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wheels-of-despair · 4 months

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What You Deserve | Leonard Bast x You | Series Masterlist

Once upon a time, a boy entered a bookshop...

Part Two: Is That Fair? Words: 1.7k Date: Friday, December 22, 1911

Over the last year, you had fallen completely in love with a man named Leonard Bast.

He came to your father's bookshop every Friday. On his first few visits, he'd browsed for fifteen minutes and talked to you for the remaining forty-five. But then, after a while, he'd just accept the book you'd chosen for him and spend the whole hour discussing last week's read, or a classic, or the symphony he'd recently attended, or a highly lauded stage play nobody seemed to be able to acquire tickets to. You laughed, and you joked, and you looked forward to that hour with him all week long.

He was brilliant. He was passionate. He was handsome. He was the sort of man people wrote novels about. And tonight, you were finally going to tell him how you felt about him.

Your older sisters had teased you about your preference of books to men for years. They said that reading too much had made you romanticize men to the point that no real one would ever suit you. But they'd married the first boys who showed interest in them and moved out of your family's cozy home above the bookshop as soon as they could. What did they know? They certainly didn't know about your Friday evenings with Leonard Bast.

He was your most treasured secret. That hour alone with him on Friday evenings was always the best part of your week, but it wasn't enough. You wanted more of him. You needed more of him.

He was always on your mind. When you read a new book, you wondered what he'd think of it. When you made dinner, you wondered if he'd like it. When you curled up by the fire to read, you imagined leaning your head on his shoulder. And sometimes in bed, when the fire died down and the chill of the night crept in, you wondered what it might be like if he were there to keep you warm.

It was a flawless plan, really. You'd take him into the storage room in the back to show him the pile of books scheduled to go out on a sale cart tomorrow, and offer him first shot at the bargains. Once Leonard had made his selections, you'd wrap them in brown paper so they'd be easier to carry, and slip in your favorite book of poetry. As a bookseller, you were typically against writing in books, but this was an exception. You'd written an inscription to him inside the front cover and included several notes throughout that you thought would be meaningful to him.

Writing your feelings on a page in a well-loved book felt much safer than just telling him how you felt.

You watched the clock and the door, waiting for him to hurry in like he always does. Even though he doesn't need to rush anymore, it seemed like he was always in a hurry to get here. You like to think it's because he was as happy to see you, as you were to see him.

Your face breaks into a smile when you spot his red ears holding up his ill-fitting hat, probably frozen from the cold December air. He steps inside, wipes his feet, and smiles at you.

"Mr. Bast! I was hoping to see you today."

"Me?" he asks, in mock-surprise, like he always does.

"Of course," you smile, keeping up your little game. The clock chimes, and you leave your place at the counter to lock up. Mr. Bast is the only customer in the store. He hangs his hat and coat on the rack as the lock clicks.

"Do you have a good one for me today?"

"Even better," you smile. "Follow me."

You lead him through the store and to the storage room, where a cart is packed with books that are priced to sell.

"What's this?" Mr. Bast asks.

"Sale cart," you explain. "Jimmy's taking it out tomorrow, in hopes of clearing out some inventory before the post-Christmas flood of unwanted gifts."

Jimmy, the teenage son of one of your father's friends, was an occasional employee. A few times a year, you'd pack up the cart of books that had been shelved for too long, and send Jimmy to sell them on the street. He was friendly and talkative, which made him an excellent salesman. He also had a very obvious crush on you, and your sisters had teased you about your "young lover" relentlessly when they found out.

This cart is what led Leonard to you. He'd spotted it on the street one day, bought all he could afford, and was given a business card with the store's address on it with the promise of more discounted books. It was quite a walk from his place of work, and he'd struggled to make it on time… until you developed your Friday routine.

"But the sale doesn't start until tomorrow?" he asks, picking up a book to inspect it.

"For you, it starts now."

"Is that fair?" he asks, worry on his face.

"Consider this a Favorite Customer Preview Sale. Tomorrow, people will buy random books for friends and relatives as Christmas presents, because they are inexpensive and easy to wrap and appear to be thoughtful. You are one of the few customers who will concern themselves with the content of the books, and not the fact that giving the gift of a book makes you look superior. Please, good sir, shop to your heart's content."

He looks from you, to the cart, and back to you. You sigh and try again.

"Mr. Bast, I am expected at my sister's house on Christmas Day. Her children are expecting a fun aunt who wants to play with them. If you do not leave this shop with an armful of books today, I will consider myself a failure of a saleswoman. And if I am a failure, I will be unable to enjoy my time with my sister's children on Christmas. Think of the children, Mr. Bast."

He laughs.

"Too much?" you ask, cracking a smile.

"Most definitely," he grins, finally stepping closer and inspecting the cart full of books.

With your assistance, he picks out five books to add to his collection. At this price, not even Leonard Bast can pass them up. He passes you a few coins, and you drop them into your pocket with a jingle.

You'd eventually noticed the frays in his clothing and his well-worn shoes and the loose seams in his hat. He hid them well, but he needn't hide them from you at all. You're a seller of used books. You know that a good story is a good story, no matter what condition the cover is in. The same applies to people.

"Shall I wrap these up for you?" you ask, trying to mask your nervousness.

"Alright," he smiles.

You take the books over to the table, where you keep the brown wrapping paper. You let him ramble about the one he's most excited about while you wrap his selections - plus the book of poetry. You distract him by mentioning another title that may be on the cart, and slip the gift into his stack when he goes to check. You hope it brings him back to the shop tomorrow, rather than a week from now. You can't wait to hear his thoughts on it.

He takes his wrapped package with a warm smile, which you return. If he only knew…

You make your way to the storage room's door, and he pauses to let you exit first. You reach back in to close the door after he enters the hallway, and when it clicks shut, you notice that he's staring upward.

Someone has put mistletoe in the doorway.

You look into his big brown eyes, an explanation on the tip of your tongue - you don't know how it got there, honestly - but no words are spoken.

You feel yourself drawn to him.

You lean in slowly, and he does too.

You close your eyes as your lips finally meet Leonard Bast's in a sweet, chaste kiss. Your heart flutters. Your brain buzzes.

You want to do this every day for the rest of your life.

You can't control your blissful smile as you pull away…

But Leonard Bast is not smiling.

Panic sets in. What's wrong? Were you bad at it?

"I'm sorry," he says. What is he sorry for? You both clearly wanted this. You've been dancing around it for a damned year. "I have a wife."

Your heart drops into your stomach.

"A what?"

"I have a wife. This isn't fair to her."

A wife? He's never mentioned a wife. You're sure of it. He's told you all about his parents, and his brother the lay-reader, and his two married sisters who were older and had never been very close to him. You absolutely would've remembered him mentioning a wife.

You felt faint. You leaned against the wall and closed your eyes, trying to focus on your breathing.

When you opened your eyes, Leonard Bast was gone.

Your father returned soon after. He found you in the hallway outside the storage room, sitting on the floor with tear-stained cheeks and staring into nothing. He thought you'd been attacked, and was preparing to summon the police when you finally found your voice. You were fine, you lied. Just had a bad day and a lot of demanding customers. It's nearly Christmas, after all, and people were desperate to finish their shopping.

He scraped you off the floor and took you upstairs to revive you with tea and biscuits. But it didn't help. Nothing helped.

Mr. Bast didn't come back.

You and your broken heart carried on, trying not to wonder what Leonard Bast would think of this book or that one. You tried not to worry about what he was doing, or who he was doing it with. You tried not to care. He was gone. He was nothing to you. Just a man you'd sold some books to.

Once upon a time, Leonard Bast had been your best-kept secret. Now he was just a ghost inside your head.

#writings of despair #leonard bast deserves the world #leonard bast #leonard bast x you #leonard bast x reader

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keeponquinning · 1 year

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spark of color amongst the grey — multi-chaptered masterlist

Leonard Bast x Nanny / Teacher Apprentice fem!Reader. 18+

Summary — You hope to be an educator, having always been a wonder to children, and wanting a better life for yourself and your family. Though your mother would wish you would show such passion in finding a husband, she is proud of you, nonetheless, at least earning yourself an apprenticeship. A much easier go at life than she had, doing odd jobs to support the family, to support you, one of the recent ones is taking care of little Robert Bast, son of Leonard Bast, who gained full custody of his son, an amicable arrangement with the boy's mother who provides financial support for the care of the boy and the occasional visit. The circumstances of the arrangement, of the child is an open secret and gossip, though according to your mother, he is a good man. Everything is well, until your mother grows ill and cannot fulfill her duties, forced into bed rest. But your family needs the financial help, and so, as the eldest of your family, you soon take over the job, taking care of little Bobby Bast and in that, get to know more of the boy's father as well.

Notes — Leonard Lives AU, and that baby boy is dark haired and brown eyed just like his daddy. Thank you to @quinnsmunson for helping to flesh this out, my own version of giving Lenny the happy ending he deserves, though he won't be getting it quite that easy. I'm excited for this! It's going to be multi-chaptered, and everything you'd expect from a period piece, longing, withering looks and gentle touch.

Warnings — slow burn, angst, fluff, things you would expect from a period piece, honestly. I did not research teaching apprenticeships much so use all your imagination folks.

Like this to be added to the tag list for future chapters!

M A S T E R L I S T ! Part One | Part Two

TAGLIST : @quinnsmunson , @etherealglimmer , @munsonology , @imaslutforcuddles , @mythicalea , @queengirl56 , @pollenallergie , @180presolutiondignity , @go-off-to-sleep-in-the-sunshine , @nightonblogmountain , @fxirybubble , @lunaapis , @bit-of-a-timelord , @electrolyteerien , @tussenmens , @angietherose , @missonlypost, @mythicalea , @originalstar1 , @quinnkeerys , @helloxoctober28, @winchester-angel , @bexreadstoomuch , @joesquinns , @slasherflickchick , @anaofthebarricade, @watercolourpainter , @harley1608 , @ladybug0095 , @joeqnz , @sosawmeinhalf , @chickensinrainboots , @boltonbritreads , @veuvemami , @daleyeahson , @aysheashea , @abigailelevier , @92keery , @rata-quinn , @manonluzon , @thirddeadlysin , @wakeupcocksuckers , @ladybug0095

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #leonard bast #leonard bast x you #leonard bast x reader #leonard bast x fem!reader #writings — spark of color amongst grey #leonard bast — writings #leonard bast fic #words come hither — masterlists

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danielle-peaches · 2 years

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Ladies and gentlemen, Leonard Bast.

Joseph Quinn oil painting on canvas

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fanart #joseph quinn imagines #joseph quinn edit #stranger things #stranger things fanart #stranger things edit #stranger things imagines #eddie munson #eddie munson fanart #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson edit #howards end #leonard bast #leonard bast fanart #oil painting #oil paints #oils #oil portrait

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writing-fanics · 2 years

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i feel a leonard bast x wilcox reader is in order. one where y/n leaves Howard’s End to get away from her family goes to her friend Helen Schlegel’s house.

Eventually, she meets Leonard Bast and the two seemingly develop a close friendship for one another.

(Jacky doesn’t exist in this one but Leonard is still struggling)

They begin to develop feelings for one another. It plays out pretty much like it does in the show.

After going into a deep conversation, they end up sleeping with each other. I feel she would wake up to find the bedside empty.

when we get to the ending of the show tho. He doesn’t have an undiagnosed heart condition, and when that bookcase falls on him.

He’s alright just knocked unconscious. I just think that this story would be so sweet. Leonard lives.

when he asks her in his dazed state why she chose him she just responds with ‘because I love you.’

Story has happy ending Y:n and Leonard happily married with their son.

#fanfic #x reader #angst #headcanons #fluff #romance #howard’s end #Joe Quinn #leonard bast headcanon #leonard bast imagine #leonard bast fan fiction #leonard bast x y/n #leonard bast x you #leonard bast x reader

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danielle-peaches · 2 years

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Ladies and gentlemen, Leonard Bast.

Joseph Quinn oil painting on canvas

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wheels-of-despair · 4 months

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What You Deserve | Leonard Bast x You | Series Masterlist

Once upon a time, a boy entered a bookshop...

Part One: Until Next Friday Words: 1.5k Date: Friday, December 23, 1910

You were always rooting for him.

At the end of each day, when the grandfather clock approached ten minutes to closing time, your eyes would begin to dart between its ticking hands and the door.

Would he make it today?

About once a week for the last two months, a man would enter your father's bookshop with only moments to spare. He'd dart toward the discounted used books and start scanning the shelf from left to right, top to bottom, and when the clock would chime, he'd grab the first book in reach and bring it to the counter to purchase it.

You didn't know his name; only his face. He was a nervous sort of fellow who had wavy hair that you imagined would be very soft, and the biggest, most beautiful brown eyes you'd ever seen.

He didn't seem to have a preference in what he read; he'd just grab whatever he could when the clock announced closing time. The poor fellow had taken home some books that no one should have to take home. The world would be a boring place is everyone liked the same things, you often reminded yourself… but you still wondered if he found a way to enjoy them, or if he'd hated them as much as you had. You'd made note of his height and started putting the good ones where they might catch his eye, hoping he'd take home a treasure rather than drivel.

But today, it didn't look like he was going to make it. He wouldn't have anything new to read for Christmas. Or perhaps he didn't come this week because he'd be busy celebrating with his family in the coming days, he wouldn't have time to read. You'd be traveling to visit your sister soon, but you planned to take a book to read on the train. And another for while you hid in your room to avoid the caroling and the parlor games and the inquiry about your lack of romantic life. And probably another for the train ride home.

You sighed and closed the novel you hadn't read a word of in 9 minutes, and as your eyes drifted toward the door one last time before getting up to lock it… he appeared.

He burst in the door, out of breath as usual, but by the time he'd wiped his feet… that damned clock began to chime. His shoulders slumped, and he turned back to the door with an air of defeat. His sigh fogged the glass. He reached for the knob, ready to leave without so much as a look at the new stock you'd put up just for him.

"Wait."

He opened the door.

"Wait!"

He turned his head toward you, as if he couldn't believe you were speaking to him. You'd been longing to say more than your typical "Will this be all, then?" or "Enjoy!" that bookended every transaction since about the third time you'd seen him, but the words would never come. Not until now.

"You don't have to go."

"But the time…"

"It's alright," you smile. "You didn't even get to look today."

"But the shop's closed."

"I have to clean up anyway," you shrug. "People have been tracking in mud all day, it'll take me a while. You can take your time, for once."

His brow furrows. He bites his lip. "Are you sure, miss?"

"Of course," you smile. "If anyone questions it, we can say I saw a mouse, and that you bravely volunteered to protect me while I tidied up."

His eyes look suspicious, but the corner of his mouth twitches. "If you're sure?" he asks one more time.

"Please," you gesture toward the shelves he gravitates to every week. "I've just restocked the sale section, there should be plenty of new things to choose from."

He blushes, looks at the clock, and finally removes his hand from the doorknob. He wipes his feet again and walks cautiously, as though he expects you to change your mind and chase him out with your broom at any second. Instead, you lock the door to other customers and start sweeping the floor between the rows of packed shelves. It's cluttered, but it's clean and inviting. The shop feels as much like home to you as your actual home upstairs.

You watch your lone shopper out of the corner of your eye as you sweep, wanting desperately to know what he's looking for but not wanting to bother him.

He allows himself to browse for nearly eleven minutes, the longest amount of time he's ever spent in this shop. He brings his selection to the counter, and you set aside the broom you've been slowly sweeping with, so as not to rush him.

"Will this be all for you today?"

"Er, yes," he mumbles, digging through his pockets for a coin. You inspect the book with pride. It's one of your favorites; you'd placed in his eyeline hoping he'd find it.

"This is one of my favorites," you tell him.

"Is it?" He slides a coin across the counter.

"It is." You can feel your face flush as you write down the transaction in the ledger.

"Do you read a lot?"

"Whenever I can," you mumble to the page. You wanted to talk to him, fool, now talk to him!

"So do I," he says proudly.

You finally look up, and his eyes are sparkling, like he's begging you to ask.

"What do you like to read?" you ask.

You try your best to pay attention as the man launches into a passionate recap of what you suspect is everything he's ever read, but it's the tone of his voice rather than the words that transfixes you. This is the kind of man who reads not just to gather information or learn a new skill or to appear intelligent; he looks for meaning in every word. He allows stories to transport him to other places. He lets every book into his life in the hopes that it will change him in some way. His passion is intense, and infectious.

You suddenly feel guilty about every dud you've knowingly sold him.

He glances at the clock and stops talking, and you wonder if you've given the impression you weren't listening. You were. Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but you were.

"I should be going," he says with a nervous lick of his bottom lip. You don't want him to leave yet.

"Would you like me to wrap that for you?" You gesture to the book.

"That's alright, miss." He picks up his book, hugs it to his chest, and takes a step backwards toward the door. "Thank you."

It feels like he isn't quite ready to leave, either.

"You know," you begin, "you don't have to keep the books you don't like."

"Oh?"

"You can sell them back to us. I can't give you exactly what you paid for them, but it adds up quickly. Then, you can get better books."

"Is there something wrong with my books?" He looks hurt. Like you've insulted his taste, rather than the random things he's grabbed in a panic as the clock hurried him along.

"You forget that I see what you take home," you smile. "Can you honestly say you enjoyed the book you chose last week?"

His face flashes crimson. "It was… different."

"It was swill."

"Are you allowed to speak badly of the things you sell?"

"To my best customer? With no one else around? I should hope so."

You share a mischievous smile, and he steps forward again.

"I'm Leonard Bast."

You introduce yourself, and he repeats it back to you. You quite like the way your name sounds, coming from him.

"Thank you for today, miss, it was very kind of you. My work schedule does not allow for much browsing."

"What do you do for work, Mr. Bast, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I'm a clerk at an insurance firm."

"Do you like it?" It sounds dreadfully boring, but perhaps…

"Not particularly." Perhaps not. Displeasure clouds his face.

"If you could do anything at all, what would it be?"

"I…" his brow furrows. "I don't know? No one's ever asked me that before." Perplexed, he looks at the clock again. "I really should be going now. Thank you again."

He moves toward the door, and you want to kick yourself for scaring him away. Those are not questions for a person you've just met! You're supposed to talk about the weather! The new shop down the street! The price of mincemeat!

"Mr. Bast?"

"Yes?" He pauses with his hand on the doorknob.

"My father leaves early on Fridays to meet his mates at the pub. If you'd ever like a little extra time to browse..."

The clouds lift from his face, and his frustration is replaced by a genuine smile. "Until next Friday then, miss."

"Until next Friday, Mr. Bast."

#writings of despair #leonard bast deserves the world #leonard bast #leonard bast x you #leonard bast x reader #this is part 1 of 4! another part coming tomorrow!

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