood the streets with ornate marble statues at a whim, whereas walking a few blocks in any direction might lead you to slums teeming with sickness and desperation. The rich that infest the country’s epicenter for culture and progress never notice this disturbing contrast, even when the hand of a small child reaches out, begging for help. This shameless apathy has always disturbed you, and that distinct, gnawing feeling of injustice only grows more unruly inside of the pits of your gut as you see the affluent dregs of society continue to live in purposeful ignorance.

Luckily, you're not completely powerless to the rich that practically rule the city. Being a devoted Sister at St. Vincent’s Orphanage has allowed you to help ease the struggle the children here suffer on a daily basis, albeit, it's not exactly to your standards. The convent you're aligned with is small, and St. Vincent’s Orphanage is even smaller. At this point, you've lost count of how many children you've had to cruelly turn away, the cramped space you serve already brimming at max capacity. Every time you have to look a child in the eyes and tell them that they can't get the help they truly deserve because of reasons out of your control, your resolve crumbles.

Almost always, a voice in the back of your mind tells you to wipe the child’s tears and take them home, give them the life they deserve–take them away from this overwhelming helplessness. But the vows you swore to years ago keep you as a bride of God, serving Him–and only Him–with the idea of rearing children on your own absolutely unacceptable. Your sole duty is to help these children survive until they ultimately find a suitable home.

And that's where you struggle to reconcile the issues of your faith. If you're to protect the children of this city at any cost and show them the unending kindness of the Lord, why are you having to carry a starved child on your hip while you march through the streets in search of the only place that can take them in–the one place your Sisters dare not go?

To ruminate on such a question, especially at this time, is a waste of precious energy. The young child you carry needs your attention, so you push aside your own deep-seated frustration and attempt to temporarily relieve them of their worries.

“The Kreizler Institute is an excellent place, Mona. Although they act in the absence of the Lord, their facility is magnificent, according to Mother Superior Ida,” you consoled, brushing locks of tangled hair from the child's face while deftly weaving past the crowds that surrounded you on all sides.

The child, whose name you found on the note she carried with her at St. Vincent’s doorstep, solemnly nodded against your shoulder, teardrops beginning to wet through the thick fabric of your veil. Once again, your resolve crumbled.

Having to bite your tongue due to the innate frustration of the situation, you hugged Mona tighter, believing that if she were close enough, you could imbue her with the strength and bravery to take on this unfamiliar place alone.

At the same time, you whispered to the girl in an attempt to empathize with her, “Oh, Mona. I know. I can't imagine how scared you are right now.”

That statement alone was too much for Mona, causing her to burst into blistering wails while her small hands balled into tight fists, grabbing at your garb as if she were bound to be taken from you at any moment. And that wasn't necessarily wrong. As of now, you were the only person she could fully trust, and in just one more block, you'd be disposing of her at another doorstep. All you could do was pray, and pray you did. Your hands shielded Mona, holding her close to your heart and soul while a litany of prayers flowed from your mouth like rushing rivers, perhaps drowning out the fears you both shared.

Mona only cried more, beginning to plead with you as your pace quickened, “Please don't leave me! Take me home with you! Please!”

It was all becoming far too much, and having ultimately arrived at the front steps of the Kreizler Institute, you fell to your knees and enveloped the girl’s body in yours. You didn't care how you might look to the cacophonous onslaught of strangers that filled the city’s sidewalks, the only thought in your mind was about Mona’s wellbeing. You barely knew this child, but your peers and superiors always chastised you for having too big a heart.

“I’m so sorry, my love, but you must be strong for me. They'll take good care of you here. You'll have whatever you could possibly need.” The sentiment was mostly to calm yourself as Mona’s arms just barely wrapped around your neck, but even then you could feel her hands clawing at the back of your veil, a desolate attempt to stave off the inevitable.

Your entire being ached; you had no idea how to soothe the girl, much less promise her safety. Just then did the idea enter your mind: you could lie to Mona. The situation showed no signs of getting better and you were at an absolute loss. Any other option you had would directly conflict with your faith, your future. Immediately, you fought off the preposterous notion of such a thing. Lying was a wicked sin, and most importantly, how could you betray a helpless child’s trust if this institute were to harm her in any way?

The only thing you could tell Mona was fickle in nature. It held no real promise and there was no way for you to tell if it would be true. Despite that, you were at your wits end. You couldn't let Mona back onto the streets of this city, not when she was so young–so frail.

You cautioned a deep breath and spoke as steadily as you could muster, “When more beds open at St. Vincent’s, I can come back for you. This doesn't have to be forever.”

There was no telling if and when more beds would free up, moreover, the rules regarding switching such care between temporary housing were complicated and strict. Mona could only be brought back to St. Vincent’s if serious evidence of wrongdoing were to be found at the Kreizler Institute, and to open such an investigation, especially if it were to be found pointless, would draw endless ridicule for not only the orphanage, but for your convent. In any case, your statement wasn't a complete falsehood. In the event of possible abuse, which you loathed to even consider, St. Vincent’s would seem much more appealing as an option for relocation. Much of the governing power in New York City still identified with any given denomination of the Christian faith. That being said, you prayed that Mona wouldn't have to experience such terror.

In spite of your worries, your reassurance seemed to calm Mona down, and her broken sobs ebbed into quiet sniffles. Carefully, the girl reared her head back just enough to look at you, her beautiful brown eyes shiny with tears.

“Do you mean it?” Mona asked, her voice raspy and barely a whisper. Dread sunk through your chest like a lead weight, but you forced a plaintive smile to further reassure the girl.

“As much as one can.” The words sounded bitter coming out of your mouth, and for good reason.

Mona’s head bowed before you brought her to your chest once more. Grimly, you swaddled the child and walked up the impressive steps of the Kreizler Institute for Wayward & Abandoned Children.

Once inside, your fears were somewhat quelled when faced with the sight of playing children racing around the elaborate halls of the Institute. A child’s laughter was one of the sure-fire ways to lighten your mood, and on such a day as this one, you needed the resolve to ensure Mona’s safety.

At first, your steps were careful and measured, the short heels of your boots clacking against the expensive marble flooring beneath you. In a couple more steps, you began to walk with a renewed confidence, especially once Mona’s head lifted from the safety of your veil to survey the interior. Eventually, you began to sport a slight smile when some of the children recognized you, ushering you over to their game of hopscotch, the bounds of the squares made up of colored string.

“Hey, it’s the nun from St. Vincent’s!” one of the children called. After that, the rest of the children recognized you as well and offered cheerful greetings, your presence a familiar sight from the dozens of soup kitchens New York City was home to.

“Nunny!” called one of the girls. She looked to be a year or two older than Mona, and after a pause, you finally placed where you’ve seen her before.

If your memory serves, the girl’s name is Alice, and she was just about the kindest person you had ever met. On multiple occasions when you had been volunteering your services at the kitchen closest to St. Vincent’s, she selflessly gave her food to people who had already been served, therefore barring them from officially receiving more that day. Alice had a particular knack for spotting those who needed it most, and was always eager to be of service. You recalled having to restrain yourself from encouraging Alice to join St. Vincent’s convent once she reached an appropriate age. You were firm on the choice that women had when it came to reciting the vows or not, and you wouldn’t use your position of authority to dictate otherwise.

A wide grin spread across your face as you began to rock Mona on your hip, earning a rewarding laugh from the girl, “Good morning, Alice. It’s a pleasure to see you again after all this time.”

Alice giggled, inching closer to you, “It’s nice to see you, too, Nunny.” Nunny was the lighthearted title the children you worked with decided on, explaining it was easier to remember than your true name.

Her mere presence made you feel better about the Institute–she wouldn’t be so giddy if the staff here weren’t fulfilling their duties.

“I was beginning to worry after not noticing your presence at the kitchen anymore,” you playfully remarked, chuckling at Alice’s nonchalant shrug.

“Sorry, Nunny. My friends told me about here and I sorta forgot to say anything,” Alice paused, quickly interjecting her own sentence, “but I would’ve sent you a letter if I knew your address!”

Barely able to contain your smile, you added, “Well, luckily St. Vincent’s will do. Do let me know if you’re allowed to send letters here so I can make sure to give you the proper address.”

Suddenly, you felt a menacing presence materialize behind you as Alice waved at the intrusion, “Hello, Mr. Kreizler!”

Turning to face the person Alice greeted, you were met with a stern-looking man dressed in exquisite textiles, no doubt imported from some far off land.

“It’s Dr. Kreizler, Alice. It’s best not to forget a person’s proper titles,” the man, presumably Dr. Kreizler, kindly instructed. Despite his intimidating appearance, he was gentle with the girl.

You were about to speak when Dr. Kreizler requested the children leave before returning to the daunting demeanor befitting a man of his stature, “I believe it’s well-known that servants of the Church aren’t allowed within these walls. Your kind has a habit of imposing nonsensical beliefs on the children.”

A feeling of hot shame washed over you, warmth tinging your cheeks, “I’ve been warned, Dr. Kreizler, but I’m not here to spread His word.”

Dr. Kreizler stiffened further, his mouth straightening into a thin line, “Then what is the purpose of your visit, Sister?”

Just as Dr. Kreizler cautioned, the Institute had a reputation for vehemently prohibiting the presence of any religious figures to prevent conflict amongst himself and the children. The wealthy alienist was unafraid of the feathers his atheism might ruffle, and he made sure to shield the children from what he called “propagandist doctrine.” Regardless of his blatant vitriol for religion, you hesitantly agreed with him on that particular stance. In your mind, religion was a choice for most people, nothing more. Even though you have devoted your life to His teachings, you hardly expected anyone else to do the same.

Slightly shaken, you pressed Mona closer to you, foolishly hiding her face from the man who might offer her asylum as you voiced your plea, “St. Vincent’s has been full for quite some time now, and I can’t turn away another child in need, Doctor. My superiors have spoken highly of your institute and I have no other options for her.” You motioned to the girl you still held, gently rubbing her back.

Dr. Kreizler softened at this, taking notice of the small girl you cradled. Prudently, he stepped closer, tilting his head to get a better look at Mona.

You continued, speaking more to Mona than to him, “I would personally care for her if I could. I don’t trust anywhere else in the city.”

Nodding, Dr. Kreizler spoke in a hushed tone, his focus entirely on Mona, “I understand,” the man paused before resuming, “it’s fortunate you see only the severity of the situation; I can’t recall a time when someone of your faith entered my facility with good intentions.”

Willing yourself to lighten the situation, if not for your sake, then Mona’s, you quipped, “A certain saying involving good intentions comes to mind, Doctor.”

The alienist smiled, the line narrow and somewhat forced, “Your humility is appreciated, Sister.”

“One can only have humility in a situation like this. I just hope that Mona will be able to stay here for the time being, at least until a bed at St. Vincent’s opens.” Your voice was light, hopefully soothing to the girl you aimed to protect.

At this, Dr. Kreizler attempted a joke himself, his accent making it decidedly sharper than yours, “Ah, I assume my institute still isn’t to your standards, then?”

“I don’t want to be here. I want to be with you,” Mona harshly stated, snuggling further under your veil. Dr. Kreizler stiffened, caught off guard by the confident proclamation.

You sighed somewhat, speaking to Mona first, “I know, my love, but Dr. Kreizler is a good man. He knows how to help,” then, turning to Kreizler, you whispered, “You can help her, Doctor?”

It was obvious to you that Dr. Kreizler had a weakness for children, if his facility dedicated to their health and safety wasn’t proof enough.

“I can help,” he said mostly to Mona before addressing you, “However, it seems the child has an attachment to you. It might prove helpful if you offered your assistance while I go over the necessary paperwork.” The last part was strained, almost as if he abhorred the idea of someone of the cloth helping him in any way.

After your tentative agreement, Kreizler swiftly led you to his office to begin Mona’s processing. Once inside, you took note of how the space was simultaneously tidy and luxurious, the walls and any available surface decorated with artifacts and hefty textbooks that featured gold lettering on the spines. The chairs you and Mona sat in were similarly fine, made with plush velvet and hand-carved mahogany that was the bulk of their appearance. Now that Mona had separated from your hip with much resistance, she allowed herself to be swept up in the opulence of the Institute. You couldn’t deny the finery of such a place, either. St. Vincent’s was noticeably barren, only housing the absolute necessities that fell in line with the ordinance of your faith and what orphanages require. It had been some time since you visited a place like this, and you weren’t sure whether to include Dr. Kreizler in the group of New York moguls that flaunted their wealth so readily, or if this was a sign that he took pride in the conditions the children here lived in.

The latter seemed to be the obvious choice given Dr. Kreizler’s treatment of the children so far, and his mission with the facility in general. The ostentatious socialites you encountered wouldn’t deign to entertain such a venture, especially if it involved the downtrodden youth of the city.

Dr. Kreizler’s voice startled you out of your stupor, “Did any adults accompany Ms. Walker when you found her outside of St. Vincent’s Orphanage?”

“No. Mona was alone,” you quickly supplied. Dr. Kreizler scribbled the information on a sheet of paper, the sound of his fountain pen filling the nearly silent room.

“Other than a last name, does Ms. Walker know any other identifying details about her parents?” Kreizler asked.

You faced Mona, watching her run the pad of her pointer finger against the raised engravings of the chair’s arm, “I’m afraid not, Doctor. The only information I have regarding her parents is vague. She says they were never around much, to begin with.” Dr. Kreizler gave a curt nod and returned to his form while you reached out and smoothed Mona’s hair.

After a brief moment, Kreizler returned his attention to you, “You’re sure that Ms. Walker hasn’t run away?”

Mona’s head snapped up and you clarified before any upset could be caused, “The only thing Mona had with her was a short note from her mother. It says that neither her mother, nor her father, can afford to take care of her anymore, hence her appearance at St. Vincent’s.”

“And this isn’t a note Ms. Walker crafted herself?” You knew the reasoning behind Dr. Kreizler’s questions, but couldn’t help but feel offense on Mona’s behalf at the coldness of his tone. You had to reassure yourself he was only ruling out any possibility of Mona’s parents returning and claiming her.

Drawing the note from a pocket hidden on the underside of your apron, you reached across the expanse separating you from the doctor, “I’ve saved it–just in case.”

Dr. Kreizler took the piece of dirtied paper from your hand before sitting back in his chair, carefully unfolding the note and analyzing the contents.

As he did this, you allowed yourself to express your thoughts on the matter, “The handwriting is too legible to be from a child this young, especially from one whose had no formal education so far,” suddenly feeling another wave of sorrow take control of your heart, you continued, “I’m not sure Mona can even write.”

Kreizler clicked his tongue before folding the note and placing it into a fresh file he had procured at the beginning of this meeting, “I would have to agree with you.”

Some time passed as you helped Dr. Kreizler finish the paperwork that would allow Mona to stay at the Institute, and before long, the young girl would drift off to sleep in the chair beside you. You figured this was the first time in a while that she had been able to fall asleep easily, and a spring of hope flourished within you at the thought of Mona having a warm bed from now on.

Finally, Dr. Kreizler realized Mona’s lack of response and watched her sleeping form contemplatively, carefully setting his pen down and rising from his seat. The action caused you to rise, too, stepping closer to Mona’s chair and gently patting the top of her head.

Allowing yourself to smile at the sight, you began to speak before matching Dr. Kreizler’s gaze, “Might I help bring Mona to a bed?”

Kreizler smiled, too, this time being more genuine and warm than before, no doubt a symptom of Mona’s peaceful slumber, “I think Ms. Walker would greatly appreciate that.”

With great care, you brought Mona into your arms once again and rested her head on your shoulder, happily listening to the sound of her snoring.

Looking back at Dr. Kreizler, you nodded once, smiling as you spoke, “Thank you for your help, Doctor. I hope you can forgive me for my sudden appearance today, I’ll make sure to keep a great distance between myself and here when possible.” Kreizler softly laughed at your humorous comment, closing the distance between you and him.

“I give you permission to access these premises if another situation like this occurs in the future,” Kreizler paused, his smile widening, “Do take note that that only applies to you.”

Suppressing a laugh, you shook your head in understanding, “Of course, Doctor. Although, I don’t think my Sisters would care to come here. Some admit to being afraid of your kind.” You mirrored the doctor’s earlier comment, teasing him slightly.

For a moment, Dr. Kreizler stared into your eyes, squinting as if he were searching for something within them, before questioning you with a mischievous tone, “My kind?”

An even brighter smile spread across your features, a playful twinge in your words, “Atheists.”

At last, the serious man in front of you laughed without restraint, and you felt a foreign heat rise in your chest, “I should’ve known. A being worse than the criminals that populate this city.”

Shrugging, you teased again, “Their apprehension is unfortunate. If they’d take the time to know someone like you, they’d realize how good natured you all can be, sans religious obligation.”

Dr. Kreizler hummed in agreement and took a longing glance at you before making his way to the entrance of the office, “The threat of eternal damnation has never been a driving factor in my operations, Sister. I believe more people are like that than some would care to admit.”

Thoughtfully, you considered his statement while walking to the door, softly rocking the girl in your arms, “It is a grievous assumption of the human condition, one I hope isn’t true.” Kreizler met your gaze as he absently opened the door, his dark eyes stoking the flames you felt stir within you.

Not sure how to continue, and thoroughly scared of the strange feelings that were beginning to take root in your being, you bowed your head and walked through the door, Dr. Kreizler not far behind.

The journey to one of the many dormitories that the Kreizler Institute housed was long, but not without interest. Children and staff alike were all around you, contributing to the comfortable nature of the space with their rambunctious chatter and lively games. While Mona comfortably rested against the surface of your coif, you surveyed the massive paintings that lined the intricate halls, all pieces of fine art that could easily belong in a museum. The pictures mainly depicted positive scenes, like meditative studies of lush landscapes, or vibrant portraits of greatly important figures.

Kreizler noticed your intrigue and began to comment on the decorations that marked your path, “It’s important that the children here are given just as much access to the arts as anyone else might have. Multiple studies have shown that exposure to art and music drastically improve the quality of life for people of all ages, especially those suffering from mental or physical ailments.”

You hummed, pleased by the new information, “Which is your specialty–the minds of children?”

“That would be correct, Sister. I dedicate my time to helping those who society deems unworthy of such kindness,” Dr. Kreizler informed, curtly waving to the swaths of youth who soared past with beaming grins and loud hellos.

“Then a noble man, you are, Dr. Kreizler. I don’t know many people–rich or poor–who would carry out the necessary work you do on a daily basis,” you bleakly commented. You were all too familiar with the spiteful indifference the country suffered from nowadays.

Kreizler turned to face you, not losing a step in the process, “Not even members of the faith?”

A gnarled guilt churned in your stomach; Dr. Kreizler wasn’t wrong. In fact, most people who proclaimed their allegiance to any branch of Christianity had not only become attached to the pervasive apathy that threatened to consume all, but were, in most instances, the reasons behind it. Many of the folk who attended church regularly looked down on the work you did, citing that it was unbecoming for a woman of your calling to share a space with the sinful and uncleanly. To them, the “beggars” of the city didn’t deserve charity, no matter how helpless.

“Unfortunately, no,” drawing a tentative breath, you explained, “A startling number of them are of the mindset that the impoverished somehow deserve the dismal circumstances they’re often forced under. No matter how hard I, or my Sisters, might try to teach them otherwise, they’d rather have some claim at superiority than help their fellow man.”

Dr. Kreizler questioned further, “And why do you think that is?”

Readjusting the girl on your side, memories of the mistreatment children like Mona face from such a lot consumed your thinking. Supposed Christians would go out of their way to abuse the young and homeless, either through stealing their clothes, food, or makeshift homes, or by pelting them with stones picked up off the streets. Seeing the reactions they could garner, it would only spur them to escalate, for no other reason than abject cruelty. Their only defense was that it was their duty as followers of Christ to punish those who didn’t seek to cleanse themselves of sin. It was a strong enough argument as not many people, Christian or otherwise, would find the bravery to speak out against these actions disguised as a shared religious responsibility.

Finally, you came to an answer, and it wasn’t one you were proud of, “Because it is easier to hide behind an all-powerful God than it is to do what is objectively right, even if the Lord urges His followers to sacrifice for others at all costs. They think that because they attend church and give donations to the congregation that they are guaranteed a spot in Heaven.” The anger was palpable in your voice, and your cheeks burned at the realization.

Quickly, you supplied an apology, “Forgive me, Doctor. I forget myself.”

“Don’t apologize, Sister. Your honesty is refreshing. I haven’t met a nun so critical of her own faith before,” Dr. Kreizler remarked.

Appalled, you defended yourself as the three of you rounded a corner, “I am simply critical of the people who claim to share my faith. I do not renounce His word.”

Kreizler led you to a door marked with a golden plaque that read: Girl’s Dormitory 1. The alienist ushered you and Mona through, a vexing grin on his face.

“You do not find yourself questioning His teachings, Sister?” Kreizler asked, his amusement plain.

Entering the dormitory, you found two rows of beds situated on opposite sides of the room with hefty chests at the foot of each one. Drawings made up most of the decorations in the room, besides the toys that had been left out on each girls’ bed. Beside each cot sat a nightstand with an oil lamp adorning the wooden surfaces, giving the room a warm glow. On the chests were small name cards, written by the owner of the bed. Quickly, you picked one without a name and walked ahead of the doctor, cheeks heating once again.

Dr. Kreizler pushed further, following you in stride, “Your silence is quite the answer.”

Deciding to avoid the question for now, you proposed another instead, “I presume this would be Mona’s?” The Good Doctor nodded and you sunk down to lay Mona on the comfortable mattress that engulfed the girl’s slight frame.

Heaving a hearty sigh, you knelt beside her, pushing hair from her delicate, auburn face. Quietly, you spoke to the alienist while keeping your focus on Mona, “May I say goodbye to her, Dr. Kreizler?”

Deciding to ignore your deflection of the previous subject, Dr. Kreizler responded, “That would be best.”

You whispered a faint thank-you before rousing Mona. The girl’s eyes struggled to open at first and there was no doubt this has been the longest stretch of sleep she’s been able to secure.

Mona took in her new surroundings as she reached for your hand, “Do I get to stay?”

Smiling, you affirmed her question, “Yes, my love,” you paused, remembering another critical piece of information that came during the walk to the dormitory, “Dr. Kreizler also gave you permission to come back to St. Vincent’s whenever there’s space.”

Mona’s face brimmed with unadulterated joy, “Really?”

Dr. Kreizler chimed in to quell any of Mona’s doubts, relaying that she would be able to request visits with you whenever she pleased.

“Well, what if I want to stay here and only visit with Nunny?” Mona had picked up the silly nickname during your brief exchange with Alice, who you hoped would look after her in your absence.

The alienist laughed, “That works just as fine, Ms. Walker.” Only then did you sneak a glance at Dr. Kreizler, just in this instance beginning to appreciate his handsome features now that you were able to see more of his good nature.

Kreizler noticed your staring, however the grin that surfaced while interacting with Mona hadn’t ceased, instead only growing in intensity. The tips of your ears began to grow balmy, forcing you to tear away from his knowing stare in order to rebalance yourself.

“Just make sure to give Dr. Kreizler ample time to prepare for my visits, Mona. You’ll have weekly meetings where this can be negotiated,” you instructed. Mona giggled, nodding earnestly before leaping up to wrap her hands around your neck again.

You leaned forward and rubbed soothing patterns into her back, grateful that her care was finally secured.

The embrace lasted sometime, causing Kreizler to point out Mona’s silence, “It seems Ms. Walker has fallen asleep again. We should allow her time to rest.”

Taking your cue, you rose and followed Dr. Kreizler as he left the dormitory, both of you stopping just in front of the now closed entryway.

Even after sharing a sweet moment, Kreizler didn’t allow you to escape his interrogating so easily, and scratched the scruff of his thick beard while pressing you for answers once again, “If I recall correctly, you hadn’t answered my last question.”

The space between you and Dr. Kreizler had become dangerously small, and in such close quarters, you could smell the heady scent of his expensive cologne. Your brain fogged, an overwhelming combination of feelings still unknown plaguing your body and mind.

“That is because I have never thought to question His teachings before, Doctor,” as you resumed the subject, words tumbled from your mouth without much control, creating quite the mess.

Your eyes widened when you heard the statement slip from you so easily, drawing a deep laughter from the man in front of you. If not caught up in the whirlwind of what you had just implied, you would have noticed how the honeyed sound made your heart squeeze deliciously.

Dr. Kreizler’s already overpowering confidence increased tenfold, and you could hear it in his voice as he remarked, “That’s right. One of the few things they don’t cover during your novitiate. It’s quite interesting.”

Too many emotions were beginning to flood your mind, and that was as much a danger as what Dr. Kreizler was proposing in the first place. You needed to leave immediately and right yourself before something inexcusable happened.

Bowing your head in submission, you eked out an apology that came out faster than what you were apologizing for, “Forgive me, Doctor, but I must leave. I am forever indebted to you.”

You left before Kreizler could answer, unwilling–or more accurately, unable–to handle whatever else could come out of that sly mouth of his.

#laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #female reader

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polyamships · 10 months ago

Text

January Polyam Shipping Day roundup

Hi everyone! In January, we had 5 entries across 5 fandoms. All are linked below.

Ikemen Vampire: The Call of Light (fanfic) by @fang-and-feather (jean d'arc x reader x vincent van gogh)

Baldur's Gate: Enough (fanfic) by @alpaca-clouds (astarion x original character x tav x themberchaud)

Arrowverse: i think you'd look better in a collar (fanfic) by @frosty-the-killer-doll (mona wu x nyssa al ghul x sara lance)

Mo Dao Zu Shi: 婴运而生 | in which Wei Ying rises again (podfic) by @semperfiona (jiang cheng x lan wangji x wei wuxian)

Final Fantasy XIV: The King Is Dead - Long Live The King (fanfic) by @theoreticalconstruct (aymeric de borel x estinien wyrmblood x haurchefant greystone)

Thanks to everyone who took part in January!

Gentle reminder that if you want your fanwork to be included in the roundup it needs to either be submitted/@ us on tumblr or in the official ao3 collection, and if not uploaded on the day in question let us know what prompt it’s for. And if we’ve missed any items please send us a note and let us know.

#PolyamShippingDay #roundup post #prompt: conflict #modposts

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super-unpredictable98 · 1 year ago

Note

Can you do Vincent being jealous of Lydia's past crush, now friend and blabbering some things in front of him that genuinely embarasses her , probably something that she told him about her past feelings or past incident and then the extra exaggeration?

Tysm ❤️

The Skeleton in Ramona's Closet | The Road Within AU

Pairing: Ramona x Vincent (OC - Exposure Therapy’ Verse)

Word Count: 1,8 k

Warning: Strong language, mental illness stuff

a/n: Thank you so much for your request, that was the first I got to work on, I'll be working on the other ones over the weeks. It says Lydia, but I imagine it was meant to be Mona, the pair I created for Vincent. I hope you like it anyway <3

(Masterlist)

"Do you think he'll like me?" Ramona asked for the millionth time.

The week before Vincent had told her his father was coming to visit. He knew she wasn't a big fan of surprises and bringing it up on the day of would only stress her out, especially after all the things he had told her about his dad. It was safe to say she was sure the man wouldn't like her and was scared of him from the get-go.

"Of course, he's been a lot nicer lately, ever since he- fuck fuck divorced Monica. And what's there not to like about you? FAT WHORE."

"See?"

"You're not a fat whore! You know that was a tic, I'm sorry."

"I know, what I mean is that you're tics are off the charts! Means you're nervous, means you're scared, means he'll hate me!"

"You know I have a few CUNT days when I'm worse. It's just fucking Tuorette's."

Okay, that part was true, but this time Vincent was actually nervous. It would be the first time introducing a girlfriend to his dad like that. When he met Marie back in the day, they were all running away from him and it was completely different. Now if anything went wrong he would blame himself til the end of his life.

"I can hear your tics all the way from my room, can you tone it down?" Alex stood at the top of the stairs, watching as Vince contorted with spasms.

"Sorry, I'll just dial my- cunt! My Tourette's down pressing the button up my asshole!" Vince growled.

While it wasn't so apparent, Ramona was just as perturbed. She wasn't able to eat that morning, she felt queasy and she felt her heart beating on the tips of her fingers. She was fighting with all of her willpower not to give into a panic attack or shut down completely, she couldn't just hide in her room while Mr. Rhodes came all this way to visit.

"Hey, let's breathe together, okay?" Mona took her boyfriend's hands and calmly guided him while trying to calm herself down as well.

"Think about it, it can't be any worse than when I met your mom..." Vincent joked.

That was true, Mona's mom was still traumatized after walking in on them doing it in the shower. Every time she came to visit, Vanessa would knock very loud on the door before walking into any room and even before coming out of them. Initially, she despised Vincent, but after seeing how he managed to bring out the best in her daughter, she ended up coming to terms with their relationship.

Before any of them could say anything else, the doorbell rang. The sound made Vincent tic again and Mona shiver. Alex disappeared back into the guest room to finish cleaning it for Mr. Rhodes.

"Just breathe and try to relax the most you can," Vincent nodded before opening the door, saying it both to Mona and to himself. "FUCK! CUNT!"

"Always so sweet," Robert taunted. "Hi, Vince."

"Hi, Dad," he looked down, trying to hide his twitching. After all this time and after making amends, he was still embarrassed to tic in front of his father. "Come in, this is Ramona, my-slut whore! My girlfriend."

"Hey, Mr. Rhodes," she waved timidly, trying very hard to look him in the eye and failing miserably. "Vince told me you work with politics, I played Evita Peron in a musical once."

"Oh... That's- interesting, like that movie with Madonna?" Robert asked.

"Yes actually, but Patti LuPone did a much better job with it on Broadway... It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Ramona. Can I shake your hand?"

"Yeah, of course!" She excitedly held out her hand. "I'm not very good at eye contact, but my handshakes are a transcendent experience I've been told."

Robert chuckled, he already liked this one way better than Marie, but he definitely wasn't going to say that. He remembered how crushed his son was when she left and the last thing he wanted was to bring back those memories and trigger another string of violent tics.

"Happy to be back at the madhouse," he joked.

"Madhouse?" Mona repeated, slightly confused about what he meant.

"Yeah, you know... Cause you all have mental illness and disorders and stuff."

"Dad, I don't think that's very politically correct," Vince smacked himself across the face. His girlfriend was very sensitive, he knew that comment would hurt her, even if she didn't say anything. She was a horrible liar, but that never stopped her from trying to hide her feelings when something got under her skin.

"It's fine," Ramona nodded.

"Hello, Mr. Rhodes!" Alex waved from the second floor. "Your room is ready, I just cleaned it up."

"Oh, I'll get settled. How about some ice cream then? You do eat ice cream, right Ramona?" Robert asked.

"Yeah, my autism doesn't stop me from eating ice cream," she laughed.

Next to Mr. Rhodes, Vincent's tics were so much more violent, almost like he was always on edge, which in turn made Ramona feel on edge and anxious as well.

When they eventually arrived at the ice cream shop, Robert asked what they would both want to spare them the embarrassment of ordering. The couple was in charge of getting them a table.

"Does he always do this? He tries to stop you from doing things?" Ramona asked.

"Yeah... fuck cunt! He's a little embarrassed I think," Vincent murmured in between tics.

As if the day couldn't get any more awkward, Ramona saw the last face she ever wanted to see leaving the shop. She prayed he wouldn't recognize her, but that would've been too good to be true.

"Ramona? Ramona Wilson!" A tall guy with a dirty blonde wolf cut approached their table and Vincent started twitching even more. "You look so different!"

"I- I know... it's been a while, Matt," she mumbled, avoiding his eyes at all costs.

"Matt? The Matt you told me about?" Vincent whispered.

"Yeah... this is my boyfriend, Vincent. Vince, this is my friend Matt." It was true, they were friends back in high school, they were drama club colleagues and played romantic interests several times. Of course, along the way, Ramona ended up catching feelings, but never had the nerve to make a move.

She crushed on this boy for years until she eventually graduated and moved on, but he was an important part of understanding herself and what she liked. That's why she told Vincent the whole story.

"Nice to meet you!" Matt shook his hand, Vince flipping him off with the other hand.

"Sorry, I have- fuck! I have tourettes," he explained.

"Oh, that's alright. Don't worry about it." The most irritating thing to him was how nice this guy was, he was so sweet and probably would've been a way better boyfriend for Ramona if she ever took a chance on him. He hated feeling so inferior, he hated feeling like he wasn't enough...

"Ramona kept the underwear you left at her house under her pillow!" Vincent blurted out. He didn't mean to, but he couldn't help it and that only made him more sure that he was a horrible partner.

"What?" Matt laughed, thinking he was joking.

"It wasn't under my pillow! It was behind my headboard!" Ramona groaned, not realizing she was just confirming the information.

Matt's eyes grew and he blushed furiously. Everyone in that conversation wanted to disappear or die or both. "You did? Did you have a crush on me or something?"

"Y-yeah... I used to, but I never said anything because you were too unattainable and eventually I just forgot and-" Ramona hid her face behind her hands. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey, no, it's okay. I guess it's better than if you did some sort of cloning ritual with it, right?" Matt joked. "I'm glad you are happy, you really deserve it."

"Thanks, it means a lot."

"Sorry, you sick fuck!" Vincent shouted and punched the table.

"It's cool, it was a nice ego boost, I guess. Ramona used to be the hottest girl in class," Matt admitted.

"Used to..." those words felt like a pile of bricks to her.

"Cause she's fat now!" Vincent said and covered his mouth, shaking his head with the most horrified look. "I didn't mean it..."

"I think she still looks gorgeous. You're a very lucky guy," Matt said sincerely. Ramona felt like he didn't mean it, even if he did, but she nodded anyway.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

"I'll see you two around, I'm late for work. Have a good day!" Matt waved before he left.

Vincent was nearly crying when his father brought back their orders. Ramona was just in shock, she couldn't even speak.

"What the hell happened? Somebody died?" Rober asked.

"Yes, my dignity," Ramona grumbled.

"I'm so so sorry, Mona. I love you so much, I hope you know that. I swear on my life!" Vincent cried, the tears finally escaping his eyes.

"What did you do?" His father asked.

"I had a tic and accidentally told Mona's old crush a secret she trusted me with... then I said something about her weight."

"Jesus, why don't you kill her dog for a trifecta?"

"No, it's okay. I know he didn't mean it," Ramona said despite being very sad.

Unable to face any of them, Vincent ran away, Robert was deeply embarrassed and felt for this poor girl having to deal with it.

"I'll get him, just wait here and-"

"No, it's okay, I know where he is," Ramona took their paper cups and left the store.

Just as she imagined, Vincent was at the beach, sitting on top of his hands to stop himself from moving and crying as he watched the sea come and go.

"Hey, you forgot your ice cream," Ramona called, sitting down next to him. "Do you need me to feed you?"

"Stop, don't be nice to me, I don't deserve it," he sniffled.

"Vince, don't say that. Of course you deserve it, you deserve the world and I'm not angry, I know you couldn't help it."

"Doesn't matter... I- fuck I hurt you anyway."

"What hurts me is seeing you like this. I love you, you're the only one that matters. Who cares what Matt thinks? You're a way better kisser anyway," she joked.

"Really?" Vincent laughed while he tried to stop crying.

"Really, no comparison!"

And watching that girl console his kid better than he ever could, Robert took a step back to go into the house again. They would be fine on their own... he trusted Ramona and for the first time in a while, he felt relaxed knowing Vincent was being cared for.

Tag List: @seanfalco @salvador-daley @elliethesuperfruitlover @firstpersonnarrator @badsext

#the road within vincent #the road within fanfic #the road within #vincent rhodes #vincent rhodes x oc #fanfic #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan fanfic #exposure therapy

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