#librarian!betty | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rustedhearts · 3 months

Text

the old house (boxer!steve harrington x librarian fem!reader)

summary: steve's world is shaken when his father unexpectedly dies.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1995) ✶ record store

✶ the library

tags: death; mention of childhood abuse/trauma; daddy issues; manhandling; grumpy (for good reason) steve; ansgst; hurt/comfort; not edited so ignore any mistakes.

“i would rather not go back to the old house. there’s too many bad memories.”

— back to the old house, the smiths

california, september 1995

LOCAL ATTORNEY FOUND DECEASED IN OFFICE

Sept. 12, 1995

HAWKINS, INIDANA — Local attorney Richard “Rich” Harrington was found dead in his office Thursday evening.

Police dispatched to the office on Main St when his assistant called with concern for his well-being after the phone went unanswered for over 12 hours. When the door to the office was unlocked on arrival, his assistant, Ms. Betty Nesbourne, knew something was wrong.

Emergency services found Mr. Harrington at his desk. Police have confirmed the cause of death was a heart attack.

A well-respected attorney, Richard Harrington had a practice on Main St for 20 years before his death, and won countless cases for those in need in Hawkins. Friends and family recall him as a “kind and loving man.”

Mr. Harrington is survived by his wife, Catherine Harrington and son Steve.

Steve dropped the newspaper on the kitchen table with a sharp slap. His hand came to his eyes to soothe the ache that gathered there, knee bouncing against his chair. His fist rattled where it sat on the placemat next to a vitamin you set out for him. You handed him The Hawkin’s Post—still folded and in its sleeve from delivery—with a kiss on his cheek and a beautiful grin.

He never expected to find this when he opened it.

“Honey, have you seen my Nike hat? I don’t want the sun in my face today,” you called from the top of the stairs, readying yourself for the day.

Steve lifted his head, inhaling sharply. He cleared his throat and pushed his fist against his knee to stop it from jostling.

“Uh…closet probably, baby.”

Your feet scampered away to search, and Steve sighed. His eyes glazed over the letters that made up his father’s name on the inked paper before him. He knew nobody was eternal, that death was inevitable.

For some reason, he never prepared himself for this. For his useless father’s death.

And right now, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

He wanted to be angry. Hell, he should have been angry. He had every right after they had the balls to call someone like Richard Harrington “kind and loving.” Anyone that ever came into contact with him knew he was nothing of the sort.

Angry, too, that Steve never had the chance to tell his father how he truly felt about him. That he never had the opportunity to dole out his own form of punishment; the punishment Steve had to endure growing up. Because he was bigger, stronger, grown. He could’ve put his father on his ass in five minutes flat.

But every time he drove past his childhood house, all Steve wanted to do was get sick.

“Honey?”

Steve’s head snapped over toward you peeking around the doorway, donning his favorite jeans that sat a little low on the hips and a tight half shirt You found your Nike hat, and it now sat atop your head. Even how gorgeous you looked couldn’t quell Steve’s sudden confusions.

“Yeah.” Steve cleared his throat again, folding the newspaper again.

“You ready to go? We’re gonna be late if you still wanna stop for smoothies.”

“Comin’,” Steve mumbled, standing from the table.

He took the newspaper with him, staggering toward the bedroom with apparent soreness from a healing bruise. You glanced at the vitamin next to his coffee and rolled your eyes.

Upstairs, Steve shoved the newspaper into one of his shirt drawers and slammed it closed.

✶ ✶

"Everything okay?"

You smoothed your hand over the back of Steve's hair in the Cadillac, top down to let in the beating sun. The wind ruffled his long locks, tickling at his eyes covered with a pair of Ray Bans. He had one hand on the wheel and the other dangling over the door—normally, one parked itself in your lap to roam and massage. It wasn't like him to opt out of touching, even on event days.

"Yeah," Steve replied shortly, pumping the gas to send the car jolting through a barely-green light.

You let your hand rest on his back, skin hot through a thin t-shirt. "Okay...you sure?"

"Yep."

You took your hand away, diamond ring catching a glint of sun on its journey to your lap. You fingered the stone absentmindedly, your next "okay" small and quiet.

The low hum of tires over the road and the occasional click of the turn signal filled what was otherwise an empty car. Sirens, car horns, the whoosh of a gentle, morning breeze.

A convertible of women driving alongside in the opposite lane recognized Steve, and passed him a carful of ecstatic waves. He didn't even acknowledge them. You offered them a smile, but it wouldn't soothe the sting. You knew that disappointment all too well.

Steve zoomed the car up to the curb of your local smoothie bar, slamming the door hard when he got out. He yanked your door open and stepped aside, winding an arm around your shoulders as you stepped onto the street—but it all felt mechanical. You peered up at his expression, and it was entirely vacant. He was pressed up right against you, but he felt lightyears away.

Something was wrong—why didn't he just say so?

He ordered your smoothies and leaned back against an empty table near the wall. You tucked your hands into your back pockets, eyes on the tops of your white tennis shoes. The urge to ask once more what was wrong gnawed at you with need, but you were fearful of his eyes cutting down too hard again. You hadn't been afraid of Steve and his moods in quite a while.

Not since he put this ring on your finger last year.

Attention directed downwards, you were oblivious to the bustling crowds strolling in after morning workouts and vigorous runs—until an elbow swung a little too close to your face, a body knocked backwards by an unsuspecting and friendly shove.

A young boy, no more than eighteen, spun around with pink cheeks and a sheepish grin. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

You all but looked away, soaked in shame from what you knew was coming next. Steve pushed off the table behind you, a heavy paw shoved against the younger boy's chest. He teetered off balance, eyes wide on his attacker and the glare marking him victim.

Keeping a sharp eye on the boy, Steve grabbed at you by the bicep and tugged you into him. More mechanical pushes and pulls, more hardwired roughness he worked hard to outgrow. But whatever grieved him, whatever he sat and stewed on, sent him spiraling back into a troubled boy.

Worse than the roughness was the absence of words that accompanied it. The lack of commands or reassurances. Just silent glares and hard-set jaws that said all they needed to say.

Strawberry-banana smoothie freezing cold in your hand, you trailed after Steve with a lump in your throat.

At the arena, he plowed past Big bidding him good morning and stomped straight for the dressing room. The coach's eyes slid over to you, throwing up his hands.

"What crawled up his ass?"

You gave a tiny shrug. "Been like this all morning."

Big huffed, returning to his task of wiping down the ring for morning training. Steve had until two o'clock, then would return home to rest until the fight at eight. You hoped at some point he'd calm down.

"Better get it out of his system before tonight," Big grumbled, shaking his head.

Your silence was agreement, and you hurried to the dressing room to tell Steve just that. When you pushed the door open, you found him seated on the leather bench with his back to the door, staring at his poster on the wall.

Clamping the door closed, you tossed your smoothie into the trash bin and huffed. “What the hell is your problem today?”

He shed his shirt sometime before you came, and the bare muscles of his broad back constricted and flexed as he wound a roll of black tape slowly around his fist. His eyes were steadily fixed on the wall, boring into his own face printed in red. More mechanical movements. More empty thoughts.

“Steve.”

He stopped rolling, a ribbon of unfurled tape dangling over his thigh. In the attached bathroom, an echoed water drip plopped. People were arriving outside, filing in and out of the hall. Conversation hummed through the door.

“Dad died.”

When you drop on a roller coaster, all the adrenaline in your body festers in one spot. It all squirms and sizzles behind your navel, bringing the rest of your body to a cold chill. That very feeling overwhelmed your body now.

“W-what?”

Steve tore his eyes away from the wall and placed them on his hand. “Thursday. Heart attack...found 'im in his office."

Your feet moved on their own accord, taking you to Steve where you knew you needed to be. Your arms collapsed around him, face buried in his neck with a hiccuped sigh. His hands remained limply in his lap, eyes casting a ghostly glance upon the tops of his shoes.

"Oh, Steve," you whispered, mouth squished against his shoulder.

Steve had one photograph of his family in the house. Hidden in a photo album behind a page of high school memories: his father in a grey suit, his mother in a turquoise dress with shoulder pads, fourteen year old Steve wearing a sweater to hide the bruises on his arms. It was his father's birthday, and the only time, Steve said, he pretended to love Steve.

But still, scrawled in a fourteen year old boy's chicken scratch across the back:

Mom, Dad + Me

For a moment, you stood there breathing into him. Feeling the size of his own inhales and exhales expand your arms and close them in. Lips pressed to his warm flesh through crisp cotton, thinned a little with sweat. Feeling him pause every few moments, as though to check that he were still, in fact, breathing.

"Saw it..." Steve paused again, and then deflated with a humorless scoff. "...in the newspaper this morning."

You lifted your mouth from his shoulder, chin pressing down in its place. Your adjusted your arms to tighten around him, cheek leaning into his. He was so warm, so suddenly small.

It suddenly occurred to both of you in this moment that his mother had no way to contact him. Even if she wanted to call, she hadn't had his phone number since he turned eighteen.

He scribbled it on a torn piece of paper the day he moved out and tucked it in her drawer. For months, he waited for her call. It never came.

"Isn't that fuckin' ridiculous?" Steve shook his head, a sigh shot through his nose.

You rubbed you hand over his chest, eyes sinking shut. "Jesus, Steve."

Are you okay? was the obvious next line of questioning, but it seemed silly in this moment. Of course he wasn’t. Steve might not have loved his father, might not have known the person he’d become (or stayed) the past ten years, but that didn’t make this any less painful. In fact, it likely made it more painful. To have your father die without truly knowing the man.

"Should I talk to Mikey? See if they can push—"

"What? No," Steve huffed, head craning closer to yours. "M' gonna fight."

You recoiled enough to meet his eye, brows furrowed at the determination in his gaze. "Are you sure?”

Steve clasped a big, warm hand over your own. A gentle pat, a barely-pressed squeeze. His eyes turned away, and he stood to his feet.

“Gonna head out. Stay close, ‘kay?”

He staggered toward the door, and you whirled around. “Wait, Steve—“

The door clamped shut, and the buzz of florescent light was all that filled the quiet.

✶ ✶

He fought, just like he said he would. You sat erectly in your front row position, every breath inhaled held too long in your chest. Your nails pierced divots into your palm from tightly clenched fists. Your legs hadn’t stopped bouncing against the seat.

Every bloody blow had you wincing, each narrowly-dodged swing pulling a gasp. By the fourth round, Steve was staggering to his corner and spitting an alarming amount of blood into his bucket. His left brow split open again. It took the gentlest of taps to rip the skin that never healed correctly. He’d probably need stitches, like he always did.

Under Big’s words screaming at him and a cloth firmly pressed into his wound, Steve’s eyes were empty. Glazed over, mouth lolled open, shoulders slumped forward. It wasn’t his usual huffing, brutish, bull-like performance. It was instinctual, but free of thought.

Right now, you knew Steve wasn’t there. He was in his head, far away in a mess of thoughts. The blinding lights, the frenzied crowd, your own worried face watching him—none of it even registered to him.

The bell dinged, and back in he went. His punches held half the weight, half the power and drive. His dodges and sweeping side steps were stuttered and skipped. It was a dangerous game to play, and sickening to watch. You had every urge to run in front of his opponent and block the next swing, knowing Steve would let it hit him where it hurt.

But you sat where you were, nibbling on the skin around your nails, stamping your heel vigorously on the arena floor. It felt like waiting a lifetime just for that victory bell to ring.

It came out narrowly in Steve's favor. Sculpted arm a limp, weak thing in the referee's hold, drooling blood down his chest. His eyes found a spot on the floor and never left it.

Not until he trudged his way to the dressing room, and he found you seated on the bench. His eyes lifted from the ground and peered into you: blown-wide and still bleary, but alarmed in a harrowing way. A breath shuddered through his cheeks, escaping him with bloodied spittle that rolled down his chin.

They hadn't stitched him up yet. Boils of blood beaded along his cheek and temple, splattered across his chest. His gloves were looped together and strung around his neck. They were the first thing you removed when you stepped forward.

"Hey," you greeted softly. Steve followed your movements silently, blinks slow and staggered. "You did good, baby."

He swallowed, and it came with winced difficulty. A little wheezed, a little struggled where his nose bent from crushing force. He'd need it set again. It sat in a bulging, crimson aggravation in the center of his face. Everything about him was puffed up, bleeding, and pulsing with pain.

But he was the smallest he'd ever been.

"You gotta get stitched up, baby," you whispered, manicured thumb wiping through a smudge of blood on his cheek.

His hands smoothed over your hips, tongue darting out to lick over the split in his lip. "In a minute," he mumbled.

His steps forward sent you backward, guided blindly toward the bench again. You sat instantly, hands braced on his arms still buzzing with heat and adrenaline. You had only a moment to glaze over the state of him before his head fell forward against your chest.

"Oh," you gasped, warmed immediately by the damp heat of his head and the weight of him pressing into you. "Oh, hey, baby, it's okay."

Arms looped around his shoulders, you let your cheek fall atop his head, pushing past the salty, musky scent wafting from the heat of him. Comforting him was the only thing that mattered right now.

Steve's fists pressed into the bench, bookended on either side of your body. His cheek squished against the cotton of your dress, staining the fabric with the blood weeping from his severed flesh.

On the other side of the door, shoes squeaked over polished floors in a bustle to get somewhere. There was an order of things after a fight, necessities and niceties that needed to be carried out. Right now, as you smoothed your fingers through his dripping hair and massaged the knots in his back, you knew Steve wouldn't be doing any of them.

"He'll never know me," Steve mumbled into your skin.

You sighed, eyes sinking closed. The ache that festered in your chest, you knew, was no match for his.

"He didn't deserve to."

On the other side of the door, cameras waited to click Steve's photograph. Fans waited for autographs, his coach waited for a celebration, his manager waited to plead for another endorsement. It was a money-hungry, vain soulless scheme.

In this room, pressed against your familiar frame, Steve knew the only real thing in this world was right here under him.

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington au #king steve #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington series #steve the hair harrington

309 notes · View notes

pinkthick · 5 months

Text

Maybe a monster

In an alternate universe where Simon Petrikov turned into a vampire before the mushroom war, things swiftly turn bad. Even Betty had limits, but she did her best to help him.

As the end of the world approaches, Simon is now caring for young Marceline.

AO3 link: Maybe a monster

Part 1 - Just this one time

In an alternate universe where Simon Petrikov turned into a vampire before the mushroom war, things swiftly turn bad. Even Betty had limits, but she did her best to help him.

As the end of the world approaches, Simon is now caring for young Marceline.

Part 2 - The moon and the sun

Marcy is hungry and Simon starts to notices that they are running low on supplies.

Part 3 - Everything will be fine

Just Marcy and Simon being the best father-daugther duo.

Part 4 - Vampire hunters

Simon dissapeared one night without trace and the police isn’t helping Betty very much.

Part 5 - Nivens, the rabbit

As they approached the entrance of the town, which appeared promising at first glance, the scent of death hit Simon like a wave. The foul and putrid stench of the acidic, rotten corpses that littered the area could not be ignored. Simon's heart sank as he thought about what they might face upon entering the town. With a sigh, he tightened his grip on Marceline.

Part 6 - Not a Ripper

Noah led Betty into a small, dimly lit room, where he offered her a cup of coffee. Betty didn't take it, and her hesitation was clear and Noah understood her unease and set the coffee aside. Betty finally voiced the question that had been nagging at her since she discovered Noah's true identity. "So you aren't a librarian?"

Part 7 - Stay with me

Marceline looked up at Simon with a hopeful expression, her eyes filled with a child's longing for comfort. "At least stay with me until I fall asleep," she pleaded.

Simon's heart melted as he took her little hand in his, the contrast between their sizes a poignant reminder of how fragile she was. "Of course, sweetheart,”

Part 8 - Breath in, Breathe out

“Hey. Hey, Simon. Breathe with me.”

“Don’t” Simon snapped, before he looked horrified. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I meant-"

Part 9 - Did I do the right thing?

Ethan nearly jumped with excitement. "I haven't seen a plush in so long!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up with pure joy.

Simon raised an eyebrow in surprise at Ethan's response. "No?" he echoed.

Part 10 - You have some low standards, Ms. Grof

Simon's brows furrowed slightly. "Noah didn't bring them this time," he mentioned casually, revealing an unexpected insight.

Betty paused in her tracks, a bit surprised. "Well, no, how did you—"

Simon rubbed his tired eyes, his senses gradually sharpening. "Didn't feel his scent lingering this time."

Part 11 - Edouard, come in

The man now trembled in fear and Simon's patience wore thin, his pleas desperate, he cried out, "Please don't! Little girl, don't leave me with him! You can help me!"

Part 12 - It might be real

Simon smiled, grateful for her acceptance. "Thank you, Betty.”

"Yeah, yeah," Betty chuckled, a playful glint in her eyes. She got up from where she was sitting, adding, "Just make sure you'll clean up when you're done."

Part 13 - May she keep me calm

Simon hesitated for a moment before replying, "It's candy, it's very yummy. Do you want some?" he offered, his voice tender as he extended the spoon toward her.

Part 14 - Um, what?

"Betty?" he called out, his voice filled with worry. He swiftly rose from his seat, the chair scraping against the floor. Betty, disoriented from the sudden impact, blinked up at him, her expression a mix of surprise and drowsiness.

Part 15 - So..toy or figurine?

She couldn't see the pointy ears—thankfully, her hair was long enough to hide them. Maybe not finding scissors was a good thing

29 notes · View notes

blairsanne · 17 days

Text

Try Therapy - Part 4: Shaken

For the @deanobingo event!

The Brokenwood Mysteries - Barnaby Buchanan & Reader 3160 words

Summary: Barnaby is diligently befriending you, and invites you for tea. When an unexpected event occurs, memories of your traumatic past come up, leading to both of you opening up about what you've been through.

CW: Mentions of therapy, ombrophobia, claustophobia, anxiety/panic attacks, breathing techniques, brief mention of torture, natural disaster (earthquake) and related destruction.

As the weeks wore on, you and Barnaby continued to have brief chats before he left in the morning and when he returned from his ‘work’.

Barnaby continued to keep a log of these ‘pleasant’ interactions, quite chuffed to report on them to his therapist, who seemed pleased himself that Barnaby had genuinely made a friend.

One evening, as you were readying your bike to leave, he jogged out of his house with a book in hand. “I found it!”

“Hm?” You stood beside your bike, leaning it back against the side of the house again so you could face him.

“That book we were discussing the other day. About the- the librarian. It was just behind some others on the shelf.”

He held out the novel in question, part of a mystery series by an author you both liked. He’d offered to lend it to you the week before, but you’d completely forgotten about it.

“Oh! Keen, ta.” You turned it over in your hands, smiling as you skimmed over the description on the back.

“I really enjoyed it, like I said. Quite a change of setting from her usual novels.” “Hm.” “Do you get out to the library much?”

You looked up at him and your mouth fell open as you struggled with how to answer. “I- used to.”

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, confused by your discomfort. You were such an avid reader, he’d assumed-

“Oh! Right- with the-” his eye twitched as he fidgeted. “All those shelves in such a small space.” He gestured with his hands to indicate the tight space.

You nodded, pursing your lips. “Something like that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” “No, no worries. It’s not like I forgot I was claustrophobic.”

“Mm.”

He shifted his weight and rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling guilty for the oversight.

He’d not been great at socializing since the accident, and he worried he might run you off at any moment. Still, something had been gnawing at him for the last week.

He licked his lips. “Can I ask you something?” “Of course.”

“No- that’s-” You watched him close his eyes to try to stop his eye twitch. “I mean- I- I want to ask you to answer me honestly, even if- if you don’t think I’d want to hear the answer.”

“Oh…” You furrowed your brow slightly, concerned by what he meant by that.

What was he about to ask? About Betty? Would he ask if you thought he was crazy like the town did?

“Er- the answer is still ‘of course’, then,” you encouraged.

He made eye contact with you, his sheepish, vulnerable expression making your chest ache. “Did Dennis tell you to be nice to me?”

You laughed, confused. “What?”

“Is he paying you to- to be friendly with me, when you’re here?” He watched your amused confusion turn to hurt and horror.

“Of course not.” You closed your eyes, wincing, supposing that wasn’t entirely honest. “Well, obviously since it’s a job, I can’t be rude, either, but-”

You opened your eyes and looked up at him pleadingly. “But getting to know you and whatnot, that’s not- I’m just here to tend to Betty. Being your friend was just a…” You swallowed. “Happy accident.”

He let out a small, relieved laugh. “Right. Alright.” He looked away, wincing. “Sorry, that was a rude thing to ask, then.”

“No, I- I think I understand. When people are so unkind, normally, then, it can be hard to know if someone is pitying you or…” You trailed off, staring at the ground.

Maybe you didn’t think a horse was your wife, but you’d dealt with weird reactions from others yourself on occasion. It was isolating, and you’d often felt frustrated that other people saw your trauma as an inconvenience to them. Like it was something you’d chosen.

“So,” Barnaby’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “In the interest of spending time together- as friends- I wondered if there was anything I could do.” He blinked unevenly as you met his gaze again. “To- To make my home a suitable place for tea or… what have you.”

“Oh, to- not trigger it, you mean?”

“Yes. You’ve been very accommodating, with the sink, and the car, and I thought I ought to- Er- make it easier for you to spend time here. That is-” His face twitched again. “I-in the spirit of reciprocity.”

The offer was deeply touching to you, and you felt yourself choking up even as you smiled. “That’s really kind. Nobody ever-” You held your fist to your lips as you looked away.

Barnaby waited as you took a few deep breaths before turning to face him again.

“Mostly it’s small spaces that set it off. So I like to be outside, or in a bigger room… Tall ceilings, like the barn… Or close to an exit.”

He nodded, committing these remarks to memory very seriously.

“But,” You felt your shoulders raising as you hugged yourself. “I’m trying to challenge that. I’m supposed to be practicing the things that make me uncomfortable. Apparently that makes them easier.”

You smiled somewhat self-deprecatingly.

Barnaby met your smile with a genuine one. “My therapist said the same thing. Wants me to try the hard things, a little at a time.”

“Right, exactly.”

“Maybe we could…” He licked his lips, feeling inexplicably nervous. “Practice them together.”

You lit up. “Oh, that’s smart! Then we can lean on each other if things get too hard.”

“Yes,” Barnaby’s voice held a laugh of relief now. “Yes, exactly.”

“Keen.”

You grinned at each other for a beat.

You moved to put the book in your bag. “I should probably get going. But I’ll start this tonight and let you know what I think.”

“Yes, of course.” Barnaby backed up, wiping his hands on his pants as he felt awkward again. “So- Do you think tomorrow you could stay for tea after…?”

You looked up as you got on your bike, thinking of your schedule. “Actually, I have an appointment tomorrow evening. But the next day?”

“Oh. Okay! Then, I-I’ll look forward to that, then.”

You smiled warmly at him, quite chuffed that he wanted to spend more time with you - Betty notwithstanding.

“Me too.” You licked your lips, giving him a quick lookover. “You’re a good friend, Barnaby.”

You watched his face flash through several competing emotions before he pursed his lips and gave you a nod.

Though he wouldn’t say so outside of his sessions, having a (human) friend to talk candidly with about all sorts of things had been surprisingly helpful and enjoyable. He hadn’t thought that shrinking his social circle to just his wife and brother would take such a toll on him, but he realized now that it had.

Not that he’d had much choice, given the way people thought of him.

“You too. See you in the morning.”

“Night, then.”

“Good night.”

Two days later, you found yourself sitting in Barnaby’s living room.

He had rearranged the furniture somewhat since the last time you’d been inside, and had suggested you take a seat on the sofa nearest the door, which afforded you a view out the large window to the early evening sky.

You found yourself glancing out of it periodically as he made several trips to the kitchen and back for the teapot, cups, and a tray of various biscuits.

“Too much, Barnaby,” you murmured, feeling guilty despite him having told you at least three times not to get up to help him.

He poured you a cup of tea, smiling to himself. “It’s been ages since I’ve hosted anyone besides Dennis or Amy.”

“Who’s Amy?”

Barnaby stilled momentarily as he finished pouring his own cup of tea. He carefully set down the pot, then sat in a chair perpendicular to you.

“I was seeing her about- er- everything. But…” Barnaby gripped his hands together on his lap, not making eye contact. “Well, you must have heard what happened to Jakob Deschler.”

You frowned, trying to recall the details of the Deschler murder case.

You knew from what Dennis had told you that Barnaby had briefly been a suspect because of his time at the clinic, but it hadn’t been him of course. It had been some counselor or another who you hadn’t known.

Oh.

“I’m so sorry, that’s…”

“That’s bad,” Barnaby confirmed matter-of-factly, giving a nod.

He took a deep breath and reached forward to take a biscuit. “Sorry; that’s not very friendly conversation.” He hummed in disappointment, silently wondering if he had ruined the whole endeavour.

“It’s fine,” you assured him softly. Then, wanting to lighten the tone, you mirrored his actions and took a biscuit. “In any event, it’s nice to be hosted so thoughtfully.”

Barnaby nodded, straightening up a bit as he put on his most congenial airs. “It is my absolute pleasure.”

You started telling him about a new book series you were reading, and it didn’t take long for both of you to put the thoughts of Jakob Deschler and his clinic completely from your minds.

Time passed easily as you discussed various books and films, and Barnaby was just describing an art exhibit he’d seen once in Hamilton when you both felt a rumble beneath you.

The tea set made a tinkling sound as it rattled against the table, and you looked up to see everything in the small home moving as an earthquake shook it.

You gripped the armrest of the sofa tightly, feeling like the air was closing in on you, your throat tight. Your pulse raced, your mind alight with terrifying, unhelpful thoughts.

“I can’t-” You ran out of the house, feeling like you were choking, clutching at your pained chest.

“Where’re you going!?”

Barnaby stared after you out the open door in shock, unable to follow you into the rain. He watched you fall to your knees on the grass, hyperventilating.

You couldn’t push the memories from your mind as your body panicked, reliving your trauma.

The earthquake had been one for the record books.

The city in shambles, you were one of dozens trapped in the rubble.

When the tremor had started, you had been on your way to your usual study spot in the city library. You’d watched someone’s pencil roll off a table, and instinctively thrown yourself under the one closest to you. The people who had dug you out had cited it as having saved you from further injury.

Still, when the roof had collapsed, you’d been confined there, surrounded by the broken pieces of your favourite place. Buried in a small pocket of safety, in the dark.

It had been too small a space to move much, curled over yourself and trying to avoid the jagged bits of glass, metal, plaster, and who-knew-what that had encased you.

You had heard the sirens, muffled, in all directions as emergency responders had triaged the devastation. You had heard the cries of others nearby, too. Some of them had gotten lucky, like you; some of them hadn’t.

When they finally started digging through the library for people, your voice was already hoarse from screaming for help, but you’d kept on, desperate for escape.

Your minor scrapes and bruises had recovered before your voice, so in the days following the event, you’d kept your fears to yourself; crying alone when your body had gone into panic mode every time you tried to sleep - curled up in the dark.

Barnaby grabbed his largest umbrella and paced a bit, making a whining noise as he screwed up his courage.

Finally, he stepped out into the rain, umbrella mostly shielding him, and ran over to where you were. “Please come back inside?!” He crouched near you, holding out another open umbrella.

You looked up at him, still breathing erratically and looking confused about what was going on.

“Deep breaths, right? Four, seven, eight.”

You took the handle of the offered umbrella, only then realizing that you were quite wet, and nodded.

Together you inhaled to a count of four - timed by Barnaby’s head bobbing - held it for a count of seven, and then exhaled for a count of eight. Immediately you felt more grounded in the moment with him.

After a few cycles of this, he glanced toward the house, still deeply uncomfortable.

“Better?” he asked hopefully.

You nodded.

“Inside?”

You hesitated, but nodded as you shivered from the cold. “Sure.”

He led you back to the house, disappearing immediately to leave you standing alone just inside the door, sopping wet.

You looked down at the puddle you were making, and memories of Barnaby’s discomfort with rain and leaks flashed through your chaotic mind, making you feel guilty.

Your pulse raced again, fear and anxiety telling you that you were making a mess; that you were being a burden; that Barnaby wouldn’t want you here; that he would stop being your friend.

He appeared again, wrapped in multiple towels and holding out a large one for you.

“I’m sorry, Barnaby,” you sobbed, pulling the towel he offered against your chest and face. “You were just trying to do something nice and now I’ve forced you out in the storm-”

“No, it’s- It’s fine, you- You panicked, it’s-”

“When the house shook, it was just like that time and I-”

You felt his hand squeeze your shoulder, and you sniffled, looking up from the towel to see him staring back at you solemnly.

“It’s alright. You’re alright.”

He searched your eyes, not quite sure yet what had set you off, but knowing that you needed to come out of that panicked response.

“Deep breaths.”

His steady voice and presence had a calming effect on you, and you felt yourself grounding into the moment.

You nodded and started to dry yourself off, counting the timing of your breaths as you broke eye contact with him in shame.

He pursed his lips, letting go of your shoulder.

He felt a drop of water run over his skin and his eye twitched, suddenly reminded of his own discomfort once again.

“I’ll be right back. Going to dry off and change. I’ll bring you something dry, too.”

“That’s okay, Barna…” You trailed off, looking up to see that he was already leaving the room.

---

You stared down at the mug of hot tea you were cradling.

You were sitting on the couch opposite Barnaby again, dressed in a pair of joggers and a “Brains Matter” t-shirt that were too large for Barnaby; gifts from his brother Dennis, apparently.

You had both dried off, and Barnaby had refreshed the teapot to help warm you up after your soaking.

A thick silence had fallen between you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid of the judgment you were sure you’d read on his face.

Barnaby shifted in his seat, tapping his fingers against his lap briefly as he anticipated sharing what he was about to.

“When I was in the clinic,” he began, taking off his glasses to clean them despite having done so several times already since going outside.

You glanced over to him, surprised that he was talking about that.

“They, um- They would drip water on us. It was- well- literally, torture. W-water torture. That’s why I…”

You nodded. Dennis had told you briefly about Barnaby’s time at the Deschler Clinic, by way of explaining his many quirks. It occurred to you now that Barnaby probably hadn’t given Dennis permission to do that.

“I’m sorry,” you offered, voice small. “That should never have happened to you.”

“No,” Barnaby almost laughed in anger. “No, it shouldn’t have.”

He leaned forward to pour himself another mug of tea.

“But I’ve learned to move forward. Therapy is helping again, and having someone to-” He glanced briefly at you. “Having you as a friend.”

You nodded, pursing your lips. You held your mug up to blow on the steaming liquid inside, listening to the sound of the rain outside, muffled by the sturdy house.

“I suppose you’re curious why I ran out.” “You don’t have to tell me-” “It was the shaking.”

He settled into his seat, watching you intently.

You put down your tea, then proceeded to explain to him how you’d been trapped in the rubble during the big earthquake a few years prior.

“When the ground rumbled like that… I thought- It’s happening again. I’m going to get stuck again, and-” You shut your mouth and eyes, trying to fight the hot tears that rolled over your cheek.

Barnaby got up, grabbing a box of tissues from one of his side tables, and moved to sit at your side. He tapped your knee with the box.

You tensed at his proximity, but took a tissue to try to clean yourself up.

“But you didn’t get stuck again,” he reassured you.

You nodded, looking down.

“It was hard, but you got through it, eh?”

“Mm.”

“Just like how I was able to go out to get you.”

In truth, he was feeling a significant amount of pride for how he’d handled it, already planning to cite the experience to his therapist.

“I’m so sorry, Barnaby. I made you do something like-” “No, it’s fine-”

“I completely overreacted. My body just panics, and sometimes I can’t stop it. I feel so foolish.” You pressed the tissue against your eyes, covering your face in shame. “I’m sorry.”

Barnaby hesitated as he reached out, then placed his warm hand on your back.

“You needn’t apologize for that. Not to me.”

He felt the rhythm of your breath as you forced yourself to calm down.

“Friends help each other,” he reminded you.

You let out a small, laughing huff. “I reckon.” You finished drying your face, feeling a bit better.

You turned to face him, and realized you were much closer than usual. His pale blue eyes were searching yours, his genuine concern for you evident. You glanced at his lips and then down again, feeling your heart in your throat as you imagined kissing him.

“Would you like a hug?” Barnaby offered, unsure.

It had been ages since he’d hugged someone, and he worried it might set off your claustrophobia, but he had a strong urge to comfort and protect you.

You nodded, humming in mild agreement. You leaned into him, reaching your arms under his to hold him from your awkward seat beside him.

His own arms wrapped around you, pulling you against him even more as he rested his head against the side of yours. “She’ll be right.”

You nodded, feeling safer in his hold than you’d expected. For a moment, it was more than you could have asked for, wrapped in his warmth and scent like the day he’d lent you his cardigan.

You relaxed, the painful knot in your back easing as your body accepted that nothing terrible was likely to happen for now.

“Ta.”

-----

Tags: @leonxrdosreign @i-did-not-mean-to @the-butterfly-blues @fortheloveofdurin @ichoosechoasandbeingqueer @missihart23 @gayles55 @spngingerbread21

If you would like to be added or removed from a taglist please just let me know! :)

#the brokenwood mysteries #barnaby buchanan #barnaby buchanan x reader #dean o'gorman #dean o’gorman #deanobingo2024

11 notes · View notes

liviavanrouge · 2 months

Text

Diamond Nightsword Academy: Next gen

Former names: Night Raven Collage, Nightsword Academy

School founder: Crowned Princess Livia Garcia Vanrouge Howl

School Heads: Headmaster Crowley, Headmaster Ambrose, Headmistress Gonnal

Professors: Rollo Flamme(History teacher), Divus Crewel(Potions teacher), Ashton Vargas(P.E teacher), Elliot Trein(Study of Magical Creatures teacher), Evonie Ashengrotto(Etiquette's teacher), Rosaline Beast(Study of Enchantrix Items teacher), Faunick Fairy(Magical History teacher), Flick Fairy(Animal Linguistics teacher), Merryweather Fairy(Herbology Teacher)

Staff: Sam(Shop keeper), Alex(Sam's assistant), Azul Ashengrotto(Blind librarian/School nurse), Lavender(Hall monitor)

~~~~

Students:

Savannaclaw

Dorm Leader: Liana Kingscholar(3rd Year) Vice Leader: Holly Bucchi(3rd year) -Ramona Howl(2nd year) -Poppy Bucchi(1st year) -Daisy Schoenheit(1st year) -Mitsuri Kingscholar(1st year)

Heartslabyul

Dorm leader: Mary Rosehearts(3rd year) Vice leader: Dante Clover(3rd year) -Jackie Clover(2nd year) -Rina Clover(1st year) -Hazel Spade(1st year) -Maddie Trappola(1st year) -Penny Jabberwocky(1st year) -Tako Bandersnatch(1st year)

Octavinelle

Dorm Leader: Lily Ashengrotto(2nd year) Vice leader: Yanama Leech(Floyd's Daughter, 3rd year) -Honey Leech(Jades daughter, 3rd year) -Coral Leech(Floyd's Daughter, 2nd year)

Pomefiore

Dorm Leader: Anne Schoenheit(3rd year) Vice Leader: Minty Hunt(3rd year) -Betty Felmier(1st year) -Dutch Hunt (2nd year) -Tornado(1st year) -Dusk Felmier(2nd year) -Hake Hunt(1st year)

Scarabia

Dorm leader: Scorch Viper(3rd year) Vice leader: Harry Al-Asim(2nd year) -Thunder(2nd year) -Sky Al-Asim(1st year) -Aladdin Al-Asim(1st year) -Gray(2nd year)

Diasomnia

Dorm leader: Clover Howl(2nd year) Vice leader: Seth Zigvolt(2nd year) -Raven Clover(2nd year) -Juniper Zigvolt(3rd year) -Cedar Dragon(1st year) -Hina Dragon(1st year)

Pommeneige

Dorm Leader: Apple Leblanc (3rd year) Vice Leader: Chi-Chi (2nd year) -Jazzy(2nd year) -Dexter(2nd year) -Ellie(1st year) -Cole(1st year) -Hansel(1st year)

@anxious-twisted-vampire @yukii0nna @writing-heiress @marrondrawsalot @abyssthing198 @teddymochi

#twst oc #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst disney #twisted wonderland disney #twst #twst ocs #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twisted oc #twistedwonderland #diamond nightsword academy #fan school #twst fandorm #twst fanschool #twst next gen #next gen oc #next generation

10 notes · View notes

moffymoth · 7 months

Text

Imagine having a daughter and naming her Betty thinking she’ll grow up to be a doctor or librarian and not the god of chaos incarnate.

#not iz #adventure time #fionna and cake #moffy rambles #betty grof

18 notes · View notes

detroitlib · 1 year

Text

View of music librarian Kurtz Myers and soprano Betty Allen during a visit to the E. Azalia Hackley Collection at the Detroit Public Library. Handwritten on back: "Kurtz Myers, Betty Allen. Visit to Hackley Collection. Photo by Lester Sloan."

E. Azalia Hackley Collection of African Americans in the Performing Arts, Detroit Public Library

#betty allen #kurtz myers #music #lester sloan #detroit #detroit public library

37 notes · View notes

remarcely · 10 months

Text

How To Cover For Your Vigilante Classmate- Remarcely AO3 [MCU Spider-Man Fanfic]

“Your shoe’s untied.”

“Hm?” Peter jerked around at a tap on his shoulder. Michelle was stood behind him, pointing down at the floor, and he followed it down to find that his left shoe was in fact untied “Oh, thanks.”

“Figured you’d want a heads up before you trip and smash something.” She shrugged and wandered off, staying far from the rest of the groups of their classmates. It wasn’t hard to duck out of sight, the museum was littered in glass cases and exhibits, and it was mere seconds before MJ had disappeared from sight all together.

He crouched down and began to retie his laces, leaning his shoulder slightly against the wall to keep his balance. As he was tying it off, pulling the double knot nice and tight, a familiar buzz began and hovered in the back of his mind. Peter stayed crouched on the floor but moved closer to the window, following the buzz, in a weird crawl.

Outside, down the street, there was a totally inconspicuous black van parked up on the curb, right outside the bank. Anyone else, like the pedestrians walking past the van without a second glass, might have brushed it off and paid the car little thought. Not Peter. If the little buzz was to be trusted- and after all the dodged knives and bullets it was only fair to put his faith in it- it was trouble. He stared at the van- no logos or dents, and the license plate was blocked by another car.

“Uh, Peter?”

He jumped and landed butt-first on the floor, looking up to see a confused Ned standing above him.

“Ned!” He whisper-shouted and beckoned for him to crouch down too “Someone’s about to rob the bank across the street! You’ve got to cover for me, man.”

“What?” Ned whispered back and lightly whacked Peter in the shoulder “Are you kidding me? The last time for you I got detention for like a week!”

“No one told you to tell the librarian you were watching porn, my guy, that was all you.” Peter glanced back to the window. A guy, dressed in casual clothes, sunglasses and baseball cap pulled down to cover his face in shadow, was leaned up against the van. His hands were in his pockets and he glanced up at the bank ever few seconds, eyeing the security inside “I’ve got to go, man, I’ll be like ten- maybe fifteen minutes max.”

“What are we whispering about?” MJ jumped up close behind, her sneakers stomping on the ground, and smirked when the boys flinched and Ned joined Peter on the floor.

“Peter needs us to cover for him because someone’s trying to rob a bank.”

“Say no more.” She grinned and walked away; no further explanation needed.

One minute, a quick costume change, and a bank alarm later, Ned was visibly sweating as he tried his best to look as normal as possible. He walked about for a short while and stopped by an interactive exhibit, dragging his finger across a table-screen to fast forward and rewind the timeline on the animation. However, he paid it no attention, and instead stared at the clock hung up on the wall, each tick passing agonisingly slow.

When Betty approached him, Ned gulped and sent her a shaky smile.

“Ned, are you feeling alright?” She frowned sympathetically and reached out to place a hand on his forehead “Wow, you’re really sweating. Do you need some water?”

“I-uh, no I’m fine, it’s just, I um… have IBS?” He stammered and mentally slapped himself in the face for the answer.

“Oh!” She took a small step back and wiped her hand on her skirt, talking slowly “Do you… need to go, or something?”

“No, I’m just constipated?” Ned wanted to curl up in the corner and just die.

“Ah, alright.” Betty nodded and awkwardly tried to change the subject, looking around the hall “Hey, where’s Peter? You guys are joined at the hip half the time.”

“H-He also has IBS.” He shook his head and shut his eyes. Goddamn it “He said he felt sick, he’ll be back soon.”

“Alright, I’m gonna… leave now. Hold in there, buddy.” She patted his shoulder; she was standing so physically far away from him at that point she had to slightly lean to even reach him.

In a place where every nook and cranny held some sort of artifact or sign, it was surprising MJ had found a space to tuck herself into. Her legs were squished into the spot with just enough space to rest her sketchbook on them, open to a half blank page with the beginnings of the tour guides strained-customer-service-smile as she answered questions for her classmates.

Mr Harrington found her there, his eyes a bit wild and hand permanently plastered across his face in worry “Ah, Michelle. Good to see you’re still here- where’s Mr Parker? I’m doing a headcount and I can’t seem to find him.”

“Who?” She didn’t stop drawing, working on the shadows around the eyes.

“Y’know, Peter? Your friend?”

“I know a Paula, is that who you mean?”

“No, I mean Peter. Come on, I need to make sure we haven’t lost anyone.”

“I don’t know a Peter, sir, do you need to sit down for a bit?”

After a few minutes of being thoroughly confused by MJ, Mr Harrington went in search of Ned instead and found his student in the gift shop, turning the rack of postcards. He clapped his hands and walked towards him, hoping for an answer that actually made sense.

“Ned, you wouldn’t happen to know where Peter has run off to, would you?”

The boy froze and quickly plucked a postcard from the mix, turning his head away from his teacher to look intently at the art “Oh, he um, his tooth fell out.”

“What, really?” Mr Harrington took a step forward as his voice rose slightly in panic “How? Did he hit his face on something? Is it bloody? Do I need to call an ambulance?” He lowered his voice for the last question, getting closer to Neds face .

“No, it was a uh-” Ned narrowed his eyes, deep in thought on how to climb out of the hole he’d just dug “-a baby tooth.”

Mr Harrington paused “Peter is sixteen, Ned.”

“He’s a late bloomer?”

MJ had moved onto her next drawing- an old man squinting at an exhibit as he tried to read the label- when Flash strolled her and hit her knee to grab her attention. Pencil freezing on the page, she slowly looked up to glare at him and felt a hint of satisfaction when he took a cautionary step back.

“What do you want Eugene.” She muttered lowly, turning back to her book.

“Where’s Peter?”

She sighed and shook her head “Eugene, I don’t know anyone called Peter.”

“W-What?” He stammered and looked around, as if searching for a hidden camera “Yeah you do, where is he?”

“This is a weird joke to make, skip to the punchline.”

“What punchline?” Flash stared at her in disbelief “You literally have a picture of him, it’s your background!”

“That’s a stock image, Eugene.” She shook her head again and sent him a withering glance, as if it were obvious.

“You’re being so fucking weird.”

“I agree, it is strange I have a random stock image as my background.” She moved on from the old mans sketch, finding the face Flash was pulling at her far more interesting.

Having watched the man jog around the museum while counting his students, Betty waved over Mr Harrington.

“Ah, Betty, have you seen Peter?”

“He’s probably by the toilets, sir.”

He thanked her and jogged off to follow the signs in the direction of the restrooms.

As promised, not twelve minutes later an out-of-breath Peter rounded the corner, back in his civilian garb with the Spider-Man suit tucked safely at the bottom of his backpack. The only thing off was a small bruise starting to form on his cheekbone, barely noticeable unless you were up close, and the thing would likely be healed before they even got on the bus home. Thankfully, the fight had been easy as pie and a bank employee had already called the cops, leaving Peter to simply web the guys up and check on the hostages.

As he crossed the hall, he bumped into a sweat-drenched Ned, who grabbed him by the shoulders on sight, shaking him slightly.

“You have IBS and a missing tooth.” Ned looked him dead in the eyes with a face unnaturally serious for the utter nonsense he’d just uttered.

“No? I don’t?”

“Listen man, I panicked and now Mr Harrison thinks you knocked a baby tooth out and Betty thinks we have irritable bowel syndrome.”

“I’m sixteen, Ned, why the hell would I still have baby teeth?” Peter shut his eyes in despair, just to open them a beat later “Why do we both have IBS?”

“I panicked!”

They were interrupted by Flash, still stood next to MJ who he’d been arguing the entire time and all but shouted while pointing madly pointing at Peter “See! He’s real!”

“Eugene, most people stop seeing their imaginary friends by the time they hit high school.”

#peter parker field trip #peter parker #fanfiction writer #archive of our own #fanfiction #fanfic #petermj #michelle jones #ned leeds #spiderman #mcu fanfic rec #mcu fanfiction #mcu #marvel fanfiction #marvel #flash thompson #betty brant #crack fic #kind of

13 notes · View notes

sapphiccharacterstournament · 7 months

Text

Masterpost of every character who has already competed

If you want to request a character be included in a future bracket, check this list first to make sure they haven't already competed

Lena Adams Foster (The Fosters) Elida Al-Feyr (Vagrant Queen) Nyssa Al Ghul (Arrow) Cassie Ainsworth (Skins) Luisa Alver (Jane the Virgin) Winter Anderson (American Horror Story: Cult) Miss Audrey (Snowpiercer) Babs (A Series of Unfortunate Events) Saanvi Bahl (Manifest) Bambi (Minx) Josephine Barry (Anne with an E) Sister Beatrice (Warrior Nun) Bilquis (American Gods) Maya Bishop (Station 19) Sarah Bishop (A Discovery of Witches) Alana Bloom (Hannibal) Cheryl Blossom (Riverdale) Anne Bonny (Black Sails) Kelly Booth (Black Mirror) Nova Bordelon (Queen Sugar) Nancy Botwin (Weeds) Dana Bryant (Mythic Quest) Robin Buckley (Stranger Things) Lena Burnham (Ray Donovan) Calliope Burns (First Kill) Delia Busby (Call the Midwife) Amanita Caplan (Sense8) Wendy Carr (Mindhunter) Chanel #3 (Scream Queens) Max Chapman (A League of their Own) Piper Chapman (Orange is the New Black) Denise Christopher (Timeless) Grace Choi (Black Lightning) Cassandra Cillian (The Librarians) Jade Claymore (Willow) Dani Clayton (The Haunting of Bly Manor) Raelle Collar (Motherland: Fort Salem) Dulcie Collins (Deadloch) Delphine Cormier (Orphan Black) Theo Crain (The Haunting of Hill House) Frannie Crowne (Brave New World) Moiraine Damodred (The Wheel of Time)

Alex Danvers (Supergirl) Ashley Davies (South of Nowhere) Carina DeLuca (Station 19) Jo Deluca (A League of Their own) Bo Dennis (Lost Girl) Clare Devlin (Derry Girls) Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn Nine-Nine) Franky Doyle (Wentworth) Camina Drummer (The Expanse) Waverly Earp (Wynona Earp) Kat Edison (The Bold Type) Philippa Eilhart (The Witcher) Mabel Elmsworth (The Buccaneers) Camile Engelson (Stitchers) Eretria (The Shannara Chronicals) Isobel Evans (Roswell New Mexico) Dana Fairbanks (The L Word) Juliette Fairmont (First Kill) Emily Fields (Pretty Little Liars) Veronica Fisher (Shameless) Fleabag (Fleabag) Flower (Ghosts) Gabrielle (Xena: Warrior Princess) Lupe Garcia (A League of Their Own) Bibi Garvey (Bad Sisters) Mirror Philippa Georgiou (Star Trek: Discovery) Gigi Ghorbani (The L Word: Gen Q) Stella Gibson (The Fall) Sue Gilbert (Dickinson) Emily Grace (Murdoch Mysteries) Yara Greyjoy (Game of Thrones) Monet de Haan (Gossip Girl) Judy Hale (Dead to Me) Yuri Han (XO, Kitty) Millie Harcourt (The Bletchley Circle) Nicole Haught (Wynonna Earp) Lauren Heller (Younger) Emma Hernandez (Vida) Pamela Isley (Batwoman) Susan Ivanova (Babylon 5) Bradley Jackson (The Morning Show) Alice Jones (Once Upon a Time) Tara Jones (Heartstopper) Quinn Joseph (Harlem) Kate (One Mississippi) Annalise Keating (How to Get Away with Murder) Tina Kennard (The L Word) Kennedy (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) Yasmin Khan (Doctor Who)

Aneela Kin Rit (Killjoys) Camille L'Espanaye (The Fall of the House of Usher) Victorine LaFourcade (The Fall of the House of Usher) Lagertha (Vikings) Shelly Lambert (Minx) Sara Lance (Arrowverse) Lauren Lewis (Lost Girl) Lexa (The 100) Maggie Lin (Saving Hope) Anne Lister (Gentleman Jack) Veronica Lodge (Riverdale) Santana Lopez (Glee) Lucretia (Spartacus) Lyria (The Shannara Chronicals) Tara Maclay (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) Elizabeth Macmillan (Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries) Queen Maeve (The Boys) Maggie (Good Omens) Sofia Marchetti (Sex Education) Margot (Once Upon a Time) Bess Marvin (Nancy Drew) Cara Mason (Legend of the Seeker) Max (Black Sails) Katherine Mayfair (Desperate Housewives) Ally Mayfair-Richards (American Horror Story) Mazikeen (Lucifer) Shane McCutcheon (The L Word) Betty McRae (Bomb Girls) Lake Meriwether (Love, Victor) Freya Mikaelson (The Originals) Sandy Milkovich (Shameless) Mabel Mora (Only Murders in the Building) Ellen Morgan (Ellen) Rory Morningstar (Lucifer) Aleesha Morrison (Upload) Hayes Morrison (Conviction) Blanche Mottershead (Upstairs Downstairs)

Mulan (Once Upon a Time) Leighton Murray (Sex Lives of College Girls) Raffi Musiker (Star Trek: Picard) Susie Myerson (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) Nadja (What We Do in the Shadows) Nicky Nichols (Orange is the New Black) Nico (Vida) Nina (Good Omens) Allie Novak (Wentworth) Dani Núñez (The L Word: Gen Q) Ola Nyman (Sex Education) Shona O'Keefe (This Way Up) Kelly Olsen (Supergirl) Van Palmer (Yellowjackets) Marjorie Palmiotti (Veep) Gail Peck (Rookie Blue) Aline Penhallow (Shadowhunters) Valencia Perez (Crazy Ex-Girlfriend) Laura Peterson (The Morning Show) Lindsay Peterson (Queer as Folk) Anissa Pierce (Black Lightning) Brittany S. Pierce (Glee) Naomi Pierce (Succession) Alice Pieszecki (The L Word) Eve Polastri (Killing Eve) Bette Porter (The L Word) Bill Potts (Doctor Who) Arthie Premkumar (GLOW) Amae Rali (Vagrant Queen)

Scylla Ramshorn (Motherland: Fort Salem) Amy Raudenfeld (Faking It) Logan Rawlings (Young & Hungry) Maia Rindell (The Good Fight) Arizona Robins (Grey's Anatomy) Eve Rothlo (How to Get Away with Murder) Root (Person of Interest) Willow Rosenberg (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) Kenya Rosewater (Defiance) Susan Ross (Seinfeld) Siuan Sanche (WoT) Ellaria Sand (Game of Thrones) Jenny Schecter (The L Word) Jinju Seong (Snowpiercer) Seven of Nine (Star Trek: Voyager & Star Trek: Picard) Toni Shalifoe (The Wilds) Kalinda Sharma (The Good Wife) Carson Shaw (A League of Their Own) Sameen Shaw (Person of Interest) Leslie Shay (Chicago Fire) Amy Silva (Vigil) Bea Smith (Wentworth) Petra Solano (Jane the Virgin) Rose Solano (Jane the Virgin) River Song (Doctor Who) Kitty Song Covey (XO, Kitty) Serena Southerlyn (Law & Order) Zelda Spellman (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina) Maya St. Germain (Pretty Little Liars) Moira Strand (The Handmaid’s Tale) Della Street (Perry Mason) Tamsin (Lost Girl) Kit Tanthalos (Willow) Stahma Tarr (Defiance) Jamie Taylor (The Haunting of Bly Manor) Thirteen (House, MD) Thirteenth Doctor (Doctor Who) Tara Thornton (True Blood) Bess Till (Snowpiercer)

Tituba (Salem) Toni Topaz (Riverdale) Callie Torres (Grey’s Anatomy) Fabiola Torres (Never Have I Ever) Taissa Turner (Yellowjackets) Two / Portia Lin (Dark Matter) Alex Vause (OITNB) Mel Vera (Charmed) Villanelle (Killing Eve) Karen Walker (Will & Grace) Martha Walker (Silo) Poussey Washington (Orange is the New Black) Ellen Waverly (For All Mankind) Kerry Weaver (ER) HG Wells (Warehouse 13) Sterling Wesley (Teenage Bounty Hunters) Nora West-Allen (The Flash) Jayne Wetherby (Dracula) Lucy Westenra (Dracula) Ilana Wexler (Broad City) Ryan Wilder (Batwoman) Carol Willick (Friends) Lana Winters (American Horror Story) Bernie Wolfe (Holby City) Camile Wray (Stargate Universe) Xena (Xena: Warrior Princess) Meh Yewll (Defiance) Yorkie (Black Mirror - San Junipero)

#for reference #character master post

11 notes · View notes