#not to mention i did already assist with 1/3 of his work

[celestial-sapphicss]

flexible hours just means work 24x7 and i hate that actually <3

[ozzgin]

Sorry to bother you, but the bodyguard post you did was just 🤤🥰😍 and I can't stop thinking about it day later

Have you ever seen Oshi no Ko? I'd love to see Bodyguard react to someone trying to do something similar as what happened to Ai.

Fans get wind their beloved idol might have feeling for her staff, so a crazed fan tracks down her private address. He plans to get revenge for "His idol cheating on him" but doesn't know there is a guard dog inside ready to bite any threat to his precious charge.

Sorry to keep ragging on about the topic, I just adore you work enough that it lives in my head rent free.

Happy holidays

-🌟

I sadly haven't seen Oshi no Ko, but your description sounds very interesting. Thank you for the idea! I've combined it with your previous suggestion, I think they work together really well. Happy Holidays to you, too! :)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Reader (II)

Your new manager has sent you home for the holidays after persistent rumors surrounding you and your bodyguard. And, as luck would have it, the fan responsible for the accusations successfully sneaks his way in. Sadly for him, you’ve never left the watchful gaze of your loyal, mean dog.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

TW: violence, threats, mentions of stalking

(Cover from the manga “A girl and her guard dog”)

"Enjoy your holidays!" 

The driver cheerfully bids you goodbye and speeds away, leaving you behind the imposing gate. You drag your luggage inside and nonchalantly toss it with an annoyed huff.

What now? You're all alone in a hollow mansion. 

Early December you begun receiving worrying letters from a fan, making wild claims about you and your bodyguard. Naturally, you laughed it off. Your bodyguard found them equally amusing. So much, that he'd ask you to read them out loud as you rode him. "I w-won't stand for it. You know we ha-ave something special going on, (Y/N)-chan." You barely managed to form coherent sentences, feverishly clinging to the large man underneath you. "You heard the guy. Better be on your best behavior", he'd add with a chuckle, wiping the drool from your mouth. 

The new manager, however, wasn't as relaxed about it. He couldn't risk tarnishing the reputation of his beloved cash cow, so he suggested you take a break from personal assistants until the rumors tone down. If you remained within your expensively secured house, you wouldn't need any guarding. So, he caringly prescribed a dose of homely isolation for the upcoming holidays. 

"Don't be so dramatic", he said, "Jesus spent 40 days in the desert by himself. And he didn't have your indoor cinema or jacuzzi bathtub."

"Yeah, but he had the Devil to tempt him. Where's my bad guy?" You whined as a retort. 

You let out another groan and throw yourself on the couch, fiddling with the remote. Kind of them to decorate everything for Christmas, you think as you eye the gigantic kitsch of a tree slapped in the middle of the living room. 

Fuck. What an absolute waste of time. All because of one crazy fan. You almost wish he'd show his stupid face so your bodyguard could pummel it to bits and crumbles. You wonder what he's doing by himself. Is he going to be assigned to another idol? Probably not, two weeks is too short of a time for anything. You check your phone.

Suddenly, the screen lights up. A text notification. 

"Bored?"

Heh. It's almost as if he can read your mind. You smile to yourself and type your response, stretching onto the sofa. Your little back and forth messaging goes on until you look up and notice the room has gotten darker. Already evening. You can hear your stomach growl, so you get up and drag your feet towards the kitchen, searching for takeaway fliers. If you're going to be under house arrest, the least you can afford is junk food. 

Once you place your decadent order, you hop onto the counter and idly dangle your legs in anticipation. Your favorite off-duty guard dog has abruptly told you he needs to go and is now offline. "Something came up". What could possibly require his immediate attention? A mistress? You giggle at the idea. In all your time spent together, you haven't seen him glance at a single woman. If he must, he will engage with other people using one-word replies, visibly uninterested. You never considered him much of a talker, but his behavior with anyone else, in comparison, is downright hostile. 

There's a rustling sound and you jolt. Was the food delivered already? It hasn't been that long. You jump off the marble countertop and freeze in place once you see the man standing in the doorway. His face is concealed with a medical mask and he's audibly panting, the hot air fogging up his glasses. You notice the knife in his hand.

"How rude of you to cheat on me so shamelessly, (Y/N) dear."

Huh? Your eyes widen in realization. Was this the crazed fan bombarding you with threatening letters? Your features twist in utter disgust, still transfixed on the weapon within his grip. 

This little shit. Not only does he break into your home, but he decides to intimidate you with a department store kitchen utensil. Is that all you're worth? Is that any way to greet one of the top idols in this country?

You angrily pull the nearby drawer open and grab a long, sharp blade. The man tenses up and steps forward, but you stop him in his tracks, throwing the item at his feet. He stares at you, bewildered. 

"It's a Yoshihiro Sashimi knife. More than your monthly income, most likely." You state as you leer down at him, grimace plastered on your face. "Pick it up like the animal you are."

He cannot move. Is this his beloved (Y/N)? Her pretty, innocent smile and sparkling eyes have been replaced by this hateful scowl. He feels like a cockroach about to be stepped on, a mere vermin invading her personal space. This can't be right. It's him that should be upset, he's the betrayed party. When has she gotten so...Ah. This must be the work of that bodyguard. He's always known. The way he looks at her, with a predatory glint as if marking his territory. He should've noticed earlier. Poor, sweet (Y/N), at the hands of a brute. Tears form in his eyes and he opens his mouth to speak up, but a burning blow assaults his back and everything goes black. 

Your bodyguard casually walks in and lifts the intruder up by the nape of his neck. 

"Are you okay? Did he touch you?"

You blush and wipe your eyelashes dramatically, releasing a gentle sob from your puckered lips.

"Touch? He almost killed me! I was so scared...I thought I was done for."

He frowns at your words.

"I'll take care of it."

You can feel the familiar knot forming in your stomach. As he drags the body out of the kitchen, you follow behind enthusiastically. 

"Do it in the living room!" You almost squeal.

"Are you sure? It will get messy. I'm not letting this one walk out." He warns you with a worried expression. 

"Yes, yes!" you nod, all bubbly. "Right here, next to the Christmas tree."

Once the gory spectacle is over, the bodyguard sprawls onto the sofa, exhausted. He exhales loudly and runs a hand through his hair. You are about to join him, when a thought crosses your mind. 

"Now that I think about it, how did you know I was about to be attacked? That was some really extraordinary timing."

Out of reflex, he palms his pocket to check if his phone is still within his possession. Thankfully he hasn't left it in plain sight. You squint suspiciously. 

"Are you spying on me or something?"

He remains quiet for a few moments and eventually lowers his head apologetically, avoiding eye contact.

"Forgive me, Miss."

When he glances up again, your small figure is looming over him.

"Wow, what a pervert you are." You push his chin up with your dainty fingers. "How will you make it up to me for such nasty habit~?"

"Is there anything you want me to do?"

"Good boy."

[seventeenreasonswhy]

Same Team! A YJH Office Romance Pt. 9

Idol!Jeonghan x ProductionStaff!Reader

You’re serious about your job, but not as serious as Yoon Jeonghan is about flirting.

~2.1k words

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Series Content: slooowwwwww burn, fluff! but with tension!, cute flirting!, will-they-won’t-they vibes!, did I mention tension!?, some alcohol consumption, appearances by all of the members, reader is shy and gets flustered easily!, jeonghan is jeonghan-ing!

My Masterlist

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone who has read this series so far! There is only one chapter left after this (and it will be smutty)!! I love these two! I can't bring myself to write angst abt them so this is pure fantasy fluff haha. They’re so cute! Jeonghan is my favorite trickster-prince! Y/N is so cute and anxious~! They both give me cute aggression!!! Enjoy!

Taglist: @yeoberryx, @clownprincehoeshi, @soffiyuhh,  @wonwoos-wineparty, @hamji-hae, @junniesoleilkth, @seokqt, @haniinah, @yangtyunhannie, @cherrylovescheol, @Illucere (lmk if you want to be added!)

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

You looked out the car window to see late-night stragglers still making their way home from bars and karaoke rooms. It was that strange time between night and morning. You were scheduled to get to the airport before the members so you could prepare for the chaotic process of boarding a plane with idols. There were a few more security guards than usual. Older guys than you would have expected, but you guessed they needed experienced staff for this kind of thing. You kind of admired the dedication of CARATs that were willing to wake up this early to see the members off.

Your stomach flipped at the thought of seeing Jeonghan again. You hadn’t had much chance to see him since he came to your apartment last week... Your face couldn’t help but flush deep scarlet every time you thought about it. His lips on yours, his hands roaming over you, gripping you... You had to work to not get carried away remembering the feel of his body against yours.

You’re here for work, you’re here for work, you’re here for work! You repeated in your head over and over again. You were terrified that someone would pick up on whatever it was that was going on between the two of you... You were sure that your complete infatuation with him was obvious to anyone who looked at you.

This is Paris Fashion Week, Y/N! Get serious! You had dreamed of attending high-profile events like those at the Paris Fashion Week. You knew that it was going to be a whirlwind trip, and you wanted to do everything in your power to make things go smoothly for Jeonghan. He had been to Fashion Week before, but this was your first big overseas assignment. You didn’t want him to think that you were incompetent, so you had been staying up late researching every staff member and procedure that you would have to encounter. Even though you were only assisting with this trip, you wanted to anticipate every possible need.

The van arrived to a crowd of CARATs already waiting. They were holding signs that said things like “Have a safe trip Shua!” or little paper fans with Mingyu’s face on them. One CARAT was even dressed up in full Hanbok. It hit you again how different the members’ lives were from yours. To you, they had all become just people you worked with... well, almost all of them. Your heart couldn’t help but squeeze a little reading the signs some of them had made for Jeonghan. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him, you thought, wishing that you could reassure his fans out loud, that you could communicate how much you understood their feelings.

You knew that the members had arrived by the very audible shift in the crowd. You were waiting inside, security standing as a barricade between the CARATs, forming a path for the members to come through on their way to security.

Your eye picked out Jeonghan immediately, even with the flashing lights of cameras and screaming from the crowd. It was truly overwhelming. How do they deal with this every time? You couldn’t help but wonder. Jeonghan walked through the doors to the airport next to Joshua, the two of them slightly behind Mingyu. The crowd was going so wild that you couldn’t even understand what was being shouted. All you could do was watch as the three of them kept their faces down, occasionally waving at the CARATs. Jeonghan was wearing a baseball hat and had most of his face covered by a mask.

The flight you were on was semi-private, which meant it had its own security line and everyone on board was either rich enough to afford the flight or there because they were part of Seventeen’s staff. You were already on the other side of security, unable to take your eyes off Jeonghan as he and the other members of the team made their way toward you. You had been instructed to sit at the front of the coach section, right behind first class, where the members and their managers were seated. You had never flown on such a small, high-end airplane before... even coach was supposed to be a step above your average commercial flight.

Finally, the members made it through the short security line, and Jeonghan’s gaze caught yours at last. You could see his eyes crinkle into a smile right away, yours mirroring him as you beamed beneath your face mask.

“Good morning,” Jeonghan said to you, joining you at your side as the team of you walked toward the gate. He sounds sleepy, you thought, your heart already pounding from how cute he looked.

“Good morning,” you said, handing him handwipes for the plane and a coffee.

“Wah, Y/N,” he said right away, “you’re the best.” You were relieved that he couldn’t see your blush beneath your mask.

“Where’s my coffee?” Mingyu had turned around, eyeing the drink you’d handed over and putting on a pout.

“Ah, I can get you one!” you said right away, making Mingyu laugh.

“I’m kidding, Y/N-nuna,” he said, and you swore you saw him give some kind of meaningful glance between you and Jeonghan... but you were probably being paranoid.

I should have gotten all of them coffee, you thought.  

“Get your own coffee,” Jeonghan said. His tone was like a sassy little kid’s... and your heart couldn’t help skipping a beat, making you smile all the more beneath your mask.

The plane you boarded with the members was the nicest airplane you’d ever seen. Buttery-smooth leather seats occupied their own spacious cubicles in first class, and even the seats in the small coach section immediately behind were wider and looked more comfortable than any airplane you’d been on. You couldn’t help staring around a bit.

Jeonghan stowed his stuff in the overhead cabinet, watching you out of the corner of his eye. It was obvious you’d never been on a plane like this before, the way you were dawdling and looking around. So cute, he thought, unable to suppress his small smile. His heart was so endeared to your wide eyes, and once again, he felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that you were going on this trip. He wished he could ask his manager to trade seats with you so that you’d be sitting opposite the small aisle from him, but he knew that would be too strange of a request. You’d probably hate it if he drew that much attention to the two of you, even though part of him didn’t care. He'd had the same manager for almost ten years now, after all. It might have been wishful thinking, but he felt like if he explained the situation, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad...

But he changed his mind once he saw you seated, already pouring over a stack of papers from the folder you’d been carrying. How could he do something so brazen when you were being so careful and conscientious about everything? Though, it would be fun to see you get a little flustered...

You were checking and rechecking all of the customs forms and the itinerary for the YSL events when you felt someone settle into the seat beside you.

“...What are you doing?” you said in a low voice, trying to maintain your composure as Jeonghan leaned into you, pretending to look over the documents with you.

“Ah, so we have to be there that early...” he said, his whole body so close to you that you felt like you were going to explode.

“Ah, Jeonghan-shi,” you said in an overly nervous and high-pitched voice, glancing around at the other staff taking their seats, “don’t worry, only the staff have to arrive that early, you’ll get a separate car once the event is a little underway.” You put on the most formal tone you could, and Jeonghan glanced up at you—his face unbearably close to yours.

“But I want to arrive with nuna,” he said quietly, fixing you with the most earnest, sensual gaze you could imagine. He’s doing this on purpose, you realized, and tried to flash him a warning look. But he only smirked, refusing to move even an inch.

“Well,” you said, your nerves clearly showing in your tone, “I have to be there early—” you were cut off by the feeling of Jeonghan’s fingertips brushing against your thigh, making you bolt right out of your seat.

“I have to check this one more time with the other assistants!” you said, your voice coming out too loud. Jeonghan just looked at you, smiling smugly to himself as you walked toward the other rows of staff in coach. He watched you walk away, admiring your figure before making his way back to first class.

“You’re mean, Jeonghannie-ah,” Joshua murmured in a quiet voice as Joenghan passed him. Jeonghan noticed that his friend was also smiling to himself. It wouldn’t be surprising if Joshua had picked up on what was going on between him and you on his own, but Jeonghan had drunkenly sought his advice a month or so ago, before he was even sure if you liked him at all.

“Maybe,” Jeonghan chuckled softly, taking his seat. He was still relishing the cute look of panic on your face, the faint smell of perfume on your neck, how adorable you looked in your comfy, plane-ready clothes... He didn’t care if other people noticed that he was teasing you.

Joshua and Seungcheol were the only members who knew that you and Jeonghan were seeing each other discretely. Joshua had been pretty happy about it, but Seungcheol had been a little firmer about things. He didn’t want Jeonghan’s (or your) career to be jeopardized, but he also liked seeing Jeonghan so happy. He’d simply cautioned his friend to not do anything careless.

You had hoped that you might be able to get some sleep on the plane to help get ahead of the jetlag, but of course you couldn’t settle down. Your eyes kept landing on the back of Jeonghan’s seat—even though you couldn’t really see him. You hoped that he was at least getting some rest...

The air was smooth enough now that you could walk around. The stewardesses had dimmed the lights in first class, but you decided to make your way over, ready to pretend that you needed to ask Jeonghan something.

But as you quietly approached his seat, you could tell that he was sound asleep. His seat had been fully reclined and his head slumped to one side, his baseball hat and mask removed to reveal his beautiful face. You saw that Joshua and Mingyu were dozing off as well, and the managers seemed to be trying to sleep, their backs turned away from the aisle. I guess you can’t help but fall asleep in this cushy environment, you thought, your gaze landing once again on Jeonghan’s sleeping face.

He really looks like an angel, you couldn’t help thinking, drinking in every detail of his features. His long eyelashes, his glowing skin... he looked so peaceful and beautiful. How could a human being even look like that? You glanced one more time around the cabin to make sure no one was watching before your hand practically moved on its own, running your fingers through his silky hair, gently smoothing it away from his face.

Jeonghan’s lips curled into a smile, and his eyes fluttered open, making your hand freeze and your eyes go wide with embarrassment. He was awake!? You quickly withdrew your hand from his hair, mortified that you’d been caught in the middle of such an intimate gesture, but Jeonghan’s hand caught you immediately by the wrist, freezing you to the spot even more.

No one around the two of you seemed to stir, and Jeonghan whispered to you.

“Don’t go.” His voice shot right into your chest. The lights were low, but you could tell that he was giving you that same piercing gaze he always gave you, like he wanted to devour you. Your heart was beating thunderously loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. Seeing him stretched out beneath you, sleepily holding onto you as his thumb traced small circles along the inside of your wrist... you couldn’t refuse him.

“Close your eyes,” you mouthed softly. He smiled serenely at you and did as he was told, leaning into your touch as you stroked his hair for a bit longer—until he was sleeping for real—before cautiously making your way back to your seat, breathing deeply to calm your euphoric nerves.

[drconstellation]

The Assistant Book Seller

Edit 1 Dec 2023 - added missing information on the "ribbon pattern."

Edit: 3 Dec 2023 - correct information about middle pattern from creator

GABRIEL: Greetings! I'm Jim! It's short for James, but I don't need to keep telling everyone that. I'm an assistant book seller.

I'm sorry. Before I do anything else, I need to apologize for something I need to write further in. I didn't plan to write it, I just kind of bumped into it and, well, I can't ignore it. So...sorry. It's said. Forgive me for what needs to be done.

Although he arrived with nothing but a cardboard box and Rodney the Stunt Fly, Aziraphale made sure Jim was clothed in appropriate raiment while under his protection. We'll forgive him that he took a step back about, oh, fifty years or so to the 1970's, as Jim's overall look is a nod to the famous old sitcom "Open All Hours." So if he looks a little bit out of place, or, a little bit familiar, even, that's why.

While we are used to seeing angels in overcoats, it's Jim's vest that is the particular feature here. But I will take a moment to comment on the overcoat - not just the colour but its lapels. Aziraphale has obviously given him a colour with an earthly connection and one that indicate that he has bought Jim under his protection, but the lapels look quite neutral, with one up and one down. (Muriel is the same in their Inspector uniform, btw) This is the first indication they are between two things at the moment.

Onto the vest.

There is so, so much work and thought put into this vest! It was a one-off commission for the show, and the creator, Sandy Higgins, has said she is not allowed to give away the final design pattern. I have tried to contact her, and I'm waiting for a reply, so in the mean time I thought I would ask my keen knitter of a sister-in-law about one of the patterns I'm not sure about. "Well, that's Fair Isle knitting," she said, but she knew nothing about the individual line pattern I was interested in. Hmm, I kind of know that already, its in the notes that are guiding me for this meta, but hey, why not do a broader search and see what comes up?

So once I got back home I did. "Fair Isle knitting patterns" hmm...Wikipedia page for starters...what on *earth* is that at the bottom of the page...? YOU ARE. FRIKKING. KIDDING ME!!!!!!!

"See also: Gumbys"

oh ffs

I am so sorry that needs must make me mention Monty Python yet again, but here we are. And we must mention them, because this link is just too...unbelievably, deliciously good.

If you aren't familiar with the Monty Python catalogue, and don't recognize the mention of Gumbys, they were a set of characters that dressed and spoke in a certain way but the main points to take away were they wore woolen vests in the Fair Isle knitted style and their catch-phrase was - wait for it - "My brain hurts!"

I think we've heard that somewhere before?

CROWLEY: When you first arrived, you said you were here because they were planning to do 'Something Terrible' to you. So you remembered it then. Remember it now. GABRIEL: It hurts to remember. My head isn't built for that.

Right. Now we've got that out of the way...back to the serious stuff.

The colours used in the vest are not your typical angel colours. There is a base of angelic off-white and there are some bits of purple for his royalty around the shoulder area - sometimes you need to look carefully for it. Otherwise it is dominated by vintage shades of red and green. Well. Who's an agent of change driven by love, then?

The horizontal stripe pattern is partly to remind us of the classic biblical robes with stripes that ran along them, much like the style of Crowley's black and red robe in the Job minisode, but is also part of the traditional Fair Isles pattern work. And each row only has two colours, but up around the shoulder area we do see purple start to sneak in as a third colour.

On to the incorporated symbols! I'm going to go from bottom to top.

On the lowest two we feature Crowley and Aziraphale. We have Crowley's demon satyr tail from the Good Omens logo on the lowest stripe - the double-headed arrow.

The next stripe is Aziraphale, with a variation of the classic OXO pattern ("hugs and kisses.") The X is meant to represent his angel wings, and the O is modified to mimic the "o" with a halo in the Good Omens logo. I've highlighted all three in the image on the right.

The third row up is a Sumerian Star pattern that represents one of the flowers associated with Gabriel, the lily. They are supposed to represent the purity of Mary, mother of Jesus, as he had one in his hand when he visited her during the Annunciation.

The row above that is what I believe to be a Byzantium pattern, and is included to show "an Angel's ability to be timeless."

The next three rows are still under a bit of a question mark as I write this. I plan to come back and edit it in if I find the answer.

The bottom of the three is the Duke of Buccleuch pattern, "to celebrate the long and necessary contribution that the cottage industry of hand knitted items."

The middle one - ? (perhaps you, the reader, know? It looks like a spiralling ribbon if I stand back, but that isn't sparking any connections, either.)

Edit: @noneorother tells me in a reblog (below) that this pattern represents the shoelace from the magic incantation Aziraphale uses "Banana Fish Gorilla Shoelace." So it is ribbon-like! This then points to the Second Coming, as it the shoelace references the end of the book, and the last paragraph of the book references Yeats poem "The Second Coming" as well as the novel 1984. To me it is then also telling us there is a cycle occurring, or a cycle that needs to be renewed. This fits in with some other clues other meta-writers have been picking up.

Edit 2: Turns out none of that was correct - I heard back from the creator herself and it's actually the double-ended satyr tail pattern again! It just seems to make a bit of an illusion of a ribbon or shoelace.

The pattern below is a modified OXO pattern.

The top one looks like two rams horns facing each other. A hollowed out rams horn can be used as a trumpet, and is known as a shofar in Jewish religion. Gabriel was traditionally known to carry a trumpet.

The ancient meander pattern would be recognized by most people, included as another classic timeless pattern found all over the world. For some it symbolizes eternity and endless flow.

The wheels here appear to be Michael's ophanim wheels, that would have eyes around the rims.

The hourglass is to remind us that time is running out. Memento mori - "Remember that you die." It is a major theme in both series.

Right up high, just before we lose the rest of the vest inside the overcoat, we get a glimpse of a large diamond-shaped icon. I wonder if this is another stylized set of angel wings, like we saw in the Job minisode on Aziraphale's golden collar.

To finish off the outfit, he is wearing dark gray trousers with sneakers! I'm sure that's so he could keep sneaking up on Aziraphale in the shop, haha. His shirt seems a little too large for him and the tie is knotted too high and is not settled along his centerline. It's all at odds with his previous neat and sharp appearance as Supreme Archangel Gabriel.

I'd like to say a big thank you to @aduckwithears for helping me with information on the vest and finding the creator's other social media sites. You can see their two posts about it here and here.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Your Mihawk has me weak on my knees so I wanted to request something for him.

S/O has scars on her body, mainly on arms. She does fight but some of them look… too precise. One time after she loses a fight she is really pissed and nervous, she goes to a place alone. There he sees her just giving herself a scar with a knife on her arm. Turns out she was taught scars are signs of losses and if she doesn't get one in battle then afterwards she needs to do it herself. That's why she's so determined to always win. She hates scars.

@patisilence tagging since I'm not sure if you'll get this since I had to save it as a draft to format everything right.

Anyway.

I DID IT I ACTUALLY FINISHED IT

I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG 😭😭

And I honestly really really want to thank you. This is my first ever fic-request, for one.

And also, writing this has been an absolute emotional rollercoaster. I have kind of a personal history with self-harm and I wanted to depict it as realistically as possible. Which resulted in heavy focus on character development, which resulted in this practically turning into a novella. I'm going to split it up into a few chapters to streamline things and link them all in this post.

If I do it right, then the entire thing should already be posted when I post this, but I'm still pretty new to Tumblr so bear with me. Each chapter should be between 3k-4k words.

And ALSO ALSO I've been planning a longer Mihawk X OC fic, and I really hope you don't mind me using this concept for it? Because it honestly ties a lot of things together for me

Soooooo without further ado, here's the whole author note thing.

Your Scars Are Mine

Ch. 1

LA! Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Mentions of Violence, I guess that's it, I'm bad at this

⚠️ MASSIVE ASS TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ : Self-harm, Blood, Implied PTSD

Summary: In the few months that he has known you, Mihawk has noticed the scars on your arm. You've refused to talk about them and skirted around the subject successfully, but a trip to Shells Town throws everything out into the open in a way that neither of you were prepared for.

Ch. 2

Ch.3

You were hiding something.

In the few months that Mihawk had known you, he had come to learn a fair bit about you. He knew, for instance, that you had over the past few years made something of a name for yourself as a sword for hire, typically among pirate crews who required a more discreet touch.

That this reputation of yours had led the Buggy Pirates to hire you to assist in stealing a map of the Grand Line from a Marine base in Shells Town. You had failed to procure the map before it was stolen by other hands, leaving you in their debt. Buggy had sunk your sloop to prevent your escape, and you had gotten stuck working for the ridiculous crew for a brief time, remained stuck with them until the Strawhat upstarts offered you passage with them.

Mihawk knew you had traveled with them as far as Baratie, where you had crossed his own path for the first time at the bar on the ship's deck. Where you had approached him with a bargain—if he left Roronoa Zoro alive after their duel the following morning, you would serve him for a year, an errand girl to send off on whatever menial tasks the World Government assigned him.

"And why would I want a little bird flitting around after me around for an entire year?" Mihawk had asked coolly.

And yet you had made a fair point—acting as a government lapdog was growing old. He had been sent after the vice admiral's grandson, for heavens' sake, as if he had nothing better to do with his time than to handle the old fool's family disputes.

Though the surly pirate warlord wouldn't have dared to dream of admitting it at the time, you had his attention. Your offer of unquestioned devotion, your confident demeanor as you sipped a glass of whiskey and kept your eyes on his without showing an ounce of fear or intimidation. You were certainly an interesting diversion from the otherwise dull task that had been laid before him, and your certainty that he would accept your offer had irritated and intrigued him in near equal measure.

It was intrigue that won out in the end. He had left his challenger clinging to the edge of life and taken you with him on his departure. You stayed toe to toe with him in wit and banter, and that alone would have been more than enough to draw him closer to your charm. He had wanted you before two weeks were out, wanted to claim you as far more than his "errand girl," and it was easy to see from the way you effortlessly returned his subtle flirtations that you wanted the same.

And now you were lying back across his broad chest in the hammock aboard your new sloop, a book open over your chest and his hand resting over your stomach, his other tucked under his neck as he frowned thoughtfully up at the roof of the small ship's cabin, pondering over the whirlwind of events that had led up to this moment.

It had been just over two months since the pirate lord had taken you as his lover, and you had been an open book about most things. Your training under your grandmother. Your setting out on your own from a small island village to find your parents, or some clue of their disappearance. The many and varied pirate crews you had served as a hired hand.

Yet you refused to discuss your scars.

Any seafarer with a history as sordid as your own had their share of battle scars. Mihawk had a fair few of his own; one didn't become the most renowned swordsman in the world without a few losses, after all. Yet your voice turned to clear contempt when yours were mentioned, even in passing, and you tensed like a statue when his hands brushed over them. You were confident to the point of near arrogance, yet you clearly held nothing but shame and contempt for the many marks that marred your delicate skin.

Some of which appeared oddly...uniform, for having been gained in battle.

It was in part—in great measure, honestly—the mystery of you that had drawn him in to begin with, and this was just another mystery that Mihawk intended to unravel.

You closed your book abruptly, stirring him from his thoughts as he glanced down at you. He watched you gaze thoughtfully toward the ceiling for a long moment, your hand resting over his at your stomach, before you finally spoke up.

"Reading a book is just staring at a dead tree and vividly hallucinating."

You tilted your head back, grinning as his mouth turned down in a frown and his brow furrowed at your ridiculous statement. Mihawk sighed wearily, plucking the book from your hands and lightly rapping you over the forehead with it.

"No," he scolded, as you giggled softly. He sighed heavily again, dropping the book over the back of the hammock before pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Are you trying to give me a stroke?"

"No," you said, imitating his scolding tone. You stretched your arms out over your head, arching your back for a moment, before rolling over to lay across his chest and brush your lips to his. "But it's fun seeing the look on your face."

"You irritate my very soul, little one," he said, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"And I enjoy every second of it," you countered, grinning as you laid your forehead against his.

"I can tell."

Your grin managed to draw a small smile from him, before he lifted a hand into your hair and pulled you down into a slow, deep kiss. Your fingertips came to rest at his broad shoulders, the hammock swaying slowly in the steady ocean waves carrying the ship along. He knew as well as you did that he wasn't honestly irritated—your strange sense of humor had grown on him, as starkly as it contrasted to his dry sarcasm, and he rarely had the pleasure of meeting anyone as adept at keeping up with his own banter.

You lay your cheek at his shoulder when your lips parted, your eyes slipping shut and your contented sigh tickling against his neck.

"If the wind holds steady it will be a few hours before we make port," you said, your voice low and soft. "I suggest we don't move from here in the meantime."

"I'm not sure I've ever heard a finer suggestion."

Mihawk pulled one of your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. He pulled his hat down over his eyes to block out the sun pouring through the windows of the small cabin, tucked his hand back behind his neck again, and shifted beneath you to get comfortable as he closed his eyes. His arm remained curled around your waist, his hand slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt so his thumb could rub slow circles over your soft skin as you both drifted off toward the peaceful recess of sleep.

The first thing that struck Mihawk when he woke was that you weren't in his arms.

Every day and night for nearly two months, he had fallen asleep and woken with you against him, and the absence of your warmth jarred him instantly awake and aware. His eyes scanned around his surroundings as he sat up, taking in where he was—the small cabin of the sloop he had recently bought you as a replacement for the one Buggy's crew had sunk.

His sharp yellow eyes darted toward the door, taking in the sound of unfamiliar, muffled voices outside the cabin.

He was standing in an instant, straightening his hat and pulling Yoru onto his back as he slipped silently through the door and onto the small deck of the sloop.

There was another sloop tethered to yours.

A pair of no-name pirates holding you against the bow ny your arms, their captain pressing the barrel of his pistol to your forehead as they bickered.

"There has to be something on board."

"We could just take her. Looks like she's probably a feisty little thing."

"Still have to check the cabins. Could be—"

Mihawk cleared his throat.

The trio turned their heads in almost comedic synchrony, their jaws dropping at the mere sight of him leaning against the door of the cabin. Mihawk's eyes flickered from them to you, and you averted your eyes, clearly ashamed to be seen in such a compromising situation.

So he shifted his gaze back to the opposing pirates, his eyes flickering between each of them.

"You will remove your hands from the girl or I will gladly remove them for you," he said levelly, lifting his eyebrows.

They quickly let go of your arms, and stepped away when he moved forward to wrap a hand around your wrist and pull you to him. He curled his arm around your waist, lowering his head over yours for a moment and murmuring quietly, "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head no quickly, your jaw set at a rigid angle as you turned your gaze down to your feet, your shoulders tense. He pressed a light kiss to your temple for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to the trio that had dared board your ship, his eyes narrowing in an unspoken threat.

"Go." They remained frozen, glancing between each other. "Now."

They scrambled back over to their ship immediately, severing the ropes that were tethering it to yours. Mihawk kept his arm around you, but his eyes remained trained onto the opposing sloop as it drifted away on the wind, debating on just drawing his sword and splitting it in half on the spot.

He turned his attention back down to you when you began to pull away from him. He pulled you in close again, frowning. It wasn't at all like you to be bested by a few no-names, and it was clear that you weren't taking it very well.

"Tell me what happened," he said finally.

"I woke up," you said curtly. "Thought I'd check the charts and see how far we were from Shells Town. They were already on the deck. Seemed to think this was a small merchant vessel since there's no flag. I'd left my knives in the cabin and I was still half asleep when I came out here. By the time I registered what was going on, one of them had a pistol to my head."

You really weren't making a very good case for him to not sink their boat. He cut his eyes briefly toward the sloop before looking back down at you, your face shadowed by your hair as you stared down at the deck floor.

"Their captain started questioning me about cargo," you continued. "Told them there wasn't anything valuable on board. They were discussing taking me as compensation." You sighed heavily. "And that's when you chose to enter stage left and take approximately twenty years off the end of their lives."

He rolled his eyes the slightest bit at your quip. "I would have taken a great deal more than that had they hurt you."

"Well, they didn't," you replied, your voice still curt. Mihawk lifted an eyebrow. "And it's perhaps best not to go splitting any boats in half a stone's throw away from a naval base," you added, nodding back toward the bow of the vessel.

Mihawk gave a quick glance as well. He had been too focused on the fiasco he had just awoken to to notice that Shells Town was visible on the horizon now. It wasn't as if the Marines could do much about it if he did sink the sloop, but you were right—it would still be more of a hassle than it was worth. He sighed, shaking his head a little, and curled a hand under your chin to lift your gaze to his. You still kept your eyes averted, your jaw set. He hadn't seen you lose a fight before—apart from sparring with him while training, but that hardly counted.

You had proven to be quite the fighter when he had decided to test you. You were nowhere near his equal, but you knew precisely how to play to your strengths with your pair of daggers and your throwing knives. Your stature made you difficult to target even in single combat, your movements a graceful dance that toed the line between evasion and power.

Yet one loss—and a rather inconsequential loss, at that—and you were beating yourself up over it quite a great deal more than what constituted normalcy. Mihawk wasn't sure whether to scold you for being dramatic or attempt to comfort you.

"You were caught off guard, little one," he said after a long moment, brushing a thumb across your cheek. "There's no need to be so upset over that."

"I'm not upset, I'm annoyed," you retorted, pursing your lips a little. "Blades or no, I should have been able to take care of those idiots."

"Annoyed, then," he allowed with a small sigh. "And I've no doubt you would have had I not woke. I was simply able to handle it a bit more...subtly."

"Oh, yes, because sauntering out onto the deck with a giant sword and threatening to cut off their hands was so subtle," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you finally rolled your eyes over to his, lifting your eyebrows.

"Don't be a brat," he chided lightly. "We still have at least half an hour before we make port." Mihawk abruptly wrapped his hand around your chin and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss that made you draw in a sharp breath. He parted just as you started to lean into it, resting his forehead against yours. He lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. "I would truly hate to have to spend it punishing you, my little bird."

You quirked an eyebrow, your lips curving in a small, coy smirk. "No you wouldn't."

He gave you a thoughtful frown and a small shrug of his shoulder. "Perhaps not." You let out a small cry of alarm when he stooped down and quickly scooped you up from the deck floor, one arm beneath your knees and his other curled around your back. "I suppose we'll just have to find out."

You chuckled lightly as he carried you to the door of the main cabin, plucking his hat off of his head and placing it on your own as you brushed your lips to his in a soft, teasing manner. Mihawk lifted his eyebrows when you nipped lightly at his bottom lip.

"You're really pushing your luck, my dear," he cautioned.

He lowered you down to the double bed in the cabin, his thumb rubbing small circles at the back of your neck. You lifted yourself onto your elbows, your lips nearly brushing his before he pulled back just far enough to stop you, lightly gripping your hair at the nape of your neck to keep you from sitting up any higher. You gave a small whine of protest, but didn't try to struggle against his grip—you and he both knew there was no point.

"Lie down." His voice remained low and intimate, but there was a subtle command in his tone, in the way his gaze burned into your own. You bit your bottom lip lightly, lowering yourself back down onto the bed fully. A soft, quivering sigh left your lips as he slowly began slipping the buttons down the front of your shirt loose. "Hands over your head. And you don't move them an inch until I tell you you can."

"Mmm..." You hummed thoughtfully, and Mihawk paused in unbuttoning your shirt as you lifted your arms from the bed, holding your hands high above you, straight up in the air. "I think my arms might end up getting tired."

Your lips pursed a little, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, and he lifted an eyebrow at you. "You're certainly in rare form today."

Mihawk wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, shoving your hands down into the plush white comforter over your head, and a couple giggles escaped you before you bit your lip again. It was honestly a bit endearing, how cheeky you were being—and all the moreso, as it appeared you were being so brazen just so he could have his fun with your punishment.

You were enticing him more and more every passing day, beyond the physical desire that had led him to claim you as his a couple months ago. It wasn't a feeling he was particularly accustomed to, nor was he quite sure what to make of it yet. He knew only that when he had seen you held captive against the bow of the boat, an emotion had flashed through him for a moment that he hadn't experienced in years.

For the briefest moment, Dracule Mihawk had felt fear.

He was not ready to contend with the connotations of that.

And he was a bit too busy at the moment, anyway. He let his forehead touch yours, his lips hovering a breath away from your own.

"You don't move your hands," he repeated, tilting his head to just barely graze his lips against your neck, drawing a small moan from your lips, "until I give you permission. Understood?"

"Yes, sir..." you sighed softly, your eyes slipping shut as he kissed down your collarbone, pushing your shirt open. His hand released your wrists and trailed down your arms, down to knead at the soft tissue of your breast through the sheer lace of your bra, feeling your nipple harden against his palm. He tugged the cups down, just a bit too hard given he felt one of them tear in his grasp, but that was a problem for later, not now.

You gasped out when he briefly pulled one of your stiff nipples into his mouth, his grip tightening slightly around your ribcage as you arched your chest toward his swirling tongue. His gaze flicked up to watch you writhe and shudder under his touch, your fingers digging into the bedsheets behind you, your hands searching for anything to keep occupied with.

"Very good," he praised, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes and brushing his lips to your jaw. "You see?" He wrapped his hand around your jaw and lightly pressed his lips to yours. "It's much better when you're a good little bird, isn't it?"

"This—doesn't feel much like a punishment," you commented, gasping softly as he circled the pad of his thumb around your nipple, lightly skimming across it once or twice.

"Yet," he corrected.

And gave you a small, devilish smirk, before lowering his head and biting down on the tender skin at the crook of your neck. Just hard enough to leave behind a small bruise, to draw a sharp cry from your lips and send a shiver through your body.

He straightened out as you heaved a sigh, standing over you. Your eyes remained glued to him while he shrugged away his long coat and tossed it back into a chair behind him, noting how your hands tightened down on the bedsheets again.

"Remember we still have a half an hour before we reach Shells Town." His fingertips curled around the waist of your shorts, the lace of your panties beneath them, and slowly inched them down your hips. "I could spend the entirety of it teasing you." Mihawk noted the movement in your throat as you swallowed in nervous anticipation, your eyes glued to his as he pulled them up the length of your legs and off, flinging them aside. "Making you beg for release but never allowing you the satisfaction."

How beautiful it was that it only took a few words to pull a blush to your cheeks and make your breath hitch. He brushed a light kiss to your calf and pushed your legs apart, rubbing his palms up your inner thighs.

"You're going to have to be on your best behavior if you want more, my sweet little bird." Trailing a single finger up your soft folds, dragging through your slick arousal and across your clit, pulling a small whimper from your lips. "Or would you rather I just torment you?"

You bit your lip, shaking your head quickly, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his fingertips trailing up. It was a struggle for him not to chuckle at you—always just cheeky enough to be amusing, but you knew the pleasure he could give you, were so desperate for it that you folded like a cheap deck of cards under his slightest touch.

Absolutely perfect.

Mihawk moved his hands up from your thighs, curling an arm under your back to lift you up and shift you further back on the bed. Your breathing was ragged with anticipation as he brushed his lips to your stomach, trailing his hands back down to your hips, his lips lower and lower, grazing slowly across the soft skin between your hip bones.

Shifting lower and dragging his tongue slowly up your slit, circling the sensitive bud at the apex, giving a quiet growl of approval as your breathy, shuddering moans filled the small cabin and your hips arched in his hands.

His gaze turned up toward your face, watching you draw closer to falling apart with every passing moment. This was only the beginning, and he still hadn't decided if he was going to give you what you wanted...but the sight of your divine, nearly naked and writhing under his touch with his hat still resting on your head made him just a little weak.

He moved from between your legs before he could get lost in the sight of you and the sweet sounds of your moans, reveling in the agonized whimper that left you as he trailed his mouth back up your stomach.

Across to your ribs, pausing at your breasts to brush his lips and his skilled tongue across your sensitive nipples.

Dragging his tongue up the column of your throat, seizing a fistful of your hair and crushing his lips to yours in a deep, possessive kiss, shoving your hip down onto the mattress to keep you from grinding against him, shifting his hand between your thighs to circle a finger around your tight entrance without pushing in. Your low moans and whines of protest were like music to his ears, your knuckles gone white from the force with which you gripped at the sheets over your head to keep your hands from wandering.

Every slow pass up and down your body brought you closer to the peak of pleasure but never quite there—and brought him closer and closer to caving in and giving it to you. He had to wonder whether you had any idea just how much of a temptation you were to him. It had been years since the pirate lord had allowed any woman to affect him quite as strongly as you had.

How much time had passed couldn't be ascertained for sure when he reached his breaking point—his mouth pressed into the crook of your neck while you moaned and begged desperately in his ear, one of his hands squeezing your breast hard enough to bruise the soft flesh while his other worked his belt buckle open and shoved his pants down his hips in a desperation that rivaled yours.

He shoved your open shirt up your shoulders and arms and flung it away; gripped one of your thighs, pushing your leg up as high as it would go, and the low growl that left his throat as he thrust into you was drowned out by your own cries of abandon. Your hips arched up from the bed to meet his, one of your arms flinging around his neck and your hooking beneath his arm to grip hard at his shoulder.

"I don't recall giving you permission to move," he breathed into your neck. He gritted his teeth as he pushed his hips forward hard, shoving yours back down into the bed as you cried out again, your slick walls tightening around his cock.

"I—I'm sorry, I can't—I can't—please—" You gasped, your head falling back as he moved in you in deep, hard thrusts, your fingernails dragging down his back. "Oh God, please—"

He lifted a hand to grasp at your hair as he crushed his lips to yours, delving his tongue into your mouth and drawing in a deep breath as you moaned desperately into the fierce kiss. The prospect of punishing you, of what the hell he had even been punishing you for was forgotten in this rush of unquenchable lust and desire, of pure carnal need for your body.

He normally hated losing control, but this was on another level entirely. There was no room to hate this, no room for anything but pure pleasure, for getting lost inside you as your walls tightened around his cock, as every muscle in his groin tensed and tightened in anticipation of impending release—

Your lips breaking away from his, your cry of abandon as your climax swept over you pulled him right over the edge with you. He pulled your hip up from the bed to slam into you as he came, gritting his teeth against a low groan, the rhythmic contractions of your tight channel milking him dry. His hips jerked toward yours with each intense wave of pleasure, fingers tangling in your hair as he pressed his lips to your neck, the two of you shuddering and tangled together over the bedsheets.

Mihawk heaved a shuddering sigh into the crook of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair as he brushed his thumb across your temple. Maybe it was the lingering euphoria, but he didn't even think about the next words that left his mouth before he heard them himself.

"God dammit, (Y/N), I love you."

But it was impossible to deny any longer. You really were everything he had never realized he craved. No, it wasn't just the euphoria in the moment—it was that brief flash of fear earlier at the thought of you being hurt, at the thought of losing you. The utter fury at the morons who had briefly held you captive. How perfectly you balanced and complemented his desires.

He felt as much as heard you draw in a small gasp beneath him. "Y—you—wh—?"

"You heard me," Mihawk interrupted your quiet, almost cautious stammering, murmuring against your neck. He brushed his lips against one of the small, round bruises he had left on the soft skin, and said it again, quietly, "I love you."

You were quiet for a long moment, but he wasn't concerned, still trailing kisses up the side of your neck. He had seen it in your eyes before now, heard it in the softness of your voice when you lay against him, your fingers in his hair and your lips brushing his.

Several seconds passed, before you turned your head slowly and pressed your lips to his, tentatively at first, and then deepening the slow kiss with a soft sigh. He shifted onto his side, tugging you to him by your hip. Your forehead came to rest against his as your lips drifted apart, still barely a breath away, your eyes closed, your voice a quiet whisper.

"I...love you."

(Ch. 2)

[star1ight0]

Shouta Aizawa x Reader "Room for one more" PLATONIC

Tw for runaway/kicked out, abuse and sh(sorta)

Quirk: garden: allows you to manipulate and grow plants

Request are open

You had attended UA high for some time now and had made it into class 1-A you were lucky to be there considering how against your parents were. However the only reason you are able to attend was under the Principal Nezu's offer to have the school assist money wise. Your parents hated heroes and the idea of their kid being one disgusted them. You made it a point to mention as little school at home to avoid confrontation. But being that you enrolled late you had some paperwork to do.

You had asked for more time to get it filled out as it seemed impossible to talk to your parents together about the matter. However this was already 3 months into the school year, and you could tell both Aizawa and Nezu were tired of your excuses.

Aizawa made an effort early in the year to show as little care as possible to his students, and this was further proven by how strict he was and how careless he seemed to act towards all of 1-A. This was quickly disproven when he seemed to sacrifice himself for the class as a whole.

That being said you were the only enrolled student without everything completed, so he made it clear he'd have you removed from the class.

When you got home your mom was at work and your father seemed to be in a good mood so you pulled out the paper work from you bag and sat at the table with your dad.

"Can you um.. help me fill these out please dad. It has a bunch of questions about family health history and I also need your signature on some."

"Why? I thought you'd be smart enough to do this shit since you seem to be too good for this family we've done enough just allowing you to go to that god forsaken school."

After some back and forth it seemed to escalate and it only worsened once your mother got home. It went from paperwork to how horrible of a child you were.

"Sense you are too good for this family maybe you should just leave. "

Everything seemed to go downhill from there. You tried to reason with her and convince her to just let you say but it only seemed to make her want you in the house even less. Finally you tried to reason with them one more time ultimately getting yourself a hit to the face from your dad. Ending with him giving you till the end of the night to leave the house.

What were you even supposed to do? You had a bag with a few clothes and not much money. Most of your extended family lived on the opposite side of Japan so there was no way you could get there nor stay there for more than a few days.

There was absolutely no way in hell you could tell any of your UA friends you parents just kicked you out over hero school paper work. So you had little to no options.

A few hours passed and you were out wandering the streets and you decided it'd be best to just go back to the school and find somewhere to crash for the night. Halfway to the school it started raining and it was well past midnight and you still had nowhere to go. You sat in a nearby coffee shop soaked and used some of the money left on your card. You scrolled through your phone trying to think of someone to call when your eyes landed on your homeroom teacher's number. It was a bad idea right?

He probably wouldn't answer anyways, but what other choice did you have? The phone rang 3 times and just as you were about to give up the line picked up

It's 2 in the morning you better be dying or calling on accident kid.

No unfortunately, I um- do you - um..

Spit it out kid I'm tired and UA doesn't pay me nearly enough

Yeah no sorry um.. is the school open?

No why the hell would it be open. Why are you even calling?

Um..

You feel a knot in your throat and your mind went completely blank

Are you okay kid? Where the hell are you

Um a coffee show a few blocks from the school. I- don't -

You can feel breaking down completely on the phone and your brain forming incoherent sentences.

Just stay there. Don't move. I'll be there in like.. 8 minutes.

After some time past Aizawa showed up and the first few minutes were just him trying to get you to calm down without saying anything that could possibly make you shut down completely. After you were completely calm and got you in the car.

If you tell me why you're out at 2am and what the hell and who the hell happened to your face. . I'll let you sleep on the couch.

You placed your hands on your lap and summoned small vines with thorns around your hands and then they all disappeared and you could feel Aizawa looking at you canceling it out. "None of that. Okay? Just talk about it. Please kid, you gotta give me something to work with before I let you crash on my couch"

You looked over at him pulled out the blank paper work "They don't like heros. They only let me go because. . Nezu offered to pay for most of it. I asked for them to help and.. it all escalated so quickly. Next thing I knew : hit to the face from my dad and my mom telling me to get out."

He looked to you with a feeling you couldn't quite understand, was it anger? Was he angry at you for this, your mind began to race and you felt yourself closing off again and feel your chest pound.

"you'll stay at my apartment, for now at least. You won't be going back home for a while"

As you went to protest the idea he shut it down quickly saying it was no trouble and reassuring you on the matter as a whole.

Sorry I haven't been posting I'm busy and stressed

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Lady - 6

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Eddie Horniman x Female Reader

Summary: After fifteen years away, a step-daughter returns for her Duke step-father's funeral, only to inherit a staggering 8 million pound debt and strike a risky deal with a criminal underworld figure.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3 , Chap 4 , Chap 5 , Chap 6 , Chap 7.

I'd really appreciate it if anyone who likes this series could leave a comment or reblog with a GIF.

Could you let me know what your thoughts are? Reblogs and comments are the main things that keep me posting new stories. ❤️❤️❤️

You shot a glare at Bucky, who only chuckled in response.

Linking his arm with yours, Bucky suggested, "Let's go meet them together."

Rosie was taken aback when she spotted Bucky.

"I woke up today and still don't see the other half, Princess," Bucky quipped.

Maintaining her composure, Rosie replied, "You're too impatient. My assistant just delivered it to your club."

"Ooh, then I hope you like the service," Bucky retorted with a smirk.

"Impeccable," Rosie replied smoothly, before turning her gaze to you. She tilted her head slightly and added, "I always sensed that you're an adventurous person. I admire your work. I felt comfortable when I found out you're part of this."

You hadn't expected such a compliment from her. While you had met Rosie a few times before, you always felt a sense of superiority from her.

Surrounded by Eddie and Freddie, you never felt out of place. But when Rosie, with her royal blood as a princess, joined the group, the dynamic shifted, and the boys seemed to adopt a more regal demeanor.

Despite your ability to keep up with them, there were times during the summer when you preferred to retreat to Rupert's empty mansion.

You leaned in closer to Rosie and whispered, "Why did you do it?"

Rosie leaned in, her voice barely audible as she replied, "That man doesn't fit to be the future King. It wasn't me who wants him dead. I only lent a hand."

As Rosie spoke, you realized that the relationships within the royal family were even more intricate than you had imagined.

"Some people like your work," Rosie continued. "And I think you will get another client."

Bucky puffed out his chest proudly upon hearing this, nudging your shoulder. "You hear that? Encore."

However, you didn't share Bucky's excitement. While the client may have admired your work, you couldn't find any pride in the situation.

Excusing yourself, you stated, "I need to see my mom and Charlotte."

Once you were at a distance, you pulled out your phone and dialed the family lawyer, Cedric. "Cedric, we need to meet."

#########

Back at the Evergreen Estate.

Cedric informed you, "The debt you have to pay is 3 million." You requested him to find out everything about the debt, unwilling to rely solely on Bucky, as you suspected he wasn't giving you the complete picture.

Lighting a cigar, you took a few puffs in silence as Cedric continued. "The first 4 million already got paid with the building that Bucky used as his club."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That place used to be Rupert's?" Bucky's mention of Rupert profiting suddenly made sense.

Cedric confirmed with a nod. "With 5 jobs done with Barnes, you have completed 2. That means only 3 are left."

Leaning back in your leather chair, you tapped your fingers thoughtfully. "I don't want to finish the rest. I'll just give him the money. But I also don't want to use the money from savings."

Understanding your dilemma, Cedric pondered briefly before suggesting, "Selling the assets will take a while since the deadline to pay the debts is near. What about selling an artwork?"

His suggestion lightened your burden slightly. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, you inquired, "What artwork does Rupert have?"

Cedric's response was impressive. "One of a kind. One original artworks by DaVinci, Monet, and Van Gogh. One painting is worth more than 1 million pounds."

You nodded in agreement. "Good. Sell those. But will the transaction be quick?"

Confidently, Cedric nodded. "I know some people."

"Then, get all you need. You can have 10% from each artwork," you decided, showing trust in his abilities.

Cedric hesitated, "Your Grace, are you sure you want to let go of the paintings?"

You shrugged, unaffected. "I do explosions for a living, Cedric. I don't have the sentiment to admire a painting."

With a bow of his head, Cedric accepted your decision and left.

As you watched him depart, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders. At least tonight, you could block any calls from Bucky.

##########

For two days, you relished in the tranquility of the countryside, finally having the chance to appreciate the simple joys of life. Breakfast with tea, a luxury you never had time for in your military days, now became a cherished routine as the head of the household.

But your peace was shattered when your mother, Susan, entered with a gloomy expression. “I saw some paintings taken down from the wall. Do you know the reason why, my dear?”

You remained focused on your newspaper, not bothering to look up. “I sold them.”

Susan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What? Why would you do that? Those masterpieces have adorned this house for years.”

Without lifting your gaze, you replied curtly, “So you’re more concerned about the paintings than paying off our debt?”

A heavy silence filled the room.

Flipping the newspaper page, you continued, “I’m the head of this household now, and I have full rights to do as I please, Mother. I refuse to be burdened by debts while you stand idly by.”

You added, a hint of frustration in your tone, “It’s better to sell the paintings than to risk losing the house, don’t you think?”

Susan gasped, taken aback by your audacity. She turned on her heels and stormed out of the room.

The tension lingered in the air, but you remained resolute in your decision, knowing it was necessary for your family's survival.

While the butler of the house remained stoic, devoid of any emotion like you, he asked, “Do you want a cup of coffee, Your Grace?”

You replied, “Yes, please. That would be great.”

The bitterness of the coffee offered a temporary escape from the turmoil caused by your childish mother.

But it seemed the universe had other plans, denying you the chance to find peace. You heard a familiar voice, the harbinger of your nightmares. “Make it two, please.”

Bucky entered with his usual high energy, greeting, “Good morning.”

Without awaiting your permission, he took a seat beside you. “So, last night someone came to my club and brought a briefcase with 3 million pounds inside. It's to pay off Rupert’s debt.”

You took a sip of the coffee. “Yes, that means our association has ended.”

Bucky's expression softened. “First of all, thank you for settling the debt on time. But it pains me to lose a friend.”

You retorted, “Find another one.”

Bucky sighed. “Don't want to. You're one of a kind.”

You acknowledged his compliment but remained firm. “I appreciate your words, but I have no desire to utilize my expertise in such a manner again.”

Bucky nodded understandingly. “Alright, I understand. But I don't want our friendship to end. And we're also business partners.”

He raised his coffee cup, proposing a toast. “To our new beginning.”

You pushed aside your coffee cup, the porcelain clinking against the saucer, echoing the heavy tension in the room. Every visit from Bucky seemed to herald trouble, and today was no exception. "Every time you come here, you bring bad news."

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, but there was an underlying tension in his posture, a sense of unease that matched your own. "Not this time," he insisted, but his words did little to assuage the growing apprehension in the air.

"Hmm." Your response was clipped, your mind already racing with dread-filled possibilities.

'Ring.' It was Eddie.

The sudden intrusion of the ringing phone shattered the fragile calm, jolting you and Bucky out of your uneasy silence. You answered, your hand trembling ever so slightly. "Hello?"

"I've got bad news."

The words from Eddie on the other end of the line felt like a confirmation of your worst fears. The room seemed to constrict around you, the air growing heavy with tension.

"What is it?" Your voice wavered slightly, betraying the anxiety that clenched at your chest.

"Charles. He got into a problem with the wrong people."

Your heart sank. The implications of Eddie's words hit you like a physical blow, sending a shiver of fear down your spine.

"How bad is it?" You struggled to maintain composure, but the panic threatened to overwhelm you.

"He's tangled up with a cocaine syndicate."

"Oh no." The words escaped your lips in a hushed whisper, laden with fear and dread.

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Author Note: Hey friends,

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Only if you feel like it!

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[starsandhughes]

Penalty Box— Quinn Hughes Edition (Fourteen)

23-24 Season Masterlist

previous: thirteen

next: fifteen

i'm desperately trying to catch up i’m so sorry

NOVEMBER 16, 2023

yourusername

liked by trevorzegras, _quinnhughes, and 20,566 others

yourusername welcome back to my postgame penalty box update show: quinn finally did me a solid edition!

the first notable thing to happen in this game occurred at 7:05 in the first period— ‼️QUINN GOT A TRIPPING PENALTY‼️the second picture shows him pouting, probably because he knew i was going to be elated over this and he hates to see me happy

AND THEN a flame (ruzicka) tripped petey, which created a 4 on 4 for 1 minute and 17 seconds. nobody scored on the 4 on 4, but guess who did once quinn got out on parole? PETEY! THAT'S WHO! and milsy assisted on it! oh yeah! and quinn did, too! (his 21st assist ;))

this has made quinn have the third most career assists for a defenseman in their first 300 games! did i forget to mention that this was his 300th game? because it was!

onto the second period! quinn got hit and he fell down and hronek tried to throw hands in his honor but neither him nor the flame (pospisil) really succeeded in that, but they both got two for roughing anyways (i’d call it aggressive hugging but whatever works i guess)

then quinny baby let some agression out and slashed coleman (a flame) after he was interfered with while facing him, knocking the stick out of his hands! that's my big brother! don't take that shit! they both got a penalty, quinn's being his second (i cheered) and we had ourselves a 3 on 3 that trickled into the third!

sadly, the universe only liked me a little bit. while i was elated by quinn getting two penalties, it was a hard nuck life tonight (get it?) and we lost 5-2 :(

anyways! congratulations on having played 300 nhl games, huggy buggy! i love you way past infinity🩵

tagged _quinnhughes

view all 204 comments

_quinnhughes (i get it) (you're not funny) i love you way past beyond, sissy!

yourusername okay rude

jackhughes @_quinnhughes i agree

yourusername @/jackhughes i repeat: RUDE

trevorzegras @/yourusername i think you're hilarious and my opinion is worth more than theirs

yourusername @/trevorzegras awww i can't wait to be contractually obligated to love you always <3

trevorzegras @/yourusername i already love you forever

jackhughes @/trevorzegras @/yourusername your love is ruining the vibes

yourusername @/jackhughes i will stab you

jackhughes @/yourusername you're across the country

yourusername @/jackhughes i have my ways

lhughes_06 @_quinnhughes rack up those penalty minutes, bro! so proud!

_quinnhughes @/lhughes_06 you've been talking to sissy too much

lhughes_06 @_quinnhughes no, jack's been talking to sissy too much. i’ve just had the displeasure of being around for it

yourusername @/lhughes_06 you came home from practice the other day and stole his phone to talk to me?????

lhughes_06 @/yourusername don't gaslight our brother like that

jackhughes @/lhughes_06 you actually did that though?

lhughes_06 @_quinnhughes don't listen to them. the twins are conspiring against me.

_quinnhughes @/lhughes_06 i think you're the one that's conspiring against me

lhughes_06 @_quinnhughes your sissy favoritism is showing, quintin

yourusername @/lhughes_06 suck it <3

user24 THE SCARED AND HIGH PICS ARE BACK! THE UNIVERSE IS BALANCED!

user6 you've heard of mr. 305, now get ready for mr. 300

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes she tried to count your total time on ice for all three hundred games

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras did she implode?

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes i don't know but she was going through a lot

yourusername @_quinnhughes i quit when i got to over three days because i noticed i made a mistake and didn't know if made other ones so i didn't want to be wrong and then i cried

_quinnhughes @/yourusername you tried so hard! i appreciate it and i’m proud of you!

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes she is now under my shirt

user79 oh my god quinn's pout is so babygirl😭

_eliaspettersson i’d like more praise

yourusername who do you think you are? the queen?

_eliaspettersson you call me your blonde king

yourusername irrelevant.

_eliaspettersson extremely relevant.

yourusername i love you, you're doing amazing sweetie, now go away

_eliaspettersson i love you, too!

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras is she seething?

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes no but she's got the cutest grumpy pout on her face

yourusername @/trevorzegras 2 minute penalty for making me more grumpy. go sit in the bathtub.

user90 flipping my shit over "huggy buggy" that's so heckin cute🥹

colecaufield 300 games just like that, huh? i could've sworn we just played against the michigan wolverines last week! congrats, bud! @_quinnhughes

yourusername ah yes, the first and only time i wore my "i just hope everyone has fun" shirt

jackhughes and then i burned it!

colecaufield @/jackhughes you just threw it in the lake

jackhughes @/colecaufield you couldn't have let me have my moment?

yourusername @/jackhughes he's on team sissy! translation: fuck you😌🤍

jackhughes @/yourusername when was the last time you were nice to me?

yourusername @/jackhughes i sent you a "sorry you're dying" gift box november 5th and you got it on the 10th and umm... WE HAVE FACETIMED EVERY DAY FOR TWO WEEKS

jackhughes @/yourusername you're so obsessed with me

yourusername @/jackhughes i will send you a glitter bomb

colecaufield @/yourusername DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!

jackhughes @/colecaufield you're so unhelpful

colecaufield @/jackhughes <3

_quinnhughes @/colecaufield i'm ignoring all of that to say thank you

_quinnhughes @/yourusername @/jackhughes this is about me so i’m going to need you two to stop

yourusername @_quinnhughes mmf

jackhughes @_quinnhughes what she said

lhughes_06 @_quinnhughes i’d take them agreeing as a win

_quinnhughes @/lhughes_06 i am don't worry

user82 he has more than one expression now! he's growing!

user64 canucks lost but sissy won! so that cancels out the loss! pemdas!

_alexturcotte remember when you used to root for the flames? what a time that was

yourusername i was rooting for MATTY! there's a difference

lhughes_06 @_alexturcotte you didn't have to experience the mess that she was the entire flames vs stars playoff series with her. it was not "a time." it was hell.

jackhughes oh my god that was a nightmare

_quinnhughes i still get nightmares

trevorzegras i get war flashbacks every time the stars play against the flames

jamie.drysdale i only experienced this through facetimes and not even that was fun

colecaufield @_alexturcotte sounds like we lucked out

_alexturcotte @/lhughes_06 @/jackhughes @_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras @.jamie.drysdale i’m sorry about your lives

yourusername LISTEN I HAD SO MANY MIXED EMOTIONS OKAY?! I LOVE MATTY BUT I LOVE THE STARS! IT WAS TRAUMATIC

jackhughes @/yourusername and you traumatized us!

yourusername @/jackhughes for solidarity!

lhughes_06 @/yourusername what if we didn't want solidarity? did you ever think about our wants?

yourusername @/lhughes_06 not even once

user29 everybody say it with me: FUCK THE FLAMES

liked by yourusername

jackhughes it's a hard nuck life for us

yourusername it's a hard nuck life for us! instead of winning, we get whipped

jackhughes instead of cheers, we cause tears

yourusername it's a hard nuck life!

_quinnhughes @/yourusername @/jackhughes i'm so done with both of you

trevorzegras HA

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras i’m done with you, too

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes that's not new

yourusername @_quinnhughes we love youuuuu

jackhughes @_quinnhughes sooooo much!

_quinnhughes @/yourusername @/jackhughes "mmf" -sissy

[fanaticsnail]

Daughter of the Sea: Chapter 1

Masterlist Here, Header Masterlist Here

Word Count: 4,500+

Synopsis: As personal assistant to the newly titled ‘world's greatest swordsman,’ you were privy to the acquaintances your boss kept. Over the years, a young redheaded man continued to visit Kuraigana sporadically over time with his crew. But this trip felt different, something felt off. What were they hiding? And why did the entire crew all look exhausted?

Notes: Benn Beckman x f!reader, platonic!Mihawk x f!reader, platonic!Shanks x f!reader, slight mention of MiShanks ship, Beginning: Shanks is 19, Mihawk is 23, Beckman is 30, f!reader is 22, Uta is 2 months old for the sake of the plot (canonically she's 2 years old). The f!reader is suggested to be native to Kuraigana with her mannerisms and language.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @since-im-already-here @mfreedomstuff @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @indydonuts

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

A deep sigh fell from the parted lips of the dark-haired Kuraigana native as you handed him his cup of scolding black coffee. He twitched his lip up in gratitude as he removed the ceramic dish from the saucer. 

“Thank you, dear,” the cool baritone of his voice expressed his gratitude to you. 

“You're most welcome, lord Dracule,” you nodded a small confirmation, placing down the saucer in front of him and beginning to ready the itinerary over your catalogical journal. 

“My dear,” he winced out after taking a quick gulp of coffee, “There really is no need for that title coming from you. We were friends before all this, remember?”

“It's a little too early in the morning for jokes, sir,” you retorted with a soft smirk, “If my memory serves correct, we were enemies first.”

He hummed with a soft smile, glaring at you as you returned to focus on the pages you dictated earlier. You clicked your tongue, noticing a peculiarity in the timetable. 

“Something the matter? Something come true of your small espionage, spymistress?” Mihawk queried with his brow arched. He attempted to not pay you heed to the disdain written on your face at your earlier title, but did enjoy the twitch in your shoulders and snarl draw up on your lips. 

“I work for you now, sir,” you scorn him with your monotonous recoil, eyes rolling, “And, if you must know, I received a transponder message earlier from the red-hair pirates. They requested passage and resupply at our port, but-...” you drew off, approaching Mihawk’s side once more, “...-I don't understand what this says.”

Mihawk looked on with intrigue, cocking his head to decipher his old associate's handwriting. 

“Did the first-mate send you a follow up, or was that all?” Mihawk asked, twitching his eyes up to meet your confused expression, “It doesn't quite make sense.”

“Haven't needen sleepens an’ booze like this b’fore,” you read aloud, attempting to decipher the world's audibly, “Perhaps it’s a drunken confession like last time?”

“Perhaps, but Beckman usually sends a follow-up to Shanks’ messages to belay it, or decipher it,” Mihawk nodded, drawing his hand down to reclaim the coffee cup and raise it to his lips, “When they arrive here, do what you do best.”

“Aye, sir,” your practiced response had another soft smile painted itself on Mihawk's lips, “I'll seek out what they're hiding, consider my words marked.”

“That's my pretty spymistress,” he narrowed his eyes, his lips tight and taunting. 

“Not your spymistress, sir,” you retorted, turning on your boot heel and calling over your head, “Your secretary.”

Waiting at port, the familiar jolly roger drew over the gloomy horizon line at the port of Kuraigana. The sea breeze whipped through your restrained hair, your formal uniform floating in the wind as the Red Force docked at port. 

The merriment you had come to expect was not the one that welcomed you. The crew were more disheveled than usual, their attire worn and unchanged, the straw hat atop the young captain's head splitting and fraying - but Shanks' smile never faltered. In fact, the whole crew seemed to be brimming with joy. 

“Oi, eyes on the starboard bow! Mihawk's hot secretary coming out to meet us at the docks!” Shanks' booming call drew a loud cheer from the crew aboard the ship, prompting you to shake your head at his welcome introduction. 

“Captain,” you uttered with a curt nod, watching as his boyish charm carried his overemphatic steps towards you. Upon stepping closer and meeting your gaze, he immediately opened his arms and snuck them beneath your own. 

“I missed you, pretty lady,” he uttered, raising you off your feet and twirling you in place. Shock swelled at your eyes at his glee, you only having a moment to react to the spin by hastily perching your hands over his shoulders and holding him firmly. 

“Enough, Shanks,” you tapped his left shoulder, “Put me down and help me decipher your-...” your sentence was lost to you when you saw the sunken hazelnut eyes of the redhead captain. 

You snapped your eyes over to meet with several other members of the crew: all with the same sunken eyes and jolly smiles. 

“My what, pretty lady? Hm?” Shanks smiled a wolfy grin, all teeth and charm, “Decipher what?” You took a moment to reassess the situation as Shanks planted your feet back onto the wooden dock. 

Glancing at the crew, you ensured you took your time studying them all, noticing a single member missing. 

“Your competent first mate,” you mentioned, attempting to pry yourself from the teenage captain, “Where is he?” Shanks' smile deflated into a soft pout, grasping his wrist behind your back and holding your body firmly against his chest in a vice-like grip. 

“Your first thoughts after all that is big ol’ burly Beckman?” his pout intensified, “Are you really not going to say hello properly? Not even for old time's sake?” 

Rolling your eyes, you grant the redhead a small peck on his cheek. A gleeful laugh exhales through his cherry-red lips as he finally releases you from his embrace. 

“Okay, take me up to see the world's greatest swordsman,” he ordered you, turning you and circling your right arm with his left, “I have some news you're not going to believe.”

“If it's got anything to do with ‘Haven't needen sleepens an’ booze like this b’fore’,” you mocked his incoherent message in a deep voice, “I'm all ears.”

Shanks’ laughter echoed all the way towards the Kuraigana highkeep. His complimenting words to your appearance, and abilities to prepare for them a place to stay, had your small smile growing wide, but eyes remaining narrowed and cautious. Each time you would attempt to peel your eyes away from the young man, he would call your attention back to him by offering you more praise and distraction. 

As the shadow of the new lord of Kuraigana cast the two of you within his gloomy silhouette, you were get to get a single glance to the crew behind you. 

“Red-Hair,” Mihawk uttered, crossing his arms with a subtle glare. 

“Gloomy prick,” Shanks laughed affectionately, releasing you from his arm and extending his right hand outwards to clasp around his former rivals’.

As Shanks finally became distracted, you stole a moment to reassess all of the red-hair crew. All crew was accounted for: Hongo seeming to guard the turned figure of Benn Beckman with a glance over the tall man’s shoulder. 

“I have to show you my latest find, Hawk-Eyes,” Shanks sighed, placing his left hand on Mihawk's right shoulder, “You're not gonna believe it.”

“I care not for your trinkets, I have enough wealth of my own,” Mihawk retorted. Shanks smiled broadly, but you were too distracted by the dark-haired first-mate's cloak shrouding his shoulder. 

They were hiding something far greater than meager treasure, this you were certain of. The subtle bounce of Beckman's hips and sway of his shoulders intrigued you, as did the soft baritone melody he was humming through his nose. What perplexed you the most was not the unusual mannerisms he was displaying, but rather what he was not. 

Beckman was not smoking a cigarette. 

Your eyes never left Beckman's back, your gaze unblinking and intense. This did not escape the notice of Mihawk, who darted his honey-coloured eyes behind Shanks to see your gaze locked on the first-mate. 

“What have you got hidden over there, Benn?” Mihawk’s purred taunt cut through the air like Yoru into the wooden hull of a fleet of ships. 

Silence. Uncomfortable silence. A silence so tense you could audibly hear the muffled grind of several sets of teeth behind tight lips. 

Until the silence was broken with a soft sound that grew louder and louder. Whimpers, grizzles and finally a lengthy whine that immediately swelled into a loud cry drew you all in immediately. 

“Wh-What have you-...” Mihawk's words were lost to him as Beckman turned. His eyes were glassy as his sockets lay bruised and sunken against his face. The look of absolute sleep depravity was written on his face, exhaustion and exasperation in every step. 

Within his arms lay a small form, topped with pale pearl and dark ruby hair split right down the middle. Their face was contorted as they squealed out a shrill cry. Within Beckman's large arms lay-.

“-A baby!” you exclaimed in absolute glee. Your breathy sigh only has your smile raise further against your lips as you swoop towards Benn Beckman, “You have a baby!” All air of caution blew away with the wind as you reached the first mate, pressing your hand against his forearm as you glanced at the child in his arms. 

The child was dressed in pastel pink with white frills, their body revealed as they struggled to remain contained in a soft swaddle. 

“A little girl?” you asked him. Beckman nodded, sighing out a soft, “Yes.” You looked down in awe at the infant, her eyes scrunched tightly shut as she continued to wail. 

“May I hold her?” you asked him, eyes filled with excitement. It had been so long since you had the pleasure of entertaining new life and soothing their cries. Beckman was so exhausted, all he could do was nod in response. You down turned your lip in an empathetic smile, your eyes softening as he handed over the small child. 

“Oh, come to aunty, sweet pea,” you cooed at her, immediately beginning to walk with her in your arms in a pacing fashion, “Such a pretty girl! Oh, you are gorgeous.” Beckman's eyes never left you, watching you as your stoic face melted as soon as the baby was passed to you. 

The child continued to wail, her legs scrunching up to her chest and growling out in discomfort. Your questions flew out of your mouth faster than you could halt them. 

“When was the last time she was fed? Has she had a bottle? She is far too young for solids, what have you been feeding her?” The first mate’s head was spinning from the rapidity of your line of questioning, but it was a welcome change to the cries he had been dealing with for the past few hours, “Has she been changed? Is it her nap time? Has she got colic? When was the last time she was bathed? Where is she at in her daily routine? What is her name-?”

“-Her name is Uta,” Shanks’ voice softly called to you, breaking you out of your rapid-fire questions, “She's been having milk from a bladder every two to three hours, last time was about fifteen minutes ago, wasn't it big man?”

“Aye, Captain,” Beckman confirmed with a curt nod, “Changed her soon thereafter.”

“She'll be due for a nap in a minute, probably why she's gotten so grumpy,” Shanks laughed heartily, clapping his hand over Mihawk's shoulder, “Just like you, hey?” Mihawk remained silent, eyeing the child in your arms with caution. 

“Uta,” you fawned down at the infant, gently placing her chest over your shoulder left and supporting her neck with your right hand, “Oh, little song. Such a beautiful name!” 

The child stirred within your arms as you walked away from the red-hair crew and towards the high-keep. Mihawk glared at you cautiously as you smiled up at him, gently rocking the child and now patting her back. A large, guttural sound emitted from Uta’s lips, her legs softly falling away from their scrunched position in relief to the stomach pressure. 

“Oh, Uta. I bet that feels better,” you giggled at the child, walking past Mihawk towards the keep, “Clever girl. Come with aunty, let's get to work while your uncles and daddy rest, hm?”

“Just where do you think you're going, dear?” Mihawk’s disinterested tone called over to you. You halted in your steps, turning to face the large crowd of pirates. You glared down at your boss, pursing your lips as the large pack stared up at you. 

“Us ladies are going to tend to my duties for the day, and get to know each other better. Girl time,” you inform them with a stirn voice, “And you all are going to make yourselves comfortable in guest quarters and rest up. Is that understood?”

Nods frantically bobbed in affirmation amongst the Red-Hair pirates, but a firm cross of arms and scowl almost had you halt your plans. 

“Under whose authority?” Mihawk spat at you. Shanks widened his eyes in shock Mihawk's sudden animosity. You sighed, huffing out a breath while continuing to pat the child. 

“My lord Mihawk, self-made man of myth and legend,” you bowed, supporting Uta's neck as you did so, “World's Greatest Swordsman and ruler of high-keep Kuraigana. Master of the blade, keeper of secrets, loyal confidant and expert-.”

“-Alright, fine,” Mihawk caved, a small blush almost peeking through his pale complexion, “You may stay for a night to restock and rest.”

“A week would be better, sir,” you continued to hold your head low, refusing to look up until he allowed himself to be swayed by your words. It didn't take too long, uttering a curt, “A week, and you will all clean up after yourselves, am I clear?” as he did so. 

The red-hairs all uttered an “Aye, sir,” in unison, the relief adamant in their voices. 

Rising from your low stoop, you smiled at your boss first before looking at Beckman. His eyes lay half-lidded, his lips down turning only slightly as his expression remained unreadable. The man was past the point of exhaustion, you deduced from your hasty assessment. 

“Alright, do we have a changing bag, or shall I send for supplies immediately?” you asked Shanks, who grabbed at the scruff of his neck with a sheepish grin. 

“We're fresh out, unfortunately,” Shanks confessed. Beckman sighed, shaking his head at his captain’s quick response and adding one of his own. 

“We have two fresh clouts and some strips of fabric,” Beckman relayed to you, “Unfortunately, all her clothes are soiled and they'll be needin’ a good wash.” He made his way up the hill beside you, walking in step as you opened the doors to the keep. 

The Red-Hair crew remained behind with Shanks, no longer viewing you as a threat to their wellbeing the longer you braced Uta against you. 

“Thank you, Benn,” you smiled at him as he held open the door for you. He returned a small smile at you as you passed him with Uta still remaining in your arms. 

He couldn't help but notice the fluttering beat in his heart as he watched you cradle the young baby. Although Uta was not his biologically, nor were you by all means with him romantically: your flirtatious past together, your soft smile, and the way you immediately took to caring for the child had Beckman’s mind running away with him. 

You chose to follow Mihawk in his ambitions, rather than join with Shanks in his. A spymistress and master of your trade from your early years, he had many run-ins with you over his checkered past. No kiss was ever shared, nor a passionate night together - but he was always left with a sense of longing after you'd smile at him. 

It never did take you long to pry truth from his lips, and he was well aware of this factor. He was a pirate with the heart of an honest sailor; and that honesty meant he could never have a lie uttered in your presence. He adored you, and would see you spirited away from high-keep Kuraigana with him should you ever ask. 

There was a part of him that wishes he could sweep you off your feet, romance you and dote on you in a coupling that could rival Roger and Rouge, but he may be just seeing what he wants to see in your smile. 

To Beckman, you were the one that got away. The one who would reciprocate his flirtations, only to leave before anything more could occur. He adored you. He could even go as far as to say that, at one point in time, he loved you. And now, as you cradled young Uta against your shoulder and uttered sweet praise into her ear, those feelings came flooding back. 

As you moved around your desk, you readjusted the infant in your arms. You cradled her in the crook of your left elbow while you sat: going through a variety of paperwork and ledgers drawn up for Mihawk to sign. 

Beckman placed Uta’s lackluster satchel of supplies on the desk beside the papers as he noticed a small twitch in your expression. You looked hyper focussed on your work as you rocked the child gently to sleep, scowling at a line of ink drawn on a ledger. 

“You can leave, Benn,” your nose twitched as you narrowed your eyes on the paper, “No harm will come to her,” you looked up at him above your paper, “Honestly, it's a little heartbreaking you didn't disclose this in your letters. After all this time knowing one another, I would assume you would inform me you had a daughter.”

Beckman sharply sucked in a breath, eyes widening with shock. 

“Uta’s-...” Beckman began, halting as he thought about his words. Should he confess the child was found in a chest, abandoned and discarded? Should he inform you that Shanks had claimed her as his own? Should he see how your mind fell immediately to that conclusion, and should he see where this conclusion would lead you both?

You looked down at the sleeping child, taking Beckman's silence as confirmation that the girl was indeed his. 

“She is beautiful,” you sighed down at her before snapping your eyes back up towards him, “Go and join the others. Enjoy an uninterrupted cigarette, Daddy,” you added for Uta’s benefit, “And when you return after a good rest,” you smiled a melancholy grin, “Tell me more about her, okay?” 

Beckman's heart swelled for you, his spirit soaring as he watched you continue in your duties for Mihawk with Uta. His feet remained cemented in place as he willed this moment to be branded into his memory. He never wanted you more than this very moment, but remained silent in his yearning. 

“Something else, Benn?” you asked him, staring down at the baby in your arms. The girl blindly began mouthing at her clenched fists in her sleep, seeking them out to gnaw on for comfort. 

“Uta’s Shanks' daughter,” he blurted out in a low and cautious cadence, “Found in a shipwreck amongst booze and plunder. She’s not ours biologically, she’s a daughter of the sea.” 

You snapped your eyes up to him, lips parting briefly before your gaze softened at him. “Thank you for your honesty, Benn. I appreciate your candor, as always,” you immediately halted your train of thought, thinking of your earlier interaction with him, “I would also like to apologize for calling you ‘Daddy’ earlier. I meant no disrespect, and I only did it for her sake.”

“No need for an apology,” he smirked with a soft nod, “And I never could never lie to you. You always get the truth outta’ me, one way or another.”

Humming in response, you easily slotted your index finger within Uta's and watched as she tested her strength in her vice-like grip. You hung in comfortable silence for a moment longer, both eyes meeting with the tiny life cradled in your arms. 

“You should have named her Umi,” you informed him, “Beautiful child of the sea, rather than ‘song’.”

“She’s named ‘Uta’ because even her cries are like melodies to the crew,” Beckman continued, “And Shanks sang to her when he first met her.”

“Oh, how beautiful,” you commented with a soft smile. Beckman swooned at your expression, his body unconsciously leaning towards you. You narrowed your eyes while smirking up at him. 

“Go and join your crew, Benn-,” you began, the first-mate's baritone voice oozing over you like warm honey to halt your thoughts in their place. 

“-Beckman, Darlin’,” he whispered, “You don't call Mihawk ‘Dracule’, nor do you call Shanks ‘red hair’,” he leant over your desk and affectionately pinched your chin, “Call me by my name, or give me a term of endearment,” he shot you a sly wink with a winning grin, “Even if it's ‘Daddy’.”

Face swelling with a fresh rush of blood, you attempted to control your fluster. You swooned as his thumb caressed your chin, heart calling to your teenage crush you thought you long-since snuffed out. 

“Go, Becks,” you smiled up at him, his expression mirroring your own as he continued looking at you, “Go rest, replenish and relax. Uta is with her aunty, and her aunty is more than capable to care for her for a few hours.” 

“Aye, that she is,” Beckman gave your chin a gentle tap, his closed-lip smile and half-lidded eyes still holding to you as he retracted his hand, “And, what a pretty aunty she has.” He turned on his heel, walking back over to the door and hovering in the threshold for a moment. 

“Go away, Becks,” you laughed at him, shooting him with the paper in your hand, “And tell your crew to bathe while they're here, they all stink,” you called as he left the doorway. His chuckle reverberated in the hall, a song you did not know your soul yearned for. 

Looking down at Uta, now properly settled in your arms, you sighed in contentment. “Back to work for us, princess,” you smiled as you returned to your duties, “But first, let's see about getting you some more supplies. Maybe a medical examination, birthdate assessment and a good look to ensure you're alright.”

Setting quickly to work: you organized several deliveries for the Red-Force to resupply the vessel, called out a medical professional for Uta, gathered supplies to meet the needs for a child - including developmental appropriate dried milk powders for lengthy trips. 

After two hours of work, Uta woke from her rest and became restless as she searched for food with her mouth parting and hovering over her balled fists. You hastily withdrew supplies from her satchel, readying and feeding her from a fresh bottle, changed her clout and burped her, before seeing if she needed more milk. 

A small smile fell from her lips as her eyelids fluttered, her body drunk on the swell of warmth in her belly and content in her cleanliness. Soon thereafter, she was back to sleep in no time. 

In the following few hours, several deliveries were made to your office. New clothes, clouts, a bathing basin, a collapsible crib and sheets to match, bottles, a woven wrap for baby carrying, a bassinet with two anchored wheels, and a soft velvetine hawk with weighted wings were amongst the gifts you had purchased with your own Berry for your new niece. 

Uta stirred in your arms, enjoying following a similar routine from earlier, but instead of falling back to sleep, she remained wide awake and staring up at you. 

“Oh, pretty girl,” you cooed down at her, watching as she stared with a vacant, unreadable expression back towards you, “Eyes with wisdom far beyond her years.” You set down your papers, pressing a steel paperweight down atop the pages. 

“You know all the secrets, don't you,” your words held no truth to them, only speaking in melodic jest, “They will all be at your mercy one day, won't they?” You stood, walking with her while holding her at eye height. Supporting her neck and propping her upright, you continued to hold a one-sided conversation with the small child. 

“You've got all your uncles wrapped around your finger,” your sing-song voice carried down the hallway, “You’re gonna get to your uncle Hawk too, one day. He's going to be the one that loves you the most.”

Ears pricking up in the hall beyond the door, three men halted their eager footsteps as they eavesdropped on your conversation with Uta. Mihawk attempted to feign disinterest, but was highly intrigued by what you were relaying to the child. Shanks felt his heart swell at the bonding moment between his two favorite ladies. And Beckman? 

Beckman didn't know what to think. Especially with sweet praises falling from your lips onto his newfound niece. All he knew was the soft call of his heart, his soul yearning for a woman he knew he could never have. 

After what felt like a small blink for you, but several eternities for Mihawk; a week had soon passed you all. The Red-Force was freshly stocked and resupplied, and you enlisted Yassop to pile the gifts for Uta onto the ship. 

As Shanks stepped on board the planked barrier, he extended his arms out to claim the small infant from you. You wanted to hesitate, to offer Uta a solid place to call home: but with Mihawk commissioned to claim bounties and enact horrid acts of war, you felt Uta would be far safer with Shanks. 

“Please keep me updated on my beautiful niece, Shanks,” you warned him with a soft scold, handing him his daughter, “And any other children you find within your care. I would hate to see them going unspoiled by their favorite aunty.”

“Hah!” Shanks laughed at the notion, “If I find another baby in a treasure chest, you'll be the first one to know. Of that, I'm certain.”

You waved Shanks off, a bittersweet look on your face as you mourned the loss of warmth in your arms. Beckman was the last to board, turning on his heel and extending his left hand out to claim your right. 

Without further word, he stopped down and pressed a gentle kiss atop your knuckles. He held his lips against your hand for a fair while longer than he intended, truly depicting his gratitude in getting a reprieve from both uncle and captain-watching duties. 

“If Shanks doesn't keep you updated, I will Darlin’,” he uttered against your skin, removing his lips and looking up at you through his dark eyelashes, “Every milestone, if you truly want.”

“Please,” you smiled at the tall man as he elevated himself back up to standing height, “I would not want to miss a thing, especially if it’s coming from you.” 

“Alright, pretty lady,” Shanks called down at you, sporting Uta in the woven wrap against his chest, “Give me back my first-mate. We gotta make waves.” 

“Aye, sir,” you uttered, glancing down at where Beckman's hands still held yours. He followed your gaze, cheeks dusting with a subtle pink as he realized he was the one still grasping your hand. You giggled as he carefully retracted his hand from your own, his fingers gently brushing yours. 

As the Red-Force glided over the swell of waves, you couldn't help but feel a piece of your heart left with them. The question was who held that piece: was it the young child you had carved for, or was it the dark-haired first mate. 

[i-magines]

Wildest Dreams: Chapter 2

Pedro Pascal x fem!Reader

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6 | CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 8 | CHAPTER 10

synopsis: You’re an assistant director in an indie movie set and fate makes sure you keep crossing paths with a certain Chilean actor.  

disclaimer: This is my first Pedro Pascal’s fictional work + the first fanfic I write in English, as it isn’t my first language. Unfortunately, I do not own Pedro and this is all a product of my imagination.

rating: M (keep scrolling if your under 18 please)

warnings: age gap, mature content, fem!reader, drinking and mention of drugs, eventual smut but no actual smut so far, a bit slow burn but not really.  

word count: 1,803

You woke up next morning feeling tired and still a little bit overwhelmed. Pedro really was a gentleman and minded his own business, so did you. You’re not sure at what time he had woken up, but you could hear the shower running. You quickly changed into working clothes and went to have breakfast, trying to avoid any weird interactions with him. Again.

The hotel was very busy and the whole crew was meeting in the conference room. You got together with the directing team and briefly discussed your tasks for the day. You couldn’t help but watch Pedro closely as he joined the room, saying a happy good morning to everyone. He shaked hands with a few people and grabbed a cup of coffee. The producer asked everybody to be silent.

“Morning, everyone”, she started. “As I’m sure you’re all aware of already, we had a problem with the accommodation situation. Last night I tried to make some calls, but I do have to formally apologize to everybody, because I won’t be able to solve this.”

Everybody in the room just stared at her.

“There’s a conference happening in the city and the hotel fucked us over with overbooking and they got here first”, she explained, clearly a little mad. “If you have your schedule, you can check we’re only staying here for a couple more nights, so I would appreciate it if we could just make a team effort for now.”

She got a piece of paper and a pen. “If anybody wants to be rearranged with a different roommate, let me know.”

Pedro crossed eyes with you and offered a smile. You looked away, feeling shy. There was something about him that just made you feel like a scared little girl that needed to protect herself. You didn’t really see him much during the rest of the day. The schedule showed he was supposed to spend the whole day rehearsing and you were busy with other directing matters. You were very worried about doing a good job and it was starting to get to you. The director wasn’t a bad person, but you could see he didn’t have any time to lose. So you had to hold back your tears when he was a bit harsh after you got confused with the order of the scenes shooting. Once they let you know you were off duty, you walked straight to your room, feeling like shit.

As soon as the door closes behind you, you let out a deep breath. “Fuck me, man.”

“Won’t you pay me dinner first?” you heard a husky voice. It was Pedro, laying on the bed and browsing through his phone.

“Ha-ha”, you fake laughed. You stared at each other for a moment, before both of you let out a big, honest laugh. “As if, old man.”

He sat down, looking at you.

“What a first day, uh?”

“Don’t get me started” you replied as you threw your body on the chair. “Did you ask for a new room?”

“Trying’ to get rid of me, sweetheart?” He was being playful. You shaked your shoulders. “No, I didn’t. I’ll just go with it, if it’s okay with you.”

“Sure, you’re the star. Whatever goes by you, goes by me”, you gave him a soft smile. 

He seemed like such a down to Earth and nice guy, at the same time, he also knew all damn well how charming he was.

“Not trying to be a creep old man—”

“Oh God, what a way to start a sentence”, you both laughed.

“I’m going out to grab some drinks with some friends,” he said. “I was just wondering if you’d like to join us. Professionally speaking”.

You stopped to think. That is literally the main reason you accepted this job, to improve your networking in the industry. It’s all about that and the sooner you get your name going out there, the better gigs you would land in the future.

“You do know I’m literally nobody, right?” You stated, making him frown.

“I do know there are a lot of famous douche people out there, thinking they are crème de la crème”, he said. “Well, that’s not me. I have no fucking clue who you are, sweetheart, and I trully don’t give a shit about it. You seem like a cool, good girl. And if we are really doing this, you’ll have to drop it”.

“I’m sorry— I just had a tough start today”, you said, full of sincerity. “I always feel like I’m walking on a wire in this industry, it makes me anxious.”

“I totally get it”, he stared deep into your eyes. “I won’t lie, it’s tough. But I’m being 100% honest here, there’s people that are actually just really nice folks to have around and you seem like one of those”.

They sure knew how to have a good time in Berlin. You sneaked out of the hotel with Pedro and got a cab to what seemed like a pub on the ground floor and a nightclub underground. You joined a couple of friends of him, got some drinks and just talked for a couple of hours. His friends were super sweet with you and it was just great to hang out with people who already went through starting a career and all of that. They were all older than you and sometimes you would feel a bit out of place, but Pedro was making sure to keep you in the conversation at all times.

“I’m having a really great time”, you told Pedro once his friend went dancing. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“I’m glad you came”, he replied close to your ear, as he was resting one of his arms on your shoulders. “You good?”

“Pretty good, sir”, you gave him a smile. You were feeling a little tipsy from the alcohol, and you could see he was too. “Do you want to dance?”

“Sure, I’m going to get us some more drinks and I’ll meet you there”, he squeezed your arm briefly before moving away.

You went downstairs by yourself and the loud electronic music was everything you were able to hear. You tried to look for Pedro’s friends, but they weren’t anywhere to be found. As you were waiting for Pedro, a blond guy approached you, trying to get you to dance with him. He was about your own age, not bad looking at all, but you weren’t in the mood. At least not with him, you thought to yourself. He pulled his body closer to yours, holding your waist.

“Thanks. I’m waiting for my friend”, you let him know, trying to get away from his grip.

“C’mon baby”, he was way too close for your taste.

“I don’t want you to touch me” you pushed him away.

Before anyone could say or do anything else, Pedro appeared out of nowhere. He handed you your drink and took a sip of his own glass.

“Would you mind if I tell you to fuck off boy?” You have never seen that look of anger in Pedro’s eyes before.

“I didn’t know your daddy was here princess”, the blond guy looked at both of you. “It’s just a matter of taste, I guess.”

You opened your mouth to probably call him all names, but Pedro held your hand and pulled you to the middle of the dance floor. He held your body close to his.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have left you alone”, he whispers close to your ear. “What an asshole.”

“I really appreciate you standing up for me”, you whispered back, your lips touching his ear, causing him to get chills. You suddenly felt thirsty and drank your entire drink in one huge sip. “I couldn’t find your friends.”

“They left, I got their text when I was at the bar”, he looks deeply into your eyes. “Do you wanna head out too?”

“Sure.”

He held your hand as he guided you out of there. The air was a bit chilly, but the street was busy and full of people. He let go of you to light a cigar.

“Do you smoke?” He asked you.

“Smoke what?”

“Got it. Oh, you bad girl”, he laughs playfully. “You should’ve said something, I have some good stuff back in the hotel.”

You didn’t have time to reply as a group of girls recognized and approached him. You stood there for what felt like forever, while he was being the sweetest human being with his fans. Every couple of minutes, he would look at you, making sure you’re still waiting for him. You heard them inviting him to an after party, to what he politely said no.

“Would you mind getting us an Uber, sweetheart?” Pedro had to speak a little louder for you to hear him and you felt like everyone around him just stared at you. You just nodded. “Oh, guys, this is my colleague, Y/N. We’re working on a new project together.”

Colleague. You didn’t know why, but it felt weird for you to hear him referring to you like this. Is this strictly professional? For a second, back inside the club, you thought— well, never mind. You got an Uber and he said his goodbyes to his group of fans. You both sat in complete silence on the backseat of the car.

“What was fun, right?” He gave you a warm smile, placing his arm on your shoulder. “I can’t lie, I kinda love the recognition of the fans.”

You moved your head, affirmatively.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He sounded worried.

“Yes, just tired”, you said half-true.

Why the fuck were you upset he called you his college? That’s literally what you are. Sure you had flirted with him sometimes, but he did say this was a professional invite. You didn’t want to be that person who can’t just be treated with kindness without expecting anything else. Pedro was charming, good-looking and apparently an amazing friend and human being. Who also happens to be almost double your age and hot as hell. You could only blame the alcohol in your body for making you think such things.

You got back to the hotel room, the dizziness at its full peak for both of you.

“I don’t think I’m capable of taking a shower in these conditions”, you said as you jumped in bed. Pedro laughed behind you, doing the same.

“You could use one, though”, he teased you. You gave his arm a light slap. “I’m keeping you real, sweetheart.”

“Fuck you, Pedro.”

“I’m too drunk to fuck anything to be honest”, you both laughed and the room went quiet for a couple of minutes.

“Guess it’s better this way”, you whispered, aware that he could hear it as well.

CHAPTER 3 AVALIABLE NOW

[babydollmarauders]

MEDIA MANAGEMENT — JACK HUGHES (23-24 SZN PART 11)

au masterlist

y/ndevils00

liked by jackhughes, nicohischier, and 251,869 others

y/ndevils00 well… that was painful

welcome back to my post-game recap! if you don’t know who i am because you’ve been living under a rock, or you’ve been in jail (don’t do crimes unless you can get away with them), i’m y/n! or as my boyfriend calls me, ‘dove’! i work as the social media manager for one of the sluttiest teams (and maybe the worst this season…) in the National Hockey League: the New Jersey Devils!

let get into it! your favorite (or maybe least favorite. i wouldn’t blame you!) men from hell lost 4-6 against the patriotic old guys tonight…. i can’t say i wasn’t surprised

we had an absolutely scoreless (and sinless) first period on our end, transitioning into intermission down by 3!

but second period is when we really started heating up! we got FOUR lovely goals by THREE lovely people!!

starting with uncle Toffee!! who scored our first AND our fourth goal!! he’s been so queen girlboss slay recently! who knew he would be this good?! not me! i doubted him severely! (i cannot apologize for my previous thoughts about you uncle, i can only ask you to forgive me anyways because you took my DILH and i’m still recovering)

Timo the absolute Tank Engine got us our second goal of the night with his first goal of the season! and no penalties!! i feel like a proud mother to a usually extremely horribly behaved little boy 🥹

and of course, my favorite whore, my very best swiss, my least favorite kind of cheese; captain slut got our third goal of the night!! THAT’S MY HOE!! POP OFF! (he also got a penalty tonight but i’ve opted not to show that because he paid me $20)

and i could never forget to mention that my beautiful angel of a bad bitch, Rowdy, got an assist on THREE out of four of our goals tonight!! he’s only 3 points away from 20 points already!! THAT’S MY (baby)GIRL!

and third period is when we immediately went as cool as the ice they skate on… giving up three goals (including an empty netter to the oldest looking man alive)… we got no goals of our own and my sweet baby angel face bestie number 1 got a penalty for being too perfect 😔

all-in-all, let’s wish the boys luck against the sabres on friday because apparently they need it! i think friday’s enemy gave them some pretty good advice though and they should put it to use!

p.s. ikea baby and merc-dog are my exact reactions to how badly we played in the third

p.p.s. ovi… when i catch you ovi 🥊😑

tagged john.marino97, tofff73, tmeier96, nicohischier, jackhughes, lhughes_06, jesperbratt, and dawson1417

Load more comments

jackhughes dove, baby, what is that abomination of a 5th photo?

y/ndevils00 my camera wouldn’t focus :(

jackhughes so why post it?

y/ndevils00 you don’t appreciate my talents

jackhughes i can assure you, i appreciate your talents plenty. photo taking is just usually not one of them

lhughes_06 gross

user29 did she just threaten OVECHKIN?! 😭

user17 i fear we may lose these updates after this threat 😪

jesperbratt what was i 😦 at?

y/ndevils00 i honestly couldn’t tell you— i was too busy wondering the best way to fit you in my pocket

john.marino97 i got a picture?!

y/ndevils00 you got an assist and no penalties!

john.marino97 but dawson got a penalty and no assists and still got a picture?

y/ndevils00 you’re not dawson, the standards for you are different

john.marino97 i’ve known you for 4 years and this is how i get treated? DAWSON HAS ONLY KNOWN YOU FOR 2!

y/ndevils00 you tattle on me, you deserve your treatment

dawson1417 she’s got you there, bud

tofff73 you doubted me?!

y/ndevils00 in my defense, i didn’t know you were chill like that

tofff73 jack has informed me that you cried at the trade, i forgive your doubts

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes YOU’RE TELLING HIM MY SECRETS?!

jackhughes @/y/ndevils00 i wasn’t aware that you usually blast your “secrets” on your instagram story

user81 the random luke picture… y/n loves her smush 🥹

tmeier96 did you just call me a tank engine?

tmeier96 also, i’m OLDER than you!

y/ndevils00 that was a compliment! i’m saying you’re built!

tmeier96 you’re a funny little thing

y/ndevils00 also yes you are older— i said i FELT like a proud mother, not that i AM one. i already have one reckless child at home, i don’t want another

jackhughes @/y/ndevils00 she’s a cat.

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes SHE IS OUR BABY

trevorzegras you love testing how far you can push before you get a warning for your behavior, don’t you?

y/ndevils00 i learned from you 🫶

trevorzegras you’re a cockroach

y/ndevils00 all i’m hearing is that i’m resilient and can live through anything

trevorzegras i hate you

y/ndevils00 you WISH you hated me— if you really did then you wouldn’t facetime me twice a week

nicohischier there are so many things i take issue with about my paragraph

y/ndevils00 is it that it’s not long enough? i’m sorry, i’ll make it longer next time!

nicohischier please DON’T.

lhughes_06 ya know, you were a lot nicer before i joined the team

y/ndevils00 oh good! that means i’m doing this right!

lhughes_06 doing what right?

y/ndevils00 tough love!

dawson1417 i didn’t do anything :(

y/ndevils00 i know, sugarplum!

dawson1417 they jailed me…

y/ndevils00 i can’t imagine how traumatic that must’ve been for you

dawson1417 oh it wasn’t that bad, you were in there too

y/ndevils00 yeah…. lindy put me there in 2nd intermission. he said if i wouldn’t stop chirping the capitals as though i was a player, then i needed to be treated like a player and get a penalty…. then i couldn’t get out because the game started again

dawson1417 you can’t skate, how did you get in?

y/ndevils00 i was betrayed

nicohischier @/y/ndevils00 i stand by it.

y/ndevils00 @/nicohischier YOU ALMOST DROPPED ME TWICE

nicohischier those were on purpose.

dawson1417 and how did you get out?

y/ndevils00 my knight in shining armor!

jackhughes @/y/ndevils00 i didn’t get you out?

jesperbratt i did!

jackhughes oh, yeah, that makes sense

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 4

ANOTHER CHAPTER IN LESS THAN A WEEK. BRING ON THE GRINDDDDDD. I will warn that my motiviation for each of my fics comes in waves, so you'll probably get chapters in random chunks ngl. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 4590

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Mentions of murder. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 >

PART 1: Chapter 4

Unconditional Violence.

Bambsquabbled (Definition): A 19th Century American slang word essentially meaning stupefied or confounded. (Adjective)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 18th December, 1929.

You had expected the additional Tuesday Mr LeBlanc had given you off to prepare yourself for the radio company to consist of you sleeping in until 11am. But dreams are short lived when you have an aunt who insists the ass-crack of dawn is prime time for everything.

You guessed it was fun to climb onto the roof of your relative’s vast home to collect the crystals you had both put out under the full moon, before the energy given to them was whisked away by the rays of the early golden hour. But when nerves settle in like the green spirals of nausea the night before, sleep takes the hand of another, leaving you to lay there with your over-active mind as it drags you through every possibility and event that could end up with you looking like an idiot in front of your new colleagues, or worse. Can’t think of much worse. But the universe will find a way.

It always does.

When Wednesday finally rolled around, it was barely 6am and you already couldn’t wait for it to be over. Your cousins had found you curled up on the bench swing, having dragged your duvet outside as you balled yourself up like a worm, sipping on the iced tea Agnes had bought you the day before in an attempt to settle your nerves. It did. A little.

And now here you were, the first half of your new workday having gone as smoothly as your awkward self could do.

Ethel, who’s desk was closest to yours, had dubbed you the quiet one after spending an hour running her mouth at you with barely a break for you to chime in. You had also already created quite a commotion on the third floor, a few people intrigued by the new ‘foreigner’. Well – as foreign as you can get when you’re from another English-speaking country, in the biggest cultural melting pot of a city had ever seen in your rural life. But they found you interesting enough.

The oddest thing you had experienced that day, however, was a strange request from your new boss – Mr Durham himself.

“I don’t suppose you know how to pull off a local accent?” he had asked when showing you the phone on your desk.

All you could do was blink at him. “I’m sorry?”

He gestured to the phone. “Since you’re my assistant, you’re gonna be filtering through the calls I get before passing them onto me. Now, there might be an issue if someone calls expecting to hear me, but instead find themselves speaking to a British girl on the other end. Some can be impatient and might end up putting the phone down before you explain.”

Memories of that one very unpleasant phone call flooded your mind. “Even if I answer: ‘Hello W.A.D Radio, this is Mr Durham’s assistant speaking’??” you replied monotonously.

“You’d be surprised.” He sighed. “But do you know how to anyway?”

Frowning, you recalled your time in the cities further in the North. “I guess..? A girl I rented a room from in New York insisted on teaching me for when we went into town, but I struggle to see how it’s important?”

The man put his hands together, pointing them at you in a prayer motion. “Just.. try it out? Talk like your colleagues when you see them, to see if you can get a hang of it – I’m sure they’ll be happy to help. Please?”

You gave him a wavering look, but sighed, finally giving in. “Fine, but they can’t make fun of me.”

He beamed, patting you on the back in satisfaction. “I’m sure they won’t! I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

And with that, you sat in your new chair, trying to pointedly ignore the sign at the other end of the room that pointed you to the fifth floor, and began your attempt to settle in.

--

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 8th January, 1930.

There wasn’t much to celebrate when the new decade rolled around. Gone were the so-called ‘Roaring Twenties’, when you would join your parents at the parties and balls they were invited to – when it was acceptable, of course; those higher up in the class hierarchy still grasped to the dwindling standard that children should be seen, not heard. The year you turned eighteen ended up being quite interesting, when the older women who had turned snooty at the sight of your teenage self wandering around their stately homes, tried to attempt a 180°, as they congratulated you reaching adulthood with strained smiles. But you paid them no mind, too busy staring at the paintings or statues that lined their corridors – a stark contrast to the more barren and plain wallpaper that coated the walls you grew up in.

But now that was far behind you, the English garden parties in the spring and summer that you adored so much were now a mere echo in the distances of your mind. The noises of tiny forks clinking on fine china as the little birds twittered in the trees now replaced by the sputtering and groaning of automobiles as you gripped the pole of the tram, your arms tight against your chest as you tried your best to not let the swaying of the vehicle toss you about into the crowd of packed bodies around you.

Making sure the scarf was tucked safely around your neck, you grasped the small briefcase in your hand – mentally preparing yourself for you first day back at the radio station after the new year. Unfortunately for Mr Durham, a small hurricane had passed over during the holiday, and radio stations across the city were temporarily silenced as their mechanics desperately attempted to repair the damaged towers. And also unfortunately for you, only the hosts were offered a couple days off as things got back up and running, though some still showed to prepare for their shows; you, on the other hand, were still expected to show up like any other day.

So here you were, pushing open the (now familiar) double doors, giving a small wave to the receptionist, who’s name turned out to be Diana, and the woman barely raised her hand in response as she continued to tiredly shift through the concerningly large stack of papers on her desk.

You were just about to climb the wide staircase when you heard her call your name (something you were very surprised she knew, considering her tendency to ‘accidentally’ throw paperwork in the bin on the daily), and your wedge heels clacked against the tile flooring as you stumbled slightly, turning to face her as her nasally voice echoed around the large lobby.

“It’s best you stay in the shadows today.” She warned cryptically. “Trouble’s in, and the mechanic’s not happy about the damages – Durham’s getting the brunt of it, but you’ll end up in the crossfire unless you hide out during breaktimes.”

All you could do for a moment was stand and stare, a million thoughts running through your mind. Mostly about who ‘Trouble’ was, and why Diana thought you couldn’t handle the guy and the other mechanic. You did handle the radio man at the repair shop after all, and speaking of the radio, you were quite proud to say you had finished the it in time for Christmas, and had shipped it off with a very passive-aggressive note that hinted for the man to basically never return. Luckily, Mr Boudreaux hadn’t replied to any of your letters since you had begrudgingly accepted the object, but you had suspected he had called the shop once or twice, and you had left Mr LeBlanc to deal with it, mostly because he was quite terrified you would call another customer every name under the sun the second they tried to give you trouble.

Glancing back and forth between Diana and the stairs, you mumbled a slow “Oookay…” before nodding your head and turning on your heel to hurry up the steps. Reaching the third floor, you didn’t stop in your path as you neared your desk, instead dropping your briefcase onto the wooden surface as you dashed by, striding towards the door that had the golden plaque engraved with ‘Mr B. Durham’ onto it. Grasping the handle, you turned the knob, swinging the door open, only to stop in your tracks as you were met with a very empty office.

You frowned. It must be really bad if your boss was no where to be seen. Whipping around, you scanned the main room for him, but only saw a few of your colleagues, the rest still yet to arrive – you were normally expected to be in early to handle Durham’s work as soon as he began.

Throwing your coat and scarf on your chair, you strode back towards the stairs, readjusting the suspenders of your wide-legged trousers as you practically jogged up the steps, and ended up rolling the sleeves of your loose blouse to your elbows as you tried to catch your breath.

On the fourth floor, you spent a couple minutes checking all of your boss’s usual haunts or hiding places, even going as far as interrogating a couple of the workers there for his whereabouts. It wasn’t until some blonde guy that came wandering down the steps from the fifth floor that you got your answer, the man looking up to take in your slightly dishevelled and feral appearance with wide eyes as he stammered out that he was in one of the radio booths. To his further horror, you patted him on the cheek with a thanks as you rounded him, ready to take another flight of stairs to reach your – apparently – floundering boss.

Ignoring the embarrassed sputtering of the man behind you, you eye the sign nailed to the wall, the painted hand pointing upwards with a very bold ‘FIFTH FLOOR’ next to it.

“Don’t go up there until I say you’re ready, okay?” Mr Durham’s words echoed through your mind.

Buuuuut, he did say he wanted to discuss the stuff you brought in your briefcase ASAP.

Yea that’ll be your excuse. You can deal with his complaining later.

Reaching your heel-clad foot out, you took the first step, almost like you were expecting an axe to come swing down and impale your forehead. But when nothing happened, you shrugged, and simply continued up.

Recalling the path your boss had taken you on during the initial tour, you managed to find the dreaded corridor that supposedly housed your greatest nightmare.

Extroverted people.

Yeesh.

At that thought, you did consider turning around, but your urge to drag your boss’s arse back downstairs drowned that thought out, and you carried on.

Surprisingly, it was quiet, but at the same time not so much when you remembered that most of them were plating their somewhat wealthy behinds on their armchairs at home as the rest tried to fix the issues of the storm.

Reaching one of the lit rooms, you heard raised voices.

“–really expect me to know? –” “– supposed to be on in an hour! How is that –”

Cautiously, you peeked around the corner to try and witness the potential fiasco. And what a fiasco it was.

Wires, cables, and any other random parts that were used for radio technology were strewn across desks, tables and even the floor. Amongst these were two men, and there was only one you recognised.

Just like you had seen him every day for the past month, Mr Durham was stood in his washed-out blue suit and concerningly shiny shoes, and at this point one hand was on his hip, whilst the other rubbed tiredly at his face as whom you assume was the mechanic, was blabbering the poor man’s ear off as he ranted on and on about random parts and problems and he gestured frantically at said random parts and problems. Wait – nevermind, you recognised one and a half.

The man from across the street was here, with his back to you. Again. For fuck’s sake.

This time he was back in the seat you first saw him in, this time with a few strands of dark-brown hair out of place, curling slightly as if to rebel against the intense styling he had put it through. Peeking your head out slightly further, you managed to get a good look at him.

Well for one, he was a triangle. Stupidly broad shoulders that narrowed into a stupidly small waist (triangle), with lanky legs long enough that you could probably chop them off and fashion them into skis. Despite his face not revealed, you could see the semi-light tan on his hands, that were busy turning knobs and dials as he listened in to whatever was coming through the headphones on his head. He was dressed to impress, to say the least, in smart, dark-grey trousers, who’s ironed out edges looked as if they could slice through skin. His high collared cream shirt was tucked away under a relatively tight looking reddish-tan waistcoat, and to top it all off, you could see the back of the black ribbon that was most likely tied in a stupidly even bow.

You didn’t want this guy to sense your staring, so you opted to look back at the other two men who were still chuntering on about god knows what. Stepping into the light that flooded through the glass, you wave slightly to try and get your boss’s attention. A couple seconds passed, and you watched as the mechanic kept glancing at you and Mr Durham, until eventually he nudged the other man on the shoulder, pointing you out.

Turning his head, Mr Durham’s eyes met with yours, and you raised your hand with a questionable thumbs up to see if all was good, only to watch in slight confusion as his eyes widened, and he whipped his head rapidly between you and the faceless man sat at his desk, before marching over to the door and pulling it open a crack, sticking his head out.

“Hey uh,” he half-whispered, surprisingly nervous at your presence. “what’re you doing here?”

You lowered your voice to match his. “You said to come find you as soon as possible this morning, you know, to go over those statistics from that other station?”

Realisation dawned on the man’s face, and he reached up to drag his hand down the side of it. “Shit I forgot,” he cursed, and glanced over his shoulder before facing you again. “I’ll – uh… I’ll be down as soon as I get this sorted. Marty’s givin’ me a run for his money right now and the second Al takes his headphones off I’m gonna feel like I’m entering an early grave.”

Surprised, you eyed the man sat at the desk, who looked far too calm to be threatening anyone right now. “Ok… I guess it can wait. I’ll bring you some coffee up!” you chirped, and Durham went to call out that it wasn’t necessary, but faltered with a frown as he realised you were already halfway down the corridor.

--

Balancing the tray of cups and steaming jug the best you could, you reached the final step, retracing your route to the radio booth that your boss was probably getting murdered in. Walking up, you waited patiently until Mr Durham noticed you, and watched as he reluctantly trudged over to open the door.

Taking your first step in, you were hit with the very potent smell of strong black coffee, as if someone had some brewing every day, and you figured you had made the right call of fetching the same beverage as you placed the tray down on one of the tables.

The mechanic was still going off on one, and you watched out of the corner of your eye as you slowly began pouring the coffee into the cups, listening to the greasy-looking man speak.

“– there’s literally no reason that I can find that’s causing the local outage!” he spouted at your frowning boss. “The boys have already fixed the aerial, and David’s currently on-air and that’s working perfectly fine, so it has to be something in this room!”

During the man’s tirade, you noticed the rustling of papers, and looked over to see the faceless man again, still at his desk, but his hands were fiddling with no purpose, and his head was turned to the left slightly, showing his high cheekbone and the edge of his thin circular glasses.

Looked like someone else was listening in too.

Biting your smile down, you turned back towards the cups in your hand, only to have a glint of light pierce the corner of your eye, and you looked in the opposite direction to a large wooden box, with one of the panels removed, displaying the endless wires and springs that coiled and wound in every direction. But you weren’t looking at that, you were instead looking at the screwdriver that was very prominently glinting in the shine of the ceiling light. This must be the painstakingly obvious problem that the mechanic had painstakingly missed.

Giving a quick glance over at the men, you waited until they faced away, scrapping about the wire pile on the floor, and you reached for the wooden teaspoon on your tray, and inched towards the box. Knowing wood doesn’t normally conduct electricity, you raised your hand, testing it anyway against the hanging wires to see if they were live. Seemingly not, you stuck your hand further in, and began nudging at the tool, slowly loosening the wires around it as you dragged it along the bottom of the box.

When they had deemed your silence as suspicious, the mechanic and Durham turned round, only to see you elbow deep in some very expensive equipment.

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” the mechanic cried as he rushed over. “The hell are you doin’??”

Instead of jerking your arm back out and apologising to the man who was slowly turning purple, you gave the screwdriver one last flick, and the three of you watched as it dropped over the edge and fell to the floor with a clatter. Moments of silence passed as you all stared at it, until you decided to explain.

“It was tangled in the wires, which would’ve prevented the electricity flow,” you said plainly. “Plus, if you had tried to power it all up, it could’ve set the place on fire.”

All the mechanic could do was stare down at the tool, but Mr Durham had decided to approach, and bent down to pick up the tool.

“Nice one.” He complimented, turning the object in his hands. Though the warm smile he had put on for you quickly vanished, as his eyes set upon the name engraved on the wooden handle. He pointed at it. “This has your name on it Marty.” He said lowly, his blue eyes turning dark as he regarded the paling man with a look of thunder.

Seeing the outcome, you gestured nervously to the beverages on the table. “Coffee’s there, Mr Durham, I’ll see you downstairs.”

Just as you walked around him, he called your name. “Take ten minutes to yourself and grab some tea, whilst I deal with Marty here.”

Nodding, you curtly took your leave, swinging the door open as you power-walked out, failing to see the sharp pair of eyes following you from where they were sat at the desk.

--

You found the break room housed several curiosities that you were yet to explore in America. Apart from the atrocious fact that the tea station lacked the Yorkshire brand, you found yourself poking at what they called a teabag. Yes, surprise, surprise, the Americans invented something tea related before England or even China did, but you had to admit it was rather useful in helping you not gag at the slimy tea leaves that sat at the bottom of most of your beloved brews.

With the table to your right, you leant your hip against it, your back against the door as you rather noisily mixed the spoon around your large mug, making sure the sugar was dissolved properly before you went to strain the teabag. Lifting it carefully out of the boiling water, you gingerly held your other hand out below it to catch any stray drips from hitting the floor, scanning the room in front of you for a bin that you could chuck it into.

What you foolishly had failed to do however, was hear the footsteps that grew in volume from behind, and you hadn’t realised anything until a very uncomfortable prickle hit the side of your neck, as a very unwanted presence loomed over you. Though, that didn’t last long, as the presence decided to deafen you instead.

“So YOU’RE the new assistant!”

A banshee screech raised from your throat, the teabag flying through the air and onto the floor by your feet as you basically jumped three feet up. Instinctively, however, you didn’t realise what was happening until one elbow flew upwards, slamming into the nose of the man behind you, the other flying round to collide with his ribs. Teaspoon armed in hand, you spun around to face your assailant, only to step on the soggy teabag that was still on the floor, and you cried out again as you slipped and slammed into a very firm chest. Eyes screwed shut, you felt the two of you fall, though quickly broken by the table behind you.

Relieved that you were no longer falling, you swiftly blinked your eyes open, your dark brown ones meeting a pair of equally matching brown. Moments passed as you took in the scene in front of you, and you realised you finally had a face to put to the lanky man from earlier.

Said man was groaning as he rubbed at his nose, his lips twisted into a grimace as he checked for blood. What you noticed however, was the several poignant glances the man took to your right, and you followed, only to see you hand raised, teaspoon in hand, pointing down at him as if you had a machete, ready to stab the lights out of him.

A small gasp left your throat at the realisation, and you quickly pushed yourself off, pointedly ignoring the grunt the man let out as you knocked at his ribs. Taking several steps back, you distanced yourself from him. He had gotten close before, he wasn’t about to do so again.

You watched as he pushed himself up on his elbows, using the table as a support as he stood. To a disturbingly tall height might you add. Looks like you did just reach his nose after all.

“I’m uh,” you started as you eyed him, teaspoon machete still in hand, strangely, you instinctively used the southern accent you learnt – it was the one you used with strangers. “Sorry. I didn’t expect you to sneak up on me like that.” Reaching over, you snatched up a napkin, offering it to him. “Y’haven’t got anything…?”

Dark eyes flitting between you and the outstretched napkin offering, you watched as something seemed to switch in his demeanour, and a natural smile fell across his tan face as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s quite alright.” He assured, and you blinked at his prominent transatlantic accent. “I figured that wasn’t the best way to say hello to a stranger!” he laughed as he smoothed down his crumpled waistcoat. Reaching his lanky arm out whilst tucking the other behind him, he offered his hand out in greeting. “The name’s Alastor, my dear. And who do I have the most entertaining pleasure to be speaking to?”

You stared at his hand, then flicked your eyes up to him, scanning his grinning face with vigour.

Where, oh where, had you heard that voice before?

Your silence seemed to confuse this Alastor guy, however, and his eyes darted around in confusion as you continued to stare. From what you could see, he had come to a very wrong conclusion about your silence, and leaned over at you slightly, bringing his face level with yours.

“Cat got your tongue, my darling?” His growing cheshire grin reminding you of two very similar people. “You clearly must find me that dashing if your this speechless, haha!” he chortled, the condescension rolling off him in waves.

Oh, you knew exactly where this guy was from.

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinised him as you quietly muttered out a single word.

“Boudreaux.”

Alastor blinked, eyes darting around your face, before raising a hand to cup at his ear. “I hate to say but I didn’t quite catch that!” he exclaimed rather loudly.

You felt your brows begin to furrow, so you raise your voice slightly. “I said, Boudreaux.”

Oh you did it now. Sparkles seemed to glitter behind his chocolate eyes as he perked up with glee, straightening up to his full height. “So you do know me after all! I was starting to think you simply had nothing going on in that head of yours!”  he simpered as he tilted his head to look down at you.

Despite his clear mocking, you remained quiet for a moment longer, until you couldn’t hold it anymore.

“…You work in a radio station.” You stated flatly.

Alastor looked around, acting as if he had just realised as such. “Yes I am quite aware!” he affirmed in an obvious tone. “Did you want an award for that observation?”

You had to refrain from gaping at this man’s audacity. “… Couldn’t you have just fixed it yourself?”

The man blinked at you. “Fixed what now?”

Oh, this was it. Stepping forward, you didn’t stop until you face was a hand-lengths away from his, and you watched with satisfaction as he shifted at your invasion of his space – talk about a hypocrite as someone who clearly loved to invade the space of others. Staring at the man dead in the eye, you fully dropped the southern accent, your Yorkshire one coming back through full force.

“Your mum’s radio.” You stated simply, raising your brows to regard him with a condescending look that matched his.

You had expected him to brush it off, laughing when he realised who you were. What you hadn’t expected for his pupils to blow wide, his eyes darkening as they narrowed, scrutinising your gaze with his own, and you suddenly felt a little uneasy.

“Oh,” he said lowly. “It’s you.”

Keeping your gaze levelled, you gripped the spoon harder in your hands. That is, until your name was called.

The two of you straightened up, you leaning to look around Alastor as he spun on the spot, the both of you facing Mr Durham, who was looking between the two of you rather nervously. He called your name again.

“C’mon.” he said, refusing to take his eyes off Alastor. “Let’s go over those papers you brought.”

Without a second thought, you darted for your mug of tea, grabbing it along with an almost empty bottle of milk to put in it as you strode around Alastor, feeling the hand of your boss as he put his arm around your shoulder as he quickly led you away, and the back of your head prickled, definitely feeling the sharp eyes on your retreating back this time around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ALASTOR'S HERE RAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Watch me disappear from the face of the earth for a week cuz of my executive dysfunction lmao (Blame my adhd not me she's a seperate entity at this point.)

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, see you soon for Chapter 5!!

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[littlxpxtal]

Little Dove | Chapter 1

You sat in the fitting room, picking at your fingers, legs bobbing up and down waiting for Tigris to bring out the dress she hand sewn for the ceremony.

“Ta-da!” she announced pleased with herself as she wheeled the gown out on a mannequin carved to your measurements.

You gasped in awe. It was a deep red with a provocative sweetheart neckline. The length was past the floor, sprawling out. A good excuse to use the new platform heels you bought a few weeks ago. 

Immediately undressing, Tigris helped you step into the dress, fitting perfectly to your curves as always. The fabric was a soft crushed velvet, lined with a slippery satin that made it comfortable to move around in.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time, Tigris”

“It was nothing! All I could think about was you on that stage wearing it.”

You blushed and kissed her cheek. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you exclaimed. “Do you think he will like it?”

“He’s already seen it.” she winked. You stared at her quizzically. 

“And?”

“He wanted me to raise the neckline. I told him I would but”

“But you didnt” you laughed

“He just doesn’t get it. He’ll forgive me someday”

You watched yourself in the mirror, heart starting to race at the thought of actually winning this award.

She showed you the different hairstyles and accessories she envisioned with her dress and you let her do her magic, saying yes to almost everything she proposed due to excitement and the inability to actually think straight from the nervousness. 

You were against 3 other candidates, 2 from the gamemaker committee and one from the presidents cabinet. You constantly ridiculed your mind with doubts, these other people had far more important jobs and positions in Panem. Plus you were the only female nominee. 

“Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?” She asked as she removed the last necklace option. 

“Do you really think I can win?”

Her face immediately crossed at your silly inquiry.

“Are you joking? No women in Panem has had the balls to do what you’ve done. You’ve gone out of your way to get these billionaires to donate to your campaign. You went to the districts personally to see the televisions installed. You designed the campaign ads yourself and gave dozens of speeches infronts of hundreds of people to support your initiative. You did all of that ideating and creating by yourself and made it happen. None of those other losers came close to the amount of work you put in this year to make a name for yourself. If you lose this award to one of them I’ll make their wives lives hell.”

You looked down and smiled at her outburst, grabbing her hand over your shoulder and squeezing it. 

“I couldn’t do this without you.”

There was a knock at the door 

“Miss Y/L/N, your driver is here.” One of Tigris’s assistants announced through the door.

“That’s my cue” you said standing up preparing to have Tigris unzip the dress off of you. 

“Tell Coriolanus I said hello.” she said flatly. 

It was the day of the awards ceremony and you woke up to an empty bed. Coryo had mentioned he had some duties to attend before the ceremony, but you were not expecting to him to leave so early. You hadn’t been very vocal about your anxiety surrounding the event that night, in fact you rarely spoke about it with him. 

It was only spoken about once during dinner with some of Coriolanus’s old peers that he would occasionally have over. Keeping them in good spirits in case he needed their support down the road. 

“So did Y/N tell you about her nomination?” Clemensia asked across the table at Coriolanus, sitting at the head of the table.

His eyebrow quirked up.

“Nomination for what?”

“Innovator of the year!” She cheered, tipping her wine glass at you. You politely dabbed your mouth from the spoonful of soup you just swallowed. A blush creeping up your neck to your face you sat as still as possible, not moving your eyes away from Clemmie. 

“I nominated her.” Festus chimed in. “The work shes done at the firm has been stupendous” He added. 

You finally gained the courage to look over at your boyfriend and his jaw was clenched. The room was silent before he forced a smile. 

“That’s lovely, congratulations Y/N” you smiled softly back at him and placed a hand over his. He didnt move, or acknowledge the touch, he kept his forced smile and used his other hand to raise his glass. 

“To Y/N”

“TO Y/N” Everyone exclaimed. 

It was previously planned before the dinner that you would be staying at Coryo’s that night, but after dinner you wished there had been a car waiting to take you home. The silence in the apartment after the guests left was suffocating. The clinks of glasses and dishes as you and Coryo cleaned up the table were the only sounds to be heard. 

You were wiping the counter as he starting to losen his tie and uncuff his links. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about this award?” He asked with no emotion. 

Without turning to face him you sighed. 

“It’s not really that big of a deal, it’s just a nomination. I doubt I’ll even get it.”

He huffed and walked over, standing inches infront of you. 

“Tell me about it.” He looked hard at you, furrowing his brows, eyes piercing into yours. 

“It’s one of the newer ones they’ve come up with for this years ceremony before the reapings begin. Its a way to celebrate everyone who’s played a part, they’re making them bigger and bigger every year.”

“Yes I know about this ceremony, we’re invited to it and I’ve gone every year since University. I’m asking you about your nomination and how you qualified.”

“I was nominated for Innovator of the year -” he interrupted “By Festus Creed” stating annoyed. He walked over to the fridge to get a glass of water.

“Well yes, I didn’t ask him to, if thats what your thinking.” He let out a dark laugh. 

“No thats not what im thinking. Im thinking he did it to get under my skin. He’s always trying to find ways to undermine me, he probably knew I wasnt nominated for anything.” He sat the cup down forcefully.

That’s when you realized this anger was not from you not telling him, perhaps he even knew. He didn’t seem surprised when it was announced at dinner, he seemed annoyed if anything. The attention turning from him hosting his guests to them toasting to you. He was jealous.

“I was nominated for my implementation of the Hunger Games being televised in the homes of every district resident, and my hardwork at campaigning to get people to advertise and put money behind the games.” You simply stated. Turning to finish wiping off the counter and walking to the sink to rinse your hands.

“I don’t think I’m even going to win Coriolanus.” you sighed wiping your hands on a towel. “Im against 3 other strong candidates who have done much more important and serious jobs than this. Plus I’m a woman, there has never been a female winner in any of the categories since the beginning of the games and these ceremonies. In all honesty, I think it was Festus who was trying to get under my skin and humiliate me infront of all of Panem. For me to think I even have a chance to have my name on a screen among those who have a bigger legacy in the history of our country. I just made some flyers and put up some TVs in the districts.” Tears brimmed your eyes at the reality of it all. The shame you felt from getting your hopes up.

You heard his footsteps creep behind you, quickly wiping your tears before he could see how pathetically emotional you were getting over this. He touched the back of your arm and kissed the top of your head.

“You’re going to win.” He stated plainly, then left the room. 

An Avox brought breakfast to your bedside as requested. Unable to get most of it down, you slowly sipped the tea as you flicked through the TV, finally settling on a kids cartoon just to have some background noise as you tried to calm your nerves before having to start tonights preparations. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe you made me come here” Tigris whispered, annoyed. 

“I’m sorry he wanted us to arrive together and I couldn’t convince him to get ready at my apartment.” you shrugged. 

Tigris and her crew of makeup artists got to work, putting heat on your hair and moisturizing your face. 

The sun was beginning to set, and you had about a full bottle of champagne down the hatch by the time they were done. Slipping on the gold strappy platform heels you’ve been daydreaming about, you walked over to the full body mirror Coryo had hanging in the guest bedroom. 

“WOW” you exclaimed. “I can’t believe you made me this pretty”

Tigris shushed you with her hands and picked up the train of your dress to lay around you, as designed. She handed you the box of the final necklace that was decided upon before whisking her assistants and tools away. 

“See you at the ceremony Y/N” she cheered before shutting the door. 

Taking the next few minutes of silence to admire yourself in the mirror, you were so absorbed in your own beauty that you didn’t even hear the door open, or his footsteps walking toward you. 

Only until you heard his voice did you notice his presence. 

“Need some help with that?” He motioned towards the jewlery box set on the stand by the mirror. 

You nodded your head excitedly and he opened it, smirking at the large piece of jewlery.

You eyed the exquisite gold necklace, lined with small diamonds around the base. 

“Tigris has a taste for the extravagant doesn’t she” you laughed sheepishly, not remembering it being an option she provided during your last visit. 

“I actually picked this one out.” he whispered in your ear. He motioned for you to lift your hair, and he placed it gently against your collarbones, fingers tracing lightly around your neck as he clasped it. 

You turned to face him, your nerves easing looking into his familiar eyes. “Thank you, I love it.”

He placed a small kiss on your cheek, avoiding the lipgloss that was applied a few moments before the team left. 

“The car is here” he said standing back up straight and eyeing himself in the mirror, making sure he was in check for the event. Sweeping a hand over the side of his hair to calm a strayaway that had popped out. 

“Coryo I’m nervous” you squeaked out.

He didn’t react, still staring at himself in the mirror to make sure all was put together. 

“Don’t be love, you’re going to win.”

His eyes flickered over to you for a second before placing a hand on your waist. 

“C’mon now, don’t work yourself up over this. Let’s just have a good time.”

Coryo wasn’t always the best at comforting your ailments, but tonight he was being particularly insensitive. Now no longer nervous, but frustrated you huffed, grabbing your purse and pulling up the train of your own dress to the car. Fiddling with your idle hands again, since he wasnt holding them, burrowing into deep thought of the morbid embarrassment you feel if you didn’t win. How sad it would be for Coriolanus to be seen with someone who was a loser. Your throat tightened, letting out a sob you had been holding the whole car ride.

“Pull over.” he demanded to the driver. 

“Dove, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I can do this, I can’t bare to humiliate you like this. Can we please go home and forget this. If anyone should be winning anything its you. Im so silly to think-”

“I need you to listen to me right now. You will not humiliate me, you should be proud of yourself for being nominated. Its an honor, one that you have rightfully been nominated for. You wouldn’t be here if there werent people behind those doors who didnt believe that. Please pull yourself together, for me?” He held your hand, fingers tracing the side of your face as you stared into his eyes, searching for more. You wanted him to be proud of you, to be more open. About anything. 

“Okay.” you whispered. “I’m ready”

“Go on.” Coryo instructed the driver. He held onto your hand until the car came to a stop again infornt of the parade of photographers outside of the building. He released your hand to step out, waving the cameras away so he could come around to your side of the car. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and flashes blinding you slightly, making you forget where you were, what you were there for and what you were wearing. Immediately becoming self conscious, you gave a small smile to the cameras before grabbing Coryo’s hand to lift yourself from the car seat.

After regaining your composure, you put on the performance you usually gave to those outside of your close circle, a radiating confidence that had people swooning at the sight. You gave a smirk at the cameras before leaning over to give Coryo a kiss on the cheek. He rolled his eyes, only slight enough for you to see. The camera men cheered, begging for more. 

This was what originally attracted Coriolanus to you. Your confidence and way with people. You couldn manipulate people with your smile, sarcasm and humour. People would fight for your attention in conversation, dying for you to hear what they have to say. You were such a people person it made him sick. You were also better at networking than him, which would make his blood boil if you took it too far. 

Your flirtatious manners have gotten you into trouble a few times with him. Taking just a little too far for his liking, but he could never stay mad at you, since he knew it was all an act. All a performance. Behind closed doors your were doubtful, over thinking every interaction you had. An intense anxiety over every decision you made. On the outside you were so sure of yourself. But on the inside you were always second guessing and frightened. 

That was the difference between you two. 

As for Coriolanus, his confidence outside was just an expression of how he felt inside. He was more sure of himself than anyone you had ever met, which is what attracted you to him. 

Together you were a force to be reckoned with. 

He let you have your time with the cameras, letting them get shots of all angles of your dress and accessories. 

“Who designed your outfit this evening Y/N”

“Tigris Snow of course, who else?” You smiled brightly, placing your hands on your hips and winking at the camera man the question had been asked from. 

“But this necklace is from my lover, Coriolanus.” You gesture over to the man standing to the side. The cameras began to flash and point at him. They began shouting questions at him, except they weren’t the normal questions he’s usually asked at these events. 

Like what new laws hes proposing, or when he will run for president. 

No. 

Tonight they were all questions about you. 

You tried reading his face to see what he was thinking, but just like you, Coryo put on an act for the cameras. 

“Do you think Y/N is going to win Innovator of the year?” One shouted.

Unable to read his expression as you guys strode up the stairs, him holding onto your train for you this time, he stops and turns to look over his shoulder

“Hell yes she is.”

[runabout-river]

Gege's Explanation:

In this chapter, Gege addresses several common theories among readers, particularly those on TikTok, regarding easier ways to defeat Sukuna. He dismisses these points clearly, offering explanations for why these strategies wouldn't work:

1. Maki Switching with Yuta (Boogie Woogie): Many believed Maki could have switched with Yuta using Boogie Woogie, but Gege explains that this wouldn't be effective. Maki couldn’t stop Sukuna’s rampage, and the plan would fall apart quickly.

2. Cursed Speech and Higuruma’s Sword: The idea of using Cursed Speech or Higuruma’s sword to weaken Sukuna is debunked, as the backlash from using such techniques would be too much, likely leading to Cursed Speech users dying from overuse or collapse.

3. Foreigners Joining: Some fans speculated that foreign sorcerers would arrive to assist in defeating Sukuna. However, Gege points out that even though these foreigners initially refused to get involved, they eventually changed their minds and joined later, but they were not enough to tip the balance.

4. Todo Unable to Save Yuji and Choso: Fans hoped Todo could step in to save Yuji and Choso. However, Gege explains that Sukuna’s cursed energy was far too strong, and with both Yuji and Choso caught in the middle of the battle, Todo couldn't intervene in time.

---

The Clan War:

The three great houses—Zenin, Kamo, and Gojo—have been locked in a stalemate for quite some time. While some believe this power imbalance hints at a sequel, I disagree for several reasons:

1. Zenin Clan: With Megumi and Maki now representing the Zenin clan, their power is significantly reduced compared to their peak.

2. Gojo Clan: The Gojo clan has lost its strongest member, Satoru Gojo, leaving them weakened and without a clear leader.

3. Kamo Clan: Kenjaku, the former head of the Kamo clan, is dead, leaving the Kamo clan with no strong leadership as well.

If anything, the future will likely see the students (the next generation) joining the Shin Kage—a group that could rise to take over Jujutsu society. These young sorcerers are strong enough to wipe out anyone standing in their way, signaling a fresh start for the world of Jujutsu sorcery.

(I got several asks last night, mostly on anon. I like getting asks and if you want to stay on anon that's good but also if you want to you can add a personal emoji to your asks. To distinguish yourself and so on 🙂)

Most of what Gege wrote in the war review part of last chapter I had already mentioned during my reviews of the Shinjuku fight in the last year. For me nothing of what was said was new or mindbreaking information. Especially the Toge part 😄 I've said it mostly for Nobara but its the same for both: if they attacked Sukuna too early they would explode 😂

About the clans:

I have to disagree on the Zenin. Like I said in my review, they lost nearly all of their fighters, however they didn't lose their power. Maki is the one who killed them and is therefore stronger than them, a special grade in all but name. Megumi has been said two chapters ago that he would be a special grade as well. With only those two the Zenin obviously don't have their direct political power anymore but they're still powerful.

The Gojo was already about to be ousted if it hadn't been for Satoru's birth. Now though, Yuta can take over the clan as he's a distant and extremely strong relative of them. Of course, they wouldn't be as strong as with Gojo Satoru.

Yes, on the Kamo. Their usurper of a leader is gone now and their previous heir left as well (the thing is, Kenjaku would've had to leave the Kamo the moment Gojo came back so what did they do in the one month timeskip?) Noritoshi could come back though, this time together with his mother. The Kamo would've lost their political power though I guess.

So the funny thing here is, including Kusakabe being the head of the NSS school, that all the old powers are more or less concentrated in the hands of our guys. This does not preclude heavy conflict however.

Last chapter reintroduced heavy power play machinations into the JJ society. And that from a non-clan entity. In Hidden Inventory, a non-clan sorcerer group and even a non-sorcerer group made power plays inside JJS. With the extremely changed landscape of the world right now, such power plays are likely to happen again.

As in, the lower clans like the Inumaki could want to fill the power vacuum the big clans left behind. The Japanese government might make moves. The invading armies might make alliances.

I see the extremely detailed NSS parts of last chapter, including several panels of Mei Mei killing the old NSS head, not as a last note on the big clans but as an expansion of the power dynamics that are constantly at play in the background of JJK.

And those could indeed fill the background story parts of a potential JJK Part 2.

[humbledragon669]

S1E3 – Hard Times Write Up P2 – The Globe Theatre London (1601) and the Burbage Meta

This part of the write up for episode 3 is going to take on a slightly different format, in that it will only be covering a very short (approx. 4 minutes) section of the episode. It will also contain the details of a meta-theory I have based on the short conversation that takes place in this scene, and I’ll be analysing the comings and goings of the scene in greater detail to try and demonstrate how the theory came to fruition. I’m not going to lie – this theory is likely to be HUGELY unpopular. I am not a fan of it myself but it’s where my head canon is at, and if it were true might explain one other unknown piece of canon. So, with all that said, let’s get started.

Before we get into the weeds, I’d just like to take a moment to appreciate the soundtrack for this scene. I’ve spoken before about David Arnold’s ability to compose incidental music of all manner of styles to assist with scene setting and the piece playing in the background here is no exception. The use of period instruments, simple orchestration and playful melody do an excellent job in establishing our place in the timeline. Chapeau, sir.

Alright, let’s get the ball rolling with some familiar ground, specifically the obvious joy on Aziraphale’s face when Crowley arrives.

Look at that happy little face! It looks like pure reflex too, he just can’t help himself. Did you appreciate that little suggestion that this is a happy couple on a pre-arranged date? Well hold on to it, because things are about to get rocky.

I’m going to skip ahead a little bit, but I will be coming back to look at some of the other interactions that take place here later on. I’ll mention (briefly) that this scene is the first we learn of the “Arrangement” actually being in place and that they have invoked it “dozens of times” (the book confirms it was originally enacted in 1020). It took me a little while to twig, but the fact that they do work on behalf of the other doesn’t just mean that Crowley is capable of blessing things and using his miracles for good (the latter isn’t so dubious – they both seem to use their miracles more like magic tricks anyway), but that Aziraphale is capable of tempting people into (bad) things. Food for thought.

When I first started looking at this episode with a mind to doing a write up for it, there was one of Aziraphale’s lines that stood out to me:

The reason it stood it is because it feels almost… lustful. And it shouldn’t because he’s not talking about Crowley here, but the actor on the stage – Richard Burbage. I dismissed it because I did not care for what that might mean for our precious darlings. That’s ridiculous, right? Aziraphale desiring someone other than the tall dark prince. Absolutely.

Time for a tangent.

After I finished writing Dangerous Liaisons (a 5+1 fix-it fic I wrote based on the theory that the entire Final 15 is all just an act), I found myself wanting to fill in some of the gaps that I had touched upon in the fic. There is mention of certain events, and of declarations of love on both sides, at particular points in their history, and my brain was already whirring about if I was to write them (spoiler alert: I am 100% going to write them), what the details were. One of those events takes place in 1941, which got me thinking about Aziraphale spitting out that he did the “I Was Wrong” dance that year. Which in turn got me wondering about what that dance would have been for. Which in turn got me thinking about what the other instances of the “I Was Wrong” dance in 1650 and 1793 could have been for, and eventually I was at the point where I wasn’t just planning to write more fics about the events mentioned in Dangerous Liaisons, but my versions of how those apology dances came about as well.

At the time, I had a notion that perhaps the 1941 dance had been done as an apology for Aziraphale’s outburst in 1862 about the holy water. Similarly, I had an idea that the 1793 dance could potentially have been about the fact that Aziraphale had (very stupidly) gone to France during a war against aristocracy, dressed in finery, for nothing more than crèpes. But the 1650 dance? I had no clue.

Until I went back to this scene.

What if. What if that lustful undertone I thought I had detected when Aziraphale speaks about Richard Burbage wasn’t nothing at all? Honestly, when my brain offered me that idea, it felt like fireworks had gone off in my head. Did I like it? FUCK NO. Did it make a weird sort of sense? Urgh, so help me, it kind of did. So hold on people, I’m going to say it quickly, because I am not enjoying writing it about as much as you aren’t going to enjoy reading it.

I think Aziraphale had an emotional affair with Richard Burbage.

I think not only did Crowley know about it, but that initially he gave it his blessing. I think Crowley changed his mind when he realised how much he was hurting as a result of it. I think Crowley tried to talk Aziraphale out of it under the pretence of not wanting him to feel the pain of heartbreak when Burbage inevitably died. I think they had a huge row about it. And I think the 1650 “I Was Wrong” dance was Aziraphale apologising for it all.

Hate me now? It’s OK if you do, I kinda hate myself for thinking it in the first place to be honest.

I know you’re probably thinking “well, what on earth were the 1793 and 1941 apology dances for then? If the original dance was for something as awful as an “affair”, what could he possibly have done in later years that would have been bad enough that the dance needed to be repeated?”. I know you’re thinking it because it’s exactly what I thought when my brain force fed me this theory in the first place. So here’s the thing.

I don’t think the dances in 1793 and 1941 were for anything different.

I think all three of the instances of the apology dances were for the same thing – Aziraphale’s emotional affair with Richard Burbage. Because it’s the one thing Crowley can secretly never forgive him for, even though he gave him permission to do it in the first place.

I suppose I had better start talking to explain myself here, shouldn’t I? Well, alright then, I will, but only about my reasoning for the theory – the playing out of the dances I will be writing about in my fics.

Let’s start with the little glance at Burbage we see from Aziraphale when Crowley says he hates the ”gloomy” Shakespeare plays:

I’ve slowed it down so that you can see it, but Aziraphale’s primary concern about Crowley’s criticism is whether or not Burbage has heard it – that’s where his gaze initially goes to before being distracted by an approaching Shakespeare.

OK, OK, a single glance and a single line of script. That’s hardly a confession, is it? Well, I’m not done yet. Let’s have a look at Aziraphale falling over himself to reassure Burbage of his talents.

This sort of gushing simper is something you might usually see from a teenage girl trying to bolster the older boy she has a desperate (and inappropriate) crush on, often when responding to an attempt by him to fish for compliments or show the younger girl up. It makes me a little sick at just how desperately Aziraphale offers his support here to be honest. My feelings aside, his babbling flattery wins him Burbage’s attention, which clearly delights the angel.

I’m sure most people would be happy to believe that the reason Aziraphale denies his friendship with Crowley is because that is the standard for them both, but I think there’s more to it than that. I’m of the mind that Burbage and Aziraphale already know each other at this point, and that they’ve already begun to develop feelings for one another. Burbage asking Aziraphale about his “friend” isn’t just a general question - it’s tinged with jealousy. He wants to know who this man is, not in an attempt to garner more compliments, but because he’s feeling threatened by his presence. As well he should. Let’s also take a look at Aziraphale’s face after Crowley’s presence has been pointed out:

Does it look familiar to you? It does to me. It’s the face he pulls when he’s in trouble for doing something he knows he should be in trouble for. Just like when Nina drops him in the shit with Crowley for having a naked man in his shop:

We can also see Crowley starting to cotton on to things in this little exchange. He sees Aziraphale’s desperation and flustering, sees the human’s jealousy and possessiveness. So what does he do? He does what any self-respecting mischief-loving demon would do. He decides to join the pissing contest. You can see his decision in his expression here:

If that expression wasn’t enough to let you know that he’s entering the ring at this point, his dismissive response to Burbage’s challenge should be enough to tell you he now considers this man fair game.

I think you should get on with the play.

Ouch. Saucer of milk, Crowley? Or maybe just turn your disdain to the person you’re actually upset with? Ah, he’s got that covered, showering Aziraphale with sass when he heckles Burbage. You can see a little train of emotions going through his expression here – amusement morphs into shock and disbelief, finally indicating his incredulity with a head shake so subtle you can only just catch it in the movement of his hair.

Quick side note: in the script, Burbage gives Aziraphale a “grateful thumbs up” at the heckle. Very friendly, don’t you think?

And so we come to the hateful fateful line that got us into this mess in the first place.

He’s very good, isn’t he?

And now it takes on a whole different level of meaning, doesn’t it? This is him asserting his pride at Burbage’s talents, justifying his feelings in a thinly veiled confession, and subtextually seeking approval from the one person in the world that he would ever want it from.

Let me be clear: I do not believe that Aziraphale is sexually attracted to Burbage, or that he’s in love with him. I think he feels a deep emotional attraction to him and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that Burbage’s talent is what’s really driving it. It’s worth remembering that Richard Burbage was a real historical person, who was the resident actor at the Globe Theatre. He played virtually every major role in the company, and it is generally thought that the role of Hamlet was written for and based on him. He was possibly considered the greatest actor of his time.

Crowley’s response, which comes after a tiny pause, seems oddly out of character.

Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety.

For those who don’t know, this line is an almost direct quote from Shakespeare’s “Antony and Cleopatra” (written after 1601, hence why Shakespeare makes a note of it when Crowley speaks). It’s spoken by Enobarbus, Antony’s best friend, who acts as a reasoned counsellor to Antony, offering advice unbiased by an all-consuming infatuation with Cleopatra. The pronouns have been changed in Crowley’s rendition (the resulting line in the play is about Cleopatra, so “his” becomes “her”). I have no doubt that Crowley’s subtext is pretty thickly layered here, so I’m going to try and break it down a bit:

We have a reference to age not having an effect on appearance. This is pretty obviously a characteristic of both himself and Aziraphale, immortal beings as they are.

The second half of the line he delivers is a reference to the subject having a range of moods that are unpredictable in their application.

The line as a whole takes these two ideas and wraps them in the suggestion that the subject is overwhelmingly attractive to many.

So taking all of that into consideration, I believe that the subject of Crowley’s line here is Aziraphale. He’s the one who doesn’t age, who is unpredictable and has fickle moods. It’s a reminder to himself of the things he finds attractive in Aziraphale and why others might also be drawn to him. It’s his admission that in this situation, he must be Enobarbus, the advisor, but that one day he can resume his role as Antony to Aziraphale’s Cleopatra. I mean, where else do we think he gets his 20th century first name from anyway?

That was a lot of analysis for a tiny handful of words. Aziraphale is less impressed with them, presumably because his little crush’s talent has not been recognised and he didn’t get the approval he was looking for.

The conversation that follows lets us know that Crowley has called this meeting. What’s interesting though is that according to Crowley’s opening line of the scene, it would appear that the location choice was Aziraphale’s.

I thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here.

This would suggest that Aziraphale knew that Burbage was going to be displaying his talents and that it would give him ample opportunity to show him off. Poor Crowley has been completely ambushed.

The majority of the conversation after this point is largely business-related, but it doesn’t stop Aziraphale from returning his eyes to Burbage at every opportunity, who is relentlessly charging through his lines in the background. Interestingly, the only line we focus on him for is this “the pangs of despised love”, which refers to the heartache caused by love that ends badly. And what other way is there for the affair between him and Aziraphale to end but badly? He’s human. He’s going to die. Leaving Aziraphale heartbroken. The frame just before these words are delivered would suggest that Aziraphale isn’t actually paying attention to him when he says them (shocking), so he’s probably missed that particular point entirely.

It's touching to see that Aziraphale does still care for Crowley, despite whatever else might be going on in his brain – his main concern, at least on the surface, is that it could put Crowley in danger if they invoke the Arrangement. In truth, I think he’s also considering the possibility that he might get to stay in London to spend more time with Burbage if he doesn’t have to go to Edinburgh; it’s written all over the lingering gaze he shoots the actor’s way when he’s offered the change to “toss for Edinburgh” (*smirk*)

And just look how disappointed he is when he loses:

And as if Aziraphale had not asked enough of his demon already, he overhears a conversation between Shakespeare and the oyster vendor (named Juliet, wonder if old Bill stole her name for anything he’d written previously…), prompting him to ask Crowley for a favour. I don’t think this could be interpreted as anything other than a secret gift from Aziraphale to Burbage. He obviously thinks it’s a marvellous idea and has set his heart on having it – just look at his silent ask of Crowley:

If that little eyebrow raise looks familiar, it’s because exactly the same micro-expression we see when he silently asks Crowley to clean his jacket in episode 2:

Let’s just for a moment say that my theory about all of this is complete guff. Why would Aziraphale be so desperate for Hamlet to succeed? Why this particular play? I’m prepared to settle and say the reason he doesn’t do the miracle himself is because he’s just lost the toss and is about to go and do Crowley’s job for him, but I can’t work out why he would be so keen for this play to succeed if there wasn’t some sort of emotional attachment involved with its lead actor and inspiration. So, I’m sticking to my guns on this one. Note: I’m not going into any metafiction stuff about both David and Michael having played Hamlet to high acclaim – everything here stays strictly within the GO universe.

And, like the lovesick little puppy that Crowley is, he gives his heart’s desire what it desires, even though it isn’t him. He even calls it a “treat”, and it earns him a pretty sweet smile of gratitude.

I don’t believe that Crowley’s gesture here is without subtext. I think this is him giving Aziraphale the approval he was fishing for earlier. And Aziraphale knows it – his secondary response (after that big soppy grim) is one of delighted relief. I have no doubt that Crowley is smarting a little by this point, and that’s borne out by the fact that he now leaves the theatre alone. If we look at the ends of each of the historical scenes, there are three where one of our hero couple leaves without the other (I’m not counting the departure in 537 AD where they both leave simultaneously). One is in 1862 (where Aziraphale refuses to supply Crowley with holy water) and another in 1967 (which I obviously haven’t covered yet) where Aziraphale leaves after delivering his soul-destroying “you go too fast” revelation. The other is this one. It’s seems very fitting that the only scenes where we see one of them leaving without the other are scenes where there is emotional tension between them. More importantly for this scene though is not so much that Crowley leaves, but that Aziraphale stays, his gaze instantly returning to Burbage on the stage. Not only is his face still fixed with a soppy smile, but he resumes eating – something we will see him using as a flirting device with Crowley in future years.

There’s one last thing I want to talk about from the beginning of this scene that I think bears mentioning:

Setting aside the fact that he miracles a coin out of thin air right in front of a human’s face here, there’s something else that draws my attention. The vendor in this micro-scene gives a customer two choices: oysters or oranges. Aziraphale chooses a third option, that we as the audience are not aware is available: grapes. Is it too extreme to consider this to be foreshadowing the choice that Aziraphale will make in this scene? As an entity, we have seen him try to choose between Heaven and Crowley for centuries, but here he will instead choose a third, previously unknown, option – Richard Burbage.

So there we have it. If you’ve stuck with me this far, I really do congratulate you. And I’m sorry. I’m not exaggerating when I say that writing this all down was actually really hard to do. I don’t want any of what I’ve theorised here to be true as much as most of the GO fandom, but once the idea planted its seed I could see how much sense it made.

If you’re still reading, and don’t hate me too much, I’ve written the prologue and first chapter of the fic that goes with this meta (you can find it here). I’ll be writing the second and third chapters covering the other “I Was Wrong” dances once I’ve completed the analysis for their relevant scenes, though that does mean the 1941 chapter will be a little while in the making.

Not sure I really want to include my usual sign off here, but… questions, comments, discussion always welcome. (Please don’t throw too much abuse at me!)

[cmdrfupa]

Mind over matter

Part 3 of unrequited Hiromi x Reader.

Pt.1 & Pt.2

The previous night proved to be better than anticipated.

Kento apologized a total of 4 times, and the slight sting on your inner thighs was proof of it. But you were his again. No more dedicating himself to late nights in the office or choosing friends' outings over you. You were his partner, and he would do right by you. Cloud 9.

The morning was going to be as expected. Three legal interviews were scheduled at the top of your day before you spent the remainder on a call, then analyzing new data for a current trial. Knowing you'd be stuck at your desk, Kento bought you a bento and thermos set to be more efficient.

Seeing Hiromi in his office on the way to yours, you stopped to greet him. "Morning Higuruma! Good start to the day so far?"

Looking off the side of his monitor, his eyes focused on you as the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.

"Good morning to you. So far, a decent day. Let's hope it stays that way."

"With summer interns on week 3, we can only hope." The gentle laugh that left your mouth only filled his stomach with butterflies. "Well, let me get to it!"

"See you around."

"Don't work too hard! We'll need powerhouse Higuruma for that conference call." You bounced as he observed your walk to your office.

"Maybe she wanted to talk later? It is only 9 in the morning. And I did say whenever you're free."

His thoughts swirled as he gazed at the doorway where you had stood. He shook his head, trying to dispel the tumult of emotions, and returned to his emails.

The late afternoon rolled around too quickly for Hiromi, and the 3-hour conference call was the main culprit. He felt he hadn't done much and dreaded the research files waiting on his desk. Knowing his assistant was leaving soon, he made his second cup of tea in the office kitchen to stretch his legs. The quiet chatters among his peers filled the silence as he waited for the kettle to ding. But the mentioning of your name grabbed his attention first.

  "It's the 2nd balloon bouquet he's sent her now. Last time, it was the cookies and flowers," one assistant spoke hushedly.

  "Oh, he's going all out. I mean, Kento is already hot. The surprise gifts are just a bonus."

  "On looks alone, giving him another chance is so worth it."

  The butterflies he had felt earlier turned to heavy stones in the pit of his stomach. You had chosen your ex. The feeling of what he wanted to call betrayal was overwhelming.

    If he could have a mug full of rum to help him forget the hideous balloon bouquet left at the front desk for you, Hiromi would fill it to the brim. Grape oolong tea would have to do for now.

  "I don't know, Higuruma. It's possible you did nothing wrong, and she wanted to get back with her ex."

  "It has to be something I did. Was it the approach? Possibly came on too passively?"

  Kusakabe unwrapped another hard candy and threw it into his mouth before turning to look at you and Kento in the reception area. The office staff stared in astonishment at Kento's display of affection. He arrived a few minutes after the courier delivered the bouquet, and the women in the office immediately gathered around, drawn in by his smooth voice asking for you. Hiromi watched from his office, feeling unbearable tension.

  "Probably too passive. Should've been more bold."

  "Atsuya, please. I was as bold as I could've been. I told her how I felt just on a whim. There was no planning. What else did I need to do?" Shove my tongue down her throat?"

  "I mean... Probably would've worked." Kusakabe shrugged.

  "But that doesn't make sense."

  "Women don't make sense, just like we don't. Lay it to rest, alright? She's taken. You'll live and move on."

The weight of loss settled heavily on Hiromi's shoulders as he watched you talk, hand in hand with your ex, Kento. Jealousy bubbled up inside him despite his efforts to keep it at bay.

When he thought it couldn't get any worse, you made eye contact with him. "Damn it, they're coming to my office," Hiromi muttered under his breath. Your shameless display of affection only added fuel to the fire as you waltzed into his office.

  "Kusakabe, Higuruma! You remember my boyfriend Nanami Kento?" you announced with a smile. Kusakabe stood up, reaching out his hand.

"Guy from last year's holiday party that got completely smashed off the Moscow mules, right?" Kento's jaw clenched as he shook Kusakabe's hand.

  "Didn't think anyone would remember that."

"Hard to forget a guy who tried kissing Yaga under the mistletoe."

"Twice. Tried twice," Hiromi added, shaking Kento's hand more firmly than he shook Kusakabe's. "Good to see you, Nanami."

  Your face flushed with embarrassment as you watched Kento struggle to maintain his composure while recollecting the unfortunate holiday work party incident.

"Do you guys have any plans for this weekend?" Kento's fingers relaxed as you chimed in. "I'm having a little backyard party! Kento bought this new Konro grill, and I want to test it out. You should both come!"

  Hiromi was the only person who noticed Kento's glare, which wasn't exactly inviting. Despite Kusakabe's lighthearted conversation about the special marinade he uses for his Yakitori, Hiromi's internal turmoil was evident as he struggled to maintain a casual tone, managing to say, "Sounds fun."

  "If you have plans, don't try to shift them on our behalf." Kento chimed in, snaking one arm around your waist and bringing you closer. "Last-minute plans are always the worst, I understand."

  "We really wouldn't want to impose-"

"Do you guys prefer red or white wine? I have a bottle I've been wanting to open, and I think a backyard party celebrating friendship and whatever you two got going on is the perfect event!" Kusakabe's uncharacteristic smile made Hiromi wince. What the hell was he doing?

    Two hours—two hours to land on a short-sleeved off-white polo, navy blue chinos, and low-profile tennis shoes. His dark, stringy hair was precisely slicked back, only leaving a few strands to fall onto his forehead. "Rest. We need to get more rest." he lightly dragged his thumbs across the slight bags under his brown eyes before grabbing his wallet.

He called you that morning, asking what he could bring to complement the menu best. "Whatever your heart desires!" Your chipper tone gave him an unfortunate amount of serotonin.

After texting Atsuya to let him know he was en route, Hiromi went to your now-shared home.

  Perfectly manicured lawn, Hiromi slowly walked to the front door as he admired the lush grass and oddly shaped hedges that lined the front windows. Realizing the ring doorbell was active, he gave it a wave with his free hand.

"Hi. It's Higuruma."

"I'll be right there," a familiar male voice broadcasts in response from the little box.

There he stood, his signature cruciferous crunch slaw and a bottle of gin for Kento in hand, awaiting his own personal hell that merely sat on the other side of the door.