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dearestcynthiaw · 3 months

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Goodbye Stranger - House M.D x Reader

Chapter Two: Who Are You?

Source A: Photograph, with missing piece, and handwritten message: 'Spring 1928 - Trip to London' no other inscriptions.

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Hello again!

Sorry for the long wait, this chapter might be a little dodgy writing wise, but I'm hoping it'll sound ok.

I just wanted to add that themes might get a bit heavier from here, but I'm still unsure. I'll let you know if any trigger warnings come up.

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Chapter One: World Weary

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TW: Mentions of blood, death, cigarettes and alcohol. (Sounds like a underground band name)

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In truth, House thought about this peculiar encounter for the rest of the day. He never once closed the Wikipedia tab on this mysterious, yet apparent English Rose. He'd found himself opening it frequently and scrolling to the bottom of endless pages to really see how far this woman would go with her 'fantasy'.

Due to this anomaly in his usual work day, he found it challenging to engage with his current case, often sitting in his office and pondering in the silence. His eyes glued to the door she had disappeared through hours earlier. Would she ever come back? She had been such a fascinating specimen, he just wanted to know exactly what was going on in her head. He thought about the endless illnesses that could have caused this odd phenomenon, ones that would cause hysteria or an overactive imagination.

Was she here to fool him into a prescription? Was she living out a long time wish to live the life of someone with great lineage and aristocratic fortune? Did she want to live in the romanticised perception of the past? It was all a colossal enigma that he wanted to unearth and tease out of the woman.

To him, the current case was a bore compared to what had transpired earlier that day. It sounded like a harsh flu, but not one that he’d ever seen. They’d isolated the patient and kept up with questions, which the man was reluctant to answer. With House acting distant, the diagnosis seemed far out of reach. House thought of giving up at one point, letting his team of three figure it out for themselves. That was until they found the man’s ankles were swollen.

At this point, due to House’s lack of interest, the whole procedure was moving at a snail’s pace. The case was getting increasingly worse and House’s team decided the patient would need to be scheduled for an X-Ray of the chest, checking the lungs for fluid and the heart for implications.

The conclusion was the possibility of heart failure, yet they were still unsure of how it got to this point.

The end of the day was nigh. Still after plenty of pestering, House rebuffed the idea of at least looking at the patient through the glass. The idea of this patient dying seemed to have no effect on him, maybe deep down it did, but he appeared oblivious or distracted.

It was late when he got back to his car. The rain was heavily pattering on the roof of the multistory car park. It was loud, but that never detached him from his buzzing thoughts.

Dr Wilson, his friend (you’d like to think) and colleague, caught him just before he left, knocking sternly on his driver's side window, which House reluctantly opened. Wilson’s eyebrows were knitted and his mouth was pulled into a straight line 'What's gotten into you? I’m made to believe this is a one-of-a-kind case, not even you can figure it out.’

House only huffed at this, rolling up the window. Again there was a torrent of knocks.

‘What? I’m late to a date with one of the hottest chicks in town.’

‘Don’t mess about, this is a life or death House. Why are you not interested?’ Wilson spoke, his voice sprinkled with concern.

In return, House revved his engine ‘No time to talk, probably won’t see you tomorrow, I doubt I'll be able to walk with all the fun I’ll be up to tonight. Bye.’ With that he flew out of his space, leaving Wilson in the dust.

Rain drops danced on his windows as he bolted down the bustling roads. The street lights and headlights of other cars painted his window screen with an array of vivid colours. The music on his radio hummed in the background along with the rattling of the wheels on the dodgy tarmac.

He was eventually stopped at a set of traffic lights, watching people trudge through the rain as he sat snugly in his warm car.

Amongst the hoard of busybodies was a young lady, one with a look of discomfort and panic. She was instantly recognisable, yet her togs were soggy and discoloured with the spatters of rain. Her hair was heavy with water and had lost its neat, waved styling.

He watched intensely as a singular man approached her, touching her shoulder, causing her to jump back in fright.

The lights flicked to orange and he was about ready to move on, when she was pushed up against the wall unbeknown to those around her.

He moved on through the green light. He thought nothing of this interaction, knowing someone else would interfere.

He was part way down the road when without thinking he flicked on his right indicator, stopping in a lay-by, hopping out in haste with his hand roughly gripping his cane.

Bracing against the frigid rain, he splashed through puddles approaching the pair.

He was close now, and could see how dangerous this situation was. The man was grabbing at her with his filthy hands, his face was close and his voice low.

House put his cane between the two causing an instant reaction from the unknown male.

‘Whatcha think you’re doing, cripple?’ The male hollered.

He attempted to push the stranger away, making sure to keep distance in case he decided to lash out, which his body language suggested.

House’s mind was sharp thinking ‘This woman has a disease that’s contagious through touch. She’s an escapee and has been on the run for the past 2 days. You’ve probably contracted it by being in close proximity.’

The man seemed to instantaneously spring backwards ‘How come you’re fine?’ his face scrunched up.

‘Inoculation, dummies don’t have access to it. Now move on, nothing to see here.’ and with that the frowzy man scurried away. The appearance of his walking aid would’ve probably been enough to strike fear in the stranger, but the spontaneous story-telling seemed to bring the alarming interaction to a close.

House moved away as well, pacing back to his car.

She hesitated before shouting after him, forgetting about nearby eavesdroppers ‘Why did you help me? I thought you said I was mad and should be locked away.’

‘Doesn’t matter, you coming or you just gonna stand there staring at my back?’ House turned back to look at her, water running down his face.

He finally got a closer look at her when they were back in the comfort of his car. She was soaked to the bone, dripping on the fabric seats. Black could be seen about her red, puffy eyes where her cake mascara had smudged. Her hair was tousled and unkept. She was quite a pitiful sight to behold.

There was an uncomfortable silence before the engine was started up. House was hesitating.

Again the music could only be heard faintly in the background, not even a single breath.

‘I’ve seen a lot. New things, that is.’ She attempted to start a conversation, hoping that after this frightful evening he would see some sense in what she had said previously that day.

He ignored her.

‘I’ve got a car at home.’ She muttered under her breath, she was speaking to herself more than him. She was partly facing away, looking out the window as the streets flew by.

He turned the radio up to drown out her rambling. He would much rather be glued to the thumping music and the overactive thoughts building in his mind. He detested the notion of making awkward conversation with a lady he did not wholly trust.

The music was blaring now, the bass rattling the plastic interior of the car.

As she listened intently, she heard a new plethora of instruments that was very unlike what she was used to. She didn’t know what to concentrate on, she couldn’t tell anything apart. Every instrument seemed to drown each other out.

Her eyes were wide from the boisterous sound but she happily sat tapping her fingers on her lap to the rhythm. She could only pick out one phrase from the lyrics;

“Who are you?’’.

Who was she? That really was the truth. The song just exaggerated that query.

House finally let a question sit in the noisy atmosphere ‘You like The Who?’.

‘Who?’ She turned to him.

‘Very funny.’ The conversation was quick, short and littered with sarcasm.

The song had a bit of a quieter section but jumped straight back into the chaos. It made her jump slightly with the suddenness of it all, consequently causing House to humph with a singular hissing laugh.

Again, there was a gap of silence and a sort of sizzling, filmy sound that rang out from the central system in the car. The bulky set of technology to her left disposed of a silver, holographic disk and she looked at it curiously.

Panicked, she asked ‘Did I break something?’.

In a quick movement, he flicked open a compartment in front of her knees ‘Pick one, and replace it.’

She tentatively did so, taking the plastic cases from the glove box and splaying them out on her lap, looking at the different images. She seemed to figure it out, it was much like the vinyls she was used to, but in a different format. She gently replaced the circular disk safely into its matching case. Opening another dark coloured case with a man and a blonde woman displayed on the front, she placed the disk where the other had originally come from. As it slid from her fingers into the machine, her eyebrows furrowed in awe.The new song flicked on after a couple seconds of whirring.

‘Top Gun? Really?’

‘I didn’t know what to pick, I’ve never seen any of these before. It's the only one I could see with the musicians on the front.’

‘They’re not the musicians, it's a film soundtrack, Marty. Maverick and Charlie? Have you not watched the movie?’ He used that odd nickname ‘Marty’ again amongst his rambling.

She sighed, looking down at her lap at the remaining disk holders. She brought one close to her face as the darkness obstructed the image. ‘You listen to King Oliver? Are you a fan of Jazz?’ she perceived his seated figure at the wheel. She was delighted that this music was still being heard. If she could relate to him with music then it might make the atmosphere more comfortable.

Irked by her continued persistence on making conversation, House stared back at her. ‘What? Are you going to tell me that you were there when they came out?’

He was still fighting conversation.

Feeling knocked back she spoke quietly again ‘I’m only curious, that’s all.’.

Her thoughts consumed her that when House had parked and was now exiting the car, she was too slow to realise. They were before an unfamiliar single-story building, he was bugging her to leave the passenger seat.

He ushered her towards the front door, both traipsing on damp gravel, water still continuing to cling to their raiments.

Hesitating, she stood by the entrance ‘Are you coming in or are you just going to stand there and freeze?’. She was already cold, she had barely had time to dry and was finding it hard to conceal her shivers.

It had been a rough looking public house, she had no longer been pleased when seeing its interior. Truthfully, she was glad to no longer be stuck on the streets but this brought no hope as to what House had in mind for her. She pined for her home, at this point it seemed ever so far out of reach. The panic was devouring her insides as she walked with him to the long stretch of bar.

She still had her bag of small belongings clasped to her side; a small pocket watch, a delicately painted case of cigarettes, a metal lighter, a compact mirror, a gold tube of lipstick and a small amount of notes and coins. It was a pure set of luck that it hadn’t been snatched out of her clutches whilst she helplessly wandered the streets.

House had already placed an order whilst she lingered a distance back from him. He’d downed a couple doubles and was waiting for his glass to be topped up.

The bartender seemed to look at her in inquiry, she felt pressured to place an order too.

‘Cognac, a little soda, please.’ Giving a small smile as she felt relieved to finally have a drink.

‘You think we do that here, sweetheart?’ The man seemed amused by her request.

She felt embarrassed, flushing a rosé shade on the cheeks ‘Just brandy then.’ She spoke as she placed a few shillings on the counter.

‘We don’t take whatever those are.’

House surely thought she was a fool at this point, he pressed his glass to his lip and gave a sharp snicker. Every aspect of her life had to be littered with old-timey things. He thought; she was quite committed to leading this lifestyle and neglecting the reality of today’s society. She proceeded to sit beside him after the interaction with the bartender, who went to tend to another customer. Demoralised, she let out a shaky sigh, elbows on the bar and right hand over her eyes. She felt like crying, but was certain that the doctor would degrade her for it.

‘So what’s your real name then?’ House questioned after a lengthy couple of minutes, again grabbing the attention of the bartender to fill up his glass.

In a huff she pulled out a little red cloth-bound book from her purse and pushed it in front of him. ‘That’s my driving licence, have a look at it yourself.’ He opened it in a blasé manner, finding the same name she’d given when they met, written in neat looped writing. Alongside her name were the start and expiry dates for her driving permit that conveniently matched up with her story.

‘That’s all I've got in terms of identification. That’s it, that is my name. If you can’t believe me after this then I don’t know what will convince you.’

He continued to study it ‘This is a good forgery, looks authentic.’.

She didn’t know why she hung around, but she felt that he might be her only chance when it came to getting home. She opened her cigarette case, placing one at her lip, flicking open her lighter and taking a deep exhale.

‘Better put that out before you get caught.’ He said in a snarky voice with a face to match when she chose to ignore him.

With that final comment she left her seat marching outside, gasper still between her fingers. House trailed behind her to the overhead roof outside where she continued to take drags. He didn’t want to lose sight of her, not again, he was far from finishing his investigation.

Snapping she snarled ‘What is it? What is it that you want? You’re following me yet you refuse to help me. You don’t even believe me, not even my name! I’m beyond it all, I just- I just - want to get back home, yet you ridicule and tease me to no end! What is it ‘Dr’ House? What do you want me to say? That I’m faking all of this, then fine have it your way, I am. Are you finally satisfied?!.

There was a second of silent acrimony before she finally stated; ‘I’m going back to the hospital’. She stubbed the cigarette butt beneath her heel, beginning to move.

Suddenly, a pair of headlights blinked at them. They both stood still like a pair of stunned deer in the beam. ‘House!’ came a shout.

House squinted and called back ‘Can’t you see I’m with a babe?’.

She was too stunned to react to his crude joke.

‘She looks wet, House.’ The voice came closer, it sounded sympathetic.

‘I’m sure she is, from the sight of me.’

Gritting her teeth she sneered ‘For goodness sake!’ Crossing her arms for warmth and setting foot back into the intense rain, she began to trudge through the drenched car park. She stood by what she said, she was going to find her way back.

She walked as far as the side of the car who’s headlights had previously blinded them.

‘She looks distressed, Are you going to stop her? You can’t let her go back in the rain, the hospital is miles from here.’ The man came into view, appearing to her right. She flinched backwards as he tried to rest an assuring hand on her arm. His face was scrunched and his eyes were squinting from battling the downpour.

‘Just hold on a second, I’ll take you there- House- Jesus Christ, we need to get out of this rain-’ This new man managed to convince her to step back under cover, she still kept her distance from the both of them, arms defensively crossed over her chest.

‘I was trying to find you, and I found you at a bar? You need to take this seriously, your patient went into cardiac arrest, we were trying to get a hold of you but you weren’t answering your phone.’

Looking unbothered, House shot back ‘Is he stable?’

‘Yes but-’

‘Well it's fine then, let me get on with my night.’

You could hear a very heavy sigh from the other man as he pinched the bridge of his nose, ready to speak again.

She finally let her quiet fury go ‘You let this man deal with patients? He couldn’t be the slightest bit interested in a man that is actively dying. He can’t honestly be a doctor, he's such an ass!’

‘Hey! That's not very nice to say to your prince charming!’ his eyes flew wide, pulling a mock frown, his words were a little slurred.

‘Well, I’m not wrong, you’re being a complete and utter cad!’

House gasped, looking defensively at the other man shrugging his shoulders ‘I don’t know what she's on about Wilson.’.

That was his name, Wilson. Was that a first or last name? She was yet to know.

‘Can we stop fighting like children? You, House, are going home and you’re going to take the case-file with you. Get in the car.’ Wilson paused to look at the lady, taking in her peculiar outfit. He didn’t know whether it would be dubious to ask her the same, especially with how distraught her manner appeared.

‘Whaaat? Are you calling off my playdate?!’ House whined. ‘I can drive myself, you know.’ He added in a flat tone.

‘The man behind the bar has his keys, I saw him take them earlier.’ She muttered in earshot of the man named ‘Wilson’.

There was a stern ‘In!’ from Wilson before House gave in; ‘Fine fine, Jesus, you really know how to be a stick in my ass!’

She remained hesitant as this gentleman, Wilson, opened the back door for her, ushering her in. She really had no other choice at this point, afterall, she had nowhere else to go.

Wilson turned back to look at her when he had finally seated himself in front of the wheel. ‘What do you need to go back to the hospital for? The clinic closed two hours ago...’.

‘Don’t worry about it, any hotel will do, I’ll go in the morning.’ She spoke softly in defeat.

House let slip ‘Don’t know how you’ll do that with no money.’.

A gasp could be heard ‘House! I-I can’t believe you! Were you planning to spend an evening with her and then just dump her?!’ Wilson shouted in a whisper, which was partly inaudible to the lady in the back. ‘You can’t do that! You’ll have to let her atleast crash on your couch until tomorrow.’

‘Why can’t you?’ He mumbled back.

‘Because I’m living out of a hotel at the moment, you know it's not possible.’ His voice went lower ‘You got yourself into this, not me!’

House heaved out a sigh, he was too inebriated to protest.

The drive was prolonged by the squabbling going on up front. She let her ears tune out, concentrating on different landmarks passing by her window. She recognized a few from when she had been roaming earlier that day; The laundromat where a woman stopped her for a chat, commenting on how her voice sounded funny and there was the barbers where she had been catcalled whilst trying to ask about the area.These were only a handful of places that were recognizable. She set about situating them on a map in her mind. She had to know her way around before it was too late, knowing that it would become a survival tool when House inevitably left her on her own.

Her eyes were terribly heavy as she peered out of the rain soaked window, her elbow resting on the seal, her chin propped on her hand. She could see her likeness reflected in the pane, it looked pale and exhausted. Although she felt miserable, It was also surprising how comforting this stranger's car was. She should’ve felt on edge not knowing where she was going, but the warmth and humming chatter seemed to lull her into a peaceful state of mind and eventually a light slumber.

The door was pulled abruptly open, causing her to tumble sideways. ‘You getting out or what?’. She sleepily trailed behind House up a couple of steps towards a green front door. His keys turnt in the lock, this must’ve been where he lived.

She was greeted by an array of objects, all messily placed around the entirety of the apartment. There were dark bookshelves filled with all sorts of oddities, some of which were recognisable like lozenge bottles, anatomical figurines and the odd syringe that she would see used in her hospitals at home. They were being used like decorational items, which she found quite curious.

Amongst it all was a grand piano, one possibly made from a rich wood, it was the only surface completely clear.

House limped through the apartment leaving her standing stunned in the entryway, Wilson was behind her, moving to her left to follow the doctor. She’d only seen him in low light, now realising how much more smartly clad he was in comparison to House. He looked and acted more like a man bearing the title of ‘doctor’. He seemed genuinely kind, but after House’s reaction, she didn’t want anyone else caught up in the mess she had gotten herself into. They were still having their previous conversation, she could hear their muffled voices from the other room.

Her heels clicked faintly on the hardwood floor, following the two into what looked like a kitchen. House was propped against a cabinet with a vile of tablets clutched in his hand. He tipped a couple into his palm, tipping his head back to swallow them. He glanced to his side, his steel blue eyes fixing on her figure awkwardly standing just outside the kitchen.

‘I’m going to get her a towel or something, at least offer her a glass of water instead of staring at her.’ Wilson was prodding House to accommodate his guest. Wilson promptly made his way out of the kitchen space, making sure to keep his distance and disappearing down a corridor, leaving them both alone.

House appeared disapproving as he continued to study her, lips curling inwards in thought.

She looked down at her shoes and spoke at the floor to avoid eye contact ‘I apologise, I didn't get the chance to thank you…’. She spoke softly and with gentle words only to hear a sniff and a heavy swallow in reply.

‘I wasn't being very kind considering you did help me.’ She added.

Pushing past her, in a way that didn’t cause physical contact he announced ‘I'm going to bed, Wilson will show you where everything is. You’re sleeping on the couch-’

He turned on his heel slightly, looking over his shoulder, which caught her attention; ‘Unless you want to join me for some sweet, passionate sex.’ He teased. He couldn't help himself, she thought, he had to pull some rudimentary rubbish to cover his arse whenever she tried to be polite.

Showing a slight grimace, she watched his back as he staggered away. She shifted her weight behind her on the kitchen’s doorway, head positioned upwards regarding the textured plaster on the ceiling.

There were a couple subdued footsteps before she noticed Doctor Wilson beside her, holding out a rather plush looking towel.

With a soft ‘thank you’ and a nod, she wrapped it about her person.

‘I’ve run you a bath as well. House stopped me in the hallway and asked if I could. The bathroom is just down that hallway.’ Pointing his thumb over his shoulder he noted the direction she should take. ‘If that’s everything, I best be getting back. It's getting late.’

Just before he left she spoke up, clearing her throat quietly, ‘Oh uh, thank you for everything-’ was all she could stutter.

With a prompt nod and a thoughtful smile he slipped through the front door, shutting it firmly behind him.

It was deathly silent as she slipped through the passageway to the bathroom. She was still studying her surroundings, taking in all of the little nic-nacs, when she stopped by a shelf just outside the bathroom. Huddled amongst the books was a sweet, well-loved teddy. He was only a tiny thing, just bigger than hand. His fur was thoroughly worn, showing darker spots where the threads were visible. His nose was hand stitched and his eyes glimmered in the low light. She turned him over gently in her hands, finding his maker’s mark. He was a Steiff bear, absolutely identical to her own. Hugging him closely to her chest, she felt a wave of comfort fall over her. A kind of comfort that hurts so terribly.

She let a silent tear slide down her cheek, thinking desperately of home. Her dear companion was where she left it, settled amongst her bedsheets battling the biting cold of her bedroom. He would never know where she had gone.

The feeling further gnawed at her heart, her chest burnt with grief. She thought of family, how she’d left them behind, without uttering a goodbye. She thought of her friends and her dogs and finally her fiancé. She let her head tilt slightly back, her flushed lips parted, trying to stop the tears from dripping onto the floor, but they only bled down her neck, stinging as they made their path. Looking back at the bear, she pulled him back from her person, giving him a light kiss on his woolly cheek. Tenderly, she seated him back on the shelf and continued on her path.

She was finally amongst the cold tile of the bathroom. Quietly locking the door behind her, she began to undress, hooking her garments over the showerail above the tub. They might’ve had a chance of drying there.

She sat on the stool in the corner to unclip her stockings. There, she caught sight of a scrape on her knee where she had taken a fall earlier that day. The adrenaline had been overpowering the pain, only now realising how the crimson blood had seeped into the rayon. Peeling the fabric off the wound she set about washing away some of the blood in the sink, hoping that she could salvage the tattered hosiery. She left them to dry like the rest of her clothing and undergarments.

She felt it was only right to leave on her few pieces of jewellery, knowing her tired state, she would likely misplace them otherwise.

Placing a foot into the sudsy water, the pleasant water enveloped her numb limbs. She led down fully, letting the warmth rush over her, finally ridding herself of the dreadful frigidity that had lingered upon her skin. Allowing her eyes to close, she let out a contented sigh. This small pause, where her body was finally in a relaxed state, brought on small waves of dread. Much like the bath water sloshing about in the porcelain, the top of her stomach was sweeping like waves, twisting and pulling in agony.

She hunched over, pulling her knees up to her chest as a form of comfort. Her breath grew heavy, the sense of foreboding setting in. Burying her face into the hard bones of her knees, she struggled against her chest wracking with affliction. The pure anguish of the situation hit her, far worse than it had in the hallway. She desperately clung onto her breath not wanting to make a sound, tears smothering the entirety of her face. Her arms were firmly wrapped about her head, her nails digging into the tops of her arms, clinging onto any part of reality that wasn’t being deadened by her continuous fear.

She suffered a disjointed sob, drawing a further deep breath through her teeth. Her body shook with the deeply embedded desolation.

She hadn’t noticed the figure stood to her right as she continued to sink further into her melancholy, her form violently trembling with mournful weeps.

There was a masculine, pitiful exhale that filled the claustrophobic space.

From the sound, she let one bloodshot eye take a peak above her arms, perceiving a blurry staunch figure who was instantly recognisable.

Embarrassment entangled her as she realised how she might’ve appeared. Her voice sounded broken as she whispered a quick apology, drawing her limbs closer to her torso.

He continued with what he was doing, flipping open the mirrored cabinet above the sink.

All she could do was turn her head in the opposite direction to hide her obvious flushed face and tear stained cheeks. She heard his rusting around but was too humiliated to look.

Hearing his footsteps echoing away and the door closing once again, she turned to take a peek. There was a thin blue and white dressing gown led over the edge of the bath, it hadn’t been there before. She took that as a sign to leave the tepid soak, finishing up in the bath, placing on her chemise and French knickers that were mostly dry. It would have to suffice for the night. She assumed this dressing gown was left for her, delicately placing it upon her person and tying it tight.

She padded down the hallway, taking quick,quiet steps to the living room. Anticipating his presence in the sitting room, she felt she would have to turn back and lock herself in the bathroom for the rest of the night. She couldn’t face him again, she felt completely mortified after he’d seen her in that state.

Perching on the chesterfield, making herself somewhat comfortable, she peered down at the coffee table in front of her, her eyes landed on the patient case file that the other doctor had left. Curiosity overtook her, she took a cautionate glance at the space before flipping open the blue folder to take a peak. She had wondered what the two were discussing earlier.

Her breath caught after taking in the symptoms. It was the usual symptoms of something like influenza, high temperature, fever, sore throat, difficulty breathing and swollen glands in the neck. It was sounding a lot like what her uncle had caught, but how could they not see it was a kind of flu? Was there something else they were missing? There were updated notes too, scrawled in the typical hard-read writing of a doctor.

It was affecting his heart.

‘What have I told you about patient confidentiality?’

‘It's just some.. Reading..’ Was all she could stutter, she was quite lost for words after jumping out of her skin at his abrupt emergence.

His eyebrows seemed to quirk in amusement ‘Can you not see the amount of books on the shelves around you?’

‘Yes I know, but, Dr Wilson was urging you to read this and you still wouldn’t. I thought I might have a look to see what you were avoiding. Well, I can see why...’

‘It's not the flu.’ House stated bluntly.

She sighed at his forthrightness, she was quite familiar with it now. ‘I was just…Starting to see the similarity it had to a relative’s death..’ She couldn't stand looking him in the eyes after her confession, she felt he might just laugh in her face.

His questions were quick and direct yet her willingness to answer was becoming restrained ‘What did they die from?’.

‘Distemper- no, uh? I can’t remember - I don’t like to think about it.’ Her eyes were visibly glazed, her eyes squinting when racking her brain for the given name of the illness.

He pushed further ‘You can’t remember any symptoms?’

Swallowing gravely, she continued ‘Well, they found a grey coating in their throat after they died. The doctor was too late to see it before. Their um.. Heart was weak from birth, so we barely saw symptoms before they passed. But it-it was like your patient…The um, cough and fever..’

His eyes seemed to focus on a point in front of him, his pupils constricting. His mind was whirring, connecting dots.

‘A Pseudomembrane. So it was bacteria?’

She looked clueless, wanting to shake her head in apprehensive confusion. He went on to pull a small rectangular silver case from his pocket, snapping it open and tapping a couple buttons on it, eventually holding it to his ear.

‘Corynebacterium diphtheriae. Have you checked inside the patient's nose? I think you'll find we're dealing with bacterial disease instead of a virus.’

There was a pause before he interrupted the murmur coming from the other end ‘-then dose him up on antibiotics and monitor his heart damage. Yes, I know you’ve found it’s myocarditis, so put him on anti-inflammatories and any other pain killers he’ll whine for. He’ll survive.’ Flipping the silver item, supposedly a phone, closed after rambling to the person on the other end, he examined the lady before him. Other than the slight scrunch about his eyes, his visage appeared completely blank.

Gasping as if he were to speak, he held his tongue to look upon her, further studying her face. He sat on the other end of the settee, lowering himself down slowly, holding his leg as he did so. Making himself comfortable, he placed his cane upon the table in front of them.

‘Who was this relative then?’ His words seemed to strike a nerve. She seemed to render a sorrowful glint in her eyes. ‘Who was it?’ He pressed.

‘My brother, the oldest.’

‘You have a brother?’ It wasn’t like he already knew, after reading up on her all day, he just wanted to hear it from her. He cruelly wanted to see if she had rehearsed the entirety of the historical documents he had found on the web, pitilessly trying to trip her up.

She only nodded, she was hesitant to give away any more information on her personal life, but she still stated that she once had four male siblings.

‘I’m sorry.’ Stating it unremorsefully, he still exhibited an unreadable blank expression.

He didn’t remain seated for long, making his way back to the kitchen in his usual slow walk. He returned, after a bit of rusting in the other room, carrying glasses and a bottle of unidentifiable amber alcohol. Pouring about an inches worth into both glasses, he passed one over to the accompanying female who took a reserved sip, brushing her tongue along her lip to identify the taste.

Reaching into her chestnut coloured handbag, she pulled out her ornate cigarette case, opening it to offer one to House who was sprawled out on the sofa.

‘I don’t smoke.’

Pulling an inquisitive grin she spoke ‘If you don’t, then why have an ashtray?’.

‘Decoration?’ His voice dripped with sarcasm.

She chuckled lightly at his comment. He did indeed take a straight, placing it at his lip as she sparked the metal lighter beneath it.

Doing the same for herself, the room became slightly hazy with the wispy smoke.

He appeared content with the taste ‘What are these then?’

‘Fribourg & Treyer, I have them when I'm in London.’ She gave a frolicsome smile ‘I’m not actually allowed to smoke, my father prohibits it.’

He made a humming sound, prompting her to continue. His interest was getting the better of him.

‘He’s a little old-fashioned, doesn’t believe women should smoke, he believes I’m starting to resemble the scandalous city girls. Not very fair considering my brother’s are happily welcomed to, and in his company. I mean one smokes a pipe, one does snuff for Heaven’s sake!’ Lamenting on the disparity of it all, she still displayed an impish grin.

His lips seemed to curl into a sort of smile as she spoke candidly.

‘What happened to your knee?’ He kept firing questions, one after the other.

She glanced down, finding the dressing gown was revealing the skin just above her knees. Readjusting the fabric she formed a response; ‘It's just a scrape, there’s nothing special about it. Anyway, are you ever going to stop interrogating me? I mean, you haven’t given me the chance to ask my own questions yet.’

‘Looks like you’ve been running, it’s elongated.’

She paused to flick her head away, looking back at him quickly again in discomfort, sharply stubbing out her cigarette.

‘Yes.. But that doesn’t matter.’

Regardless, he persisted ‘Who were you running from?’

‘I was just scared, alright?’ She exclaimed, nervously holding an odd smile.

It was deathly silent between them. The cars on the street outside echoed noisily throughout the front room.

‘Go on then, what were you going to ask me? No doubt it's going to be about my leg.’

She shook her head ‘That’s not for me to ask. I wanted to know what made you want to become a doctor?’.

‘I was greatly and passionately inspired by Patch Adams.’ He sounded dreamy, but she unperceived the underlying sarcasm.

‘I’ve never heard of them before? Did you know them?’

Bursting with an obnoxious laugh, he looked upon her as she rolled her eyes. There was no point trying to get any information out of him, House always found ways to deflect.

Leaning forward he forced himself to stand, hastily swallowing the rest of his nightcap, he began to stagger towards his bedroom. He gave one last comment before departing for good;

‘I know what you did.’ It was ominous. His back was still facing her.

‘I didn’t think you would have it in you to steal.’

-----

I hope you are enjoying it so far! This is going to end up being chock-full of metaphors XD

'Who Are You' - The Who 1978

-----

Tag list:

@indestructeible @suziek415

-----

~ I really have enjoyed my stay, but I must be moving on ~

#house #house md #housemd #drhouse #dr house #greg house #greg house x reader #gregoryhousexreader #housexreader #house md x reader #house x reader #1920s #1920s fanfic #historical fanfiction #dr house x reader #x reader #reader insert

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ludi-ling · 7 days

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Chapter 7 of The Tailor & The Seamstress is now out!

In which more honesty leads to something of an impasse.

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55036891/chapters/140682940

Or on FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14344551/7/The-Tailor-The-Seamstress

Please read, review and enjoy! x

#fanfic #Rogue and Gambit #Rogue #Gambit #Remy LeBeau #Anna Marie LeBeau #The Tailor & The Seamstress #historical fiction #historical fashion #historical fanfiction

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garden-0f-eden · 10 months

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FREE I • DR King Schultz

• ☆ •

The niece of Calvin Candie finds herself in desperate need of saving, when two men approach her uncles farm looking for fighters, she see's them as a prefect opportunity.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse and slavery, fem!reader

°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°

You sigh as you lay hidden within the overgrown, green grass, far away from the house, the plantation, your family. Far away from every part of you that you hated.

You open your eyes and stare up at the summer sky, clouds drifting aimlessly overhead, birds singing distantly. For once, you felt at peace.

You hear slow, gentle footsteps behind you, before the gate squeaks open. "Miss Candie?" You hear Estie say softly, you sit up and look over your shoulder at her, "Your uncle wants you back at the big house, some guests are here." You nod at her, smiling half heartedly. You push yourself up off the grass, straightening out your skirt.

You stumble through the overgrown greenery and slowly head back to the plantation, following closely behind Estie.

Estie was your friend, a relationship disliked by your family, not that you cared, you would protect her from your Uncle and his workers punishments. She was a young, short girl, maybe around late teens. You enjoyed her company more then anyone elses on the plantation, youd always sneak her food and old clothing. She was your only friend.

As you approach the big house you catch the tail end of an argument between Steven and Uncle Calvin, "In the damned big house..." he mutters angrily as he heads inside. You walk up the steps and stand beside your mother.

You look up at the men before you, an older looking man with a short graying beard, wearing a matching grey suit and hat, beside him, a darker man on horseback. The other man wore a green shirt tucked into brown trousers, he wore black sunglasses and a brown cowboy hat. Both men held their reigns with black leather gloves.

"Dr Schultz," Uncle Calvin addressed, "This attractive southern belle is my widowed sister, may I present to you Lara Lee Candie-Fitzwilly." You mother does a southern bow, smiling at the doctor. Calvin then places a hand on your waist, pulling you towards him making you jump slightly. Schultz frowned. "And this beautiful, young mare, is my niece, Y/N Candie-Fitzwilly." He pulled his hand away from your waist, the doctor lifts his hat to you, his gaze lingering prehaps a little too long, he then clears his throat.

"I am Dr. King Schultz, this is my second here, Django." The man on horseback beside him tips his hat, Schultz then gestures to the two horses, "And these are our horses, Tony and Fritz." The horses bow, making you and afew other women coo and giggle.

Your mother was staring at the doctor, a blush on her face, you roll your eyes as she batts her eyelashes. "Well arent you gentlemen charming. You're not from around here are you?" She asks with a grin.

"Actually, I'm from a far off land, Dusseldorf to be excact." Ah. That explained the accent.

"Ah! This smart, beautiful lady here can speak some German herself!" You uncle exclaims proudly, squeezing your shoulder roughly, you flinch and move out of his grip discreetly. Schultz looks at you with a raised eyebrow, before looking back to Calvin.

You zone out as your mother, Uncle Calvin and Schultz engage in boring conversation. Something about fighters...

You refocus when the door squeaks open, Stephen now joining the conversation, "Actually Monsieur Candie... Theres somethin I ain't tole you yet..." Stephen says guilty.

"What?"

"Hildis in the hotbox."

You notice how Schultz and Djangos head now snap up.

"Well what's she doing In there?!"

"What 'cha think shes doin in there? Shes bein punished."

"What she do?"

"She ran away again."

You watch as Djangos hand moves towards his gun holster, resting on his thigh, he notices your gaze yet dosent move.

"Lucky for her the dogs were busy huntin some other slave, she only a little beat up, but she did that to herself runnin through all them bushes."

His hand now moves away from his pistol, and back to his reigns, you sigh, heading inside towards your room. You walk up the stairs, passing past afew women in the corridor before pushing open your door.

You run yourself a bath, laying in the hot water for what felt like hours, the warmth putting your aching muscles at ease. The scent of cherry and coconut filling the room.

You open your eyes as you hear a soft knock on the door, you sigh, moving the bubbles to cover yourself up, "Yes?" The door opens slightly, your mother pears around the corner, smiling gently at you, "You uncle wants you to get ready for dinner in an hour..." You nod, a sigh leaving your lips. She leaves, closing the door behind her.

#django #django unchained #dr king schultz #king schultz #King schultz x reader #Dr king Schultz x reader #historical fanfiction

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royallyprincesslilly · 1 year

Text

Title: Pleasing The Duke {6}*

Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington

Warning: Plot, Regency Historical Piece, Angst, SLOW BURN,

Words: 5.3k

Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way your and the duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.

Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.

***Glossary of terms at the end of the chapter for period-specific words/items for greater comprehension.

***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton.

I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Chapter Six: A Gentle Hand

Cold air raced up your spine, but a warmth was settled in your gut. The combination sent a shiver through your body. Moaning, you moved closer to the solid frame you felt against you. The warmth you found there was searing—comforting. Again, you moaned and tried to get closer. You wanted to be so close that the warmth was all your own. You draped a leg over the solid frame and settled falling back into a slumber. However, it was not restful. Your mind was plagued with visions of a storm. Raging winds wracked your person sending you this and that way. Thick, cold mud clung to you, almost pulling you deeper into the earth.

When your visions calmed, you were met with hypnotizing eyes, full lips, and strong hands. Those hands touched you so possessively, so urgently. The face that came with those features was Simon’s. You could not make much out, but his words came to you in disorganized speech that was difficult to comprehend. When you thought you could make something out, the images changed. His lips remained and they were pressed to yours.

Slowly, your eyes batted open. It took several moments for your vision to clear and steady. Once it did, you recognized your bedchambers. All was silent, only the soft crackle and pop of a fire could be heard. Early mornings were usually your favorite time of day. Everything was quiet, but you knew that everyone was on the move preparing for the start of the day. You liked to laze around in your bed listening to the birds chirp and watch the sunshine dance across your bed.

You could hear the sounds of the chirping birds but though the sun brightly beamed through the windowpanes, it did not dance across the bed. Instead, you took notice of something else in your bed—or someone. You trailed your eyes up from the midsection of a body up, up, up until the bare chest of a man peeked from under the bed sheets—a very well-defined bare chest. Your breath caught then your throat tightened. Bringing your eyes higher, you found Simon’s glued on you. He did not move or speak, matter of fact, he seemed to be staring through you rather than at you.

It took only a few seconds to realize he hadn’t realized you were awake. You glanced around again trying to understand what in the world had happened. On the floor beside the bed, you saw discarded clothes and your imagination went into hyperactivity. Again, you glanced up into Simon’s eyes. They were bloodshot with dark circles around them. He looked downright exhausted. Had he not slept?

Just then, you recalled the storm and it slowly dawned on you that it had not been a dream, but a memory. Were you ill? Simon sucked in a breath then his body tensed.

“Jamilla,” he breathed reaching over to you to press his hand to your forehead.

The touch felt foreign but familiar. An image of him doing the same before filled your mind. Had he done it before? Simon continued to assess you with concerned eyes.

“Someone come forth! Quickly!”

You caught his eyes and noticed they looked tear filled. Simon avoided your eyes looking every which way. He tucked you tightly, so you now shared deep resemblance to a log in a lake. The doors opened and in came Mrs. Butler with your maids.

“My lady,” Leesil began on a shriek. “Thank heavens we all were so worried.”

Worried, you thought. Had things really been that bad? It was after all, just rain. You’d been caught in plenty of rainstorms. You looked to Simon again, but he still avoided your eyes.

“My lord, the doctor has come,” Bridget announced as a tall man dressed in plain clothes entered the room.

“Good. Come doctor, see to my wife.”

With those words, Simon slipped from the bed whilst grabbing a discarded blanket that rested at the foot of the bed. He used the material to wrap himself from the waist down which told you he was very much nude while he was lying beside you. Oh my, you thought. While the doctor slinked to the side of the bed to tend to you, your eyes roamed Simon’s frame for a few moments taking in every inch of skin that was on display for you. Before long, Simon sprang into motion, excusing himself from the room entirely on some hushed whisper. What in the world was the matter with him?

~~~~~

-Simon-

Blast it!

The anger he felt was leagues past mere anger. He was fuming. This was all his fault. After hearing a detailed account of the events leading up to your disappearance, he’d learned just how at fault he truly was. If only he’d been more attentive, more accommodating rather than avoiding you. If only he’d been warmer perhaps there wouldn’t have been quite so many misunderstandings. Your words from your drunken delirium in the rain came back to him.

“Th—they must all la—laugh at—at—m-me seeing you ca—cann—cannot stand to b—be near m—me.”

Taking the steps two at a time he dashed down them needing to feel the cold morning air whipping against his flesh.

“Do you not. You have said such in every way since I stepped beside you in that church. You have said such in every move you make, every word you speak no matter how nondescript. In every breath you breathe you wish me gone.”

His chest hurt from the rapid beating of his heart and no matter what he did to hold the air in his lungs it never worked. He ended up feeling as if he hadn’t gotten any at all. Seeing the door across the stone lobby, he sped his steps.

“You already hate me so this should be a blessing for you. Wifeless, free to resume your rakish ways.”

Once the ornate metal doorknobs were tightly clasped in his hands, he yanked them open thrusting himself out into the elements. As soon as he stepped out, the crisp morning air slapped him in the face like a welcomed awakening to the new day. Taking gulp after gulp of the air he forced it into his lungs hoping that chased away the panic surging through his body.

It did not take long to realize this would not be enough.

“Horse! F----F--Fe--Fetch—my hor--horse!”

“Yes, my lord.”

He did not know who’d said it, he could hardly focus on breathing let alone whose voice he’d heard. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the tips of the doctor from his childhood. He had not had a bout of hysteria since he was one and six, He thought he was long past this stage especially having faced his father regarding his abandonment. Apparently not, he thought.

Before long, a footman approached with his horse, Zeus. Not waiting for the horse to stop he took quick steps and leapt up swinging himself onto his trusted steed.

With the reins in hand he shouted, “Hiyah!”

Zeus took off into the open greenery much like a fast-traveling lightning bolt as it split the sky before rainfall. The breeze was now whipping around him sending his banyan flapping behind him. Lightly he flicked Zeus’ reins prompting him to go faster. For as far as he could see it was open land—his land and he had not one worry.

“Then why have you abandoned me? You hate me so much you would rather not eat with me, not sleep beside me, nor see my face. Just admit it.”

He clenched his jaw thinking of that word. Abandoned. He wanted to throw himself off the horse. Never in his plans had he wanted to ever make someone feel the way he’d felt his entire life. Discarded, neglected, repulsed, abandoned. You felt abandoned by him because of his actions.

“Hiyah!”

Turning Zeus toward the dense tree grove, he steered him through the dangerous low hanging branches and broken wood. He only had seconds to make the right decision to keep his head firmly attached to his shoulders and it was what he enjoyed. He had learned long ago that he was somewhat of an adventure seeker. It was evident in his travels to exotic and distant lands and even his interest in boxing, fencing, archery, hunting and a few others. Many of his friends suspected he had a death wish and liked to see which sport would claim his life. Perhaps they were right.

Giving Zeus a heel to the abdomen, he signaled him to jump over the coming fallen branches. Seconds later he had to duck to avoid his cause of death being beheading by wood. No matter the speed he was going or the danger he was thrusting himself into he still was not going fast enough to outrun your voice or the pain he saw in your eyes.

He could not believe you did not know. It was in this moment as he ducked and from doom and leapt into the air from danger that he realized just how innocent you were. He had never entrained an innocent, never bothered, or dared to even attempt to. He knew he was far to damaged to be trusted to not twist and morph another to mirror himself. Horror filled his heart, but it was not from the shattered tree trunk that was in his path fiving him no way to avoid it.

As Zeus’ impulses took hold skidding himself to a stop, he went flying through the air, over the broken wood and flat on his back several feet away. The collision knocked the wind right out of him making him see spots and fog. By the time his vision cleared he was leaned against the tree taking steady breaths.

“Blazing Devils!”

Flinging his head back he groaned as it collided with the tree which sent another torrent of curses from his lips. He deserved the pain; he deserved the agony he was in right now. Your face came to mind as did the memory of your body pressed against his all through the night. The ache coursing through him died down and was replaced with the fire of his desire for you. Gods help him he desired you more than he had ever desired any other woman. It baffled him beyond measure.

Sitting there he slowly went over every detail of the night before, every feeling, every fear and came to terms with them. He was at fault in this situation, and he had to rectify it. He knew his mother would be ashamed of him and how he’s behaved around you. He also knew his father would probably be proud seeing his own coldness and aloofness in him. Perhaps he would finally accept him then.

“Sod it all,” he mumbled.

“You must conquer the past Simon, either you conquer it or it will make a fool of you in your present and all the days of your future.”

Lady Danbury’s words never went too far from his mind. He had heard them echo all through his childhood at the most inconvenient of times. It was as if she knew way back then the struggles he would continue to have well into adulthood. Turning his head upward he caught sight of the sun that was now beaming down on him through the branches of the trees he was surrounded by.

With the intense glare, more of Lady Danbury’s words flitted to his mind. These words she had uttered on the day you had wed.

“She hath a kind and quaint heart, tread carefully and be gentle with her. Do not snuff her light out, let it in.”

She was the closest to a mother he’d had, and he loved her dearly. She had often teased him asking how he could love her but swear to never love anyone. She understood the difference but enjoyed teasing him by pointing out he was capable of the emotion. He still needed proof and if the last few weeks were to be it, only one thing was clear, he was more capable of destruction than love. Something deep inside wished of him to be proven wrong. It was a wish he had never allowed to see the light of day. It lived in the darkest alcoves of his heart.

After returning to the estate, he had a better hold of his emotions and thoughts. The guilt still wracked him, but it was easier to hold it at bay. As he jumped off his horse, his steward informed him of the doctor waiting in the drawing room to discuss your health. With haste he found the man in the midst of a cup of tea admiring the roses.

“My lord.”

“Please, no need for formalities doctor. Thank you for coming with such haste.”

“Tis a pleasure to serve the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.”

“Please continue your tea,” he said as he sat across from the man and allowed him to take another sip of tea.

“To your liking?”

“Very much, my lord.”

“Good. How is she?”

The doctor cleared his throat then set his cup and saucer down before he began.

“The duchess’ breathing is quite labored, quite too labored if you ask me. I am inclined to believe she has some pulmonary infliction, and a minor draft. She has coughing bouts which is slight worrisome for me. If this is left untreated it could lead to more serious conditions.”

“Will she recover?”

“I believe she will. my advice is to keep her warm, ensure she gets plenty of rest, I have written the recipe for an herbal tincture that I wish to be made into tea for her to drink three times a day for sennight. Sun will also do her good. With this there is no reason the duchess will not recover.”

The relief he felt must have been evident. The doctor smiled.

“Tis refreshing to see a man who loves his wife so.”

He nodded but did not reply. “I assure I will bring the duchess back to good health.”

“Happy to hear it, my lord!”

After allowing the doctor to finish his cup of tea he relayed the orders to the house instructing them on the proper way to care for Jamilla. Once that was squared away, he retired to his chambers to clean himself up from his impromptu ride.

~~~~~

-Jamilla-

“My lady.”

Snapping your head to the right you found Brigit and Leesil both standing there with concerned looks on their faces.

“Y—Yes,” you rasped before clearing your throat ignoring the tightness in your chest.

“Do you feel well? You gave us quite a fright,” Bridget added.

“I am sorry to have worried you. But surly it was not that bad.”

Leesil’s eyes widened even further. “Ma’am, it was a horror. You were unconscious, shivering cold one moment, hotter than a flame the next, your lips were quite blue. Mrs. Butler was certain the estate would have claimed another Duchess of Hastings.”

Your curiosity piqued then. “An—,” A cough wracked your body that quickly escalated into a bout lasting longer than you liked. Both Bridget and Leesil approached you attempting to sooth and assist you any way they could. When the coughing finally passed you took the glass of water that Leesil held out for you.

“Goodness.”

You fanned your face and hoped that the burn in your chest would subside sooner rather than later. When it finally dwindled to a slight ache, you looked at Leesil needing to know more.

“What do you mean the estate would have claimed another?”

Leesil looked to Bridget hesitantly before she looked back to you. “Leesil please,” you urged.

“Do you not know of the history of this estate or the Hastings’?”

“I have heard the basics. The Duke and Duchess married and eventually had a child, but the duchess passed away.”

“The previous Duchess did expire—shortly after she delivered the duke, in this estate in a room that has been blocked off for decades.”

You’d heard that his mother passed on, but you did not know it was during childbirth.

“She passed on alone, save for Lady Danbury,” Leesil finished.

Your eyes widened. “Alone? Why? What of the Duke? Where was he?”

Leesil’s face twisted into a scowl of disgust. “Flaunting his long awaited, newborn son to anyone with eyes. He cared not for the wellbeing of the Duchess. Quite shameful! Me mum loved the Duchess and has never forgiven the man for how her last moments went.”

Your heart broke hearing the accounts of the past. The late duke sounded like a heartless man. Part of you wondered if that was who Simon aspired to be. Was the way he treated you the way his father had treated his mother? Suddenly a flash of a memory came to mind. It was a memory of Simon treating you completely different than he had for the last several days.

“Is something the matter?”

“Was—Was I alone while I was ill?”

Again, Leesil and Bridget glanced at each other before they turned back to you.

“No ma’am. The duke accompanied you,” Bridget informed.

“All night,” Leesil added.

Your eyes widened again as another image came to mind. Simon’s arms were wrapped around your body pulling you against his very much nude one.

“The entire night?”

“Yes, my lady,” they answered in unison.

You squinted your eyes trying to press the edges of your mind to give you more memories. The more they came the more you did not understand. None of what you imagined made sense because none of it revealed more than flashes. Hands on your body, chest pressed to yours, your face buried in a neck, lips, fabric, and heat, plenty of heat.

“I would say the duke must possess healing powers to have revived you within one night,” Leesil teased making Bridget giggle.

Before you could reply, the door opened and in walked Simon like a ray of sunshine on a gloomy morning. Your eyes could not help but follow him as he walked in and around the four-post bed to you. Everything and everyone else faded.

“Bridget, Leesil I will take it from here.”

“Yes, my lord,” they replied in unison reminding you that they were there in the first place.

Once the door closed behind them, you looked back to Simon who was now seated on the side of the bed he’d gotten out earlier in the morning. His eyes were on you as he was trying to read every hidden emotion or thought behind your eyes.

“Are you well?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

Simon pressed the back of his hand to your forehead then hummed. “You are not as hot as you were in the night. That is a bit of good news. I have brought your breakfast and medicine. Would you be interested in eating?”

Slowly you nodded. Simon began uncovering the dishes and bowls on the trey that was now on the bed. As he revealed the food your hunger awoke reminding you that you had not eaten since the previous day.

“What shall we begin with? Perhaps a spot of tea?”

Again, you nodded. As you moved for the teacup, Simon beat you to it and lifted the porcelain to your lips. You hesitated for a moment but took a sip from the cup and rejoiced inside as the fruit and floral notes hit your senses.

“I found it a delightful surprise hearing you add rose and mulberries to your tea.”

“It gives it sweetness and turns it--.”

“Delicate,” Simon finished.

Your eyes lingered for a few moments before he lowered the cup back to the trey. A soft scoff escaped him, “It suits you.”

Bit by bit Simon raised fork and spoonfuls of food to your lips, taking care to not give you too much at once and to keep your face clean. You were practically beside yourself seeing this side of him. It was so unlike anything you’d seen from him before. Surly when you’d first met you’d made up your mind of him labeling him as a rake, then it slowly transitioned into him being a libertine. There is where it remained no matter how quickly you found yourself becoming mesmerized by his charm and alluring maleness. He was so unlike any other man you’d met before, so delectably unique. The more you learned of him, the more traits he begrudgingly revealed of himself you found him bearable and quite tortured. Along the way you got it into your mind that perhaps all he needed was a true friend, or someone to heal whatever tortured him so. Was it silly? Perhaps.

Over the last weeks, his distance, aloofness, and complete avoidance of you of course changed your perspective of him entirely. You had begun to see how silly you were during those weeks of the season where you paraded around with him in hopes of steering prospective suitors away from the both of you. It was clear he was suffering from the ghosts he carried with him, and no one could save any man from that torment, he himself would have to best them.

Here he was though, sitting across from you taking care of you with such gentleness it made your heart ache. His actions were not hurried, they were the opposite, it seemed as if he wished this moment to stretch on for as long as possible. Even the way he spoke telling you news from the residents of the acreage, well wishes for your health and the distinction between what the residents did for the land was different.

His tone was softer, there seemed to be a calm melody to his words that relaxed you. It had been weeks since you felt this at ease with him. It was an ease that you did not worry what he was thinking of you or if he disliked you. In this moment you could read him clearly. He was behaving like a man who actually cared about his wife. You would be lying if you said having him there didn’t make you happier.

Once breakfast and your medicine were finished you rang the bell for your maids, wishing for a bath.

“Open water is forbidden while recovering.”

You sighed at Simon’s words dropping your shoulders in disappointment. You’d gained an affinity to regular bathing. There was something peaceful of sitting in scented warm water and being left alone with your thoughts and the sunlight.

“Yes, my lord, my lady?”

“Worry not, Mrs. Butler,” you informed.

“Mrs. Bulter, please begin preparations for the duchess’ evening medicine.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Also, warm a basin of water and bring it here please.”

“Yes, sir.”

You were curious what he needed the water for but did not question him. He held up two books before you with a smile on his face.

“Idealistic poetry or swashbuckling tales of adventure?”

You smiled and leaned against the wooden headboard. “Only if this swashbuckling adventure you speak of is of a heroine and not a hero.”

Simon chuckled. “I dare say I have learned my lesson and have steadfastly filled the library with plenty of tales of heroines thrust into in a variety of adventure, some more lewd that genteel company would not dare speak of.”

Your eyes widened as you gently swat at his arm. “Simon!”

Again, he chuckled. “Forgive me my lady, a swashbuckling adventure it is. Are you comfortable?”

“Quite.”

“Then we begin. “Ahoy, who goes there,” Lady Philomena Vanquest shouted with her sword in hand.”

You sighed watched him as he read to you. Within the first few pages your eyes closed and you envisioned the story playing out before you. His voice serving as the perfect tool to bring everything to life. His voice was easily your favorite thing about him. He had a voice that could work magic on a lady in the dark pressed against a wall--the voice that could seduce even the most unwilling bedfellow. His voice easily conjured feelings of lust and desire and it had been this way from the very beginning.

“Jamilla? Jamilla.”

Your eyes fluttered open and there he was peering at you with concern. The sun that was once beaming in the room was slowly disappearing.

“Are you well?”

You moaned then sat up. “I fell asleep.”

“You did. I did not know my voice bored you so to catapult you into unconsciousness,” Simon teased.

“I promise it does not.”

“No?”

Your eyes met and locked. “No,” you whispered.

Simon smiled then nodded. “Good to hear.”

A knock at the door brought both of your heads to watch Mrs. Butler, Bridget and Leesil walk in, each carrying different things. Mrs. Butler carried a trey of clothes, Bridget a basin, and Leesil a stack of fresh clothing and small glass bottles.

“What is this?”

“While I cannot in good faith allow you to submerge yourself into water, I can offer a compromise,” Simon said motioning for the items to be put down.

The steam from the large basin told you it was freshly heated. Across the surface of the water rose, daisy, peony, lilac, sweet briar petals danced while filling the room with the aroma of the garden you loved to spend your time in.

“My lady, I have also added the honeysuckle and jasmine oils you enjoy,” Bridget added.

A smile spread across your face as your heart warmed. “Thank you.”

“I take it this option is to your liking?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“Good. Thank you everyone, you may leave.”

Alarm rushed through you at the meaning of his words. Did he intend to stay as you did it yourself or would he do it himself?

“Seeing as this terrible predicament is my fault entirely, I offer my services. Tisn’t been a fortnight since we married and already you are battling illness. I fear your mother and brothers would skin me alive.”

“Twas I who--,” you began only for Simon to cut you off, claiming the blame for himself once again. Accepting defeat, you nodded.

“Thank you for your consideration.”

“Bridget you may stay to assist.”

“My lord,” Bridget replied.

You watched Simon roll the sleeves of his half unbuttons white shirt and dip his hand into the basin to swirl the water around. He did it so slowly that your eyes could not look away. When he dipped a clean cloth into the water, the flower petals clung to it. Once he’d wrung the water out, he came closer and brought the cloth to slowly wipe your face with gentle strokes.

Your senses elated from the smells enveloping you. They should have calmed you, made you feel at ease but the way your heart was rapidly thudding in your chest said they were doing the opposite. However, you believed the culprit this time was not the flowers but the nearness of your husband as he for the first time assisted you with something so intimate as a wipe down.

You wondered if he could hear your heart. Could he hear the horse hoofs’ gallops going off inside of you as loudly as you heard them? He dipped the cloth into the water again and repeatedly his actions then brought the cloth to your neck. Everywhere he trailed the cloth, the heat from the water soothed your muscles taking some of the ache of your ordeal away. When you felt him slip to the back of your neck you lowered your head giving him easier access. The feel of his fingertips along the bone at the back of your neck had you gasping and clutching the blankets across your lap.

Simon slowly brought the cloth around and dipped inside the lite material of your shift to your shoulder. As he went over it a few times goosebumps broke out over your flesh.

“Bridget,” Simon uttered, his voice sounded clouded, as if he had to force it out.

You wanted to look at him so badly, wanted to see if his face gave anything away to how he was feeling or what he was thinking, but you could not. Something inside of you prevented it. As Simon busied his hands in the basin again, Bridget came to your side of the bed and began lifting the shift you wore off of your body replacing it with a lite muslin cloth.

It was then your heart beating really took off. You were now nude in front of him for the second time and this time was not any less nerve wracking. Albeit this time you were still covered, even the thin muslin left little to the imagination. suddenly an image of your nude body underneath Simon’s came to mind. His lips were pressed against yours as was every inch of his hard, lean and powerful body. The feel of cool air brought you back to see your lower half exposed to Simon’s sight. The muslin rested atop you, but he brushed it aside revealing one leg. Bringing the heated cloth to your ankle he slowly wiped upward then down only to do it again and again until he wiped all around. Your belly was in flight and your heart was seconds away from bursting. How could one man elicit such a strong reaction?

You watched as the cloth returned to your knee and trail a torturously slow path up your thigh. When Simon’s hand dipped to your inner thigh you noticed a shake. Bringing your eyes to him, you saw the focus on his features. It was as if he were pressing every inch of your skin to memory to revisit later. You could not help but wonder when later he would think of this? In bed perchance?

When his hand made it several inches up your inner thigh he retreated and moved to your other leg. You watched every move he made but not because you did not trust him to respect you, but because you wanted to remember this for your own revisit. You wanted to watch his hands roam across your body as you envisioned the cloth not there.

After Simon finished your lower half a new basin that mirrored the first came. On Bridget’s instruction, you leaned forward revealing your bare back for him to wipe. The chance of his fingers raking down your back made you arch, dipping it inward. A groan escaped Simon then, it was a groan that made a part of you that you’d never knew of awaken. It felt like part of you deep inside your gut had fallen and it ached. Oh, how it ached.

Simon brought the cloth up and again his fingertips made a trail. This time that ache made you moan. Simon sighed out suddenly sending a puff of air across your flesh. Another image came to mind of the same thing happening only along your breast. That made you press your fingertips to your lips. Were these memories? Dreams?

“My lady.”

Looking to your right you met Simon’s eyes, but he did not speak. You saw the action he inquired in his eyes. Consent. Hesitating you took several breaths, none of them worked to slow your heart, none of them helped to calm your nerves. Your governess’ words rang in your head.

“Ones husband is entitled to look upon his wife in any capacity he chooses.”

Before now you’d always wondered just what she meant. Look upon how? Now you understood. Your throat was dryer than barren land in the prime heat of the summer months. You swallowed then slightly cringed hearing a small gulp echo around you. He must think you such a naïve wallflower, you thought. He didn’t budge, he just waited and waited and waited for you to grant him said consent. biting your bottom lip, you chewed at it until you were certine it was raw. Then you released the muslin you grasped so tightly at. The fabric fell to bunch in your lap revealing you in the setting sun’s light to your husband. As it fell you felt his warmed breath brush against your newly exposed breasts.

Before it was candlelight he’d seen you and from a distance. They both afforded you some mystery but now he was inches away from you with ample light. He could look as he willed. You watched Simon’s eyes lower and slowly rake over your bodice. Every second his jaw jumped showing the definition of his jawline. He was handsome from the front but from the side—his profile was a thing of beauty.

As he dipped the cloth into the basin again you heard him mumble a curse, you’d heard plenty a time.

“Blast it.”

When he raised the cloth to your collar you held your breath. It was not intentional but you felt the only way to get through this without leaping off of the bed either into his lap or out the door was to restrict your brain of oxygen so it would decrease its ability to think. It was perfectly logical, you theorized. The folly in your thinking did not occur to you until halfway through when you realized Simon’s movements were so slow, so torturous that he hadn’t even made it past your collar before white spots danced behind your eyes.

“Breathe Jamilla,” Simon whispered.

On command you did just that and that was when you felt the cloth swipe across your breast. Immediately, you felt your nipple pebble as another huff of warm breath skirt across your skin. Simon wiped over, around and under your breast then did the same to the other before dipping the cloth down the center of your body to your stomach.

Alarm rushed through you. Was he really planning on going that far? Your governess had not given you any tips or information about this. Was he going to touch you? The anticipation made you shiver and just when you were certain you would shoot off the bed into the air, Simon’s hand stopped just below your navel. His eyes were squeezed closed, jaw clenched tightly and hand shaking. Seconds later, he pulled away and held the cloth to Bridget.

“You can assist the madam better than I.”

With that, he abruptly stood beside the bed then bowed his head to you.

“I bid you farewell, my lady. I shall return for dinner—if you will have me.”

For far too long the silence stretched in the room when Simon’s eyes met yours and his thick brow shot up you realized you’d been sitting there incapable of speech. A nod was all you could muster. Simon’s eyes dipped to your bare breasts and again his jaw went haywire. He turned then strode to the door leaving you alone with Bridget, a body full of anxious energy and a head full of thoughts definitely not suitable for a woman from genteel society.

One thing was clear, within these images you were having and the current encounter there was one commonality—he had not persisted. He had in fact pulled away from you. He really did not want you at all—in any capacity.

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

Glossary:

Term “One and Six”: In Regency Era it was common among some to refer to ages over single digits as both numbers. EX: 16 = one and six. Of course, this isn’t always the case, it would depend on the region and the class of people.

Hysteria: Commonly referenced in Regency time which we in modern times would call panic. Could also be referenced to regency word Vapors which is usually when someone is going through a “panic attack” with the hyperventilating, agitation and or bouts of fainting.

Banyan: A men’s dressing robe usually worn at home. Think of a woman’s robe but for men. Could be elaborately designed, thick, or as thin as preferred.

Sennight: A time lasting one week.

Blazes: Euphemism for hell or the devil.

Blast: Equivalent to the modern terms sh** or damn.

Sod It: Equivalent to the modern statement "F**k it" or "Damn it."

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

***If you want to be tagged/untagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***

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

TagList:

@shar74nettt @soapjay @ashanti-notthesinger @caramara3 @caplover22 @blackpinup22 @areubeingserved @your-chaotic-neutral @zejess93 @reignandrain @ovohanna24 @ramp-it-up @littlepreciousangel @msblkfire84 @id-do-it-for-free-babe @my-rosegold-soul @sadthotsonlylove @arination99 @wondersofdreaming @veganvampre @ohsoverykeri @mery-be @insanitytreason @mauvecherie @xximpressions @turnthepageandbeburnt @turn-thy-paige @reignandrain @brownsugarcoffy @udeadass

#pleasing the duke fic #bridgerton fanfiction #simon basset #rege jean page #rege jean page fanfiction #simon basset fanfiction #duke of hasting #duke of hastings fanfiction #black fanfiction #regency fanfiction #regency era #regency era fanfiction #black regency fanfiction #historical fanfiction #slow burn fanfic #angst fanfic #historical romance fanfiction #simon basset x reader #the duke of hastings x reader

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sarahowritesostucky · 4 months

Text

📖"The Margrave's Consort"

📖Part 1 - An Honest Rendering

Rated: Teen

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: period romance, 1800s, royalty au, nobility, arranged marriage, a/b/o, winter soldier Bucky, post-serum Steve, vampires, historical fantasy au

Summary: Lord Steven Rogers rides north with his valet Clinton, the final stretch of a journey to meet his betrothed: the Margrave of Wïnterhelm.

The Margrave of Wïnterhelm had not been seen publicly for a fortnight, when Lord Steven Rogers left by coach with his friend and valet, Clinton Barton; traveling north towards what would be his new home.

A journey that should’ve taken three days was prolonged to over twice that by foul weather conditions, much of the Northroad being made muddy and impassible after so much rain and snow, requiring an overnight stay at not one, but two roadside inns, and even a stop to repair a broken axle.

“Banished to the far reaches of the Nӧtternland,” Steven muttered, eyeing out the carriage window at the wicked crags and hills that lined the road to either side. Up ahead, another eerie stretch of northwoods loomed like the gaping maw of some beast, waiting to swallow them whole. “No sign of life anywhere. What a wretched place.”

“They call it the 'dead' of winter for a reason,” Clinton drawled from across the carriage where he was lying down, not deigning to pull away the handkerchief he’d draped over his eyes in fatigue. “There will of course be more to it when the seasons change.”

“Perhaps,” Steven grumbled. The pass through which they drove had grown so high at either side now that the late afternoon sunlight was all but blocked out, making the road seem misty and dark. Steven would have worried that they’d taken the wrong way, but the coachman had already stopped at a farmhouse earlier that day to reassure them of their correct path. “How much longer could this journey possibly take?” Steven complained.

“Nearly there, I’d expect,” Clinton said tiredly as he shifted on the seat with a quietly-pained grunt. “And a good thing, too. These cramped quarters are insufferable.”

Steven pursed his lips and continued to look ruefully out the window. “Perhaps we’ll be set upon by highwaymen before we can reach the castle,” he mused. He’d read a novel like that, once.

“Really? That’s what you’re hoping for?”

Steven shrugged mulishly. “Maybe.” He was only half in jest. Highway robbers wouldn’t be such a terrible fate, at least not so terrible as the one that awaited him at Castle Barnes.

“Dramatic,” Clinton scolded, and though Steven couldn’t see his friend’s face, he knew what the man sounded like when he was rolling his eyes full up into his skull. “You’d rather die than marry this fellow? He’s titled nobility - higher than you could ever dream to rank, your Lordship - and for whatever reason, he wants you.” Clinton chuckled. “You’d think he was a complete dog, the way you're acting.”

“He might be.”

Clinton scoffed, the handkerchief moving slightly over where his mouth was. “You have his likeness," he drawled. "Do you think the artist is such a liar? Do you think the King is?”

Steven pressed his lips together. Surreptitiously, he touched the small velvet box that rested in his pocket. It contained the miniature he’d been gifted by his betrothed. With one more quick glance to check that Clinton's face was still covered, Steven pulled the box out and flipped it open on its hinge. He touched the edge of his thumb to the painted curve of the Margrave’s jaw. “An artist will make a sonnet of a portrait, if he’s being paid handsomely enough,” he murmured.

“Or perhaps he’s actually handsome.”

“Perhaps.” Steven gazed down at the image of the man. He had yet to inform Clinton that he actually had met his husband-to-be once before, and thus knew well and good that the artist did not lie or exaggerate the man’s looks.

The Margrave of Wïnterhelm was quite comely, as anyone who looked upon the painting would see. With dark hair and steel blue eyes, a stern brow and strong jaw, his was a noble countenance indeed. He didn’t look the two and forty years that he was, with no visible marks of age around his mouth or eyes shown in the rendering. Whether that was borne more of truth or an artist’s flattery remained to be seen.

Steven had only met Ser Barnes briefly, and with nearly a decade passed since, many things could have—and likely had—changed. Steven surely had, and he could hardly fault his betrothed a bit of aging when he himself had altered his form so drastically over the past few years. He was nervous to reveal this to the Margrave, but was comforted by the notion that he would certainly not be the only one much changed by time. King Fury had, upon championing the match, made Steven aware that Ser Barnes was a veteran of the last war, and that he'd given his arm in sacrifice for the victory.

That was how Steven knew the portrait to be true in its depiction of the soldier's sigil on its coat of arms, and in the insignia the man’s epaulette bore. Only a warrior of the realm could wear the mantle of the white wolf, after all, and Steven knew that, whatever King Nicholas' faults may be, he was not one to tolerate the counterfeit of wartime merit.

The portraiture did nothing to hint at the Margrave's brutal injuries, with the shoulders and sleeves of his jacket filled out quite nicely. Steven supposed that a man of his stature would have access to some sort of prosthetic to wear underneath his clothes. In any case, it wasn’t the man’s body that had Steven so-dreading their meeting.

It was the history that the two of them shared, and the mistruths of that history, that Steven feared would make their reunion less than felicitous. He hadn't, after all, been entirely truthful with the man, last they had met.

... Nor had he recently. With no time and little money to spare, Steven had convinced himself that there wasn't any real harm in sending the Margrave a painting of his own face and form that, while honestly-rendered a decade ago, was now very much no longer relevant.

A loud clap of thunder sounded in the distance, surprising Steven from his contemplation and causing him to snap the velvet box shut on his fingers as he gave a start. He flushed and hastily stuffed the box back in his pocket, but Clinton's half-asleep snort of surprise at the thunder was enough to let him know that he hadn't been caught mooning over his soon-to-be husband's portrait.

Steven sighed and slumped back against his seat, and by the time they'd driven into the darkened embrace of the northwoods, the rainfall kept a constant patter against the carriage roof.

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup!

This has been a fill for:

@stuckyversebingo

card: sarahyellow / sarah-writes-stucky

Square D3: 1800's

@anyfandomgoesbingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square B5: Royalty AU

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historical-fangirl · 1 month

Text

War Paint (Masters of the Air OC)

Introducing First Sergeant Annie Park of the Women's Army Corps. Korean-American, originally from Honolulu, Hawai'i, and newly twenty-one in August 1943, she works as a control tower operator at Thorpe Abbotts.

I was not planning on unveiling a MotA OC this early on, but Annie grabbed me by the arm and would not let me go. Please enjoy this short bit of fluff, and let me know if you'd like to see more of her!

England

August 1943

Annie stubbornly ignored the trickle of sweat which ran from her neck down her shoulder blades to the small of her back as she bent over the nose of the B-17. Though the day was hot, perhaps the hottest one since she’d arrived in England that spring, she reminded herself as her paintbrush glided across the bomber’s metal surface that she’d frequently endured far hotter back home. Better to finish this quickly and spend the rest of her day off with her feet up and a bottle of Coca-Cola in hand than to gripe about the heat and throw in the towel now.

With one last brushstroke, she neatly filled in the last bomb silhouette and leaned back to survey her work. The bright yellow mission markers still needed to be outlined in black so that they would really stand out, but she could do that later once the paint had dried in the afternoon sun. For now, she was satisfied.

“No pin-ups today?” a voice called out, causing Annie to startle and nearly fall from the ladder she was standing on. Taking a deep breath as she steadied herself, she threw a glare over her shoulder at the offending man.

“Dammit, Lemmons, do you sneak up on everyone like that? Or am I just special?”

Ken Lemmons grinned as he walked across the hardstand towards her, hands in his pockets and looking infuriatingly casual. “Of course you’re special, Park. I thought you knew that already.” As he reached the base of the ladder, he extended a hand up to her. “Ma’am.”

Annie rolled her eyes as she took the hand he offered, nimbly jumping down to eye level with him. “You better not have come to tear up my hard work. The paint’s not even dry yet.”

Ken shook his head, a smile still tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I was just taking a walk and saw you hard at work. Figured I’d check up on the grand artiste and her latest muse.”

“No new muse today, I’m afraid,” Annie replied, reaching into her pocket for a rag to wipe the paint off her hands with. “Our Baby flew two missions this past week, so Captain DeMarco asked me to update her mission markers.”

“They’re getting quite a few up there,” Ken said, inclining his head towards the airplane. “Looks like you’ll be busy for a while longer.”

“I hope so.” Annie nodded, suddenly feeling very solemn. Ken sobered as well, looking down at his feet for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand exaggeratedly.

“Whew, it sure is a hot one today. I don’t know about you, but I thought that England was all cold and rain before I got here. Guess not.”

Annie smiled and shook her head. “Oh please. I’m sure it’s much hotter than this in Arkansas.”

“I know it’s much hotter than this in Hawaii,” Ken retorted. “What do y’all do to beat the heat over there?”

“We sip pineapple juice from coconuts while relaxing on the beach, of course. Everybody knows that.”

“Oh, of course, my mistake.” Ken put up his hands in mock surrender. “Well, I haven’t seen any pineapples or coconuts around here lately, but we could probably find some lemonade. What do you say?”

“Lead on.”

#writing #my writing #fanfiction #historical fanfiction #masters of the air #masters of the air fanfiction #masters of the air oc #ocs #my ocs #ken lemmons #annie park

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carryonthroughtheages · 7 months

Text

Hello friends and history lovers!

Another year of Carry On Through The Ages is over and done! I am so happy with success this year has had. Every year, I am blown away by how amazing this little community is. We are a small event, but we are so supportive and loving of each other.

It has been an absolute joy to watch the Discord server so active every single day, with people talking about their research and their projects. Watching as they gained support and encouragement from other history nerds. It was everything I could have hoped for when I first started this fest four years ago. So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, everyone who participated, whether it was as a creator, or support, or researcher. You all helped to make COTTA 2023 a continued success.

Under the page break, you will find individual links to the fics and art that were created this year for COTTA. They are INCREDIBLE, and I highly encourage you all to read them.

Here is the link to the AO3 Collection: Carry On Through The Ages 2023!

Until next year, love you all!

BazzyBelle 🧡

Monday

Blood, Salt & Hummingbirds (T) - @hushed-chorus : AO3 // tumblr

Simon is lucky to survive when his ship is wrecked, even if it left him stranded on a desert island. But he's not the only one who escaped. The ship's mysterious cargo, the creature in the box, also made it to shore. What hope does Simon have when a vampire is lurking in the island's wooded interior? But the monster is not what it seems, and if they are to survive, they need to work together. And maybe they can do more than survive. Maybe they can thrive.

Fifty Names For A Cat (T) - @hushed-chorus : AO3 // tumblr

Simon and Baz are settling into their new life, getting Pitch Manor in working order and preparing to move to their cottage on the moor. Meanwhile, a certain cat is adjusting to his new life.

Tuesday

The Trails We Blaze (M) - @j-nipper-95 : AO3 // tumblr

Simon and Baz have been through a lot together. Growing up as criminals on London's streets; surviving the Great War; dealing with a lot of repressed feelings. But after their latest con goes wrong, they're left with nothing but an ancient map, a signet ring of unknown provenance or value, and promises of a city that doesn't even exist. Thrust into a world of adventure with danger at every turn, they're forced to decide how far they're willing to go for a myth, a fortune, and a chance at love.

The Snow Fox (E) - @aristocratic-otter : AO3 // tumblr

Simon "Snow" Salisbury is the most wanted patriot in the American Revolution. Wanted by the British army, who want to see him hanged. Wanted by the Tories, who'd shoot him on sight, given the chance. And wanted by Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

Wednesday

Lavender Hearts (M) - @aroace-genderfluid-sheep : AO3 // tumblr

America, 1950s. Queer people are fired left and right, friends lose their jobs daily--and sometimes, their lives. Simon and Baz are caught in the middle of it all with a homophobic father and an unconventional (in more than one way) relationship, terrified out of their minds but unwilling to give up the fight. They'll fight for years if they have to. They'll fight for decades. But even the strongest wills can be broken with the hardest of blows.

An 1800s daguerreotype photograph art piece created by the amazing @samalander01 : tumblr

Thursday

Shoulder To Shoulder, Hand To Hand (M) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 // tumblr

Britain, 1984. Across the country, miners go on strike against pit closures. With the government, police and media set against them and no end in sight, they and their families begin to feel the strain. In London, Simon Snow recognises a familiar struggle, and decides to do something, while closeted Baz Pitch just wants to get out of the house and be among his community for a day. What starts as a few collection buckets at a pride march soon becomes an organisation, and a bond is forged between the lesbians and gay men of London and a village of miners and their families in South Wales. But Simon has a past he's trying to outrun, and Baz is trying to live a double life. Both boys have secrets and shame, but if they want to make it through together, they'll have to find their pride.

A beautiful Galatea/Pygmalion-inspired water colour piece by the wonderful @ic3-que3n : tumblr

Friday

Safe Harbour (M) - @snowbaz-parentis : AO3 // tumblr

It all started on an island... It's 1956, and Baz Pitch is existentially lost in New York City. After graduating from Columbia, he's working for a wedding photographer with no taste as he avoids his inevitable fall attendance at Yale Law School, his father's alma mater. All Baz wants to do is be a fashion photographer, and when an opportunity to assist a famous photographer out on Fire Island falls in his lap, it just may be the key to helping unlock him from the closet of his family's expectations. It's 1956, and Simon Snow is wondering if there's more to life than this or if this is as good as it gets. He's been working in construction with his foster father, David Cadwallader, practically ever since he was taken in at age 13, but there's something beyond the water that's calling for him. When Davy offers Simon a chance to manage his family's rental properties for the summer in Cherry Grove on Fire Island, Simon jumps at the chance to finally take charge of something. What Baz and Simon didn't expect: the sense of freedom that comes from being able to absolutely surrender to the truest version of yourself, and the choices you have to make when it happens.

Costly Colours - A Precious Bane AU (M) - twigs_in_my_hair : AO3

In the aftermath of the Napoleonic wars Baz is being groomed by his aunt to be a physician. Tired of the farming life, Fiona would like to set up shop in town with her sister’s herbal remedies and her nephew settled down with his mentor’s lovely daughter and a fine degree hung on the wall. But first the family must toil and scrimp and save to raise the funds. And what if this is not the future Baz longs for? And what if the townsfolk won’t let go of their superstitions and petty grudges towards this family marked by tragedy? Does the handsome young weaver have all the answers?

#carry on through the ages 2023 #cotta 2023 #carry on through the ages #historical AU #historical fanfiction #historical fanart #amazing writing #amazing art #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #the simon snow trilogy #the simon snow series #masterlist

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asa-do-your-thing · 1 year

Text

An Eye for an Eye - 02

“Banter”

Osferth x F! OC - 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions violence / rape / kidnapping / castration, period accurate gender stereotypes, talk of forced marriage, slight angst, fluff, sexual innuendos

Chapter Summary: Aemma's dream reveals a significant prophecy, fueling her determination to recover and heal. Sharing her harrowing ordeal of abduction and attempted rape with the men, she believes her future is tarnished. However, Osferth offers her a glimmer of hope by suggesting she join their group instead of returning to Coccham. Uhtred grants her permission to stay, and as they journey towards Glastonburh, a newfound connection blossoms between Aemma and Osferth, evident in their playful banter and flirtation.

Aemma awoke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest, as if it were about to burst. She had been dreaming, of a mighty victory, of a powerful Dane that had threatened her peace, of a brave man, Osferth, who she had saved from certain death.

She felt the energy flowing through her veins, her wounds healing, her fever broken. She opened her eyes and felt the warmth of the fire in the tent, its light filling the space.

She couldn't remember much of her rescue and only felt herself waking up every now and then when either Osferth or one of the other men had come to give her something to eat and drink and to change the dressings on her back.

She looked around, feeling a sense of familiarity and yet, something strange and new. She slowly sat up, feeling a bit wobbly as she did. Her gaze slowly adjusted to the flickering of the firelight, and she saw that her tent was guarded by Osferth, Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric, who all sat at their breakfasts.

Aemma reached out and felt a bandage covering her lower back. Her wounds had healed well and her strength had returned to her. How had this happened?

She thought back to the dream, to the mighty Dane and the brave Osferth. She remembered the fierce duel, the mighty blow of her blade, and the satisfaction of her victory. She realized that the dream had given her the strength she needed to wake up and that it had been her dream that had healed her. She needed, when the time had come, to save Osferth's life.

Aemma slowly got up and stepped out of the tent. The morning was a warm one; the green grass was still covered in dew. She took a deep breath and felt a sense of peace and well-being wash over her. She walked over to the men and gave them a little wave. "Uh.. Good Morning..."

Osferth smiled. "Morning! And I'm glad to see you well again. How do you feel?" He put his food away and got up to greet her with the rest of the men, clearly happy to see her well again. He offered her some of his bread.

Aemma blinked a few times and scratched her head, her long, dark hair clumped together with blood and sweat. "I feel... alive", she said matter-of-factly. She stared at the man with the blue eyes, before it dawned on her that it was Uhtred, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, where upon she fell into a deep curtsy. "My Lord, I.... thank you", she mumbled out, blushing furiously.

Uhtred chuckled and shook his head, tearing a piece of bread off for himself. "No need to bow, my lady, we had to help you, we couldn't leave you to perish, could we? Please, have some breakfast, you must be so hungry. I'm glad to see you're well, we were all worried about you."

She nodded greatfully and sat down next to Osferth, taking his offered bread. "Thank you for finding and rescuing me, Osferth...", she said, her mouth full of tasty bread.

"You're more then welcome, my lady. Please, help yourself to whatever food or drink you'd like", Osferth said with a warm smile and poured himself and Aemma a cup of Ale and passed it to her."Was there any particular reason you tried to venture off on your own? If it's not too bold of me to ask."

Aemma blushed, embarassed. "I only wanted to fetch herbs and berries for mother so we could make spiced ale and cider again. Then... I can't really remember, it's still fuzzy in my mind... Someone hit me over the head, the next thing I knew he took me into a forest and tried...", she paused and tried her hardest to bite back her tears. She nervously looked down onto the ground.

"Tried... ruining my reputation... if you know what I mean. Then... I think I kicked him, he stabbed me, I gouged one of his eyes out and started running. I shake my head and sip some ale. I can't remember more... I know, I was a fool, I should've gone with someone else or with a dagger..."

Osferth snarled in rage, his clenched fists trembling with the power of his hatred for Aemma's attacker. Fury boiled in his veins and he ground his teeth as he spoke. "Whoever did this will pay dearly. No woman should ever have to bear such an atrocity." His face twisted into a scowl as he kicked the earth beneath his feet. "I wish I could have taken that fiend's life with my own hands! I have no mercy for these kinds of men!"

Shrugging, Aemma pointed to the massive sprawl of woodland around them. A vast expanse of dense trees and shrubs stretched out before them, dark shadows playing across the greenery. Moss and foliage clung to the trunks of trees as they grew taller than the horizon, their branches twisting and reaching out in all directions. Birds soared between them and the forest floor was alive with small creatures, running and jumping around in the underbrush. The air was fresh with the smell of pine and the distant sound of running water.

"I doubt it. He's probably somewhere out there... I mean, you're more than likely to kill him if you'd like", Aemma muttered, turned towards him and gave him a little smile. "It's alright though. I'm just an alehouse-girl, my life isn't really important anyhow. The only thing I do is serve ale and scrub the vomit-covered floors." She said with a wink, remembering how he liked to overindulge sometimes in her father's alehouse.

Osferth watched as the Aemma's eyes filled with tears, even though she tried to lift the mood. His heart ached—he wanted to make her feel better, to let her know how much she meant to him and to everyone else. He reached over and took her hand in his, gently squeezing and caressing it.

"My lady," he said softly. "You are so strong and brave. Your life is just as important as anyone else's, no matter your station or rank. Don't ever talk down upon yourself again—we all admire you for your courage and resilience. Not everyone could gouge an eye out after being stabbed."

Aemma trembled, her head bowed in despair. She tried to hide the greasy, bloody strands of hair that framed her face, but it was of no use. "What you say is easy for you," she spat, her voice rising with anger. "You are a fearless warrior amongst the most powerful in Wessex, while I will return home to my family and be married off to the first man who shows interest. To him I must bear children, or suffer the consequences!" With sorrow in her eyes, she quietly shook her head. "Forgive me; I did not mean to cause offense."

Osferth smiled and nodded."I'm sure you will find a good man, and I mean that. Just please don't let them force you to marry someone you don't want, be strong and be proud. If you ever want to be free, you can always come to Wintancaester, we'll protect you from any danger there and you'll never have to worry about anything again," he said warmly. "You can never offend me my lady, please, never think that."

She arched an eyebrow and smiled at him, as she had just gotten a genius idea. "And what if... We want to get revenge together? And because it would be too "shameful" for me to return home... May I join you so they may repay you for rescuing me? I can cook, sew and fight decently."

Osferth looked up at you, his smile slowly widening."Did you think I was going to turn down such an opportunity? Few young women get a chance like this - to join a team of the most gifted warriors in the kingdom. It is like a blessing that had been bestowed upon me."

Aemma's smile brightened as she caught sight of Uhtred, and she hurried over. Her wide eyes were full of hope and her voice was bubbly when she spoke. "Lord Uhtred, please allow me to join you! Please, please, please?" She begged him, giving him her best puppy dog eyes.

Uhtred smiled at her excitement, shaking his head in amusement. "Of course, you may, my lady, if you wish", he said and nodded, "You'd be surprised how many brave women I've fought with before, some of them even braver then some of the men." He chuckled at this but shook his head in thought. "I promise you you'll never be bored, there's always an adventure waiting for you with this group."

Finan grinned as Aemma jumped up, hugging Uhtred tightly and then kissing him, Sihtric and Osferth on their cheeks. "You're my saving graces! I shall forever be indebted to you."

"Go get your bags and prepare to ride, once you're ready, you'll be a full member of this group, my only request is that you take on a new name, one to suit a warrior instead of alehouse-girl", Osferth mused and gave her a playful shove.

Aemma's eye roll was light but deliberate, her head turning slightly as if to make sure that everyone had seen it. Her expression was full of playfulness, her cheeks flush with amusement. "You know i have nothing except for the dirty clothes on me. I'll go wash myself and my clothes and then I'll be ready. You can decide on my nickname then, Osferth", she said and stretched herself seductively. "I take it you want to make sure that I'm.... Safe while i bathe?"

He gave her a sly side eye and smirked."I didn't even think of that but I don't see any harm in it," he chuckled at her, his eyes lingering on her for a second longer then usual, "Go and get cleaned up, and we'll talk about your new name later." Amma nodded and walked toward the creek, slightly wincing at her sore muscles.

She quickly threw off her dress and untied her dress, dipping into the fresh water. "No peeping!", she screamed towards the men and quickly washed herself. When she was clean, she walked back to him and grinned. "Now you can see that I usually don't look like a swamp witch."

Osferth chuckled. "Of course I wasn't going to peep, no need to worry. Now for the part I think you're going to enjoy. What would you like to change your name to, to better suit a brave warrior woman such as yourself?"

Aemma winked and grinned with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Suuuure, of course you didn't peep. Like I'd believe that" she said mockingly with a hint of amusement in her voice. She helped him gather his supplies and leaned against his horse, scratching it's side affectionately as if it was her own loyal steed. Her long damp hair curled up in tight ringlets around her face, framing it beautifully. "How about Aemma the Eye-gouger? Or is that too brutal?"

Osferth smiled softly as he watched her. He had never seen anyone like her before. She was strong and brave, but also had an air of playfulness to her that made him feel at ease. He admired that trait in a person and knew she would be an extraordinary warrior one day.

"Why would it be too brutal? The story behind it just makes you sound even more dangerous and strong in my opinion", Osferth responded, letting admiration show on his features, "Aemma the Eye-gouger, the lady everyone will fear in the future, a feared warrior not to be reckoned with. Does that suit your fancy, Lady Aemma?"

She nodded her head and let out a bemused giggle. “So you’re the baby monk or the virgin boy, right?” she quipped, glancing over to see the others already preparing their horses. “How did you get these nicknames--or rather, why are they still used?”

Osferth glanced downward, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. It was clear that someone at the alehouse had been gossiping about him. His friends were always teasing him with those old childhood nicknames, knowing how much it mortified him. He tried desperately to put the past behind him and move on.

He cleared his throat and shot her an inquisitive look, wondering what other stories people had been telling about him in town. “Do... do you have any other nicknames?” he sheepishly asked, twirling the hilt of his sword in nervous circles.

Aemma wiggled her brows, trying to wind him up. "Mmh, let's see if ... Your nickname and reputation can be changed", she said, winking playfully. "Uhm well, next to alehouse girl and Aemma the eye-gouger i don't really have any others", she said nervously.

He blushed and looked down to hide it, a little embarrassed."I think Aemma the Eye-gouger suits you well, you're very intimidating with your looks and I'd be scared seeing you come at me in battle." Chuckling, he nodded as Sihtric told me that it was time leave. "So you don't think you'll need another nickname then?", he asked playfully.

Aemma stood back, letting him hop onto his horse. "Hopefully I'll not cause my enemies to laugh", she mumbled and climbed up behind him, tightly holding his waist. They spurred their horses and began traveling towards Glastonburh, which was only an hour away from them. There, Uhtred has promised her to get her supplies so she could continue traveling with them.

"How about, Aemma the seductress? Or Aemma the sinful?", she whispered into Osferth's ear, giggling.

“What exactly are you implying, my dear?” Osferth said, blushing furiously as she embraced him from behind. He gave her a sly smile before continuing. “You should really start using that nickname more often--Aemma the Sinful does have a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Just then, Finan rode up and burst out laughing. “Did I just hear you call her Aemma the Sinful, Osferth? It seems she already has you wrapped around her little finger!” The two old friends shared a laugh before Osferth responded with a shrug and a wide grin. “Hey, can you blame me? She’s strong and beautiful, who wouldn’t want to spend their time with her? I am truly the lucky one here.”

Aemma giggled and watched as Uhtred spurred his horse to go quicker. In the distance, Aemma could see the small city of Glastonburh. Its buildings shone brightly in the sun, their stone walls reflecting a myriad of colors as the light danced off of them. The town square bustled with people, merchants hawking their wares, and animals scurrying around in search of food. The city gates stood tall and imposing against the horizon, a beacon of safety and shelter in an otherwise hostile world.

"Osferth? And what... What would happen if I see my attacker? Can I just kill him or should I report it to someone?", she whispered quietly.

"If you see your attacker, you are very well within your rights to kill him yourself in my opinion. It would only make you look stronger for doing it", Osferth remarked, "But it would be best to tell the elders to let people know that there's a man who attacks defenseless women in the woods. It's your choice how you want to deal with it my lady. Do we know the village that the man lives in at all?"

Aemma nodded in determination, her dark eyebrows set in a frown on her pale face. "Yes, please do so. Although I have the faint feeling that he doesn't just go after any young women, he knew my name... But yes, off course Osferth, tell the others so that they can protect their daughters and wives", she said encouragingly.

She tried her best to remember her assailant but she could not seem to recognize him. "I haven't a clue to who he might be. It should be easy to find him, he only has one eye, after all. And long black hair, that's the most I can remember."

"I will make sure to do so and warn the people of the danger in the woods", he said and tried getting closer to her, speaking lower. "If I do find this man I promise you I'll have him hung by his feet from a tree, he will be punished I can assure you of that."

She cracked her knuckles demonstratively and sighed, seeing as they came closer to the town. "That sounds wonderful, that way I can castrate him better."

She then smiled as she tugged her torn dress around her waist. "I'm looking forward to getting a gown that doesn't look like a ripped sack of grain. Do you think my enemies will fear me if i look beautiful?", she asked flirtatiously.

"They will fear you and worship you in the same breath my lady. Your beauty will drive them wild with fear and lust, they will pray you show mercy", Osferth said and winked at you once again, noticing Sihtric and other men looked their way, smirking and laughing. "You're too much for them my lady, your beauty and ferocity will turn them to weak men at your feet."

Aemma let out an enchanting laugh that tickled his ear, her arms wrapping around his neck from behind. She planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, before whispering "oh hush, you flatter me too much. But I'll admit it feels good." She winked and took a step back, her hand lingering on him. "You know that flattery will only get you so far?" Her voice was like honey and she tilted her head just so, one of her hands resting lightly on his arm.

Osferth blushed, taken aback for a moment as she hugged him, laughing at her playfulness. "Flattery only gets so far? And what is it that gets you so much further?", he asked nervously, giving her a cute wink.

Uhtred shook his head and Finan grinned widely. "Give her some of your silver and let her buy her trinkets and I'll show you! You know nothing, baby Monk", he said playfully and winked at Aemma. "You want a real man, don't you, sweetcakes?", he asked cockily. She laughed and shook her head, resting it on Osferth's back. "My sweetcakes belong to Osferth, Irishman", she quipped.

Osferth turned bright red at her words and tried keeping his composure. "Oh, uh, I see now, that's what keeps a lady interested. So you mean to tell me that if I buy a lady gifts and trinkets then I'll get whatever I want? Even her... sweetcakes?"

Everyone erupted in laughter and dismounted their horses as they approached Glastonburh's stables. "Oh Osferth, you are a wonder to behold", Aemma giggled and walked up to Uhtred, "I shall see you in the tavern, my knight in shining armour", she said and blew him a kiss.

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