#hes defeated ye honour

[norristeria]

Oddity¹ ! LN04

PAIRING 𝄡 Lando Norris x Oscar's PA! FemReader, Oscar Piastri x PA! FemReader ( platonic )

SUMMARY 𝄡 Though Oscar's teammate is the strangest man you've ever met, you cannot help but find this oddity charming.

IN THIS CHAPTER... Desperate for a job, you apply to be a personal assistant for a ‘one-of-a-kind young talent in motorsports.’ It's harder than it looks, but only because your new employer is dead set on being a pain in the ass. And what's the deal with his new teammate?

TAGS 𝄡 Angst. Fluff.

WORDCOUNT 𝄡 6k.

NOTE 𝄡 Everyone loved the pairing, so I wrote the series⏤it's as simple as that. What do we think? Not much Lando in this chapter but Oscar and Reader's subplot has my entire heart! I tweaked the chronology a bit because I can. ( not edited. if you see a typo⏤no, you didn't. ) <33

For a better experience, read this story in light mode! ( use of black writing on transparent background )

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

━━━━ ❦ Chapter II.

‘Mark Webber’ sounded like an important name, enough to have its gold plaque hanging on a solid oak door.

The man who opened it matched that image—serene and proud, the kind of man that had known glory, however small, in the past. Mark Webber's charisma was undeniable, yes, but the expectation that lit up his face as he extended a hand toward you, the need for recognition clearly visible in his eyes, made him so painfully human that your shoulders relaxed.

He may have been the manager of your future client—a ‘one-of-a-kind young talent in motorsports' according to the job description—but he was still a man, and you knew how to deal with those. Had been doing it for years during your bachelor’s degree and, later on, your master’s in business administration and management. Those so-called “sons of” or “self-made men” proliferated in Harvard, waiting for one thing only: for you to recognize them without ever needing to introduce themselves.

But because you desperately needed this job and hadn’t gone through three interviews for nothing, you swallowed your pride, smiled, and extended your hand.

“Mr. Webber, it’s an honour to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Miss L/N. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m afraid time is not on our side right now. I do hope you had a moment to look over the contract HR sent you.”

He led you to his office, cluttered with paperwork. You winced at the chaos, resisting the urge to bring order to the madness. Instead, you sat down, crossed your legs, and pulled the employment contract from your folder.

Your very own Holy Grail.

“Here’s my copy. Initialled and signed.”

You had shed a few tears as you slid the pen across the page—a strange blend of relief and frustration. One of those emotions only fate itself could concoct. Because you had not planned this. Not at all. For years, you had envisioned yourself as a talent agent, maybe a manager at a publicly traded company—but certainly not the personal assistant to one Oscar Piastri, whose name you hadn’t even known three weeks earlier.

When life gives you lemons, learn to make lemonade or suffer their bitterness, your grandmother used to say.

You had chosen your side quickly, picked the lemons yourself, pressed them, sweetened the juice, and learned to savour the taste. You who had never liked citrus fruits had now convinced yourself to see in that pale yellow flesh a sign of future success, of stability.

How many lemon trees would you need to harvest before your parents got used to the sourness?

Watching their prodigy of a daughter become a ‘rich man’s servant’, after paying for five years at Harvard, was a truth they struggled to swallow—a sourness lodged in the throat, leaving behind the bitter tang of defeat.

When you had graduated summa cum laude, your parents had imagined you’d be drowning in job offers. But reality hit hard. Brutally hard. Intelligence alone wasn’t enough. The world’s best companies didn’t hire without connections, and you had none.

The first disillusionment in life stings like nothing else.

So, you had to swallow your pride, lower your standards, and look elsewhere. Anything, really—anything but unemployment and long days spent contemplating the wreckage of your ambitions.

Anything but failure.

The job description had arrived in your inbox amid hundreds of others. That night, you had drunk two glasses of red wine—maybe more—your cheeks streaked with mascara and the remnants of your frustration. You had received two rejections that very morning. Overqualified, they had said.

Bullshit, you replied. They just didn’t want to pay you what your degrees were worth.

For months now, you had been suffering—stuck in this purgatory. Too qualified for some roles, not enough for others. The adjectives varied, but the outcome remained the same. You barely needed to read the emails anymore. You knew the words by heart.

After reviewing your profile, and despite its many strengths, we have decided not to move forward with your application.

It was with those words echoing in your mind that you clicked on the job offer. Personal Assistant. Your eyes widened at the jaw-dropping salary and the list of benefits.

“What the actual fuck?” you mumbled.

Suddenly sobered, you sat up straight and read the required qualifications eagerly, a flicker of hope warming your chest for the first time in weeks. The words were generic—experience, organisation, management, flexibility—but you welcomed their familiarity.

Your internship with one of New York’s top CEOs—the one your classmates had mocked, claiming “it wasn’t a real internship with real responsibilities”—was finally proving useful.

You took another long sip of wine and hastily drafted a cover letter, attached your resumé, and submitted them via the designated portal.

The next day, you received an email with an interview date.

A month later, you found yourself in the heart of London, ready to sign your first real contract—no matter what your parents thought on the matter.

You blinked away the sound of their voices. You wouldn’t let a few bitter scraps of lemon zest ruin what was beginning to look like a stroke of fate. Instead, you watched Mr. Webber sign the contract. With each initial written on the paper, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders.

That’s it, you thought. I have a job.

Yes, being a personal assistant wasn’t the career you had dreamt of; yes, you were overqualified—but it was still a job. And a well-paid one. Probably better than a quarter of your former classmates now working as marketing consultants.

Mark Webber capped his pen and smiled at you.

“Well then, welcome aboard.”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh of pure relief that shook your shoulders as you tucked the signed contract back into the folder.

Webber rummaged through the chaos on his desk and pulled from its depths a rectangular white box, which he slid across to you. A brand-new iPhone 14.

“Here’s your work phone. I’ve already inserted the SIM card. I don’t know if you’ve worked with this kind of setup before, but it’s a bit different from a regular iPhone—more secure, more restricted. Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part: HR should send you an email within the next couple of days with information you need to have, including Oscar’s number.”

“Of course.”

“You’ll meet him soon enough. I’d like the two of you to feel comfortable around each other as soon as possible. It’s his first season as a full-time driver and his first time working with a personal assistant. I want everything to go smoothly.”

“Naturally.”

Mark Webber sank back into his chair, eyes fixed on you. You held his gaze. He smiled.

“I’ve got a good feeling about you. I had it the moment I saw your CV.”

“I won’t let you down,” you promised.

Just like Mark—who had insisted you call him that—had said, the meeting with Oscar came swiftly. An email arrived in your inbox four days after your interviews, listing a time and an address.

Six days later, as winter tightened its grip on England with sharp winds and grey skies, you wandered through the deserted streets of Hertford for several minutes before stumbling upon a building that looked quintessentially British—red brick walls, single-hung white windows—the kind your grandparents had once lived in. It was unremarkable, to the point that you wondered if you had typed in the wrong address in Maps. Didn’t Formula 1 drivers earn outrageous salaries?

A gust of wind stung your cheeks. You pulled your coat tighter around you and pressed the doorbell labeled “O. Piastri.” The ink on the name was nearly washed away, chased by the rain and all the other pleasantries of English weather. Mother Nature herself seemed determined to guard his anonymity.

“You can come up. Third floor, last door on the left.”

Mark’s voice crackled through the intercom, as though his client had no voice of his own. Your mind wandered: would he sound the same, or had his years in England worn away his accent, like the ink on his doorbell?

Apartment 3B’s door appeared sooner than you expected, leaving you no time to steel yourself. This was a decisive moment. If Oscar Piastri didn’t like you—if he deemed you unfit for any reason—they would terminate your probationary period, and you would be cast back into the labyrinth of professional limbo.

I just need him to like me. Simple enough, right?

As you adjusted the collar of your sweater, the door opened to reveal Mark. He greeted you with a nod and stepped aside. You didn’t spare a glance for the apartment. Instead, your eyes fell immediately on the young man seated at the table. Your gazes locked.

You gulped.

You had read Oscar Piastri’s Wikipedia page, of course. Before you became an assistant, you had been a student, and if there was one thing you had mastered during that time, it was research. You had stuck only to the facts, never clicking on the suggested videos or press interviews—resolute in forming your own impression.

“Hello. I’m Y/N, pleased to meet you.”

“Oscar.”

Your handshake offered little reassurance, nor did the driver’s impassive expression. You swallowed again and instinctively hugged your notebook to your chest before taking a seat opposite him.

You listened half-heartedly as Mark launched into a stream of benign, reassuring remarks—an overview of your role you had already read over multiple times. Realizing you wouldn’t need to speak, you let yourself drift from the monologue and instead studied the boy you would be working for, scanning his impassive face for any hint on your potential dynamic.

Like many, you had seen The Devil Wears Prada, and while you were aware you weren’t going to work for Vogue, Formula 1 seemed every bit as cutthroat as the fashion world—catfights and sabotage didn’t seem far-fetched in a microcosm so thoroughly built by and for men.

“So, that’s everything,” Mark concluded. “Any questions?”

Oscar shook his head. You mirrored the gesture.

You both shook hands again, before you left Hertford with a new file in your handbag and a knot in your stomach.

December faded; January dawned, bringing with it a new year and its obligations. You moved to Hertford, into a small townhouse not far from Oscar’s apartment, though you never found the courage to cross the neighborhood that separated you.

Instead, you improvised a home office on your dining table, where you set up your laptop and phone—devices you would stare at for hours, waiting for the screen to light up, though it never did despite the messages you had sent Oscar.

Would you like me to order a coffee for your video call with Zak Brown?

Do you need anything specific before your trip to Monaco?

When are you planning to leave for Australia? I’ll book the tickets.

You always left your ringer on, even through the night. Just in case he calls, you told yourself. But it never came. No calls. No messages. No requests. Just silence—heavy—and that infuriating “seen” icon.

At least Mark had the decency to keep you in the loop regarding Oscar’s upcoming obligations. The driver himself had all but vanished. His absence brewed a storm of emotions in you.

First doubt. Then anger.

Did Oscar think you incompetent? Did he consider himself above you?

You lasted a week before you snapped. One week of avoidance. One week of “seen.” One week of voicemails.

You retreated from your desk to your bed, turned off your ringer, and replaced calls and messages with emails—though those, too, went unanswered.

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > To: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: London–Australia Flight / Dec 14, 10:30

Dear Oscar,

Please find attached your outbound ticket to Melbourne, departing from London Gatwick on Dec 14 at 10:30 AM. A taxi has been booked to pick you up at 7:00 AM.

Let me know your preferred return date, and I’ll handle the booking promptly.

P.S. Don’t forget your Zoom meeting with Mr. Ellis Woodward from McLaren HR on Dec 18 at 9:30 AM London time (6:30 PM Melbourne time). Here's once again the link: https://zoom.us/j/814553

Wishing you happy holidays.

Kind regards, Y/N L/N y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com

[Attachment: Flight_OPiastri_LGWMEL_1412.pdf]

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > To: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: Offlane B.V. Meeting

Oscar,

Offlane would like to schedule a video call to discuss your website’s new branding. Mark emphasized that it should be handled before the New Year. Please let me know your availability.

Attached are the proposed designs for your review.

Regards,

Y/N L/N y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com

[Attachment: OSCARPIASTRI_FINAL_1224.zip]

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > To: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: Schedule & Meeting Change / Dec 30–Jan 5

Please find attached your schedule for the week. I’ve managed to free up Dec 31 to Jan 2.

Note that your meeting with Thomas Rogers from McLaren’s comms department has been moved from 7:30 PM to 8:30 PM (Melbourne time).

Y/N L/N y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com

[Attachment: Schedule_OP_06120125.pdf]

“I don’t understand why you hired me if Oscar flat-out refuses my help," you said one day, matter-of-factly. “He won’t even answer my emails.”

On your MacBook screen, Mark sighed. The sound crackled harshly in your ears. You grimaced, but quickly composed yourself, afraid he’d take the gesture personally, before turning the volume down and glancing around.

You had chosen this café for its peace. The barista was humming a familiar tune as he prepared lattes, and the only other customer was far too engrossed in her novel to care about you.

You found comfort in this silence. It was unlike the one at home—less oppressive, more soothing.

Your latte, sweetened with vanilla syrup, was going cold. Yet even masked by sugar, you couldn’t get rid of the bitterness that had seeped into all your meals.

Lately, the lemons life gave you were either underripe or rotten. Oscar Piastri had spoiled the lemonade recipe you had spent years perfecting. You had forgotten its tangy sweetness and were now biting into the bitter rind of failure.

“Oscar is... a guarded young man,” Mark replied after a suffocating pause. “That mess with Alpine and his contract didn’t help. From his perspective, you could betray him just like they did. McLaren are the only one he trusts right now. I think that’s why he’s counting on their PR assistant for now.”

You frowned. The statement stung more than you cared to admit. Mark must have sensed it, because he quickly added: “But don’t worry—I’ll speak to him. Things will improve. Whether he likes it or not, he needs an assistant. I’ve made that clear. Everything’s about to speed up come late January, and I want him focused on racing.”

“Then why didn’t you ask McLaren to hire someone if he trusts them so much?” you asked, your tongue thick with resentment.

“Because a contract is just that. A contract. It expires and no one knows what tomorrow will bring. I want him to trust someone outside of that system. And if that means we pay your salary ourselves, so be it. It’s worth it. Loyalty is rare in this sport. I want to give it a chance to bloom without any influence.”

You nodded, but a lump had settled in your throat. Guilt. On your parents’ advice, you had begun quietly looking for other jobs.

You can’t go on like this, they’d told you. You deserve respect. And painful as it was to admit—they were right.

“I understand,” you finally said. “And I understand his trust issues. God knows I’ve been betrayed more than once during internships. I don’t blame him for that. But I’d appreciate it if he at least acknowledged my emails.”

“I’ll speak to him,” Mark repeated. “In the meantime, keep doing your job. I see every email you send, and I want to commend you—not just for your efficiency and initiative, but for your professionalism despite Oscar’s behaviour. Your efforts are not in vain.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you simply nodded. It was hard to accept praise when the one person you were meant to work for gave you no recognition at all.

“I have to go. McLaren call in five minutes. Keep it up—I’ll handle Oscar.”

Your tired and discouraged face stared back at you on the black screen. You sighed, took a sip of cold coffee, and began typing a new email.

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > To: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: Quad Lock

Oscar,

As Mark and your new McLaren PR assistant may have informed you, Quad Lock (an Australian brand for sports phone mounts) is interested in sponsoring you in 2023.

They’re only available on Thursday, January 16 at 10:30 AM, but you’re scheduled for a padel session then. Would you prefer I reschedule, or can you make yourself available?

Y/N L/N y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com

That evening, you nearly choked on your red wine when your phone buzzed. You immediately recognized the sound—your inbox—and tapped the notification with a trembling finger.

"What the fuck?"

From: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > To: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: RE: Quad Lock

Jan 16 works. Cancel padel.

Oscar

You ended up staring at the screen for far too long. Since when did a simple email affect you so deeply? You had studied at Harvard, for God’s sake. Interned at prestigious firms. Yet here you were—shaken by a curt reply from a bull-headed driver.

If your parents could see you now, they’d sigh.

You typed a reply, erased it, retyped the same one, changed a word, fixed a typo, then—uncertain—rewrote it altogether.

Then deleted it again.

And finally typed: “Thanks, I’ll inform them.”

You tossed your phone across the bed and drained your wine in one big gulp.

You didn’t know what to make of the sudden shift, but one thing was certain: you could count on Mark. And there was nothing more reassuring than not feeling alone in your corner.

You longed for the sense of excitement that had animated you when you had signed your contract in this very office, just a few weeks ago. The golden plaque on the door still bore Mark’s name but it no longer gleamed as it had that first day. It appeared dull now—faded, even.

He had summoned you to discuss Oscar’s upcoming first days with McLaren, and the logistical arrangements it would require.

Upon your arrival, the secretary had promptly informed you that the Australian would be running late. Something about a meeting “too important to be cut short.”

So, you had sat down in one of the waiting room chairs and begun flipping through your notebook to review the brief Mark had sent two days prior. But muffled voices soon broke your concentration.

You looked up. The office door stood slightly ajar.

You immediately recognized Mark’s voice. Another, deeper and more assertive, kept interrupting him.

Oscar.

Eyes wide, you gently closed your notebook and placed it on the seat beside you before moving closer to the door.

“This can’t go on,” said Mark. “Besides your blatant lack of professionalism, you're making things harder for yourself on purpose.”

“I don’t need an assistant.”

They’re talking about me, you realized.

You swallowed hard and leaned in.

“And I’m telling you that you do. You’re stepping into the big leagues, Oscar. That means four times the responsibilities, four times the meetings. Your little Google Calendar might’ve worked in F2 and in 2022, but that’s no longer the case. You need someone.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

“I’m here to help you negotiate contracts, not book your flights or your hair appointments. I have enough on my plate as it is, and you do too. You’re literally starting at McLaren in two weeks!”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But why Y/N?”

 “Why not?”

“I’ve read her r��sumé. She doesn’t belong here,” he spat.

You recoiled. The words stung, not just because of what he said, but how he said it. You had expected indifference from Oscar, but never cruelty.

“You can complain all you want,” Mark replied coolly. “It won’t change a damn thing. She is your assistant—and given the excellent work she’s done despite your shitty attitude, she will remain as such. So get used to seeing her around.”

“Whatever,” Oscar muttered.

Silence followed, then soft but steady footsteps.

Your stomach twisted. You scrambled back to your seat, notebook now trembling in your damp hands. Your heartbeat was so loud you could feel it pounding in your temples.

Oscar soon appeared in the doorway. His dark eyes immediately found yours. You froze, gaze fixed on a blurry sentence, your heart in your throat.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stop. His stare scorched the right side of your face. Your cheeks burned—whether from fury or adrenaline, you couldn’t say. Perhaps both.

After what felt like an eternity, the driver turned and walked away. Without a word. As always.

He didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face, you thought.

Something inside you cracked at that realization—the last stronghold of patience, the final tower of understanding.

Rage surged through your veins and turned your chest into a battlefield. Amid the carnage, a voice pierced your armour. You looked up and saw Mark, one hand on the door handle.

“Are you coming?”

You followed him into the office mechanically, sat down in the leather chair, opened your notebook, nodded silently at every sentence he spoke, scribbled down notes you knew you would never read, and asked no questions.

More than once, Mark raised an eyebrow at your uncharacteristic silence, but you deliberately ignored his questioning glances.

Gone was the eager assistant, determined to prove herself, always anticipating her client’s needs. In her place sat a woman with furrowed brows and brisk, sharp movements—hardened by a fresh wave of anger.

One of the first management courses you had taken at Harvard had introduced the idea of professional archetypes. Who was motivated by emotion? Rewards? Everyone prided themselves for their individuality, their uniqueness, but, at the end, we all fell a category. And you knew you thrived for acknowledgment—something Oscar had never given you. Not once.

And that hurt.

So no, you didn’t feel guilty for not listening during the meeting. Mark continued with his verbose explanations, but you knew the spiel…

Oscar’s debut at McLaren was fast approaching. It would be a critical moment—for him, for Mark, for you.

And yet, despite knowing all that, you couldn’t bring herself to care.

She doesn’t belong here.

At the memory of those words, you tightened your grip on your pen.

“Y/N,” Mark said eventually, his tone tentative. “About Oscar… I think we’re finally getting somewhere.”

You stifled a bitter laugh and nodded. He eventually dismissed you, realizing you had nothing further to say, and you didn’t hesitate to walk out—slamming the door behind you, decorum be damned.

Once home, you glanced at your makeshift desk on the dining table, then at your work phone—silent, as always.

That was the final straw—the dark screen.

On impulse, you reached out to your cousin, a doctor.

One of your professors had once spoken at length about the value of networking and connections. You finally understood the importance of those when, thirty minutes later, a five-day medical leave form landed in your inbox.

You forwarded it to Mark, turned off your phone, and threw it into a drawer.

If Oscar didn’t need you, then he could handle his McLaren debut on his own.

During the first two days, you didn’t leave your bed. You stayed under the covers and ignored the world outside—though the latter seemed determined not to ignore you. Your parents kept sending you links to job offers, and Mark had started calling your personal number.

On the third day, someone knocked.

Oscar.

The moment you saw him standing there, you didn’t think—you tried to slam the door in his face. But the driver was faster—damn reflexes—and caught it with one hand.

“We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Please.”

That one word made you falter.

“I know you took medical leave,” he continued. “Mark told me. I also know you’re not really sick and it’s because of me.”

That caught your attention. Oscar took advantage of the hesitation and slipped through the gap. You protested, pushed against his chest to get him out, but you were no match to his strength.

Soon, Oscar Piastri was standing in your apartment.

The sight was so surreal you blinked, convinced you were hallucinating. But no, he was real and had just turned your worst nightmare into reality.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said. “I was an asshole.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms.

“Understatement of the fucking year.”

Oscar took your hand and held it in his.

Your eyes widened.

“I thought I didn’t need an assistant, but I was wrong.”

You rolled your eyes before pulling away.

“Oh, right. So what? You had some epiphany while I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

“I missed three meetings with McLaren and was late to two others because I didn’t get your reminder emails.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Mark didn’t send anything?”

It was surprising, given how insistent he’d been about professionalism before Oscar’s debut.

“He said it was to ‘help me realize how much I fucked up.’”

You stifled a smile as a warm wave washed over you—part pride, part relief. Mark had stood up for you. Your heart felt just a little lighter.

You looked up at Oscar.

But then a memory—sharp and cold—soured the moment.

“You said I didn’t belong there,” you whispered.

You hated yourself for voicing it, for letting the insecurity slip through. The same one your parents had spent years nurturing.

A heavy silence followed.

“You heard us,” he simply said. “Mark and me. The other day.”

It wasn’t a question, so you didn’t answer. Oscar ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“You don’t belong here. That’s true.”

You opened your mouth in disbelief.

“Did you read your résumé?” he went on, undeterred.

“What kind of stupid question is–”

“Because I did,” he cut you off. “And you’re overqualified. You graduated from Harvard, for fuck’s sake! You deserve so much more than being my personal assistant.”

For the first time, you were speechless.

“But I guess I’m selfish,” he sighed. “I still think you deserve better, but now that I know how much I need you, I don’t want you to leave.”

He stepped closer.

“So please, forgive me. I’ll give you a raise—just name your price. But don’t quit.”

You hesitated, frozen in the middle of your living room, facing a visibly nervous Oscar. Were you making a mistake? Giving in too easily? What if this was just a momentary change of heart? What if, in three weeks’ time, everything went back to how it was?

As if reading your thoughts, Oscar took another step and rushed to reassure you.

“I’ll try harder. I’ll communicate better. I’ll learn to trust you.”

“And reply to my emails?”

He smiled, and the sight of those bunny teeth softened something in your chest.

“That too.”

You had come to love this job in the past weeks. It quenched your thirst of order and precision. And, Oscar aside, it was relatively simple.

The salary didn’t hurt either.

“You have no self-respect, woman,” you muttered under your breath before taking a deep breath and speaking aloud. “Fine.”

You said it quickly, as if speaking too slowly would give regret the time to catch up.

Maybe forgiving him wasn’t the best decision. Maybe your first impression hadn’t been good either.

Maybe you had both made mistakes.

“What?”

“I said, fine.”

Oscar looked as though he wanted to hug you—you saw it in the way his muscles tensed—but he thought better of it and rested a hand on your shoulder instead.

“Thank you.”

Yoy offered him a small smile and straightened up. Oscar’s hand fell back to his side.

“Well… Let’s start over, shall we?”

You held out a hand.

“Hello, I’m Y/N. I’ll be your personal assistant. If you need anything, I’m here.”

Oscar took it and gave it a gentle shake.

“Hi, I’m Oscar and I won’t screw up this time.”

Woking was a rather dreary town, you concluded as you watched its brick buildings pass by through the window of Oscar’s car. A typical English town, with uniform neighbourhoods and a colour palette of browns and whites.

“Feeling nervous?” you asked, glancing at Oscar’s hands, clenched so tightly around the steering wheel they were turning white.

“Yes."

“Good. It would’ve been strange if you weren’t. It means you care.“"”

He sighed and turned down the radio.

“Mark warned me they’d drown me with information. I’m worried I won’t remember anything and that I’ll come across as a rookie.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Just try to remember the essentials, and I’ll take care of the rest,” you replied, giving your black notebook a shake.

The movement caught Oscar’s attention, and he glanced away from the road for a second. He hummed in acknowledgment, and silence settled once again over the car.

There remained in your interactions traces of your chaotic beginnings. The team-building week Mark had forced you into, squeezed into the slim window of time leading up to today, had helped, but one didn’t simply erase a month of mutual silence with the wave of a wand.

Both of you had promised Oscar’s manager to try. You had sealed the pact without hesitation—anything was preferable to playing yet another damned escape room.

Oscar eventually gestured toward the notebook with a nod.

“You’ll need an orange one.”

You clutched it to your chest with a grimace. Loose pages and stray Post-its crinkled against your wool winter coat. It was an organized chaos of contracts and printed emails—a reflection of the turbulent start to Oscar’s F1 career, and their own beginnings.

“It’s not even full yet! And I don’t like orange.”

“A sticker, then.”

You pursed your lips.

“I suppose. But only if I get to pick the design.”

‘It has to be related to the team or me, though.”

“It is related to you. It contains your entire life for the next eight months.”

Oscar cut the conversation short when he took a sharp turn.

“Look—we’re here.”

You blinked at the building.

What kind of Avengers shit is this?

The building looked like it had been plucked straight from the future and placed with uncanny precision beside the lake. Everything about it exuded innovation and ambition—the kind of place you had imagined yourself working for after graduating.

Today, you were entering it as a mere personal assistant.

A part of you felt bitter at the thought, but you quickly buried the feeling when Oscar opened his door and offered you a hand.

Mark was already waiting at the entrance, flanked by a man you recognized as Zak Brown, and another with tanned skin and graying hair.

“Andrea Stella, the team principal,” Oscar murmured in your ear, seeing your confused expression.

Zak and Andrea greeted you politely—nothing more—before turning their full attention to Oscar. Mark, on the other hand, walked over to you with a sly smile on his thin lips.

“You managed the drive without killing each other? I’m impressed.”

As if he hadn’t just forced the two of you into a three-hour tug-of-war last Wednesday…

You all entered the building together. You were left speechless by the modern architecture and followed the group of men on autopilot. Very quickly, Oscar began meeting the team—one person after another. The receptionists. The mechanics. The engineers. The technicians. The designers. You jotted down as much as you could in your little notebook, but even you soon felt overwhelmed, your wrist aching.

“Of course you know Cecilia, your PR assistant,” announced Zak Brown as they entered the office area.

That was enough to catch your attention. You snapped your head up so fast your neck cracked. You couldn’t help narrowing your eyes, givng a once-over to the woman who’d had such a good job back in November. Beside you, Mark stifled a laugh.

“Careful—you almost look jealous.”

“I don’t care.”

But you couldn’t hide your satisfied smile as you observed the interaction between the two—cordial and awkward.

Take that, Cecilia.

“Ah!” Zak exclaimed. “Just the man we were looking for! Lando, come meet your new teammate.”

You rose onto your toes to catch sight of the newcomer.

Of course, you knew who Lando Norris was. A McLaren driver since 2019 and now Oscar’s teammate. Nothing more—just the essentials. That was enough. Memorizing the information Mark and Oscar fed you already took up a quarter of your time; you didn’t have room for another driver.

He shook hands with everyone with the ease of someone familiar in his environment. There was no hesitation in his movements, just a quiet confidence.

“Nice to meet you, Oscar.”

“Likewise.”

The Australian stepped aside, revealing you behind him. Your eyes met. Lando’s widened.

“And this is—”

But before Oscar could introduce you, Lando stumbled and fell at your feet.

You blinked. Then rushed to help him. Your knees hit the smooth floor, but you had no time to feel the pain; your hand quickly found the Brit’s shoulder.

“My God! Are you alright?”

Lando sprang back up and recoiled from your touch as though burned, his face flushed crimson.

“Y-yes,” he stammered, eyes fixed on the floor.

He mumbled words you didn’t catch—something about an engineer and a meeting—then spun around and disappeared down the corridor.

You blinked once, twice, then shook your head and hurried to rejoin the group for the rest of the tour, which lasted another two long hours.

“Lando…” you began once you and Oscar were back in the car.

“What about him?”

“He’s a bit… odd, don’t you think?”

Oscar shot you a quick glance before focusing back on the road. Already, the McLaren Technology Centre was nothing more than a vague grey blur in the rearview mirror. The engine roared, churning your stomach—or perhaps that was the regret creeping onto your tongue.

You and Oscar weren’t yet close enough for you to speak so freely. What would he think of you, openly criticizing his future teammate?

“I suppose,” he admitted, to your utmost relief. “I haven’t really had the chance to talk with him yet. We’re planning to meet up before the first tests. He mentioned something about padel.”

You pulled your notebook from your bag and uncapped your fountain pen, glad for the change in topic.

“Do you already have a date in mind?”

Oscar rolled his eyes.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Sweet vengeance. // Gwayne Hightower x Cole!Reader (sister of Criston Cole)

Summary: After the encounter with Criston Cole, they return to the keep after successfully defending the territory, almost as if the gods were calling out for him to seek revenge; he ends up bumping into you.

WARNINGS: smut, mdni, porn with plot (a little bit too much plot ig), unprotected p in v sex, slight breeding kink, cunnilingus, oral (f. receiving) interrupted orgasm at the end, cumming inside, Gwayne is an absolute asshole to Criston, purity culture, virginity loss, profanity, age gap (left it up interpretation, but the reader is in her 20s and Gwayne in his 40s), doesn't follow the show plot it's a literal fic which I altered heavily + not proofread.

WC: 2.7k

A/N: here comes the promised gwayne x cole!reader fic, I've teased it ever since that confrontation episode dropped and now finally I'm able to publish it 😭 // divider credits: @cafekitsune

Gwayne walked through the corridors furiously, stomping his feet inside the red keep, departing to his guest chambers in a hurried manner, trying to stay calm.

He just returned from the battle, successfully defeating the invasion of the blacks into King's Landing, securing the land for themselves as Aemond ruled as Prince regent. However, there was only one thing on his mind.

His sister's tainted honour.

Amidst everything, he had gotten Criston to confess and admit that he was sleeping with the Queen, he was disgusted by the revelation. Wasn't Criston a kingsguard? Vowing to not seek pleasures or taint his cloak?

He felt sick in the stomach, wanting to empty it out, regardless of the fact that there is nothing inside.

His feet tapped against the stone floor harshly, his armour clanking with every step forward, he took a harsh turn at the end of the path only for his body to hit something that came from the opposite direction, causing him to stumble two steps backward. He took a moment to collect himself and straighten his posture, wanting to see what it was that he bumped into.

He looked down, shocked to see you on the ground. You broke the impact of the fall with your hands, which proved to be a bad idea considering how the force made them give up immediately, crashing your butt onto the ground. “Ouch.” You clenched your eyes shut as a burning sensation spread through your buttox.

You glared at the reason for your fall, eyes widening on the realisation that it was Ser Gwayne Hightower. “Seven hells, I apologise my lady, are you alright?” Gwayne is quick to apologise, extending his out, waiting for you to grab it and get up.

You gently place your hand in his, his palm closing immediately as he grips onto you while you get off the ground. “Ser Gwayne, I apologise, it was me who was at fault.” You bow, dusting off your gown with one of your hands.

“If it is not rude, might I ask who you are? I have not ever seen you around before, yet you seem to know me.” He speaks politely, giving you a small smile and you nod. “I am Y/N Cole, I know you very well Ser, your knighthood isn't unheard of.” You praise him.

“Y/N Cole… ? Are you related to Ser Criston Cole perhaps?” He questions, furrowing his eyebrows as his grip tightens around your hand. “Yes Ser Gwayne, He is my elder brother.” You reply.

Gwayne was not aware that Criston had a sister.

He took in your form, eyes trailing down from your face to your neck, to your breasts and further downwards, analysing you quite intently, “Mhm, I did not know he had a sister.” Gwayne shrugs, still not letting go of your hand. “He is quite overprotective, so he doesn't mention my existence to his peers.” You admit embarrassedly, looking down and biting your lip. He stared at you for a moment too long, the like of dots being connected as his mind sketches out a plan of action. His expression almost betrayed him as his face bloomed into a wide smile.

Oh you sweet little thing.

He could not believe that Criston had a younger sister. It's almost as if the Gods are etching him on to trudge this path, but he was not going to complain. It felt like he won a war when he realised this fact.

He can use you against Criston.

Perhaps he will make Criston feel the same thing he felt.

He smiles widely at you, bringing your hand upwards and pressing his lips to your knuckles. You blush at this gesture and give him a soft smile in return. “If you may excuse me, I have to take my leave, my lady. I've returned from war and my state.. is well.” He looks at himself and you chuckle, “It is alright.” You reply and he smiles. “Let's go on a stroll next time, yeah?” He speaks in a questioning manner, your eyes widen at the offer but you nod immediately.

Those walks became more frequent as you both enjoyed each other's company quite a lot. Gwayne found you much more bearable than criston, he's aware of the fact that he is an elitist. Holding himself at great stature as he comes from the Hightower family. So any other house that is not in power or he hasn't heard of; he acts like an ass to them.

But he found himself being lenient on you, perhaps to butter you up for the feast he's planning to have. His thoughts have been a mess for the past few days. He at first began to plan on how to execute the plan and take your maidenhead and let the keep hear it. But the ratio of the execution and sexual part became heavily unequal as he wanted to indulge fully in you.

You were beautiful, your skin was pretty, the way your hair was styled, exposing your neck from behind. He wanted to bend you over the ledge and fuck you. You would be so confused he assumes.

Have you had your first orgasm? Did you ever touch yourself?

You were from Dorne so you must know of the deprived acts right? But he notes how young you are, likely spending your entire life here in Kings Landing with Cole.

It was one of those usual garden walks you went on with Gwayne, walking in silence as you both had nothing to talk about, this was no means foreign to you, there would always be silence sometimes during your walks; but this time it felt tense.

Like the feeling of a volcano before it erupts.

You both were standing over the parapet of the backside in the keep, noticing how the waters flowed gently. You felt him move, standing right behind you, pressing himself against you.

“My lady.” He whispers in your ear and you turn your head slightly, not reacting in any way, “H-hmm?” You reply in nervousness his hands moved up your sides in a sensual manner. You stood there frozen.

He grabs you by your shoulder and spins you around so that you're facing, placing his hands on both the sides of your frame; preventing any escape. “Are you promised to any man yet? Your beauty is otherworldly.” He asks, his eyes staring right into you, his voice was sweet yet held a hint of his perverse desire for you.

You shake your head no.

“Such a pity.” He mocks, one of his hands coming to grip your cheek. He pauses for a moment, staring at your lips before looking into your eyes waiting for you to say something; yet you remain quiet as your heart beats loudly in your chest.

He takes it as a cue to press his lips against yours closing his eyes; fully indulging himself onto you as he groans at how soft your lips feel, his own move against yours in a soft manner, a gentle pull of a wave.

It was your first kiss, never having done this with anyone before, it felt odd; but in a good way, his lips felt soft against yours, he waited for you to reciprocate— giving you all the time you needed to process this.

One of his hands rested on your hips, using it as leverage to pull you closer, pressing your bodies together while the other positioned itself against the back of your head pulling you deeper into the kiss.

You responded a while later, learning through the process, moving your lips in a rhythmic motion with his, he muttered something against your lips which you weren't able to process as your mind was hazy. Something about this kiss was shooting immense pleasure down your body; increasing the heat between your legs.

He pulls away from the kiss to take a breath while staring at your lips, noticing the string of saliva that was still connecting you both. He hums before capturing your lips once again but with even more fervour this time. He pushes back until your butt hits the ledge before he places you on it, not breaking the kiss at all.

He plants himself between your legs as his hands roam around all over your body in desperation, sometimes gripping your waist or your soft breasts, squeezing your flesh as he grips onto you tightly.

He breaks the kiss abruptly before he suddenly kneels, you look at him confused until you notice that he's hiking your skirts up, revealing your intimate area. “Ser, this might be inappropriate—” You try to protest but not knowing what to expect, but circles his arms around your thighs pulling you close as he disappears before your legs.

You watch curiously when you feel his warm breath on your cunt. You shriek in surprise when you feel his tongue run across your fdd before he fully takes in your cunt.

You squirm uncontrollably as he works his wonders on your cunt; causing you to grip his hair tightly and push yourself further into his face, you let out small moans, hoping that no one would pass by this area and catch you both in this compromised position.

You place your other hand on the ledge to support yourself from falling before closing your eyes and fully enjoying what he's doing to you. His tongue laps hungrily at your folds, licking them up and down before he suckles on your clit harshly, flicking the bud with his tongue before capturing it wholly again with his mouth.

He groans into your cunt, enthralled by the sensation of having your soft folds in his mouth, he enjoyed it way too much than he'd like to admit, wanting to be forever stuck in between your legs.

You feel a sudden heat building up in your abdomen as he continues his actions, “U-uhm Ser Gwayne— I think something is happening.” You tell him unsure which makes him speed up his movements.

Without warning, you're hit with a plethora of euphoria, your back automatically arching and your voice letting out a loud moan as the feeling hits you in waves. He suckles on your cunt for a minute to let you ride out your orgasm before coming out your skirt.

You feel your cheeks heat up when you see how his lips were coated with your wetness which makes you look away in shyness, he gets back up on his feet before grabbing your chin and tilting your head slightly to make you look at him.

He doesn't say anything but only stares at you as he slowly connects both your lips once again, making you take your own essence. He grinds against you, pressing his now hard bulge in between your thighs as he dry humps you.

He tears away from the kiss with a wet pop, not wasting any time in undoing his breeches, revealing his cock to you, your eyes widened at the sheer size and girth of it. “I-i don't think it will fit?” You stare at him which makes him smirk a little, “It will my lady, I shall see it does.” He replies before bunches up your skirt, making your cunt come into view.

He slowly lines himself against your entrance, his tip kissing the entryway gently as he slowly closes in, pushing it inch by inch. He places his hand on both your sides as you grip him for support, the stretch stinging a little bit.

It takes a while but he's fully inside now, and slowly he begins to move, he grabs a hold of your waist with one of his hands so you don't fall over the edge, he pushes your body against his, making it so as if you're hugging him.

You wrap your arms around his neck tightly as he rams into you, thrusting in and out; causing you to bounce along with him, he grunts into your ear, whispering sweet things.

“Seven hells, you feel so divine.” He whispers against your ear, causing you to clench involuntarily; which makes him gasp in shock, “Jeez—” He drops his head onto your shoulder, now fully gripping you by his arms around your waist as he rams further and further into you. “Fuck, I'm about to finish— should I do it inside you? Fill you up with my seed huh? Make you carry my babes?” He groans, the idea of you being pregnant with his children driving him insane, it would always be a good way to get back at Criston.

You feel him hitting your sweet spot inside you, prodding it with his tip every thrust. His pace falters as he reaches his end, with a final thrust— he finishes with a loud moan of your name as he pulls back and recaptures your lips, kissing you with even more hunger.

He keeps thrusting, wanting you go finish as well, you were about to; almost reaching the breaking point— “What in the seven fucking hells is going on here?!” The shout of a familiar voice makes you snap out of the trance, Gwayne halts and you both immediately look to the place of origin.

It was your brother, Criston.

His expression contained that of both anger and shock, Gwanye quickly pulls himself out of you and puts his breeches back on and you get off the ledge and pull your skirts down and pat the wrinkles down.

“B-brother I— I can explain, it was me—” You begin, “Be quiet, Y/N.” He grits his teeth, cutting you off from speaking as his eyes shoot daggers into Gwayne, whose face is now bearing a smug expression.

“You fucking bastard!” Criston yells before he reaches over and grabs Gwayne, throwing him to the ground before punching his face. Gwayne dodges it, holding his hands down. “It is not so nice when you discover that someone has been fucking your sister, is it?” Gwayne remarks which angers Criston further.

A group of guards rush over putting an end to this fight, pulling the two men apart as you stand there in shock, shaking as if you were scared of both the men.

The next thing you know, You, Gwayne, Criston were all standing before the dowager queen as she looked at you all three in questioning ways. “What has happened?” She directs her question to Gwayne who raises an eyebrow.

Gwayne doesn't answer, “This b- Lord Gwayne was—” Criston swallows as he looks at you, “He was caught in a compromising position with my sister.” He blurts out, “And what was the compromising position that made you raise your hand on my brother, Ser Cole? They could have just been together—” Alicent wanders off.

“He was fucking my sister.” Criston grits his teeth, spitting the words out like venom, causing Alicent to cut herself off. She goes silent as she looks over at her brother, “Is this true?” She asks and Gwayne nods, “Yes my Queen, how can a man hold himself back at the sight of such a maiden? Besides, she wasn't opposed to the idea.” Gwayne speaks out, his words angering Criston ever more.

“Y-yes your grace, I wasn't opposed to it.” You jump in defending Gwayne which makes me smile at you, making Criston look at you in disbelief.

“My Queen, he has tainted her, he has ruined her, who will marry her now?” Criston brings up a valid point which makes the Queen get lost in thought, you put your head down, ashamed of it.

“I shall, I will marry her.” Gwayne volunteers which makes everyone look at him in shock. He only offers a smile.

He wasn't doing it out of kindness or anything, he knew that by marrying you, Criston will experience the same torment and anguish Gwayne felt when he discovered the truth of Criston and Alicent, except it will be a hundred times worse because Criston has no way to avenge himself, for he cannot marry Alicent.

He'll have to suffer, watch his little sister marry Gwayne, become his wife and a mother of his children, every step will be a stab in a vital organ to Criston.

Was Gwayne going a bit too far? Perhaps, yet it didn't matter, for the situation only benefits him. Not only will Criston be tormented by this relationship but he will have you as his pretty wife whom he can fuck and ruin all he wants.

Gwayne is a selfish man.

— ! ��݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[penny-anna]

G1 megops wedding episode

Exterior: Autobot base

Megatron: Autobots! lay down your weapons. I didn't come here to fight.

Optimus: then what do you want, Megatron?

Megatron: I grow weary of this war. I propose a truce - in accordance with the ancient laws of Cybertron.

*Autobots all gasp*

Spike: what does that mean?

Bumblebee: under the ancient law, a war can be conclusively ended by the leaders of the opposing sides getting married

Spike: oh wow!

Prowl: Optimus, don't listen to him, this is very obviously a trap

Optimus: you're probably right, Prowl, but if there's even the slightest chance of ending this ceaseless war, I must take it.

Optimus: very well, Megatron! I accept.

Interior: Decepticon base

(Megatron is being pinned into a bridal gown by the Constructicons)

Megatron: excellent. everything is going according to my plan. as soon as Optimus and I are wed, we will attack the Autobots. in accordance with the ancient law they will be unwilling to attack their leader's husband so I will defeat them easily. and then I will rule the universe!

Starscream: you know, Megatron, as your maid of honour, I think roses would be a more elegant choice for the bouquet than lillies

Megatron: we're planning an ambush, Starscream, I don't care about the flowers

Starscream: look I just think if we're going to do this we should do it properly

Starscream: and can I just say, as your maid of honour, you have a lot of cheek wearing white!

Interior: Autobot medbay

Optimus: Ratchet, I need to talk to you about the wedding

Ratchet: oh it's about time. Optimus I trust your judgement and all but this whole thing is completely -

Optimus: will you be my best man

Ratchet:

Ratchet, audibly choked up: it would be my honour

Exterior: blasted wilderness

(The wedding party is assembled. Optimus Prime is wearing a tuxedo jacket and bowtie and is standing with his best man and 2 of his groomsmen) (Jazz & Prowl, also wearing bowties)

(Rumble is coming down the aisle. he is the flower girl and he is taking his job very seriously. both the Autobot and Decepticon sides are getting pelted aggressively with flowers)

Sparkplug Witwicky: remind me again why I'm officiating?

Ratchet: well you're a neutral party

Sparkplug: ah this is all pretty weird

Jazz: I wonder where Bumblebee and Spike are? they wouldn't want to miss the ceremony

(Soundwave begins blasting an approximation of the wedding march as Megatron walks down the aisle with his maid of honour (Starscream) and bridesmaids (Skywarp & Thundercracker)

Sparkplug: uh okay. dearly beloved -

Megatron: you don't have to do the whole preamble, human. Ravage! the rings!!

(Ravage comes over with the rings in his mouth)

Megatron: now, with this ring I thee -

(Bumblebee comes racing over to the wedding party. Spike leaps out)

Spike: stop, stop!

Bumblebee: we object!

Spike: you can't go ahead with the wedding! Megatron is already married, and we can prove it!

Megatron:

Optimus:

Ratchet:

Megatron: Starscream you told me you got the divorce finalised

Starscream: I thought you were doing that. weren't you doing that?

Megatron: how are you this incompetent

Rumble: wait so does this mean we aren't ambushing the Autobots

Megatron:

Rumble: well are we?

Optimus:

Megatron: oh let's just skip it all - Decepticons, attack!

Interior: Autobot headquarters

(The humans are eating wedding cake)

Spike: well at least we got cake?

Bumblebee: yeah this could have gone worse

Carly: I thought it was a lovely ceremony up until all the violence

Jazz: at least this way you don't have to spend the rest of your life married to that bum Megatron. right, Optimus?

(Optimus is looking sadly at his wedding ring)

Optimus: yes. that's right.

(roll credits)

[lilaccmilk]

synopsis: what happens when the most powerful and feared leader, who’s known to be a lycan, visits your village, he finds himself drawn to you, the chief’s daughter. In exchange for your tribe’s protection, he seeks something far more personal—your hand in marriage.

a/n: i apologise in advance for any inaccuracies, i tried my best. plus i didn’t really expect that this would get so long.

wc: 1.3k words

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Being the strongest and the most feared leader amongst all the other tribes, had everything he needed— power, riches, respect and what not. Everything except one– a mate. And he never really put an effort to find her. Busy between winning wars and handling his tribe after his father had followed his mother into Valhalla, leaving behind a young boy to lead the tribe. But now as he drew into his late twenties, his closest friend and second in command—Ragnar suggested he should find his mate.

That was months ago, he still hadn’t ventured to find his mate. But he did have to travel to different tribes, or invite different leaders for political discussions, which usually consisted of them asking for protection from him, in return they’d give harvests, gold, fur coats, clothing. It was a fine cycle.

Right now was such another time, he found himself in a small village that settled on the banks of a dominant river. The village was beautiful, it looked like it belonged in the mystical stories his mother used to tell him when he was a child. It was almost the most beautiful thing he had seen. Almost. Until his eyes laid upon you. You seemed to embody the essence of those ancient tales—radiant and pure, as if touched by the gods themselves.

You were a healer in your village, using both herbs and magic to heal. But today the whole village was on their toes, after all the strongest leader among all tribes was visiting your village. In exchange for his protection, your village had prepared gifts for him— herbs, weapons, harvest. And on top of it all, there was supposed to be a huge feast tonight to honour him.

You had heard rumours and stories of him, how he was the strongest warrior, ruthless, most feared and a lycan. Him being a lycan was partly the reason as to why he was feared, why people always wanted to stay on the good side of him. A few tribes who had dared challenge him were quickly defeated by him.

You were by the riverside, gathering some plants that grew there for the feast tonight. You hadn’t expected him and a few members of his tribe to arrive so soon. Moreover, you hadn’t expected him to look so…..majestic. Yes, majestic was a word that could be used to describe him, despite the scar that was running across his eye. A sleek line, probably from a battle he was in, only added to his charm. When he talked to your village chief, you could see his teeth, his canines a bit pointed. His eyes were fierce. You found yourself growing shy and quickly looked away. You finished gathering the herbs and walked away.

He could feel your eyes on him, it gave his inner beast a sense of satisfaction, subconsciously he puffed out his chest, his beast growling in pride, happy to be the subject of your attention. He quickly greeted the elders of your village and the chief, growing a bit impatient, he wanted to talk to you, after what felt like an eternity, the endless exchange of pleasantries was finally over. They suggested they’d show the place where him and his men would stay for the night, but he sent Ragnar, he looked to where you were, but you were already gone. He growled in annoyance.

It was a council meet where him and his men along with the village chief and elder council were gathered to establish the conditions of the pact. All members of your village were gathered around. His eyes endlessly searched the crowd around him until they landed on you. He smirked, and whilst they offered the gifts, he interrupted the chief, ”I don’t want all that” his voice cut through the room like ice, your chief’s eyes widened, but before the chief could speak, he continued, “I want her to be my bride, to come along with me to my village as my mate.” His finger was pointed towards you. Gasps rung through the crowd, murmurs of approvals were heard. But you, it felt like you had fallen into a frozen lake in the middle of winter. But just as soon as that coldness drowsed you, warmth enveloped you when you saw his eyes soften.

He could see Ragnar smile? smirk? He couldn’t pay attention to his friend’s reaction, not when your lips parted so prettily in shock, he had this immense urge to kiss you, take your lips between his teeth, taste you. But not yet, soon.

The chief spoke up, almost relieved that the pact was still being formed, although the exchange a bit different, “Yes. Of course. She will be your bride. Come forth child.” the chief signalled you to move closer. Ever since your parents gave you away left you on the banks of the river, the chief and his wife, unable to have children of their own had taken you in. They’d always treated you like you were their own blood. Perhaps it was true, blood may run thicker than water, but the blood of the covenant was stronger than the water of the womb.

So you did as he said, coming closer to the council table. Your chief was standing with him. As you reached the man you called father all these years, you felt a weird sense of satisfaction as you looked at the man standing next to him. He took your hand and placed it into your future groom’s. He declared your betrothal to him.

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After the council meet, he had to begrudgingly let go of your hand to discuss some political matters. You hadn’t dare look into his eyes the entire time your hand was in his. As he sat down to discuss, you quickly bid your goodbye to him and your father and went to the kitchens to assist your friends in supper.

The entire time they giggled and teased you for being the first one of them all to get betrothed. You had a smile in your face as you thought back to it. It was scary too, because of the rumours. But you didn’t let them get to your head, you’d get to know the man by yourself.

After the you all were done cooking the feast, you went to wear some presentable clothes. You braided your hair in a pretty hairstyle, subconsciously trying to look prettier, ‘not like it is for him’ you muttered to yourself.

You all were gathered together, the lavish feast laid out on the huge table surrounded with chair. Two large chairs sat at head of the table. One for the village chief and one for him.

You looked around to see if he and his men had arrived. You didn’t see him anywhere so you thought you’d sit with your friends, but before you could turn around, you felt a hard chest press into your back, you were going to push them back but then you heard the voice, “Hello my love, I believe a proper conversation between us is due, is it not?” his voice rumbled and you felt yourself growing hot. “I believe so.” you replied. He hummed in satisfaction as you exchanged your names. He asked about you, the things you liked, the things you didn’t like. Then it was time for the feast to start, you started going to take your place, but you were stopped by his hand curling around your wrist. “You are not straying far from me, my mate.” And that was how you found yourself on his lap the entire evening, you could feel his chest pressing into your back with every movement he made. The night passed like a blur. You couldn’t get enough sleep the entire night.

The morning came with a promise of your new life. You bid goodbye to your loved ones, he helped you get onto his horse and sat behind you, taking the reins and caging you in between his strong arms. He nuzzled his nose into your neck and placed a chaste kiss in the junction of your neck and shoulder. The journey would take two days. You would rest at someplace in makeshift tents for a night. You both got to know each other, he told you about his tribe, his parents and what did ‘mates’ mean.

It was a pleasant journey. As you reached his tribe, the people welcomed you with utmost kindness, care and respect. They held a feast. You had a good feeling about this all, your new life, with a man who has sworn to protect you with his life, the man who claimed you the second he saw you.

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if you guys like this, i’m thinking of turning this into like a mini series or something. lemme know! id love to hear your thoughts and inputs.

stay hydrated <3

[hoshinasblade]

second best |1| hoshina soshiro

PART 1 | PART 2 | BONUS: PART THREE

DISCLAIMER: this fic has a detail that hasn't been mentioned in the anime yet. it isn't a big give-away but if you are sensitive about that kind of thing, please do not proceed. pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: slight angst, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, a bit of that miscommunication trope snippet: hoshina soshiro always ranks second at everything in his life. god forbid he falls behind in the bid for your heart too. word count: 3K trigger warnings: author's note: this fic has two parts - part 2 will be posted a week from today :) likes, replies, and reblogs are always appreciated but please do not repost or steal my writings. this is quite long, but i gotta make you guys work for it. i have also set up a taglist for the second part and the other fics or drabbles, please sign up if you wanna be tagged! as always, feel free to let me know what you think or give me a prompt by sending me an ask here!

hoshina soshiro can claim with extreme conviction that he rarely regrets the decisions he has made so far in his life.

from the time he has set his sights on taking the aptitude exam necessary to be recruited in the anti-kaiju defense force, to following captain ashiro mina to support her as the vice-captain of the third division, to religiously adhering to his daily routine of working out even during his off days so he can stay in peak condition - everything he's done is driven by soshiro's lone motivation: to rise and come on top.  

unfortunately, as he sees you walking in the hallway of the training building with his brother, soshiro realises that this is one of those rare occurrences where he hopes he gets a do-over.

it was barely 6 in the afternoon so there was still light from outside; the rays of the setting sun penetrating the transparent windowpanes cast an orange glow to the furniture in soshiro's office. it made him remember how he used to always be assigned as the student to clean the classroom back in junior high school: he would sweep first then rearrange the chairs before closing the windows and drawing down the curtains. he would rush up to the rooftop, in time to watch the sun dip below the horizon. he would stay for a few precious minutes, dreaming of a chance to get out of their town. he was fifteen then.

soshiro shook his head a bit. he decided that today - of all days - will not be when he will have a trip down memory lane. yes, despite the number of times he would get reminded of his past today, he refuses to get sidetracked.

the floor is eerily silent, save for the momentary opening and closing of doors; soshiro is aware that almost everyone has left, flocking to the local izakaya not too far from the base to celebrate. he had half the mind to prompt himself to hurry up in order to make it to the get-together on time. the long and gruelling application process took three months before the vetting could begin, but finally, the third division of japan anti-kaiju defense force honoured its new officers that morning. as the nominated head of the selection committee, he oversaw the entire thing, and at the end, he could not help but to feel confident that their force would become stronger from here - this year their roster of applicants boasts high-profile names like that of the very daughter of jakdf's director general and the young master of the prestigious izumo family.

okonogi, sitting in front of him at his office, was sorting the personal forms of the recruits, a big stapler in her right hand. "i can take care of this, vice-captain", she said to him, "they cannot miss you there."

soshiro smupled to his swivel chair, obviously fatigued by the task he and okonogi had been trying to finish for half an hour already. fighting and defeating kaiju is the main part of the job, but handling the paperwork proves to be as challenging. "right, make sure the headquarters get this by the morning along with the report of all their numbers -" the sound of footsteps nearby interrupted soshiro's train of thought.

there were three loud knocks and the door opened, a man with the same eyes as soshiro peeping inside. even okonogi glanced over her shoulder to identify who the intruder is. soshiro stood up.

"just wanted ta drop by before i head back ta himeji", hoshina soichiro's undeniable accent dripped. spotting the huge pile of forms littering the desk, he commented, "seems like ya are a little preoccupied though."

"hoshina fuku taichou, good evening." your voice was firm yet jovial as you greeted him, the kansai inflection rolling off your tongue. you appeared beside soshiro's brother, still wearing the same standard-issue uniform you wore during the event several hours ago when you were sworn in as a new defense force officer. the outfit is snug on you - soshiro had noticed at the ceremony earlier, but up close the top looked almost skintight, the skirt coming up a little above your knees. soshiro can be a high-ranking official within the force, but he is also a man. if only briefly, he stared. "aren't ya going ta the party?"

taken aback that you would drop by his office, it was out of his mouth too fast he couldn't stop it - "how about ya? what are you still doing here with him?" soshiro responded pointedly at you, throwing you the same query but not answering what you asked him. it was too late to take it back; he sounded like he was interrogating you about your presence with the captain of the sixth division. soichiro winced; soshiro pretended not to see. "i- i was just thinking ya went with the officers on the way there", he added, calmer this time.

"oh, i was just catching up with hoshina-kun", you replied without missing a beat. soshiro doesn't know if the accidental force in his question just seconds prior did not intimidate you at all or you simply ignored his tone. "i mean with soichiro-kun. considering ya are hoshina too", you chuckled. soshiro stole a glance at the man at your side while maintaining an empty expression. he found his brother smirking at him; soshiro willed himself not to picture soichiro as an ugly kaiju with a butt for a face.

okonogi who is now attentively eavesdropping on your conversation caught your attention. "pardon for the bother, hoshina-san. we'll be off now."

for an instant, it looked like you were waiting for soshiro to say something in response. to say what, he doesn't know. the eye contact between you and him held up for a moment but broke as quick as it began. tension prickled in the air briefly then ebbed as you turned away from soshiro. "i'll see ya at the party, vice-captain", you gave him a bow before exiting the room. soshiro wanted to stop you; he didn't.

soichiro sighed. "it was nice seeing ya, 'lil bro", he addressed soshiro, his hand patting the latter's shoulder once, twice. "i have paperwork ta worry about too so as much as i'd like to, i won't be able ta attend your division's party. just in case ya want ta know." soshiro didn't look like he had a crumb of interest to know about his brother's occupational responsibilities; he shrugged soichiro's hand off.

soshiro saw you standing outside, leaning on the wall, when he ushered his brother out. "i'll be driving her to the izakaya though", soichiro informed him. "ya should visit our folks when ya have the time. ya should come home sometimes", soichiro continued, a hint of concern evident in his voice. when soshiro did not respond, surprisingly the older hoshina did not look a tiny bit disappointed. instead, soichiro put on a charming smile and waved at okonogi. "okonogi-chan, see ya around!" he tossed a playful wink at her.

soshiro merely watched as you and soichiro walked together, your pace matching his. a few meters away, he saw you listening intently to something soichiro was saying - he is too close - and although he is not within earshot to hear what is being said anymore, he knows it is another one of his brother's bad jokes. it looks like you were trying to suppress it, but a smile was about to dawn on your lips. soshiro felt sick to his stomach all of a sudden.

the party was already in full swing when soshiro arrived - everyone is hungrily feasting on the expensive wagyu beef, drinks flowing endlessly from the bar. everyone is enjoying themselves; even captain ashiro mina can be seen having small talk with the newly sworn-in officers who were eagerly taking notes from her.

you had easily made friends with the other rookies who are now sitting next to you; it was thanks to your group that this event was planned - after enduring long sessions of strenuous physical training every day of every week, you all deserved a night of everyone just gathering to have a good time. soshiro seems to be exempt from the festive atmosphere though.

he picked the seat next to his captain, who greeted him with a curt nod. he proceeded to grab the mug of beer served to him; the first sip registered a sharp bitterness through his mouth but soshiro relished on the flavor as it overtook his senses.

"everything alright?" captain ashiro from his side asked without lifting her gaze from her own drink. "you are being -" she paused, carefully searching to find the right words, “uncharacteristically quiet.”

soshiro picked the glass of beer again, and when he was about to put the lid on his lips, he could sense someone’s intense stare locked on him. years of being the vice-captain gifted him with equal parts instinct and paranoia so he could not help but scan the room, only to find you, sitting across the room, watching him with a curious expression.

a rowdy group of rookies surrounds you; they are high-fiving each other, laughing at their silly pranks, not minding that all of you are squeezed together at a crowded circle. soft music in the background swelled as everyone cheered and clinked glasses.

soshiro's eyes remained fixed on yours, lasting for what he felt like forever. the buzz of chatter dulled to a distant hum, fading into an almost white noise. his heart raced as he felt his breath catch and his mouth go dry. the corner of your lips curved into a smile and maybe it is the alcohol in his system, but he is certain his cheeks are flushed now.

"huh", captain ashiro lowly exclaimed. soshiro quickly snapped a glance at her. "you talked to her yet?" she asked him. ah, she caught his little moment with you.

soshiro was on the verge of playing it cool and putting on an act; he was about to outright lie to his captain by saying "talk to who?" as if he had no idea what she was referring to. he settled with silence. he was grateful his non-response only earned him a sigh from the captain who did not press the topic any further.

 "to you newbies, congratulations!" captain ashiro raised her glass, still half-filled with alcohol. her voice rang out over the place, everyone's conversations immediately falling quiet. "may the third division always be victorious in our battles to come", she recapped her speech.

the party showed no signs of slowing down. hibino kafka, a recruit in his thirties has been the centre of intrigue that has spanned for weeks now. hibino ossan - as what the others nicknamed him - had revealed in a bathroom conversation with other male rookies that he grew up with captain ashiro. ashiro mina likes dried squid; ashiro mina used to raise pets in grade school - everyone consumed any and every tidbit of trivia hibino disclosed about the usually stoic and serious third division commander. soshiro was among those invested in the rumor and you knew why. for a while, you also wondered how he would react once the rest of the troops learned about your own past with their vice-captain. would he deny it? or would he brush off any potential gossip that may arise from the revelation? if everyone discovered your shared history with hoshina soshiro, would it make him want to reconnect with you?

“you lot will start duty monday next week, but tomorrow will just be another workday for vice-captain hoshina and i”, captain ashiro said, having stood up from her seat, preparing to take off. “no, you can stay”, she said to some of the newbies who have started to get up too.

“nah, captain, why don’t we bring them along to help us file all the tedious paperwork?”, soshiro interjected in his familiar upbeat tone. the crew bursted into snickers; captain ashiro gave soshiro a perplexed look, obviously puzzled about the sudden shift in his mood. testing her theory, she looked at your direction.

captain ashiro couldn't make out why, but you were giggling at whatever your seatmate had said, elegant hand covering your mouth, eyes crinkled. she understood soshiro then - she was not foreign to feeling uneasy inside when she sees someone so physically near someone she cares about after all. "let's go, hoshina", she tucked her pity for the vice-captain away.

"do you guys think they are dating?" a particularly tactless rookie sitting at your table had asked immediately after captain ashiro and hoshina were out the sliding doors.

"i bet they're not", you blurted out a little too soon, a little too sure. you did not mind clipping your accent, your kansai-ben thick and heavy. your fellow officers looked at you, expecting an explanation for your outburst. "i mean -" you stuttered, "that would be awkward, i guess."

"you know to think of it, you're from himeji too, right?" a few more recruits have started to listen in on the exchange. these people can smell the truth off me, you thought. you wanted to smack yourself in the face.

"we went ta the same high school together, that's all", you admitted, feeling backed in a corner. tomorrow when you get questioned for this imprudent behavior, you can probably blame it all on the alcohol. "and grade school", you continued, loose-lipped now.

you still liked wearing pink bows in your hair when you met him. an only child of kind parents, you never experienced having to ask for something you like; you were doted on and spoiled so you were reasonably upset when a young hoshina soshiro did not give you the time of his day. your family has just moved to hyogo shortly before that, and you were anxious to make friends; since your early age, you had made it your mission to make soshiro acknowledge you.

"you dun wanna play with me, because ya are stupid", you told soshiro-kun once. "oka-san said all boys are stupid", you had the nerve to elaborate after he pouted at you, his unkempt bangs sticking on his sweaty forehead, his clothes dirty from training all day.

"yer pretty", he responded and you felt the blush crept up on your cheeks. "pretty annoying."

"come on, spill some tea!" someone's palm connected with the table, jolting you out of your trance. "we have another hibino-senpai situation on our hands!" they declared, grabbing you by the arm and shaking you a bit. if it was meant to encourage you to tell more childhood tales between you and the vice-captain, it worked really, really well.

"he's always had that haircut even as a kid", you said, misinterpreting the kind of story your companions wanted you to tell, judging by their disappointed looks. “i- i don’t know what else to tell you guys”, you held up your hand in surrender.

“do you have a crush on him?” you choked on your drink, caught off guard.

vexed at his absent-mindedness, soshiro was walking back to the izakaya place alone when he heard the commotion. he is going straight to bed once he gets back to the base, but he would have to retrieve his uniform jacket first from his seat earlier.

“you totally do, don’t you!” it stopped sounding like a question and more of an accusation you could not deny. “you like hoshina-san!”

“i -i do, yes... but what of it, huh?" he couldn’t see you but he would recognize the soft timbre of your voice anywhere. soshiro felt like a victorian gentleman getting a glimpse of a woman’s ankle for the first time listening in on the uproar of cheers after your confession.

“the three of us attended the same high school, soichiro-kun was a grade ahead”, you said. soshiro froze. you are talking about his brother. “he has always been good at everything, t'was hard not ta like him.”

soshiro closed his eyes, attempting to steady his breathing. he always had his suspicions - for the ceremony earlier his brother even took a day off his busy schedule as the commander of the sixth division to attend as a guest. he should have known.

last year, soshiro’s squad fought a lizard-type kaiju with a fortitude of above 8. like the reptile, a cut made on any of its limbs was useless due to advanced regeneration. a fractured rib, extremely bruised arms, and a dislocated shoulder were what it costed soshiro to win against the monster. his bitterness threatening to consume him, he cannot believe that you confirming his worst fears would hurt more than that fatal experience.

of course, he said to himself. it’s not like he can fault you for liking soichiro - everyone did. as the firstborn son, their father always had favored him. soichiro has been the more skilled swordsman between them; he was the golden child, charismatic and talented with an effortless charm - like moths to a flame he would attract people, and even in his silence he would overshadow soshiro.

soshiro didn’t stand a chance against his own flesh and blood.

he was a teenager when he dreamed of running away from the constant but inevitable competition he had with his brother. scouted for the third division, he relished on the freedom. but how do you escape the reality of the one you love loving the one person you could never measure up to?

[frillydolle]

isolated doe ୨୧◞　 ──　 𝓐𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓾𝓻 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓷

synopsis: after ur horse bucks u off after a fright and ur now left stranded alone in the forest across roanoke valley. unsure of what to do, u settle down for the night before hearing some heavy footsteps... and u froze.

tags ͡˚̣̣̣𓎟𓎟　 naive femreader, mid to low honour, dated and typical period idealogy　 a.m ౨ৎ ⋆ ｡ ˚

chapter 2

u weren't sure what to do anymore, completely lost since ur home was in the middle of literally nowhere. u were out on ur horse, hazel going on another simple ride through the beautiful scenery that roanoke ridge had to offer. a pretty view within a prettier country. only for something to scare ur horse, causing u to be bucked off before hazel ran far away and u sighed softly. what can u do now? it's not like u can just walk home as u were maybe a few miles away? just a guess…

u were walking aimlessly in the woods by now, not even sure where u are or what u should do, especially since the sun was beginner to disappear. there were little rips below ur dress due to the branches attaching themselves to the fabric, and ur shirt was following that same fate. the only hope u hoped for is that nature would be kind to u and kept the hungry animals away. soon, u felt ur legs beginning to get tired with each step u took.

u gave up, accepting defeat as u settle down in the clearing of a forest, the wooden pricks pressing against ur back uncomfortably but there's nothing u can do now, until the morning came and you could walk some more. luckily, it wasn't too cold, but u did feel the breeze of the night air. u didn't like how eerily quiet it was either or if u just couldn't hear anything or.. anyone for miles, u were in the middle of nowhere after all.

but then, u heard a twig snap, like it broke under someone's heavy footstep and caused u to be alert. although u couldn't see anything in the darkness, something in ur gut was telling u there was someone here, someone horrible. u didn't move, like a deer in headlights. being struck with fear, ur breathing quicken slightly as ur eyes fell onto a tall figure coming towards u. ur lips quivered with fear as u did ur best to get up on ur feet before tripping over a branch, causing u to go back to where u started, on the ground.

“woah there, i ain't gonna harm ya..”

ur soft but scared gaze remained up at him as u backed up to another tree. u didn't even talk back in case he was one of those bad men u have heard about, the murfree brothers?... or something like that? u weren't too sure. since it was only a glance that u would take to the posters on ur travels through annesburg.. they were some scary men in this world, and he looked like he was one of them. or were u wrong?

to him, it was maybe wrong to think of u like this in this moment since u were absolutely terrified of him, but u were a very pretty girl. ur face remained him of those porcelain dolls he saw by the window of shops in the big city of saint denis, with those big eyes and rosey cheeks. ur hair looked soft as silk, just what he'd do to comb his thick fingers through ur hair just once.

“...are ye lost? i could help ya, if ye let me, that is.”

should u talk? or should u get up and run away as fast as u possibly could? despite feeling the tiredness that already runs through ur body. u needed to rest, and u were at least smart enough to know there was no way that u could outrun this man. he looked like he was a traveller of sorts, a hunter, perhaps? either way, u knew he wasn't the type to be easily fooled. he seemed nice enough, but u just weren't too sure about what to make of him.

“... my horse bucked me off, somethin’ scared my girl and she ran off, leavin’ me… could you give me a ride home? please, sir?” u didn't consider urself a religious girl, but u prayed and prayed mentally that he'd help u, although something in ur gut was telling u that u should run—

“‘course. i don't mind, miss. d'ya need help up?” he says, the gruff in his voice showing through before he gives u his hand. he must be a hard-working man, callous and hardness make their appearance on his hands as u look at them for a second.

u hesitantly took a hold and he pulled u up to ur feet, a small sigh left ur lips, glad that he had the kindness in his heart to help a girl like u out, despite how scary the outside was during nightfall.

“do you know where reed cottage is? near the valley?”

“yes i think i do, miss. ‘nd don't worry, yer okay.” he replied before u felt his hand rest on the small of ur back, guiding u back to the clearing of the main road and u see a beautiful brown horse, big and brooding.

“she's a stern girl but yer alrigh’.” the older man added with w chickle before he helped u up onto his horse. he hitched up no long after. with a small “hyah” the horse began to trot along the road, and ur arms rested around his torso as u didn't want to fall off, either.

u were quiet, he wasn't much of a talker either and that u didn't mind, just didn't expect to see anyone out at this time of night. although, u couldn't but shake the feeling that u should say something, break the silence between u two, but u were too nervous. u didn't want to anger him, and he tells u to leave him alone. u were just a skittish and shy girl. been on ur own for as long as u can remember. now, ur staring, and u didn't mean to. it was a habit of urs. his hair was long, and he had a big stature to match his broad shoulders, like he was swiftly shielding u away. he was wearing dark gloves that matched his dark hat.

“y'got a name, miss?”

“... [name].”

“a pretty name for a pretty girl, suits ya.” he replies, looking over his shoulder for a moment just so u can hear him better, and u did.

did he… give u a compliment? u weren't even sure how to react before ur rosey cheeks got more of a red hue to them. shaking urself out of ur thoughts, u hesitantly spoke back.

“what's ur name, sir?”

he didn't say anything for a few moments, like he was now the one hesitating. do u know who he is? there's no way that u do since he hasn't done anything illegal here, yet. he should be okay, right? only one way to find out…

“... arthur. arthur morgan.” he replies as he returns his gaze back to the road. and to his fortunate luck, u had no idea who he was, and he was determined to keep it that way. he didn't want u to find out… all that.

“thank you for your help.. um, mr morgan.”

“‘s nothin’. just doin’ what any other man would do.”

[frost-queen]

To have all of you (Reader x Benedict Bridgerton)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers,  @alex--awesome--22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis

Benedict sighed deep. Having only entered the ballroom for a few seconds now. Swallowing nervously when a group of ladies eyed him. Giggling and snickering charmingly to try and win him over to their side. – “Good God.” – Benedict sighed out, letting his head fall back. – “They hunt in packs now.” – he mumbled underneath his breath. Feeling a presence near him, made him look up. Eyes widening at his mother. – “Benedict would you…” – she began as he already knew what she was going to ask. – “Let Colin fetch you a lemonade, sure.” – he finished turning the tide on her question.

“What?” – Colin answered confused, having only caught his name. Benedict slipped away before his mother could grab for his arm. Chuckling loud. – “Ben… Benedict.” – Violet wanted to shout out, but had to compose herself in front of the ton. She sighed deep, turning her posture to Colin. Smiling at her son with a hidden agenda. – “What?” – Colin repeated, far away from understanding what was happening. Violet locked her arm with him. – “You’ll dance with your mother right?” – she asked letting her hand brush up his arm.

Colin finally understood the sudden haste of his brother. Wanting to escape a dance with his mother. Benedict moved swiftly through the crowd, creating a large distance between him and his mother. He loved her dearly, but forced to dance with her was just a bit too much. His gaze fell on a figure, making him smile instantly. Seeing her stand a bit lost between the crowd.

Hands fidgeting, standing slightly on the tips of her toes. Clearly searching for someone till her gaze found what she had been looking for. A smile curling up at him. Benedict made his way over, gently moving a lord out of the way that was just about to step backwards. – “The highlight of my evening.” – Benedict called out opening his arms to you. – “Stop it.” – you responded teasingly, pushing his arms back down. Benedict smiled sheepishly coming to stand with you.

“Avoiding your mama?” – you asked quirking your eyebrow up. Benedict turned shockingly back at you, keeping a hand on his chest. It didn’t take him long to start laughing. His gaze drifted a bit away, seeing a group of three ladies eye him. Whisper to each other and actually get in motion towards him. Benedict swallowed, grabbing you firmly by the shoulders. Moving you in front of him.

“Benedict?” – you let out confused. He simply shushed you, shoving you forwards. You let him shove you forwards, seeing the three ladies in front of you. – “Are you using me as a human shield?” – you shout-whispered to him. – “Yes now hush before I get snatched.” – he answered, giving you a harder shove to break through the ladies. Making them part. – “Sorry ladies, I am already promised to dance.” – he told them whilst passing them. Hinting at you.

The ladies turned on their heel, watching him leave with you. Crossing their arms in defeat. Out of sight, you came to a stop. Turning around as he bumped against you. – “Is that so, then you must honour your words.” – you let out, bringing your hand up. Dance card dangling around your wrist by a cord. Benedict narrowed his eyes a bit, grabbing your hand. Turning your palm to him. – “Is that paint on your fingers miss Y/n?” – he teased with a charming smile.

“Did your mama not teach you to wash your hands?” – he pouted his lips. Clicking his tongue with a dismissive shake of his head. – “I could say the same for you.” – you took his hand, twisting it your way. Watching him fight against the pained position you were holding it. He puffed loud, pulling his hand down. Rubbing his fingers over it to erase the chalk stains on his fingertips. Crossing your arms, you laughed him out. Benedict showing you some childish mockery.

Hearing a man clear his throat nearby, made both of you stop and stare. The man’s eyes falling on you. – “Absolutely not.” – Benedict said loud, turning you around by your shoulder. – “Her dance card is full.” – he lied, shoving you away. Glancing over his shoulder to see if he wasn’t following. Coming to another stop, he let go of you. You shoved your dance card at him once more.

“Just sign your name on it so I won’t be bothered anymore.” – you sighed out. Benedict took it, chuckling loud. – “Only by me then.” – he responded with a flashing smile. You watched him write his name numerous times till every line was filled. – “There.” – he finished, patting you against your arm. You smiled admiring your dance card. Now you only had to show your full dance card as an excuse to every eager lord.

Benedict guided you towards the drinks table. Taking one lemonade one and one alcoholic drink. Keeping the alcoholic one behind his back. Turning his posture to the crowd. You stood behind him, taking the drink, looking away and taking a sip from it. Immediately shuddering at the horrible taste as you placed it back in his hand. Benedict turned around, handing you the glass of lemonade.

“Told you, you’d hate it.” – he said. An accomplish to your scheme of sneaking in a first taste of alcohol. You drowned the horrible taste down with lemonade. He couldn’t help himself but smile. Smile fondly back at you. Smile as if his entire world was right in front of him.

You noticed the certain gleam in his eyes, furrowing your brows. – “What?” – you spoke softly. Benedict smiling shyly down. – “Nothing.” – he responded touching your chin with a smile. Gazing back into your eyes as he was reminded of the first time he ever met you.

He had just finished a lesson at the academy. Walking out, entering the hallways. Coat and sketchbook in his hand. Exhaling loud as he didn’t felt like peaking. His focus wasn’t there. Roaming the hallways, his gaze caught a glimpse of something or rather someone. Making him stop and do a double-take that his eyes were not deceiving him.

Debating for a moment whether or not he should disturb. Too curious and noisy, so he did. Pushing the door slightly more open. Watching the back of a woman in an apron. Taking her paintbrushes to wash. Smiling curiously to see a woman at a man’s academy, painting. – “Are you going to keep gawking at me or carry on with your day?” -  you said looking briefly over your shoulder. Having felt a presence enter the room.

“I…” – Benedict said, unsure what to say next. You quirked an eyebrow up to him whilst cleaning your paintbrush with a dirty cloth. Wondering when he would finish his sentence. – “I’m sorry, but is that your painting?” – he asked pointing at the one behind you. – “Yes.” – you responded. – “Do you believe a woman cannot paint?” – you then asked.

Knowing in what kind of world you found yourself. – “No… it is not that… it is just most women here are…” – he began moving a bit closer to you. – “Models?” – you finished for him. Seeing him settle with a nod. – “Well that I am not.” – you responded putting your paint brushes away. You glanced his way, wondering why he was still present. Wondering if he required anything else from you.

“Why are you not…” – he asked as you finished the answer for him before he could end his sentence. – “with the other academics?” – quirking your eyebrow up to make it obvious to him. – “I am a woman. That is why.” – you stated, throwing the dirty cloth in your box with paint brushes. Benedict nodded understandably.

That was the moment that intrigued Benedict about you. That is what made your friendship grow and settle for something both were too afraid to say out loud.

Benedict felt good around you. Felt like he was the best of himself around you. He knew you felt it as well. Having shared many moments together. Painting next to each other. Him joining your little private room at the academy rather than join the crowed classrooms.

Share his poems with you and ask your honest opinion about them. Spend almost every moment together till you no longer could live without the other. That was until you started to get noticed by a gentleman. One who was very eager to have you as his wife. A pish-posh, Benedict would call him.

A high lord who had never did anything creative. Held no book. Held no brushes or musical instrument. A man thinking with only logic and falling for a pleasing face. There was nothing he could offer you and that he knew;

Benedict had found you once more at the academy. Being separated from you for the longest of all. As you rather spend your time with your new lord. – “Finishing up?” – Benedict asked, entering and closing the door behind him. To keep your hide-out private. – “That I am.” – you responded putting your paintbrushes away. You barely gave him any attention, continue to clean up.

Benedict moved to the front, coming to sit down on one of the two chairs on a small platform. In case you needed any models. He watched you take down your painting from the easel, setting it aside. It made him furrow his brows. – “What are you going to do with your life?” – he let out.

Wanting to know what you intended to do now that he was in your life too. You sighed loud. – “Become an ornament to society.” – you responded dropping some paintbrushes away. Benedict hummed, trying hard to hide his jealousy. – “That is where Fred Hughes comes in, I suppose.” – he answered.

“Don’t make fun of him.” – you replied. – “I said his name.” – Benedict answered slightly annoyed that it bothered you. – “You’re not engaged I hope…” – he added, not sure if he wanted to hear the outcome. – “No…” – you avoided eye contact. Benedict furrowed his brows at you, sucking in a breath as he leaned forwards in his chair.

“But you will be if he asks properly?” – he watched you look shyly away. Uncertain of your answer. – “Probably.” – you answered rather uncertain about your own answer when the time might come. Gaze meeting up with his as they rested there. A sorrowful expression on your face. Perhaps you wanted things to change, but weren’t sure if they were able too. Certainly not with the unspoken things between Benedict and you.

A loud knock on the door, broke your attention away from him. – “Oh that must be Fred.” – you said moving closer to Benedict. – “Can you unbutton me?” – asking as you turned your back to him. Benedict rose from his seat, coming to stand behind you.

Hands reaching for the top buttons of your painting apron. Moving downwards with each button unbuttoned. He stared at the back of  your head and neck. A million jealous thoughts crossing his mind. His hands lowered to the ribbon that held it all together. Taking one side between his fingers. Gently tugging at it as it came loose. Feeling the apron become loose, you glanced over your shoulder.

Opening your apron more to pull over your head. – “Thank you.” – you said stepping away from you. Benedict tugged his hands in his pocket, looking distantly away. You went to fetch your coat, putting it on. Tying the strings together.

“You look beautiful.” – Benedict said dreamingly with sorrow in his eyes. It made you pause your actions. Staring hopeful at him. Settling with a smile as you finished up. – “I will see you tomorrow.” – you let out, turning around to reach for the door knob. Hand grabbing the knob, opening the door slightly till it got shoved shut once more.

Benedict’s hand firm against the door. Standing beside you to prevent you from leaving. – “Ben!” – you called out confused. – “Don’t marry him.” – he whispered out, staring at the door. – “What?” – you said to make sure you had heard him right. He turned his head, meeting up with your gaze. Seeing how fragile they looked. – “Don’t marry him.” – he repeated.

This time loud enough for you to hear clearly. – “Benedict you cannot just…” – you started confused as to why he wasn’t letting you leave. Knowing Fred was waiting just outside that door. – “He can’t give you what you want.” – he let out keeping his hand firm on the door. – “And that is?” – quirking your eyebrow at him with a slight scowl. – “A life of arts.” – he answered. It made you scoff loud, crossing your arms.

“That is not something for you to decide for me.” – you called back, turning the door knob to open the door. Benedict startling you as he shoved the door shut once more with such force it made you gasp surprised. – “I can’t live without you!” – he shouted. – “I cannot stand it that I am about to lose you Y/n.” – his words echoing through your mind. Haunting you.

He took you firm by the arm, forcing you to look at him. – “I…I…” – he began eyes scanning your desperately. Pressing a hand against his chest. – “You have my soul and my heart. I do not wish to spend my life with anyone else but you. My heart sings but one song and that is yours.” – allowing his knuckles to brush against your cheek.

Releasing a shuddering breath from you. – “You are all I want. You are all I love, my Y/n. Please…” – his fingers resting on your chin. Pushing slightly down on your chin so that your lips parted. – “Do not marry Fred. I beg of you.” – he finished pouring his heart out to you. You could only blink startled.

Finally the silence between the two of you had been spoken out. You exhaled soft. – “That is all I ever wanted.” – you replied curling up a smile. Benedict smiled as well, cupping your cheeks as he lowered his head. Kissing your lips to have you as his.  

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Buggy D. Clown:

You Kissed the Clown? (15/15 Series)

An upper-class tinkerer finds herself amongst the crew of the Staw-Hat pirates. Falling within the blast of a giant flash of red smoke and captured with her crew in the claws of the Buggy Pirates; she is confronted by her flight, fight and freeze response. Immediately, she finds another way of distracting the infamous clown-captain: a passionate and disarming kiss. As time and distance fall between them, feelings of romance, infatuation, fascination and longing cling to the clown and the tinkerer in each other's absence. How could they feel so deeply for each other; they only shared one single kiss?

Happy Birthday, Pumpkin (one-shot)

Buggy longs to kiss you but always shies away in case his affection is not reciprocated. Finally, an opportunity presents itself for a consequence-free kiss and he can barely hold himself back in anticipation. Happy birthday!

I Can't Do This Without You (one-shot)(smut)

Buggy attempted to use some unusual, waxy pollen to form into a "buggy-ball". He was an idiot. He can't manage the consequences without his loyal and ever faithful crewmate to help him out.

A Small Kindness (Smut One-Shot)

A blue-haired man with a round red nose is down on his luck. He's lost everything, not a single berry to his name after being defeated again by the straw-hat crew. A small kindness from a stranger propels him to get back on his feet. How could he repay you? Surely you needed something in return.

Headcanons & Drabbles:

Soft-Dom BuggyBratty BuggyCross-Guild InterrogationThe Clown Apologises

Buggy x Reader x Mihawk:

Swing, Sway, Shag, Smimmy (Buggy x Reader x Mihawk) (4/4)

Buggy is infatuated with his prized acrobat. He issues a dance night-off for his pirate crew, choosing to "make a move" in the hopes of charming his beautiful acrobat under the hawk-like gaze of his guest of honour. Unbeknownst to Buggy, the feeling of infatuation is mutual regarding the acrobat. Can they learn to 'play nice' to woo the acrobat? Yes, yes they can.

Dracule Mihawk:

The Apprentice (6/7 Series)

Mihawk is a bitchy boss, the apprentice is his bratty underling. Professionalism, sword-mastery and affiliation for wine consumption drives their relationship.Mihawk pushed his apprentice a little too far, prompting her to submit a formal resignation effective immediately. Calling her bluff, he attempts to chaperone her towards a cellar door to begin an afternoon of wine-tasting, only to find absence at his side as his apprentice simply walked away from him. And he was angry about it.Ongoing series.

You Should Be Sad (Completed Series):

Upon rising to the title of Warlord and Worlds-Greatest-Swordsman, Dracule Mihawk began to neglect his fiancé and her desires. Unable to provide her with the one thing she truly longed for, he remained apathetic as she broke from their lengthy courtship.A decade later, and many a bottle of brandy relinquished, he drifts to Baratie in hopes of drowning away the memory of her: only to have his hopes shattered as the hired band begins to play with his ex-fiancé singing her vengeance at him.

Let Me Take Care of You (one-shot)

The personal assistant to Dracule Mihawk notices he is not quite acting himself: a small wince as he reaches for his breakfast wine glass, a grimace as he draws it to his lips and the narrowing of his eyes as he begins to slouch. Luckily for the both of them, the assistant has a resume of many a skill: remedial massage being the key element provided to the broody warlord. He reluctantly accepts their touch, longing for the burden to be released from his shoulders.

El Tango de Mihawk (one-shot)

A talented thief manages to obtain an invite to the marine ball and decides to utilize it as a great opportunity to steal from the wealthiest members of the world government. Mihawk immediately recognizes them and decides to toy with their scheming, tango dancing ensues.

The Marine's Mistake (request) (one-shot)

Something horrible occurred to rid the warlord of his signature facial hair. Cadets had gathered and began whispering in hushed tones as Garp held a seated meeting with the warlord at a table in a run of the mill tavern. A new transfer does not recognize the sleek cheeks of the handsome gentlemen and immediately decides to approach to flirtatiously engage him over a drink or two. Mihawk is amused.

My Love Mine All Mine (request) (one-shot)

Mihawk returns to his castle in kuraigana nine days after he was due to return. He finds his lover sleeping in his bed, face falling to rest atop his pillow. Soft drabble, pining, longing.

Hanahaki: The Hawk and the Fledgling (request) (one-shot) Part 2

Mihawk notices his Fledgling, an apprentice he took under his wing, has become lazy in their training. Upon one final vocal reprimand, they collapse; sputtering a cocktail of saliva, blood and... petals? Is that petals in their hand? Surely not.

The Spear and the Sword (request) (one shot)

Drabble Part 2

Mihawk is required by Vice-Admiral Garp to obliterate an approaching armada of barbaric pillagers from their attack on a marine base. As this army was not enough for him to handle alone, Garp calls in another warlord, a ferocious warrior-woman armed with a spear, to aid in his ability to complete this task with as much succession as possible with as little damage done to the defenseless base. Both begin their armed ascension, showcasing their abilities in contest to see how many troops they best by the end of battle, against how many injuries they themselves acquire in the thralls of combat.

Little Sparrow (one-shot: drabble)

Mihawk has been up with your daughter, soothing her as she experiences her leap weeks. You spend some moments with your husband as he holds her in his arms.

Sapsorrow: (10 Chaptered Series, Complete)

Upon receiving an invitation from the lord of Kuraigana to train his wards, you never expected your career as a governess to lead you here. As your tour of the keep was conducted, a ring was slipped onto your finger: invoking an ancient curse you truly did not understand. Setting three conditions for marriage, your newly betrothed immediately made haste to complete them with you blissfully ignorant that his life hung in the balance should be fail his task.

Macule Drihawk (drabble)

When Dracule Mihawk drinks, he becomes an entirely different person. That person's name is Macule Drihawk.

Pretty Bird (series)

Mihawk is an injured avarial trapped in his raven form while healing. You nurse him back to health, and he becomes smitten with you.

Obsession (one-shot)

Many believe Mihawk keeps the knowledge of his spouse a secret because he is a private man. Truth of it is, he is simply obsessed with you and doesn't believe any other pair of eyes is worthy of meeting their gaze with your majesty.

Happy Trail (mini fic)

Mihawk is not as well groomed as he usually keeps himself. You notice, and you can't help yourself.

My offer will stand (One-Shot)

After being reprimanded by your boss for another mismanaged and hierarchical transgression transfer, you found an unlikely hand offering you comfort in the hallway behind your superior officer's door.

Sir Crocodile:

My Favorite (Sir Crocodile x Reader)

Sir Crocodile has founded a league of highly trained assassins named "The Choirs" - all coded after the nine choirs of angelic influences. You are his favorite: his prized "Seraphim" who's ferocious brutality is only outmatched by your incredible beauty. Not truly knowing if your affection is all an act to continue being paid a wage in berry, he has not made a move of his own aside from calling upon you to sit on his knee of an evening, and have you utter praises into his ear. It is only when the two other members of the Cross-Guild begin flirting does he find his limit being tested. Will he bend, or will he break?

Sands of Time: Intentions of Series

Sir Crocodile thought he was safe from the intentions of the haunting Sapsorrow Queen. His soul has been laid claim, his time is running out. How can he have a stranger fall in love with his within the year? Would she truly take his sould should he fail?

When We Wake (one-shot)

Blissfully waking within the arms of your lover, you are both struck with the thoughts of how precious you have become to one another. Whispering confessions of adoration to one another while the other slumbers, you are both completely overcome with such deep devotion.

The Duality of Sir Crocodile (NSFW drabble)

The duality of a dominating gentleman. Spoiling and endearing, encumbering and brutal.

Warmth (One-Shot)

Sir Crocodile is out for a walk in Arabasta with his pug, and he is stopped by a curious child who desires to pet them. As you, their guardian, approaches, Sir Crocodile is intrigued by your candor.

Intimacy (NSFW One-Shot)

Sir Crocodile is patient while you take him for the first time.

Misc Multiples:

Get Well Soon (Drabble one-shot)

You're sick, and they do their best to support you through it. Zoro, Sanji, Mihawk

Please, I'll be good (one-shot)

After rescuing you in the heat of battle, he can no longer contain his desires for you. He was so good. He can keep being good if it means you'll keep kissing him.

Koby, Sanji, Corazon, Sabo, Buggy, Shachi, Ace, Penguin

How They Kiss (drabble)

Four different kisses with all of your favourites. Where would you place them in these categories?

Hallmark Piggyback (drabble)

Short piggyback on @indydonuts post about OP characters in a hallmark movie. Drabble is for Law x reader x Mihawk - amnesia trope

You're Angry at the Tall Men: Drabble (One-Shot)

He knows what he did to earn your wrath; your fury ignited in your eyes and the flames physically tangible and searing the room with your scorn. Your brow was furrowed, your lips curling into a snarl to bare your pearled teeth at him.Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Corazon, Doflamingo.

An Affectionate Embrace: Drabble (One-Shot)

It was a simple reaction, an impulse you felt organic and out of your control. Their cheek was right there, and the swell in your chest and spike of adrenaline prompted you to lunge forward and capture their cheek beneath your lips. How do they react to such a soft touch? Do they shy away, or do they respond in kind?Buggy, Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Shanks, Benn Beckman

Forehead Kisses (short drabble)

You're being a brat because they're neglecting you. Prepare to be greeted with the forehead kiss you crave from them.

Zoro, Crocodile, Kid, Killer, Beckman, Mihawk

Interrogation (crack dialogue)

Cross-Guild crack dialogue x reader

Dreaming of You (One-Shot) NSFW

They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Dracule Mihawk

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Golden Paint- Glorfindel x Reader

Summary: Glorfindel has a crush on the face painter at a summer festival in Rivendell

Word count: 1, 070

Tolkien tag: @littlemadamred

✨ Want to be tagged in my next Glorfindel fic? Click here ✨

The lid containing the golden paint truly didn’t want to budge, no matter what you did. You didn’t want the contents to fly all over the place but the festival would be starting soon and you needed to get your little stall going.

“May I help?”

You knew who the enchanting voice belonged to, and you were blushing before you even faced him.

“Yes please,” you admit defeat with a soft sigh as you hand him the small pot.

As if it were nothing, Glorfindel easily opened the container, handing it back to you with a bright smile.

“I guess you’ll have to stay around if any other colours need opening,” you gently flirt.

Your comment seems to make his bright smile shine even brighter, as he begins to assist you with unloading your many paints and brushes from your trunk.

“As long as I may have leave for an hour in the afternoon to attend the joust, I would be honoured to be your assistant for the day.”

Though you were not an elf or of Rivendell, you had met Glorfindel many times. He’d often come to the market stall your parents ran and you’d been coming to the festivals in Rivendell since you were young.

Glorfindel had seen you grow into the beautiful young lady you are, and you had held awe and attraction for him for most of your life. He always made sure to visit your stall and on quiet days you’d end up talking for hours.

Though your parents were farmers, you found yourself more drawn to the arts, which is why you’d decided to open your own stall at the summer festival this year. While most others painted on canvas or walls, you preferred the unique canvas of faces. You’d only really painted on others a handful of times, for dance performances and plays mainly, so painting at such a large festival was rather daunting. The thought of having the handsome elf near you all day, did not help to calm your nerves.

As the day went on, Glorfindel couldn’t help but stare at you as you painted. The concentration on your face when you worked and the joy in your eye when you showed your customers your art, set the elf’s heart into a rapid rhythm of both excitement and allure.

The late morning was becoming late afternoon and Glorfindel was so wrapped up in lovingly watching you, that he’d completely forgotten about the joust.

“Joust to begin in 10 minutes!” Called an announcer.

“Oh Glorfindel! You’ve been helping me all day. You’d better hurry to get a good seat,” you encouraged as you heard the announcement.

At the beginning of the day, Glorfindel had been excited for nothing but the joust, though after spending the day in your company, he began to care less and less about it.

“It seems everyone will be going,” he spoke more to himself in thought then to you, but the thought still reached your ears.

“Well it is one of the most exciting parts of the festival. I hear Lord Elronds sons will be partaking this year.”

Glorfindel knew this, in fact he had helped train them, but looking at you he couldn’t care less for the joust, he just wanted to be near you. As he saw the crowd begin to thin, he decided he’d rather stay here.

Though he’d found he’d never reacted this way before, the thought of being alone with you, made him feel giddy. It felt like his stomach was flipping with excitement at the thought.

“Yes, I hear it is to be most exciting, though there is something that troubles me greatly.”

The thought of Glorfindel being troubled made your warm smile drop. Racing to him, you instinctively put your hands in his.

“What is it?”

“Well I’ve seen most of this festival be treated to your talents, and yet I stand here as a humble assistant, with nothing to show for my great deed.”

His overly fake sigh indicated that he was teasing you, and your ever glowing smile began to grow again. His teasing was rewarded with a slap to his chest.

“You should not frighten me like that!” You laugh up at the shining elf, “if you wanted your face painted you should have asked.”

“I did not want to take away the opportunity for the rest of the festival to experience your brilliant talent.”

His compliment was followed by a gentle hand on your cheek, and you couldn’t help but blush.

“But, you will miss the joust,” you whisper shyly to him, resisting the urge to stare into his enchanting eyes.

“Yes, but I would have the company of the most beautiful woman in middle earth all to myself,” he whispered sweetly against your ear, the intimate act causing you to close your eyes, wishing to soak in as much of the closeness as you can.

Your mind seemed to be fighting an intense battle of what to make you more nervous, his words, or his action.

“Yo-you think I’m beautiful?”

It was all you could manage to say, and you couldn’t help kicking yourself that it could have been something a lot more eloquent.

“Beautiful, talented, sweet. Many a word could describe you, my lady. Please, may I have the pleasure of your company and your talented brush?”

Glorfindel had seemed to have become closer and closer to you as your mind had whirled. Not even the cheer of the excited near by crowd could pull you from his gaze.

“I would be delighted and honoured, my lord,” you sigh out dreamily.

Whether it be from your tone or your words, Glorfindel let a gentle and warm chuckle pass his sweet lips.

“Please, just call me ‘Glorfindel’, I would hate to be so formal with you.”

Glorfindel found he had to refrain from leaning down and kissing you in that moment, not wanting to startle or embarrass you. Instead he found himself walking over to your stool, your eyes following his every move.

“Now do I get to request or shall I let the artist decide?”

“How about a shining sun on the forehead of my shining warrior.”

Glorfindel tried to not let it show how much your use of the word ‘my’ affected him, as a surprising blush raised to his cheeks.

“Whatever the artist is happy to bless me with, I will take.”

[renlyslittlerose]

I know I'm late to the game, but IF EVER you're still up for a prompt, how about a royal/commoner (or jedi if gffa) with obikin?

Thanks, anon! 💗 This is more Jedi meets Jedi who doesn't KNOW it yet. Hope it still satisfies~

---

“Now, I need you to stay focused on the card.”

The Namara nodded, black eyes locked on the card held up in front of him. “It’s a—”

“Don’t tell me what it is,” Anakin said quickly. “It defeats the purpose. Just memorize it. Got it?”

The Namara nodded again. “Got it.”

Slipping the card back into the pile, Anakin began shuffling them quickly. Around them a small crowd had formed, all eyes on the preceding. Most of them were tourists from Republic planets, keen to experience what life was like on the Outer Rim, and almost all of them had more money than sense. Anakin was always more than willing to give them a ‘taste’ of what life was like out on the great frontier.

It was a time honoured tradition. Eat a bit of grilled meat from a street vendor, take in the sights of the beautiful rock canyons, get pick pocketed, and enjoy an evening beneath the stars while an eopie warbled next to your tent.

While Anakin shuffled, he focused on the purse tied to the Namara’s belt. It felt heavy when he tugged at it with his mind. Good. He’d picked the right target.

“Keep your eyes on the cards,” Anakin repeated as he slowly undid the knots with his mind, loosening it just enough that a sharp tug would bring it loose. Stopping his shuffling, Anakin closed his eyes and hovered his hand above, putting on a show for the audience. Wiggling his fingers, he lifted the card up and showed it to the Namara. “Is this your card?”

The Namara let out a laugh. “No, it’s not!”

The crowd joined in, their laughter masking the sound of the Namara’s credit purse as it slipped a little further off his belt. Smiling benignly, Anakin looked around the group. Most of them seemed caught up in the joined mockery, eyes sparkling with amusement. Anakin didn’t let it get to him, and waited for the laughter to die down before he let out a low groan.

“Oh, I forgot to say the famous incantation.” Grabbing the deck, Anakin blew on it quickly before shouting a nonsensical word. The room went silent, and with another flourish, Anakin stood up and threw the cards against the opposite wall. As the cards fell, one stuck to the wall.

“That’s my card!” the Namara yelled.

Joyful chaos erupted, shouts of excitement and laughter breaking out all around. In the cacophony, Anakin loosened the purse fully and levitated it into his waiting hand just beneath the table. Pocketing it quickly, he stood up from his chair and made his way through the crowd to collect his cards. If he left immediately it would raise suspicions, but if he stayed for too long the Namara would notice his purse was gone. It was a delicate balance - one Anakin had learned through trial and error.

Lots of error.

“Well done!” one of the observers said, his hand firm on Anakin’s shoulder.

“Yes! Very well done!” Another cried, her voice carrying through the chatter. “How did you do it?”

Pulling the card from the wall, Anakin stuffed it back in the pack before he nudged his way through the crowd. “A wizard never reveals his tricks,” Anakin said, winking at the tourist before he slipped through the open door and into the dusty streets.

Blending into the people walking through the market, Anakin weaved his way easily through the throng. The credits he stole rested heavy in his pocket, clinking together in a way that Anakin never got tired of hearing. This would get him a few good meals and help pay his rent for the month, tying him over until his next mechanics job kicked in at the end of the week.

If Watto was good on his word.

It wasn’t until Anakin was a block away from the bar that he realized he was being followed.

Little pin-pricks of curiosity skittered through the air, landing on the top of Anakin’s skull as he weaved through the swell of people. Chancing a glance behind him, Anakin couldn’t make anyone of note out in the crowd, but the feeling of curiosity continued, chasing him through the winding streets. Taking a left and then a sharp right, Anakin continued down the streets before he slipped into the alcove of a doorway.

A man in thick robes walked past.

Anakin let out a soft breath.

The man stopped.

The feeling of curiosity spiked, dancing across Anakin’s tongue. Swallowing it down, he watched as the man turned. Their eyes locked - light blue with dark.

The man clearly wasn’t from Tatooine, his skin too pale and hair too light to survive the harsh summers. The skin across his cheeks and the tip of his nose was slightly burned, with freckles dotted across in a chaotic pattern. His hair shone like copper beneath the sun that broke through the latticework above, slips of grey spreading out from his temples like tendrils of smoke. When he smiled, it was sly.

Anakin glared.

“Why are you following me?” Anakin asked sharply. He could easily exist the courtyard if he wanted to - most people didn’t stand a chance against Anakin when he truly wanted something. Hit as quick and as fast as you could, and don’t give in until they stop moving.

“Who said I was following you?” the man said.

His accent dripped of wealth and security. The man was from Coruscant - there was no mistaking it. Anakin heard it often enough from the fat cats who came down to roll in the muck now and again; to see how the poor lived when their lives of privilege became too boring.

Glaring further, Anakin shifted his weight. “Don’t play stupid with me.”

The man’s hands came out then, broad and relaxed. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You haven’t scared me.”

“Oh?”

“You’re just annoying me.”

The man smiled again. As he moved his arms back down, Anakin caught sight of a weapon against his hip - long and metallic, humming with an energy that made Anakin’s teeth ache a little. It felt both familiar and foreign. It felt dangerous.

For the first time in a long while, Anakin was unsure about his odds of winning.

“That was quiet the trick you did back there,” the man continued.

“Thanks.”

“How did you do it?”

“Just a slight of hand.”

“I wasn’t talking about your card trick.” When Anakin didn’t respond, the man continued. “Have you always been able to levitate credits from the pockets of unsuspecting tourists?”

Shrugging, Anakin glanced at the wall behind the man. It was lower than the rest of the walls in the courtyard. If he had to, Anakin could run to it and try and get over it. He might not have been as light as he was when he was twelve, but he could still be nimble when he needed to be. “Call it a natural talent.”

The man tilted his head to the side. He gave Anakin a once-over, gaze lingering on Anakin in a way that made Anakin feel at once very small, and very precious. The energies around him crackled like the embers of a fire waiting to rage.

“Natural talent,” the man repeated. Stepping forward, he stopped just a few feet from Anakin. “Is that what you call it?”

“Sure. Would you call it something different?”

The opportunity for escape was getting narrower, yet Anakin didn’t want to run or fight. Not yet. For some reason the man no longer felt dangerous. For some reason, he felt… kindred.

Their eyes locked, and when the man spoke, Anakin felt it more than he heard it. “I think I’d call it the Force,” the man said.

Suddenly it all made sense. The blade at the man’s hip, the way in which he spoke, moved, commanded yet deferred. The energy around and between and inside of them both.

“You’re a Jedi,” Anakin said.

The man bowed. “Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Anakin remained where he was, offering no such civility in response. Jedi weren’t common; in fact, many in the galaxy thought they were made up heroes in epic tales, dreamed up by the destitute and famished, who longed to be unique amongst their peers. But Anakin knew better. They existed, they loved and laughed, fought and defended. And they ignored, and looked the other way, and stayed out of places like this, away from people like him.

“What are you doing here?” Anakin asked as Obi-Wan raised his head.

Obi-Wan paused then, as if the answer to Anakin’s question remained unknown even to him, before he spoke. “For some time now - decades, in fact - I’ve felt a calling through the Force, as if someone was reaching out to me. I tried to ignore it for a time, yet it persisted, growing stronger every year until I could barely breath without feeling its ache. It felt as if I was missing something - as if there was a part of me that was taken from me, but ought not to have been.” Stepping even closer, Obi-Wan reached out and touched Anakin’s cheek. Anakin didn’t turn from him. “I finally followed that feeling, letting it tug me ever closer to the source. Until one day I ended up here.”

The vibration of Anakin’s skin made him ache, his jaw clenched tight, lungs caught against his ribs. His heart rattled in his chest, making quick pace with another’s beat. Reaching up, Anakin wrapped his hand around Obi-Wan’s wrist to feel the matching rhythm.

Anakin had been alone in the world for a long time, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, his hunger abated.

“What is your name?” Obi-Wan asked quietly.

“Anakin.”

Obi-Wan let out a soft, soulful sigh. Relief shuddered through the air, and Anakin closed his eyes, sinking into the sensation of completeness.

[beifong-brainrot]

Zuko's blue spirit persona parallels Toph's Blind Bandit/Runaway personas more than it does Katara's Painted Lady and I'm, frankly, so exhausted of hearing this comparison. Like I understand why those wires would get crossed. The Blue Spirit and the Painted Lady are both spirits in Fire Nation mythology -though the Blue Spirit seems to have some symbollic connection to the Water Tribe, (perhaps for propaganda reasons, as it appears as a villain in Love Amongst Dragons), as well as having its masks common around the Earth Kingdom to some degree, and enabled Zuko and Katara to work towards their goals in secrecy.

But that's really where their similarities end, in my eyes. Because the aforementioned goals are what sets them apart. Katara seeks to use the visage of the Painted Lady in order to help people, even if they are on the opposite side of a war. It serves as another way for Katara to connect 'across the isle'. Many have pointed out that Katara's Painted Lady parallels Aang's Kuzon, and I tend to agree.

But I want to focus on Zuko and Toph's parallels here.

The Blue Spirit was a tool for Zuko to further his own goals or support himself and Iroh. Yes, the Blue Spirit is introduced to us as Aang's rescuer, but let's remember that it was only to stop Zhao from turning Aang in, bacause Zuko has to be the one to do it in order to regain his honour.

The Blue Spirit is deeply tied, in my opinion, with self preservation, and going further, Zuko compromising his morals in order to achieve his goals. Say what you will about Zuko's morals, but he has that fixation on the concept of honour, which certain other Fire Nation citizens seem to share. He stands up to the war council when they come up with a ploy to sacrifice their soldiers, he keeps his word in the South Pole and he is explicitly presented as more honourable than Zhao.

Iroh: No, Prince Zuko. Do not taint your victory. [Turns to face Zhao. Condescending.] So this is how the great Commander Zhao acts in defeat? [Close-up of Zhao lying on the floor.] Disgraceful. [Cut back to a closer shot of Zuko and Iroh.] Even in exile, my nephew is more honorable than you.

However, as the Blue Spirit, Zuko utilises trickery and subterfuge, often attacking from the shadows when his enemies turn their back to him. His first appearance as the Blue Spirit is him literally acting against the best interest of the nation he loves.

Now, Toph's Blind Bandit is a much milder case, as it doesn't involve literal treason. However, she is, like Zuko, concealing her identity to act in ways that her background would hate her engaging in.

As Toph shed the role of the perfect lady her parents wanted her to be when she fought in the ring, so Zuko shed the role of honourable prince when he donned the blue mask.

Toph and Zuko seem to be the characters with the most rigorous roles imposed on them when they were growing up. Even Aang was afforded a little leeway with his identity as Avatar being concealed until he turned 12.

Of course, Zuko's upbringing was cruel, an abusive father moulding him into a prince of a genocidal nation. The noble, royal ideals ingrained in him were, to him, intrinsic to his naive, idealised view of the Fire Nation. Which is why he had to don the disguise of a theatre villain to commit acts that go against those ideals.

Toph, once again, was not in such horrific conditions, however, I believe a good case can be made for the awful effect her upbringing had on her. She was isolated and forced into the role of a calm, polite, obedient young lady. The persona of the Blind Bandit was the natural pendulum swing in the other direction, crafted, most likely, from watching other fighters trashtalk each other.

Some may argue that Toph didn't care for her parents' opinions as much as Zuko wanted to honour his nation, but I disagree wholeheartedly with that notion. Toph wanted her parents' approval more than anything, it's the reason she lived a double life, hiding her true desires and personality.

An interesting time for both these personas is when they're both 'on the run', Zuko hunted by the Fire Nation alongside Iroh, while Toph joins the Gaang.

The Blue Spirit becomes a bona-fide bandit, stealing to survive. And while Toph is free to be herself for a bit, eventually the Blind Bandit is rechristened into the Runaway.

This is where the Blue Spirit serves the other reason for its existence- self preservation. And that of Iroh. Similarly, Toph earns money for the Gaang's spending, albeit through scams.

Aang: [While holding up a silver piece.] So, guys. What are we gonna get with our last silver piece? Toph: [Stops walking.] We can get more money. [They both look back at her.] Right there.

However, both go astray a little, Zuko taking far more than needed, and Toph getting overly cocky with her scams. The youngins love comitting crimes ig.

I'd say that the definitive end to both these personas comes with some kind of personal reckoning.

For Toph, it's a moment of weakness, when she admits that she misses her parents, after which she asks Katara to help her pen a letter to her mother. It's an issue we've seen Toph repressing essentially since she left her family and what fueled Toph's feuds with Katara in the Chase and the Runaway. The Runaway, as much as people like to focus on Katara's 'motherly behaviours', I think it mainly portrays Toph's own struggle with her perceptions of freedom and parental or authority figures.

Now, Zuko is much more dramatic, as is often the case. The Blue Spirit's last mission is very similar to his first. A rescue mission (this time of Appa) fueled by personal gain. But this time, Zuko has uncle Iroh to ask them hard hitting questions. Zuko is going through a very hard time at that moment. As the Fire Nation fully rejected him, his life essentially became pointless, and he had no idea how to go forward.

Both Zuko and Toph have to acknowledge some hard truths, truths that had gotten attached to the very alter egos they once used for their own gain.

And once they do, they let go of their alter egos.

An additional interesting tidbit is how Zuko's mask is inspired by Nuo masks in Chinese theatre, and Toph's headband also seems to be lifted from Chinese theatre (note the characteristic 'pompoms')

[froggibus]

Hey can I request headcanons for overwatch characters and if their gf was drunk and asked them "would you still love me if I was a worm" with the overwatch men please (you don't have to do all of them but PLEASE include McCree and Reaper)

“Would You Still Love Me If I Was A Worm?” - Overwatch Boys

Includes: Cassidy, Reaper, Genji, Zenyatta, Ramattra, Hanzo, Lucio + Baptiste (w gn! reader)

Genre: fluff/kinda crack?

CW: general crack, kinda dumb tbh, suggestive in Genji and Baps, Ram is Ram (lmk if I missed anything)

been in a little bit of a writing slump but this was too good to pass up lol. I want to get a bit more writing done this week so who knows how that will go. anyway, enjoy <3 hope you like it anon!

————

Cassidy:

“what kinda question is that??”

looks at you in flabbergastation 

you pout and bat your eyes at him and of course, he breaks 

“you’re really not gonna let this go, huh? alright—of course I’d still love you, darlin’. I’d keep you in a lil jar and you could accompany me on my missions”

a jar????

now you’re the flabbergasted one 

jars don’t have air—he’s gonna let you suffocate?? 

what are you?? rainbow dash (sorry)??

somehow leads to him going out into the yard despite it being the middle of the night to try and find a worm

somehow finds one?? 

keeps it in a jar as a pet just to prove he would love you as a worm

even names it after you and pets it’s head and calls it “my wriggly little y/n”

weirdly wholesome experience would try again

Reaper

“of all the stupid shit you could have asked me…”

he says that but he’s already considering it after the question leaves your mouth 

would he love you as a worm? 

“what kind of worm”

what do you mean what kind of worm?? does it matter?? 

obviously the pink wriggly kind 

he has to ponder this 

sits in his chair stroking his chin trying to think of how you would be as a worm

“would you still be able to talk and think or would you be an actual worm”

????

“it would be me if I was a worm, Gabe”

more pondering 

“I’d love you platonically but you would probably have a short life span. I’d throw you a worm funeral.”

better than any response you could have expected but would not try again

Genji

“would we still have sex”

please hit this man

he’s joking of course—he’s not that weird 

“why would you be a worm tho”

just answer the question, Genji

green cyborg ninja dude has no idea what to answer 

will you be mad if he loves your worm self more than your current self?? would you be weird if he said he would love a wormy version of you??

“I would get myself turned into a worm too and then we could have a wormy life together and a wormy wedding and little wormy kids”

“you just want to have wormy sex” >~>

“that too”

at least he’s honest?

exactly as you expected, would not try again

Zenyatta

“a worm? like the insect?”

“yes? what other worms are there”

considers this

“is everything okay?”

poor omnic boy is so confused. are you planning on turning into a worm??? 

please reassure him it’s just a hypothetical and you’re not turning into a worm

goes on a ten minute tangent about how we are all the same in the Iris, and that he will love you no matter what form you take

honestly so wholesome + cute 

“i will care for you in this life, and the next, and all of the ones after that. even the ones where you are a worm.”

good enough would try again

Ramattra 

“No”

way to sugarcoat it, babe

it’s only when you get upset that he sighs and pulls you into his lap

“why would you ever become a worm? is someone trying to harm you? you know I would never let anyone bring harm to you.”

you try to explain that it’s just a hypothetical but he’s already going on a tangent on what he would do if you got turned into a worm

talks for five minutes alone on how he would defeat your enemies and defend your honour 

says he would “put you out of your misery”????

“you would KILL ME?!”

“as an act of honour”

babe….

0/10 would not try again

Hanzo

“why”

idk bro just answer the question 

lots of sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose

“would I also be a worm or am i still human” 

only gets more confused when you say he’d be a human and you’d be a worm

probably looks up worm life expectancy and if worms are capable of love 

“would you even know who I am if you were a worm”

has to ask a million questions before he can give his final verdict 

lets out a long sigh before looking you dead in the eyes 

“…yes”

cute in the end but would not try again 

Lucio:

“would you still love me if I turned into a frog?”

that’s not the question 

somehow it turns into a discussion on if he would eat your worm self if he was his frog self? 

he insists he wouldn’t and would let you ride on his back but you insist his frog instincts would be too strong 

“babe I’ve once seen you almost eat your own finger while eating chips”

“ok and??”

says you guys could live in a swamp together and he would protect you from evil

“I could be like your own frog superhero. I could even sing you little froggy songs”

makes up this entire life of you guys living together as a frog and a worm and him serenading you by croaking songs at night 

honestly it’s the best reaction you could have gotten, would try again

Baptiste:

“i would find you a cure and turn you back into a human”

honestly he’s very amused by this whole situation 

“but what if I want to be a worm”

“if I cure you and you want to turn back into a worm, that’s on you”

fair enough

insists he needs to ‘examine’ you so he knows you’re not turning into a worm 

makes a lot of jokes at your expense too

finally sighs and admits he would keep you in a little terrarium with all the food and nutrients you need 

“ha, so you would love me if I was a worm”

“love is a strong word”

good enough, would not try again

[hunters-vigil]

Unsettling Feeling

The Unsettling Feeling Continues

Summary: staying in Poisson, you sneak away to have a conversation with The Knave while The Traveller and Paimon are asleep.

Even with those deadly heels of hers, Arlecchino could sneak up on you and the Traveller, and scare Paimon in the process. But maybe you liked the shivers that run up your spine the moment you realised she was there?

Of course, you wouldn't tell the Traveller that. You had been travelling with them and Paimon from the start, but… something about the Knave left your mind buzzing. They probably suspected something, since you completely forgot about that slice of cake you were supposed to be eatingwhen Neuvillette asked you all to protect Furina from the Fourth Fatui Harbinger in that meeting. She even questioned if the cake wasn't to your liking, but truth be told, you were too intrigued by her to realise you had been passed a slice.

The plan originally had you, the Traveller and Paimon distract The Knave while the others tried to help Clervie. Childe may have been enough of a distraction the first time, giving you three enough harbinger gossip to last a while. Especially about Harbingers you were yet to meet.

Arlecchino was exactly where you and your companions left her earlier in the evening. Stood on the small dock, looking out at the moon's glow on the waves.

"To what do I owe this honour, my dear guest. I was under the impression that you and your companions had retired for the night."

"It is difficult to sleep when your mind is full of questions. I'd rather not monologue, but with how you were diplomatically side-stepping Paimon and Childe earlier-" you shifted slightly on the crate as you sat down, "may I say what I want to say, regardless of whether you deem it fit to answer me?"

"It would depend on the contents of your words, would it not?" Arlecchino watched you carefully, how you kept your gaze on the horizon, before finally meeting her eyes. She could not see a trace of fear or intimidation, in fact, there was almost, amusement when looking at her?

"We first heard of you during our travels in Inazuma. We foiled some Fatui plots, including one to poison Watatsumi Island's lands, weave disruption and reignite the civil war. All to acquire more orphans… 'the teacher' used your name, but they weren't your plans. I went back to Inazuma for some errands recently, so I know. The plans were in the name of the previous Knave, one who had been defeated by a child of the House. One who took over the job and title. You."

Her eyes felt a tad more intense at the mention of the previous Knave, but you didn't flinch. Instead, you sighed, reflecting on another memory, "we met many a fatuus in the Chasm. They'd been trapped down there, their supplies cut off, unaware of the conflicts that had occured in Liyue Harbour. They were also from the House, Nikolay and Katarina…"

Arlecchino could see why you didn't expect her to answer, and how you held her gaze like you were looking for something, but you weren't really trying all the same. She'd seen it many times before.

"We met another fatuus, in Sumeru. He was under orders of Dottore to lure children out of a village, to try capture- it doesn't matter. The Traveller caught on, but we spared him his life. All we found in the desert was a tattered paper of his, and two Rifthounds nearby."

Her intrigue was piqued, but your manner of speaking was causing her patience to waver, yes, all of those you listed were from the House of the Hearth, but-

"I'll skip to my point, since I know you could try to crush my skull under your heel, or burn me up until not even ashes remain. Although harming a guest would be unfortunate and extremely impolite, and not to mention getting on the wrong side of 'the legendary blonde Traveller'… pff!" you almost laughed, before deciding to cut to the chase with a clearing of your throat.

"I want you to know that I'm not afraid of you."

"Oh really? Then, even if you were not my guest, I would call you a fool." Her tone dismissive, but you chose not to acknowledge it.

"There are bigger evils in this world, and beyond it, than you. And, in my opinion, there are far more worse parents out there, than your role as 'father'… Perrie-"

Her fingers were itching to clench, to clamp around your throat, but she had more self control than that. You were a guest, while you had been poking around this entire time, looking for a reaction. She would not give you that pleasure. The look in your eye at the mention of parents, however… did you know about Crucabena already? How-

"Clearly being awake at this time is having an effect on your words. You should return to your lodgings before your companions awaken and realise you are gone." Arlecchino watched you carefully, something about you was unsettling, moreso than how unsettling the Traveller could feel to most people, especially upon the first meeting. A product of not hailing from Teyvat…

"I've gone without sleep a lot longer than you would think. It took a long while to get the events of the cataclysm out of my dreams. The red skies, the crimson moon, the people of Khaenri'ah turning into hillichurls and other abyssal creatures… please keep an eye on your curse, I'd be gravely upset if that was to also become your fate." You jumped down from the crate, not caring that you had just given a major lore bomb about yourself to a Harbinger.

"The Traveller, as everyone seems to call them, knows my past. I actually met the twins before… heh, that's enough information for one night. I should stop interrupting your peace, especially since the breeze is nice." Your thoughts lingered on Venti for a second, before shaking your head, "I'll play the role of the polite guest, and take my leave before irritating my host. I apologise for taking up so much of your time. Feel free to follow me up with any questions you have at a later date."

"Should the time come, I will take you up on your offer. Perhaps the roles will reverse and you shall play host. But for now, I shall bid you goodnight, and hope that you return to you lodgings unharmed."

"Unharmed…" if your fatal flaw was hubris, you would have laughed at Arlecchino's term of phrase, but instead, you maintained her gaze a little longer, then nodded to yourself and took your leave.

The Knave didn't give you a second glance as you disappeared from view, heading back into Poisson. Most likely to run into your companions, who had probably woken up and found you gone by now.

That however was not her most pressing concern, Arlecchino acknowledged, wondering if the Fatui's intel on you was all wrong. Compared to the Fourth Descender, you had been deemed to be a small fish, but what you had said suggested otherwise. Just what were you, and why were you so interested in her?

[mayhemchicken-artblog]

Reading about that Varney family is so funny

Them: En Garde, villain! We shall defeat you in honourable duel. Pistols at dawn! One on one, for we are upstanding men with principles.

The Dracula team: Let's all break into his house ambush him and mug him with knives

the topical shitpost i had for this was so old i redrew it so i wouldn't have to look at henry's old hair

but yes, it's extremely funny. at one point they are held up in their quest to Defeat The Vampire In Honorable Duel by the fact that varney, being new in the neighborhood and having no friends, has no one to appoint as a second, and OBVIOUSLY you can't fight the vampire who attacked your family if he doesn't have a SECOND. that simply is not done. so they appoint admiral bell as his second, which goes about as well as you can imagine

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Pétion being the best, but also the worst compilation

Pétion was big and fat, good-humoured and talkative, but heavy withal. He talked on, Robespierre said not a word, and I took little notice of him, he looked like a cat lapping vinegar. Pétion was rallying him on being so taciturn and farouche, and said they must find him a wife to apprivoiser him: upon which Robespierre opened his mouth for the first and last time with a kind of scream: ”I will never marry!” The Croker Papers: the Correspondence and Diaries of the late right honourable John Wilson Croker… (1885) volume 3, page 209

During the Constituent Assembly, at the time of the revision, I was one day with Buzot's wife, when her husband returned from the Assembly very late, bringing Pétion to dinner. It was the time when the court had them treated as factious, and painted them as intriguers, all occupied in stirring up and agitating. After the meal, Pétion, seated on a large ottoman, began to play with a young hunting dog with the abandonment of a child; they both let go and fell asleep together, snuggled on top of each other: four people conversing did not prevent Pétion from snoring. ”So here we have this rebel,” said Buzot, laughing; ”we were looked askance on leaving the room, and those who accuse us, very agitated for their party, imagine that we are to maneuver!” Mémoires de Madame Roland, volume 2, page 167. ok who am i kidding this one is actually just sweet. but harch in hindsight

I remember that one day, gathered at Pétion's house to find out what would be proposed in the assembly on the return of the king, he was quietly playing his violin, and Brissot became seriously angry at this indifference and this frivolity when it was a question of the fate of the monarchy.  Souvenirs sur Mirabeau et sur les deux premières assemblées législatives (1832) by Étienne Dumont.

Madame Élisabeth stared at me with tender eyes, with that air of languor that misfortune gives and which inspires quite keen interest. Our eyes sometimes met with a kind of intelligence and attraction; the night was closing in, the moon was beginning to shed its soft light. Madame Élisabeth took Madame (Royale) half on her knee, half on mine; her head was supported by my hand, then by hers. Madame fell asleep, I stretched out my arm, Madame Élisabeth stretched hers over mine. Our arms were intertwined, mine touched under her armpit. I felt rushing movements, a heat passing through the clothes; Madame Élisabeth's looks seemed more touching to me. I noticed a certain abandon in her demeanor, her eyes were moist, melancholy mingled with a kind of voluptuousness. I could be wrong, we can easily confuse the sensitivity of misfortune with the sensitivity of pleasure, but I think that if we had been alone, that if, as if by magic, everyone else would have disappeared, she would have let herself go into my arms and would have abandoned herself to the movements of nature. I was so struck by this state that I said to myself: What! Would it be a trick to buy me at this price? Would Madame Élisabeth have agreed to sacrifice her honor to make me lose mine? Yes, at court nothing costs, we are capable of anything; the Queen was able to arrange the plan. And then, considering this air of naturalness, self-love also insinuating to me that I could please her, that she was at that age where passions are felt, I convinced myself, and I found pleasure in it, that strong emotions tormented her, and that she herself desired that we were without witnesses, that I made these sweet entreaties to her, these delicate caresses which conquer modesty without offending it, and which bring defeat without delicacy being alarmed, where disorder and nature are the only accomplices. We went slowly; a large crowd accompanied us, Madame Élisabeth spoke to me about the bodyguards who had accompanied them; she spoke to me about it with tender interest; her voice had something flattering about it. She sometimes interrupted her words in a way that disturbed me. I responded to her with equal gentleness, but yet without weakness, with a kind of austerity which had nothing fierce. I was careful not to compromise my character; I gave everything that was necessary in the position in which I thought I saw her, but without nevertheless giving enough for her to think, even suspect that nothing would ever alter my opinion, and I think that she felt this wonderfully, that she saw that the most seductive temptations would be useless, because I noticed a certain cooling, a certain severity which is often due in women to irritated self-esteem. Voyage de Pétion au retour de Varennes, cited in Mémoires inédits de Pétion et mémoires de Buzot et de Barbaroux (1866), p. 195. Jfc Jérôme you do know Stockholm Syndrome is not an official condition among psychologists right?!

In the beginning of last August (1792), I saw Péthion [sic] for the first time. As I knew very well that he was continually possessed by Brissot’s faction I wanted to probe him. As a result, I asked that we meet under pretext of obtaining a passport. He was holding council and sent me back the following morning. I was received with this simple joviality which characterizes him: ”It’s really him! Oh! It’s really him!” the good man cried and held me in his arms. I was a bit surprised by his embraces, I attributed them to the hope he had of seeing me leave soon. My conjecture changed into certainty, when I saw his expression darken, hearing me tell him that I was not leaving, and urging him to give me two of the presses seized from Durosoi. Marat in number 685 (September 21 1792) of l’Ami du Peuple. 

Jérôme Péthion [sic] said, in confidence to Danton, when the seals were put on Roland’s papers: ”what offends poor Roland the most is that his domestic sorrows will be made public, and it will be known how bitter a cup cuckoldom was to the old man, and how much it disturbed the tranquillity of that great mind.” l’Histoire des Brissotins (1793) by Camille Desmoulins. 

There were two beds without curtains, two very dark little closets serving as wardrobes, a window overlooking the street, a small fireplace, and two or three chairs. So here I am, alone in a room with two young persons of interesting countenance, undressing myself, going to bed before them; then they get undressed and go to bed before me. I felt, I confess, these embarrassments of decency, which they no doubt felt even more than I did. But it was easy to see how much the generous action which they knew removed from their souls those ideas which might have troubled them. They did not even make any of those reflections which bring out the delicacy of the circumstance. I need not say that I did not allow myself any of these remarks, any of these jokes which could frighten the most severe modesty. I even confess that I experienced none of these sensations, none of these desires so natural that they are involuntary in the man whom nature has made truly man. I would have shamed myself if I had been tempted to abuse this touching hospitality. I was a brother with sisters. Pétion’s memoirs, cited in Mémoires inédits de P��tion et mémoires de Buzot & de Barbaroux(1866), p. 131-132.

[justporo]

A Shuffle of Cards

Another shorter one-shot in which Astarion and Tav just waste an evening playing cards and drinking wine and the vampire learns he doesn't know everything about sleight of hand that there is to know - yet.

Pairing: Astarion / Fem!Tav (You) Rating: Teen (just to be sure)

(Gif from here!)

“How did you-?“ “A lady never tells.” Astarion snorted – you flipped him off. “Well, is it your card or not?”

Astarion groaned in frustration: “Yes, it is.” You grinned at him – equal parts proud of yourself and mischievously happy. Then you turned the card over so you could see which one it was. “Oh, Queen of Hearts – so fitting, don’t you think?”, you said and raised your eyebrows cheekily at the vampire. But he had no capacities for teasing – you must’ve gotten him good.

“Show me again!”, he demanded, his ruby eyes already fully concentrated on your slender hands again, brows furrowed critically. You rolled your eyes at him. “You didn’t get it the last six times I’ve done this, what makes you think this time will be different?” “Just show me again!” You breathed out in annoyance and went to shuffle the deck of cards again.

The two of you had gotten cozy in front of the fireplace in your living room while an autumn storm was roaming outside – right on the cliché fur rug, each seated with crossed legs on a pillow. You had been playing cards and emptying a bottle of red wine (“hm, rich taste with a bouquet of red berries and a hint of almond”, Astarion had said after taking his first sip – to you it tasted like good stuff to get wasted on), when you had suddenly exclaimed: “You wanna see a card trick?”

Astarion had scoffed in arrogance and waved at you sneeringly to go on, expecting child’s play. And now he was sitting there trying to figure out how you managed to get his chosen card right every damn time – for fifteen minutes straight. His hands were pressed to his knees, elbows up, while he leaned to you to watch you shuffle the deck artfully. His gaze basically bored into your fingers.

“Love, there is nothing yet to see.” “Maybe I just like to watch what those sinful fingers can do”, he smirked at you, his eyes moving from your hands to your face and grinning even more broadly. The warm orange light of the fire shone in his eyes and illuminated his face in warm tones. He looked so beautiful right then and there, you almost dropped the cards.

But no! You wouldn’t be distracted by him this time. He already almost got what he wanted from you all the time by working his charms on you because you were so desperately inclined to give him everything that would make him smile at you like this.

You unceremoniously placed the cards on the ground before you and spread them out. “Pick a card”, you said to him in an annoyed tone to demonstrate how much you weren’t affected by him making eyes at you, even though one of his soft white curls had fallen adorably onto his forehead now too.

Astarion pouted at your demeanor: “Not giving me the whole show, my sweet?” You slowly blinked at him not reacting further. “Come now, love, this is the last time, I promise”, he then said pleadingly and stretched out his hand to grab you by the neck and pull you towards him for a quick but sweet kiss.

You sighed in defeat and picked up your cards. “Alright, one last time.” You shuffled the deck once more, making the cards jump from your one hand to the other then spread them out in a neat curve with one swift movement – the space between all cards perfectly balanced. Astarion whistled in astonishment which made you look up at him. He smiled and winked at you and you blushed at him cheering you.

“Sooo, would you honour me with choosing a card, Astarion?” “Oh, I would love nothing more, darling!” He made a show of letting his fingers wander through the air above the cards before settling on a card and elegantly dragging it out. “Now, would you please look at it without showing me which one it is and memorise it well.” The vampire drew the card close to his chest and raised his eyebrows mockingly being overly secretive. He took a peek at his card then threw you a glance to make sure you weren’t trying to watch – you sat there waiting for him to be done with your mouth pressed into a line. “Alright, I memorised it”, Astarion said while keeping the card pressed to his chest, eyebrows still raised at you.

“Well then”, you replied and grabbed the remainder of the deck with another swift movement until you had them all in your hands. Then you split them in half and held them out to the vampire. “Please put your card back in.” He did as he was told while acting being hesitant about it. When he had placed the card down, you put the other half above it.

Astarion’s lips opened in anticipation and his eyes were trained on your hands again – now being completely serious about it.

He wanted a show, so you gave it to him – you artfully split the deck up again in thirds and made them whirl around your fingers with an incredible speed. You knew exactly where his card was at any given moment.

“No, no, no – this isn’t fair, love!”, Astarion exclaimed in desperation and pouted at you again, but you just stuck your tongue out at him and kept shuffling. When the vampire looked positively dizzy from watching your shenanigans you stopped and lifted up the top card with its face to Astarion. “Is this your card?”

His eyes widened in surprise then he angrily snatched the card from your hand with furrowed brows. “Yes”, he grumbled while you broke into laughter. “Which one was it?”, you asked him while you put down the remaining cards. Reluctantly, Astarion showed you the card he was clutching in his fingers. “King of Hearts”, he said still pouting.

“Uuh, what another great coincidence, don’t you think?”, you cooed at him cheerfully and slapped your hands on your knees. Astarion narrowed his eyes at you and kept brooding.

“You know”, you said while pursing your lips “because you certainly are the king of my heart.”

You saw it – you saw the light twitch at the corner of his mouth; you got him. “Just as much as you are the queen of mine, my sweet sweet darling”, he answered dramatically and grabbed his goblet of wine to down the rest of it in one go.

“You are only trying to distract me because you lost the last five rounds of cards”, he offered dryly while he licked a remaining drop of “rich, red berry” red wine of his lips. You watched, being mesmerized by the tiny gesture. “Well, is it working?”, you retorted while you kept watching his lips. Astarion noticed your staring and cocked his head: “Hmm, I don’t know might’ve worked better if your clothes had been off.” He leaned back on his hands and watched the effect of his comment unfold. You tried miserably not to blush – damn, would you ever gain some tiny shred of immunity against his charms?

You coughed and rearranged your sitting position. “I only lost because you keep cheating the entire time”, you threw his way to which he lifted a hand to his chest, so taken aback. “My, what a dire accusation. When have you ever known me to be dishonest, my love?” You threw him a single glance. He kept up his dramatic posture.

“Tell you what, you win the next game fair and square, I’ll show you how the trick works.”

“Deal, sweetheart!”, Astarion agreed happily, picked up the cards and started shuffling and dealing you each a fresh hand of cards.

Tonight no new chapter of my longer fic A Night of Song and Laughter (I honestly need a bit of a break, I lost too much sleep the last two weeks or so). But I still wanted to write something. Hope you enjoyed!