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zepskies · 6 months ago

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Hey Zepskies! I'm a small writer but I'm starting on my ficlet about an oc x ben (soldier boy). I've read so much of your work and just think you are a very talented writer. Do you have any tips on writing ben? it can be vague and I know you're busy so I don't expect a response. :)

Hey there!

First off, welcome and thank you for reading my stories (and for that lovely compliment). 💕

As for your question, writing Soldier Boy (Ben) can be very tricky. It took me a while to fully figure out how to write the character, and I will say, it's a challenge every time I do dive back into this (loveable) asshole.

😂 That said, here are 3 main tips I have for writing his character:

1. Comparable archetypes:

When I started trying to do a character analysis of this guy, I started with who he would've likely looked up to and tried to emulate: Frank Sinatra, Humphrey Bogart, Cary Grant, John Wayne, Indiana Jones, John Winchester, and even Dean Winchester to an extent -- the strong, stoic, man of action archetype.

AKA: The Big Swinging Dick™️ in the Room.

These men are leaders, a "man's man," show no pain, weakness, or vulnerability. (So shove those "soft" emotions down your gullet as much as humanly possible. Real men don't cry, amirite? 🙄)

But the fun thing I find about guys like this is, even though they have a hard shell, being able to pierce the armor somehow and get to the creamy center of their heart can be a very rewarding story indeed.

2. The balance of SB's personality:

Based on what we got in season 3 of The Boys, I find that Soldier Boy's personality is a delicate balance of a few key things:

Arrogant Narcissist: He's a massive ego, selfish with a conflated sense of his own importance. Especially before his capture, he's reached the pinnacle of fame. He's bought into his own hype and the backstory Vought created for him, and he assumes that everyone in his life loves him for it.

As Jensen said of his character in Supes Ain't Always Heroes (check out my review of the book here if you like):

“He’s so fragile and his ego is fragile. Just like Homelander. These bigger-than-life powerful heroes really have a glass jaw… “And everyone walks on eggshells around him [Soldier Boy], and they tell him that they love him, and it’s the same with Homelander. Then when all of a sudden he faces his old team and Crimson Countess says we never loved you, we hated you—that’s a gut punch for him. Because even though on some level he may have known that, he never thought he would hear it. “And he probably propped himself up around trying to believe otherwise, because how can you walk around knowing everyone you’ve ever cared about hates you? It’s too painful.” (191)

Womanizing Misogynist: That entire scene with SB and Grace in Nicaragua tells you all you need to know about how Soldier Boy talks to, treats, and views women. 🙄 Again, he's a narcissist, so he assumes women are going to be into him because he's the world's biggest superhero, because he's handsome, because he's that guy.

The problem is, he is devastatingly handsome and impressive as a superhero. And my headcanon is he can be very charming when he wants to be. Again, using his skills as an actor and channelling that old-world debonair charm to get what he wants. (i.e. Cary Grant, etc.)

Violent and Indifferent to Collateral Damage: This is a key one, because this is part of what makes him different from Homelander. SB is not a psychopath. He doesn't necessarily enjoy hurting people. He just doesn't care about the collateral damage.

He also can't tolerate a perceived slight to his masculinity or status, like when Black Noir tried to rise up in the ranks and come into his own as a movie star. Soldier Boy, in his selfishness, saw that as Noir trying to come for his crown, in a sense, which is why he ultimately showed his mean streak through violence.

When he gets back to the U.S. after escaping Russia, he's on a warpath of vengeance against his team who sold him out, and anyone who gets in his way.

"If they have it coming," he tells Hughie.

3. Soldier Boy is both less and more than what he represents: (AKA: His insecurities)

As we know, Soldier Boy didn't really storm Normandy or fight the Nazis. He falls short of every definition of a hero. However, he's also not just a caricature of toxic masculinity.

Ben has deep-seated insecurities that he buries under all the bravado and the Soldier Boy persona. He was also emotionally abused by his father, who set exacting standards for what it meant to be a man.

It drives Ben to try and prove his worth to his father, though he’s never able to. It fosters the lack of self-worth he feels as he seeks validation through fame and what he believes power to be.

He won’t be one to easily admit he’s wrong, or need help, or express emotions he deems are “soft.” He doesn’t want to look weak or demean himself, let alone be genuinely vulnerable, despite likely wanting that connection with someone.

He uses coping mechanisms like drugs to mask and dull his PTSD, but even in his heyday, I think he drugs and parties hard just to pass the time, and to mask how actually empty he is inside. He has no real love in his life, and no family. It's why he admits to Hughie that he wanted kids. Deep down, he wants a family to fill that void that fame, booze, drugs, and meaningless sex can't fill in his life.

So with all of that flawed, internal mess that is Soldier Boy, the biggest challenge I find as a romance writer is trying to keep all of these aspects of his character, while trying to show the glimmers of the humanity in Ben -- the chink in his armor showing just enough softness to the one person who's brave enough to "try" with him.

That said, I hope all of this helps! 💚

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cosmiccrushes · 3 months ago

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Mints & Movie Stars

Sanji X OC || 2.9k words

Summary: Movie star Vinsmoke Sanji and his personal assistant, Peridot "Peri" Winters, head out to a known pirate island to film his next big movie. Will Sanji be able to keep his feelings for Peri hidden? Just how many mints can one man ask for before it gets suspicious?

notes: I am very much thinking about all my favorite kdrama tropes and business romances while writing this. Just light, angsty fun :)

Also on AO3!

CH 1

Peri stares across the table at the woman interviewing her boss, her blood roaring in her ears. Sure that, this time, she'd misheard this same asinine question she's been hounded by ever since she took this job position.

Who would've known that being the personal assistant to one Vinsmoke Sanji, movie star, would immediately relegate her to an existence where questions like “Tell me Sanji, has your new assistant made any romantic gestures towards you?” and “Sanji, have you been able to set boundaries with your new assistant?” were the only acknowledgement she warranted. And the questions weren't even directed at her! She'd be hovering right there in the background, standing just behind Sanji as he faced down a line of reporters. And no one had asked her once if she was busy swooning over Vinsmoke Sanji instead of doing her job, it was just assumed she was. Peri wouldn’t even be within eyesight of reporters if she had any say over how she did her work. But Sanji insisted upon her constant presence wherever he went. Gods forbid she not be nearby to address his every request. So, the reporters spotted her and directed their salacious questions to Sanji, looking for juicy gossip that didn’t exist.

Because she was not, by the way, swooning over him. As far as she was concerned, Vinsmoke Sanji could keep his dashing good looks and debonair charm all to himself. It was enough that her job meant she had to deal with his persnicketiness, his constant demands on her time, his chaotic schedule. She had no room to add a crush on him to her already extensive list of responsibilities.

Peri never even would've taken this job- despite the fact she was a damn good personal assistant- if her last job hadn't imploded and if her friend, Tak, hadn't gotten her the referral.

***

“Come on, it's perfect!” Tak pleads with her. “You'll move up the career ladder from pigheaded, rude as hell businessman to movie star.” Tak fans her hands through the air theatrically as she says this. “And we'll get to work together all the time! Perfect!”

“I don't know, Tak,” Peri groans, face shoved into a pillow on her bed. “There's no way I'm getting a reference from that bastard. How am I gonna get past a background check to work for a celebrity?” Peri groaned into her pillow again, for emphasis.

“Don't worry about that, Peri. I'm the only one Sanji will let touch his hair and Rachel loves me. I'll talk to her about your situation- generally, no details, so stop glaring at me- she'll give you a chance, I promise.”

Peri held onto her glare for a few seconds longer, before dropping her head back to the pillow, smushing her cheek against the plush material. She knew Tak was right and she needed to capitalize on the immense benefits of having a best friend who was the sole hair stylist for the premier celebrity of the East Blue. Peri had even met Sanji's agent, Rachel a handful of times through Tak towing her along to posh social gatherings. Though she hadn’t done more than see Sanji from afar across a crowded room of VIPs.

“What would I do without you, Tak?”

Her best friend shivers, wiggling her shoulders and holding her palm up. “Please, Peridot, don't make me think about it. Your life without me is too bleak to contemplate.” Tak winks at her and Peri laughs.

Maybe things would be okay.

***

Wrong. Things were not okay. Those were the catalyst (catastrophic?) events that led her to sitting across from an eager-eyed reporter, staring at Sanji hungrily as she asked, “Sanji, the readers are dying to know. Your assistant is always close at hand these days-” a suggestive eyebrow raise, “Is she a fan of yours?”

Peri is sitting right here. At the same table! Because she's an outstanding professional, she resists rolling her eyes (and throwing her coffee at the woman, though her fingers twitch against the mug menacingly).

Sanji smiles good-naturedly at the reporter. “Ah my assistant is with me today because-” Peri tenses as Sanji drapes his arm around the back of her chair though he doesn't touch her, leaning in towards the reporter as he takes on a conspiratorial tone. “We're waiting for some important news today. I didn't want Peri too far away when it came.”

This piques the reporter's interest. “Oh? This wouldn't have anything to do with rumors about a new Smith Stiegal film in the works, now would it?” Peri didn't miss the way the reporter eyed Sanji's hand lolling near her shoulder. Her eyes hawkish, like she didn’t want to miss a suggestive brush of Sanji’s fingers against Peri’s shoulder. There wouldn’t be one.

“Now Miss Asher, I couldn't possibly say could I, darling?” Sanji smiles smoothly at the reporter, withdrawing his arm and any acknowledgement that Peri is at this table drops away.

Miss Asher attempts to get Sanji to dish out a few morsels regarding the rumored newest action adventure film in the works from renowned director Smith Stiegal (which Sanji obviously cannot confirm or deny). All the hard work she put in to make these interviews even happen, brushed off and replaced with greedy hopes that some lucky reporter would catch her blushing at the movie star. Peri stews, recounting the earlier conversation that landed her at this table- being treated as if she's a fan waiting for her turn to take a picture with Sanji instead of the person responsible for him even being at this interview.

***

“My darling periwinkle,” (not her name) “I need you at that table with me today! Please, love, understand! The call about the role could come from Rachel at any moment. I want to be right there when you get it.” Sanji's pleading smile was irritatingly puppy-dog-like (and very annoying, not at all adorable).

“Sanji,” she said, shaking her head. “I don't know. This interview is with East Q magazine. They're a big deal. I'm not sure it's appropriate for your assistant to be at the table. I'll be nearby. You'll be the first person to know if Rachel calls.”

Sanji pouts. “Come on, Pear-” (also not her name, but Sanji had taken to calling her that and occasionally producing an actual pear to gift her with, which she braced for now and, oh wait-) Sanji produces a single pear-green rose from behind his back. “Please stay with me? This is a big moment for me, Pear. I need-” He broke off abruptly, looking down at the rose extended in his hand, then back up into her eyes. “I need my assistant at my side. I'm afraid I can't budge on this, Peri.” (that was her name, and an indicator that Sanji has slipped into serious, boss mode).

Peri sighs, taking the proffered rose out of Sanji's hand and lifting it to her nose, letting the delicate floral scent soothe her. “Okay, Sanji. I'll be there.”

Sanji's answering smile is gorgeous, just like everything else about him. A large part of her hated letting Sanji get his way, which was rather bothersome when her entire job mostly centered around making sure things went exactly Sanji's way.

***

Sanji's previous assistant- an older gentleman named Harold- had decided to take an early retirement. Or, had he been forced into it rather than suffer through one more pandering socialite conversation, Peri thought darkly as the interviewer continued to lavish praise on Sanji. Peri mostly tuned them out. They’d talk about her like she wasn’t there anyway, she might as well pretend not to be.

A half hour after the interview with East Q wrapped, the call from Rachel finally came. Sanji and Peri were still seated in the private room at the cafe where Miss Asher conducted her interview, the remnants of lunch spread on the table before them.

At the first ring of Peri’s phone, Sanji drops his fork, bouncing out of his seat. “Bloody hell, Pear. What if they didn't pick me for the role!? What if this is the beginning of the end of my entire career!?” He runs both hands through his hair, mussing it to match his distress.

“Sanji, calm down, you're going to get the role,” Peri says, rising from her seat as she presses accept on the call. She was very confident she was right. Everyone wanted a piece of Sanji right now. She had to admit (begrudgingly) that he was an excellent actor. Electric on screen. Smith Stiegal would be wild not to capitalize on Sanji's talent and popularity.

“Rachel, hi!”

“Peri, is Sanji with you? Are you alone?”

Peri resists another eye roll. Of course Sanji is with her- Sanji's always with her these days. “Yes, Rachel, I'll put you on speaker. We’re alone.”

“Great! Sanji?”

Sanji rakes an anxious hand through his hair again. “Rachel, yes, what did they say?”

“You've got the part, Sanji!”

Sanji blew out a relieved breath and even Peri couldn't help the grin that broke across her face. Sanji stares at the phone in Peri's hand held between them, speechless as Rachel gushes about how excited they are to work with Sanji. Then, before Peri can compute what's happening, Sanji's arms are around her, gripping her waist tight, lifting her off her feet as he spins them in a circle.

“We did it, Peri!”

A laugh sneaks out of her before she can stop it. But Sanji's joy is infectious and soon she’s giggling.

“A Smith Stiegal movie, Pear! I can't believe it! This is huge!” He finally stops spinning them, setting her down on wobbly feet. His arms loose around her waist, her arms (phone still in hand) dangling around his shoulders.

She feels a little breathless as she says, “I told you that you'd get the part. Congratulations, Sanji.”

Sanji coughs, taking a step back, his arms falling away from her. “Thank you, Peri.” His smile is sheepish.

“Hello? Hello? Peri? Sanji? Are you listening to me? What’s going on?”

Peri remembers the phone clutched in her hand. “Rachel! So sorry, what was that?”

“I need you and Sanji down at the office asap. The lawyers are on the way to review the contract and the schedule for shooting.”

“Of course. We'll be there right away.” Peri ends the call, looking up to a smiling Sanji, his cheeks tinged with pink.

***

Peri is left to her own devices (literally as she types away, responding to scheduling requests for interviews, photoshoots, etc. for Sanji) while the contract negotiations take place. Her mind wanders back to Sanji's surprise hug.

As aggravated as Peri gets with Sanji's demands on her time and requests for particulars, he's never inappropriate with her. Or, rather, not inappropriate in a way that made her want to break his nose and shatter her employability in the entirety of the East Blue. Sanji was charming, he was flirty. She was used to this. He generally directed it towards her at a lower wattage than he dialed it up for his fans and professional contacts. Sinfully suave and wickedly beautiful- that's just the way Sanji came.

But during her stint as his assistant, he had always been respectful of her. Sure, there were the nicknames and the occasional gifted fruit (and that single rose today), but Sanji never made her feel uncomfortable or worried for her safety with him. And the nicknames just felt so…Sanji. Integral to who he was. He’d slipped into using them with her slowly and so naturally that she’s actually not sure how long it took her to notice it. It’s hypocritical, she knows, to not be offended by it because it’s Sanji. When she would be offended if it were someone else. She’s decided not to investigate this too deep though- it just doesn’t fit in her packed calendar. -=a3NB A

He had never hugged her before. His anxiety and relief today had been so genuine, so human. And of course, Peri knew he was a person too. Albeit an obscenely famous person, but still, human, like her. It was just that, today, it almost felt like they were friends. If hadn't felt like her boss crossing an inappropriate physical boundary with her. It felt like a friend receiving life changing news and celebrating that with her. Peri didn't know what to do with that bizarre realization.

“Peri, we need you in here!” Rachel pokes her head out of her office, waving Peri inside as the team of lawyers file out.

“What's up?” Peri asks, settling into the chair beside Sanji.

“Pear, love, do you have any of those mints I like?”

Peri rummages around in her tote bag for the mints in question (the only brand, Sanji insists, whose minty flavor isn't disgustingly artificial). She drops one into his open palm, her attention on Rachel.

“So here's the deal, Peri darling, the schedule for the movie is full steam ahead. They want to begin table reads on location in two weeks. So-”

Peri interrupts, picking up on a couple keywords. “On location? They want us where in two weeks, exactly?” Narrowing her eyes at Rachel’s clearly placating tone.

“Well, you see darling, Stiegal wants a very authentic feel for the movie, so it's not going to be filmed here in Vennport. Stiegal’s crew is already all set up on Crow Island, so you'll just need to get Sanji’s affairs in order and head on over.”

This was theoretically fine. Movies filmed at a location outside of Vennport is common enough, though Peri hadn't yet traveled outside of the city with Sanji for any filming. What really made her aware that Rachel was asking for something challenging was the way she clacked away on her keyboard and took on an air of nonchalance as she delivered this information. Rachel was not nonchalant. She was direct, sharp, no nonsense but in a decidedly theatrical way.

“Is this fourteen business days Rachel or…?”

Rachel huffs. “Next Friday. They need Sanji there by next Friday.”

“Okay, that's ten literal days from now.”

“Yes, dear. So you'd better get to planning, chop chop.”

“Rachel. That's like a five day trip at sea to get to Crow Island! Also, isn't that a known pirate port?”

“The movie is about pirates, Peri. Hence the authenticity.”

Peri was authentically losing her faith in Smith Stiegal's organization and planning skills. Seems like they could’ve given Sanji and the agency a bit more time to prepare for a trip. But this was the industry, demands moved fast and she was expected to keep up.

“So, to summarize, I need to plan and prepare for a months long trip that we need to leave for in five days?”

“I knew you'd understand, you're a peach.”

“Pear,” Sanji muttered. At first she thought he was requesting her attention, but when he didn't look at her or go on, she realized he was simply correcting Rachel's fruit name of choice. Peri shakes her head, bemused.

There was really nothing for it. Peri would start with plans immediately. She was already running through her mental rolodex of travel companies the agency worked with.

“Oh and Peri, don't worry about the security detail. The production company has a whole team over there and the agency will of course send a few personal bodyguards along to look after Sanji. Just connect with Sal and he'll make sure you're set.” Rachel waved her hand in a dismissal.

Peri hadn't been worried about security. Everywhere Sanji went, agency-provided security guards came along. It was protocol. Necessary for Sanji's safety. Peri wasn't afraid of pirates- at least not in theory. But the way Rachel casually mentioned the production company's security detail made her wonder if she ought to be. Crow Island was well known in this part of the East Blue for it's breathtaking vistas (not that Peri had ever been) and it's rowdy pub scene (rumored to service many a pirate partaking in leisure activities). Honestly, most of the stories about Crow Island she'd heard involved debauchery, not dodgy pirates. Then again, maybe Rachel was just worried about Sanji getting into a different kind of scandal. The press will certainly look for anything to sensationalize (for example, a P.A. doing her job).

She turns to Sanji. “Can you get home on your own today? I'll call the car for you. But I need to speak with Sal and start booking accommodations.”

Sanji stood to follow her. “It's okay, Pear, I'll wait for you.”

High seas forbid, Sanji find himself without her and in need of a mint. Leading the way out of Rachel's office, Peri allowed herself an eye roll Sanji couldn't see. Once the door closed behind them, Peri turned.

“Sanji, honestly, it's going to be hours. I've got so much to get done and you've got the rest of your afternoon free, for once. Go enjoy it! Rest.” Peri claps her hands together. “Oh! Pack! That would be helpful. You can get started on the basics.”

“When are you going to pack?” Sanji asks. Peri shrugs dismissively, already moving down the hall to find Sal.

Sanji jogs to catch up, surprising her for the second time that day with a hand at her elbow, stopping her.

“I'll go home.” Sanji pauses. Long, slim fingers still wrapped around her arm. “Ask Sal to send Elle and Robbie with us. They're both excellent at their job.” With that, Sanji releases her arm. “See you tomorrow, Peri.” And walks away, leaving Peri's skin tingling where his hand had been.

#vinsmoke sanji #sanji #sanji x oc #vinsmoke sanji x oc #sanji fic #sanji fanfic #sanji fanfiction #one piece sanji #sanji x original character #one piece fic #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece au #one piece

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tigerlyla-of-metinna · 7 months ago

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for the ask game: the witcher - Emhyr, your OC Sarah, Ciri please

and for Baldur's Gate 3: Halsin and Raphael please 😁💜

That is a barrage of arrows hitting the bullseye of my heart! Ok Ok lets tackle them all!

Warning: It's going to be long, so I'll answer under the cut.

How I feel about this character

Emhyr

My love for him burns like a thousand suns. Fascination at first sight. Of course I knew Emhyr from the game first before I knew him fully in the books, which enriched him more. He is an antagonist I love to love, and I know he's done many heinous things (war, unpopular decisions), I can't help but admire the reason behind each horrible decision. And I love the humanity that shines through his armor. You could imagine that shard of ice shifting a lot when he acts human instead of the iron fisted sovereign.

Sarah

My friend from birth. I can't really explain it in normal terms. It's like a childs' imaginary friend growing up with you. She frequents my dreams as a child. Always the woman with wavy black locks, green eyes, attractive smile. Someone that I wanted to be but can't. I have created many OCs: pieces of my secret soul, personalities I couldn't express in real life: Lyla the feisty, fiery, foxy red head. Violet the loud and flashy rockstar (similar to HEART), Sarah Delgado the tragic green-haired spanish fencer. But Sarah is my OC ideal: wise, pragmatic, noble and a smile that could melt any frozen heart (which I can picture her effect on the Ice Emperor Emhyr <3)

Ciri

-Brat, Brat, Brat. And she wears that title proudly. Were it not for Geralt and Yennefers' affection for her, I would've disliked Ciri at the start. But you can see her caring and protective heart when it comes to children and those she love. She's idealistic, as Avallach pointed out correctly, but I love putting her through tough decisions which led her to make the most adult decision and walk the path of the empress. Still, the brat title never goes away and it make the boring empress life much more interesting.

Halsin

This guy.... After being on a steady Emhyr diet, it was Halsin who got me to try a different fare. He was just my type! Big protector type with soulful eyes and a winning smile. Personality wise, the complete opposite of Emhyr. When playing BG3, I couldn't bring myself NOT to jump on him because he is that likeable. Whereas Sarah had to content with crumbs from Emhyr because of his imperial priorities, Halsin would give Tav the whole loaf and would sit beside Tav just to watch Tav eat and ask if all is to their liking. It is hard not to fall for Halsin!

Raphael

There is always that one NPC that is unreachable/un-romanceable not because they are unlikeable, but because fate (writers) says so. He is a goal you can never reach, and you make it so in fanon. Raphael is suave, sexy, debonair, and sinfully seductive that it is difficult (not impossible) to not sign your soul away. You have to roll a critical 20 just to break his grip on your heart and soul!

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Emhyr: except for Sarah, all his ships are platonic. But I do enjoy reading others shipping him with anyone. Depends on the writing.

Sarah: Emhyr. Only Emhyr. Everyone stays behind that friendzone barrier.

Ciri: Morvran Voorhis is the main love interest. Always! He is so calm and superior with everyone else, but when it comes to Emhyr's lil princess, he turns into this bumbling goof trying to impress her with his Nilfgaardian charms (lol). Honestly they grow on me as they do each other. Other than Morvran, I pair Ciri with anyone so long as they are written well, and isn't forced on me (you know who I mean).

Halsin and Raphael: besides Tav, anyone in the fellowship (maybe except Jaheira and Minsc). Also not with the Emperor.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Emhyr

Yennefer: shared aims that doesn't extent into the bedchambers. Also I think Emhyr is allergic to mages due to his past as The Urcheon.

Mererid: Loyal chamberlain. Purely servant to his master.

Geralt: Co-parent of their Child Surprise. Can't stand each other, but for the sake of Ciri, they have no choice but to work together.

Sarah

Mererid: he is her stuffy stick-in-the-mud uncle, and loves him that way.

Morvran: she treats him like a brother and ally. Nothing beyond that.

Ciri

Hjalmar..... HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Halsin

Minsc: The Rashemaar cant stand him and would love to one-up him on something!

Raphael

Mizora: they could compare souls they acquire and even make a bet on which of them could collect Tav's soul... or get to make out with Tav.

My unpopular opinion about this character

Emhyr: He is better for the Continent unlike the current rulers.

Sarah: Gurl, just tell Emhyr the truth and damn the consequences1 But then the fic wouldn't be this long if she just spilled the beans, eh?

Ciri: Girl is about as darling as mouthful of wasabi. She is an acquired taste, but once you do acquire it, you will defend her with your life!

Halsin: I wish it didn't take that long to connect with him on a romantic level because I had to spurn Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Karlach and Laezel (sorry Shadowheart) to live a monogamous relationship with him. Yeah I know he is into poly, but I am not.

Raphael: I want to see more of his horned form. I find his demon self sexier than his human skin.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

Emhyr

I wished he didn't fall for Vilgefortz bullshit. Then he wouldn't have to freeze himself and become an emperor with an ice block for a heart, thinking of doing the unthinkable to save the world. Thank goodness Emhyr didn't go through with it.

Sarah

Carrying the beacon (what is the beacon? It's a burden only she can bear). If not for it, she'd live a normal life as a noble. But without it, she'd never have met Emhyr.

Ciri

Wish she could renounce her powers, or never ended with The Rats. Honestly it was the darkest time of her life that I hated slogging through, so as much as I hate him- thanks Bonhart!

Halsin

Wish he went bear savage on those drows who captured him and had their way with him, instead of just taking it in and taking his time until it felt normal to him.

Raphael

Wish we could really get it on with him, and not just his incubus.

Thanks for the ask! Whew! Hope my answers entertains!

#emhyr var emreis #witcher oc #cirilla fiona elen riannon #halsin #raphael the cambion #the witcher 3 #tag game #ask game

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marchingbandtshirt · 25 days ago

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Finally finished this art of my OCs for the interactive fiction game Throne of Ashes (you should check it out, it's pretty neat)

In order we have: "area woman at the end of her fucking rope," "god's favorite chew toy," "bearer of the curse²," "attack dog-coded living weapon," and "debonair rapscallion"

#continuing my toa propaganda campaign #tried out some new painting style techniques and i really like the results #digital art #original character #original charater art #oc art #throne of ashes #nora tag #solaris tag #genesis tag #raze tag #jaresiah tag

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harryandpedro · 1 month ago

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uppercut - five

summary: Maisy witnesses Pedro's first victory of the boxing season

parings: boxer/singledad!pedro x nanny!fem oc

warnings: talks of sexual orientation, fem!mc being pathetic and self-sabotaging, mild description of violence (in the form of boxing)

wc: 3k+

series masterlist here.

Maisy

The next morning, we meet up with Pedro's team which includes a physiotherapist, my dad and a second coach at the airport. We get through check-in and security fairly quickly and hunker down in the business lounge while we wait for our flight to Miami to be called.

After a tactical bathroom break before gate info, I return to the spot we claimed as ours in the lounge. On my way back I grab a fruit salad from the buffet and pop a piece of mango into my mouth.

The four other men I'm travelling with are standing in a circle, using a tablet to go over film of Pedro's opponent for tomorrow's match.

Oliver is perched on his dad's left hip, his head pillowed on Pedro's sculpted shoulder, and as soon as I'm close enough, the boy hurls himself at me. I take him but not before Pedro kisses the top of his son's head and murmurs a thank you to me.

Oliver and I sit down on the couch we deposited our cabin bags on. I situate him on my lap, one of my arms going around his back to prevent him from falling down. I feel Pedro's gaze following my movements and as I look over at him, he gifts me with a smile then turns to face my dad and the other trainers accompanying us.

Oliver makes a humming sound, restoring my attention. "What's up, Bug?" I ask, eating a piece of strawberry. His eyes go all big and he smacks his lips together. "Want a bite?" I fork a slice of banana and he eagerly starts at it.

While we wait for boarding, Oliver and I share the fruit salad. He drools all over himself and I pull a cloth from his diaper bag to clean him. As I do, I catch Pedro stealing glances at the two of us. A silent conversation passes us: Hi and Hi back, and You're watching me and No, you're watching me.

A light giggle bubbles out of me.

At that, a debonair smile spreads slowly across his stubbled face. He tucks his tongue into the side of his cheek and winks.

The fluttery warmth in my stomach curdles.

I curse at him inwardly for the way he makes me feel.

When they announce our gate, he strolls over to us, hands in his pockets. He's wearing a baseball cap, a plain grey T-shirt, black joggers and his usual New Balances. Even in a simple outfit he manages to look spruce and otherworldly handsome.

We merge into the line that's forming around the gate. Perdo wordlessly takes my tote bag from my shoulder, sliding it down my arm and carrying it for me alongside his personal bag while I carry his son.

"This is us," he says on the plane now, slowing to a stop. We've got a whole row to ourselves at business class. All six cubicles with reclining cushioned chairs, one with a special seat for Oliver strapped into it. Pedro's personnel take their respective seats. I put Oliver in his seat and take the aisle seat directly next to it, presuming Pedro would need my help with his son during the flight.

He puts our bags in the overhead luggage compartment. "I thought you wanted to spend some time with your dad," he says. "Don't feel like you need to hang out with Oliver on the plane. I'll be with him and if I need to go over film or something he can be with me for that."

"But I like watching him."

Pedro's eyes dart to me. "Okay. I just don't want to burn you out on him."

"It's fine, really," I assure him with a placating smile. "I like spending time with him."

He looks at me with a softness I've only ever seen him wear with his son. "I know. He likes spending time with you too."

The flight and the rest of the day ensues without a hitch. We check in at our hotel and everyone disperses to freshen up. My dad then invites me out for dinner and after Pedro reassures me he doesn't need help with Oliver, we go out into the city and explore for the remainder of the night.

After my mom passed away, I became even closer to my dad. He's always been a role model for me and I heavily rely on his guidance. I consider him a wise, well-mannered, both street and book-smart guy. He gave me the most wonderful childhood—he never missed birthdays or school recitals, read me bedtime stories when I was still little, and gave me permission to follow my dreams.

I couldn't have asked for a better man to raise me. I'm eternally grateful for him.

While I was in another State to get my education, we stayed close. We Facetimed regularly and he pretty much advised me through college.

I had quite the unconventional college experience; I didn't party, didn't join societies nor did I put myself out there. Instead, I focused on my classes, did all my readings, and passed my exams with flying numbers.

I remember dad asking me after I finished my junior year and still nothing panned out romantically if I were into girls. I told him the truth, that no, I was not into girls and he didn't pry about it ever since. I guess he thought I wasn't ready to date yet, which wasn't entirely a misconception but I also knew that it couldn't be just my reserved exterior that warded off boys. I wasn't getting approached, not ever, and no one had ever invited me out on a date.

For a long time, I genuinely believed something was horribly wrong with me. I even debated with myself that I might be asexual. Those thoughts were fueled by the fact that even though I played with myself, I didn't make myself orgasm, still haven't, and nobody truly has aroused me—at least not how Pedro has in the past two weeks.

By my last year of college, I considered my lack of romantic—and sexual—partners as a byproduct of my asexual tendencies (I can count on one hand how many times I found a guy handsome) and my introversion-induced self-isolation. Instead of pursuing those few boys I've found remotely attractive, I retreated into my fantasies: I read romance and daydreamed about my book-boyfriends. Rather than searching for real connections with other human beings, I dreamt up enough to keep my desires and urges satisfied; a habit I still default to.

To this day I often catch myself imagining alternative lives where I chose to be a doctor and now I live with my blue-eyed boyfriend who rock-climbs, or a sugar daddy took me under his wings and now I owe my own pottery studio, selling my craft. When I'm teleported back into reality from one of these trances, I faintly feel sorry for myself but not enough to offset any kind of action that would put me out of my self-inflicted misery.

Apart from my parents and other family members, nobody has ever loved me unconditionally. And lately, despite reconciling myself to the fact that apparently, I'm not most guys' type, at twenty-one I find myself carving affection, both physical and emotional.

God, I feel pathetic, asking someone to love me when all I ever do is beg to be alone.

After my dad and I get back to the hotel, I lie awake in bed, staring at the adjoining door that opens to Pedro's and Oliver's suite, and feel very homesick for arms that have never held me.

×××

The next morning I join Pedro and his personnel for breakfast then fifth-wheel with Oliver in the corner of Pedro's hotel room while they huddle on the match's game plan. Following lunch me and Oliver move to my room to let Pedro get on with his pre-match rituals, and we spend our afternoon watching cartoons on YouTube and reading picture books.

Originally, Oliver and I would've stayed in but when I get a text from my dad saying that he managed to get us a pass for Pedro's match, I jump on the offer.

This will be my first time going to one of his matches and just the mere thought of seeing him in the ring, in his element awakens a horde of butterflies in my stomach.

When he wakes from his afternoon nap, I get Oliver dressed in a pair of forest green trousers and a white polo shirt. I decide on a white and muted pink, tiered ruffle sundress, accessorizing it with my everyday jewleries; my silver droplet necklace and four dainty rings.

At the venue, a hostess shows us to a private box above the bleachers and tells me that later on Jason, Pedro's physio and Sam, his second coach will be coming up here to watch the fight.

We arrive just in time because a few minutes later, they dim the light and the crowd roars in anticipation. I stand right before the window overlooking the arena with Oliver slung over my hip as the boxers get their introduction.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the main event of the evening. Twelve three-minute rounds for the WBO cruiserweight championship of the world," the speaker hollers. "Miami, I need you to get out of your seats, raise your drinks high and get wild. Let us meet the fighters."

Pedro's opponent walks out first. "Fighting out of the blue corner, wearing blue and red trunks is Cole Wayne." He's the same build as Pedro but appears less agile. "From last season, he holds a record of fifteen victories with nine of those wins coming by way of knockout." The man cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders with a smug expression.

"That's your daddy's opponent," I tell Oliver. "He seems like a brat, don't you agree?"

He makes a jumbled sound and I take it as his version of yes.

"And now, his opponent, fighting out of the red corner, wearing black and green." The crowd erupts as Pedro makes his walkout in his robe. He's focused and in his head, I can tell solely by his posture. The speaker goes on, "He holds an undefeated professional record of twenty victories versus no defeats with sixteen of those wins coming by way of knockout." He climbs into the ring, slipping under the ropes, and like that, he sets my heart aflutter. "Introducing the former WBA InterContiental Cruiserweight Campion. Ladies and gentlemen, Pedro 'The Viper' Pascal."

He lowers the hood of his robe, revealing his perfect brown hair and the most tender brown eyes I've ever looked into. His features and his personality are a stark contrast to his robust, mesomorphic body.

My dad slips the robe from his form, and I see Pedro shirtless for the first time. Hard, defined muscles cover his upper body, with visible obliques. His trunks cut mid-thigh, and his legs are thick and cut.

He bounces on the spot, shaking off his arms. His muscles ripple and my stomach pulls taut.

The referee calls the two boxers over. Cole invades his personal space but Pedro remains stoic and collected. "Okay boys," the referee says, "At call break I expect you to stop punching and take a step back. Don't deliberately throw punches on the back of the head. Protect yourselves at all times. Any questions?" The two of them eye each other. "Alright. Touch gloves." They do so before returning to their respective corners of the ring.

"That there," I point at Pedro, "Is your daddy."

Oliver claps and squeals, his precious eyes wide with excitement.

"Is your dad the best boxer in the world, huh, buddy?"

He nods his head eagerly, though I know he doesn't have any idea what I'm asking.

Jason and Sam join us in the box then. They greet me with polite smiles and wave at Oliver before taking their seats to my right where a couch is positioned in front of the window.

In the ring, my dad feeds Pedro his mouthpiece before leaving the platform to take his spot at the ringside.

I fix the noise-cancelling headphones on Oliver—they look comically big on him—and zero in on the elevated platform.

The bell sounds and the fight begins.

Pedro is quick and light on his feet, slipping and ducking any incoming punch. In the first two rounds, Cole is the initiator, trying to force the pace but Pedro doesn't let him.

In the third round, he takes over and by the fourth one, it's clear as the sky he's got the experience going for him. He lends a few stinging jabs and crosses, throwing Cole off balance. He tries with an uppercut but Pedro guards his face with his gloved hands, then delivers a quick right hook in the ribs.

I watch with batted breaths as the match unfolds.

Another punch disorients Cole and Pedro lets loose a torrent of hard-landing jabs.

His punches are precise and lethal, and the way he conducts himself in the ring has got me handing in my feminism card for the night.

He wins in round five with a vicious right uppercut that has Cole toppling. The referee raises his hand high into the air, declaring him as the victor.

Pedro's eyes scan the faces in the crowds, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, and as his gaze rises, he finds me and pins me with a look, a glint in his eyes and his lips curled into a devilish smirk.

I feel a zing of awareness between my thighs.

"What do you say, Maisy? He's a hell of a boxer, isn't he?" Sam speaks from beside me.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, he really is," I whisper, not daring to take my eyes off Pedro. "He's a knockout."

The speaker asks him for an interview and he begrudgingly breaks eye contact.

I deflate and can only hope Sam and Jason didn't notice the physical effect their boxer has on me.

Surely this is my cue to get a therapist because something is terribly wrong with me if I think we stand a chance.

×××

Pedro enters his hotel suite stealthily. Oliver is fast asleep in the portable crib provided by the hotel, and I've already showered and changed into my nightwear.

He knocks on my door which I've left ajar. I hum in acknowledgement and he steps inside, closing the door behind him so that we can have a conversation and not have to whisper.

"Congrats on your win," I say, climbing out of bed.

He's in the same joggers he wore for the flight yesterday and a simple white t-shirt. His hair is still wet from his post-match shower.

"Thanks," he murmurs. "I liked having the two of you in the crowd."

I hand him the baby monitor. "Oliver liked being there for you."

"And what about you?" he asks in undertones, tentatively. His fingers brush against mine as he takes the device from me.

"Uhum, I—, it was a great match," I mumble, refusing to meet his stare. I touch my necklace to do something with my hands.

"Okay, well, as per usual, thanks for taking care of Oliver," he says, smiling softly. He turns to leave but I stop him.

"Pedro?"

"Yeah?" He faces me.

"I actually—," I pause, unsure how to continue, "I was wondering if I could ask you something."

"Sure," he says, rubbing his hands on his joggers. "Go ahead."

"It might be kind of weird," I warn. "Please don't laugh at me."

He shakes his head, granting me with his softest eyes yet. "I won't."

"Would you—," I begin, nibbling on my bottom lip, "—teach me how to box?"

"I—," he recoils slightly, taken aback by the question. "What?"

"Would you teach me how to box?" I repeat, though my voice is significantly smaller and much more hesitant. "I want to learn how to defend myself."

"Against what?" he asks, his brows knitting together in concern. "Is everything alright?"

My insides warm at his unreasonable protectiveness. "Everything's fine." I wave away his worries with an inattentive flick of my hand. "It's just that, when we, Oliver and I go on our daily adventures, I want to feel safe. And I think knowing how to throw a punch would help ease some of that anxiety."

"Did something happen while you were out? Did someone try to hurt you or Oliver?" he urges, voice low and serious.

"No, no one has hurt or tried to," I tell him calmly. "But I want to know how to react if someone did try something."

Pedro's eyes narrow as he studies my face. "You come to me if they do." I nod firmly. "What do you want to learn?" he asks.

"Anything," I answer breathlessly. "Everything."

The corner of his mouth quirks up a little, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest. "How about I teach you the basics first?"

I nod in agreement. "And please don't tell my dad I want to learn self-defence, he'd freak out." I rush to add.

His smile falls again. "Maisy," he rasps my name lowly, warningly. "Are you sure there's no reason for me to worry?"

"No, nobody is harassing me I promise. Just—," I let out a breath. "It's just Rick doesn't have to know, alright?"

There's a pause and he uses his X-ray eyes on me. "Alright," he echoes finally.

"Alright," I parrot and avert my eyes.

A moment of tension-laden silence descends on the room. "I—we should get some sleep, we've got a flight to catch tomorrow." I remind him quietly, tossing my thumb over my shoulder towards the bed.

"You're right." He touches his lips, scratches his bearded jaw. "I'll, uhm, see you in the morning," he drawls and goes back to his room, closing the adjoining door.

taglist: @biapascal

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