#as well as by doing work as a seamstress for people in the

[starpros-sunshine]

seb. seb bard wataru and secluded noble eichi as their cnstars exclusive cards au

!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes yes yes yes yes Ohhh I can see it I can see it

I'm gonna put this under read more because this could get longer

Wataru as a traveling bard and Eichi is a noble that lives a kind of isolated life dur to his weak constitution and Wataru comes by Eichis castle or mansion or chateau or whatever fancy piece of architecture he occupies and Eichi hears Watarus music and comes to the window and they have a moment of eye contact and initially Wataru doesn't think much of it and travels further after he played a few more pieces for Eichi -because of course if the audience enjoys it then the entertainer shall entertain for that is his job - and so after that little private concert is over he travels further. His eay leads him this small town that's not so far from the fancy piece of architecture, because I like to be a little cliché, and there he hears all sorts of rumours about the mysterious nobles that live in the...I'll just call it a mansion now it's a chateau-adjacent mansion. Any ways those rumours catch his intrigue and he decides to stay in the town a little and he stays at an inn maybe and he pays him rent by playing music for them in the evenings,,,

Oh and maybe this is where he runs into Yuzuru! He's on the street just observing and he sees this elegant and very pretty looking young man and he doesn't look like someone from the town but he also doesn't have the air of an aristocrat about him and he catches some older women gossipping about him and apparently he's a domestic servant of the strange nobles that everyone seems to be a little scared of because they never seem to show their face anywhere.

Maybe he tries to strike up a conversation with Yuzuru or maybe that process repeats multiple times but eventually he decides to snoop around the Mansion a little and maybe he runs into Eichi again,,,

And maybe he gives him a few more private concerts or magic performances I reckon he does those too and the intrigue grows and grows and by now the people in the town know Wataru by name and sometimes he gets free food gifted by them and they're still a little wary of him because he just appeared one day and nobody knows where this strange man with his birds and his heavenly voice came from but he seems to be nice so they come to like him.

And Yuzuru picks up some of the rumours about this strange bard that pays his room at the local inn by playing songs for the patrons in the evenings and sometimes helps out the elderly i the town and he notices he's seen this man before playing music outside of their house so of course he mentions these rumours to Eichi and Tori who in turn are intrigued and a little sceptic respectively.

When Wataru appears the at Eichis balcony the next time Eichi actually initiates a conversation with Wataru and that continues over the next few visits as well and eventually they go from "Bard" and "My Lord" to "Wataru" and "Eichi" or still "My Lord" but this is different though it's the same as when Wataru calls Eichi emperor it's more teasing than a formality you have to imagine a grin in his voice as he says that. Tori and Yuzuru have no idea about most of these visits because half of them are in the middle of the night (I imagine it a little like the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet right right).

And so they grow closer and as the time passes Wataru starts to actually settle a little in the town. The room he was renting at the inn is pretty much actually his room now, he could've moved out but he lives on a good deal and the older couple that runs the inn treat him like their own son now (he doens't even have to do shows every evening anymore, just sometimes a week) and pretty much all of the regulars know him personally now and on a first name basis (nobody actually knows his last name). This is the first time in forever he's stayed at one place for this long and it's all just because he has taken a liking to this feeble-ish blonde aristocrat that looks at him like he hung all the stars in the sky up by himself.

He still only knows Tori by hearsay and Yuzuru just briefly - somehow they never ran into each other when he was there during the day - But Eichi has joked about introducing them properly before.

in my mind there's this one specific image of Eichi and Wataru standing on his Balcony and they are both on opposite sides of the railing and it's the middle of the night and it's chilly so Eichi has his blanket draped over his shoulders because that's the sensible thing to do when it's cold and Wataru is standing on the opposide side of the railing, kind of standing on the edge of it and leaning more over the railing into the space of the balcony where you actually stand on and they are being disgusting in the way that they're flirting and maybe they also kiss a little,,, maybe,,,, because I want them to,,,,

And sweet innocent Yuzuru only hears about things between Eichi and Wataru via the rumour mill when he goes to run errands on the market and hears that the bard from the inn has been seen in the evening multiple times as he's walking the path to the mansion of the nobles nobody really knows. And he hasn't been back until the early hours of the morning. And so Yuzuru tells this to Tori. And they're both too awkward to ask him straight out so whenever they hear Eichi humming a tune while he does... whatever it is rich people do. They just look at each other and the question is in the room but nobody knows how to break it and they come to just. the weirdest conclusions because nobody in this house communicates like a normal person.

And maybe sometimes Eichi sneaks out to visit Wataru in the town (the first time this happened he put on a really big hood and changes his voice a little so it would be harder to recognise and actually caught Wataru off-guard for once). Watarus birds like him too...at least most of them do.

I like to think he once had to explain to Tori why he smells like bird and it was suuuper awkward because there aren't a lot of ways to talk yourself around having to explain that the night before you were basically turned into a pigeon nest and it took you and your bard-kind-of-boyfriend-but-also-not-really-but-you-have-something-going-on-you-just-don't-really-know-what-to-call-it-because-that-topic-has-been-successfully-avoided spent a good 20 minutes trying to get all the feathers out of your hair and clothes. Tori didn't buy his excuse but it made so little sense that he doesn't really think he wants to know either so he choses to live in ignorance for once. (when he does meet Wataru he remembers this and suddenly it all makes sense because Wataru also smells like birds. He choses living in ignorance was good while it lasted.)

After some more time of being acquainted with Wataru Eichi and Tori decide to also show their faces in the town for once and both parties have to warm up to each other and it's a little off for all involved (Wataru and Yuzuru are the only people who actually know both sides personally) but with the time the general unease regarding the secluded nobles ebbs out a little. There's still people who don't like them but it's civil still because they like Yuzuru and while they think Wataru is a bit strange they have come to like him as well and why provoke unneccessary comflict when you can just decide not to interact with those people.

I could talk sooooo much more but I don't think anyone actually wants to read this much or cares for it so I will try to stop now but just. Eichi bringing the traveling bard Wataru to settle down and "tying him down to humanity" by keeping in one place and Ohhhhhhh you can even have something EP:Link-esque in this like. Eichi is convinced Wataru will leave him eventually because he's a free spirit and tying him down would be unfair or impossible or something and Wataru gives him...I dob't know maybe not a mask but his instrument or something maybe a mask works too because he would probably still be a bard the man has to make a living somehow but symbolically the instrument would work better. But yes and he gives that to him and tells him "this is me and I offer this to you" and Eichi still doesn't get it so at their next redezvous it's like. the second part of that converstation where Eichi had to accept that Wataru wanting to stay is the only logical explanation left and he has to accept that and ooooh there's layers to this there is actually layers to this I'm so,,,,,hehehehehe,,,,laughing ecstatically and clapping my hands,,,,

#there could be other characters too in this au #Tsukasa as the neighbouring aristocrat #Keito as the librarian or something I need to figure this out still #Kuro is a seamstress (not the right word but you know what I mean) #Kuro Shu and Mika are the people who sew the clothes for basically this entire town #but it's a small town there's not many people and the clothes get worn until they're unwearable so it works out #this is gonna marinate in my brain for a bit #I love love looove this concept #Natsume the son of the towns fortune teller and he takes to Wataru like a little duck #hehehehehe #thank you mar for putting this thought into my brain ballroom it's so fun #yumefan🎼🌠 #I love Wataei every version of them #wataei #Has Yuzuru walked into Eichis room to check on him because he didn't appear at the usual time he wakes up #and maybe he's not doing so well so you should check just in case #and he walks in on Eichi asleep in his mountain of pillows and Wataru next to him also asleep in Eichis mountain of pillows? #He most certainly has. #That's how he found out about the weird singing magic bird man that stole Eichis heart away #maybe #maybe maybe #Märchen au

[yourplasticlittlespastic]

E̴N̴T̴W̴I̴N̴E̴D̴ - Series

Part 2

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f/reader

Warnings: Pure Fluff! Raw +18 warnings will come later in other chapters

Notes: That's right, I plan to make it a series. Not too short, not too long but enough! Benedict has stolen my days and nights and I've been daydreaming too much ngl.

WC: 3.5K

Humidity has reached its peak.

You cursed quite low as the sweat forming on your lower back created a wave of uncomfortableness and nevertheless, you were putting yet another layer of fabric. Madame Delacroix called it freshening and here you are, the third hour of trying out the fabrics of the newly imported cloth.

"Better than whalebone, is it not mon cherie?"

You looked at Madame Delacroix with the sense of cursing her too but you smiled rather sweetly "Steel you said? It is... better" You felt the structure of the corset, still very fitting and nothing different from the previous ones except for the metal strips on the side.

"Bien, we shall get it" The seamstress nodded and started working immediately and as you stood there; presence made statue and breath made a mere flow you saw people passing, your mother with her pupils dilated as the colours of fabric captured her you wondered if perhaps things could go more easily this season.

A sudden wave of hope filled you at the thought of not having Daphne around, not to confuse it with hate, you love the Bridgertons but the eldest sister made quite a chaos last time that unfortunately even if some pair of eyes landed on you, Daphne and the Duke took most for themselves.

When you returned to your house, adorned with the marble that was polished every morning of every day, you lay on your bed tired of doing absolutely nothing. Looking pretty in a burgundy dress is not a task that burns brain cells.

“Mama” you said with your head facing the ceiling and your legs swinging.

The woman who you were looking for entered the room, holding a cup of tea in her hands and a smile on her face, one that was painted so naturally, one that she passed to you.

“Yes, my dear?”

“May I go to the Bridgertons?”

“Now?” Your mother saw the agony on your face “I want you back before sunset”

“You must not worry” Your heels clicked on the ground as you got up, a smile on your face and the feeling of going to a friend's house instead of spending the day in your chambers “Finally, finally” you whispered clumsily going outside your grandiose mansion and breathing the powdery vs. Pollen of London’s air.

It was a three-minute stroll as you turned the block towards the Bridgertons; ultimately you saw the gates open and the carriage that was waiting outside.

The sun was shining as you looked upwards, the sky a shade of blue that reminded you of the ocean, the one that your father brought you to a couple of summers ago.

You knocked twice and waited for someone to open, a maid appeared and bowed.

“Miss Ashbourne”

“Morning Rose, may I?”

“Please, the ladies are-“

“In the drawing-room, I assume, as always”

“Miss Penelope is there as well"

"The more, the better. Thank you, Rose" With pose you took your dress and tried to walk inside the beautiful almost similar entree of the house but-

"Anthony?!"

You smiled at the voice and before stepping into the staircase you turned around and made your way to the other room; the one that always smelled like oils and wood.

“I believe your sight might be flawed… that or you quite meant I look like Anthony”

Benedict’s eyes lift from the painting, a smile spreading on his lips and you did the same.

“In spirit perhaps” he curved his lips “Forgive me Miss Ashbourne, the angle from this side is not ideal to see who walks around”

“Hmmm that’s alright,” you said stepping into the middle of the room, the tiles stained with long-forgotten strokes “How are you?”

“Not bad at all and you?”

“I could be better, a boring day it is but I meant if you were fine after art school and…” you stopped to see if you were not being impertinent but he seemed to put his wooden palette down and pierced his ears “I mean…”

“That’s kind of you to ask, Y/N” he shrugs “I’m dealing with it well, I’m content with what I’m doing right now and what happened there it was to be enjoyed”

“That’s good,” you said ready to leave the room “Well I shall leave you with your…” your eyes caught the painting, a room adorned with frames and curtains “Beautiful painting”

"Thank you, I'm still polishing it but thank you" He eyes you oh so slowly as he squinted his eyes “Would you like to stay for a while?”

“Oh”

“Come on, I’ve always enjoyed sharing words with you”

"Well..." You said unsure, you didn't want to leave him so fast after the kind words and the invitation, it was rude of you "I would like to"

"Good, you can sit right there" He pointed to the chair and you did what you were told, watching how Benedict moved the easel and the chair behind, you heard a bit of noise as the stool and his tools were put in a table, he sat down and looked at you

"Tell me, I know you’re a debutante this season”

You snorted that the sound made Benedict laugh in return “My days have been filled with the preparations for this season and my mama is driving me crazy because apparently, I don't know how to sit and breathe"

"What?"

“I move my chest too quickly that it looks like I’m always on the verge of an attack, that’s what she says. I never thought controlling my breathing would be a concern in my life but here we are”

How eyes had a mind of their own because they landed very briefly on the straight neckline of your dress and the mounds of your chest and he snapped only to say "She cares about you"

"I know" You shrugged “is just so… boring”

“What? Do you want some drama? Perhaps lady Whistledown-“

“Not the drama inked words can bring” you confessed “I do not know what I want from this season. Last one I was still an espectator and yet the chaos was too much to bear. This time… should I prefer quietness and routine? Or perhaps-“

“A scandal,” he said with a glint in his eyes “I would go for the latter but I'm not you"

"You think it's the right thing to do?"

"No, but I have a reputation to live up to" He smiles and you cannot help but laugh as his shoulders move in amusement "So I am the one to talk, aren't I?”

“Quite indeed you are, Benedict,” you said

“So” he smiled “can you spare some time so I can tell you how I achieved the perspective here?”

“I can spare a day or two”

“That’s real talking”

Benedict has always been keen on you. Your spirit reminded him of Anthony; how sharp and stubborn and your way of talking reminded him of Eloise; how straightforward and full of wit. Every time you found each other alone the conversation flowed like a river; the topics varied and he liked to be surprised, and you liked to surprise in return.

Today he was trying to explain to you how he was working on the perspective and the shading; you didn't understand half the things that were coming out of his mouth and yet you kept your attention on him, it was hard to do so as you saw how he moved his hand to demonstrate or the way he tilted his head with fervour.

It took a gentle few minutes for you to get into the atmosphere you always find with Benedict. The straight posture left your body as you moved your hands from your lap and made your way next to the canvas. Your nose could smell the painting and fresh oil splash on a jar. For all you know, Benedict Bridgerton, the tallest and silliest brother, had a way to make you feel yourself. Indeed with one and twenty years on this earth, you would say you have the closest for at least a solid seven with him: a good friend with good values and good lips, the former an observation you have assembled for the past two years.

“But who says that in the same painting orange and purple must avoid each other?” you asked staring at his fingers and the way he pointed at the canvas "hmmm?"

“You see, my professor said that the tones do not match and rather make the art cheap” he explained

"so" you laughed "if by any chance I decide to follow Lady Featherington's fashion trend and mix orange and purple in my wardrobe... I'll be considered cheap by your professor?"

He smiled looking down and hastily removed the curl from your side and allowed it to frame your face better "He would be mad to even think such a thing but please stay with your beautiful gowns, it makes your skin glow"

You stayed there feeling the pulsation at the back of your neck and the sudden urge to remain silent, the feeling of a blush forming and you were aware.

"Thank you" you whispered and moved away to see the painting closer, your hands behind your back.

"You're welcome" He smiled, not taking his eyes off of you and he saw how you were trying to avoid his stare.

Change the subject. You told yourself.

“Haven’t the styles changed over the years?" you asked out loud and trying very well to follow what your head was ordering "If orange and purple even join each other in the future I would be quite mad that it was not you who decided to pursue such an art transgression”

Benedict felt the most boyish with that compliment that he looked down and snorted all genuinely.

“We will see, I have several canvases ready to be corrupted and you. I mean you?” He smiled “How are your activities?”

Your smile grew large “Let me tell you about this book I’ve been reading, it has six volumes”

“I’m all ears, Miss Ashbourne”

That day apart from receiving multiple comments and opinions from Benedict about the biology books you stole from your father's library, you also received a scold from your mother alas you didn’t return when you were supposed to and you said you were encapsulated with the girls and the tea that tracking time was not good. Lost indeed between the smell of oil paintings and unfinished canvases.

And when debuting finally happened, oh so gracefully in front of the Queen. You smiled when it was over, the simple nod of Queen Charlotte alleviated any woes within your mother. You, Y/N Ashbourne a debutante with an ambitious mama by her side. The season was ready to begin.

A week was when you swore you could not feel your cheeks anymore. You have succeeded and had five suitors calling on you every day. The conversations were just a tad dry like the biscuits served by the Cowpers.

“Tighter”

Your squeal resonates only within you as your ladies tightened the corset and followed, as always, your mama’s orders.

“Tighter”

“Perhaps this is good, I feel like I might…”

“You are good my dear, tighter” your mother nodded

And the last squeal escaped your lips as you saw in the three mirror dresser how up your breasts appeared. After getting ready, with the greatest olive green beaded dress Madame Delacroix could design, you made your way to Lady Danbury’s Ball.

It was a night as expected. Your first dance was with a Viscount. He was old, not very handsome and didn't talk to you, you only nodded. The second was an Earl, you were thankful it was a waltz because it seemed that he was not keen on anything else than moving back and forth. The third much to your dismay and much to other girls’ amusement the Marquis of Ashdown stepped on your poor toes until you were destroyed not by dancing but by being in front of him.

“Quite young is he not?” Eloise said with a macabre smile

“Shush it, El. I am mostly embarrassed, he belongs in a nursery”

“And yet he is wife-hunting” she snickered “Nonetheless I must admit that if you two marry then you’ll downgrade from Ashbourne to Ashdown”

“Incredibly funny you are Eloise Bridgerton”

The night went as expected, everything as expected and nothing to be surprised about.

“Goodbye!” Eloise almost yelled that even you blinked in surprise and her quick getaway made you sense a male figure was coming your way so you turned and saw Lord Coxingworth, with his light blonde hair brushed backwards he requested a dance and finally your toes relaxed as well as your dancing skill made is debut; with such a dancer such as Lord Coxingworth.

“I may say that this has been a refreshing way to end my night” he smiled

“You are leaving?”

“I’m afraid so, Miss Ashbourne. My mother is not feeling fine”

“Oh my, then you ought to leave immediately. Give her my regards and please send me a letter once you reach home. I pray she recovers fastly and hopefully, your journey home won't take too long"

"I shall" He bowed and you smiled. “And I shall see you once this matter is settled. I shall pay a visit next week, Miss Ashbourne. You look gorgeous tonight"

You thanked him and watched how he disappeared into the crowd. It was the last dance of the night and yet your feet did not hurt as much after the success and your mother approved with a single nod.

You made your way to the back of the ballroom where Eloise was waiting with Penelope. Minutes later to what it seemed between giggles and quick banter, you saw a shadow passing and it stood quite tall beside Eloise. Benedict.

“Ah sister; mother is looking for you; something about at least being seeing for five minutes beside a man”

“I must leave too, my mother is…” Penelope distractedly said “She is… bye”

You turned to see Benedict with his pristine and flattened down dressing robe “They left me in bed company”

He acted hurt “ow how sorry I am, they left me with a good-looking girl” he shrugged “It’s a matter of perspective” he stared at the green dress “You look quite beautiful. How was the night, is it true you danced with the Marquis of Ashdown?”

“I fought a war with his feet, that was not a dance”

“Let the poor kid be, you are a fine dancer, better than anyone I know. So? He is going to pursue you?

You smiled “Only if his governess allows him”

He snorted and made a burning sound “Good girl” he sigh “What about Lord Coxingworth?”

“Oh… I think it went better than Ashdown”

“Hmmm”

“He said he ought to see me next week”

“Did he?” He sniffed “I think then you have a suitor then”

“Far from it,” you said and looked around “Before the end of this night I must go into Lady Danbury’s library”

“Are you…” he smirked, “Sneaking and stealing yet another book?”

“She once said I could take advantage of her collection”

“yes, only if you are inside the house” he debated with a laugh

“And I am not?”

“But you will not. You’ll get the book and leave the house with it”

“And…” you stood quickly on your tips “if no one sees anything… no one has to know”

He smiled and shook his head but formed an O with his mouth when he saw how swiftly you moved away from your spot. The beads on your dress shifted with you, the curls on your back bounced at the pace and he, the only accomplice in such a furtive task, joined you.

“Perhaps it is better to go back, they might be expecting us”

“Oh nonsense,” you said with the thirst for that book you knew Lady Danbury had, your hand turned the knob and your eyes sparked at the dark of the room that held the shadows of all the books “Eureka”

Benedict stood behind you, a small smile on his face as you searched for the book.

His eyes, like a thief, looked at your curves, the ones the dress did not hide and tried but also sneakily -in the theme of the night- to capture a glance of your oh-so-fast-moving chest your mother thinks you have.

“What is the book?” he asked

“A collection of poetry, not known, written by I believe anonymous people”

“Huh, controversial. Have you read other compilations?"

“Not now but if this one is good, I will try to get a hold of more… unusual editions. This one has the most beautiful cover and I can't help to imagine what it's about"

"I see" he whispered, his voice a bit deeper as his eyes landed on your face

"Do you have a problem?" You turned around to see his eyes were not on the shelves

"No, no, not at all. Let us do something. Open the book on any page and read it out loud. Let us judge it, not by the cover but by one page and one page at all”

You smiled widely at the idea and nodded, you moved around to be in front of him, your left shoulder leaning against a bookshelf allowing yourself to feel more relaxed.

“Alright then…” you cleared your throat and questioned where you could split the book, the beginning, the middle or the end. As your long fingers traced the last page, you told yourself that knowing the ending might ruin the whole thing even if it’s a poetry book “Here” you blindly said and split the book “Let me…” you cleared your eyes amidst the dark room

"In halls of opulence, where high society reigns,

A love forbidden, amidst whispered refrains.

She, a maiden of humble birth, with grace and charm untold,

He, a nobleman of lineage, with wealth and power bold.

Their hearts entwined in secret, amidst societal divide,

Forbidden love's sweet agony, where passions dare to hide.

For in their world of privilege, where status reigns supreme,

Their love is but a whisper, in a world of stifled dreams.

Yet in the hush of moonlit nights, beneath the stars' soft gleam,

They steal away in shadows, where love's light doth beam.

For in their hearts' defiance, they find a love divine,

A bond that knows no boundaries, in a world of rigid line.”

Your eyes darted up to look at him, you didn't expect his eyes to be already on you. His eyes had a certain glint, an emotion you could not pinpoint and as you waited, he cleared his throat.

“That was such a heartfelt piece” he nodded

“Very sad,” you said “I wonder if this person wrote it while going through it or wrote it as a memory of what once was”

“Knowing this world we live in, the latter”

“I enjoyed it” You closed the book and smiled at the cover, you could see the outline of the letters, “I’ll keep it for a while”

“Only if you read some to me too, if I have shared this task I shall share the prize”

You giggled “What a prize, a poetry book”

“Time with you I would say,” he said very quickly in a hoarse voice that he didn’t know he could do

Your heart did a thing, it beat hard and quick but also slow and you felt it was going to be out of your chest.

He was not expecting an answer and so he said "Let's get out of here"

"Yes, let's"

Once outside the room and with the book hidden in your dress, Benedict looked both sides of the hallway and gave you the thumbs up and you both made a run for it, a run for the stairs and to the exit door.

And there you stood, with the cool air hitting your face, with a smile so bright Benedict had to squint his eyes, the laughter came, loud and uncontrollably.

"Miss Ashbourne" He said once the laugh died, the joy in his eyes were still present "and I called myself a bad influence once did I not?”

“I learnt from you, Benedict”

It was the sound of his name coming from your mouth that made him shiver. He didn’t know how or why he felt such a pull. Such desire and such attraction. Unequivocally you were beyond what a diamond could be, the face of an angel he confessed but the natural and free aura that you radiated since he had memory is what made him be there with you at most times.

He didn’t know how it happened but he found himself quite close to your figure, under the night sky, he could see the warm lights crashing against your right side and the darkness hiding the left one.

“What is the name of the book?”

He asked such a simple question but with so much passion that if you were not wise enough to understand the tone, you would have thought he felt compelled to have the book right now.

You blinked at the soft wave of his brandy breath and saw the eyes that stared down -because of the height- and how intrigued he looked.

“Entwined”

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton/reader #smut #fic #bridgerton fic #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton oneshot #benedict bridgerton x you #fanfiction #smut fanfiction #18+ only #18+ content #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton smut

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Beef

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Requested : "Could you do a Daryl x reader where at first he doesn’t like her, and she tries to get to know why hes so mean to her? Maybe he yells at her and then some comfort after?" EDIT: I saw this same request being written by another writer and I want to say, don't send multiple writers the same exact request. I find this super disrespectful.

This one took some turns of its own while writing, I hope it's to your liking!!

When his group first came to the community you were excited. Finally you'd have a real huntsman around to share experiences with, you had missed it so bad.

Before the fall your family owned a shop, your father a butcher and your mother a taxidermist. You and your siblings learned every skill from hunting to skinning, prepping and using each part of the animal so none would go to waste. You hadn't hunted in so long, you weren't sure if you still could hunt succesfully. Even now you'd donate large, strong antlers and bones to the blacksmith in Hilltop to use in weaponmaking. You donated the furs you didn't fashion into items yourself to the seamstresses and prepped each type of meat for meals.

But somehow the new hunter didn't take the shared interests as something positive.

He brought you animals, yes. But never without throwing a judgy look around your workplace. Even when he came in with someone else who'd compliment your clean work he'd only scoff, dump his kills and head back out.

"Sheesh, what crawled up his ass?" The large moustached man laughed. You only shrugged as you lugged the deer behind your counter. "Hell if I know. Ain't digging it out tho. He seems to be doing okay with everyone except for me.." You returned the laugh while the man who's name slipped your mind helped you put the deer on your workbench, only to quickly drop the fake smile and leaning against your workbench.

You thanked him with a sigh and he gave you that look that told you to spill your thoughts.

"Fine. It sucks he's so weird. It'd be awesome to have a partner to do all of this with and to go hunt with." You busied yourself sharpening yuour knives, clearly still annoyed by the whole ordeal. "And..?" The long winded drawl made you roll your eyes at the man's persistance.

"And he's drop dead gorgeous, okay? There. I said it. I have a crush on the man. Happy no-- Ah fuck!" Your knife hit the floor with a clatter as you grabbed at your bleeding hand.

"Alright, up and out withya. To the doc we go." You were led to the infirmary and passed the source of your annoyance on the way.

Not that you were listening, but you still caught his voice in passing. "Damn folk 'ere don't know how ta do shit." You caught his glance in your direction and if you weren't busy keeping yourself from bleeding out you'd confront him.

It was a clear message that you weren't allowed to use the injured hand for your work and risk pulling the stitches, and honestly it just hurt too much to do anything with it. It sucked even more than having to leave your old home behind. There were people counting on your work so they'd have food.

It didn't stop you from going to work and doing as much as you could one-handed. You got there extra early to make up for the extra rime everything would take now, and by the time you'd normally open you found Deanna on your steps, greeting you with her usual smile. "I knew you'd be here stil working, but I brought someone to help until your hand is better. You shouldn't be overworking yourself."

As quick as she had entered she had left again as well, leaving you with your new work companion.

The hunter.

"Good morning." You gave him the kindest smile you could, but were only given a grunt in return as he tossed a bundle of tied up small game on your desk, rounded the corner and fished for a knife to start taking them apart.

Besides you explaining where to put all the different parts of the animal you two barely spoke, until the snap of bone pulled you away from your focused work of skinning yesterday's deer. "The hell?" You turned around to go see what he was up to.

"What are you breaking bones for?" His station was a mess, he pointed at the difficult point he was cuting along. "Easier ta reach without the bone in the way." Without even looking he continued. "Ya should know tha'. Damn city girl doin' mah work."

Again with his snarky comments. You shrugged it off and went back to your own station. Yiur bkood bloiled but you weren't gonna let him get to you, you had work to get done. "Try not to do that, we can still use the bones if you keep them whole."

You tried so hard to focus on your work, skinning the deer with only one functional hand was so difficult and even though you were having extremely conflicted feelings about it you still had to ask him for help.

"Can I borrow your hands for a minute? Can't do this on my own."

You held the large deer up and moved it as Daryl cut away the skin in the most choppy manner, creating a clear line where you stopped and he started. "Can you please work a bit mote delicate? That's gonna take me ages to clean up." You huffed from keeping the deer in place, but also annoyance. Why didn't he work like a hunter? He must know the code, right?

"Why're ya so on mah ass 'bout how I work? Gon' toss it out anyways. Just need the meat, tha's it." He got snappy at the end and you just stared at him, anger clear in your eyes. "Seriously?"

You let go of the deer and stepped away from the counter. "You're sent to MY shop. To help me because I happen to fuck up my hand for the first time ever since I got here years ago and all you can do is talk shit about me?" The knife that laid on the desk before now in your good hand and pointed at his chest. "God I can't believe I even fell for your hunting woodsman charms. You're just an asshole who doesn't give a shit about these animals or the hunter's code." With a clatter the knife hit the floor as you tossed it to the side with shaking hands.

"Get the fuck out of my shop and go find me someone who cares." With angry steps you turned around and headed out of the room, needing a break to gather yourself first if you wanted to get anything else done.

Now alone in the workstation, Daryl snatched up his catch from this morning and headed out.

~~

"You did what? Pookie you gotta listen to the girl." Carol sat down next to him and snatched the cigarette from his fingers. "You know you disrespected her life's work by now following her rules in her own shop, right?"

"I'on get why tha's even important anymore. We gotta eat, tha's all." Daryl's annoyed grumbles did nothing good it seemed as Carol continued to scold him like he was a child. "Did you for one second maybe think this work is all she has left to hold onto her old world self?"

"Cept this ain't the old world no more. She's waistin' time doin' all tha extra shit."

Carol was up and at the front door by now, putting out the cigarette in one of many ashtrays there. "Alright, up with you. You're apologizing with me right now."

The two took off to your shop but found no one there. Daryl's half finished rabbit still out in the open on the table while the deer was gone. "Ain't here. I'll head back tomorro--"

"No we're not. I know where she lives, come on." Carol practically pulled him along on the way to your place despite Daryl's protests.

You were working in your basement area when you heard a knock on the front door. "Come in!" Everyone who came to your place knew the door was unlocked and was free to come and find you, seeing you were either cooking, working on lounging when you kept the front door open.

"Hey, it's Carol! Heard about your hand, need some help around the house?" She needed an excuse to get an answer and find out where you were, so when you called back she knew to head downstairs.

Meanwhile Daryl just stared around to keep his mind busy. He found rabbit skins from prey he brought in wrapped around a pair of boots. He recognized the fur seeing it was a rare color. Further into your livingroom there was a deer pelt draped over the back of your couch. Also caught by him. The white spots over the back had one small flaw from where his bolt had struck right on a white dot. He remembered being proud of his aim for a minute that day.

"Daryl, come on." Carol's whisper-yell had him roll his eyes and as he passed your coatrack he noticed the hooks were all antler parts and the knives laying in the basket on the hallway table had bone handles.

So that's why you were so angry when he snapped the rabbit's leg and skinned the deer so carelessly. You did really use everything.

The two walked down the stairs to your workshop, Carol up front with Daryl following.

"Oh wow," Carol's exclaimation had you laugh. "Yeah, I get that a lot." You stood with your back turned, struggling to hang a piece of skin.

"Here, lemme help ya." Daryl's gruff voice was suddenly right behind you and you spooked, letting go of the pelt but Daryl caught it just in time, draping it over the wire. "Like tha?" His hands stayed up there and adjusted it to your liking, having stepped back to watch him and give Carol a questioning look. She just shrugged and gestured at the man who was again staring around the room. "What brings you here?"

Daryl looked at everything except you, he knew he'd lose all ability to speak if he did. Hell, he already had a difficulty getting his words out now seeing how wrong he was for not listening to you. "Came ta say sorry." He stared at the basket of furs labeled 'Donate'. "Shoulda known better than ta get angry. 'N I get why ya work thr way ya do now." Next to the basket sat a crate filled with thick, sturdy bones labeled 'blacksmith'.

You nodded and gave him an option. "Come back to the shop tomorrow. I'll have tou clean up that deer skin you almost ruined and you're following my teachings. I'll forgive you for wasting the rabbit."

Daryl chewed at his thumb, the other hand stuffed in his pocket and fidgeting with the fabric inside. "Yeah, alright." He nodded and looked over at Carol who had the brightest smile on her face. One that screamed victory.

"We'll get out of your hair, I'll bring by some lunch tomorrow at your shop." Carol waved on her way up, and just as Daryl was about to follow her you quickly spun around to grab something. "Oh, here." You held out a thin knife wrapped in leather, a small engraving of Hilltop's blacksmith on the handle. "I saw you took the rabbits, so if you haven't prepped them yet you can try this one. They're great for smaller animals."

He stumbled over his thanks as he accepted the knife and quickly headed out after Carol.

~~

You were back at work early the next morning, painkillers and a small breakfast in your system already and hoping to finish that damn deer. It still proved a challenge to get it from the cooler onto the workbench but you managed eventually, just before Daryl came in.

"Mornin'." Hid gruff voice sounded through the workplace as he rounded the corner and placed the knife from yesterday on the table. "Thanks fer lettin' me borrow it. Worked like a charm."

You picked up the knife and held it out to him again, only to recieve a questioning grunt in return. "It was a gift. To keep."

Daryl never got gifts. Everything he had was scavenged and well taken care of for longer use these days. It felt weird to keep it but he thanked you again and pocketed it.

Meanwhile you had grabbed the deer skin and laid it out where he'd be working. "Look here, I'll show you how to clean this up and you'll go fix the rest, okay? It'll take a while but it'll be worth it." Daryl stepped up to you and observed the way you took the knife to the uneven spots of skin and carefully smoothed it all out. The precision in your work was impressive to say the least. "How long've ya been doin' this?"

You dropped a cut off piece of meat into a plastic container and thought back to the old world. "I guess ever since my parents thought I was old enough to handle knives." You held the tool out to the hunter and watched him take it from you. "Your turn. I'll be hopefully finishing that deer so just ask whatever, whenever."

You were lucky a lot of the cutting could be done onehanded, and holding back pieces was okay enough to do with your wrist or hold something down with your elbow. But now that you had all the easy access meats off and seperated you ran into a problem.

"Fuck.." You needed help. The same kind of help that had you kick him out yesterday.

"Sup? Need hands?" He was at your side in a second, waiting for your instructions.

"I need to take off the ribs but I can't." You leaned aside to point around the carcass. "If you can press down here, and there." Daryl followed your instructions and put pressure on the spots you pointed out. "Then I can take this here apart." Your movements were followed and suddenly it was way too hot in your always cold workplace. Yesterday you'd be happy if he decided thr Kingdom was a better home for him but now that he apologized and proved to better himself after your misunderstanding you were back to being the lovesick puppy Abraham had made you out to be when he brought you home after the infirmary visit.

With how Daryl held the spot clear and open you had to get close to chop through the bone and separate it all in workable bits.

"Can I take one a'those later? Michonne asked ta cook fer her kids cuz she's out 'n Carol's off ta Kingdom--" "Throw the kids an old world barbeque! I'll come help. I'm sure you're skilled in roasting over an open fire with how much you traveled." The excitement was clear in your voice, and the sudden compliments and offers of gifts and assistance had him nervously fidgeting. But thinking about having a fun experience with the kids instead of just cooking and having dinner sounded way better than his original plan, so he agreed.

"Ya got supplies ta fix tha' in half a day?"

~~

The two of you cleaned up after finishing thr needed work and while you carried the prepped meats, Daryl had the bowl firepit on a kart together with the metal rack to hang over it. Yeah, he lived in a community now but he never guessed he'd be carrying around a whole barbeque setup like he was getting ready to throw a party in the old world. "Gotta drop by tha' house fer a sec, get Jude 'n RJ."

After he got the kids and you had everything set up Daryl got the fire started while you made a quick pantry run and dug through Daryl's kitchen for anything to add to the meals.

You brought whatever you found and set it on the side of the porch steps, keeping a path to the house cleared and sat yourself down in the front lawn as you watched uncle Daryl in action, letting the kids toss wood onto the fire and poke at it with a stick but making sure they kept their distance and wouldn't touch the hot metal.

It was heartwarming to see him laugh and have fun with them and watched him speak quetly to the kids with a finger pointed your way before the two came running towards you.

"Daryl says the fire's good for food! Can we put some on the thing?" Two pairs of big, begging eyes stared at you and saying no would be the worst so of course you allowed them, under surveillance and with an assisting hand. "Alright, pick something you wanna eat first and put it on a plate, Daryl will take it to the fire and I'l helf you put it on the rack, okay?"

A chime of "Okay!" baely left them before they were at the collection of prepared meats where you and Daryl joined them in picking.

While Daryl roasted the food over the fire you were tasked go keep the kids busy, but wirh hoe much they loved chatting about everything and anything it was an easy task.

The whole evening was fun and food and family and it reminded you of everything you missed in this new world.

Everything was good in this moment, especially when you heard a little exchange between uncle and niece.

"Uncle Daryl? Can we have more dinners with her? But also mom and aunt Carol next time." You watched Daryl look towards you for a moment before turning back to Judith. "'Course, she's teachin' me ta prepare food so we can do this with e'ryone if ya want. But!" He raised his hand and pointed at RJ, who came over to him too now. "Yer gonna be the ones askin' folk ta bring food too, so e'ryone has somethin' ta eat, 'kay?"

The two happily nodding kids proved that your time in the community just got a lot more fun.

Now, after the kids were long brought to bed you and Daryl stayed around the fire. Having taken the meat rack off and set asidr you were just relaxing and picking away at the leftovers.

"So," you started, watching the flames in front of you. "That community barbeque plan of yours, it sounded amazing especially how you brought it over to the kids. But, aren't you afraid it'll drain recources too quick?"

Daryl shrugged it off. "Maybe. But those kids'll make folks keep stuff aside fer it." The idea of those two running around the place collecting people brought a smile to his face. "'Sides, I ain't wastin' meat no more with yer lessons tha' I hope ya will keep givin' me."

Oh. He wanted to stay? At the shop? With you? You were pleasantly shocked with that news. "What? Ofcourse I'll teach you. But only of you promise to take me out hunting when my hand's okay again."

He let out a breathy laugh and nodded. "Yeah, I'd love ta have ya around."

You stretched and laid down in the grass, looking up at the night sky.

"S'gonna be fun."

#sometimes i write #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #twd #the walking dead #twd x reader #daryl x reader

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

He's My Man (Part 1)

Summary: The reader receives an anonymous text from a new client needing an off the books patch job. However he's annoyingly good looking and the last thing you need is some ex-special ops guy hanging around. Unfortunately for you, Russell Shaw isn't the kind of guy to walk away when he knows something's wrong...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury

A/N: Contains minor spoilers for Tracker 1x12. Please enjoy the start of this new series! I'm not sure how long it will go but thanks for coming on this ride with me!

__________

Your ears perked up on Saturday morning when your phone buzzed on the coffee table before you. Not your everyday one but your one for work. You swiped it open, pursing your lips when you saw it was from an unknown number.

Need a patch job on a quilt. Doug recommended you as a good seamstress in the area.

Alright, well at least this guy knew one of your clients. Doug wasn’t a regular but you’d seen him once or twice over the years which meant the person on the other end wasn’t a cop most likely.

I can fit you in. More complicated the patch, the more it’ll cost.

Not an issue.

You hummed and stood up, grabbing your coffee mug along the way.

129 Edwards Ave in twenty minutes. Use the red back door.

You took a long sip and went over to the kitchen, tossing the rest down the sink, leaving the mug to be cleaned later. 

You just hoped this job wasn’t as bad as the last one.

Eighteen minutes later you heard the back door open and then silence, a moment’s hesitation as your new client entered what looked like a storage area. You flipped a light switch, illuminating the small enter sign over the doorway to the room you were prepping in. A few moments later there were heavy boots against the cement ground as he entered, turning to tile, your head lifting. 

A man in his forties, a quite handsome one at that, gave the small operating room a cursory glance before settling on you, determining you were the only one there. Meanwhile your gaze shot to his injured left arm, a gunshot from the looks of it. You only spotted one bloody bullet hole and figured that was the worst of it from the way he cradled his forearm.

“You the seamstress?” he asked quietly, scanning the counter full of medical equipment and metal table in the center of the room. 

“Take a seat,” you said, patting the table. You went to a sink and washed up, making sure to keep him in view at all times. He winced and struggled to get the coat off, finally managing and revealing a quick patch job had been done. After drying your hands, you snapped on some gloves, the man’s coat and overshirt now on the table behind him.

“Russell Shaw by the way,” he said.

“Y/N,” you said, carefully taking his forearm in one hand, the top of his muscular bicep in the other. You turned his arm slightly, Russell wincing again. “Looks like a through and through. We’ll do a quick x-ray to make sure there’s no shrapnel and then we’ll get you stitched up and I’ll send you home with some supplies and instructions to care for it. This your only injury?”

“Yeah. Doug said you were good.”

“I am,” you said, offering him a brief smile, he returned. “Do you have any PTSD? Going to come at me if I I need to use a scalpel?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I’m good with all that.”

You hummed, guiding him to lay back. Three minutes later you were pushing your x-ray machine aside and taking the lead vest away, Russell sitting upright. 

“Can I ask a question?” 

“You can ask, don’t mean I’ll answer, sweetie,” you said back, hanging up the vest and going to your laptop on the counter.

“How does one get into this line of work?” he asked.

“Asks the man that’s ex-special ops and does private contract gigs, not to mention killed probably three people minimum tonight.” You glanced over to him, Russell tilting his head. “I know who Doug is and what he does. Makes sense you do it too. You have blood under your fingernails and given the splatter patterns on your jeans, you had multiple different angled shots so multiple bodies you hit.”

“...And you don’t report that sort of thing?” he asked cautiously. You determined his x-ray looked good and washed up again, putting on more new gloves. By the time you were standing before him again, he looked nervous.

“On occasion. But only the monsters. You, you don’t strike me as a monster, Russell,” you said, wiping some antiseptic over his entry and exit wounds. He flinched but only slightly at the quick burn. A moment later you were giving him something to numb the area.

“Someone took Doug. Someone bad. They would have come back if I hadn’t done what needed to be done.” You wiped sterile gauze over his wound and then flushed it, Russell watching your graceful movements with interest.

“Like I said, not a monster.” You hummed as you worked, Russell fixated on you carefully cleaning and then pulling the skin back together, tying it up neatly. You wiped away the evidence of his blood and wrapped his bicep in thick gauze, taping it down so he could still get movement without worrying about it coming off.

You chucked your gloves in the trash and nodded back to the door behind you.

“There’s a shower in there and some brushes. Turn it on low, scrub yourself clean, under your nails too. Use the blue soap. When you’re done, throw everything away in the bin, including your bloody clothes. You leave your boots, anything you want to keep out here with me. There’s men’s sweats and some shirts on the shelf. By the time you’re done, your boots and other items will have no trace of wherever you’ve been. Got it?”

“I do like a woman that takes charge.” He smirked, sliding off the table and dropping slowly to kneel to unlace his shoes, still looking up at you. “Full service deal you got going here.”

“Yes it is and here’s a friendly reminder for my new client. You come anywhere near me with your dick out, I’ll make you regret being alive. Understand, sweetie?” you said, patting his cheek. “Off you go.”

“God damn, I love you,” he muttered under his breath. You rolled your eyes but smirked when your back was to him. Ten minutes later the room was clean and Russell exited the bathroom with damp, slicked back hair wearing a plain white t-shirt, black hanes sweat pants and white socks. You nodded to where his shoes sat on the end of the counter, Russell taking a seat in the chair nearby as he slipped them on.

After he checked he had his phone, keys and wallet, he raised himself to his feet, pulling out his wallet. 

“What do I owe you?”

“A thousand.” To your surprise, he didn’t flinch at that number. But like most of your clients, he didn’t have the cash on him, at least not that much. Russell smirked as he glanced back in the bathroom.

“Smart woman. You keep the evidence as ransom until your clients pay up. You won’t destroy that until after I pay, will you.” 

“Not until we get to know each other better do I do that sort of thing without payment. Seeing as you’re new and a friend of Doug’s, I’ll give you to the end of next week to pull it together. I offer payment plan options and other alternative forms of care if shit ever really hit the fan for you.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said, putting down five hundred dollar bills. “I can bring the other half back here later today. Just need to run to an ATM.”

“Text me when you got the rest. I’ll send you a place to meet,” you said, nodding towards the door. He gave you a small salute and shook his head with a smile. 

Forty minutes later you were sitting at a table in the cafe three blocks over, happily sipping on your coffee while working your way through a cheese danish. You spotted Russell when he came in. He gave you a quick, adorably awkward wave and ordered himself a drink. A few minutes later he was sitting down across from you, a small cup and what appeared to be a banana muffin in hand.

“You’re a coffee snob aren’t you. This place is pricey,” he teased, his brow furrowing when he had a drink from his styrofoam cup. “Shit. That’s fucking good.”

“Beats whatever motel crap I’m sure you’re used to,” you said, his gaze hardening for a split second. “Sorry. I always tail my first time clients to make sure they aren’t…you know who. You know the Elkwood Lodge on route 8 is cleaner and cheaper than what you’re paying for now.”

“How would you know that?” he asked. You shrugged and simply grinned, taking another bite of danish. He licked his lips, pointing at the yet to be touched danish beside you. “Was that one for me?”

“God no. I fucking love danishes and these are incredible,” you said, finishing off the first and biting into the other.

“You are something else,” he said, smirking when he slid a white envelope across the table. You tucked it into your jacket pocket, Russell picking at his own muffin. “You ain’t going to check it’s all there?”

“You’re a smart man, Russell. I think you know not to screw me over.” He looked you up and down, earning a pointed response. “Keep that gutter mind to yourself.”

“If I’m in the gutter, you’re right there with me,” he said, absently rubbing his injured arm. “And uh, if it gets infected or I think it is, I should reach out?”

“Absolutely. That ain’t a normal injury you’re used to. Don’t play tough guy, tough guy.” He nodded, his body twisting ever so slightly towards a standing position. “Nope. Stay for at least five minutes, then you can go.”

“You really like telling me what to do, don’t you,” he grinned. 

“Russell.” Hss grin was wide before he took a long drag of coffee, humming as it went down. 

“What if I want to stay more than five minutes?” You paused mid-chew of your danish. “Come on, one conversation won’t kill you.”

“I don’t get involved with clients.”

“Alright. I respect that but this ain’t my end goal. I’m going to have a normal life someday. I make a pretty mean homebrew. Going to get some land, open up a brewery, have some food, make it a little family place everybody can enjoy. So that’s my goal. I sure as hell know working as a seamstress ain’t your end goal either. So again, what’s the harm in one conversation?”

You bit your bottom lip, Russell’s expression changing, ever so slightly. 

“Jesus, Y/N,” he muttered. “What-“

“Shut up,” you mumbled. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Your fucking face did. You don’t want to be a seamstress, do you? Can you not get out of your line of work?” You glanced out the window, even the wonderful flavors of the pastry doing nothing to help the unease in your gut. “I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” you snapped. You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Sorry. I…I’m just crabby because I didn’t have my morning coffee until just now.”

“Nice try.” You glared at him, his green eyes remarkably gentle. “I don’t leave my friends behind. Now either you tell me what’s going on or I’m going to poke around myself and I guarantee that’s going to be a lot more dangerous and you’ll just have to patch me up even more. What do you say?”

You stared at him and stared at him and stared at him for what felt like forever. Then you took out the envelope and handed it back to him, along with the five hundred in your purse. 

“Go buy me two more cheese danishes and a large caramel frappe to go. Then take me to your motel room. This is a long fucking story.”

__________

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

#Russell Shaw x reader #Russell Shaw #Russell Shaw Fanfiction #Tracker Fanfiction #Tracker #Russell Shaw x you #Russell Shaw series

[writingoddess1125]

Roger and Jessica Rabbit Effect pt. 3

Buggy Headcanon. Buggy x Reader

⚠️ Warnings: ⚠️ Some Angst, Action, Pirating

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<<< Previously. Part 4 >>>>

• Buggy knew being a Warlord while was a massive benefit added a new target to his back- However he would take advantage of these privileges to protect you- His Darling seamstress wife.

• Buggy with his new status made sure no one knew of you- insisting that he had claimed the island that was his home as his territory and even renaming it entirely to Blue Edge Island- Just so people didn't sniff around the spot.

• However it seemed not everyone got the memo-

• You were in the shop, finishing up the latest thing for Buggy. A wedding anniversary gift for your darling- A nice big coat for him that was white and orange, and styled similarly to his idol and former Captian Gold D Roger's. It was probably your best work yet and you were proud.

• Forced from your creative mind as you heard crashing outside. Quickly walking out confused that a light post or building had fallen you stand out in the middle of the street- Others doing the same as you. That was till an unfamiliar pirate ship could be seen and hoards of the aggressive crew yelled and began to slice through your home- Ripping through your Unprotected people like paper.

• Your eyes widening as you turned to run back into your shop and call Buggy- But you were yanked back by a rough hand, A man with a wicked grin

• The pirate snatching the gold necklace from around your neck and shoved it greedily in his pockets- Not even bothering to check the emblem on it.

• "Captian take a look at this one!" He screamed out, Easily overpowering you as he showed you off. The Captian as grimy as he crew jeered at you and ripped you from his lowly members hands and stared you down.

• "Shes pretty- Find the treasures and other fine specimens like this one! And Take her to the ship!" The man yelled, Tossing you towards other crew members and dragging you away to their ship-

• A act they would regret in time.

• Not far from your home in the East Blue Buggy was sailing- he was less then day away from the home he shared with you, planning to visit in his own way. But He had some errands to run however, mainly to stash some of their recent earnings.

• "Buggy Sir!" A Pirate ran up to the Warlord in a total panic, Buggy who was laughing down at his 'employees' working away after another well done job.

• "What What?!" He yelled, The young pirates hesitanting.

• "From the Transporter snail and a surviving resident of the area- Someone raided Blue Edge Island, a women by the name of (Y/N) and several other villagers have been reported stolen by the pirates who did this" The young pirate babbled out-

• "Blue Edge Island?- Is that the little tourist area in the East Blue?-" Mohji mumbled, remembering Buggy ordering for people to keep away from it entirely. Cabaji nodding at this-

• However what was noticed was how oddly silently Buggy was- they all silently looking at each other then at Buggy whos hands were digging into the wood railing- his eyes dark and he was grunting it teeth so hard it sounded like he was chewing sand-

• "....change course...We are heading to Blue Edge Island Now-" He said in a eerily calm voice.

• No one moved a muscle- All just staring at the Warlord who looked ready to explode.

• "I SAID NOW!" His voice roared, loudly- Everyone feeling a rush like they were being strangled in this moment as they felt true fear pour in their vain.

• "YES CAPTIAN!!" Everyone Shouted in unison before rushing off to do as told-

• You were loaded into the unfamiliar ship like cattle, you and other pretty things the Grimy pirates had ripped from your village.

• The crew members shoving a cloth in your mouth as they loaded you and the other scared villagers into the cells. You and the others bound in rope, shivering in fear.

• Feeling the rocking of the ship as the pirates sailed away from your home, after what felt like eternity a man came down- staring at all of you before opening the cell and yanking you out by force. You screaming against the restraints as he pulled you through the halls of the ship before tossing you into what you assumed was the Captian's quarters.

• The Captian staring at you with a wicked grin, fear coursing through your system as he reached forward grabbing the front of your blouse and tearing it open. You crying at this, he groaned and ripped the fabric from your lips.

• "My husband is gonna kick you as-" You started but he backhanded you quickly to shut you up.

• "Silence! You will be perfect, My perfect little bed slav-" The ship suddently rocked harshly, Him staggering as he looked around confused.

• "The hell?!" The angry man yelled as he pulled his hand away from your ruined blouse. You sat there shaking and terrified as you heard loud fighting from outside. Flinching as the doors were slammed open, fear bleeding into you as you expected the pirates from before to return-

• "B-Buggy?" You say softly, Seeing your husband standing there as he sighed in relief at seeing you tossing what seemed to be a man behind him. Rushing to you quickly and Reaching down to quickly cut away the Ropes that held you in place.

• His glove hands running over your face, Wiping the blood from your busted lip from the slap and his face worse then a storm when seeing the ripped blouse and the bruise around your neck from the necklace being ripped away.

• "Are you hurt (Y/N)!?- they didnt-" Be asked carefully, you shaking your head no which seemed to ease your husband greatly as he scooped you up in his arms with great care.

• The second you were in his arms you began to sob, Pressing your face against him as you babbled incoherently 'I was so scared' You managed to wheeze out as Buggg held you close. Rubbing his gloved hand on your back- You didn't see his face but it was twisted in pure rage then..

• Picking you up fully, Buggy carefully walked you out of the Captian's quarters they had you confined in. The other stolen villagers already safely on his ship to get treatment for their injuries.

• No one had ever seen Buggy this pissed off before- It was terrifying. The other pirates beaten within inches of their lives laying there staring at the Warlord once he returned from tucking you into his bed.

• "I-It was just a village!" The Grimy Captian manages out, wheezing through his broken ribs- Buggy scoffed at this and kicked the man square in the mouth shattering his teeth and making the man scream in agony.

• "THAT Village belongs to me- THAT part of the East Blue belongs to me-" Buggy yelled in rage, Pressing a boot into the screaming Captian.

• "and.. THAT women you tried to violate was My Wife-" Buggy said calmly, that's when everyone seemed to understand all at once. The color draining from everyone's faces drained of color.

• Buggy messed with his gloves, a new set you had just sent him and stained with the blood from your lips- he silently listened to the babbling and bloody Captian at his feet begging for his life- 'I didn't know' 'My apologies' and more sprouting from his busted lips- Buggy ignoring them as he stared at the man.

• "You ripped the necklace from her poor neck that had my Jolly Roger on it- You disrespected my Village and My Wife- However I have more important matters for now... So I won't personally rip you apart with my bare hands!" He hissed, But a wide smile that was clearly forced.

• "Set up the Firework Show-" He Said calmly as he turned to walk back to his ship. Buggy's crew seemed to immediately understand what this ment-

• The beaten crew tied to the mast of their own ship as crates of fireworks were loaded on the ship and forced away from the Big Top, Buggy's Canons aimed at the ship as he stood and watched calmly. Already hearing the screams of the other pirates begging for their lives or trying to escape- However that was a foolish thought.

• "FIRE!" Buggy roared once at a safe distance and a massive Buggy Ball was fired at the rival ship- Hitting directly as it exploded in a devastation of colors and screams.

• The Big Top crew all watching the fireworks in awe despite the carnage.

• "Why the Fireworks sir?" Galdino Looking to his Captian who had an unreadable expression on his face.

• "My Wife likes fireworks..." He said simply before dismissing himself while everyone watched the exploding ship and colorful sky-

• Down below Buggy checked on you, Seeing you were asleep wrapped around his pillows. Clearly having cried yourself out.

• Buggy sat on the corner of the bed, His hand rubbing circles on your leg as you laid there- Thinking silently to himself what he needed to do, guilt eating him alive as he stared at you.

• When you woke up you found yourself surrounded...

• By hundreds of Balloon Flowers. Different types and different sizes all scattered around you. Paired with a fresh outfit laid out perfectly on the bed. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had done this.

• You smiling as you touched a balloon sunflower so carefully placed next to you and holding it as a giggle left you-

• "So cheesy.." You whisper out softly and smile.

• Once dressed and holding one of the balloon flowers you walk up to the Main Deck, never having been on Buggys ship before the array of colors surprising you. There were also so many people- Everywhere who would stop for a moment to stare at you, Clearly surprised by your presence.

• Spotting Buggy rather quickly by his inflated size you call to the man. Who turns around red faced and comes to you immediately.

• "Get Back to Bed! You shouldnt be up walking around!" He yelled at you, However you knew this was just his pride and worry for you coming out at the same time. Waving him down to be at your eyelevel, he complies without a thought or word.

• Reaching forward you grab his face gently, giggling at the new scruff there and pull him down for a nice kiss over his lips.

• He gave a Goofy Giggle at this, as red as his nose as you smoothed your hands over his parted hair.

• "Thank you for Rescuing me Buggy Boo~" His eyes soften at this, smiling softly.

• "Anything for you Doll" He all but purred out as he peppered kisses on your cheeks and held you close making you giggle happily.

• His eyes widened however as he saw everyone staring at him with their jaws on the floor he awkwardly coughed.

• "Doll-l um let's get you back to the room okay? It's best until we get back to Blue Edge for now-" He said with the gentlest voice and had one of his hands escort you back to his quarters.

• "What are you looking at?" He growled in defense as everyone scrambled back to work.

• Alvida giggled at this point and looked at him "Whats with the Buggy Bo-"

• "SHUT UP!!"

• It soon spread like wild fire that The Infamous Warlord Buggy had a Wife that was WAY too hot for him-

#x reader #one piece #one peice x reader #one peice live action #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #one piece buggy #captain buggy #buggy the clown #buggy #buggy x wife reader #buggy x female reader

[vbecker10]

Loki's Silent Sentry (Part 1)

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 ( Part 6 in progress)

Pairing: Loki x female reader (y/n)

Summary: You are not just a soldier in Asgard's Royal Army, you are Lieutenant Y/L/N, Prince Loki's personal guard, his sentry and you are not supposed to fall in love with him. If you followed your training properly, you should never have even spoken to him. As a sentry, you are expected to remain silent and invisible as you shadow your appointed member of the royal family or member of the court protectively throughout their daily tasks.

Rumors (that happen to be true) begin to circulate through the palace that you serve the younger prince of Asgard both outside and inside his chambers. There is little you can do once word of your off duty activities spread through every maid, cook, gardener and seamstress in the palace. You soon find even the soldiers in your own company are now questioning how exactly you had come to earn your seemingly quick rise to lieutenant.

As the annual Winter Solstice Ball approaches, you come to the heartbreaking realization that your relationship with Loki must come to an end if you are both to fulfill your duties.

Warnings: Angst, arguing, Thor being an absolute ass, Odin being a terrible father

A/N: I did some googling quickly for military terms and ranks (since I have no previous knowledge of them) as well as some basic information about the royal guards in England. I took some of what I found interesting and then made up most of the rest to fit what I needed for my story so there will be some similarities. Also... I haven't written anything in like a year (maybe longer) so be nice please 💚💚

You stand at constant attention in silence outside of Prince Loki's private office. You listen to the birds singing through the open window across the hall from where you are posted and wonder how long you could go without making a sound. You have been trained by the Royal Army for years to remain silent, vigilant, always listening and watching your surroundings for anything dangerous or out of the ordinary. You are always on guard, ready to protect Prince Loki should the need arise. Not that someone with his fighting skills or magic would need protection from a simple soldier like you. You were assigned this post purely because it was customary for each member of the royal family to have a sentry, whether they actually need one or not.

Your attention is drawn to the sound of footsteps approaching from your left. You are unable to determine how many people are coming but judging by their pace and heavy boots, they are most likely all soldiers. Commandant Thorn, the soldier in charge of your company, makes his way down the hall at a steady pace. He is followed by your captain, Captain Skye who is holding a leather bound book containing the names of all the sentries and their current posts. Trailing the two older men, are four low ranking soldiers you can't remember the names of.

The group of soldiers comes to a stop in front of you and your fellow guard and you both salute your commanding officers. "Lieutenant Y/L/N," Captain Skye says, opening his book for a moment. He closes it and looks up at you, "Prince Loki will of course be attending the Winter Solstice Ball. You will be required to escort him to the ballroom and remain on guard there until he dismisses you for the evening."

You nod in response, carefully hiding the heavy emotions you have surrounding the upcoming ball. The soldiers move on and you are left alone with the other guard again. She says nothing to you and even if you were allowed to speak, you know Sergeant Sands wouldn't talk to you. She is not your friend, none of the members of the Royal Guard are your friends. It wasn't always this way though, it is only since you were promoted to the rank of lieutenant that the guards you work with began to distance themselves from you.

You had been assigned to Prince Loki for three months when you were promoted from sergeant to lieutenant. Your fellow soldiers immediately assumed the young prince had a hand in it as he did little to hide how he favored you over the other guards who were previously assigned to him. The rumors about you spending the night in Loki's chamber instead of guarding it flowed through the palace soon after. You adamantly denied these rumors and any favoritism from the prince but it was a wasted effort. It also happened that the rumors were true to a point.

The door to Loki's office opens and you stand at attention as the court accountant exits, holding several rolls of paper and mumbling to himself. Sargeant Sands follows him without any orders needed, she is his sentry and will go where he goes. As she walks past by, she glances at you with what can only be described as a look of disgust. You look down at your boots, fully aware of what she is thinking.

You wait quietly for Loki to open the door again but you know him, he will want to read through all of his notes from today before he finalizes his meeting schedule for tomorrow. You have roughly half an hour until he will be done, half an hour to stand here and think about the dreaded Winter Solstice Ball.

Another half an hour later, as expected, Loki opens the door and walks out. Waving his hand towards the door, he uses his magic to seal the room. He smiles warmly at you and you smile back at him for the first time today. This was your favorite part, the part where the sun goes down and Loki frees you from your constant silence.

He touches your cheek softly and leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back but pull away quickly as you hear footsteps approaching. You step away from Loki and stand at attention as Prince Thor comes around a corner. You keep your eyes straight ahead but you can feel Loki stiffening next to you, he and his brother get along much better when they are at court than they do in private.

The brothers greet each other politely and you silently wish the older prince would simply continue on his way but it doesn't seem likely. Your attention shifts to the window across the hall from you again, you can just barely glimpse the sunset over the tall evergreen trees in the distance. You know Loki will tell you if he and Thor discuss anything interesting so there is no need for you to listen to their conversation. The two of them continue for several long minutes before you realize Thor has said something to you.

"Lieutenant Y/L/N?" Thor says and you shake your head as you shift your focus.

"I'm sorry your highness, I was unaware you were speaking to me," you apologize. He had never spoken to you before and you were unsure why he would start now. Loki folds his arms across his chest and you feel uneasy at how annoyed he seems.

Thor laughs which does nothing to make you feel better. "I was wondering what it was about you that made you my brother's favorite," he says. "You must truly be special, a sentry's post typically only lasts three months, perhaps six at the most. You have been with Loki for how long now?"

You think for a moment before replying. You had been assigned to Loki for only a month before he first spoke to you and you had quickly become close friends. Three months after becoming friends with the prince, you slowly became more until you were completely in love with him.

"Fourteen months," you answer him in as few words as possible.

Thor looks at his younger brother with a smirk, "Fourteen?" Loki remains silent and you can tell his older brother is not even close to letting you leave soon. He turns his attention to you again, "So is it true then?"

"Is what true your highness?" you ask quietly.

"That you follow my brother's orders when you are wearing your armor and when you are not?" he laughs and his sentry smiles then looks towards the ground. "I could use a sentry like that, I grow tired of being followed by these shadows."

Loki's fist clenches but he answers Thor calmly. "Maybe if you learned your sentries name and weren't so insufferable to be around, they would remain at your service for longer than a month at a time," Loki says. "And you are the last person I would expect to listen to palace rumors. According to the most recent ones I've heard, you've slept with nearly half of the kitchen staff this month alone."

Thor smiles, proud of himself. You and Loki realize the stories you had overheard were true, if not understated. He explains, "That is why I assume the rumors of you and your little pet are true as well."

You find yourself in that brief moment wishing Loki would confirm everyone's suspensions. Not necessarily that you were sleeping together, that you were in love and wanted to be together. You know wishing for this is as useful as wishing it would rain gold. Once again you remind yourself that this is the way it will always be, until he marries a woman of high status and you are forgotten.

Instead of responding, Loki turns from his brother and walks down the hall towards the stairwell that leads to the royal family's chambers. You follow him silently, staying a few steps behind as always.

"Come now brother, I was merely joking," Thor calls from behind you but neither of you stop walking.

The two of you continue on in silence until you reach the top of the stairs and Loki's pace slows so he is walking next to you. His hand finds yours, his thumb gently stroking your knuckles. As soon as you feel his touch, you begin to relax.

"I'm sorry about my brother," he says quietly.

"His behavior isn't your fault," you reply. "And he is far from the first person to corner me about our relationship. I am used to denying the truth."

He stops, causing you to turn back towards him, your hand still holding his. He then takes a few small steps, closing the distance between you. Loki touches your cheek gently with his other hand. "I'm sorry Y/N," he tells you again. "I wish we didn't have to hide but you know there are some rules even I cannot break so openly. Maybe I should have hid my favoritism towards you better but I couldn't bear to have you reassigned. You mean too much to me."

You smile, "So I am your favorite sentry?"

He lets out a laugh, "You are my favorite person in the nine realms." You giggle at his answer and his fingers trail down your cheek until his thumb gently runs across your lips. He leans down to kiss you but just as his lips touch yours, you feel your heart jumps in your chest.

You hear several sets of footsteps and separate yourself from Loki in an instant. He looks down the hall as his mother, two of her maids and one guard come into view. She smiles brightly at both of you as she comes closer and you bow to the queen in respect. You find it hard to miss the side eye from her sentry or the whispers shared between her maids. Loki gives his mother a hug and wishes her a goodnight. She tells him to have a goodnight as well and continues on her way.

You and Loki walk off in the opposite direction towards his chambers and once you are alone again, Loki moves to take your hand but you flinch away. He looks hurt by your momentary rejection but he doesn't say anything. He knows how nervous you are about being seen touching him or speaking to him. You round the next corner and are flooded with relief as Loki's door finally comes into view. You fight the urge to smile, holding onto your composure as you've been trained.

Loki opens the door and steps inside, you follow him as you always do and he closes the door. He flicks his wrists towards you without a word and the heavy armor you wear over your clothing instantly settles itself neatly into a large chest. You take a few deep breaths, feeling as if most of the weight you have been carrying leaves you, but not all.

"Thank you your highness," you say out of habit.

"Please, never call me that in here," he reminds you gently. "In here I'm not a prince, I'm just Loki." He walks towards you and you don't realize you are moving away from him until your back hits the door and his body comes flush to yours. One hand settles on your hip while his other hand lifts your chin, causing you to look up at him. He continues, "And you are not Lieutenant Y/L/N, you are Y/N. The woman I am so deeply in love with." He smiles and you can't help but smile back at his words. All your worries vanish the instant his lips meet yours.

You lay in Loki's arms watching the sunlight fill his room through the sheer curtains. You try to memorize the sound of his slow, steady breathing and the feel of his heart beat against your back as he holds you even in his sleep. You inhale deeply and focus on deciphering every herb and oil Loki uses to keep his hair soft. Closing your eyes, you use your senses to bring an image of Loki's face into your mind and try to hold it there.

"What are you thinking about my love?" he asks in a sleepy voice. You open your eyes and shift closer to him, pulling his arms tighter around your body. "Y/N, what's wrong?" he asks, now much more awake.

You swallow hard, trying to find the words. You had been thinking about what you needed to do most of the night but now that it was time, you weren't sure you would be able to do it.

"I've told you, you can speak freely here," he says softly, urging you gently as always to speak your mind when you were with him. His fingers move slowly up and down your arm as he tries to comfort you without knowing what is causing your distress.

"I need to transfer to a new post," you tell him. You hear him inhale sharply as his fingers suddenly go still.

You stand outside Loki's office with Thor's new guard and two others in silence waiting for a very long meeting to conclude. You stifle a yawn and shift uncomfortably on your feet before regaining your composure. The tall guard standing across from you rolls his eyes while the woman next to him mumbles something that can only be about you.

It has been two days since you told Loki you wanted to transfer and you hadn't heard anything from your commanding officer. In the meantime, you decided to go back to sleeping in your assigned room at the soldiers quarters. You had forgotten how much you hated it there. The common areas are loud and there is little privacy, everyone is in everyone else's business. You barely leave your room, which is a surprise to no one. They wouldn't speak to you even if you did. You live in a world of utter silence surrounded by never ending noise.

You feel as if you are shattering from the inside out and you try to remind yourself that it needs to be this way. The two of you hid in his chambers as if it protected your relationship but it could never be real. How could it be when he could barely acknowledge your presence when in public. He is a prince and you are a soldier as were your parents, you were not high born. Loki is destined to marry the daughter of a council member and you will guard them and their children.

The door to Loki's office opens, you and the three guards stand at attention. Prince Thor walks out first, followed by two council members. They walk off in different directions, shadowed closely by their sentries but you remain, as always, at Loki's door.

You stare at the wall in front of you for what feels like eternity. Your mind wanders between your favorite memories from your brief time with Loki and the crushing weight of your current reality. You stand up straighter when you hear the door swing open and Loki steps out.

"Lieutenant Y/L/N," he says, "I need to speak with you."

You nod and follow him into his office, closing the door behind you. You stand motionless, taking in his office and how much it feels like him. The dark wood bookshelves crowded with leather bound books, the chair pulled close to the window so he can see the garden below when drinking his afternoon tea, the green and gold accents on various pieces of furniture.

You sigh to yourself as you follow him to his desk. He takes a seat and you stand across from him with your arms behind your back, waiting for him to speak first.

"Y/N," he says informally but you don't relax. "Your transfer to a new post was not approved."

"Can I ask why your highness?" you keep the formalities as you've been trained.

"The Winter Solstice Ball is in less then a week," he answers as if you could forget. "The Royal Guard seems to be too busy tightening security and preparing for everyone's arrival to complete your paper work at this time."

"Understood, your highness," you say. "I should return to my post." You turn to head back outside of his office.

"Wait," he calls and you freeze just before you reach the door. You hear him get up from his seat and walk around the desk. "Please stay, talk to me Y/N. I miss you so much it hurts."

"I can't," you say almost in a whisper

He touches your arm and you turn to face him, seeing the pain in his eyes. "I miss the way your laughter filled my chambers. I miss hearing you hum to yourself when you think I can't hear you. I miss the sound of your voice and how easy it is to talk to you," he says and you force down a smile and the urge to hold him tightly.

"I can't bear to be without you," he tells you and you want to tell him you can't be apart from him either but you remain silent for fear you'll lose your resolve completely. He strokes your cheek gently and you close your eyes as you lean into his touch. "I love you," he says.

"I love you too," you tell him, seeing a spark of hope light his eyes. You shake your head and take a step away from him, "But I can't do this. I'm sorry." Before he can say anything else you tell him, "It will only hurt more the longer we wait to end this."

"We don't have to end this, now or ever," he insists as he steps towards you. "I promise I will find a way for you to be mine, not just when we are hidden away, but always. You believe me, don't you?"

"I want to," you tell him truthfully. Loki had promised several times to find a way to marry you but you thought it was false hope. "But this isn't a fairytale my prince, we don't always get a happy ending."

You want to disappear into the marble floor, to be sucked into the wall behind you or simply vanish into thin air but you can't. Instead, you must stand perfectly still and silent as you watch the dancing and merriment around you. You momentarily wish you would go back to a time when you didn't feel an ache in your chest at the mere thought of another woman being in Prince Loki's arms. Shaking your head just slightly, you chase away the thought. As much as this hurts, you will always cherish the limited time you shared with him.

The music changes tempo as the first of seven courses comes to an end. Couples begin to take to the open floor in the center of the ballroom. Prince Thor and Prince Loki make their way to the group of single, eligible women awaiting them, each at a different pace. The older prince seems to now exactly which woman he would like to spend time with first. He offers his arm to her and declares her the most beautiful woman at the ball, causing her to blush and giggle. The younger prince takes his time walking to the crowd and simply takes the hand of the closest woman without so much as glancing at her. His lack of interest does little to dampen her excitement however.

The dozen or so women who were not chosen move away from the dance area and you have to hold back a groan as they gather directly in front of you to wait for a chance with one of the princes. You can't help but listen to them discuss which prince they think is better looking or who they would prefer picked them. The first song ends and the two princes each select another dance partner. Again, Prince Thor takes little time deciding who he wants while Prince Loki simply offers his hand to the first woman he sees. You can practically hear him sigh as she holds his arm and walks quickly to the dance floor.

As the second song begins, one of the women briefly looks at you over her shoulder before motioning towards you to her friends. Your ears go red with embarrassment as she tells them the rumors of your past relationship with Loki just loud enough that she knows you will hear. Of course she gets the ending wrong. She assumes, like everyone else, that the prince grew tired of you and banished you from his bed chambers. You had to admit, it seemed a far more likely story than the truth.

You shift your attention to the ceiling for a moment, hoping that counting the candles in the chandeliers will distract you from their stares and comments. You only count to twenty seven before the sound of a glass shattering draws your gaze back to the guests. A council member laughs loudly, clearly drunk already, as a servant cleans the wine glass from the dance floor.

Your eyes scan the room and easily find Loki at the center of the crowd, a third woman in his arms. Your drawn to his face, studying his features. He smiles at the woman as he twirls her and she giggles but she doesn't know him like you do. She doesn't know that's the smile he uses at court, not the smile he shows you. Showed you, you correct yourself. He glances away, not holding eye contact with her as they move effortlessly across the dance floor.

After the final course is served, the dance floor fills for the last time and you sigh with relief that the night is almost over. You shift on your feet, looking down for a moment when the chatter of the women in front of you begins again. Why must they stand here to wait, you think to yourself.

The princes once again make their way to their potential dance partners and Thor makes his pick quickly. Loki stands in front of the women for a moment and your eyes lock with his as he looks between them.

"Pardon me," he says politely to the crowd as he moves forward, slipping past the confused women. He makes his way towards you and your breath catches in your throat. He stands in front of you and holds out his hand. You look at him, stunned by his actions. He smiles when you don't move, "Will you dance with me, my love?" Still you remain silent, looking past Loki to see how much attention his actions have drawn. "Don't look at them," he says, touching your cheek softly as you look at him again.

You steady your nerves and place your hand in his. The moment his fingers close around yours, you are surrounded by a light cloud of green, shimmery smoke. When Loki's magic fades, you are wearing a flowing emerald green gown with golden trim, perfectly matching his dress uniform. Your hair has been restyled to hold a small gold tiara with short horns, mirroring the helmet he had worn during his entrance.

"Gods, you look gorgeous in my colors," he says with a wide smile, causing you to blush. "To be fair, you are always beautiful but now it is clear to everyone here that you are mine." You feel as if your heart might burst when he calls you his, he had said it before but only when you were hidden away.

Loki keeps his fingers interlaced with yours as he leads you to the dance floor, straight through the group of now very angry women. Some cross their arms, others give you dirty looks and several make rude comments as you pass. You pause before stepping onto the dance floor, the chatter and stares coming from the guests near you holding you back. He senses your hesitation and leans down to place a kiss gently on your cheek.

Your mind can barely begin to process what is happening as he takes you straight to the middle of the dance floor. He places one hand on your hip and you place your hand on his shoulder as you had done so many times over the last few months. You and Loki shared several secret dances in his chambers and his office, he found it difficult to listen to music sitting still.

He holds you close, his eyes never leaving yours while you dance between the other guests. You focus on how amazing it feels to be back in his arms, ignoring the strange looks and whispers that surround you. He twirls you gracefully and you spin back into him, giggling as you final feel at ease. As the song draws to a close, Loki spins you one final time. When he pulls you back to him, he leans down slightly and your lips meet his.

You smile up at him, hoping this isn't a dream when you see his mother approaching you. You take a step away from Loki but he keeps his hand on your waist, not letting you go too far. You bow to the queen and she says, "I think it is my turn to dance with my son."

You nod quickly in agreement and Loki let's go of you, his magic fading instantly as your armor reappears. You walk through the crowd with your head down and return to your post, once again wishing you were invisible. The women watch you, gossiping wildly as you pass again. You can only imagine what they are saying but they are not your biggest concern at the moment.

Anxiously, you watch Queen Frigga and her son move across the dance floor. You can't hear what they are saying of course, but you can tell by her expression that there will be consequences for his actions. As the song ends you see your captain approach you and your stomach drops. Loki will not be the only one to be punished for choosing you.

"The king had summoned you to the throne room," he says in a stern voice. You nod in acknowledgement and when you look back towards the dance floor, Loki and his mother are gone.

I'm almost done with the second part so please let me know if you would like to be tagged! I hope you liked it and if you did, please like, share and comment 💚💚

@soubi001 @michelleleewise @harlequin-hangout @ace-of-gay @xorpsbane @mochie85 @sheris532 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @kkdvkyya @animnerd @peaches1958 @peachyjinx @theaudacitytowrite @lokiandbuckysdoll @winterfrostlovetriangle @high-functioning-lokipath @winniewings @pics-and-fanfics @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @lokisgoodgirl @mischief2sarawr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lulubelle814 @crimson25 @goblingirlsarah @janineb86 @chantsdemarins

#hiddlestoners #loki #tom hiddleston characters #loki laufeyson #twhiddleston #hiddlesarmy #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fanfic #loki fluff #loki fandom #loki reader insert #loki au #loki of asgard #loki x ofc #loki x original female character #asgardian #asgard #thor odinson #thor and loki #loki friggason #loki odison x reader #hiddlesverse #tom hiddleston #long fic #loki marvel #loki mcu #Loki's silent sentry

[ne-videl]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞

♡

yandere Ayato x fem reader

there's something wrong with your employer.

yandere, mentions of violence & kidnapping, stalker Ayato, non-consensual touching (not sexual, just our man being clingy), reader has a pretty low self-esteem, sfw this time I guess??, poor english

word count: ~2k

a/n: alright I decided to procrastinate and ignore my study, and what's a better way to do it than posting some more of my stuff?

p.s. лисичка солнце как ты меня находишь?? теперь мне стыдно за то что я все никак не могу дописать главу про нёвиллета и ничего не придумала про венти 🤧🤧

enjoy.

bright sun of Inazuma shone on the kimono shop on the corner of the street, filling its visitors with pleasant laziness, and the hostess herself with a desire to end the stuffiness of the day as soon as possible.

you hung your haori on the back of a chair covered with bunch of fabric and exhaled wearily.

it's only noon yet, and you're already listening to insults from a well-to-do girl after announcing that her outfit won't be ready at least until the next evening.

"and besides, with your appearance, I would be ashamed to even look people in the eye!" – the client left, slamming the door irritably. the bell on the door rang plaintively.

"why get personal...?" – you rubbed the bridge of your nose with another sigh, while your gaze slid to the dusty mirror.

impassive glass showed a young woman. always sad eyes, hands covered with calluses and small scars from work. slightly disheveled bangs framing a tired face.

"no matter what, it's still you." – your reflection replied mockingly.

you knew yourself that you weren't that beautiful. there was a little chance to notice you in a crowd, "unremarkable" was the word that suited you the most. the only bright detail on you was, perhaps, a smear of red lipstick on your dry lips. gloomy appearance and an overly calm personality did not add to your attractiveness either. but you were a reliable and practical person, and therefore at least you had a successful career as a tailor.

summer in Inazuma was a nice season for the likes of you: time of festivals and celebrations, banquets and parties of nobles. sometimes you wanted to be in the shoes of your clients yourself: a charming, cheerful young lady choosing among a string of colorful fabrics the one that would suit her new luxurious outfit.

but, unfortunately, you were just a gloomy mistress of a sewing workshop, overwhelmed with work in the hot season.

the long-suffering doorbell, which had to endure a lot of tantrums and dissatisfied cries from visitors today, once again tinkled plaintively, forcing you to come out of your thoughts and turn around.

tall gentleman dressed in expensive white clothes stood in front of the counter. gentle, beautiful face was decorated with a friendly smile and a mole under his lips. at first glance it wasn't difficult to understand that someone very important was in front of you. you were even a little embarrassed, just a little bit: he, bright and cheerful, looks at your modest figure, dressed in a dark, simple kimono.

looks without taking his eyes off.

"lady seamstress? good day. I'm here with a business proposal for you." – the man came closer, still smiling. – "you see, my sister happened to visit your workshop a short time ago."

you tilted your head to the side, scratching your chin. the man in front of you surely looked familiar, for some reason. so it should not be very difficult to remember some pretty young lady with blue hair, from whom the same aura of aristocracy and prosperity would emanate.

"I remember something like that. you must be lady Ayaka's older brother?" – you looked at the supposed head of the Yashiro commission with an impassive look. you're too tired to be surprised by anything, and after all, important people have visited you before. if anything, you certainly had no equal in skill.

"yes, indeed. you are very observant, [name]." – you raised your eyebrow: you couldn't remember telling your name to Ayaka. well, it's not like it really matters, right?

your strange visitor continued to speak with an unnerving gleam in his purple eyes.

"as you have already understood, my name is Kamisato Ayato. I would like to offer you to work at our mansion."

____*:･ﾟ✧

"it's beautiful. I like it." – the younger Kamisato was looking at the sleeves of the kimono with satisfaction while you, now her personal tailor, pinned the hem with pins.

"but, I would like to ask you something, [name]." – you raise your head, looking up at your lady. – "you make such beautiful things. why don't you ever wear them yourself? I always see you in such inconspicuous colors. no bright fabrics, no embroidery."

you get up from your kneeling position, your scarred hands concentrating on straightening the fabric while you mumble without looking up from your work.

"you see, milady, there are people like you and people like me. beautiful things are meant for beautiful people, for important ones: who look good in gold embroidery and silk hemlines." – you look up at Ayaka, narrowing your eyes a little. – "people like me don't wear such clothes. besides, I don't have the looks to wear bright fabrics."

you walked over to the table, adjusting your black haori and assessing the work you've done. kimono suits your lady, who is currently looking down in embarrassment, realizing the huge difference in your statuses.

"ah, I also wanted to know..." – Ayaka swallows, averting her eyes and changing the subject. – "you're going to the festival, aren't you? I'd like to do your hair, if you don't mind."

you answered as calmly as usual, stating the fact.

"I have nothing to wear. and no one to go with." – calloused fingers unconsciously run through your hair, as if you could not imagine someone gathering them into a beautiful hairstyle.

"how is that? what about my older brother?" – the younger Kamisato bats her eyes with confusion.

"master? why would he?" – you tilted your head to the side in genuine surprise.

"wait, I remember exactly, brother said that you will go to the festival with him." – you smiled wearily, as if Ayaka was a child who blurted out some nonsense.

you? with him? you'd rather cut off your own finger than believe it.

you felt your master's hands resting on your shoulders.

"that's right, you're coming, and you're coming with me. I'll take care of the outfit, and I'll do your hair too." – Ayato glanced at his sister and continued talking. it seemed to you that he was standing a little closer than he should have been: at least you heard his voice right next to your ear. – "are you done here? can I borrow you for a while, [name]?"

you just nodded cautiously, wary that your master still had his hands on your shoulders. and the fact that you could clearly feel his hot chest pressed against your back.

"eavesdropping is bad, brother!" – that's right, eavesdropping is bad. and you could only think just how much did he hear.

your walk down the corridor was in silence: you didn't want to speak until you were asked, and apparently he didn't want to ask.

"master," you finally spoke up, tired of the suffocating silence, – "why would you need to accompany me to the festival?"

Ayato gave you a look with his cunning lavender eyes and replied with an unchanging smile.

"because I want to."

"what about clothes? you know, I feel quite good in what I usually wear." – you raised your voice slightly, sincere confusion shone in your eternally tired eyes, – "and my hair? why would you need to-"

Ayato bent down, holding a strand of your hair between his fingers.

you saw him kiss your hair, felt his hot breath on your face.

"because. I. want. to."

that night, as at all nights before in this estate, you felt like you were being watched.

and they didn't take their eyes off for even a second.

____*:･ﾟ✧

summer passed quickly: time for banquets, bright festivals and celebrations ended.

you always finished this usually noisy and busy season with a sense of accomplishment, although, of course, you had less work than usual this summer.

you thought you loved to work. at least your hands were always busy with something: fixing someone's obi, making a sample for the store's assortment or another order. to live you need money, and to have money you need to work. so you've been working as long as you can remember.

that's why it was a surprise to find yourself sitting and doing nothing. Thoma did the mending of clothes and other simple work, and new things, as it turned out, were not needed too often by your masters. so all that remained was to drink tea with them and walk around, feeling guilty for your rather big salary.

archons, it's like you're not a tailor but a friend for them.

on the day when you were ready to climb the wall from idleness – such a seemingly unusual thing for you in the past – you finally decided to visit your employer.

Ayato perked up as soon as you appeared at the door of his office.

"master." – you bowed briefly, looking at him with your eternally tired eyes.

"what can I do for you, dear?" – lord Kamisato, realizing that you were here on a business matter, continued with an impenetrable smile, – "is there something you're not satisfied with? if you don't like the food or the clothes, then I'll immediately-"

you shook your head no, clenching your hands nervously, and spoke. there was a tiny bit of embarrassment in your usually calm voice.

"you see, master," – you swallowed nervously, – "I'm a little worried that I don't really have anything to do."

under Ayato's confused gaze, you continued, explaining what you meant.

"I've been working as long as I can remember myself, and when you offered me to work for you, I expected a higher level of workload." – you exhaled.

"I think I feel guilty for sitting around all day. at least let me fix the servants' clothes."

Ayato scratched his chin while his purple eyes seemed to drill a hole in you. you wanted to leave, to end this conversation as quick as possible. you've never been very comfortable in the presence of your employer. you felt the urge to run away to lady Ayaka and distract yourself with idle conversations, or embroidery – with anything.

"no, no, dear, that won't do. I can't let your pretty hands do that." – your gaze dropped to your rather elegant, but scarred and callused hands. not "pretty" at all.

"then," – you sighed, – "then I'm asking for your dismissal. in that case, it would be better for me to return to my shop in the city. I can't sit around all day, master."

pen crunched in Ayato's hands and fell onto the countertop, breaking in half.

you couldn't see him get up from the table before you felt his hot arms wrapped around your waist in a strangleingly tight grip. gloved finger gently stroked your cheek, outlined the edge of a dark circle under your eye.

seeing in your gaze the absolute misunderstanding of what is happening, commissioner Yashiro only smiled gently.

"[name], sweet, sweet [name]. no matter how beautiful a kimono is, if you lost your legs you won't be able to wear it, don't you think? I would recommend that you don't even think about leaving me. besides, Ayaka will be sad. we all got so attached to you."

Ayato giggled sickly, stroking your hair.

it's time to start preparing for the wedding.

____*:･ﾟ✧

[name]. sweet, adorable [name].

quiet and calm woman living on a street corner. completely unnoticeable in a noisy crowd. smoothly, smoothly her hair flutters in the wind. scarred, thin fingers hold the bundle of fabric tightly.

last name is unknown.

date of birth is unknown.

presumably an orphan.

owns a sewing workshop in the city.

not married.

"is this really all that has been found out?" – Ayato puts down the papers, staring intently at the servant who just nods nervously.

"I see. you may leave."

it's probably a good thing she doesn't have a family. no one would look for her if, say, he decided to kidnap her.

any other person would not have noticed her dark silhouette among the noisy streets. would not have remembered the features of her tired face. would not have made inquiries, looking into her past, find out her schedule, send people to monitor and report to him where and with whom she was. any other wouldn't have memorized what she likes and what she doesn't like, and what time she goes to bed.

anyone else wouldn't, but to commissioner Yashiro, she was the most precious person in the world.

ah, she's so diligent! every time Ayato sees his charming seamstress on the street, she always carries some bundles of fabrics, or in the shop, always busy.

today [name] is also working hard.

hiring her at the manor was the right decision: it meant always having her in sight, by his side. whether it was trying on another suit, when he could feel the light touches of her calloused hands sending euphoric shivers down his back, or just talking over tea – being in the company of a gloomy tailor was great.

humans are greedy, selfish creatures by nature. Ayato was no exception–a man of his status could afford everything and even more. and at the moment, his "everything" was her.

sweet, sweet [name].

slipping into her bedroom in the middle of the night has already become a familiar, routine activity. yukata fell off her shoulder, exposing her skin, while she slept, wrapped in a blanket and quietly snoring.

Ayato carefully, so as not to wake her up, sat down next to her and stroked her hair.

of course, so far they are just a worker and an employer.

"but not for long." – he whispered to himself.

you've always wanted to be in the shoes of your clients, haven't you, my dear? to be a noble lady dressed in luxurious silks?

well, you don't have to worry, your wish will come true soon. you won't mind becoming the wife of the head of the Yashiro commission, right, [name]?

I'm very very sleep deprived I wanna scream cry and throw up

bye!!

#yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere ayato #yandere ayato x reader #yandere #genshin x reader #genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere x you #genshin x you #kamisato ayato #misha.writes

[astrobiscuits]

Astro observations part 8

[LONG EDITION] - taken from my phone's notes (also, i was too lazy to edit it so here's a nice chunk of info)

🍂 Sun conjunct Saturn individuals inherit mindsets from the father, grandparents or great-grandparents. They might never fully act like their Sun sign (aka "shine"), since they've been conditioned from a young age to listen to parents, teachers, and later on bosses. They are the type to never divorce, no matter how toxic their marriage is. If these peeps deal well with their Saturn Return, they might become "THE BOSS" (aka the person everyone looks up to due to how accomplished, disciplined and rich they are, they've literally got their shit together and deserve a round of applause, "it wasn't easy to get to the top, but it was worth it" - you might hear them say this). They are also more prone to ingrain stoic principles in their lifestyle

🍂 Mars square Neptune gives off major cult leader vibes. They're the type to fool you with false promises until you sign up for their "camp" but then you realize it's actually an evil cult where all they wanna do is put you to work (and maybe later even kill you lol). These individuals become very scary when angry (you don't wanna see them angry, trust me). If they ever commit suicide, it'll be by drowning, alcohol or drugs

🍂 Mars trine Neptune is one of the best aspects for those who make a living off their talents. The talent depends on the element the trine is in:

If it's in Earth signs - ideal for those who work in the "money handling sector" in advertising, becoming an entrepeneur, holistic care (if Virgo is involved), cooks, those who work in interior design, seamstresses, embroidery/lace makers, models, event planners If it's in Air signs - ideal for those who work in sales (their negotiation skills are ✨chef's kiss👌🏻✨), becoming a spiritual/religious teacher or an art/music/any other creative pursuit teacher (lmao, i can't even speak💀💀), writers, musicians, magicians and astrologers (for the last two - if Aquarius is involved) If it's in Fire signs - ideal for dancers, theater/movie actors, hairstylists, circus performers, photographers (only if Leo is involved) If it's in Water signs - ideal for make-up artists, painters, tarot readers

🍂 Moon sextile Uranus individuals have got the ability to create a positive parasocial relationship with their followers. Since these people often use their devices to validate their emotions, i wouldn't be surprised if most of y'all also have atleast one active profile where you post quite frequently

PRO TIP: Whenever Transit Jupiter is trining/conjuncting your Natal Uranus (to a less extent also the sextile), you'll get a sudden boost in your followers count

🍂 This is a theory of mine that i've come up with and i'd love to hear your thoughts on it. When it comes to intergenerational astrology, i do believe that we inherit all of our personal planets placements from our parents and ancestors. But then you might say "But i don't act like my mother at all! This is bullshit!". I'm not saying we're all carbon copies of our family members. What makes us unique and distinguishes us from our parents and grandparents (or even great-grandparents) are the way the planets aspect each other in our birth charts and the planetary configurations between them. Basically we start from the same ground, but we all use our traits differently, whether for the better or the worst expression of them. Let's not forget that we also tend to go through different life experiences than our parents and grandparents; we might be blessed with different opportunities that might enhance our best traits and help us achieve what our ancestors always wanted to but weren't able to

Hope you enjoyed today's post, loves!💗💗💗 I've been wanting to post for a while now but my inspiration has been wandering alone in the Sahara Desert I can't promise that i'll start posting again more frequently (the new uni year is starting soon for me + i enrolled in a local astrology school 2 weeks ago🥳🥳 ya girl can't wait to officially become an astrologer) but my inbox will be open again for further questions! I must also thank you for helping me hit 500 followers!!! I'm probably gonna do another ask game once i hit 600 followers, as i'm too busy right now. As always, don't forget to drink water and take care of yourselves! Hope to see you soon! ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

#astro #astro community #astro placements #astrology #astro observations #astro posts #astro notes #astrology notes #astro blog #astroblr #astrology community #astrology tumblr #sun conjunct saturn #mars square neptune #mars trine neptune #moon sextile uranus #intergenerational astrology

[tarjapearce]

The Immorality Of Love (Pt. 2)

Duke! Miguel O'Hara x Courtesan! Reader

WARNINGS: Power abuse, class divisions, slur use, assault, forced medical procedures, no proofread, Victorian Era customs, Angst, slow burn, No use of Y/N.

Synopsis: Pretty Woman but Victorian Era Inspired with Miguel.

Summary: Although a deal is born, the aftermath is something you'd never forget.

A/N: There was a time when venereal diseases were an actual problem and prostitutes were to blame. As a countermeasure, authorities started to do checkups to the courtesans, however even regular work women were involved. Sometimes authorities forced checkups to women that allegedly were sick and they strapped them down. This was seen as dehumanizing by some people. If the woman was sick, she was treated until supposedly cured. If she wasn't, she was let go.

Previous

If one thing Peter had always present in his thoughts was Miguel's stubbornness. Sometimes it proved to be successful other times annoying.

Successful cause of it, he had his empire of machinery sprawled through the city. Companies bought from the richmen that refused to properly treat their employees and the complains flooding his mail had been way too great to ignore or postpone any further .

But this time, his mulishness proved to be everything but good.

Peter was tired, slightly perturbed by the many gruesome things he had to witness in the search of this Violet woman, and he was definitely giving his friend a piece of mind once the search had concluded. If that ever came to happen.

For someone to escape Lyla's radar, meant whoever this woman was, didn't want to be found, or the name was just a ruse to confuse anyone curious enough to dig up about her. Scurrying away from one of the best investigators in the city wasn't an easy feat, he had to give the mysterious woman that.

He had seen the ugly side of the city, a place he often kept in his prayers and helped whenever his job and fortune allowed it.

For the umpteenth time, Peter sighed and rubbed his face, awash with tiredness. Lyla could only chuckle at the parade of emotions wafting through Peter's countenance.

"We'll find her." The short haired woman spoke as she walked through the stony and neverending streets, that blasted their senses with an array of smells their brain could barely name and classify. Peter tailed after her, looking through the mass of people he swum against, watching for his pockets from the invading kid's gangs.

"From all the people he chooses to go with, he picks one that doesn't want to be found. How do we even know if she's real?"

"Cause she's a different kind of worker."

Lyla mumbled as she turned deeper into an alley to finally reach for Tevinter's district. The middle class world.

Both had forgotten that specific clue  Miguel had given them, that had them ransacking through the city for almost a week. Finally, all those trying and tiresome days paid off. They had gone through a couple of Violets in the upper district, the name wasn't that common as they originally thought.

But that just added even more difficulty to the guessing game Miguel had bestowed upon them. Were they looking for a noblewoman? A shop owner? A famous seamstress or singer?

None of that.

It took a moment for Peter to finally understand the kind of woman they were looking for. And it became even clearer as they approached Brasswood Avenue. The preferred street for people that always were up to something, people that lived their lives in the many joyful and licentious ways available. Courtesans included.

Be it the view and the shops around, made Brasswood's streets a centric and well made place for living, during the day. But in the night, it was as dangerous as any other poor district. Safety was a luxury even middle class struggled to get sometimes.

Lyla and Peter asked around. Some outright ignored them, others acted like they didn't know anything at all, courtesans specially. Ladies of the night that refused to disclose information about the mysterious woman and dodged the questions effortlessly.

Peter noticed the protectiveness the women had on eachother, with Violet however the secretiveness was tenfold.

Except for a couple of whistle-blowers that thrived on gossips and watching the world burn for the hell of it.

They gave him your address, just to tip the balance in their favor. But Peter's nature simply thanked them with a polite smile and returned at once with Lyla.

As soon as the investigator and his friend crossed his office doors, Miguel's stilted position relaxed slightly with a deep sigh.

"Any news?" The Duke mumbled  expecting yet another dead end.

His job and the noblesse oblige often nicked his patience away, and whenever Lyla or Peter returned empty handed, his stress shot heavenwards.

The getaway with nobility approached ominously within each day, and the letters from Prince Harry made sure to keep the vexing vacation in the front core of his brain. Disrupting his train of thoughts often. It didn't help the  woman he had set his eyes on, the perfect subject, refused to be found.

The possibilities of you deceiving him, were undeniable. If it took this long it meant the name you gave him was fake. His mind recalled the way you had left oh so hastily out of his manor and the remembrance alone reinforced that thought.

But Lyla's words made his mind to have a bit of peace.

"We've found her."

But Peter's skepticism placed his jumbled mind in the juggler again, "It's a lead. We didn't see her per say."

"Pete, don't be a wet blanket on this, please. I say we've found her. Didn't you notice the way those women clammed up as soon as we mentioned Violet's name?"

"Of course I did, but still, they gave me her address, remember? She lives in an apartment in Brasswood Avenue."

"Now that's a lead, not an address! They didn't specify where! There's a shit ton of apartments in Brasswood, you dumb bread." Lyla quipped with a roll of her eyes.

"Ya, basta." Miguel grumbled and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Brasswood you said?"

Peter nodded and Miguel picked up his things after downing his cold and forsaken morning coffee in a go.

"Let's go, then."

"Wait! You're going right now? What about the evening meetings?"

"The last thing I want is to be assigned one of Harry's companions." Explained the Duke as he approached the door, "You're coming or what?"

Peter had no idea what to expect, but he followed anyway. His street smarts could come in handy.

The perfume was not only heavenly, but sure attracted looks from men and women alike. Curiosity and outrage from the women, to see such thing as a working class woman coming out of the perfume parlor with a package in hand.

Some women stared too long and you were brave and bold enough to face their derogatory looks with a careless smirk.

How dare you?

They'd say. Even worst when you had just purchased a popular item and flaunted them right in their noses way before they could get it. Poking at their rich and better-than-thou ego. Their companions were forced to look away.

The layout slowly changed into a less fancy and dainty milieu, but a less produced copy cat version of Manhattan's district. Pretty but bustling with merchants, families, vendors and a bit of working class rust around the edges.

You had taken a carriage and dropped you off a few blocks away from your apartment. The city noise was something it always woke you up in your evening naps. And hopefully this time you'd get a much longer sleep with a new purchase. Ear lids for the noise.

The comfy and self indulgent thoughts were sapped away as soon as your eyes took in a very familiar carriage, parked a street down your apartment.

Swallowing a thick lump, forming in your throat, you entered the threshold of your home and went up the stairs. Ears perked up at the known voice. Rich, foreign and beautiful, yet annoyingly lordly.

To your surprise none other than the Duke and his companion were there.

What is this?

Your mind swirled with so many different questions and emotions.

Would the Duke want revenge? No certainly not, but it was too late to hide as he had spotted you.

Beautiful brown eyes stared your way, finally acknowledging your presence with a surprised blink. As if convincing himself that following his instincts had paid off.

"Violet." He called and his companion immediately set his eyes on you. Scrutinizing and taking in each of your features. Peter blinked a couple of times before removing his hat in sign of respect to a lady.

"What is this?" Alarmed you looked around, and to your little luck, a couple of neighbors were peeping in your apartment's wooden corridor.

Shit.

With a haste you grabbed your keys and opened the locked door nervously, urging both men inside, away from prying and nosy stares.

"What is this? Why are you here?" Suspicion beyond obvious in your voice.

Peter chuckled nervously and cleared his throat at your bewilderment and harsh words.

"The Duke was looking for you, Miss... Violet."

"Why?" your brows puckered in a frown as your arms crossed against your chest, defensively. Peter faked a brief cough as Miguel gave him the silent order to leave. He put on his hat again and headed for the entrance.

"I'll wait for you downstairs." Miguel on the other hand, removed his hightop hat and sighed.

"You're quite difficult to reach."

"What are you doing here?! Never mind. You'll get me in trouble, you must leave."

Miguel took in the insides of your home for a brief second. Both were in the little reception. Wooden boards that creaked under the weight, from the sparse view he peeked inside, he could tell there wasn't many furnishings inside. Just enough to make it hospitable. The delicious smell of vanilla wafted through his lungs, inhaling the scent of fresh bread. After all, you lived above a known bakery.

Your fingers put the package away in one of the nearby tables and sighed, exasperated when he didn't obey your request.

"I'd like you to spend a week with me." Said Miguel with the most casuals of tones as he sat in one of the many seats available. His analytical gaze pinned you on the spot, ignoring your initial protests.

Your brows furrowed impossibly deeper and your eyes widened. Horrified at the petition alone.

Has he gone mad?

If your mind could slap itself, you'd be beating it for breaking your own rules. This was precisely why you didn't overstay the night in a client's house, unless it was absolutely necessary or way too late to go home on your own.

Growing attached wasn't in your repertoire. Much less when royalty or noble folk were involved. It was a world that although gave you enough to live unbothered by a couple of months, you always procured to keep it at arms length. As it all screamed danger.

"I beg your pardon, but... what did you just say?"

"A week, with me."

You had to take a couple of breaths and think of a polite way to dismiss his request, after all, you never knew with men. Your mind was already formulating the right way to deject his advances or any sort of possibility before it was able to ground it's roots, but Miguel's next words put an abrupt halt to those thoughts.

"I'll pay you, of course."

Oh.

Relief washed over your countenance, and you exhaled. He had almost gotten you for a second. Mind drifted off into working mode.

"It doesn't work like that. First, Why do you want such thing? Second, how did you find me? And third, what makes you think I'd accept a job like that so easily?"

Miguel contemplated your words for a second and put his hands up in defense.

"I've got a little holiday celebration with some... people, and as much as I'd love to skip it and tell them no, my invitation has already arrived. And I need a companion for that." His fingers tweaked the ribbon around the neck, "And let's say I have contacts around, it wasn't an easy feat, but here we are."

Your brow quirked and he stood.

"And out of all the courtesans and ladies you could chose, why me?"

"I need a professional. What do you say?"

"How much are we talking about?"

He smirked softly and shrugged, hands crossing against his well dressed chest.

"Name the price." His hand gestured.

Since he took the first bait, you still wanted to test how much he could give away before getting nitpicky.

"Eight thousand crowns."

"Six" He rebutted and you frowned.

"Six and a half."

He smirked and shook his head, "Wouldn't it be five thousand crowns enough?."

Your eyes rolled at his continuous lowering rebuttal.

"I need money to leave Nueva York, your grace, the more for me, the better. Make it six and we've got a deal."

He stretched his hands towards you and enveloped one around yours without much contemplation, "Deal."

He smirked with a nod and your eyes rolled.

"The funny thing is, I would've stayed for five thousand."

He chuckled and slicked his hair back, "And it's even funnier, because I would've paid you eight." His words like butter. And that did the trick to shut you up, with a pout.

"Now, you've got to prepare, Prince Harry and his court-"

"Wait, what? The prince invited you?"

"He's the one sponsoring the vacation as usual. Yes. Why?" it was his brow's turn to quirk.

"No... No. I cant." your head shook firmly, "I can't do this."

One thing was private getaways, but this was something completely different. Mingling with royalty, sure was in your plans, but not like this. Nor this soon.

"You already said yes. Can't go back now." He deadpanned.

"Your grace," You breathed, "in case you haven't noticed, I'm the least appropriate of person to be mingling with people like you."

"I swear, if you keep saying absurdity like that-"

"What? It's nothing but the truth. I know my place. Some royalty like their peasants to know where they belong."

This made his anger and patience to slowly crumble. But the Duke was running out of options and time.

"You want to leave, right?"

And he wasn't afraid to use everything in his disposition for you to accept such endeavor.

"Oh, lord. You're really trying to get me in it."

"I need someone that people don't recognize." His hand explained, "Someone that's a complete stranger and has no background in the scene."

"I'm pretty sure some of your friends could recognize me. And wouldn't that attract more attention towards me? Your lot is quite nosy."

His eyes narrowed slightly at the implications behind, "Enough. Look. It's a week. You get money, I keep annoying people at bay. After that, we part ways."

"I... I can't."

But God, you were stubborn as a mule.

"Jesus. Why the hell not?!"

"Cause I don't have what you like to call respectable clothes, nor the etiquette for such things!." You admitted.

Sure you knew how to read and write and your clients always made sure to be updated in politics and the like, a knowledge that had gained your well earned reputation as a wonderful courtesan. But that didn't mean you were well versed in etiquette and whatever codes royalty were ruled by.

"Haberlo dicho antes. I'll buy them for you, and will give you some lessons." (Should've said that sooner.)

And still, the Duke himself didn't cease to amaze you.

"Why?"

"Why what?" His lip twitched in a mild scowl. Tired of so many questions.

"Why are you going to these extents of doing this just to keep people at bay? Like... You are the Duke! A royal. You can do whatever you want! Literally, There's a shit ton of women that would die to have a-"

"You really think I'd spend my time talking about the latest trend of fashions or how improper the wife of a Baron was after a long day, hearing and reading people complains in my office?" Miguel rolled his eyes, irked. "Dios mio. Look, I just need a yes or no."

"It's not about clothes or fancy things..."

"Then what is it now? I swear if you say something regarding your status again-"

"How can I know I'll be safe?"

"Safe?" That question wasn't something he was expecting.

"Yeah, I mean, imagine the scandal if people knew-"

"Funny you think I care of what people think of me." He mumbled with a flat tinge of voice.

"You must do, to an extent, your grace."

"Your point is?"

"If it happens that I get discovered-"

"You won't." He promised.

"I wouldn't underestimate people in the royalty, specially those around you. What I'm trying to say is that, If I get discovered, someone might attempt something against me, your kind of people love to show off power, or they might try to find out about me."

"You'll be with me at all times if that's what you're worried about." He explained. Trying to get this over with.

"It's not you I worry. It's the people around you that I worry. You have no idea on what I've seen... wives sending to kill their husband's mistresses for less than that. And I certainly don't wanna end up in a ditch cause someone hasn't gotten over you."

A heavy sigh escaped his lips,"And that's why I rather be single."

"Oh?" Another little surprise from him, "I thought you were a married man?"

"I've got no time for that. Let's just stop turning this around too much. Are you in or not?"

"Okay" you nodded, "Okay. Fine. I'm in."

"Great. Good. Will pick you up tomorrow at 9 am so we can start the etiquette lessons."

"No, no. No. If I agree will be with one condition."

"Bendito, dame paciencia. ¿Ahora qué?" (Good lord, give me patience. Now what?)

"Don't ever come here again." He frowns, struck by your words, "At least not dressed like that. Or ever actually. I don't wanna get myself killed."

"Why would someone do that?" His brows pucker, confused, "Are you... on drugs? I can't do this if you're hooked-"

"Now you're offending me. Do I look like a junkie to you?" you huffed while your hands placed themselves on your hips, to anchor down a very upset self, however the importance of appearances in royalty were something you couldn't ignore, as they were everything for the kin.

"I say so, because if you keep coming people will start thinking I have money,  I'll start getting the wrong sort of attention and I could get assaulted, or worse. It's for my safety. Things are turning sour for... street workers."

"Ok. Then let's meet in a place-"

"No. I'll go to you, not backwards."

He stared, amused and equally irked at your stubbornness with a chuckle, but he had no other choice but to to nod,  your throat clears, "So, in summary, I'll be your personal scort for a week, I tend to your needs, treat you good and no strings attached."

"Basically. Do we have a deal?"

Your lips pursed, triumphant, "Deal."

Once again your hands shook in a gentle bur firm embrace. Miguel however pulled a couple of bills to give them to you.

"Get what you need. Something-"

"Classy, I know."

He nodded and put on his hat, with a quick goodbye, he left your place, leaving your spirits confused, yet high.

The idea of leaving Nueva York towards a better future, had been rounding your mind more times than you actually wanted to admit. But now that you had the chance in a silver platter, you'd size every moment of it.

With the money well hidden in your skirt, and a last look in the mirror, you went out the door.

Shopping day had arrived, and the woman within you felt the excitement through every pore of your citrus perfume smelling skin. You didn't overdress, given the amount of packagings you'd carry around that day.

With a goal set, you ventured through the streets of Manhattan, the boutiques you had seen so many times, didn't feel  unapproachable and impossible to afford now that you had a sponsor.

The Duke had given you enough money to buy at least a couple of fancy dresses for the week, accessories included. You'd go for earth-toned colors, leaving the exuberant bright shades for special occasions.

Cause in truth, ever since you started on the world's most antique labor, everything was a new opportunity to learn something. And the royals had been your preferred study subject .

The way they spoke and acted was not only ridiculously entertaining, but it gave you a glimpse of their true selves. Being attuned with people's emotions was something you had perfected over the years, thanks to your profession.

Miguel, The Duke, had taken you by surprise with his petition. And his willingness to pay you for company said allt about how much a recluse or a nitpicky man he was, regarding female companionship.

And now that he had given you a glimpse of what laid ahead, you were both thrilled and scared. He might be the exception of royals having some basic human decency, but by all means it meant he was the rule.

With a guarded heart, but an open and willing mind to learn, you arrived at the first store. Sadly this one didn't have what you needed. Last season's dresses remained almost too rigid in the showcase. And may heavens forbid you wearing those scraps, so you moved to the second one.

Marivaldi's. One of the most exclusive and gorgeous boutiques in Manhattan.

The lovely ribbons adorned sumptuously the front display of the latest trends in the colors you wanted. They had exactly what you were looking for.

With an excited beam and a quick fix of your skirt, you entered the place, the tiny and melodic bell announced your presence to those inside.

A couple of eyes stared your way and quickly resumed their activities. Your feet took you directly to the gorgeous silk and tafetta dress you saw before.

Breathtaking.

Not only the confection was done exquisitely, but the materials were top notch. The kid in you ran rampant in this fancy store. And when your fingertips grazed at the fabric, you could feel the buttery and soft finish of the silk, making your heart shimmy.

You were definitely buying it, as soon as your hand ceased to admire it.

"Excuse me Are you looking for something?"

You turned and saw a dainty woman, a bit gaunt around the eyes with a hardened and somewhat hostile aura, dressed up like she could be part of the exposition.

"Oh! you work here? You have exquisite things in here. I'm interested in this dress. How much does it cost?"

Her next words however sapped all that excitement away.

"It won't fit you, ma'am."

Which clearly confused you since the size tag was in plain sight. The woman's tone however made it all clear.

It wasn't in sale for you. with a frown you spoke.

"Right. I didn't ask if it would fit me. I asked how much does it cost?"

And that only made the woman's attitude to sour completely.

"All you have to know, is that this dress is something extremely valuable and exclusive, and I won't allow such thing to decrease by selling it to anyone."

Snappy and impolite as she was, you tried your best to remain calm.

"Right." A deep sigh, "Is there any other dress you're willing to let me purchase?"

"Not in this stablishment I'm afraid. You see, we're a respectable shop, ma'am."

"Respectable?"

How dare she?

"Yes. Our suits are not made for those for a penchant of a night life or licentious attitudes. This is not the shop for you. You may leave this moment."

The other women around stared your way, some weren't that subtle and hushed words to eachother as their eyes remained glued to your form. Was it the little lipstick you were wearing? It definitely left a stain on your lips and the walking around had made your cheeks take a deep shade of red, and the sun high in the sky hadn't helped at all.

"I do have the money for-"

"Didn't you hear? Leave! And don't you dare touch anything with those filthy hands, you whore. Lord knows where they have been." The other woman on charge spoke intentionally loudly.

All eyes were set on you, your throat bobbed and swallowed angrily.

"Maybe ask your husband about it." With nothing else to say your feet turned around and headed for the entrance. Your words had left a couple of women aghast, but nothing had you prepared for what would unfold next.

"She's sick! Stop her!"

The offended and petty woman shouted, then her helper. None of the other femmes glanced your way, neither stepped in. But why would they? You were a peasant out of place.

You left the store before trouble could actually happen, but it was too late to stop the madness.

"Help! That woman is sick!" you heard behind you, and your heart was now beating so fast it could only match a rabbit's.

"That's not true!" You glared as you looked through your hidden compartments but the woman kept insisting and taking everything out of context.

"She's itching! She's sick!"

People around you started to gather to see what the ruckus was about. Some sneered with disgusted faces, others murmured to eachother as they raked their eyes on your body. Others, still had the audacity to smirk your way.

Your body drained in color when a couple of police officers approached.

"Stop her! She's spreading diseases!"

Liar

Your breathings turned labored, erratic at the sudden fear rising up in your spine.

"That's not true! I was only asking for a dress!"

"Liar!" the women accused and soon the murmurs and voices of people rose, demanding you to get detained.

One officer grabbed you by the arm, but you shook him away, earning the other officer to quickly apprehend you.

"No! Let me go! I'm clean!"

The men roughly pulled you away as you shrieked and tried with all your might to free yourself. Fear rose the closer you got to a nearby station, a doctor was called.

"Stop! I am not sick!"

"That's what they all say" the officer didn't budge and only dragged you in, your screams and pleas echoed through the walls, calling the attention of everyone inside. For them was just another regular day.

But for you, a nightmare came true. One of the reasons why you always carried your medical card with you at all times. A card that definitely fell off somewhere in the push and pull with the guards.

The man dragged you to a makeshift medical facility, but your reluctance only earned you his manhandling as he pinned you down to the bed.

"No! No! Stop!" you cried and even went so far as to scratch his hands away, "I'm not sick!" You begged with tears in your eyes.

But the man only secured your hands as your feet kicked and tossed. The officer went past your skirt, taunting fingers hooked in the hem of your undergarments, not surprised to find few layers and a missing decency skirt.

"A harlot in the daylight? You lot are turning bolder with your ways."

Although your eyes blurred with the fat tears that drowned them, you could feel the man's fingertips taking in as much skin as possible to then pull down the remaining clothing layers down.

"No!" You cried bitterly. And when the doctor showed up with gloved hands your legs were held back.

"Pretty sure you're used to it. Relax."

How dared he? How dared they to treat you like this over the petty comments of a resented woman? How messed up they have to be to believe blindly without a real proof?

Rich being rich.

Your mouth hissed and hiccuped as soon as you felt the doctor's hands exploring superficially your skin, like a routine check. Your jaw clenched, and your hands tightened in fists with such pressure your knuckles turned white.

The officer's leering look, only added a few solid weights to your already heavy luggage of shame and the resentment towards the rich to increase tenfold.

With a sigh the doctor stopped prodding and examining, "Let her go. She's clean."

The officer undid the strains around your wrist, and sighed.

You couldn't help but slap him as he blew a kiss your way.

"You bitch!" He returned the slap. A burning sensation spreaded through your left cheek. The past's echos rang through your brain.

"Enough! Bring in the other one!." the doctor yelled at the agitated man. Before leaving, the police officer threw your clothes at your face and left.

The doctor soon followed him, leaving you a shameful and nervous wreck. Tears rolled down your reddened face. Anger and distress came in hand as you dressed up again and left the place in a haste.

You couldn't bear to be retained against your will in a torture place like that, yet there was little you could do. Rich people's word was an absolute law in this side of town. They held all the power and if they wished so, they could send anyone to jail based off a lie.

Your hand held your injured cheek as the other, wiped your tears. Eyes racking over the streets to find what you were looking for, a postal office.

As soon as you entered, your fingers grabbed pen and paper and wrote down simple and pithy words.

I can't do this. I'm truly sorry.

And you folded the bills Miguel had given you, and ran back to his manor to deliver the money personally. This time you wouldn't leave time to replies.

The sooner you delivered everything, the sooner you could go home and take a bath to try and wipe away all those dirty traces that officer had left on your skin. Bitterness spreaded all over your mouth at the sour event just happened.

You grabbed a carriage and went straight to Babylon's Manor. Where to your surprise, Peter was there, giving some orders to people. But it was better since you didn't have to face Miguel alone.

In a few strides, you called him from the door and Peter approached confused, but it quickly turned into an alarmed face as he watched your cheek swollen and red.

"Are you okay, Miss?"

"Give this to the Duke. Tell him I'm sorry. But, I can't."

Peter gulped as you shoved the envelope with the money into his hands, ignoring his concern.

"Wait! Miss Violet!"

But you were running back to the carriage, and instructed the driver to go off before Peter could reach you.

Disgrace too much to bear on your own.

The servants removed the coat and hat off him, and quickly scrambled away. To his little surprise, Peter was there, working in his fair shares of reports.

The clinking from the whiskey bottles interrupted Peter as he stood. How would he explain that his day was about to get worst?

Miguel downed the glass of whiskey and let a pleased groan at the liqueur's taste.

"Tough day?"

The Duke rolled his eyes at Peter's question. "The world has gone mad, people keep complaining and apparently there was a robbery today on a boutique. The thief was taken away."

"Yeah, I heard about it too. You're trying your best in keeping the city together and sometimes you can only do so much, pal. Sadly I've got bad news."

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose before serving himself a larger potion of whiskey, as if preparing his mind for the upcoming blow.

Instead of words, Peter handed him the envelope and his brown eyes quickly devoured it's contents only to let a growl rumble through his chest.

"Before you explode," Peter tried to reason, "She was scared. And one of her cheeks was swollen. Something must've happened."

"And why didn't you stop her, then?!"

"Cause she left before I could do anything!" Peter yelled back, "She literally came off a carriage, dumped that envelope and left!"

Miguel held his hips, burying his fingers on the clothed flesh of his hips, teeth clenched underneath his pair of plump lips. Screaming at eachother wouldn't help, but it definitely had added a new wave of stress on his mind. But it also left him with the same question. Something had to happen for you to act like that. Scared wasn't something that came to his mind to describe you.

"No puedo más. No sé que voy a hacer con esa mujer tan terca. No sé!" (I don't know what I'll do with that stubborn woman.)

He crumpled the paper eith the bills in it and threw it against the wall, "Tomorrow morning I want her here. In this office. Understood? Take a royal order if needed, in case she refuses."

Peter could only nod, worried of what might happen if he didn't find you, but even more worried about your looks. That cheek was definitely a slap, and by the level of swelling he could deduct it was recent.

Everything revolving around you offered more questions than answers, and Miguel was running out of time.

Ironic as it was, Miguel preferred a stranger's company than his own circle. But now he had seen you and your equally fiery temper, he understood why The Duke was reluctant to let you go so easily. He liked an equal challenge. Something that kept his brain sharp.

He'd look for you first thing in the morning. But first, he'd need to calm his friend's nerves. 

"You'll be fine, pal." It was more a self reassurance than anything. Cause poor of him if you didn't show up with him next day.

Taglist:

@miss-canon-event @del-ightfulling @huniedeux @fayeofthenightingale @nediks @rosewrong-blogs

#t writes✨ #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #the immorality of love ❣️ #victorian era AU

[hobidreams]

minis: july 1874.

time goes on, and so does your love stretch and grow alongside it.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: angst, fluff words: ~800 contains: historical au, talk of pregnancy

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 47. start from the beginning?

"...Not this time. Again."

In the starlit darkness of your apothecary, your voice comes out tender, red and raw as if the words scrape your throat on their way out. Your hands are flattened on the wooden table, your knees shaky but still thankfully enough to support you as you try to maintain your bravest face. But it's always futile when it's him you're facing. Your Yoongi.

Your Yoongi who only lets a small, sad smile flicker onto his lips before he is pulling you into his warm arms. He buries his face into the dip of your neck where your scent gathers, presses a tiny kiss beneath your jaw.

You feel the silk of his robes softly drag against your wrists. Feel his limbs tremble ever so slightly, even though he must be trying his utmost best to keep himself steady.

"I'm sorry," you whisper into his shoulder, wishing for yet another month that you had better news to give. More than blood staining your undergarments that you handwash until the red disappears into the water as if it had never existed in the first place, each scrub a fresh sting in your heart.

"Don't you dare."

Against you, Yoongi twitches, tenses. He breaks from you reluctantly, shifting until he's far enough away to look you in the eyes, hold you captive in his strong gaze.

"This is no fault of yours, janae," he says, tracing your cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Never."

This small act of affection makes the threat of tears known behind your eyes. Though you've grown hopelessly used to them in the past years, his kisses, his warmth, to have his kindness in the face of such failure is...

"Isn't it?" You pull away from him then, take a few steps away to your table where herbs and fine powders litter the tabletop, remnants of your day's work. "None of my brews have been effective."

"Yet," he says instantly, the word pressed out so intensely you almost believe him. "Effective yet."

"...It's just hard to watch her."

The beautiful queen. Well in the fifth month of being with child, her growing belly swells with love and happiness. She rubs oils you provide on her skin daily, willing to drink any bitter health tonic to ensure her babe's safety. As much as you love visiting her, chatting with her about all things related to the future heir of the country... You can feel your heart whimpering each time you see her. Ugly and jealous.

"We have time," Yoongi whispers, brushing a tendril of hair away from your forehead. "I promise."

"Okay." You exhale, letting him soothe your hurt. "And... I suppose being a while behind the queen will allow us to make good use of the clothing her child outgrows."

Yoongi raises a dark eyebrow at you. "Please. You think I would not personally order the most luxurious, newest clothing the country's top seamstresses can make for our precious baby?"

"Technically, her baby is yours too," you say with a small grin, even though you all know the truth.

He hums, amusement now playing on his lips. "Hoseok still has a difficult time keeping a neutral face when the advisors say the same. I had to order him to leave the chambers on more than one occasion already, lest he give everything away with that ever-changing expression of his."

"He can't help it. He's just so excited." You're grateful for this slight change of topic. "Do you think he'll tell Aera?"

"I don't know." Yoongi says that more often now, at least in your presence and Eunuch Kim's and sometimes even in front of the Queen. He's learned that kings don't need to know everything. That so many people within the palace are there to support him, even in his moments of falter. "I don't know if she is old enough to keep that secret. But eventually? Yes."

You place a hand on his chest and feel the thump of his heart beneath your fingertips. "And... will you... Will you tell their child when it is time?"

"Of course." His breath is warm with summer as it brushes over you, slightly bitter with the tea he uses to keep himself awake on advisor assembly days. "We are... one joined family now, as unconventional as it is. And if I have learned anything from my mother... every one of you deserve the truth. The queen, Hoseok, Aera, you..." His gentle fingers drift down to your stomach. "... and the little one that will join us eventually."

"Okay." You take his hand as you look into his eyes, read the absolute love, the sureity written there. You will trust in yourself as you do him, as you do the small pond rock that sits snugly in your right pocket, accompanying you through even the hardest hours. "Okay."

a/n: hey all! long time no see! if you're still here to read this--i'm SO grateful for you. i recently watched the Yoongi Road to D-Day movie and as soon as Daechwita came up, i was thrown back into this story and i just missed it so much. this mini was originally begun like a year ago in response to some comments from readers who were curious about what happened with our dear uinyeo-nim's wish to have a child! i wanted to show some of that struggle, some of the tenderness between them and how the world has changed in the few years since the end of the series :)

#moonlit throne #yoongi #rain writes #umm kinda crazy that i havent written fic in years #but this series will always have a soft spot in my heart #so... pls enjoy this tiny little thing #<3

[espercognitive]

She was a Seamstress, He was an actor.

Timothée Chalamet x Fem!Reader Pt1

This is my first fic on here! I've been like hiding in the shadows but i have to force myself to write! so I'm just experimenting with fic writing. This is probably gonna be a series about theater! your character is theater technician so all the cool behind the scenes stuff is there. You work in costume and you are assigned to Timothée's character! The reader is fem presenting and has female pronouns! I'm going to include gender neutral readers in the future!(also should I put Timothee or Timothée?)

TW: Swearing, Mild mention nudity, Some sexual tension.

Word count: 1.18k

Show season had finally begun for your theater. After training in high school, you got picked to be a seamstress for a well known theater in New York. Your work was paying off and you could finally see your work being used to its full potential. Going from small local high school productions, you had now gotten the opportunity to work with real actors and actresses. People who you were going to help bring a character to life. Especially for the show 'Anything Goes'

But what you hadn't expected was being assigned to Timothée Chalamet.

Unfortunately, you knew who he was. He had been an actor when you were in high school, but even with the familiarity, you still couldn't help but be a bit frustrated. This wasn't the first time you had to work with him, it'd actually be the second time. The first time made you swear you'd never work with him again. Sophomore year had been going smoothly, that was until your theater department had decided to do Sweet Charity. After working with him that show, hearing the name Oscar Lindquist made you shudder. He had been a senior, and he had been popular in the theater department since his freshman year. You were excited to dress a popular actor, but it was the complete opposite of what you had imagined. Instead of a wonderful maybe even flirtatious encounter

Until you got the character assignments, and you see his name right next to yours.

'Oh fuck' you thought to yourself. You sighed as you walked into the costume shop. You had hope that he had grown out of his annoying behavior, but when he walked in to get measurements done, you figured that probably wasn't the case. He strutted into the costume shop, dopey smile on his face, and that same white boy swag he had in his senior year. You felt sophomore you cringe as he walked over to you.

"Y/N right?" he questioned.

"Yes." you mumbled.

You picked up the measuring tape and started to take his measurements. Typically this wouldn't be such a big deal, that was until you had to measure his waist and crotch area. Now back in high school, this wasn't such a big deal. They had the male costumers take those measurements for the actors and female costumers for the actresses. But this wasn't high school anymore, and you had a big girl job, in which you were responsible for getting this right. You crouched down, face to dick, trying to distract yourself from how close the two of you were when you heard him say,

"Do I know you from somewhere? I normally can recognize a cute face wherever I go, but i can't put a name on you."

"Yea we actually went to the same high school together."

"Really? Were you a seamstress then, or did you start now?"

You sighed and answered almost finished with the rest of his measurements.

"Uh yea I was. I was your costumer when we did Sweet Charity."

He jumped messing up your placement as you tried again.

"Hey can you not move so muc-" He cut you off before you could finish your request.

"OH! I remember you! You were that shy little sophomore. I remember how you never yelled no matter how many times I fucked up my costume" He smiled to himself as he finished bringing up that frustrating memory.

"Yea. I probably should've. Ok Stop moving I'm almost done."

"Ok Ok. Seems like you've gotten more a fire to you at least" He mumbled that last part, a little afraid to say it out loud. You gave him a look.

"Ok I finished. I'm gonna pull some stuff and then tomorrow I'll have you come and try some stuff on." You walked off refusing to look at him in the eyes, grabbing your paper with the measurements.

"Yea ok. Thats cool. See you tomorrow Y/N"

You figured this was going to be an interesting show. Only 2 more months till the show opened.

The next day

You had spent all day yesterday pulling close that would fit him. It was weird doing the same thing again. You thought about how frustrated you were in your sophomore year. But maybe he could be different. You would be lying if the crush you had on him still lingered around. Maybe you could get close this time the way you had wanted to in high school.

Nope. Don't start those thoughts. He's your coworker. Nothing more.

You laid out the pants and clothes you needed him to try. Of course as the character Billy, you'd need every one of his outfits to be different and unique. But you'd have to make a sailor costume from scratch. Which meant for the next few weeks, there'd be many fittings. But you just needed to focus on what you had right now, which was being delayed as Timothée was late.

After distracting and helping some other seamstresses, the man or the hour finally decided to make his appearance.

"Hey Y/N. Woah whats up with the face?" He questioned.

"Well your an hour late. I have to go in like an hour for a doctors appointment so we have to make this fast."

"Oh sorry. Well uh I got you a drink. You used to drink apple juice all the time during Sweet Charity so I figured you'd want this."

You look up into his eyes, he seemed genuine. You smiled as you took the bottle.

"Thank you Timothée. If you bring me an apple juice every time you're late, I'll make sure no one finds out." You smiled at him.

"Really? Thats a deal then."

"Ok. Its time to try on all of these outfits I have laid out. If they don't fit, don't worry about it. I can fix some of the sizes on the pants too."

"Ok, but small problem. Theres a lot of people in the dressing rooms, I don't know if we'll have room to do this."

"Oh fuck. Hmm. Crap I have to get this done."

"I can try and find somethin-" You cut him off with an idea.

"Actually, theres a couch room upstairs in the theater. It's pretty empty normally so you should have enough room to change in there." You smiled as you felt satisfied with that idea, until he said,

"Oh a couch room? You want to watch me undress in the couch room? You're definitely not that shy little sophomore anymore apple."

"Apple? Also thats not what I meant! I do not want to be apart of the reason the couches cannot be looked at under a black light."

He giggled as he grabbed the clothes.

"Yea apple. Like apple juice. I don't know, just thought I'd be cute for you."

you laughed as you responded "and I'm not the shy one anymore."

The two of you made it up the stairs and got into the couch room to just try on clothes. Definitely just try on clothes. Nothing else was going to happen...

#timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet #timothee chamalet #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides #willy wonka #willy wonka x reader #timothee chalamet x you

[honestsycrets]

querido i: a reward of 2099 | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | doubleshot; chapter is safe for work.

❛ summary | it's been a long time since you've been with miguel o'hara. when your daughter gabriella finds his wanted poster, life starts to unravel.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats.

❛ sy's notes | here's to listening to the civil wars' devil backbone one too many times. i needed a break from filling most requests, so i only incorporated one very lightly in this piece.

“Mamá, 2099 is a strange amount for a reward, isn’t it?”

Your daughter was a mischievous girl just like her father. She tore down the poster that was tacked up on the homely post office’s bulletin board as you gathered the weekly post. Coming into town was always a bit of a laborious task. With goods to gather and a little girl to socialize, you made it into town once every week.

"Sure is," Jackson the postman said.

“Thank you,” you plucked mail from the man’s dark hands. “I’ll see you next week.”

He wore a warm, kind smile. Working in the post office, he always seemed to be well-versed in what was going on in everyone’s life. His coal-black eyes shone warmly at you.

“Take care now, there’s wild men out there. What with Peter gone and all, you sure you girls will be okay out there? Rio’d sure put up Gabi and you at the hostel.”

Gabi scrunched up her face tight like a screw being twisted into a board.

“That’s real sweet of you to worry but I’m sure we’ll be fine. We've been out there nine years now. I’ll see you next week, sí? ” You tucked your post into a basket that dangled on your elbow, pulling long and heavy skirts to avoid trampling them with your boots as you opened the door.

“See ya then!”

Gabriella stepped out first, pulling on your lace sleeves as a cue for her delayed answer. She wouldn’t butt into a conversation, but she always seemed to hold her questions for a better time. You sighed, looking at the pale wooden buildings. Saloon, feed store, bank, and the occasional hostel. Over the last decade, the town seemed to flourish, bringing all manner of people to your once tiny Spanish town.

“I suppose they didn’t wanna give the extra coin out, Gabi.”

She looked back to the paper in her hands.

“Wanted dead or alive. Notorious badman Miguel O’Hara, 38, native of Nueva… why that’s here, mama!”

Your blood chilled. Congealed even. The sun nearly blinded you, even with the hat that kept the hot sun off of your head. You stepped off the doorway and onto the dusty ground, spinning on your heel to face your little girl with your dark blue fan in your hands, waving the heat of the day off your flushed skin.

“Wanted for--”

You swiped the paper from her fingers.

“That’s about enough of that. We best get on our way, we got goods to buy, the undertaker to see, and a new dress to fit for your papá’s funeral.”

“I was just reading it. In case we see him?”

“We won’t. It’s been a time since he’s shown himself around these parts. You have no business looking at-- that kinda man. He’s a troublemaker. Now get in the cart, let’s not dolly around.”

You would know.

“O—okay, mamá.”

“I’m sorry, Gabi, I don't mean to yell. You’re all I got, preciosa,” you wedged the paper into a new bible, right next to your wooden rosary, and flung it into the basket.

"I know."

You started ahead of her, fussing with your white veil, sparing no expense to the many questions that she had that day. You had just as many questions as she did.

You just couldn’t articulate them to a grieving little girl.

Do you think it's a boy or girl? the seamstress asks a woman in her shop. She fashions all sorts of fashions from birth to death. Her store is stuffed to the brim with frilly and lacy baptismal dresses. Your gaze fell on her belly, tracing the curve.

"Una niña," she says. Her voice triggers something old, some ancient memory you've suppressed. His voice in your ear, a soft kiss on your head. You're sitting there, next to the little girl that he always wanted, haunted by the flood of memories that comes with looking at another woman's pregnant belly.

"You're not like the others. Aren't men supposed to want sons?" you teased him. Miguel snorted, his arm underneath your neck as he gazed up at a sky of glittering stars. The air was lightly warm, a light wind fluttering through the tall grass. Post-relation bliss was warm on his skin, peaceful and quiet.

"For what? Men are jealous of sons," he muttered, shifting his head to kiss the top of your head. "Little girls are... the light in their lives. I'm going to call mine Gabriella. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"That's a real pretty name."

"Sure is. ¿por qué?"

You didn't tell him why. That you hid a secret underneath the layers of your dress. A secret that you knew Miguel would have more than an issue with if he knew.

"Mamá?" Gabi shakes your arm, "Mamá we're next."

Your mind likes to pull mean tricks on you.

Wanted for double murder.

Miguel O’Hara was always somewhere between a hangman’s knot and three mouths to feed. For you, the latter. You were under no illusion of the sort of man Miguel was.

Every look at your daughter’s soft, peaceful face at night reminded you of him. You worried that the more she looked at posters of Miguel, peered into an artist’s rendition of Miguel’s slight, sultry eyes, lush lips, and strong jaw-- she might be able to locate the similarities when she looked at herself. That was why you had to take the flyer from her. The artist sure had a fine hand at drawing him, the man who danced in your dreams by a warm fire and stayed up late counting the stars. He’s gotten thicker, you thought. You sat on the rocking chair as she slept peacefully, rocking back and forth on the chair.

A violent knocking at the front door swept you free from your thoughts. You snatched up the silver lantern, yanked a fine ivory rebozo over your shoulders, and rushed down the stairs. The booming knocking became louder, more urgent. The movement was mechanical, with no husband to answer the door for you, you checked the window first. The man who stood there was not a man you’d want to see. Not now, not back then. He had a wicked face that sat beneath a wide-brimmed hat that obscured the balding spot on top of his head.

God, not him. He was obsessed.

“Buenas noches, Doña O’Hara,” he peeped into the window.

“Bendito, don’t call me that,” you rushed out, the heavy wooden door slamming to a close behind you. “I’ve told you already, he is not here.”

“And I don’t believe you. First, your man-loving husband dies. Next, sightings of Miguel a town over. ¿Qué piensas? Hm? What comes after that?”

“My husband was trampled, Aaron. By a bull. He was a hard-working man who worked with violent cattle. These accidents happen. Why don’t you ask the undertaker?”

He wouldn’t. Although you don’t think Aaron is a complete idiot, he surely has his own motivations for which leads to follow and which leads to ignore. Your husband’s death was one of them.

“I’ll tell you what comes next. You come next. It’s only logical that he would come back to you. You have his daughter and all. Or… does he not know about that? I seem to recall him running out of here like a bat outta hell.”

“You’ve checked my property three times. Barn, basement, home. It’s been nine years, Aaron. Gloria a Dios, he’s probably remarried and forgotten me by now.”

“Not according to my reports.”

You hate the twinge of delight that comes from that admission. Your cheeks warm with blood, highlighting the rouge that sits across your cheeks. He chuckles caustically at how easily it shuts you up. Aaron takes a step forward, his deep leather boots creaking along the aged floorboards.

“What’d you want me to do with that information?”

“If he comes to see you, and I know he will,” he reached out for your chin. Your hand connects with his, shoving him back. “Tell me. You know, it’s a crime to kill another man without good cause.”

“You wanna catch Miguel for your own reasons, Aaron. Don’t bring none of that holier-than-thou bullshit to my footstep.”

“She can curse,” he laughs again. “Here I thought you were a good Christian woman.”

“Don’t try me,” He tries to corral you against the door. You flip your skirts up, his eyes following the motion. You seize the handgun strapped to your thigh, threatening to pull it on him. Aaron slides back, holding his calloused hands up. "Get off my property."

“I’m just saying. If you see him, you know where to find me. Who knows, you and I could work a lil something out.”

Even if you knew where he was, you would be hard-pressed to turn him into Aaron Delgado. You knew Miguel O’Hara would kill him. So, really, it was for his good. You watched him beat down the squeaky steps and mount his horse, fading into the distance of dark, twinkly stars. You probably shouldn’t be praying that robbers got ahold of him.

But only Diosito could judge you for that.

You dipped down to pick the lantern up, stepping off the steps to ensure that he was not just off your property, but properly gone. Then, seeing him set off toward town, you gazed up at the deep night sky. It was littered with an abundance of stars, massive and twinkling brilliantly. Miguel’s favorite constellations shone brightly in the sky. The Anglo called it-- Orion’s belt. Around here, it was named for the hunter: the deer, the pronghorn, and the sheep. You count each of the stars on your way back indoors to sleep in your empty bed.

You prayed Aaron’s hunt would be fruitless that night.

With your husband's untimely death came several complex decisions. Namely, what to do with his cattle hands and the animals under your care. You were fortunate enough to have support from the community in caring for the cattle, but you knew human affection did not last forever. You could sell his property at a scam of a price as a woman or you could keep it and work bitterly on the farm.

Or, as Aaron suggested today in the cover of concern, you could remarry yet again. It was nearly the only good option. Working wasn’t sustainable when you had a little girl to raise and a whole host of children to teach, as you always had. It would be nearly impossible to find someone like your dearly departed husband who knew your situation and couldn’t care less about it.

It’s good for a lil girl to have a father, he says. You know that-- but Aaron should be no one’s father. Not Gabriella’s. Miguel would’ve never approved. Neither did you.

You loosened beads of sweat from your hair as you returned inside, the ends of your skirt matted with dust. Gabriella would return home from school soon and you were fully intent on feeding her a slice of fresh peach pie.

You made your way into your home, your boots between your fingers. The smell of a smoky hearth piqued your attention. It didn’t arise from your great big wood stove that sat against the wall, ready to cook fresh tortillas, but the sort of hearth settled in the deep outdoors.

“Dios mío.”

Miguel sat there, plain as a field flower. His fingers tapped over the heavy wooden table, rolling in succession. He’s older than you remember-- jaw peppered with dark facial hair, his hair dark and wild, set away from his kind eyes that caught yours as quickly as you caught his. You dropped your boots at your feet, backing up once, twice.

“Don’t run, you won't get far,” his voice trilled, low and warm. Beside his sombrero on the table sat a thick rope and his gun, you don’t want to know which one he was planning to use today. His head twisted, a mused smile growing on his face. “You look so surprised, amor. You had to know I was coming.”

The nickname cut more than it used to. You had not been someone’s amor in a very long time. Married strictly by the weight of paper, you don’t exactly recall what the fleeting emotion of love felt like. Wisps of it licked a dead flame to life in your stomach.

“Miguel.”

“You look gorgeous,” Miguel hummed, turning his impossibly broad arms one over the other. You don’t remember him being this thick. He lurches onto his leather boots, taking a few practiced steps closer. Brilliant, you think, you’ve languished years thinking of this moment just to smell of sweat and cow shit. You suppose he’s smelled worse as an outlaw, a name that doesn’t quite fit the handsome man before you.

“You were always a bad liar.”

“Look, not smell.”

“My point stands,” you say.

Your normally practiced updo has gone frizzy, bits of hair escaping the clips that kept it flat against your head. Miguel’s eyes flickered over the strands, then down to your skin flush with blood and exhaustion.

“Mine too.”

You stared at him a moment longer before you found yourself laughing, just a light-- a small thing that you had failed to do over the past week. His death, and the subsequent funeral, was all too miserable. Now he was here and for a moment, just a brief thing, everything didn’t feel so earth-shatteringly dire.

He cracks a smile, drawing his hand to your flyaways, soothing it down against your head. You should be more angry at him-- settling you with a baby like he did and disappearing into the long grass with Widow and not a word more.

“I missed you,” you said quietly. His hand falls away from your head, drifting past his dark blue vest, and hooking at the fat metal belt buckle. “Pero… why are you here?”

“I heard Peter passed,” he said in a practiced tone. “I was a few towns over. Seeing how he’s taken good care of you all these years, I dropped in to say my dues to him. Came to see my girl too.”

The grief may not be readable in his eyes, but you know he’s practiced it in the same way you did for your Gabriella. Her only daddy was gone, deep in the cold earth. His words echoed in your ears, cutting through your grief bright and resonant. You wonder if he knew, but logically, you knew he couldn’t. Miguel always wanted to be a father.

“Who’d that be?”

“You,” Miguel turns your name over, making your name sound beautiful and light on his tongue. It’s sweet, like the peach pie cooling in your aged windows.

“After all these years?"

"Claro."

"You... shouldn't be here. You’re a wanted man,” you said. “Aaron is looking for you. You know that, right?”

“He's nothing to be concerned about.” Miguel shrugged off your suggestion. "I'm only wanted in these parts."

“Where else is there?” you said

“Out West. South. You take your pick,” Miguel lifted his hand, tracing your parched lower lip. “It don't matter to me. I seen all manner of places, like it here more than anywhere.”

"There's nothing here."

"Nothing but you."

You felt your stomach swoop, a delight filling it better than any meal you’d had. You parted your lips to say something else, to find a response that would fit-- to tell him the truth. But he left you then, came back when something fit better than the road. You wonder what fortune he must have made on the road that he’d come back. His hand caressed your cheek, rubbing it as if to soothe you. It didn’t.

“You think you can just go and come back like nothing happened? After what you did?”

The front door squeaked, dragging with a long hiss. Miguel peered over your shoulder as if it were instinctual, his hand snapping to the gun on his hip. You stopped him short of seizing his handgun. Gabriella bobbed in, closing the door tightly shut behind her. She wore a plain blue dress, fine ribbon braided in the updo she had on that day. She takes a few short steps forward before realizing who you were talking to.

“Mamá, I’m home!” she gasped. “That’s the man in the— in the flyer mamá--”

“Gabi go to your room.”

“I’m not--”

“Gabriella,” your voice went soft but stern. Nearly apologetic. You had been so hard on her lately. Miguel’s eyes dropped from Gabriella’s huge, doe-like eyes to her nose, then lips. His eyes sharpened, whipping back to look at you. “Por mí, okay? He won’t hurt me. Te prometo.”

She darted up the many steps to her room.

"Gabriella?" He stared at you uncomprehendingly. He quickly goes quiet, searching your eyes for something. You worry that he’s found the truth, your breath light as you walked over to your wooden stove, checking the flame and setting a pot of water that you brought from a nearby creek to bathe with. He follows you to the stove.

“My daughter is home. You should go,” you remarked, less of a command than a meek statement, floundering on your lips at the end. As delightful as it sounded, running off into some other territory, town, or world with Miguel-- it was unfeasible and irresponsible to be with a man whose name was stapled on the bulletin boards towns over.

“How old is she?”

"That's none of your business." Your outlaw hovers over you, absorbing the space, a bundle of heavy muscle and rage that plumes off his skin like the smell of sweat on your skin. It’s almost as if he can smell the regret seeping off your skin, despite knowing you couldn’t have done anything differently. No one told him and you could not reach him. Whatever the reason he stayed away, you were not the one he reached out to for updates.

“Tell me,” he growls, waves of anger causing his voice to shake. The tone is heartless, empty of the nights together, of slipping off with the old cattle hand at night and day, in the barn and the field. You’re stuck in the memory of your lovemaking with your vaquero, now your outlaw man. You missed him.

“Don’t do this. She could be listening.” You pad away from the stove to the window with the hope that he wouldn’t follow. He backs you up into the wall, his calloused hands so tight on his belt that you could draw lines of tension through his veins.

“You're not telling me because she’s mine,” he’s whispering, the words going through your chest, fizzling out into terrible pain. He reaches out, squeezing your hips to keep you put. Miguel leans into your space and buries you in his overwhelming scent.

“What do you want me to say?” you stare at his prominent muscles, the shift that is thrown open to expose his skin. He cups your jaw and throat with his large hand, forcing you to confront the truth. Your eyes blink closed, bits of tears dripping there. Miguel doesn’t have the patience for pity, or empathy, whichever the two you were looking for right then.

“I want you to tell me the truth. It's not hard.”

“Me telling you the truth changes a whole lot of nothing. You're putting her life at risk just being here. You're an outlaw,” you say, trying his rapidly evaporating patience. "You got a bounty on your head."

"It changes it all," he shoves you back into the window, a choked cry slipping from your throat. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, he meant to have the truth. Distantly, you were aware of Gabriella’s feet beating down the steps. You’re relatively certain she’d never gone all the way up to her room. In this creaky house you would have heard her door shut, the floorboards bounce. In either case, there’s no point running away from what you both know to be true.

“Sí, she’s your daughter,” you mustered the words in a bid to get it over with. Miguel always had to get his way. “Now what?”

Miguel flicked a look over his shoulder, marked by the heavy drag of his weighted firearm skidding across the wooden table. A life on the run will do that. Gabriella’s tiny hands slipped around his handgun.

“That ain't true!”

“Gabriella,” you cut her short. “Gabi, bebe, put that down.”

Miguel took a step back, pulling his head back slightly as you shifted in front of him. Her tiny head shook, over and over, tears pricking her bright brown eyes. You fooled yourself into thinking that she wouldn’t listen-- because your Gabi was a good girl. A wonderful good girl who liked nothing more but running in the field with the boys and brightly colored ribbons laced into her braids. She was also a mischievous girl who had been trying really, really hard to be good for you this week. Children had their limits.

“My papá is dead,” she said, her fingers trembling about the thing. Miguel’s head tilted in response, expecting you to take care of it. “His name was Peter and-- he liked sunsets and fluffy chocolate calves and--”

“Badly made blankets,” Miguel said lowly. Gabi lowered the gun, slowly, just an inch or two. “Shorn fabrics, uneven stitching, ugly colors.”

“He liked to make you smile-- be helpful,” he added. You snapped to look at Miguel as he rose his hand to his hips, gazing at the floor and rocking. He waits another moment, noting how Gabriella’s head nodded, rubbing away the tears that dripped off the corner of her eyes with her shoulder. She set the gun down on the table.

“You knew my papá?” she turns her arms one over another. “How?”

“He was my friend.”

“Mamá?” she looked toward you, seeking an answer from someone who wasn’t a face on a wanted paper with a reward of 2099 dollars.

“Peter was your papá but-- Miguel is your padre, mija,” you breathed hard, exhausted from years of suppression. She looks at you, not used to this level of betrayal. Her eyes are distant, somewhere in her tiny memories. She whips around and runs out the back door. Miguel turns his eye out the window, her tiny body disappearing into the deep green fields. The sun blinds your eyes as you look out to the fields full of cattle. He reaches for his rope and gun, settling them in their respective places.

“¡Déjala! She needs time alone.”

He heads out the backdoor. He never did listen well.

#miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel ohara oneshot #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spider 2099 x reader #spiderman imagine #spiderman imagines #atsv miguel imagine #atsv imagine #atsv x you #atsv imagines #atsv x reader #atsv fanfiction

[marzipanandminutiae]

man I wish there were a more nuanced way to talk about dress history’s darker sides without like.

making people feel guilty for thinking the clothes were pretty.

to be clear, I don’t mean this in the Conservative Pundit sense where literally any criticism of white/cis/straight/male privilege and its negative effects on society makes them cry about being Laden With Unfair Guilt(TM). I mean like...I don’t know. this Gotcha attitude I see sometimes that’s like

“think this dress is pretty? well IT CAME FROM A HORRIFIC SYSTEM SO THINK AGAIN, BOZO! BET YOU DON’T LIKE IT SO MUCH NOW HUH???”

obviously we should talk about the horrific systems (many many of them) in the past. if a garment was made from fibers processed by enslaved people, and sewn by teenage seamstresses making a pittance, that needs to be discussed

but I feel as if it would help to contextualize that with like

“who makes the majority of our clothing today? what conditions do they work in? what difficulties prevent us from simply opting out of having our clothes produced this way? who sets trends, and do people outside their social echelon also enjoy those trends?”

so that people get that they should be thinking about the past and how its legacy impacts us today, rather than tearing themselves up for Finding The Early 19th Century Cotton Evening Gown Pretty

there is no unproblematic period to enjoy clothing from, including the one we live in now. and it’s not productive to rip people a new one for Bad Fashion Preferences. to me, it’s the same as claiming that someone supports sweatshop labor because they said a Shein dress was cute once

#dress history #this brought to you by: the frantic thread by people trying to find a Less Problematic era to replicate clothing from than Victorian #they settled on Medieval which #J*wish people would like a word about that (censoring to avoid tag) #it's just such a pointless endeavor because no such era exists. now or in the past #you like what you like. you're human. #and just like insufferable crypto bros wear jeans so do activists fighting the environmental damage crypto could cause #also: surprise! the people making the clothes for the system that oppresses them mostly also want to be wearing those styles #it has ever been thus #so are THEY then also evil for admiring styles worn by the exploitative elite?

[milunalupin]

— tale as old as time

a/n: welcome to my beast!remus x beauty!reader series ! i hope you come along this journey with me and enjoy!

chapter one

remus lupin x reader ★ 1.4k words

Gowns and music filled the ballroom, the castle's servants walking around with silver trays of the most luxurious desserts in France. Beautiful and wealthy people danced around to the sound of the piano and the most famous opera singer money could buy in all of Europe.   

The ballroom was decked out in glimmering jewels and fresh flora, the smell of roses strong in the air.  In the middle was Prince Remus Lupin, twirling countless girls about, a smirk on his handsome powdered face.  The Lupins ruled the Alsace region, their wealth apparent by their acres of meticulously landscaped property, the glimmer of the sun on the enormous castle blinding. Remus was an only child who was raised by King Lyall and Queen Hope, until the queen passed away from an illness many years ago, leading the Prince to grow up with the influence of his cold and selfish father.

Staff members were forced to turn a blind eye when they would see the young master walk through the castle with watery eyes or badly hidden bruises. No matter how much they pitied him, his father would rid them of their job in a heartbeat if they dared speak up about it. With every passing year, Prince Remus grew to be increasingly more his father, prioritizing status over everything.  Remus' life was filled with anything he wanted, and obviously once you have everything, things get boring. So, he constantly hosted balls and invited only the most beautiful and influential people in France. Men and women came from all over the country dressed in the most lavish of outfits, trying to gain the attention of the young Prince. 

In a silky yellow tailcoat stood the royal family's head of kitchen staff, Sirius Black. He let out an exaggerated sigh as he stood along his colleagues, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew.  "How many girls will leave crying tonight, do you think?" 

James, dressed in all white with embroidered lapels, rolled his eyes and frowned as he watched the Prince.  "He'll never get married if he keeps acting like this, never form a true bond with anyone." 

A huff came from Peter, who looked the worst out of the three of them (according to Sirius), in a simple brown waistcoat. He held his prized pocket watch in his hand, constantly checking the time to ensure the party was running smoothly.  "The prince's love life isn't really any of our business, Sirius." 

Peter Pettigrew, to say the least, was a suck up, and nothing but loyal to the royal family. It was in his blood; his family having served the royal family for decades. Naturally, he started working under his father in the administrative department and moving ranks until he was appointed head of house, managing the rest of the staff as His Highness' right-hand man. 

James Potter credits everything he has now to his beautiful mother, Euphemia, who was an incredible seamstress who worked in the castle years prior. Now, James assists the young master with his clothing as well as leads the housekeeping staff with his mini assistant Harry, who's favorite thing to do is fold the towels into swans. 

Sirius met James when they worked together at a pub in town before James accepted his position among the royal staff. He was an orphan who had run away from his abusive foster parents. Euphemia felt for the boy and had immediately taken them in like her own son. Cooking meals with his new family ignited his love for food and with help from the Potters, had gone to culinary school. Later, with James's help, began as a waiter at the castle turned kitchen manager. 

Prince Remus, to be frank, doesn't love, not really once his mother had passed. Once under the orders of his father, his image, and the people he surrounded himself with became a priority. Being human was being vulnerable, and being vulnerable was being weak. That's why he found himself surrounded by attractive women, knowing that each one hanging onto his arm believed that they would be the one he fell in love with, inheriting his fortune and power. His arm was around one of the maidens' waists, loosely spinning her as his eyes scanned the room for someone more interesting. 

"My lord, I can't help but believe you might have an interest in me. this is the second time we've danced tonight; you need not be so shy." 

His eyes dropped back to Amelie? Emily? who blushed under his gaze, looking up at him through her fluttering eyelashes. He scoffed and retracted his hand from her waist, pushing past her towards another, ignoring her pleas and attempts to grab his arm. As much fun as he had being the center of attention and being the one everyone wanted to be with, he despised the desperate ones, none of them being worth his actual time. 

-

"Papa, I brought the napkins you asked for!" 

Sirius, James, and Peter turned to find Harry, James's son, holding a stack of cloth napkins up to him with a bright smile, his glasses sliding down his nose. James grinned as he took the napkins from Harry, pushing his glasses back up his nose and fixing his hair. 

"Great job Harry, now run along." 

"You've got him working already Potter? A chip off the old block, that one is." Peter chuckled, smiling along his colleagues as they watched little Harry skip away. 

The doors suddenly burst open, a woman in a cloak falling to the ground, her hood slipping and exposing her ratty grey hair. The maidens closest to the door gasped and squealed as they backed up, trying to distance themselves from the old woman. The music has stopped, Prince Remus weaving his way through the crowd to stand before the elderly intruder. 

"Who let you in, peasant? This ball is invite only." 

The woman looked up, her cloudy grey eyes looking into the Prince's. She held up a single rose, offering him the flower for temporary shelter from the cold. Prince Remus scoffed, rolling his eyes at the woman. The party goers laughed at the old woman from the other side of the ballroom. 

A smirk appeared on the old woman's face, as her body under the cloak began to glow a warm yellow, what seemed liked enchanted haze spreading towards the aghast party goers. Flower petals began to float around the woman as she transformed into a younger, more beautiful version of herself, her now bright blue eyes staring into the Prince's. The guests screamed at they scrambled to escape the sorcery they've witnessed, polished shoes trampling over expensive fabric and rose petals. 

The royal staff looked on in fear, not knowing how to help their master in this situation. James weaved through the people rushing out and found Harry hiding in a corner. He picked him up and turned to head out the door but stopped when he heard a deep growl coming from the center of the room. 

The cloud of magic enveloped Prince Remus, his bones cracking and expanding as his body slowly transformed him into a large, furry monster. His perfect silk robes tearing and falling off the Prince's new body. Large curved horns grew out of his head, and his perfect teeth evolved into sharp fangs. His once perfect appearance turned into one of a menacing animal. 

The young Prince had failed his test from the enchantress. He had not shown kindness to a stranger in need and had confirmed his own selfishness and entitlement. He was mean and ugly on the inside, so she had turned him into who he really was, a beast. Adding on to that, she left a powerful spell on the castle and villagers, turning the royal staff into household objects for allowing the Prince's behavior, and erasing all memory of the royal castle and its inhabitants from the villagers. The curse was infinite, unless the prince managed to make someone fall in love with him. 

Over the years the castle grew colder, lonelier as Remus and his staff became more hopeless for a chance to end the curse. Snow had fallen over the crumbling castle and grounds, the bitterness of the cold outside matching what Remus was feeling in his heart. 

 He was doomed, turned into a disgusting monster for the rest of his days, because who could ever learn to love a beast? 

#marauders x reader #marauders era #marauders #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #beast!remus #beauty!reader #beauty and the beast #james potter #sirius black #peter pettigrew

[tacroyy]

losing my shit about the two times vimes gets slapped by a woman in the guards books (night watch and snuff; spoilers for both below). terry pratchett is completely goddamn brilliant.

both times, it's near enough to the beginning of the plot that vimes is partially convinced he doesn't know what's going on and is still information gathering (so, working a little on autopilot, although thoughts are starting to coalesce). the women he encounters show up after a watershed moment—major transformative plot points on both occasions—and both help him and help move the narrative along with the information they provide. and this is my favorite detail—he's tired both times, too, and just needs to think, because of the amount of new information he's processing.

from night watch:

"I think perhaps I lost my memory when I was attacked," he said. That sounded good, he thought. What he really needed now was somewhere quiet, to think.

"Really? Perhaps I'm the Queen of Hersheba," said Rosie [Palm]. "Just remember, kind sir. I'm not doing this because I'm interested in you, although I'd admit to a macabre fascination about how long you're going to survive. If it hadn't been a cold wet night I'd have left you in the road. I'm a working girl, and I don't need trouble. But you look like a man who can lay his hands on a few dollars, and there will be a bill."

"I'll leave the money on the dressing table," said Vimes.

The slap in the face knocked him against the wall. /end quote

and from snuff:

She [Felicity Beedle] turned to Vimes. "It would seem, commander, that providence has brought you here in time to solve the murder of the goblin girl, who was an excellent pupil. I came up here as soon as I heard, but the goblins are used to undeserved and casual death. I"ll walk with you to the entrance, and then I've got a class to teach."

Vimes tugged at Feeny to make him keep up as they followed Miss Beedle and her charge toward the surface and blessed fresh air. He wondered what had become of the corpse. What did they do with their dead? Bury them, eat them, throw them on the midden? Or was he just not thinking right, a thought which itself had been knocking at his brain for some time. Without thinking, he said, "What else do you teach them, Miss Beedle? To be better citizens?"

The slap caught him on the chin, probably because even in her anger Miss Beedle realized that he still had his steel helmet on. /end quote

vimes makes mistakes. he makes mistakes all the time, and he knows this, and pays attention to them. vimes spends a lot of time thinking about thinking (engaging in productive, internally motivated metacognition well within his zone of proximal development, my master's in teaching insists i say). he thinks about his thinking, and he thinks about other people's thinking through the lens of his own.

in both instances, vimes is coming to realizations about the true nature of things.

in night watch, this would initially seem to be more surface than deep: he's getting to physical grips with exactly when and where (and who) in the past he is; he's learning the ground, mapping, figuring things out—but vimes is also trying to settle himself back in to what he knows, and what society is in these different times, to see if that fits. plotwise, in vimes's present, the seamstresses have a guild, rights, safety, standards, rules, regulations, and even societal respect—although certainly not close to what they deserve, it's much more than what they had before vetinari made their guild a reality. but in the past, where vimes is now, the seamstresses don't have this level of security, and are subject to violence (although it is shown to be societal and legal violence [being arrested for working during their profession's peak, etc] rather than interpersonal or sexual violence [the agony aunts exist and, it is clearly stated, dispense the same justice that they do in the future, specifically to individual clients rather than to larger institutional structures]).

so, when vimes puts down rosie by making a disparaging joke about her profession—oh, you're actually not important to me or to men or to society at all; your labor is not to be respected; i got what i needed from you and will of course pay you, but in the most insulting way possible—he's not only communicating what society thinks, but a moral issue of the novel as well. night watch, after all, is about revolution: who gets to be in power, and who gets to control who gets to be in power? it's frankly revolutionary for pratchett, a mainstream english author, to treat sex workers and sex work as positively as he does (of course, his depictions are not without flaws). he makes it clear that, after all, shouldn't we view sex work as physical labor? isn't it true that anyone who is employed is engaging in physical labor? how is a seamstress really different from a "seamstress"? (it's the power dynamics and misogyny standard to western/european/american/christian society: women and sex must be controlled by the patriarchial majority, kept small and afraid and in chains.) pratchett legitimizes the seamstresses in vimes's present. in vetinari's ankh-morpork, the seamstresses have just as much power as the merchants, the armorers, the assassins—and vimes knows this, but he did grow up in the past he's in now.

in snuff, vimes's approaching anagnorisis is more obviously manifested. brilliantly, pratchett begins vimes's encounter with the goblins by talking about vimes's childhood teacher, mistress slightly, who "taught [him] how not to be afraid" and made him blackboard monitor, "the first time anyone had entrusted him with anything;" vimes thinks he'll put a bag of peppermints on her grave if he gets out of this alive. all positive, and in fact clearly transformative, praise from our hero. but vimes is in a goblin cave, and pratchett has brought up mistress slightly because vimes is remembering his first (educational, not physical) encounter with goblins. this paragraph is worth quoting in full:

"[Mistress Slightly] had one book in her tiny sitting room, and the first time she had given it to young Sam Vimes to read he had got as far as page seven when he froze. The page showed a goblin: the jolly goblin, according to the text. Was it laughing, was it scowling, was it hungry, was it about to bite your head off? Young Sam Vimes hadn't waited to find out and had spent the rest of the morning under a chair. These days he excused himself by remembering that most of the other kids felt the same way. When it came to the innocence of childhood, adults often got it wrong. In any case, she had sat him on her always slightly damp knee after class and made him really look at the goblin. It was made of lots of dots! Tiny dots, if you looked closely. The closer you looked at the goblin the more it wasn't there. Stare it down and it lost all its power to frighten. 'I hear that they are wretched, badly made mortals,' the dame had said sadly. 'Half-finished folk, or so I hear. It's only a blessing this one had something to be jolly about.'"

a near-perfect depiction, unfortunately, of the educational experience. encounter something that scares you and makes you uncomfortable, examine it with the help of a pedagogist, examine it on your own, take it apart so that you are not afraid anymore, and instead understand what it is and how it is made: that's the experience from the first word of the quote all the way until "Stare it down and lost all its power to frighten." and then, a heel-turn: your teacher shows that they completely misunderstood the lesson they were teaching—and that you, the child, understood both parts of the lesson perfectly: you absorbed the critical thinking skills and that this existing societal prejudice is, in fact, totally correct and should not be examined using the skills you just learned.

thus, pratchett has vimes, our hero, our moral center, spout the violent, ingrained, dehumanizing, incitement-to-genocide nonsense of the society in which he has been formed. vimes does this tiredly, without thinking, without making the connection between how things are and how they ought to be, missing the direct relationship of that required moral reevaluation to the case and situation at hand. and pratchett throws that directly back in vimes's face, physically. both times, pratchett says: even if you're tired, even if there's shit going down, even if your worldview is being turned upside down, even if you're in the dead middle of processing everything you've so recently learned, you cannot make the mistake of dehumanization/depersonalization. and you, of all people, have to know that, vimes. not one drop of alcohol passes your lips, not one minute after six goes by without you reading to your son, not one arrestee is subjected to even small or casual police brutality. and not one person—seamstress or goblin—is to be insulted and discriminated against and excluded from deserving to live. to do so, to make that mistake even once, is to face the immediate physical consequences of it from someone deeply and fundamentally in the know. you need the sense smacked into you.

from night watch:

"Consider that a sign of my complete lack of a sense of humor, will you?" said Rosie, shaking some life back into her hand.

"I'm... sorry," said Vimes. "I didn't mean to... I mean... look, thak you for everything. I mean it. But this is not being a good night."

"Yes, I can see that."

"It's worse than you think. Believe me."

"We all have our troubles. Believe me," said Rosie. /end quote.

from snuff:

It was a corker, nonetheless, and out of the corner of his stinging gaze he saw Feeny take a step back. At least the boy had some sense.

"You are the gods' own fool, Commander Vimes! No, I'm not teaching them to be fake humans, I'm teaching them how to be goblins, clever goblins! Do you know that they have only five names for colors? Even trolls have around sixty, and a lot more than that if they find a paint salesman! Does this mean goblins are stupid? No, they have a vast number of names for things that even poets haven't come up with, for things like the colors shift and change, the melting of one hue into another. They have single words for the most complicated of feelings; I know about two hundred of them, I think, and I'm sure there are a lot more! What you may think are grunts and growls and snarls are in fact carrying vast amounts of information! They're like an iceberg, commander: most of them is where you can't see or understand, and I'm teaching Tears of the Mushroom and some of her friends so that they may be able to speak to people like you, who think they are dumb. And do you know what, commander? There isn't much time! They're being slaughtered! It's not called that, of course, but slaughter is how it ends, because they're just dumb nuisances, you see. Why don't you ask Mr. Upshot what happened to the rest of the goblins three years ago, Commander Vimes?"

And with that, Miss Beedle turned on her heel and disappeared down into the darkness of the cave with Tears of the Mushroom bobbing along behind her, leaving Vimes to walk the last few yards out into the glorious light. /end quote.

#sam vimes #terry pratchett #original flavor #dw tag

[atimeofyourlife]

Steve becoming a tailor.

He got a fascination for it at a young age from watching his grandmother, a seamstress, at work. And she taught him everything. Hand sewing and machine sewing, minor and major repairs, making clothes from scratch and tailoring existing clothes and transforming existing items into totally new garments. How to manipulate fabric to get it to lay just right. How to take measurements on himself and others. Different types of fastenings, different ways of structuring a garment.

By the time he's in high school, he has his own sewing machine, that his father would never know about, and tailors all of his clothing. Others can never figure out how every single thing he wears fits perfectly. Shirts that hug the contours of his body, with the sleeves pulling just tight enough to show off his biceps. Pants and jeans that always fit the waist exactly, without needing a belt, emphasizing his ass, and hitting the exact perfect spot on his ankle. At every prom he attended, wearing a tux that fitted in a way that no teenager should be able to achieve.

After high school, he doesn't make a big deal out of it, but offers his services free of charge to those closest to him that wouldn't make it a thing, that wouldn't tease or make fun of him for having a 'woman's' hobby. For Robin, he would tailor items so the legs or sleeves wouldn't be too long, or just tailor the waist of men's pants to fit. For Max, knowing that she struggled to afford new clothing, and finding items that she liked and fit well from a thrift shop was nearly impossible, he would offer to lightly tailor anything she needed, not so it would be close fitting or a perfect match, just adjusting them enough that her clothing wasn't obviously too big. Also offering to help her repair anything and teaching her how to do her own repairs.

Everyone else found out because of Joyce and Hopper's wedding. After everything with the Upside Down was over, they wanted to get married on as tight of a budget as possible, thinking of using clothing they already owned or what they could thrift, Steve volunteered to dress the wedding party. Tailored suits for Hopper, Jonathan, and Will, fitting so beautifully that no one would be able to guess each suit had been thrifted and all the shirts were the cheapest off the rack. Dresses for Joyce and El, made from ones already owned and what they could thrift, but completely torn apart and remade into new dresses. There was nothing but praise and encouragement for Steve, with the entire town talking about how wonderful the family had looked that day.

The party then taking it upon themselves to encourage Steve to try and make it a career. He listened to them, initially intending it as a side hustle, to help build a little cash to get out of his parents house. But it took off quickly, mostly from word of mouth following the wedding, and within a few months he was taking enough work and making enough money that he was able to quit Family Video and start tailoring full time.

And his little business went from strength to strength, just over a year and he was able to afford a small shop, so he wasn't working out of his home. He hired Robin as a part-time receptionist around her college courses, claiming he needed someone to man the phones and make the appointments, but mostly wanting the company. Will offering to design and paint the branding for the shop. El gained an interest that matched Steve's after seeing the magic he created for the wedding, and made it her personal mission to become Steve's assistant after graduating high school, often tagging along while he was working to watch and learn how everything came together.

His reputation spread to Indianapolis and beyond, making him one of the most sought-after tailors in the state, with people even coming from the surrounding states just for him to make adjustments to their clothing. His business doing so well, that it was the leading force in rejuvenating downtown Hawkins, with more people opening up their own businesses to take advantage of the increased number of people passing through town.

Everyone in the party having at least one item, if not multiple items, or clothing either tailored or made by Steve, with him having everyone's measurements listed in a personal notebook, and even having individual draft blocks made to the measurements of his most frequent customers within the party. Eddie being one of his biggest clients, after becoming a semi-successful rockstar, refusing to wear anything that wasn't made, or at the very least tailored, by Steve to any of the biggest events.

Steve's parents finding out when they come back through Indiana, at a networking event held by a business associate. They hear it from a potential new, rich client who, after sharing introductions, responds, "Oh, Harrington, is that any relation to the owner of Harrington's Tailoring in Hawkins?" When they have no response to that, the potential client goes on to talk about how he wouldn't have anyone else tailor for him, how the tailor did such phenomenal work with fabric.

That is what pulls them back to Hawkins, for the first time in years. After calling for an appointment got them nowhere, being told that there would be weeks to wait before they could even be seen for the initial consultation, they tried going into the shop. Asking, then demanding an appointment, becoming ruder and more belligerent, even pulling out "Don't you know who I am?"

Robin being the one manning the desk, and recognising them from the photos she had seen from Steve. "Yeah, you're an asshole who cheats on his wife and neglected his kid. Mr Harrington is a very busy man, and doesn't give people like you priority."

Her response angering them further, them demanding to speak with the manager, and out walks Steve. Face-to-face with his parents for the first time since he was nineteen, and this time holding the power. Their tone changed upon seeing him, making all claims to love and family and loyalty, and having heard so much about his success.

And he just refuses them. Refusing them service, refusing them his time, refusing them his energy. Telling them to find another tailor, that even if he wanted to do work for them he was too fully booked, and that they would never be a priority or rush client.

"We could destroy you, you know. You are nothing without us." His father tried to push further, determined to get his own way.

"And yet, here I am. Successful without you even knowing about it." Steve replied, content with his success and refusing to allow his parents to taint his happiness.

-

This took off from an idea I had, picturing Steve as a tailor with glasses and a tape measure around his neck and pins in his mouth as he worked. (which is unsafe and should never be done but I will always do because I can never find a pincushion when I need it) It was supposed to be a little headcanon drabble but just got a mind of its own and ended up as a fic that only took me a couple of hours to write.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #el hopper #eddie munson #stranger things fic #steve harringtons parents #steve harrington fic #atimeofyourwrites