#there's something about him that's just always made him feel so suited for period pieces

[makethatelevenrings]

Puzzle Pieces // J. Todd x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: discussions of pregnancy, allusion to abortion, pregnancy scare, emotions

Summary: You and Jason are doing a last minute grocery run when you walk by the period products and realize that you’re late. You’re never late. One negative test, however, could change everything.

“Jay?”

It was the cadence of your voice that alerted something was wrong. A subtle hitch at the end of his name that sent a wave of icy cold chills down his spine. He turned from where he was collecting a massive amount of cup ramen and stared blankly at the thin box in your hand.

Jason was due to go out in an hour, but the two of you realized belatedly that you were out of ingredients for breakfast in the morning. There were two options: run by the corner store and grab some things or send you out alone in the morning while he slept in.

Jason Peter Todd would have to be six feet underground again before sending you out into Gotham when he knew that all the active vigilantes were fast asleep. If you were venturing out alone, it would be when someone was awake.

That found you two in the corner store near your apartment, snickering and trading jokes over your shoulders as you shuffled through the aisles. You were clad in one of his sweatshirts that practically drowned you in the cotton fabric and some basketball shorts underneath that he’s pretty sure you stole from Steph. He kept a close eye on you, his body inching around in the smallest increments to ensure that, no matter what, he was always between you and the door. He’d be damned if he lost the one good thing in his life.

“I…I didn’t realize, but then I saw the pads and…I’m late.” Panic was evident in your voice and no matter how desperately he wanted to fucking throw up in the middle of the bodega right then and there, Jason needed to keep it calm and cool right now. He quickly placed the ramen cups back on the counter and reached out, taking the pregnancy test out of your hand.

“Okay,” he said simply. One of his calloused hands came up and rested on your cheek, cradling your face. Your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, but he could feel the slight tremble in your body.

Fuckfuckfuck. He was on autopilot as he approached the counter, tossed a twenty onto the plastic shelf, and walked out with a pregnancy test in one hand and yours clasped in the other. Jason wants to say something, the right words or placating phrase that will make this all better but he can’t because he can’t fucking think about anything except for the fact that he will be the worst goddamn father on the planet.

Pregnant. Fucking hell. You could be pregnant. They were usually so careful. You were on the pill and he made sure you took it religiously. How the fuck could you be pregnant? He couldn’t be a dad. Willis had been a piece of shit who beat Catherine and basically fucked off into the sunset, leaving him and his mom to fend for themselves. Jason had been just a kid yet he picked his mom up off the ground when she was high out of her mind. Then there was Bruce…

Jason ushered you into the apartment and nudged you gently towards the bathroom. He made sure to lock up behind you and then slowly walked to your bedroom. He leaned against the doorframe and took a moment, just one single moment, to inhale deeply. He needed to be steady and calm for you. He could freak out later when he was patrolling.

Shit, he needed to be suited up and patrolling the Bowery in an hour.

“Babe?” he asked, his knuckles gently hitting the door. You murmured out a quiet welcome and he slipped in before shutting the door behind him. You were curled up against the tub, staring blankly at the wall, and the test rested on the edge of the tub face down.

Jason sat down on the floor across from you and leaned back against the sink. He stretched his legs out and motioned for you to shuffle over to him. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You dragged yourself across the cold tile floor and settled yourself between his legs, your head resting on his chest. Pressing your ear against the warm scratchy fabric of his shirt and relaxed at the sound of his heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Christ, babe, why the hell’re you apologizing?”

“I don’t know,” you sobbed. “We’ve never talked about it. God, Jase, we’re barely adults ourselves. We’re still trying to figure out how to take care of Merry and Pippin, for fuck’s sake!” You were referencing, of course, the two cats Jason had rescued from a dumpster one night that now slept every night cuddled up against you. Jason had insisted that they were only staying for the night to get them out of the cold.

That had been three months ago and the furry little bastards were currently asleep on top of your pillows.

“Hey, hey.” His lips brushed across the crown of your head as he shushed you. You were shaking in his arms and he hated this. He hated not being able to protect you. Hell, he’s the one that got you into this situation.

“No matter what happens, I’m all in, okay?” His voice sounded weak to his own ears, but you needed to hear this as much as he did. “Whatever you choose, I will support you all the way, you got that?”

“But what if…”

“Sweetheart, you’re the one in control of your body. Whatever you choose will be the best choice for us.”

You fisted the front of his shirt in your hand and bit back a sob. Jason scruffed the back of your neck in a loving gesture, his other arm curling around your waist and tugging you impossibly closer. Jason felt helpless and for a man accustomed to beating the shit out of his problems, he hated that he couldn’t fix this for you.

Your phone started to sing a little chime and you sniffled, reaching over to shut it off. “That means it’s ready. I…I can’t do it.”

He soothed his hand over your hip and kissed your temple. “I’ll do it.”

Truth be told, Jason was terrified. He tried to ignore the slight tremor in his hand as he reached for the bathtub. He didn’t know how he would react to whatever that little stick said. Christ on a handbasket, one little mathematical symbol might change his entire life. He loved being a brother, not that he would ever tell the little gaggle of brats, and he loved being an uncle to Lian, but a father? Could he do that?

There was one thing he didn’t doubt. You would be the best mother in the world. Fiercely loyal, kind, caring, didn’t put up with his bullshit…he could almost picture a toddler on your hip as you smiled at it. But he didn’t see himself there.

Maybe this was a sign that he had tried clinging to his ill-fated happiness for too long.

“Bubs?” Your murmur knocked him out of his thoughts and Jason shook his head.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“‘S okay,” you said. “I get it.”

Jason inhaled sharply and then flipped over the test. His shoulders dropped at the sight of the minus sign and he extended the test to you. You clasped your hands over the little stick and bowed your head.

Silence enveloped the small, cramped bathroom. Jason studied the broken tile over by the toilet and made a mental note on looking into how to recaulk the shower tiles. They needed another bulb over the sink and maybe a better shower head. Hell, maybe they should paint the bathroom. Anything would be better than the garish lime green the landlord thought would make it look “70s mod”.

“I don’t know what to think,” you finally croaked out. You shuffled out of his hold and turned to face him. His head snapped up and he met your eyes, finding them red rimmed with tears clinging to the edges of your lashes. Jason scooted forward and laid a heavy hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing back and forth.

“Talk to me,” he urged. Selfishly, he needed to hear you voice your thoughts because he was fucking terrified that one day he would come home and find all of your things gone. This life couldn’t be easy for you. He needed to stop doing this shit to you. You deserved a better life.

“I think I need some time to process,” you admitted. “Can I…can we talk about this after you get back?”

That sinking feeling in his chest now felt like leaden rock in his gut. He might prefer a crowbar to the chest instead of the dread that currently consumed him.

“I’m not mad at you,” you blurted out once you saw the wounded look cross his face before he schooled his features like he had been trained. “I’m just feeling a lot of stuff right now and I want to be able to think it out before I say something stupid. I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.”

You reached out and touched his cheek. He turned his head to lay a featherlight kiss against your palm and then stood. “I’ll be home by four.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He was off his game all night. Jason nearly got shot twice when he finally called it quits and let Steph and Cass take on the Bowery. Dick had tried coaxing out why he was in a piss poor mood, but Jason merely muted his comms and shoved the little device in his pocket. His helmet sat next to him on the roof ledge, leaving him in just a red domino mask.

It was creeping towards three and the tiniest light began to creep across the horizon. The inky black night sky dominated Gotham still and Jason took a little solace in the fact that he was cloaked by the shadows.

It wasn’t enough to hide him from Bruce.

The large shadow of his adoptive father landed beside him. Jason didn’t bother turning to look at him and instead focused straight ahead at the slowly rising sun. Bruce silently sat next to him on the roof, his legs dangling over the side.

Side by side, just like they had all those years ago when Jason was still dressed up as a traffic light and Bruce had been…lighter, for lack of a better word.

“Pregnancy scare,” Jason finally admitted. He knew Bruce wouldn’t ask, but he also knew that Bruce wouldn’t leave until he got a clue as to why Jason was sulking on a rooftop instead of beating the face in of some wannabe trafficker.

Bruce stiffened just slightly and Jason huffed out a laugh. “Relax, it was negative.”

“I thought you would be relieved,” Bruce said. None of his kids had ever expressed any interest in reproducing. In fact, Alfred had money on them picking up his serial adoption habits. Clark was in on the bet too. Bastards.

“I’d be a shit dad,” Jason grunted. “I’d fuck that kid up in the head and probably leave it out on the streets like Willis.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Bruce said it so calmly. So matter of factly. He said it as if it was the truth engraved in granite.

Jason barked out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, and you’re father of the year, right? You get to bestow that honor on the next asshole?”

There was a slight twitch in Bruce’s jaw, one that no one would notice unless you were one of his family members. His piercing gaze stared out on the city he loved so desperately and then he looked at the son he had lost so painfully.

“You would be an amazing father because you would ensure that you didn’t make the same mistakes Willis and I made.”

Jason sucked in a sharp breath at his father’s soft words. He clenched his jaw shut and shook his head. A gloved hand landed on his shoulder and Jason raised his head, meeting the white lenses of the cowl so many feared.

“You love this city so much that you are willing to go to lengths that I can’t bring myself to do. You do things I don’t approve of, but you do it because you care so much that you feel the pain the people feel. You love deeply, Jaylad, you always have. I failed you as a father so many times. I should have never let you become Robin. I should have never let any of you out in the field. You were…you were just a kid.

But the one thing I will never regret is bringing you into our home and our family. Being your father has brought me the greatest sorrow and immense joy of my life and I would never, ever give that up.”

Bruce pulled away and stood up. “You should go home. Talk.”

Jason swallowed against the growing lump in his throat and nodded. “Right. Thanks. Fuck you or whatever.”

Batman’s lips quirked up at the corner and then he sighed. “Nice to see you too, Hood.”

Jason waited until he slipped back into the shadows before he pulled on his helmet and grappled back to the Bowery. He landed on his fire escape and quickly slid in through the window. His entry disturbed Merry who had been sleeping on the windowsill. The cat hissed at him and then hopped down, probably in search of his brother.

“Sorry,” he whispered to the cat. God, he was so whipped.

“Bubs?” Your tired voice came from somewhere in the direction of the kitchen. Jason closed and locked the window and headed towards you. All the lights in the apartment were off except for the small, single bulb that hung over the kitchen. It bathed you in a warm light, highlighting the tired circles under your eyes.

A lukewarm mug of tea and a thousand piece puzzle was scattered on the table before you, your usual routine when you couldn’t sleep and decided to stay up and wait for him. Jason stripped off his gloves, weapons, and jacket and dumped them on the floor and then he tugged off his helmet.

You loved seeing him right after patrol. Not only were you able to reassure yourself that he was safe, but you also got to see him when he was in his element. Sweat strands of hair curled across his forehead and beads of moisture trailed down his neck before seeping into the collar of his undershirt. His powerful thighs were bracketed by his tactical pants and thigh holsters and you sighed at the mere sight of his legs.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart,” Jason teased. His voice was warm, but it lacked the confidence he normally possessed. You curled your hand around the bottom hem of his shirt and tugged him closer, your lips meeting his in a delicate kiss. His hand came up to cup your jaw and he deepened the kiss.

“I want a baby.” The words spilled out of you faster than you could rein in the thought. Jason’s eyes widened and you cursed under your breath.

“You want…a baby,” he repeated.

“With you. I want a baby with you. Not right now. Not even this year. But, I want a kid someday with you. When I saw that negative, I was relieved and then I was-”

He cut you off. “Disappointed. You were disappointed because for a moment, you thought about it and realized that you actually wanted this. Just not right now.”

You nodded and pushed his curly, sweat-drenched hair back from his face. “A little boy with your eyes and smile.”

“Or a little girl with your hair and attitude.”

“I want that, bubs,” you assured him. “I want it all with you. A kid, a life, a house with a picket fence and two point five kids or whatever the fuck the American Dream is supposed to be.”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he replied in a choked voice. “I’m not a good man, sweetheart.”

Now you stood. You pulled his head down so his forehead pressed against yours and you rested your other hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“Don’t you dare say that to me, Jason Peter Todd,” you said fiercely. “You are the only man I love. The only man I trust. I wouldn’t want to do life with anyone other than you. I want it all, the good and the bad. You do so much for me and for this city.”

Your hand smoothed down the hair on the back of his neck. “Let me take care of you for once. Let me protect you from that mind of yours. I want to have a baby with you, bubs, because I trust you more than anyone that you would love and cherish and protect us with your entire being.”

“I would crawl out of a grave and dip into the Lazarus pit again and again if it meant keeping you safe,” he whispered fiercely.

“I know.” Tears were spilling down your cheeks. “I love you, Jason. So much.”

He clasped his hand over the one that rested on his chest. All of the doubts and insecurities started to ebb away with your gentle touch and soothing words. He burned with the very thought of you filled with a reminder of him. A signal that he was somehow lucky enough, good enough, blessed to be able to worship you the way you deserved.

Jason slid one of his hands under your ass and hauled you up so your legs wrapped around his waist. He scooted past the now cuddling cats and headed towards the bathroom as you laughed and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“What are you doing?” you exclaimed as he sat you down on the sink counter. Jason reached for the back of his shirt and shot you an incredulous look.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Strip, we need to practice.”

The sun emerged from the darkness finally and bathed Gotham in a rare cloudless sky, but it went unnoticed to the two of you. You were, well, busy.

Tag List: @khaetiin​ @mcrmarvelloki​ @gone-batty-fics​ @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @cursedandromedablack​ @alexxavicry​ @havingarebelliousstage​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @raging-trash-of-mind​ @kat-nee​ @khaylin27​

#jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd angst #jason todd fluff #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood angst #red hood fluff

[alphabetboyluvr]

dance with the devil | jjk

REQUEST | jktaee3 on wp

VIBES | angst, royalty - bridgerton vibes, childhood friends to enemies to ?luvrs?

SOUNDTRACK | die for you - joji

HOLLY'S NOTE | (originally posted april 2023) so fun facts, i've never watched bridgerton. i actually put it on in the background as i was writing, which is where the lil line about being diamond comes from. i also do fuck all world-building in this, so just... use your imagination lol. i have no idea if this is like... correct? i dont read nor write period pieces and haven't done since school so.... go easy on me hahaha <33

also!! went for jeongguk instead of jungkook. feels more dramatic? time appropriate?? idk! mix of eng and Korean inspo for titles / locations!!

WORD COUNT | 2.5k

There are easily a hundred pairs of eyes on you as you walk into the ballroom. Maybe more. The room is grand, gilded in gold—grotesque in its display of wealth, but nothing new to you. You've been in a dozen rooms like this within the last month alone. More money than taste—but you can't buy class.

Despite the influx of unwelcome stares, there's just one you can actually feel. It comes from a pair of deep brown eyes in the corner of the room; a glass of red in one hand, the gloved fingers of your least favourite cousin in the other.

Dark and brooding, Jeon Jeongguk has no right to look at you in the way that he does. Duke of Busan, womaniser of more counties than you care to imagine, he's troubled wrapped up in a waistcoat and ruby-encrusted signet rings.

But you've always liked trouble. Shame.

The grip that Lord Min of Daegu has on your hand tightens. He can notice it too; Jeongguk's stare. Your satin gloves are silky against Lord Min's skin, and he must admit he enjoys being the focus of Jeon Jeongguk's envy. He thinks it's about time that the over-egotistical tyrant of hearts had his comeuppance.

"Remember," Lord Min whispers quietly to you as the crowd watches on. He's a trusted confidant; not suited for marriage. At least not with you. It's the county's worst-kept secret that he retires to the boudoir with Master Park each and every evening. No one at the ball is under any illusion that he is a suitor of yours. "You're a diamond in a mine of sapphires."

"Oh, but sapphires are far prettier than diamonds," you pout, voice dulcet as you scan the room. It's approaching your birthday, and time is running out. A suitor needs to be found, and found promptly. Too much time squandered on frivolous pursuits during your youth had prevented such a search.

It's something you're reminded of whenever your eyes catch Jeongguk's. Endless days spent under beating midsummer sunshine; burnt skin and freckled cheeks. Youth well-spent. Youth wasted.

"So? It matters not." Lord Min smiles. "Diamonds are far stronger. Sharper. And still just as exquisite as sapphires. Do not sell yourself short."

And by that, you know exactly what he implies: steer clear of the Duke of Busan.

It would be a fruitless endeavour. No good would come from it.

Years of your childhood had been spent in a whimsical land with him, full of castles and fairies, and witches and warlocks. Potions had been made in his garden using his mother's best perfumes and items stolen from the pantry; make-believe scenarios came to life in the forest between your family's estates.

Summers had been frittered away together by the sea; Winterton Manor the backdrop of your dreams, your hopes, your fears.

But the Duke did as Dukes so often do; embroiled himself in debauchery and distasteful pleasures.

You had watched on, bemused for the most part, and also intrigued by what compelled him.

Had you not been enough?

Grapevines whisper, and Jeongguk had spent far too much time frolicking in vineyards. Drunk on the delights of his youth, he'd forgotten that there would be life beyond the present.

It's a price he pays, now. A debt he hadn't realised he had racked up.

One that he's reminded of every single time you glance his way. He cannot afford a diamond.

Somehow, however, he can seem to afford the audacity of approaching you in the powder room towards the end of the evening.

You've had lacklustre dances with half a dozen bachelors, and they've all been uninspiring. Only two of them managed to make it through the waltz without stepping on your toes.

Time is running out.

And Jeongguk?

He's running in circles trying to get you out of his head.

Seems apt that he'd bump into you at some point.

Not like he sought you out. Not at all.

Not like he handed the maids by the staircase a few silver coins to divert other partygoers elsewhere, either. He wouldn't dream of doing such a thing.

The Duke of Busan knows you well.

Knows that it takes all of your might to not glance in his direction as he makes his presence known.

"Really?" He asks with a cocked brow and arrogant smirk, leaning against the doorframe. You're preening at your hair. Making sure your pins remain in place. "That's what you chose to wear? To a ball of this grandeur?"

You're wearing white. It's tight against your chest. Too tight. Pleated beneath the satin ribbon under your bust, encrusted with sequins and finished with lace. It's beautiful. Matches the white satin gloves that finish just above the crease of your elbow. You carry yourself with elegance.

In fact, your posture is so well-poised that Jeongguk is the only attendee of the ball who has noticed the split in your skirt. When stood, it is hidden by the pleats. When dancing, it is camouflaged by the lace. When you lift your skirt to meander up the stairs? He becomes reacquainted with the curve of your ankle. The split is no larger than the length of a letter inviting him to tea, but it feels overwhelmingly large.

As far as the Duke is concerned, you may as well be wearing lingerie.

You smooth the skirt of your dress and consider rearranging your tits just to give him something to stare at. You decide against it. Think he would enjoy it far too much.

"Oh precisely," you respond with an equally arrogant grin, before turning to face him. You're haughty in the way you position your body, almost as if you're trying to entice him. "Haven't you heard? I've a suitor to find."

He scoffs. "And you think dressing like a whore is going to find you one of any value?"

A whore.

Very rich of him, you think, as if the entire party doesn't know what he gets up to in the dark. And the daylight. And just about any time of the day, actually.

What they really don't know?

That he used to get up to it with you.

"Absolutely not," you smile. Your father might want you married off, but there's no suitor here for you. Not tonight. If you have to bring a man home, it unquestionably has to be one that your father won't approve of. "That's the point—although, now I come to think of it—this dress did seem to find you, didn't it, Jeongguk?"

He stays quiet for a moment. He doesn't enjoy you being correct. It's part of the reason you bicker so much. You're always correct.

"White really isn't your colour," he tells you with an ambivalent shrug. "We both know that."

Innocence. Purity. Virginity.

For once, The Duke is correct. It really isn't your colour.

Humorous, how he's dressed head to toe in black. Perhaps you should be, too.

"And green isn't yours," you tease, walking towards him. "Yet you seemed to be full of it when I entered the ballroom with the Lord of Daegu."

He remains silent. Can sense you have more to declare.

"Moreover," you hum, proving him right as you pause beside him, "as I'm sure you're well aware, Duke, it's the colour beneath the dress that counts."

"And what is beneath the dress?" Jeongguk husks, not looking over towards you. He doesn't want to let you know how much you affect him, still.

"The same lace that greeted you last summer in the stables of Winterton Manor."

Red. Fuck.

His favourite.

"Tell me, Duke," you tease. He deserves it, you think. "Does the Viscount of Gwangju like red?"

"Hoseok?" Jeongguk scoffs, addressing him by name, not title. The lack of respect shown by the young Duke is asinine, truly. A show of his immaturity. "Despises it."

Truthfully, he has no idea of Viscount of Gwangju's preferences.

"Good," you taunt. "I'm enthralled by the prospect of a challenge."

Jeongguk will be damned if you end up betrothed to the Viscount of fucking Gwangju.

"He concedes easily," he says. This is another lie. He just doesn't want to give you any further ideas. "Do not expect a challenge. Anticipate disappointment."

"Oh, but Duke," you laugh and it's so exquisite that he thinks he might just melt. "Disappointment has always been your forte, has it not?"

During the balls of recent years, where Jeongguk would only ever offer his hand to other women, and never you? Yes. Disappointing.

In the smoky parlours, where he laughs and jokes with the other gentlemen, about which debutantes are simply destined to become spinsters? Oh, incredibly disappointing.

In the drawing room adjacent to his bedroom, while you had waited beneath his sheets for his return, as he was agreeing to court your cousin instead of you? Perhaps the most disappointing he'd ever been.

It's been a year—the worst of your life.

"You've made your bed, Duke. Sleep in it."

"I've tried," he says sternly. He doesn't want to joke any more. Doesn't want to flirt. "I cannot bear to sleep in it without you."

You shake your head. Such a devil.

"You seem well rested enough."

"It's a facade."

And you find yourself quite annoyed; frustrated by his apparent disdain for a life he chose. A destiny brought upon you both by his inability to be discreet—though you're unaware of this caveat.

You see, everyone does know of his reputation, but he always kept your pursuits of passion hidden. Private. To the world, you're pristine.

"What do you require, Duke? My pity?"

He knows he doesn't deserve it.

"I require nothing of you."

"Then seek me out no longer. Do not pursue what you cannot commandeer, Jeongguk."

It's a lesson he would have done well to learn many moons ago; one remembered by you even if it was lost on him.

And yet, at quarter past twelve, as he loosens the black satin bow of his collar in his bedroom, Jeongguk pauses.

A knock has just sounded at his door. His chambermaid, he assumes, just checking on the fire—or maybe Master Park's chambermaid, instead (though Jeongguk's business with Master Park's staff isn't ever entirely 'business').

Regretfully, he thinks it could be Lord Kim Namjoon of Ilsan, here to reprimand him for his manners. His mentor in all fashions, Namjoon is always the first to discipline the young Duke following his nights of debauchery—though all things considered, he feels he's been quite well-behaved tonight.

He sighs as he rests a palm flat against his bedpost, and bellows, "Enter."

A sternness settles on his brows, hard and uncompromising, as he turns to the door. There's a dishevelled nature to his hair, undone and falling slightly over his dark eyes. His loosened collar and unbuttoned waistcoat only aid to make him look even more rugged.

He's marred in vulnerability, though. His pretty pink lips rest ajar, as his eyes fall on the intruder of his thoughts.

Amusing, you think, how the bedroom is where he domineers best, and yet is always where he seems the most unfortified.

Perhaps he hadn't been lying about his facade.

Perhaps he really doesn't sleep well without you.

Perhaps—just perhaps—you might indulge him one last time.

"Tell me, Duke"— You walk into his room and close the door behind you, eyes not leaving his —"Do any of them compare?"

He watches you strut past him and crawl on the luxe quilt on his bed. Oh, how you've missed it.

"Any of who?"

"The maids," you shrug. You aren't naive. You know exactly what he does, and who he does it with. "Master Park's maids? Surely Lord Kim's, too. And the working girls. The debutantes—need I go on?"

"No," he says, watching as you loosen your heels and kick them to the floor. They land with a thud. He knows the noise will have echoed throughout the house. "You needn't."

The truth of the matter is that his escapades are well-known amongst high society. He has a reputation, which is why his courtship with your cousin was forced upon him.

You're surely too good for him, but he's of too much value to remain without an heir.

A marriage is needed for him before the end of the year. His father says so.

Contrarily, your father would never agree to the Duke of Busan proclaiming you as his Dutchess.

Jeongguk knows this, for he's already asked.

Of course he has.

Last spring. Kept his mother's ring in his pocket just in case. A proposal was planned for early summer, before your trip to Paris.

He thought perhaps he would go with you—a pre-honeymoon, maybe—but your father had refused his request for your hand, and who was Jeongguk to go against the will of the man who had raised you?

Jeongguk won't burden you with this knowledge. Your life will be far more fruitful if you remain silently furious with him for never giving you what you deserved.

"And do they?" You enquire once more. unaware of his anguish. "Do they compare?"

Jeongguk leans down to his boots. Unties his laces and stands on his heels to remove them. He kicks them away. Is just as undressed as you are. Equal.

"Do you think my bed would be empty right now if they did?"

"It isn't empty," you tease.

"No," he acknowledges. "But it has been. It's been empty for months."

"Months?"

You don't believe him.

"I've had an empty bed since I returned from Winterton last summer," he declares.

"Though your hands have been full?" You sneer, painfully reminded of the way he'd held the hand of another woman in the ballroom that evening. You've had to bear witness to it on multiple occasions by now. It never gets any easier. Your fucking cousin, of all people.

"Pay no mind to the fact my hands have not been empty in ballrooms," he speaks quietly, shame washing over his features. Yes, it would be far more desirable if you were to be furious with him, but he wants to alleviate the hurt that you are quite clearly encumbered with. "As I said, it's a facade."

"Why? What are you hiding, Duke?"

As if you don't know—he laments—that I'm utterly besotted with you.

He glances away from you to watch the fire as it crackles in his hearth. He wonders if it would be less painful to tear his heart from his chest and roast it in the flames, than it is to be in love with you.

"I hide nothing from you," he says with a broad smile as he turns to face you once more. Jeongguk is adept at falsifying his discretions. "But I am without at a dance."

You grin, now. "A dance?"

"I'd love one," he smirks as he holds out his hand. He twists your words almost as elegantly as he used to twist you around on empty ballroom floors; just two of you after the parties had died down and the revellers had hung up their dancing shoes.

He strides to the side of the bed. Satisfaction sinks into his features when your gloved hand slips into his palm. He pulls you up. Pulls you closer. Rests a hand upon your waist and positions himself perfectly for you. He was raised a gentleman after all, even if grew up to be a rogue.

"May I have this dance?" He says quietly, only needing to whisper.

You're so close you probably count the beat of his heart.

One, two.

Does anyone dance better than I do?

Three, four.

Do you lose your breath when someone else draws you closer?

Five, six.

I could dance with you forever.

Seven, eight.

Would that be agreeable?

Nine, ten.

As if you can read his thoughts, you just nod.

"You may."

#bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jk ff #jungkook ff #royalty au #royal bangtan #bangtan ff #jungkook angst #jjk fic #jungkook x reader #bridgertonxbangtan #bridgerton #bts #ahhhhh i still hate tagging #free me from this HELL #enjooooyyyyy x #byholly

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

The Batman (2022) isn't perfect by any means, but it is still a phenomenal film and one of the best pieces of Bat-media in recent memory.

Firstly, the aesthetic. Seemingly small but an incredibly important part. BTAS was broody, '89 was gothic, Forever was campy, TDK was... bad. And TB I think finds a real sweet spot in between vibes. It's dark, serious, it's got a technological noir, and yet still has vibrancy and color and (the key to my heart) neon.

One scene, you'll be sitting in an abandoned tunnel with shadows and muddy colors, the next you'll be surrounded by police under white lights, and the next you'll be in a night club with LEDs of every color you can think.

The fights. This film has some of the best Batman fights I've ever seen period. Really just action in general. The night club, the hallway, the finale. It's not like TDK where every fight is slow, precise, methodical, and honestly boring. Each fight or chase here is energetic and entertaining. The choreography is excellent, the stakes are legitimately high, and the settings are always unique.

The night club is crowded and overwhelming, with people swinging, shouting, and grabbing at Bats who aren't even apart of the fight. His skills and equipment save his life multiple times, whether it's block a bullet with a precise pipe throw or survive a shotgun blast with his armor. When he finally grabs Penguin you feel as overwhelmed and animalistic as he does.

The precinct escape is tight and tense. From the punch to the jump, every second makes you feel the absolute abominable stress of trying to escape a building like this. Officers pouring out of every room, bullets whizzing by and beaming off his suit. Merely seconds to get the flight suit on before they come pouring out to the roof. We experience the fall with him as his nerves spike, all culminating in a quick second decision that ends with him crashing into the side of the road.

Gotham. The beloved city feels full here. Subways are crowded, streets are packed. The crime feels real. Vandals, gang violence, thieves, assassins, crime families. It's not just militants and killers. We see the systemic issues in place that cause these. We see the feelings and social strains that make people do this. It's like you're taking a peak into another world with context and history you don't know but understand. It feels right.

The characterizations. I'm not a huge fan of the whole "Bruce Wayne is the mask, Batman is the real you" thing inflamed by TDK. And I really don't like "the Waynes were corrupt and did bad things, even for good reasons".

I think there's so much more to say about the two very different, very real sides to Bruce's personality. The one that comes out as billionaire playboy philanthropist, and the one that comes out as a violent and vengeful demon. Both who are willing to suffer for their causes. And I think there's so much more when the Waynes die from a mugging. That the crime is so bad it took the highest. That it could take anyone at any time, even the beloved elite.

However it does something right that most other Bat-media fails at. It makes Batman a symbol of hope. It demonstrates a growth in himself. That he can do more good to inspire the people than to instill fear in them.

Pandaredd made a good video on this, but in Crisis On Two Earths, Bats' opposite is represented as the ultimate nihilist. This means that at his core, Batman is really the ultimate optimist. And that makes sense. You don't put on a suit and fight crime, you don't try to create resources to help people, you don't befriend and reform your own Rogues gallery unless you believe you can change something. That all the work you do, all the suffering you experience will be worth it when you get to know the world healed.

And that's something The Batman understands. Batman started as a symbol of fear. So that every criminal hesitates at an alley. Panics at a shadow. But he became something else. A symbol of optimism. So that people can walk the streets at night. That they can get the help they need. That they can look into the sky with hope.

#i mean dude literally has a candy pouch on his tool belt. he's just the friendly neighborhood nightmare demon #amywho go watch The Long Halloween. it has good morally-iffy Waynes and a near perfect Two Face #batman #the batman #battinson #robert pattinson #gotham #gotham city #bruce wayne #the batman 2022 #i actually don't really like zodiac Riddler but i can excuse it for this film. i much prefer flamboyant twink Riddler #theres a cool animatic of “Good Songs Never Die” which has scary batman and a unique Riddler. highly recommend it #iceberg lounge #movies #films #i despise The Dark Knight in case it wasn't obvious #I'll probably make a video about the trilogy someday but nearly everything about those films are just WRONG #they are great movies ig but absolutely trash batman films that an entire generation of fans modeled their perception off of #batman fandom #now all I'm saying is maybe one day we'll get harlivy in something outside of the comics or HQ show #lord knows James gunn isn't gonna give it to us

[mamaspresley]

happy birthday | austinbutler

note reading this request killed me bruh who hurt u anon?? i asked the discord gc how i was even supposed to go about this... its so sad. but i love it. so here u go! wc 1,934 tw austin literally forgetting ur birthday. wtf.

req yes

     austin was running around like crazy as of recently. it was the last few weeks of shooting so everything was falling into place, baz was starting to align all the scenes and everyone could begin to see everything coming together, but that also meant that the cast had even more pressure on them. everyone was excited to be done but they were also a little sad — austin had explained it as a bittersweet feeling, relieved that the stress of the last two years was finally coming to close, but upset that he would have to go back to a normal lifestyle, for what was normal for him. 

     you always took pride in austin’s work, he was a phenomenal actor and you supported him as much as you could, whether that be going to see his works or being there whenever he needed. it was difficult, at times though, when he’d be gone for long periods of time or threw himself so far into his work that he seemed to brush you off. it was often, and you knew he didn’t mean to ignore you, but it just happened naturally although usually it passed quickly. this time, though, was different. 

     you hadn’t spoken a real conversation with each other in about a week, you guessed, and hadn’t really seen him in days. you always knew he came home, you’d hear the door open late at night and felt him crawl into bed with you, but most times you were too tired, and so was he, to stay up and spend time with each other, so he’d greet you with a kiss to your shoulder and then pass out moments later. you missed your boyfriend, but you knew how seriously he took his career and had made the commitment to support him when you first got together. you couldn’t complain — technically, you had signed up for this. 

     it wasn’t until your birthday that you ever said anything. 

     “you’re so old now! i miss you.” you were on a call with your sister, pulling into your driveway as she was connected to the bluetooth in your car. “how is everything? got any big plans for your birthday?”

     “yeah, actually. austin isn’t needed today so i think we’re gonna do something,” you answered, the smile on your face being your first genuine one in a while. you were excited to see your boyfriend, actually spend time with him for once in what felt like forever. “he’ll be done filming in a couple weeks but he’s been so busy lately, i feel like i haven’t seen him in years,” you explained, pressing the button to open your garage. 

     “that’s good. tell him i say hi. you still want me to come down for the premiere?”

     “yeah, definitely. i’m going with him to cannes but whenever it gets to theatres here we’ll get you a ticket,” you said, glancing over as you noticed the second garage door lift open and austin’s car reverse out. “can i call you back in a bit? i just got home.”

     “yeah, for sure. love you.”

     “love you too.” you hung up with your sister, then honked your horn to grab austin’s attention. the boy looked over, and his lips curled into a soft smile as he lifted a hand to wave at you. he looked tired, hair wet from the shower you assumed he had just taken and his thin smile not quite reaching his eyes. he still looked as pretty as the day you’d met him so many years ago, but you knew he was exhausted. this movie was kicking the shit out of him, and more for his case than yours you couldn’t wait for it to be over. 

     you rolled your passenger window down, him following suit, and you leaned into the passenger seat as you yelled to him. “where are you going? i thought you had the day off.”

     “baz just called, i guess he needs me to come and help him with piecing together a bit of the scenes,” austin explained, and you felt your heart drop a little in your chest. “shouldn’t be long, though. just a couple hours. i’ll be home for supper i think. you’re not working tonight, right?”

     he forgot about your birthday. “no, i’m not.”

     “okay, i’ll see you later then. i love you!” austin called, giving you a smile before continuing to back out of the driveway. he hadn’t even waited for you to say i love you back, and he had obviously forgotten why both of you had the day off. 

     you tried to shake it off as you pulled into the garage, and up into the house. you were greeted by your pup, who jumped on you as soon as you walked in the door and barked up at you. at least someone remembered your birthday. “hi, baby,” you cooed, a smile forming on your face as you knelt down to play with the small puppy. 

     you spent the rest of the day not doing much, watching netflix and answering calls or texts from your friends and family who reached out to tell you happy birthday. by the time six o’clock came around, you were starving so you made yourself something light to eat in case austin came home. it was ten o’clock by the time you realized, and you had nothing better to do so you went upstairs to take a shower and get ready for bed. 

     by the time you were getting out of the shower, your towel wrapped around you and toothbrush in hand, you heard the main door downstairs open and close, and you sighed. you wanted him to come home but to be honest, you were dreading it. it hurt, austin forgetting your birthday, but you tried to ignore the feeling as best you could. you continued brushing your teeth, hearing austin yell into the house, “y/n? you up, baby?”

     you spat out the toothpaste, calling back to him. “upstairs!” moments later you heard his footsteps walking into the bedroom, and the sliding door into your bathroom opened, revealing austin with his dark hair and grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and eyes circled dark with eyeliner. you looked up at him, speaking through your toothbrush. “you had to film today?”

     “yeah, baz wanted me to retake a couple things,” he explained, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. you mumbled something, finishing up before washing your face and moving into your closet to change. by the time you walked back out, wearing only a t-shirt of austin’s, he was lying in bed, shirt off with his sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he laid on his stomach, scrolling through his phone. you said nothing as you crawled into bed, reaching over to turn the light off. 

     “you okay?” austin asked, not glancing up from his phone but offering a hand, reaching over as he draped his arm around your chest, rubbing your shoulder. 

     “mhm.” you rolled over onto your side, back facing him. it was then that he looked over at you, but you couldn’t see. he retracted his hand and went back to his phone, deciding to ignore it. you were probably just tired. 

     it wasn’t until filming was done, austin technically being completely finished with the project, that he realized he had missed your birthday. it was the first day he had nothing to do, when he was lounging around the house all day, waiting for you to get home. 

     that day was olivia’s birthday. he had reached out to her first thing in the morning, texting her that he wishes her a good day, and that’s when it hit him. your birthday was just about a month before olivia’s, but he couldn’t remember doing anything for it. that’s because he forgot. 

     laying back in bed, austin ran his face over his hands. fuck. he was an idiot. he glanced over to your side of the bed, sheets still tangled from when you had gotten up and gone to work hours before without a word. usually you kissed him goodbye, or he’d do the same to you depending on who left first, but you hadn’t done that in a while. austin didn’t think much of it until he realized why. 

     this wasn’t something that he felt comfortable just texting you about, so he decided to wait until you got home. he had gone out and bought some groceries and things he needed, having a plan on how he would surprise you. it was about 6:30 when you got home, finally, austin felt like he had been waiting forever. as soon as he heard the garage door open, he scrambled into the kitchen, grabbing the bouquet of roses he had bought earlier, and positioned himself leaning against the island counter. he felt stupid, but he felt stupider knowing that he had forgotten something as big as this — and gone weeks without realizing, mind you. 

     “hi, my love,” austin greeted as you walked into the living area. you paused, your feet frozen in place as you looked

at him, dressed in black jeans and a black long sleeve, hair recently dyed back to his natural sandy blonde. he held red roses in his hands, a nice contrast to the all black he wore. “how was work?”

     “it was fine… what is this?” he had candles on the table in the middle of the room, a nice smell of something cooking on the stove, and the lights in your house were dimmed slightly, the night sky doing nothing to light up the room save for the moonlight. 

     “it’s a… birthday present,” he said, and when you looked back at him, you could see the nervous look on his face. austin wasn’t a generally nervous person, as far as being uncertain of himself went. you could tell this was eating at him, though, and you felt your heart skip as a beat as he began walking towards you. “i’m sorry.”

     you dropped your purse to the floor, pressing your lips into a line. 

     “i’m the worst person in the world,” he said, placing the roses on the table next to the candles and reached out, cupping your face in his hands. “i love you. and i’m sorry i forgot your birthday. i’m a fucking idiot and i don’t understand how you haven’t gotten right pissed off at me yet. i don’t deserve you.”

     you didn’t say anything, just accepted the hug that he offered you. austin held your head to his chest, his fingers moving to run through your hair soothingly. you could hear his heart beating only inches away from your ear, and you closed your eyes. “i love you too,” you mumbled, fisting at his shirt. “but i am mad at you. a little bit.”

     “why do you think i cooked and got you flowers and ran you a bubble bath?”

     “you ran me a bubble bath?” you asked, pulling away from the boy. he nodded, and you pouted your lower lip before standing on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips. austin didn’t let you pull away so soon, though, as he moved a hand to your jaw, holding you firmly as he bent down and kissed you back deeply. your tongues danced with each other, lips wet and soft as your breath mixed together and you couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed you like this. “is there room for you in the tub, too?” you questioned, pulling away from him. 

austin licked his lips, eyes cloudy as he chuckled. “i’m sure we can make room,” he mumbled, lips finding yours once more as he deepened the kiss again.

➳ @mesbouquins @reeldeal @suspiciousbutler @sagesolsticewrites @shimmeringlights44 @bonzaiblitzz @butlersbitxh @floralcyanide @sassy-ahsoka-tano @austin-butlers-gf @anangelwhodidntfall @she-is-juniper @butler-on-beale-street

#austin butler #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfic #austin butler imagine #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis presley #baz luhrmann #jackie writes #mamaspresley

[xoxoladyaz]

AU-gust, Day Two: Immortals

TW: Major character death (sort of?), allusions to sex, vampires

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“Hell yeah, dudette.”

Maybe Argyle wasn’t the best person to ask about this after all, Stevie thought as she sipped on the final dregs of her vanilla latte. (Comped coffee was the only real perk to working at Starbucks. That, and spending time with Argyle.) 

Argyle hummed as he took a bite of his warmed-up pizza. “I’m pretty sure I was a dragonfly in my last life. Righteous, huh? Hey,” he said as he chewed (which, gross), “why do you ask?”

Stevie shrugged as she set her now-empty cup down. “I’ve just been having weird dreams lately.”

“Ooh, yeah, that’s totally a sign of a past life,” Argyle nodded emphatically. “What are you dreaming about?”

A man dressed in a suit but, like, an old suit, something out of one of those period pieces that her mom always used to watch when she got drunk. Long black curls that fell like water across his shoulders and back. A bejeweled cape, as black as the midnight sky.

Eyes as red as blood.

Teeth as sharp as knives.

“Hello, darling.”

“Just some guy.”

Argyle quirked his eyebrow as he took another large bite of pizza. “Just some guy, huh?”

“Yeah.”

No.

A manor in the far distant European countryside, teeming with life – or, rather, filled with a wide circle of those just like him: alluring, red-eyed and cold. Voices that lilted like music. Opulent rooms filled with beautiful people (if they were, in fact, people), entire ballrooms filled with nobility but she was not one of those guests: no. 

She was family.

And no matter the pedigree or riches of the hopeful young women that entered those rooms, his eyes never strayed from her.

“Was he, like, your boyfriend or something?”

Darkness broken by candlelight. Silken sheets, cool to the touch. Her skin on his skin that was cold, so cold, it should have been warm but her racing blood made up for it.

“Darling.”

“My one.”

“My only.”

“My love.”

And then, the soft bliss of ecstasy.

“I don’t know, something like that,” Stevie shrugged, her eyes nervously darting away from Argyle. “It just – it felt so real, you know?”

“Yeah? What part?”

Meeting in a garden – or was it a conservatory? Perhaps a shop along the street? Wearing a dress that she wouldn’t be caught dead in today (mainly due to the huge, layered skirts and corset.) A crooning voice holding a handkerchief out to her – “I believe this belongs to you” – and the owner’s smile setting her chest ablaze.

The blur of time in those gilded halls: dancing, laughing, making love, eating and drinking and being merry. Wishing in that moment, in that dream, that she could just stay there forever and ever.

The cold kiss of the blade as her father withdrew it from her chest. No apologies, only that they “could not risk it.” A roar of rage followed by the cool splatter of her father’s blood on her face.

Those same cold hands that grasped at her, murmuring prayers that she’d believed he’d forgotten.

“It’s okay, my love.”

“No, no,” her love’s voice swore as he tucked her head underneath his chin. “This is not the end! I will not allow it.

“I will find you again someday.

“I promise you that.”

“All of it.” She looked up and met Argyle’s eyes. “Kind of wish it was real.”

“Wishes are powerful things, man,” Argyle nodded solemnly. “Whoever this guy is, he’s going to come back to you. I can feel it.”

Stevie can’t stop herself from smiling. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Argyle grinned back at her before shoving the last of his pizza into his mouth. “I’m catching those energies big time.”

“You’re going to be catching something else if you two don’t head back onto the floor,” Keith interrupted, sticking his head in the door. “Your mandatory fifteen is up.”

“Pretty sure we’ve only been back here for ten.”

Someone hit the service bell near the register. Keith quirked his eyebrow at Stevie, completely unimpressed. “Well?”

Stevie shot Argyle a look before standing up. Argyle, bless his heart, was too sweet to ever say something rude to Keith. (Stevie’s not, but she sure as hell doesn’t want to lose this job.) “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” she muttered, and she threw her emerald-green-corporate-mandated apron over her clothes. Keith barely moved out of the way, meaning she got a whiff of his perpetual nacho-cheese stink on the way to the register, and she barely had time to swallow down her disgust before passing through the swinging doors and entering the main room.

“Sorry about that,” Stevie said as she crossed over, quickly adjusting her nametag before glancing up. “How can I - ”

The man is dressed in a pair of torn yet obviously expensive black jeans with a matching black linen shirt. His leather jacket is as black as the midnight sky. Long black curls that fall like water across his shoulders and back shine underneath the store’s fluorescents. His eyes have an almost reddish tint, and when he smiles, his teeth are as sharp as knives.

“Someday,” Stevie breathed back to her love, the last word she spoke before diving into the darkness that follows life.

Someday. 

“Hello, darling.”

It looks like someday is today.

#steddie #steve harrington #fem steve harrington #female steve harrington #vampire eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fanfic #august fanfic challenge #roughly inspired by Dracula and if I had more time would maybe be a full length fic but alas #I have too many wips

[shawtygonemad]

Fanfic Advent Calendar 2022 - Day 23/24: Sweet Substitute

Jimmy McGill/Saul Goodman x Reader

Angst & Mild 🌶Spicy Sauce🌶

Prompt: "You've got whipped cream on your *insert favorite body part*."

Advent Calendar Masterlist

The warm air hit my face as I exited the car. Fifty degrees on Christmas Eve still felt weird to me. However, seeing the bare ground made me yearn for the snow of Washington, where I grew up. Very rarely have I ever seen snow in Albuquerque. The feeling of the cold wetness could almost be felt on my face if I closed my eyes. Next year I'll have to take Saul back home to experience it with me.

Speaking of, I needed to pick up his Christmas gift from the office. You'd think this would be the last place I'd hide a gift since he's here almost everyday. Luckily, I had the perfect place for it. Just as I was unlocking the front door, my phone rang. It was the man himself.

"Hello?" I spoke into the phone as I opened the door and stepped inside, quickly turning off the alarm system.

"Hey! Where are you at?" Saul's soothing voice came through the speaker.

"I had to run to the office to pick up your gift," I replied.

"You hid it at the office?! Where?" He asked surprised.

"The last place you'd look," I chuckled as I rounded the front counter.

"Francesca's desk," he sighed in defeat.

"Bingo!" I happily cheer at his correct answer.

I picked up the wrapped box from the drawer and set it on the counter.

"Hey, while you're there would you be able to grab my briefcase? I left it on my desk. Oh! And my work phone. See if we got any messages on it."

"You want me to work on Christmas Eve?" I narrowed my eyes.

"No! But you know we have some high profile clients that tend to call at all hours," Saul chuckled.

"I am not letting Walter White ruin our Christmas together," I stated.

"He won't, I promise. Now hurry up and bring your perky little ass home to me. I have a surprise for you," He trailed off with lust entering his voice.

"Yeah?" I purred while letting my voice dip into a sultry tone. "I'll be quick then."

I hung up as excitement started to swirl within me. Saul always know the right things to say to me. He treated me right. Something I could never say about anyone until now. Plus that man was an amazing lover. He always got off on getting me off. I needed to hurry so I could get home to him.

Briskly, I entered his office. The briefcase was on his desk, as he said. The phone, however, was a bit of a challenge to track down. It wasn't in the usual places he left it. Thankfully, a soft buzzing sound could be heard through the silence. I followed the noise to a discarded suit jacket haphazardly tossed on the couch. It was still buzzing as I pulled it out. The caller ID made my heart still. Kim Wexler.

Saul's ex-wife. I've been friends with Saul a long time. Back when he went by Jimmy McGill. So I was around for the time period he and Kim were on again off again. Personally, I didn't think she was good for Jimmy. But that could just be my own feelings talking.

I've always had a thing for the man and was beyond thrilled when he wanted to start hooking up. I thought he reciprocated my feelings. Unfortunately, every time Kim came back into the picture, I was tossed aside. It had become very clear to me that I was the rebound. The substitute for the woman he was really in love with. I called things off with him until he finally decided what he really wanted. Unfortunately, Kim made that decision for him when she moved away to start her own firm separate from Jimmy's.

I was there to pick up the pieces of his heart she had left shattered behind. He was a wreck and had no one there to help piece him together besides me. During that time, I guess Jimmy realized that I was truly the only one there for him. He claimed that he wanted no one else but me. So we gave it another shot, and things have been happy ever since. Until now.

When I gathered the courage to answer the phone, it was already too late and went to the voice-mail. With gritted teeth and a new angry fire within, I listened to the voice-mail. What the hell could she possibly have left to say after breaking this man's heart. She has another thing coming if she thinks he'll just come running right back to her.

"Hey Jimmy! I'm just returning your call. I'd love to have lunch with you on Monday. Though noon doesn't work for me, so how about 1:30? Call me back."

My heart sank. Returning your call. He was the one who had reached out to her first. He was setting up a lunch date with her. Why? Why would he do this? I thought we were happy. Everything had been going so well between us and with the law firm! Why am I never good enough for him? What the hell does Kim Wexler have that I don't?

Angst soured my mood as I got into the car and drove to our shared apartment. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I tried to come up with something to say to him. After everything I've done for him, he still runs back to her. Well, that was the last time I'll ever piece him back together. I will no longer allow this man to use me and toy with my feelings. It's over.

A muffled sob left my lips when the thought crossed my mind. I didn't want it to be over. It had been so good. I loved this man more than I have with anyone else. But I had to do this. I couldn't keep living this way. I deserved to be with someone who wanted me, always and forever.

I wiped the tears away when I parked the car. A deep breath heaved through my chest before I put on a stone cold face. I'm going to go up there, pack, and tell him it's over. Nothing will change my mind. Not even his cute little puppy dog eyes he likes to use when I'm upset with him. My mind has been made up.

My legs felt like cinder blocks as I drug myself up to our apartment. After another breath, I unlocked the door and stepped inside. I tried my best not to look at the pictures of us happily together that littered the walls. My mind couldn't be changed. This needed to be done.

Soft Christmas music could be heard from the bedroom. A faint yellow glow was seen through the cracked doorway. My anger flaired again as I was reminded that it was Christmas Eve. How dare he put me through this today of all days. My favorite holiday was about to be ruined.

I flung the hall closet open and grabbed my suitcase from the top shelf. Aggressively, I pulled it down to me with a huff. The noise must have caught Saul's attention.

"Y/N?" He called softly from the bedroom.

I ignored him as I burst through the door with my suitcase in hand. Tossing it open on the floor, I started to briskly walk through the room and grab anything I saw of mine. Without caring, I tossed it into the open case of the floor.

"Y/N? What's wrong?" He asked slightly concerned.

I spun around to tell him off. Before speaking, I took in the situation. Saul must have planned for a spicy night in with the music, glow of the candles, and the fact that he was nude on the bed. His soft cream skin was in full view. Those brown curly chest hairs I loved to lay my head upon. And my favorite part of him was still standing up in salute. A salute that was coated in foreign white substance.

"You've got whipped cream on your dick," I said blankly before turning back around to the task at hand.

I couldn't look at him. If I did, then the chances of me caving in were to rise. I needed to stay strong. The bed springs could be heard as Saul got up from the bed and approached me.

"Why are you packing? Where are you going?" Saul asked, getting more nervous the more I packed.

"I think we both know the answer to that," I snapped.

"No, I don't. Mind filling me in?" His concerned voice started to get a hint of annoyance in it.

"I'm just making things easier for you, so you'll have nothing to worry about when you have lunch with Kim on Monday. She says that noon doesn't work for her and that 1:30 will be better," I spat.

A deep sigh left the man as he pinched his index finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose. No doubt a headache was starting to form for him.

"Y/N, it's not what it sounds like," he tried to reason.

"No, I think it sounds exactly like it is," I growled as I turned to face him. "She's back in your life and you're just going to toss me to the side."

"Would you stop jumping to conclusions for once!" He shouted in frustration. "It's not like that anymore. You're the only one I want."

"Then what are you doing getting lunch with her then, hmm?"

"To sign the divorce papers."

That caught me off guard. I blinked at him in shock.

"What?"

"She never signed the divorce papers when she left. When I heard she'd be in town, I figured this would be the perfect time to have her sign them. I'd be a free man." He hesitated before grabbing my hands in his and looking me in the eyes. "I'd be able to be with you completely. And if one day we want to tie the knot, then we wouldn't have any issues."

"So you're not leaving me?" My voice quivered.

"No. I promise I'm never leaving you again. You're the only one I want. I love you, Y/N."

I was stunned, to say the least. He did this all for us, for me? I just didn't know what to say. I loved this man so much and am relieved it wasn't what I feared. He really did change. I'm speechless. So I said, and did, the only thing that impulsively came to mind.

"You're getting whipped cream all over the carpet," I told him as I locked eyes with him.

Very slowly, without breaking eye contact, I sunk down to my knees. Saul was confused at first since we were in the middle of what he assumed was a fight. Everything clicked, and his eyes rolled back in pleasure when I licked a strip up the side of his dick.

"I'm sorry for overreacting, and almost ruining Christmas," I quietly said in between licks.

"Mmhh, I'm sorry... for mm... making you feel that way," Saul panted in pleasure.

I smiled as I took him completely in my mouth and hummed at the sweet and salty taste of the dissolving whipped cream.

This was just the first of the many new Christmas memories we'd have together in the future.

#romance #saul goodman x reader #saul goodman x y/n #better call saul fanfiction #better call saul fanfic #saul goodman #breaking bad fanfic #breaking bad fanfiction #breaking bad #better call saul #jimmy mcgill x y/n #jimmy mcgill x you #jimmy mcgill #jimmy mcgill x reader #saul goodman x you

[mischiefmanaged71]

The Love Hypothesis (4/22) - Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is a PhD student who wants to prove to her best friend that she has moved on and dating. With no way to prove it, she kisses the first man she sees, which ends up being none other than Dr. Strange, known as one of the most unapproachable and critical professors in the university.

A/N: AU! Stephen Strange is a Professor/Doctor at Columbia University and reader is a Ph.D. student (Reader - 28, Stephen - 34). Credits to Ali Hazelwood for the original story. This work is a piece of fiction. I have no ownership over anything, this is ff.

Pairing: Stephen Strange X FEM! Reader

Word Count: K

Series Masterlist

Finding a common ground with someone who you knew few things about was always a difficult time. Small talk with someone you've made out with upon your first meeting was frightening enough for her anxiety to be at a peak. Arriving at the coffee a ten minutes before their agreed time, Y/N checked her phone periodically, an anxious tick she had adapted over her years. It was quite chilly that morning as she leaned into the comfort of her cardigan.

She took a deep breath in and out, pushing through the doors and the scent of freshly brewed coffee and chocolate hit her nose. In a quick scan of the room, she spotted Stephen, dressed in a fitted dark sweater. It suited him fine enough that she caught herself staring from afar before shaking her head and focusing again.

Stephen Strange was handsome. That was obvious to anyone who set their eyes on him with his stunning blue eyes, dark hair. His sharp cheekbones and angular face made it difficult not to notice him within a crowd.

Wearing a comfortable smile, she walked over to the table he picked. "Hey,"

"Hi," he replied, gazing over her simple, but comfortable outfit as she sat opposite him. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"Fine."

"That's good." She hummed, clasping her hands below the table. A moment of silence passed between them before she realised, and then she was panicking to fill the silence.

"So," she dragged out, "You have a favourite colour?"

"What?"

"Do you have a favourite colour?" She repeated more clearly.

"You're asking about my favourite colour?"

"Yes. Two times, actually." She grinned, "Entertain me for a moment. Answer it."

"I don't know," he thought, looking around before let out a shaky laugh.

"How can you not know?" She tried again.

"I'm not sure. I don't really have a favourite."

"You're telling me there isn't one colour that means something to you? Not one that stands out?"

"I don't think so. No." He shook his head, "Not something I focus on."

"Try again." She goaded him.

"Red, blue?"

"Why are you asking. You just need to pick one."

"And why is this important?"

"I feel like I should know as your 'girlfriend', and all." She winked, "What if it ever comes up in conversation, or that specific piece of information is vital to convincing people of our relationship."

"Okay. I guess, blue or black."

"Of course." She shook her head, "You pick one of the only non-colours."

"What is wrong with that?"

"Nothing." She grinned, "I suppose it matches your personality and aura." With raised brows.

He clicked his tongue, "What is that supposed to mean-"

"Hey, what can I get for you today?"

Y/N smiled gratefully and turned to the cashier, gesturing for Stephen to order first.

"Coffee. Black." Looking back at her, "Two sugars."

She tilted her head and closed her open mouth, hiding the smile on her lips. Y/N ordered the second largest cup of coffee with her favourite milk of choice, of course, and a shot of vanilla to sweeten it. As she finished, Stephen took out his wallet and she shot her hand out, halting him.

"What are you doing?"

"Paying?" He squinted at her.

"Uh, no. I can pay for myself."

"I can't pay for your drink?"

"No, because I wouldn't date a guy who thought he had to pay for my coffee because of an unspoken thing."

"While I would agree, I'm not paying because this is a date. This isn't about that but you being a grad student and your income."

Realisation hit Y/N before she thought it over once more. The implications of that. Did he think he had to? Did Stephen think she was poor? Nevertheless, she relented and pulled her hand away.

"Next question. Where did you grow up? What was your family like?"

"You're inquisitive, aren't you?"

"I ask the right questions. Now?"

"Is this all part of your play to work out that I'm secretly a criminal?"

"Well I wouldn't tell you that, would I, Dr Strange?"

"Doubtful, but I'll entertain you..."

"Just answer the question." She held his gaze.

He nodded, "I grew up in Nevada, but I moved to New York shortly after graduation. My parent moved away, retired in an estate up in Washington."

"Any siblings?"

He paused, his heart stopping in his chest. Y/N looked in his eyes and saw something darker there as his expression hardened. It was a familiar look that took over and changed your perception. "It's okay." She muttered, moving on.

"I, uh, grew up in New York. Born and bred here, but, uh, it was just me and my mom in a penthouse all to ourselves." She watched as Stephen slowly softened, brought back to the table in the cafe with her sitting opposite him.

He relaxed at the gentle tone of her voice, "The city can definitely be daunting on it's own, but it's got personality. It grows on you." She smiled softly.

"And now?"

"Now," she sighed, "Life is a bit more...quiet."

"Quiet doesn't have to mean bad though."

She nodded, humming as their drinks arrived and they both thanked the blond barista. People around them had subtly checked the both of them out, spotting the professor and his grad student date. Time to get back to her experiemnts.

She sighed, relenting as she grabbed her coffee. "I guess I got the most of my Wednesday. What about you?"

"Depends on how you categorise fun."

She clicked her fingers, "Precisely. See you next time?"

"Yeah." But his voice cut back into her ears as she looked back, "What is your favourite colour?"

"That's easy. Blue."

"Why?" He tilted his head.

"I couldn't tell you." She smirked, although he couldn't be sure it was misleading or humourous.

"Ah, that makes perfect sense. You know, that works perfectly with an analogy I found about colours and their subliminal messages-" she lightly slapped his forearm.

"Ow." He glared at her lightly, but it was obvious he meant nothing of it.

"Oh, Stephen," she turned back, "Before I go, there was one thing I forgot to mention."

"What?"

"Thanks for buying coffee, darling." She tried it out, watching his face change into one of surprise. Possibly shock. "Bye." She waved before ducking out of there.

***

2:53pm

From: [email protected]

To: Y/N-Y/L/[email protected]

Subject: RE Pancreatic Cancer Screening Project

Y/N,

I'll arrive on campus on Tuesday afternoon. We can meet on Wednesday around 3pm in Charles Xavier's lab. My collaborator can point me in the direction.

T P

Sent from my iPhone

***

Panic was a familiar friend of Y/N's, but not for the reasons you would think. As of recent, her panic was centred around Tom Pierce and her meeting. She had, so far, spent far too long getting dressed, prepping a compiled booklet of her work, and drank about half a litre of water. Then the realisation hit Y/N that she had no idea how Tom Pierce looked. Spotting a person became that much harder without a visual aid.

That was all besides the point, she was teetering on inexcusably late for her Wednesday morning coffee with Stephen. After a busy week of assays and meetings, she hadn't seen much of him since the previous week.

Moving quickly, she pushed through the doors and greeted him. "Hey, how are you?"

"Good."

This time, he was wearing a casual white shirt, a pair of jeans to complete it. She couldn't help but notice his muscles through the shirt. His hair was pushed back as per usual, but still as handsome.

"Coffee?"

Stephen nodded, averting his gaze. He appeared distracted in his quiet demeanour. "I'm sorry I was late. I've been quite frantic this morning."

"It's fine."

"Did you have a good week? What did you do on the weekend?"

"Fine. I worked."

She waited, her heart just quietening down as she paced herself through what she was hearing. "Right. Are you okay?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You're acting different." She pointed out.

"Different than what?"

"Usual." She turned to him, "You can talk about it if you'd like. I might not be able to give you advice, but I'm a good listener."

He fell silent before shaking his head, "There isn't anything to talk about, because I'm fine."

She snorted, "Right. I haven't heard that before."

"What?"

"I would know. I use it all the time." She hinted. "I can see it on your face. Something is off."

"Maybe everything is right and you're reading into nothing, Y/N. How about that?"

She hummed, "Denial. That's new."

"Look, I understand. I do. You're allowed to be upset or frustrated at whatever it is. I'm just offering an ear or a shoulder for support. Whether you take it or not, thats entirely up to you."

"Good morning, what can I get for you?"

Y/N glimpsed away from Stephen 's pensive look and smiled warmly, "Good morning. I'll get a venti oat latte with a vanilla shot. He will have a camomile tea with honey. Thanks."

"I don't drink camomile tea." Stephen stared at the side of her face.

She smirked, "You do now."

A silence passed before he muttered quietly, almost teasingly, enough for her to hear, "Smartass."

"So...you open to chatting today or is Dr. Strange's office closed?"

"I, uh, no." He exhaled, "I spoke to the department chair this morning. They're still holding onto my funds."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I thought they weren't due to review until late September?"

"It was an informal meeting. He said they are still monitoring the situation."

"They're watching us." She concluded, "That's not the slightest bit disturbing."

"I'm sorry." She offered a smile, hoping to dissolve some of the tension in his shoulders and face. "Is it affecting you completing your projects?"

"Not completely. I have other grants. I just need to shuffle a few things around and I can start new studies."

"If you have other grants, then that's good news?" She smiled, "My point is, in being in this situation, it doesn't sound too bad, considering you probably have enough grants and support to get by. And..." She trailed off, "You also have the most amazing girlfriend to support you along the way. That's pretty rare."

The glare that followed in the silence caused her to retract her hand and close her mouth. "No? Guess you aren't a fan of my humour as much as I first thought."

"You're a certified smart-ass. I've gathered that much."

"And your a ball of sunshine, aren't you? At least I don't grunt as a response." She smirked, raising her brows which silenced him. "Maybe I'm a smart-ass, but you are stuck with me."

"You ordered me camomile tea." He glared.

"Yeah, and you'll enjoy it."

"Just because you said so."

"I'm sorry about your grant, Stephen. Hopefully it'll change before September. You just have to give it time."

"I'm sorry about my mood."

"It's okay. You don't have to apologise. It's kind of your thing."

"My thing?"

"Yeah. Mr grumpy." She chuckled lightly, catching as he narrowed his eyes.

"Is that so?"

"Yep." Her lips popped.

When their drinks arrived, each grabbing their cup, Stephen hesitantly sipped his tea. Y/N watched from behind her cup, catching the surprised he attempted to hide behind a blank expression. The slightest curve of his mouth as he sipped at it was all she needed.

"So...what's the verdict?"

"It's not too bad."

"Admit, you like it." She hummed, sipping from her warm cup.

"Maybe, a little." He replied, opening the door for her as she brushed past him. A thought crossed her mind as she turned, suddenly meeting his chest. Looking up, she halted and found his eyes.

"I-uh," her cheeks flushed from the cool breeze and his gaze on her. "I thought we could go to the biosciences picnic, if you weren't already planning on attending."

"I'm part of the biology department social and networking committee, so I'll be there."

Her face lit up in surprise, "I wouldn't have thought that."

"Yeah."

"Did you actually sign up for that or..."

"Wasnt my first choice. It's service. I was forced to rotate into the position."

"Sounds fun." She chided, "Well, I'm going too. Dr Xavier makes us all go for bonding among lab mates. Or something like that. Do you make your grads go?"

"No. I have other, more creative ways to make them miserable."

"Ah, yes. Of course you do." She smiled, "I thought we could hang when were there, since the department chair will be there. I'll bat my eyelashes at you, he'll see and it'll make it all the more convincing. Does that sound about-"

"Hey, Stephen!"

A blond man approached Stephen, cutting her off as Y/N fell silent. They exchanged a short handshake, a familiar one that caught her attention.

"I thought you slept in." Stephen remarked.

"Time difference screwed with me. If figured I'd get to campus. Find something edible to eat. You do not have any food."

"There's fruit in the kitchen."

"As I said."

Y/N quietly watched the two, moving from her close proximity to Stephen. The man looked familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Who's this?" He turned to Y/N.

"This is Y/N." Stephen said, although he should have specified further. "Y/N, this is my collaborator-"

"Introduce me as your friend." He piped up, nudging Stephen's shoulder.

"Fine. This is my friend and collaborator, Dr. Tom Pierce."

Oh, damn.

TAGS

@goldencherriess @severuined @thewinterpoet2 @pasta-warlord @typical-bistander @judig92 @captainbarness @gaitwae​ @sleutherclaw @angstsfordays @mavsketch @mando-is-the-way @samisubi @liar-liar13 @evelynrosestuff @stanny-uwu @colorfuly-blog04 @frostandflamesfanfic @katsuphobic @fiadh-bell @awmysherl @sourgrapes-aa @orighami @apple-and-berry

#stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x reader #Stephen strange #doctor strange #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange x y/n #the love hypothesis au #the love hypothesis

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Ever Patient, Ever Kind

You had a rough day, but father Paul is more than ready to provide comfort. Set after That's Gonna Leave A Scar, but before Of Homilies And Crosswords. I'm working on something of a Halloween piece currently, but I did feel absolutely miserable yesterday and wrote this little thing to feel a bit better. And it actually worked. So if you're having a bad day or just could use some soft & gentle comfort, this might be the fic for you. Enjoy x

gif from @chellestrash - tumblr wouldn’t load it the normal way

Ever Patient, Ever Kind - 2.5K

tw: slight hurt

You felt like shit. A part of you wished you could just erase the entire day, to bury yourself under covers and sleep, preferably for at least two days. You spent your day on the mainland, meeting your publisher, who was once more trying to cheat you out of your earnings for sold books, on top of casually informing you he fired the editor you've worked with basically from the start of your writing career. You met the new editor the same day and, at the end of your meeting, flat out told him you'd be asking for a different one. It was some smug looking young pup, in a way too fancy suit, who instead of talking about your work seemed way too interested in the quickest path into your knickers. His conceited smirk made you want to punch him in the face. But then, you wanted to punch some people in the face just for breathing in your direction today - on top of everything, you were on the first day of your period.

 Despite taking an ibuprofen, you were in constant pain from your stomach cramps, and of course part of your irritability was present because of your stupid out-of-control hormones. You were in such a rotten mood, you didn't even use the opportunity to shop for some things not available in the general store on Crockett Island, instead waiting literally hours for Belle to arrive and take you home, staring daggers at anyone your gaze fell on. You wouldn't even chat up Sturge with whom you always exchanged at least a few words. Seeing your stormy expression, the bearded man didn't even try to engage in a conversation, minding his work on the ferry with 100% of his focus.

 Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you sat on the boat, the dark clouds overhead reflecting your mood rather masterfully and bringing you a little solace. You looked at the text message which just arrived.

 “Hey, wanna hang out once you're back? Riley's over too." 

 You sighed. As much as you loved spending time with the two of them, you really didn't feel like doing so on this particular day, the picture of your warm bed and some disgustingly gory horror film strangely seeming more tempting.

 "I'm sorry, but I guess it'll be just the two of you tonight. Hope that won't be a problem ;)" you finished with a smiley face who's smile didn't reflect your expression at all.

 "Aw, you're ditching me for the priest??" 

 You sighed quietly and typed back: "No, it's just… today's been a little fucked up. I kind of want to be alone. I'd hate to be a party pooper." And you were being honest. For some reason, not even a prospect of going to see Father Paul at the rectory seemed to lift your spirits right now. Most of all, though, you really didn't want to spread your foul mood, especially on your closest friends.

 "Alright. I hope you'll feel better soon. If you need anything or you change your mind, you know where I am <3"

 You knew you'd be alright the next day, all you needed was a hot bowl of soup (preferably some delicious, nasty instant noodles), sensible 13 hours of sleep, and some anatomically incorrect guts being pulled out of some buxom 'college student' on the telly. But of course, God works in mysterious ways.

 You literally rammed into the very person you were not ditching your best friend for on your way home. You were walking very fast, your pace nearly angry and you paid no mind to anyone you passed. Up until you turned around a corner and bumped into the unsuspecting priest so hard, the poor man lost his balance and fell bum first onto the ground. "Oh, god!" you gasped in horror, immediately feeling ashamed and guilty, and dropped to your knees next to father Paul, who looked as if his mind wasn't able to process what on earth just happened. "I'm so sorry Paul! Are you hurt?" His eyes were the size of saucers and he blinked several times before answering: "Um, no, I-I'm fine. I'm sorry, I guess I was just… standing in the wrong place." 

 You sighed and regarded the situation. He was still sitting on his backside in the dirt, long legs bent at the knees, while you kneeled next to him. The sky was becoming darker with the oncoming evening and you probably looked like a pair of idiots, just lounging in the middle of the street, looking dumbly at each other. Sighing again, you stood up and offered your hand to the priest. "I'm so sorry, I mean it," you said as you helped pull him to his feet, "I wasn't paying attention where I was going." Your voice was soft now, filled with fatigue and pity. Oh, how you wanted to disappear right now. Father Paul smiled at you softly and began dusting off his jeans with his hands. "It's alright, don't worry. How are you, how did the meeting go?" he asked and finally looked at you fully.

 A worried line appeared between his expressive eyebrows as his eyes travelled over you and he saw the state you were in. Your own eyes were a bit red, from crying a little in your frustrations earlier, your face was probably pale with the pain you felt the entire day and there was generally a miserable expression on your face. You weren't looking at him now, your gaze stubbornly glued to your own feet. "Hey," his large warm hand softly enclosed your upper arm, right below your shoulder, before moving up to lift your chin with his thumb and forefinger, "come with me to the rectory, we can talk, have some cocoa, I've even got something to eat." You shook your head weakly: "I don't want to be a burden, you've got enough of your plate without me venting out my problems to you while eating you out of your house…"

 The priest rolled his eyes and shook his head too, way more vehemently than you. "Don't be silly. You could never be a burden. I just want to help you feel better. You know I'm always here for you, right, ready to talk about everything, the good and the bad. Also, I still owe you for that lunch, anyway. Come on…" You looked into his eyes, finding nothing but fondness and warmth in them, and it was such an amazing thing to see after the hellish day, it brought fresh tears to your eyes with emotion. "Come on," he said again, even softer this time and pulled a soft handkerchief out of his trouser pocket, handing it to you. His long, strong arm wrapped around your shoulders then and he began leading you towards his little house. You no longer resisted, and instead just dabbed at your wet eyes with the cloth, sniffling a bit.

 Once in the rectory, you were promptly given a simple cold cut and cheese sandwich with fresh vegetable on the side. Father Paul kept apologising that he had nothing better at the moment, but you hadn't eaten the entire day and the sandwich honestly tasted divine. Your eyes were closed with bliss as the pain in your stomach lessened with every bite. Paul ate beside you, sitting at the table in the corner of the room, not saying a word. Once you were done eating, he took the plates away to dispose of them in the sink and began preparing the cocoa. You automatically went to sit on the couch where the priest joined you after a few minutes, handing you a steaming hot cup of cocoa. The cup, the one you always drank from, warmed your hands and you breathed in the sweet chocolatey smell, sighing in pleasure. Father Paul once more wrapped an arm around you, and you immediately leaned into him, your head dropping to rest on his shoulder. His cheek made contact with the top of your head and you could feel soft puffs of air tickling your nose slightly everytime the priest exhaled. "Do you want to talk about it then?" he asked then. You closed your eyes.

 You told him everything. About your pain (you didn't go into details), your filthy cheat of a publisher and of course the bloody fool of an editor, who, as it turned out, was the publisher's nephew, recently kicked out from university, who only got the job because of his connections. The priest stayed strangely quiet when you told him of the editor's unwelcome advances, only slightly increasing his hold on your shoulder. You told Paul about your worries of trying to find someone new to publish your work and the possible backlash of 'being very rude' to the 'promising young man' who would surely 'be the boss of the entire company one day'. Your cocoa was long gone and the mugs lay on the table. You were unconsciously toying with the priest's free hand, a habit of yours since you were little. Your fingers traced over every line, every curve, every little fold of skin on Paul's large, lean hand, drawing invisible patterns, or just softly bending and straightening each finger. You sometimes softly cried some more while you talked, but the man next to you was quick to wipe off the tears with his handkerchief, ever patient, ever kind.

 And ever right, apparently. You truly did feel better, now that your belly was full and your woes spoken out loud. "Well then," you said at last and somehow managed to lean even more into the priest's warm embrace, "what do I do, father?" Paul took a deep breath and you practically felt every second of it against your side: "Nothing. That's what I think." You pulled slightly back to look at him questioningly. "I mean, I don't really know how this entire… business works, but I'm fairly certain you're entitled to work with whoever you want to. If you don't, as you say, 'click' with the editor, if they make you uncomfortable even, the publishers can't force you to work with them and only them. You help them make money too, so you should be able to pick who you want to work with! As for the publisher itself, as I said, your books are selling well, they'd be stupid to get rid of you and you can still work with them while you look elsewhere. I'm sure many other companies would be just delighted to have you write under 'their colours'." 

 Paul's words made sense and they felt like a comforting blanket. "I hope you're right," you said only and settled back against him. You stayed that way for a long time after that, just enjoying his warmth, filled with adoration and gratitude for the man, your thumbs stroking each other's hand now.

 "It's late," you said, noticing the watch on his left hand, "I should probably go home." Paul sat still and quiet for a minute or two, his hands showing no intention of releasing you. "Or you could stay," he spoke quietly, nearly whispering, "some of your things are still here…" Which was true, you did leave some stuff behind after your little accident, your pyjamas, a clean set of clothes, the bag with extra toiletries you kept for travelling. You never really made an effort to pick them up and Paul hadn't spoken of them either. You had everything else you needed in your bag. "I-... I don't want you to be alone. But if that's what you wish, I'm not going to stop you." You did want to be alone before, wanted to just bury your frustrations deep down and not face them until you actually had to, but now… Now the very idea of leaving the priest's arms to walk through the dark cold night back to your empty home seemed positively dreadful. "(Y/N)?" asked Paul. You exhaled and closed your eyes: "I'll stay."

 Father Paul handed you a clean towel and your pyjamas, which he pulled out of the bottom of his dresser. They were clean and neatly folded, hidden from prying eyes under his own clothes. Your toiletries, including a small bottle of shower gel, a tiny hairbrush, a tube of deodorant and even your extra toothbrush were all tucked neatly into the bathroom mirror cabinet. You were also very glad you always carried a small stash of pads (including night ones) with you. You washed the last remaining stress of the day with hot water, which really helped loosen your tense muscles, and by the time you were done and ready to leave the bathroom, you felt like a new person entirely. Father Paul then took your place there and you went to crawl under his covers, lying down in the spot of his bed which now felt quite familiar.

 The pillows and the blankets, the sheets, they all smelled of the priest. You were literally enveloped by his scent, a mix of incense, traces of his cologne and something like sandalwood, which was just so incredibly him, and you inhaled deeply, feeling comfort seeping into each and every pore of your body. The only light in the room came from the lamp on Paul's bedside table and from the little gap under the door leading to the bathroom. The unchanging hum of running water in the next room was slowly lulling you to sleep.

 Finally there was a click as the light switch turned off and Paul left the now dark bathroom, wearing the form-fitting p.j.'s you were also familiar with already. He too lied down in his usual spot and turned off the lamp, bathing the rectory bedroom in darkness. You both turned to face each other at the same time. You'd already slept in this bed several times, but it was different now. Now there was no illness, no injury which would mean one of you had to make sure the other was alright and safe, now you had pretty much no logical reason to be here. The priest simply wanted you here. You simply wanted to be here with him. His hand found yours above the covers, as it did everytime you were there, but it felt much more intimate now. 

 You were glad he couldn't see you clearly as you squeezed his hand in return, for your cheeks were rapidly becoming red. It felt like a moment between lovers. And it should feel so strange and wrong, knowing his position on this island. The funny thing was, it didn't. It felt right and like the most natural thing in the world, even as you pulled his hand closer to press a single feathery kiss against his knuckles. It didn't feel wrong, it felt like love. Pure and simple. 

 Your brain was probably half asleep already, because it didn't stop you from doing something which you would never dare to do while fully conscious. You moved on the bed and closer to him, your arm extending until it was resting on his slim waist, while still keeping some distance between you bodies. "Thank you," you breathed out oh so quietly, worried that anything louder would shatter the moment completely. Paul didn't speak, his own hand slowly caressed your cheek and hair, before it too settled on your waist, his long fingers somehow warming your entire side. "Sweet dreams, (Y/N)".

I hope you enjoyed reading, you can check this story and the entire series on AO3. Comments always lift my spirits as much as writing these silly little fics does <3

#midnight mass #midnight mass fanfiction #reader insert #paul hill #father paul #father paul x reader #father paul hill x reader #father paul hill #hurt/comfort #a lot of comfort #fluff #pre-romance #mutual pining #idiots in love

[asmodeuscouncil]

Hello! I figured I would make a tumblr to just put some stuff I write out there so to kick it off here’s this. (I’m doing October prompts but just picking from whatever I feel most motivated for)

Day 1: Dream

“I’ve been having this dream lately. It starts everytime I close my eyes. I’m running across rooftops. My arms barely hanging on as the jostling from each and every jump causes pain to shoot through me. I can’t stop though. No matter how tired I get. No matter how many times I slip. I must keep running. It always ends when I finally can’t run anymore and I don’t know what happens but when I wake up…I’m in a cold sweat. It feels like my heart stops just before I wake up” A middle aged man sitting in a burgundy lounge chair spoke towards the person sitting across from him.

Said person being a young man, no older than 23, in a dark blue suit with a black tie. The young man’s expression one of calmness as he listened to the older man’s concerns. Though his hand was anything but calm as he wrote things down, about what the middle aged man couldn’t tell. “Are you sure there is nothing that is causing your dream? No kind of stress or maybe a problem you haven’t dealt with?”

The man shakes his head before looking at his hands. “No Doc and honestly I have no clue how much longer I can take this! I hardly get any sleep anymore. I sleep for only an hour before I wake up no matter how much I try to stay asleep!”

The young man takes his time to respond before he sets down his paper and pen. “Well then as a psychiatrist I can’t help you any further. I can tell the problem stems from something but it seems you are repressing it so much that even our previous sessions attempt at trying to unrepress even a small detail failed”

The middle aged man blanked hearing the doctor’s words. “Please Dr. Matthews! There has got to be something we haven’t tried! Maybe I should sleep in the office again!” He cries out trying to find something that they could try to get rid of this nightmare that was plaguing him. His finger nails threatening to tear into the armchair from him gripping the chair so hard.

“Hold on I said as a psychiatrist. I still have something that might work but…it’s considered unorthodox” Matthews said as he rose from his chair. His footsteps eerily quiet as he grabs a box from a shelf. It was bound in twine and covered in wax “This is a dream catcher. Not one of those ones you’ll find easily though. Even I had trouble getting just this one.” He sets the box down in front of the middle aged man.

A strange allure came over the box in the man’s eyes. “I will warn you though. You must clean this as instructed on the paper I am going to give you. You must do it twice monthly or else it may end up loosing its effect”

The serious tone of Matthews made the man have a moment of thought. Though it didn’t take him long to grab the box from the table. “So I just have to make sure to clean it and this dream will be gone?”

Dr. Matthews nodded as he grabbed a piece of paper and started writing. “Yes but you must follow these instructions exactly. Otherwise it won’t work any longer” A small smirk appeared and disappeared from his face as he spoke. Sadly the man didn’t notice it as he looked down at the box as if it was a life jacket being tossed to him as he drowned.

“Will I have to give this back?” The man asked hoping the answer would be no. Even if it would get rid of his dreams completely within a month or two as he naively thought this was a normal treatment. The man still thought it would be a hassle to return it.

“Oh no you won’t have to since I’ll call to see how everything is going periodically to see how everything is going. If it keeps working you’ll keep it for 5 years and by then your dream should be gone completely and I’ll come take it off your hands” The tone of his voice only barely giving the man a sense of unease.

So naively the man takes the box and the paper Dr. Matthews hands to him and goes on his merry way. Of course he diligently follows the paper. Pouting over it the night before each day he decides to clean it. He even makes sure to set a reminder on his phone. It’s set an hour before hand so he can get everything ready and have all the time to start cleaning it he needs, and for that time? He sleeps soundly. No horrible dream. No startled wake ups. No moments in the middle of the night where he wonders where he is before calming down. Just rest and relaxation.

Though…how long could that last for a man as busy as he? His schedule being so packed before hand that it couldn’t possibly handle something so time consuming.

He was running late to a meeting. The reminder’s chime just serving to amplify his frustration as he rushes out the door having finished getting ready. The meeting being one of his many long, dragged out, and exhausting ones that made it impossible to do anything else afterwards. Of course by the time the sun came up he realized what he had done and hurriedly cleaned the dream catcher. Sadly for him though this was the beginning of it failing. As it had developing a small almost unnoticeable crack in it. One that would hard to notice if you weren’t looking carefully.

Of course the man being so worried about doing something wrong noticed it write away and called Dr. Matthews. The doctor did his best to try and calm the man but in the end the man hung up. His anxiety making it that he cleaned the dream catcher every day. He didn’t even care if he was late to a meeting and simply thought up an excuse. This continued on for a few months. It was almost a year but sadly misfortune struck the man and he ended up in the hospital. His dream catcher unattended as he recovered.

The man worried and worried. His mind racing with what would happen to it as he recovered. His stress only making his recovery last longer. Thankfully he managed to convince himself that once he was out of the hospital he would wash the dream catcher multiple times to make up for all that he had missed. His body finally relaxing. Sadly for him the dream catcher broke more and more. It got to the point that the crack was taking up most of the exposed wood.

With the crack being that big the dream catcher started to drip. Not water, no. Something far darker. Something that seemed to suck the color from the room. Something that was almost as if light couldn’t escape the drop. The longer the man stayed in the hospital the bigger the crack grew and the faster the drops fell.

When the man finally got back to his apartment he hurriedly checked the dream catcher and seeing it’s state left him in deep shock. He rushed to clean it but no matter how he cleaned it the dream catcher still dripped. He tried to catch the droplets with a bucket but the bucket simply filled up. It got to the point the man simply put it in the bathroom above the tub so they would drain into the water.

With that weighing on his mind he continued to work but his mind couldn’t focus on it. The dream catcher took over his waking thoughts as he worried about it. He ended up going back to cleaning it once a month. Not out of laziness but out of necessity to keep his job. His boss had said in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t work on his attitude he might not have a place in this company any longer. This caused the man to have a new fear that overtook the fear of the dream catcher not working which was the final nail in his coffin.

At first it was only that he would forget it in the morning. Slowly it kept getting pushed back and pushed back and pushed back until he wasn’t cleaning it at all. The drops before and more frequent until the crack cleanly split the wood of the dream catcher. The drops forming a small leak at this point. Unknown to the man however, a small tendril made of the same substance as the drops oozed it’s way out of the dream catcher. Though it wasn’t unknown for long.

At night the man started hearing banging on the wall of his bathroom. Come morning nothing would be there but no matter how much he looked he never found the source and it would always come back the next night. At first it was hard to hear. He could barely make it out, but as the nights grew the sound grew louder. The banging keeping him up at night and driving him mad. His mind tormented by the noise not even noticing that the dream catcher by this point had broken and was starting to decay. By the time he did notice how’ve it was too late.

He was awoken by the banging but this time it didn’t stay banging as he soon heard a loud crash. His bathroom door flying across the hall as he watched it soar off its hinges and embed itself in his wall. He didn’t even need to know what was going on as he started running as fast as his legs could vary him. A new sound propel his legs forward through fear.

The sound of something wet hitting the ground as it came barreling towards him. The sound sounding like it was just barely faster than him. His legs putting as much effort as they could into propelling him away from the sound. It only drew closer. His hands reaching for the stair well railing as he descended as fast as he could. The sound echoing off the walls along with the sound of slime thing smacking into the walls of the stairwell. He didn’t even look back as he ran. His keys in his pants at the apartment so his car wouldn’t be able to start. His mind focusing on running. He manages to catch a glimpse of the thing producing the sound as he passes by a store. It’s hulking frame. It’s countless mouths all gnashing silently as it chases him. It’s eyes all focused on him. The most disturbing thing though was the body in the middle of it. It was clearly human but long deceased. The tendrils the creature was made up on feasting on it before his very eyes. The corpse however having its flesh regrow with every bite taken out of it.

Suddenly he made eye contact with the corpse and it was as if his brain was hijacked. His body out of his control as he kept running but tensing as he looses all sense of balance. A small pebble easily enough to take his feet out from under him and forcing him to crawl. The last thought of his mind being a prayer to any deity listening to save him. His prayer was left unanswered as the creature finally partook if it’s new meal and slowly condensing itself down. It’s liquid flowing towards it from all directions as it becomes a simple and plain dream catcher once more.

A young man walks by with a smirk. His dark blue suit and tie blending in the with the night sky. He reaches down and picked up the dream catcher. “Will they never learn?” He speaks into the air as if someone was listening to him that night. A small whistle escaping his lips as he slowly made his way through the streets.

#writing #horror #eldrich horror

[pbandjesse]

It was eclipse day!! And it was amazing. I feel tired but happy.

I slept pretty good last night but Sweetp was being super annoying and I threw my bear across the room because he was tapping and pulling in the blinds. And I was mad at him!! But it was very close to the time I had to get up so it was fine in the end.

I got up and dressed and felt pretty good. My hair was dirty but my makeup felt good. And things were alright.

Me and James headed out to Passport Health. And I knew we were getting yellow fever vaccines but I did not know we were getting other stuff. We ended up with yellow fever, meningitis, and typhoid. With scripts for malaria and a recommendation for the MMR and polio vaccines next week. Jeez.

And it was expensive. James was prepared but I was not. Because insurance will only consider reimbursement. And because travel is considered a luxury thing, we might just had had to accept the cost. And we were easy to but man it was surprising.

The nurse was really nice though and walked us through everything. And had some great suggestions for buy sprays and ways to stay safe. And it was just really a good appointment.

We would have two shots and then pills. And the shots were spicy!! Ouchy. But it was fast and the nurse was really nice.

And we were done way earlier then planned. So we went to brunch.

We ended up at Southside. And it was really good. James sung me a very silly song about the bridge that collapsed. We were being silly and laughing and being in love and it was so nice. And the food was good.

We had finished our first errand quickly so we had some time to waste. And went to Fort McHenry to see the bridge. And it was more shocking to see in person then I expected. But it was also just fascinating and I always enjoy walking around that park. So even though I was really tired and pretty sore, I was still really happy to be there with my love.

We sat in a bench and wondered the bridge and the water. Looked at the trees. Talked about the trip and what we might be next. And it was just really lovely.

We still had time to kill before James's appointment at men's warehouse. So we made a stop at the museum for a jacket they forgot. But it was still early so we decided to just drive there and see if they will see James early.

And they did. And they were really nice.

It is always fun to see James in a suit. And they will look so handsome in whatever traditional wear they get in Uganda.

We would leave there and went to the value village. James is bad about being right where I want to be standing. But we still had fun. And I found a beautiful pattern skirt and a shelf for Sweetp and James got a Carl Sagen book. It was fun.

As we were leaving I saw a small framed piece of lace and went back for that, but then we were off.

We would go get groceries next. And it was a fine trip. I think we did a pretty good job sticking to the list. I was frustrated to find that they seemed to have discontinued my clarifying shampoo. And my regular shampoo is twice as expensive as I remember it being. So I was a little frustrated by that. I will probably try stopping at Marshalls tomorrow to see if I can get a better deal.

I was having fun being out with James but I was also super tired. Almost to the point of feeling loopy. But we got me home and I felt better just being there.

We started getting ready for the eclipse. I made a box viewer and James brought out the solar glasses I didn't even know they had!!! I was very very excited.

The eclipse started right after 2. And after 230 we started checking periodically. I would sequester Sweetp into the catio and shut the windows. I was very concerned about him accidently getting out of getting hurt or something. He wasn't thrilled but I was also worried about him looking at the sun so it was good for him to be in a shady spot.

We would keep the back door open and we kept checking. At 315 the clouds started covering and I was worried because our maximum was 321. But we got to see it!! It wasn't totality but it was 90% and it did get twighlighty and colder! It was really amazing. And at one point while I was looking with the glasses the clouds covered the sun in such a strange way that I gasped out loud. It was honestly wild to see and experience.

It was a really fun hour. It felt like we were in a really intense experience together. I felt very connected to the world. It was good. It made me feel good. I also just kept joking about how I loved what you did with the place (joking about the redecorating of the sun and moon) and how moon in front of sun is groundbreaking in the spring (devil wears Prada reference). I was having a great time.

As the sun started to reemerge we headed inside. And I was very very tired. So I told James I would go lay down until 6.

And this was a very good nap. But it was entirely impossible to get up.

James brought dinner upstairs and we had pizza in bed together. James would go and record with an author for their podcast. I'm very proud of them for all the interesting people they have been getting for their show. I'm very proud of them.

I would take a shower. I did a gloss on my hair. And it made me feel a bit better.

Now me and James are watching a show on the laptop together. And I am just feeling happy. Also a little anxious about my field trip tomorrow. But I know that always happens and it is going to be a lot of fun. And just a beautiful day.

I hope you all got to experience a little bit of the eclipse. And I love you all. Goodnight!!

[cantuscorvi]

Is there any life philosophy that young Raum has had to let go over the years? Any hopes or dreams Raum used to cling to even in his 20s that he has gradually abandoned or ones that were ripped out from him by force/trauma? Or perhaps opinions/beliefs he had that were crushed by experience? If older Raum, late 30s/early 40s, could say something to his 19yo self, what would it be?

@nezumivc103221

Oh absolutely. A bunch of things that shaped how Raum sees the world actually hit before he reached 20, especially regarding trauma, but you asked about this time period specifically, so I won't mention those here. The development of 20yo to 40yo Raum is like, a problem of just generally being young and stupid. His inexperience, decadence and idealism.

Raum has always had an issue with selfishness and with idealism of his own capabilities. He always wants to have his cake and eat it too. When he was younger — it made him a bit of a fence-sitter. He didn’t really have to think hard, or make any tough choices. He would follow whatever his father told him, and when he decided he didn’t like it, he would run to his uncle instead. He would jump back and forth on that seesaw however it suited him, basically playing them against each other so that he could feel the most comfortable.

Growing up spoiled like this, he was lazy. He had a philosophy that things should be handed to him without having to choose, or to take action. Or, that he could choose both options in any scenario and take advantage without having to lift a finger.

When you don’t commit to anything, then you never lose. Right?

Eventually he even grew fed up of that game of seesaw. He felt alienated by his father and suffocated by his uncle. So what to do? Well, nothing seems to be working out, so you throw it all away and start again.

Raum had an intention to leave his current life (both it's privileges and responsibilities) behind when he was eighteen. Travelling abroad to study seemed like a perfect excuse. Tired of feeling pulled in two directions by his family, and in effort to create distance and rethink the direction of his life, he wanted to take some steps toward independence. At that time, there was some part of him that wanted to disappear. He had an — admittedly, naïve — idea that he could just go to where nobody knew him and try becoming someone else.

A period of experimentation, Raum spent the time in university trying to live as ‘normal’ a life as he could. He studied pretty hard because he was genuinely interested in his subject matter, ( history & conservation) but he also did a lot of drinking, partying, experimentation with sexuality and drugs. In the end, mostly normal student behaviours. After spending a lot of time under the control of others, he went a bit wild when away from their magnifying glass. He had a sense of freedom he hadn’t held before, but also a lack of personal growth. However, he was only able indulge that fantasy life for one year before Friedrich died.

Friedrich’s death essentially threw a grenade on any plans Raum might have had (tentative as they already were) and forced him to take over his position as the head of WC due to the process of his will. He didn’t really have room to refuse, to prevent the company stock from crashing and burning into the ground and everything being saddled under a mountain of debt. It was a time of emotional turmoil and fragility in his life. One where all of that pressure he had been avoiding was put upon his shoulders without warning. He couldn’t escape anything.

In the end, Raum crawled back to Cyrus for guidance on how to pick up the pieces, meanwhile silencing his negative emotions using those hedonistic activities that he had previously only dabbled in. He had to fix what he considered to be a broken company with a severely outdated business model, meanwhile the previous allies had turned into new competitors trying to profit from their potential demise.

In the end, he realised that by not choosing anything to start with, he gave up his free will entirely. Even with how he behaved to avoid his emotions ; he essentially got addicted to escaping. He gave up his opportunity to choose the path in his life. And throughout his twenties, even though it was still something he sometimes wished for, he eventually gave up on the idea of escape. From then on his approach to life totally flipped and he became very proactive about setting targets, making decisions, and taking steps to obtain what he wants.

To be honest, if Raum had to talk to his younger self he would just get so caught up in berating him for being dumb that he wouldn’t be able to offer any important advice LMAO. Hindsight really is 20/20 in this situation, there’s almost no way he could’ve predicted or prepared for what was out of his control. And, the only way Raum could offer any warning is if he knew the circumstances that caused Friedrich to die.

#nezumivc103221 #ask #long post cw #( ;corvinum ) #v: undercover #v: undercover ; prodigal prince #no read mores we die like men #but i tagged it lmao #so i have been slowly chipping away at a timeline for this verse #part of that is in here. #which is why it's so fucking long #but oh well. i hope i answered your questions ksdjnflksdg

[thrudgelmir2333]

"No Saints in Peace Times" - The Continuity of Sanctuary in Masami Kurumada's Writing

When you ask the question "Are there Saints in Sanctuary when there is no Holy War?" are you really asking just that? This is another Reddit-inspired post. I like doing these. Sometimes people actually do ask interesting questions about the Saint Seiya franchise that I like musing on, I just don't put all my thoughts into a response there cause Reddit in general isn't the best platform for essays. I also often get the feeling that this kind of 'overthinking' is frowned upon in that site. Recently someone was very surprised that I made a pot joke in response to a post about a weirdly colored frame of a character, like they expect me to write essays about the most minute things. I can only imagine because, to a lot of people, answering questions online is about posturing and signaling allegiences and not really having human thoughts about something that interests you. Someone asked on R/SaintSeiya if there are Saints operating in Sanctuary between Holy Wars. You know, if they stick around during those 240-year-long periods when Hades is sealed up and the "cameras are off". And I think it is an interesting question because, again, it's one of those lost world-building opportunities that Kurumada just kind of let the other authors who made the spin-off mangas answer for him. At least in story-telling, you know? As opposed to when he has one of those interviews where he thoughtlessly 'expands' on his story's lore, like when he told people that "Cosmos makes you have eternal youth" or that Gold Saint Cosmos had midlochlorians (or maybe that's just some kind of trauma memory from something else just as stupid he has suggested about his own characters)

This post is sort of going to be about all of that. Get ready for it to be long btw. (don't worry, I threw in a couple of images)

Fertility in World-Building

When people have asked me why I chose to write in Saint Seiya when I have such nasty things to say about it, I always say the same thing.

It's because it's a pretty damn fertile world.

Yes, it's fertilisers comes straight out of Masami Kurumada's ass, but hey, produce is produce.

Again, you don't come up with 2.1 million words (so far) to say about it without there being something special about what Kurumada has done. However, I want to draw an important distinction between that being the merit of his work or the merit of his lack of it. It's not so much that this incredible tree of ideas has been planted in it, but more so that it covers so much fucking ground in terms of creative landscapes, that it can't help BUT be fertile.

Think about it for a second; in Saint Seiya, just conceptually, there is Greek mythology, alchemy, weird Muvian people, Shinto and Buddhist influences from Kurumada's martial artist background (one of his few helpful contributions), Japanese corporatism, mistreated orphans, bizarre technology, power suits and an overall fusion of east and west that is found in the best world-built stories like One Piece.

And this without getting to the astrology.

Right! This is so my dad, I swear!

Wait, what? But that's the same as...

I have friends that love astrology. I have friends that call themselves astrologists. Proudly, so. I myself have a bit of a fascination with it.

But holy shit, is there a bigger field for personal speculation than astrology? This topic is so abstract, based on symbolism and subject to cultural backgrounds that it is the backbone of countless conspiracy theories, religions and lores. Not to mention a synonym for that horrible news-channel commentary-segment culture that now plagues everything from sports to politics.

Which is to say you can basically make up shit about any constellation and chances are people will just accept what you say. You can take astrology and pretty much say anything you want about what it means for Mars to be shining brighter and everyone even remotely interested will take you for your word.

In writing, astrology is the perfect vehicle to create a sense of instant spiritual meaning to your characters' designs and actions. It's like salt; you add just enough of it to the pot and even the most horrible cooking will suddenly seem 'ok'.

And this is all because astrology ultimately has a paradox inherent to it; that its simultaneously the most powerful force in the universe, capable of controlling our destinies all across the distant reaches of the universe, while also being the subtlest and most imperceptible one. My chances of winning the lottery are virtually zero, but that's okay, because it's the month of my Zodiac, so my 'luck' is unusually high. I am BOUND to get something. Right? Good luck proving me wrong.

It's religious thinking. It inflames the senses and gives us a sense that there is order to the chaos, all while making itself unfalsifiable. It's no surprise Saint Seiya is especially popular in societies still culturally tied to their religious rituals, even if abstractly, like Brazil and France.

So when you combine it with all those other elements I mentioned, it makes it so that the world of Saint Seiya has this unusually high potential. You can tell stories about technology, society, struggles between genders, the battle of what beauty means and epic accounts of wars against the Gods, all in one setting. So long as you have the right creative person at the helm.

Right.

What all these elements show is that there is no mystery to Saint Seiya's success. It had all the right ingredients after all. It just needed to be stirred right by someone in the position to do so. But once you capture that initial success, then comes the time to invest on it, to see it to term.

Kurumada, the Idea

So, to answer this question, let's talk about the writer for a moment (or two). Masami Kurumada is sort of a fascinating example of a mangaka. I'm a bit obsessed with the guy. He's one of those creatives that have birthed an enrapturing world out of their minds, like Athena sprung out of Zeus' head, and then just catastrophically failed to understand its meaning, implications or potential, like George Lucas or the Wizard Lady. But Kurumada is also one of the most confounding examples of it, because, as is typical of mangakas, not much is known or understood in the West of what kind of guy he is, or even what kind of creative person. This is just a reality about understanding the people who write and draw mangakas because, not only do they live in a pretty quiet society, socially speaking, usually with their own local social medias to boot, but they themselves typically are the quieter type of people. You know, the artists and the nerds.

So on top of the interpretative ambiguity that goofy characters like George Lucas inspire, there is this added layer of fog around Kurumada, especially in the West. You can make up all sorts of shit about what he might have said or done and chances are you will have reasonable plausability to believe it, or find it a positive or negative.

As a result, if you look up Kurumada and his career, at least through English sources, you'll find that a lot of the writing done about it is by fans. And as a result, it looks unprofessional at best and hegiographic at worst. Conversation about his life in social media dedicated to Saint Seiya carries this weird casual fanboy tone to it, describing his art style in an odd, opinionated way that doesn't exactly scream objectivity.

This, I know, is because to the eyes of people unimpressed by Kurumada, he's not worth writing about, which leaves the fans a bit of a monopoly in the practice of documenting the guy.

Why, just relatively recently, someone circulated a story on R/SaintSeiya that Kurumada not only got into a lot of fights, but pretty much badgered his way into Shueisha to get him his job. The post paints it as an act of badassery, like Kurumada was this confident guy who refused to accept that he got the boot from destiny, much like Seiya and many of his other protagonists when they affront their gods with their heroic defiance. The story is based on a blogpost celebrating Kurumada's 50th birthday with a thorough account of his life that is arguably better than anything in wikipedia, but still very flattering (more on that below) Here's the source paragraph for the Reddit thread's statements:

A sober account of events

You could read this very normal account as the story of Kurumada imposing himself into the mangaka industry with his sheer chadness, as the Redditer did.

OR, you could read it more as an editor feeling sorry for a very passionate artist and giving him a starting shot at the studio. Something he didn't even earn, if the aforementioned contest results are to be believed. Which is far more realistic, but less flattering to the 'idea of Kurumada'.

Ah, the ancient times! When animators could just force their way into animation and comic book studios, sleep at their desks and just be allowed to keep working for these companies! Or accost Walt Disney in the street and demand a job after shoving your dossier of animations in their faces. Or in Kurumada's case, 'showing your gumption'.

This is why you should always be very careful reading accounts of people's lives, especially in 'commemorative' pieces, and especially if they're done by fans. These things are usually more akin to publicity stunts than they are to legitimate documentation. More often than not they are vague and inform their tone with their pre-existing intentions.

However, this sort of lame deitification isn't limited to random social media posts. Here's an example talking about the way Kurumada draws from Wikipedia, the wiki everyone can edit. And yes, this was actually written in a site that is supposed to be about objective documentation:

Transcript of Kurumada Fanboying, found in the Wiki everyone can edit.

I want to make clear that despite my cynicism, whoever edited this page obviously had good intentions in mind. I'm sure they are wonderful people. It takes gumption to volunteer to do this sort of stuff, to borrow a term.

But this is just shit wiki work. I don't need to tell you that describing someone's artstyle as "sometimes can seem rough, but his improvement can be seen when comparing old works to new" isn't so much an objective description of the facts, but more so a subjective, insecure evaluation from someone clearly acting as a lawyer to Kurumada's work. On what's supposed to be the world's biggest online reference book. Hence the "citation needed". And some wonder why the franchise's wikis are equally filled with personal commentary on the show and its characters. People don't just put those up to annoy rival wikipedia editors, it's to point out they've done a shit research compilation in what's supposed to be a reliable source of information about someone. And discussion about Kurumada, not just his wikipedia page, is usually riddled with hegiographic tones, where he's described as someone "who has influenced the greatest names in manga today" or "once competed with the greatest". But it doesn't end there.

Seen above; paragraph of barely-conceiled speculation in Wikipedia, the wiki anyone can edit

I don't know about you, but half this stuff feels like a loose collection of 'impressions' of what's going on, based on uncited sources and a wonky timeline of events. It sounds less like a careful description of events, and more of an opinionated online article about the rise and fall of an industry artist's works.

This is, again, because a lot of the talking about Kurumada in the West is done by the fans of the height of his career. You're not going to find the name of a man born in the 50s who drew cartoons in the 70s and 80s in the mouths of people who acquired their taste in media in the 2000s. And that's okay. But if you care so much about it, you know, do a bit of a better job filtering what's factual from what isn't. It's not that hard!

Cause otherwise you get weirdos on Reddit who legitimately think that the only reason Saint Seiya isn't more successful is because 'It got screwed by the network' or that Kurumada is some kind of chad for basically pulling ahead of a bunch of other artists that did better work than he did. And then whine about why he can't compete in people's minds with Dragon Ball.

Usually, if you want accurate, unbiased information on what kind of guy Kurumada is, you need to go straight to the source; the man himself. Funnily enough, the only stuff you can find cited in Wikipedia about Kurumada is stuff describing things he's said in interviews or statements about organisations he's worked under, etc

Now, Kurumada is an award-winning mangaka. There's no doubt about his success and impact. Most of us will never seen even one percent of the triumph in life he has acquired, and that means something. The guy is referenced throughout anime, his characters have been used as templates for other great mangakas works (see my post about how Ikki may have influenced characters like Byakuya in Bleach) and many have cited him as an inspiration for their own careers in art, from mangas to cinema.

Poster Kurumada has made for the 2010 Movie "Clash of the Titans". Kurumada was contacted by Warner Brothers at the time to collaborate with Louis Leterrier's movie remake. Louis himself has stated Kurumada was an influence in his work

I mean, you don't get at least 4 other mangakas to write stories set in your world if you don't have some kind of talent, right? Look at all the people whose minds Kurumada has impacted! Perhaps the hegiographic descriptions are a bit much, but there's a root to why they are written?

This world that Kurumada has conceived must be wonderful to delve into, if it has seen so much success and praise. Surely when we dive into the matter, we will find depthful characters, a personal story of a hero Kurumada wanted to talk about and a setting where characters have multiple dimensions to them? We will surely find an answer to "Are there Saints in Sanctuary when there's no Holy War?"

Yeah...

Well, it's complicated.

The Writing of Kurumada

For those of you who don't know me very well, I write.

I'm not saying that as some kind of statement as to why my opinion is more valid, just to explain why this topic might be important to me.

I'm also not saying that I love writing. As someone once said:

So wise. Someone should put this in hyeroglyphs or something, seriously.

So what do I care about writing if I hate it? Well, this is because there is a difference between you loving something, and something being important to you. You can revolve your life about something that is important to you and still... ----ing... hate doing it. And how limited it is to conveying your thoughts and feelings.

That being said, it does put me in the weird position where I don't really respect any kind of laziness in writing and world-building, because if I was able to spend the last decade of my life writing 2.1 Million words for a franchise I don't even respect,... then someone else not even bothering to do proper world-building and yet being in some kind of position of authority over commenting on it does drive me a bit up the wall.

And, twist, Kurumada's 'world building' drives me up the fucking Wailing Wall. I can see Elysium from how high he drives me.

And no, I don't mean just the recent stuff.

On that topic, for those of you who don't know, Masami Kurumada, in the style of such respectable peers as George Lucas and the Wizard Lady, has spent the last 20-30 years of his life simultaneously not giving a shit about their Magnum Opus and interfering with it in the dumbest ways possible. From revealing that Saga has always just secretly been a "Force Baby" in the same manner as Anakin Skywalker, to stating that the reason Shion lives so long is because "Cosmos is just that convenient that it gives you a long life", Kuru seems to be on a mission to ruin the depth of his world with these milktoast, pandering concepts.

In my opinion, however, the problem stems from much further back, right to the early days of Saint Seiya. Could the signs of his lack-of-shit-given be there from the start? Let's investigate.

And what better place to start than the 50th anniversary account that the earlier Reddit post mentioned? It was so thorough, after all. And it's bound to portray him in a positive light.

Oh.

So the whole thing was an act of spite?

Don't worry, it gets worse.

Uh-uh... okay...

Wait, lol, what?

So... he just recycled a bunch of his own old ideas together?

It shouldn't? Why not?! lol

OH, so it's not laziness, because the people he's selling these old ideas to haven't read them in his other works??? W O W

So, what you could conclude from this, and allow me to influence your conclusion with my own (just like the commemorative piece above tried to), is that Saint Seiya wasn't conceived because Kurumada wanted to tell a story with rich characters that evolve in a dephful world.

It's because he was MAD his previous ideas didn't work with the public and so he manufactured them all into a friendlier, lazier package. One that he could sell to this dumb-fuck public that didn't like his stories.

And he made his whole success out of it.

Yes, this is the origin of Saint Seiya and its writing. The foundational spirit of the story millions of people love to this day (and that I spent half my life obsessing over). A guy sitting at his desk, conceiving characters for a mangaka he didn't want to make, all to chase an idea of success after basically giving up on his personal projects.

If you're the type, like me, that occasionaly peruses the fandom for stuff to talk about, do me a favor; from now on, if you ever see someone whine on the internet about why Saint Seiya can't compete with modern storytelling, just show them these wonderful nuggets. Show them how petty and selfish the foundational spirit of this tale was, how Kurumada didn't even make personal decisions on who should win the galaxian tournament rounds. How he left it to reader surveys, because to him, it didn't matter who won, so long as it was the most popular choice.

There was never any message, any curiosity about this world he was creating, any interest in exploring or discovering things in it. It was just a sad, spiteful, last-ditch attempt at success by a mangaka that didnt even earn his spot at Shueisha being gradually pushed out of the market to make it big during an era of relatively low creative competition.

Kurumada: "Oh, they want trash?! I'll give them trash!! I'll give them all the trash they wa- Oh, it's selling how much? I mean, this is a rich world, filled with wonderful characters! Like Saga! Btw, did you know Saga came from space?"

If you're wondering why this franchise has landed in the hands of people who don't care about anything but selling merch, this is it. It's because even the supposed guardian of the story's integrity didn't give a damn. And the worst part of it is that most of the sources detailing all of this treat it like an inspiring story. Because to them, it doesn't mean anything, because Saint Seiya's narrative value, it's depth in writing, is already decided upon by a combination of its success, nostalgia and how shiny the armors look.

Okay, Thrud, what does this have to do with anything? "Are there Saints in Sanctuary when there's no Holy War?" or not?

Don't rush me! I'm getting to it!

The Price for lack of vision

Hopefully now you understand why I started this post with two sections basically dumping on Kurumada's whole career. It's to make the point that he's far, far, far from being the right person to fully capitalise on these successful elements Saint Seiya has in its soup in the long term. Kurumada is a jock that happens to know how to draw, and the anime injected enough catholic fantasy into their adaptation to ensure Latin America would always be a viable market. Masami didn't even have enough confidence in Saint Seiya to pick by his own vision which characters should advance in the story during the first arc of his epic tale!

So imagine trusting someone like that to write compelling, rich story arcs.

Or understand the differences between Dante's Inferno and the Greek myths of hell, or how they collide in storytelling.

Or taking a comment about how Shun is an LGBT symbol without doing something spiteful in return, like giving him a two-chapter girlfriend named after the interviewer's magazine?

Or imagining what Sanctuary is like for its characters when there isn't a Holy War going on?

And speaking of characters, to pull another Reddit post that annoyed me (mostly from how utterly dumb and caveman-spirited it is), some meme-manufacturing dummy only interested in farming karma made the shallow comparison that Shiori's Lost Canvas Gold Saint characters would be a good replacement for Kurumada's characters in his story.

Moments like this make me wish I was Palpatine falling down the well.

There's a lot wrong with this suggestion of swapping the Sanctuary Arc's characters with Lost Canvas, the worst being that Deathmask, of all the characters in Sanctuary Arc, should be replaced by Manigoldo. I'm not going to go in-depth about how terribly that would work, but I just want to show how the person who made the meme is signalling to a culture of people who thinks the quality of characters is measured not by their utility and effectiveness to story arcs, but by weather or not they are 'badass'. In their minds, all Manigoldo really has over Deathmask is that A) he was an antagonist instead of a villain and B) he briefly fought Thanatos, the Death God (and lost). And that's enough for them to be a 'better character'.

But while the post is just something the author thoughtlessly created for the purpose of making a number of community approval go up, it also points towards the fact that there is a generalised insatisfaction in a lot of Saint Seiya fans about its characters. I would posit that a lot of the reason so many gravitate to Lost Canvas (even though Saintia Sho is better imo) as a comparison of "Saint Seiya being done well" is because it was the first to show that Saint Seiya could be capitalised on to create a story a bit more character-driven.

Which is to say Lost Canvas isn't great, just that it's better than what we had at that point.

The truth is, people are passionate about Saint Seiya and they want to see its potential realised, even if for silly, Dragon-Ball-fans-dunked-on-me ways. They want to see their enjoyment of it validated, elevated to cultural relevance. Some of my most popular posts online about Saint Seiya are posts that... accidentally make Saint Seiya seem smarter than it is.

So, when you ask the question "Are there Saints in Sanctuary when there's no Holy War?" are you really asking just that?

Writing-in-Depth

That's a warfare pun.

See, defense-in-depth was a style of battle ordering where you deliberately arranged the outer layers of your army to be weak, so as to lure your enemy to attack deeply into your center, allowing you to surround them from your stronger positions and....

Oh, whatever. You don't care about that.

When people talk about 'hidden depths' in a character, usually they refer to discovering that a seemingly superficial character actually has a compelling motive for their seemingly superficial actions. You observe a character, see them doing something strange routinely, don't pay any attention to it, and then you discover its because someone once told them it made their spouse smile, or something. My favorite example is Senor Pink, from One Piece.

Senor Pink in his natural state, surrounded by fangirls

Senor Pink is a wild character. He dresses like a baby, has a baby suckler, wears sunglasses, works for one of the most ruthless villains in all of One Piece and has a Devil Fruit that lets him swim through land. And he's 100% serious about all of those things. This is not a gag he's pulling. This dude is dedicated to this shtick and god help you if you laugh at it.

He's also one of the most surprising and beloved side characters in all of One Piece, a story celebrated for its character twists and turns.

I'd advise you to read up on him, but not only is the picture above worth a thousand words, but you'd risk spoiling yourself a pretty neat surprise about why Senor Pink is the way he is. I will offer a hint in the image below, though.

One of the few female characters in One Piece that doesn't totally look like either Nami or Robin

The Senor Pink backstory was a pleasant surprise to a lot of people. Many already liked him for his outrageous design and attitude to his job, but it was also unexpected that such a touching story would be told about a guy inserted into one of the most villainous crews in One Piece. All his coworkers and friends are sadists, liars, manipulators, murderers, torturers, bullies and tyrants, but Senor Pink transcended his context as a character and showed a depth no one expected in him, to the point it was almost surprising a guy like him still worked for Donquixote Doflamingo.

This doesn't mean that in order to have depth in your characters you need to trick your audience. It just means that you have to show they are about something a little bit more than just their names and their jobs. We, the audience, assumed limitations on Senor Pink based on superficial context, and then discovered he had the depths of a human being worried about daily life, loved ones and loved things.

That, in turn, helps paint a grander picture that we could potentially expect that out of any character in One Piece, even the most unassuming ones. Eichiro Oda demonstrated that there is no reason to think there haven't been 1000 Senor Pinks throughout the story. Through the depth of its characters, the world building is given depth. Meanwhile;

Saint Seiya characters in the wild, doing their mating call

You wanna know what they're weeping so hard about? You really wanna know? They're crying that they have to go kill Athena during the Hades Arc. See, Hades ressurrected them and... it's a long story okay? What matters is that they are invading Sanctuary as Specters, hereby becoming traitors to their honor as Gold Saints. The honor of their jobs.

They don't even know Saori that well, btw. That guy on the right? His name is Camus. He's never even MET Saori. He doesn't know what she's like, or the speeches of motivation she's given or even who her favorite boy to whip is (Saint Seiya joke, Im sorry if you don't get it).

He just knows she is Athena. So he cries. Which is to say Camus cries because he's a Gold Saint and so he's supposed to. Not because Saori means something special to him personally. Camus has never stated anything about himself that indicates he gives two shits about anything other than moralising Hyoga for...

...for crying about his mom? Wait, what? Isn't that sort of what he's doing here?

Wait, what's going on here?! Why is Kurumada's writing like this?!

This, my friends, is where we get to the point of this Thrumblr post.

Are there Saints in Sanctuary during Peace?

So, "are there Saints in Sanctuary outside of Holy Wars?"

What I believe the reddit poster was asking, in a small way, was if there is a world beyond what we are shown in the cartoon that Kurumada has envisioned? Does the writing of Saint Seiya, or even of its spin offs, thread towards an unseen dimension, a hidden world-building depth, that we can all be confident in?

Does the story of these characters continue once the curtain closes on Saga's reign, or Julian Solo's rampage? Or does it all blink into the next conflict?

This question speaks to matters of temporal permanence of ideas in a story, of course, of consistency. In a way it's a test to wether or not its worth looking into the story a bit deeper for greater meaning, or a personal message from the author. Is the story smarter than it looks? Does this imaginary world keep on spinning after the camera cuts to black? I'm afraid to say, no. It doesn't.

Not in the minds of its writers anyway.

Obviously there is continuity the technical way, because it makes sense to be, but it doesn't exist in any imagined or thought-out sense, which is the most important. It all just passes by like Harry Potter's summers at the Dursleys.

This is because the world of Saint Seiya doesn't know what its characters are other than action pieces IN holy wars. They are power rangers, going from episode to episode, battle to battle, uninterrupted. While the occasional moment of break exists, there is no 'living' in piece. We aren't shown what these characters are or what lives they've lived when they're not, because they were imagined by someone who never intended to 'create a world'.

Tragically, even Shiryu, the best character in the franchise, only has a simple farmer life with Shunrei in rural china to look forward to. Not that we're shown a whole lot of it, of course. This, obviously, before he gets called back to do his duty.

Go to her, Shiryu! Go to "Sunrei", whoever she is! Leave this shit-show behind!

In One Piece, we can imagine what happens in the entire world while Luffy and his crew battle Kaido in Wano for a year. We picture gears turning and characters moving because, countless times, Oda, who is passionate about his world, has shown us in side stories and catch-up chapters what they have been up to, and the impact it all had in the main characters without them even realising it. Meanwhile, Kurumada had an entire storyline of Shun being Hades' vessel and ikki failing to rescue him, and neither character got to exchange a serious conversation of confrontation later when met with Hades personally. It's like it didn't even matter to them, or that it didn't happen, because the whole thing was just a temporary fancy in the author's head.

There's no continuity to things, no permanence of objects. Things happen, but they then don't continue or matter. Characters rise and fall like the passing of the tides, barely making a dent in our memory.

At the end of every arc, when Saori and her Saints pose to the camera and it all fades to black, the world ceases to, indeed, exist. Sanctuary dies. It disappears from the imagination and lives no life until the curtains reopen. An absent of war in the characters lives means an absence of meaning, of pertinence, of life and character and depth.

There are no Saints in peace times.

Thrudgelmir2333

Post Scriptum

Now, there could come the day that someone could pose this question to Kurumada. "Kurumada-sensei, are there Saints in Sanctuary between Holy Wars?"

You can already imagine what the answer might be. "Why, yes, of course, and they also hold wrestling tournaments in the style of the greco-romans. Also, have I mentioned that Gold Saints are pre-destined to become so and Aiolia was struck by a Thunderbolt of Zeus when he was a child? What? No, I don't remember who June is."

#saint seiya #masami kurumada #sanctuary #world building #writers on tumblr #character depth

[vanrouchu]

a canvas embroidered with feelings

Adel hardly has any time outside of his schedule, perhaps it was due to the fact that he does all the work himself — from cutting the fabric to sewing all the pieces together. What he certainly didn't expect was to take in an inexperienced assistant who barely knew how to thread a needle.

— Adel x Fem!Reader, 5.8k WC, She/her pronoun usage

"decisions, decisions…"

Difficult as it was, Adel always preferred to work alone rather than rely on other people and put the quality of his work in jeopardy. He took pride in the fact that he always delivers to his client's whims and needs, often enough, he went beyond their expectations. Though at what cost? His schedule is constantly packed as he tries to chase deadlines, and new commissions are coming in as soon as he finishes one. It was a vicious cycle that made him terribly busy.

Time used for other matters made him think, 'I could be using this time to cut the fabric' or 'the stitches have yet to be done… The deadline is in a few days. His mind was constantly thinking of how to maximize his time and it wasn't an exaggeration if someone said that he was beyond dedicated to his craft. Though some unavoidable circumstances forced him out of his workshop. Like attending a party, for example.

A reputable noble had invited him to a party at his manor to celebrate his daughter's birthday. Adel vaguely remembered that the dress to be used on that occasion was a commission he completed around two to three weeks prior to the invitation (but he could hardly remember who it was for if it weren't for the small note thanking him in the envelope, not when he was already thinking of the pile of upcoming work he has to finish).

If it weren't for the fact that this particular client was someone of high status, along with Merryrose's constant bugging, he would've scrapped the invitation without another thought and continued with his work. He weighed the options and eventually arrived at the conclusion that perhaps attending this party wouldn't be all that bad. If he felt like it, maybe he could just drop by to give his greetings and leave as soon as possible under the excuse that he had pressing matters to attend to.

That's how he ended up in this situation.

He was all dressed up in white, as per the invitation said about the dress code, it was something he threw together at the last minute when he found out all his party suits were either black or some random colour he only used once for certain occasions he could barely remember. He had a wine glass in hand though he took no more than two sips to avoid getting tipsy, he wouldn't be able to hold a pair of scissors properly after the party if that was the case. He looked at his watch periodically, counting down the minutes before he could leave the party.

Three… Two… One—

"Adel!" It was an unfamiliar voice that interrupted his little countdown. He turned his head to find the one who called out his name and was met by an elderly man. It took him a minute to fully recognize him as a renowned designer from another country, he remembered that he specialized in traditional clothing and designs based on them – it was one of the reasons why he became so popular even in other countries. They've met on multiple occasions but their conversations were nothing more than simple greetings and small talk. "It's a surprise to see you here, you always struck me as the type to avoid these kinds of parties."

'It's true,' he wanted to reply. He tried to sugarcoat it: "Well, I don't think it's a bad idea to attend these parties once in a while. There's a different kind of joy you get when you see people wearing the clothes you made, don't you think so too?"

"Haha! Truly, it's a wonderful feeling. I was put in charge of creating the pattern for the decorations and the host was kind enough to extend an invitation to me." His eyes twinkled with delight. "I heard you were the one who designed the dress. Your work is stunning as usual."

"You flatter me too much," Adel shook his head. "I simply delivered what my client asked of me — it's as simple as that."

"Haha! Is that so?" Adel thought that the conversation would end right there and that he could finally leave after bidding goodbye. What he didn't expect, though, was for him to make a sudden request. "Say, would you do this old man a favour and listen to his request?"

'A request?' Adel almost furrowed his eyebrows and donned a frown. Certainly, they weren't close enough for any favours or requests — at least, in Adel's book. But he kept his neutral expression and looked at him carefully, he considered granting his request—whatever it was—given that it wasn't anything too absurd. It would be rude to turn him down outright and the last thing Adel needed was unnecessary rumours floating around him.

"... What kind of request?"

"I have a daughter around your age."

Somehow, he already knew he wasn't going to like where this conversation was going.

"She's passionate about designing and sewing, you see… I guess you can say she takes after me in that aspect, haha! However, I feel rather… unqualified to teach her. These old bones don't work as they used to and I plan on retiring once I'm finished with everything I need to get done." He let out a sigh, "if it isn't too much trouble, could you take her under your wing for a few weeks?"

"... I see." Truthfully, he felt like he was being driven mad. He started regretting ever coming to the party in the first place, this sort of scenario would've never happened if he learned to mind his own business. Most people who knew how to be polite would agree and just get it over with but, unfortunately, Adel wasn't like most people. If he could, he would coldly turn down that offer but that would mean he'd be causing a scene — in front of so many people, no less. He thought about it carefully, weighing the pros and cons.

He fell silent for a moment, even the old designer was starting to get worried that he accidentally offended him. "Three weeks. I'll take care of her for exactly three weeks, nothing more and nothing less. I suppose that's fine with you?"

"Three weeks is plenty. Thank you for complying with such a selfish request, you have my deepest gratitude." There was something off with the way the old designer spoke to him, or maybe the lack of sleep was finally catching up to him. "I'll send her to you at a later date, I'll write a letter beforehand."

"It's no problem. Consider it a favour done between friends," Adel waved his hand. He sealed his fate. "I look forward to meeting her."

"betrayed by his own expectations"

Adel completely forgot about his prior engagement with the old designer. It was as if his brain purposely wiped it off his mind as soon as he got back from the party and started working on clothes once more. He was busy, far too busy to the point that everything else seemed like a blur to him. Overworking wasn't anything new to him but he learned the hard way that he shouldn't wait for the worst to hit him before stopping lest he wanted Volks to watch over him like a hawk.

He couldn't remember how many hours of sleep he managed to get and his calorie intake thus far but what he understood is that his body needed—demanded—to rest immediately if he didn't want the quality of his work to suffer. He wasn't the type to give his clients a half-assed piece of work, he took pride in the fact that each and every piece is carefully made.

That was the only reason why he remembered that the old designer's daughter was to arrive today. After deciding he should rest for a little while, he went to the guild's common room and threw himself into the velvet seat without a second thought. Was it peaceful and quiet? Hardly. The moment Adel tried to close his eyes, Canaan suddenly popped out of nowhere with a pile of letters in his hands and dropped them all on top of the coffee table.

"So many letters… What for? Are they from your assistants again?" Adel massaged his temples. It wasn’t uncommon for Canaan’s assistants to send him a bunch of letters, begging him to come back to the workshop and finish his work.

"Well… Actually, they're all for you." Adel let out a groan as he sat up straight and started going through the letters one by one.

"Commission, commission, commission, invitation, advertisement, and more commission requests…" He absentmindedly listed down the categories of the letters he received and organized them accordingly. He came across one envelope with a floral pattern and a sudden sense of familiarity struck him as he paused, "this letter… was from a week ago."

"Oh, that.” Canaan’s lips fell into a thin line as he tried thinking of an excuse why he only gave the letter to him now when it was sent a week ago. “I was supposed to give it to you as soon as it came since it looked pretty important, but you were so cranky I didn’t want to bother you and have you getting angry at me.”

Adel didn’t waste another second on Canaan and quickly opened the envelope. Sure enough, it was from the old designer — no wonder it felt so familiar, the floral pattern was one of his famous works. The letter read:

Dear Adel,

Forgive me for sending this letter so late after our last meeting. I had to talk to my daughter and make the necessary arrangements, unfortunately, she will only be able to arrive there after a week upon receiving this letter. You’ll have to excuse her behaviour, she has a tendency to talk casually around people and I fear it might offend you — she means no harm. She’s a good child and I trust you will treat and teach her well. I will come to get her after three weeks; for three weeks she is yours to deal with. I wish you luck.

‘Yours to deal with.’ Adel lingered on those words, it made it sound as if his daughter was a lot of trouble and dumped it all into him for three weeks to catch a break. If that were the case, he’ll just give her a bone to chew on while he works. He had no plans on dealing with troublemakers.

But more importantly — it was exactly a week since the letter first arrived to him. Which meant that his daughter was to arrive today. Oh, how Adel wanted to smack Canaan for keeping this from him for a whole week, now he has to rush and get himself ready to greet her. His hair was a mess and his clothes were dishevelled, it would be unsightly to present himself like this. He mumbled a jab at Canaan before standing up, “really… you just had to show me now.”

“Better late than never, I say.” Canaan winked.

“Ugh…”

Rushed footsteps entered the room and before Adel could turn to look at who it was, their voice was a dead giveaway when they started shouting. “Adel! I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” it was Merryrose. “I was so sure that you’d be in your workshop but to think that you’re actually here… It’s kinda unsettling.”

“Oh, shut it, will you? Just cut to the chase, why were you looking for me?”

“Right, right. Someone is looking for you, she says she was sent here to be your assistant.”

“Huh!? She’s here already?”

“Oh shoot, you know her? And here I was telling her that you don’t take assistants." He winced. "Talk about embarrassing.”

He had little time to make a snide remark since he was far too busy running to a nearby mirror and tidying himself as much as can before greeting his soon-to-be temporary assistant. Merryrose took the liberty of leaving the room to fetch his guest and guide them into the common room. Adel cursed him in his head, he was sure that Merryrose was purposely trying to rush him. Soon enough, he heard two pairs of footsteps down the hallway — What was up with his fellow guild members constantly screwing up things for him?

He cleared his throat and took one last look in the mirror before facing the newly arrived guest. Once he saw her, he couldn't help but notice the striking similarities shared between her and her father. She looked presentable and certainly didn't give off a strong impression judging from looks alone but he knew not to judge a book too much by its cover.

What struck him as odd was her hands. If she was into sewing, as her father said, then clearly her hands wouldn't be so smooth. As much as Adel was experienced in his field, he can't help but have a few cuts here and there after some mishaps along with some small blisters here and there — he didn't think he had the most flattering hands given his work but he always covered it up with bandages on his busier days when he's more prone to mistakes.

"You must be the one my father has told me about. Adel, right?" She introduced herself shortly after Adel slowly nodded in response to her question.

"Take a seat," Adel urged her to take a seat on one of the sofas in the common room and drove Canaan and Merryrose away when all they were doing was watching; he didn't want any unnecessary distractions. "So I heard from your father that you have a passion for designing and sewing, I'm assuming that's true?"

She shook her hands violently, denying those claims — whether out of embarrassment or actual denial or something that didn't fall under those two, he didn't know. "No, no–! I'm sure my father was just exaggerating, he likes to do that — he always takes everything so seriously… I'm sure this is just a passing interest."

Adel raised an eyebrow, he was starting to feel kind of irked. "I'm not sure if you mean that or not but I'm not the type to cut corners when it comes to my craft, so I hope this merely being a passing interest doesn't drag down the quality of my work. I plan on assigning you to become my temporary assistant, after all."

"Sort of like an internship?"

"Exactly like an internship."

"Actually, Sir Adel—"

"Adel is fine."

"I don't know how to sew."

"What?"

"I have exactly zero knowledge. I don't think my being your assistant will work very well. I'm pretty sure it'll just drag your work's quality down if my hands touch it."

"Then why would your father send you here with zero knowledge?"

"Maybe it's because he wanted you to teach me how to sew instead." She looked away, "he thinks anything my hands touch is going to get ruined given how horrendous I am with a thread and needle. He's already given up on teaching me, he probably pinned his hopes onto you."

It made zero sense to him why anyone would send someone like her his way — everything just kept piling up. First, her father was under the wrong impression that his daughter was passionate about this sort of thing and asked him to take her under his wing. Second, she turned out to be super inexperienced. Third, the actual request and purpose for this whole visit was to teach her how to sew from the very basics. Fourth, she said she didn't even know how to thread a needle (she asked him what threading a needle meant).

He was finally feeling the headache settling down. He was seriously so baffled by the situation that he was left speechless and a little breathless as if he just ran a marathon. The first solution that popped into his head was to send her back home. "Okay, you know what? You can just go back home and tell your father I'll have to turn down his request after all. I'll send him a formal letter right after."

"Wait, wait, wait! You're sending me home? Just like that?"

"Listen, I've got a tight schedule and I have no time to be teaching you every single thing starting from the basics. Besides, wasn't this just a passing interest of yours? If it isn't important to you, I think it's better to send you home rather than waste both of our time."

Adel turned around and got ready to leave until he felt a tug on his sleeve, he was forced to face her once more. He was surprised to see a determined look in her eyes, she said, "I'm not lying when I say I want to learn. I may have no prior knowledge nor do I have the skills but I can promise you that I'll dedicate myself to learning. You don't have to be super involved — just a few pointers, tips, and maybe some exercises will help me."

Adel paused, "your father can do that for you."

"He was never a good teacher."

"And what made you think I am?"

She smiled, "call it a hunch."

"That's an illogical argument," he let out a small chuckle. He wasn't sure what came over him, the most logical option was still sending her home but after her little declaration, he found himself hesitating. He was still busy, and it was going to stay that way for a few more weeks. He expected an assistant to help him — he gets his workload lessened and the assistant gets to watch his techniques and how he works. He thought it would be a win-win situation but now, it was more like… he teaches her and that's it. It only benefitted one party.

'It's a favour,' he thought and he couldn't help but let out a deep sigh. He signed himself up for this and he thought that the look in her eyes wasn't bad, it may be worth a shot to teach her.

"Tomorrow. 10 o'clock in the morning sharp, don't be late."

"i wanna take it to the basics"

He hasn't slept at all since yesterday. Usually, he can last a few days without sleep (his longest record was 4 days, and he remembered passing out as soon as Volks rushed into his workshop to reprimand him) before collapsing. It was odd that he already felt as if he was about to collapse after one all-nighter. He tried thinking of various ways to maximize his time, especially now that he has an apprentice to teach. It would be easier if she knew the basics but she didn't, so they're going to have to start at the very bottom.

He heard the doorknob turn and saw her figure come in, eyeing every single thing in the workshop in awe. It was short-lived when Adel snapped her out of her thoughts. "Quit dawdling around. Let's start your lessons, I have much to do today."

"Y-Yes!" She gathered herself and walked towards the table Adel was at. There was a small container containing thread, scissors, and needles — all of them the same size. She was thinking that he was going to teach her how to do some basic stitches but her expectations were crushed when he opened his mouth to explain.

"There are exactly 50 needles in this container. I want you to learn how to thread a needle and make a knot. You have to get used to it if you're planning on sewing, you're not allowed to use a needle threader — you're going to have to do them all on your own. That's your first assignment." Adel picked up a needle and thread to show a small demonstration, he managed to get the thread into the hole in one try and made a knot to secure it. She asked him to repeat the knot once more, slowly this time, because he did it too fast.

"... All 50?" Frankly, she thought it wasn't going to be all that difficult. How hard could threading a needle be? All she has to do is put a thread into the needle's hold, right? She'll be over with this in no time.

"All 50." Adel nodded, he turned around and picked up a pair of scissors and started cutting fabric at another table. He didn't bother giving her another glance as he added: "Let me know once you're done."

She sat down and picked up a needle. She grabbed the spool of thread and cut an appropriate length, nothing too short and nothing too long. She tried putting the thread into the hole — it entered the hole but once she tried pulling it, it split into two.

No worries, I can just try again. She thought.

30 minutes have passed and she's only managed to successfully do at least 8. It turned out to be more difficult than she thought, especially when she had to do all of them one after the other. It required concentration she didn't prepare for but, slowly but surely, her hands and eyes started getting more adept at threading. Another hour passed and she was almost done with the 50 needles, and when she was finally done, she called out to Adel with a proud smile. "I'm done!"

Adel turned to look at her and dropped what he was previously doing to look at her work. He scrutinized them all one by one, and she couldn't help but think how strange this whole situation was.

"It's a little sloppy," he said. Though a small smile graced his features when he picked up one. "But it'll do."

"... Then—!"

"I'll be teaching you some basic stitches next, make sure to pay attention."

"Yes!"

A few days passed by with this routine. She would wake up and go into his workshop and learn how to sew from him, he'll give her something to do before she leaves and she'll do it in her free time — the cycle repeats over and over again. Adel can see with no doubt that she wasn't lying when she said she sincerely wanted to learn, he couldn't help but wonder where that drive came from. She was a fast learner, her father must've been such a terrible teacher if he couldn't manage to teach his daughter this much.

It was another day in his workshop, there was a dress he was to deliver tomorrow at exactly noon. Because of that, he was staying in his workshop later than he initially planned to add the finishing touches to the dress. It was another debutante dress, the client was the daughter of a famous marquis from another kingdom — she requested that the dress be adorned with the finest jewels. It took him a while to get it finished because he was forced to work with Canaan and Volks. Volks was fine, the problem was Canaan since it took every ounce of effort to get him to finish assigned work on time.

He was so engrossed in what he was doing that he almost jumped when he heard something being placed down on his table. He looked up and he was surprised to see that it was his apprentice, she was holding a mug of what seemed to be coffee — he assumed that the mug she placed down on his table was also coffee.

She shot him a worried look. "You're up so late."

"I have to finish this." He sighed. If he could, he would've gone straight to sleep. "What brings you here?"

"I was… worried about you. I haven't been here for very long but I noticed that you tend to overwork and push yourself. Honestly, I think it's amazing how you can do that on top of dealing with me but isn't it bad for you?"

"What can I do? It comes with the job." He sighed. "This work is demanding… but I suppose it's just as rewarding. It makes all the effort worth it."

"... I see. That's nice, isn't it? Having something you're passionate about, I mean."

"Don't you have any hobbies or anything?"

"I do! But… I can't really say that I'm passionate about them." She sighed, "it's the same for sewing. I don't have plans on making clothes like you and my father do but…"

"Then, why do you learn?"

"The reason is a little embarrassing. I'm afraid you might laugh."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Seeing you try your best is enough to tell me you're not half-assing this, at least." He picked up the mug and took a sip, "thanks for the coffee."

She smiled. "You're welcome. You should head to bed soon, though, I wouldn't want to see you collapse."

He let out a small chuckle. "Don't worry about me, I'm used to it. You, on the other hand… Go to bed. Our lessons start early tomorrow."

Somehow, it feels like they've gotten a little closer.

"abrupt goodbyes"

Ever since that night, Adel felt as if there was a significant change in their relationship. They bantered more often now and made pleasant conversations, though he made sure to not let that cloud his teaching. Though, it was a little weird to him since it wasn't long ago that his opinion of her was a little lower than favourable.

Though what happened next was unexpected — he got a commission from a VIP client last minute. They needed it as soon as possible and what Adel had to go through to deliver was akin to hell. He barely slept, ate, and went out of his workshop. He was so engrossed with work that he couldn't find time to teach her anymore and sent her away. There was a time that he almost snapped at her, telling her not to bother him when all she wanted to do was to show him something she was proud of making.

He cursed that client inside his head. His body felt heavy, and his head had a splitting headache — he felt feverish. He could barely concentrate, his movements were sluggish. He knew exactly what was happening, he was finally reaching his limit after working nonstop for a few days. He set down his scissors and let out a sigh, trying to ground himself until he heard the door open and finally let himself collapse.

~•~

What happened after that was a blur. He collapsed and the last thing he can remember was someone shouting his name. His eyes slowly fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was the familiar ceiling of his room. It took him a moment to process things before the weight of reality finally hit him. He sat up violently and looked for any indication of date and time — he couldn't have slept through the delivery date, right?

From the corner of his eye, he caught her figure sitting on one of the seats, holding what looked like an embroidery hoop. She looked just as startled as he was but quickly regained her composure as Adel questioned her immediately: "What date is it today—!?"

"Adel, you really shouldn't be worrying about that right now. Not in your current state."

"Just tell me!"

"It's been a day since you collapsed. Don't worry, Volks already contacted your client and got an extension for you."

"He did?"

"Mhm."

He let out a sigh of relief. A part of him felt bad but he was more relieved than regretful. Going back to the current situation, Adel felt like his apprentice was acting a little cold towards him — her responses were a bit dry, he noticed. He couldn't help but notice that she seemed to be embroidering something, and her hands were covered with bandages. He decided to ask: "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to embroider a handkerchief."

"You like embroidery?"

"Remember what we talked about the other night? You asked me the reason why I learn. It's because I like embroidering. I'm not good at it, so I thought learning a thing or two from you might help me."

"I've been teaching you the wrong things then. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's because I'm so terrible at it that my father even gave up on me. I was afraid you’d laugh if I showed you.” She stood up and approached his bed, placing down the embroidery hoop on his bedside table as if to show him her efforts.

He picked it up; he could barely make out an image. “Is this supposed to be a flower?”

“I-I told you I’m terrible!” She flushed. “But yes, it’s supposed to be a flower.”

“It’s fine. Everyone has to start somewhere, including me.” Adel picked up the thread and needle as he started embroidering. She looked at him with interest, wondering if he was going to fix the mess of a flower she made. Much to her surprise, he started making smaller flowers around it instead. “There’s nothing to laugh about — I can see that you’re trying your best.”

“You think so?”

He let out a small chuckle. Now that he was free from the clutches of work and deadlines for a moment, she swore that Adel looked the gentlest she’s ever seen him.“I used to be terrible at embroidery when I was younger. People could barely make out the image I wanted to make when I showed them. It’s all about practice — as long as you don’t give up, you’re bound to succeed one day.”

Adel didn’t know the reason why he was so talkative. Maybe it was the fever talking, or maybe it was the fact that he saw himself in her that he couldn’t help but blurt out the things he usually wouldn’t say to a mere apprentice. He felt comfortable. “There.” He handed the hoop back to her and she couldn’t help but let out a small giggle. “Is there something funny?”

“Seeing my terrible handiwork next to yours is a little funny. It’s like a toddler and a professional made it side by side, it’s pretty endearing.”

“You’ll learn how to do that soon enough, I believe.” He sighed, “we still have more lessons—”

“Actually, I’m about to go home in a few hours.” She took the handkerchief from the hoop and folded it neatly before placing it in his hands, “I wanted to give this to you as a token of my gratitude for looking out for me all this time.”

“Huh?” He felt his heart drop. It was strange. Why was he so disappointed? “Are the three weeks already up?”

“Unfortunately,” she sounded just as disappointed as he was. “I received a letter from my father yesterday that I’m to be picked up around noon tomorrow. If I’m being honest, I wanted to disappear without another word to you after you ignored me for days because I’m petty.” She pinned her gaze somewhere else, a little embarrassed that she just admitted that. “But it didn’t sit right with me in the end. So I decided to come over and express my gratitude when you suddenly collapsed in your workshop.”

“Aha! So it was you who found me.”

“Don’t sound so happy you figured that out! I was seriously worried about you.” Her lips formed a thin line, “you ought to take care of yourself more.”

“... I’ll keep that in mind next time.” It was strange how he was saying this, “but I can’t make any promises.”

“That much is enough. I know how important your work is to you, I just wanted to give you a little reminder.” She picked up her stuff and prepared to head out. Again, Adel found it strange how disappointed he was seeing her go — he almost wanted to call out to her and tell her to stay a bit longer. No, no, what am I even thinking of?

“Then, goodbye. I hope to see you again some other time.”

“... Yes. Me too.”

Silence enveloped the room once she left and Adel never thought he’d be uncomfortable with it. He looked at the handkerchief she left him once more and examined their handiworks side by side; he smiled, only a little bit. Endearing — that was the word he was looking for. He didn’t know how long it’ll be before they interact once more but somewhere in his heart he wished that by some sort of play by fate that it'd be soon. Once again, he thought it was a strange thought to think of but… it wasn’t unpleasant.

He ran a finger over the embroidery.

“I suppose teaching her wasn’t all that bad… If she wants me to take her back someday, perhaps I’ll think about it.” He paused. “Still… she left so soon. Couldn’t she have shown a bit of hesitation, at least? Argh, what am I even talking about? This is pointless.”

He threw the handkerchief over his bed and a piece of paper slipped out from underneath the folds. Curiosity washed over him as he picked it up. “What’s this? Did she slip this in here while she was folding it?”

It held a string of numbers. It didn’t take long for Adel to connect the dots together.

There’s no way. Why would she—? He felt his face getting a bit warm. He thought he might be misunderstanding the intentions behind the number but it had a little heart next to it so surely it was true to some degree, right? No, no, that couldn’t be it. She showed no signs of interest… is it because I never gave her my personal contact so she decided to give hers instead?

He thought of throwing it away but, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do it so he shoved it in his drawer and never looked at it again. But no matter how much he tried to forget about it—

It was always stuck in the back of his mind.

— I actually have a soft spot for characters that know how to sew and an idea came to me in a dream. Conveniently enough, Adel was a tailor and he fit the idea perfectly <3 cousgshs I don't actually know shit about sewing. My experience at most is attending a workshop at a local church and learning how to sew a button into the fabric. Or maybe the apron we were required to make when I was in third grade. Most of the stuff said here are my own delusions and not backed up by canon.

— I wanted to make Adel really... dense(?) here if that's the right word. I thought it would be fun if I wrote an MC that takes all the initiative rather than the other way around 🤧 Adel is married to his work but it's funny thinking of him constantly thinking of you and doesn't get any work done LOL you'd be ruining his life but it's a new experience for him and he doesn't necessarily hate it <3

#dream meister and the recollected black fairy #ymkr x reader #my writing #ymkr #yumekuro #yumekuro x reader #adel ymkr #ymkr adel #adel x reader #ymkr adel x reader #yume tsumugi #adem ymkr x reader

[robert-j-t-wilson]

Chapter 11

Word Count: 975

The paramedics arrived a few minutes after, Mr. Holmes kept pressure on my wound to prevent myself from bleeding, all I could see was Gustav on the floor, he was still alive but in a very delicate state, my family was already there, Mycroft was the one that came with me in the ambulance

"You are not allowed to die, not today Admiral, that's an order, you need to fight this", he was nervous, I felt him holding my hand

"I'm not sure if I will survive Mr. Holmes", I was feeling extremely dizzy and just wanted to sleep

"No, you have no authorization to die, you can't leave your family", we arrived at the hospital, "you can't leave me Admiral". I couldn't hear that clearer

"I have to tell you something Mr. Holmes, in case I don't make it", I was being send to the O.R. for an emergency surgery

"I know it, I know everything Admiral", he had gone to see me then to clarify it, he had heard that bit

"I love you Mycroft Holmes"

That was the last thing I manage to say to him, I don't remember much, I entere the O.R. and the doctors started the procedure

·MYCROFT HOLMES POV·

He said it to my face, he loved me, I couldn't help but to cry, I was sobbing at the thought that he might die and all because he wanted to be a hero. The hours went by, the storm had gotten worse, Lisa told me that they would not be there in at least 2 hours more, the doctor came out

"How is he? please tell me he made it" I stood up as fast as I could

"He needs a blood transfusion, but we need it to be as compatible as possible, we have our reserves but they are frozen and also is always better if a family member is the one that donates the blood"

"Which type is he?"

"O RH+, has the family arrived?"

"They haven't but I have the same blood type, can I donate mine?"

"Sure thing, this way Sir"

I was in debt with him that any act I could do to save his life was little compared to what he did, I saw him in the table when I passed by, he looked horrible, the worst state I had ever see him, the doctors sent me to a room so I could rest due that i had donated 2 pints of blood, I was there for almost 4 hours when I heard Lisa speaking

"How are you Mr. Holmes?", she was soaking wet that she had been given a towel so she could dry, "they told me you donated blood for my brother, thank you very much"

"It was the less I could do, your brother saved my life, it seemed right to help him and do not worry about me, you have news of your brothers health", I was a bit nauseous

"He came out of surgery 20 minutes ago, he is still asleep but they will inform us when he wakes up, do you want me to arrange so you can be moved to the same room a him?"

"No, no thank you, I will only stay here a few more hours, after that I have to go and get some rest"

I really wanted to stay but the doctor said that I had to go from the hospital due that they were receiving many patients and having people use rooms they don't need was unnecessary, I arranged my papers to see where I was going to stay at, found a hotel that wasn't that far from the hospital and booked myself for a few days

·ROBERT WILSON POV·

A few days after my surgery I was allowed to go back to the house, everyone greeted me, even some members of the Royal Family were there, including Her Majesty, I was moved to my room where I spent a week, in that period of time I received the visit of him

"May I?", there he was, in a grey 3 piece suit and a blue tie except that, this time, he didn't had his umbrella, instead, he was holding a bouquet of Daisies and White with Yellow Roses, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything Admiral"

"For god's sake, call me Robert", I couldn't believe that the man I had in front of me was the love of my life and still was calling me by my Military rank

"Alright, but I have two conditions, first, you call me Mycroft so we can finally stop these formalities", he was putting the bouquet in my night stand

"And what is the second condition", he sat in the opposite side of the bed

"That we talk about what happened that day", I knew the moment had to arrive

"What do you want to know, Mycroft", I was ready to answer any question he could make

"Why me?". Alright, maybe not every question

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you fell in love with me, I have nothing special, as a matter of fact, I am more of an Ice Man than anything, so why me?"

"To be honest, I have no fucking idea why I fell for you but I don't regret it", he turned to look at me, those blue eyes were like the sea and I was getting lost in them, the distance between us started to reduced until there were only a few centimeters that were keeping us apart, I wasn't sure if I should give the first move but he caught me off guard and kissed me, he kissed me in a very passionated way, it was something new for him, I was sure of that, and although he was the one that started it, I was the one handling the situation, it sure wasn't his first kiss but I could say that it was the very first he had gave it to someone he cared and possibly loved

@anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek

#bbc sherlock #mycroft bbc #mycroft holmes #original male character

[andy-clutterbuck]

The Woman in White | 1997

#Andrew Lincoln #* #The Woman in White #he looks like a disney prince ok you know he does #he should be refusing to get married and become king and arguing with his horse #where's ursula i'll sign her damn contract #🎵 wrap your arms around me baby boy 🎵 #SWEET BABY #gonna go back in time and cast him as a prince #anybody ever play the board game pretty pretty princess as a kid? he'd win every time #that weird hat still even works for him #there's something about him that's just always made him feel so suited for period pieces

[occassionalfanficwriter]

Heyhey! May I request childe x reader where the reader has been badly abused in the past? As a result she doesn’t mind when childe kidnaps her because childe has never hurt her, and treats her nicely? So since childe has work lmao he leaves a fatui agent to watch his s/o. But since his s/o has such a small appetite she doesn’t eat much. And since the fatui agent has a bad temper, what if he slaps her across the jaw so hard it breaks? So since then she can’t handle leaving childe’s side?Thank you

anon who hurt you? (•ω•`)this childe has yandere undertones but anyways you're welcome and enjoy.

Content warning for everyone else: allusions to domestic violence ,and non-graphic depiction of violence against women.

No Misfortune Without Blessings

Summary: Among the many myths about Tartaglia, few were dedicated to his love life. Even fewer dared to speak of the gentle love between him and his lady but in the soft and hushed whispers of the crowd, all would admit that they painted a pretty picture.

--

There was a boy.

You weren’t quite sure what to make of him. Shy and stuttering but with bright blue eyes that reminds you of the starry sky in the village. You liked him, in the same way you liked the morbid stories and descriptions of the adventurers in the tavern. You liked him too, in the same way you liked the rare flowers that grew in Snezhnayan winter.

And maybe the boy with the starry sky in his eyes and bright red hair liked you too. But it wasn’t something you paid attention to, there were stories and adventures to be had, knowledge to be shared and you decided it was more important.

More important than understanding what everyone your age liked or what accounted for normal. You never did quite understand everyone else in the same way you immediately understood Ajax. It was precisely because of this that you simply didn’t quite fit in, you were just as much of an outcast as Ajax was with his shyness and occasional stutter. You didn’t care for it, you found comfort in the knowledge you’d never be involved in messy affairs of the romantic and platonic kind.

Your world was peaceful.

There was Ajax, the stories from adventurers, and your hidden desire for something more beyond what the small seaside town you call home had to offer.

--

There used to be a boy with bright blue eyes that takes your breath away sometimes. Who had a burning red hair and warm smile that reminded you of the warm sunshine.

You loved to follow him around, notebook in hand filled with scribbles and experiments of different shorts. And Ajax loved you, perhaps, with the way he took you along for adventures on the edges of the woods, in the frozen lake, and taking small commissions from the neighbors.

The two of you had grown taller, childhood fat turning into muscles as your bodies hit puberty. Both of you had changed in so many ways, gone were the days when no one minded the two of you staying out together for a long period of time, without any companion. Whispers followed when the two of you held each other just a bit too long for what was appropriate.

Your world could not simply consist of Ajax and the growing longing you had for what the world had to offer. You didn’t like the change, neither of you two did. But you were much better at pretending than Ajax, so you studied and observed the rest, told this to Ajax and somehow the restrictions on you two became a big game of pretend. You pretended to understand the beauty that others found, pretended to fit in the scale of accepted normalcy.

And then, without you noticing the boy you loved dearly was gone. You stared blankly as you watched his parents cry and search parties used for a boy lost in the woods.

There used to be a boy and you weren’t quite sure what to make of him when he came back to you three months later.

--

You weren’t quite sure when it started, when your world expanded and collapsed until the only things left are the ashes of things you don’t quite recognize. You weren’t quite sure when you stopped yearning for a life of adventure. When you began to settle for whatever it was that was given to you.

Maybe it was when the boy you loved came back with dull blue eyes and a sharp look that told stories only the hardened and veteran adventurers understood. Maybe it was when you could no longer keep up with him, when trouble seeks him out and your parents dragged you away from him.

Maybe it was when one night he sneaks into your room bids you goodbye and makes you realize that the stars in his eyes never left, they were just clouded by something brighter and bigger than whatever it was that Morepesok had to offer.

Maybe it was when you woke up the next day and the boy you loved was taken away into a brighter and bigger place than the small sea-side village.

But that didn’t matter now, not when your whole body hurt and you laid limp on the cold wooden floors of the place that should be home but isn’t. You weren’t quite sure when you accepted this as normal, when the man your parents swore would take care of you became the one who hurt you. You weren’t quite sure when you started to forget all of that you loved dearly.

“...it hurts” you say out loud as tears prick on the edges of your eyes and you simply lay on the floor, ignoring the pain on your ribs, the blood on your mouth and countless other bruises that littered your skin.

You don’t recognize yourself anymore.

And you hate yourself for it.

You think of the boy you loved who had stars in his eyes and the sun in his soul and you yearn for him and what could have been.

--

There was a man with a charming smile and blue eyes, and the mask of the Harbingers. You weren’t quite sure what to think of him when he held your hand gently, and spoke to you about topics you used to love.

You weren’t quite sure what it meant when his eyes grew cold at the bruises on your skin and the whispers that followed you. Maybe you loved him, in the same way you loved Ajax, and the man you lived with. Maybe you loved him in the same way you loved the preserved heart in a jar that used to be yours.

There were a lot of maybes but you were sure that Tartaglia would never hurt you. The day he takes you away felt like a fairy tale, as if the boy you loved came back for you but you knew that Ajax was gone. And Tartaglia was the one who came for you so you stupidly went along with him.

You gave him your everything.

You gave him the tattered pieces of what could have been you, and allowed him to reshape you, until you were stronger than before. You relearned how to be human, how to be yourself, and you loved him for it. You learned how to speak his own love language, stayed by his side and accepted all of him until you weren’t sure where you ended and where he began.

Somehow, you stupidly believed that all of this would remain as it was. Until he had to leave for a long while and you can’t help but feel as if your world would collapse.

“Don’t go” you whispered as you held onto his clothes like a child.

“Don’t leave me” you begged as you shrink your frame and tried to fight the fear of being hated for something like this.

“I’m sorry” Tartaglia tells you, voice soft and gentle as he hugs you tenderly.

You want to cry but you don’t because you had always understood that he was meant for bigger and brighter things. Instead you sank in his chest, you wanted to imprint yourself in him, so that no matter how bright and beautiful the world outside of this home you built was, he’d never forget about you.

“Come back quickly.”

“I’ll be back before you even miss me.”

You don’t tell him that you’ve already begun missing him.

--

You never bothered to get along with Tartaglia’s subordinates. Not when you decided to ignore anything Fatui related since it meant that Tartaglia would never have to worry about you being used against him. You refused to be a burden.

This ignorance meant that despite treating them civilly you had no deep impression on them. It meant that when none of Tartaglia’s trusted aides were available to watch you and take care of whatever your needs were, some new recruit was given to you.

You didn’t care about it much. The new recruits tend to be distant and careful upon knowing who you were to Tartaglia. You didn’t care about what they called you behind your back. What mattered was Tartaglia and his thoughts.

Your heart was too small to include irrelevant matters.

Maybe if you learned how to be human properly, you would have realized the danger you were in. An upstart recruit from a noble lineage coupled with a bad temper would never be suited to your cold and distant attitude. The snark and biting remarks you ignored only added fuel to a fire you weren’t aware of.

You were too busy counting the days until Tartaglia’s return to pay attention to someone you found insignificant.

“You didn’t finish your food again” The recruit complained.

“Feed it to the dogs or whatever” you answered dismissing him with a wave of hand as you drank your water.

No one would care if you ate less than usual. Tartaglia would only ask if anything was wrong and you’d be quick to assure him that it was nothing. You knew that he would overthink and his subordinates would pay for it.

It was best for all parties that his mood remained good. You didn’t want others interfering with your time with him and you were quite sure that after the glamour of sparring with him faded off, his men had no want of being beaten to the ground.

This thought that you believed to be true made you blind. It made you let your guard down when malice was directed at you and you found yourself suddenly on the ground.

The harsh sound of your jaw breaking echoing loudly as you stared blankly on the marble tiles of the dining room. Somehow it felt like you were back in that place, and you could hear shouting and swearing around you.

‘I’m stronger than this’ You thought as you tried to force your body to move.

‘I’m stronger than this!’ You stubbornly insisted as your body remained frozen in the ground.

‘I’M STRONGER THAN THIS!’ You screamed inside your head as you felt like you were drowning again. You couldn’t breathe and you could no longer see anything.

The next thing you saw was Tartaglia on your bedside, asleep and visibly worse for wear. You stood up, opening your mouth only to quickly stop at the dull pain you felt. You could only stare at him with longing. The room was dark and only lit by the moonlight that seeped in through the windows.

You reached out for him, three soft squeezes on his hand as you gingerly kissed his calloused hand. You could tell that he was already awake and you waited for him to open his bright blue eyes that took your breath away.

“I won’t leave you alone anymore” Tartaglia says with sadness in his voice as he cradles you in his lap. You closed your eyes and tapped his lips thrice.

‘I love you’.

--

There was a girl with bright curious eyes that seemed to see through him. Ajax couldn’t keep his stutter out as he shyly introduced himself.

He loved her at first sight.

He loved her more when she took his hand and showed him interesting stuff. Each moment spent with her was an adventure. He loved the spark in her eyes when she talked about the nations beyond Snezhnaya.

He loved her eccentricities and never wanted her to change. But Ajax knew that if he remained as he was, he would never be able to keep her by his side.

The girl he loved yearned for something bigger and brighter than Morepesok and Ajax wanted to give it to her with his own two hands.

There used to be a girl with bright eyes and rarely smiled but could take his breath away when she smiled at him. Who loved all sorts of things without any care, who loved him in the same way she loved the animals they came across.

She was bright and warm and Ajax knew that she was destined for bigger things. That she was meant to explore the world beyond the sea and Ajax wanted to take her away and give her the greatest adventure.

He wanted her world to be made up of him, their adventures, and everything she loved. But the Abyss had no place for gentle dreams and soft loves. So he fought and fought until he realized his dream and set out for something bigger and brighter than him.

‘I want to give her the world’ Ajax whispered in the silence of the night as he fought for his life and then for fun.

He thought of the girl he loved who walked among the stars and he yearned for her. The Abyss had no room for the weak so he hid away what he could and threw away what he couldn’t for the sake of growing strong and paving the way for the girl he loved.

He came back and found solace in the stupid girl that didn’t understand everything yet. He protected her innocence even as she stared at his blood stained hands. He protected her soft and loving heart even as he felt his being torn apart.

He wanted to keep her by his side but he had always been the better fighter. She was better at pretending but she could never bring herself to fight back mercilessly. So he decided to fight for the two of them.

The Fatui was like the Abyss but it could never reach the harshness and brutality of a place seeped in desperation. He hid his heart away, keeping it with the girl he loved who cried for him. He fought his way up the ranks and thought of the girl he loved.

He thought of her as he took missions upon missions, thinking of her soft lips and sweet tears that made him want to take her with him. But he wasn’t strong enough to protect her yet so he leaves her behind, promising to return to her once more.

There used to be a girl who seemed to like she could take the world by storm.

There used to be a boy who loved her secretly and openly.

Now there was a woman whose light was dying, bright eyes dulled and heart trampled upon.

Now there was a man named Tartaglia whose heart burned and raged for those that dared to hurt the woman he loved.

He takes her away, leaves no traces and keeps her far away from the burnt down house that used to be her childhood home. He keeps her by his side and gives her pieces of the world.

Tartaglia with his bloodstained hands gently and lovingly held her in his arms as he dealt with the recruit. It was brutal and inhumane but all of his humanity was meant for the girl he loved and his family.

He gives her the best doctor and waits for her to wake up.

Thrice he made the mistake of leaving her behind.

‘This time, no matter what, I’ll keep you by my side.’

--

Among the myths about Tartaglia few were dedicated to the lady he always took along with him, be it in the battlefield or anywhere else. It was rumored that she was as gentle as Liyue’s glaze lilies, and as deadly as the ruin guards that littered across Teyvat.

But one thing was constant, where Tartaglia goes the lady follows. A warrior and his lady dominating battle fields across Teyvat.

There would be no surprise if one day the entire world fell at their feet.

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