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thelargefrye · 6 months

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GODS … mature one - shot | pt. one

pairing : emperor!san x princess!f!reader

genre : slight historical fiction, mature, dark, arranged marriage, second chance, slow burn, eventually smut

word count : 3.5k

warnings : language, blood / body gore, death / murder, hints of dismemberment, san is evil, name calling (stupid girl)

special birthday suffering tag : @sanjoongie please accept this as an early birthday present from your braincell

note : inspired by san's performance video that literally wrecked all of us. none of are safe from his power and this proved it. also this was getting a little too long so i decided to split it up into at least two parts

after your life is unrightfully taken from you, you take this second chance as a way to finally survive and make a difference for yourself. you were tired of being a prisoner and feeling unwanted.

the dining hall was empty except for you and a few guards and servants. not another soul sitting at the long dining table despite it being able to sit twenty people easily, if not more.

it bothered you that you ate alone. every meal, breakfast, lunch, and dinner was by yourself. honestly, a lot of things bother you, but you were never allowed to say what was on your mind. it bothers you that you eat alone, that you have no one to talk to, that your family willingly gave you up to some demon emperor. what bothered you the most is that your "husband" never even gave you the time of day and that you were forced to listen to the maids whisper and gossip about you.

you saw the look of pity in their eyes.

you don't want their pity. you've never wanted anything but freedom for the last three years you've been trapped in this palace.

you were supposed to marry someone who loved you. have a big ceremony and live happily ever after. instead... instead you were taken away from your family by emperor san and forced to marry him. you were a pawn to him in order to gain control over your kingdom.

a prisoner forced to spend the rest of her life trapped in a loveless marriage and life.

you do your best to push down the negative thoughts as you eat. not wanting to get choked up on tears and cry. you didn't want anyone to see you cry.

especially not these gossiping maids.

"i heard the emperor went to the brothel last night."

"again! does him and the princess not spend nights together?"

"of course not. his highness isn't interested in the princess. their quarters are on completely different sides of the palace. i'm surprised he hasn't killed her, yet."

"i am too."

you try your best to ignore them.

when you've finished eating, you get up from the lonely dining table and exit the room. the maids have their eyes casted downward as you walk past them, acting as if they hadn't just been talking about you. your personal guard, mingi, follows you down the hall.

you remember when you first arrived at the palace, san introduced you to mingi and explained how he will be your personal guard.

"don't try anything stupid, mingi has orders to kill you on sight if you do," san's words still haunt you. mingi wasn't here to protect you, but to watch over you and make sure you never tried anything stupid.

when you return to your quarters, you take your usual seat by your window. the window that overlooks most of palace's entrance and the palace wall that keeps you trapped. too high to climb and too far to even try to attempt to make a run for it. like san purposely chose this room for you as a way to mock you. to let you know that you will always be a prisoner.

still, you can't help but wonder if one day you'll be able to be free and live happily.

however, that will only remain a dream until san crushes it as well like he done to all your other dreams.

"ow," you hiss out, finger immediately coming to your lips to try and stop the small prick of blood. you guess that's what you get for getting lost in your thoughts while attempting to work on your embroider.

you look down at the small cloth with the flower design slowly being sewn into it. embroidering was the only thing that kept you sane in this prison. you're waiting for the day san takes this away from you as well.

"princess, are you alright?" a voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look up to see one of the other guards, yeosang, coming into your room.

"i'm fine. just pricked my finger," you say and he nodded his head.

"the emperor is here to see you," he says before stepping aside to let your husband enter your room. he walks in exuding so much power and authority and you hate it. you hate him for how much control he has. you're forbidden from entering the west wing – his quarters – of the palace, yet he's allowed to come in the east wing and even your room without having to ask. you hate it.

"girl," he begins, never has he addressed you by your name. always just 'girl' or 'stupid girl' when it comes to you, like you weren't of your name let alone your title. "pack your bag, i'm sending you back to your home kingdom for a week. you'll be leaving tomorrow morning."

his words take you by surprise. you'll be... returning home? after three years of being away from your family, you'll finally get to see them?

"r-really?" you ask, standing up and completely forgetting about your pricked finger.

"what are you deaf, girl. i'm not going to repeat myself," he says with an annoyed huff and turns to leave.

"wait!" he stops in his tracks at your voice, but he doesn't turn around to look at you. "why am i going? is everything alright?"

"when did you ask so many fucking questions? be grateful i'm sending you there in the first place," he doesn't say anything else before he takes his leave. the door to your bedroom slamming shut behind him and you immediately flinch at the sound.

"are you ready, princess?" yeosang's voice catches you off guard as you look up at the palace you had been trapped inside for three years. being in the front courtyard gives you a completely different set of emotions knowing that you will be away from this place. even if it is for a week.

you asked yeosang if san was going to come, but the guard completely avoided your question. you're not surprised he's not showing up, but it still hurts nonetheless.

then something else hits you.

"where's mingi?"

"he's had some last minute orders from the emperor," yeosang says, keeping his answer vague like always. "come, princess, we have a long trip ahead of us."

you don't say anything but instead silently climb into the carriage. once you're settled inside, the carriage begins to move and you can't help but look out the window watching as you leave the palace.

you couldn't help the smile that painted your lips knowing that you were finally getting to return to your family. you knew nothing could ruin this moment, not even your ruthless husband.

yeosang let out an exhausted breath as he ran towards the palace. the guards standing at their post immediately recognized their fellow soldier, even with his beaten and bruised body.

"yeosang!" the handsome guard recognizes the deep voice from anywhere and he immediately falls into mingi's arms. collapsing from his injuries, no longer able to stand. then mingi realized something as he and some other guards helped his friend. "where's the princess?"

yeosang looked at mingi with tearful eyes before he shook his head and mingi felt something in stomach twist.

"where's the princess, yeosang?"

"i couldn't... i couldn't– bandits ambushed us... i tried, mingi, i really did, but they–

yeosang couldn't finish his words due to how choked up he was getting, but mingi understood what his friend was trying to say.

"where is she?"

"she's in the forest," yeosang answered and mingi immediately set out on his horse with his best friend and fellow guard, yunho. the two were deep into the forest before they finally came across the carriage you had left in.

the entire carriage was destroyed, the wheels broken off and the main part crashed into a large oak tree. bodies of the driver and some others were laying, scattered around and blood was everywhere.

"mingi..." yunho is attempting to be strong as he watches his friend make his way towards the carriage door. it too had been broken and destroyed and the two guards noted how all of your luggage was gone. "those bandits took everything."

mingi ignored his friend in favor of opening the carriage door. however, instead of being met with an empty carriage, he was greeted with something worse.

"fuck!" mingi has to pull himself away from the carriage. tripping over the tree roots as he bends over and vomits. the sight in the carriage burned into his eyes even as he blinks. yunho watches his friend with concern before he's watching him breakdown and sob. tears running down his cheeks and snot running down his nose and over his chin from how hard his was sobbing. mingi's throat burned from when he threw up.

yunho looked between mingi and the carriage before taking several steps towards the carriage. mingi's voice repeating "oh god, oh god, i'm so sorry. please forgive me" is like a broken record in the background. and then yunho reaches over and opens the door and the sight within makes his whole being shake in terror.

when they arrived back to the palace, mingi carried a bag with him as they reached the throne room. san was sitting on his throne with his usually bored expression; however, mingi and yunho entering caught his attention.

"what's wrong with you two?"

"your highness," yunho begins, voice shaking as he starts to talk. however, yunho doesn't know what to say. he's at a loss for words.

"well? what the fuck is wrong you both?" san asks again, standing up and walking towards the two guards. mingi doesn't say anything except hand the bag over to him. "what is this?"

"your highness, the princess's carriage was attacked by bandits. yeosang managed to make it back, but..." yunho says, finally finding his words. he continues after a moment and at the same time san opens the bag. "the princess did not make it. we brought back... what was left of her."

the image of your body laying in the carriage burns in yunho's mind. he had never seen something as horrific before during his time as a soldier and especially done to an innocent woman like you. you did nothing wrong, just someone trapped in a situation you had no control over.

san says nothing as he looks inside the bag, letting the contents settle into his mind before he's carelessly dropping the bag onto the ground in front of his feet.

"oh well."

you can't help the scream that rips through your throat as you thrash around your bed. your covers flying everywhere before settling either back onto your bed or in the floor. your heart is beating rapidly in your ears and your eyes scan the room around you.

you couldn't help but let out another scream as your door is thrown open and in comes mingi with a concerned look.

"what's wrong, princess?" in any other moment you would have found his voice a comfort. but in this moment, you couldn't even find the proper words. the only thing leaving your lips were sobs as tears ran down your face.

it had felt so real, you thought as you curled yourself into a ball. you felt like you had actually died. alone in that forest as those bandits... no. you don't really want to think about it anymore.

"princess y/n?" mingi speaks again earning your attention as you look at him with tear-stained cheeks and glassy eyes.

"i... i had a nightmare," you said as you wiped away your tears. you hated yourself for crying in front of someone, mingi especially. "sorry."

"ah, its alright, princess. just gave me a scare is all," he says before he's bowing his head towards you and leaving.

when the door closed behind him, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. your hands instinctively come up to your neck, feeling a slight ache course through your body. you try to push back the feeling as your stood you and made your way to your ensuite bathroom to get ready.

you remember when you first arrived how you had at least three handmaids to help you get ready, only helping you because they were afraid of san. however, once they realized san didn't care about you, they stopped doing their duty and showing up. only one continued to be loyal to you, yeri.

but then three months ago you found out that yeri only remained by your side because she wanted to try and get close to san. she knew she was a pretty woman and san went after any pretty woman. after she got what she wanted she too–

"princess y/n, what are you doing running your own bath?" the familiar feminine voice snaps you out of your thoughts. standing up from the the edge of the tub, you're surprised to see yeri standing at you bathroom door.

"what are you doing here?" you asked, a little surprised to suddenly see her in your room.

"hm? what are you talking about princess? i'm your handmaiden, i'm suppose to be here," she answers and something feels unease as seeing her settles in your stomach. something wasn't right.

you vividly remember the night you found san pinning her to the wall and her words that were meant to bring you down. "wouldn't you rather someone who could properly please you, your highness? someone much prettier than your ugly and boring wife?" you remember who she tilted her head to the side in a flirting manner, even twirling her hair as the word left her mouth a stabbed your heart.

you remember how san only smirked at her before continuing to have his way with her. right there in hallway and in the east wing – "your" wing.

you had thought she was a friend, but when you heard those words you immediately knew she wasn't. you trusted her and she betrayed that trust. she didn't care. she was like everyone else.

"here, princess, let me finish–

"stop talking," you cut her off, voice as cold as you could make it. you couldn't stand looking at her. "is this some sick and twisted joke to you?" you ask, glaring at her. yeri's face is immediately covered in confusion and she opens her mouth to say something. "get out. i don't need you to do anything for me."

"but princes–

"i said get out!" you've never raised your voice, but the longer you looked at her the more you realized that she was able to easily get what you could never have. san's attention.

you could have sworn you seen yeri's fake persona fall for a split second from your new attitude before she's turning on her feet and rushing out of the room.

you let your anger subdue before you're turning back to the tub and quickly turning off the water before it begins to overflow into the floor. because honestly that was the last thing you need right now after just waking up.

you allow the warm water engulf you and you let out a sigh as you sink into the water. your hair placed carefully on top of your head as a way to keep it dry, knowing it was going to be a pain to do if you got it wet. the ache and soreness in your body was still there all around you. your neck, wrist, arms, stomach, and legs all had a type of ache to them that you never experienced before.

maybe you should visit the palace doctor later, you think before you let your eyes close. however, once you close your eyes you are immediately brought back to your nightmare. the screams of the driver and other servants ringing in your ears, the carriage door ripping open and those bandits standing there and their swords shining despite the darkness of the night.

you suddenly open your eyes again in order to make sure you were still in your bathroom. eyes darting around the room as if those bandits would also be here. its only after several minutes does your heart rate calm down before you can even will yourself to get out the tub.

the water had grown cold.

"princess, are you alright? do you need to see the doctor?" one the maids ask when she notice you keep repeatedly rubbing your wrists and neck.

"i... i think i just slept wrong," you say in an attempt to brush her concern off.

"alright, princess, but if it gets worse please let someone know," she says and you nod and thank her before she's going back to her place with the other maids in the dining room.

"i heard she dismissed yeri this morning, yelled at her and told her to get out," one of the maid's said in a hushed whisper.

"really? that's surprising considering how much the princess liked her."

"i say yeri deserved it because of how she has been trying to sleep with the emperor."

trying? as if she hadn't done it yet? how is that possible when she did sleep with san three months ago?

the unsettling feeling reappears as you continue to think about yeri and the nightmare. something just wasn't clicking.

"excuse me," you say and one of the maids immediately come over to you.

"yes, your highness? what's wrong?"

"what... what month is it?"

"august, your highness."

"a-august?" your shocked by her answer. it was august? that was three months ago. how is this possible?

"p-princess are you alright? you look ill," her voice sounds far away as you begin to lose focus on the things around you. everything becomes blurry and you're quick to stand up. chair scraping along the floor before tipping over and falling to the floor.

you begin to walk away, ignoring the maids calling after you and even some of the guards, but you ignore them all. this was just some sick joke from all of them. from yeri, to mingi, to the maids, to san. you were supposed to be in october and spending a week with your family. not in fucking august with people who hated you.

you don't have time to comprehend anything else before your falling to your knees and passing out in the middle of the hallway.

after you had passed out, you had woke up in your bedroom with mingi, yeosang, and the palace doctor surrounding your bed along with a young maid.

the maid was the first to notice you awake and she immediately collapsed at your bedside with tears welling up in her eyes.

"oh, princess, i'm so glad that you're awake! we were all worried sick about you!" she said and your eyes moved from between her to the two guards and then the doctor.

"how do you feel, your highness?" the doctor asked and it took you a moment before you actually answered him.

"i'm fine," you answer despite how your body still aches, you force yourself to sit up. the young maid is quick to adjust your pillows for you as you do.

"you all can leave," you add on looking at the guards and doctor. mingi and yeosang as hesitant to follow your orders, but the doctor does so before giving you instructions to take it easy for the rest of the day. he also said that he would make sure your meals are delivered to your room and that he'll come back later.

when the three males leave, you are left alone with the maid. her doe eyes looking at you with concern as she keeps a watchful eye on you. that's when her name finally comes to you.

"yunjin..." you say trailing off as you remember that she was with you in the carriage. you remember watching as the bandits grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of the carriage because she tried to protect you.

"yes, ma'am? do you need anything?" she asks, voice hopeful and waiting to help you. you remember she began working for you when hongjoong – san's advisor, had found out that you had no one helping you. you know he only assigned yunjin because he took pity on you like everyone else here.

however, yunjin followed you around and listened to every order you gave her. at first you were worried that she would be like yeri, only using you to see the emperor. as if you see him on the daily. but then you learned that yunjin was a devoted servant to you.

"is it... really august?" you asked her, still not able to wrap your head around everything.

"yes, princess."

what if... oh god, what if you did actually die that night? does this mean you are given a second chance? a second chance to survive and to make sure that you and yunjin and the other servants don't die.

but how were you going to do this?

and then you hear loud cheers and noises coming from outside and you have to force your body to crawl out of bed and over to the window. then you see him.

san walking through the gates and into the courtyard, a small army of followers around him. following him around like he was some god. then it clicked inside your brain.

if you were going to survive then you would have to gain his favor. deep down you know san was probably the one behind the "bandit" attack. so getting on his good side would get him to call off the bandit attack.

you were going to win over your ruthless husband.

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proxima-writes · 10 months

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the last great american dynasty

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6.8k (whoops)

summary:

Joel Miller has loved the historic Victorian home in his neighborhood since the first time he laid eyes on it. When the elderly owner passes, he thinks he might get his chance to finally buy it and fix it up.

He doesn’t expect to find you, the granddaughter of the previous owner and trustee of her estate, standing in the way of his dream

author's note:

inspo board this work is inspired by taylor swift's song "the last great american dynasty" and is part of the folklore album anthology! if you enjoy, please consider reblogging/commenting and make sure to check out the other works by the amazing collaborators on this project.

tags/warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, work contains journal entries as part of the plot, porn with plot, pre-outbreak!joel, grandma is a named OFC, sassy reader, dirty talk, teasing, praise, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paint as a flirting mechanism, mild enemies to lovers, pet names. let me know if there are any missing!

August 20, 1948

I have arrived in Texas. I am uncertain where to go or what to do. For so long I’ve answered only to George, but now I am my own woman and the world before me has suddenly become much bigger, seemingly overnight.

I just hope it will be good for me.

-R

PRESENT DAY

If there’s one thing you never expected, it’s to inherit a mansion from a grandmother that you’ve never spoken to. As far as you were aware that kind of thing only happened in movies, so receiving a phone call from an estate lawyer that had been trying to locate you for a whole year since this mystery woman’s passing was a complete shock.

Now you find yourself with a car full of your belongings driving cross country to a sleepy suburb of Austin, Texas. The first stop is the lawyer’s office, where a secretary eyes you warily as you sit in the lobby of the lush office suite, fingers toying with a loose thread on the t-shirt you’d been wearing for the last eight-hour leg of your road trip.

A voice calls your name from a door just past the secretary’s desk, an older man with white hair and a deeply wrinkled face smiling kindly at you. You stand, shaking his hand as you pass by him into his office. He gestures to the wingback chairs that face his impressive dark wood desk. You take in the diplomas on the wall and the floor to ceiling bookshelves lined with thick, leather bound tomes.

“I appreciate you comin’ all the way out here so quickly. You were quite the tough one to find,” the man says with a chuckle. He pulls out a thick envelope, cream colored with swooping, swirling handwriting across the front reading your name. “Your grandmother was a dear friend of mine. She established a trust in your name not long after you were born.”

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m still a little confused. I didn’t even know I had a grandmother,” you admit quietly. He nods solemnly.

“She never told me all the details, but there had been a falling out between her and her daughter. They kept their distance after that.” When you don’t say anything, mind too busy racing with the questions that you suppose only your mom can answer now, he continues. “Would you like the review the details of the trust?”

“Um, sure. I guess that’s why I’m here, after all.”

He slips a piece of paper from the folder, sliding it across the desk. The same swirling handwriting fills the page.

My Dearest,

You may not know me, but I’ve watched you grow in photographs and letters since you were born. You mean the world to me, even if I could not fit in the world that your mother created for you. I respected that choice, hurt though it may have. She had her own path to forge, just as I did, and just as you will. I am eternally grateful for the parts of her life she did share after she left.

In the event of my passing, I leave my estate to you in its entirety. I built my true happiness in those walls, and I hope you can do the same.

-R

You read the letter twice, eyes stinging with tears. A tissue box slides across the desk, and you pluck two sheets out gratefully.

“In this envelope are the more official documents. The deed transfer that will need your signature, beneficiary statements for her banking and savings accounts, things like that. My office will handle all the paperwork filing,” the man says. A few more forms are laid out on the desk, and you lean forward to read them.

“Holy shit,” you snap, eyes wide as you swipe the beneficiary statement from the wood. “There must be too many zeroes in this, right? Or a rogue comma? That can’t be the right amount.”

“I assure you that’s the correct amount,” he says with a laugh. “And if you’ll sign down there, it’ll be transferred to your name and designated account.”

Your mouth goes dry as you read through the rest of the documents. In addition to the sizeable amount of money about to hit your bank account, there’s a five-bedroom house being transferred into your name, as well as a safety deposit box. You sign each form where directed, sliding them back over to the lawyer.

“I believe this is yours,” he says, holding a house key out to you. He drops it into your open palm. “Good luck.”

“I wish they would just put that place up for sale already,” Joel grumbles from the passenger seat of his brother’s truck as they drive by the out-of-place 1920s Victorian home on their way to a job site.

“You’ve been sayin’ that for the past year since that poor old woman passed,” Tommy says with a laugh. “Give it up, brother. Your dream house is just goin’ to rot away before your eyes.”

“Don’t you say that,” Joel replies. He doesn’t need Tommy speaking his fear into the universe.

The house has already been showing signs of falling apart in the last ten years Joel has lived in the neighborhood. The roof needs work, the shutters need replacing, the lawn is overgrown, and there’s a sizable hole in the wrap-around porch that seems to get bigger over time.

He’s wanted that house since the first time he saw it while he was house hunting ten years ago, a then three-year-old Sarah on his hip as he toured a nice little house that was available in the neighborhood at the time. While the home he’s built with his daughter through long days of hard work is nothing to scoff at, he’s always dreamed of something with more character and story.

He just hopes he’ll get his chance.

You stare up at the old house in front of you, shielding your eyes from the late afternoon sun. It’s a beautiful house, though there’s no denying its seen better days – two stories with large bay windows on both floors, white wood siding and chipped red shutters that are clinging to their rusty hardware, a large wrap around porch that has vines encroaching on the banisters, a lawn overgrown with weeds. You tentatively climb the steps of the porch, peeking nervously into the large hole in the wood to the left of the front door.

“That’s private property,” a gruff voice calls out, making you jump. You turn, finding a man standing on the sidewalk with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You ain’t supposed to be snoopin’ around.”

“Actually—”

“Why don’t you just head home, sweetheart, and I won’t have to call the cops,” the stranger says, cutting you off. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“This is—”

The man huffs, arms dropping as he digs in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a cell phone. “Seriously, I’ll give you until the count of three. We don’t need trouble around this neighborhood, alright?”

The nerve, you think, narrowing your eyes at the man. Since he clearly doesn’t want to hear what you have to say, you decide to take a different route. You reach into the pocket of your shorts, pulling out the key that the lawyer had given you earlier that day. You take a sideways step closer to the door, keeping your eyes on the man as you pointedly insert the key into the lock and opening the heavy wood door.

His mouth drops open in surprise and you smile at him.

“You were saying?”

Joel had seen the car parked in the driveway of the empty house when Tommy dropped him off after work. He’d quickly checked on Sarah, newly thirteen and fiercely independent, finding her working on her homework at the kitchen table, before making his way across the street.

He hadn’t expected to find a gorgeous woman snooping around the old house, curves hugged in denim shorts and a tank top that made his mouth water. He also hadn’t expected the woman to produce a key from the pocket of those sinfully tight shorts.

“You were saying?” You ask, lips curved in a smirk and eyebrows raised at him. When Joel doesn’t immediately reply, still too stunned that you have access to the house, you turn and walk through the door, shutting it behind you.

He finally shakes himself of his shock, bounding up the steps and knocking on the door. You pull it back open.

“I’ll buy it from you,” Joel says immediately.

“Excuse me?” You reply, your hands moving to your hips. “It’s not for sale.”

“Come on, what’s a girl like you need all this space for?” Your mouth drops open, pretty lips stretched wide in surprise and Joel struggles to keep his thoughts from drifting to sinful places.

“A girl like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re young, that’s all. You don’t need a house this big and this much of a project!”

“What makes you think I don’t have a big ol’ family I’m moving in here? Four kids and a loving husband?!”

Joel blinks. “You got four kids and a lovin’ husband?”

“No, but that’s besides the point.” You roll your eyes, jabbing a finger at his chest. “It’s not for sale. Now get off my porch before I call the cops on you.”

With that final word, the door shuts in Joel’s face again, the sound of your retreating footsteps signaling the end of the discussion.

November 12, 1948

There’s a gentleman who comes into the diner every Tuesday. He always sits in one of my booths, with his perfect hair and suit and handsome face distracting me until he leaves. Some of the other waitresses try talking to him but he doesn’t pay them any mind. They’ve whispered to me before that he comes from money - oil, or something, not that it matters.

His name is William, and I think he’s trying to steal my heart.

-R

“So, let me get this straight. First, you threatened to call the police on this woman. Then, rather than introducin’ yourself or welcomin’ her to the neighborhood or even apologizin’, you just go straight to tellin’ her she doesn’t need a house that big and that you wanna buy it from her. Did I hear that right?” Tommy says, watching Joel as he throws together dinner the following evening.

“Yeah, that sums it up,” Sarah says. Joel huffs.

“Well, when you put it like that.” He sips his beer as his daughter and brother share a look. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothin’,” they say in tandem. Joel narrows his eyes as Sarah breaks out in giggles. Tommy stands, heading to Joel’s pantry and rifling through the shelves until he finds an unopened bottle of whiskey buried in the back.

“What are you doin’ with that?” Joel asks.

“Welcomin’ your new neighbor like the gentleman I am. Sarah, watch the pasta while I show your dad how it’s done,” Tommy replies, heading for the front door, Joel trailing behind him.

Tommy crosses the street with quick steps, eyeing the porch dubiously as he knocks on the door. Joel stands beside him, hands shoved in his pockets as he curses under his breath about his brother’s stupid antics.

You open the door, dressed this time in a pretty sundress that makes Joel’s mouth go dry. Tommy flashes you a grin and Joel can’t help the annoyance he feels when his brother’s eyes trail over your body.

“Hey there! I’m Tommy Miller, you may have met my dumbass brother over here the other day. I’m certain he didn’t make the best impression, so I just wanted to come over and welcome you to the neighborhood,” he says, holding the whiskey out to you.

You introduce yourself, ignoring Joel. “Thank you so much, Tommy. Would you like to come in?”

“Sure thing,” his traitorous brother replies, stepping over the threshold. When Joel makes a move to follow, you give him a pointed look before shutting the door in his face.

“You want a beer, Tommy?” You ask the handsome man in your kitchen. You can’t help but be impressed by the genetics of the Miller family, both men tall and tan and handsome as hell. Sure, one of them could use a lesson on manners, but you’ll admit that since your confrontation your mind has drifted to thoughts of brown eyes and soft dark hair that belong to the brother you left on the porch out of spite.

“Yes, please,” Tommy says politely. You open the dated refrigerator and grab two beer bottles, popping the caps against the countertop and handing one to him. “This sure is a nice place.”

“Thanks. I just inherited it from my grandma,” you explain. “It’s a little…dated.”

He chuckles. “We call it ‘character’ in contractin’.”

“That what you guys do, then? Contracting?”

“Sure is. Miller Brothers Contracting and Construction.” Tommy scratches at the label on the bottle before saying, “Look, I know my brother can come off the wrong way. He didn’t get the social genes. But he’s a good guy, and he’s loved this house since the first time he saw it. Always wanted to buy it, fix it up, raise his little girl here. Maybe add to his family one day.”

You look around the rundown kitchen. You’ve only been here a day and you know you’ve got your work cut out for you. The electrical and plumbing are all outdated, the appliances need replacing, the floors need to be refurbished, and that’s just the first floor. You could use some help with it all, and maybe the grumpy contractor next door who cares about the house could help you with it all.

“I appreciate that he loves the house but…I never met my grandma. Never even knew who she was or that she was even alive, and it’s the only connection I have to her. I don’t know if this is going to be my forever but…I want to at least give it a shot.”

Tommy smiles. “We could help with that.”

It feels like ages before Tommy’s stepping back out onto the porch, a beer in his hand that makes Joel frown.

“Y’all were havin’ drinks while I sat out here like an ass?” He asks incredulously. Tommy throws an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

“Yes, and if you don’t quit your whinin’ I’m not goin’ to tell you about our lovely conversation,” the younger man says as he walks with Joel back to his house.

In the kitchen, Sarah is pouring the pasta sauce and ground beef over the noodles. Joel takes over and waves her away, mumbling his thanks as he mixes the ingredients together. He sets up two plates, setting one in front of his daughter and sitting down with the other. Tommy makes an affronted sound before fixing his own plate.

“So?” Joel asks. Tommy slurps at his food.

“Was the lady nice?” Sarah asks.

“No,” Joel replies at the same time Tommy says, “Yes.”

Joel glares at Tommy. “You gonna tell me what she said or what?”

“She ain’t sellin’,” Tommy finally says. “But, she wants to fix the place up. Offered our services so you could get your grubby fuckin’ hands in there.”

“Language,” Joel says, eyes flicking to Sarah. The girl rolls her eyes. “Really?”

“Yep. Better start callin’ the guys. From what I saw we’re dealin’ with electrical from the 50s, plumbing from who knows when, not to mention the HVAC and roof will need to be upgraded, too.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin before grinning at Joel. “You up for the challenge?”

“Hell yeah.”

August 23, 1949

William and I have just been married.

I know, I know. I can’t believe it either. But he is truly the light of my life.

The wedding was charming, if a little gauche. I’m still not abreast of all these new societal expectations that surround a man like William, but I’m willing to try. Today he will be taking me around to view houses in the more opulent neighborhoods, the type of homes I used to gawk at but one of them will be mine.

I must be dreaming.

-R

Joel and Tommy start working on the house right away. Every day there’s a line of pick-up trucks parked on the curb and the sounds of construction start early in the morning and continue into the late evening. The electrician and plumber come through first, updating the wiring and pipes through the whole house. The roofers and HVAC come through next, replacing the crumbling shingles and dated central unit with a split system for each level of the house.

It’s not until the big projects are done that you get to have fun with the place, which is how you found yourself methodically painting the front door a muted lime green early one morning.

“What do you think you’re doin’?”

You sigh. Despite Tommy’s assurances that Joel is a great guy beneath the grumpy control freak exterior, you’ve continued to only get the side of the man that grates your nerves.

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m painting the door.”

“You can’t paint the door that color,” Joel says, heavy footsteps stomping up your newly repaired porch.

“Says who?” You retort. You smear another stroke of paint over the sanded wood.

“Me, for one. The historical society, for two.” He pulls the brush from your hand and holds it above his head and out of your reach. The movement drags his shirt up, exposing a strip of tan belly with a trail of dark hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans. “Why are you bein’ a pain in the ass?”

“I was put on this earth simply to make your life more difficult, Joel Miller. Isn’t that obvious?” You reply sarcastically. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like you got that right. “What are you even doing over here? It’s Saturday.”

“We’re goin’ to the store. You gotta start pickin’ stuff out for the bathrooms and kitchen,” he says, tossing the paint brush into the tray. “And then we’re gettin’ a new color to cover this up.”

Joel leaves the porch and you follow behind him to the black pick-up truck idling by the sidewalk. He opens the passenger door for you and you raise your eyebrow at the gesture but climb inside.

January 3, 1950

Our New Year’s party is the talk of the town. There were so many people in the house I began to lose count. William had so much champagne ordered I swear we could fill an entire swimming pool with it all.

The ladies at the club have already begun to ask when we would host our next event. I can’t wait to plan another.

-R

“Can you please focus?” Joel begs, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He’s laid out three tile combinations, one for each bathroom in the home, and he needs you to look at them but you keep getting distracted.

“You’re no fun,” you huff. You examine the tiles, pointing to a turquoise blue one he’s picked for the shower in the master. “I love that.”

He looks at you in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned. She can be reasoned with.”

You giggle and Joel can’t help the smile it prompts from him, the sound of your laugh so sweet compared to your sharp tongue.

“I like the white and blue combinations for upstairs, but in that powder room I want a pink theme,” you tell him. Your eyes search the displays, landing on a blush pink glass subway tile option. “Like this!”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Joel replies without thinking, taking the sample from you and comparing it next to the floor tile he’d chosen for that bathroom. When he glances at you, you’re giving him a confused look. “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply, shaking your head. “What about the kitchen?”

“What were you thinking for in there?”

“Green cabinets. White and black backsplash, the kind with the little hexagons that look like flowers. I gotta pick out appliances now that the electrical can sustain newer ones, too.” You pause. “And how do you feel about wallpaper?”

“It’s the devil,” Joel replies.

Your grin is downright mischievous. “Excellent.”

February 2, 1956

William had a heart attack. It scared me so badly that I haven’t let him out of my sight since. The doctor said he’s been working too hard, drinking too much, and not sleeping enough. Maybe the parties have started to be too much for him.

I’ve been feeling unlike myself. Tired, nauseated. Hopefully my heart isn’t troubled, too.

-R

Joel places a hefty order for all the items you’ve picked out today from nearly every aisle of the store - tile for the bathrooms and kitchen, vanities and plumbing fixtures, countertops, lighting, and appliances. While he’s preoccupied with calculations and measurements and pricing things out, you pick out paint and wallpaper for the projects you’ll be able to do on your own.

He finds you a while later, a cart full of paint buckets and supplies. To your surprise, he grins.

“More paint, huh? You pick a new one for the door?” He asks. You smile back at him, butterflies erupting in your tummy.

“Yep. Does navy blue suffice, your highness? I thought we could paint the trim the same color.”

Joel nods. “Good choice. Look, I’ve kept you here so long for all the orderin’. You wanna get lunch?”

“Careful, Joel. I’m like a stray cat - once you start feeding me, I might never leave,” you reply with a laugh. You push your heavy cart of paint towards the exit.

You miss the soft smile he gives to your retreating figure.

September 23, 1956

Our daughter is here. She’s the sweetest little thing, though she can screech like a banshee when she sees fit. William is so besotted, he keeps looking between the two of us with stars in his eyes like he can’t believe how lucky he is.

I love them both with my whole heart and soul.

-R

Joel takes you to a retro family diner with black-and-white checkerboard flooring and red vinyl accents with a vintage jukebox in the corner. You’re delighted by the themed menu, eyes immediately zeroing in on the classic malt shakes and french fries.

Over lunch, Joel actually opens up to you. He tells you about going into construction right out of high school and dragging Tommy into it when he’d gotten back from serving his tour with the Army. He talks about his daughter, Sarah, and you can’t help the smile that stretches your lips as you watch his eyes light up while he talks about his little girl. She’s at a sleepover this weekend, which gave him the extra time to visit the home improvement store this morning.

In turn, you tell him about getting the call from the lawyer one afternoon that changed your life forever. How you’d packed up everything you owned and driven across the country to find out that you had a grandmother that your mother never told you about that left you her entire estate.

“Wow. That’s…wow,” Joel says when you’ve paused to take a sip of your chocolate shake.

“Excuse me?” A voice asks. You both look up at the elderly woman dressed in a t-shirt with the restaurant’s logo and pressed slacks. She smiles. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and ever since you sat down I’ve been wrackin’ my brain tryin’ to place your face and it’s just hit me.”

She holds out a framed black and white photo of six waitresses standing beneath the same sign that’s still out front, all of them grinning at the camera. There’s one face, however, that looks familiar despite you never having seen her.

“Her name was Rebecca. We used to work together. That’s me, right there,” she says, pointing to the girl standing to the woman’s left. “Rolled up to town at eighteen, fresh off a divorce and hardly a penny to her name. My daddy, god rest his soul, he owned the restaurant and gave her a job when she’d come through lookin’ for work.”

“Wow,” you murmur. “This is insane. Do you have any other pictures?”

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “‘Fraid not, darlin’. Just the one. But I know she kept a lot of journals. Was always scribblin’ in one and spent what little extra cash she had makin’ sure she had a new notebook ready. Maybe they’re still around?”

July 16, 1958

William…

William is gone. My light, my love, my world. The doctor said his heart just…stopped. In his sleep, right beside me.

I have to continue to live with a hole in my own heart, the piece that William stole years ago gone with him.

But I have to be strong for our daughter. Our brave girl, my little bird.

-R

When Joel brings you back to the house, you stare up at the facade, wondering if the journals the woman had spoken about could still be inside. Lost in thought, your eyes land on the little window that sits above the bay windows on the second floor, where the master bedroom is. You’ve been sleeping in that room for months now and you know there’s no window there that you can see from the inside.

“Hey, Joel?” You call out, eyes still fixed on the little window like it might disappear if you look away. “This place is only two stories. How come there’s a window there?”

He looks up at the roof. “Huh. Might be decorative?”

“Or it might be a secret room,” you tell him.

“Okay, Sherlock. Let’s go see.”

You lead him upstairs to the master bedroom, most of your grandma’s furniture still present save for the bed that you replaced upon arriving. You stare up at the ceiling, but it’s smooth - no trap doors to be found.

“If I were a secret door, where would I hide?” You ask.

Joel, who’d been poking his head into the walk-in closet, replies, “Probably the closet.”

There’s a creak of old hinges as Joel reaches up high and tugs the brass pull handle fixed in the ceiling. A descending ladder falls to the ground and you both stare at each other in surprise.

“I’ll go grab a flashlight,” Joel offers, sprinting from the room. You stare up at the hole in the ceiling, anticipation thrumming in your veins.

He returns quickly. “I’ll go up first.”

“Ever the gentleman,” you tease, watching as he ascends the ladder, your eyes shamelessly fixed to his ass as he climbs. You hear the click of the flashlight and see the sweep of the beam through the opening in the ceiling. “Anything?”

“Lots of suitcases. Hang on, let me grab one of the small ones,” he calls down. There’s the sound of something being dragged across the floor before he’s slowly lowering a leather suitcase into your hands.

It’s surprisingly heavy and you drag it by the handle to the bedroom, kneeling on the ground to pop the latches and open the dusty lid. Inside are stacks of leather bound notebooks, edges of the pages yellow with age.

“I’ll be damned,” Joel says, wiping his palms against his jeans. “We found the journals.”

Joel drags the suitcase downstairs, setting it in the living room for you while you order pizza and open a bottle of wine for the occasion. You sit beside each other on the couch and he hands you a journal that you carefully open.

May 17, 1974

We had another argument last night. She claims that I’ve been too overbearing, too protective, too stifling, but what else is a mother meant to do?

-R

May 18, 1974

Her bed was cold and empty this morning. Her piggy bank smashed to bits on the floor and her drawers cleared. Despite my tight grip, my little bird has flown away.

It appears that history does repeat itself. Imagine that.

-R

“Holy shit,” you say, sitting back on the couch with your glass of wine in one hand and one of your grandma’s journals in the other. “She ran away.”

“Who did?” Joel asks, biting into a slice of pizza.

“My mom. She just…packed up and disappeared.” You glance at him. “Guess that’s why I never knew about her.”

“Maybe you should stop uncoverin’ dark family secrets for the night,” Joel suggests. “You know, the dining room could stand to be painted.”

You glance over to the room in question. Joel must have set down the drop cloth on the floor while you’d been engrossed in your discovery.

“Sure. Why not,” you acquiesce.

October 29, 1976

I’ve received an envelope of photographs in the mail, pictures of my daughter holding a little baby. She’s written notes on the back of each one. I’m a grandmother.

My daughter looks happy. Healthy. That’s all I can ask. She didn’t provide a return address.

As for the baby…I love her so much. She takes my breath away. I keep one of the photos on me at all times.

-R

Joel turns on the radio while he works, humming along to the classic rock station selections. He’s been working on painting the wall near the wood molding while he left you with a paint roller to cover the middle of the wall. He looks up at you occasionally, admiring the way your muscles work as you wash the wall with color.

You must sense that he’s watching, turning your head over your shoulder and looking at him curiously. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he says. You smile at him, setting the roller in the tray. He can’t help but look at your ass in your tight leggings as you bend over.

You straighten up, walking over to him. There’s a glint in your eye that has Joel on high alert.

“You got a little something on your face,” you tell him.

“No, I don’t,” he counters. He’s a master at painting. He knows damn well he doesn’t have a drop on him.

“Yeah, you do,” you argue. You reach out, and your fingers smooth across his forehead. “Right there!”

Joel’s mouth drops open in surprise and he lets out a bark of laughter, bringing his fingers up to his forehead. When he pulls his hand away, they’re stained blue and you’re grinning at him like a mad woman.

“Yeah? Well, you got some right—“ He smears his paintbrush across your chest and you try to step back, but it’s too late. “—there,” he finishes.

You rush back to the paint tray and dip your hands in the liquid, brandishing your palms like weapons. He starts to advance on you, smirking as you back up.

“Stay back,” you command. Joel laughs, dodging your swinging arms as he charges, dropping low to press a shoulder into your belly, dragging you down to the ground in a heap of limbs.

He presses his body to yours as he reaches an arm out to the paint tray, covering his own hand in paint. Your eyes go wide and you squirm beneath him, your paint covered palms reaching up under his shirt to press the cold liquid to his ribs. He flinches away, giving you enough room to scramble out from under him.

Joel grabs your arm, paint smearing on your skin as he tugs you back down. You wrestle together, paint getting everywhere as he lets you straddle his waist. His hands grip your hips, fingers pressing tightly as he stares up into your face.

“You win,” he murmurs, voice low. Your lashes flutter, hips canting over the obvious bulge in his jeans. He groans, hands urging you to do it again.

“What’s my prize?”

Joel slips his fingers beneath the hem of your tank top, dragging the paint stained material up and over your head and tossing it aside. His gaze burns across your newly exposed skin.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?” He says, a hand sliding up your belly to palm one of your breasts. Your head drops back as you moan.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply. He chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest as his eyes grow darker, his gaze more heated. “Come on, Miller. What’s my prize?”

With a growl Joel sits up, wrapping an arm around your low back and twisting your bodies until you’re on your back, staring up at him as his lips stretch in a devious smirk. His fingers curl into the waistband of your leggings, sliding the fabric down your legs. His touch paints your skin blue as he does.

His hands press your thighs apart, opening you up. Your cheeks heat as he stares down at you like he’s trying to commit every curve of you to his memory. Finally, he leans in and you can feel his breath ghosting over your heated flesh.

Joel’s tongue traces through your slick folds, a broad stroke that has you gasping and arching your back. He hums against your sensitive flesh as he repeats the languid motion, his stubble catching on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

You reach your hands down to tangle in his hair, paint catching on the strands as you tug and pull. He groans against you, tongue moving faster as he circles your clit before pulling it between his lips. A hand leaves your thigh, the one not coated in paint, and two thick fingers press to your entrance, sliding inside of you as you gasp out Joel’s name.

“Christ,” he groans as he presses in deep before withdrawing slowly, curling his digits against your front wall, “you’re so fuckin’ wet, pretty girl. That for me?”

“Uh huh,” you reply, breathless as you work your hips to the rhythm of his fingers. Joel watches you, his lips and chin shiny from his efforts. “Joel, please!”

“Please what?” His hand moves faster, fingers pressing harder as his lips spread in a lascivious grin that makes your toes curl. “Come on, baby, ask me real nice and I’ll give you anythin’. Ain’t that right? You know damn well you’ve had me wrapped around your sassy little finger since the moment we met, don’t you?”

You whine, nodding your head quickly. “Knew you were a glutton for punishment.”

“Could say that again,” he says, chuckling as he lands a smash to the outside of your thigh with his free hand. “Now, come on, baby. Follow directions. Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna cum, Joel. Please!”

“Good girl,” he growls, lowering his lips to your pussy to lick at your clit. He hums as he lavishes the sensitive bud with attention and it’s the final push you need over the razor's edge you’d been teetering on since he started. You press your thighs against his head as your nerves light up and your muscles go tight with pleasure, his movements slowing as he works you through your release.

Your muscles go limp, head dropping back to the floor with a thunk. Joel sits up, crawling up your body and trailing kisses across your tummy and chest in the patches of skin not covered by paint. He grips your chin, holding you steady as his lips press to yours in a kiss so deep you worry you’re at risk of drowning.

Your hands fumble with his belt, pulling the leather free of the loops in a frenzy. He stands quickly, freeing himself of his jeans and boxers in one motion before reaching behind his head to tug his shirt off while you admire his labor-toned body.

Joel drops to his knees, pressing his hips to yours and dragging the thick head of his cock through your sensitive pussy, bumping your clit and making you both groan in tandem. His forearms rest on the floor beside your head as he teases you like this, slow drags of his length through your wetness, the tantalizing catch of him at your aching hole. You tilt your hips slightly, hoping he gets the hint, and he chuckles.

“You know the drill, baby,” he says, breathless with his own desire. “Just say the word.”

“Fuck me, Joel, please.”

His cock slips inside of you with little resistance, the stretch of him making you gasp. His eyes remain fixed to yours as he bottoms out and you smile up at him, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

Joel gives a small, experimental thrust that makes your eyes roll back with pleasure. He does it again, a sharper snap of his hips making you cry out and dig your nails into his shoulder. He builds his own rhythm, one that has your hips chasing his on every pull from your body, one that has you chanting his name and staring up at him like he’s a god and you’re simply a sacrifice on his altar.

He sits back on his heels, the angle changing as your hips get lifted onto his lap. His hands wrap around your waist, fingertips pressing tightly to your ribs as he uses your body for his pleasure, pounding into you roughly.

“Cum for me again,” he demands, bringing a thumb to your clit in quick circles. “Come on, sweetheart, want you to cum on my cock. Was so pretty on my fingers.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the near overstimulation but you nod, wanting to give this man whatever he wants if it means he’ll keep touching you, holding you, looking at you.

You cum again with a shout of his name and he groans, deep and visceral as he presses in deep, holding your hips to his as his cock pulses inside of you with his release.

Joel slowly lowers your hips to the ground, withdrawing from your body as he does. He flops gracelessly to the floor beside you, sweat damp chest heaving with exertion. His head turns to yours, grin wide and eyes bright.

“You’re covered in paint,” he comments, reaching out to run his hand across a streak on your collarbone.

“So are you,” you reply, mimicking the gesture against his ribs.

“What do you say to a shower?”

You smirk at him before jumping up and racing to the doorway.

“I’d say last one there doesn’t get the hot water!”

You can hear his curse as you rush up the stairs, making it halfway before a strong arm wraps around you and stops you in your tracks, your laughter echoing through the house.

June 27, 1993

The neighborhood has changed so vastly. Much of the older homes have been torn down and replaced with less handsome architecture. The residents grow younger while I continue to age. Just last week a handsome young man and his darling daughter moved in down the street. He looks exhausted. I remember those days.

Not all the neighbors are lovely. Harold next door has an annoying dog that barks at all hours. He prances her around like a show pony, when she’s just a yappy little creature.

-R

ONE YEAR LATER

The house is finally finished. All the tile has been laid, everything has been painted, appliances delivered, holes repaired, fixtures installed, and wallpaper glued. You go downstairs for coffee in the morning, you take it to the parlor room you’ve made into a study. Floor to ceiling bookshelves display every journal you’d unearthed from the hiding place in the attic, each one read through cover to cover.

When you finally told your mom about what you’d been up to, her surprise and hurt could be felt even through the phone. You mailed one of her mother’s journals to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said the next time you spoke. “So much time had passed and I didn’t know how to fix what I’d broken.”

You don’t begrudge her decisions. Your grandma left you her story, and through that you’ve been able to know her.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs precede Joel’s appearance in the study, his hair messy from sleep and his eyes half shut. He drops beside you on the couch, grabbing your coffee from your hands and taking a sip of it.

“Is it everything you’ve always wanted?” You ask him, tilting your head to his shoulder. You still remember the way he’d been desperate to buy the house from you and you laugh at how the world works, given that he now wakes up in bed beside you and is tasked with the lawn maintenance every weekend. He presses a kiss to your head.

“It’s even better.”

June 29, 1993

I don’t think the dog will be bothering the neighborhood again anytime soon.

Turns out he doesn’t hold as much pride for the dog when she’s been dyed lime green.

Imagine that.

-R

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #no use of y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #tlou fic #taylor swift folklore #folklore anthology #joel miller folklore

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uldahstreetrat · 1 month

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Im trying to take note of real world influences in XIV for some projects going forward, like languages used in areas (French names in Ishgard, Roman terms in Garlemald) or like in aesthetics I suppose (like Radz-at-han in particular reminds me of Istanbul), and I'd like to hear others' thoughts about those kinds of influences that they've noticed

(little more context on things im working on under the cut)

right now this has a lot to do with things like stamps lmao I have in fact gotten kinda into stamp collecting now and I'd like to design some for XIV areas based on similar irl counterpart countries? like regular stamps and stuff like a sort of Garlean version of US postal war savings stamps? so having irl countries to reference for stamp styles would be helpful to like figure that stuff out

and honestly all of this is just part of making a physical copy of Q'ihnn's journal more complicated than it needs to be but never let it be said that I dont have a love of unnecessarily dense world building

plus by having a list of reference countries I can also build out other kinds of like, souvenirs? in the journal from the places visited across msq - a lot of things I see people keep in journals, especially travel ones, are stuff like wrappers or other packaging, pieces of maps, receipts (that's its own rabbit hole ive gone down), ticket stubs, and other various little paper things along with photos and drawings (which are much easier to manage in comparison)

cause a lot of this shit doesnt extensively exist within the game often beyond a mention in a stray line of dialogue or two so there's advantages to having irl cultural and historical reference to make something that feels real - plus im often off in lala fantasy land in my head because im stuck at home a lot, im not exactly well traveled, so im sure its easy for me to miss especially like language use in certain areas (I didnt even notice how French Ishgardian names were until someone else made a joke about it, it just doesnt occur to me)

like some of these influences are fairly obvious, right, like Doma and Kugane being Japanese inspired and Greek influence around Sharlayan (which the Greek/Roman dichotomy that Sharlayan and Garlemald have going on is its own whole thing I could go into btw they're so similar yet different in such interesting ways) - but places like Ul'dah?? not a clue. Ala Mhigo? no idea. The Crystarium and Eulmore in the first??? oh I'd put my head through a wall trying to thing of a real world counterpart for reference

granted now having said that someone is going to point out something obvious that I just entirely missed some way or another lmao but like that's why im asking, right? anyway if you have nerd ass thoughts too just hit me up

#ffxiv #ff14 #most of this is rambling cause even i dont know where the fuck im going with this #not that I ever do but ya know #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14

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jbird-the-manwich · 10 months

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I keep running into a sentiment along the lines of “If you’re a witch you shouldn’t need to study” and A) I feel like it has to come from tiktok (or that one scene in GoT and they wanna cosplay circe for a minute) and B) there’s almost always an insinuation that any who do study are looking to correct a lack of ability. I think we should actively dismantle the notion that studying witchcraft or magic and performing the labor of information hunting and verification is always a power grab or a pursuit of results actually.

You can get fine results without tomes of historical spells. but studying is fun. Especially when in the course of that study you often find threads of theory or practice that despite vast gaps of distance or time have nevertheless appeared to have evolved very similarly.

You don’t need to know things I suppose. But you also don’t need a wall of funko pops or plants or paintings. There is enrichment in the act of collecting, curating and preserving. Decorating your mind and your books and your drives with little scraps of treasured, hard won data. Particularly when what you collect is obscure historical parallels or precedent for things you yourself experience. Seeing how other people have wielded and directed and policed power throughout time can be and often is less driven by a thirst for power itself and more a thirst for knowledge, trivial and not.

Most of us already know how to wield our own power. That’s not what we're looking for. We’re looking for inspiration, information, a thread we can pull chronologically from one age back to another to find that it’s some semblance of ourselves holding the other end. To see the creativity and logic of our ancestors. To learn the ways in which magical practice has been rationalized. Some of us simply have an archivists bent and find joy in the work of learning itself. It’s not about the power. It’s about the high. The Interest. The Intrigue. Some of us just plain adore a spreadsheet. Some of us are witches and nerds. Sometimes studying is a hobby. Some of us like to pick up a book and come away with an answer to why the fuck we found a shoe in the wall that one time. Some of us want to leave behind for our progeny a grimoire or seven that slaps. Some of us are alchemists and artificers and smiths and enchanters in the genuine physical sense and require data to generate an object we’ve been tasked to create. Some of us are comforted by the knowledge that we’re merely doing a dance that has been done before. Some of us want the future generations of our bloodlines to know exactly where to look if they’ve been cursed. Some of us are just procrastinating. But I would bet that most if not all of us are studying within a context that invalidates the sentiment that we’re bothering to learn at all because we’re not “powerful enough” otherwise. Some of us just want to see what other people did with the same power in a different context. Some of us are hereditary and long-matured in our ways and have massive beautiful veiny dicks you will never get to see with that attitude.

#witchblr

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racefortheironthrone · 3 months

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Now you mentioned i, I am a bit surprised Smallville is prominently and consistently in Kansas? It's Smallville, Kansas. There might be others and certainly cities located vaguely within a real region, but it's definitely the first fictional town or city of D.C. in a real-world American state to come to mind.

So this gets to the weirdness of D.C geography. When Superman was first established, there was much less of a cohesive "universe," so if Siegel and Shuster wanted Superman to specifically be raised in Kansas, that's where he was from and the rest of the geography would have to work itself out.

IMO, this early slapdash approach to world-building has (over time) led to some things that just don't make sense to me as a student of urban history and urban studies:

Metropolis shouldn't be in Delaware. It doesn't make sense in terms of urbanization, given the context of an already-crowded Northeastern Corridor - Delaware simply does not have the capacity to sustain a city of 11 million people, and you wouldn't get a municipality of that size right next door to New York City (as well as D.C's other fictional cities in the area). The whole idea of Metropolis and Gotham being across the river/bay from each other has never really worked for me; you can still do Superman/Batman team-up stories no matter where they are, because Superman can fly and Batman has his own personal fighter jets.

More importantly, it doesn't make sense in terms of historic patterns of urban migration. Moving to the big city in search of the American Dream is a big part of the Clark Kent story, but historically people moving from rural to urban areas overwhelmingly go to the nearest large city, depending on how transportation networks are arranged, whether we're talking about train lines or direct flights or highways or bus routes. There is a reason we can track regional movements of black communities during the Great Migration, because who went where depended on which train lines ran through which states:

This is why I've always felt that, while Metropolis has aesthetically been associated with New York City, it logically should be Chicago. It is the biggest city in the Midwest, one very much associated with robber baron industrialists and corruption at the highest levels, and absolutely stuffed with art deco architecture for Superman to pose on top of. Up until the Tribune Company began to strip it for parts, it's also been a major newspaper town with a long tradition of muck-raking investigative journalism that would inspire a starry-eyed cub reporter like Clark. As one of the original transit hubs and the U.S' own "nature's metropolis," it is precisely the place that a Kansas farm boy would hop a train to, because all trains go to Chicago. Also, culturally I like it better that Clark Kent represents the City of Wide Shoulders whereas Bruce Wayne is the typical Tri-State Area Type-A personality.

Going back to D.C's bizarro Northeast geography, I likewise have an issue with Gotham being in New Jersey...if New York City is also supposed to be a major metropolitan area in the D.C universe. Just as Delaware would struggle to support a city of 11 million people, it would be very difficult to grow Gotham into a city of 10 million people so close to the gravity well of the Greater New York Metro Area. New Jersey is a pretty urbanized state, but its biggest cities tend to range in population from 300,000 to 100,000 - which works very well for a place like Blüdhaven, which is supposed to have something of an inferiority complex vis-a-vis Gotham - because a lot of the population tends to gravitate to NYC for work and eventually housing as well.

I've already said my piece about the lack of cultural specificity of D.C's Midwest.

As far as the West Coast goes, I've always found it a bit odd that Star City isn't where Seattle is supposed to be. Let's face it, the only place where Oliver Queen's facial hair would go unnoticed is Seattle. Also, Coast City is often depicted too far north on the map - if it's supposed to be a half-hour away from Edwards Air Force Base, it should be significantly more southern, down by Kern County and San Bernadino County, not practically up in San Francisco.

#dc #dc meta #the world outside your window #urbanization #urban studies #urban migration #urban demographics

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secretsivekept · 2 years

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So when I said i was working on something Big Four related.... this was what i was talking about. I'm aware it's super sketchy, I'm gonna revisit it later and make it much cleaner, this is just my very first pass of this animatic. (((i got a toonboom harmony licence for my part time job but it was expiring TONIGHT so I just really rushed to get the ending done before it expired, so if the quality of the boards goes down hill near the end, that's why x___x )))

I've had this action sequence in my head for MONTHS and I finally decided to hell with it and try to get it down in my free time. And I had a lot of fun!! However, if you've never done an action sequence before, I HIGHLY recommend you don't start with a car chase.

My hands. My poor hands.

A few things to understand for this Modern AU:

Jack is a ghost whose life source is tied to a mysterious pendant

They were in the process of transcribing a historical monument that might have a clue as to the history of said pendant

The fearlings are there to both kidnap rapunzel and inspire fear into them, to keep them from looking into the matter further

The fearlings are supposed to look like this:

Which in my opinion is a much stronger and scarier design than the horses in the ROTG movie, however it has the unwanted side effect in my boards of looking like black sperm.

BUT other than that, I hope you guys like it, god knows how long I spent on this. ;;w;; but man was this fun

#y'all better appreciate it i spent so long on it LOL #my art #my stuff #animation #my animation #my animatic #big four #the big four #jack frost #rise of the guardians #merida #brave pixar #merida brave #hiccup how to train your dragon #rapunzel #tangled #httyd #geez thats a lot of tags sorry LOL

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katyspersonal · 29 days

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What are your expectations/theories for Messmer?

I have a few! I even considered making a predictions bingo on him specifically to check when DLC comes out! XD But overall the predictions resulted from me and @val-of-the-north bouncing the ideas around 🤔 I'll need to link a few of other posts here too to help clarifying some relevant topics!

___________________________________

1) I think he is one of the children between Marika and Godfrey, or maybe even her first-born!

At first I was also thinking that him having red hair was a damning evidence that he had to be born from selfcest, like Malenia and Miquella! But Val brought this to my attention that in ER manga, which is apparently on a stronger level of directing than BB comics from my knowledge, Rykard is a blond!

So Val suggested that genes can work a funny way since Marika and Radagon are still the same person, and if Rykard got Marika's golden hair gene even from Radagon's body, the reverse is possible and someone in Golden Lineage could have red hair even from Marika! I also agree because Miquella is venturing into the Shadows Land presumably to discover Marika's secrets:

(Famitsu interview with Miyazaki, taken from this ( x ) post) But Messmer to me feels like he would be fully aware of every Marika's dark secret there is! I joke that he is very Lucifer-coded, but actually Satan-coded is a better comparison. He is the holder of "Hell", where the 'graceless' beings and those rejected by Golden Order reside, like that ancient Misbegotten(ish) creature! If he was the third sibling of this kind, why would he know more than Malenia and Miquella? (I mean, surprise me!) But if he had been there from the very start, carrying her (God's) punishment, then sure!

My other clue towards that is that he shares the "spartan" aesthetic in his clothes with Godfrey and his Duelists ( x ) (and actually Goldmask too)! This whole thing with leg wraps and waistwrap!

2) He is the first to historically partake in Dragon Communion, and the inspiration of Drake Knights

There are dragonic features about himself, the design of his armour and his snakes! Initially I thought of Dragonic Sentinels too, but their whole deal is to combat Granssax, who I concluded attacked after Farum Azula war and Placidusax' lord was fled. More than that, their deal is 'electric' line of dragons specifically, whereas Drake Knights and others who that partake in Dragon Communion are not picky! They eat dragon hearts to take their power, and that includes 'fire' line of dragons, like Greyoll and her spawn!

I speculate that he was the first person historically, with the bright idea of eating dragon heart to take its power, and this is where his fire powers came from. Fire is associated with heresy, but in his case it was both: assuming powers of dragons was heresy itself (so, before Godwyn made dragons 'friends'), but fire powers came from it! As a Demigod, he also did not meet the same miserable fate as Magma Wyrms! He had the privilege to really take something useful by being not mere mortal.

3) The snakes, therefore, are part of his body!

There are two of them, and I assume they're growing from the base of his spine and function like his tails! If Placidusax is anything to go by, this is part of him developing multiple heads but in the way that would not mess with his body too much. Funny enough, I had two dreams of Gwyndolin as a baby, and in both Gwyndolin as a child only had two snakes that did work as tails, so maybe I am biased!

4) Rotten Duelists also take inspiration from him

I am resharing the image by Val from a post I've already linked, but whereas they elaborate sign of Godfrey and hatred for the Giants in their design, the snakes around their arms and on their helmets are supposed to refer to Messmer!

I imagine Godfrey and Messmer being that super cool OG battle duo. Duelists feature two kinds of 'heresy' in their design - the snakes and the symbols of the Giants, and I assume they were proudly wearing these before being driven from the Coliseum! Back then symbolism of "taking power from the enemy" was something honourable, and so was what Messmer did - becoming 'sinful' to be the more powerful weapon of Marika was courageous and virtuous of him. So, snakes were also fine to proudly depict in the clothes! Until it was not:

5) He is banished for (attempted) burning of the Erdtree

This theory is coined in by @val-of-the-north! In this ( x ) post it is explained better, but in short, there are evidences that the big golden Erdtree we see is an illusion, most interesting one is ashes being all over Leyendell even before defeating Maliketh. So that's why it no longer is giving its blessed sap and is "only an object of faith" now, though its lower part is still physical of course. I agree with this idea!

I think he had to do something bad because of the huge sealed eye possibility! Ranni and Melina also have an eye sealed, and both are Demigods that had their 'privilege' within the Golden Order removed in one way or another. Messmer, on the other way, wows to burn whoever is devoid of grace, so I doubt that he would willingly divest himself of it! Whereas he's been heretical for dragonic powers and the 'Satan' to her system to take care of the 'sinners' from the beginning, but he got excommunicated from the family and likely erased from its records! Bonus points if Godwyn being the first in the Golden Lineage is just what they tell people now!

6) GEOOOOOORGGGEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

I've always had a feeling that whereas everyone is anticipating him to become the first true Soulsborne sexyman, something just has to put a dent in it. Just something to sour the character. I can't explain it, it is like sixth sense...? But I think I finally know what it is. During answering this ask, I payed attention how even with other things put in consideration, he still appears to be loyal to his mother and the purpose she intended to him. He speaks defensive against her letting the "unworthy" to become a Lord. Like... this is not necessarily something weird, it could just be strong loyalty even against his self-interest like what we see in Maliketh or Morgott, but there is just strange sixth sense about perhaps some Freudian shit going on in his head that I can't shake, and not anti-climatic one after what they did with Mohg.

7) Motivation for attempted burning of the Erdtree were themes of ambition and perfection

I will link a couple of posts (with pictures) in which I explained how Erdtree is itself a Crucible and how I theorise existence of Omens resulted in denying and loathing the thing ( x ) ( x ). They're not too long tbh, and in both I forgot to bring up the fact that Ancestral Followers worship Minor Erdtrees :') But the main point is, everything sacred will eventually rot and die, however, giving the way to a new thing to sprout from it, and that was something Marika was unwilling to accept. Erdtree and Golden Order, were supposed to be Eternal, like herself.

Marika made everything that reminded of the other side of life, like Misbegotten and Omens, illegal, and ensured immortality in the best way she could, but Messmer took it even further. He attempted to remove the 'life' aspect of the Elden Ring, to separate the sacred power granted to his mother and relatives from the earth. So, from from inevitable death, from ever rotting, from 'cycle'... from everything "imperfect", so it could be just the one perfect, pure, 100% spiritual thing in their hands. + I think what he did happened after Gloam-Eyed Queen fiasco, so that was another point in realising the instability and imperfection. + to draw from the previous point, he might have been really pissed at Greater Will itself on behalf of his mother.

Except, what he did was not something even Marika would agree to. Greater Will specifically sought this "imperfect" world FOR its "imperfections", to gain form and purpose through births and deaths and feelings and struggles from the amorphous empty cosmic state. It was suffering from its superiority, there was nothing to love or hate or want. It gives me the same vibe as how in BB, the Great Ones are willing to trade their perfection for simple joy of loving a child; they don't need to give birth since they're immortal and their genes are not in need of surviving, but there is just... nothing in this immortality. This is something Messmer would not understand. Sellen is another example of this mindset, aspiring for the things the "perfect" beings were willing to escape. It is always the case of 'greener grass' lol

But yes, absolutely no one appreciated the attempt to separate the Elden Ring from being rooted into mortal "flawed" things. I think he still thinks he is right, and that whatever little dialogue he will have should contain quite the vitriol.

8) In the second stage of his battle, he will become far more dragonic.

I expect at least something happening with the snakes akin to becoming his wings. Maybe he will even turn into a dragon, a two-headed one! + also if there is no particularly gruesome (lethal) visceral attack by his snakes I will rebel lol

___________________

Soooo yeah... This isn't much, but my imagination is weak when I have limited information x) I have also seen an idea that the thing that pierces Marika's body might be his doing since he is titled the Impaler, but for now I think this is not the case! Her hammer is full of similar sharp shards of Elden Ring, so I think this is just another shard, or, perhaps, something Elden Beast threw at her. Red coloration comes from being bloodied! Marika was a mortal once, after all!

#elden ring #elden ring dlc #messmer the impaler #elden ring theory #screenshots #elden ring reference #ask replies

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paracosmic-murdock · 9 months

Text

Tell me what are my words worth ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 7: "Mon cœur te désire"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: While the other ladies have grown with the mindset of marrying and having children, you, as the daughter of a man who wanted a son, grew up being both. You learnt how to embroider, play the pianoforte, fence and manage the estate. However, there were some things that not even the Duke of Burgundy could do, so after he passed and you thought there was nothing left for you, you decided to move to London for a while and go to the Royal Academy of Art.

Nothing was going to keep you from what you wanted, and you would do whatever it takes: you would lie to everyone, you would live to death, you would pretend to be a man. You had a plan and it would be a piece of cake for you. But again, when has something that she wants and should not do easy for a woman? Especially when a man like Benedict Bridgerton gets in the way in more ways than one.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, love triangles (but not really), lgbtq+ themes, bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: Tonight was the Carrington Ball and therefore, your debut in society. With your suitors there and their purpose of making you theirs for the night, you had to endure every second as best as you could. Everything was going as smoothly as expected, the evening spinning around friendships and confessions, until Benedict decided to tag along.

Word count: 4.1K

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"Finally found you!" Eloise exclaimed as soon as she saw you. "You are the only reason I came to this stupid ball."

You snorted. "Don't you let Lady Carrington hear you insult her ball, we have worked so hard to make it perfect, dearest Eloise."

"You organized it, too?" She frowned, looking around. Everything was gold, white and shades of red, and Eloise had to admit it wasn't hideous. "It is perfect, then."

"Lady Carrington has been aware of my hosting abilities for a while, since she has attended a few events when in France," you replied. "As the lady of the house, my father had imposed that duty upon me. I take pride in having hosted remarkable balls in the Palace of the Dukes, in Burgundy, or in the Château de Bagatelle, in Paris… My Papa, before he passed, said on his deathbed that the first event I am to host in the Palace of Versailles must be my wedding."

"I hope you invite me to your wedding so I can pretend, but in a palace."

"My beloved guest you will be, dearest Eloise," You winked at her. "You get to stay in the second best bedroom of the Palace."

"I will be honored, dearest Y/N," she replied. "I hope that no other Bridgerton gets this privilege."

You shook your head with a small smile. "You certainly are the only special one!"

"So you will be able to host your wedding at the Palace of Versailles?" she wondered. "As your father was the Duke, I suppose he is family with the King of France, is he not? Would it be a gift from them to let you have your wedding there?"

You nodded. "Yes, my father was his third cousin. I own the Palace of Versailles, though. It needed renovation and the Royal Family decided to move to Paris," you replied, modifying the truth slightly. "My father offered to buy the Palace and take care of the renovation, which has been in process for a few years now. It was finally finished, and I must return to France soon to pay it a visit."

"What? And you're not coming back?!"

"I want to, but I'm not certain," you replied. "I was planning on staying some more time, but there are a few matters that require my undivided attention back home."

"Is there no one else who can do it for you? Don't you have a cousin being the lord of the house?"

"Yes, but the Palace of Versailles is not a thing that concerns him; a ship from the Americas arrived and I must take care of it… My grandfather is visiting and asking for me, plus, I need to make sure my cousin hasn't done something that threatens the well-being of the region."

"How are you allowed to do all of this?"

You shrugged. "My father wanted a son but ended up having me instead. Never one to leave things in untrustworthy hands, he taught me every single thing needed to be a Duchess playing the role of the Duke."

"Your cousin isn't the Duke?"

"Not on my watch."

Eloise sighed, trying to ignore that you, her only friend other than Penelope, are leaving. "But you will come with us to Aubrey Hall."

"I will, I already promised you, dear Eloise," You smiled gently at her. "I am looking forward to that moment!"

"The Sharmas and Lady Danbury will be there, too, but I was not allowed to bring Penelope. You cannot leave me alone."

"I won't." You laughed.

"Sister, Lady Y/N," Colin interrupted your conversation, and under your apprehensive glance, he corrected himself: "Y/N, my apologies."

"Good evening, Colin. Are you enjoying yourself thus far?"

"I certainly have, it is a lovely ball."

You nodded. "Thank you! Helping Lady Carrington organize this ball reminded me of how much I adore all this," you mentioned. "I cannot wait for the Bal des Onzièmes, to which the Bridgertons will most certainly be invited this year. I expect you to add the middle of November in the Palace of the Dukes to your calendar."

"We would be delighted to attend," Colin nodded with a smile. "I was wondering if you could give me this dance, Y/N."

You took his hand. "I would be honored to, Colin. See you in a minute, Eloise."

She nodded, watching you leave with a frown. Eloise looked around in search of her older brother, Benedict, and as soon as she found him, she rushed to join him.

"Colin seems to win her over just fine, does he not?"

Benedict looked at his sister and then at you and Colin dancing in the ballroom. You were laughing, but he thought that Colin's jokes couldn't be funny at all. Perhaps it was the jealousy talking, but he just knew he was better than his brother.

Colin could not paint you or give you the attention he knew you deserved. Colin would not kiss your brother either, so he had a bonus on that one.

"He doesn't bother me, Sister."

She laughed, irony invading her voice. "Of course, dear Brother. I just think it would be such a shame that Colin marries the girl that is your perfect match."

"Since when are you a marriage enthusiast, Eloise?"

"Since she is leaving for France next week and most likely not returning."

"What?!" Benedict questioned. "They- she- she cannot go back to France yet."

"Ah, why not, Brother?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Because."

"Well, I can tell you of what I was told that it is a must she returns," Eloise said. "She could always have a reason to come back to London. Or even better, go accompanied to France… If you do not tell her you love her as much as your eyes do, Colin will be that person."

He frowned. "You don't think that she would say yes to Colin, do you?"

"Not if you ask first."

When Benedict looked at you and Colin again, the dance was finally over, and you were approached by Lord Weber.

He knew he shouldn't interfere. He knew he had no right to, especially after what happened with Antoine.

Benedict didn't know what that meant, he didn't know what to do either. You he could be with. It was socially acceptable, you were endearing and fun and there was something in you that had his heart beating with a fluttering rhythm he had never felt before; with him was the entire opposite. If Benedict were to justify the decision he made when he kissed him, he would blame it on the alcohol and the way Antoine bared his soul to him, telling him his deepest secrets even after just a few hours of having met because there was a connection. One Benedict couldn't ignore or diminish.

Antoine spoke so highly of you and seemed as the most caring brother there could be, Benedict even envied him for a moment. He wishes he could bring his sisters the stability Antoine brings you, he wishes he could give it to you, because no matter what he felt for him, you weren't nearly out of the equation.

"I have only met her twice, so how could I?" Benedict looked at Eloise for a brief second, as if after only having met you two times wasn't enough to make him feel like he was feeling, before returning his focus back to you and Lord Weber.

"So has Colin, and don't you doubt he would ask her to marry him right this second if he knew what you know."

He rolled his eyes, leaving Eloise alone.

The ball had been nice, but after spending an hour with Lord Weber, and it is not like the dislike was a personal matter, you decided you could not take it anymore, though only your face made that clear.

From afar, Anthony Bridgerton choked a laugh next to his mother as he looked at you.

"She looks like she will run away any second now, the poor girl," Violet said to her eldest child. "You should go and ask her to dance as it is obvious she is more than displeased with Lord Weber's company."

He frowned. "Mother, I cannot, it is not appropriate."

"Do not be ridiculous, it's just a dance. And for a good cause."

"I have just starred in the latest scandal, Mother. I do not think it would be good advertising for her in the marriage market to be seen dancing with me, as much as I would like to save her from the displeasing company of Lord Weber." Anthony used that excuse, looking at Miss Sharma from afar. His mother gave him a look that could reduce him to ashes, so he just nodded and approached you.

"Lord Bridgerton, I am glad to see you!" you exclaimed, knowing you couldn't call him by his name in front of Lord Weber or it would be questionable. "Have you enjoyed this evening so far?"

"Very much. Good evening, Lord Weber," He smiled. "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, my Lady?"

You nodded eagerly. "It would be my pleasure!"

Anthony offered you his hand and you took it.

"I can see Lord Weber has set his intentions in courting you," he noted with an amused smile. "What is more notable, is that you are not particularly pleased with it."

"Was I that obvious?"

He nodded with a smile. "Very much."

"I sure hope Lord Weber did not notice."

"He most certainly did, though he would gladly ignore it," Anthony replied. "You should tell him if you do not like him. Our family appreciates you very much, and we wouldn't wish for you to be engaged to a man you do not love. Even worse if it is Lord Weber, you do not want to see him drunk."

"Is he a mess?" you asked in a chuckle.

"Mess is a short word," he answered. "And my brother seems quite interested in you."

You raised your eyebrows, thinking immediately of Colin. He meant Benedict, but it's not like you knew they were related. "Is he?!"

"Do not tell him I told you," He smirked. "He would kill me."

"I wouldn't want to marry a killer, Anthony, so I do not wish to marry him then."

"That was a joke."

"I know," you whispered, making him smile. The dance ended. "Thank you for saving me."

"Always a pleasure."

You smiled at Anthony and left in the opposite direction as him.

You looked around to make sure nobody was paying attention to you, and started writing down random names on your dance card so you could make sure to avoid any new suitor you did not want to encounter.

"It is a great shame that your dance card is full," He startled you, making you put your hand where your heart is and throw the pen to the table. "Here I was to ask you to dance."

The anxiety died when you cleared your throat and looked him in the eyes. "I am afraid that dancing is a dangerous game."

"Did I ever tell you that I am a man of challenges?"

"You have not."

"Now I have," He smirked, eyeing the card in your hand. "I think that Théo Moulin does not exist."

"I guarantee you he does."

"My bad, Lady Y/N," he apologized, not quite honestly. "Will he dance with you or do you think he could give me his turn?"

You hesitated, but ended up intertwining your arm to his and followed him to the dance floor.

It was awkward at first. The only thing in your mind were those kissew you shared and how much you hated that Antoine was the one who owned the moments, not you. What you hated more, was that Benedict had kissed him a few nights ago, had ignored him in the Academy, shared a wonderful night last night, and was now here with you, as if the kiss meant nothing to him. For you, it meant everything, and you could puke if someone asked your mind to give it color your heart did.

Those were your first and second kiss, and you wished for nothing else but to repeat it once, twice, three times and as many as the amount of breaths you've taken throughout your life, but as Y/N.

Then, it wasn't as uncomfortable. Benedict's eyes would not let go of yours, and everytime you averted his gaze, his hand found a way to drive your focus back to him.

"I met your brother at a party the other day," Benedict mentioned as the dance required for you to get closer, his hot breath causing goosebumps on your skin so delicate to his mere existence near yours. "He mentioned a thing or two about you."

You cleared your throat. "Did he? I have not seen him in a couple days and he never mentioned meeting you."

Benedict let out a relieved sigh. "He did, yes. Nothing but wonders and nothing I was surprised to hear."

"He better have."

He smiled with a smile you would hate to not see anymore, and you smiled back at him with the strength of your aching soul.

"You are certainly more enchanting than I have heard."

"Have you heard about me?"

"More accurately, I have been asking about you."

"Who did you ask?" you inquired.

His hand caressed your back more than needed, and you closed your eyes when the temptation threatened to appear. "Lord Weber was very informative. Mr. Rogers and Lord Collins, too. They were fools for you."

"I do not care for men that let looks drive them to oblivion," you confessed. "Love is not supposed to empty your mind, but to enrich it and help it connect with the heart."

"I had never thought of it that way."

"Then I am afraid you have not loved nor been properly loved before."

"To you I can admit I have not," he confessed. "I was never interested in love or marriage or dancing."

"Perhaps you only ever needed the perfect partner."

He smirked. "Would that be you?"

"I do not believe one can be sure of it after only one dance."

"Oh, then it is good that the night is young."

You shrugged. "I, unfortunately, have my dance card full for tonight. We could continue in the next ball if you'd like?"

As soon as the dance was over, you let out a shaky breath and left him there.

"Ah, was he not a good dancer?"

You looked up, seeing Grant Lawrence in front of you with a sweet smile. "I am not very familiar with the English standards of dancing, so I might have to wait and see."

"Well, I have been told I am decent at dancing, so perhaps I could help you picture said standard. As long as you allow me, I can show you."

"That seems like a nice offer, but I was told I cannot dance with a man whose name I ignore."

"My apologies, my Lady. Lord Lawrence." He asked for your hand and you gave it to him. Lord Lawrence left a sweet kiss on your knuckles.

"Lady Y/N of Burgundy," you answered, remembering that you could not be linked to Antoine Voclain in any way. "Enchantée."

He grinned. "You are Lady Y/N? I have heard about you."

"Oh, and which category are you part of? The ones who think I am desperate, the suitors or the friendly ones?"

"The suitors, I believe."

"And which subcategory?" you teased him. "The pathetic ones, the desperate ones, the gold diggers or the ones who only want to have fun?"

"I think I am a little pathetic, so perhaps that one."

You laughed, moving your head so it could point at Benedict. "Then you can meet him there."

Lord Lawrence chortled, stealing everyone's attention. You looked around trying not to laugh with him.

"Everyone is staring, my Lord!" you whispered.

"You certainly are one of a kind, are you not?

"And I could be worse." you joked.

"Worse? How so?"

You clicked your tongue. "I could always have one of those irksome suitors fight you for my love."

"You think Benedict would?"

"He is not courting me, my Lord. But Lord Collins certainly is, and I have been told he enjoys boxing, does he not?"

"He does," Lawrence confirmed. "Are you passionate about something, Lady Y/N?"

"Oh! I adore playing the violin, writing, and obviously reading also!" you replied. "And I promise you that I can come here with a better painting than every artist in this ball all together."

"I am an artist!"

"I am certain I am better than you."

He laughed loudly. "That a woman can only dream for!"

"I beg your pardon?" You looked at him with disdain as he kept that cocky look in his eyes. "I do not find that as hysterical as you believe it is. And are you not embarrassed that everybody is looking at us?"

"Let them stare all they want, I am right here with a lady unlike all I have seen before."

You raised your eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"For starters, you are fun," he said, thinking you would be flattered. "Those other ladies could never stand before me and show interest in art, music and literature, and be fun to be around."

"You do not know many women, do you, my Lord?" you asked with sarcasm.

"Oh, I do," He chuckled lightly, the double meaning of his message evident enough. "You should know I have an impeccable success rate."

"Oh, do you?" You wrinkled your nose, every ounce of negativity hiding in your bones coming to the surface as you answered. "Well, not anymore."

You left before he could try to reach you, and disappeared among the Ton.

"Y/N! Y/N!" Eloise yelled once she saw you, and locking arms with Penelope Featherington, she reached you. "Are you alright? You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Ugh, I just met the most awful man London has shown me!" you exclaimed, noting how they both seemed to have been drinking more than it was socially acceptable in a lady. "Hi, Miss Penelope." She smiled at you.

She frowned. "Who?"

"Lord Lawrence and his ideologies of me being not like the other ladies just because I made him laugh," You scoffed. "I am exhausted from doing everything the best I can and still not have the satisfaction of knowing it was good enough! I just… wonder each day if I would be taken seriously if I were a man."

"Of course we would be taken seriously if we were men," Eloise replied. "Our value is only defined by the man whose arm is intertwined with ours."

"It sure is," You pursed your lips. "Would you like to go someplace quieter and talk about how awful those men are?"

Eloise got beside you and you walked outside.

Everything was quiet with only the moon witness of your conversation as Eloise talked about how her Mama wished for her to marry and how difficult it was for her to live inside Daphne's mold, one she did not fit in, when everyone expected her to be her sister's equal. Penelope silently agreed with her.

Then, Penelope complained about her Mama's power over her and how much she loathed having to live what she feels like it is someone else's life. Eloise mentioned that Penelope does not often talk about those things with her and that she was grateful for her trust.

Eloise told you about a boy she had met called Theo and that she could not quite decipher what was happening there.

And you all agreed with how out of place you felt.

"I feel like I should have never come here," you confessed. "If I tell you something, you promise you will keep the secret?"

Both girls nodded, though Eloise was more eager and interested in your secret.

You looked around, and once you were sure no one was nearby, you muttered your biggest secret. "I go to the Royal Academy of Art."

"What?!" Eloise exclaimed in a whisper. "How?!"

"I stole my cousin's clothes and everyday I tell the Carringtons that I am with one of my suitors doing any silly activity," you answered. "Men are unbearable, but I have learnt how to be one. Trust me when I tell you that Lord Lawrence is one of the most charming, fun, and amiable men I have ever encountered. But not with me, no. He is a great friend, always including me… him… in their gatherings and everything."

"You must stop doing that, someone will catch you and you will get in so much trouble!" Penelope advised.

"I cannot. I have come far enough."

They were stunned.

"You will not tell a soul about this," you ordered. "Swear to God or I will kill myself in front of you!"

"Alright, I swear!" Eloise widened her eyes. "Pen, swear!"

"I swear!"

You nodded. "Good. Now, what if we go back inside?"

"Sure." Both agreed.

However, your intentions vanished as you saw some gentlemen expecting you inside. You stopped before going in, then. "Uh, you know what? I will stay here for a few minutes. See you later?"

They both nodded as you returned to the darkest side of the backyard of the Carrington Mansion.

"I could have sworn you were dancing in there," Benedict commented, making a gesture to ask if he could join you. Then, he sat next to you on the bench. "With that dance card so full you could not have set a foot out of the ballroom."

"You are hilarious, Benedict." You rolled your eyes, hiding a smile. "The Moon looks particularly beautiful tonight."

"Not as beautiful as you, dare I say."

"Well, do not dare say anything else." you ordered, having mixed feelings about your encounters with him.

He frowned. "Why are you acting like this? I thought-"

"Whatever it is that you thought, forget it."

"Why would I forget how your eyes scream for me every time they meet mine? Why would I forget the ways in which you say my name, Y/N? Benedict, like a forbidden prayer… because you know you shouldn't call me by my name, and you do nevertheless, you love to… You do not care about those pathetic rules that this society has imposed upon us, because if you did, I would not be sitting here next to you," He gave you a look that spoke louder than his voice, and you could not help but melt under his words. "You cannot see it, but when I look at you, I feel like everything falls into place. Your voice echoes in my mind and in my entire body, and I wish for nothing but to hear it again. I go to the Academy and I just want you to appear as inadvertently as you did the first time… You are there when I close my eyes and I have wasted so much time on women that reminded me of you when I only want you."

You gasped at his words, not knowing what to say.

"I have read about love my whole life, but those words are meaningless compared to the way my heart longs for you. I do not know enough about you, but I do know that you make me put a piece of you in every painting I paint, in every poem I write, in every dream that I dream… My soul aches for you and knows no remedy until it senses yours nearby."

"Benedict…"

He sighed, getting close to you. "Every part of me hurts when I see you with another. The promenade with Weber, that morning in the park with Cortez, just now with Lawrence, with whoever that is not me, and the only thing that could bring me a piece of peace of mind is having you."

"I want you, too," you confessed, feeling his smile inches away from your hesitant lips. "I have never wanted anyone before, but I want you. Benedict, I will be gone soon, but for once, I want to live like tomorrow does not exist. Perhaps it won't exist for us, but I want you."

"The only way there is no tomorrow for us is if we let this go, and know that I will not give you away," he said, his hands cupping your cheeks. "I cannot conceive a future in which you and I are not together."

You could feel his breath merging with yours and his nose gently meeting yours. "That you want me feels impossible."

"I hope to God you are a believer, then." Benedict whispered, driving one of his hands to your waist and the other to your chest, just above your heart. He gave you a soft kiss on your right cheek.

"I'm afraid I am." you replied as he kissed your cheek again and a few times more, and then the corner of your lips.

"I have been taught to be a gentleman, my Lady, but my lips will not stop hurting unless they meet yours…"

"Meaning...?"

He almost laughed at you, but found it sweet that you were somehow ignorant of his intentions. Benedict got impossibly closer, closed his eyes and as if a reflex, so did you, and his lips gently grazed yours. You could barely feel the touch but it was enough to make you want more.

You nodded, hesitant as you thought of the consequences. Nothing mattered anymore when his lips finally danced with yours and then you were kissing.

It was soft and it was a very ridiculous setting, but it was perfect.

Everything is perfect when you share it with the right person, and he was the right person for you.

"We shouldn't do this," you whispered against his lips, not parting from him anyway. In reality, you did not care. If you were to marry him, you would return to France and there no one would know the scandal that brought you to marry. You wouldn't hate it if he became your husband, quite the opposite: you would die for him to. "Someone will see us."

Benedict looked around without getting too far from you. "No one will see us."

So he kissed you again, and again, and again until your brain couldn't comprehend anything, and his hands toured your body as best as he could with your ballgown still on, and you just needed more and more and you were well aware you couldn't have it. Not right here and right now, and knowing you had to acquiesce in the situation made you break the kiss.

"Stop this, stop this," you told him, your mind exploring the memory of the other kiss under the moonlight and the darkest night, with your hands buried in his soft hair and the need growing inside you, or the kiss inside that studio, accompanied only by the candlelights, trust, and the intense passion threatening to take over your bodies. "I cannot do this. I must go back."

"Y/N, wait!"

"Let me go, please..."

Seeing your tired, afflicted eyes, he did not insist anymore, letting you return to the ball.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton

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luketaluketa · 9 months

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i was organizing some files and found all the wip stuff from the previous secret samol for @/seamonsterart (go check out their work!), and these are two of my favorite illustrations ever, so here's some insight into how i made these!

for starters i already had a pretty much finished design for pickman that i had first drawn back in 2021

she has a completely wrong gun in this version because i did not remember how it was supposed to look like and couldn't find a description of it anywhere. she's wearing a hat because i forgot it was supposed to be a helm and so i ended up giving her the large hat just because the long horns coming through it are a fun image, though today i cannot imagine her wearing anything else. she already has the sword she takes from the lake skeletons, also. her armor is based on the armor the torumekian soldiers and kushana wear in nausicaa of the valley of the wind, with the incredible neck guard and long cape covering their entire body

i've always loved these designs and how the plates are evocative of insects, but also how mysterious they look with covered faces and bodies. matter of fact, at this point i had no fucking idea what pickman looked like below the cape.

the second inspiration is the young man from angel's egg.

OK, STAY WITH ME. i cannot explain this other that in my head pickman and him are VERY similar characters. the image of the half pulled cape while he holds his sword-cross-thing over his shoulder and the quiet demeanor are pretty fundamental to how i try to make pickman FEEL. i actually wanted her armor to have more piping, pulling from the biomechanical appearance of his sword-cross, but it didn't feel quite right

and the third inspiration is less inspiration and more reference work, the book "arms & armor, a pictorial archive" by carol grafton

it's a compilation of illustration works sourced from several books from the 19th century. VERY cool book to take a look at historical armor. it's on the internet archive for free!

there was also a fair ammount of looking at goats and sheep, but eventually i reached this after learning i suck at drawing furry designs. big shoutout to the furry community for making so many tutorials available btw. in highlight a very important study of the character.

now that i kinda knew what pickman looked like i entered the wonderful phase of "i don't know what the fuck i'm doing" which resulted in a bunch of bad doodles now sitting in a folder dubbed "dev hell". at this point i kinda had an idea for a relaxed scene based on one of the prompts, which i developed for a while on blender but eventually gave up on.

i then moved on to the second prompt, of pickman being badass. i decided on a low angle to make pickman look incredibly tall but the low angle of a goat's head legitimately kicked my ass so i eventually made a goat head on blender and used it to generate references with the help of designdoll. here i made her design a lot more muscular and fat, also, eventually coming to her final design.

the valve on her chestplate looks WRONG to me now, but at the time i was so tired i just rolled with it. the first pass of her armor was in a completely wrong color, which i corrected later on photoshop. i added the little metal forks pulling from her 2021 design, and the idea of little musical forks for atunning to the shape was cool to me. i also corrected her gun after actually learning what the fuck it was supposed to look like. i already knew i wanted her to be standing on the field of canola flowers, and the sky in the background was the last thing i added, also the time when i decided to really make the picture tall.

i liked the final result so much i went back and started working on the first prompt again. had a horrible time drawing the horns in the second image which led to this hell cage for building the perspective. im still not confident on the horns on the side of the head. i wanted to bring the atmosphere of a cold winter or fall morning in the second one, and to make pickman seem tired but relaxed. i overall like the second picture a lot more than the first and was very happy with how it came out.

AND THAT'S HOW THE SAUSAGE IS MADE I GUESS. if you read this whole thing then thank you for your time!

#fatt #f@tt #friendsatthetable #friends at the table #pickman #ernestina pickman #sangfielle #wip #breakdown #luketaart #brazilian artists

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laurellerual · 11 days

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How do you come up with the outfits for the characters? Have you studied fashion design or something similar? I really love the outfits you create for them

Thanks anon! Not fashion but yes, I have a background releted to costume design.

I often choose a thematic element to start from. For example, with the nobles of Asoiaf I use their heraldry a lot because I like that a character is immediately recognizable by what they are wearing. I often make random sketches to try to come up with new ideas on how to use these same elements differently.

Then maybe I incorporate things from historical periods and/or other works of art that remind me of the "right" vibe. Like, I feel like the Dothraki's main inspiration is supposed to be the Mongols but when I design their clothes my head goes to cowboys for some reason...

I'm not very consistent in style between one artwork and another, because in the artworks I do for fun I try to experiment a bit, but I like to maintain the same thread within the same illustration. For example, the portrait of the Boltons that I did recently is inspired by the portraiture of Moroni (a sixteenth-century Italian painter that I love).

Just have fun and sketch a lot 🥰

#asoiaf fanart #ask laurel

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kusokurae01 · 19 days

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y’know, I somewhat recall you saying you had your own J&H adaptation, Any fun facts about it itself or J&H? (You give me asks I’ll give you one right back)

Hello, although I only have the 0,1% completed which is like, a summary of eight/nine months of work, I am still very excited to share my little alternative universe; it takes inspiration from many other adaptations, mainly the musical and The Glass Scientists. A lot of things are placeholders for something bigger and completely original, and it's supposed to blend with actual history, meaning that in some way it is historically accurate at some extent, considering I am making extensive researches about the Victorian Era and how it works, with the help of books and articles online. It's quite hard to make it 100% accurate of course, but most Jekyll and Hyde adaptations tend to ignore the fact that this is set in a very specific period of time, and they also tend to focus more on which character sucks the most dicks rather than the original message(s) of the novella. I don't like stories which solely focus on the characters being queer and that's clear, and while LGBTQ+ is included in Apotheosis, that doesn't mean that its the main focus; sure, it is talked about, but it's a part of the story and not the main story. I'm not saying that there should be a correct way of writing adaptations, but rather, that the world should feel alive and dynamic. It is important to establish worldbuilding, and make it a present part of the story, because it SHAPES the characters. I think that whilst you do not need a degree in history to write about J&H or the victorian era, it's important to know at least the basics of how the society worked, the advancements and how they affected society, etc.

Now, the victorian era is quite interesting when it comes to progress. In 1879 the first psychology laboratory was established in Germany, and many other advances in medicine were made, there were the first feminist movements, the two industrial revolutions (second in 1870-1914), what I'm trying to say is that the 19th century is a very important period of our time, at least for eurocentric history, and it's so curious to think how some of these inventions are just two centuries old. Not to mention that by 1888, the Bloody Code (which was how the severe law system of England was called, which focused on social punishment rather than rehabilitation, and the death penalty was very common even for lesser crimes by public execution) had been largely replaced and the death penalty wasn't in use anymore. The world was changing and advancing, and what does that mean for the most conservative classes, especially those who were in high favor to such horrible practices, especially when towards the lower and most despised classes? What does it mean for the poor and ostracized, especially considering the precarious conditions of orphanages, poorhouses and such? Fun fact: this was one of the battles the Crown itself, or rather, Queen Victoria, as a woman and mother, advocated for this, especially when most of its components were children, which were there for various reasons. And what about the emerging middle classes, the so despised noveau nobillty?

Medicine was both revered and feared, because while advancements were made in medical science, many treatments were still primitive and often painful. Additionally, the lack of understanding about germs and proper sanitation led to high mortality rates in hospitals, contributing to a general fear and distrust of medical practices among the public; not to mention that writers were starting to talk about the dangers of medicine (ex. Frankenstein), not to mention that there was the Royal Society that, while it promoted scientific inquiry, knowledge and collaboration, it certainly would've found itself debating about the inclusion of rogue science as effectively, a science.

It is important to know the rest of the hystorical context in which Apotheosis finds itself in, which is that of a very important migration of citizens from Ireland to London (including jews who were fleeing from the pogroms, popular riots against religious minorities which were happening in the Russian Empire), and all of them gathered in the East End of London, where Whitechapel was. It didn't take long for overpopulation (which was already a recurring issue in London) to happen, and for Whitechapel to be redeemed a generally unsafe place like all the other slums, not to mention all the popular disorders and the increase of violent repression from the London Metropolitan Police (ex. Bloody Sunday, which caused at least two deaths, it was basically a manifestation in which the Social Democratic Federation advocated for the end of unemployment, better working conditions and a right to vote for all adult men, other than supporting the Irish National League against the oppression the british were putting them through); it's in this context, that from august-november of 1888, Jack the Ripper terrifies London; 16 are the suspected victims, 5 the ones which had been confirmed, but what if I told you that there is actually more to this tale, when people thought that the Ripper was still amongst them due to how ineffective the police system was at the time, and that some murders associated with him weren't actually the Ripper's doing?

General Lord Glossop, a member of the council which oversees the Royal Society, was found dead after attending the funeral of His Grace, the Bishop of Basingstoke. The body was found the next morning, January 1889; the method of killing appeared to be strangulation as confirmed by trained medical professionals. This was the second governor who happened to die under mysterious circumstances which, were associated with the Ripper itself, as the methods were basically the same. On December 1888, the body of an unidentified underage prostitute and the terribly mutilated corpse of His Grace, the Bishop of Basingstoke, were found in the streets of a London slum, following the same criteria of that which seemed to reflect that of Jack the Ripper.

A member of the Marchetti family, Miss. Maia Marchetti, requested an immediate revision of the autopsies to prove that the killer wasn't Jack The Ripper, but rather another unnamed man who yet had to be caught; she founded her thesis on the two, crucial facts that the murderer had only ever killed members of the aristocracy and one single prostitute for the sole fact that she could've potentially acted as a witness for the case, and there wasn't any fury exhibited towards her corpse, and Thomas Bond (profilier of Jack The Ripper) stated that the Ripper didn't have any anatomical knowledge, and the body appeared to have been mutilated with such a precision which could only belong to those with a great anatomical knowledge, possibly a doctor.

On another note, she had managed to gather ten prostitutes together, who worked in the same zones where the homicides happened, to declare in a written letter to Scotland Yard, that an unknown, violent and unpleasant man with an odd fascination with sadomasochism, had been with them. However, this request was denied, and the letter archieved, until the inspector on the case Scott Newcomen presented the same thesis, thus obtaining a revised autopsy report, this time conducted by Dr. Hastie Lanyon, who brought some interesting discoveries to the table. It is important to note to the case that, the two men had died because of a basilar skull fracture, while the prostitute seemed to truly have died because of strangulation, like it had already been ascertained.

Due to the sheer brutality of the murders and the fact that they involved members of the aristocracy, the media was following this case with great attention, and reporting on it extensively (and of course great pressure was put on the authorities to solve the crimes quickly). Considering that this man happened to principally target members of the upper classes who had a significant role in society, save if there were any eye-witnesses, speculations that these might be murders made for socio-politic reasons committed by a member of the lower classes, seeing the location and circumstances, caused heightened tensions between social classes.

Other members of the council, such as Lady Beaconsfield and Sir Archibald Proops, perished under the same circumstances. An interesting parallelism is that many unreliable letters were sent to Scotland Yard and to Central News Agency; some were written by well-intentioned citizens, providing information towards the capture of the killer; however, the majority of them were deemed useless and consequently ignored. Hundreds of letters were written by people claiming to be the killer, and although this letter wasn't redeemed important and considered a fake, and consequently scrapped, a letter had been signed with the name Edward Hyde. And that's how people started to identify the man. Another letter described the man as someone who had a rancid aura around him, with an area of deformity which couldn't be quite explained by any actual malformations; he had long, golden locks. And unfortunately, these were the only small details which also happened to have been confirmed in the first letters those ten prostitutes wrote. A first rough identi-kit and criminal profile was made by Dr. Hastie Lanyon.

The slayings were the handiwork of a solitary individual, a robust young man aged between eighteen and twenty-three, possessed of a brazen yet unflappable demeanor, bearing obscure physical anomalies difficult to discern. Though yet too youthful to grace the circles of high society, Edward Hyde presented himself in attire befitting a gentleman of esteem, maintaining habitual visits to dens of iniquity, whilst displaying a remarkable acumen in matters anatomical, suggestive of a scholarly pursuit, perhaps that of the medical sciences.

The fact that it was clearly a member of the aristocracy seemingly fell deaf to the ears of the media, which constantly sidetracked the police investigations, misleading them and accusing innocents of being Edward Hyde and fabricating evidence with the excuse of pursuing justice, when in reality this just caused more social disadvantages and disorders which ended with popular uprisings; an interesting phenomenon to note, is that of many women sent romantic letters to those who were suspected to be Edward Hyde, and many visited the locations in which the murders happened in hopes of meeting the Prince of Disaster.

#.txt #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll and hyde

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