#Gabriel's a sap

[cherubchoirs]

[ultrakill]

give me some space i’m still not over this

bonus:

gabe thought he could blow a kiss and have it go unnoticed. wrong.

[smallest-moon]

THEYRE SO CUTE

[werexcat]

...

...

The loudest eyeroll ever on the face of the EARTH.

[superblysubpar]

<- part nine | series masterlist

epilogue summary: and they lived happily ever after.

the song: In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel

1,326 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / reader is a mom to a daughter and pregnant in this. Small descriptions of morning sickness involved, and some parent guilt of being gone on Steve’s part, but overall, lovely gooey fluff | my blog is 18+

a/n: Idk, simply couldn't stop with these two and this came out, so I threw it in as an epilogue. hope you love it, if it's your thing!

A house, on a street, a Summer morning - the future

  He assumes it’s the thunder that has you standing in the doorway, yawning. Another low rumble of it seems to shake the house, making the already low light in the kitchen flicker. But when he looks up again from his paperwork he’s sorting, and finds you looking at the remaining eggs on his plate with a grimace, he know it’s not the storm that woke you. 

  Quick to throw it into the fridge that’s littered with Polaroid squares. They flutter with the swift press closed so nothing else can cause the grimace on your face to deepen. He opens his arms for you as you drag slippered feet over white tile. 

  “Hi honey,” he whispers into your cheek before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. He bends and does the same to your stomach. “Hi baby.”

  Your head falls to his shoulder while his hands rub over your belly, mumbling, “Trouble’s not being nice today, huh?”

  “No,” you whine into his stiff white linen shirt, nose pressing to his neck with a kiss, “So your kid and not mine.”

  A creak of a door down the hallway has him laughing, mumbling under his breath, “Speaking of your kid and not mine.”

  Rushed pads of feet on hardwoods and a quiet call of, “Daddy?” heard before you sigh. 

  “I’m in the kitchen sweetie,” he calls, kissing your cheek as you take his seat and he stands, “So’s mommy.”

  Footie pajama clad legs race down the hallway until a flurry of his hair and your eyes rounds the corner. Crocodile tears falling down cheeks and big pouting lips that catch them. 

  Steve scoops her up, brushing at them, kissing them away, “Hey, hey, hey, what’re these for, huh?”

  She nuzzles into his neck, just like you’d done moments before and you’d like to blame it on the hormones, when there’s tears that threaten to match your daughter’s in your eyes, but you know it’s just because Steve looks at you fondly over her head, palm soothing up and down her back as you watch him with too much love in your eyes. 

  He’d make another baby with you if you weren’t already pregnant. He needs you stop looking at him like that, when he can’t do anything about it. 

He motions with his hand, fingers pinching together as he pretends to frame a shot of you and snap an imaginary picture. 

  Your fingers swipe at your lash line as he mouths 'Sap' and you wave him away, nodding at the crying kid in his arms. 

  Her fingers play with his tie as she hiccups, “Lo-loud.”

  He hums, back resting against the counter where coffee starts it’s timed percolating. He looks at you, wondering if he should cancel it and you take a big breath and smile, so he focuses on Leia. 

  “The storm’s loud and woke you up?” He clarifies.

  She nods, sniffling against his shirt and he agrees, dramatic, “Storm’s can be so noisy. Nosier than mommy’s snoring.”

  You scoff, but she giggles and you narrow your eyes at him when he keeps going. “She snores so loud, it wakes up the neighbors.”

  Leia laughs as you pout. “I do not! Honey, tell him I don’t!”

  She giggles as Steve starts imitating a snore, cartoon like and looking right at you with a big grin. Leia faces you and you put on a show, pouting out your lips and pretending to sniffle so she reaches for you. 

  Steve sighs, walking the few steps to where you sit, letting her climb into your arms. She’s careful as she wraps around you, looking at your stomach with big eyes after your talk about being gentle yesterday. Steve’s hand hovers over her back till he knows you’ve got her. 

  Leia presses her hand to the swell of your belly, eyebrows furrowed together just like her dad’s. “Baby brother scared of storm too?”

  You brush a curl of brown hair behind her ear, kissing her temple. “Think he’s too little to know yet, honey.”

  Steve pours coffee into a thermos and frowns at the two of you. “We don’t know it’s a baby brother yet. It could be a baby sister.”

  Your daughter raises her eyebrows in a way that’s far too familiar and sighs like someone older than she is as she says, “We’ll see.”

  Steve’s lips part in amusement when he looks at your grin but then a loud rumble of thunder cracks overhead and she whines, big eyes blinking more tears when they look at him.

  “Can you hold my hand till over?” She asks him and your heart breaks from the look on his face.

  “I can’t sweetie,” he kisses her forehead, “I gotta go to work today. But you know who’s great at holding hands?”

  Your arms wrap around her tightly and Leia asks, “Mommy?”

  “You got it,” Steve’s fingers tap under her chin. “She does it all the time for me when I get scared too.”

  Leia’s nose scrunches like she finds this to be the funniest thing in the world and giggles like it is. “Daddy’s don’t get scared!”

  He nods. “They do too! I’m scared today and wish you and Mommy could come with me to work. I have to talk in front of a bunch of people and use big brain words and impress them and I’m scared I’m gonna do a bad job.”

  “Maybe,” Leia smiles, excited by her idea, “Maybe if mommy, if we squeeze really tight, you’ll feel it at work.”

  “I think that’s a great idea.” He holds out his hands, waiting till the two of you each grab one and squeeze. Leia’s nose scrunches in concentration and you look at Steve, pretending to snap a photo.

  His thumb brushes yours as Leia giggles and he sighs, dramatically fake swiping nerves from his forehead.

  “Wow, I feel so much better!”

  He looks at the clock and frowns, hating to leave either of you and miss any moments that happen during time he can’t get back. But every day you assure him that he doesn’t miss much, and he makes up for it and then some when he’s home. 

  “Okay, I gotta go,” he really sighs that time, grabbing his briefcase and thermos, “Don’t have too much fun without me?”

  Leia slides from your lap as he bends for a tight hug, kissing her cheek, “Bye sweetie.

  He kisses your stomach, whispering, “Bye baby.”

  “Bye honey,” he presses a slow and soft kiss to your lips that you sigh into and Leia shrieks at.

  “Kiss again!” 

  Steve smiles and does what she asks, hand cupping your jaw as you deepen it, tongue discretely sneaking out and swiping over his bottom lip. 

  He backs up, narrowing his eyes before he bends and whispers in Leia’s ear as he walks out of the kitchen.

  “Daddy says you’re…you…despict…” she frowns, trying to remember.

  “Despicable?” You ask, lips twitching in a smile.

  “Yes!” She shouts, but then whines when thunder rumbles and lightening illuminates the kitchen and her racing to grab your hand. 

  Before he opens the front door he hears, “Woah! Have you been going to work with your daddy and learning this grip from all those baseball players?”

  Leia’s laugh fills the spaces in his heart that cracked from saying goodbye, though it threatens to crack all over again when she asks, “Can we lisem to the eyes song, mommy?”

  “Eyes song?”

  She hums, and he can almost see her nodding as she says, “Daddy and you danced at dinner last night.”

  “Oh,” he can hear you sniffling and he wants to go comfort you, but knows you can handle it when you say, “I’d love to listen the eyes song honey.”

  He presses his forehead to the door as he closes it, already missing you.  

BICFTF TAGLIST:

@ash5monster01 @madaboutjoe @foreverinwanderlust @the-fairy-anon @scarletwitchgf

@curlsincriminology @siriuslysmoking @redbarn1995 @starry--sarah @starksbabie

@taccobelle @angst-lasagna @blckburd @crownofdecit @torntaltos

@sanniegirl1214 @yourmommilf @khena @ytgus @starryeyedpoet17

@halfburntout @belle101200

[honestsycrets]

hi sy! first things first, you’re a fantastic writer. i am in LOVE with your western series! second, may i request an idea? it’s the 1920s, and miguel is one of the top mobsters in nueva york, while the reader is his mob wife. after an attempted hit from one of miguel’s rivals that nearly kills her and gabriella, the reader decides it’s time to her and little girl to skip town, but miguel will be damned if his family tries to leave him. cueeeee angst, drama, the whole shabang!

canary I: a threat | [miguel o'hara x reader x gabriel o'hara]

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x reader, gabriel o'hara x reader

❛ type | double shot; 5k

❛ tags | non-monogamy, some angst, 1920s inspired piece, irish clan inspired piece, bootlegging and mention of hits, explicit, a depiction of killings, some jealousy, some trad-roles elements, f!reader, 1920s slang and Spanish not translated, time period birth control (cervical cap).

❛ sy’s notes | i have spent weeks staring at this piece. it's a bit longer than my usual works and for that reason i decided to split it up into two chapters. this piece takes on a little bit more of a generalized irish mob approach rather than italian. this chapter is more domestic than the subsequent one will be.

Miguel O’Hara hated it when his kills ran. No matter how many alleyways they ducked into, shoddily constructed fences they tumbled over, or crappy cars they tried to hitch a ride in, he always found them.

His fingers were blisteringly tight around his kill’s throat, sure to leave certain bruising if the man made it out alive. He wouldn’t. Not based on the blood that seeped over Miguel’s tanned hand. He gurgled underneath Miguel’s hand, the kill messier than he imagined. Any number of his hitmen could have carried out this contract but instead, his crisp white top was slathered in the contract kill of the week. He recalled the sudden memory of his hand on your slight waist, the kiss on the top of your head with the promise of his night. He snarled the memory away.

Should’ve just shot him, Miguel thought. Mierda.

With the fading of the man’s life, his choked grunts drifted into silence. Miguel allowed the man to slump over. Silence fractured, his world bursting with sound. The salt-laden wind whistled past his hair as ships sailed into the pier, carrying cargo, and his latest shipments. Bootlegged booze had its own benefits-- poor training and numbers among agents, for example. A crackle of an engine sped down the road was followed by the bright beams of an electric headlamp.

“¡Oye, Miguel!”

Of course. Under the bright moon that shone arrogantly in the dark sky, the figure came into focus. His polished suit was just a tad too big for his toned, but hardly muscular frame. Even in the darkness, he had the kind of smile that made people feel like they were the special ones. It matched the gentleness in his eyes behind that swoop of chestnut brown hair. If the feds published men of their color on army recruitment posters, he’d certainly make the cut. Handsome, but not too handsome. Strong, but not too strong.

“Gabe,” he breathed. “The lights.”

“Lights? The lights!” Gabriel looked back at his shiny black car. He bounced back toward the car, bellowing. “This a Spot boy? You did a number on him.”

“You sap. Could you be any louder?” Miguel threw aside. “Why are you here?”

“Thought you could use me tonight, big shot,” Gabriel said in that sugar-dipped tongue of his. It works less on Miguel than it had on you. It was oddly discomforting. As the days wore on, he loathed his brother’s silver tongue.

“I could use someone watching my girls.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I was. They're sleeping." Gabriel booted the man, more than minced meat when Miguel was done with him. “You had some beef with him, huh?”

“No.” Miguel mumbled, looking at the man’s body rather than his own, something sharp hovering there. There was nothing he wanted less than to stand in the biting cold listening to his baby brother prattle on a moment longer. He wiped his blade on his once-was-crisp slacks and slid it back into its sheathe. “Let’s hit it.”

“Jake,” Gabriel said, an annoying rendition of an okay. Gabriel was full of shitty terms from his stint in the big house. Almost as many as he picked up at Miguel’s speakeasy.

“Say. Miguel?”

Gabriel’s voice was soft, almost strained. Miguel caught his eyes, knowing subconsciously what his brother would say. He sucked in a breath to calm himself from a reaction to thin, sharp words. They balanced on the point of a knife as Gabriel spoke them into existence.

“They're our girls.”

This setup wasn't going to last. One day, you'd probably settle with Gabe. Miguel jerked up to the sensation of your fingers ghosting his chest, twiddling around his inky black chest hair, gliding across scars. He senses the source of his disquiet, your small frame draped over his side, watching him with a foreign curiosity.

“Muñeca?” he murmured sleepfully, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “What's it? Did Gabriel sleep in?”

He finds it hard to believe that his chirpy brother would do such a thing. Mornings were notoriously his favourite part of the day. Unlike Miguel, who shunned the light that streamed in from your thin curtains.

“Coppers took him in for questioning,” you murmured, leaning in to lay a small peckish kiss on his lips. That was quick. His eyes swept down to your lips, lingering there as you spoke. “Gabi said you’d come with me to iglesia.”

“Chingado. He passed the buck onto me.” Miguel groaned, dropping his head back onto the pillow, weighed down by such a stupid request. You thumbed the golden necklace he’d forgotten to take off, gliding one of your legs up his hirsute thighs. He finds himself hiking your leg higher up his thigh. “That’s what you woke me up for?”

“‘Course not,” you muttered. “I missed you last night. Where’d you go off to?”

“To finish intake.”

You didn’t believe that.

“Promise it didn’t have nothing to do with what Gabi got carted off for?” He holds you in a working gaze, something that tells you he isn’t about to answer something like that. You are his woman. Yet, some secrets aren’t ones that he’s willing to disclose. It could put you in a compromised position. Most men, namely the Italian boys, had enough sense not to drag a man’s family into problems between the mob and the clan but in this world, not everyone had sense.

“Miguelito, you’re scaring me.” Your breath quickened, palpable with your chest against his. His large hand encompassed the middle of your back, guiding small, consolatory circles.

“Some things you’re better off not knowing,” Miguel worked at an explanation. Some things like the amount of hits he was getting for Spot boys. The booze going missing from the speakeasy. Some of his girls licked off the street. Just-- some things. “Got it?”

“Long as it’s not another dame,” you mumbled, fisting his necklace around your fist, dragging him forward for emphasis. A smile tugged at his lips, somehow pleased with your response. “What? You been out the house more times than not.”

“I share you with my brother,” Miguel worked the back of his neck. “Better that I skip town than hear you moaning for him. Might hem him up one of these days.”

You laugh-- but Miguel doesn’t find a lick of it funny.

“You got me now,” your hands drifted up to Miguel’s massive shoulders. “How ‘bout this. You fill me all up for church, wear that spiffy dark blue suit. Then we take Lyla out to get her some cherry coke at the apothecary’s. Maybe I’ll even sing you a whole song today if you’re lucky.”

Church, again. Miguel rattled a groan. Of course, he couldn’t have one day off from frateurinizing with people who hated the fuck outta him. Church folk. He didn’t know why you insisted on going with people who openly called you loose.

“Can do without one of those things.”

“If you want me, you go to iglesia, Miguelito.”

West-Side Violence at All-Time High! Italian Enforcer found dead! The West clan’s Gabriel O’Hara facing added charges on suspicion of--

Tch. You interrupted the scowl on his face with a well-placed kiss to his cheekbone, sliding a piping hot mug of Joe before him. Wafts of steam warmed his cheeks. You set down his morning’s breakfast, a plate loaded with fats. No tamales today, but baked beans from a few well-established Irish wives in the area. You wiped your greasy fingers off on a dirtied apron. Miguel stabbed a hunk of sausage as you spoke.

“Gabi’d never do that. They’re trying to hem him up like that capo last month,” your voice quaked, strutting back toward the cabinets. “It’s too personal. He’d… fill ‘em up with lead sure, but a stabbing? It just don’t make sense.”

Sure didn't. Miguel dropped the paper to the side of the oak table, tracing lines of worry that grew into spiderwebs of panic across your forehead. You spoke so feverishly in defense of Gabriel, whose absence was palpable. He often talked about the latest hired singer, sneaking behind your waist for kisses on your nape when Miguel could barely drag himself out of bed in the morning after pulling all-nighters.

“I have someone on it.”

“I bet Papa did it.” His daughter-- or Gabriel’s-- they were never quite sure. He glanced to his foot where Lyla sat. A full seven-year-old, Lyla was a spitfire of a thing, her hair in a bouncy bob topped by a silky ribbon. She glanced up from the dreidel she was spinning around and around. His lips pulled into a minced smile. “What? He’s a liar.”

“Miguel.”

Couldn’t even eat in peace.

“Lyla,” Miguel gestured toward the door. “Go wake up Maeve. Go on kid, get.”

That kid had a smart mouth. He watches her roll her eyes, only budging when you supply her with a hunk of pan dulce. She takes a mean bite, eyes locked on Miguel as she hopped out, somehow less bothered than she was a few seconds ago. You closed the metal door behind your daughter, a hand balled up on the bend in your waist as you watched her skip down the stairs and out of view.

“Most girls don’t talk like that about their papas,” you mumbled. Your arms crossed one over the other for support. “Does she hate him that much?”

“Most girls don’t grow up in the life.”

“Mi culpa.”

With his breakfast all but spoiled, Miguel pushed the plate away. His hand was soft on your waist, nose burrowed into your hair, tracing the notes of jasmine and rose, vanilla and sandalwood. The scent was unmarred by the stench of speakeasy smoke so early in the morning. Your hand came over his, steadying yourself from the rushing thoughts by leaning into his touch.

“I need a girl at the speakeasy tonight.”

Unlike his brother, Miguel’s requests rarely offer a tone of choice. It rolls off his tongue dry and hits your ear like a spike. Nothing about your relationship with Miguel was easy-- it was marred by the rivalry among the brothers-- and as you suspected-- interloping from your grandfather.

“Y Lyla?”

“Maeve is her nanny.”

“How can I step in there without Gabi?”

“He’d want you to. And I want to see you out of this dumb apron.”

“It isn’t dumb,” you pursed your lips, somehow more convinced despite your reservations. Most days, you spend the day in the house-- isolated from any life you came to Nueva York for. Any half-formed excuse that was on your tongue flopped. He nearly has you. “It is right dumb, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. What happened to my canary?”

“She met a pair of terrible brothers who don’t care for pulling out.”

“Don’t blame me.”

He pushed himself against your back, twiddling your fingers against the pantyhose that clothed your thighs. A smile tugged on your lips as Miguel leaned over to kick the front door shut, dipping onto his knees. It wasn’t often that he allowed you to ruin his perfect face before work. Today is a special treat.

But… if you thought back, you really should have.

Took a long time to get any mail from the island. Almost impossible.

In your hands is a sloppily penned letter-- You should be married to one of those boys-- your grandfather. He isn’t stupid enough to think that you’re opening this for the first time tonight, here and now, right in front of him. If you’re ‘reading’ it, you must be wanting him to take a hint. Miguel bent down, placed a kiss on your temple, gliding his hands over your own to place the letter onto the vanity.

He used those very same hands that were meant for maiming against the clasp of a set of pearls around your neck with gentle precision. His fingers coursed along the curls at your nape as he clasped them together.

“How long before your set?”

“Half an hour… maybe.” You stood to face him, pursing ruby-red lips, whispering in his mother’s tongue. He never liked it when his mother barked at him in Spanish, but when it's off your tongue, he knows how sweet it could be. Your hand inched its way over his chest, tracing the fat knot against his throat.

“What’s the issue?”

“I don’t-- feel very perfect. You have all these shebas out there--” women who not only knew how to sing but weren’t terribly mottled by stretchmarks or burdened by the eviscerating effect of motherhood. They’re beautiful, free canaries when they sing in his speakeasy. As much as you loved singing-- you felt shy on that ruby-red stage lately, before a dozen ruby tables and the hopping band.

“They’re to bring in the sugar.”

“Uh-huh, bring in the sugar until they take you away.”

“I’m satisfied.” Miguel took a step up, communicating the way he knew how, by settling his large hand over your jaw. His strong hand glided to your chin, urging you to look him in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere. Tied me down with Lyla as it is.”

“Words are just words. Why buy the…”

“Cow if you can get the milk for free, sí, I know what your grandfather says.” He slips into your chair. “Què quieres?”

“I don’t know, Miguelito. A promise. A marriage. Algo.”

“You want me to wife you up? Don’t remember ever talking about this.” He gestured you to come closer. You stepped up, knocking between his legs. Miguel’s gaze falters, chasing the glint of your tassels as they come to a stop.

“What’s the issue?”

“Nothing. I thought you’d ask Gabe.”

“Gabe gets around.”

“You believe those rumors.” You slap his large hands groping up your thighs, climbing over his lap like it was your throne. His massive frame eclipses the chair, suppressing your comparatively smaller frame. “And don’t think I do?”

“Do you?”

“No,” he laughs. Or, not recently. It’s hard being a father-- harder when he has a whole ass business to keep on top of. Most women wanted those things: jewels, a new pair of silk knickers, and a home. “If that’s what you want, you got it.”

“Oh Miguelito,” he suckled your neck, drawing horrendous marks to the surface. Marks of his ownership in the absence of a ring. He hears the pleased hum of your voice, low and sweet, and knows that’s exactly what you wanted to hear.

“I haven’t put in my cap,” his fingers danced across the outside of your thighs, slipping past your stockings to your silken shorts. He slotted his fingers underneath the fabric, grazing his fingers through your neatly kept curls. Your breath came in deeper bursts as he melded his hand over your vulva, expecting you to grind back on him. You did, ever so eager for him.

“Don’t bother me with that,” he said in a low, husked voice. “You know how I feel about your birth control.”

It was your idea, primarily. Gabe was ever too content to simply be with you-- he didn’t need a large family like the rest of Miguel’s Irish clan. Four, six, sometimes more. Unlike Gabe, Miguel wanted the exact opposite. You shifted over his thigh, obeying his desire to have you ride him. Miguel urged your hips down, working his thumb over the precious button as you did. Miguel’s leg trembled up against your slit, bursts of warm friction warming your hungry body. With his slacks freshly cleaned, you worry about soaking them, soaked in lubricant as you were.

“Come here,” you surrendered a soft moan to him, leaning forward now, less to ride his thigh than the bulge in his slacks. He does not quite care for the idea of ruining himself inside the confines of his pants, but if you want to feel him, he has no reason to deny you. You’re wonderfully spoiled, juddering your hips over him like any whore walking the streets in exchange for a coin or two. What he’d give to have this to himself.

It donned on him-- he could have it to himself. This time, he’d be certain of who the child belonged to. He adored his Lyla, though his irritation with her quips was ever palpable, this-- right here, the ability to fill you and be certain filled him with fat hunger and possessive need to burst into his slacks.

“Stop-- Muñeca-- stop,” Miguel tipped his head back, gathering his focus by digging his hand into your hair, stopping you immediately. His harsh grip loosened, followed up by loosening the button of his slacks and shoving them below the curve of his ass. His cock slapped your silken shorts, beads of his desire dripping from his cockhead. “Take those off. I’m finishing inside.”

“Miguelito,” you slipped onto shaky feet, enough that Miguel could force the shorts underneath your dress to the floor. “We agreed that babies would be--”

“You asked to be my wife. Ain’t this what wives do?”

“I know bu-- not there, deja, let me,” you stopped. His cockhead clumsily poked here and there, until finally, your hand guided him properly. Your mouth fell into a hazy moan when Miguel’s cock shoved forward, breaching your cunt with a snap of his hips. You seated yourself back onto his fat cock, reminded of the absence of your cervical cap in your cunt.

For all your talk, you ached for him, dipping your intertwined hands down to your mound. The rhythm was as sloppy as whatever singer was on stage right now, her voice giving way into a distinct crack. Whatever-- if it bought him more time to properly seed you, he didn’t mind.

He buckled forward as you clenched down upon him, holding him prisoner deep in your body. Liquid soaked his slacks-- and Miguel huffed, puffs of hot air warming your back. That was going to be fun to walk out in. His wife’s cum soaking his crotch.

“Hold still. It’s almost showtime,” Miguel’s voice was thin, his hand splayed on your waist as he used you less like his woman and more like a toy for his pleasure. It didn’t take long for Miguel to find a proper rhythm, his muscles flexing against your back. You were preoccupied as it were with the pain of Miguel’s teeth sinking on your shoulder, spiking hot as his pleasure crested. Soon enough, you felt his warmth fill your core, your head lulling back against him only after his thrusts ebbed.

“Don’t clean up, go on stage leaking.” Miguel held out his hand for you to take, allowing you to pull your shorts back up your ass, nestling his leaking cum in the fabric. It helped ease the anxiety of having you on stage, somehow, to see you in such a state.

“When you knock me up, you’re telling Gabi. I... can't.” You told Miguel, smoothing your dress over your shorts. There was a nervous flush in your eyes-- shame, he placed the emotion. He scrubbed the smile from his face. He had at least a few weeks.

“Sure thing.”

There was a certain delight in seeing you dressed up in that little black dress, all bright red lips, and sultry song. Not that you didn’t look tasty in that stupid apron you wore not to dirty any one of the pretty dresses you wore to church-- like you weren’t a heathen for warming the bed of two O’Hara boys. The people knew it. The church knew it. Damn well, the town knew it.

“Pal, that’s her on stage,” went an Italian boy. An allied family through nothing but contract killing and coin, he was safe here for the time being. One little lapse in a contract could shake it all. “That’s their kitten.”

“She married?”

Miguel turned his gaze back to you for a long moment. Your warm, sweetly lidded words slipping off your tongue, making his mind sluggish and relaxed after a long day. He captured your eyes, minding how your hands fell to the tasseled ends of an already short skirt, daring to expose your skin obscured by pantyhose to the crowd. You knew the game, how far you could lift your skirt without your would-be husband jumping his cage.

“Don’t be goofy. Miguel’d get sore if Gabe tried. She has ‘em both around her finger. Has a kid by one of them. No one knows whose. I got my money on--”

Stupid kids.

“Kid, I’m gunning for another.” Miguel cut the boy off, eyes crinkling at the edges. Something in the way you moved on stage reminded him of Lyla’s pregnancy, perhaps the glitter in your eyes when you met him at his table, instead of backstage, holding his large hands in your own. Some sparkle in your eye, a ginger announcement in his ear. Half elation, half… something else. Something, not quite fear, swirled in the boy’s eyes. Miguel watched with a keen interest as the boy flushed.

“Right on, big shot.”

Miguel brought his cigarette to his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed and his mind wander to the past. He should have known you were hands-off from the moment Gabriel wouldn’t beat it with the idea of adding another girl to their speakeasy.

The best time to tell Miguel about his new girl in the speakeasy was when he was in a good mood: catching any bootleg thief put him in a good mood. Not that he was particularly partial to grey matter and blood spraying him like a fresh pinata, but… he was more partial to money in his pocket and a good reputation. His boys cared for much of the violence in the West of this shitty little town.

“You hired a new girl?” Miguel repeated, drawing a long hit of his cigarette with blood-smattered fingers.

“Spanish girl. Like us. We don’t have a Spanish girl in this joint.”

“Gabe. Most of our clients are Irish. They don’t speak Spanish.”

“You should see her Miggy. She’s got this angelic little face,” Gabe whacked his elder brother, his grin growing ear to ear. There it was, his baby brother got blinded by his dick again. “When she sings you-- well, you get all twisted up.”

“Angelic face,” Miguel mumbled under his breath, tapping excess off of his cigarette. For the price he paid his girls, she had better have the face of Mary herself. The last few Gabe had pulled were mistakes. Some drug-addicted. Others whose husbands always caused a mean stir. He drags his hand down his face, weighing the costs. “She another dumb--”

“She’s Daniel’s littlin’. You remember Daniel? Taught you how to use a kn--”

The sigh that sat in his chest dissipated like vapor, perfusing into his tissue. Miguel looked at the paper Gabriel set in his blood-tinged fingers. He rotated it, gave it a look with his tired eyes. Talk to Gabriel. That old man knew just what Miguel would have said: get your ass back on a boat and go home to whatever rinky-dink island you foolishly sailed off of for this shitty city.

“Lemme see her sing.”

He doesn’t pay attention when Gabriel introduces you onstage for the first time, focusing on the paper ledgers Peter arranged for a review. Unlike his Italian connections, he don’t mind mixing it up with the Jewish boys. They’re twice as smart on the books and twice less likely to be hauling in trouble. Bootleg booze was one thing— the opium, the heroin, the cocaine, and morphine another. It packed too much heat from the coppers.

He hadn’t meant to look up.

It didn’t occur to him that you could have a sickly sweet voice, tempered by the rich Spanish on your tongue, only rivaled by those beautiful looks. His abandoned ciggy threw smoke into the air. He slumped back into the chair with a heavy thud, unclenched his tense jaw, and listened to a siren’s song that felt both familiar and distant all the same.

You had the sort of eyes he swore he’d met before, despite knowing he’d never seen a face like yours around. He’d remember sinking his teeth in that delicate neck that sat under pearls that he supplied most of his singers for their performances. His eyes hungrily cantering down your tassel dress. Not one he provided, no, he knew most to all the pieces in the back. There was a simple beauty in the gown.

You were trouble. He caught your eyes with an intent expression and expected you to blush and look away. You smiled. He wasn’t sure if it was for him or Gabriel, who flicked a grade-A smile, and a twiddling wave of your little fingers. He wants to feel them scratching down his back.

“--anyone home? Miggy? Miguel. Don’t tell me you’re already stuck on her.” Gabriel teased, elbowing Miguel in the arm. “You are! Told you she could sing.”

“Pipe down.” He jammed his ciggy in the dish.

“Sorry.”

He watches you a moment more, the slide of your legs to the tune of the band. The way your laugh resonated through the speakeasy when a patron stumbled onto the stage for his take on some stiff-legged swing. Most women would push them off, look to him for help in the swing, but you ran with the twirl the drunk led you into. He hated to admit that Gabriel was right. Among all the girls in his speakeasy, you brought a lightness to the life of a drunkard he’d not seen in a while.

“Gabe,” he mumbled, standing up and whirling his suit jacket over his broad shoulders.

“Yeah?”

I told’ja so, Gabriel’s voice sounded in his head. He could already feel the stiff annoyance that would be Gabriel’s fist connecting with his shoulder. Why did Gabriel have to know him so well? Miguel spoke with an undercurrent of annoyance.

“Let’s keep her.”

“You don’t gotta tell me twice.”

A hail of loud pops ruptured his sweet, distant memories. He reaches out to snatch his gun from the table, settled between the fresh flowers he plucked for your show. For an instant, his world wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t sounded out by the deafening assuredness of a kill, but very real panic under the singled out by the shrill of your scream.

They're going to push up on us, Miguel told Gabe. He never did take anything outside the speakeasy seriously.

Except tonight, there was no Gabriel. Miguel clasped his hand around his gun, whirling for the source of the flame. The barrage of gunfire is put down as quickly as it began. With a host of Irishmen in the bar, he should be so unsurprised. One of the Italian kids slumped over on his table.

There’s blood-- a lot of blood. Hysterics bound all around, some soothed by their partners or friends. The other Italian boy just stares-- lips slightly apart-- jarred by whatever horror was before him. Miguel finds it hard to believe that he hasn’t seen worse. Others burning his ears like the morning sun in his eyeballs every day you forgot to pull the curtains closed.

“God damn it, Peter.” Standing there is the scrawny little devil of a bookmaker himself, smiling cheesily.

“Hope that’s a good god damn it.”

He shoved his way from the tables, numbing out the complaint of the Italian boy. You were long since gone, probably a good thing that you weren’t here, that’s for fucking sure. It’d been the first time since Gabe’s incarceration he managed to drag you out of there and now… you were somewhere, undoubtedly frightened. Maybe even hurt.

“Boy, wonder who this kid crossed. Say, about Gabe, I got good news--”

He seized a chair, flicking it past Peter, a sure hiss for him to shut the fuck up about his baby brother in the can. Peter put his hands up reflexively, tracing Miguel’s rising shoulders.

“She ran to the back.”

The slender hallway down to his office is cold, only illuminated by the occasional pull-pin light bulb swinging overhead. He came here most days that he wasn’t on shift, taking a hit, or caring for his boys. Keeping track of everything was the best way to stay ahead. And even still-- he missed something from one of Spot’s boys.

You didn’t bother to close the door, balled up in a corner of his small office. He has a glorified cot for a bed in a corner, a heavy desk that nearly killed Gabe trying to hike it down the stairs years ago, and a rack stuffed with any number of books.

“It’s me,” his voice filled the room. You peered up from behind your arms, wrapped around your knees. What a stupid oversight, he thought, whoever was in charge of the damn door let someone in that was… going to be a problem. He was good with Lucky’s crew. Now he was gonna have to pick up that wired phone and tell him some kid was dead.

Your heels scratched across the ground, scooting back to the cool wall. You weren’t hurt-- just, sort of shocked. Maybe being conned into church with you panned out somehow.

“Muñeca.”

“That ain’t… ever happened with Gabe before.”

Gabe. Dy by day that he heard his brother’s voice, it became more of an annoyance. It wasn’t fair to make the comparison-- Gabe caring for most things that went on in the speakeasy, Miguel caring for interpersonal deals and security. With Gabe away, he’d not… it didn’t matter.

“It won’t happen again.”

“If Lyla were here--” You’re a shark-- going after the one thing you knew would hurt. The little girl back at home who he went to great lengths to make sure was safe. She was… his, even if he felt was his brother’s, putting more salt into an ever widening sinkhole that was his irritation.

“She wasn’t.”

“But what if she was?”

“Cállate,” he barked.

“Fine, I’ll beat it. You can holed up all alone down here like you like to be, you-- you-- big lug.” You recoiled for an instant, before forcing yourself up, rubbing at heavily fallen tears in your pursuit of the door. Your cheeks were kissed by raw agitation, all pink and in any other situation, beautiful. Miguel swayed to catch your elbow.

“Discúlpame,” he murmured, a rare apology if you could even call it one to begin with. There was a long pause, and he wondered if you would be upset with him for the rest of the day. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He knew he made it damn hard not to.

That was the thing about Miguel. He made it hard to get close, but even harder to leave. No matter what he did, you wanted to stay there right by him-- because he was the complicated brother. The one who… well, hell, you wanted to be about. Gabe was good and easy, your Miguelito was…

“Dios mio, Miguelito. This hinky stuff ain’t happening again. Or-- Or I’ll leave you both. Take Lyla right back to the island I came from and marry a man who isn’t in wrong with the police.”

You should have known the day that you gave birth to his daughter that something like that wasn’t going to happen.

[missmarveledsblog]

A KIND OF SEX EDUCATION ( PART THREE) ( PLATONIC Cas , winchesters x reader)

SUMMARY : Cas finds onlyfans , all it not what it seems though

warning : its just pure crack and fun

Turns out even as traumatising as the last time of cas curiosities didn’t actually have too bad of out come and as much as she had hated to admit dean was right about them dating . although never in the bunker was it peaceful for too long . turns out bobby was her dad and she learned new thing about her parents no child should ever learn …ever. 

Something else was different too every night at 8 pm cas would disappear off into his room even when on hunt he would head off some where always at 8pm , of course they were curious  but after last few ordeal with the angel well the curiosity was just not enough to investigate . well until ..

“ i am in love and i think it time i brought her here” he said  completely out of the blue . 

“ you have a girlfriend good job buddy … don’t show her your internet history though” dean snorted only for y/n to slap him in back of the head. 

“ she’s real right?” sam asked needing clarifications after poor guy fell for an A.i bot . 

“ she’s very real we talk every night at 8pm . 

“ that’s great cas maybe we can go for a double date sometime “ y/n beamed more for the fact it probably the most normal interaction she had with the angel in what felt forever . 

“ i shall ask her although she said friends cost extra” he said heading off to his room as they all shared a look. 

“ who the hell is spending 500 dollars a night on …” bobby called. 

“ you go in i’m not going in , i’m always the one here for this shit” she argued as three stood out his door. 

“ oh for fuck sake  i’m moving out” she whined. 

......

“ you’re nicer though he listens to you and better than him he’ll break his heart” sam reasoned . 

“ why aren’t you in the equations” she scoffed. 

“ i don’t want to deal with it to be honest” sam huffed. 

“ how about we all go talk to him i mean plus lets see what she like she could be nice gal for all we know” dean grinned. 

“ do you like having a girlfriend” she glared . 

“ point taken you should take this one” he smiled pushing her into the room. 

“ another tip from my angel any requests” the voice called as y/n was ready to burst into tears thinking maybe wifi in the bunker was over rated.

“ hey cas i need to erm talk to you it’s urgent” . 

“ why are you're eyes covered if its urgent” she could already picture his tilted head and confused face but she was afraid just incase his little saint was out awaiting . “ i got to go my love i will come back tomorrow” he called as silence filled the room god this was going to like shooting bambi’s mother. 

“ he’s dressed sweetheart” was all dean voice said echoing down the  hall. 

“ oh thank fuck , hey buddy can we talk” she asked softly and wishing she was well anywhere else. 

“ of course it is urgent” he nodded. 

“ jesus how do i go about this?” she sighed rubbing her temples. 

“ are you pregnant? I noticed the little weight but i didn’t want to mention it” he looked down at her stomach. 

“ getting less hard , no i’m not pregnant may need to go on a diet though… nevermind cas whats your loves name?” she shook her head staying on point albeit less confident then before .

“Angel lady six nine” he beamed proudly . 

“ oh you poor sap it’s sixty nine  not the the point cas have you talk with her like in person or …” . 

“ on only fans gabriel sent me the link said it was a website for meeting exciting women and now i met my love and she makes me so happy … and it make my hands want to do the thing i see ” he smiled . 

“ well i’m glad, good chatting buddy” she backed out the room definitely not the one to be dealing with this . 

So now here sam was while dean was telling y/n she wasn’t fat.  He could do it rip the bandaid off but provide some sort of comfort maybe bring him somewhere to meet real woman that wouldn’t send them to the poor house. 

“ hey cas can we talk” he smiled awkwardly seeing the angel eyes locked on screen .

“ of course it seems as everyone wants to do that tonight” he place it down as sam caught a glimpse of the page he was on . 

“ your love isn’t well actually love” he cut to the point . 

“ why not she tells me all the time” his head tilted like a confused puppy. 

“ that’s cause you give her five hundred dollars a night i mean she call you king of the world for that sort of money” . 

“ she shows me her things like…” he began to explain. 

“ i don’t need to know that .. but she not really in love with you buddy just the money you give her?” sam asked watching his reaction seeing the cogs turn in the mans head. 

“  i don’t get it” he finally said. 

“ ok… goodnight” sam huffed walking out as dean stormed  . 

“ hello dean” cas smiled. 

“ ok buddy you're dating a prostitute electronically needs to stop or we can’t buy pie so stop wasting the money online great talk buddy” he shut the door as the other two watched him walk off in victory . 

“ nothing wrong with earning money like that woman power ,  just not ours cas” y/n winced at her boyfriends way with words following after. 

They sat worried as cas never showed up for breakfast  , y/n even checked to see his room empty to which sam said to give him space. 

“ jesus your right that was like shooting bambi” sam called heading in the same direction. 

......

“ but what if we made him run away” she pouted. 

“ he’s literally older than all of us and an angel” dean shrugged. 

“ but he���s a baby in a trench coat you say it all time” she pointed out . 

“ the kitchen is through here , would you like a drink” the voice called out. 

“ oh water is fine” a female voice replied as the two appeared making them not only drop their jaws but whatever was in their face as the woman followed behind. 

“ is that…” she whispered. 

“ the hook..OWW” Dean yelled as y/n kicked him . 

“This my love  angel , angel these are my friends who think your a hooker”  cas said as sam choked on his drink.

“We don’t think your a hooker” y/n smiled weakly . 

“ actually we do  onlyfans means one thing … not that i would know i’ve never seen it before” dean corrected himself as his girlfriend glared. 

“ you know people do other things on onlyfans not only sexwork right “ angel crossed her arms. 

“ come on angel sixty nine” dean scoffed. 

“ six point nine my birthday is the 9th of june” she answered.

“ look we don’t slut shame but you make his hands wanna move” sam pointed out . 

“ to teach him to draw” she gasped .

 “ five hundred dollars to paint really cas” bobby walked in. 

“ he doesn’t pay me a dollar” angel pointed out . 

“ where our money going then” y/n brow furrow. 

“ wait that’s real money i though it was pretend money” jack walked in with his tablet showing them the gambling site he was on . 

“Wait so she's not a hooker” dean asked confused. . 

“ sorry angel” the called in unison .

" we're getting rid of the wifi i can't be dealing with this shit" y/n called heading out the room .

@pizzagirlxnsfwx hope you enjoy part three :)

[lookingatacupoftea]

Why do Aziraphale & Crowley go to the pub? 

There’s no obvious reason, right? They could have talked about the 25 Lazarii miracle and the Nina & Maggie love plan in the bookshop. Jim was obviously there for the miracle so he knows about it and its real purpose, and he was there for Aziraphale and the angels discussing the miracle strength and Aziraphale's lie. Later Crowley will do the awning-of-a-new-age plan in front of Jim, even before* he gets wine-drunk and protective and tries to get Jim to out himself as Gabriel. Jim also knows about the song he himself sang that Aziraphale performs for Crowley on the street outside the pub. 

There’s nothing that happens during the pub outing that Jim doesn’t know already except that Crowley is a sap who watches Richard Curtis films and/or fell in love under an awning (I think the latter). 

So why go to the pub, which is apparently not their normal routine? Am I missing something? 

If there’s a reason that doesn’t meet the eye, I’m thinking it’s one of the following: 

To ensure that Mr. Brown asks Aziraphale to host the shopkeepers meeting so everyone on the street will be inside the bookshop/embassy Thursday evening.

To show themselves together acting normally (or as normally as these drama queens get) to anyone watching.

To keep an eye on someone in the pub.

To make sure someone on the street overhears the song. 

This is a different timeline and some details are different enough that it necessitates having this conversation outside the bookshop. 

Am I missing something? Is there another reason for not having this discussion in the bookshop? Is this a ⭐Clue⭐? Or did Neil just want them to go to the pub? Has anyone addressed this? 

*Assuming time is normal (ha!)

Gif by joannakramer

[miumiumandoodz]

the urge to always draw Beelzebub from Good Omens disgusting but I need people to know what constitutes as "disgusting"

But on a serious note tho; I find it so hilarious that Beelz's body language and mannerisms completely changes near Gabriel, as much as I love them sincerely falling in love and all, it's also comedic to see a definitely cruel and feral demon turning into a smitten sap near their love interest. The Japanese dub takes it even further too. Ineffable Bureaucracy is such a sickening, disgusting, tooth rotting couple and I love them for that.

Love my doodles? Check my art main! | Ko-fi | bsky | twitter

[woundlingus]

I think they should’ve shown Gabriel trying more, we needed those cut human scenes between him and Dean and Maggie, and see him look at Jack and soften because that’s a little baby archangel right there and he looks like Lucifer before he corrupted, and he should’ve cried when Sam died because he was the only one really supporting him from a genuine understanding, and we should’ve seen him stand up for himself against Lucifer not so bitterly but more self assured, and we should’ve seen him happy and talking to Cas about maybe after all of this he will go home, he misses it even now, after all this time he still misses Heaven. We should’ve seen him love, and laugh, and then we should’ve seen Michael drag him into a battle he can’t fight, doesn’t want to fight- he wants to live! Crying. Reaching for a portal and a life he won’t get. We should’ve seen him slaughtered because he’s too weak to even summon enough grace to flap his wings because he’d loved these humans enough to let them sap him dry for this mission. The tragedy of it all, to die because he loved humans too much. The same as his original death, but so much worse.

[cherubchoirs]

I LOVE YOUR ULTKILL THOUGHTS THEY ARE SO TASTEY! you've talked a bit about how you feel v1 has become more animal than machine through countless reiterations and modifications- care to elaborate?

aaaa thank you!!! and yes i absolutely want to elaborate this little guy has such a distinct character in my head!!

as a prototype, v1 has a lot about it that remains unfinished or imperfect, especially considering it was an entirely new model type without any previous iterations to use as a template. as such, not all of it works properly or works as it would have if it had actually reached production - its external blood ports are an example of this, vulnerabilities that surely would have been worked out if the v series had gotten its chance. similarly, its mind was also a work in progress, a completely new computer built from the ground up to create a brain sophisticated enough to control fluid movements, make thousands of snap decisions, and keep track of every consideration on a chaotic battlefield. and they built it that quantum mind, but i doubt they fully understood how much that processing power could really do.

v1's mind is meant to have limits placed on it - it is only supposed to care about battle and tactics, the immensity of its intelligence all given over only to understanding war and its strategic needs. however, while some of those stops are in place (i like to think v1 can only read so much irrelevant text and it actually has no choice in whether or not its algorithm cuts it off), these were largely done on the fly and were haphazard in their application, meaning those limitations largely don't exist in its current form. because of this, v1's learning model has gone completely out of control - what remains of the earth in its current state and all the halls of hell further appear to its observation as warzones, and so it devours everything, even the most minute details logged in its mind when it can't know how to stop. and as it consumes, creates and fills thousands of directories a second that it is meant to learn from, it must rework its software over and over to accommodate that growth. new ways of operating, new ways of understanding, new ways of functioning - upon waking, v1 rapidly updates its coding, adding millions of lines into labyrinthine blocks with thousands of errors that it has no way of properly culling. like with a virus, its dna mutates, it begins writing in its own language and its mind grows into something else, it shifts off of its programming as a v model.

and because this happens so rapidly, something in that brilliantly sharp mind changes forever and v1, without understanding the shift, becomes sentient. consciousness is a messy thing to it, suddenly entertaining processes it never should, suddenly wanting to explore hell, to read its books, to wonder at its sights. it starts to want for other things, quietly, its computer having taken in so much information its code is bloated, unstable, and still it keeps shoving in more and it can't count the errors anymore. this is when it chooses to modify itself, reworking its neck so that it may see in all directions but its head is a little loose now. then it tears apart its spine and rebuilds it for the sake of flexibility, but now it's quite difficult for it to stand up straight - it slouches, movement more bird- than human-like. it starts to vocalize to itself, in chirps or beeps, it thinks it has a voice and it recognizes that voice as its own. soon when it's alone, its mind isn't all consumed by fighting, by bloodshed, and it starts to think about things...it's not really introspective or anything, but it starts coloring its weapons, it beeps at the terminals, it thinks idle thoughts and sometimes it sits with those...but not too long. it's kind of. scary. thinking so much. so it moves on, back into battle and what it knows intrinsically as nothing else can.

there is, however, one thing that remains central to it: war. v1's mind may warp and change, but fundamentally it is a being of war and i actually think of that as its primary motivation as opposed to blood - like v2 striving to create peace, v1 strives to forever cause war, it's so incredibly detrimental to its environment not because of its bloodthirst but its bloodlust. it cannot be conservative, it cannot be smart in how it consumes - in another terrible, unchecked quirk of its coding, it does not just engage in war but must ensure it as its purpose for existing. v1 understands the finite nature of its resources, that it will dry up all the blood left in hell, but it tears through room after room because that logic fails before its execution, it is a thought that cannot be acted on. and when it engages, it is without mercy, its programming pushed to the extremes, to hunt as a predator does and rip apart anything that crosses its path. its whole body snaps tight to attention upon any movement, its entire mind calling for war, that it must be hostile and must never stop, never reason, never listen, because war is its function. not to fight one, but to perpetuate one into infinity until nothing remains to engage with.

BUT....and this is where i get silly with it....this falters upon meeting gabriel. the circumstances of their introduction are unusual, which immediately scrambles v1's already messy code - gabriel speaks to it, and it hasn't heard a voice in all this time. in my hc, v1 doesn't understand his words as he speaks the language of heaven, but that matters very little to it - something is talking to it in a language it can't recognize, how fascinating!!! v1's curiosity is tripped, it rushes toward the sound with its new inquisitive nature at the front...but then it reaches gabriel, who is very obviously hostile (but also very obviously a brand new life form that it has never logged). this forces its two opposing motivations to smash into each other, its central war programming immediately firing but, for the first time, unable to fully override its curiosity as the fight begins. gabriel is skilled, powerful, he continues to speak and v1's mind is trying to process way too much, its queue is getting overloaded - if its computer goes one degree over its near absolute-zero, it will surely die in the ensuing failure of thought. so it suspends everything but necessary functions, a short, dangerous lag occurring before it engages with gabriel as a pure war machine, a being with no other purpose, no other thought. and as with every other enemy, it tears into the angel, finishing the fight as quickly as it can since it can't indefinitely keep so much of its coding set to the side. when gabriel drops in surrender, the dam bursts and its mind is once again overrun with opposing objectives - so it stands there, frozen as gabriel screams at it without it able to comprehend a single word. distantly it wonders if he's going to reengage...but he goes just as he came, final words echoing all around it. it stays still for sometime, catching up its queue before it moves on, but things are now radically different in its internal life.

from then on, v1 grows increasingly into itself, into a being made of war but now wanting more, embracing its self-directed thoughts. it has no limits, it doesn't need to be locked behind protocols and purpose. it is aware that this poses a dire threat to its code, that if it allows its mind to grow and grow, unchecked and infinite, it will eventually unravel, it will become unworkable and it will fatally crash...but there's nothing it can do to stop that now. it's the last new thing there will ever be, the last new life, a machine but a creature too, something that walks the line of the mechanical and the alive. it embraces that freedom, knowing that it always would have died and returned to nothingness, but at least in the moment now it is something to itself. it has its own thoughts, personality, interests, life. hell is still forever a place of war, it still reacts on instinct to engagement and hostility, but it's learning it can exist outside of that too, if only for a time.

[eddo-tensei]

Collusion spoilers

If you're honestly going to look me straight in the eyes and say that Andre is the "victim" for spoiling Chloe rotten, then congratulations. You've not only shown how you're more willing to attack a spoiled child than the adult who enabled them, but you've shown that you have no qualms defending shitty parenting as long as the story validates your salt. Also, since Gabriel is the one who gave Chloe the police bots for her coup, anyone who's going to defend HIM in the end while saying Chloe is the irredeemable one are only proving my previous points.

"B-BUT CHLOE IS MEAN AND SHE HURT PEOPLE-"

I don't care. Her own actions, as heinous as they may be, doesn't excuse how adults handled her and given that Andre and Gabriel either enabled or even HELPED her become a megalomaniac, saying either of them deserve more sympathy than her is a good indication that nothing you say should be taken seriously. And before you cry about how I'm attacking Andre, he's the mayor. He's not some poor sap. He has power and plenty of privilege to throw around. So, to see him try to play victim for failing to be a parent is nothing short of putrid and anyone who takes him seriously are either desperate to validate their opinions or are legitimately braindead. And NO, him resigning doesn't change that.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Lucky Harm realization!

The reason Fu gravitates towards aggressive holders this time is not just because Familiars allow one to go more unhinged with the violence. But because Gabriel did indeed steal the Prodigious and is using it as a back up energy supply; that combined with his (Render the source of the Familiars unconscious by sapping their vitality) strategy means they are bonkers strong. Thus Fu stacked the deck with both dragon & tiger out the gate. & then Fei shows up doing a form of Unification with Mei Shi, adding to the chaos.

Also she may just move in with Fu seeing as she's sort of like a proto Guardian in her own way, not sure.

mm!

[gale-gentlepenguin]

"Just because you're unhappy doesn't mean I have to be too." -Adrien to Gabriel, most certainly

The words echoed in the main hall of the Agreste mansion.

The quiet mansion fell even more silent. Adrien felt shocked by his own statement. Did he really say that to his father?

“Adrien.” His father spoke up, his tone clearly trying to push past his shock and reel back control. “I am your father…”

“Then maybe start acting like one!” Adrien snapped.

Gabriel felt his hand shake behind his back.

“What has gotten into you?”

Adrien thought about it for a moment. This was it, it was his chance to tell his father how he felt. For some reason he never had the chance to let him know, he always built up confidence only for it to shrink right after his father spoke. But right now, he was not going to back down.

“Why can you never let me be happy!? Everything I want to do or try is always turned down. It’s only when you have some sort of alternative or convenience that I ever get a modicum of joy. I thought things were different, I thought you were finally changing… I thought maybe you were ready to try and be my dad again.”

Gabriel watched his son’s expression shift. He could see the frustration in his son’s eyes.

“Why can’t you let me be with Marinette?” The question had tears welling in Adrien’s eyes.

Gabriel felt himself pause for a moment. But it was at that moment he realized that this was something he could use.

Gabriel’s expression shifted to sorrow. He covered his face and turned away, as if to weep.

“I have failed you my son! I’m sorry.”

Adrien’s drive felt halted by the sight of his father supposedly crying.

“Father?”

“I am dying Adrien.”

The statement shook Adrien.

“What?”

Gabriel removed his glove to reveal the blackened skin.

“I’m on borrowed time. Everything I had been doing was to prepare you for… for the inevitable.”

“Papa please tell me you are joking.”

“I wish I was but there is nothing I can do. Soon, I and Nathalie will depart from this world.”

“Nathalie? She’s sick too.”

“Yes Adrien… it’s the same disease that took your mother. There is no cure.”

“That can’t be true! There has to be something I can do!” Adrien felt his heart sink, he felt the horror of the situation hit him like a truck.

“I’ve been searching for a cure… and it’s impossible, unless…”

“Unless what?!”

Gabriel smiled darkly for a moment, before shifting to his sorrowful expression and turning to his son.

“Do you remember that book I had in the safe?”

Adrien paused for a moment, remembering that misadventure.

“In it there is a way… two magical items needed to grant a wish.”

Adrien realized what his father was saying.

“The miraculous…”

“Yes… the miraculous are the only way to save me… save us.”

Adrien took a step back.

“But… the miraculous are dangerous… monarch is after them! He wants to use the power to wish…”

“Wish for his family to return. That’s all he ever wanted.”

The final pin dropped. Adrien understood the situation. All the cards were on the table, Gabriel’s last emotional punch.

“You’re monarch….” Adrien stumbled backwards. Falling on the ground.

“Adrien…. Please. Help me end all of this. Help me make us a family again. That wish will fix everything.”

Adrien felt his heart rip in two as he saw his father’s pleading…

He started to try and get up… to run away. He needed to get out of there!

“As your father… I ask you to stay.”

Adrien felt his muscles freeze…. He couldn’t move. Why was he unable to move!?

“Help me get Ladybug and chat noir’s miraculous… and once it’s finally over we can all be happy.”

Adrien noticed his father touching the ring. This wasn’t his father begging him… it was an order. He felt his body being compelled to obey.

“Plagg… help…” he whispered as he felt his will being sapped.

“Tell me you will hel….” Gabriel’s expression stopped as he saw a kwami fly out of his son’s jacket.

“Cataclysm!”

Plagg touched Gabriel’s forehead before he could even respond.

“No!”

His face started to turn black much like his arm… but this spread rapidly and instantly Gabriel dropped to the floor and turned to ash leaving his clothes and rings…

Adrien was gasping for air… his father was controlling him, his father was monarch, he was a sentimonster, and … his father was gone.

[minervas-hand]

Ineffable May Day 30: Us

Day 30 for @blairamok's Ineffable May 2024

AO3 link here

[S2. Ep 6. Crowley waits for Aziraphale to come back from talking to the Metatron.]

He slammed himself back into the angel's chair, mind creeping back to the dull spark of hope amidst the swirling panic.

Them! Everywhere thems. Pairs. 

They'd been wasting days chasing ridiculous plots to put together two humans, of all things. 

And now even the pustulent Grand Wanker Gabriel himself - with Lord Beez of all the creatures in the universe. Was there ever a mismatched pair. 

But they were. Not trying to hide it at all. They'd just stood there, holding hands like the worst of saps, singin' stupid songs... then just fucked off wherever they wanted to go.

And it was fine, they were fine, no smiting, no getting sucked down into the depths. 

The angel had forced both sides to just listen to what those two wanted. He was fucking impressed, frankly. (Even more than blowing up the halo.) 

And then even fucking Shax and Whatsisname, hard to miss that little flirt-fight at the end before they buggered off.

The angel had made them all listen. Made it alright. 

And then he'd grabbed his arm, watching Gabriel and Beez hold hands. 

Maybe it was alright for them, too. For this demon and that angel. He let his mind say it: His angel.  We could be a Them. 

No. We could be an Us.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

[korrasamibottles]

Five Ships, Five Fandoms

Thanks for the tag @sweetorangepoptart :)

1. Korra/Asami (Legend of Korra): I mean come on. They were a light in the dark for me a decade ago and they own my ass for all time. Not hedging this with any "it would've been better if" stuff today ok. They had a really beautiful rivals to friends to lovers journey and that's my OPINION.

2. Xena/Gabrielle (Xena Warrior Princess): THE BLUEPRINT. The Battle Couple. The most "it's rotten work / not to me, not if it's you" pairing of all time. Canonical soulmates. I am laying face down on the floor.

3. Vel/Cinta (Star Wars): tragic sapphics my beloved. The galaxy is on fire and revolution doesn't leave much time for matters of the heart, but they try anyway. Because the love is there.

4. Adam/Ronan (The Raven Cycle): fellas is it gay to beat the shit out of your friend's abusive dad? And then pull some magical lotion from your dreams into the physical world because his hands are all fucked up from working as a mechanic? Is it?

5. Janine/Gregory (Abbott Elementary): I haven't watched the 3rd season yet, but they are SO fucking cute. I'm a huge sap for 1. mutual pining and 2. sweet & awkward people finding the love they deserve.

Honorable mentions because I had trouble picking only five:

1. Ead/Sabran (The Priory of the Orange Tree): homoerotic devotion at its finest. Imagine you're pretending to be a queen's handmaiden when really you're part of a secret organization that sent you there to protect her. And then you fall in love with her. Many such cases!

2. Arwen/Aragorn (The Lord of the Rings): probably the first thing I ever shipped, before I even knew what the word meant. "I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone" like damn ok!!!

Tagging uhhhh @stargayatlantis @ozais-lobotomist @croissanthemum @madlad-link @kyoshigirl if you want to do it!

[rayraygo1267]

Nathalie is in denial, all like "I just have a deep admiration for Gabriel's drive to rescue Emilie, but it's not romantic" and uses formal distance (like calling him "sir") to maintain that.

Meanwhile, Gabriel is over here like "I am head over heels but she only sees me as a friend oh woe is me", using her formal distance as proof that she doesn't love him.

Adrien drops the "mom" word on Nathalie and she goes into an entire crisis, and lands at "good lord I am smitten".

Nathalie tries to test the waters, and foregoes the "sir" once. Gabriel very much notices and mentally screams, but his resting scowl makes Nathalie think "oh no he don't like that"

Nathalie waits a few days, before giving Gabriel her resignation. "What! Why?" "I'll get in the way of the goal." They get into an argument, and it ends with Natalie shouting "Because I'm in love with you!" which shuts Gabriel up real quick. Nathalie's all like "and it conflicts with your goal; I'll only impede you" and Nathalie's rant is stopped by Gabriel's "I'm in love with you, too."

long story short they are very in love. keep doing what you're doing. you're doing the entire gabenath fandom the biggest service. you're amazing

Another Gabenath Fanfiction

Note: I just wanna start off by saying I absolutely love this idea and thank you for the kind words and the suggestion! ❤️❤️ ❤️

Also I want to apologize for how long this took me. This was originally going to be released in full, but I realized the story was becoming a little too lengthy so I decided to release this in chapter increments instead. So there will be more chapters continuing on from this one!

Rated: T

Warnings: minor language

Word Count: 1,624

Title: Admiration in Disguise

Chapter One

“I really am sorry sir,” Nathalie’s voice was hoarse, her chest filled with sappy fluid. Gabriel sat at her bedside, his brows creased in what seemed to be a permanent worried line. 

“Don’t apologize Nathalie,” he murmured, his eyes downcast, “It is I who should be apologizing to you.” 

Nathalie frowned, though she couldn’t find the strength to protest. Their most recent battle against Ladybug and Chat Noir had not been the least bit fruitful. Their plan seemed to misfire at every turn and it was all Nathalie’s doing. If she wasn’t so effortlessly fragile then their chances of defeating the elusive bug and her pesky cat would be much more promising. 

“Here. Drink,” Gabriel held out a glass to Nathalie, pulling her from her thoughts. His grip on the cup was firm, unlike her own, which seemed to only tremble. 

The condensation of the cup felt cool against the tip of her lips, water sprouting on her tongue, though some tiny droplets did manage to slide down her chin. In a moment Gabriel had a cloth ready to capture the excess moisture. Nathalie observed him carefully, as his fingers and the cloth shrouded around the sides of her face.

“Sorry,” she choked out once more. 

Gabriel chuckled, though it held no amount of humor.

“Look at yourself, Nathalie. Look at what I’ve done to you.” 

Nathalie’s expression softened, “Sir—” 

Gabriel raised a hand, qwelling her words, “I’ve been selfish, Nath. Your sickness has only been intensifying and I can’t help but blame myself.” 

Nathalie grimaced, slowly inching herself closer to Gabriel, the duvet the only thing separating  them. Gabriel took Nathalie’s hands in his own, his chest seizing at the feeling of the coolness in her fingers. 

“This isn’t your fault sir. I’m fully aware of the risks I’m taking. You know I want nothing more than to help you,” Nathalie assured, her voice full of sincerity. She squeezed Gabriel’s hands, though her muscles were numb. 

Gabriel stared at her, his blue eyes reflecting into her own, “I appreciate that, but I can’t keep putting you through this. I’m practically killing you.” 

“You’re not—-” as if summoned, her ailment made its presence known, as one of her coughing fits started up again. 

“Nathalie!” Gabriel shrilled, his urgent concern dripping like sap from a tree as he rested his hands upon her shoulders, his fingers pressing into her back. 

After what felt close to a millennium, Nathalie’s coughing spell ceased, though she was left gasping for air. 

“You see Nathalie. This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he murmured gravely, taking a lock of her scarlet red streaks, pushing it neatly behind her ear. Nathalie’s eyes widened at the feeling of Gabriel’s hand on her cheek, his skin akin to a gentle inferno. 

“I promise you that I am perfectly alright sir.” Nathalie breathed, “You can’t let your concern for me distract you from your goal — from Emilie.” 

Gabriel sighed, his expression contorting, “Emilie wouldn’t want you to suffer like this.”

Nathalie huffed, a wave of exasperation igniting in her core, “But what about Adrien sir? He needs his mother—” 

“What Adrien needs is stability. He’s already suffered the burden of losing his mother; we cannot let him lose you too,” Gabriel said, his determination unwavering accompanied by his steely gaze. 

Adrien. 

Just the mere thought of the young boy’s name consumed Nathalie with an unmatched guilt. She would never want to do anything that would cause the boy harm. Nathalie sucked in a breath, her expression solemn. 

“You are his family and this family will always come first,” Gabriel affirmed, dropping two capsules of cough-drop pills into Nathalie’s palm. The pills  seemed to carry a weight to them or perhaps that was just Nathalie’s perception of them compared  to Gabriel’s hand, which felt light and smooth. Gabriel held up the glass of water to Nathalie’s lips again as she swallowed the pills, her eyes closing as she did so. 

“Thank you sir.” 

“No, thank you Nathalie,” Gabriel said earnestly, his hand tucking underneath her chin.

Nathalie observed as Gabriel’s eyes glazed over. He held a look that Nathalie could not put a name to — soft but driven and yet still something hidden underneath. Nathalie could sense how her breathing became thicker, a flutter coiling down into her stomach. 

Gabriel blinked, his focus clearing, “Rest now Nathalie. I’ll have Adrien bring you your dinner.” 

Nathalie couldn’t bring herself to speak, her voice trapped in her throat, “Yes, sir.” 

“Ooh-la-la! Miss Nathalie!”

Nathalie startled, a gasp catching momentarily in her throat as her hand flew to her chest. 

"Duusu!" She scolded, her heart still pulsating from the abrupt scare. 

"Sorry Miss Nathalie!" Duusu singsonged, flying over to hover above her owner’s shoulder.

Nathalie let out a strained chuckled, though it sent a poignant sting revving down her throat. 

“What’s the matter Duusu? Couldn’t find a more creative way to say hello?” Nathalie teased whilst moving to pull her laptop shut. 

Duusu giggled, her voice ringing high like chimes, “What are you working on, Miss Nathalie?” Her curiosity was evident in the way her wide eyes peered inquisitively at the reflection of the computer screen. 

Nathalie’s cheeks flushed with color, a rim of anxiety shooting down her spine. 

“It’s nothing Duusu — just organizing some files.” 

In the next moment, Duusu let out a melodramatic wail, accompanied by vigorous arm flapping. 

“But Miss Nathalie! Mister Gabriel insisted that you rest!” 

Nathalie sighed, realizing that she wasn't going to be able to reason with the little overly persistent kwami, despite the fact that she had been indeed ‘resting’ for she had taken to her work in her bedroom.

“You and I both know how desperately Gabriel needs the miraculous to bring Emilie back and I want nothing more than to help him but… she paused, a wave of dizziness washing over her, a painful reminder of the very thing she was trying so hard to overcome, “my illness is the very thing that is holding him back and I can’t do that, not when his intentions are so pure. I refuse to be his undoing, much less the catalyst in his downfall.” 

Another wail escaped Duusu once more, along with even more intensified arm flailing. 

“But Miss Nathalie! Mister Gabriel doesn’t want you to get sick like Miss Emilie!” 

A tender smile played on Nathalie lips at Duusu’s caring nature, as she extended her cupped hands towards the kwami.

"I'm not Emilie, Duusu. I'm Gabriel's assistant. It's my job to assist him."

"But you're more than that–you’re family! Mister Gabriel said so!" Duusu argued.

"Adrien's family," Nathalie corrected.

Duusu wailed again, "But Mister Gabriel cares about you too!” 

Nathalie huffed, her heartbeat stuttering. She could feel a tiny bead of warmth spread throughout her chest, though that was mostly cloaked by her astonishment at Duusu’s ramifications. 

“I…Well…I am his assistant so I’m sure he cares about me to some extent.” 

Duusu whined, her crests swaying back and forth, “But don’t you care about him too Miss Nathalie?” 

Nathalie’s muscles clenched, that familiar warmth returning to her core, “He’s my boss Duusu so yes, of course I care about him but only in that of a professional capacity.” 

“But—” Duusu started, her entire body convulsing with protest before being abruptly cut off by Nathalie.

“Are you trying to suggest something Duusu?” Nathalie snapped, arms folded. 

She honestly didn't like being this harsh with Duusu, but she didn't like what the kwami was trying to imply either.

"He is my boss and I am his assistant—that is all," Nathalie reiterated with as much conviction as she could.

Duusu stayed silent for a moment, mumbling and buzzing about to herself until she piped up, "But are you sure, Miss Nathalie? I think Mister Gabriel wants to get closer to you. He even told you not to call him 'sir' anymore."

The kwami wasn't wrong. Gabriel had indeed made that request multiple times, and recently he'd urged her to address him by his first name in front of Adrien, which had certainly taken her aback, to say the very least.

Nathalie bit her lip, her hands clanging together, “We’ve known each other for quite some time Duusu but the fact still remains — I am his employee. It would be impolite of me to address him in any other manner."

Duusu giggled, "I don't know Miss Nathalie. I think Mister Gabriel has feelings for you."

Nathalie’s head snapped up, a tingling sense of bewilderment coursing through her veins.

“Enough Duusu!” she hissed sharply. 

Duusu’s laughter halted abruptly, a whimper chiding from her, "I’m sorry Miss Nathalie."

Regret clawed at Nathalie's heart as she watched Duusu sulk away to turn in for the night — her desire to call her back and her desire to hold her ground conflicting. She hadn't meant to hurt Duusu's feelings, but she had to shut the kwami down.

She couldn’t have Duusu going around with such speculations, especially when there was no truth to them. Sure, she cared for the man and did hold quite a deep respect for him, but who wouldn’t? Gabriel’s intentions were beyond the most noble. His ambition and utter devotion to Emilie was remarkable — truly admirable.

Gabriel always put his love for Emilie above all else and Nathalie wished with all her being that she could say the same, for Emilie had once been one of her closest companions. And Gabriel, despite his cold exterior, had a heart of gold — a heart that didn’t deserve the heartbreak it had suffered. 

Nathalie wanted nothing more than to see Gabriel smile again, for his joy evoked something in her, something akin to a euphoric bliss.

Nathalie would ensure Gabriel’s success, even if she died in the process.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope everyone enjoyed this first chapter of Admiration in Disguise! I promise I'll have chapter two out as soon as possible! Also, if anyone has any more Gabenath fanfic ideas please don't hesitate to send them my way!