victoriafreakingmcqueen - Tumblr blog

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

Her eyes flicked up to watch once Manx had closed her door and started to round the front of the car. If she was going to change her mind, this was the last chance. She could dart out and bolt for the house, disappear into the party. She doubted the man would risk making a scene in a crowd.

But as her hand edged towards the door handle, right when Charlie's was facing directly away from her, the Wraith roared to life on it's own. It surprised her enough that the moment she felt like running passed and Vic's hand fell back to her lap. Then warmth pressed into her limbs from the leather seats and the smells from inside the car bloomed more vibrant and tickled Vic's nose, the smell intensified when Charlie climbed into the cab and he nearly brushed shoulders with Vic.

She hadn't been prepared for how small the front of the Wraith was for two people, especially with one wearing a rather large ballgown.

When Charlie cast the wolf mask aside, it took a moment for Vic to tear her eyes away from it and dispel the urge to touch it as well. Like having two creatures in the car with her at once. Her enemy, Charlie Manx and the patient, intriguing stranger who'd swept her into a pleasant bubble for a brief moment.

"It's funny," she said in an uneven tone, trying to find some kind of footing while being in someone else's knife. "Figured you'd know exactly how long it'd take. If you'd done this kind a trip before with others."

She'd known Jolene had never seen Christamsland but who else had? It was a nudge, but also a way to dispel tension. He'd made it clear this wasn't as quick or straightforward as when Vic used her bridge. But he was also being wobbly about it.

Watching Willa's house disappear as they turned the corner, Vic pressed her fingers to the passenger side window. As if she could mentally send some plea for Willa to keep her disappearance a secret for as long as possible. And hopefully Vic would be back to repay that debt to her friend. Her fingers slid away from the glass when the lights were fully gone and the dark of the roadside took over.

"Always thought we weren't suppo' to touch another Strong Creative's knife," she murmured more to herself than Charlie, remembering what Maggie had taught her. Even though she'd helped Jolene use hers one last time.

@wraith-of-christmas-future

Masquerade

Continued from here : +

@victoriafreakingmcqueen​

             The cornered decision ; one he notably considered could be met with minimal resistance. It had been conjured by merely witnessing the issue of her disposal in a substance that could numb her senses. A poison to taint her mind. Knowing her background like an open book, it was a dangerous chase he wished to pull her from, forcefully if he must. It was after all, the design behind his abrupt and silent offer.

Underlying as his gaze may have met the general outcry. He was poised to retaliate against those that offered her the drinks. The very same faces hindered under falsified features, who urged her on with other foul intents his mind could only guess at and fret over.

Malice crept behind slits , pools of russet brown cast iron with resignation toward his fiendish nature overturned. Provoking any of her male counterparts to protest or dare offer her another glass. Holding half a mind to obliterate the glassware while they still held onto it. With greater objective to maim every single one of them. But the urge staled –

When his prize showed signs of accepting, leather soothed across her palm where digits instinctively claimed her hand in it’s entirety. His touch was diminutively cold even between the barrier adorning hands.  Yet it complimented mysteriously , a warmth invitingly context. He felt this premature ventricular contraction in his own heart as it skipped in beat at the cost of her touch, acknowledging. The acceptance that kept his sour flex at bay, instantaneously lifting his mood and it was certainly on exhibit for all to notice with no sign of care faltering his pursuit to wisp her away from them.

              Guiding her under the guise of grace while a thumb soothingly encircled over the face of her hand, held upright and sought with precise etiquette. His gaze never wavered from her company upon their ascension. Attentive of the figure , petite in her dress that enhanced assets of her skin, brought color vibrantly from her gaze that could subdue in secrecy. He was staring in admiration when her confession broke into his thoughts.  – don’t know how to dance . How typically Victoria. It honestly didn’t come to him as a surprise. This type of thing didn’t merit to her style and he knew it from the beginning.

He didn’t respond however, at least not verbally. A half cant expelled his gaze , descending hues would follow the hand that crept at her backside. A smile, vaguely pursed with restraint. A yielding touch, faint but direct at the curvature abroad, fluttering along, caressing and imprinting above her waist. Eyes no sooner floated to greet her directly as he brought around the hand he possessed within his opposite limb.

Pressing her backward and shuffling his foot between her own. Conjoined effort to force a counter in his initial move with one similar; making it near impossible to not mirror in all but rhythm, for now. The insinuative urge backpedaling his playmate while his other leg joined offset, once aligned he’d send her toward a glide that would twirl her about once, then a pause in between each step giving her room to analyze. It was here that he dared to pull her closer, tautly commanding if not brazenly imposing. A crook of that earlier smile, etched further. To feel her close , he’d admit was manipulating his own game, becoming a strain to not break character then and there. To simply muse over this display.

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

Whatever span of time she had to change her mind was snatched away as quickly as Charlie Manx snatched her hand up and gleefully pulled her towards the waiting Wraith.

Unbidden, there was only one horrifyingly accurate description for the man's new attitude, 'a kid on Christmas morning'. And Vic, in her December forest green was the goddamned present he wanted.

His pandering about Hailey, his compliments to her bridge, it all fell on deaf ears as all she heard was the white noise of her brain struggling to catch up with what she'd agreed to. No, what'd she asked him to do.

It stuck something in her throat as he swept her grandly to the passenger side and Vic was left to willingly gather what bits of her skirt she needed to, to step in the Wraith of her own free will.

Once seated on the soft leather seats, she fought not to jump as Charlie gathered the rest of her dress in after her. Goosebumps rising on her skin as the smell of pine, leather and the distinct scent of her mystery dancer surrounded her.

'What the fuck am I doing?!' Rang loudly in her head.

And then what last vestige of the ruse that allowed Charlie Manx access to the ball was ripped away and she stared at the man, bare faced and beaming at her. It was a cold/hot rush that filled her at seeing him smirk at her, no mask for her to fool herself any longer, or deny that the low rumble of longing in his voice didn't do something awful to her stomach. A feeling she'd take to her grave if need be. If Charlie didn't send her there himself.

"I'll...decide that myself," she finally said in response to his assurances about Hailey. It was her only way of reaching the girl now. She forced her eyes forward and prayed no one from the party came out to find them. "We should get going."

@wraith-of-christmas-future

Masquerade

Continued from here : +

@victoriafreakingmcqueen​

             The cornered decision ; one he notably considered could be met with minimal resistance. It had been conjured by merely witnessing the issue of her disposal in a substance that could numb her senses. A poison to taint her mind. Knowing her background like an open book, it was a dangerous chase he wished to pull her from, forcefully if he must. It was after all, the design behind his abrupt and silent offer.

Underlying as his gaze may have met the general outcry. He was poised to retaliate against those that offered her the drinks. The very same faces hindered under falsified features, who urged her on with other foul intents his mind could only guess at and fret over.

Malice crept behind slits , pools of russet brown cast iron with resignation toward his fiendish nature overturned. Provoking any of her male counterparts to protest or dare offer her another glass. Holding half a mind to obliterate the glassware while they still held onto it. With greater objective to maim every single one of them. But the urge staled –

When his prize showed signs of accepting, leather soothed across her palm where digits instinctively claimed her hand in it’s entirety. His touch was diminutively cold even between the barrier adorning hands.  Yet it complimented mysteriously , a warmth invitingly context. He felt this premature ventricular contraction in his own heart as it skipped in beat at the cost of her touch, acknowledging. The acceptance that kept his sour flex at bay, instantaneously lifting his mood and it was certainly on exhibit for all to notice with no sign of care faltering his pursuit to wisp her away from them.

              Guiding her under the guise of grace while a thumb soothingly encircled over the face of her hand, held upright and sought with precise etiquette. His gaze never wavered from her company upon their ascension. Attentive of the figure , petite in her dress that enhanced assets of her skin, brought color vibrantly from her gaze that could subdue in secrecy. He was staring in admiration when her confession broke into his thoughts.  – don’t know how to dance . How typically Victoria. It honestly didn’t come to him as a surprise. This type of thing didn’t merit to her style and he knew it from the beginning.

He didn’t respond however, at least not verbally. A half cant expelled his gaze , descending hues would follow the hand that crept at her backside. A smile, vaguely pursed with restraint. A yielding touch, faint but direct at the curvature abroad, fluttering along, caressing and imprinting above her waist. Eyes no sooner floated to greet her directly as he brought around the hand he possessed within his opposite limb.

Pressing her backward and shuffling his foot between her own. Conjoined effort to force a counter in his initial move with one similar; making it near impossible to not mirror in all but rhythm, for now. The insinuative urge backpedaling his playmate while his other leg joined offset, once aligned he’d send her toward a glide that would twirl her about once, then a pause in between each step giving her room to analyze. It was here that he dared to pull her closer, tautly commanding if not brazenly imposing. A crook of that earlier smile, etched further. To feel her close , he’d admit was manipulating his own game, becoming a strain to not break character then and there. To simply muse over this display.

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

 – -this is why I should be banned at making gifs now too.

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

Vic's heart was pounding in her ears. She wanted to take back the words, somehow rewind time. Because what she'd asked was insane and everything Jolene and Maggie would have warned her against. There was also no guarantee that once she got in the Wraith, that Charlie would let her out again.

His initial silence was worrisome. The last time they'd spoken about Christmasland, Vic had promised to burn it to the ground upon arrival. So when Charlie finally spoke, Vic gave a nervous little laugh at the question.

"No." What was the point in lying?

The Wraith's door popping open on it's own startled Vic, she turned sharply towards it and blinked. She'd seen the car run down a person driverless before, but the fact that the car was sentient or at least an extension of Manx himself was still hard to swallow. Not like her dirt bike did shit on it's own.

His voice dragged her attention back and the things he told her were...not good. "How long would it take?" She asked, concern growing in her belly. She could make up some story about getting one on one time with her dancer and going home after to Willa, but what about her parents?

Then that dangerous question...Vic swallowed. The truth or something to boost his ego and make the trip all that easier. She raised her chin eventually, meeting his gaze directly. "I wanna see Hailey," her voice firm, solid and her shoulders back. "I wanna see what's so great about it that you felt you had to take her there."

She might have garnered more with honey. But that wasn't exactly her way, and after how that'd gone with Bing before, it wasn't something she liked to dredge up.

When he offered his hand, Vic stared at it a moment. The gloves covering the sharp nails she knew were underneath. He looked more like some gothic romance anti-hero. She shook that thought away quickly, but she took his hand all the same.

What had she gotten herself into?

@wraith-of-christmas-future

Masquerade

Continued from here : +

@victoriafreakingmcqueen​

             The cornered decision ; one he notably considered could be met with minimal resistance. It had been conjured by merely witnessing the issue of her disposal in a substance that could numb her senses. A poison to taint her mind. Knowing her background like an open book, it was a dangerous chase he wished to pull her from, forcefully if he must. It was after all, the design behind his abrupt and silent offer.

Underlying as his gaze may have met the general outcry. He was poised to retaliate against those that offered her the drinks. The very same faces hindered under falsified features, who urged her on with other foul intents his mind could only guess at and fret over.

Malice crept behind slits , pools of russet brown cast iron with resignation toward his fiendish nature overturned. Provoking any of her male counterparts to protest or dare offer her another glass. Holding half a mind to obliterate the glassware while they still held onto it. With greater objective to maim every single one of them. But the urge staled –

When his prize showed signs of accepting, leather soothed across her palm where digits instinctively claimed her hand in it’s entirety. His touch was diminutively cold even between the barrier adorning hands.  Yet it complimented mysteriously , a warmth invitingly context. He felt this premature ventricular contraction in his own heart as it skipped in beat at the cost of her touch, acknowledging. The acceptance that kept his sour flex at bay, instantaneously lifting his mood and it was certainly on exhibit for all to notice with no sign of care faltering his pursuit to wisp her away from them.

              Guiding her under the guise of grace while a thumb soothingly encircled over the face of her hand, held upright and sought with precise etiquette. His gaze never wavered from her company upon their ascension. Attentive of the figure , petite in her dress that enhanced assets of her skin, brought color vibrantly from her gaze that could subdue in secrecy. He was staring in admiration when her confession broke into his thoughts.  – don’t know how to dance . How typically Victoria. It honestly didn’t come to him as a surprise. This type of thing didn’t merit to her style and he knew it from the beginning.

He didn’t respond however, at least not verbally. A half cant expelled his gaze , descending hues would follow the hand that crept at her backside. A smile, vaguely pursed with restraint. A yielding touch, faint but direct at the curvature abroad, fluttering along, caressing and imprinting above her waist. Eyes no sooner floated to greet her directly as he brought around the hand he possessed within his opposite limb.

Pressing her backward and shuffling his foot between her own. Conjoined effort to force a counter in his initial move with one similar; making it near impossible to not mirror in all but rhythm, for now. The insinuative urge backpedaling his playmate while his other leg joined offset, once aligned he’d send her toward a glide that would twirl her about once, then a pause in between each step giving her room to analyze. It was here that he dared to pull her closer, tautly commanding if not brazenly imposing. A crook of that earlier smile, etched further. To feel her close , he’d admit was manipulating his own game, becoming a strain to not break character then and there. To simply muse over this display.

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

Vic met that pointed gaze, dared him to lie to her. There was something in Charlie Manx's gaze and his voice that gave him away. But then again, the stained legs of her jeans could have easily attributed all of it to blood loss.

The thought that blood loss had made him less coherent went out the door when he turned that sharp tongue on Maggie. It raised Vic's hackles almost immediately. Especially since she remembered a very similar speech directed at herself at the business end of a hammer. Her back sang with half forgotten pain and she pined for the bottle of pain killers currently out of reach.

"Enough!" Vic snapped at the older Strong Creative hissing and spitting at Maggie. Reaching out she grabbed Charlie Manx's chin with blood stained fingers and turned his face forcibly back to her. "You got problems, I fucking get it, everyone does. You wanna get through this with a leg still attached, Charlie? Then ya gotta let us help you. And then you and I are gonna talk."

She was so focused on staring Manx down when she said that, Vic completely missed Maggie walking away. Not until the medium called her name. Vic turned to go, but it seems Manx was not done throwing venom. This time it was her father and what Manx said gave Vic pause. She stared down at Manx, covered in his blood, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Dad, keep an eye on him," Vic muttered before finally walking away.

It didn't take long to find Maggie and crouch beside her, though her body ached in protest. She scanned the name spread across the cement ground. "Cassie?" Vic shook her head and looked at her friend. "What's that mean?"

Chris McQueen waited until his daughter was out of earshot before he glared back at Manx. His intentions were clear. "If I poisoned her for the likes of you, pal? I still failed as a father, but at least I got her ready to turn down monsters like you," and the man pressed down harder on the leg wound than he needed to, just enough to send new spasms of pain through Manx.

@wraith-of-christmas-future @aurora-stantler-our-historian

10-48 Fairbanks

It had been a crazy plan. One no one but Vic could have cooked up with how many bats her bridge was missing by this point. Even her father and Maggie had wondered if they could pull it off. 

The plan? Kidnap Charlie Manx. 

They’d caught him unawares leaving a gas station and knocked him out. Maggie’s tiles had given them the location. Only after trying to get Wayne out to no avail had they gone through with the plan. It was what Vic expected though, that’s why they needed Manx. He was the only one who the Wraith would listen to. 

Out gunning the Wraith once she realized her driver was missing had been a white knuckling experience, but they’d reached the warehouse and gotten in unscathed, barely. The side of the building had some of the Wraith’s paint on it where Chris had been a second beforehand. 

It was surreal now to see an unconscious Charlie Manx, bound to a chair in the middle of a leaky roofed warehouse while the Wraith revved and squealed her tires outside like an angry guard dog. 

“You really think this is gonna work, Brat?” Chris McQueen asked his daughter wearily, arms crossed as he looked at the man who’d taken his grandson and nearly killed his daughter in the process. 

Vic dragged a chair at least six feet from Manx’s chair and turned it around to sit and wait for the maniac to wake up. “We have him. Now we find out what buttons to push to get Wayne back.”

@wraith-of-christmas-future @aurora-stantler-our-historian

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

His scorn of her friends raised her hackles, but she remained quiet, knowing what he wanted to hear Vic say, to hear her repeat. That he was a good teacher. It was difficult to judge the man with the mask but she could tell that pulling from his attention, his kiss to her palm was a move he didn't approve of. Well he could go to hell then.

And yet, here she was caught again, her hand caught against Charlie's chest, his leather clad hand covering hers. Vic tried to ignore how his heart beat stuttered at her touch but the knowledge was...it filled her with confidence and a small thrill that made her heartbeat quicken.

It didnt bank the fire in her words about Hailey or Maggie, Vic would not hide her contempt for his actions. She was dancing with a dangerous, corrupt man. A man who had a fucking way with words. She felt those words of praise and admiration slide down her spine and into her belly. Charlie moved her hand to the nape of his neck easily as Vic listened.

To a young woman so used to being told what she couldn't have or couldn't do, it was like a shot of whiskey, all blooming warmth and burn in her chest. It took her a second longer than it should have to shake the effects off. "Deteriorate?" She asked, confused.

But the conversation had moved and she caught Charlie's odd pause. He'd been smooth as silk all night so it stood out. "What aren't ya telling me?" Vic asked suspiciously.

But then Charlie changed the dance moves from their simple sway to something Vic had to pay attention to, something that distracted her. And in a few moments, Vic felt her cheeks flush as Charlie Manx cradled her back against his chest. To keep tempo with the dance she had to press back against him, while her arms were crossed over her own chest to reach his. It felt far more intimate than before, and Charlie made it moreso by nuzzling against her.

Did he want a mother for his children, or did he want more? It went back and forth and Charlie skated around what he didn't want to answer. What did he want from her?

His whispered plea made Vic stiffen in his grasp. Part of her wanting to melt back into his hold like a languid cat, begging her to just give in. The other side of her wanted to run.

Both instincts colliding and fighting each other. Till she had to break free from Charlie's grasp, put distance, real distance between them. She stared at him, wide eyed and flushed.

"Take me to Christmasland," she blurted out, fisting her hands in her skirts. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs and the craziness of her plan. "Show it to me. I need to see it. Show me, then you bring me back tonight. Promise it, and I'll go with you. Promise you'll bring me back tonight." She swallowed, straightened her spine to give the facade that she didnt fear him. "Or you can leave."

@wraith-of-christmas-future

Masquerade

Continued from here : +

@victoriafreakingmcqueen​

             The cornered decision ; one he notably considered could be met with minimal resistance. It had been conjured by merely witnessing the issue of her disposal in a substance that could numb her senses. A poison to taint her mind. Knowing her background like an open book, it was a dangerous chase he wished to pull her from, forcefully if he must. It was after all, the design behind his abrupt and silent offer.

Underlying as his gaze may have met the general outcry. He was poised to retaliate against those that offered her the drinks. The very same faces hindered under falsified features, who urged her on with other foul intents his mind could only guess at and fret over.

Malice crept behind slits , pools of russet brown cast iron with resignation toward his fiendish nature overturned. Provoking any of her male counterparts to protest or dare offer her another glass. Holding half a mind to obliterate the glassware while they still held onto it. With greater objective to maim every single one of them. But the urge staled –

When his prize showed signs of accepting, leather soothed across her palm where digits instinctively claimed her hand in it’s entirety. His touch was diminutively cold even between the barrier adorning hands.  Yet it complimented mysteriously , a warmth invitingly context. He felt this premature ventricular contraction in his own heart as it skipped in beat at the cost of her touch, acknowledging. The acceptance that kept his sour flex at bay, instantaneously lifting his mood and it was certainly on exhibit for all to notice with no sign of care faltering his pursuit to wisp her away from them.

              Guiding her under the guise of grace while a thumb soothingly encircled over the face of her hand, held upright and sought with precise etiquette. His gaze never wavered from her company upon their ascension. Attentive of the figure , petite in her dress that enhanced assets of her skin, brought color vibrantly from her gaze that could subdue in secrecy. He was staring in admiration when her confession broke into his thoughts.  – don’t know how to dance . How typically Victoria. It honestly didn’t come to him as a surprise. This type of thing didn’t merit to her style and he knew it from the beginning.

He didn’t respond however, at least not verbally. A half cant expelled his gaze , descending hues would follow the hand that crept at her backside. A smile, vaguely pursed with restraint. A yielding touch, faint but direct at the curvature abroad, fluttering along, caressing and imprinting above her waist. Eyes no sooner floated to greet her directly as he brought around the hand he possessed within his opposite limb.

Pressing her backward and shuffling his foot between her own. Conjoined effort to force a counter in his initial move with one similar; making it near impossible to not mirror in all but rhythm, for now. The insinuative urge backpedaling his playmate while his other leg joined offset, once aligned he’d send her toward a glide that would twirl her about once, then a pause in between each step giving her room to analyze. It was here that he dared to pull her closer, tautly commanding if not brazenly imposing. A crook of that earlier smile, etched further. To feel her close , he’d admit was manipulating his own game, becoming a strain to not break character then and there. To simply muse over this display.

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

When Charlie started to ease up, slow down his fighting, Vic thought she was on the right track. Then she reached out to touch his shoulder, an assurance that seemed natural to go with her tone to calm him down. And that's when she saw the violent recoil...as if...

Vic recoiled herself at the realization that Charlie was expecting her to hit him. Wide hazel eyes met brown in mutual shock. Vic had her hands held up to show they had not moved. What had made the man react like that?

It was a relief when Maggie took Charlie's attention then. She exhaled, letting out a breath Vic had been holding in the whole time that odd exchange had happened. And it cleared the spots from the man's eyes.

She was about to turn and address her father when, see how they were doing, when Charlie mentioned being betrayed by people.

"Is that why you flinched?" She blurted out, looking at the man steadily until he answered her. Because for some reason, she desperately needed an answer. Tonight was a fucking rollercoaster and if nothing else, she needed to know what would make Charlie Manx flinch like that.

"Bleedin' is slowing down," Chris muttered but held down the gauze all the same, getting more in preparation to wrap the leg as best he could. Chris looked at Maggie then. "Ya alright, sweetheart? You need to switch so he doesn't knee you in the gut again?"

@aurora-stantler-our-historian @wraith-of-christmas-future

10-48 Fairbanks

It had been a crazy plan. One no one but Vic could have cooked up with how many bats her bridge was missing by this point. Even her father and Maggie had wondered if they could pull it off. 

The plan? Kidnap Charlie Manx. 

They’d caught him unawares leaving a gas station and knocked him out. Maggie’s tiles had given them the location. Only after trying to get Wayne out to no avail had they gone through with the plan. It was what Vic expected though, that’s why they needed Manx. He was the only one who the Wraith would listen to. 

Out gunning the Wraith once she realized her driver was missing had been a white knuckling experience, but they’d reached the warehouse and gotten in unscathed, barely. The side of the building had some of the Wraith’s paint on it where Chris had been a second beforehand. 

It was surreal now to see an unconscious Charlie Manx, bound to a chair in the middle of a leaky roofed warehouse while the Wraith revved and squealed her tires outside like an angry guard dog. 

“You really think this is gonna work, Brat?” Chris McQueen asked his daughter wearily, arms crossed as he looked at the man who’d taken his grandson and nearly killed his daughter in the process. 

Vic dragged a chair at least six feet from Manx’s chair and turned it around to sit and wait for the maniac to wake up. “We have him. Now we find out what buttons to push to get Wayne back.”

@wraith-of-christmas-future @aurora-stantler-our-historian

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

Even already knowing that the boy had been with Victoria before, having the fact verified now only caused his blood to boil anew. Victoria McQueen was damaged beyond Christmasland's reach, beyond her use to him. There would be no mother for his children now. That made her good for one thing.

His thoughts spun and churned, climbing into the Wraith, he stared straight ahead until his Vixen's voice pulled him from the sea of anger.

He met her eyes, still red from her crying moments before. Her presence stilled some of the anger that had been seething.

Charlie schooled his features into a reassuring smile. "Only a confirmation of what you told me before. Nothing to worry about. We'll escort our new guest and young Bradley to Christmasland and then pay Victoria McQueen a visit."

@aurora-stantler-our-historian

Hijack The Wraith...

In Aurora’s defense, whoever had left this extremely rare and extremely old vintage car lying around near the entrance to the junkyard was inf act, a dumbass. It wasn’t that Aurora needed another car, she loved her Chevy Impala SS from 1967, but this was a car that shouldn’t have to go to waste.

Walking over to the 1938 Rolls Royce Wraith, Aurora looked around to see if anyone was in the vicinity. No. No one was here. Now came the fun part. Hopefully the keys were in the car.

She pulled open the driver’s door, which was located on the left hand side and pulled it open. Aurora hastily got in, pulling the door shut behind her. Immedately, she looked for the keys, Opening the glove box, she found no keys whatsoever. Sighing, she realized she was going to have to hotwire the car. Unless…She pulled two bobby pins out of her hair, pulled one straight and put the two in the ignition to act as a key. Her right foot resting on the brake, she pressed it, and turned her makeshift bobby pin key. The car didn’t start but the doors locked.

“What the fuck?” Aurora stated, not noticing that someone was approaching. The Wraith honked, despite Aurora not touching the steering wheel.

@victoriafreakingmcqueen @peculiarparasol

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

Things were spiraling and soon the gauze was soaked through with blood and Vic's hands were covered. She quickly packed on more gauze, pressing down harder as instructed while gritting her teeth at the thought of the pain. It was a lot easier to inflict pain on someone in the heat the moment, like the hammer to Charlie's face days before. But this...this was different and visceral. She felt no satisfaction in hearing his pained sounds through the muffle of her belt.

The man was kicking out in his pain and she saw just how much damage it was doing to his broken one in the process. They were nowhere near a hospital and even with the twist of her stomach at the sight of his leg, they couldn't take Manx to one if they were. They were left in a sickening balance between accidental torture of their enemy and attempted rescue of Wayne. The grey areas were growing.

"Mags, you okay?" She asked, looking up at her friend with wide, wild eyes just in time to see Charlie kick out again. That had to stop.

"Dad, hold this," she said quickly and it took a moment for Chris to comply. But when he did, he held pressure against the other man's leg, looking at Charlie, then his daughter.

Vic looked and saw how Charlie was started to fade attention wise. She couldn't blame him, but he was doing damage to himself in the process. "Manx..." She started to call, moving closer to his shoulder. "Manx, you need to stop kicking or it's gonna get worse," she said the man who had his eyes screwed up in pain. "Charlie," Vic tried again, talking to him now in the only soft voice she had, the one she used when talking to Wayne. A mother's reassuring croon. "Look at me okay...we're gonna stop the bleeding, but if ya kick anymore, it's gonna get worse. I know it hurts. I fucking know, promise. But I need ya to focus for me."

@wraith-of-christmas-future @aurora-stantler-our-historian

10-48 Fairbanks

It had been a crazy plan. One no one but Vic could have cooked up with how many bats her bridge was missing by this point. Even her father and Maggie had wondered if they could pull it off. 

The plan? Kidnap Charlie Manx. 

They’d caught him unawares leaving a gas station and knocked him out. Maggie’s tiles had given them the location. Only after trying to get Wayne out to no avail had they gone through with the plan. It was what Vic expected though, that’s why they needed Manx. He was the only one who the Wraith would listen to. 

Out gunning the Wraith once she realized her driver was missing had been a white knuckling experience, but they’d reached the warehouse and gotten in unscathed, barely. The side of the building had some of the Wraith’s paint on it where Chris had been a second beforehand. 

It was surreal now to see an unconscious Charlie Manx, bound to a chair in the middle of a leaky roofed warehouse while the Wraith revved and squealed her tires outside like an angry guard dog. 

“You really think this is gonna work, Brat?” Chris McQueen asked his daughter wearily, arms crossed as he looked at the man who’d taken his grandson and nearly killed his daughter in the process. 

Vic dragged a chair at least six feet from Manx’s chair and turned it around to sit and wait for the maniac to wake up. “We have him. Now we find out what buttons to push to get Wayne back.”

@wraith-of-christmas-future @aurora-stantler-our-historian

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

His touch was confusing and constant. Something deep down, from their first meeting said he had the capacity to harm Vic, but didn't want to. It gave an uneasy sense of safety at his touch, but she had no confusion that his touch was possessive. There was also confidence in his touch. What he wanted was all too clear. Vic wasn't sure if it was excitement or fear roiling in her stomach. Maybe it was both.

Hazel eyes flicked up to dark ones as he stroked her cheek. Vic turned her face away from the touch a fraction, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to collect her thoughts. Her pulse was racing, no doubt he felt it when he kissed her hand.

"Don't," her hand curled tightly and pulled back from his face, pulled it to her chest. "Please," there was a soft, timid plea in her tone Vic didn't like. "That's too much. Let's just dance."

When the dance started, it was easier. Easy to follow his guidance, easier to not look at his face and imagine it was her stranger and not Charlie Manx. Though playing that game felt more dangerous. All the while the song playing felt like it was mirroring her conflicting feelings.

"I'm sure dancing's pretty easy to teach," Vic muttered in response, trying to realize she could feel his heartbeat pressed so close now. But she went rigid in his grip at the mention of their first meeting, her steps faltering a little in the spin out, but she put a hand to his chest to leave distance between them, to look at him as they swayed.

"You mean when you took my friend from her home or when you hit my other friend with your car?" And she was proud her voice sounded just as sharp as it had that day in the bus station. "Why are you so fixated on me, Charlie?" Her voice was quiet when she asked, wondering. "You teach me and what? I become your babysitter in hell in exchange?"

@wraith-of-christmas-future

Masquerade

Continued from here : +

@victoriafreakingmcqueen​

             The cornered decision ; one he notably considered could be met with minimal resistance. It had been conjured by merely witnessing the issue of her disposal in a substance that could numb her senses. A poison to taint her mind. Knowing her background like an open book, it was a dangerous chase he wished to pull her from, forcefully if he must. It was after all, the design behind his abrupt and silent offer.

Underlying as his gaze may have met the general outcry. He was poised to retaliate against those that offered her the drinks. The very same faces hindered under falsified features, who urged her on with other foul intents his mind could only guess at and fret over.

Malice crept behind slits , pools of russet brown cast iron with resignation toward his fiendish nature overturned. Provoking any of her male counterparts to protest or dare offer her another glass. Holding half a mind to obliterate the glassware while they still held onto it. With greater objective to maim every single one of them. But the urge staled –

When his prize showed signs of accepting, leather soothed across her palm where digits instinctively claimed her hand in it’s entirety. His touch was diminutively cold even between the barrier adorning hands.  Yet it complimented mysteriously , a warmth invitingly context. He felt this premature ventricular contraction in his own heart as it skipped in beat at the cost of her touch, acknowledging. The acceptance that kept his sour flex at bay, instantaneously lifting his mood and it was certainly on exhibit for all to notice with no sign of care faltering his pursuit to wisp her away from them.

              Guiding her under the guise of grace while a thumb soothingly encircled over the face of her hand, held upright and sought with precise etiquette. His gaze never wavered from her company upon their ascension. Attentive of the figure , petite in her dress that enhanced assets of her skin, brought color vibrantly from her gaze that could subdue in secrecy. He was staring in admiration when her confession broke into his thoughts.  – don’t know how to dance . How typically Victoria. It honestly didn’t come to him as a surprise. This type of thing didn’t merit to her style and he knew it from the beginning.

He didn’t respond however, at least not verbally. A half cant expelled his gaze , descending hues would follow the hand that crept at her backside. A smile, vaguely pursed with restraint. A yielding touch, faint but direct at the curvature abroad, fluttering along, caressing and imprinting above her waist. Eyes no sooner floated to greet her directly as he brought around the hand he possessed within his opposite limb.

Pressing her backward and shuffling his foot between her own. Conjoined effort to force a counter in his initial move with one similar; making it near impossible to not mirror in all but rhythm, for now. The insinuative urge backpedaling his playmate while his other leg joined offset, once aligned he’d send her toward a glide that would twirl her about once, then a pause in between each step giving her room to analyze. It was here that he dared to pull her closer, tautly commanding if not brazenly imposing. A crook of that earlier smile, etched further. To feel her close , he’d admit was manipulating his own game, becoming a strain to not break character then and there. To simply muse over this display.

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

The leg was a sight and it took everything in Vic not to heave. This wasn't the plan, the reality was far worse than the thoughts and urges to harm the man in the past. And now, here she was, trying to what? Save him?

Maggie made the hazel eyes blink up at her with the question. "We made 'em smaller. But I guess it wasn't small enough," she muttered. Her hands held the gauze, not sure where to press it that wasn't gonna cause more pain. His blood was already soaking the knees of Vic's jeans and her brain went into panic mode and immediately reached forward to try and push the bone back into place.

A hand grabbed hers before Vic could carry through with the action. It was her father. Vic blinked up at her father. "We need to-"

"Ya can't reset a fracture like that, Brat. If you're aiming to cause him less pain, ya gotta stop the bleeding and keep him from going into shock," he said it low, under his breath. It was a guiding voice and a voice that was hard at the same time. It made clear exactly how much Chris did not want to help Manx.

Vic looked past the undertone and instead took the instruction. But before she could carry out the necessary steps, Charlie caught her attention. It was a tone that was hard to ignore after all.

All the smugness and vitriol scrapped away. It was hard to be a smug bastard in his current predicament. But the words and tone, it threw Vic for a loop. She could only stare at the man for a moment, then she nodded. A wave of sympathy ran through her for a moment and she undid her belt, folding it over twice and holding it to his mouth. "Bite down, this is gonna hurt like a bitch," she instructed, holding his gaze.

Vic gave him a few moment to comply or refuse. Either way, she took a large wad of gauze and swallowed applied the pressure she needed to stop the bleeding, holding his thigh down with her free hand so he wouldn't thrash.

@wraith-of-christmas-future @aurora-stantler-our-historian

10-48 Fairbanks

It had been a crazy plan. One no one but Vic could have cooked up with how many bats her bridge was missing by this point. Even her father and Maggie had wondered if they could pull it off. 

The plan? Kidnap Charlie Manx. 

They’d caught him unawares leaving a gas station and knocked him out. Maggie’s tiles had given them the location. Only after trying to get Wayne out to no avail had they gone through with the plan. It was what Vic expected though, that’s why they needed Manx. He was the only one who the Wraith would listen to. 

Out gunning the Wraith once she realized her driver was missing had been a white knuckling experience, but they’d reached the warehouse and gotten in unscathed, barely. The side of the building had some of the Wraith’s paint on it where Chris had been a second beforehand. 

It was surreal now to see an unconscious Charlie Manx, bound to a chair in the middle of a leaky roofed warehouse while the Wraith revved and squealed her tires outside like an angry guard dog. 

“You really think this is gonna work, Brat?” Chris McQueen asked his daughter wearily, arms crossed as he looked at the man who’d taken his grandson and nearly killed his daughter in the process. 

Vic dragged a chair at least six feet from Manx’s chair and turned it around to sit and wait for the maniac to wake up. “We have him. Now we find out what buttons to push to get Wayne back.”

@wraith-of-christmas-future @aurora-stantler-our-historian

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

Vic had little she could do to argue with Maggie's point. She'd barely been able to move after the beating Charlie gave her. In fact, she wasn't supposed to be up now. Vic had been moving carefully so as not to upset her wounds, but hell if it didn't hurt. The bottle of pain killers in their supplies called to her like a sirens song anytime pain lanced through her. But she wasn't about to do something that showed weakness now, not where the bastard could see. And she wasn't about to tear up when she heard Wayne call for Charlie rather than her.

But whatever thoughts she'd latched onto were scattered when Charlie's muffled cries took over the sound of the ebbing explosion. Seeing her father in such close proximity made Vic see red.

"Dad, did you-"

But Chris McQueen held up his hands and stood. "Didn't touch him, just like I promised."

Vic glared at her father but the leaking pool of blood and disgusting twist of Charlie Manx's leg made her gut twist. "Shit, we didn't make those charges small enough," she snarled under her breath and went to grab the field medical kit they'd brought.

"They did what we needed them to do," Chris snapped. "What the hell are you doing?" He asked when Vic put the kit down and kneeled next to the bound man. She glared up at him. "The plan wasn't to kill him. Wayne is still out there!"

"Maggie," Vic shouted over her shoulder. "Get his legs undone and hold his good one down." She instructed, reaching up to rip the tape off the man's mouth so he could breath before she dug in the kit and got out a pair of scissors and started to work on Charlie's pant leg. "If I hear one fucking smug remark, I'm putting the tape back on, you got me?" Vic snapped at Charlie without looking up, not when the exposed meat and bone of his mangled leg made Vic slap a hand over her mouth before she lost her hospital breakfast.

@wraith-of-christmas-future @aurora-stantler-our-historian

10-48 Fairbanks

It had been a crazy plan. One no one but Vic could have cooked up with how many bats her bridge was missing by this point. Even her father and Maggie had wondered if they could pull it off. 

The plan? Kidnap Charlie Manx. 

They’d caught him unawares leaving a gas station and knocked him out. Maggie’s tiles had given them the location. Only after trying to get Wayne out to no avail had they gone through with the plan. It was what Vic expected though, that’s why they needed Manx. He was the only one who the Wraith would listen to. 

Out gunning the Wraith once she realized her driver was missing had been a white knuckling experience, but they’d reached the warehouse and gotten in unscathed, barely. The side of the building had some of the Wraith’s paint on it where Chris had been a second beforehand. 

It was surreal now to see an unconscious Charlie Manx, bound to a chair in the middle of a leaky roofed warehouse while the Wraith revved and squealed her tires outside like an angry guard dog. 

“You really think this is gonna work, Brat?” Chris McQueen asked his daughter wearily, arms crossed as he looked at the man who’d taken his grandson and nearly killed his daughter in the process. 

Vic dragged a chair at least six feet from Manx’s chair and turned it around to sit and wait for the maniac to wake up. “We have him. Now we find out what buttons to push to get Wayne back.”

@wraith-of-christmas-future @aurora-stantler-our-historian

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

Between Charlie trying to yell things at her through a layer of tape, words she had no intention of trying to decipher. If she wanted to hear him go on about flexing his vocabulary via insults the tape would never have gone on in the first place.

But her focus was quickly turned to Maggie instead. "Maggie, what the hell are you talking about?" Vic demanded, eyes wide as she stared at the librarian, she grabbed the woman's arm to pull her attention away from Charlie as well. "You went after Hourglass alone? Are you fucking insane? You saw what he can do."

While Vic was focused on Maggie, no one was watching Chris. The man had turned his gaze to Charlie after hearing the morse code. One of his hands flexed in and out of a fist and chancing a glance at Vic, seeing she was busy. Chris moved over to the restrained man and crouched, being eye level with Charlie, the man waited quietly for a second before he spoke. His words were even, low. Just enough for Chris and Charlie to hear.

"If I find out you touched my daughter, especially when she was a kid, the way Partridge tried to..." Chris nodded towards Maggie and Vic. "They won't catch me fast enough. 2 tours, asshole. I can snap your neck faster than ya can run your mouth. Ya understand?"

Vic rubbed at her eyes, so tired of people going off the rails when she needed them to be on the same playing field. "Look, we'll talk about this later. But we are going to talk about it Maggie," she said seriously. "Right now we get 'someone', " she said loudly enough for Charlie to hear. "To actually talk to us."

She was about to turn when the sound of the Wraith slamming into the garage door was met with a much louder explosion as a pile of planted ANFO went off under the Wraith's carriage.

"Shit!" Vic hissed, saw the flash of the explosion under the newly dented door. Her eyes immediately flashed to the Wraith's driver. "Call her off, the whole building is lined with ANFO!"

@aurora-stantler-our-historian @wraith-of-christmas-future

10-48 Fairbanks

It had been a crazy plan. One no one but Vic could have cooked up with how many bats her bridge was missing by this point. Even her father and Maggie had wondered if they could pull it off. 

The plan? Kidnap Charlie Manx. 

They’d caught him unawares leaving a gas station and knocked him out. Maggie’s tiles had given them the location. Only after trying to get Wayne out to no avail had they gone through with the plan. It was what Vic expected though, that’s why they needed Manx. He was the only one who the Wraith would listen to. 

Out gunning the Wraith once she realized her driver was missing had been a white knuckling experience, but they’d reached the warehouse and gotten in unscathed, barely. The side of the building had some of the Wraith’s paint on it where Chris had been a second beforehand. 

It was surreal now to see an unconscious Charlie Manx, bound to a chair in the middle of a leaky roofed warehouse while the Wraith revved and squealed her tires outside like an angry guard dog. 

“You really think this is gonna work, Brat?” Chris McQueen asked his daughter wearily, arms crossed as he looked at the man who’d taken his grandson and nearly killed his daughter in the process. 

Vic dragged a chair at least six feet from Manx’s chair and turned it around to sit and wait for the maniac to wake up. “We have him. Now we find out what buttons to push to get Wayne back.”

@wraith-of-christmas-future @aurora-stantler-our-historian

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

Reblog if you are open to rp’ing with duplicates!

[ I saw a similar post going around for a specific fandom that’s blowing up right now, so here’s a version for ANY fandom to reblog! ]

There can be a nervous insecurity about seeing other people playing your same muse, whether you’re new to the fandom or been around awhile, and fear that you will be replaced by “a shiny new” version. That’s understandable. Fandom drama can be bypassed if we all appreciate each other’s version! ( Even if we don’t agree, we can still appreciate the variety ) SO: IF YOU ARE OPEN TO PLAYING WITH/AGAINST ANOTHER VERSION OF YOUR MUSE, PLEASE REBLOG!!! There’s many possible plots, doppelganger dramas,  AU’s, past, present & future storylines, shipping,  angst, comedy, etc., out there for this kinda thing, and I am so open to the possibilities with my muses~! 

BONUS: If you’re willing to rp with duplicates of other muses too. Everyone has a new spin on their muse, and playing against multiples of another popular muse can be fun! Again, that is what AU’s and multiverses are for!

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

Vic had a lot of patience when it came to most situations. She didn't always have the best poker face, but when push came to shove, she could swallow it down and deal. Which is why she took a long swallow straight from the Jack Daniel's bottle before turning around to address the gathered nutjobs that made the three residing Strong Creatives in the room and the shit storm they'd created.

Because Charlie Manx's question was a loaded gun.

Vic looked at Aurora for a moment, lost on who was the best storyteller here right now. Which one of them was gonna eat the muzzle of the gun and which one actually knew where to aim it. Vic took a breath and decided she'd take on the role.

Vic moved to sit on the coffee table across from Charlie, taking his empty glass to fill it again and handed it back to him. "We're both gonna need this." She muttered and waved Aurora over.

"That was Lou, he's my boyfriend. The 'cute kid', he's mine. His name's Wayne McQueen," she watched his face for any recognition. "And Charlie...it's gonna be hard to explain but uh..." Vic swallowed, looked lost for words for a second. Blinked up at the man across from her for a second. "I know an older version of you, a much older version. And uh...we don't get along so swell, him and me. I guess this is my roundabout way of saying, ya ain't done shit...not yet." She gave a confused laugh of her own, looking stricken for a second and then took another swallow straight from the bottle in front of both of them.

Vic winced and set the bottle down on the table.

@aurora-stantler-our-historian @wraith-of-christmas-future

Ghosts of Christmas Past

Christmas music was an alien thing in the McQueen/Carmody household. But for once it wasn’t being played due to the appearance of a mad man in their lives. 

No, in fact, there was a twinkling little Christmas tree all fresh and merry in their living room. The lights were wrapped funny and crooked, the tinsel was a half hazard mess. The ornaments ranged from power rangers to glass blown Harley’s. It was a miss match of nerdy quirks and shop worthy pieces, but it was uniquely there’s. There was only one ornament missing. 

“Dude,” Lou said a little confused. “Isn’t that like, you know, walking over the guys grave?” 

Vic McQueen stared at the Spirit of Ecstasy dangling from her fingers. She wrapped silver wire in intricate patterns around her waist and wing like arms. For some reason, she hadn’t had the heart to drill a hole in her for a proper hook. 

“Part of our lives, right?” She asked finally, finding a spot for it on the tree, nestled amidst a few colored lights. “Not like he can hurt us now.”

For whatever reason, while they watched the Wraith destroyed shortly after Charlie Manx had been found in Haverhill, the hood ornament had popped off and gone skittering across the ground. The small group had backed away from it like the thing was cursed. All except Vic, who approached the silver girl and pocketed without second thought. 

It had always felt warm in Vic’s hands, no matter how long she’d put it down or how cold it was in the house. She spent a lot of time tracing the ladies face and the upsweep of her arms. Not something she’d ever admit to Lou, and definitely not to Maggie. 

So when they decided to finally allow Christmas into the house, Vic felt it deserved an odd place of honor. But if felt oddly like more. 

“Think of it like a trophy for vanquished evil,” Vic told her boyfriend to try and put him at ease. 

Lou seemed to think about it. “Like Batman having the huge penny in the batcave?”

Vic smiled and kissed him. “Yeah, exactly like the penny.”

That night, after Lou and Wayne went to sleep though, Vic found herself sitting on the living room couch. The lights from the Christmas tree lighting up the Spirit of Ecstasy in her hands. 

@wraith-of-christmas-future @aurora-stantler-our-historian

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

"We'll figure that out, once we've dealt with McQueen," He promised, then he tapped the tip of her nose with a smirk. "All good things to those who wait," he purred at her question about Victoria.

"Mr. Manx, he's waking up!" Bing hollered and brought a frown to Charlie's face. He would need to deal with the young man now.

But Aurora's talk of Christmasland in a wonderous light waylaid Charlie. "And one day you will see it in person, my Vixen," he crooned. "For now, stay in the car whilst I deal with our new guest." He asked as he swung Aurora's legs into the vehicle to close the door and deal with Victoria's lover.

@aurora-stantler-our-historian

Hijack The Wraith...

In Aurora’s defense, whoever had left this extremely rare and extremely old vintage car lying around near the entrance to the junkyard was inf act, a dumbass. It wasn’t that Aurora needed another car, she loved her Chevy Impala SS from 1967, but this was a car that shouldn’t have to go to waste.

Walking over to the 1938 Rolls Royce Wraith, Aurora looked around to see if anyone was in the vicinity. No. No one was here. Now came the fun part. Hopefully the keys were in the car.

She pulled open the driver’s door, which was located on the left hand side and pulled it open. Aurora hastily got in, pulling the door shut behind her. Immedately, she looked for the keys, Opening the glove box, she found no keys whatsoever. Sighing, she realized she was going to have to hotwire the car. Unless…She pulled two bobby pins out of her hair, pulled one straight and put the two in the ignition to act as a key. Her right foot resting on the brake, she pressed it, and turned her makeshift bobby pin key. The car didn’t start but the doors locked.

“What the fuck?” Aurora stated, not noticing that someone was approaching. The Wraith honked, despite Aurora not touching the steering wheel.

@victoriafreakingmcqueen @peculiarparasol

[victoriafreakingmcqueen]

Charlie had not expected such a volatile reaction, especially not when he needed to deal with the ever suspicious Bing. But all thoughts of his incompetent associate flew from his mind as Aurora clung to him. He shielded her from the grousing Bing as he walked past with Craig across his shoulder.

Charlie focused on stroking Aurora's hair and back as she sobbed into him. He held her close. "It wasn't your fault," he assured, a conversation they'd had before but needed reminding as he consoled her. "Don't forget she saved you. She did not leave you in the fire."

There was a rule with children and he used it here. You did not let go first when someone was in distress. So he stood by the side of the Wraith and kissed the top of Aurora's hair and held her through the tears. He held on till she pushed him back.

He was content to brush her tears away as she spoke. "I did not anticipate how badly they were, I apologize none the less," he murmured. But the mention of the girl with the sword and the nutcracker uniform...Millie. It was no wonder she mentioned Scissors for the Drifter next. He had thought she would dream of Christmasland, not have nightmares as creatures such as Bing confessed to.

Instead of answering her directly, he held her damp face and kissed Aurora's forehead gently. "It was just a nightmare. And you've interrupted nothing. I have some business with Mr. Patridge concerning Smee, then we'll away for Hook."

@aurora-stantler-our-historian

Hijack The Wraith...

In Aurora’s defense, whoever had left this extremely rare and extremely old vintage car lying around near the entrance to the junkyard was inf act, a dumbass. It wasn’t that Aurora needed another car, she loved her Chevy Impala SS from 1967, but this was a car that shouldn’t have to go to waste.

Walking over to the 1938 Rolls Royce Wraith, Aurora looked around to see if anyone was in the vicinity. No. No one was here. Now came the fun part. Hopefully the keys were in the car.

She pulled open the driver’s door, which was located on the left hand side and pulled it open. Aurora hastily got in, pulling the door shut behind her. Immedately, she looked for the keys, Opening the glove box, she found no keys whatsoever. Sighing, she realized she was going to have to hotwire the car. Unless…She pulled two bobby pins out of her hair, pulled one straight and put the two in the ignition to act as a key. Her right foot resting on the brake, she pressed it, and turned her makeshift bobby pin key. The car didn’t start but the doors locked.

“What the fuck?” Aurora stated, not noticing that someone was approaching. The Wraith honked, despite Aurora not touching the steering wheel.

@victoriafreakingmcqueen @peculiarparasol