#Swept Away

[mysticgalsworld]

swept away pt.2

a/n: thank you all so much for your support on pt 1 !! i’m so happy to continue this story for all you lovely ppl.. also just a reminder i take requests !! (special shoutout to angelikaschischi for requesting this specifically 😋) anyways pls enjoy lovelies 💕

pairing: hugh jackman x cleaning lady f! reader

summary: after getting a job at a cleaning company as a maid, you’re surprised to find out that the house you’re cleaning for belongs to the Hugh Jackman..

content warnings: fluff, angst, f! reader, maternal role, cursing, hospital, mental illness, power imbalance, slow burn?, not spellchecked

parts: 1, 2

The car ride to the small headquarters of Pristine Cleaning Co. was long. Your knuckles grip the steering wheel tensely, white emerging from the force of your grip.

“I don’t want to accuse you, but what am I suppose to think?” His vicious words cut back into your memory and your foot presses on the gas to go faster.

The squeak of a giggle behind you rings in your ears as you look behind you. The small toddler grabs her own foot in the carrier. Looking at her, you sigh, allowing the tension from your body to exit.

The roundness of her cheeks distract you from your memories and force you to look at her from the rear view mirror. Her finger comes out suddenly with a small whine as she points to the busted radio.

“The radio?” you ask her, not expecting an understandable response. You press the knob, waiting a bit before a slight sound comes out. It’s scratchy and distorted, but after harshly smacking the top of the dashboard, it clears up.

Alicia Keys’ voice comes out slightly muffled, but to the gummy grin of the toddler behind you, she doesn’t seem to mind.

You closed the banged up door of the old sedan before opening the back and grabbing the baby carrier. Slamming the door, you make your way into the modern building of the Pristine Cleaning Co.

Even though you would rather chop your head off than take another step, you continue. Adjusting your attire, you knock on the small office door and wait. The silence on the other side is as unnerving as the first time you did your interview, but you stand taller.

“Come in.” a smooth voice answers from the other side. Picking up the carrier from the floor, you push open the door slowly before putting on a trepidatious smile on your face.

The woman’s eyes flicker up to you from her paper calendar. She adjusts her framed black glasses before looking down at the carrier and back to your face. “Y/N. Have a seat.”

With her tone, you have to force the saliva to not gulp down your throat as you sit. Thankfully the toddler is too entranced with grasping at the bows in her hair to make any noise.

The room is almost completely silent, saving for the heavy breathing from the child, the automated air conditioning blowing softly into the office, and the heavy sound of keys clicking as she continues to type.

To save you both from the awkwardness of the half-silent room, you speak. “Miss Wong. I was wondering if you have considered finding a replacement for Mr. Jackman’s house?”

She starts, pausing to look thoughtfully at you, resting her manicured fingers on the desk in front of her.

“Mr. Jackman?” Her voice is boarder line sharp as she asks the question. Shit. You were supposed to be “silent, thorough, and unnoticeable” not aware of the residents who lived there.

You swallow softly before meeting her eyes. “I saw a picture on the dresser. So I assumed..” Her eyebrows raise before she sighs, a sound so strangely unlike her you almost shiver.

“Your job is to clean, not to assume. But we have attempted to find a replacement cleaner for his house, yes.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly, hands making slight fists under the table as you process her vague sentence. You nervously glance up at her, urging your voice to exude professionalism.

“Attempted? After my last cleaning I had hoped to switch his house for the one near Rosemount Grove..”

Miss Wong nods, acknowledging your words. Her gaze remains fixated on you, expression unreadable. The silence stretches on for a few more seconds before she finally responds.

“Yes, attempted. Unfortunately, we have been unsuccessful in finding a replacement cleaner. All our other cleaners at this moment have their hands full with their assigned clients.”

She leans back in her chair, her manicured fingers drumming lightly on the stack of papers in her desk.

“I’m afraid I can’t reassign you, Y/N. It’s either this house or nothing.”

Your hands begin to sweat against your pants as you look at the toddler, now completely passed out. Your voice comes out soft as your gaze is stuck to the sleeping toddler.

“I suppose you’ll call him?” With a wavering voice you think of how much this job means. Without it, you don’t know where you would be.

Pushing up her thick framed glasses, Miss Wong continues to type. She watches silently as you look down at the sleeping toddler, a flicker of understanding passing through her usually stoic expression. She nods slightly, acknowledging your statement and the implications it holds.

“I’ll call him,” she confirms, her voice as poised as ever. “But Y/N?”

Your eyes flash to her, searching for a hint of her next words, but her gaze is already back to the computer screen. Professionalism oozing from her tone, she tries to hide her concern. “The kid won’t be a problem, will it?”

Rapidly shaking your head, you wonder if she even sees it from her typing. “No, Valerie stays with my parents during the cleanings. Not an issue at all..”

She nods imperceptibly, her head barely moving. You move to stand, grabbing carrier from beside you. “Thanks Miss Wong, have a nice day.” She glances at you once more, her eyes drifting back down to the carrier before you exit, but saying nothing.

Once in your car, you try to start it. The engine stalls slightly but you try again, making a mental note to get it checked out. The car starts with a low stammer and you finally leave.

When you enter the familiar open house, your breath catches in your throat. Opening the door with your key, you beg to some higher power that he sent the company the correct days he wouldn’t be here.

Wiping your sweaty hand on the thighs of your worn jeans, you start. As it was before, you start with the kitchen. Then you go to the living room, basking in the peaceful silence surrounding the house.

The creak of the front door knocks you out from your trance while dusting. Heavy steps enter the home and as you turn to look, you see the man you were hoping to avoid.

Hugh Jackman’s tall, muscular figure steps through the front door, filling up the space with his mere presence. His eyes scan the living room, taking in your figure as you stand frozen in the middle of dusting.

At first, his expression is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and slight regret. But then it softens slightly as his gaze roams over you, noticing how skittish you seem at his unexpected entrance.

“Oh, hello...” His voice is gravelly, and his steps slower as he moves further into the room.

You nod in response to his greeting, you face no longer cracking professional smiles when you see him.

To you, his face is a reminder of those fucking words. “I don’t want to accuse you, but what am I suppose to think?” Because that’s all he thought you were. A thief. A criminal.

The words replay in your brain. They taunt you. In the morning, in the silence of a car ride, in your nightmares.

Turning away, you continue to dust. Hoping that your brushing him off would’ve given him the hint, you are surprised to hear his weight shift as he continues to stand in front of the door.

Now you drop the duster, going to pick up the vacuum. In your peripheral you can see his mouth open to speak, regret so clear on his face. But instead of listening, you crank the vacuum to the highest setting and hope he gets the hint.

He pauses for a moment, watching your dismissive behavior with a mixture of guilt and frustration on his face. Realizing you were purposefully avoiding his attempts to talk, his brow furrows and his tone sharpens slightly.

“Y/N. I need to talk to you.” His tone seems regretful as he slightly raises his voice to talk over the vacuum. You see him out of your peripheral, hands on his hips as he stands there in his sweaty workout clothes.

Instead of acknowledging him, you turn with the vacuum, pretending to not have heard him.

Seeing you ignore him makes him breathe out a heavy sigh before placing a hand over his face in frustration. “Y/N, please! I need to apologize…”

Lowering the vacuum, you turn to him absentmindedly. “I’m not supposed to talk to you…” you respond, devoid of any warmth.

His frown deepens at your words, his shoulders sagging slightly in disappointment. “I know that. But I need to talk to you…”

Turning off the vacuum abruptly, a sudden silence engulfs the room. You turn to him with your arms crossed. You raise your eyebrows with calm anger, hoping to urge him on.

He swallows, his accent sounding gravelly with his low tone. “I’m sorry.”

Raising your eyebrows in surprise, you almost laugh. The two words you dreamed about hearing finally coming out of his mouth and they don’t feel like enough.

Instead of responding you grab a cloth, starting to wipe down the coffee table. Behind you, he clears his throat. “Y/N.”

You turn to him, the dirty cloth still in your hand. With a tone oozing professional indifference, you start. “I have nothing to say sir. Please let me finish my job and I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“I can’t. I need you to know how sorry I am. I really messed up and I apologize.” He starts to pace slowly, the scene strangely mirroring the situation he was apologizing for.

He continues, his voice rising slightly in regret. “I mean—the second you found the watch behind the dresser I felt like an fucking idiot.”

You giggle slightly at he starts to ramble out his apology. Suddenly your old phone starts to ring. Shit. You keep it on silent and only emergency calls actually ring.

You mumble a quick sorry to him before picking up. Glancing down rapidly at your phone, you answer. Hugh sees this and stops, wondering why you looked stressed as you answer the phone.

Your brows furrow as the person on the phone speaks. “What? Is she okay?” Breathing more heavily, you listen to the other side. “The hospital!” Your voice raises before you mumble a quiet “fuck” under your breath.

Ending the call with a “I’ll be right there,” you rush to pack up your things, leaving a very confused Hugh.

When you say “the hospital” Hugh’s heart drops for you. A sense of dread fills him when he sees you pack your things with panicked movements.

“What’s going on?” His voice exudes authority as he commands an explanation. Your head already feels like it’s about to explode and trying to explain the situation to him may make your head literally melt off. With a rushed sigh, you brush your messy hair off of your forehead. “I’m sorry sir, I have to go to the hospital. So I can’t finish the cleaning today.”

Hugh watches your stressed mannerisms, his mind racing with unanswered questions. He feels a pang of concern, and his brows furrow as he looks at you.

"Ok that’s completely fine.” With that, you nod and head towards the front door with a jog. Once outside you run to your old, beat-up car. Unbeknownst to you, Hugh stands in the front doorway, watching as you rush to leave.

Turning the key, you pray to any higher power that your car starts. It spudders with a low dying sound and you could almost laugh. Of course this happens at the worst possible fucking time. You try again, getting the same result and sighing.

In frustration, you bang your head against the steering wheel, tears fighting to fall. A hard knock against the window startles you as you look up. Hugh stares with furrowed brows as you open the car door. “Need a ride?” His smooth voice almost acts like a buey in this moment.

“Please…” You hurriedly follow him to his silver Audi Q7. Not used to the luxury car, you hesitate but think back to why you need to ride with him in the first place. His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Which hospital?” Your breath catches as you think, “Uh—Rosemount Community Hospital.” With a nod he drives, a solemn expression on his face.

The drive was silent. As soon as the car came to a stop, you hopped out. Rushing through the glass doors of the community hospital, you ask the lady at the front desk for the room number.

Hugh follows, not wanting to leave you here at the hospital alone. He knows he hates the smell of hospitals, the place where death and life meet, and wonders what you think. Do you like hospitals? Do you find them comforting? Or a bad omen?

Following you to the room, he can’t hide his surprise when you open the door to a small toddler sitting with an older woman.

“Valerie…” Your voice whispers softly and you go to cradle the toddler who now has a bright green cast on her tiny leg. You turn to the older woman, your expression becoming venomous as you grit out,“What happened?”

The older woman splutters in surprise at your tone before crossing her arms. “I was making lunch. She wanted to sit on the counter so I let her, but she started to climb. I turned around for one second—once second and she fell…”

Your face reddens as you breathe deeply. Your normal calm anger transpiring into a red-hot fit of rage. Hugh, still stuck in a state of confusion and shock from seeing the toddler, glances curiously at your expression. “Mom, you can’t do that. She’s a baby, she can’t even walk yet… She shouldn’t even be on the counter in the first place.” With a sigh, you put a hard on your tired face while picking up the giggly toddler.

“Just—can you get the doctor please, Mom?” You sit with Valerie in your arms, watching as your mom leaves the room. Almost disassociating, you stare at the stark white tile before Hugh speaks up.

“Is that your daughter?” His voice seems curious and a little shaken. You aren’t really old, maybe mid 20s. Clearing your throat slightly, you still hold your gaze to the tile. “No.. she’s my little sister. My mom has early onset Alzheimer’s and usually my dad is there to help take care of her.”

Hugh feels his heart drop slightly at your response, a pang of sympathy filling him as he to you. His eyes flicker to the little girl sitting snugly on your lap, who is still giggling obliviously.

Nodding slowly, he takes in the weight of your words before speaking quietly. “I'm sorry about your mom—that’s horrible. And your dad?"

You shrug your shoulders casually, your expression blank and disappointed. Valerie brings you out of your the thoughts, her small hand getting stuck in the bottom of your hair. With a smile, you glance to her face. Chubby cheeks, stubby baby teeth, and the soft tufts of her hair remind you of who you’re doing this for.

Clearing your throat, you look to Hugh, who’s now standing in the corner. “Thank you…” Your voice comes out in a whisper, almost as if you are afraid to say them louder.

His eyes widen for a moment, his heart clenching at the almost timid tone in your voice. He swallows deeply, feeling his throat grow dry as he responds.

"Don't mention it..."

You laugh softly as you think of your piece of crap car sitting dead in the front of his nice house. With a small sigh, you realize having to get it fixed will eat into your already minimal savings.

Pulling out your phone, you call a tow truck company to pick up the car and take it to the shop. Hugh just watches as you do this, a little confused because he was more than willing to do it for you. While you’re on the phone, your mom comes back with the doctor in tow.

Immediately, you end the call and give your attention to the doctor as he explains that Valerie’s leg is broken, but will heal nicely after a couple months. You breathe out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding and thank the doctor for his time.

Turning to Hugh, your voice comes out strong. “Thank you, Mr. Jackman. For everything… I’ll see you next week.” You almost miss the slight frown at your professional use of his name, but you don’t. Turning to walk out of the room with Valerie in your arms and your mom on your heels, you give him one last smile as you go.

The next week goes smoothly. Continuing your routine, you start with the kitchen. As you start to organize the refrigerator, you hear the heavy steps of Hugh entering. Instead of his normal sweaty workout clothes, you’re almost surprised to see him in comfy clothes.

He gives you a smile before continuing to the coffee machine. Without turning around, his voice rings out above the soft hum of your music. “Coffee?”

Instead of answering, you walk to the cupboard and pull out two mugs. He watches as you place them next to the machine, a small smile on your face. The hint of domesticity from making coffee shocks both of you, so you retreat back to the fridge.

He pours the coffee and approaches you at the fridge with both cups in his hands. Your pinky brushes against his as you grasp the ceramic mug. A buzz of electricity shoots through your arm as you revel in the warmth of it. In a daze, you whisper a thank you before picking out the creamer and offering it to him. He takes it with a smile, happy that you are no longer ignoring him.

Taking a sip, you bask in the rich taste before Hugh’s voice pulls you out of your focus. “How’s Valerie?” Almost completely forgetting that he was at the hospital with you, you clear your throat surprised. You don’t know what surprises you more, the fact that he remembers her name or actually cares about how she’s doing.

“She’s fine—finally getting use to the cast.” I take another sip of my coffee, choosing to keep my gaze on the island between us. He nods in my peripheral, his voice coming out to give a small “That’s good.”

The silence is somewhat awkward and somewhat comfortable, but he decides to break it. “I’m sorry. I should’ve never accused you.”

Nodding, you take in his words. You focus on the deep rumble of regret in his voice, the emotion of it making his accent come out stronger. “I’m not a thief. I just—I can’t lose this job.” Your voice comes out almost desperate. You could curse at the small wobble that comes out as you bite through the words. Afraid to look him in the eye after your words, you set the mug down and go back to reorganizing the fridge.

You can feel his eyes stuck on you, the feeling of it curious and prodding. You continue, picking up the condiments and reorganizing them.

“My father gave me that watch.” The words are so sudden and soft, it shocks you. Your shoulders deflate as you unravel the tension from your earlier words. You turn slowly, mouth open to say something but he stops you. “—That’s why I was so upset… He passed a couple years ago and I wear that watch to—uh remember him, I guess.”

The soft and somewhat solemn expression on his face takes you off guard. Even though he is looking down at the counter in remembrance, you almost feel like the atmosphere is staring down into your soul.

“Mr. Jackman…” you start. He interrupts, holding up a hand, “—Hugh, please.” Nodding, you play with the handle of your mug as you watch him. “Hugh, I’m so sorry.. I shouldn’t have been so defensive and—”

Your mouth opens to explain more, your fear and hatred of people not treating you as a human with thoughts, maybe even your fear of losing this job, but he stops you. He stops you from your unnecessary groveling. “None of it was your fault. I was just stressed and upset and I took it out on you… I’m the one who’s sorry…”

With a nod and a small smile, you listen. Really listen—to everything; his voice, his words, and the soft gravel of his accent. “It’s okay…” With a nod and soft smile, toeing the boarder of friendship, you turn and go back to the fridge.

The following week, the smiles only grow. Instead of telling your company the dates he won’t be there, it seems that every time you come to clean he “accidentally” keeps running into you. When you are cleaning the kitchen, he decides that is the perfect time to have his midafternoon cup of coffee. Or when you’re cleaning his bedroom, he needs to grab things that he coincidentally forgets to bring downstairs.

And the notes reappear too. Silly doodles with swirls and faces conjoined with encouraging notes of admiration. And every time, they make your day. Even when your morning has taken a turn for the worse.

Like this morning Valerie decided now was the time to try to take her cast off by herself. You sigh exhausted as you remember the wails and cries of pain from the itching she had under the cast this morning.

Even with your face and body exhausted, the neon brightness of a colored note sticking to the TV screen brings a soft smile to your face. You pull it softly off the dark screen and pull it closer to your tired eyes to read.

“Coffee?” It’s covered in zigzags, smiley faces, and a badly-drawn cup of coffee, but yet you still feel your feet pulling to the kitchen.

Moving to the kitchen, you are shocked to see Hugh sitting at the countertop with a puzzle, a steaming cup of coffee in his own hand and another in the seat beside him. With a tired smile you greet him, a casual “Hey Hugh” coming from your lips.

He glances up from the puzzle, a pair of reading glasses and a concentrated smile on his face. For a second you glance down to his lips, drawn in a concentrated pout from the puzzle. But still he greets you warmly, the pout disappearing in an instant, replaced with a warm smile.

You take the counter seat next to him, sipping your coffee and watching as he continues his puzzle. Small conversation flows easily, you focused on the coffee and him on the puzzle.

His eyebrows furrow slightly as he focuses on his next question. “And Valerie? How’s her leg?” Your shoulders sag as you sigh with exhaustion. “She wasn’t doing too well this morning, her leg itches a lot but she can’t verbalize it yet so I basically just have to guess.”

Hugh nods, his lips pursing together as he thinks. “God, that sounds tiring. I know when my kids were younger it helped if I distracted them with things they liked.” He shrugs casually as he suggests for you to try it. You nod, taking in the information before taking another sip of your coffee.

Raising the mug to your lips, a piece of the puzzle stands out to you from your peripheral vision. Timidly, you slide the piece over to him, noticing it’s the one he’s missing. The appreciative smile he gives you could light up a room as he slides the puzzle to fit in between you both.

Knowing that you company wouldn’t approve, you have so many things that need to be done, and are a complete hot mess, you work on the puzzle with him.

You find it peaceful. Another taste of the domesticity you could have if you just let yourself be swept away.

a/n: hey lovelies !! as always, let me know what you think and whether or not you want me to continue with a part three.. i’m hoping to update a least once a week, but sometimes it may be more or it may be less (also pls lmk if you have any requests) anyways, love you guys 💕

[libradoodle1]

Swept Away | Ch.1

A remix of The Blue Lagoon with ASOIAF

Written for Jonerys Summer Lovin 2024 - Day 5: free choice hosted by @snowxstormworld

Summary: Tragedy strikes upon their return voyage from Essos to King's Landing, leaving young Prince Jon and Princess Daenerys stranded on a deserted island. Without the rules of society to guide them, they're forced to create a new world when rescue never arrives.

After years on their own having faced betrayal, loss, and ultimately, finding love in one another, a glimmer of hope appears on the horizon that threatens to unravel everything they built and will have them questioning, what is duty? And what is love?

Read it here on AO3

[butterphii]

Fic Recommendation List!

This is fics by all of my favorites!! It's mostly Joel fics, but that's ok, right?..

1. Swept Away - Ongoing series by @punkshort

Joel Miller x Reader

Absolutely fantasic!!! I'm so inspired by her work. It's so good and she made me the writer I am now, at this point.

2. Stick Buddies - Ongoing series by @auteurdelabre

Frankie Morales x Reader

SO GOOD!!! I love binging this fic, and I reread it atleast once a week, just WAITING for the next part!

3. Neighborhood Watch - One-shot by @joelalorian

Frankie Morales x Reader

Also amazing!! I don't even know how to describe it at this point.

4. Flinched - Ongoing series by @punkshort

Joel Miller x Reader

So sad but so cute! I almost cried in the beginning!! R.I.P. Sarah may you fly high 🙏🏻

5. The Older One - One-shot by @frannyzooey

Joel Miller x Reader

Ahh!! So fucking hot. I literally loved this so much. I reread it immediately.

6. Where We Belong - One-shot by @joelmillermylove

Joel Miller x Reader

Oh my gosh. This was absolutely adorable. I feel like I'd write something like this. I love this!

7. Heavenly Bound - One-shot by @ozarkthedog

Joel Miller x Reader

Oh. My. God. I literally have to reread this like every day. So amazing! Very smutty, but so enjoyable.

8. A Deeper Purpose - One-shot (with pt 2.) by @punkshort

Joel Miller x Reader

I know Shortie's on this list a lot, but her writing is just so good.

9. Lucid Dreams - One-shot by @fhatbhabiee

Jack Daniels x Reader

AAAHAHH. I LITERALLY CRIED. This was SO cute. Thank you for blessing me with this.

I will be adding more to this as I read more! There's a few I can't remember, which is driving me FUCKING INSANE, but when I remember I'll add them! Love you all!!

[wand-erer5]

@punkshort @punkshort-notifs idk if anyone has sent you this yet but I saw it on my FYP and i literally died. Swept Away’s Impact >>>>

[the-golden-vanity]

It's just a little over a week until I go to sea (yes, The Actual Sea!) on a tall ship, and I probably shouldn't pack any cursed artifacts.

However, I absolutely can't resist packing my Swept Away travel mug for the occasion. Or my @astralwhat "Make History Or Die Trying" shirt. And I'm bringing Labyrinth of Ice to read in my downtime. Hell, the fact that I have a The Terror/Franklin Expedition related tattoo probably makes me a cursed artifact.

Ah, well, these will all be helpful conversation starters should worse come to worst...

[facewithoutheart]

Thanks for the tags @monbons & @rimeswithpurple ❤️

I’ve finally finished the first draft of my COBB which feels super good. For once, I’m not doing a multi-chapter fic but I’m pleased with how it turned out. It needs a bit of finessing at the end so I’m going to let it sit for awhile. Come back when it’s closer to posting time for last minute tweaks.

Have some cute goat content:

Simon shrugged one shoulder. “Who can say? But he’s been loved. That’s what counts.” He placed the goat gently on the ground and the little thing scrambled away, bleating like a banshee at the kids who had yet to take flight. “Of course he’s also been a right bastard. Maybe that counts more.”

Cute/deranged, same thing.

Song vibes if you need them:

Tags & original fiction thoughts below the break.

I also spent some time making piccrews of my OCs. I only like to write original fiction about love triangles with two men and a woman so here, meet Hawk, Gabriel & Zoe:

Shout out to my brown eye peeps although I forgot Hawk actually has hazel eyes. WHOOPS. We’re just gonna pretend he has flecks of green sprinkles in there that only Gabriel can see. And yes Zoe is that hot on purpose. She’s a messy bitch and I love her.

One thing I’ve been thinking about lately is the theory that words written are not words wasted. As in, don’t regret the things you wrote that aren’t published or make it into the final piece. And I’ve had to adopt that for fanfic to original writing because sometimes it’s hard looking at my, frankly ridiculous, back catalog and wonder if it wasn’t all worthless. Because in the end I spent all that time and energy writing someone else’s stories.

But this is a fruitless and, frankly, untrue line of thinking. I’ve spent years honing my ability to write plot and setting and dialogue and action and messy situations. Sure, I’ve been using someone else’s characters and outline to do so, but the skills transfer even if they do also require new ones. I would never have had the courage to take on messy characters for a romance novel if I hadn’t written Boulders or This Charming Man. These two fics directly inspired my original idea.

So I’m kind of sitting around feeling really … grateful? I guess? That I’ve taken this time, I’ve written these words, and I’ve stretched these muscles. Writing an original novel is something I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid and it feels really good to be working on one again, especially after my rather demoralizing attempt at NaNoWriMo in 2022.

Which is all just to say I’m having a good time, and all your efforts are not wasted, and does this make any sense? Maybe not entirely. And maybe you’ve skimmed it but maybe this is also something that will resonate with one of you all.

Okay now. Tagging @martsonmars, @sillyunicorn, @bookish-bogwitch, @thewholelemon, @raenestee, @cutestkilla, @skeedelvee, @artsyunderstudy, @palimpsessed, @aristocratic-otter, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @stitchyqueer, @run-for-chamo-miles, @larkral, @whogaveyoupermission, @moodandmist, @mooncello, @creepyspice, @ivelovedhimthroughworse & @shrekgogurt

[securityholograms]

say hi to the swept away obc!!

[warpedlegacywrites]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

Thank you for this ask @blarrghe!

Swept Away: Josephine Montilyet/Isabela. M. 75,162 words. This project was a real labor of love from start to finish. It was also the first work I ever made a concentrated effort to finishing before I published it. And the result, I think, is all the stronger for it. I adore this pairing as well, and I'm not usually given to rare pairs, but these two just sing to me. They fit so perfectly together, and I had so much fun imagining how that might happen. Major thanks to @rakshadow for being my ever-patient and ever-wise beta. And to @theluckywizard for the lovely artwork she contributed. You both helped this story take shape!

Lead Her Through the Darkness: Genfic. T. 3,121 words. One-shot. This was my first gift fic for an OC swap exchange, and I swear from start to finish I was possessed with this character. Ixchel is such an amazing protagonist and the symbolism around her, especially her name, felt such a vital piece of that, I wanted to explore that a bit. I am humbled and honored that @dreadfutures has taken this idea and run with it in her own canon. <3

Seeker, It's Cold Outside: Varric Tethras/Cassandra Pentaghast. T. 5,242 words. One-shot. Writing vitriolic banter is like 95% of the reason why I adore this pairing so much. Their dynamic is so messy, doomed from the start, but no less worthy of a story to be told just because the ending I foresee for them isn't an unambiguously happy one. It's moments like this one where I see them able to unpack themselves a little bit around each other, and that's so important for them both.

Fiercely Perish: Dorian Pavus/The Iron Bull. M. 23,033 words. Die Hard, but in Thedas. This was an April Fool's Day fic some years ago, and it remains a fic I look on fondly for how much unbridled fun it was to write. I especially love people recognizing the source material as they read and leave comments. It brings me such joy. This is also probably one of the sillier fics I've written, and I don't give myself the opportunity to lean into humor as often as angst. This is just. Fun. It's fun. I love it. ^_^

While Time Remains: Series. Cullen Rutherford/OC!mage!Trevelyan. M. 189,699 words, 2/4 planned arcs published. WIP. I'm cheating a little bit on this one since it's a series rather than one isolated fic. But the series is one continuous story, so I think I can count that. This was the series I turned to when I stalled on my main DAI-timeline longfic. Writing this gave me a chance to finally sink my teeth into the Cullen/Theresa pairing that I was longing for so badly with my main fic's slow burn. It also helped me really start to shape my voice as a writer, learning how to pace a story so that one arc felt complete while still being part of a greater whole. And it helped me discover my strengths as a writer, and grow in my confidence. But more than that, I was able to develop Theresa and Cullen's relationship beyond my wildest dreams. They've grown just as much as I have throughout the course of writing and planning this story for them, that was only originally conceived as a sweet and lighthearted domestic fluff series of vignettes. An epic, vast-sweeping story has grown out of those humble origins, and I can't wait until it's all finished and published so people can enjoy it in its entirety! ^_^

[karhun-kallo]

as a huge fan of nautical stuff and theatre we should agree to make more productions that take place on boats. because the possibilities are ENDLESS. above are images from Swept Away: A New Musical composed by the Avett Brothers and set designed by Rachel Hauck. apparently the entire ship ROCKS, at least from what I could tell from the clips available. actually breathtaking. more examples under the cut!

Moby Dick: A Musical Reckoning (set designed by Mimi Len)

Moby Dick, the LA Opera (set designed by Robert Brill)

[howifeltabouthim]

She had pretended to faint so that he would carry her in his arms, longing to be swept away, to be completely in his power . . .

Anna Biller, from Bluebeard's Castle

[archive-lion-guard]

The Lion Guard | Swept Away | S2 EP7

[mysticgalsworld]

swept away

a/n: hey babes !! as it’s my first fic EVER, i would love to hear what you guys think :) if you think more can be added, i am open to making this a multiple part fic !! *please remember that i don’t accept hate and you will be blocked— positivity only on this blog 💕*

pairing: hugh jackman x cleaning lady f! reader

summary: after getting a job at a cleaning company as a maid, you’re surprised to find out that the house you’re cleaning for belongs to the Hugh Jackman..

content warnings: fluff, angst, f! reader, talk of chemicals, accusations, power imbalance (but isn’t really recognized), not spellchecked

The house is big. With open arches and an unwavering space, it seems clean. The white arches open up to the wide kitchen, lightened by the streams of sunlight.

The kitchen is filled with windows opening up to show the beautiful nature from the outside. Putting your worn-out wired earbuds into your ears, you blast Fiona Apple in the process.

Placing your worn out cleaning supplies next to the wide island in the middle of the open kitchen, you start over at the sink. A beautiful stainless steel sink with a window above it overlooking the small garden entrances you.

Leaning over the sink, you adjust your work shirt, making sure to pull it over the exposed skin of your lower stomach before scrubbing the dirty dishes.

Scrubbing each dish becomes a great routine and an excuse to dive deeper into your thoughts. This has been your routine since the person, who may or may not be famous, hired your cleaning company. Your cleaning company sent you here, giving you a temporary key and ordering you to “be silent, thorough, and unnoticeable.”

Sometimes you wondered who lived in this house. It sure was nice, but not a huge mansion like you assumed big-time celebrities would live in. Maybe it’s a woman with a really great job? Or a famous actor? Screenwriter? Producer? Maybe even a director? But you stop yourself, reprimanding yourself.

Unnoticeable. That’s what you were supposed to be. You were here to do a job, not think about the personal lives of the people that live here. They probably didn’t even care. If they could think of you as a nonliving entity who’s only purpose in life is to clean their house, why give them space in your mind to occupy.

Sighing, you try to focus on the dishes. But your mind keeps going back to who may live here. You try to not look at the pictures on the walls, personal knickknacks, or anything that gives you an idea of who he is because it’s easier. It’s easier to work in the dark. To be an entity that isn’t cared about, who doesn’t care.

Bringing yourself back to the present, you hum along softly to Fiona Apple’s “On the Bound” playing in your ears as you scrub a dirty dish. The music seems to cut instantly and you look down at your old phone in confusion.

Seeing that the old wire of the headphones is almost completely worn in half, you dry your hands on a rag from your cleaning supplies and unplug it. The music starts to play softly in the background as you go back to your scrubbing.

Your hips start to move slowly, moving to the grungy, moody sound of Fiona Apple as you focus completely on the task at hand. However, you don’t hear the soft rumble of footsteps behind you moving towards the fridge. You continue to scrub the dirty dishes, moving your hips slightly to the beat and humming under your breath.

Having finished his morning gym routine, Hugh goes to the kitchen to grab a protein shake from the fridge. Focused on the goal at hand, he almost doesn’t notice the young woman cleaning his dishes at the sink.

He notices the petite cleaning lady humming to herself as she completes her job, oblivious to his presence. He stands with the fridge half-open, a few feet away from her, enjoying the view of the young woman moving with her task, the sunlight streaming through the window dancing on her bare skin.

Hugh doesn’t really know the exact song playing, but the grungy beat plays softly as the water runs in the sink. He can’t help but appreciate the woman’s dedication to the job, and wants to say something. Or introduce himself.

He clears his throat softly to get your attention. You don’t hear it, too focused on your task and the beat of the music. Keeping your head down, you occasionally look up at the window in front of the sink. Your hips continue to sway softly to the rock beat.

Hugh tries clearing his throat again, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, finding your obliviousness a little endearing.

He takes a sip of his shake as she doesn’t respond and finally speaks. “You really enjoying that dishwashing, huh?” he asks, his voice deep with professional kindness and laced with amusement.

At the deep voice behind you, your hips still from their slight movement. Wiping your soapy hands on a small dish towel beside you, you turn towards him, Fiona Apple still playing in the background. Your eyes meet the person behind you, your brows furrowing in shock.

Hugh Jackman stands behind you in sweaty workout clothes, holding a protein shake. Hugh Jackman. THE Hugh Jackman. The same man who has famously been in the X-Men movies and your favorite musical The Greatest Showman.

Your brows furrow slightly in shock as your face flushes slightly. Your mouth curves into a tight, professional smile as you mask your complete shock.

“I mean, it at least makes my job more enjoyable.”

He hums in response and leans against the counter, a kind smile overtaking his face as he takes in the professional smile and quick recognition in your eyes.

“Fiona Apple, right?” he replies, the timbre of his strong Australian accent ringing in the open kitchen. “Seems like you were enjoying your job quite a bit.”

His eyes drift to the logo on your work shirt in recognition, watching as you fidget with the dish towel in your hands.

You nod awkwardly, not comfortable with being in front of a gorgeous man in your dirty work shirt, which is now covered with water. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Hugh notices the shift in your demeanor, a small smile playing on his lips as he eyes your water-soaked work shirt and casual hair.

“Just making sure you are from Pristine Cleaning Co. ,” he replies, his eyes drifting down to the faded logo over your heart. “You seemed very immersed in your music... and in your cleaning.”

I chuckle politely, moving to move my cleaning products away from where he is standing. I shake my head and smile, “Well, I can assure you they did send me. And they don’t really want me to be speaking to you.”

Hugh laughs heartily at her comment, finding her attempt at being professional quite endearing. He steps aside as she moves her cleaning products, continuing to watch her with a smile on his face.

“Oh, really?” he replies with a hint of amusement. “And why is that? I'm not allowed to speak to the cleaning lady, hm?”

Your hands pause on the company bucket of cleaning supplies. You know there is no reason for me to pause. You ARE the cleaning lady. But even so, his comment makes you think of your earlier thoughts. You are a cleaning lady, but you are also a person. Not just a person whose only duty is to clean someone’s house. Sometimes it feels that that’s all people think. That you aren’t a person.

You clear your throat before glancing back towards him. “We are told to be—uh ‘silent, thorough, and unnoticeable.’ They send me when you aren’t home so I’m not a bother.”

Hugh's expression softens as he notices the brief flicker of thought in your eyes. He can sense that his comment, meant as a playful tease, has touched a deeper nerve.

He leans casually against the counter again, folding his arms across his chest. “I'd hardly call you a bother,” he says, his voice a shade softer now. “But I understand the need for professionalism.”

His gaze flicks down to your company bucket of cleaning supplies, then back to her eyes. He crosses the island to stand in front of you. He pauses, sticking his hand out to shake your own. “Well, I’m Hugh, it’s nice to meet you...” he waits for your reply.

“Y/N.” your voice rings out softly, your hand jutting out slightly to meet his. His hand is warm and firm in yours, not even mentioning how it also seems to be twice its size.

He repeats your name softly, a professional, but charming smile gracing his face.

You blink up at him, almost starstruck at meeting one of the most nostalgic and famous actors from your childhood. “I—um I have to get started. It was nice to meet you Mr. Jackman, but for the future my company asks that you call them with dates that you have things to do so this mishap doesn’t happen again.”

Hugh watches as you introduce yourself, his grip firm yet gentle on your smaller hand. He can feel the softness and warmth of your skin, and the way his hand nearly envelops yours.

A slight shiver runs through him as he listens to your voice pronouncing his last name, your words laced with a mix of professionalism and charm.

Nodding in agreement, he releases your hand reluctantly. “Of course, Y/N.”

He takes a moment to step from her and grab his protein shake again, then adds with a small smile, “It was a pleasant 'mishap' though.”

You nod and softly before bending down to pick up your cleaning supplies. Grabbing a company business card, you walk over to Hugh.

“Well, here’s the company card for you to call. I’ll be upstairs and outta your way until you’re finished.” without waiting for a response, you give him a small smile before grabbing your supplies and moving towards the stairs.

Hugh's eyes follow you as you bend down to gather your supplies. He takes the card gingerly, running his thumb over the embossed logo on the front.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “And Y/N?” You turn to look at him once more. He looks up, his eyes locking on yours. “You're not in my way. Actually, I appreciate the help.”

Biting back a small smile, you continue up the stairs.

The next time you’re at the open, white house it’s different. The house seems quiet at first and you start with your familiar routine. First the kitchen, then the upstairs, lastly working your way down.

Cleaning the kitchen goes smoothly, but the upstairs seems different. Warmer, more homely than usual, you’re not exactly sure.

His bedroom is big. Filled with open space, white arches, and lots of windows, the space is comforting and inviting. You work thoroughly, once again playing grunge rock from your worn out iPhone.

Starting to vacuum around the room, a brightly colored sticky note next to the light switch catches your attention. It standing out against the pristine white walls is what tempts you to take it. You pick it up, the message reading:

“I’m sorry if things seem a bit disorganized today. I’m prepping for an early morning meeting tomorrow, so the room’s not at its best. I appreciate you. -H”

At this little note, your heart warms. It’s not only written in his notorious chicken scratch, but little doodles are handdrawn around it, adding character. You reread the “I appreciate you” line over and over, a mix of appreciation and apprehension filling you.

The company has told you to by unnoticeable. To be silent. To be a ghost, but your fear for the consequences of not listening pushes you back to reality. Shaking your head, you place the sticky note back on the wall before continuing your job.

The next weeks are the same. Whether you’re cleaning the kitchen, the bathrooms, or even the living room.

Sweet sticky notes continue to pop up everywhere, a slew of messages ranging from “Thank you for working your magic” to “Love the new organized bookshelf! Any book recommendations?” to even “Thank you for treating my home with care.” And that’s not even including the array of hand drawn smiley faces, doodles, and drawings.

After you didn’t respond to the first one, you figured he would quit it. But secretly your heart would swell with every positive message, every indication that he understood that you weren’t just a body whose only duty is to clean people’s homes.

The thought that Hugh was thinking of you as an actual person with feelings and thoughts filled you with happiness. The consequences of talking to him still lingered over your head, but maybe it could be different.

Today’s note was next to the oven. When you came to the kitchen, you were surprised to see the oven dirtier than usual. You spot the colored paper taunting you from the corner of your eye and pick it up. It reads:

“Tried to bake yesterday. Never again. I’m so sorry for the mess. You’re the only one keeping me in check.”

Your cheeks flush with warmth as you think of him. Only having one conversation with this man, you wonder how you could possibly keep him in check.

This time, you decide. This time you will answer him. Grabbing a pen from your purse, which was sitting next to your cleaning supplies, you try to think of a message.

Your heart thumps in anticipation as you write underneath his chicken scrawl. “Don’t worry, baking is hard. You just have to have a good teacher.” The only thing you think of for the next few hours as you clean is the note.

You think of how he will respond, if he responds. Before you are able to doubt yourself, you raise the volume of the music on your phone and pour yourself into the job.

When you step into the house the next week, the energy is strange. The sun doesn’t seem to shine so brightly and the house doesn’t seem as open as it once did.

Walking inside, you can hear the shuffling of footsteps and the chatter of a voice in the kitchen. Deciding to obey your company’s instructions (and maybe having a little left over embarrassment from replying to the note) you make your way upstairs.

You clean the bathrooms first, scrubbing harshly as you scold yourself. He was being so nice and you weren’t even trying! You raise the volume for the music on your phone and take your frustrations out on the tile.

Moving to clean his bedroom, you keep your steps quiet and light. Even though you do want to have another conversation with him, you don’t want to disturb whatever he’s doing.

You close his door softly behind you as you start. You change the sheets first, then wipe down all the surfaces, and finally you vacuum the floor. You accidentally knock the vacuum on the bedside table, the knickknacks and papers falling softly around it.

Cursing to yourself, you pick up the dropped items. Your back is killing you and the only motivation right now is the chance of seeing him downstairs (and the money you earn from your job).

You finish up cleaning his room the grab your supplies and head to the stairs. As you walk down them, he walks up them. His broad shoulders almost take up the whole length as you both try to walk your separate ways.

Spotting the phone he has clutched to his ear, you only manage to give him a slight nod and shy “Hello” before you are at the bottom of the stairs. Placing your supplies in the living room, you stand and roll your shoulders.

You hear the bedroom door upstairs close somewhat harshly as you finish vacuuming the rug. You hear the clattering of things, the door opening, and a rush down the stairs as you continue to clean. He seems in a rush as he walks to the kitchen. He also spends less than a minute in the kitchen before rushing back upstairs.

Furrowing your brows, you think of what was wrong. But you quickly shake your head, trying not to get your mind involved in his personal life. Especially because he’s a celebrity. THE Hugh Jackman. He wouldn’t appreciate the cleaning lady being nosy.

You move to the kitchen after you finish the living room. The first thing that catches your eye is the hurriedly placed post-it note. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you pick it up. The note reads:

“Once you are finished in here, come upstairs. Please..”

A mixture of confusion and curiosity wash over you as you read the hastily written note, the words 'please' and 'come upstairs' echoing in your mind. You finish cleaning the kitchen, washing the dishes and cleaning the counters while you mind wonders about what could be waiting for you upstairs.

With a small sense of trepidation, you make your way upstairs, the stairs feeling extra creaky. The hallway feeling extra closed in. When you walk to his bedroom, his door is closed. Not knowing what to do, you knock softly and wait for a response.

He opens the door swiftly, his face relaxing when he sees you. He motions you inside and says, “Hey, come on in..”

Giving a small smile, you glance up to him with a question in your eyes. “Thank you….“ You stand there waiting for him to tell you something. Almost feeling like a kid getting called to the principal’s office, you stand there shifting your weight.

“Well—uh I didn’t want this to be awkward, but I’m missing my watch.. Have you seen it?” he continues neutrally.

Your brows furrow as you think back to cleaning this room. Did you see a watch? You don’t remember a watch.. Shaking your head, you look up to him wearily. “No Mr. Jackman, I haven’t seen your watch.”

He puts his hand up and shakes his head slightly. “Hugh, please.. But, are you sure you haven’t seen it? It’s a brown leather watch.” He continues to prod, the conversation getting more and more uncomfortable.

“No, I swear I haven’t seen it sir. Are you sure it was in this room?” You look around, praying that he maybe missed it and it was sitting on the dresser. It wasn’t.

He continues, “Yes, I’m sure. I take it off before all of my workouts because it’s important to me. It was on my dresser before you came to clean, and now it’s gone. Are you sure you haven’t moved it? Maybe you put it somewhere by mistake?”

Continuing to shake your head, you glance up at him. His face is flushed at the confrontation and his worry for the seems evident. You can’t believe this is happening. “No, I didn’t touch your watch sir. I leave your things where I find them, I would never do that.”

His frustration becomes increasingly evident at your comment. He places a hand on his face and shakes his head while thinking. “This watch is important to me. I’ve looked everywhere and it’s nowhere to be found. I don’t mean to accuse, but you were the only person who’s been in this room this morning.”

Your breath starts to quicken, the worst thing that could happen finally did. He was basically insinuating you’re a thief. “I didn’t steal it, I swear.” Tears well in your eyes, but you won’t let them fall. Especially not for a man.

He shakes his head and starts to pace, running a hand through his hair. He is clearly torn between anger and trying to remain fair. “I don’t want to accuse you, but what am I suppose to think? It’s gone and I can’t just ignore that.”

Instead of responding, you walk around the room looking for it. You pull back the bedcovers, open drawers, and look on the floor as he watches you. After a moment he joins you, and you search and search and search for the missing watch.

What seems like an eternity later, you check underneath the bedside table. Nudged between the wall and the table is where the watch sits. With a huff, you stand up and face him. He looks at you, his face filled with relief and regret. He goes to speak, but your firm voice cuts him off.

“Here. You can contact the company directly for them to send over another girl.” You hand him the watch before grabbing your things and leaving.

Once you are out of the house, the tears finally fall. Slowly and barely, you let them leave as you drive back to your company’s building. After all the kindness he gave you, after all the sweet notes and hints at something more friendly. He was just like the rest of them. He was just like the people who don’t view you as human. He was another that just thought of you as the cleaning lady…

a/n: please let me know what you think !! i’m open to doing a pt 2 but please lmk if YOU guys want that… but thanks a lot for the support 😋

[libradoodle1]

Swept Away | Chapter 5

Summary: Jon and Dany deal with teen angst and all the changes that come with it. Island Daddy Arthur needs our fervent prayers and all the help he can get.

Read it here on AO3

[secondaryartifacts]

Vogue:

Inside Broadway’s Folk-Rock, Shipwreck-Survival Musical, Swept Away

[internet-league-blaseball]

oh yeah, i saw Swept Away in the arena stage today!

and honestly, i really enjoyed it! like, fuck yeah man shipwrecks? those are pretty epic. violence and cannibalism too ❤️

but like i ugly cried over little brother and big brother at the end so uhmmm it gets the stamp of approval over whether or not it can make me cry!!! sorry guys but i’m not immune to sibling dynamics!

also the set is so cool. i’m not sure if i should say what happens to the boat when the shipwreck actually happens, but… i certainly wasn’t expecting it!!!

[the-golden-vanity]

Current obsession: Swept Away, the Avett Brothers jukebox musical inspired by the wreck of the Mignonette. I don't know how many of my fellow shipmates of Boat Tumblr are also musical theater and/or folk-rock people, but if you are, please let me know, especially if you're a The Terror/Moby-Dick/In The Heart Of The Sea person.