jokatsuya

[jokatsuya]

I miss your Sherlock fic

Sorry T_T

I‘ll try to find some inspo

[jokatsuya]

Love and immortality

Part V Part I Part II Part III Part IV

Morpheus x reader

Wordcount: 1704

Warnings: mention violence and death

Summary: (Y/n) has managed to escape from her predicament in life and is now meeting up again with the man she still doesn't know. Just when she should probably finally get an answer to his identity, unexpected events occur.

A/n: Guess who's back! Right, me :D Can we please talk about the leaks of the second season??? AAHHAHHAHAHHAHHAH Anyway, have fun with this part. Yours JoKatsuya

1789 and I'm sitting here again in this pub, the White Horse. For four centuries now I have been meeting this stranger. One would think to have gotten to know each other, at least a little bit. But no, the only one of us who knows something about the other is the mysterious black-haired man who is sitting opposite me again. Always fashionably dressed with a well-groomed appearance. His looks are really not of a bad nature. Every single day of this last century he was more present than ever in my thoughts. Our last meeting had given me the strength to free myself from my, let's say very unfavorable, life situation. I straightened up and managed to succeed on my own, even if it meant pretending to be a man for a few years. I am not quite sure myself how that went well.

>>I heard something funny the other week. Bloke said to me, he said, "If only the French noble had played cricket with their men the way we do they'd never have had this trouble."<<, I say and close my eyes for a short moment to follow the pleasant sounds of the musicians at the other end of the hall.

>>You know, first the colonies, now France. You ask me, this country will be next for a revolution. I've been salting money away all over the world, which I hope can help me if there really is trouble here. In the meantime... I'm in the foreign trade. You just have to know how to use industrialization.<<, I say honestly before bringing the cup of tea to my mouth and taking a thoughtful sip. All the while, I feel his downright silver eyes on me. Silent, as always when I told him about something. After my initial uncertainty towards it, I have to admit to really enjoying it by now. Very few people could listen so attentively and let you talk in peace. For the normal human being the life time races only in such a way past them. Even if it felt for me also partly so, I had however much more time than this and therefore enjoyed such a conversation only too gladly.

His rosy lips slightly pressed together and with an almost indistinct look on his part, we remain silent for a while. His eyes literally bore into me and leave a shiver down my spine when he finally speaks up: >>It's a poor thing, for one man to profit from the suffering of poorer ones.<< His voice is graced by a touch of coldness.

>>I don't like the inhumane conditions in the factories either. However, it is unfortunately not in my hand to change this.<<, I defend myself sadly with lowered eyes. But he is right. Even children are not protected from the work in the factories. >>It's how it's done, sadly.<<

>>But you can do what is in your power. No matter how trivial it seems.<<, he counters with a piercing look and no emotion on his face.

>>You're giving me advice? After 400 years? But yes, I will consider it.<<, I try to cheer up the situation a bit with a small smile, even if the current topic offers nothing to laugh about. Again I take a sip of the tea, at which I must note that it has now cooled down just like the mood. A small, barely noticeable nod on his part. Change of subject!

>>I saw a production of Romeo and Juliet yesterday. I wanted to pay my respects to our mutual acquaintance after all this time. But can you imagine? The idiots had given it a happy ending. Can you believe it? This sacrifice for love's sake, just undone by such a misappropriated glossing over of the ending.<<, I talk myself into a rage angrily over this fact. I take a last sip from the cup and set it down again.

>>That will not last. The great stories will always return to their original forms.<<, the man across from me replies as a barely noticeable smile slips across his lips. It literally drew me under its spell.

>>You made some kind of deal with him, didn't you?<<, I chuckle lightly out of joy for Will and the legacy he left us. One that I hope will last forever.

>>Perhaps.<<, he confesses.

>>What kind of deal? His soul?<<, I joke, unable to suppress a growing smile. It is ironic that even today I am not one hundred percent sure whether I am really paying for my long life only with my information, or with more.

>>Nothing so crude.<<

>>Four hundred years now, I've been meeting you here and there is so much I still don't know. Who are you? Truly? What's your name?<<, I suddenly ask him again full of ambition to finally get an answer. His lips slowly open after a brief thoughtful moment.

Before he makes the slightest sound, however, a female voice behind him snaps me out of my trance-like state: >>I might ask both of you the same question.<< Both of our heads turn towards it and catch sight of a young woman. Admittedly very attractive.

>>Please, please, do not trouble yourselves to rise. These are Michael and Tobias,<< she says as she walks around the small table between the man in black and me and stops in the middle of it. >>Smugglers by trade. Altough, they're only too glad to augment their earnings by slitting thorats. If you move, they'll slit yours.<<

Trembling at her words, I have to swallow and let my eyes wander back and forth between the two men.

>>They tell of a tale in these London parts, that the Devil and the Wandering Jew meet once every century in a tavern.<<

With a quick glance in his direction, I see that my companion is doing the same. A touch of disbelief in both of our faces. She sounded very convinced of herself. As she continues and with a quick movement produces a note, we look back at her. >>Two years past, sewn into the shirt of dead man, I found this.<<, with these words she comes closer and places the note on our table. There are two people pictured at a table, on the left he and on the right...me?

>>Is that meant to be me? Oh, I look terrible, but you look worse.<<, I joke and give him a quick grinning look.

>>You return to this pub every 100 years, striking bargains with men sharing gifts, immortality, which you will now share with me.<<, she demands in a firm tone, fixing her gaze on the stranger. >>Well, have you nothing to say?<<

>>I am no Devil.<<, the stranger corrects her in a triumphant tone, the corners of his mouth slightly bent.

>>And I'm not Jewish.<<, I quickly add and grin mischievously at her.

>>Fie. What manner of creatures are you then?<<

>>Who wants to know?<<, I now want to know, but more interested in her than originally expected.

>>I'm Lady Johanna Constantine. You will both follow me. My coach is without. I can see there is so much you can tell me. So much I can learn.<<, she enthuses with a twinkle in her eye.

>>No.<<, the stranger's voice again pierces the room. Lady Constantine presses her red lips together, her brown eyes boring into him. I match her in a more subtle way with the latter. Did I expect a different answer from him? I am not quite sure.

>>No, I think not.<<, the stranger adds as he returns her gaze through his dark lashes. If he would look at me like that in another situation... I'm sure my legs would betray me. Still not amused by his words, the woman moves behind Michael and Tobias, who are now slowly approaching us. The iron blades approaching our heads.

>>Get up.<<, hisses one of the two.

Afraid that something bad might happen to us, I jump up and smash my cup against the head of one of them. This immediately shatters and causes a rain of shards. At the same time, I grab the back of his head and slam it down on the table. Straight after that I kick the other one in the middle with the heel of my shoe, which makes him groan in pain and forces him to his knees. As I turn to Constantine, I immediately take a step back as again this evening a dagger points at me. A little out of breath, I can't suppress a small gasp and look back and forth between her and the dagger.

>>Wait.<<, the dark voice sounds behind me. The chair scrapes lightly across the floor as the stranger sits up. My eyes still fixed on the blade in front of me, they widen as out of nowhere a...cloud of sand slides into Constantine's face? Her eyes slowly turn upward, her breathing heavy as she whispers: >>No.<< The dagger comes clattering to the ground before she sinks to her knees and continues: >>No, not you. I'm sorry.<<

Confused and frightened, I crouch down and look at her with concern. >>What did you do to her?<<, I confront him as I turn around.

>>She has old ghosts that I've shown to her.<<

Unsure about this whole situation, I stand up and give him a serious look. He briefly glances at the floor. >>You need not have come to my defense.<<, he asserts with the corners of his mouth curling slightly.

>>Clearly.<<, I reply with a smile, >>Still, I didn't want to be drinking alone here in 100 years' time.<< The grin he gives me is indescribable and evokes a lot of different emotions in me.

 >>I don't suppose you care to find another pub tonight?<<, I start trying to prolong our unexpectedly interrupted evening together.

>>She may have told others about our meeting. It will not be safe for you.<<

>>I'm perfectly safe. I can't die, remember?<<

>>Aye. But you can be hurt or captured. We must be cautious.<< Do I hear a hint of worry?

>>Always.<<, I take a deep breath, >>A hundred years, then?<<

>>A hundred years.<< And so we part ways again for the time to come.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else

tags: @mikariell95 @writing-fanics

#Morpheus #Dream #dream of the endless #Morpheus x reader #Dream x reader #Sandman #tom sturridge #tom sturridge x reader #sandman series #sandman x reader

[jokatsuya]

i love your love and immortality fic

Really?! I'm really happy to hear that! If you have any wishes, criticism and so on, I would be very interested to hear them. =＾● ⋏ ●＾= However, after the last part was not so well received, I must admit that I put the next part of this series behind other projects here on my account. :/ Have a nice day! <3

[jokatsuya]

Hi sweethearts, I am so sorry that nothing came here for a while. The time around my exams was really exhausting, which is why I didn't get to write. I hope you are all well :)

[jokatsuya]

The day off

Sherlock x reader / Sherlock x Gn!reader

Wordcount: 1233

Warnings: none

Summary: Will (y/n) and Sherlock ever have the chance to enjoy a relaxing day with each other without being disturbed? Maybe. But not today.

A/n: The idea alone makes me grin like crazy. So have fun reading. Yours JoKatsuya

>>What time is it?<<, the quietly getting through words of the man below me tear me out of my thoughts. I must have drifted off a while ago. Still dreamy, I stretch as far as my current position in the tub will allow me and I can't hold back a satisfied sound.

>>Why?<<, I mumble softly, sliding deeper into the water again and positioning my back properly against his chest. Heavens, this is comfortable. I could stay like this forever.

>>Didn't you hear John? He announced himself so loudly, now probably all of Baker Street know he's there.<<, he asks as he pushes me forward a tiny bit to reach for his watch on the small side table. Don't move Sherlock.

Sleepily, I open one eye and turn my head to face him as best I can: >>Obviously not.<<

>>Sherlock?<<, I now hear John's voice as well and look towards the door, startled, my eyes now fully open.

>>God help you if the door is not locked.<<, I warn him now completely in my senses. Just the idea that John could see us like this... I don't even want to think about it any further.

>>Don't worry.<<, Sherlock replies with a calm hand gesture, making the mistake of looking me in the eye. That miserable liar. Now John's footsteps can be heard, slowly but surely approaching.

Looking at Sherlock in warning, I almost jump out of the tub and go to the closet to take out one of the bath towels. Hissing, I tell him to get out of the tub as well and to take care of the matter with the door.

At least putting on his pants, Sherlock finally stumbles to the door, slamming his elbow against something in the process. A hiss escapes from him. An admittedly very amusing sight, which is only made more amusing by the situation we find ourselves in.

I can't help giggling, which is why I hold a hand in front of my mouth, caught off guard. John shouldn't hear directly that we were here. At least not until I could at least cover my body properly. But that can't really do much after Sherlock's hiss. This reminds me of one of those cheesy romance movies. Apart from the fact, of course, that we'll probably be caught by John, the man who is shipped by a great many Sherlock Holmes fans with my boyfriend. Admittedly ironic.

>>What?<<, I ask innocently with a shrug, justifying the laughter before turning my attention back to the small cabinet in front of me.

My reaction ensures that I get one of those usual looks from him. That wrinkling of the eyebrows, the pursed lips, the questioning look with the touch of a grin. He knows perfectly well that I couldn't stay mad at him for long with that look. Yup, he's got me wrapped around his finger, but he's not getting off that easy now.

>>Sherlock, are you in the bathroom? We need to talk.<<

>>Do we have to John?<<, I hear Sherlock after a little clearing of his throat to continue in an old familiar tone of voice.

>>Yes. That's why we agreed to meet today?<<, John chimes in slightly irritated now just outside the door. At the same time you can hear his hand reaching the door handle. My pulse begins to race.

When I don't find any of the towels I'm looking for, I look at Sherlock in panic and whisper as quietly as possible: >>You should put the washed towels away again!<< At the same moment, a loud click pervades the room and I breathe a sigh of relief. With my lips I form a thank you in the direction of Sherlock.

>>Sherlock? What are you doing?<<, John gets upset on the other side of the door, trying to open it with a shake, but in vain.

>>Were we supposed to meet? I don't remember at all.<<, Sherlock returns, playfully unknowing, and leans against the door.

>>Yes, Sherlock.<<, John answers, trying to keep his tone calm. Wait, he had an appointment for today? I had written him ages ago in any calendar that I have today off, whereupon he meant to keep himself also completely free. With a raised eyebrow, I give Sherlock a wary glance. His seemingly innocent look around and avoidance of my gaze tells me exactly that he is only too well aware of his guilt.

>>Now open the door and come out.<<, another rattle. Sherlock's hand slides slowly to the knob, pausing briefly as he looks to me. Without taking my eyes from his, I slowly shake my head. He better not open that door. Why would he open it anyway? But what goes on in Sherlock Holmes' head stays in it far too often.

Suddenly Sherlock turns to the laundry basket and in the next instant takes out a completely rumpled shirt and throws it to me. And so another click sounds. He's in for a treat when this is behind us. Then he turns back to the door, which opens not even a second later.

In the corner of my eye, I notice Sherlock spread out and put a foot behind the door so John couldn't really see much. After today, Sherlock will never again undress me in a place we don't stay. Okay, that sounds weird, but the point of the statement is clear. Eager to proceed as quietly as possible, I pull the shirt apart. But who would have thought it? A corresponding noise is unavoidable. I freeze.

>>What was that?<<, John suddenly wants to know. Oh crap.

>>Nothing.<<, Sherlock replies as if shot out of a pistol and tries to push the door shut in John's face. Who would have thought that opening it would not be such a good idea? I roll my eyes.

>>Nothing? Let me in.<<, John states emphatically, placing his foot between the door frame and the closing door.

>>I'm naked.<<, the first thing that seems to have popped into Sherlock's head shoots out of the latter's mouth.

>>You have pants on, so let...<<

>>(Y/n) is naked.<<, it now escapes the curly-headed man's mouth, causing an uncomfortable pause on all sides. He didn't say that. In moments like these, I could really wring his neck.

>>(Y/n)? What does (y/... Naked?<<, the doctor tries to process the words he just heard. Rushing, I button up the crimson shirt and try to fix my still wet hair according to the circumstances. Take a deep breath (y/n), it's going to be okay.

>>Not anymore.<<, I awkwardly acknowledge and tiptoe past Sherlock and John toward the bedroom.

>>Hi, John.<<, I greet him quickly as I walk past him and look into his eyes for a brief moment. He had confusion written all over his face.

>>Hi...<<, he stutters to himself and makes room for me, his gaze suddenly on everything but me.

Putting my hands on my hips, I take a deep breath and lean my head against the cool wall as I close the door behind me. The thing was so absurd that I can't suppress a muffled laugh.

>>So...you two...?<<, I hear John ask as the men move toward the living room.

>>You wanted to talk about something else, right? Tea?<<, Sherlock tries to steer him away from the subject. This is going to be a long conversation with John when I get out.

If you want to be tagged, just write me at what.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else  

#Sherlock #Sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock bbc #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock fic #sherlock fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch #Benedict Cumberbatch x y/n #Benedict Cumberbatch x you #Benedict Cumberbatch x reader #john watson #bbc #dr john watson #martin freeman #dr watson

[jokatsuya]

Love and immortality

Part IV Part I Part II Part III

Morpheus x reader

Wordcount: 1284

Warnings: mention of drowning and death

Summary: The last hundred years? (Y/n) is guaranteed to have imagined them differently at the last meeting with the unknown. So what happened until 1689?

A/n: You didn't seriously think (y/n) would be straight, did you? I mean, this is a story about the Sandman series. There's no one who's straight. Don't worry, there will be a future with Morpheus. And with that, have fun with the next part! Yours JoKatsuya

Pressing my clothes against me, I struggle forward and try to tear myself away from the man who is trying to hold me back. His firm grip on my shoulder sends a sharp pain up my arm and back. He should release me, damn it. Even though I wasn't the best dressed here, by God I wasn't, he still had to treat me properly. Why did people always have to judge by appearances? One of those things that will very likely never change, unfortunately. What a shame.

>>Don't touch me! Get out of my way!<<, I beg him in an exasperated voice while still struggling with his hand. I even mean to feel a spreading numbness already.

>>Get back to the stews with the rest of the filth.<<, he hisses at me and grabs even tighter, whereupon all he gets from me is a pain-filled hiss.

>>Let her be. She is my guest.<<, the rough voice comes through to me, for which I have been waiting again for a hundred years. A few seconds later, fortunately, I feel the grip slowly loosening. Brushing my disheveled hair out of my face, which had gained its current position in the course of the fight, I look in the direction where he was sitting.

Detaching myself completely from the man, I pull my shoulder away at the same time with a jerk. I straightened my dress, if what I was wearing could still be called that, and took a deep breath. God, what had become of me?

Briefly casting a cursory glance over the staring people, I pull the chair back as quietly as possible so that I don't get any more attention from the other guests. Completely exhausted, I let myself sink down onto it.

There he sat now, again after all this time. His raven black hair was even longer this time than at our first meeting. It...suited him. The clothes, perfectly fitted and black as night. The only accent of color against his alabaster skin and dark clothes was the deep red ruby. I'm going to have to get out of the habit of these looks at all our meetings.

Embarrassed, I place my first words to him tonight: >>I knew you'd be here.<< The pervasive smell of the food on the table rises to my nose, making my stomach growl. Caught off guard, I wrap my arms around my stomach and look down at the table, uncomfortably touched. When was the last time I had a real meal? I can't even remember.

>>I'm sorry...<<, I apologize quietly.

Suddenly, his long fingers appear in front of me and signify me to take some of what's on the table. Even though I feel bad, I reach for a piece of bread. All the while, I feel his blue-gray eyes on me.

>>Do you know how hungry you can get? If you don't die but you don't eat?<<, I utter as I swallow the first few bites. What's in my mouth right now feels like a gift from heaven.

>>I lost it all. My reputation, my husband. He...died a year after we last met. I didn't go out much after that. They said it was Ignis sacer. He didn't deserve that.<<, I confess, trying to hold back the individual tears that try to make their way down my cheeks. Even if it wasn't love between us, we still had a very good friendship and despite that it's been over nine decades now, it still saddens me.

>>I didn't go out much after that.<<, I add and slowly look back up at him before lowering my gaze down again, >>I'd lived there 10 years, overconfident. I got out with my skin a little more. And then it got worse. And worse and...worse.<<

My eyes meet his. The anticipation of my words not yet spoken is written right on his face. But I couldn't tell him what was burning on my heart. No one could. I clench my teeth to appear as calm as possible again. That night I had definitely said enough already and what happened last time cannot, no must not, happen again - even if it means hiding a part of me.

The sweet taste of grape runs down my throat as I pop one of the little red balls into my mouth. A true gift from heaven.

>>What got worse and worse and worse?<<, he finally asks in a slow, interested voice, pinching his eyebrows together slightly.

He didn't want to know. No one wanted to, and if anyone did hear, you'd be condemned. Actually, that's putting it far too kindly. What happened last time should never happen again.

>>No matter what it is.<<

My eyes narrowed and surveyed him skeptically. He definitely didn't know what he was talking about.

After I have no intention of answering him, he takes the floor again: >>We have a deal.<< His words just drip with slowly building anger. I have not yet experienced this determination from him. Did I even have a choice anymore?

With a gulp, I try to get rid of the lump in my throat and lean over to him. With a flowing movement, he does the same to me.

>>Can I trust you?<<, I ask hesitantly. I mean, what do I have to lose except my life, which wouldn't be any more anyway? An admittedly bizarre statement, if one would consider it without context.

His now wide-open eyes literally shine with interest and he nods cautiously.

>>I was dating...a women. That's why I was accused of being a witch. Three times they tried to drown me - a disgusting feeling, years of persecution.<<, I whisper in a heavy voice after making sure there was no one in our immediate vicinity right now. His face now turns towards mine. As soon as the words have left my mouth I slowly let myself slide back into the chair. Only a few agonizingly long seconds later does he sit down again.

Tensely I wait for an answer, but nothing. No funny, contemptuous or even disgusted grimace, no indignant comment, nothing. With each moment of silence, my eyes grow wider, my lips drier, my breathing shallower.

A small upward twitch of the corners of his mouth: >>Love?<<

These words alone inevitably bring my tense muscles back to rest, causing an excited little smile to move to my lips: >>It was almost there.<<

>>The other time?<<, he inquires just euphorically for his conditions, destroys at the same time however also any euphoria over his character which he had just attained.

Clearing my throat, I answer through clenched teeth: >>I've hated every second of the last 80 years, every bloody second. You know that? It's hard to live up from the bottom again as a woman without selling yourself.<<

>>So do you still wish to live?<<, the stranger's question overwhelms me and a downright droll laugh escapes me.

>>Are you crazy?<<, I finally answer, whereupon his facial expression collapses somewhat.

>>Death is a mug's game. I got so much to live for.<<, I state my opinion clearly. I don't know what's coming for me yet, but I haven't known that my whole life. Who does? Isn't that what makes life really exciting - worth living?

The stranger's lips curl in response to my answer. An enchanting sight. For my sake, he could be whatever he wanted, he had my vote. Let alone that he needed it or the like. He was nice and charming in his own way.

I take another bite of the delicious bread and look around the tavern again. I wonder how it will change again until the next time.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else

tags: @mikariell95

#Morpheus #Dream #dream of the endless #Morpheus x reader #Dream x reader #Sandman #tom sturridge #tom sturridge x reader #sandman series #sandman x reader

[jokatsuya]

Love and immortality

Part III Part I Part II

Morpheus x reader

Wordcount: 1728

Warnings: actually none

Summary: It is now the year 1589, when (y/n), now married, meets for the third time the to her still unknown ruler of the dream realm. But does her life finally offer her what she has been searching for so long?

A/n: I'm so sorry you had to wait so long for the third part, but here it is. I hope you like it. Yours JoKatsuya

Laughter, music and exuberant mood everywhere. The main room of the White Horse is filled to the last corner, which makes it very difficult for me to get to the table assigned to me. It's been a hundred years since I last met the unknown man in black who made my long life possible. It's 1589, isn't it? Then I am now about 220 years old, something I still can't believe or rather don't want to. I never expected the words of the stranger to make such a difference. Everyone at the table back then had taken them for those of a madman.

With a flowing motion, I smooth out my skirt and sit down, the pub room completely in view. It's amazing how much has changed, and yet the White Horse's charm has endured all these years.

After a few minutes of waiting, I notice in the corner of my eye a dark figure slowly but surely approaching my direction, which makes me look up. It is the unknown, the nameless, the mysterious, the one I was privileged to meet so long ago. He seems to be looking straight at the two men in the corner. Will, the younger of the two, raves at length about the writing talent of the other, about whom, however, I have heard only through a passing acquaintance.

>>...one may consort and bargain with the darkest powers.<<, I choppily understand Will, as my gaze fully returns to the sight of the stranger after all this time. His hair is once again shorter than when we last met and seems to be draped back a bit. This time he is dressed in a very valuable looking leather outfit, which flatters his slim but not unathletic body very much, like actually all his robes until now. Had he also come into money? But one thing seems to have remained the same over the centuries - the deep red ruby around his neck. I wonder if it contains his power? Is he a sorcerer after all? As quickly as the thought came to my mind, at the same time I dismiss it. And even if he was, he seemed nice, in his own special way. Thanks to him, I have the possibility of eventually realizing my dreams.

To dissuade myself from my inappropriate languishing looks, I try to catch the attention of the man a few feet away: >>My friend!<<

Why do I suddenly feel so bad calling him a friend? The point that we probably weren't even? Probably.

His gaze wanders from the two men in front of him over to me, which immediately makes me jump straight up. It's the same fixed facial expression that has been burned into my memory all too clearly over time. However, for a moment I think I saw a gentle smile flit across his lips.

>>Sit down.<<, I finally ask him struggling for composure and outer calm.

With long strides, he finally arrives at my table. Before he sits down, however, he signals me to do it before him with a sweeping gesture of his hand.

>>I'm also a recent arrival, so order what you want.<<, I gesture to him, watching his every move.

>>Hello, (y/n) Gadling.<<, his warm deep voice murmurs over my skin, giving me single waves of goosebumps.

>>Gadling? Faith, that takes me back some few years.<<, I return somewhat melancholically.

>>Maybe I can take it again in the next century.<<, I continue jokingly.

>>Why?<<, he throws the simple question into the room.

>>It's Lady (y/n) Wright now, old stranger.<<

>>You've had good fortune, I take.<<, he inquires in a calm voice, simultaneously eyeing my clothing.

>>I...I got married...<<, I answer hesitantly, my gaze fixed on the table. It's been four years since I said yes to my husband. He's a great person, but this marriage is more purpose-driven than it has anything to do with real love.

The man in front of me seems to understand directly and appears to ask purely out of politeness: >>Love?<<

>>No.<<, I answer without really having to think about it any further. Peter is great...but it wasn't love and we both are aware of that.

>>Love is something that not everyone can afford. Especially not in times like these. Ironic, isn't it?<<, I try to prettify the truth to myself.

>>Where are my manners? Please order what you want.<< At these words I receive a raised eyebrow from him. Why did he always have to be so mysterious and reserved?

When he doesn't answer or appear to do or say anything, I end the silence: >>The gods have smiled on me as they smile on all England where no man is slave or bondsman. So, what have you been doing all these years?<< Hopefully, I scrutinize every single movement of his facial expression, but aside from a small twitch of the corner of his mouth, nothing. Not a word, not a meaningful verbal response, absolutely nothing.

>>It's funny. This is what I always dreamed heaven would be like, way back.<< However, I finally get a reaction from him to this statement. His head moves slightly in an inclined position, his until now slightly opened lips now lie firmly on each other. It seems as if he is finally taking a real interest in my words this evening.

>>It's safer to walk the streets. At least with a man. Enough food. Good wine. Life is so rich.<<

>>God's wounds! If only I could write like you. In...in Faustus, when you wrote, "To God? He loves thee not."<<, Will's voice again pierces over the other visitors. The man in black in front of me looks down briefly in the course of his head movement as he directs his gaze away from me and toward the two men in whom he first seemed interested.

Will, in the meantime, as he too often does in his fascination with dramas, had risen to his feet and, with sweeping hand motions, was again speaking by rote passages from one of his friend's works, it seems.

>>Will, sit down.<<, however, it came only from the latter, who, however, seemed amused, if not somewhat flattered.

>>"The God thou servest is thine own appetite, wherein is fixed the love of Beelzebub. To him, I'll build an altar in the church and offer up lukewarm blood of new-born babes."<<, at these words Will's friend can no longer stifle a laugh. The crowd around them laughed as well, enjoying the performance. Even though I can't deny liking Will's performance either, my gaze slides back to the rigid features, of the unknown man in front of me. Could I actually still call him unknown?

But even now he didn't move a muscle and my thoughts slid back to the day I met him for the first time all that time ago and to the smile he had ready when I agreed not expecting much. Committed to tell him what it would be like hundreds of years later. Had I done something wrong that he did not show it now? Was it my fault or someone else's after all? Was it perhaps the weather? I had no idea.

>>Hear, hear!<<, the voice of someone else from the room comes through to me, who seemed to be offering Will encouragement for his performance in this way.

Somewhat depressed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear and, breaking away from my thoughts, I look again at the man in front of me.

The crowd is banging on the tables and applause is coming from all sides.

>>I would give anything to have your gifts. To give men dreams that would live on long after dead.<<, Will says as he sits back down and leans toward his companion before continuing, >>I would bargain like your Faustus for that boon.<<

My tablemate, who had turned completely towards them by now seemed to be engrossed in his thoughts, listening carefully to the words. As...he once did to me.

Suddenly the stranger turns his head to me. Our eyes meet and my breath sticks in my throat for a moment. How could this man have such a charisma?

>>Who is he?<<, he wants to know.

>>His name's Will Shaxberd. Acts a bit. Wrote a play.<<, I say, still struggling for composure.

>>Is he good?<<, he continues as he looks again at the others.

>>He is a really nice man.<<, I continue struggling for a kind answer, >>But there are others who can portray the whole thing better? He really has some imagination, but he can't quite put it into words, unfortunately. It's just too much going on in his head all at once.<< That wasn't even a lie. He wasn't bad per se, but he couldn't even grasp his own thoughts himself.

>>Now, that chap next to him, with the broken leg, he is a good playwright.<<, I add when I am not answered again. I try to sell the whole thing as nicely as possible. I really didn't want to offend Will, should he hear it.

Nevertheless I was a little jealous of him. After all these years of waiting for the stranger again, full of anticipation, he seemed to focus only on Will.

Clearing my throat quietly, I continued: >>However, I have no children yet. My husband...<< He gives me a short look, which seems to convey that he is still listening to me. But I don't get any further, as the man with the ruby lifts his hand slightly in a gentle movement and his gaze wanders back to the other men. I think I detect a hint of fascination in his gaze. Slowly he rises, no longer giving me a glance, and moves quietly in Will's direction.

>>Are you Will Shaxberd?<<

>>Uh, aye, sir. Have we met?<<, asks the just addressed and rises to the height of the stranger.

>>We have. But men forget in waking hours. I heard you talk, Will. Would you write great plays? Create new dreams to spur the minds of men? Is that your will?<<, the stranger asks with a kind of enthusiasm in his undertone.

Struggling for words, a small laugh comes from Will: >>It is.<<

>>Then let us talk.<<, are the last words I hear from the mysterious man, before he puts his hand on Will's back and leaves the bar with him.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else

tags: @mikariell95

#Morpheus #Dream #dream of the endless #Morpheus x reader #Dream x reader #Sandman #tom sturridge #tom sturridge x reader #sandman series

[jokatsuya]

The Snowball

Dr. Strange x reader / Dr. Strange x Gn!reader

Wordcount: 1248

Warnings: mention of surgery, weapons, injuries

Summary: (Y/n) and Stephen are just leaving the hospital when Stephen brings (Y/n) to a certain action related to snow.

A/n: It's sooooo hard to find good pre-accident stories about our favorite doctor. I hope you like my little idea. Yours JoKatsuya

>>The ER is a butcher shop.<<, complains Stephen, standing close to me and breathing in the fresh night air. Once again, a shift far too long has ended. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but sometimes, despite all the passion, enough is enough.

It must have started snowing a while ago, as there is already a considerable amount of snow on the paths to the parking lots. Hopefully the roads are still somewhat clear.

>>Hey, this so-called "butcher shop" is important.<<, I defend my job and lightly punch him in the side with an admonishing look before continuing, >>Moreover, I've told you often enough not to call it that.<<

In response, he rolls his eyes before proceeding with the recap of his day though, >>Yeah yeah, whatever. But after what happened today, that term actually fits pretty well.<< This statement earns him an extremely skeptical look on my part.

Without paying much attention to my reaction, he places his hand on the lower part of my back to disengage us from the spot. Honestly, I'm glad to have Stephen as my ride, because in my current state I'm far too drained to even begin to concentrate on the traffic.

>>GSW.<<, he says only briefly before giving me a cursory glance.

>>Okay? What does that have to do with your thesis exactly?<<, I inquire with a laugh as he gives me that look that seems to have hope in it every time that I could read his mind. When I don't react, I get the meanwhile too familiar eye roll and slightly unnerved looking heavy exhale.

After a moment he continues: >>Christine came to me and asked me...<<

>>Christine?<<, I enquire, now paying full attention, and briefly hold him by the sleeve so that we both stop. He seems to understand immediately and gives me one of his sly grins.

>>You know you have nothing to worry about with Christine. My eyes are only on the attractive, gorgeous, smart doctor next to me. An admittedly quite addictive sight.<<

Now it's my turn to roll my eyes. Even though such things are really corny, they always take on a whole different meaning from the mouth of Stephen Strange.

>>Where was I? In any case, the patient, from Nick or her, I don't know, was apneic. And guess what the reason was.<<

>>Oxygen supply problems?<<, I suggest as a solution as he pushes me along again. A little more information would definitely make this easier.

>>Better.<<, he confidently reports.

>>Tell me.<<

>>A bullet impinging on the medulla. Nick diagnosed brain death. What else would you expect from him?<<, he laughs. I can't help but chuckle. Stephen's impression of Nick is pretty neat.

>>The really good part is yet to come.<<

He clears his throat briefly before starting again, >>"Organ harvest, he's gonna go down." Imagine that in his convincing voice. As it too often is, of course, it was a prematurely judgmental.<<

Suddenly, a freezing blast of wind chases past us. Without seeming to give it much thought, Stephen takes off his scarf and puts it around my neck as he continues, >>The only logical thing I could do, of course, was to perform a suboccipital craniotomy, which I mentioned, and he just said so, imagine it, "Not gonna let you operate on a deadman." What was he studying for anyway?<< As he says this he does a little curtsy while walking to emphasize his words and raises his arms theatrically in the air.

>>You shouldn't be so mean to him.<<, I reprimand him, because Nick, no matter how much he could annoy you, was not a bad doctor.

>>What do you think, Dr. (L/n), what it had to do with the bullet?<<, he provokes me with a cheeky grin and looks at me.

For a moment I have to think what he means. >>Was the bullet hardened?<<

>>Yes.<<

>>You harden a bullet by alloying lid with anatomy, toxic metal and that's leach directly to the cerebral spinal fluid, if that's what you mean?<<, I provide him with the only answer option I can think of to his question at the moment.

Bluntly, I feel his lips on the crown of my head. >>That's my girl.<<

His words make me blush abruptly, even though by God it's not the first time I've heard them.

>>So it was really less the fact that the bullet was sort of pressing on the medulla. It was more like the lead in the bullet is creating a poison; they stopping the brain from working.<<

>>Are you flirting with me?<<, he jokes.

>>So it's a butcher shop, because people like Nick don't come straight to the ideas of the great Stephen Strange?<<, I answer my own question from just a moment ago, and collect a stiltedly thoughtful look from Stephen who is stroking his chin in an equally thoughtful pose.

>>About.<<

>>You do still realize that I'm also occasionally associated with the ER?<<, I confront him with narrowed eyes and cross my arms in front of my chest. He better not say anything wrong right now.

>>Occasionally. You're only there when they don't have a plan themselves. I couldn't work in that butcher shop. I'm fusing transected spinal cords. I'm stimulating neurogenesis in the nervous system. The work I'm doing is gonna save thousands for years to come. In ER, you get to save one drunk idiot with a gun.<<, he points out with a meaningful expression on his face, which I'm not going to let him get away with so easily. His gaze turns forward again while he's still talking and I see my chance for revenge.

>>Yeah, you're right. In ER, we're only saving lives.<<, I express my opinion sarcastically before, without Stephen noticing directly, I bend down and take a handful of snow in my hands. He seems to be searching for the car keys in his pocket right now.

The frozen water runs a little under the sleeves of my jacket due to the body heat of my hands. My mind is made up, however. Now or never.

>>Stephen!<<, I call after him after he has already arrived at his car.

Puzzled, he turns around, apparently only now really noticing that I stopped about 10 meters ago. With great momentum I take a swing and throw the snowball at him. 

Grumbling deeply, he brushes the remains of the formerly cold ball out of his hair. He gives me a look of amusement and incomprehension and makes this little head movement that makes my heart beat faster every time.

>>(Y/n)...<<, his vibrant voice comes through to me and I really have to pull myself together not to immediately burst into a hearty laugh.

>>Yes, Stephen?<<, I ask him with one of my most innocent voices and an angelic blink. Well, that's what he gets for his self-persuasive nature now.

With a few long strides, he comes back and finally stops just in front of me. His warm breath makes its way over my cold skin, which sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. Slowly, his head slides next to mine, my muscles unwilling to respond.

>>You'll pay for this when we get home.<<, I hear his baritone voice a little dazed and feel a cheeky grin forming on his face.

>>I will?<<, I gasp a little taken aback and wrap my arms around his waist as he comes even closer to me, suddenly completely oblivious to the cold around us.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else  

#benedict cumberbatch #Benedict Cumberbatch x y/n #Benedict Cumberbatch x you #Benedict Cumberbatch x reader #marvel #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x you #stephen strange fic #dr strange #dr strange x reader #stephen strange x gn!reader #dr strange x gn!reader #doctor strange #snow #winter #snowball #hospital

[jokatsuya]

The Moon

Sherlock x reader / Sherlock x Gn!reader

Wordcount: 1010

Warnings: Watch out! It’s a little cute at some point :)

Summary: After a worrisome night for Sherlock, the emotionally reserved man finds his own way to tell his partner that he loves them.

A/n: Okay, I'm back and I saw this one video a while ago where I was like >>Jo, you have to write a story about this with (y/n) instead of John. That would be cute, right? << Long story short, here it is. Happy new year! Yours JoKatsuya

>>(Y/n)? (Y/n)!<<, I hear Sherlock's...worried sounding voice? His heavy rushing footsteps approach me as I'm studying one of the books from the shelf in front of me. A while ago, he had dropped me off here, to say the least. In short, he disappeared without warning after we broke into the British Library. Break-ins are definitely something that happens too often in this relationship. I mean, how did John put up with it?

After a while of supposedly looking for Sherlock, I had finally given up on it and decided to devote myself to books if I had to participate in this break-in already. Amazingly, I fairly quickly recognized one of Sherlock's new books, which he claims to need for one of his current cases.

At first I thought it was just monotonous literature about philosophy of language or something like that, which is why I wasn't really interested in reading it. Even if it is obvious that Sherlock is intellectually better equipped than I, I try to make my contribution, too. But with some things is an end. Nevertheless, I could drag myself to get a look at it, if it is supposed to be so important for the case. But already at the first page it had grabbed me and I regret not to have read it earlier. It deals with different ways of expressing on a linguistic level something special that you don't want to say exactly to the point. The whole thing is related to different cultures which makes it even more interesting in itself. In addition, you can even find a great listing of examples. I'm definitely going to grab it from Sherlock and finish it.

After a few minutes of continuing silence and an extremely interesting expansion of my knowledge, I heard muffled noises from the direction of the main corridor. Confused, I turned to face them and glided my gaze through the rows with the flashlight in my hand. In retrospect, perhaps not one of my best decisions, had it not been for the silhouette of the tall man with the black curly head, so familiar to me in the meantime, which I got to see.

>>(Y/n)!<<, Sherlock's voice sounds again with a relieved tone. In one swift movement, I put the book back in its place. With my finger raised in front of my mouth, I go to meet him and take a quick look behind him to see what might have caused him to behave in such an uncharacteristic way. There was no one there, though, so I turn my attention back to him. What could have upset a Sherlock Holmes so much?

>>If we had to break in here already...<<, I make a theatrical gesture with my arm across the room while whispering, >>...then please keep your voice down.<<

With three long strides, he finally arrives at my side, paying no attention to my words, and abruptly takes me in his long arms with a firm grip. His chin finds its place on the crown of my head, making me feel his heavy breathing even more clearly. One of his hands slowly wanders into my hair, drawing slow little circles with gentle movements, as if trying to soothe himself. Automatically, my arms also slide slowly around his waist, gripping tightly into his long coat. Whether out of fear or as a sign of security, I don't know.

>>What happened?<<, I ask quietly, not having expected such an action on his part. Sherlock holds his breath for a moment, which makes me look up. My eyes find his, glazed and marked by concern, which avoid any eye contact. A look that is rarely seen on the face of a detective who is actually so collected. However, it tells me everything I have to do now.

My head once again finds its place on Sherlock's chest and I follow the slowly recovering heartbeat. We remain like this for a short while before he detaches himself from me and seems to be completely in control of himself again.

Relieved, I let my head fall back into my neck and look up into the night sky of London. We really had just broken into the British Library. Something I don't think many can say about themselves.

>>Do you think Mrs. Hudson has any of her fabulous cookies left?<<, Sherlock suddenly asks freely into the space, as if that had just been a fun little excursion. I can't help but laugh a little. This man and his thought processes are simply unpredictable.

>>Maybe?<<, I answer thoughtfully and look at the picture above us. It has something magical about it. All these little dots orbiting the moon, which casts a dull light from itself. The alley we are in gives off only muffled sounds of the weakened traffic, which only seems to accentuate the whole picture with its beauty. What time was it now, anyway? Crica at 1 he had pulled me out of bed and it was certainly two, three hours past, so about four? I feel the tiredness slowly creeping back into my bones.

>>Beautiful, isn't it?<<, Sherlock's soft voice comes to me. Out of the corner of my eye I see how he has also let his head slide into the neck and is now also looking at the scene above us. Enjoying the sight of him, I look over at him and notice how a fine smile spreads across my face. In me this one feeling of admiration, fascination and love spreads, which only he can cause in me.

>>Thought you didn't care about...<<, I want to tease him before he cuts me off.

>>Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it.<<, he means while lowering his head again and casting a brief fleeting glance at me, probably hoping I didn't notice what he actually meant. How could this man be so cute in that one special way?

>>Yeah, it sure is.<<, are my words as I hook up with Sherlock and let my hand slide to his in the pocket of his coat. 

If you want to be tagged, just write me at what.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else  

#Sherlock #Sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock bbc #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock fic #sherlock fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch #Benedict Cumberbatch x y/n #Benedict Cumberbatch x you #Benedict Cumberbatch x reader #bbc #Sherlock x Gn!reader #british library #the british library #london #moon

[jokatsuya]

High enough?

George Weasley x reader / George Weasley x Gn!reader

Wordcount: 744

Warnings: none

Summary: How do you think George will react if his partner is a little too small to see everything? (Y/n) gets an answer to that at the Qudditch World Cup.

A/n: It's October and what does that mean? Exactly! It's Harry Potter time! More specifically, George Weasley time. Probably the greatest comfort character ever. So if you're feeling down, grab a bunch of George stories and have a good time. Thank me later. Yours JoKatsuya

>>See you, Mr. Weasley!", I shout through the tent as George and I head outside to make the most of the time before the game.

But before we're out of the tent, Fred pops up next to me with a mischievous grin: >>Don't do anything I wouldn't do.<< With a completely exaggerated wink, he addresses George again before disappearing again as quickly as he came. A giggle escapes me as George grabs my hand and walks outside. How could the two of them be so different, despite looking like each other? Sure their personalities have similarities, but still more crucial differences. In fact, at the beginning of our acquaintance, that was about the only point by which I could distinguish the two. In the meantime, however, I can consider myself lucky to be able to distinguish my boyfriend from his twin even on the outside.

There is a wild hustle and bustle. Music sounds from every corner, the paths are hardly to be made out because of people and the most different kinds of artists and booths provide already now for a lot of entertainment, at least those, which I see. My gaze glides up to George, who looks around almost effortlessly, brushing his hair out of his face with his free hand. Somewhat embarrassed, the blush rises in my cheeks.

>>I know I'm irresistible, but I don't want to be responsible for your neck pain if you keep staring like that.<<, George smiles and looks down at me.

>>I don't see much anyway.<<, I counter almost playfully grumpy. Even though, in contrast to the boy next to me, most of it seems small, I almost get lost next to him sometimes.

>>If I were as tall as you, I wouldn't have to look up at you all the time.<<, I say defiantly and continue to look in the other direction in a playfully offended manner.

In a jerk, a group of people passes me, pushing me against Goerge, who had apparently gone into a crouch. He grabs me and lifts me onto his shoulders with a yank.

With a squeak, I claw at him as he simultaneously stands up again: >>George!<<

>>High enough?<<, George inquires with a laugh while he squints up at me and strokes my legs with his thumbs, which he holds tightly with his large hands. Slowly, I let my gaze slide up from his face and look around widely. Wow. Already when I arrived the meadow looked huge but this....

>>Yes..., yes I think so. I could get used to it.<<, I answer mischievously and stroke with my hand through his hair, which was disheveled by his action, to straighten it at least to some extent. Whereupon he shakes his head however and makes my work very successful so immediately again to nought. He is simply charming. In his very own way.

>>As you want, Darling.<<, he brings on devotedly and holds me demonstratively more firmly. A while we go, or rather he, in such a way further and look at the most diverse booths, before we finally stop in front of a small one and he expels me with a flowing movement again his shoulders. As soon as my feet finally reach solid ground again, I stretch all my limbs and look at George, who is talking to the merchant. After a short moment in which I look around again, a hand suddenly grabs one of my cheeks before something cool brushes the other. George's face appears in front of me and he repeats the whole thing with the other side.

>>Perfect.<<, is the only word that leaves his mouth with the curled corners. Triumphantly, he shows me his just-acquired makeup pencil with the colors of the Irish.

>>Now bend down already.<<, I give giggling from me and take the tool from him. With a theatrical curtsy, he bends over and lets the procedure take place. Before he can stand up again, however, I press a kiss to his lips, which he accepts willingly with a satisfied sounding grumble.

When I slowly detach myself from him again, his hand slides around my waist as a matter of course and pulls me closer to him. I yield to him and enjoy the moment with him, before I have to share it with the others again.

>>Now it's time to show the Bulgarians who plays better!<<, George exclaims enthusiastically and we slowly make our way back to the tent.

If you want to be tagged, just write me at what.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else  

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #oliver phelps #oliver phelps x reader #harry potter #quidditch #quidditch world cup #weasley twins #arthur weasley

[jokatsuya]

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Who's ready for some George Weasley content???

#george weasley #oliver phelps

[jokatsuya]

Love and immortality

Part II Part I

Morpheus x reader

Wordcount: 1185

Warnings: actually none

Summary: In 1489 of the Lord, Morpheus and (y/n) meet for the second time. Thereby (y/n) tells about the developments which are impressive for her, only to have to realize that the still unknown to her considers the whole thing probably still too insignificant.

A/n: Here comes already, sooner than expected, part 2 of my Dream/Morpheus series Love and immortality and with it a huge thank you to you. It has totally overwhelmed me how you have literally rushed to the first part. I love you guys. Now for an important question: The 1389 Dream looks minimally a little better than the 1489 Dream, right? Your dream JoKatsuya

>>How did you know... that I'd still be here? Who are you? A wizard? A...a saint? A demon?<<, I try to get out of the man in front of me, who obviously must be the same as the one exactly 100 years ago. Apart from his new hairstyle and clothes, he looked unchanged. He could not really be such a being, could he? However, at not a single one of my questions the stranger pardons his face, but continues to let his eyes just rest calmly on me, which triggers quite the opposite in me.

>>Have I made a bargain with the devil?<<, I finally ask him further in the great hope that he will deny it. Just the thought makes me wince inwardly, if I really have committed such a sin.

>>No.<<, his so unique voice penetrates to me for the first time this evening and coaxes shamefully a shiver over my back, which I hope he didn't notice. How could he do so much to me with such a simple word? In the last hundred years I have often thought back to him, partly had the fear to have remembered him completely wrongly. But wrong thought. He is the same as before. Mysterious,...attractive to be honest and he had that certain something about him, which would probably elicit any secret from me, if he wanted it.

>>Then why aren't I dead long since? Is that some kind of game?<<, I want to know with widened eyes. Do I owe him... my soul?

>>No game.<<, he merely says. Why did he always have to be so taciturn when I wanted to know something, just anything, about him? This is not fair. Wait what am I talking about? I've probably only lived this long because of him. Inwardly I slap myself for my impudence to even think that far after being given such a gift.

>>But why? Who are you? Why are you here?<<, I ask him partly again and examine his facial expression. How could he still live through all this time? Or rather, how could I still live?

>>I'm here because I'm interested.<<, he says, which directly throws a question into my head.

>>In me?<<, I look for a more precise answer on his part after a short wait and thinking about the whole thing, blushing slightly unintentionally. Hopefully the dimmed light of the pub ensures that he does not see it. If I remember correctly, there was a lot more going on today than there was a hundred years ago. In fact, I didn't even expect this pub to last this long. My brother had always made fun of it and said that before I lived to be over 100 I should rather make sure that this building was still standing, but look, here it is and it's more successful than ever. May Hob rest in peace.

>>In your experience.<<, admittedly, this answer feels like a punch in the gut - a very uncomfortable feeling. At the same time, I'm not even quite sure why exactly.

>>What do I have to do?<<, I finally ask him now, just to make sure it really wasn't a set-up with the devil or the like.

>>Nothing. You live your life as you choose. Then on this day, every 100 years, we will meet.<<, he announces his terms, seeming more enthusiastic than before, and leaning forward slightly with a gentle smile slowly creeping onto his face. Did he just mean every 100 years? Does that mean...?

>>Because you wanna know how it's like. Or because you want to know if I have found true love?<<, I want to inquire whereupon I receive a head movement on his part implying that I should continue.

>>All right. I'll tell you what it's like.<<, I begin to explain, pausing for a brief moment to think about what to say before continuing, >>It's great. It's all changing.<<

>>In what way?<<, he immediately wants to know and leans forward a little further, giving me the opportunity to breathe in his indescribable scent for a moment. Jesus, I sound crazy. I really need to get my thoughts together.

>>Around...Chimneys. Not having your eyes watering all the time from the smoke.<<, I make myself laugh. That point alone was a real improvement over 1389.

>>And now we have these little cloths pieces for your nose.<<, I add enthusiastically, >>Well, back then we only used our sleeves, which doesn't sound very nice when I think about it. No, it really doesn't.<<

Slowly, the black-clad man in front of me leans back again and looks less enthusiastic about my mentions than I am, which leaves me silent for a moment before I move on to the next point, hoping to cover up the unpleasant situation: >>However, I still haven't found a partner. With one I was almost sure, but then it turned out that he cheated on me with two other women. People will probably always remain, shady characters, which makes the whole thing with the search not so easy.<<

>>What will you people think of next?<<, the man asks seemingly uninspired, which is not exactly friendly of him, after he had asked.

Nevertheless endeavored the discussion further to bring, I consider again what I could say then now still. There would be actually many things, which one could still take up.

>>With any luck, something to get rid of fleas.<<

>>But what have you been doing for the last hundred years?<<, now he tries again his luck, presumably in the hope around more or rather said better to find out.

>>As I said, I tried it with someone about 40 years ago, but that came to nothing. Otherwise, I did almost the same as before. I started working on a farm and I must confess that weaving really suits me. It's impressive what new techniques have emerged over time. Still, I don't think it's something for the ages for me, but it beats out of rotting to maggots in the ground, eh?<<, I reply thoughtfully, with my gaze averted from him. In fact, I had a few expectations for this time, but they were only partially fulfilled.

With a small but growing smile, the stranger in front of me questions my unspoken question: >>So you still wanna live?<<

>>Oh, yes.<<, I immediately answer without thinking and watch him rise with a jerk. How could one person have such a charisma?

>>A hundred years, then?<<, he asks me as if to our first meeting and looks down at me from his raised position.

>>Yes.<<, I enthusiastically agree with shining eyes. No matter how he does it, with the immortal life, but this is more than worth the simple exchange of such simple in almost meaningful information on my part.

>>You never told me who you are.<<, I try for the last time in this century, but without success. At the same time I take it upon myself to achieve more in the next decades than I have done so far. And again he goes out the door of the White Horse without answering me.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else

#Morpheus #Dream #dream of the endless #Morpheus x reader #Dream x reader #Sandman #tom sturridge #tom sturridge x reader

[jokatsuya]

Love and immortality

Part I

Morpheus x reader

Wordcount: 1099

Warnings: actually none

Summary: In 1389 (y/n) first meets the ruler of dreams and nightmares, after talking to her friends about her plan of finding true love, which she intends to find even if it takes her forever. Unexpectedly, events occur that she would never have expected.

A/n: The time has finally come! The first part of my Dream/Morpheus series Love and immortality is finally out. Actually, the whole thing took longer than expected, which was not because I started with the other parts before the first one was out, because I forgot to post it. Never! So have fun reading. Your returned dream JoKatsuya

It is a pleasant summer evening as the sun begins to set slowly but steadily and my brother, as well as a few of our comrades and I sit in a tavern in the center of our town and all drink a penny ale. This Tuesday evening, as usual, we could watch the normal hustle and bustle of the other tavern patrons at the White Horse. The local shepherd of the corner, a grumpy old codger, had even brought one of his newly acquired goats straight from the market.

>>I've seen Death. I lost half my village to the Black Death. I fought under Buckingham in Burgundy. It's not like I don't know what death is. Death is...stupid<<, my brother Hob says at one point during our conversation, causing the words to stick in my throat.

However, the others only laugh at this, whereupon Kian amusedly replies: >>You're a fool, Hob.<<, and playfully slaps him on the shoulder.

>>Nobody has to die. The only reason people die is... is `cause everyone does it. You all just go along with it. But not me. I've made up my mind. I'm not going to die.<<

>>Even if death is something absolute for every human being, does it still have the right and above all its must to exist, Hob. I mean, how do you imagine a world where there would be no more death? In a few centuries you might not even be able to move from the spot in front of people, brother. Then, as always, you would wish for what you can't get - death. Now that you are constantly close to it, you don't even want to think about it. Maybe that's why I dream of true love, but if I find it, will it last until the end?<< I chuckle and share my thoughts about the whole thing.

>>Do you want to die and what are you talking about true love, sister?<<, Hob now asks me directly with widened eyes, the others also silently looking at me and expecting an answer.

>>Of course I don't. I believe that I will never want to. At least not until I find such a love and have a happy life. Even if I have to live forever to find it. I will not die until I find it!<<, I say with full conviction and raise my mug before taking a sip of the tasty brew. The others laugh again and raise their mugs as well. The idea of maybe really finding true love one day is a very satisfying thought.

>>You Gadlings are crazy. Death comes for every man.<<, Cain says again and rolls his eyes before I can interrupt him.

>>You don't know that. I might get lucky. There's always a first time,<< I address him and get an approving grumble from my brother before continuing, >>There's so much to do, so much things to see.<<

>>Women to swive. Ale to drink. People to drink with.<<, my brother rather unintentionally adds to his simple thoughts, earning a little shove in the side from me. But the whole thing only makes him laugh even more. At the same time there is so much to discover, so much knowledge what you can still absorb, love as you do not know it yet. Once again, the men toast and each take a big gulp, after which, with a loud thud, the jugs find their place back on the table.

>>What will you do with all that life?<<, Lillian finally asks with amusement in the direction of my brother and me, pulling me out of my thoughts after spotting for a moment a man standing with his decisive appearance in one of the back corners, talking to a nun in a blue and gray robe. At the same time he looked rather less enthusiastic. His hair was raven black and accentuated his already fair skin even more, as well as his very prominent face. Suddenly our eyes meet, causing me to catch my breath. The misty deep gray literally lulls me and makes this split second seem like an eternity.

Slowly regaining my composure, I focus again on the conversation with the others and look at my brother, who replies snootily in jest:>>I'll find better friends than you, I can tell you that.<<

As the others continue to discuss, I notice in the corner of my eye someone approaching our table, which automatically makes me look up. At that moment, my breath catches for the second time that evening. Now the mysterious man from before is standing directly in front of me and looking straight down at me. Only now do I notice the dark red ruby around his neck as I briefly take my eyes from his.

>>Did I hear you say you have no intention of ever dying? At least until you find your so-called true love.<<, his rough deep voice comes to me.

>>Uh, yaeh. Yeah, that's right.<<, I stammer to myself caught and look back up into his eyes and have to swallow.

>>Then you must tell me what it's like.<<, the stranger in front of me announces, which makes the others and admittedly me smile at the statement before he continues, >>Let us meet here again, (y/n) Gadling, in this tavern of the White Horse in 100 years.<< Now the others laugh uninhibitedly and whisper among themselves. However, this is only secondary for me at the moment, because I can't really process what the well-built man lurking above me just meant to me. He couldn't be serious. I mean how? Besides, how does he know my name?

Nevertheless, I consider the sneering laughter of the others as very rude, which is why I still slightly apathetic without turning my gaze from the man:>>Don't mind them.<< Hopefully he doesn't feel somehow attacked by them.

>>A hundred years` time, on this day?<<, I inquire further with him, actually more curious than I thought. He nods slowly without looking at the others even once during the conversation.

And without thinking further about it, I agree with him:>>I will see you in the year of our Lord 1489, then.<<

The stranger in the black robe, which more than flatters his body, smiles for a short moment before he slowly walks away from our table again, leaving me completely confused.

>>Who was that, then, (y/n)?<<, Lillian finally wants to know, who also looks after him and is probably not quite sure whether I know him or not. Which I definitely don't.

>>Haven't a clue.<<, I honestly admit and look after the man, who rejoins the nun, who grins proudly at him, >>But tell you what, I'll ask him in 100 years' time.<<

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else

#Morpheus #Dream #dream of the endless #Morpheus x reader #Dream x reader #Sandman #tom sturridge #tom sturridge x reader

[jokatsuya]

(☞°ヮ°)☞ Preview ☜(°ヮ°☜)

So folks, I just saw Sandman and thought to myself `a fandom that is just starting (in relation to the series only of course), why don't you add something to the start yourself?`. Well long story short, you can look forward to a Morpheus story coming out. Thank me later. Your vanished dream JoKatsuya  („ಡωಡ„)

seems like he´s also intrested  :D

#Sandman #thesandman #morpheus #dream #sandman series

[jokatsuya]

Would you mind doing a Sherlock fanfic where the reader is also a believer of love is a disadvantage but they do think that things can be better is they're together.

Quid pro quo

Sherlock x reader / Sherlock x G/n reader

Wordcount: 1126

Warnings: actually none

Summary: Check out the sweet request by Anonymus

A/n:  Hi guys, I'm so sorry that there have been no new stories for a while now, I've had a lot on my plate. The concept of the story is so good that I'm planning to release a second part at some point. If it's well received, it might happen sooner than I thought. So have fun reading and send requests should you have any. Yours JoKatsuya

>>We should date.<< I mention casually as I'm about to get Sherlock's mess back under control. Since he's finally finished with this huge case about the Five Orange Pips, he hasn't once bothered to tidy up the place, even though it's to his credit that it looks like another bomb has gone off. I still can't understand how John has kept it here this long.

>>What do you mean?<<, surprisingly a disinterested voice comes from the kitchen.

>>Dating? Where two human beings often speak of each other as "my girlfriend" and "my boyfriend" respectively, with the possessive pronoun "my" indicating that it's not just any boyfriend that's meant, but the love partner? Something like...um...quid pro quo for both parties?<<, I reply amusedly, inspecting my laptop, which I have finally found again in this mess, as I hear long footsteps approaching me.

God did this man has a presence. I can understand why he has so many crushes, though...Sherlock Holmes is not necessarily someone I would date on his own. His character has both good and bad aspects. On the one hand, there's the complete lack of understanding of interpersonal relationships, especially on the romance level, the fascination with the morbid, which I can understand only too well, according to the cliché of the True Crime-loving woman, the somewhat 'passable' looks, and the frequent free takeout food he gets because of some favor. Stop (y/n), you sound like an adolescent psycho. On the other hand, he's really lousy when it comes to housekeeping, as well as the lack of understanding towards emotions per se and to be honest, the point about relationships I totally get, but that he's so persistent in resisting emotions, that gets on your nerves quickly and pisses you off completely at some point.

If I remember correctly, I recently read an article about him being single, which amused John and me so much that it put me in a precarious position again. In the end, according to Sherlock, the whole thing was just made up, which he had a hard time explaining to Mrs. Hudson, who was already completely excited about inviting a daughter of one of her old friends to a coffee chat. Sherlock was also supposed to attend, under false pretenses, of course, but who would be the great consulting detective of London if he didn't notice something like that right away. In fact, this scene was even more entertaining than the article that started it all.

>>Do you think I'm stupid? Of course I know w...<<, he puffs up next to me.

Without letting such a chance pass me by, I answer directly to this self-convinced question, which he didn't want answered with the best will in the world: >>Yes.<<

Indignantly he pulls his eyebrows together and opens his mouth in the intention now to throw me a cheeky answer, but in vain. I am faster: >>Mycroft sees it the same way.<<

>>What do I care about Mycroft's opinion. How much weight has he put on? No, wait. 4 pounds?<<, he counters with an admittedly mean line. Sure Sherlock was the more athletic of the Holmes kids, but Mycroft does his best. But put that aside.

Sherlock ignores me when I give him a warning look. He knows exactly that he shouldn't say something like that.

When he sits down opposite me, he examines me with attentive eyes, as well as hands placed together under his chin, which is as always very...intimate. With it I mean now nothing sexual, but alone the fact of it that he knows now with very high probability, for my taste, too much about me once again. Personal limits, I say only to it.

>>Henry?<<, he inquires a few moments later, whereupon he tilts his head a bit.

>>Who?<<, I question the simple name which to my knowledge is not known in connection with Sherlock. Henry..., Henry...oh.

>>Greg?<<, I now ask with amusement, unable to stifle a giggle. After a moment, it had finally occurred to me. Sometimes I'm not sure if Sherlock does the name thing on purpose, or really forgets what the inspector's name is every time.

>>He's going to blow his top over this someday. But no, not him,<< I say back, realizing that he has a very good idea of the reasons for my first thesis. A Sherlock Holmes will probably remain a Sherlock Holmes forever.

>>Who?<<, now he wants to be informed confusedly, before he disappears however before I can answer, again into his thoughts. After he has remained now again some moments in this rigidity, he looks up suddenly to me what lets me blush instantly guiltily. I feel his penetrating gaze wander over me. Suddenly, I hear a short sardonic laugh from Sherlock, leading me to look directly at him again.

>>John? Seriously?<<, he now asks amusedly, crossing his legs with extraordinary smoothness.

After a brief clearing of my throat, I answer him in a fortunately clear voice: >>Yes, but I don't have to tell you that, do I?<<

>>Of course not. What's in it for you?<< At this point I'm now completely sure that he found out about the whole thing with the bet between John and me, which had come about because of the article the other day. John lightly commented that it was just as unlikely that Sherlock would get a partner as it was that I would. He wasn't wrong about that, of course. Relationships are obstacles in life that can slow you down far too much. In short, they are a disadvantage, which I have known how to avoid until now. However, I can't give in so easily to a bet with John. As long as I can convince him to really be in one with Sherlock, it doesn't matter what's going on.

>>If I win, he owes me 50 pounds and an afternoon on his part with Anderson, if I lose, the other way around.<<, just the thought makes me cringe inside. Anderson can be really exhausting, although that is still partly an extremely kind description of the fact that he really thinks a lot of himself.

>>And for me?<<, the handsomely built man in front of me now wants to know, as he stirs himself up from the armchair with a swing and makes his way to the kitchen, apparently getting himself a cup of tea.

>>Um...<<, even though I'm going to hate myself for it, >>I'll cover your cigarette costs for a month and say nothing about consumption?<< Honestly, I can't stand the smell of cigarettes and healthy they are not now.

After some quiet grumbling on his part and a moment's thought, he finally replies, >>Agreed. I can't await John's defeat!<< He jumps delightedly in the air, clapping his hands.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else

#Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock BBC #221B #221b baker street #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock x reader #benedict cumberbatch x reader #sherlock fic #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x y/n #bbc #Sherlock x you #John Watson #Dr. John Watson #Benedict Cumberbatch x you

[jokatsuya]

Good boy

Sherlock x reader / Sherlock x Fem!reader

Wordcount: 1051

Warnings: actually none as long as you are not a high functioning sociopath (if you are: Watch out! It’s a little cute at some point.)

Summary: (Y/n) accidentally calls Sherlock an interesting pet name, whereupon something happens that she really didn't expect. How will Sherlock handle the situation?

A/n: It's me again and of course I have another story for you guys. So lie back and enjoy this little work of mine. At this point also a thank you to the already received requests. Each one makes it even more fun for me and hopefully you can enjoy them as much as I do. Yours JoKatsuya

>>I need some. Get me some. Now! Immediately!<<, Sherlock comes shooting out from beside me, nearly scaring me to death, whereupon I wince and pull my arms towards me, accidentally hitting one of my hands in his face.

>>You know you're not supposed to scare me like that, Sherlock!<<, I drive at him still in shock, but this time with more anger in my undertone.

When I finally turn to him though, all I see is him rubbing his nose and blinking rapidly several times. Wait, was that me? >>Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I...I...didn't mean to! Do you need a cold pack? Or something else?<<, I ask him hastily in concern, taking his big hands out of his face to survey the possible injury. Fortunately, nothing is visible so far, which is why I now eye the tall man in front of me with squinted eyes reprovingly. How often do I have to tell him that he shouldn't always appear next to me so suddenly?

>>Be a good boy and don't do that again. As sorry as I am right now, God knows how much, but it had to come so far!<<, I rebuke him with now raised finger, which he examines with narrowed eyebrows and looks back and forth between him and me again and again. Unexpectedly, I do the same to him until he breaks the silence with a slightly confused sounding question: >>What did you call me?<<

>>A good boy.<<, another voice suddenly sounds from the door between the stairwell and the living room. Wait, what? Unpleasantly, that just slipped out, whereupon I feel the blush rise to my face. Jesus, this is embarrassing.

Sherlock and I turn simultaneously towards the source of the noise and immediately catch sight of John, who is standing there with an amused grin and his arms on his hips.

>>What?<<, Sherlock answers John with a dramatic high undertone and looks at me again. Well, I guess I had really said that out loud, a most unpleasant mistake.

Just as I'm about to move out of the way, Sherlock holds me back by the arm. Keep calm (y/n), it wasn't meant disrespectfully, nor did you mean to insult him in any way with it, in whatever way he might take it.

With a lurch, I lean back against the armchair and draw in a sharp breath as Sherlock hovers over me, bent close. In fact, close, very close. I feel his breath hitting my neck, giving me a pleasant shiver from the back of my neck down my spine. After a few seconds, I finally dare to return his intense gaze, which I can feel all too clearly on me.

>>I'm...a leave...coming soon...Hudson...<<, I catch fractionally before I hear a creak of the door and automatically slide a little further together.

>>You praised me like such a little dog? Am I Anderson, who can't get along without something like that?<<, he asks so quickly that I can barely follow him in my slightly dazed state, abruptly moving away from me as he wildly gestures to give his words more expression, jumping up and down a bit. Gestures that I will probably never really understand about him. But actually these are quite cute. He really seems like a little puppy that just had a huge bone put in front of its snout and immediately taken away. A smile slips across my lips at these thoughts, which immediately makes Sherlock's head swing to me.

>>Actually, you really are like an excited dog, or much more like a puppy.<<, I giggle, by now beginning to be master of myself again. As a result, I earn a deep enervated groan, from the tall well-built man in front of me, who eyes me critically.

>>John?!<<, he suddenly calls out, but must disappointingly realize that his, as he calls him, assistant, or as others would put it, best friend does not react. His face becomes even grimmer. Actually quite cute. With three steps, I'm now standing right in front of him again and looking directly into his face, where a small bruise is starting to form on his nose.

>>He just left. Didn't you catch that? If I remember correctly, he said something about Mrs. Hudson. Sit down and I'll get you something cold.<<, I order him and push him down on the couch. Just as I'm about to leave for the kitchen, he pulls me onto his lap, which causes me to cry out in shock.

>>How am I supposed to notice when my girlfriend calls me a puppy after punching me in the face?<<, I draw in my breath sharply. It's the first time he's directly called me his girlfriend. He usually only ever paraphrased our relationship, which was completely pointless since everyone could see that there was something going on between the two of us.

>>What did you say?<<, I now ask him, brushing one of his dark stray curls out of his forehead.

>>Nothing.<<, he quickly replies, apparently only now realizing what exactly he just said, which is why he immediately pushes me off his lap again and goes to the window.

>>Finally<<, he speaks quietly to himself and then walks towards his old familiar black armchair, on which he plops down. Even though we are now basically back at the beginning, I can't get the grin off my face.

Out of the corner of my eye I see how Sherlock looks at me in a jerk and examines me questioningly, before his head finally turns back to me directly afterwards and he inquires about my behavior: >>Why are you grinning like that?<<

>>If I had known that I could thus penetrate your shell..., I would have done it sooner and especially more often.<<, I confess with a triumphant face.

>>What shell?<<, Greg's voice rings out in confusion, just entering.

>>Nothing. Now tell me who died, Gregory! I've been waiting for this all day.<<, Sherlock demands jitterily, seemingly having completely forgotten about what happened just now, or rather, in my guess, repressed it. I'll let him win this round, but he shouldn't think he can do it forever. Before I win, however, he should first learn Greg's name, before he kills him at some point, so that I can still have a chance.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else  

#Sherlock #Sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock bbc #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock fic #sherlock fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch #Benedict Cumberbatch x y/n #Benedict Cumberbatch x you #Benedict Cumberbatch x reader #lestrade #inspector lestrade #greg lestrad #john watson #bbc #dr john watson

[jokatsuya]

Could you please make a fanfic of Sherlock x reader where reader is an artist who paints sings dances and a hopeless romantic falling for a rather practical consulting detective!

Practical my ass

Sherlock x reader / Sherlock x G/n reader

Wordcount: 802

Warnings: actually none (not even if you are a high functioning sociopath)

Summary: Check out the adorable request by @asherloki

A/n: Yes, Queen again. And? A problem with it? No? Me neither. I hope to have fulfilled this request as well as possible, without having turned away too much from the actual idea. Even if the story is not that long, I would be very happy if it is well received like the others. Yours JoKatsuya

>>This thing called love, I just can't handle it, this thing called love...<<, I hum to the music in front of me, while I concentrated on the canvas in front of me add a small detail, bend back a little, inspect the work in front of me and satisfied strip a loose strand from my face. In the process, I seem to have completely forgotten that just a few moments ago I used my fingers to paint, although the paint is now definitely in my face. Great.

>>I have to call on your skills, (L/n).<<, Holmes' voice cutting into the room from the entrance of my studio after the small bell above the door has rung. Does he have to come back right now after months? I met the infamous London consulting detective in the course of the case, as Dr. Watson ended up calling it, "The Great Game," and I quite possibly fell for him a bit. His elongated well-defined body in the well-fitting suits, his confident appearance, his intellect,...He is just perfect. As unpleasant as it is, I can't deny that I thought about him far too often after our last meeting.

With a quick movement, I turn off the radio and with a hasty glance at the small wall mirror behind my screen, I give up looking presentable for Sherlock Holmes. His footsteps approach me quickly before finally stopping beside me. From my still seated position, I have to cast my gaze upward with the intention of looking him in the face. I freeze. He looks even better than how I remember him and how he appears in the media through the pictures. Not that he wouldn't look attractive there as well, quite the opposite. To get back on a somewhat straight track of myself I look aside in embarrassment, as well as with glowing cheeks and clear my throat, >>How can I help you today, Mr. Holmes?<<

After an inquiring and following triumphant look on his part, he replies looking across the room: >>You can fake a 'Weber'?<<

When I began to answer, very much out of the cold, he starts to trudge past my paintings and insistently examines them: >>Fakes? What makes you think that?<<

>>Come on (y/n)! It is so obvious that even a blind man would notice it.<<, he argues my before asked question as if it is natural to be able to assume this. Well, he had a point about making fakes, but how does he know and why does he want to know? Wait, he works for the Yard, doesn't he? No, he wouldn't... After all, the way I met him, he would never...but I don't really know him at all. Keep calm (y/n), it's definitely not going that way. But what if it does?

>>This has nothing to do with the idiots of Scottland Yard.<<, he answers my question before I even had the chance to ask it. Astonished at this, I open my mouth with the intention of asking for a reason for his knowledge of my thought processes, but he also answers this question in advance.

>>Ah, come on (y/n). Didn't you catch anything last time? Pardon, you were too distracted by my person, weren't you? It's called deduction. I deduce from my observations and they confirm my theory about you not being as inexperienced in forgery as you would have me believe.<< Still not quite convinced, I continue to eye him suspiciously as he approaches me again.

>>I wouldn't need a confession to convict you of forgery, so come (L/n).<<

I don't know what exactly convinces me, but I admit defeat. I blame it on his charisma itself, which does not make me doubt further: >>Why do you need them, hypothetically speaking, I could make such a 'fake'?<<

>>A case.<<, he answers taciturnly with a satisfied grin.

>>And what would the whole thing do for me? I mean such a...job hypothetically requires a lot of effort, which expects a reward.<<, I present him the basic condition of my concession, while he walks around me.

>>Hypothetically speaking, should you really do it,>> he leans over my shoulder and whispers in my ear,>>I would invite you on a date. You like Indian?<<

I suck in a sharp breath. This couldn't be true. No way. My blush rises to my face again, though subconsciously I was all too aware that it would have no romantic context for him whatsoever. But isn't that what I kind of wanted from the beginning?

>>It would be beneficial for both of us, (y/n). I can solve my case and you get me. At least for the evening. Isn't that practical?<<

>>Practical my ass...but...agreed...<<, I admit defeat guiltily and push away from him a bit. This is the final low point of my life behind the rose-tinted glasses.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else  

#sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes #bbc #sherlock fic #sherlock fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #benedict cumberbatch x y/n #art #artist