#i need it to be so far in the future that everyone will have forgotten about that random little detail from the pilot

[lesbiannieism]

i need 7+ seasons of dead boy detectives specifically to see the long-term payoff of charles putting a jar of bees in his bag

[robinsnest2111]

thinking about everyone who experienced me, premium front row seats and audience participation included, at my absolute worst and still want to have something to do with current day me. idk what I did to deserve you peeps in my life and I hope every single day I can be a good friend to you now that I'm actively trying to heal 🙏

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Good Omens graphic novel update: May 2024

Happy 34th birthday to Good Omens - published in May 1990. We don't need any extra reasons to celebrate Aziraphale and Crowley, but we're always happy to find some.

Admin

Thank you to everyone who has completed the PledgeManager so far; as mentioned, this will be open through 2024 into early 2025 to complete. A few key queries that have arisen in the past month:

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I need to change my address. How do I do that? We have left the option to update your shipping address open on PledgeManager and will do so for as long as possible. Per PledgeManager, here is a step-by-step on how to change your address: Return to your survey (which you can also do by visiting my.pledgemanager.com and using the ‘Forgotten Password’ option if needed) and scroll down on the receipt page. There, you will see the below button. After clicking that, you will be taken to the first page of the survey and will just need to click through to the shipping page. On the shipping page, you can use the ‘Create New Address’ button to enter their updated address. 

If you have any further issues or queries, visit the central FAQ page as your first port of call.

Good Omens items...

The desk at Good Omens HQ is slowly filling up with prototypes, the latest of which appears to be as popular as Aziraphale and Crowley, and for good reason. We are, of course, talking about the ducks. Here's an early version of the duck mug:

We've got some early prototype designs of the trading cards too. Illustrator Steve Gregson has begun work on the base card deck illustrations, to be unveiled in future, and designs for some of the variants are fully underway. Here are some early samples of graphic novel variant cards from Colleen Doran, and Rachael Stott's Crowley:

The base packs (Hellhound+) currently include 80 cards, and have caused quite heated games with those who have test-played it so far on their attempts to thwart (or indeed cause) the apocalypse. Hellhound+ backers will also get a booster pack alongside the main game. Rarities for sharing at random in these orders are shaping up nicely too. Hoping to share some of the base pack design imminently.

If you've been wondering what your other alternative cover choice is, alongside Rachael Stott's (Serpent+), then wonder no more: here is Frank Quitely's take on Aziraphale and Crowley, ready to shine on your shelves.

Update from Colleen

We often end with an update from Colleen, whether that's her art, or her shots from her studio. However, we thought it was about time we invite Colleen to update you herself, so we are handing the rest of this month's over to your ineffable artist for a glimpse inside the process of making Good Omens. Enjoy.

---

As you may imagine, I’m having a wonderful time working on the Good Omens graphic novel. The Dunmanifestin team asked me to pop in and give you a look at my process.

The task of adapting a beloved novel into graphic novel format is a complex, wonderful sort of pressure cooker. Even without the well-publicized complications I got smacked with over the last year, it promised to be an intense, time-consuming project.

The graphic novel is about the book and not the show. Getting Michael Sheen and David Tennant out of my head was quite a task. I’ve seen it dozens of times and I adore it, but I to had devote a lot of time to re-reading the novel and listening to the audiobook to clear my head of them. 

The few times I allowed myself to watch the show again screwed me up a bit. So, I won’t watch it again until I am completely finished with every drawing. Maybe a view-a-thon will be my reward for finishing the book. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself. There’s still a lot to do, so let me show you it.

Before we knew the Kickstarter fundraiser would do well, the graphic novel was to clock in at 164 pages. After the good news of the Kickstarter success, I got permission to take the story to 200 pages. That meant a major rewrite and redraw on some dozens of thumbnails and layouts.

And you guys are getting a much longer book.

Not complaining one bit. I was so happy to get more space to give breathing room to the ending.

Anyway, here's a look at my workspace.

To the left is my laptop computer with the script. The laptop is connected to my graphics computer via ethernet, and all my reference is on the main system, from which I share files.

On my older projects, I dutifully printed out every bit of reference. I think this is the first project where I’ve done all reference and organizing on my MAC.

As you can see, I draw comics the old-fashioned way – by hand – and there is my script on the computer.

But I do all the coloring on this project on the MAC. I know some people hate Photoshop, but even if I wanted to switch, I don’t have the time to dive into a new system.

That entire box with all the narrow drawers in it you see there contain Good Omens pages in varying degrees of completion. Finished pages are at the bottom with layouts, pencils, and partial inks toward the top. The middle drawer contains templates, French curves, and a ruler.

The box isn’t fancy art studio equipment. It’s just a Childcraft brand puzzle storage rack. I realized a long time ago the heavy wooden bookcases, puzzle racks, and construction paper storage made for children’s classrooms made great modular storage for professional art spaces. It’s solid as a rock, heavy so little children can’t tip it, and I can move it and rearrange my space however I like.

The final art is drawn on 11”X14” Strathmore 500 acid free Bristol.

I do all my prelims as tiny “thumbnail” sketches, some in ink, some in very loose pencil. I keep them organized in this Levenger notebook. The thumbnail paper is both Canson brand, and Blue Line Pro, and both are acid free. Blue Line Pro is good for ink, but Canson is better for pencil because it has more tooth. I usually use Canson.

Using the Levenger hole puncher, I perforate my pages and keep them organized in a Levenger Circa system. It’s pricey, but I love it. There are other brands far less expensive, however.

The ruler shows how tiny the thumbnails are.

If the storytelling is clear at this small size, then it will be clear in the final.

I redo quite a bit as I go along, as you can see from the sequence below.

From thumbnail:

To pencils:

Since I did multiple rewrites, adding a large section at the end and popping in earlier scenes I originally had to skip, this meant redoing almost all the page numbers about 4 times.

Nearly went barmy.

I use the construction method of drawing, as you see. This is an old-school technique. Some people seem to assume that artists always use computers and tracing for their drawings, but most cartoonists of my generation work extemporaneously. There’s quite a bit of noodling around and searching in the sketches. Using too much reference often results in stiff, dead work.

In comics, it’s very important to make sure you’ve considered word balloon placement when designing a page. The script for Good Omens is more copy-heavy than most modern comic book scripts because I want to preserve as much of the clever original language as I can.

Here I scramble about working out the word balloon space allowance.

Here’s a deeper look at the process for page 2 from thumbnails to final color.

Now here is where things get a little weird. What you’re about to see is a process called flatting.

If you color a comic without first flatting the art, you are consigning yourself to many extra hours of labor and frustration.

Flatting is a way to tell the computer to select areas inside the black lines so that whenever you click on that particular color, you can paint inside that area perfectly. Since the computer only understands 1 and 2 - or on and off - when you tell that computer to stick to that area, that is what it will do.

There are computer programs that you can use to create your flats. I use Multi-Fill. The results are uniquely ugly, but they get the job done. Here is what that looks like.

Absolutely hideous.

But pretty much all I have to do from this point on is click each block of color and change it to whatever I like. The result is this:

I also experimented with selecting areas of the line work as color holds, but I’m getting into more complicated color technique than we may have time for at this point. But from here, I can start painting.

And the painting stage looks like this.

Since I wasn’t entirely sure exactly how I wanted to approach this color style, I took screen shots of some of the changes I made as I went along. In the shot at the left, I’ve given Aziraphale’s heavenly self a golden glow by using a color hold on the line. But I found it needed more contrast to make his figure pop, so I darkened it in the next shot.

I use the computer to create the initial flats, but I either do the final flats myself, or I have help from Julmae Kristoff and/or Dee Cunniffe.

The flats are (usually) not intended to be part of the final work. They are a technical tool.

For example, here are the original, computer-generated flats for one scene in Good Omens.

And here are the secondary flats by Julmae Kristoff.

And here is my final color work.

Since I’m running behind on the book, I’ve brought in Dee Cunniffe to do some extra color work. He is a wonderful colorist, as well as an excellent flatter. I’m not sure to what extent I’ll be handing pages to Dee at this point, because I’m very controlling, and I want to make absolutely certain there are no stylistic anomalies in the art, and I want all the Crowley and Aziraphale pages for myself, is that too much to ask?

I use Faber Castell Pitt Artist pens for my inking. I sometimes use an old-fashioned crowquill as well, but Faber Castells are easier to control, and the ink uses real pigment instead of dye like many markers. All of my originals are created with longevity in mind: acid-free and lightfast. I want the drawings to be fade-proof.

And that is a quick tour of the work so far.

A thousand thanks to Neil Gaiman and the Dunmanifestin team for their incredible kindness and patience, and that goes double for all Good Omens supporters out there. Your indulgence is appreciated more than I can adequately express. I am truly sorry to have been the cause of the delay in the book, but I can only make it up to you by doing my very best.

And that is what I am doing.

BTW, many years ago, I found a little yellow duckling who was getting beaten up by the other ducks, so I saved him and took him to my home to live until my parents adopted him, since they had a nice yard and a pond, and I didn’t.

He had a birth defect and could not fly, which is probably why the other ducks were pecking at him.

He got to stay in the family house, and eat goldfish crackers, and swim in the tub. Eventually they built him his own house. We called it the Duck Majal.

He lived for ten years.

I named him Fred because I’d been watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s when I heard him quacking for help that day we met, and Holly Golightly’s brother was named Fred.

So, here’s to you Fred.

Until next time.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Missed Hints

King Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, light angst, humor, pregnancy, suggestive themes, fade to black, established relationship

Word Count: 1.8k

With the pregnancy confirmed, you decide to drop little hints until Thorin makes the connections.

A/N: for @protosslady

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“You’re pregnant, your majesty.”

Those two little words are enough to make time freeze. You are cold, a bit hesitant, and completely unbelieving of what you’re hearing.

“Are you sure?” you ask slowly, needing to know if you’ve heard her correctly.

The midwife, Lena, smiles broadly. “As sure as the sun rises in the morning. I’ve been doing this for close to thirty summers now. Rarely am I ever wrong.”

Lena’s assistant, Petal, matches Lena’s smile with one of her own. It is radiant and sunny, a stark difference from your sudden anxiousness. “This is wonderful news,” she exclaims. “King Thorin will be so pleased.”

“Indeed,” agrees Lena. “And so will the people when it’s formally announced.”

Both women sigh at the same time, but you are not nearly as excited as they are.

You and Thorin did try for a child many times in the beginning of your marriage. It was enthusiastic—and constant—but nothing ever came of it. While it bothered you, Thorin never seemed to care. He told you that all he wanted was you and that anything else was a bonus.

That is still true. Thorin loves you.

But Thorin is being pulled in a different direction. Erebor needs attention, and Thorin throws himself into service attempting to tackle every obstacle and difficulty on his own. Most nights, he comes to bed late—usually when you’re already asleep. When you wake, he is usually gone, off to take care of his abundant duties. They are piling up, becoming a burden. Thorin does too much, and while you admire him for his dedication, you miss him.

To know that you’re pregnant is a surprise. It’s not that you and Thorin haven’t been intimate, it’s just that it hasn’t been nearly as frequent as in the past. While Thorin is gone, you have your own duties and responsibilities. When the two of you do have quiet time together, intimacy is brief but passionate and almost always followed by the two of you falling asleep in each other’s arms.

“How far along?” you ask, trying to place exactly when it might have taken.

When your cycle never came, you didn’t think much of it. That happens sometimes. But then didn’t occur during the next expected timeframe. With its absence came irritability and random bouts of sudden crying you couldn’t explain. Certain foods smelt odd, and while you weren’t emptying the contents of your stomach, constant nausea made it difficult to complete daily tasks. You knew then that something was different. And now the midwife has confirmed it.

But even with an answer, you’re not sure how you feel.

“I’d place you at about ten weeks. Perhaps eleven,” answers Lena with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“That far?” you squeak, wincing immediately with how upset you sound.

Lena and Petal’s smiles start to diminish. Their enthusiasm melts away, replaced with furrowed brows and soft lines of concern.

“Is everything all right? You look a bit faint?” Lena places her hand on your shoulder.

“Yes,” you reply, though it sounds like you’re gasping for air. “Surprised is all.”

Their smiles return but it’s subdued.

This is supposed to be a happy occasion. A child means an heir, and it also gives the people hope for the future. Much of Erebor is still in pieces from Smaug’s habitation. That doesn’t even begin to include all the damage and death from the battle. Dale, which was once abandoned and forgotten, is starting to see life again as well. The races of Men are returning to it, hoping to rekindle its long-extinguished flame.

A royal child is a symbol of hope. It’s a moment of celebration for everyone.

“I think a bit of rest for the remainder of the day will do you some good,” says Lena softly. “We will prepare some ointments that you can use to relieve any aches or pains. Bloating is likely, and as the body makes room for the little one, you’ll have some discomfort.” Lena taps her bottom lip and then turns to Petal. “We’ll need to prepare some liquid supplements to take with meals.”

“Of course,” nods Petal. She begins packing up their supplies.

Lena squeezes your shoulder before letting go. “I’ll come check on you in a few days. Bring a few things with me. We’ll talk more then, preferably with the father present.”

“Yes,” you reply, absently rubbing your belly. “That would be best.”

The two women bow and depart quickly, leaving you alone in the royal bedchambers. The room is quiet and your breathing sounds too loud in such a large space. With hands clasped, you twist them over and over again in agitation, needing to move but unsure of how to quell the anxiousness. It’s stubborn like the deep roots of a tree that refuse to give up the dirt.

How are you to tell Thorin? How do you approach this when you rarely see him. It’s just one more thing to burden him with. Perhaps, if you dropped a few hints? Covertly toss the pregnancy in his direction and see if he picks it up?

You know deep in your gut that you shouldn’t worry over this. Thorin will be happy. He will be.

You spend the rest of the day as Lena instructs. Reclining, resting, and reading. Thorin is supposed to return tonight for evening meal. Whenever he promises an early arrival, Thorin means it. Rarely does he make promises he cannot keep.

As dinner is brought in, and the table is set, Thorin walks through the door. There is a bit of soot on his cheek like he’s been in the mines, and his cheeks are slightly flushed. When he notices you, he beams, and there is so much love there that you simply want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“My love,” he says, moving toward you swiftly. The embrace nearly sweeps you off your feet. He plants a kiss on your forehead and draws back.

“You’re filthy,” you laugh, looking him over. Thorin has been in the mines.

Thorin shrugs sheepishly. “I had to help dig. Structural issues.”

“Wash your hands at least,” you playfully tease.

“Not interested in eating a bit of dirt?” he asks with a laugh.

“Go,” you giggle, pushing away from him.

Thorin disappears and you take a seat at the table. He reappears a few minutes later, face and hands clean. The clothes he wore before are also gone, replaced with simple, fresh attire. He takes a seat next to you, gaze darting over the spread.

“I’m starving,” you begin because it’s true even though you’ve been consistently snacking all day. “It’s like I’m eating for two.”

First hint dropped.

Thorin laughs, and the sound is sweet like honey cake. “I promise, love. You couldn’t eat for me. My appetite is insatiable.” When Thorin says insatiable, he pointedly glances at you with a heated stare.

You perfectly understand his meaning.

You attempt a different angle. “I’ve also been having the oddest cravings,” you say, starting to load your plate.

“What do you mean?” asks Thorin before he pops a chunk of bread into his mouth.

“Different foods. Things I’d never eat together otherwise.” It is common knowledge that pregnant women will often crave highly specific foods and food combinations.

But Thorin doesn’t appear to pick up on the hint. He frowns, then shrugs, continuing to eat without making a comment.

Sighing, you pick up one the freshly made rolls. “I think these buns need a bit more time in the oven.” You stare hard at Thorin, mentally sending message after message. “What do you think?”

Thorin glances up at you then down at his own plate that has five of them. “I think they’re perfect but if you’d like them more done, I’ll let the kitchen know in the morning.”

“Thorin,” you say flatly.

“Yes, my love?” His head slightly tilts, and his gaze becomes pointed. He’s starting to pick up on your agitation. You don’t mean to be cross, but you were hoping that he’d figure it out so you wouldn’t have to tell him outright.

Setting the roll down on your plate, you promptly divert the conversation to a different hint. “We’ve never talked about where we’d put the nursery.”

Thorin’s brow rises toward his hairline. “I didn’t think you wanted to discuss that until we crossed that hurdle?”

Does he hear himself? Does he understand the context of what’s coming out of his mouth?

“You’re right, Thorin. I didn’t want to discuss it until we needed to.” You repeat his words back to him, slightly leaning toward him as you speak to emphasize the point.

Still, it brushes right over his head.

“Some of the advisory council members have brought up financial concerns. Rebuilding Erebor is important but the needs of the people are pressing. Food. Proper housing.” Thorin begins slicing into the chunk of roast on his plate.

Maybe you are going to have to say it outright.

Licking your lips, you ignore Thorin’s change in conversation. “I did receive a few inquiries about baby clothes. Offers to knit a few items,” you shrug.

“That’s kind of them,” says Thorin slowly. “But why—” he pauses, “you’re not—"

Thorin’s features suddenly shift, becoming almost unreadable. His jovial expression is gone, replaced with a stern consideration.

Are you going to have to shout it at the top of your lungs?

Thorin’s lips part. Promptly shuts. Opens again. “Are you…” he begins but does not finish.

You start to nod, urging him on.

Finally, like light igniting in the dark, Thorin’s face transforms into one of shock, then pure joy.

“Truly?”

“Found out just this morning.”

Thorin abruptly stands, pushing himself and his chair away from the table. He is moving toward you, grasping your hands, bringing them to his mouth to kiss your fingers.

“Why not say anything?” he asks.

“I did,” you laugh. “Many times.”

Thorin momentarily frowns before his mouth turns up into a soft smile. “Clever.”

“You’ve been busy and I was unsure of how to tell you.”

Thorin’s thumbs rub little circles over your knuckles. “You can always tell me anything. Whatever is happening. Whatever is on your mind. I wish to hear it.” He kisses the tops of your hands. “Especially something like this.”

“Are you happy?” you ask, voice cracking at the end.

“Happiest I’ve ever been.”

Thorin pulls you up from your chair, his large, muscled arm sliding behind your waist. He drags you to him, his eyelids lowering seductively, all gentleness leaving him to be replaced with desire.

“Are you up for a bit of celebrating?” he asks.

“What kind of celebrating?”

“The kind that landed us here.”

“Thorin,” you gasp, lightly slapping his chest. He snatches your wrist, kisses the pulse point there.

“The food can wait,” and his voice ends on a soft growl.

“Thorin,” you repeat, this time with a rasp to your tone.

He seizes it, draws you even closer. “The food can wait?”

You nod. “It can wait.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @mrsdurin @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics @beebeechaos

[fangirl-dot-com]

Together or Nothing

Pairing: Vettel-Reader x Carlos Sainz Jr.  Genre: Angst/Comfort Summary: Growing up with Carlos, you knew he’d be a special driver. If he asked you to follow him to the end of the world, you’d do it. But when his life in Formula 1 is in jeopardy, how far are you willing to go? 

uhhhhhhh - I was inspired and I made an imagine after the complete clown show that was last tuesday. This is an apology imagine because this week is stacked and there might not be a TDITD update in the near future. So I'm feeding you all now. Never thought that my first imagine would be fore Carlos but here we are.

You had heard the rumors. But that’s what they were supposed to be. Just rumors. 

Your dad had warned you that something big was going to be announced, but you never thought it would be this. 

Well, some rumors can turn out to be true. Your mind was swirling with thoughts as you looked at your screen. Photoshopped pictures of Lewis in red was all that you saw. Conformations, hot-takes, and edits began to follow. People praised the prancing horse for securing the 7-time world champion. Podcast hosts immediately took to talking about how Lewis would be the best teammate for Charles. Everyone seemed honed in on the two drivers. 

Yet, all you could think about was Carlos.

Carlos who had given his all to the Rosso Corsa team. 

Carlos who was the only non-Red Bull winner in 2023. 

Carlos who bled the Ferrari red, even sometimes more than their Il Predestinato.  

Carlos who was slowly becoming forgotten in a matter of minutes. 

Your heart ached for your friend as you read his short and blunt statement on his Instagram story. You could almost feel the sadness through the minimal words. 

Your fingers flew to your messages as you messaged Charles. The Monegasque had known for a while, but had tried to get the Spaniard another contract. He knew that Carlos was one of the better drivers on the grid and disagreed with Ferrari’s decision. 

You knew that Charles had so much respect for Lewis. Hell, everyone did. You don’t just equal Michael Schumacher’s championships every day. No one has even come close to it. Yes, Max was well on his way, but nothing was ever certain in the world of Formula 1. 

Charles even complained about how he might not be number 2 driver in a team that didn’t believe in “driver priority.” Years of experience and 7 World Champions would definitely give someone the upper hand. 

Swiping out of the messages with Chares, you brought up Carlos’s contact. 

Your finger hovered over the message icon and then switched to call, then back to messages before you swiped out of his contact completely. 

You fingers went to a different contact. You knew it was a hard decision, and it would take a lot of convincing, but you were determined. 

Strict words were flown between you and your father. Having ties with a specific car manufacturer got you places, but this was in the wind. No one had asked for something this big – except you. 

After the begging and borderline crying, you ended the call. Exhaustion was creeping up on you, but you had more things to do. 

Once again, you clicked on Charles’s profile and pressed the call button. 

“Hello y/n,” Charles’s voice echoed through the speaker. 

You sighed. “How is he?” 

Charles mirrored your initial sound. “He won’t pick up. I’ve tried texting, but he’s leaving me on read.” 

You nibbled on your lips. “Have you called Lando?” 

“He’s on his way here. He was in Woking for the suit fitting and debut.” 

You let out a sigh of relief. 

“Can you send me his flight info if you have it? When he gets in, I’ll pick you up, then him. We can all three go see…”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

An annoyed sound left your lips as you raised your voice. “Charles, be for real. If we’re honest, he bleeds red more than you do. He needs us. Needs his friends.” 

There was silence for a bit, until Charles spoke up. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Sending you the information now.” 

With a couple more thank-you’s and apologies, you hung up. 

Lando was supposed to land later that evening and everything was in place. 

A couple of hours later, Lando was in the back seat of your car with Charles in the passenger. The three of you sat in silence as you drove to Carlos’s place in Monaco. Lando was the first to speak up. 

“So what’s the plan. I know you Y/n and if you haven’t made a call yet somewhere then you’re have no plan and this is just pointless.” 

You rolled your eyes as Charles stared at you, waiting for some good news. 

“I made a call to dad. He says he’ll get the ball rolling. We’ll know by tomorrow if they go ahead with it.” 

Charles leaned in and adjusted himself in the seat. “And who is they?” 

You hushed him. “A girl never spoils her secrets.” 

Not long after, your car finally made it to his place. The lights were on, which was a good sign. 

Carlos was home. 

You swallowed thickly as you made your way up the stairs. Your hand lifted and knocked on the door. Charles and Lando were right behind you. 

It took a couple of minutes for Carlos to open the door, but he eventually did. The sight was almost unbearable. 

His normally kept hair was sticking up in different places. His cheeks were red, along with his nose. 

He had been crying no doubt. 

He looked tired as he slouched at the door, but straightened up when his eyes landed on you. They held a certain softness as he gazed at your face. But the softness hardened at the sight of the other two drivers. He opened his mouth to talk, but you raised a hand. 

“They’re here for you Carlos. Please listen,” you pleaded, hand now resting on his chest. He looked down and then nodded, moving to let them in. 

The three of you followed him in. You were half expecting things to be thrown everywhere and broken. Yet, the house seemed to be in perfect shape. He led you to the living room and sat on a chair. 

You, Lando, and Charles all squeezed onto the couch in front. 

A comment about school children and their principal wanted to leave your lips, but you held it back. 

The Spaniard sat in silence as he waited for someone to talk first. 

Charles inhaled sharply. His voice cracked the first time he tried to say something, but he persisted. 

“I didn’t want it to be like this.”

When Charles finally looked up, Carlos could see the tears in the Monegasque’s eyes.

“I tried,” he swallowed, “I tried to get them to keep you on. Even tried to have them do an open ended contract like mine.” 

Carlos spoke up. “Yet, you have said that you’d want Lewis as a teammate.” 

Charles looked down again, almost ashamed. 

“I half-handedly said that, and you know it. If you were asked you probably wouldn’t have said my name either.”  

Carlos looked down at his hands. Charles was right. 

He got up from the couch and crouched in front of Carlos, so they could be on eye level. Charles put his hand on Carlos’s shoulder. 

“Together or nothing, right?” 

Carlos nodded silently as he brought the brunet into a hug. The two men shed some tears as they hugged. 

You knew how hard it was going to be on the Spaniard. 

He often said that his one downfall was to love and love too quickly. 

Lando was truly his first favorite teammate with Charles coming at a close second. He got too attached in a sport that was famous for their driver swaps. 

Moving from McLaren to Ferrari had almost crushed his and Lando’s friendship. It took them months to be able to hang out without sadness hovering over their heads. 

Now, Carlos was determined to not let that happen to him and Charles. Lando also wouldn’t let it happen, and neither were you. 

The three of you stayed for a little longer, with you being invited to stay the night. Your hand was pushing against Lando’s face as he made kissy noises as he walked out the door. Your keys had been given to Charles with the promise that he’d keep your car safe. 

That night, you held Carlos as he cried and cried. And when you thought he was done, he’d cry some more. You ended up not telling him about your plan, simply because you didn’t want to get his hopes up. 

Yes, in the morning, you were being shaken awake by the Spaniard. His phone was shoved right in your face. 

“Is this real?” he questioned, voice cracking with emotion. 

There on his phone was the official announcement. 

“PORSCHE OUTBIDS AUDI FOR THE 2026 SPOT IN FORMULA 1” 

“EX-DRIVER SEBASTIAN VETTEL TO BE PORSCHE’S TEAM PRINCIPAL IN 2026” 

“Y/N VETTEL TO BE RACE ENGINEER FOR NUMBER ONE DRIVER IN 2026” 

“PORSCHE SECURED NUMBER ONE SEAT AND CONTRACT FOR SAINZ JR 2026” 

The large headlines were giving you a headache, so you simply smiled and closed your eyes. 

“Surprise,” you said, sing-singly and sleepy. 

Carlos just looked at you and you could feel his eyes on your figure. You peaked out at him before sighing, tugging the comforter down as you sat up. 

“If you don’t want it…” 

“I want it.” 

You shivered at the bluntness in his voice. 

He looked from you, down to his phone, then back to you. “You did this?” 

You nodded shyly as you leaned in closer. 

“I know you and Charles have your own ‘together or nothing,’ but I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if it were possible Carlos.” 

You waited for him to say something. Yet, he never did. He did something better though. 

He kissed you. 

“Together or nothing, mi Corazón.” 

carlossainz55 has posted

carlossainz55 to my heart, I cannot thank you enough. you've given me the second chance that I didn't know I had. Together or nothing. Te quiero

liked by charles_leclerc, porschef1, y/n.vettel, and 104,204 others

smooth_operator I'M NOT CRYING YOURE CRYING

vamoscarlos the way I could see y/n convincing her dad to get Porsche to outbid Audi

carlos55 like he could have had a chance with Audi, but y/n wanted to make sure he had an actual seat. can Carlos fight?

charlos4ever I refuse to change my username - did you see them in the joint interview??

charles16 I know right? they looked like the old Carlos and Charles - y/n or seb must have done something carlando betting that they put them both in timeout or the get along shirt

charles_leclerc let's do our very best this season. and always remember that I'll only be a garage down :)

carlossainz55 cabron, did you think that I was leaving leaving?? landonorris he was crying when he called me after you posted y/n.vettel and that was after he called my dad too charles_leclerc IN EVERY UNIVERSE FROM THIS AUTHOR I GET BULLIED FOR CRYING author is it true tho??? charles_leclerc yes.

porschef1 we know it's a season away but we can't wait for for what 2025 brings!

sebastianvettel you better keep my daughter happy or you'll loose a second seat in two seasons

carlossainz55 yes sir

carlos_vettel the way he looks at her in the first picture...when's the wedding??

y/n_sainz all I'm thinking is who is going to take what last name (please hyphenate)

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @agent-curt-mega @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @cashtons-wife @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19 @lizzypiastri

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet One 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“So, what do you think?” Lloyd asks as he turns to you, outstretching his arms as he gestures to the endless hangers. “All yours. You got your pick.” 

You stand just inside the door of the walk-in closet. The space would take up at least half your apartment alone. You cross your arms as you glance along the rows of coloured fabric hung from the walls, organized in a perfect ombre effect of shades. On the far wall, there are shelves full of shoes and accessories, along with a vanity in the centre. 

“I know you’re a simple gal,” he grins, “but you don’t have to be anymore. Whatever you want, ain’t no mountain high enough and all that.” 

You nod and blow out between your lips. It all still feel surreal like a nightmare. You swallow and tamp down your discomfort. You didn’t hate the life you had. Your small apartment, manageable and tame. You prefer predictability, even if some might say it’s boring. 

“Erm, I dunno,” you slowly trail over to the other side of the closet. 

“Well, you could pick some shoes first. That might inspire you,” he suggests as he approaches you, “you don’t need to be too fancy, you know, you always look nice.” 

“Mm,” you nod,” thanks that’s...” 

You let the sentence hang. This is really freaking you out. Your chest feels tight and your head is buzzing. You shudder out a breath. 

“What... what am I choosing for?” You croak. 

“I told you, jellybean,” he puts his arm around you and pulls you against his side, “it’s a surprise.”  

He reaches to grab a hanger and holds it out at arm’s length. A blush-coloured satin dress with a bit of frill at the bottom of the skirt. It’s nothing you would choose yourself. 

“Sure, that’s nice,” you say, just to appease him. What else can you do? 

“Hm,” he hums, “you don’t like it?” 

“I didn’t say...” 

“You don’t sound very excited,” he pouts as he turns to you, his hand lingering on your hip, “none of it? I got it all for you.” 

“I’ll wear it,” you sniff, “I’m sorry, I’m just... I’m... adjusting.” 

You don’t know how else to explain it.  

He pushes his lower lip out and narrows his eyes, “sure, sure, makes sense.” He drags his hand off your hip and steps back, keeping the dress up as he angles it before you, as if he’s imagining you in it. “This is gonna look so hot, baby.” 

You do your best to stay placid. It’s harder as you heart pounds furiously. You can’t even begin to guess what he has planned but with everything he’s done and said, you know exactly what his intent is.  

“You should get washed up, huh? Then get dolled up. Like I said, won’t need much of that,” he winks, “you could walk in ass-naked and I’m sure you’d stun.” 

You can’t help how your mouth slants at his remark. 

“Alright, jellybean, let’s get you in the tub,” he lays the dress over the velvet bench and spins back, startling you as he grabs both hips and jerks you towards him with a growl, “can I watch? I promise, I’ll try not to touch. Yet.” 

You clasp onto his wrists with a yelp. He curls his lips eagerly and you repress your horror. You don’t want to antagonise. You don’t want him to get any worse than he is. 

“Um, did you want... to?” You murmur. 

“Fucking of course,” he urges you against him, “the things I want to do...” he smirks, “I’m quaking in my boots.” 

He bows to smother you with a kiss. His mustache pokes at your uper lip and up your nose as he hums and slides his tongue across your lips. You squeeze your mouth tightly shut but he pokes through, nearly choking you as he invades. You press your hands to his chest as he locks you into his embrace. 

Finally, he part and you gasp for breath. He snickers as you puff against him. Your skin is crawling as you wriggle in his hold. 

“Yum,” he purrs. 

He lets his arms fall away and quickly snags your hand. You let him drag you around to the door, your feet hollow as they move without a thought. Resistance is plainly not a choice. 

He takes you back into the adjoining bedroom, the one you awoke in, and through another door way against the perpendicular wall. He steps to the side as he tugs you forward and releases you. Your take in the sleek black walls and black tub, the silver shower head in a monochrome booth, and the ebon marble veined with sparkling white. 

“I get it, it’s going to take a lot of getting used to,” he boasts, “this is our home, sweet cheeks. Remember that. You treat it like your very own... it is. Just like me, all yours.” 

You pad slowly inside, if only to keep a distance from your captor. You won’t forget what he is. He can give you all the luxurious things but you remember the days of starvation, of terror. He can’t see himself for what he is but you do. 

“Face masks, body scrub, bath bomb, shower gel, bonnet, robe,” he points at the fluffy purple robe still around you, “slippers,” he flicks his finger towards the mat beside the door, “lotions, creams, everything you can dream of. Oh damn, I can call a nail tech if you want a fresh mani--” 

“Uh, no thanks,” ball up your fists, hiding your short-trimmed nails, “that’s not... that’s okay.” 

“Only the best for you, kitty cat,” he says. 

He strides forward and you flinch out of his way. He goes to the tub and cranks it on, water splashing out from the high faucet. He flips the silver lever to put the stopper in place and backs up. 

“Voila, all for you,” he declares, “I’ll just...” he looks around and backs up to sit on the fluffy cushioned stools near the wall, “sit and watch. If you need help getting your back, I got you.” 

He wiggles his fingers and gives a lecherous grin. You withhold a shudder and face the basin, the water battering the bottom. You step forward and peer down into the shallows. You clutch the front of the robe and peek over in his direction but not at him. 

He waits, silently. You sway, squeezing the fluffy fabric as you peer back at the water. You don’t know if you can do it. Not with him right there. 

“Whatsa matter, baby, you need help?” He shifts and you jolt.  

“N-no, I just...” you look down at yourself and frown. 

“Ah, you’re shy. I totally get it,” he coos, “you don’t gotta be though. Your beautiful, so you should be proud. Show it off, honey.” He clucks and shakes his head, “you know that’s the thing these days, all you girls, you’re so insecure, but you trust me, sweet lips, you got nothing to be insecure about.” 

Your stomach flips. You feel hazy. You try to shrug it off and drop your hands to the belt of the rob. You untie it. You’re really going to do this. Why? 

Because you’re afraid? Weak? Yep. 

You shed the rob and look around. You hang it on the hook behind the door and return to the tub. It’s getting deeper and deeper. You touch the bottom of your shirt and scrunch it up in your fists. Just do it quickly and get in. He can only see so much from over there. 

You pull your shirt off, nothing underneath. You push your pants down quickly, your underwear rolling down inside. The skin feels cooler then and tingles across your naked skin as you latch onto the tub and swing yourself over the edge. You barely get a foot under you before you submerge your body in the water. 

You sit up, legs bent, stiff on the porcelain as the water continues to rise. It’s not quite at your chest yet. If you let it fill all the way, it might touch your chin. As you watch the depth climb, you don’t notice him until he closes. You slide to the back of the tub as Lloyd cranks off the faucet. 

You notice how his eyes stray to you. Your legs stay bent in front of you, blocking most of everything. You shrink down, hunching your shoulders as he searches through the ripples. He tilts his head and cracks his neck as he exhales and backs away. 

“Take your time, baby,” he purrs as he rubs his chest. 

He sits again and you lower your head. You’ve never been this bare in front of anyone, rarely even yourself. You’re just not comfortable without some short of shield around you. Your eyes tinge with the threat of tears. You feel like you’ve been hit across the face. This is real. Really real. 

Your eyes flick up and you reach for the purple scrubby on the little black shelf. You just have to get through it. That’s what you’ve always done. 

👄

You stare into the open case. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept of make-up. When you were a teen, you had a phase, and you’ve been to enough job interviews to wield a mascara wand. Still, the amount seems excess. 

There’s almost every sort of product in every shade. Some sort of tap you don’t know what to do with, highlighter, and finishing spray. It’s too much. Your look is either a bare face or nothing at all. More often the former. 

You fidget with a tube of lipstick, clicking the lid up and down. This is all so strange. What are you getting ready for? And why? This isn’t your home, this isn’t your life, and yet it’s all so perfectly planned. 

“Honey bunnnnnn,” Lloyd’s timbre has you dropping the stick. He strides in, flustered, holding up two ties. He’s half dressed. A pair of red velvet pants and amber satin button up. It’s not a look you would go for. “What do ya think? Which tie? Paisley or the stripes?” 

You shrug and shake your head. 

He clicks his tongue, “genius, baby, genius. No tie. You’re right. Just the jacket.” 

Your mouth falls open and you nod, “sure, yeah.” 

You look back at the vanity and huff. Your face is untouched. You sit in your robe in the walk-in closet, mulling over your misery. Self-pity is as inescapable as these walls. 

“What’s up, cheeks?” He asks, “you need some help? I’m thinking you could give a bit more colour to lips but keep the rest very subtle.” 

He crosses the floor and hovers behind you. You stir around in the case and take out two bottles of foundation. You’ve never really used that either but the shades are pretty close. He lays the ties down on the vanity, brushing your back as he does, and pulls back to grip your shoulders. 

“I tried to guess as best I could. Don’t know much about all that but the lady in the store was a blessing,” he massages your shoulders as he talks. You’re tense as steel. “But you know, you got perfect skin so...” 

“Mm,” you put the foundation back and peruse the little shelf alongside the mirror. You reach for the moisturizer. Your skin feels raw.  

“I like it, au natural. Touch of cream, little lash...” 

“I’ll figure it out,” you grumble. He’s kind of annoying. No, he’s really annoying. All of this is annoying. 

“Right, yep, I will get out of your way,” he bends and kisses the crown of your head, “lots of time.” 

He strolls out and you scowl at the mirror. Something about him is getting to you. You’re not an angry person. You’re a nice person. You don’t go out of your way to be around others but when you are, you strive to be pleasant. Or at least, out of the way. 

You spread the cream over your face, watching your reflection as if it’s someone else. Where did he come from? Why? This is some cruel trick because you only ever wanted to mind your business. 

You cap the bottle and put the moisturizer back. You fish out a mascara stick and brush it on your lashes then find a neutral lip colour to put on. Nothing special, just like you. Hopefully he sees that soon enough. 

You pack away the case and push it to the back of the vanity. You get up and go to the velvet bench where the dress lays. He’s plucked out a few things to go with it. A gold necklace with small diamonds speckled along it and a pair of beige heels.  

You peek at the door before you untie the robe. You shiver as your fingers brush your stomach. You close your eyes as you recall how he wrapped you up in a towel after your bath. His touches were more than deliberate but his intrusive gaze made you squirm more. 

You pull on the lingerie tucked under the dress. A thong. You’ve never worn one of those, and a satin and lace bra with no padding. Even as you pull the dress up your figure, you feel like you’re on display. You reach back, bending your arm until your elbow throbs as you push the zipper up. 

“Need some help?” Lloyd’s voice makes you wince. 

You sniff, “sure.” 

You hold up the bodice as he approaches. You refuse to look back at him as he nears. He tickles along your spine with a single finger before he tugs on the zipper. He pulls it up little by little, until the fabric is snug around you. His fingertips drift down your back and he spreads his hands across your ass. You gasp. 

Before you can step away, his hands glide around and he grabs you by the hips. He pulls you against him and rocks with you. He inhales your scent from above and sighs. 

“Jellybean...” he almost sings, “are you...untouched?” 

You lock up and grab at his hands, trying to free yourself. 

“Is that why you’re so shy?” He snickers and spins you around, hands going to your waits, “I’m honoured to be your first.” 

You gape at him, horrified. His intent hasn’t been hard to guess but said aloud, it is all too imminent. 

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Waiting for You

A Michael Gavey Drabble

Author’s Note: I guess I’m doing drabbles now? This came to me when I was in my third meeting in a row that covered the same information we got in meeting #1 lol

Summary: It’s the evening of your first date with Michael Gavey, but a phone call with your mum lasted way longer than it should have and now you’re running a little bit late. Unfortunately, you forgot your phone at your dorm, so you have no way of letting Michael know.

Waiting for You

7:15

That was the time you had agreed to meet Michael at the pub. He was completely certain about that - he’d written it in his planner, the calendar on the wall of his dorm, and his Yahoo calendar.

He looked at his watch again.

7:23

Being a few minutes late made sense, he thought. You didn’t have a car, and public transportation can be somewhat unreliable on weekends. But now, you were nearly ten minutes late. Even with imprecise bus timings, that seemed like a lot.

It certainly seemed long enough for Michael’s mind to start spiraling.

Maybe you had forgotten. Maybe you got on the wrong bus. Maybe the bus had a mechanical failure, or was stuck in unavoidable traffic.

The longer he stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers as he stared at the pavement outside the pub, the more far-fetched his thoughts became.

Maybe a faculty member had suddenly needed your help and you couldn’t say no. Maybe your bud had been in an accident. Maybe you’d been kidnapped somehow.

Maybe…

7:28

Maybe you’d realized you didn’t actually want to go out with him.

Why would you? After his outburst in the dining hall at the beginning of the year, he was infamous within your college. Everyone knew the creepy maths nerd who’d made a fool of himself on the first day.

It made perfect sense that you wouldn’t want to be seen with him. What if the essence of his social pariah-dom would rub off on you somehow, and people started treating you the way they treated him?

You wouldn’t want that. He wouldn’t want that for you.

Ditching him would be the smart move. After all, it had apparently worked well for Oliver Quick, the cunt. Maybe if you abandoned him as well, you’d also get an invite to Felix Carton’s estate for the summer. For all he knew, it was a requirement.

7:34

It had been stupid of him to even think you’d want to go out with him.

You were popular and well-liked. You were gorgeous. You were smart. All things that should have wiped Michael off your radar entirely.

But you were also kind. You were friendly to him. You talked to him.

When he asked if you wanted to study with him, you’d said yes. When he asked to exchange phone numbers, you’d said yes. And when he asked you out on a date - this date - you’d said yes.

The memory returned, even as he tried to shove it away. When he asked Oliver if he would get him another pint, he’d said yes, too.

Then, he’d abandoned him.

7:41

Apparently, this was just what happened to Michael. He found someone he liked, thought they liked him, too, then was left behind when something better turned up.

It had happened many times before, and would probably happen many times in the future.

Michael bit hard on the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain would chase away the monumental feeling of loneliness that threatened to overtake him. He should just go back to his dorm. It was pathetic to wait out here for this long. He should -

7:44

“Michael!”

He looked up and saw you running toward him, your cheeks flushed as you pushed through the crowd. When you finally stopped in front of him, panting from exertion, you grimaced slightly. He braved himself for what you would say.

“I am so, so sorry I’m late!” You said breathlessly. “My mum called, and she could talk for hours and hours if she wanted, and I tried to tell her I had to leave, but she wouldn’t…”

You half-sighed, half-groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. “And then I left my phone in my room and I couldn’t tell you I was on my way, so…”

Michael stared at you blankly as you continued to explain. He had almost completely resigned himself to the fact that you weren’t coming. But here you were.

Not only had you actually come, but you had ran to him. You were trying so hard to make him see that it wasn’t intentional. You… you were still talking.

“It’s fine,” he said, halting your babbling. “I understand.”

Your smile of relief was quite possibly the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

He laughed in awe, then tried to play it off. “My mum doesn’t know when to shut up, either.”

You laughed with him and grabbed his hand. “Still, I’m so sorry. You’ve been waiting here, probably bored out of your mind, and…”

“Nah,” he shrugged, “it’s all forgotten now.” Indeed, he could hardly remember the panicked train of thought he’d been on for the last half hour. “Thank you - for coming, I mean.”

You smiled again. “Of course! I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Without giving him time to respond, you pulled him into the pub, both of you now laughing. “Since I was late, I’m paying!”

[stars-and-inkpots]

Reverence | Gale x Reader | (18+)

You take the opportunity to show Gale just how beautiful he is, and you have the perfect way to make sure he understands it.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Mild sexual content, mostly implied sexual content, praise kink, touch-starved, body worship, fluff (at the begining), kissing (lots)

Notes: I am determined to help provide more Gale content because I don't think there is enough. This might get a part 2 if people are interested.

Part 2

Ao3 Link: Reverence

Word Count: 1,338

The city is a welcome respite from the harsh wilderness you’ve been travelling through for the past several weeks. Well, perhaps a welcome change for some of you; Halsin was far less excited to be within the city walls, but complained only once. While the city was stifling to him, he understood the appeal for the rest of you. Lae’zel, on the other hand, despised the crowds and made this more than clear on multiple occasions. 

But everyone was content with the decision to rent some real rooms at the Elfsong Tavern- the entire upper floor, in fact. Gale was particularly pleased with this; and while everyone had their own rooms, he was very content to remain in yours. 

Being in camp with everyone always there all the time did not give the two of you many opportunities to spend time together uninterrupted. Now, as you lay on the bed beside him while he reads through one of the many new books he picked up today, you can almost pretend that everything is normal and the world is safe. At least for the moment. 

Gale’s fingers card through your hair. Occasionally, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of your head. You wrap your arms a little tighter around him. Everything feels so domestic that your face flushes and your heart aches. Given the circumstances of… well, everything that's happened to you so far, you hadn’t devoted much time to thinking about the future. But as you feel Gale’s chest rise and fall with each breath, hear him chuckle to himself while he scans the book with rapt attention, you can’t think of any other way you would want to spend the rest of your life. The realisation is both daunting and a comfort. 

You find yourself staring at Gale. He’s too busy with the book to notice, so you have time to really take in the beauty of this man, and there really is so much of it. 

His hair, still slightly damp from his earlier bath, has grown slightly since you met him. You notice that the small braid you had put in his hair one night still remains, still miraculously perfect. When you reach out to hold it between your fingers, you can feel traces of magic within the strands and realise that Gale had enchanted it somehow, ensuring it would stay. It’s such a fond gesture: that he would go through the effort if only to maintain it- to keep a reminder of you with him all the time. 

The only indication that he’s noticed your discovery is the slight smile on his face and the pink that dusts his cheeks; he almost looks embarrassed. Gods, you love him. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper. His blush deepens and his eyes finally part from the book to find yours. 

“Thank you,” Gale answers, but his voice is soft and you wonder if he really believes you. 

“I mean it, Gale. You are the most incredible person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting; and not only in looks. You are intelligent beyond words, your skill with magic is unbelievable.” He looks away from you, the book almost entirely forgotten in his hand. 

“Alright, now you’re only flattering me.” 

“Calling it flattery implies I mean none of it. Gale, and I mean every word.” You take his face between your palms, turning him to look at you again. There’s a sadness in his eyes, one that makes your chest tighten. You need him to understand how much he means to you. “And surely you are not one to call me a liar, are you?” 

“Of course not, my love. I would never dream of it,” he answers, and kisses you. 

“So, you believe me then,” you ask, like you’re testing him. 

Gale gives you a look, a strained, conflicted sort of look. This man is stubborn to a fault, but this is not something you are going to let up on just yet. 

“Your eyes are the prettiest I’ve ever seen, like the forest in autumn.” You pepper kisses across his face, moving to straddle his hips. You run your fingers through his hair, smiling fondly at the grey hairs that are present throughout. “Your jaw, your cheekbones, your nose, it’s like the gods sculpted them themselves.” With each new thing you list, you press several kisses to it. You can feel the warmth of his face when your lips brush over his cheeks. 

Your hands move to hold his hips while you move yourself further down, kissing his neck as you do so. You only barely hear him suck in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t stop you- Gods, he doesn’t want to stop you. When you leave a final kiss at the top of his chest, your hand moves to the edge of his shirt, giving it a small tug. “May I?” You ask, and Gale doesn’t trust himself to answer so he nods. You pull the fabric up, and he helps you take it off of him completely. Your hands find his hips again while your lips return to now exposed skin. 

“I will never get enough of your hips, love,” you say, tightening your grip on them ever slightly. “All of you, so soft, yet so strong.” His stomach is soft, but you can feel the muscles tense under your palm when you drag your hand across. You keep kissing him; his chest, his stomach, his hips. You can hear how his breaths are becoming shorter- can hear him sigh so softly. He’s always so responsive to you: a trait you absolutely love. 

Your fingers tease the waistline of his pants, and you finally hear him speak for the first time in minutes. His voice is unsteady, already wrecked from just this alone. 

“Please,” he begs breathlessly. You don’t hesitate. 

You leave his underwear for now; you still have a point to prove. 

You continue to kiss down his chest, and then across his thighs. You indulge him, leaving a collection of blossoming purples across his inner thighs. The last is rewarded with a whimper, and his fingers curl through your hair. He’s almost shaking, his pupils blown wide when he looks down at you.  

“Please,” he repeats. You smile, and if Gale knows you, which he does very well, he knows it means you’re going to drag this out and tease him for as long as you can. 

“Soon, my dear, I just need you to do something for me first.” You move yourself back up so you’re straddling his hips again. “Say you’re beautiful.” You’re back to kissing just below his jaw. Gale lets out a shaky breath, but hesitates. “All you have to do is admit it, then I’ll give you what you want.” 

“This is hardly fair.” Gale does his best to sound annoyed, but you can feel him beneath you. You know how much of a hold you have on this man. 

You kiss him; a deep and passionate kiss that promises more, but you pull away before he can deepen it. 

“Say it,” you ask again. “I’ll wait as long as it takes, love.” 

Your hands are all over him: his shoulders, his face, brushing his hair back, tracing the curve of his jaw. It’s overwhelming in the best way. Gale can barely focus enough to string a single thought together. All he can think about is you. You and your hands and lips all over him, kissing each and every part of him. He’s never really considered himself beautiful, though many might think him vain. But the way you’re touching him, holding him, telling him how perfect he is in hushed whispers against the side of his neck, it’s enough to convince him that maybe you’re right. 

“I’m beautiful,” he relents, voice soft but still needy. He feels you smile against him. 

“Good boy,” you answer, and he moans at the praise. “Now to make sure you don’t forget that anytime soon.”

[splonk-fox]

The flaws of Jax and Ragatha, and why they matter to Pomni's character arc.

Within the two episodes of The Amazing Digital Circus that have been released so far as of writing this post, there have been two characters who have been given the most attention and depth out of any of the cast (ignoring Pomni obviously), and those two characters are Ragatha and Jax.

The duo consisting of the kindhearted optimist and the meanspirited pessimist have without a doubt become some of the most interesting characters to analyze within this series so far thanks to how much meaningful screentime and character depth they have been given within the the two episodes that we viewers have been fortunate enough to witness with our very eyes.

But why is this? Why is it that these two have received special attention from the writers so far, and what role do they play in Pomni's character journey? Well I believe I may have found the answer, and it's unfortunately one that does not spell a good future for these characters. But to truly understand where I am coming from, we must first understand who these two characters are and how they relate to our main protagonist.

To start off with the kindest of the duo, we have already learned quite a lot about Ragatha thanks to the two episodes she has been featured in so far.

Her most prominent character trait is without a doubt her kindness. She is the first person to really be genuinely nice to Pomni upon her entrance to the circus and spends the rest of the episode showing her around the place and trying her best to help her get settled in.

She's also someone who doesn't like to be overly blunt with her responses, such is shown when Pomni asks how they leave the circus, to which Ragatha, instead of just saying that she couldn't, phrases it in a way that makes it sound as if they simply haven't found a way to leave yet, this was obviously done in an attempt to not freak Pomni out too much, though this doesn't really go anywhere thanks to Jax.

Now that's great and all, Ragatha's a nice person, you can easily observe that through casual watches of the show, looking deeper however, you can see that there is a lot more going on with Ragatha than she would like to make you believe.

Insecurity is another trait that Ragatha has that, while not shown off as prominently as her optimism, is still very important to Ragatha's character.

As we see in episode 2 of the series, one of Ragatha's biggest fears is not being liked. She vents to Kinger about how she feels like Pomni doesn't really like her that much, and that clearly scares her. And why wouldn't it? The end of episode 2 makes it clear that one of the most important things in this show when it comes to keeping the main cast mentally stable, is their sense of community.

They're all in this together, they have each other's backs and will do their best to be there for each other when it's needed. That is what is communicated to us within the second episode through Kaufmo's funeral.

This segment of the episode, while somber in its tone, is also one that instills hope within Pomni and the viewer. Because it shows that despite everything, the circus members do care about each other. That abstraction is something that affects everyone and it isn't something that is just brushed off immediately, which if you recall, was the crux of Pomni's fears as seen at the beginning of the second episode, the fear of being forgotten, the fear of no one caring.

"I don't even remember her name honestly" - Dream Jax.

So with how the importance of community has been firmly established within this show's messaging at this point, it should be no surprise that Ragatha's biggest fear is not having that community. Of people not liking you, of people hating you. So how does Ragatha solve this?

Repression, that's how. Of all of Ragatha's personality traits her tendency to not display her true feelings towards things are without a doubt the most damaging.

The best example of this is how she reacts to Pomni abandoning her for the exit. The pilot would lead you to believe that she was mad at Pomni for doing this, that she didn't trust her anymore because of this selfish act.

And yet, that's all brushed to the side in the following episode. Ragatha is back to her optimistic self and is saying that everything is fine! That it was completely understandable and that there was no bad blood between them. Yet you can tell that isn't the whole truth, that Ragatha really didn't get over what Pomni had done to her that easily.

Now do I think Ragatha hates Pomni or secretly resents her? No, not really. I do think she's being honest when she says that she doesn't hold anything against her for doing this. But that doesn't mean she wasn't hurt by it. We can see clear as day from the pilot that this did affect her, so why does she act like she doesn't?

Because, from her perspective, her feelings do not matter. The only thing that does is to make sure Pomni is able to adjust, to make sure that everyone is happy, that everyone is still somewhat sane within the circus, and so she compromises her emotions in order to do this. Gooseworx has even said it herself that Ragatha often says things she doesn't necessarily mean in order to ease tensions. She doesn't want to cause conflict, she doesn't want people to fight with each other because she understands how important community is to the members of the circus persisting.

Yet in the midst of all of this, what Ragatha fails to realize is that with how she currently handles things, she is paving the way for her own mental break.

Ragatha, in her attempts to be there for others, has walled herself off from others being there for her. By lying about how she really feels about things, by acting as if she is fine, she is not allowing herself the emotional vulnerability necessary for others to be there for her when she needs it.

The closest thing we have had to this so far is with Kinger, and while having someone she feels comfortable enough to lament her feelings around is a good thing, this is one person, one person who is... not exactly mentally stable, to put it lightly. Is not exactly an end all be all solution to her problems.

Kinger being the only person who Ragatha can rely on is only gonna work for a limited amount of time, the more she represses, the more she hides her true emotions and clear mental instability, the closer she is to meeting a cruel fate, one that no one would be able to save her from because no one even realized there was something wrong with her. For in her pursuit to make everyone else happy, she has sacrificed her own happiness, as a result.

And then there's Jax.

Jax, in a lot of ways, is pretty much the polar opposite of Ragatha. While her leading trait is kindness, Jax's leading trait is being a complete and utter asshole. And while Ragatha is all about answering things in a roundabout way to ease stress, Jax is all about the blunt answers.

This is best shown to us in the pilot when, in the same scene where Ragatha tries to answer Pomni's question of "how do I leave?" in a way that wouldn't stress her out too heavily, Jax goes straight in with the "you can't". Jax is a pessimist, he has accepted that there is no way out, and is simply riding things as they go by.

Jax's leading character trait is all about causing as much chaos as he can for the sake of his own satisfaction. He doesn't care about how others feel, the only thing he cares about is causing as much chaos as possible simply because he can.

Yet that isn't all that's going on with Jax, there's something deeper here, something more complex.

When it comes to the scenes everyone points to when saying that Jax has a lot more going on with him than meets the eye, the scene where he reacts to Kaufmo's funeral is the one everyone looks at with an analytical lens, and that's for a good reason.

For I think this little scene might just tell us a lot more about Jax than we think.

One thing that I've come to notice about Jax's brand of chaos is that it's very reliant on others' reactions. All of the chaos he causes, all of the absurd and awful things he does are for the sake of seeing how others react. From throwing Pomni over the side of a truck and attempting to use her as a human bridge, or literally everything that he does to Gangle, it's all reaction-based, and that made me realize that, despite how selfish and uncaring he acts towards everyone else, community is still the one thing that truly matters most.

He needs the others so that they can react to his hijinx, as they are what give said actions meaning. If he had no crowd to watch as he acts like a shitty person, then he has no reason to do anything. But that is also where Jax's true character flaw comes in, his selfishness.

With how Jax is constantly pushing others around for the sake of his own amusement, Jax is very clearly a self-centered person. He is someone who is in it for himself and no one else. Who cares if others don't like him? Who cares if others despise him? As long as he gets to see funny things happen to people, he is gonna be okay.

But what happens when that method is no longer effective? What happens when the others don't give him the reaction he wants? What happens when he can no longer use chaos as a way to distract from the pointlessness of his reality?

Well, as scary as this may be to think about, Jax won't really have much of anything to fall back on. His cruel actions have wrote him into a corner. No one likes him, that much is obvious. And while Jax seems content with this now? What happens when he is put in the position of needing someone else's help?

Well, then he'll have no one, and it's ironically for the exact opposite reason to Ragatha. Ragatha's problem is that she is constantly repressing her emotions, despite the fact that she has people who care about her, she doesn't open up to them because in her eyes, her feelings are secondary to others'.

Yet Jax is the opposite, he's honest, he is self-centered, and that's also why he is one of the members who are in this most danger.

In a show that seems to be about how important community is and how important it is to stay together and be there for each other? To have a character who is the complete opposite of that. To have someone who doesn't care about others, who won't be there when someone else is hurting. To have someone who is actively making things harder for everyone... that just spells out demise.

Jax's true weakness is that he does not have a community who will be there for him when he needs it, he was never there for others so why should they be there for him? Meaning that when Jax is at the end of his rope, crying out for help, no one will listen, because as cruel as it sounds, most of the members would probably be happy that he's gone.

While this does admittedly rely a bit on speculation, I think what I've stated above might be the true reason for why Jax looked sad for a moment when the other characters were talking about the funerals held for those who have abstracted. Because in that small moment, he realizes he might not get a funeral of his own when he "dies", or if he did, no one would really have anything nice to say about him.

And that fear, that knowing of how the way you've built yourself up by putting others down has lead to everyone hating you, to everyone not having a single good thing to say about you... that is terrifying. And yet he hides it, he walks away, he refuses to attend the funeral because then he will have to be confronted with the uncomfortable reality of the fact that he won't die as someone who was remembered for doing good things.

The only thing he'll be remembered for, is how much everyone hated him. And all of that brings us right back, to Pomni.

I said at the beginning of this post, as well as with the title itself, that Ragatha and Jax matter to Pomni's character arc, but why is this? Sure they're both main characters so obviously they're going to influence her journey going forward, but how exactly does any of this matter to Pomni? It's simple really.

Ragatha and Jax represent two extremes, they represent what happens when you lean too far in one direction. In one case, it is caring too much about others and not caring about yourself, and in the other, it's caring too much about yoursef and not caring about others.

Pomni has already shown traits of both Jax and Ragatha. She has shown an empathetic, kindhearted side as seen in her interactions with Gummigoo, and she has shown a selfish side, as seen when she abandoned Ragatha for the "exit" in the pilot.

Pomni has shown herself to be both selfish and selfless. But what part of her matters more? Simple answer, both. It is important to care about others while also taking time to take care of yourself. Ragatha and Jax show what happens when you forget to do one of these things.

By always taking care of others, you're forgetting to take care of yourself, and by always taking care of yourself, you fail to take care of others. To find a healthy balance is to do both. To be aware of your own mental health while also making sure that others are doing okay too. And this is something that Pomni will need to realize if she is going to make it in the circus.

And this is where Jax and Ragatha become important. I believe these two will show Pomni how important it is to keep a balance of things. To not lean too far in one direction, as if you do, it spells bad news for you either way. And how will this be communicated to her and the audience?

Abstraction.

Think about it. If Ragatha and Jax's harmful practices continue without change and they end up abstracing because of it, that will be a wakeup call to Pomni, it will show her the flaws of being too selfless, and too selfish. Is it an extreme way to communicate such message? Sure, but it's also one that can't be ignored.

We, the audience, and Pomni, would see first hand the consequences of leaning too far in either direction, that if you don't find a balance, you will end up like Jax and Ragatha did.

And that's why I think these two in particular have been given so much screentime and attention these past two episodes. Because they are meant to show us the most extreme versions of Pomni's most prominent character traits.

The ability to care about yourself, and the ability to care about others.

Of course, I might be wrong in this assessment. We are far too early in the show's runtime to truly predict any big events like this. But from a narrative standpoint, I believe this interpretation makes the most sense in the way of showing us the audience, and Pomni, what truly matters. It's not just about you, it's not just about others, it's about both.

Thank you for reading.

[starshinegazer]

Shoutout Sunday

I just wanted to collect some of the most memorable Astarion fanfics I've read so far and to give them and their authors a big ol' shoutout. These are some of the fics I strongly suggest others to check out, if you haven't yet.

Also, please feel free to comment and recommend your favorites as well! And, if you know of some of these authors on tumblr, lemme know, so I can add them too :) I'm not too good with words, so I'll be slapping some of the authors own words as descriptions (for now). Oh, and do be mindful of tags etc etc... Here goes, in no particular order:

Pieces Still Stuck In Your Teeth by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "The Vampire Ascendent has crossed a line. Eleven years after making the biggest mistake of her life and losing the man she loved, tiefling wizard (now Archmage) Rosalie decides it’s time to put this Astarion in the ground for good. Hopefully, both her head and her heart are strong enough to see this awful task through to its end."

An Honest Lie by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "Astarion and Rosalie think they understand each other perfectly, but they have each fallen prey to the other’s mask. As they both go forward with their adventure, will either of them dare to be honest?"

A Crooked Touch by eyes_of_the_lamb "If you want to read a story where Astarion is sweet from the start and Tav is here to fix him, this isn't the one. If you want to read about two terribly broken men spending a good long while making each other worse before they make each other better, this might be for you. If you thought the in-game romance was a little too easy and it should have been ten times more painful and difficult to convince Astarion he's worthy of love, this is definitely for you."

Perfect Slaughter by Imagineitdear (@imagineitdearies ) "Tyrus, a low-born drow with aspirations for necromantic wizardry, finds none of the hospitality he expected from his new noble patron, Cazador Szarr. Quickly he loses his life and future, his hopes and dreams—only to find something new to fight for in the unlikely arms of Cazador’s least favorite spawn."

A Novel Experience by meanboss (@meanbossart ) "Initially just an epilogue for my own game campaign with my big meaty dark urge drow, turned whole story which I accidentally deleted and am now reuploading, my bad LOL

Hope you enjoy!"

Carving Through The Dark by skitter "The realm is safe and the story is over.

Wren and Astarion descend into the Underdark in search of a new purpose, and learn a few things along the way. Namely, that healing isn't linear and sometimes love takes the long way round."

Blood In The Weave by gingealish "There is no need to breathe, but I miss it all the same. The suffocating silence, the desperate darkness have encapsulated me for I don’t even know how long; It could have been tendays or years. I’ve long since accepted my punishment, stopped trying in vain to crack the seal of my tomb against the onslaught of panic and hunger. Now I lay here, thinking of the friends I’ve lost, the lover who turned on me, and how to finally get even.

Astarion is the new Big Bad Evil Guy. Spawn Tav is rescued by a familiar face. "

When He’s all but Forgotten How to Love Again by bg_brainrot "You saved Baldur’s Gate almost 300 years ago. You died 150 years ago. On a new life now, you find that memories from your past lead you to a specific silver-haired man. Who was he, and why won't he leave you be? tldr; An Elf-Tav reincarnation story where Tav dreams about Astarion in their nightly reveries and eventually seeks him out once they reach maturity. Things definitely totally go well."

More Than Any Words by mataglap "They have saved the city and possibly the world. All is great and everyone is happy... except Astarion has been banished back into the shadows, and Tav is stuck in an uneven battle with his own oath. He's losing the fight. He knew he would from the moment he fell for Astarion. But he can't lose yet, not before they find a way for Astarion to walk in the sun again."

Inexhaustible Oil by homeward_bound "This is the absolute opposite of a redemption fic. A post-canon, fall-from-grace, "I can make you infinitely worse" kind of story, in which there is no simple happy ending. But there's mystery on the way. And dragons. True love, even. So if you're fine with that, come aboard. It's going to be a wild ride."

[spamgyu]

Always // oneshot

DESCRIPTION: Sometimes, one man's burden is everything another man has ever wished for.

PAIRING: Mingyu x Reader / Hoshi x Reader

GENRE: Angst (Fluff if you squint really hard)

---------------------------------------------------

Time was the greatest enemy of most couples.

Time apart.

Time together.

After four years of being together, time had allowed them to grow apart instead of growing together. It was inevitable for a person to grow and become a better version of who they were before; including those in relationships. It takes a couple with a strong understanding of one another's wants and needs to be able to survive this constant change; both needing to be able to see eye to eye as time goes.

They allowed their time together to slowly pull them apart.

He never noticed it. No, he was far too oblivious and too busy with his own world to see that time has done far too much damage in their relationship.

She watched the boy she once planned a future with, drift away from her. He no longer made an effort to keep their relationship alive. He used to be such a romantic; planning dates at least once a week despite their busy schedules, showing up at her door with ingredients of her favorite meals and flowers in hand, staying up all night to study with her – despite studying for two different majors.

He had become someone she no longer recognized.

She wanted to be upset with him, but love was a strange thing.

In her eyes, he could do no wrong. Constantly making excuses for each time she was left hanging and disappointed by his lack of efforts.

"What's his excuse this time?" Their mutual friend asked, taking her by surprise. Everyone around her saw her boyfriend's shortcomings, some urging her to break it off to end the constant disappointments.

Pulling her headphones off her head, she greeted him with a soft smile – it was more than enough confirmation for him to know that her boyfriend, his best friend, had forgotten the two's plans to study for the upcoming midterms.

"Want some company?" He didn't wait for her response, taking a seat across from her.

"Thank you."

"Always." He winked playfully, digging in his back pack to pull out two cans of energy drinks and a bag of sour gummy worms.

"Your choice in snacks scares me." She laughed.

He rolled his eyes, opening both cans and placing one in front of her – earning a thank you from the girl. She had always hated opening cans herself, claiming that it hurt her nails each time she tried to do it herself.

"So, where's Mingyu?" He asked, leaning back in his chair.

Y/n shrugged. He hadn't replied to her text letting her know that she had arrived at the library two hours ago. Hell, he had yet to open the message.

Hoshi gave her a look before quickly changing his expression before she could catch the sour look on his face.

He loved his friend, having known him since freshman year, but god was he a fucking idiot.

Hoshi knew not everyone was perfect; especially not Mingyu who was the smartest in their business department. A man who seemed to be able to juggle being a part of the frat board and being a student athlete.

No definitely not even him. He had everything, a supportive girlfriend, a loving family, the brain, even the looks. He just didn't seem to have the right priorities in line.

Though, if anyone were to ask Mingyu, having school as a top priority was the best choice. And y/n was right there to defend him as well.

Even if it meant putting his relationship on the line.

How hard is it to be a business major anyways?

"Okay, I give up. If I don't know it now, I won't know it tomorrow." Y/n exasperated, putting her head down on the table.

The two had managed to put in two and half hours of studying, with a few minor distractions from Hoshi who swore it was for comedic break – that way they wouldn't go mad from all the reading they needed to have done.

"Thank god." Hoshi slammed his laptop shut. "Let's get dinner."

"Mingyu and I made plans." She frowned in apology.

Half way through Hoshi and y/n impromptu study session, Mingyu had finally responded to her text: apologizing for forgetting that they were meant to meet at the library to study for the upcoming midterms. He claimed he had accidentally double booked her with Seungcheol and Wonwoo.

Y/n couldn't help but forgive him, knowing that it was far better studying with those who were taking the same tests as him and accepted his efforts to make it up by taking her out to a quick bite after her own study session with her friend.

Little did he know, it was his friend Hoshi.

Not that this was information he needed to know.

"Ah." He nodded.

"Tomorrow?" Y/n offered.

"If you're buying." He laughed.

"I'll use my free swipe at the dining hall just for you." She joked as she continued to pack up her belongings.

"You're so kind."

"Always."

------------------------

"Hey fucker– Y/n hey." Hoshi walked through the front door of the shared home he and his frat brothers resided in, expecting to be greeted by his housemates who were typically sitting in the living room; screaming at the television over whichever video game they decided to brain rot away with. Instead, he was greeted by y/n who had made herself at the empty home, laying on the couch as she scrolled away on her phone.

Most of the guys' partners were very much welcomed at their home, each having their own set copy of keys. Not that it was needed, considering half of the time the front door was unlocked.

So much for campus safety.

"Mingyu's at an event today."

"Oh." She sat up in her position. "I– thought–"

Hoshi watched as she attempted to hide the wave of disappointment flash across her face, masking it with a quick smile.

"I guess that frees my Saturday, then." She forced out a laugh.

He felt pity for the girl, knowing that his friend must have forgotten to notify her that a few of the boys from the frat board had a mandatory chapter event they had to attend in another city. Again.

"He should be back soon, you can hang around." He offered.

She shook her head. "I– I'll probably just head home. Been here for a few hours."

Of course she has.

"No, come on. I just bought stuff for dinner, just stay." He motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen.

"I mean, I can't say no to a free meal." She trailed behind him. "Lemme know how I can help."

"I'm making katsu curry. Cut some carrots and potatoes, yeah?"

"Yes, chef!" Y/n saluted, heading straight to the fridge to pull out the ingredients.

"I finished The Bear, by the way!" Hoshi beamed proudly. She had previously recommended the show to him a few months back after he had complained that there were no good shows on the streaming services. He was sold after he allowed her to ramble on and on about how she believed Carm and Sydney were the perfect platonic soulmates; going as far as sending him a few clips she found on Tiktok.

"How'd you like it?"

"I think Carm loves Sydney but he doesn't quite know it yet." He hummed, whisking the egg batter.

"No, no." Y/n shook her head. "They just have a great understanding of each other. She gets him, you know? She knows who he is outside of what his family knows of him. She doesn't see him as this ball of anger or trauma. She sees him as a person."

"Exactly. Claire only knows his past, but she doesn't fully understand Carm's deepest thoughts and the man he became after he left Chicago. Sydney on the other hand, knows his wants and needs in the present and future. Not to mention, when he was having a panic attack, it was only the thought of Sydney that could calm him down." 

Y/n threw her head back and laughed. "I didn't know you went in full character analysis."

"It's a good show!" Hoshi cried. "You did this to me!"

"I'm still defending the platonic soulmate trope. A guy and girl can be friends without any romantic feelings."

"They can." He nodded. "Just not Carm and Sydney."

"You're insufferable."

"Just wait until season three, I'm going to be getting the last laugh."

"Yeah, we'll see about that." Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. "Am I cutting this right?"

Hoshi walked over to her, taking the knife from her hands. "For someone who spent two days binge watching a show about chefs, you're ass in the kitchen."

He proceeded to show her the proper sizing of the vegetables before handing her back the utensil. "Cut them all the same size, dummy."

"Watch it," She shook the knife at him. "I'll pull a Carm and have a mental break down right here."

In the midst of the laughter, while the two busied themselves with prepping the dish – the sound of indistinct voices flooded the once quiet home. 

Y/n looked at the direction of the sound, knowing that in just seconds, the group would appear in the room. 

"Babe, hey, what are you doing here?" Mingyu asked, with Wonwoo and Seungcheol not too far behind. 

Y/n smiled, stopping what she was doing to meet him halfway, leaning into his touch as he placed a kiss on her head. "I came earlier, thinking you were home."

"Were you waiting long?" 

"Not really, Hoshi kept me company." She smiled, looking over at Hoshi who had continued to bread the last piece of pork loin – sending over a tightlipped smile and peace sign to the couple. 

"Got enough for us?" Mingyu chuckled, eyeing the dish the two had been preparing. 

------------------------

It was raining.

No, it was pouring rain.

She was completely drenched; the dress she had spent nearly half an hour steaming clinging onto her body, her make up practically washed away from the downpour. 

He had promised her a nice dinner to celebrate her new internship, claiming that he would pick her up from her apartment. 

One hour turned to two and she figured he had forgotten yet again, opting to walk over to his place that was no more than a ten minute walk from hers, to remind him of their plans.

She should have known that the overcast that was persistent throughout the day would mean that some precipitation would roll through. Halfway through her journey, the slight drizzle turned into larger droplets of water. 

There was no going back. She was nearly there. She could simply dry off and opt for a dinner and movie at home once she reached his place.

She could see his place in the distance. Just a few more steps.

Lost in her own thoughts, the once downpour that beat down on her stopped – looking up at the source of the sudden shade that covered her. 

"I've been yelling at you to get in the car for the past minute." 

It was Hoshi.

He had been on his way back from work when he had seen a girl walking slowly in the rain that can almost be classified as a storm.

Who would be walking in this weather?

As he approached the figure, he realized that it was y/n; completely lost in her own thoughts. Again. 

Pulling off to the side, he rolled down the window to call out for her but it was no use. The sound of the water hitting the ground and cars zooming past drowned out his voice. 

Quickly hopping out of his car, he shrugged off his jacket; using it as a makeshift umbrella to cover both their heads. "You know Uber and Lyft exist right?"

"I know, I thought spending $5 was stupid for such a short distance." She let out a laugh. 

"Come on." He guided her to the passenger seat, letting out a frustrated sigh once the door was shut. 

"Before you say anything, I'm already drenched and I'm on my first day of my period." Y/n said, beating him to the punch once he had entered the car.

He wasn't one to bad mouth Mingyu, knowing that no matter what he said, y/n would have some sort of reason to defend her poor excuse of a boyfriend. But this was the last straw. 

He didn't care if he was his best friend. 

Mingyu may have been a great guy, a great friend, but he was a terrible terrible boyfriend.

"Can I at least say that he's a fucking shitbag and I hope he fails tomorrow's quiz?" Hoshi grumbled, reaching back to grab a hoodie he had left in the back seat – handing it to her.

"No." She slipped her head through the warm oversize article of clothing, taking in his lingering scent. 

"Y/n, you're kidding right?" He deadpanned. 

"I know what you're going to say, okay." Y/n put her arms around herself, stopping herself from shivering. "I'll talk to him."

"Good." 

------------------------

She never did talk to him.

Not because she didn't want to. She was fully ready to barge into his room, ready to finally lay it all on him. But of course, he wasn't home and Hoshi had no choice but to bring the girl back to her apartment. 

He was angry. 

No he was beyond that. Hoshi was seething. 

If he hadn't made prior plans with Woozi to hit up the gym after work, he would have gladly stayed behind and kept y/n company. But unlike Mingyu, he stuck by his word. Whether this was with someone he was romantically seeing or his friends.

Hoshi was persistent in being loyal to the people he cared most.

Not that this was something Mingyu knew how to do. 

"You're fucking kidding me." Hoshi huffed as he wiped away the sweat that dripped from his forehead; watching as Mingyu and Seungcheol stroll into the school's gym – the two laughing at god knows what.

"Where the hell were you?" He wasted no time getting to the point, his voice catching the attention of others who were also preoccupied with their own gym equipment. 

"Whoa there, hi?" Mingyu took a step back, letting out a nervous laugh. He had only seen Hoshi worked up once, and it was during last year's chapter meeting when a pledge complained about the rules they had set for the incoming freshmen and pledges. 

This particular pledge had been getting under everyone's skin at the time, nitpicking at almost everything that was being said at the meeting. Hoshi wasn't known to be the patient one in the group, but he wasn't one to snap at strangers either  – taking their group by surprise when he got up from his seat to yell at the poor kid. 

"What excuse did you give y/n this time? Had practice? Studying? You forgot?"

"Hey, keep your voice down, dude." Seungcheol placed a hand on Hoshi's chest, gently pushing him back and away from Mingyu – very aware of the eyes that were now on them. 

"What– shit." A wave of realization hit Mingyu, his eyes widening in shock. "Damn it!"

Hoshi shook his head, scoffing at his friend. "You're a shit excuse for a boyfriend."

Now it was Mingyu's turn to be annoyed. Not that Hoshi was wrong. He was a horrible boyfriend; he just hadn't realized it yet.

"My bad, let me just take advice from someone who hasn't had a girlfriend in three years." Mingyu side stepped to avoid Seungcheol, getting closer to Hoshi who showed no signs of backing away.

"I don't need a girlfriend to know you treat yours like she's fucking trash. Everyone knows it. We all talk shit about you behind your back, telling her to break up with you."

"Why? So you can finally get the chance. I don't think so." 

Hoshi narrowed his eyes, feeling his fists ball up at his sides. 

"You don't think I know about your little crush?" Mingyu smirked, knowing that he was getting inside his head. "We also talk about you. We all know you like y/n."

"Guys, come on." Seungcheol stepped in between the two. 

"Punch me. I know you want to." Mingyu egged on.

Hoshi shook his head, not giving into his friend. Opting to walk away – knowing that if he did decide to punch him, he might not be able to hold back from landing a few more. 

------------------------

All it took was one call and he was at her doorstep, a bottle of wine and her favorite take out from the campus' local Thai Food restaurant in hand; ready to clean up whatever mess Mingyu had made. Something he seemed to be doing quite often. 

"We had a fight." She sniffled on the other line. 

Hoshi didn't care if he had laundry he had to fold. He had more important things to tend to. 

Y/n.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" He asked, pouring himself another glass. 

Hoshi allowed for her to enjoy her dinner, not wanting to pry until she had some food in her system and time to process whatever it was that she and Mingyu disagreed over. 

"It was going fine, but– I don't know, I brought up wanting him to put more of an effort and he just snapped. He said sometimes, it feels more like a chore to be with me."

Hoshi began coughing, nearly spitting out the drink in his mouth. "I'm sorry, he said what?"

"He was probably just angry, you know how he gets when he's angry." Y/n shook her head, swirling the drink in her glass – watching the bubbles form. 

"You know he just told you that he thinks you're more of a chore than a girlfriend, right?" He said slowly, almost as if he too was attempting to comprehend what Mingyu told her. 

"I know I just– I love him, Hosh." Y/n let out a defeated sigh. "You don't think I know how stupid it is to continuously try to make something work with someone who clearly doesn't want things to work out?"

"Good, because I genuinely thought you were deranged for not seeing it." 

She couldn't help but let out a laugh at his dry humor. Despite the heartache and disappointment she was currently feeling, she was always grateful for Hoshi's ability to add humor into their serious conversations. 

"I think I might be." Y/n sighed, standing from the couch. "Want water?"

"And some gummy worms." Hoshi followed behind, rummaging through her pantry.

"You ate my last bag last week."

"Deranged and broke. Nice."

"I'm going through something here, please be nice." Y/n pouted.

Hoshi watched as she poured the two of them a glass of water, leaning against the counter. He couldn't help but stare at her, something he seemed to allow himself more often than before. 

If his friend didn't want to cherish and care for the girl that was right in front of him, why can't he? 

"I know you love him, but I don't think that's enough of a reason to stay with him."

Y/n looked over at him, a puzzled look on her face. This was the first time she's seen him this serious. In all the years she had known him, she had always seen him as her friend who provided her comfort through humor – making her smile when her days seemed to be nothing but gray skies.

In this case, it was almost every day.

"You know, you can love someone and not be with them." He continued, taking a step closer to her. "Be with someone who's willing to love you the way you love them."

He was right.

In the past year since she had been with Mingyu, she had been the only one pulling the weight in their relationship. She had been the one to make an effort to reach out, plan dates, show up to all his games, and bring him dinner when he needed to pull all-nighters for upcoming tests.

Love had a funny thing of blinding people. Everyone around her saw that she had been suffering, constantly making excuses for the mistreatment she had been receiving from the man she swore she would marry when the right time came.

He was busy.

He has a game.

His frat had an event.

Because she knew he hadn't always been like this, for the first three years of being together he made sure not a day went by without him making her feel his love for her. They were simply going through a rough patch.

"Be with me."

She felt her whole world come to a complete stop once the words left his lips. Y/n's girl friends had joked about Hoshi possibly having feelings for her. She thought it was simply them poking fun at the fact that they had been spending far more time with each other than she did with Mingyu – arguing that Hoshi was simply just a friend, just as she was friends with Jeonghan and Minghao.

"What?"

"I– I've liked you since freshman year." Hoshi swallowed. There was no turning back now. He had laid out all his cards and he was going to go all in. "From the moment Jeonghan introduced you into the group– you– I wanted to do something about it but Mingyu got to you first and I–"

He was stuttering over his words, unable to put his thoughts into one comprehendible sentence. "I kept my distance, and I was doing so well– but he fucked up and I can't stand back and watch him continuously break the heart that I know I would have held so carefully if I wasn't so fucking scared three years ago."

Y/n could hear her heart beating in her ears as she tried to process his sudden confession. She wanted to say something, she really did but she had become confused – because a part of her was happy to hear him say these words.

Somehow, over the time she had spent with him, all while her boyfriend was far too busy pre-occupied with his own life, she had grown to see Hoshi in another light. He was no longer just her friend who she called when no one else was available, happily obliging to her requests to accompany her to the grocery store, stay up late to finish the homework she had put off until the last minute, or simply watch movies at her apartment .

He had become a part of her daily life, getting excited each time she saw his name appear on her phone and looking forward to any time they made plans to hang out.

Y/n had unintentionally fell for her boyfriend's best friend – a sudden wave of guilt washing over her.

"I- we can't. You know we can't." She felt her heart sink to the pit of her stomach at her realization.

This can't happen. Especially not with him.

He shook his head. "I'm not asking for anything right now. Look– I'm sorry for putting you in a tough spot, I've stuck around this long and I am willing to stick around however long I need to."

"I'm sorry." Y/n hung her head. No matter how much Mingyu has fucked up, she couldn't help but hold on to the hope that he would go back to the same person she had originally fallen for.

Maybe it was love or maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome.

"Hey, hey– fuck." Hoshi pulled her into a hug. He had done this many times, but somehow this time felt different. He felt her melt into his arms, pulling her tighter when he heard a muffled sniffle against his chest. "Sorry I– I'm here. As a friend or whatever you need me to be. I don't care, I'm here."

"Always?" Y/n she looked up at him, apologetically. She knew she couldn't give him what he wanted – not right now, at least.

"Always." He nodded.

---------------------------------------------------

«« [an] aha........... ummm yeah we love pain here HAHAHAHAHAHHA

tag list: @leah-rose03 @yoonzinuhh

[babsisbakery]

Long awaited entry

Leila Ouahabi x reader Part 1

Warning: pure smut (gagging and eating out, the rest will be in part 2)

Gif pun intended

Leila is driving you crazy, her hand being too close to your core all night. Inching closer to where you desperately needed her. Her other hand disappears under your shirt. Touching your delicate skin. Her touch is sending goosebumps all over your body. 

You want her, no you need her. She has been driving you nuts all night. Whispering dirty things into your ear. How much she wanted to touch your pretty pussy and destroy it for anyone else. Your mind is foggy, all you could think about was leila fucking you brainless. Her hand itches higher, reaching its destination. Playing slightly with your boobs. Grabbing and knitting them. Your mouth hangs open as you let her do whatever she desires with you. It felt so good to have her touch you. She begins to draw circles on your nipples. After all she was teasing you. But you needed her to truly fuck you. To give you more. To ravish you as she always did. You are her good girl so you know you had to be a bit more patient and you'd get what you wished. Sensing your eagerness she removes your shirt. Both her hands are playing with your nipples. She is giving you her undivided attention. Peppering kisses along your neck, which started of softly but became the cause of your future hickeys. Everyone would know you were hers and hers alone. Licking your neck and collarbone she makes a stop at your ear. “Mi amor are you gonna behave tonight?” “Yes mommy, i will behave just please touch me.” “Oh my desperate baby, where do you want me to touch you? Hmm” your brain isn't working properly, her breath on your neck while she bit into your earlobe and continues to twist and circle your sensitive hard nipples. “Pleasee i need you”. “Mi vida use your words you are a big girl after all” she whispers into your ear. She knows what you want but where would be the fun if she isn’t torturing you to tell her what you needed her to do. “Mommy please, I'm so wet, please eat me out” “See that wasn't that hard, such a good girl for your mommy.”

“Let’s see if you’re really as wet as you’re saying babygirl” one of her hands leaves their place and travels slowly down to your pants. When her hand reaches your zipper she waits for permission, even if she senses your need she still wants to make sure you were 100 percent on board. You simply nod as you aren't able to answer verbally. She is simply too close to your aching cunt. Her hand slips into your trousers, feeling a big damp spot on your underwear. Lightly pressing against your clit. You let out a quiet moan. That only spurs her on more. “You didn't lie, so wet. Is this all for me?”  “All for you mommy, only for you.” a smirk forms on your girlfriend's face, that's exactly what she wanted to hear.. ”Mi amor lay down” she says in a commanding tone, you knew not to disobey or you’d get punished. You could be bratty but you are far too horny to get edged more often than you desired. The movie playing in the background long forgotten as you lay down. Your girlfriend takes off your pants and bra, her own shirt is tossing across the bedroom. 

She stops her actions to admire your body, positioning herself on top of you. Kissing you with such passion and lust. Your brain starts to get nice and fuzzy. It would be complete mush by the end of your nightly activities. Leila’s hand is yet again at your tits. This woman loves your boobs, it was noticeable every day. Her thumb and index finger squishing your nipple, drawing moans out of you. She doesn't waste a second to glide her tongue into your mouth, exploring every inch inside. As she pulls away a string of saliva is still connecting you. You chase her mouth but without success as she has already moved on to your neck. Sucking harshly to hear your pretty noises. She doesn't need to undergo a scooby doo mystery search party to find your pulse point, knowing your body like the back of her hand. First she licks over it, light suction which progresses more and more. Finally she brings her teeth into the game. Running over your skin, biting into you. But not enough to draw blood only to increase your pleasure. Your wetness is increasing rapidly to the point that your panties are ruined. They begin to cover your bare thighs. Her tongue soothes the sensitive spot as she finishes with her treatment on your pulse point. “More, please more” “Be patient baby, you will get more in a few moments.” With that you shut your eyes, focusing on Leila’s actions.

Moving over your collarbone she proceeds to your cleavage. She takes her time to give both your breasts equal attention. Her mouth waters at your erect nipples, blowing cold air onto them. Your hands make fast motion to reach her hair, miserably trying to pull her into you, to feel her mouth devour you. Eventually she starts to nip at your nipples, a slight tug with her teeth. Directly after she soothes it by licking over it but her movements become harsher. “ Oh Leila, so good, don't stop.” As she hears her name she stops. “What did you just call me?” Shit. “Mommy, I'm sorry. Please forgive me mommy.” Of course she knows it wasn't on purpose but she still feels the need to punish you. But the pleading look in your eyes stops her. The punishment had to wait til later, she kinda deserved it by how her hand was teasing you all night. So she let it go for now. “It’s alright amor but next time I won't be so forgiving.” Stroking your cheek softly, easing your nerves. Leaning your head into her palm you don't sense Leila’s further movement. Suddenly her lips wrap around one of them and she sucks, the tip of her tongue continuing its ministration. You arch your back, you’ve never felt such immense pleasure during sex, only with Leila. You whimper a faint “Mommy pleaseeee” So incredibly needy, as if it was December all over again after NNN, which your girlfriend insisted on participating in. A whole month without sex felt like a violation against human rights.

She ignores your plea, providing the same treatment to your other nipple. Her right hand itching down. Running her fingers over your lingerie. It’s profusely wetter by now. Pure desire is evident. Friction alone isn’t enough, her fingers only going up and down over your pussy lips. Trying to get more, you buckle your hips. Before you even feel the slightest sense of satisfaction, her hands are holding you down. Her expertise movements on your breasts cease. “Nuh uh baby, if you try this again… You would leave me no other choice than to restrict you. And you don't want that right?” “No mommy, I just really need you.” The answer satisfies her enough as she gives your tit one final harsh lick. Pressing kisses along your stomach.

Reaching your covered pussy she places a kiss on it. She pulls your underwear with her teeth down. This particular action looks so damn attractive, god your craving for her only grows each second. Finally you’re naked. As Leila crawls slowly to your aching cunt, her eyes focus you. As if a predator hunting its prey. Zeroing in on your dripping pussy she spreads your thighs and holds them apart. Leila licks her lips after all she is about to have a full course meal and there will be no leftovers. Almost cautious, she takes her first lick. Moaning by the taste of you. An irresistible flavor. She dives in, not able to hold off much longer.  Letting her tongue collect some of your delicious nectar. Taking long stripes from your unstretched hole to your clit, running through your folds. She decides it's time to focus on the long awaited entry. Her tongue plays with your entrance, circling it but not yet entering. The tip of her tongue makes the first step. Prodding into you carefully. There isn't much resistance. Starting to push in more she launches into eating you out. Now her whole tongue is inside of you, it's heavenly. Your walls fit perfectly around her curled tongue. Her movement is precise, she knows exactly where to position her licks for you to feel the most pleasure. Picking up the pace she moves in and out faster, trying to reach as deep as she can. She puts her hands on your ass, squeezing it and pulling it towards her face. By doing this her tongue somehow is even deeper in your cunt. From our mouth come unholy moans. Back arched profusely. You throw your head back as her thumb works on your clit while she still devours you. Leila even makes slurping noises due to your immense wetness, trying to have it all.

Tongue moving in and out in calculated moves, the curl is such a divine addition. Muttering incoherent words. Hands holding onto your girlfriend’s hair. Her curls continue on as she presses harder against your bud. Oh how she could simply eat you out forever. As you near your release she halts. Your thighs are quivering minimally but enough for Leila to notice. Left with no stimulation you grumble and whimper. “Mommy why did you stop? I was so close.” “I know you were close, that's why I stopped, baby, now don't complain or you won't come at all tonight.”

Suddenly her index finger enters you. Simultaneously, kitten licks your pulsing clit. Her maneuvers mirror her eating ice cream. You melt, like the ice cream, under her touch. A second finger makes its way inside you. Of course there is no need for lube, even the sheets are covered in your slick. 

As she blissfully continues to stretch you out she gently bites your clit, giving it a little tug. You don’t stop moaning. The tug makes your head spin. Both of her fingers are now completely engulfed by your walls. She feels your walls throbbing for more. “Oh god, mommy.” you repeat this phrase in different variations until Leila decides enough is enough. Can't you be quiet for a second as she enjoyed your juices? Normally she would get spurred on by your whines but today she just wanted to eat you out peacefully, training was too exhausting with her teammates shouting left and right. To stop your noises she collects some of your slick with her unoccupied hand, shoving it into your mouth gagging you. “Suck them, can you taste yourself? So good right mi amor.” You can only nod your head. But that doesnt satisfy your girlfriend. “I asked you a question, answer me.” You try your best to answer her with her fingers shoved deep into your mouth “Es mowwy, zo good.” Leila deciphers your words. “Such a good girl for me.” you give her a bashful smile and with that she goes back to pay attention to your clit. Sucking and tugging on it as if the world would end soon. 

Her fingers shove in deeper in both holes. Salvia runs down your chin and cheeks, you look like a godforsaken mess but pretty in her eyes because only she can achieve that. Your gags spur her even more on. The defender curls her fingers hitting your g-spot phenomenally. All of a sudden she builds up an inhuman pace, going in and out. Hand entirely covered by your juices. The suction on your clit also gets more ferocious. Your orgasm approaches quickly. “I’m about to cum, can I please cum?” you ask in despair, barely audible thanks to her fingers. She shakes her head, not stopping or slowing down her actions. Instead she groans into you, sending vibrations to your throbbing clit. This alone almost makes you come undone but you try to focus until she gives you permission. Leila is definitely smirking devilishly on the inside. Taking her fingers out of your mouth, she drags your lower lip downwards with her thumb. She may not want to hear your complaints but she for sure isn't missing out on you moaning her name while you cum. “I'm about to cum, please let me cum.” A hum from Leila is sufficient. With a few final strokes and rough licks you fall off the edge. Legs trembling, eyes rolling to the back of your skull and her name falling off your lips like a mantra. The neighbors will surely complain tomorrow about the noise but that's a problem for the future.

Leila keeps her pace, prolonging your orgasm as much as she can. Riding it out till you feel overstimulated and too sensitive. In desperation you try to close your legs but your girlfriend has other plans. Pulling out she holds your thighs, pushing them apart. Moreover she goes down on you. “Don't worry baby, let me clean up some of the mess you made. God it's everywhere.” she chuckles, head disappearing between your legs again and she got to work.

While you come down from your high, Leila does a wonderful job in cleaning you up. She is very careful with her licks, which make you horny again. As she finishes her work, she rises from bed and goes over to your shared dresser. You can't really get a look at what she's doing. Leila seemingly gets something out of it. When she turns around a massive smirk is plastered on her face. In her right hand she holds a double sided strap, she walks back to you. Her left hand hides behind her back. “Are you ready for round two gorgeous?” she asks with an unconvincing innocent smile.

to be continued....

[loveyourlovelysoul]

The fact that you fear not being enough, not being able to get what you want, not feeling able to get where you want, that you feel so insecure about yourself is probably not just related with your childhood but also with past friendships or any other type of relationship that didn't end well or in which you weren't treated correctly. You were probably left out from group activities and jokes or not invited to places; you were made to believe you were very important but at the same time you were kept hidden and later you were left alone and forgotten as something of not great value; you were probably easily judged as uninterested because of your decisions or behaviours without asking for further reasons...

I know all these experiences (and many more than these ofc) hit you deep and now are rooted inside of you as a confirmation of your unworthiness and unlovability but it was not your fault. Or at least not just because of your decisions or behaviour (of which not everyone has the empathy to understand or even guess/imagine the reasons, if you don't talk about it): in relationships there are always at least two people involved. And when one of them moves away or leaves you out of their life without asking for or giving an explanation, it's a relationship that is already crumbling (and it's best if it ended this way, even if it pains you because you felt guilty about it). When there's not communication nor interest in the other and in their feelings, despite how strong and indipendent they may look, despite how far they may have moved, a relationship is already ended.

It's not about your worth or lovability, which you possess just because you're alive. It's just about people's decisions, it's about lives taking different turns, it's about the fact that some relationships just need to end or evolve into something different that is not a deep friendship anymore (if you both agree ofc). It's about people growing and changing, and following their own path. Keep going on onto yours so to find new friends and even lovers if you want (cause you will anyway: life is made of cycles, as you had friends in the past, you'll have friends in the future; as you didn't have good friends in the past you will have good friends in the future. It's all about you, you can change your life at any given minute. Take your time to understand your emotions and process them but then let the past go, heal and move on to something new -and even better, seen how you were treated).

[theorphicangel]

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Synopsis: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single, brooding man in possession of a good future in genetics, must be in want of a girlfriend.

Or at least a fake one to get his family off his back.

(college au & fake dating trope ft my favourite grumpy man who doesn't fall first but ends up falling harder. ouch.)

ao3

series | next chapter

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝…𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞?

You’re running late.

But then again…is there ever a day when you’re not running late?

It’s hard to differentiate whether it’s due to the fact that you left all your pre-reading till the last minute or if your alarm forgot to go off or if it was due to you oversleeping for an additional thirty minutes because your roommate had dragged you out last night for the fourth freshers party of the week.

Either way, you’re running late. Your bag is frantically packed with notebooks and random essentials, your laptop is less than half-charged and your socks are mismatched. It’s not the best start that you had imagined for your first week of lectures but as you glance at digits in the corner of your phone, you figure that you don’t even have the time to complain.

The campus is still relatively new to you, and also fucking huge. Groups of people swarm around like insects, trying to find their way around to their own lecture. Glancing down at the map app currently open on your phone, a frown reaches your brows.

It seems like you’re still so far away from the humanities block which is on the other side of campus.

You scroll down, pausing your steps to look for another route. If only there was….

‘Want a shortcut? Press here.’

“Yes fucking please.” you mutter to yourself, clicking the bold button absentmindedly.

—

The muffled sound of a robotic voice announcing your destination perks up your mood entirely as you reach the lecture doors of 202. You made it with just about five minutes to spare and you’ve never felt prouder, not even during all those times when you’ve forgotten to study for exams but had luckily gotten away with pretty decent grades.

Entering the hall, you find most seats are taken, nearly all the rows are unavailable. Scanning around desperately, you find a seat near the back next to a guy mindlessly scrolling on his phone. Hastily, you walk to your desired seat before the rest of the row fills up, and you find that as soon as you have taken your seat, there’s no spare seats left at all.

Taking a deep breath, your anxiety now sits comfortably in the pit of your stomach.

This is how college was supposed to go.

Prepared, calm and on time. You’re so relaxed right now that you’re not even slightly bothered about the percentage of your laptop when you slide it open in front of you, knowing that you have your notebooks in your bag if needed. You take a quick sip of water before the lecture begins and soon all conversations in the room seem to die away slowly.

Those unlucky enough to have found a seat, have to settle with sitting on the steps of the lecture hall. A silent sigh of relief that you are not a part of that majority runs through your body. God, you forget that literature was so oversubscribed.

A hushed silence takes over the room and a steady grin creeps at the corner of your lips as you wait for the professor to start.

“Good morning all, it is nice to see you all bright and early for the first genetics lecture of the year. I know some of you had to clear up clashes with microbiology this morning which may be the reason why we are so oversubscribed today, but we’ll make do, there’s plenty of room for everyone.”

Remember that eager, excited smile that you just had a few moments ago? Yeah, well it just died and here was the funeral. You blink in confusion as the words of the lecture settles into your brain.

Genetics? Microbiology? What the fuck was this professor talking about?

The lecturer drones on at the front of the hall, her voice echoing. “For those of you who don't know already, I'm professor Dr. Michaleson and I’ll be your genetics lecturer for the remainder of the year.”

Oh no. Oh fuck no. Oh hell no.

You look around, scanning the wide room to already see people begin to type away at their laptops. No one else in the room seems to be as confused as you are right now and it’s concerning. Reaching into your coat pocket, you open up your maps app checking your location.

Shit.

You’ve found yourself in the general medical sciences block, not arts and humanities. Zooming in further you find that the humanities block is direct from the building that you���re in right now.

If there was a moment for you to have a breakdown, it would be right now. All of your panicking and frantic packing that you had gone through this morning has now gone completely to waste because you’re not even in the right fucking lecture hall.

You turn towards the person on your left but notice that they’re rapidly typing away as the lecturer proceeds to run over the future modules for the course. Not wanting to bother her, you decide to glance towards your right, to the guy who was once mindlessly scrolling on his phone who has now replaced it with his very own laptop but…he’s not typing away yet.

So you take your chances.

“Hey.” you whisper, trying to keep your panic out of your voice. You lean over a little so that he can hear you.

The man frowns a little, looking towards you.

“What?” His tone is soft like yours, quiet so as not to disrupt other people but you can’t help but notice the annoyed intonation in his voice.

“What lecture are we in right now?” you subtly prompt, quickly noticing the crease between the eyebrows of the stranger sitting next to you. His nose curves up in distaste as if you’ve just asked him whether he thinks the earth is round or flat.

“Please, just answer my question.” you plead gently, reading his expression.

You know he probably takes you for an idiot right now but you just need confirmation so that,

One: You hadn’t just misheard and this was definitely a genetics lecture

And two: If it was a genetic lecture this officially gives your body the right to go into full panic mode right now.

The guy lets out a light sigh before answering, “We’re in genetics right now.”

“Fuck!”

A few heads in the row in front of your glance back at the sound and automatically your cheeks burn up out of embarrassment.

“Why are you asking?” the man sitting beside you questions.

You hesitate in giving your answer, embarrassed that you had messed up one of the most basic rules of things not to do at university. Now it’s your turn to let out a beaten down sigh.

“I–”

“You’re in the wrong lecture, aren’t you?” the stranger estimates. Clearly based on your mixed expression of disappointment and panic.

You nod silently, rubbing your hands across your face. Internally, you wished that you could go back in time. Back to before you had entered this stupid lecture room, double checking the location or at least had the chance run out before the lecture had started.

“What are you supposed to be in?”

“English Literature.”

The man sitting beside you stifles a laugh and again, a number of heads back to look at the two of you in frustration. He attempts to cover it up with a cough and you notice the way that his cheeks slowly turn to a dusty shade of pink.

“Por dios, what are you doing here?” he whispers. And again you don’t miss the tone of irritation in his voice.

“I–I think I got lost.” you stammer quietly, looking down at your phone. “I’m supposed to be here.” you point at a spot on your phone as you show him. “But I got it messed up.”

“It’s across from this building?”

You nod begrudgingly, before shutting off your phone and laying your head down on the table in surrender.

You stay down for a minute before perking back up. The lecturer is still droning on about god knows what and the man beside you begins to take notes.

Leaning over, you whisper another question.

“How long is this lecture?”

“Two hours.”

Yep, you were screwed.

And it wasn’t like you could get up and leave. Well, you could, but that would mean drawing all the attention from half of the people in the room, disrupting them and causing your entire row to stand up so that you could leave. You think that you’d rather die than be that person.

The man beside you says nothing more, choosing to ignore you and your situation as he types away along with the rest of the people in the hall.

Looks like you have no choice but to buckle yourself in for this ride.

—

Two hours later, you find yourself on level 12 of the world’s hardest game, still without any new literature knowledge but now have a deep insight into what the genetics modules will look like for the next three years as well as having a deep insightful knowledge about prokaryotic and eukaryotic organisms.

That’ll be some useful trivia some day at least.

You sit back watching everyone else pack away. The man beside you glances towards you briefly, he’s packed away too, now waiting for the people in your row to start filing out.

“Thinking about drastically changing your degree to biological sciences?” he asks, a smirk on his face.

You snort as you pack away your laptop, which surprisingly managed to survive the whole lecture.

“I fucking wish.”

“How about next time you check that you’re actually in the right block before stepping into a lecture hall?”

You barely know this man and yet you can feel his judgment, not just now but throughout the whole lecture you’ve felt his continuous side-eye as you died for the 400th time in your game.

“Will do.” you note, hoping to cut this conversation short. “Looks like I’ve got a literature lecture to catch up on.” you mumble to yourself as you begin to walk away, filing out of your row and heading to the doors.

/

“You what? Ended up at the wrong lecture hall?!”

Burying your head onto your arms, you groan aloud as a non-committal response. Your college roommate and new friend, Lyla, laughs out loud which unfortunately attracts eyes from around the cafe.

You groan, this being the second time that your face has burnt up this morning. “Please don’t make my misery any louder ly’ ”

She wipes at the corner of her eyes, adjusting her glasses. “I'm sorry, m’sorry.” She chokes, spluttering her hot chocolate. “But could you go through exactly what it was that you did again?”

You perk up your head on the table, keeping your eyelids shut. A mumble escapes from your lips.

Lyla cups her ears, teasing you unabashedly. “What was that?”

“Iendedupinageneticslecture.”

“What?”

“I ended up in a genetics lecture!”

And if you thought that her first laugh had been loud enough for the tables near you to hear, her second laugh practically caused the entire cafe to turn their eyes on you.

“This is all your fault by the way.” You pick up your cup of hot coffee and as if your day couldn’t get any worse, you’ve managed to burn your tongue and now you wonder whether there’s any point whatsoever in living on this sadistic earth.

Lyla points at herself, “Me? What did I do?!”

If you–” you lower your voice, cautious of multiple eyes staring at your table. “If you didn’t drag me out last night then maybe I wouldn’t have been so sleep deprived that I could have actually gotten to my proper lecture.”

Lyla snorts, waving her hands around. “Oh, please! Didn’t I get you that number off that guy you liked? Matt, was it?”

“Tom.”

“Right, whatever.” she says, picking up her cup and dipping her tongue into the generous amount of whipped cream and marshmallows that cover her hot chocolate. You stare at your own order in distaste, deeply wishing that you had gotten one too.

/

The next two weeks following your god awful mishap, you were fine.

From now on you and Lyla had a pact.

No more nights out.

Only up until the halloween season.

With your reading classes and her technology lectures, the two of you found each other up to your necks in assignments and essays along with being forced to help out with Lyla’s little coding club maintenance.

Thankfully you’ve managed to maintain some sort of routine, attending most – if not all – of your lectures both on time and double checking that you were in the right ones. You’ve made a few friends here or there at social events and finally found a job as a barista at the same cafe where Lyla gets her favorite hot chocolate from – and you must admit that they are pretty great.

All in all, college is going pretty great.

You think.

It’s going well in terms that you’ve managed to dodge every single phone call from your mom ever since you got here. Weekly, you’ve been coming up with good excuses and you don’t think that she’s caught on. Yet.

It was something that you had expected to happen once you made the decision to move away, I mean it was only fair, her only child leaving the bird’s nest, what else is she supposed to do?

You did feel guilty, of course you did. You hate lying to your mom but having her call every five minutes is not the reputation that you want to set up for yourself.

You’ll call her at the end of the week.

You swear on it.

- ‘Sorry, I’m in the library right now mom, I’ll call you back later okay? Love you <3’

Sent: 5:34pm

Setting your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’, you place it next to your laptop, your playlist resuming through your headphones.

Another thing that you were also proud of yourself, was getting in regular study periods in preparation for midterms. Your old self would have been procrastinating right up until the night before the exam but now? You’ve matured. You’ve changed your ways for the better and by getting in some pre-reading of essays and books, you know that you’ll be thanking your future self in the long run if you keep up this mindset.

And this mindset is a great mindset…as long as you don’t get distracted.

/

You lasted ten minutes.

You had barely gotten through the second page before your attention was taken somewhere else and by somewhere else you mean somebody else. And this particular somebody reminds you of a moment that you are trying so hard to forget. Which is impossible to do when he had just so coincidentally pulled up a chair next to you.

It was him. The guy who you sat next to in the one lecture that we don’t talk about for certain implicit reasons.

On recognising his face, you hope that he doesn’t recognise you. He pulls up a chair beside you, not truly noticing you are until he glances up. You can already sense what he’s about to say. Taking off your headphones you go to speak but he suddenly cuts you off.

“I’m surprised that you didn’t mistake the janitor’s closet for the library then.”

“Oh, you’re funny.” you deadpan.

“I try to be.” he quips, the corners of his lips tilting upright.

Now that your body is not in fight or flight mode, you get a chance to take in this stranger. He’s…attractive. Conventionally. Tall. Awkwardly tall. Looks like one of those gym junkies or you guess that he actually is one based on those muscles on him. And those model cheekbones and naturally tanned skin and bushy eyebrows and soft lips–

“Do I have something on my face or are you just eyeballing me?”

“Neither.” you say, a little too quick for your judgment.

“There’s no shame in admitting the latter.” He prompts, a playful tone in his voice.

“You’re a little bit cocky don’t you think?”

This stranger leans back into his chair a little, raising a brow before dismissing your statement.

“I would disagree.”

“Of course you would, you’re a STEM student.”

The stranger huffs, glancing at you up and down. “At least I’m guaranteed a job as soon as I’m out of here.” He remarks, rummaging through his bag. “Good luck in getting out of your student debt with–” he squints over to one of the closed novels by your side. “Whatever book that you have over there.”

“You mean pride and prejudice?”

He simply shrugs, choosing to ignore you as he pulls out a huge textbook and his laptop.

Your eyes glimpse the front cover, reading ‘Biological Sciences.’ Your face turns to distaste at the thought of having to read that through your own free will.

“Have you read Pride and Prejudice?” you ask, trying to maintain a friendly unbiased tone.

“Never have and never will.”

“You’re missing out.”

“On what?” he scoffs, flicking a page of his massive textbook. It hurts your brain to even think about how much that would even cost. “A bunch of rich upper class Englishmen complain about their problems for a whole 300 pages?”

“Firstly,” you note, slightly offended. “That’s not what happens. Secondly, it’s 400 pages but it’s debatable depending on what version you buy. But when you suddenly get a gun cocked to your head with someone asking you to quote the first line from Pride and Prejudice one day, you’ll be regretting this conversation.”

“I highly doubt that’s even a probable situation.”

“There’s always a few anomalies lying around.” You shrug absentmindedly, flicking through your own novel which you had to complete reading for this week.

“Rarely.”

“But often enough to catch you off-guard.”

This…stranger lets out a sigh heavily through his nose, a sign of which you know means ‘please shut the fuck up.’ He ignores you for the nth time, eyes slightly squinting as he scrolls down, closely reading an article.

That’s it. You’ve lost your concentration. He’s ruined your mood and your mindset.

You begin to pack away, huffing as you place your novel in your bag. You’ll have to get started when you get home it seems.

“Don’t let me spoil your 19th century fun.” he murmurs, scrolling further down on the article.

“I’m going somewhere else, so that I won’t be bothered with your stupid microbiology shit.”

The man huffs, barely acknowledging you as you stand. “Good luck finding another free spot because this place is packed.”

“I’m heading home actually.” you quip, zipping up your bag after placing all your materials.

“Make sure that you don’t accidentally end up in someone else’s dorm–”

“Hilarious.”

You walk away before he can poke another joke at you. Once again, mocking you and you barely know his first name.

You kinda hope you never see him again. Partly because he’s an annoying STEM student but mostly because he reminds you of the excruciating pain that you went through by sitting in a genetics lecture for two hours without a single break.

Key word: kinda.

Reblogs are much appreciated!

let me know / send an ask if you would like to be tagged!

[etheries1015]

Malleus X reader- when you wish upon a star

Malleus looked down at you with kind eyes as he held out his wishing star, you taking a hesitant glance at the fae.

"Are you sure you want to give it to me? I don't particularly have a wish in mind," you shrugged. Malleus urged it into your hands before stating;

"Well, grim took yours and crowley did not allow you to have a second one, correct? I have no need for such a silly tradition. If I would like something, I can simply ask for it," Malleus said with endearment hinting in his voice. You sighed before finally agreeing, taking in a deep breath before closing your eyes and making your wish.

"I wish...that the people from my world can forget me." Malleus started at this, eyes widening in shock, while you stared blankly down into your hands only to see that the star had not glown to your wish. Chuckling in disappointment you handed the rock back to Malleus, who stared at you in bewilderment.

"It won't come true, anyways," you sighed, "Like Idia said, it reacts to body heat and traces of magic. And I'm...completely magicless. What a sick reminder, I can't even make a wish," you let out a shaky laugh with a melancholic look glinting in your eyes.

"Why do you wish to be forgotten, child of man?" Malleus finally inquired, "I'm sure anyone you knew from where you hail wouldn't want to forget you, surely." You couldn't meet his gaze, instead you placed your hands in your pockets before kicking a rock on the ground down the steps of ramshackle.

" It doesn't look like I will be able to go back anytime soon. It would be much less painful for them if they forgot me, If they havent already. I...am easily forgetable. Always have been, always will be..." You shook your head as another sigh escaped your trembling lips. "Sorry... I didnt mean to sully the mood-" you were interrupted by strong arms pulling you into an embrace. Malleus was hugging you tightly, using one hand to hold your head and the other to carefully hold the star.

"I wish..." He whispered after a moment of silence and hesitation, "I wish that I will never, ever forget you. I wish for all of your woes to resolve, and I wish that you will find a way home. I wish you can smile happily in your future, and I wish you can see just how important you are."

The star began to glow brightly, more brilliant than any of the other stars that had shined during the entire starsend event. You froze in place in the warmth of his arms, it didnt occur to you that tears bad begun to stream down your face. You held onto Malleus tightly, the fae stroking your hair comfortingly.

"I could never forget someone as kind as yourself, (y/n)," he said, "even when you inevitably find a way back home, I will forever remember you as the human who treated a fae such as myself as if I were just another student. You are far more important than you may realize, and I'm sure everyone that you left behind eagerly await your return." You couldn't bring yourself to find a response, you only shook your head and cried even harder.

He really knew how to make you feel special, even when it seems as if you can easily disappear into the shadows without anyone giving a second thought. Malleus Draconia....you too, shall not forget him.

~~

It was probably a bad idea for him to make so many wishes though. And with his immense amount of magical prowess, your intimate moment was quickly interrupted by the star shattering. Oops!

~~ end

A/n- I was thinking about a scenario about maybe Yuu using their wish for Malleus, wishing he would live a life that wasn't lonely or something like that. However...I felt like it would be a...cooler twist if we had insecure and lonely Yuu instead.

This was also thrown together on a whim. Not my best works but feel free to check out my master list for more content.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unraveled 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: thanks for waiting on this one.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The carriage stops outside a brick building. A walk-up in Marleybone, just along Upper Baker Street. An address you couldn’t even dream of living near, let alone within. You peer up at the facade, the orange brick unstained by the coal and smoke of the backstreets. 

Gavin appears to open the door and sets a step down before you can emerge. He offers his hand gallantly and you let him assist you down to the road. You thank him as you peer up at the arched front door of 221b. 

“You need only knock, miss,” Gavin goes to pat the horse’s haunch as it kicks. “Ask for Mr. Holmes, he is expecting you.” 

You grip your bag tight and set your chin. You might not belong but only you are troubled by it. You climb the steps alongside the iron rail and lift the heavy knocker mounted on the thick wooden door. It’s clang rattles even you. 

You wait, both hands on the handles of the bag. Gavin appears behind you with the rolls of fabric, breathless as he struggles to keep them from touching the ground. You return your attention to the door as it opens. 

“Hello, I’m looking for Mr.--” 

“Holmes,” the very man you’re seeking stands before you, “forgive me, my housekeeper... resigned.” 

“Not to worry, sir,” you assure him. 

“Come in,” he backs up, gesturing you within with his large hand. “And how was your journey? I hope you didn’t come upon any scoundrels.” 

“Only upon her destination, sir,” Gavin japes as he steps in behind you. 

“Eh,” Holmes tilts his head at the driver, “allow me.” 

Holmes takes the rolls of fabric from Gavin. He hugs them effortlessly in on arm as he faces you again, dismissing the driver with no more than a nod. You stand rigidly by the wall, hesitant to go any further. The door closes and the click makes you flinch. 

“Allow me to show you around,” Holmes offers, looming in the tight space of the entryway. 

“I need only see your sister,” you insist. 

“Ah, yes, Enola, you will, but it only polite to get you acquainted with the space,” he rebuffs. 

“With respect, sir, I’ve come out of my way and without warning to this appointment. More work does await me at my shop,” you squeeze the leather handles until they squeak, “it is a lovely home, I’m sure, but I’ve come upon business, haven’t I?” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t take very long,” he counters, “yet, if you’d rather keep this formal, by all means, I will take you to my sister.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

You bite down, wondering if perhaps you were more curt than you should be. The apartment is rather far from your neighbourhood and the travel time alone will impose upon your ongoing commissions. You don’t expect he considered that. He does seem the type to command rather than ask. 

He directs you to the stairs, just across from the door, and waves you onward. He follows as your skirts brush the top of your boots with each step. The wallpaper is tightly decorated with framed newspapers and portraits, cluttered together but not garishly so. 

You get to the top and he advises you to go left. You obey as he keeps pace. 

“Did you... discover what led to that woman’s fate? Or who she was?” You ask as you take measured steps. 

He isn’t demure as he walks next to you, crowded against you as his broad figure allows for little space, “sadly, yes and no. Not her name. Only that she was a factory woman. I won’t say much on the matter as it is ongoing and confidentiality is a part of my contract, I would only gird you to keep your doors locked and yourself alert.” 

You chew on his answer. It makes you nervous. You know the woman was found close to your shop and home. The news has been whispered for blocks. 

“I will be sure to hede your advice,” you say. 

You walk past a door as he stops to knock on it. You spin back, skirts swirling around you, and he glances at you as he plants his hand on the door frame. There is activity from within, scratching and creaking. He sighs and stands straight as he slides his hand down the pillar. He raps with his knuckles again. 

“Enola,” he booms through, his voice shaking you. “I told you to be ready.” 

You hear furious footsteps and the lock flicks back with similar furor. It opens and a young woman with a slumping bun greets Mr. Holmes. Strands fall loose from the clip and her blouse is half untucked as her sleeves are rolled to her elbows. She has a long oval face, flushed as she shows her teeth. 

“I told you, I’m busy--” 

“Not so busy that you would waste this good woman’s time,” Holmes insists, “she traveled all this way. We discussed this.” 

She flutters her lashes and huffs. Her eyes flit over to you and she softens her expression, “if her time is wasted, it is hardly my fault.” 

“Hm,” he hums flatly, “isn’t it? It wasn’t I who fed your dresses to the furnace.” 

She smiles, a smug look that pinches her cheeks, “I was cold.” 

“Sister,” he warns dangerously, crossing his arms, his breadth wider than ever. 

“You know what, I welcome her company. Much preferable to your own,” the woman sneers and turns her shoulder to her brother, “come on, then. Suppose I need a dress for the banquet.” 

You inch forward. A flare of resent burns in you at the position Mr. Holmes has put you in. Plainly, this appointment was not upon his sister’s behest. She holds the door for you and her brother exhales deeply. 

“All you need do is stand still, I’m certain you can handle that, sister,” he rebukes, “do let me know when you are finished and I will call the carriage.” 

“Thank you,” you utter without looking at him. He sets the rolls just inside the door and backs up to watch you. 

You enter the bedroom and find it cluttered and cramped. There are books in stacks with more littered around the bottom. A dried-up paint palette and an easel draped over with several jackets and unpaired stockings. There is a four-post bed with scrambled covers and a canopy twisted around the poles. Vials upon vials line shelves and an inkwell stands uncapped over untidy sheets of paper. 

“Very well,” the woman shuts the door, “I am Enola, the famous detective’s ne’er do well sister and you are the seamstress who will make me a peacock.” 

You stare at her and swallow tightly. You offer your name before you begin, “I’ve only come upon his request--” 

“Ah, yes, I’m certain you have. He’s still trying to make a lady of me. I see through his guise, though he doesn’t think it. He underestimates me, see. He lies but I will go along for I will more easily avoid his snare if I do.” 

You nod and narrow your eyes. The wealthy can always afford to be so eccentric. You don’t think any woman you know would view a new dress as such a curse. She is young, she cannot know. 

“If you don’t mind, I’ll only take your measurements,” you offer, “I can always fit upon the dress form.” 

“Do what you must,” she sighs, “shall I strip down?” 

You put your bag on a chair as she unbuttons her blouse, “not-- if you--” You look up at her as she reveals a corset and reaches to undo her skirt. You focus on your bag and scoop out your measuring tape. 

You approach her as her skirt heaps at her feet. She is tall, her legs on long, her figure lithe. You begin your work silently. She raises her arms as you request and puts them back down. 

“Suppose if I wasn’t here, I might’ve become a dressmaker. I always enjoyed stitching,” she muses as you scribble down each number, “it seems lonely work. Quiet work.” 

“It’s work,” you say as you take out the envelope and unfold the page to examine the dress again. You hold it up and glance past it at Enola. 

“May I see that?” She asks but doesn’t await an answer before she snatches the paper. “Oh, is this really what he chose? No, no, no, this won’t do. I want my shoulders covered.” 

You slip the envelope back in your bag, “it is only what I was given. If you prefer adjustments, it is your dress.” 

“Yes, my dress and my body,” she crumples the paper and tosses it onto the rug. 

You close up your notebook and go to the rolls of fabric, “would it be too much for me to do some piecework?” 

“If you insist,” she pouts. 

You take out your scissors and turn your back to her. She isn’t rude, per se, but you’re not in the habit of associating with this sort of clientele. You get numbers on a sheet and you sew. A living form is not quite your forte. 

-🪡

When you finish, you can sense Enola’s agitated impatience. You don’t blame her. It’s plain she didn’t want the dress or your visit. It is more so upon the shoulders of her brother. Mr. Holmes. You’re similarly irked that he would put you in this position. 

Enola is already fiddling with some instrument before you can go. You emerge and pull the door shut after you. You stand in the hallway, bag at the crook of your elbow as you hug the fabric. You move with hampered steps towards the stairs. As the top creaks beneath your weight, your name is called from further down the hallway. 

“Ah, are you set then?” Mr. Holmes asks as he stops just outside a door, “I was thinking, to make up for your efforts, you might want to stay for tea.” 

You look down at your armful and back to him, “that’s very generous, but--” 

“I believe I paid an adequate fee for the appointment,” he strides slowly towards you, “but I am open to a barter if it was not sufficient.” 

You feel the heavy sovereign tucked into your jacket. You crook your lips and raise your chin, “no sir, it will do for today and the making of the dress. The fabric... I don’t have any as rich as the style requested.” 

“Another service I may require of you. If you wouldn’t mind to select the material, I would be happy to reimburse the expense.” 

“Would there be a colour? A fabric preferred? Velvet? Satin? Chiffon?” You prompt, “I solely work in cotton and wool, as I forewarned.” 

“Perhaps we might find a fabric seller at Covent Garden? You could accompany me on my next sojourn--” 

“I don’t know if I would have the time. I could write down some fabrics which would suit the silhouette we agreed upon,” you offer. 

“Mmm,” he hums, “you are rather professional. How about tea, then? Melinda from across the road sent some mutton over.” 

“The hour should see me back to my shop,” you shift your bag. 

“You are fastidious,” he stops before you and puts a hand on the fabric, “please, allow me, you are overburdened.” 

“I’m--” 

You can’t argue as he takes the fabric from you. You let him have it if only to avoid disaster you lean back on your heel. He angles the rolls under his arm easily and grins. A curl strays down his forehead. 

“I suppose you are right, given recent events, it would be best to see you home before the evening sets,” he says, “I would gladly see you home safe, miss.” 

He is overly polite, or perhaps you aren’t used to it. It is his home, he supplied the carriage, and he has paid generously. It makes each denial feel trite. 

“If you must, but I would be just fine on my own comportment,” you accept. 

“It isn’t any fuss, I will fetch a jacket and the driver,” he extends his arm past you, “after you.” 

You spin on your heel and face the staircase. You descend with your hand on the railing. As you come to the bottom, you wander towards the entry way and take in the fineness of the decor. Is much more becoming than your slanted rooms. 

Mr. Holmes places the rolls just beside the door and takes a jacket from the rack. He pulls it on and tells you to wait before he disappears outside. You linger as you are, sliding your bag down to your hands. 

When he returns, he reaches within to retrieve the fabric first. “Gavin is bringing up the carriage,” he declares and offers his free arm, “shall we?” 

You consider him. You wouldn’t want to be unkind. You step through the door, pulling it shut as you accept his bent arm, your hand in the crook. He accompanies you down the narrow steps, each step crowded by his. 

Gavin appears in the driver’s seat and reins the horse to a halt. The beast looks miserable. Mr. Holmes escorts you to the door and releases you to open it. He helps you with a strong hand and you sit within with your bag on your lap. He shoves the fabric in ahead of him, his head bowed as he fits through the small door. 

He closes it with a snap and settles on the bench on the other side of you. You stare across at the cotton, expecting he’d have taken that seat instead. His leg is on your skirt. 

You keep your hands on your bag. He knocks on the ceiling and the carriage rumbles into motion. You rock with it along the street, silent as you wring the leather handles. 

“I hope my sister did not cause too much stress. I know she can be a lot but she’s old enough now. She should start behaving as a lady,” he spreads a large hand across his thigh. “Perhaps, once she finds a husband, that will be easier.” 

You nod, uncertain of a proper response. 

“Not to mean... I don’t mean to assume, I am known however for my observations, and I have concluded you are not married,” he continues, “I gather if it were the case, you might not have a shop to sew in.” 

“Suppose not,” you reply dully. 

“It is only to say that my opinion of my sister isn’t general. A woman such as yourself is admirable.” 

“A spinster?” You supply. 

“I didn’t--” 

“I’ve chosen not to marry, that is true. I am not bothered by that fact,” you say, “isn’t that what you deal in, detective, facts?” 

“Fair,” he shifts on the bench, “but not everyone can detach emotion from facts.” 

“And why should I be emotional about that fact? I am much more happier than any woman could be with a husband,” you stare at the opposite wall of the carriage. “And I will assume, sir, as I am no detective, that you have neither taken to the altar.” 

He curls the fingers on his left hand, “I have not.” 

“And I’m certain you enjoy your bachelor lifestyle in your grand apartment,” you return, “while my own is not so extravagant, I find solace in it. On that, I think you might understand me.” 

He takes a breath and lets it out with a thoughtful hum, “I suppose we are similar in some way.”