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jacevelaryonswife · 11 months ago

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Thoughts about the new professor

The arrival of a new professor triggers inappropriate thoughts in your head.

pairing: Professor!Finan x female reader

warnings: dirty thoughts, mentions of sex and slight angst, english is not my first language.

word count: 2k

Even though he is younger than his co-workers, Professor Finan's curriculum was still impressive and enviable. Graduated in History, with an MA in Regional and Local History at the University of Winchester and PhD in Medieval Studies at the University of Lincoln, he was the darling of the students, the dream’s professor, the best advisor anyone could have, super good looking and all this blah blah blah.

It was also no secret that most of the students had a crush on him, but not a simple crush, a fucking huge crush. You thought that the fame created over the Irish was nothing more than euphoria for fresh meat, since he took on the discipline of medieval history recently, but when more and more praise came about the new eye drop that snatched hearts and soaked panties wherever he went, your curiosity was immediately active. Obviously a hunt for the man's instagram began between you and your girls, surprised when you didn’t find any profile with his name, no measly crumbs that could finally add him a face. Low profile people, puff.

Although the mission was unsuccessful, you knew you would meet him soon in the classroom.

And with that the weeks passed and the finals almost uprooted your sanity, making the subject fall into the background for a long time, which contributed to your surprise by finally seeing the famous Finan in flesh and bones walking casually down the corridor in the company of other teachers.

Oh boy, nothing prepared you for that man.

He was unbelievable. Tall, strong, dark eyes, well-made beard, beautiful hair and a strong accent that sent shivers down your spine.

You felt a sudden need to touch him. Just touch that face or those poorly disguised muscles under the social shirt. That man was too much. You don't know if it was during or after seeing him, but the realization of being in trouble was too strong to be denied. That was a problem and you knew it.

However, you were smart enough to know that nothing would happen for two good reasons: he was a novice and warm romances with hot teachers only happen in fiction. Still, when classes started you competed for a place in the front row with other desperate bitches and almost lost, almost, you were faster. And God be good, that man was a beast! In addition to being fatally handsome, he was a sweetheart, funny in the right measure and gave a deadly class that captured your attention from start to finish. You were totally stunned.

Obviously your friends thought the same, all of you typing eagerly throughout the day about that man.

That man. That man was a fucking bomb.

It was also obvious that you started investigating some things about him, since there was no ring on his fingers. There was a conflict between the sources regarding his current love life, however, a true fact was that Finan divorced his ex-wife a year ago. No, don't feed bullshit in your mind.

Even a little obsessed with your teacher, you continued to exercise the role of a good student over the weeks. Your questions were restricted to true doubts and no other type of intimacy was forced by your part — unlike some classmates. In general, your interactions were only when necessary, nothing more than that, because how can you have doubts if that man taught like no one else? That was really sexy. You wanted to give him a nasty head as soon as the class was over.

The months were indefinite. Sometimes you were totally fixed on everything about your hot professor and the other times you could live normally. Your relationship with him was only for a teacher and a student, your grades were good and he gave you some crumbs outside the classroom, like nods in the corridors and along the fields. Ugh, how could he be such a sweetheart? You were on the threshold between sanity and obsession until the information that Finan was looking for some students for his team reached your ears and pulled out your peace. You needed it. No, you couldn't! You couldn't. But if...

Fuck it, you'd try.

Approaching at the end of the class and informing him of your interest in being guided by him, Professor Finan requested your presence in his room later that day so that the subject could be better discussed. Your body trembled with anticipation and pornographic scenarios bubbled in your mind. Those big hands holding your waist while he fucked you on the table... or holding your hair while you go down on him. The possibilities were endless in your dreams.

Even nervous as hell, you knocked on the door, smelling yourself to know if the perfume was still remarkable. Yes, obviously you tried very hard in your appearance but avoided exaggerations that could compromise your image before him and possible rumors about a (unfortunately) non-existent relationship. For your relief, Professor Finan seemed very favorable to the situation. "I’m not only looking for students with good grades, but commitment to research and the activities developed. I like your resume but I also like your posture in the classroom. I'll explain my expectations for the future and I’d like you to tell me what you also expect."

'What do I expect? I hope to suck this cock until the last drop.' Of course you didn't say that.

And of course you’re not the only one behind the vacancy. Fortunately, luck was your favor on that occasion, as well as your own competence before his analyses — you were almost giggling and kicking your feet.

Yes bitch, that vacancy was yours.

Your work with Professor Finan, The Agile (for the speed in the correction of tests and activities) would start next week and you couldn't wait. How should you dress? More formal? (You wouldn't be able to keep it for a long time). Your clothes were common, some blouses were a little short and valued your body but nothing too bold. What if he thought it was too much? What if he touched your uncovered shoulder to congratulate you on a good job? Those big hands should be warm and comforting on your skin... God, that man was an addiction that you couldn't get rid of.

It was good and almost fun to dream about Finan, especially when you managed to separate fiction from reality. His discipline was a great personal success for you, along with the research you were aligning. It didn't take long for him to become your advisor in the Final Paper and instigate your research instinct for the MA. Yes, he really was the dream professor, the best advisor anyone could have, super good looking and blah blah blah blah. What about his smell? You didn't know if you preferred the fresh or intense woody scent, both were mortally good.

That man was an inaccessible dream.

Until one day things changed.

It was a cloudy day of atypical and heavy work. You had a short deadline to submit an article that still needed considerable revisions and both you and Finan spent the rest of the day in front of the computer. Your view hurt almost unbearably, your belly began to grumble when it was 9 PM.

"Sir, I know we're almost done but I really need to go home, I can't type another letter." You said tired, thinking about the hamburger that you would buy two streets before yours.

"It's okay, I'm stopping for today too."

If you weren't exhausted, that thick voice would have done crazy things in your panties. Your notebook was already in your bag when you said goodbye to him, almost wishing you a good weekend when he offered to leave you at home. "It's already late, I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Oh no, I’ll ask an uber, it's okay!" You contested.

"I insist, please, it's not a big deal."

Heavens.

Even though you were in the comfort of his car to the sound of low and quiet music, you couldn't fully relax. No words were said between you, it was not necessary, the silence was comforting after a day that drained your energies. You just needed a warm bath, a caloric food and a long night's sleep, maybe that's why you didn't notice the man practically standing next to you until he turned to thank him for the ride.

“Professor? Oh God, are you okay? You look pale!" You exclaimed, scared, instinctively touching his forehead to check the temperature. "How do you feel?" You asked at the same time that he said he wasn't even, just 'tired'. "No, you're paler than a paper, are you hungry or thirsty?"

“I'm fine, really.”

"You don't look good!"

“I'm-“

"Mate you're almost fainting, you could have killed both of us!" You snapped. "If you drive now something bad can happen, just... stop for a while and eat something, there's a burger place near and I'm going to order something, you should do the same."

You've never talked to him like that before. It was a little scary at first, but there was no regret in your chest. He just sighed in acceptance. "It's nothing fancy, but the food is good," you said.

"I don't care about that."

Luckily there was no queue in the food truck and James was more agile than usual because of the proximity of rain. You forced Finan to sit on a stool while analyzing him with all your medical ignorance. "What are you feeling?"

“I'm hungry, a little sick, my head hurts and I think I'm sounding cold,” he said, confronting the floor all the time. You've never seen him like that.

"Gosh, you... I don't know what to do to ease this situation," your confession was hopeless, feeling powerless.

"You're doing enough, I appreciate it... truly." He seemed defeated, totally dejected. That couldn't be just a malaise, right?

"Listen... I know our relationship is just professional but if you want to say something, anything, I can hear. Sometimes venting with strangers is quite therapeutic. I promise you this won't leave here, you have my word." The impulse was too strong to be contained.

God, what the fuck did you do? He would never take you seriously. You, younger, his student... How pathetic could it be?

His beautiful brown eyes looked forward, far away, before his eyelids fell and he took a deep breath. “Thank you...” he breathed again, looking healthier, “I really appreciate it,” he wiped his palms, “… Since my marriage ended, I try to occupy my mind so as not to get depressed. The work has helped, but sometimes it seems like I've been in the same place for more than a year. Today is one of those days."

You remained silent while you listened to him carefully.

"Although... I don't feel the same love as before. No, I don't feel it. I just can't understand what happened, we were fine and suddenly everything changed... she didn't love me anymore and decided to leave." Oh gosh, that was terrible.

“I'm so sorry for you,” your hand landed above his on another difficult impulse to contain, in an attempt to comfort him. "I'm really sorry."

"Thank you," he finally looked at you. "Thank you for listening to me."

"You're welcome," you squeezed his hand lightly before abandoning it. "It's cold out here, would you like to go to my place when the food arrives? You can rest a little before driving," your voice dripped with sincere concern.

That was a risky attitude, even if you didn't intend to act stupidly. You hoped that he wouldn’t misunderstand, not as someone who tried to take advantage of a moment of fragility. You weren't that person. That could change the dynamics between you forever, and you were confused about dealing with the consequences of your suggestion, stomach cooling and hands almost sweating with regret.

And then... he accepted.

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note: yeah yeah I know I have to finish after dark BUT this came in my head and I just- I coudn’t ignore it. btww, finally I have a beta reader!! thank you smm @solisarium for helping me with this 🖤💙

taglists:

general: @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @kravitzwhore @partypoison00

for this fic: @gemini-mama

#finan the agile #finan tlk #finan x reader #finan x you #modern!finan x reader #modern finan x reader #modern finan x you #modern #modern tlk #tlk #the last kingdom fic #the last kingdom #modern!finan #mark rowley

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hannahssimblr · 8 months ago

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Epilogue (Final Part)

It’s hours later and we’re still talking. The DJ arrives around ten and cracks the speakers up to ear-ringing heights so we exit to the lobby and stand by the window as the snow falls and the lights from the ten foot Christmas tree twinkle on the glass.

“No, no, stop, I can’t take it anymore,” He shrieks in agony as he grabs my arm, “He said that when he was inside you?”

“Yes! I didn’t know what to say back, like, um, thanks pal?”

“‘You’re so Alpha’” He repeats, deadpan, but his shoulders betray him when they start wobbling again, “‘and I’m just a little-”

“Beta boy, yes. Oh Evie, you intimidate me so much, I’ve always wanted to fuck a girl who scared me.”

“I’m going to die because of this story,” He cries, “I refuse to believe that men like this exist, it’s just too much.”

“There was this other lad too,” I begin, “Not as bad, but he got a nosebleed halfway through and it was dripping all over my face for like fifteen minutes before either of us noticed.”

“No!”

“Yeah, God, I feel bad, I think he was on some blood thinning medication or something but like…” We fall about laughing again, laughing and laughing until I think I’ll start gagging. I remember thinking during that experience that there was only one other person in the world who would find it as hilarious as I did, and as we splutter and cackle now at my retelling I remember how it used to be like this all of the time with us. I think about the time we lost through staying out of touch as he wipes his eyes and stumbles to the side a little bit, from laughing or from drinking a little too much, I’m not sure.

“Women are not like that,” he says, “I’m sorry for you, but they’re not, even the crazy LA ones don’t put me in situations like that.” He steadies himself a little by bracing his arm on the wall, so close that I could count his eyelashes if I wanted to. “I just don’t get it, do you think they get nervous?”

“Nervous around me? I doubt it. Sure what’s there to be nervous of?”

“It’s a lot of pressure, you know, making love to a beautiful woman for the first time. There’s a lot on the line, the chances of humiliation are high, maybe, I don’t know, maybe that guy just blurted the first weird thing that came into his head-” He breaks off because a high pitched laugh has exploded out of him again, “But it’s a flex to say that you’re so hot that you give men nosebleeds.”

“Oh come on, you’re exaggerating.”

“No, for real. Don’t you remember how nervous you made me when we were young? I turned into a total idiot around you.”

“Hardly.”

“It’s true. You were like this stunning princess and I was just some guy.”

I scoff, “Some guy?”

“Yeah, and it’s nice to see that some things never change because you’re still so beautiful and I’m still just a random man off the street.”

“Hmm, c’mon, you’re just schmoozing me,” I say, “Is this the way you all sweet-talk each other in Los Angeles? That’s not going to work. Irish girls are too humble to accept that.”

“Have I made you self-conscious?”

“No, I’m just wondering if you’re actually trying to flirt with me now or if you’re just trying to make me feel better about the fact that I’m thirty and my body is slowly ageing and rotting away.”

“Don’t say that, you look better than ever.”

I narrow my eyes, “I’m so curious about your game.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, how you approach women, how you flirt with them now. What’s your technique? Is it intense flattery?”

He scoffs, “Oh, no, come on, I don’t have a technique, I don’t think about it like that.”

“No?”

“What do you think I am? Some kind of weirdo pick-up artist? No. I… I improvise, it depends on so much, like, where I am, who she is, what I feel like I’m hoping to get from the situation…”

“Okay okay, right. Well what if you were at an event with friends. Say, a wedding…”

He smirks at me.

“…and you see a woman standing on her own by the bar, and you know, she’s pretty mysterious in quite a sexy way, and you’re looking at her and thinking, hmm, yeah, maybe I’d like a piece of that-”

“You think that’s my inner monologue?” He interrupts, “That I think like that?”

“No, shh- shut up for a second, in this scenario you do. And you’re going to go over and talk to her, and you see the perfect opportunity to do it, and the lights from the dancefloor are shining in her hair, and oh, she looks so lonely over there, someone should go and keep her company…’

“I’d say hi, you’re very pretty, can I kiss you please?”

“Really?”

“Yeah t-”

He doesn’t finish because I have grabbed him by the lapels and pressed my lips against his. Maybe it’s for the joke, or because I’m slightly drunk, or maybe it’s to see if it still feels the way that it used to, I don’t know. I don’t really think about it, it’s just happening.

“Oh look, it worked!” I say as we pull away, and I don’t really have a chance to try and read his face to see what he thinks about it because he takes a step towards me and kisses me again, though differently to how I kissed him, gentler, slower, with my head cradled in his hands, which is inconvenient because he makes my insides start flip flopping around. I draw back laughing, “What are you at?”

“We’re kissing now,” he confirms, then frowns, “I think. Aren’t we kissing? Or is this a hallucination?”

“Jude…”

“Don’t you want us to be kissing?”

“Well it’s not that, it’s-”

“Ah, you think it’s dangerous to be kissing.”

“If you keep saying ‘kissing’ it’s going to lose all meaning.”

“What did we call it when we were teenagers? Shiftin’ right? Will you shift me, Evie?”

“Oh my God,” I hold my hand up to his face, “it is illegal for you to put on an accent and say that. I hate that you can still do that.”

“My Irish voice?” he says in his Irish voice.

“Please get that away from me!”

“Sorry about that,” he settles back into his American drawl, and I jerk with surprise as I feel the tips of his fingers graze my waist, “Also, I’m sorry that I kissed you, I thought we were, you know, doing that now.”

“It was a joke… And maybe just a little bit so that I could see if it still felt the same as it used to.”

His eyes tour my face, “Did it?”

“Did it for you?”

The corners of his mouth tick up, “I don’t know, it’s been a long time since I’ve kissed you, and honestly I didn’t get a decent sample, mind if I try it again?”

“Aha! I’ve figured out your game,” I declare, “You put on that silly act you’ve always put on, don’t you?”

He hooks his finger into the strap of my dress before it drops off my shoulder, “Hm? What act is that?”

“Your favourite one. ‘Oh, little old me? I’m so innocent, why I’ve never even held hands before, and I certainly haven’t fucked half of Dublin city. I don’t even know what sex is.’”

He gasps with delight and stares right into my face, “You’re still obsessed!” He cries, “and you haven’t stopped wondering about me!”

“About what, exactly?”

“My body count! After all these years it still tortures you. You’re so shallow…”

“Oh please, I couldn’t care less.”

“Evie,” He says mock-scoldingly, really drawing out the syllables, “I can’t believe it. I told you back then that it didn’t matter, that I didn’t have to tell you if I didn’t want to, but you’ve never let it go to this day. Wow. Wow.”

“I don’t even want to know,” I sniff, “It’s meaningless information to me now.”

“Well since you don’t care and it has no power over you anymore, maybe you finally ought to know…” He glances quickly around the empty lobby before his eyes slide back to mine and he whispers, “that you were the seventh.”

“The seventh?”

“Is that a good-surprise or bad-surprise?”

“Well I thought it’d be so many more.”

He shrugs, “No, I mean there was the first girl in the playground, then a girl who worked in the tennis club at the beach, a girl from my maths class at school, Michelle, someone from my university, Astrid, and then you-” He pauses, “Wait, there was another one. You were eighth. Seventh and a half.”

“And a half? Who did you forget? A centaur?”

He shakes his head, “There was an awkward foursome situation in Berlin once. It’s a long story, really stupid. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Well I’ve never been more curious.”

“I’m a source of a lot of interesting info.”

“Like your current body count?” I tease.

“Oh, now I’m ran-through.”

“Tell me more about your life.”

“We just don’t have the time tonight.”

“What, not now?” I protest, “Not in this perfectly perfect situation when we’re both a little drunk and potentially snowed in for days, when there’s nothing to do but talk to each other?”

“No, see you’ve changed the subject, you’ve got me messed up. I…” He laughs tipsily and sways a little bit closer to me, through accident or otherwise I’m not sure, “…I was thinking about how much I might like to kiss you for a little longer this time, just to see if you still give me that same crazy feeling that I used to get with you, and you distracted me.”

I act like it’s a burden to me and slump back against the wall, “Fine, go ahead.”

“Oh jeez, no need to beg me, you know it’s off putting to be so eager?”

“Please?”

He comes in close and pecks my lips gently and even that makes my knees start to wobble. “No, come on, give me a proper kiss, that’s the only way we’ll know.”

“Still so demanding,” He tilts my chin towards him and angles his mouth over mine while his hands skim up my back and hold my body flush to his. As he strokes his lips over mine I can’t help but curse inwardly because of course this is happening to me, of course it feels like everything I’ve been searching for in the years between then and now, everything I couldn’t find in other people. These are the kinds of kisses that ruined me for other men for years to follow, and he’s ruining me now.

He glides his tongue along my lower lip and builds this kiss to the kind of intensity that shouldn’t be displayed in a public lobby, but he doesn’t care so neither do I. He kisses me until I’m soft and formless in his arms, until I forget the years in between then and now, and then he finally slows it, brushing his lips against mine and then gently drawing away and I find myself following his mouth in search of more, “The same?” He murmurs with his forehead against mine, “Or terrible?”

His hand cradles the back of my head as I sigh and bury my face in his shoulder, “What are we going to do, Jude?”

“You’re going to have to try not to be awkward about it because we might be snowed in for several days.” He says, “If you’ve decided I’m crusty and repulsive, you’re going to have to hide it from me to spare my ego. Either that or I’ll camp out in my room out of humiliation and get my sister to bring my meals to me until I can get the earliest flight to LAX.”

I pause, “so you’re sharing with your sister?”

“Yeah we booked late, so a twin room was all they had left. And she snores like hell.”

“Well that’s a pity because I booked months ago, and got a huge room all to myself. A four poster bed and a big gorgeous bath.”

“Are you bringing that up to make me jealous or is that an invitation?”

I scoff, “an invitation to what, exactly?”

“Come up and fuck you in the bath or something, I don’t know. Why would you bring the bath into it?”

“That’d be fairly shameless of me, wouldn’t it, if that’s what I was alluding to.”

“Is that the kind of woman you’ve become? The kind that invites strange men into her bath?”

“God no, I’d never directly ask that, that’d be very slutty.”

He brushes his fingers gently along the side of my neck, which is unfair because he knows how much I like that, and as I feel that touch all the way down to my toes he gives me a sly little smile and draws back to look at me, “I don’t know, you’ve really talked up this bath and you’ve got me curious. Will you show it to me?”

“You’ve always been so cheeky, did you know that? You ask audacious things of people.”

“Me? Never. That’s just not me, you must be thinking of somebody else. Of one of your other ex-boyfriends.” He grins and saunters casually toward the stairs, glancing over his shoulder at me as he goes, “I actually just remembered that I spilled something on my suit.”

“Did you.”

“Mm, I’m a total mess, I might be drunker than I look. I think I better go and take it off.”

“Doesn’t suit you anyway. You were always better in shorts.”

He pauses for a moment and regards me with one raised eyebrow, a question, and I don’t care that I’m predictable to him, that he already knows I will push myself away from the wall and catch up to him, “Actually you have the right idea, my dress is uncomfortable. I want to change out of it, only I’m not sure I can manage the zip on my own.”

“Oh, I can help you with that,” he says, “Or at least I can try, you know, but fair warning I haven’t ever undressed a woman before.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I smile, as I wind my fingers through his.

THE END

Beginning // Prev

#lucky girl part 3 #it's over!!!#i mean it's been over on WP fro about 3 months but it's nice to have caught up here finally #and on my 30th birthday!#crazy timing tbh #thank you all again for reading along #this project really was so amazing and so special to me #tw: sex mention

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 9 months ago

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Girlie!!!

I just watched “Endings, Beginnings” and…..

FRANK, FRANK

This man *sighs* I-

Gimme a moment *takes a deep breath*

The way Sebastian Stan play Frank astounds me, like the movie (to my touch starved heart) was amazing.

Like Jamie Dornan fucking with that Irish accent of his

AND

THE WAY I SCREAMED WHEN I WAS SEBASTIAN’S ASS (Like I’m seeing this shit for free??🤤🤤🤤)

And there’s this one scene where he drops of Jamie Dornan’s character’s dog at the MFC house and he’s so torn to kiss her, it’s like, the tension was so palpable I could taste it thru my screen.

And they did kiss and I’m like BITCH IM TOO HORNY FOR THISS

And 👆🏽 this scene.

I screamed (remove the ‘s’)

I fucking love Frank😍 Sebastian in Endings Beginnings is so 🥵🤤 I literally couldn’t take my eyes off of him every time he appeared on the screen😍

Don’t get me wrong, Jamie’s character was hot too, but Frank is fucking sexy❤️‍🔥

I was practically drooling when I seen Sebastian’s ass in that sex scene🤤 and let me tell ya, I wish I was the one underneath him and grabbing his ass while he’s fucking me😩 his ass looks so grab-able and squeezable🤭

Can we talk about the scenes of him smoking for a second? Like how does he make smoking look so fucking hot?!🥵 Especially in red lighting!😩 plus he looked cute with that little tiara🥰

Also why is the way he kisses look so damn hot? The way he stuck his tongue out a little when he kissed her🥵 Like sir please kiss me like that😩 I would literally do anything for Sebastian to kiss me like that and I mean ANYTHING

I’m also screaming with the s too🤭

#frank endings beginnings #endings beginnings #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters

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see-arcane · 2 months ago

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I'm trying to put 18-19th century literary vampires into categories, like tragic/tormented, romantic, vengeful, mindless/zombies, seductive, cunning, pure evil/sadistic, obsessive. And sorted into gender and places of origin (mainly German, French, English (incl Irish writers)) to see if there is a pattern for each. Might not find any, but I do want to categorize each vampire regardless.

Might even do one for their lovers and/or targets, too, some are benevolent, some malicious and punished, some terrified and unwilling, some ignorant but willing, one is Jonathan Harker (terrified and unwilling and then fully knowing and willing)

Do you think such a task would be interesting? From the vampires you do know about, have you noticed things like if the tragic/tormented ones outweigh the pure evil ones and so on?

It sounds interesting and handy for the classic vampire lovers out here!

In my experience, the most sympathetic tragic bloodsuckers in that era amount to those in Dracula (Mina and Jonathan as nearly-turned, Lucy and the Dracula crew as euthanized), "Clarimonde" (herself), Carmilla (also herself, though mileage can vary depending on how earnest you think her feelings for Laura really were), and every example in, "The Family of the Vourdalak" (due to the premise that vourdalak vampires are forced to prey exclusively on loved ones). But more often than not, vampire lit of the period had them being evil. And very often being a hot undead lady going after an aghast young man.

Though there are obvious exceptions--the original seductive male vamp and serial killer, Lord Ruthven, of "The Vampyre," and more wicked matronly figures like "Good Lady Ducayne" and "Mrs. Amworth,"--I've run across a surplus of examples where the setup amounts to 'Hot Evil Vampire Babe Seeks Stalwart Youth to Prey On.' Because while the phenomenon hadn't exploded as it would in 20th and 21st century vampire stories, using the undead as desire-based pressure release valves in literature was a good cover for scratching certain non-Victorian-principles-approved itches. As long as the vampire = evil, the vampire could also = seductive. Basically the narrative shorthand for 'oh no I sure hope this powerful bloodsucking dom demon doesn't put me in a trance to drink and/or fuck me into also being an immortal evil sexy bloodsucker ha ha' <- said every guy* behind the typewriter.

*With the exception of "Good Lady Ducayne," written by Mary Elizabeth Braddon, you'll notice all of the aforementioned stories are written by men. You will also notice that "Good Lady Ducayne" is also the only story in which the vampire figure is an old crone and not a voluptuous tempter archetype. I'm sure this means nothing.

#every other vampire lit writer pre-1900s: 'I sure hope no vampire comes out of the mist and bite-fucks me' 👀#dracula #clarimonde #carmilla #the vampyre #the family of the vourdalak #good lady ducayne #mrs. amworth #vampire #literature

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salvador-daley · 2 years ago

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Clone | Part 1

Robert Sheehan x Reader x Female!Robert Sheehan | 🍆🍑👀

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this forever and it just seems like a waste to have it languishing in my WIPs folder, so I’m gonna split it into three (increasingly sexy) parts and give y’all one a week. It’s not strictly RPF - more like original characters based on you-know-who. If you like this chapter, please lemme know coz it’ll motivate me to write the *ahem*… climax.

CW: Smutty but very tame by my standards. Includes numerous health & safety violations at work culminating in a blow-job related accident.

Words: 2.5k

Gif by @circumstellars

THE LAB is quiet. Everyone else went home hours ago. As you raise your head from your microscope, you’re not expecting to feel two soft hands enveloping your eyes. The sensation startles you, but then a gentle Irish voice whispers in your ear, “Guess who?”

“Graham Norton,” you say with confidence.

He lifts his hands from your eyes and pops his head over your shoulder.

“Do I really sound like Graham Norton,” he says, pretending to be offended.

You reach up to your boyfriend’s face with a smile and bring his familiar lips to yours.

“Only sometimes,” you say once your mouths part. “How did you get in here? Didn’t you get stopped by security?”

“What, old man Joe on the door?” he asks, perching on the lab stool next to yours. “Nah, we’re old friends, me and him.”

You give him a questioning look.

“I signed some stuff for his granddaughter,” he says by way of explanation.

You roll your eyes; Joe is such a pushover. Considering the kind of work you’re involved in, one would think your employers would be keen to enforce stricter security protocols.

“It should not be that easy to get in here. This is highly sensitive work,” you say, shaking your head as you carefully pack away your slides.

“What’re you working on, anyway?” he asks, squinting to look down your microscope.

You slip your hand over it, obscuring his view.

“Listen, Irish,” you say, using his preferred nickname, “this is top secret shit, okay? You can’t just come in here and start messing around.”

“C’mon,” he says, flashing you his trademark smile. “I’m just trying to take an interest in my girlfriend’s work.” His hands loop around your waist and he draws you closer. You feel his hot breath on your face as his lips find yours again, kissing away your protestations.

His face comes away and you look into his deep green eyes. Much like old Joe succumbs to his charms with frightening regularity, Irish has on more than one occasion convinced you to bend the rules for him with his formidable powers of persuasion.

This is different though, this could get you into a lot of trouble. The lab might be deserted, but still you look around to check if the coast is clear.

“Okay, if I show you this one thing you have to promise me you won’t say a word to anyone,” you say.

He raises three fingers to his forehead and smiles.

“Scout’s honour,” he replies.

“This is Pedro,” you say, lifting the small white rabbit from its cage and holding it tightly to your body.

“Aw, hey, Pedro!” Irish says, reaching out to pet the shivering creature’s ears. “Is this what you wanted to show me? Because I’ve seen a bunny rabbit before, you know.” He pulls his hand away and lets out an exaggerated gasp, reaching up to his cheeks in simulated shock. “You’re not going to dissect Pedro, are you? You monster!”

You bat him lightly on the arm. “No, don’t be daft, I’m not going to hurt him,” you say, carrying the small animal to the other side of the lab. “We’re just going to do a little experiment, aren’t we, Pedro?” you add, murmuring into the rabbit’s soft fur.

You lead Irish and the rabbit to the end of the lab, where two large Perspex cylindrical booths reach from the floor to the ceiling. A short series of satisfying pips accompanies your fingers on the keypad belonging to the left booth, the curved wall of which rolls open, allowing you to carefully place Pedro on the floor inside. A few seconds, the door slides closed automatically and you move to the large dual computer monitors at a nearby desk, tapping away at the keyboard.

“If you’re going to make him disappear, wouldn’t it be easier to use a big top hat?” Irish quips.

“Shush, I’m concentrating,” you admonish him. Finally, and with a flourish, you hit the Enter key.

“Cloning sequence initialised,” says a computerised voice, followed by a flurry of electronic whirring sounds that echo around the empty lab.

Irish’s eyes search for the source of the noise before settling eventually at the end of the lab. Slowly, both cylinders begin to fill with neon green smoke until the rabbit has disappeared completely beneath the heavy fog.

“Pedro!” he cries. “You fucking gassed him!”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” you assure him.

He steps forward and presses his hands against the Perspex tube, his face illuminated by the bright green mist.

“This is mental,” he whispers, watching as the coloured gas swirls inside the cylinder, before finally being sucked into a vent at the top.

“Subject discharged,” says the computerised voice and the door of the left cylinder rolls open again, a puff of the remaining gas escaping into the lab. Unmoved, Pedro hops out and you scoop him up, placing him on the desk.

“See?” you say, indicating to the rabbit. “He’s totally fine.”

Irish reaches out to pet him and Pedro’s tiny nose twitches with excitement.

“Hey buddy,” Irish whispers.

Now the gas begins to clear from the right cylinder. You both turn to watch as the cloud of green smoke shoots up into the vent.

“Cloning sequence complete,” says the computerised voice.

The door to the right cylinder rolls open and you crouch down to reach inside, pulling out another small, white rabbit.

Irish’s jaw falls open as you stand, bringing the animal over to the desk.

“This,” you say, allowing the two rabbits to make their introductions, “is Petra.”

“What the fu-” Irish says under his breath.

“She’s identical to Pedro in every way. Well, every way but one, obviously. All of the clones have come out female so far. We’re still working out some of the design kinks.”

“You invented a fucking cloning machine?” he says, the magnitude of what he’s just witnessed finally dawning on him.

You shrug: “Well, I helped.”

He crouches down until his head is level with the desk, watching with fascination as the two rabbits sniff each other with curiosity.

Pedro hops around the desk, then approaches Petra from behind, mounting her without hesitation and beginning to rut with a certain level of determination.

Irish gives out a high-pitched laugh: “Ha! They seem to like each other.”

“Oh,” you chuckle, “yeah, they do that sometimes.” You lift Pedro off his female counterpart and place him back down on the desk. “Horny little buggers.”

“Gives me an idea,” he says, rising and turning to you with a familiar look in his eyes.

“Here?” you ask, incredulous.

“Yeah,” he says, wrapping his hands around your ass and drawing you closer. “All this clever clogs stuff really turns me on,” he growls, biting his bottom lip.

You put up a weak protest as his mouth begins to travel around your neck. “Someone might come in…”

“No one’s gonna come in, there’s no one here,” he says, his lips dotting the space behind your ear with persuasive little kisses.

You let out a gentle sigh, signalling your assent. You know it’s risky to fool around in the lab, but you have to admit it’s been a long-time fantasy of yours. Besides, you always let him have his own way in the end - he’s just too damn hard to resist.

“Mmmn… you smell so good,” he murmurs into your neck, his voice melting any lasting trace of resistance on your part.

You run your hands underneath his tank top and press his body to yours, feeling his warmth envelop you.

His lips are on yours now, his tongue teasing your mouth open as his hands move under your clothes.

You start to remove your long white lab coat, but he stops you, tugging it back over your shoulders.

“No, no, leave the lab coat on,” he whispers with a smile, “it’s sexy.”

Now he’s pressing his hands into your flesh over your clothes, drawing you closer as his lips move to your ear.

“Your big fucking brain turns me on so much,” he says, nibbling the side of your neck. “I just want to bend you over one of these lab benches and fuck you senseless.”

As fun as that sounds, you have other ideas. Pulling away from him, you lift his tank top over his head and his fluffy curls bounce around his ears as you drop the garment to the floor. He grins that irresistible grin at you - the one that sparks something raw and animalistic inside you. Feeling bold, you press your palms into his chest, pushing him up against one of the cylinders.

“There’ll be time for that,” you say, allowing him to feel your breath on his face before your lips seek him out again.

He moans into your kiss, his breaths becoming short and staggered as your hands find his belt buckle. You tug on his fly and reach inside for his cock, feeling him already straining against the thin material of his underwear.

His eyes close and he presses his head against the curved Perspex as you palm him, rolling him between your lightly tented fingers.

He exhales one long, jagged breath: “Oh, you’re teasing me,” he complains with clenched eyes, his voice straining under your feathery touch.

You love to watch him like this, each stroke of your hand releasing more whispered pleas from his lips.

Now you’re tracing tiny kisses down the length of his body, dragging his clothes off as you go. You pull his trousers down to his ankles and he shakes his feet out of them, kicking his flip flops off at the same time.

Kneeling in front of him, you grab his naked ass and pull him towards your face, rolling circles around him with your tongue.

“Ah, please, please,” he begs under his breath.

He whimpers as you finally take him into your mouth, pushing his hips against the curved plastic wall behind him.

Slowly, indulgently, your mouth moves over him, pulling him towards you with two firm hands clasped around his ass.

As your lips reach the light scattering of hair at the base, he releases a heavy exhale, the air leaving his lungs in one, long relieved chuckle. You cast your eyes up to meet his and he reaches down to stroke your hair, a delighted smile on his face.

“You look so good like that,” he says, moving his hips in a tentative rhythm.

You start to pick up speed, swirling your tongue around his length with each bob of your head until his back is pressed against the booth, his breathing coming now in short, anguished gasps.

Before long, you’re diving on him, aided by your hand, sucking and slurping, drooling and gagging. He begins to thrust his hips into your face and you sense he’s getting close.

Approaching the edge, his legs begin to buckle and he reaches behind him to steady himself, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on whatever they can find.

As his moans of encouragement ring around the lab, you hear a short series of satisfying pips.

His cock pops from your mouth and you look up at him. “What was that noise, was that the keypad?” you ask.

“Huh? What?” he says, looking down at you over his heaving chest, unable to hide his displeasure that you’ve suddenly stopped sucking his dick at the crucial juncture.

At that moment, the cylinder door rolls open and he topples asslong inside the tube, smacking his curly head hard against the inside wall and landing in a naked heap on the floor.

“Irish!” you call out, scrambling to your feet.

Before you can react, the cylinder door has closed around his unconscious body, trapping him inside.

“Irish!” you call again, hammering on the cylinder to wake him up, but he’s out cold.

Your fingers are frantic, hammering on the keypad, but in your panic you hit the wrong buttons and the machine beeps at you in stubborn refusal.

You race around to the desk, but you’re a split second too late. You watch as Pedro does a slow-motion bounce across the keyboard, giving the Enter key a firm smack with his furry foot as he leaps out of your way.

“Cloning sequence initialised,” says the computerised voice.

“No!” you cry. “No, no, no, no!”

Your shaking fingers bash uselessly at the keys, trying to find a way to stop the sequence, but you know it’s futile - there’s nothing you can do at this point.

“Shit. Shitshitshit.”

You watch as the cloud of neon green gas begins to curl around Irish’s body and you run back to the cylinder, crouching down as he disappears beneath the lurid fog.

“Irish! Irish, wake up! Irish!” you shout, still banging on the Perspex as his bodily form sinks beneath the gas.

“Oh God, ohgodohgod,” you say in quiet panic, pressing your palms and forehead to the tube as it fills until you can no longer make out his form beneath the fog. After what feels like an age, you hear the familiar sound of the vent springing to life, sucking the neon mist off his body.

“Subject discharged,” says the computer as the door swings open.

You crawl inside, choking on the remaining gas as you lean over his crumpled, lifeless form.

“Irish, Irish, baby, wake up,” you plead, cradling his head and slapping him on the cheeks.

His pretty green eyes blink open and he grimaces as he comes to, a hand seeking out the back of his skull.

“Ow. Fuck, my head!” he manages, wincing.

“Oh, thank God. I thought you were dead.”

“No, I’m fine,” he says, struggling to sit up. “Just a bump on the head is all, I’ll live.”

You reach around his head to feel for lumps inside his soft curly hair. He’s not bleeding, but he’s clearly dazed.

“Maybe we should take you to the emergency room, just in case. You could have a concussion,” you say, fussing over him.

“No, seriously, I’m fine, I’m fi-”

“Cloning sequence complete,” interrupts the computer, the synthetic voice bouncing around the lab.

He freezes and looks at you, his eyes wide.

“It only works on rabbits, right?” he asks.

You shake your head, terror visible in your face. “We’ve only ever tested it on rabbits,” you squeak, unable to hide the panic in your voice.

You lift him to his feet and emerge from the cylinder just as the door to the other tube rolls open, releasing a light gasp of green gas into the lab.

You both stand there, your mouths open, as one long leg emerges from the vestibule, then another, followed by a slender figure. Your eyes take in the tall torso, the narrow hips, the slim waist, the small, perfectly formed breasts, the head of long, chocolate-coloured ringlets and then, finally, those unmistakable green eyes.

“Oh, fuck. Irish, what did we fucking do?”

Check back in this time next week for Part 2. And if you enjoyed this, please give it a little reblog. Go on, the button is right there… 😘😘

If you’ve been tagged it’s probably because you asked to be a long time ago. If you don’t wanna be tagged in future updates, just send me a DM: @iamsexytrash @pickledbeefwastaken @m0onlitmadness @blog-kyku-us @super-unpredictable98 @love-is-dirty-baby @maerenee930 @simplymesam99 @sheehaniphilia @rob-private @rina-cydonia @icarusklaus @nostalgiawings @orangepear18 @p0tat0nug @21stcenturywitchcraft @ssanjuniperoo @the-freckled-luba @motherofanimals @archivemysins @faceache111 @lezzy-4 @firstpersonnarrator @inspiremeandsetmefree @sands7 @granddeaneaglesports @hanatashii @one-dizzydreamer @itscarolsainz @septicrebel @zombiedixon89 @amanda-hotchner @spaceclone-mom @readersinflammation @jender123 @juicyj28 @badsext @bunybordelaux @vomkimmeren @shaneen828 @klausmikaelsonswolf @kittenqueen04 @itsophiebby @itsjustmylifeconfessions @mypsychoticlove @jizzmans-world @thislovelylife

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makriiii · 5 months ago

Text

A kinship, of sorts. (Frank Heck × freader)

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: As a member of the O’Driscoll's, the handy work for Colm led you places far and wide, which thereby led to meeting folks on a spectrum far and wide. As it was now, you found yourself having to choose between the life you wanted with the man you desired or escaping the life that chose you.

Authors note: This was initially a oneshot idea, which spiraled :') it's also so hard to find pictures of this man

Warnings: 18+, cursing, guns, nothing too bad yet..

Tags: Slight slow burn, found family, eventual smutt.

♡

(You can skip this if you'd like.)

This is something I've been thinking about writing for a while after I saw an old painting that gave me the idea.

I also decided I'd incorporate that plot into this Frank Heck fanfic I wanted to write, since I've never seen anyone write a fanfic about him (cries)

For those who don't know, he's a deleted character, but you'll see him on the collectable gunslinger cards in game. I think he's sexy hot and cool so therefore I will write down my fantasies about him🤑

Anywho, because he is a deleted character, and 1911 Jack only gives a short story about him, I believe he is open for a lot of interpretation.

So, I wanted to base heavily him off of Doc Holliday, of whom I also believe to be a certified sexy master, plus he respects women so I'm like aguhhh 😫 however Doc Holliday has an intellect and wit on a level I could only hope to match, but I will do my best :)

This is also something you could take to be part of y/n's backstory in caught. If you'd like it to be cannon or not cannon to the caught story, that's up to you since I didn't write anything about it in caught. I like to keep y/n's character open as much as possible, so you guys never feel alienated from any backstory elements of my own choosing.

But enough from me, read my story 😈

♡

"For the last time," grunted your fellow O'Driscoll, his tone serious compared to the two that chuckled lightly beside him as you rode up. "Get out of here kid, we got no business with you."

You raised a brow as you got off your horse to see what the commotion was about with your gang members and this... random kid.

He nearly buckled at the knees, his hands together in prayer. "But why can't I?" He begs, hoping his words would strike a chord. "I know how to shoot and steal! I can help you guys."

The boy, average in height and a bit unkempt, looked to be about fourteen or fifteen as he pleaded at the feet of Cormac. A gruff and often stern Irish man, not the one you'd go asking for things of this nature.

"You want to join us?" You question with a disbelieiving smirk. "What on God's green earth for?"

"Finally!" His sputtering siezed as he whipped around to meet your face, the one who let him speak his mind. Though you could tell he instantly questioned you due to your gender. "You ride with them?"

If the iron at your sides didn't make it obvious, you weren't sure what else would. "Sometimes I wish I didn't." You tried making it sound displeasurable, as he seemed to be one of the young men who liked the ideal of being an outlaw.

"Oh, please miss!" Now his badgering was directed solely towards you, but not before Cormac ruffled his hair harshly and pushed him aside.

He and your other two buddies scoffed in disbelief at the kids incessant pleading and started heading off, ushering you with them. "Colm wants this done today, don't waste your time on him."

You nodded, giving the kid one last glance before following them off the veranda.

Before you knew it, you felt your shirt being tugged at from behind, a desperate attempt and a ballsy show of determination.

You were quick to turn around and glare at the boys unduly behavior. "Now is that the best way to ask something of someone?" You question harshly, fixing your shirt.

Your buddies hadn't noticed your absence behind them, as they kept on in their direction, leaving you and this boy to conversate without interruption.

"You're the only one who seems to listen, so please hear me out, would ya?" His gaze turned soft and mushy, like you had just stolen and sucked down his candy. Tears were in the forecast if you weren't mistaken and here you were, feeling somewhat bad for him.

Glancing back once more, you finally engaged him fully. "Whats your name, boy?"

"Nathaniel. Nathaniel Clarke, ma'am." His voice shaky but hopeful.

"And where are your parents, Nathaniel?" That question seemed to shake him up more, though he didn't let it show for long. You could tell he wanted to be tough.

"Dead, Miss." His hazel eyes fixed on the ground as he dug his heel into the warped wood below him. "Doctor said he couldn't do nothin' for 'em."

"And this is the life you think they would've wanted you to turn to?"

Once again, no eye contact as he hesitated.

"I reckon not."

You huffed out a great deal of your guilt that was slowly building with each question. "Then take my advice and find yourself honest work. This ain't some rough and tumble fun, it's your life. Go find some cattle ranching work, somethin' or rather."

Breaking his eye contact with the ground, he finally met your eye. Searching for any semblance that you might change your mind. But now it seemed you'd finally broken and tamed the boy.

"I-" he mutters, perhaps now rethinking his decision. You gave him a bit of patience before checking behind you again, the rest of the boys nearly out of sight behind a building.

"Listen, kid, you wait here and think about it. If you're here when I get back, I'll consider it." You caved. Unwillingly, but you caved nonetheless. You saw in him yourself, and that did you in.

He shot up like a rocket and nodded, more than elated with that prospect.

"Okay!" He pumps his fist with victory and immediately situates himself on a bench no more than a few feet away. "I promise I'll be here when you're done."

The fire in his eyes and the excitement nearly made you smile, it was contagious, yet you knew what taking a path like yours would entail.

You turned and picked up your pace to catch up with the rest of the men, the walk giving you time to reflect.

As happy as he was, you could not share the sentiment for long. You debated wether you should come back at all. You didn't want this for a boy like him, his whole life still open as a plain. Not narrowed or dimmed to a single path of stone.

All you could do was hope he would find himself something better to do. Yet, the thought remained, if he didn't - would he find a different, possibly worse person to beg, one that would accept?

You felt responsible for a kid you had just now met, worried for his well being.

---

The town lay quiet and dim, only noises from the saloon sounded throughout the place. Fog had picked up and it was no doubt late.

You, Cormac, Conor and Willis were all far from home - or atleast the area that you were better familiar with. You were in Blackwater, the up and coming city where leads were plentiful.

"Whats the time, Cormac?" You asked, fighting off a yawn as you trudged through the slightly damp dirt below.

"Quarter to one." He responds, his voice heavy with exhaustion. The lot of you had just gotten done with an array of things. Gambling, negotiating and sorting some... 'pal's' of yours out. "We oughta get back soon to Valentine."

"Lest we want Colm to have our balls for it." Willis starts giggling while gesturing to his lower parts, which riles up Conor.

You couldn't believe the four of you were the ones Colm entrusted his most important work to. Perhaps Cormac and you, but Conor and Willis were just the two you babysat together.

Both of them had their humor, some of which you found funny, but not on this particular night. Cormac neither, though a bit harsh, he was calmer like yourself, leading to a better partnership between the two of you.

"No one unpaid would willingly take a look at those, but perhaps you'd both quiet down without them." You chime mockingly, rubbing your tired eyes. Not often did you stay up so late due to the trade off of getting up early.

Cormac stayed quiet, but you could tell he enjoyed your retort.

"We'd pay you to nab our balls! Itd be much more enjoyable than Colm doing it." Blurts Conor, getting quite the rise out of Willis. Their accents making them sound ever so silly.

Your horse was further away from where they had tied theirs, thankfully, leaving you guys to split not long after Conor and Willis's joking.

Cormac shoved Conor and Willis away toward their horses for you and nodded your way as you separated.

"I won't be coming back tonight to camp, I have business elsewhere, Cormac."

"That's fine. But Colm'll want you back in Valentine in due time." He replies, arranging himself to get up on his horse. "I'll tell him."

"Aw, don't tell us you're leaving again, y/n!" Willis pouts, whether he was serious or not you'd never tell. "She's goin' off to cheat on us again."

"With that Mr. High and Mighty?" Conor fires, annoyed in your choice of men.

"Who else you think? Dunderhead."

Conor slaps his friends shoulder, glaring. "Colm's gonna get fed up with your eloping soon, y/n."

"What can't two fine lads such as ourselves offer that he can?"

"Precisely. " Conor agrees, "two for one deal."

You sighed, they were cleaning your ears right off with all their badgering. "You both have a face only a mother could love."

"Ahh," Conor hissed out, "let me show you what a real man can do."

"Yeah and what about you taking a look at our-" Slapped upside the head by Cormac, he finally relented, a muffled snicker coming from him and Willis.

"Good riddans, you bothersome bastards." You couldn't help but laugh after all their talk, only to get shut down by Cormac.

You thanked him and made your way back to your horse. As you put away your earnings, aloof and in a rather good mood despite the fatigue, you heard soft snores.

You listened for a second, confused on whether you were hearing things or if someone was laid out sleeping close by. A drunkard probably.

When you peeked around your horse through the dark, on the bench, the realization slapped you in the face.

There was that Clarke boy. Asleep but stationed right where he promised he'd be.

Observing him for a short while, you thought on it again. The option of just leaving still available.

He slept peacefully. His hat over his face and his pistol hidden by his grasp on it.

It crushed you - the decision that was to be made. He had waited all day for you to come back. His determination from earlier evident, no lack of it at all.

Hesitating, you finally walked back up the steps and sat beside him.

It was quiet out, peaceful, despite the ambiance of the saloon.

You thought of what to say, of what his life would be like with the gang, with the O’Driscolls. You may ride with them but you didn't think them good. But that's why you rode with them, you weren't neither.

With a light shake on his shoulder, he jolted up, which took you by slight surprise as well.

He fixed his hat quickly and shakes himself out of his drowsy state. "You see? I waited!"

"So is evident." You couldn't help but smile at his excitement, but still the guilt ate at you. "I'll let you ride with me for a bit, but then, we are finding you a proper place of employment."

"You mean it, really?" He questions, his face serious but excited.

"I do." You got up, returning to your horse, the Clarke boy scrambling up behind you. "But only for a bit, you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am!" He stands to a salute instantly, demonstrating his understanding.

You unraveled your horses reins, rubbing her face lovingly before she kindly snorted all over you. Thanking her sarcastically, you looked over to the boy who still stood with proper posture.

Giving him a look, he questioned you back, unsure of what you were getting at.

"Your horse, boy, where's that at?"

He considered you for a moment, standing perfectly still before looking beside you and pointing at one of the critters tied up by the saloon.

Now you both stood there staring at eachother. Him, an innocent, mindless stare, and you, one that saw right passed it.

"So, you don't have one yet."

"Is there really any harm in taking from the bastards here?" He reasons, taking a stroll over there to examine his choices. "I'll take one who's ill-taken care of. It'll be like a good deed, no?"

"I aint got much of a problem with it, I suppose. Just don't get caught."

After you mounted, he had chosen his steed. A deep bay, not much bigger than your average quarter horse. A stallion, as it looked to be, was ribby and a bit weak looking. Under fed at best.

"You sure?" You affirmed, examining the horse and the Clarke boy.

"I'm sure. I like this one." He jumps on quickly, scanning behind him making sure the owner wasn't happening out of the bar.

"Right." You nod, kicking your horse into action, following the road out of Blackwater. "We got a long way to go."

You had heard rumors of another gang around these parts as of recent. Van Der Linde's gang. You knew of them, but hadn't run into them as of yet, and planned on keeping it that way. Especially now that you had this boy to keep alive.

Colm had always wanted you off anything that could potentially involve them. You were valuable with what you could perform and Colm wanted you to have no dealings with them.

"Where you takin' us?" The Clarke boy questions, no undertone of worry in his voice at the fact that he was leaving with a stranger. An outlaw at that.

"South." You relay after checking your small, brass compass. "Seein' a buddy of mine."

His new horse seemed to be having a bit of fit, perhaps due to the fact it was unsure of who was now on his back. The young boy seemingly more than capable to handle the tantrum.

His hands remained loose on the reins, patting the stallions neck, soothing him best he could.

Atleast the he had a handle on horses, you weren't sure about what else he had for skills, but you were sure to find out in time.

"Who's the buddy?" He questions, he wasn't afriad of asking too many questions.

You gave him a thoughtful look before deciding wether to tell him or not, though seeing as he would be meeting him soon enough, you let it be known. "Frank Heck."

"Frank Heck!" He repeats in a loud burst, completely focused in on you now. "You know the Frank Heck? The gunslinger?"

It was this particular reaction that had you afore contemplating. "I suppose so."

"How'd- how? You actually know him? The gunslinger Frank Heck!"

You sighed out deeply, leaving your reins loose to run your hands through your hair. You definitely were to have a case of hat head, bad at that.

"I mean!" He's positively gobsmacked. "I read stories about him, he's famous!"

"Why, yes he is. He's somethin'."

"I get to meet him? Really?"

"You do. Don't worry." You were tired, and unable to understand how he had so much energy at such a late time in the night.

You just needed to find a place that was safe enough for the both of you till morning.

-----

It didn't take long for you to realize that, your drowsy state from last night had your judgment lacking. Heavily.

You didn't have nearly enough supplies to get you to New Austin with the Clarke boy in tow.

It was enough to get you by - barely, but you'd both be sun baked human jerkies before getting all the way to Armadillo.

The sun just barely greeted the land around as you sat with the company of the crackling fire you had just revived.

Your horses snorted every so often, grazing on what little half dead grass there was around the edges of the plains. Your horse and Clarke's new ride got along well, which made things a bit better.

That boy was still sleeping soundly, on what looks to be rather uncomfortable. A saddle and dirt, but he made do. His mouth wide open, drooling on his saddle.

So far, you didn't mind the company, albeit the company did have quite a lot to say.

Mousing away from Colm and the rest of your gang was something you liked to indulge in as often as possible. Colm didn't like it so much at first, but eventually came to allow it once you did for him decent work.

Now on your mind was Frank. What has he been up to during the time you'd been away from eachother?

When you'd met him, you saw him as nothing more than the typical law hating gunslinger who dressed well enough to be gawked over. One who gambled with more than just money.

And now he offered you a way to spend your time that wasn't either traversing alone or traversing with O'Driscoll's.

While some of the men, like Cormac, were decent enough company, you didn't actively prefer their company.

Frank interested you and you, him.

When you had left, you mentioned you had business to attend to in Armadillo. He found himself relating, mentioning that he'd wait for you there.

You weren't entirely sure what would compell him to stay in a town like that, with the lives there being amongst the lowest you could come across.

Criminals of all kinds crawled about the place like fire ants to a hive, their presence easily detected by the pandemonium they caused. The Del Lobos also made their appearance quite often, the stars of the show. The scarlet fever outbreak helped none either.

"Aghh." Groaned the sleepy Clarke boy from behind you, effectively spooking you out of your thoughts.

He started coughing and spitting quite suddenly, for whatever reason for, was beyond you.

"Damn bug in my mouth!" Wiping his tongue off throughly.

"Put that in there for breakfast" You teased, pushing yourself up from the ground. "Figured you were hungry by the way your mouth was hangin' open."

"Did you really?" He gasps, staring down at the grasshopper who'd trespassed, crippled on the ground, twitching.

"I told you. Gang life isn't what you expected."

"You feed eachother grasshoppers whilst asleep?"

Teasing the boy was certainly something fun to do.

"It's how we care for eachother when food is sparse."

He watched you closely, trying to glean any deception on your face. "You're fibbin', I aint never read that in any of my books."

"Well, your first mistake is trusting those silly books. You usher him up with a gesture, to which he promptly obeys. "Your second is trusting a stranger."

"So you were fibbin'!"

"I might actually next time."

"I needn't that, Miss, dont worry." He was quick to relieve you of any such duties. "Hey, wait.."

You gave him a glance of acknowledgement, then continued packing your horse.

"What is your name anyway? You never did tell me." His curious nature reminded both yourself and him, that you'd never given him your name.

"Y/n L/n. You ain't oughta keep callin' me Miss, though." You answered, mounting your horse, now just waiting for Clarke.

"Payin' respect where respects due, Miss y/n." Nathaniel explained, "you were kind to me and took me in."

He watched the floor as he spoke, a long on him you couldn't quite place.

"Get on your horse, Clarke. I'm gonna tell you a story."

His was quick for his horse once you told him that. By the recollection of his books, stories were something that interested him.

"I'm all ears!" He chirps, his stallion quick to be by your horses side.

You click your horse forward to resume the direction you'd been traveling the night previous. "When I was younger, I wasn't so dissimilar to you. A bit older perhaps when I met someone who took me in."

He listened in intently, almost leaning out of his saddle for the rest that was to come.

"He was kind, at times, he gave me what I needed, clothed me, fed me... I'm here now because of it. But as it were, the man he seemed to be, was only ever temporary." Your speech drawed out at times as you recounted the earlier days of being with Colm O'Driscoll.

"I can't say he changed - that's who he always was. When I realized, I had already done myself in." You left the details bleak, the story flesh gapped, you didn't find yourself enjoying the retelling. "He did various things to me I wasn't fond of, but I did whats needed, and now I get off lightly at times. Like now."

"You can't just leave?" Nathaniel whispers, his voice at a lowest record volume.

"I try. Only ever temporary." You did your utmost to drive the point home that gang life was truly not something to be actively searching out for. "I do what I do for that gang, I have no choice, and I ain't want you nailed to the same chain."

He seemed to have a bit more understanding now, fiddling with his stallions hair as he pondered the words of warning.

You gave him his time to contemplate, shaking off the rest of the memories and regret that left your conscience heavy.

"Then what else is there for me to do? To live for?"

It hit you like a stream train. You quite honestly had nothing to say for a minute.

"My ma was a waitress, my pa, a retired Sheriff. They did their best with what we had but.." he hesitates, peering off into the cactus covered horizon. "It didn't last. So I had to figure something else out. Just, I don't know what now."

"You think bein' an outlaw is the only way?" You were light with any judgement.

"I think it'd give me something to do. I can get money, go west. That's where everyone keeps talkin' bout anyway."

The west. The golden west. That was the land of opportunity. A better path for the boy, no doubt, but the way he desired to aquire it, wasn't right.

"Keep yourself straight, kid. It wouldn't give you anything worth while to do."

---

Nathaniel was perfectly described as near ghastly, the time under the sun certainly showing it's toll on him now.

Just in the distance was the dim lights of Armadillo. It was comforting, in the sense that there was to be some sort of food and water. But the company on the other hand...

His eyes were shut, leaning back in his saddle, blind trust in both you and your horse. You gave him a pat on the shoulder, alerting him to the sight ahead.

"We're 'bout near our destination. You are aware of Armadillos reputation, right?"

"I read about it in the newspapers. It sounds exciting." Nathaniel announced proudly, as if this place was a party.

"Exciting?" You fret, unsure of just what exactly these books he'd been reading had been telling him. "Just stay close to me, and don't speak to anyone. I mean it."

"Whatever you say, Miss y/n. I swear to you."

Upon your arrival in town, the place wasn't nearly as quiet as Blackwater. Some occasional yelling, people of many various bearings spread about the desolate town.

You eyed Nathaniel, making sure he stayed close. Constantly scanning for anything that'd bring either of you harm, but also for a Frank.

"I'm so hungry.." He grumbles, rubbing his stomach as you dismounted and tied your horses.

"Me too, my boy, me too." You agree, your spurs jingling as you stepped up the stairs. "This place has food, but dont get too roused."

"You'll get me something?" He swiftly stomped up the stairs behind you and into the saloon to keep close.

"Well, seeing as you didn't like breakfast."

He snorts out a little snicker, taking a seat at the bar next to you. You could tell he was uncomfortable, his initial impression of the place hadn't come 'round like he wished.

The people of Armadillo gave you lot stares. The two of you sticking out particularly sorely.

You let him pick out what he wanted from the very sparse choices the bartender offered, ordering after him yourself a drink.

"Whats that stuff taste like anyway?" Nathaniel wondered aloud, his face getting much too close to your glass than it should be.

You flicked his hat up, having him scramble to keep it from flying off. "Like something you shouldn't be drinking-"

Two men interrupted your banter, Nathaniel's staunch attention now directed towards them.

"Hey, little lady." The man, rugged as a bear, leaning against the counter, stared a burning hole through you.

"She got a little boy here." Scoffs evily his partner, sure to add the observation.

"You aint from here, are you, amiga?" His voice heavy with a Spanish accent. You knew exactly what occupation he held by the gun belts adorning his chest.

You stayed quiet, observing him intently. You didn't want any trouble, especially not with Nathaniel in tow. He was thankfully keeping your rule in mind.

Their chuckles were sinister and breathy as they surveyed you and Nathaniel. They weren't out to make friends, hopefully not to kill either, but to intimidate.

The first Del Lobo raised his hand to touch your green scarf. Rubbing it between his fingers as he inspected it.

You'd forgotten to take the damn thing off, preoccupied with watching over Nathaniel.

His eyes met with yours as he stood over you menacingly, raising your chin up with his dirt smudged finger.

"Hey!" Nathaniel barks out his opposition, coming to a stand, his hand now resting on his revolver. "Don't you be touchin' her."

You sat him right back down, the two men reveling with the reaction they could get out of him.

"Keep your boy in check, eh? 'Fore he gets himself hurt." Hummed the first man, a sickly satisfied look in his dark eye. "You're an O’Driscoll, we dealt with ya before."

"Sure you understand we aint like visitors." Crowed the next, shorter and skinnier, yet just about as threatening.

"Why, surely that's not who I believe it to be." Came yet another voice, one soothing, a familiar silvery voice.

His hands laid themselves on your shoulders, a scent you could pick out anywhere quickly filling your nose. "My darlin', y/n!"

There was Frank. A sweet talker at times.

Nathaniel's eyes lit up as he saw the, well, in book terms, a legendary gunslinger, acting particularly comfy with you and nonetheless aloof as described in the texts. His whole body siezed with the whole situation, overwhelmed and not sure what he was to do with himself.

"Hello Frank," you greeted warmly, side eyeing the two men who seemed slighted by the abrupt arrival of this man. "I was beginning to wonder if we'd ever see you." You turn to embrace the man you thought of ever so fondly since you'd met him.

"Oh, I'd never mean to keep you waiting." he promptly apologized, "Now, what is it we arrange for you mannerly individuals?"

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr #gunslinger #western #frank heck #red dead redemption arthur #red dead redemption two #slow burn #john marston #colm o'driscoll #y/n #rdr x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead fanfic #dutch van der linde #found family #friends to lovers

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missyourflight · 5 months ago

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some stuff i read and watched in june:

interview with the vampire (s2): very fun to have a fandom to feel wild about week to week again! blessed to have a show where every character is a hot beautiful queer vampire and they're all in love and do terrible things to each other! thankful to have an outlet in my irl friend who's been a lestat girly gn for decades! i read hardly any books or saw any films this month bc i was reading thousands and thousands of words of armand/daniel fanfiction instead!

hit man: liked this a lot but didn't quite love it, glen powell very fun and charming, delightful to see sexy leads with chemistry, austin amelio from everybody wants some!!

snack shack: gabriel labelle yr a star etc, never say no to a bit of nineties nostalgia

the bikeriders: very romantic!

the caine mutiny court martial: i already saw the friedkin one from last year, obviously this is the altman one from the eighties for eric bogosian reasons lol (see above re: iwtv spiral etc). pretty good and very theatrical! baby peter gallagher also there as the opposing counsel! eric bogosian very good at talking and not very convincing navally which is part of the point!

now, conjurers by freddie kölsch: really don't read much ya these days but this was fucking excellent, the last part in particular was so well built and epic and scary and sad and romantic. teen witches with a dead friend! excellent!

private rites by julia armfield: julia is my friend and i love her and she is just stunningly wildly talented! king lear's queer daughters in an apocalyptically flooded world! bad families! romance! cults! water! fisting! she can do it all!!

experienced by kate young: i love a romance set in a british city outside london, this one is about bristol lesbians and it does that tremendously satisfying romance novel thing where the person you want to be the actual love interest does in fact turn out to be the actual love interest

the vampire lestat by anne rice: very fun to do on audio, excited to see sam reid do some of this stuff in s3, because i'm me i was grasping all the horrible gremlin armand content with both hands

the green road by anne enright: read this book about a county clare family reunion while i was in county clare for a family wedding, i have a somewhat slippery relationship with my irishness but i love the west coast and the crashing atlantic specificity of this book, also the new york chapter is a marvel

#monthly media #sophposting

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denimbex1986 · 4 months ago

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'Even for an actor as skilled as Andrew Scott, playing a character as infamous as Tom Ripley poses a serious creative challenge. Since the release of Patricia Highsmith’s now canonical 1955 novel The Talented Mr. Ripley, the elusive, murderous grifter has become a fixture in the cultural imagination. He’s headlined multiple novels and movie adaptations — meaning that almost everyone is acquainted with at least one incarnation of Tom Ripley.

Even so, in writer-director Steven Zaillian’s eight-episode miniseries Ripley, the Irish actor manages to deliver the definitive portrayal of the literary schemer — a sociopath who is an expert at self-preservation, a man seemingly driven by overwhelming desire, envy, and greed. As Scott developed his approach to the tight-lipped character, he says it was vital to forget about Tom’s formidable reputation and focus instead on how such a man might realistically move through the world.

“I think what’s gripping about the show is that we see the logic of what he has to do to survive, and each episode leads us in a very particular way,” Scott says. “We spend time with the character when he’s doing these things and [see] how much of an expert he isn’t. Sometimes what he’s really talented at is being able to think really, really quickly.”

Scott clearly knows a thing or two about talent: His was obvious from the moment he began his career on the Irish stage, though global audiences only learned of his gifts when he made his showstopping — and BAFTA Award-winning — television turn as Sherlock Holmes’s brilliant nemesis Moriarty in the BBC hit Sherlock. The actor’s subsequent portrayal of the sensitive (and yes, sexy) priest in the second season of acclaimed series Fleabag then launched him into a new stratosphere of stardom, earning him a Critics Choice Award and two Screen Actors Guild Award nominations. “Particularly in L.A., people just shout, ‘hot priest!’ at you all the time when you’re crossing the street,” Scott says. “It’s extraordinary.”

The Olivier Award-winning actor has further burnished his credentials with singular, riveting work on both stage and screen. Last year alone, he starred in Vanya, an impressive solo adaptation of Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya at London’s venerable Old Vic Theatre, and earned rapturous reviews for his role as a lonely screenwriter in the sensitive and stirring drama All of Us Strangers. Now, Scott’s unforgettable turn in Ripley has critics again raving over the actor, who gives his Tom an eerily placid demeanor that surely conceals an inner raging tumult.

That facade proves indispensable to the character when, in the series, he’s hired to travel to Italy to convince the errant Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn) to return to New York to helm his father’s company — under the mistaken pretense that Tom is Dickie’s close college friend. Upon arriving in Europe, however, the amoral Tom is staggered by the scion’s privileged, romantic way of life, and disguises his true aims to live for as long as possible in his new host’s shadow.

“One of the reasons that I love the character: He’s got this huge appreciation for art and Italy and food and culture and nature,” Scott says. “I think that’s something that the other characters take for granted. I was just seeing his appreciation for life and the arts. He’s never been exposed to that kind of beauty before.”

Krista Smith: Ripley is so gorgeous — it just washes over you. It’s my favorite kind of viewing experience, where I’m rooting for the sociopath at the same time I’m terrified of him.

Andrew Scott: Steven Zaillian has done a great job of replicating what Patricia Highsmith herself did, which is to make you root for somebody who’s doing these terrible things. The big challenge for me was to make the audience feel what it’s like to be Tom Ripley rather than to be a victim of Tom Ripley. That’s quite an unusual thing to surf because I’m required to love him, protect him in the way you do with all your characters. But it’s difficult with Tom because, even in beginning to talk about the character, I have to protect his secrets a little bit. You don’t want to overexplain him too much.

That’s especially difficult when the camera is trained on your face for eight full episodes, I would imagine.

AS: Yeah, that was challenging. I don’t feel like there could be a bigger part on television than Tom Ripley because he’s just there the whole time. He’s a loner character [so the question is]: How are you able to convey what he’s feeling without a lot of talking and not a lot of deep relationships? It’s quite rare for a limited series like this to focus so much on one character. And as an actor, it’s quite an unusual thing to do.

It was challenging to be with somebody who’s quite opaque as a character, to spend so much time with him. There was an awful lot of internal work, but it’s such a great privilege to get to play this character.

It’s fascinating to watch how Tom is viewed by both Dickie and his girlfriend Marge, played so marvelously by Dakota Fanning. So much tension and jealousy and suspicion develops among them. What was it like to work through all of that with Johnny Flynn and with Dakota?

AS: Johnny is an absolutely gorgeous, warm person and with Dickie [and Tom], there’s a sort of love between those two characters that we were reluctant to define too much — whether it’s romantic love or whether Tom wants to just occupy his space. To me, their [scenes together are] love scenes in a way because if you don’t have love at the heart of it, we don’t fully understand why Tom does what he does and why he’s so enamored by Dickie. Marge, she’s suspicious of Tom. We had really good chemistry, Dakota and I, and we enjoyed the scenes because we have to do so much without saying anything. We have to sort of say, “I cannot bear you,” but do it with a smile.

You shot in some of the most amazing locations. Italy itself is really a character here. How did physically being in those breathtaking environments fuel your performance?

AS: We shot in Venice during the pandemic — when I think about it, it lent a real feeling to me and to the character because I did feel isolated. I [remember] walking to the set through Piazza San Marco [in Venice at] six-thirty or seven in the morning. It was so extraordinary because this would usually be one of the [busiest] tourist spots in the world, and it was completely empty. It was unique, and sometimes quite sad in some ways. But you find your joy. We went to so many different places — Capri, Palermo, the Amalfi Coast. And we shot in a place called Atrani, which is the tiniest village. The experience of being in Italy, particularly on the coast, it’s sort of transfixing. You’re walking up these incredibly steep stairs . . . I love the [scenes with Tom climbing the stairs]. He’s experiencing life for the first time in a completely different way, and his confidence grows really, really quickly.

So, I want to take you back to the early days of your career. You were one of those kids who was shy and maybe did a drama class to see if that might work for you?

AS: Yes, exactly. I used to act a little bit as a kid, not much, just in commercials and little theater things. There’s a myth with actors, that they’re extroverted. I was a really shy boy, and the acting really helped me to sort of overcome that.

Then you go to college and immediately drop out. Why?

AS: When I was about 18, I went to the Abbey Theater in Dublin, which was an incredible learning ground. That’s why I dropped out of college, to go and actually do the thing rather than study the thing. I spent a few years at the National Theatre in Dublin as a really young person — it was extraordinary when I think about it, playing these amazing parts in the Abbey. I moved to London when I was 22, and I was auditioning a lot. It’s a big, big journey. My inspiration has always been good writing. I don’t believe you can make a great film or TV series or play if you don’t have a great script, so that’s where I’ve always gone. That means doing things that maybe don’t hike up your profile; I’m always happy to play supporting parts if the writing is good. So, it’s never been about trying to play leading roles necessarily, but in the past few years, that’s what’s happened.

Can you recall a film or a play that maybe informed who you are now, the kind of actor you became?

AS: When I was 17, I made my first film, which was a tiny Irish film called Korea, and there was an actor in it who was, to use that beautiful expression, a journeyman actor, called Donal Donnelly. He had a huge amount of theater credits and film and television credits but was not a particularly famous actor. What he was was a very kind actor. By looking at him, seeing what way he talks to the crew and what way he talks to the other actors, I learned how to behave on a set. That’s something that I’m always so grateful for.

I love hearing that. So, coming off of this very challenging, very intense production, what’s next? What are you excited to tackle?

AS: I want to do something funny, and I want to be in a musical. I’d love to be in a really well-written rom-com. I’m putting that out there and sort of hoping that manifests in some way. I had to sing onstage for the first time in Vanya, in a very small way, but I really loved it. It’s extraordinary to sing, isn’t it? It’s about confidence and it’s about really listening.'

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