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dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice · 11 months ago

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The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 1

I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who showed love towards the prologue and the memes I made, I've ended up gaining more followers in the last week than I have in the last couple years lol. Unfortunately Alastor isn't going to make an appearance for at least two chapters, but I hope you like what I've written so far. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 5278

Warnings: Period-typical racism and sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 >

PART 1: Chapter 1

Congrats! You're Adopted

Impluvius (Definition): Soaked with rain. (Adjective)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Tuesday, 11th June, 1929.

Arriving on your Aunt’s doorstep soaked to the bone in the middle of a hurricane was the last thing on your list of ‘crazy crap that could happen’. But alas, here you were, shivering and seething as you hauled your trunks up the steps to the front door. You were lucky enough that the area was only being battered by the edge of the storm, allowing you to find a sleeper train that was still willing to run from Montgomery to New Orleans, but it had left you in a sour mood when they had revoked their food services, because damn you were in the mood for a simple ham and cheese sandwich. And the mood only had to sour further when you found yourself standing outside the station for a good fifteen minutes waiting for a driver whilst you and your belongings were drowned by the ongoing summer downpour. Sure, you were used to the torrential downpour of the Yorkshire moors, where there were more wet days than dry, but you were prepared for that, not for the barbarous battering of the 70mph winds that forced you to stuff your useless hat away, leaving the once neat updo of hair that you had meticulously styled that morning to whip you in the eye whenever a gale flew past.

And, as if the gods had something out for you, the taxi that pulled up decided it would be hilarious to speed to a stop in the middle of the giant puddle that had accumulated next to the pavement, sending out a small wave that reached your ankles, soaking your frilly socks and favourite patterned heeled oxford shoes that your mother had gifted on your 18th birthday.

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” You hissed to yourself, lifting your foot to inspect the leather. The driver was lucky that they were already three years old, otherwise you would’ve given him a glare deathly enough to send him to an early grave. Or so you hoped.

Thankfully, the driver didn’t pay you much attention, clearly too tired for small talk, simply asking for an address. Though he had paused when you spoke, turning to eye you up and down where you were cramped uncomfortably between your luggage in the back seat, grunting out a “You English?”, to which you nodded, muttering that you were visiting your aunt. The drive was silent after that, the only sound being the loud sputtering engine and the rain that pounded against the windshield. Minutes passed and you were quickly outside the house, which led to now: trembling in your boots, rapping your knuckle against the green wooden door with wet hair clinging to your face and eyebags that could rival a chronic insomniac.

It wasn’t long until the sound of locks clicking and unlatching reached your ears, and the door creaked open, an eye peeking through the gap. After it landed on you, it quickly swung open, revealing your Aunt Agnes in a nightgown and robe, with an oil lantern in hand. At the sight of her, you gave a half-wave and shaky smile.

She gasped your name. “Oh, there you are my lovely! I thought you got lost in the storm!” Realising the state you were in, she hurriedly placed the lantern on the hallway cabinet, rushing out to help you haul your luggage in. “I was so worried your train had been cancelled by the hurricane. Here, get yourself out the cold – you can put your coat to dry by the fire.” She handed you your leather duffel bag before crouching down and lugging the largest trunk into her arms with a grunt. Making sure everything was in the hallway, she went to close the door, though you didn’t miss the wary scan she took of the street, or the diligent focus of making sure every lock and chain was in place. The wariness soon disappeared, however, as she spun around to face with a grin, her thick braid of long, brown hair whipping over her shoulder.

Giggling as she bounded over, she wrapped you up in a strong hug, and you reciprocated with matching eagerness, but also trying your best not to cringe at the squelching noises your waterlogged coat made.

“It’s so nice to see you!” You said exhausted as you released her, teeth still chattering from the chill. “The rooves were practically coming off in Montgomery, so I’m surprised they were willing to keep the trains running.”

“Well there’s no need to worry about that any more, you’re here now! Come, I must get you warmed up.” she asserted warmly, leading you with a hand rubbing against your back, down the hallway into the kitchen. Rummaging through a wicker basket, she pulled out a spare nightgown. “Go see if your spare underwear is dry, then head to the bathroom across the hall and change into this. I’ll go make you some warm milk and honey.”

Thanking her, you quickly made your way into the living room where your belongings had been left, unlatching the clasps of the trunk to reveal your damp clothing. Luckily, there was some underwear in the middle that had not yet been affected, so you grabbed them and returned to the hallway to try and find the bathroom.

After several failed attempts of opening the wrong doors, you finally came across the bathroom, eagerly shedding yourself of your dripping wet layers, welcoming the warmth of the soft, dry underwear and ivory coloured nightgown. Returning to the living room, you dumped your wet clothes on your trunk, before walking around the sofa. Planting your behind in the armchair closest to the fire, you melted into the cushions with a relieved sigh, sticking your feet out in front of the flames to try and get some feeling back in your toes.

It wasn’t long before the clinking from the kitchen ceased, and your Aunt came back through, meticulously balancing a wooden tray with two large steaming mugs sat on top. Placing them down, she handed you the one covered in purple flowers. Thanking her, you instantly took a sip, letting the sweet honey and heated milk warm your insides as you watched your aunt take a seat in her own well-loved armchair.

“Sooo,” she began with a knowing grin whilst tossing you a crocheted blanket. “How’s America been so far for you?”

You scrunched your face in thought. “…Surprisingly not as bad as I thought. I think Great-Auntie Beatrice had influenced my opinion a bit too much growing up.”

Agnes rolled her eyes. “A bit?? That old woman has despised the country since that American lad up and left her back in the 1870’s.”

You snorted over your mug. “Well, she certainly has taught me to not raise my expectations about the place, but, I’ve got to say it has allowed me to be more impressed by what I see – especially the Appalachian mountains, they’ve definitely got a unique charm to them. Thank you, by the way, for letting me use your cabin up there.”

She waved you off. “Oh, it’s no problem, really. I would give you the place if the twins weren’t so keen on going up there.”

“Speaking of the twins, how are the three of you doing?” you asked.

Agnes let a weary smile cross her face. “We’re doing better, now anyways. The twins had some issues when starting school here – starting fresh at 16 in a completely different country certainly has its cons. It’s died down now, but in the first few months they were followed home by some kids who would taunt them for the way they spoke. Hell,” she laughed in disbelief. “they even had a teacher who thought they were Scottish for the first three weeks until I came in for a meeting about their grades and spent ten minutes explaining to her that not everyone in England speaks the same way as those pompous Londoners who squeal at the slightest bit of mud on their shoes.”

“What?!!” you guffawed, trying to stifle a laugh. “Please tell me they at least beat some of the kids up.”

“I wish.” Agnes sighed, sinking back in her chair. “But I don’t want anymore attention on them than they already have. Anything else and those kids will go looking for dirt on them and the last thing I want is for them to find out who their father is.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “You don’t??” you asked, perplexed.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Agnes said sternly. “I loved their father to the ends of the universe and back, but the two of them being mixed English-Japanese will garner the wrong type of attention here. God forbid, if it gets out their mum’s a pagan witch it’ll be the end of peace!” She vented, throwing her arms up in frustration.

You pondered her words for a moment. “But I thought New Orleans was considered a safer place for things like witchcraft? Isn’t voodoo a popular religion and practice here?”

“It is, but it’s still kept more on the down-low. When you have a religion originating from a place like Africa, white Christians can get reeeaallll iffy about it, and it’s no different here – I believe there’s laws in place against parts of the practice.” She explained. “But it doesn’t stop them from keeping their shops open. Our neighbour Neliah runs a gorgeous corner shop near the outskirts – I can’t and won’t practice voodoo, but I do treat myself with a visit whenever I need new herbs, I could literally fall asleep in there with the lovely way it smells.” You smiled at the way she seemed to get lost in thought, though she quickly snapped herself out of it. “But anyway! How’s my sister doing? How did Emmett react with the news?”

You startled slightly at the sudden change. “Yea, mum’s actually doing alright. Dad… took a while to get his head around what was going on, you know, when he found her Grimoire and spell books, and the fact that we’d been hiding it from him for years, but he’s surprisingly calmed down about it. They still go to church, to keep up their reputation and all that, but he’s letting her hang up protection wards around the house, he even got involved with casting a spell with us at one point, even though he had no clue what he was doing the whole time.” You snorted, memories of your father’s wide eyes as he watched your mother wave a stick of incense around him, reminding you of the time when you were around six, you had returned from the forest by your house, covered in mud and brandishing stick-swords, declaring yourself as the deer queen as you dragged a shedded antler you had found among the moss through the back door – the look on your father’s face when he walked in from work to see you tying pink ribbons along the muddy, moss-covered bone was priceless.

Agnes let out a chortle, before sipping at her drink, her expression shifting slightly to one of mild concern. “And uh, how did they react when you were – ah – found out?”

Right, the whole reason you were here in the first place. “Not the greatest.” You said dejectedly. “Mum was distraught when they said they were thinking of taking me away – calling them every name under the sun the second they said ‘asylum’. So when dad suggested coming here, she jumped at the chance, but was crying the whole drive to the docks. I gave them an itinerary of where I was going to be and when, and they’ve been using it to send me letters and gifts, but it’s been hard being fully alone for the first time in my life.” You sank into your chair, tears building in your eyes the longer you spoke.

Agnes looked you up and down, her eyes filled with sorrow for you. “Well,” she began softly, standing up to approach you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “you're not alone anymore, so you can forget about those stupid government officials and your, uh,” she squinted her eyes in confusion. “what do they call it?”

“Over action of the mind.” You forced out with a huff. “They don’t have an official name for it, but me being fidgety and forgetful is enough for them to call me insane apparently.”

She held her hand out for you to take, which you did, allowing her to pull you up. She said your name sternly. “You are not insane. You’re the loveliest, most intelligent girl I know – especially considering the amount of books you’ve read in your 21 years.” You gave her a small smile as thanks. “Now, I’ve readied your bedroom for you. It’s a little bare, but you're staying a while so I’ve left it to be up to your imagination, and with how fast your mind goes a minute, I’m sure you’ll make it the most fantastical and extravagant room in New Orleans.” She explained as she helped you pick up your luggage, leading you through the hallway and up the stairs.

Walking down the main upper hallway, you followed her down a second one to the left, until you came to a stop on the first door on the left side. Lowering her voice to a whisper, Agnes gestured to the door on the left further down. “That’s the bathroom. I’ve moved the boys’ stuff out and given them the second one across the main hall so you can have it to yourself.” She then gestured to the two doors on the right side of the hall, with a sign hanging on each, though the candlelight was too dim to make out the words. “That’s their bedrooms, so I’m afraid you’ll have to prepare for some loud wake-up calls.” She said with an amused smile.

Opening the first door on the left, she led you into a spacey room, that was, as described, quite bare, with only a four-poster bed pushed into the top-right corner, a dark, polished set of drawers and matching wardrobe facing the bed on the opposite wall, along with a familiar -looking changing screen in the bottom left corner decorated with storks flying above a Japanese landscape – you recognised it as one of the wedding gifts your uncle had gifted your aunt sixteen years ago. In the top left corner by the large open window was a vanity with clawed feet, holding up a large, ornate oval mirror, a cushioned stool pushed under it. Next to it was another door that led to the balcony. Nearer to the bedroom door was a large roll top desk, covered in drawers, shelves and pigeon holes, though the only object present was a small typewriter tucked under one of the shelves.

Excitement filling you, you strode across the room to the bed, the feeling of the fluffy rug under your feet a welcoming sign. Placing your trunk and bag down as gracefully as you could, you spun around to face your aunt with a wide grin on your face. “This is amazing!” you gasped quietly, mindful of the two other sleeping residents. “You didn’t have to give me all this.”

“Of course I did!” Agnes exclaimed, walking over to give you another hug. “Did you forget your mother and I practically lived and raised you and the twins together until just a year ago? I’m treating the three of you as equals until the day I die.”

Looking down at her, you observed the slight wrinkles appearing under her eyes, and the dark rings accompanying them that hadn’t been there the last time you saw her back when she still lived in York. Sighing, you stepped back. “I know.” You agreed warmly. “And thank you, for everything you’ve done so far.”

She ruffled the top of your head, your long strands of hair still clumped together with rain water and the clips you had failed to pin it back with. “Anything for you. Now get some sleep, it’s past midnight and the boys will be giving you the earliest and loudest wake-up call once they figure out you’re here.”

You agreed, bidding your aunt goodnight before taking the candle she left for you over to the vanity, where you spent the next ten minutes trying your best to find every pin and clip in your damp hair, then tediously trying to brush it smooth enough to then twist into a loose braid. You also quickly took out your belongings that were wet, hanging them over the screen and the drying rack you had found in the wardrobe. Satisfied you collapsed onto the double bed, bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. Burying yourself under the covers, you blew the candle out, bathing the room in darkness, and using the rain outside as white noise, you slowly drifted off, mentally preparing yourself for the twins when they would come to wake you up.

Oh, and wake you up they did.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 12th June, 1929.

You were barely able to pull your heavy eyelids apart when the door in the far corner swung open, the door handle hitting the wall with a resounding ‘BANG!’, followed by a very loud “BOYS!!”, echoing through the house.

That wasn’t the end of it though. You had barely begun to turn over at the sound of several pairs of heavy footsteps bounding across the wooden floorboards, when two very heavy weights crashed on top of you, causing your eyes to fly open as the wind was knocked out of you.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?!” you screeched, flailing about as much as you could until your arms were free, reaching over the covers to shove at the two long figure sprawled across you.

Loud giggling filled your ears, and you looked over your duvet to find two familiar identical-looking faces, with matching cheshire grins, peering over at you mischievously from where they laid across your body. Groaning, you flopped back down, choosing instead to stare at the forest green drapes strung across the poster bed. Though it was soon replaced by two mops of loose, curly hair as they peeked over the edge at you, one dark brown-almost black, the other a pale blonde. You were thankful of their opposite hair colour, because the only way you would’ve been able to tell them apart otherwise would be with the different freckles and moles dotted across their pale faces.

“Mum said you came in looking like a soggy rat last night.” Teased Allie, reaching out to prod at your cheek with a snicker.

Your own hand shot out, shoving his blonde head away. “Did not.” You responded groggily, as you tried to shove his twin off the other side of you. “Now get your fat arses off of me.”

They gasped in mock offence, immediately plopping themselves back on top of you, both reaching to poke and prod at your face. “You said a bad word ~” Ollie chimed in a sing-song voice, kicking his legs behind him playfully as he tried to shove a finger in your ear. Slapping them both away, you prepared for another onslaught, until determined footsteps drew closer to your door, and the two of them froze as their mother walked in, a wooden spoon grasped in her hand.

“ODESSEY. ADAGIO. Get off of your cousin before I send you to school WITHOUT breakfast!” She hollered, a thunderous look on her face.

The two of them collectively groaned. “Muuuumm, don’t call us thaaaat.” Whined Ollie, as he took his sweet time slowly rolling over your whole body before sliding off the bed to stand next to his equally grumpy brother. You followed not long after, sitting up at the edge to watch the ordeal with a smug smile.

“Call you what?! Your real names?! Well then, you better get yourselves downstairs!” she exclaimed, pointing at the door with the wooden spoon.

Reluctantly, they complied, but that didn’t stop Allie from poking his tongue out as he disappeared through the doorway, narrowly missing a swing from his mother’s spoon. Facing your aunt, you finally noticed that she was already up and dressed for work, donning a cream blouse with a blue ribbon tied around the neck, along with a matching blue maxi pencil skirt that reached just above her ankles. Her hair was meticulously styled in an updo similar to the one you had yesterday, her chestnut brown hair twisted back in swirls that ended in a loose low bun, with some strands neatly framing her face. She approached you, the short heels of her shoes muffled by the rug.

“Morning! Breakfast is ready.” She explained with a smile that you returned. “Freshen yourself up and come meet us downstairs, ok?” You agreed, and she disappeared back downstairs.

Rummaging through you clothes that were now thankfully dry, you opted for a loose blouse, and a pair of wide-legged tweed trousers, taking them to the bathroom. Slipping a leather belt through the loops, you quickly wet your hair over the bath, scrubbing in some shampoo and conditioner before rinsing it out and rubbing a towel over the strands until it was no longer dripping. Happy with the light makeup you applied, you headed back downstairs, running a hand through the wet tangles until you reached the dining table.

“I see what mum meant by soggy rat.” You turned to see Allie smirking over the table as you sat down in front of a plate full of English breakfast.

“I’ll turn you into a soggy rat.” You muttered back, stuffing half a hash-brown into your mouth, whilst simultaneously trying not to sigh in relief after not eating for at least 24 hours.

“OoOoh shiver me timbers!” he mocked back, waving his hands in mock fright.

Ollie’s tall figure appeared as he walked over from the kitchen - bacon, eggs, hash-browns and baked beans piled excessively onto his plate. “Mum told us you were going to be staying in our cabin up in the mountains.” He said as he sat down. “Did you like the gift we left?” he said with a grin half lopsided by the food he was shoving in his mouth.

You glared up at them from your plate. “Yes. The excessive amount of fake cockroaches in the bathroom was a very welcomed surprise. Odessey.”

The grin on your cousin’s face fell into a pout at the use of his full name. Letting out a prolonged grunt, he returned to his breakfast.

“Besides,” you started. “It’s not like I’m the only one suffering here. Apparently you’re both Scottish now.”

The two of them let out a collective groan, slumping in their seats.

“It’s not our fault Miss Sammie has less intelligence than a hamster.” Whined Allie as he stabbed an egg with his fork. “She thought Japan was part of China the other day!”

You let out a sharp laugh. “I hope that doesn’t reflect on your learning, or your mum will end up with steam coming out her ears.” You snickered.

“Thankfully it doesn’t.” replied Ollie, rolling his grey eyes as he stuck a whole wad of bacon in his mouth, making sure to not get any grease on his uniform. “Otherwise we’d be begging mum to move us back to England.”

“Speaking of moving, how are you guys finding it here?” you asked, hoping the answers were positive.

“Meh, it’s been alright.” Said Allie with a shrug. “The alligators are cool, but apparently we’re not allowed to wrestle them, which is soooo boring.”

“And the summers are shit. Nothing but heatwaves.” Ollie added.

“Well that’s what you get when you’re used to living in the North-East of England, where one of the nearest land masses is Norway.” You pointed out. “Plus English summers can be unbelievably humid, so I’m not sure what you’re whining about.”

“Oho, just you wait until July hits, then you’ll eat your words.” He retorted. “Hurricane season can be a bitch, too.”

“Don’t remind me.” You groaned. “I barely experienced the tail-end of one last night and it almost killed me.”

The two cackled at you, much to your annoyance, but is was cut short at the sound of your name being called. Looking up, you watched as your aunt poked her head around the doorway, the handset of a rotary phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, beckoning you over with an eager look, before disappearing back into the hallway. Quickly, you got up, marching round the table. Turning the corner, you watched as she ended the call. “Yes, yes. Thank you so much Mr LeBlanc, I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Yes – buh-bye now. Bye.”

Placing the phone back on its metal cradle, she whirled around to face you, excitement prominent on her features. “Sooo, that was Mr LeBlanc on the phone…” she proclaimed, eyeing you with a growing smile.

All you could do was stare in confusion, silence filling the wood-panelled hallway. Agnes darted her wide eyes between you and the phone, clearly waiting in anticipation for your reaction, but you only knew two things about New Orleans: jazz, and that it had a river shaped slightly similar to the London Thames. So you continued to stare.

Seeing that you weren’t going to react, she let out a sigh. “Mr LeBlanc runs Héritage Amour Réparation D’Antiquités on Julia Street down near the Mississippi River, and he’s willing to take you on as an apprentice?” she said as if it was the most obvious thing on Earth.

You blinked. “Wait, you’ve been looking for apprenticeships for me??” You gawked. “Since when??? I don’t think I even mentioned that I would be looking for one in the letters I sent you.”

“Oh, you haven’t.” she assured. “Your mum told me in a letter about a month ago when you were up in New York, so I thought I would speed up the process by looking for one for you.”

You continued to gawk in silence.

“Careful,” smirked Allie from over your shoulder. “You’re gonna catch flies.”

You didn’t even turn to face him as you reached a hand back, ignoring his whine as you smushed it against his face, shoving him back into the dining room.

“You –” you pointed at yourself. “You got me an apprenticeship??” She nodded excitedly. “Jesus Christ Agnes. At this point I’m gonna be indebted to you for the rest of my life!”

She clasped her hands together, throwing her head back as she laughed. “It’s no problem, really. I just want you to get settled in as soon as possible. I told Mr LeBlanc that if you accepted, he’s welcome to come for tea on Friday to meet you, then, if he’s happy, we’ll go for a day out around the city centre, and maybe visit him in his shop during that time. Sound good?”

You blinked repeatedly, trying to wrap your head around what your aunt was saying. “I – uh, yea. That would be great, actually.”

“Great! I’ll give him a call back, and you’ll meet him on Friday.” She proclaimed, satisfied as she picked the phone back up, holding the headset to her ear whilst twisting the numbers into the dial.

Still in a small state of shock, you turned back towards the dining room, slowly making your way back to your seat. Plopping down, you were met with the smug smiles of the twins.

“Looks like you’re gonna have to splurge big time on mum’s birthday. Don’t ’cha think Allie?” said Ollie, turning to his brother with a shit-eating grin.

His brother returned his expression with equal enthusiasm. “Oh yea. I was thinking, perhaps a top of the range Gramophone? I heard they have the new model in down at that shop on Canal Street.” He turned to you. “What do ya think cousin? Ready to serve our mum for the rest of eternity?”

All you could do was flick egg at their foreheads.

——

Friday came running up on you before you even realised, and here you were helping your aunt prepare roasted duck and vegetables whilst simultaneously trying to keep the twins away from the desserts in the icebox – you figured the sneaky buggers knew exactly what creaky floorboards to avoid. When the doorbell rang, Agnes encouraged you to go answer it, so, putting on a smile, you opened the door to welcome in your guest.

Mr LeBlanc was a warm and chirpy type of man: 63 years old with white hair and a matching frizzy moustache and beard, dressed in a smart blue shirt and neatly ironed trousers and slacks. He was around 5’7 – around the average height for men at this time. Sticking his hand out, he gave you a wide smile, and feeling the welcoming aura ride off him in waves, you gladly grasped his outstretched hand with your own.

“Bonne soirée! I do hope I’ve got the right address!” he laughed, his accent a funny mix between French and southern American. You assured that he was at the right place, introducing yourself. “Oh, what a lovely name! I am Ralph LeBlanc, but I’m sure your aunt has already informed you of me.” He said expectantly, voice slightly croaky and hoarse from old age.

Giving him a smile and a nod, you invited him in, bringing him to the dining room where your aunt and cousins were just finishing the preparations for dinner, and you all sat down, tucking into the delicious meal.

The dinner was successful, Ralph happily agreeing to take you on as an apprentice whilst also assisting him with running the repair shop, as he was currently the only one managing it. You had informed him of your history degree, and your school awards in art, and after that he was very eager to agree, almost acting excited when he invited you to come to the shop next Monday for a ‘starter shift’ where he would show you the ropes and make sure you were settled. It was as if the gods switched up on your luck, turning it round from the horrific start you had arriving here, and you weren’t planning on losing this good streak anytime soon.

“Now,” said Mr LeBlanc as he stood putting his coat on by the front door. “Make sure you are wearing something comfy and flexible, preferably pants if you own any, as we don’t want any skirts getting trapped in anything.” You nodded, and he paused for a moment, looking up at you. “Odd question, but how tall are you and your cousins? I don’t think I’ve met many with your heights, especially a woman.”

You glanced at your feet, now conscious of the way you towered over him slightly. “Last time I checked I was 5’9, and the twins are 6 foot. I uh, got it from my dad – he’s 6’1, and they got it from theirs.”

His eyes widened as he puffed his cheeks out. “La vache that’s tall. And did you say the boys were only 16? Wow, I really ain’t trying to make this sound weird but those magazine people would snatch you three up if they knew you were here.”

You laughed shaking your head, albeit nervously at the thought of having your picture taken. Thanking him, you waved him out and said your goodbyes.

Closing the door, you let out a relieved sigh, grateful that the evening was successful, and you retreated back to your room for the evening.

Thought it didn’t stop your excitement for the Monday to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you've enjoyed it so far! The ending’s a bit rushed, and Alastor's not going to appear for a couple chapters, but I hope I can make the wait worth it. See you soon for Chapter 2!!

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126 notes · View notes

kirbybecomesastarwarrior · 6 months ago

Note

a little creature with Goggles and a skin divided in black and white approached to Lady Celestine

"Greetings, pon...! Fal is... Well, Fal... Pon... Fal wanted to ask... Do you... Think that all Dark Matters are bad, pon? Or do you think there are... Good ones? Do you think some of them deserve a chance, pon?"

Lady Celestine: Oh perfect timing dear I actually had something in the oven that I had to get out why don't you come inside and make yourself at home

Fal couldn't help but wonder "where" there were no buildings or houses, just before he could ask... the three stars that adorned Triple Star surrounded them. Colors & shapes surrounded them until...

They both began to get sucked inside of... TRIPLE STAR!?

It had been revealed that Triple Star (hidden away) had its own pocket dimension... and at this very moment, they were inside of Triple Star.

The Greatest Well of Magical Mastery... Celestine/Merlyn's Fabled Library & Study

Celestine: Oh dear the pie is almost ready... enough time to explain my answer. While I know of the dangerous nature of Dark Matter... Some are capable of being good.

If someone can put good in the world why deny them the chance... Oh, forgive me if I went a bit off-topic talking about my family~ I'm quite biased towards them. Though there is another...

Matter's Dealing With Dark Matter~

@nokk0's - Fal

@ceoofmetagala's - Fecto Flora

Alright announcement:

Announce Celestine's Library/ Study is Opened for Business... @kirbyoctournament

So If your ( Kirby oc tournament/ Kirby OC) has a question they will now be automatically teleported into Triple Star. (I wanted to do this since the beginning but I could not decide on the color palette... thank heavens I got settled now.)

(Fair warning: there will be a 65% chance they will have nausea on arrival if you choose to visit the pocket dimension. Thank you~)

(keep reading for shoutouts/ references/ closing remarks)

Shoutouts:

I've seen the narrative questions/posts of @zombiecicada, @cauliarty & @nokk0, and I got really inspired by them shout out to them. I really wanted to give it a shot. You guys do so much great work with it shows off of personality of your Ocs.

@nokk0: I hope I gave Fal enough leeway. (Only if you want, sorry it's my first time doing one of these~ respond however you want or not) Thank you so much for your question.

@ceoofmetagala Congratulations on your win this week~

References:

So yeah there are a lot of shout-outs to some previous posts & questions (little easter eggs if you will if you look at the background).

There are numerous references to the Sword in the Stone:

And the way Fal was sitting in the last panel... I was trying to make it a reference to how Arthur was sitting right here (the meme) I hope I captured the spirit~

-How Fal drops in to Celestine's Study~

-The Sassy Sugar Bowl

-The Toy Train

And I really hope I got to showcase Celestine's personality more too... I think I already established her as a mother figure but I also wanted to showcase how her quirks too.

She tends to trail off, loves a good pun, is air-headed, has a one-track mind, and gets immersed in the things she does... that's why she forgets the little things at times (like the pie). She is well-read & knowledgeable (Plato reference) and incredibly open-minded.

I hope you guys enjoyed & have a great day!

#kirby oc tournament #lady celestine #fal #nokk0 #kbasw #kbasw answers #fecto flora #I hope i did all your Oc's justice #sir arthur #meta knight #thank you for the ask!#kirby anime #sir arthur kirby #had to put a papa arthur reference

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undeath1245 · 2 months ago

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The drone societies of Copper 9 [unfinished headcanon]

This post has been sitting in my drafts for about two years. And as of now, I’m not planning on finishing this up, so here it is.

So far, the only drone society we know of is the Worker Drone colony hiding underneath the bunkers, led by the Worker Defense Force. But, I have this strange feeling that they aren’t the only Worker Drone colony here on the post-apocalyptic Copper 9, but I can’t be so sure until season one drops. So for now, I’m going to post some headcanon about other Worker Drone colonies here on Copper 9.

The JC Jenson Era

From what we know, worker drones are autonomous robots built to perform heavy-duty work, particularly in mines and factories. This fleet of Worker Drones were sent to the faraway terrestrial exoplanet Copper 9 to mine for resources for JC Jenson’s outer space division (brand name being JC Jenson, in SPAAAAACEE!!!!). I’m going to make a headcanon that they arrived in Copper 9 about 35 years ago. We currently don’t know what other resources they were mining for apart from copper, from where the planet probably got its name from. It could be other similar materials usually found and mined on Earth, like iron, nickel, aluminum, carbon, silicon, or sulfur, but that’s my educated guess.

I have a headcanon that JC Jenson was using some of their planetary colonies as a front to store away their dangerous experiments or failed experiments, like experimental drones or other scientific nonsense, like that blurred out flesh thing we saw in the teaser for season one. I already came up with an OC that was supposed to be a planetary guardian of sorts before he went incredibly haywire, but I’ll get to him later.

As we already know, the human workers were inadvertently the cause of the... Great Yeeting; Goddamn Liam and his meme addiction. It's fairly obvious that this was probably caused by a freak combination of ignorance and apathy, with the workers doing some weird shit with the planet’s core and all. Maybe they were trying to alter it so that the planet’s atmosphere would stop producing these perpetual blizzards, unless these blizzards were caused by the Great Yeeting itself. If so, then what was Copper 9 really like before JC Jenson’s space division settled here? Was it a planet with a bright, stable atmosphere and lush environments? Were there extraterrestrial life striving here? Was there even an alien society?

The Posthuman Era

My headcanon is that there are about five worker drone colonies situated on Copper 9, each with their own cultures and how each of them deal with the disassembly drone epidemic: the Central Colony (Uzi’s colony), Northern Colony, Northeastern Colony, Western Colony, and Southern Colony. The Worker Defense Force was founded about 30 years ago by Khan Doorman to ensure the safety of the worker drone society in case humans ever arrive back to Copper 9 to either regain control of them, or worse: destroy them. Largely, they focused on building durable, reinforced doors, while also learning various forms of self-defense such as martial arts and melee combat; this was before they resorted to a pacifistic approach.

The Murder Drone Era

Most of the worker drone colonies hid underground through a large bunker system, while some of them continue to reside outside the bunkers while hiding from or fending off disassembly drones. These drones are regularly called Outside Workers or outsiders, and are often looked down upon by other colonies due to their “foolishness” for not choosing to hide in the bunkers. But then again, would you rather spend your entire life hiding underneath the bunkers like a coward and let these killer robots wreak havoc onto your world? The world you worked hard to build after the extinction of your human oppressors?

I think that some of the disassembly drone squads don’t exactly follow orders to wipe out the worker drones of each sector, rather than enslave them instead. Now, I think that some of the squads already figured out that they couldn’t live without drinking warm, sweet oil, yet they’re programmed to destroy every worker drone they see, but they couldn’t disobey protocol. So to remedy this without disobeying the company, they decide to spare the entire populace of a sector, and in return, they sacrifice 10 to 20 worker drones every month or so, almost as if they’re farming worker drones now.

Now, there are a couple of worker drones that actually fought back against disassembly drones, according to J. Perhaps these drones had defied their programming and actually learned how to fight and defend themselves, and are probably equipped with state-of-the-art weaponry like rifles and cannons. I mean, surely the humans might have brought weapons here to Copper 9 in case they run into any extraterrestrial wildlife, creatures that they haven’t encountered before. But then again, was Copper 9 already devoid of life before? I mean, there seemed to be perpetual, worldwide blizzards before while the humans were there, or it could be the result of the planet’s core exploding. But, all that matters that these worker drones are probably armed and incredibly combative, so it’s plausible that they’ve fought disassembly drones before. But, had they ever killed one before?

#Glitch Productions #Liam Vickers #Murder Drones #Khan Doorman #Serial Designation N #Serial Designation V #Serial Designation J #disassembly drones #worker drones #headcanon #worldbuilding

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pikachoc2 · 5 months ago

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(OC x CANON - Mob Psycho 100)

I finally did a little drawing meme to celebrate the arrival of my standee acrylic of Reigen 🫶

References :

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borom1r · 9 months ago

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WAILING @theshakespearetrash sent me 2 ask memes for Boromir asks (who is very much Not my OC skfhshfjjs but I will Always do character analysis I love character analysis so much. rotating him so fast in my brain. microwaving him on high)

+ not to be a kinnie on main (voice of a man who is always a kinnie on main) but I will be answering these all w/ a sort of Boromir-lives scenario in mind -w-

anyways ask meme 1 + ask meme 2

1. What memory would your OC rather just forget?

ok I feel like it’s the cop-out answer to say “his fall to the ring” but I feel like Boromir is the sort of person to.. not like stew on things but very much takes the stance of “good or bad, all my choices got me to the current moment and made me who I am.” + I feel like there’s so much tangled up in his fall completely beyond his control where that’s the only memory that he’d like. actively want to erase from his mind

2. What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

HM. good with kids. I think unless you’d seen him with Faramir/his cousins when they were younger you wouldn’t guess (he’s a soldier and a very plain man when he’s not putting on a show for his father), but he’s just genuinely great with kids

3. What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

loves too much + quick to lose hope. painfully aware of this

4. When scared, does your OC fight, flee, freeze or fawn?

fight response. 100% the kind of man who gets kicked out of a haunted house for punching a scareactor even though he knew a scare was coming. Faramir and Aragorn have both almost gotten throttled bc they unintentionally snuck up on him

5. How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

OOO. When He Is Of Sound Mind, not actually very far. he was raised with the knowledge he would be giving his life to Gondor, whether he died in battle or sat on the throne as steward. add to that the act he puts on for Denethor, everything he does to protect Faramir— he’s a man born to serve. his own wants come last

6. How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

it would take. a DESPERATELY long time and an almost complete degradation of his mental state. Boromir arrives in Rivendell in October 3018, and the very next day is the Council, at which point he sees the ring and is IMMEDIATELY influenced by it. yet he doesn’t fully fall to it until the end of February 3019. he’d been fighting its pull for almost four whole months by the time he does anything malicious. resisting the One Ring for FOUR MONTHS. <- reasons why if I see someone call Boromir weak for falling to it I will see red.

7. What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

teehee obviously again Boromir is not my OC so I will take this as an excuse to Be A Kinnie + say, I do remember Boromir being returned to us sometime after my coronation. so that’s one way my memories differ from canon, which is sort of an answer to this prompt snfjsjfj

8. Would your OC ostensibly be able to get away with murder?

OH YEAH. I mean yeah if we’re talking like actual criminal murder and not just Slaying People On A Battlefield like. yeah 100% he would IF he was within Minas Tirith. you know Denethor would do everything in his power to cover that up lmfao

9. Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?

YEAH YAYYYY I GET TO MAKE MORE PPL LISTEN TO CROM AND BARONESS!!!!

anyways “have you ever seen a man so strong have you ever seen a man so great when he fights time stands still and everything seems so unreal but deep inside of him this man is torn” what if I bit things about this song

+ also listening to Magnolia and Shock Me by Baroness with Aragorn/Boromir in mind makes me ill. im Unwell.

10. What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

HMMMMM The Frankenstein Chronicles gave me brain worms so I might write a Frankenstein-inspired thing at some point. sth sth consequences of divine resurrection

11. What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?

RAAAAGH. AUTISM TIMEEEEE.

Boromir uses a hand-and-a-half arming sword (meaning it’s balanced for single or double-handed use, with a crossguard). it’s a really elegant sword, very simple and utilitarian. speaks to an adaptable combat style as well. but, interestingly? Boromir carries a Rohirric shield, and if you notice Rohirric swords don’t actually HAVE crossguards the way Gondorian blades do. this tracks, and was common with Roman and early Germanic swords— BECAUSE these cultures were Also relying on shields for blocking.

and an additional note, Faramir’s sword is single-handed. so we’ve got a ranger who prefers the use of a bow and hasn’t experimented much with his sword combat, and his brother who prefers a sword and carries a very versatile blade with 1) a Rohirric shield and 2) a ranger’s vambraces designed to protect his arms from a (nonexistent) bowstring. I just find Boromir’s mix of protective gear so interesting, esp if you consider he and Théodred as at LEAST friends. like Boromir carries so much of the people he cares for with him into strange lands even when he (arguably) has little need for such gear

12. Is your OC self-destructive? In what ways?

yes and no. I think, not consciously? but he absolutely values himself lower than the people he cares for. he goes to Rivendell to keep Faramir out of danger, he takes multiple arrows to the chest and keeps fighting to defend Merry and Pippin. I think if there’s a risk of someone he loves getting hurt, all self-preservation goes out the window

13. If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

oh I would be staring at him like a predatory animal and trying to psychically convince him to lay on me in full armor

14. How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

HGH. ok I don’t think he necessarily. does?? and this is generally a Silly Little Headcanon bc of a comment a Most Beloved Friend made abt how everyone gets their autism from their dad (real+true) + now in my head “haha Faramir got his autism from Boromir instead” BUT. like genuinely I don’t think Boromir has an actual image of himself in his head or like processes that ppl perceive him, necessarily. and particularly when his father is holding him up as this aspirational figurehead for Gondor, like… I think he’s just himself, in his head. idk how to describe it well for the neurotypical ppl in the room snfskfjs sorry. like I don’t process myself as having Traits so ppl tell me they think I’m cool or funny or they enjoy being around me and it’s always like “!!! oh!” + I think Boromir is the same way. I think Faramir could describe Boromir to him + Boromir would just be like. “huh.”

15. Does your OC have a faceclaim? If so, who?

it’s Sean Bean + it will always be Sean Bean. sorry other Boromirs you simply pale in comparison

16. What is your OC's pain tolerance like?

VERY high by necessity. he’s a soldier he’s absolutely patched up his own injuries before, at least to hold over until he could see an actual healer

17. What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise?

ahh. I wrote a very personal fic exploring self harm urges w/ Boromir, so I suppose that

18. Is your OC more cold and detached or up close and personal?

very personable, when he’s of sound mind sndnsj

19. How does your OC behave when enraged?

oh he’s a silent anger type for sure. just seethes quietly. hello, consequences of spending time in an environment where you have no actual outlet for your anger + must simply sit there and Stew.

20. Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

again, When He’s Of Sound Mind, no. the man’s got a big heart and life’s too short to be petty

21. Does your OC have any illnesses or disorders? How do they handle it?

hitting him with the autism beam bc I can. I do also think he’s lost at least partial use of his arm in a Boromir Lives scenario, considering where the first arrow struck him

22. What character alignment would you consider your OC to be?

HMMM neutral good. he’s not chaotic enough to be.. chaotic (lol), and I think he’s too willing to go against Gondorian Popular Opinion to be lawful.

23. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

HMMMMM pain, actually. or “weakness.” I think if he can quantify it in his head as “showing weakness” then it’s getting stuffed in a mental box and Not Addressed

24. What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

ok well. None. I think with his circumstances he had zero choice in his path. HOWEVER. I am deeply DEEPLY fond of Boromir learning how to play an instrument after the war ends. I STILL struggle to blow my wassail horn that shit takes SKILL that I do not currently have and Boromir was the BEST at blowing his horn?????? I think he deserves to learn how to play an instrument, esp bc Aragorn, Merry and Pippin would ALL be delighted to have Boromir play while they sing. Boromir learning hobbit folk songs????? Rohirric songs, to honor Théodred?? yeagh.

25. What is your favorite thing about your OC?

HES SO. FUNDAMENTALLY LOVING. love is such a core aspect of his character he is so wholly loving that the ring has NO CHOICE but to try to twist that love. bc it’s all Boromir has. love. im going to throw up abt him.

AAAAAAAAAND:

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

has he ever BEEN completely alone? mm, no. has he ever felt that isolated? I think absolutely, by the time the fellowship leaves Caras Galadhon. obviously he doesn’t deal with it well el oh el.

as for how he acts when no one’s around to see him… I don’t think much changes, tbh. he’s not the kind of man to Perform for anyone except his father, and then with the express purpose of placating the man and keeping his ire towards Faramir to a minimum

betrayal: Has your OC ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust? Has your OC ever betrayed someone who trusted them?

been betrayed? hm. truthfully, no, though I’m certain he felt betrayed by Aragorn’s reluctance to be anything resembling a king.

has He betrayed someone? Technically Yes, though again, if we apply the qualifier of “When He’s Of Sound Mind” the answer is no. his betrayal comes under the influence of a Malicious Magical Artifact Which Has Been Fucking With His Mind For Months, so.

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

ooo, hm. I think not, actually, though it is a fun little idea for angst

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

gestures wildly at canon. I mean that’s his lowest. we’ve all seen it.

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

again, canon— to see his people safe. he’s very open with that desire, lol

failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

AH. canon again. though what he does to move past it… mm. quite a lot of atonement, I think. perhaps of the self-destructive, working-himself-too-hard variety. I do think speaking with Faramir about *his* experience with the ring would help, because Boromir is the first to hold Faramir up as this sort of paragon of Goodness. so I think to know *Faramir* was tempted would help him better ground his experiences as, like…. Not A Deep Moral Failure Exclusive To Himself

fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

ehehe. this is one thing I’ve touched on in a Faramir-centric fic, but the idea that the ring showed Boromir visions of Faramir dying at Denethor’s hand should he fail to return with the ring.

had Boromir lived to discover Denethor had nearly burned Faramir alive…… Mmmm. mmmmmmmm.

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

worst possible? if he’d actually managed to claim the ring. I shan’t elaborate -_-

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

MM. his own actions. dead friends, dead loved ones. though if you mean literally, haunts him, I do like to think that Théodred’s Oðr pays Boromir a visit every now and again

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

see above. handles it?? mm. atonement, again. direct action. he accepts it and does what he can to make it right

hate: What does your OC hate? Why? How do they act towards the object of their hatred?

HATE? Orcs, probably. Sauron. that tentacle motherfucker outside Moria. he’s not a hateful man, so. shrugs.

heartbreak: Have they ever had a relationship that ended badly? Experienced some other kind of heartbreak? What happened?

that ended badly in the interpersonal sense? mm, unlikely. more ended badly in the “somebody fucking died” sense.

I do think he had One (1) fledgling romance in Dol Amroth that ended with the other squire dying and that was sort of the catalyst for “ah. If I love people they’ll Probably Die, so maybe I won’t do that” baggage that he didn’t really unpack until, I think, Théodred. add the additional layers of Denethor Being Denethor and Boromir having such great standards to live up to…. with all the love in my heart, that relationship only happened bc Théodred saw Boromir, went “I need to fuck that Gondorian so bad it makes me look stupid” and proceeded to work his way through 1700 layers of gondorian mental bullshit just so he could suck some dick (me too bestie)

hide: What does your OC hide? Why do they hide it?

hm. my first instinct is to say “not much” but ultimately I think he’d hide anything he can quantify as “weakness.” his own distress, any physical pain if he needs to be up and moving, etc. he’s only able to share that earnest moment with Aragorn in Caras Galadhon bc of Galadriel’s influence. he’s not used to being seen. so, if there is sth that would hold him back from fulfilling his duty as a soldier it is absolutely getting hidden/ignored.

hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert?

hm. not necessarily Hunted, but I do think he is followed by Denethor’s expectations. it’s sth I’ve talked abt in another ask + that I go into in the costuming doc but such a key element of Denethor’s design is his son’s motifs but Richer, Grander. so… I do think Boromir is constantly alert of, like, how his father will perceive him, bc there is this very insidious sort of competition, this need for Denethor to show his sons up (whether a conscious need or not). and I do think that would weigh on Boromir quite heavily

mask: Does your OC wear a mask, literally or figuratively? What goes on beneath it? Is there anyone in their life who gets to see who they are under the mask?

mm again I think he only really wears a mask/performs for Denethor. anyone else would be too much effort for too little reward. at least if he plays Golden Son for his father, it keeps Faramir from being harassed as much

however, as for who gets to see him when he’s.. not just unmasked but actually RELAXED… Faramir, his uncle and cousins, Théodred, Aragorn, the others in the fellowship but particularly Merry and Pippin

midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

does he have nightmares? oh definitely. what he does in the small hours of the night? depends. if he’s on campaign/traveling/otherwise away from Minas Tirith he will either lay there in his bedroll and Think (bad) or get up and write letters. depends entirely on where he’s stationed/who he’s with. if he Is at home in Minas Tirith, I expect he just goes for a walk + looks at the sky

mistake: What's the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on?

I think I’ve pretty much answered all of this above, so skfjsjdh

monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? Is there something that makes them monstrous? Are they aware of their own monstrosity? Do they accept it or reject it?

nah, he’s not ❤️‍🩹

nightmare: What does your OC have nightmares about? How do they deal with their nightmares? Do they tell people, or keep it to themself?

answered w midnight for the most part— I’ll just add that no, he wouldn’t really talk about his nightmares. that requires showing vulnerability lol. I think Théodred and Aragorn are the only two who could coax him into speaking about his nightmares/fears (he wouldn’t want to burden Faramir with such nonsense)

pain: What's the worst pain your OC has ever felt? Do they have a high pain tolerance?

answered sorta (yes he has a high pain tolerance) but worst pain? gonna go with three orc arrows to the chest

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

HMMMM again I don’t think there are many secrets. I do think if Denethor found out he liked men it would be disastrous

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

hm. I think he’s generally at ease with himself, or at least content with Not Thinking About These Things. I think, had he directly survived the arrows, he would have to grapple with like. the idea that he did prove Aragorn’s fears about men correct (whether Aragorn would agree with him or not)

torture: Has your OC ever been tortured? Would your OC ever torture someone else?

Four Months Of Slow Mental Degradation Due To An Accursed Magical Artifact!!!!! 🎉🎉🎉

(no he wouldn’t torture anyone else)

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

hm. He would say mostly physical wounds. I’d argue a mix of both. he’ll accept as much care as he needs to stay on his feet and fighting. worst wound is definitely still arrows lol

#THANK UUUUUUUU THIS WAS SO FUN #I love character analysis sooooooooooo much snfjsjfjhd

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joenotexotic99 · 7 months ago

Note

A band of brothers smut please

One where Winters is jealous because he feels the reader is spending too much time with the men, and he feels like he isn't getting enough attention from her. He takes her to one of the bedrooms in an empty house, and he locks the door just in case. The reader teases him for being jealous and is a bit of a brat and he tells her to behave herself she plays along and reguses him and keeps teasing him. Also, the reader likes being in control in the bedroom, and winters usually let her, but he surprises her, and he takes charge of the situation and shows that he is in control using his power over her and is authortive with her. Winters dominates her and punishes her and is rough and there is alot of teasing and degrading. Near the end he is soft and he praises her like a dom/soft and minor bdsm thing. They then fall asleep together.

Summary: Winters is jealous and punishes reader for hanging out with the men to much

A/n: I did this in Austria because it felt right for the plot. I did take a line or two from one of my books because her smut is just chef kiss, so kudos to Hannah Grace. Thank you

(please note that i am not responsible for what you read on the internet, do not come for me for adult content)

18+ only

Warnings: language, there's a meme reference in here if you find it and lmk it will make my day, mature themes, slight oc with Winters just because this isn't him so much, this turned darker that what it was supposed to be oops, slight choking, oral (f receiving) winters hands (yes im putting this here,) degrading, rough sex, slapping, rank kink, unprotected sex, (remember kids, flies spread disease, so keep your closed,) back shot, fluff.

Lmk if i missed anything :)

Word count: 3.7k

-This is a work SOLELY based on the actors' portrayal of these men. Every ounce of respect to the real soldiers.-

Masterlist

The war in Europe has ended, and Easy company was stationed in Austria, awaiting their next orders. The rolling hills were poetically beautiful, even more so as they sparkled in the cold blue lake. The picturesque landscape was a sharp contrast to the ugly battlefield they left behind. The men of Easy Company were slowly adjusting to their new found peace, attempting to find their footing after so long immersed in soul sucking war. It was an embraced challenge.

For Winters and you, the transition held more personal challenges. The chaos of war had left little time for intimacy, or any personal moments for that matter. Now, in the relative calm of Austria, those missed moments seemed to catch up all at once. For Winters he held so much responsibility over the last few years he was never able to stray his attention anywhere other than the task at hand. Now with nothing but sunshine and time, he finally had all the time in the world for you.

As the days passed he couldn't help but notice you spending more and more time with the men of Easy Company rather than him. Winters watched you from the sidelines as you laughed, anger silently boiled under his skin as you simply conversed with another man, them leaning in to hear you better, knowing that they could smell your perfume and feel your warmth, and not him. It wasn't that he didn’t understand; he knew they were your friends. But he couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that gnawed at him and kept him up at night.

The feelings of neglect festered inside him, turning into a simmering hot frustration. He had been so patient throughout the war, always putting duty before his own desires, but now that peace had finally arrived, he felt entitled to your time, your attention, your touch, your body. The rational part of his mind knew he was being unfair, yet he had been deprived of your moans for so fucking long. He was battling to keep his fantasies at bay.

The tipping point came one evening at a nearby bar. The air was hot and loud, filled with the sounds of celebration and the clinking of glasses. Winters from a nearby seat, watched as you interacted with the men, your smile lighting up the room, he missed that smile so much. Yet he couldn't ignore the way some of them got a little too flirty, their hands lingering on your body longer than necessary. His blood boiled with jealousy, his patience was being tested second by second and it was starting to wear dangerously thin.

You were able to get a dress from a nearby shop, it was nothing fancy but fuck you looked hot in it. After years of continuously wearing one thing it felt nice for you to wear something out of the norm. But with alcohol being passed around like water and you being the shiny diamond of the room, Winters found himself feeling a knot of unease tightening in his chest and his pants were slightly tighter than when he first put them on. He trusts his men with his life, and he knows they mean no harm. However if he sees one more lingering hand so close to your ass, he might loose is fucking head.

Unable to bear it any longer, Winters crossed the room and took your hand, pulling you away from the group.

“What the fuck Richard” you exclaimed, trying to keep your voice down as the others looked on in surprise. Luckily they were too drunk off their asses to give two shits.

His grip was firm but not painful as he led you through the crowded bar and out towards where you were currently staying. His mind was a whirlwind of emotion. Anger, jealousy, hurt, all mixing together in a storm he was struggling to control and get a grip of.

As you reached the hallway leading to the bedrooms, you tried to pull your hand free, but Winters held on, his eyes fixed ahead.

"Richard, slow down. Talk to me, please" you pleaded, but he didn't stop until you were both inside the dimly lit room, the door closing behind you with a soft click as he locked the door.

The sudden quiet was jarring, the contrast to the noise of the bar, it was almost deafening. He finally let go of your hand and turned to face you, his eyes blazing with pent-up frustration. "Do you have any idea how it feels to watch you with them?" he asked, his voice low and strained. "To see you laughing, touching them, while I’m standing there like a damn fool?”

He walks within inches of you, you could feel his breath on you. “Are you jealous?”

You scoff “Oh my god, you are, you're jealous”

“I have been nothing but patient with you, letting you settle in and get your footing” Winter’s looked up to collect his thoughts, taking a deep breath “yet here you are in this.. beautiful fucking dress letting everyone feel you up. Not a single thought on how I feel”

You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling up. "Oh so what, you want me to ignore them and just be by your side all the time? That's not fair, Dick.”

His voice was low, dangerous almost, as he slowly backed you up against the door. “Do you want to know what's really unfair? Hm?” He stepped closer, his eyes boring into yours. “Unfair is watching you laugh and flirt with them while I stand in the shadows. Unfair is feeling like I’m losing you when we’ve barely had a chance to be together for one god forsaken night. Unfair is seeing their hands on you, touching what’s mine.”

Your breath quickened as you looked back at him, your pulse racing. You crossed your arms defensively, trying to hold your ground even as his intensity made your heart pound, you could practically feel it in your ears, it clouded your thoughts. “Do you not realize where we are Dick? Were in a hotel for christ sake, with warm water, clean sheets and a view people would pay good money for. So sue me for wanting to celebrate what we just fought for over a year for. Are you really that impatient?”

He stepped even closer, the heat of his body radiating towards you. His eyes flashed with a mix of anger and something else—something more primal. “Impatient? I’ve been patient, more than you know. But watching you tonight, seeing the way they looked at you, touched you... it drove me crazy, it is driving me crazy.”

You bit your lip, the tension between you palpable. Heat rose not just to your cheeks but lowerer, deeper. It settled in your core. It made your knees weak.

“Wow, truly” You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. “I didn’t know Major Winters could get so jealous.”

He narrowed his eyes, his voice a low growl. “Behave yourself.”

You giggled, stepping back and away from the door, just out of his reach. “Or what? You’ll punish me?” You continued to tease him, your tone light and mocking. “I think you’re just mad because you’re not the center of attention for once.”

Writers turned to face you “Do you want to test me?” he warned, his voice calm but laced with a dangerous edge.

You were enjoying this game. You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Maybe I do,” you said, challenging him with a mischievous grin.

Winters took a deep breath, however before you could react, he closed the distance between you, pinning you against the door with surprising force. His hands gripped your wrists, holding them above your head as he pressed his body against yours. Now it wasn't just your own heartbeat you could feel, or your arousal.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. “Richard...”

“Enough games,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine, and it’s time you remembered that.”

Your eyes widened at his sudden dominance, the usual playful banter slipping away. You tried to wriggle free, but his grip was firm. “You don’t scare me,” you whispered defiantly, though your voice wavered.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your neck. “Maybe not, but I’ll make sure you respect me.” His tone was authoritative, sending shivers down your spine. There was practically a river between your legs at this point. His hands moved from your wrists, sliding down your arms and stopping to rest on your hips, eventually or ass. He held you tightly, his body pressed firmly against yours.

“You’re not playing fair,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.

“You wanted to test me, remember?” His lips grazed your earlobe, his voice a low growl. “Now it’s my turn.”

His mouth smashed into yours in a crazed, horny and desperate show of built up sexual frustration. You moaned into his mouth, you missed this. His hands roamed down to the bottom of your dress which went down to your mid thigh. He traced the bottom of it in a teasing matter. You felt his warm touch against your skin, it sent small electric shocks straight to your aching center. His mouth eventually made its way to your neck, finding your pulse point. It's rough yet passionate and overwhelming.

He slowly moves your dress up to your waist, his hands are now teasing the fabric of your underwear. His mouth is back on yours as he explores your mouth. It's truly not enough, you need him, now. “Richard please.” you beg. He stops to look at you, one hand moving to caress your cheek. “Now look whos impatient”

You moaned, you never knew this side of him. Sure before the war you did it when you could and however you could. But typically it was in the quiet of the night, somewhere far away from the rest of the 506th. Yet even then it was you who did most of it all, you were in charge. But here you are, pinned against the door of a grand hotel room, dress at your waist, turned into putty being molded into a desperate woman by the man in front of you. It made your head spin.

You're incredibly close to taking matters into your own hands and getting off yourself, you hurt so fucking bad. Anything please anything, you wanted to beg. You wanted to make a snarky comment on how you could feel his dick through his pants that you were sure was hard and aching. Tell him that he should check himself on who's the most desperate here. Yet all that came out was a desperate, almost pathetic whine. Winters let out an amused chuckle, god he knew you were completely at his mercy, and he savored it.

Goose bumps spread down your skin. Winters has barely touched you yet you are ready to melt. It feels like he's everywhere at once. One of his hands snakes around your neck and lightly chokes you. It sends you on a whole new wave of pleasure. His hands make his way to your underwear, he slowly rubs your clit, it feels like he's taunting you, keeping you on edge. You're practically panting.

He stops kissing you and removes his hands. However before you could complain, he sinks to his knees in front of you. He looks up at you, establishing eye contact, his hands run from your ankles up to your knee then dangerously close to where you need him most, then right back down. “I want you to apologize” he says, eyes still boring into yours. “Tell me who is the only one who's allowed to touch you” he starts to place feather light kisses over your legs. “I want you to tell me how bad you want it”

“I'm sorry, please only you dick only you” you cry out. Squirming under his touch “I want it all of it please” you were going insane. The anticipation slowly killing you

“Tell me darling, how bad do you want it” he said, as he slowly removed your underwear revealing your wet core. He placed one of your legs over his shoulder. He was inches away.

“So fucking bad ple-” he cuts you off by his toung running between your folds. Circling your clit. A loud moan escapes your lips into the empty room.

His hands move from your thigh until he places them onto your ass for the second time this night. He squeezes it. As he palms your ass he sucks your clit in a way that makes your head feel light and your legs shake. You are officially a withering, shaking moaning wreck. You looked down to see him staring right back at you. Your hands sink into his hair, you watched as he buried deeper between your thighs. He moans as you tug at his hair. He's enjoying this just as much as you are.

One of his hands moves from your ass cheek to your center. One, two digits slide into you with ease. You would be embarresed on how quicky he has been able to turn you into a moaning mess but the way his hand immedeatly finds you G-spot stops you.

His pace increases as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. You are utterly lost in the perfect collaboration that's between his fingers and mouth. Winters face being what's holding you up at this point seeing how you legs are now jelly at the overpowering pleasure Richard Winters is delivering to you on a silver fucking plater.

Your orgasm is quickly building, you tug at his hair harder, moan louder. You desperately ride his face and fingers. “Richard..” you whimper, so very close to the edge “im gunna fuck im going to c-” you dont even get to finish your sentence before your trashing and spaziming with pleasure, every square inch of your skin is set ablaze and you ride out your high.

Removing his fingers and mouth he stands up full height, mouth glistening with your arousal. He tells you to open wide before sticking the fingers that he just used to give you an incredible orgasm into your mouth.

“Taste how incredible you are,” He says as you wrap your lips around his fingers. You close your eyes as you lightly suck on said fingers. Winters has to hold back a moan at the thought of you on your knees taking his cock into your pretty little mouth. But he has other plans for tonight.

“You’re awful” You say with a fucked out grin on your face. “And you my dear” He goes to pick you up “are delicious” he finishes as you wrap your legs around his waist. He walks you over to the bed and sets you down onto it. He stands up at the foot of the bed and starts removing his clothes, starting with his belt.

“Is this what you want? Hm? To be treated like a slut?” He asks, hands now unbuttoning his shirt. “Because for over a week now you seem to want the attention of every guy in this town” His pants are next. “You think they can fuck you better?” He's now left with nothing. He moves to the bed towards you. He crawls over you, his lips so close to yours. You reach up to connect to his lips but he pulls away quickly just to turn you around. Your face now stuffed into the plush white pillows. You're left breathless.

“Answer me, do you think they can fuck you better?” he moves your dress so you're exposed. You can feel the cold air hit your bare cunt.

“No..you fuck me best Richard” you respond looking back at him you see him mapping out your ass, thighs and lower back with his hand like hes trying to memorise every detail on your body.

“Sir, you call me sir or major you understand that” He looks back at you with hardened eyes. Slapping your ass leaving it slightly rouge. You moan at the contact, it makes you impossibly wetter. “You like that don’t you? You like it when I treat you like a whore?” He slaps you again, then again then again, rubbing and soothing where he slapped you each time.

“Yes sir, I do, treat me like a whore, your whore sir, please” At this point you're on the brink of frustrated tears. You are so unbelievably horny yet you don't want it to end. You want him to keep going, fuck you into tomorrow, make you forget your own name. But nothing more than desperate whines and moans leave your mouth.

He soon stops his assault, seeming pleased with himself. “Im going to fuck this tight little pussy like its mine, youre going to take it like a good girl, wont you?’ he says demandingly, lining himself up with your entrance. You roll your hips with a moan, it was a weak effort to gain some friction. “Won't you?”

“Yes I can ta-” he cuts you off by slamming into you. It takes everything in him to not come instantly by your loud moan and tight tight pussy.

Every trust is as delicious and as punishing as the last. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room along with your moans. If anyone came home from the bar they probably could hear you. Not that you care. Winters fucks you harder and harder into the mattres. He soon lifts you up by your hair and wraps a hand around your neck to keep you pressed up against his warm body.

“Whose pussy is this? He grunts. Winters starts nibbling at your ear waiting for your response “you-your pussy, fuck, its your pussy all, holly shit its yours sir” You moan, you scream. You hoped you sounded semi ok, you're not even completely sure if you did.

“Such a tight little pussy all for me” he pants against your ear before letting you go back to the mattress. He places both of his hands on your waist, fucking you harder, faster, deeper. “You think you can get under my skin, huh? Do you think I don't see the little game you're playing?” he's right, you knew that it bothered him, you never thought it would end so…climatically though. “ It's my cock you come all over. Even if its another man hand on your ass, its my name you fucking scream”

Your orgasm hit you out of nowhere. It almost paralyzes you with pleasure before your legs start to shake. Winters doesn’t stop however, he doesn't even slow his pace down. He simply keeps going. If anything, it's like it encourages him to go on. And all you can do is take it. And you are nothing but greedy for it.

“God look at you i've turned you into a mess” his hands sneaked around to start rubbing your clit, adding to the already punishing pleasure you're enduring. “You like it don’t you? you like being treated like the good little whore you are”

“Yess, fuck like a fucking whore” You’re breathless and your skin is on fire. Every word he says makes you grip the bed sheets harder, scream lounder, beg more, for what? You're not sure. You buck and squirm against him, your third orgasm soon to arrive. You know he's close to by the way he groans your name under his breath, his trust gets sloppy and loses their rhythm. It's all so erotic.

“It's ok you can come I got you” Your body tenses up, the coil snaps. You start to see stars and for a second you might have went to heaven and back because of how good it feels

His trust gets more sloppy and he moans louder, you feel him tense up before he slips out of you and spills onto your back.

He goes to fall beside you and your both left panting. You're so unbelievably exhausted yet you feel like your own cloud nine all at once. You feel Winters get up and come back with a warm towel to clean you up. Then you feel him unzip the dress you're wearing and the bra follows. You soon feel him next to you stroking your hair.

You turn to look up at him. Gentle caring eyes look back at you.

“That wasn't too rough was it? Did I hurt you?” His voice is so calm. You move to snuggle up with him, his hand wraps around you. “It was perfect, dick, and i'm fine, sore, you didn't overstep, I know you would have stopped if i said so” your hand drew mindless patterns on his chest.

“I care so much about you, you know that” Winters said tenderly as he kissed the top of your head. “I don't want you leaving”

You snuggle him tightly, feeling the tension between you dissolve. listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear “I’m yours,” you assured him. “And I always will be.” As you held each other close, you felt a sense of peace and contentment that you hadn’t felt in a long time. The tension from earlier seemed to melt away, replaced by a sense of calm and safety.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again, your voice barely audible.

"Shh," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "It's okay. We're okay."

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. The love and tenderness in his gaze made your heart swell. "I love you, Richard."

"I love you too," he replied, his voice filled with warmth. He tightened his embrace, pulling you even closer. Winters reached over to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into a comfortable darkness. You nestled against him, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

"Goodnight," you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep.

"Goodnight," he whispered back, his lips brushing against your hair. The gentle rise and fall of his chest was the last thing you remembered as you slipped into a deep, restful sleep, knowing that as long as you had each other, everything would be alright.

#band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #richard winters x reader #band of brother smut

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