#dude i just want a man to compare me to the sea

[etherealily]

art // f.odair

Part 1 : Guilt

Part 3 : Bets

[2/3] Long.

Finnick Odair + fem!reader. Warnings : Cuss words, SFW but discretion advised, mature themes, hurt/comfort

Desc. : The trauma card.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

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SIX WEEKS LATER

Finnick doesn't know when it happened.

His plan had been to basically only shift Snow's focus from his family to you. You, a random stranger he could have zero ties to and could afford to lose if times got tough.

But now? His focus had been shifted from survival to you.

He finds himself mulling about, wallowing in too much sorrow to have been unnoticeable.

He didn't need this. He was already dealing with his own problems.

Thankfully, you didn't seem to have taken the ordeal during the Games too seriously, and now he was back to having only an endless string of Capitol assholes in his bed every other week.

Thankfully, because he had no idea what the hell he'd do if you actually ended up getting attached, or looking to him as some sort of protection, or actually caring or loving him - his heart couldn't take that. His conscience couldn't take that.

Or maybe, he had it all wrong.

Maybe you weren't distancing yourself because you didn't give a shit about him.

Maybe his well-being had nothing to do with this.

Maybe you were distancing yourself because you hated that Faye had died.

Right. Made more sense. What a narcissist he is.

Worst part of all this, as mentioned, was that he was actually starting to give a shit. A thing, he'd been told, he did far too often.

In the week you'd spent at the Capitol with him, he'd grown to like far too much about you.

You cared about Faye? He liked that, a lot.

You got really worried every time he came back from 'filming promos' with bruises? He liked the way you tried helping the only way you could. Which was, apparently, trying to take his mind off of it by regaling him with the mundanities of a day in your life back in Four.

But what he especially liked was that you didn't absolutely lose your shit in laughter when he held your hand in his sleep. He figured you'd pull away. He figured you'd snort and call him a baby.

But you didn't.

You didn't just let him, you allowed him, which, in honesty, only Finnick knew best how different those two were.

And he loved you all the more for it.

Liked. He liked you all the more for it.

"Hey.", he says, looking up from his rope to you.

He loves when he gets to come back to Four, but what he loves most is when he gets to come back to you.

Because you understood. You didn't understand the full extent of what he went through at the Capitol, but you'd spent enough time there to know that it wasn't really a place you could miss.

"Hi, Finnick.", you reply, sitting by him. "You don't get rope burn?"

"I do. But check this out.", he boasts, baring his calloused, red palms to you. "Scars of a warrior. And...", he begins, tugging on the ends of the knot and tightening it, "...knot of a warrior. It's impossible to undo. Try, c'mon."

"I'll take your word for it."

He shrugs, gently tossing the rope down and listening to the soft shift of sand to make space for it. See, he'd always loved this about sand. Always, always made space for anything. No matter how pathetic. How broken. How sinful.

"I was thinking."

You look up from the rope on the sand beside your feet up to his eyes. "Mhm?"

"Maybe... y'know, only if you're interested... I mean, I'll teach you how to take photos.", he says, coolly, his dimpled grin coming in to save the day, his sea-green eyes running over your face desperately, and his sun-touched hair being moved by the wind and placed elegantly in front of those very eyes.

"With your camera?"

"What else?"

"I just... you're really protective over it."

"No, I'm not."

"You slept hugging it."

"Well, yeah, 'cause you were in the Viewing Room, and I-"

He decides it's best to shut up then.

"I'm not protective over my camera. Do you wanna learn or not?"

"Sure."

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That night sees him leaning back on the couch, welling up with tears of laughter as you struggled to hold the fucking thing properly. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!", he yells between laughs as he sees you pissed and threatening to smash the camera.

"How hard is it? C'mon, cradle the camera with your left, Y/N. Cradle, like a baby!"

"That's not how I would hold a baby!"

"How would you hold a baby?"

You demonstrate what you'd done when you'd had to babysit, and he bursts out into further hysterics, placing his glass of whiskey down as you pick up yours to take an irritated sip.

"That's very motherly, but it's not going to get you any photos."

"Well, fuck photos then!"

He raises a brow, watching as you come sit by him, placing his chin in your shoulder and looking down with you at the camera in your lap. "You sure? Don't you want to make art?", he asks, a wisp of wonder in his tone.

"Fuck art."

"Fucking can be art."

"Sex is not art, okay?!"

Who the hell were you trying to convince? Finnick 'Capitol Whore' Odair?

"What is it then?"

"I dunno, like, a way to have a baby?"

"Really? So that's the only reason you'd have sex? It's a means to reproduce?"

See in theory, yes, you knew that it wasn't, but you had never thought of any other purpose for it. Because when push came to shove, even if you were in District 4, the possibility of mortality hang over all your heads everyday. Not really top priority to think of fucking.

"Well, yeah! Why else would you? You need to keep population up or the Peacekeepers-"

He nods, closing his eyes as though he finally understood why you said what you said. "Ah. You're thinking of Panem."

"Don't we live here?"

"They don't do population checks."

"But I heard-"

"I know what you heard. Trust me, your service is not required. Other districts are doing a good enough job keeping the remains of humanity booming in number."

You sigh. You're not getting out of this until he's changed your take on sex, that's clear.

"You can't possibly think sex is only for giving birth."

"No way."

"No, seriously. Imagine a canvas, right?"

"Okay."

"Paintbrushes. A curve of paint, a flick of your wrist, a deep stroke across the canvas."

"Mhm."

His voice drops to a barely audible whisper and it makes your toes curl. In a very good way. "Now", he breathes, "Imagine the canvas is skin."

That pretty much did it for you.

"Finnick."

He hums, almost laughing, but not quite. "Just listen. Eyes closed."

You obey, because when Finnick Odair asks you to listen to him verbally fuck you, you do.

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Yep. Sex is art.

And you were covered filthy with his words.

But to his credit, yes, they did help you take good pictures.

They also made you wonder why the hell someone who described sex so intimately and preciously would fuck everything with a pulse in the Capitol.

He frowns from the bed, where he sits shirtless with his arm on his knee, posing for you. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"Okay, so, me."

Fuck.

"That's what's blocking your art, so just get it out. Ask me whatever."

"Okay, how many times a day do you have sex?", you scoff. Should serve him right for asking such a-

"Five."

"Five? FIVE?"

"Well, I mean.... technically zero." He tenses up.

"What? Wait, that doesn't make sense."

"Look, sex and fucking are different! Sex is more intimate! Okay, look, I just think if you don't see the art and the beauty in everything we do, then it's just... life becomes mundane! Painful, even."

"Yeah. Yeah. Okay."

He's about to riot. Why weren't you pushing?

"Seriously. I just can't... I can't be without assuming everything happens to eventually become art. It hurts if I don't."

You nod and he breaks. Boundaries are only required when he wants them to be. And right now, he's in the mood to spill his brains to you. He's in the mood to bare his soul to you.

"Uh... you know, uh, we should go back to-"

"NO, Y/N. Listen!", he pleads. He doesn't want your usually welcome distractions - not now - and he doesn't want a palate cleanser. He wants you, he realizes, horrifyingly.

"What?"

"I don't... I've never had sex. But I've fucked. You know what I mean?"

You... kind of seem to, but he's not sure. You look like you're treading ice, walking on eggshells around him, which he doesn't blame you for. He hasn't forgotten his outburst the first night you'd met.

"So... you get it?"

You shake your head, and he's mildly relieved. Good. You didn't get it. He'd spoken without thinking, and he didn't want to make himself filthy in your eyes. Not that he was some angel now, either - he saw the way you still looked at him. Sellout, your gaze scolded him.

"It's okay. I didn't really expect you to."

"Why not?"

He inhales and shakes his head, shrugging. "Context? Lack thereof."

"I mean, why would you fuck people you didn't want to be intimate with?"

He's aware that the laugh that follows is only exacerbating your confusion, but you'd genuinely, genuinely, amused him. Because you were basically him before the Capitol. Wide-eyed, not entirely innocent, but definitely not well-versed with the world.

You were him and yet also the polar opposite.

Patting the spot on the bed next to him after shifting a couple of roses away, Finnick watches as you tentatively place the camera down safely first before sitting next to it. Fuck.

"Are you confused?"

You look up at him totally normally, unsuspecting, and trusting, worst of all, and he swears he's about to kill himself.

"What?"

"Are you confused?"

"Yeah, like, I don't know what this button does-"

"No, no, I mean... about what I said."

You pause. Yes. "I mean, slightly, but you don't have to talk if you don't want to."

"Do you want to hear it?"

You frown, and he tsks in urgency, his hands on your shoulders. "Do you want to hear it?"

You nod vehemently and he lets go.

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You're pretty sure it's three am by the time he's asleep. And it's in your arms. Tell twelve year old you that. She'd riot. She'd scream.

Finnick Odair's just bared his soul to you and now, he was utterly vulnerable.

You can't really fall asleep, not after that. Not after knowing that the lanky fourteen year old you'd hero-worshipped on TV when you were eleven had been forced into a room with a Capitol pervert two days later.

You look down. He's twenty-one. He's been doing this shit for seven years. Three years short of a decade. You look back up, at the wall in front of you, and although you can't help it, you get visions. Your mind conjures up its own versions of what happened to him, and you pull him just that much closer.

And that was impossible. Because he's only a couple rules-of-physics away from genuinely melting into you. He no longer seems to feel the need to hold your fingers, and instead, has wrapped himself around your torso and plans to stay there.

Fine by you.

You rest your head back against the headboard. He'd seemed to have struggled, opening up. He'd seemed to not know what to say at all and simultaneously not know where to start first.

You look down again, searching for the ocean in his eyes. Not there. Good, he's still asleep. You don't even feel the regret that you're supposed to feel for judging him, for insinuating that he slept around simply because he could. You can't feel that regret, not when so much anger overtook you.

The gold of his hair spews out from between your fingers, and you find yourself moving your fingers lower, down to the curve of his forehead, the dip of his nose, the plush of his lips, the turn of his jawline.

Beauty is rewarding to everyone else but its owner.

Your thumb rubs over his cheek and you sigh.

It all seems to make sense now, honestly. Why he chose someone from his District to photograph instead of from the Capitol. Why he hasn't been a complete asshole to you.

The white roses in every photo.

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Finnick wakes up much earlier than he usually does when he's at the Capitol, but then again, he preferred to relish every moment he could spend back in the District.

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is your hand.

He'd ended up sleeping in your arms, and you, being utterly, stupidly considerate, hadn't moved an inch.

He gently pries himself away from your arms, attempting to move your head down to the pillow instead of the neck-sprain-inducing position you'd assumed on the headboard. You seem more comfortable on the pillow.

His pillow, his mind notes, though he has no idea why.

The morning air outside beckons him to move closer to the sea. No one, not even Snow himself could stop him from this call.

He quickly freshens up, brushes, washes his face and then he practically soars out to the sea.

The water engulfs him, but it feels more like an embrace. An embrace that, not an hour ago, you'd had him in. He momentarily, terrifyingly considers basking in it for eternity. Letting the water hug him into oblivion. But no. His family's out there. You're out there.

He smooths his hair out, and squints out into the horizon. I mean, he could just go. Only if he managed to get past Panem borders, but if he did manage that? God, would he be set!

He could live out the rest of his days never having to see a rose again.

He could live out the rest of his days painting, photographing, he could maybe even build a boat.

He doesn't know how to build a boat.

But that doesn't matter.

Because he could do anything he fucking wanted. For once, his life would be his.

He turns his head shorewards, expecting the sharp disappointment of being ripped away from his fantasies, but instead, he finds you there. You wave and he basically sprints underwater to reach you.

"The water's amazing, come in!"

"I can't, not this early in the morning!", you call back out.

He almost asks why, but he doesn't want to pressure you. Not everyone can comprehend the beauty of an open, vast, unforgiving and unbiased sea. One that, just like sand, doesn't discriminate in its cruelty.

He'd rather unbiased cruelty than biased adoration.

Such comprehension only stems from trauma. Trauma that he would never wish upon you. He'd never wish it upon his worst ene- no. No, no. He wishes trauma upon Snow. 100%.

"What are you doing today?!"

"I've got to buy things for my home and then I've got tutoring!"

He loves the mundanity of it all. The way you almost grumble as you say it. The way it seems like you also want to just spend the rest of the day lounging with him.

After a moment, he asks, "Can I come with?!"

You look so pleasantly surprised by that, like you think it's a joke that you haven't understood, but his expectant look finally tells you it's not.

"Why!?"

He smiles, lifting his hands up in a comically exaggerated shrug that sends water droplets flying to his sides. "'Cause I can!"

It's mildly unsettling to him how normal you're being. He's pretty sure the whiskey and the tension of last night brought to light things he'd much rather muffle into the dark, but you don't seem affected.

In fact, you seem sort of relieved. Like you've finally understood something that had been bothering you for a while.

You probably think you know exactly why he'd suddenly brought you into his life, and that's what brings him back to reality.

He's still using you. The whole thing about his trauma? Wasn't that basically to get suspicion off him? Maybe that's why he did it.

His mood now soured by his own doing, he essentially stomps out of the water and slumps next to you, trying to ignore the familiar discomfort of wet sand on his skin.

Wet sand that you pick off for him. Fuck.

You couldn't be a bitch, could you?

If you'd been a bitch, this would be so much easier.

But no. You apparently had be fucking extraordinary, didn't you?

"You're actually coming to the market?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"And then tutoring?"

"I'm older and wiser, Y/N. I could probably tutor better than you. Also, I can actually hold a camera."

"Wow, so that's how it is. Ad hominem remarks."

It's embarrassing, to say the least, that after talking such a big talk about wisdom, he doesn't know what 'ad hominem' means.

"Yeah. That's how it is." Cop-outs are always effective in such situations.

You snort, moving your foot back and forth in an arch. "Finnick?"

He hums. "Have you ever needed Tesserae? Like, before the Games."

He nods. "Yeah. Once. It was a very bad storm, so fishing wasn't really going well."

"It's funny, Faye never needed Tesserae. I mean, her family did, but obviously they didn't want it to go into her name. So she was clean. But she still... y'know."

"I want to say something about fate, but I'm not sure it applies here."

"No, it does."

"How so?"

"I've been looking at it kind of... harshly, but it helps.", you say, turning to the sea in front of you. He briefly wonders whether the orange horizon reflected in your eyes brings forth the same daydreams that he just had, in your mind.

"I just figure... it's probably written in stone that she has to participate in the Games. Maybe it was just a matter of when. Maybe this was a kindness done by God, or the universe or something. So that she had less memories, less to leave behind."

He bites the inside of his cheek. "So you're saying that she died so young because it would have been harder if she had died when she was older, with more memories with the people she loved?"

"It sounds terrible, but it was something my elementary teacher told us, when we were first taught about the Games."

He nods, trying to plead with the horizon to give him something to say.

"That was a shitty way to start the morning. Sorry.", you mutter, and he aggressively shakes his head.

"Shit's on your mind, but it doesn't have to stay there, okay?"

You nod. "How is it we're not hungover?"

He raises a brow. "Sea air. Does wonders."

"I live way too far inland, then. Should just stay in the Victor's Village forever."

"Yeah, you should. You got kids in your family?"

"Yeah, my niece and nephew, why?"

"Bring 'em all here, they can actually have a childhood with the sea thirty paces away. I'll teach them stuff. Rope tying, swimming, shit like that."

You smile softly, and it makes the sea air sweeter for him.

The words are left unsaid on both your tongues. They can have a childhood until eleven.

"I'm sure they'd love it if you could teach them."

He tries not to notice the cameras in the distance behind you, but it's really fucking hard.

"We should go."

"Why? It's nice, and I've got...", you reply, looking down at your watch, "...like, a half hour left before I need to go."

"No, let's go."

You figure that, since this wasn't a common occurrence, there was a reason for the roughness with which he led you back inside.

"You gonna tell me what that was about?", you ask as he picks out an apple from one of the adoring fruit bowls someone has sent him.

You've become bolder, grown more of a spine, but asking him this terrifies you, for some reason. Probably because you know he'll tell you the truth.

"There were cameras."

"Aren't you used to it?"

He tosses the apple up in the air and catches it before he washes it in the sink, turning to you as he takes a bite. "But are you?"

You shake your head, catching the one he washes and then throws to you the next moment.

"Exactly."

Nodding, you take a bite.

"What? What else do you have on your mind?" He reads your mind with an unsettling talent.

"What are they saying? Y'know, about us?"

"Just... you know, what you already know. That we're in love. And shit."

"You didn't want the cameras to capture the lack of love, then?"

Whoa, you were hitting hard. "Uh, no, I just thought you'd want some privacy."

"You already got me to come to the Capitol and take fake pictures to pacify Snow."

"Yeah, but-"

"So what is private about my life anymore? I didn't even know I cared so much about my privacy until it went away."

He's been there, done that.

"You're saying you want cameras on you?"

"I'm saying that from now on, they're going to be on me either way."

His chewing slows, and he nods. "Right. Sorry."

"You don't have to - you know that isn't why I said that. Don't apologise."

Alright, now he's more sure than ever that you have some skewed idea of what's going on, one that paints him as someone who accidentally got you into this mess.

Licking his lips, he moves over to place what he wants you to construe as a loving arm around the shoulder. But it's actually a guilty one. A terrified one. A fuck-if-this-goes-south-I-will-lose-her one.

He squeezes twice. "I've got you."

It's hard to say that without scoffing. He's barely got himself.

---

Finnick realizes lots of things by the end of the day.

One, if you want to go somewhere where no one cares who you are and be shoved around, it's the marketplace.

Two, you were wiser than him.

Three, your trust in him, no matter how hard you tried to hide it, was blind. Blind, and infuriatingly so.

Which is why when he finally dropped you home, you said something that, if you didn't have blind trust in him, would have immediately sent of warning bells in your head that he was an absolute asshole who was using you.

"Peacekeepers seem to have multiplied around here."

And his instinctual reply should have been enough to make you realize his entire plan and scorn him to hell.

"Yeah, they used to circle around mine more."

Yep. His plan had worked. Snow had begun to send him silent warnings that now, if he didn't do as he said, the "love of his life" would be killed.

And he didn't know if it was relief or sadism, but momentarily, he found a slight bit of joy that his family wasn't the one under more immediate threat than you.

God, he was such a bad fucking person.

"Maybe they're there to protect me.", you scoff, and he laughs, following you into your house and locking the fucking door.

"Yes, President Snow is known for his extraordinary empathy."

"Is he going to threaten to kill me if you don't... y'know?"

He nods. "Yeah, but I'm used to it. And you'll be safe, trust me."

"I don't want to if you aren't. I can't live with that knowledge.", you say, pursing your lips as you place the items on the kitchen counter.

He looks around and his environment aligns with what he expected a house with two kids to look like. "Where's everyone?"

"There's some school thing. Something to honor Faye and Kai, so my family's not here."

"You didn't go?"

"I don't know if I can.", you respond, shrugging.

He sighs, sitting on the chair while you perch up on the counter, his forearm grazing the side of your knee. "She was lovely."

You nod. "She'd have loved this."

"Loved what?"

"Busy days. She was a tiny bit weird like that. She liked having something to do, and had a whole itinerary planned."

He chuckles incredulously. "Yeah, right. She was thirteen."

"No, she came by every weekend, knocking on my door and telling me the time slots for tutoring. I'm not kidding."

"Oh my god.", he remarks, shaking his head.

"She was so neurotic, in the best way. Said she loved being able to crash into bed after being productive the whole day."

He grins. "She sounds amazing. I wish I got more time with her."

You shake your head. "Wouldn't ever be enough."

He stands, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry."

The only two words he has the right to say to you, and the two you keep rejecting, cluelessly.

"What?"

"I should've done better."

"You did the best you could. Sometimes, even District 1 Careers die."

It kills him that you think he's talking about the Games.

You look at each other for a while, and he frowns softly before his eyes move to your mouth. His lips follow soon after.

He kisses you, and then pulls away, making sure you're not absolutely repulsed, and you don't seem to be, and so he keeps going, his hands on the back of your neck, in your hair.

You're kissing back. "That's all that matters", he thinks, rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

No repulsion.

Not yet, anyway. Because he'd noticed something that you hadn't, right outside, pointing straight at you.

Cameras.

God, he was such a bad. fucking. person.

[thegnomelord]

Alright since 28 is taken Ill do the next best thing 29! Graves and his shadows with M reader, who is a colonel.

I need the wholesome and maybe a bit of the spice ya know. Thank you for soing Shadow company content, i am so starved.

Once again good soup!

Here you go dude, I'm not the best when it comes to writing for a group of people so idk how this turned out :/. Play the game HERE

Prompt: Hug from behind

CW: NSFW, subbot Graves, domtop Mreader, Shadow company fluff, hug from behind, fluff, groping, handjob, cumming in pants.

Being a colonel in the Shadow company and Grave's right hand man, you had a lot of responsibilities. From running drills to stitching up wounds to writing reports and drafting contracts when your magpie of a commander sees a new person he wants to recruit; you expected to deal with a lot of shit, but never in your wildest dreams did you expect to become the Shadow Company's emotional support Colonel.

Colonel Care Bear — it was their nickname for you. You'd made the mistake of being annoyed at the name which, of course, made the little fuckers double down on it. Nothing you did made them stop, even Graves joining in their fun and calling you that instead of your name with a smug grin.

You're not even sure when or why it had started.

It wasn't like you were overly paternal, you just took care of your soldiers. In whatever ways they needed you; The first time you'd needed to give emotional support had been after Jenkins had lost his battle buddy. Jenkins was still relatively young compared to the other Shadows, a rising star that Graves had snatched up, but on the flight back to base he'd been no better than a scared kitten, desperately trying to hold in his sobs. You hadn't said a word when you had pulled him close to you, letting him cry his heart out into your shoulder.

None of the others said a word either, and you didn't bring it up after your plane had landed. You'd expected it to be a one off experience but oh — you were so wrong.

Like feral cats learning to trust a human, the Shadows started approaching you, carefully at first, standing just at the edge of your personal space nervous fingers toying with the hem of their shirts and eyes flickering between you and anything else, until you grew annoyed and pulled them close to you, letting them cry or talk or just sit with their head on your shoulder for as long as they needed; a lighthouse in a dark sea.

Then Williams, who'd had one too many bad missions, had come into your office without a word and plopped himself into your lap while you were busy doing paperwork.

You were surprised, but not too much, with how often you'd found yourself with a Shadow near you you figured something like this was bound to happen. Though you hadn't expected it to be this forward. "Bad day?" You asked.

Williams just grunted into your neck, slightly nodding his head.

You shifted to still be able to write with him in your lap. "Want me to talk?"

You felt his hair scratch your neck when he shook his head, a negative grunt leaving his throat.

"Got it." You said and went back to your work, a hand on William's hip to keep him stable.

Safe to say you weren't amused when Graves had walked in and cracked the biggest bloody smirk when he saw you like that. You were even less amused when he'd whipped out his phone and took a photo of it. And you were ready to piss in Grave's beer after that photo had circulated through the entire Shadow Company, leading to many more similar incidents of a Shadow crawling into your lap when you weren't busy.

It really wasn't their fault your embrace just felt so good and comfortable, your arms perfectly sized and muscled to put weight in your hugs, shoulders just broad enough to make them feel small and safe.

Graves knew this because when he'd needed to confiscate Smith's phone after he'd caught him taking pictures of your ass (not that he blamed him, you had a nice ass but they needed to have some professionalism) Graves had found their simp chat.

It took him days to finish reading all the messages. I mean there were hundreds of texts gushing just over you, calendrer times for when which Shadow could go bother you for attention, not to mention the countless pictures they'd taken of you, from mundane to more suggestive when you were in the communal showers (Graves would die before he admitted he'd needed to rub one out at some of the pictures).

Safe to say that when he gave Smith his phone back Graves was. . .curious. He'd never approached you for comfort like the Shadows did, mostly because he knew he couldn't keep his thoughts pure after just a few minutes in your presence, his throat going dry whenever he feels you pat his shoulder when you pass in the hall.

"Care Bear!" Graves calls when he finds you on your way to your room, using that name just so he can see the irritated twitch of your brow.

"Yes commander?" You ask in that same tone of voice you use when you know he's up to something.

"Oh come on, no need for that." Graves grins, "Ah just need you to do something for me," He says, because he wouldn't be your commander if he was straightforward. "Follow along." He motions with his hand like a dog as he passes you.

Like a dog you follow, so close you cast a partial shadow over him. He leads you to a more secluded hallway, stopping abruptly and hearing you stop too. But you're not close enough, so with an annoyed sigh he says "Come closer."

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says, taking a few short steps closer until your chest is almost touching his back. Without a word Graves suddenly grabs your arms and wraps them around his waist, leaning back on his heels until his back is flush with your chest and you're supporting his weight.

You stall for a few moments just trying to convince your head that yes, your commander is doing that. "Really?" You ask.

He tilts his head to meet your eyes, casually resting his head on your shoulder. "Something the matter Colonel Care bear?" He smirks, reminding you of a very content cat.

You give him a blank look before rolling your eyes, "Could have just said you wanted a hug." You huff and move your arms to really hug him, your hands resting comfortably on his hips, your arms caging him in, the heat of your body seeping into his, your chest rumbling as you mutter your annoyance at the damn nickname.

"What fun would that be?" He says, eyes closing.

And, Hell, Graves gets it now.

He could get addicted this. Your scent and cologne clogs his nose, the heat of your body chasing away the lingering chill of the base. You support his weight so easily it's like he's floating on a firm cloud, forgetting about ranks and war and everything for a few blissful seconds. His mind wanders; wonders what it would feel to have your strong arms pin him every day, what it'd be like to be pinned down, the current gentle pressure turned bruising and demanding, bending him in half and shit— he's hard.

And of course you notice, wouldn't be his right hand if you couldn't read him like a book. "I'm getting the impression," You note, your grip increasing just a bit to keep him still, your other hand skirting down. "That you wanted something more than just a hug." You growl and squeeze your hand, groping the bulge in his jeans.

"Shit—" Graves sucks in a breath, legs scrambling for purchase but you hold him still, his weight still on you. "—I wasn't thinking of nothing." He says quickly, the pressure of your hand on his clothed cock too good.

"Uh huh," You hum, keeping a careful eye on his facial expressions as you experimentally move your hand; Short slow brushes of your thumb against his cockhead earn you little whimpers, unable to hide them with his head still resting on your shoulder. Firm squeezes of his entire bulge has his skin turning a nice shade of pink, his ear hot beneath your tongue as you nibble on it. His thighs part as you bully your hand lower, the strong pressure of your fingers against his balls as your palm grinds into his cockhead making him moan, the stuttered attempts at explaining himself dying out as a visible damp spot grows in his jeans.

"Faster-" Graves growls, his hands grabbing purchase in your hair, yanking your head down into a rough kiss, "-mhh, faster, fuck, man-"

You smirk against his lips. "Ask me nicely." You say, purposely pulling your hand away from where he needs it the most, ignoring his disgruntled sounds. "You son of a bitch-" Graves snarls, breathing rapidly in an attempt to get his frazzled brain to work before swallowing his pride. "Please," He says it like the word hurts him.

"Please what commander?" You wonder, undoing his belt and slipping your hand into his jeans, "Please touch my cock? Please get me off? Please fuck me till I can't walk?" You throw suggestions, applying just enough pressure on his twitching cock to leave him dumbly nodding his head.

"Yes, yes, yes- oh fuck- shit yes-" Phill pants, eyes closing and weakly thrusting his hips into your hand with what leverage he has, seeking out the pleasure that comes with your calloused hand stroking his sensitive flesh. "Fuck- just, ahh-" He breathes in through clenched teeth, "-just please."

"Alright, alright," You hum, increasing your pace, the glide of skin on skin eased by the precum he's leaking, swallowing his little moans and rough grunts as you kiss him. You can tell he's nearing his end with how he begins twitching even more in your hold, hips pushing into your hand sporadically, fat tears prickling his eyes. "Come on then Commander, cum already."

He does almost as soon as you tell him to, his moan swallowed down by your lips as he cums in his pants, your thumb rubbing insistently on his tip to milk him of all he's got, strong arm keeping him close to you.

"You did good commander." You coo gently as you pull your hand out of his pants, and without waiting for a response you push your cum covered fingers into his open mouth. "Real good," You smirk when Phill immediately sucks on your fingers, his brain melted into mush and incapable of rousing his pride to feel ashamed of how he moans at the taste of his own spend. "Such a good boy," Your praise does something to him, has his cock making a valiant attempt to get hard all over again.

The air leaves his lungs when you suddenly push your hips against his ass, making him feel your own hard cock trapped in your pants. "I took care of you," You begin, pulling your fingers from his mouth. "Are you prepared to take care of me?"

[smilesrobotlover]

Odyssey notes I took while reading the odyssey since I finished it!:

Imagine surviving the sea, monsters, and curses, and how you die is by breaking your neck LMAO. I guess that’s the nicest way to die compared to the others I guess 💀

Odysseus seeing his mom in the underworld nearly brought me to TEARS HE COULDNT HUG HER AUGHHUFHFHFJHFJ

Dang Scylla is pretty terrifying. Poor Odysseus, couldn’t save his men :c

Can the men listen to Odysseus, for FIVE SECONDS

he probably needed that sleep so bad.

Also those mfs just left him 💀

POSEIDON NEEDS TO COOL HIS TITS!!! HIS GRUDGE AGAINST ODYSSEUS IS GETTING OLD!!!! Bro was gone for like, 17-20 years and he lost everyone, almost died, and was prisoner to Calypso for 7 years. Leave him alone dawg

The freaking fact that Odysseus couldn’t recognize Ithaca and just assumed that he was on an island of monsters or somethin makes me so sad bruh. He’s been through so much that he just can’t accept that he’s back home. Even when Athena herself telling him he’s home he JUST can’t believe it. This man needs so much therapy omg

How did homie come up with that elaborate backstory under his disguise??? Why is Odysseus so extra???

Also that fake backstory kinda paralleled his own. Very loosely but it’s neat.

I bet it was so hard not to sob right in front of Telemachus as soon as he saw him. Odysseus was using all his strength to fight against the tears.

Also Odysseus and Telemachus reuniting also nearly brought me to tears. I am not ok

“On hearing this Telemachus smiled to his father, but so that Eumaeus could not see him.” PLEASE I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AKSHDKSBSKSBSK

“Penelope came out of her room looking like Diana or Venus, and wept as she flung her arms around her son. She kissed his forehead and both his beautiful eyes, “Light of my eyes,” she cried as she spoke fondly to him” 🥺🥺🥺🥺 this is making me touch starved lmao. Oh to have everyone kiss my head and shoulders when I return home. Also love seeing momma Penelope

Penelope 🤝 Odysseus

Crying a lot

“As soon as he saw Odysseus standing there, he dropped his ears and wagged his tail, but he could not get close up to his master. When Odysseus saw the dog on the other side of the yard, he dashed a tear from his eyes without Eymaeus seeing it…” WHAT IF I CRIIIIIIIIIEEEEED 😭😭😭😭 HIS DOGGO

NOOOO ARGOS!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭 he died as soon as he saw Odysseus. He was able to see him one last time. I am unwell

“As she spoke Telemachus sneezed so loudly that the whole house resounded with it” THAT IS THE MOST RANDIM THING TO ADD IN THERE HSKDBSKSBSK. It’s so cute tho 😭😭😭 oh Telemachus you’re Adorable. And his momma laughed. Aww.

Nvm Telemachus’s sneeze was apparently an omen that the suitors will die lmao. This story just has things Happen

Telemachus: *sneezes*

Penelope: this is a sign that the suitors will die

Eymaeus: what

Odysseus has THUNDER THIGHS

“This was what she said, and Odysseus was glad when he heard her trying to get presents out of the suitors, and flattering them with fair words which he knew she did not mean.” HE LOVES HIS WIFE!!!!

“…I believe the light had not been coming from the torches, but from his own head—for his hair is all gone, every bit of it.”

Did this mf just make a bald joke 💀

Me and my homies hate the maids and suitors

Also Penelope rocks. Deceiving everyone cuz she doesn’t want to get married to those douche bags. Pop off queen. Poor lady, forced to get married :((

Odysseus trying not to cry upon talking to his wife after years 😭😭😭 that dude is TOUGH

Odysseus: oh yeah, I met Odysseus. He was wearing fancy clothes and was hot af.

Odysseus is trying so hard to convince Penelope that he’s coming home. Ough… sweet man

Ok so Odysseus was officially gone for 20 years. Ok Coolio. Yikes

Bro went on a huge tangent about the boar. It’s neat to hear about but sheesh.

Penelope had a dream that explicitly told her that Odysseus was coming home to kill the suitors and she’s like “can you interpret it for me?” I assume she’s trying to mess with Odysseus, cuz even tho he’s in disguise, she’s sensing something with him.

Oh she knows Odysseus is somewhere. Why is she setting up a tournament that only Odysseus could do now?? She knows…. She knows….

Book XX: Odysseus cannot sleep. What else is new?

Odysseus’s name meaning anger is starting to make sense now that he’s home and wanting to murder people out of anger. I guess the fact that he pisses everyone off to is also an indicator of that 💀

Oh the Odysseus and Penelope parallel augh

Odysseus is just brooding all the time huh

I like the idea that Telemachus is very timid and soft spoken. Everytime he speaks against the suitors they’re always surprised; now that he’s older with Athena and his father by his side, he’s beginning to break out of this shell and become more bold. It’s neat for his character. wonder how he’d feel about himself compared to his lion-hearted father

Telemachus is sooo cuuuuute he tried to do that trial for his momma… he was so excited too. My son

Love how Odysseus is absolutely JACKED. Just super strong. An absolute tank. Love him

“Eurymachus,” Penelope answered, “people who persist in eating up the estate of a great chieftain and dishonoring his house must not expect others to think well of them.” EAT EM UP PENELOPE!

I FREAKING LOVE THE ARROW SCENE. GO ODYSSEUS GO

I guess people in Ancient Greek times just killed each other without any thought lmao. I have a feeling that it’s less about the law and more about the revenge that would fall upon you if you killed someone. It was satisfying to read the suitors and maids die tho. Heck yeah

Athena is a great wing man. Just making Ody hot and godlike

Love Penelope testing Odysseus to make sure it was him. Very good. She’s a very cunning women indeed

OUGHHHH THEYRE HUGGING HDBSBSKSBSKSBSKSBSSKSBKWKW 😭😭😭😭

Gosh. The love and chemistry between Odysseus and Penelope is so strong, even tho they’re barely together in the story. Like, it’s interesting to hear how much love they poured into each other that night, (especially compared to Circe and Calypso. Odysseus clearly did not love them.) and then they talked and explained their times away from each other. Augh they’re so in love 😭😭😭

Odysseus just tell your father that you’re home why are you LIKE THIS

WHY ARE YOU MAKING UP ANOTHER ELABORATE BACKSTORY JUST TELL HIM WHO YOU ARE

Dang, that was an abrupt ending. But why did Athena like… tell Odysseus’s father to kill the guy and then told them not to kill each other lmao. Idk. But overall yay. Interesting how Odysseus didn’t listen at first. I think he’s truly changed since his adventure

Something I noticed was that Odysseus was probably a very happy and joyful man. He had family and friends, a wife and a newborn son. He treated everyone fairly and with kindness and everyone adored him for it. But after his adventure, he seemed far more somber and angry. Sad change of character, but ultimately he didn’t change too much. I love him. I enjoyed that WAAYYYY more than I thought I would. Sure the writing was different than what I was used to—there was so much yapping and tangents and metaphors—but it wasn’t impossible to follow! I’ve read difficult stories from Shakespeare to scriptures and this was an overall easy read. The culture of Ancient Greece is very…. Strange to me, but it’s always neat to see differences in cultures, no matter how uncomfy it makes me feel. Love how both Odysseus and Penelope remained faithful to each other and cried over each other a lot. They got married for a reason <3 and Telemachus my son. He’s so precious. Good good story I enjoyed that a lot

[moongothic]

Okay, here goes. What's your ultimate Crocodad timeline? You can go as wild or as believable as you want.

I mean I made this timeline chart/post/thing.

But if you meant it in a more "how do you think things actually went down" specific kinda way, uhhhhh. Great question, not sure I know how to answer. Like. The possibilities on what could've happened and how are nearly endless and all those options are so interesting to me. Even if there's ideas I feel like might be more likely than others, or I find myself more invested in some ideas, I can't fully like, dedicate myself to any specific idea for a plot point or a storybeat or anything, especially if there's nothing to suggest if anything even remotely similar could've happened.

Like, say for example, how did Crocodile and Dragon meet? There's literally infinite ways they could've met, to the point I'm not even really that interested in speculating on it, because more likely than not, any guess I make will probably be wrong. Like speculating about something like that feels almost pointless. Compare that to say, how did Luffy end up in Garp's care? While we know like nothing about what exactly happened, we do have any theoretical information (ex: Garp and Croc should not know about each other, meaning there must've been a third party to deliver the baby, and it's more than likely that was Dragon) that we can get to much more specific when speculating about what might've happened. Like there's still plenty of options, but the options are far fewer, which makes the speculation so much more interesting, for me at least

But at the same time, I don't want to get too fond of any idea in because Oda could still prove me wrong and debunk it and I'd be sad if I got like fond of a concept and I ended up being dead wrong lmao

Mind you, for me, a big part of the reason I'm invested in the theory to begin with IS the possibility of it being canon. Like yes Crocodad would and always will make for fun AU fanfics regardless of if it's canon or not. But I am here to more or less speculate about canon.

So between my brain treating Crocodad as this monstrous, gigantic flow chart, and me not wanting to get too attached to any potential path on the chart... Yeah I don't know what to tell you anon, I'm sorry

Like. Just as an example. On how my brain processes this shit.

(Sidenote, this chart is like under the assumption that Croc and Dragon had mutually agreed that their child would be put in the care of Dragon's father. And while that makes the most sense to me by a long shot, technically it's totally possible Luffy was taken away from Crocodile by force by Dragon or something else) (THERE'S SO MANY POTENTIAL THINGS THAT COULD'VE HAPPENED, AHHHHHHH)

Like here, I think the most likely canon scenarios would be the "Respectful Rejection" followed by "Too Stunned To Speak -> It's Bad" routes, though personally I might be most interested in the "It Was Really Bad" route because it'd be really fucked up and sad

So like. Yeah. I have no idea what my "ultimate Crocodad timeline" would be, there's too much room for speculation to the point anything specific would leave the room of Neutral Canon Speculation and just turn into a plain old fanfic, and I'm just here for theorizing

But hey if you wanted a fanfic, here's a TL:DR;

(You know I say this is a TL:DR; but this got so fucking long it almost broke this post. Like Tumblr would not let me save the draft or post it anymore because there's a 4k character limit to "blocks", I had to break this into chunks man)

If Crocodile was betrayed by his crew after losing to Whitebeard and had to kill them himself in self-defence;

Who the fuck knows, maybe by some twist of fate our wounded/dying, exhausted and traumatized Crocodile drifted in the sea and his ship ran into Dragon, the man rescuing Crocodile from the kindness of his heart or something IDK

If the dude had to kill his own crew immidiately after Whitebeard crushed his hopes and dreams, Crocodile must've been just absolutely shell shocked. Depressed and withdrawn, just out of it. So maybe Dragon being there could've been great for Croc's mental state. Maybe. Big maybe.

If Crocodile did turn out to be the Rev Army's Secret Sugar Daddy then perhaps this is how that relationship kind of started: Crocodile could've paid Dragon in cash money as thanks for saving his life, and then just kept the money coming since Dragon had an army to run and needed the funds

(Like we don't know why Crocodile joined the Shichibukai anyways, but if it was only ever for The Benefits of not having to deal with the Marines chasing his ass anymore and if he didn't give a rat's ass about the Government... Like yeah, why not fund the Revolutionary Army, give money to the people trying to directly take down the fuckers while right under their noses.) (Who knows maybe Croc does have his own reasons for hating the WG and had like a genuine reason beyond just being a petty king and/or having basic human decency in understanding why the WG was corrupt and needed to be overthrown)

Thus begins a secret comradery where Crocodile every now and then goes and drops off some money to Dragon to help fund the Army, nobody on either side of the war any wiser (except maybe Iva-chan, they're allowed to be in on the secret, as a treat). It's their secret that they keep for years

Time passes

Whoopsie poopsie Crocodile's prégónánté

The two realize that their kid is going to be in so much danger for a pletora of reasons and that neither can raise the baby. Dragon knows his father would keep their baby safe and they both agree to leaving the child to him (not a happy decision, it's just for the best, for everyone's sake)

Anyway Crocodile's gender dysphoria goes into turbo mode during pregnancy. Maybe he never really realized it was there and/or what it was, but boy howdy, it's there now and it's really really bad. Like, if it wasn't for the baby he might just kill himself (and god knows once the kid is out and taken away, there's not going to be anything to stop him from doing just that)

Crocodile must've gone into hiding during the latter half of his pregnancy to keep it a secret from the Government, and I could totally imagine him being hellbent on being completely isolated. He is a Shichibukai, everybody knows him, he can't risk having even some random doctor recognize him and find out about the baby. Besides, it's not like he can do much while hiding anyways, like he might as well read 150 medical books to ensure he can deliver his baby by himself

(Sidenote but the narrator in OP has called Fuusha Village Luffy's "birth place" (think the term he used was "umereta machi", lit. "town he was born in"), and if that's true, then. Croc should've been hiding in and/or near Fuusha Village in Goa Kingdom. Additional sidenote, there are wild crocodiles in Goa, which are the Sir's favorite food.)

To avoid suspicion and the risk of being found out, Dragon might've agreed to not go see Crocodile during this time, only agreeing to see his significant other after the child was born so he could then deliver the baby to Garp (after not just leaving the Marines but also starting a fucking revolutionary army, the dude probably didn't want his father to find out he had been dating a fucking WARLORD)

But surely he'd think Crocodile was insane if he thought he'd let Crocodile deliver the baby alone. Like no, somebody needs to be there by his side. Someone Dragon could trust, a fellow Revolutionary perhaps. Oh yeah, just send Ivankov, what could possibly go wrong

(Personal headcanon but since we don't know when Ivankov got their Fruit, I kind of want to imagine they ate it just a short time ago at this point and that they hadn't fully realized the potential of the Hormone Fruit yet. Like their genderfluid ass may not have understood the power they now held)

Iva-chan did not know Croc was prénánté, whether Dragon told Ivankov ahead of time why they were being sent to check on Croc is up or debate (if Iva-chan was aware of Croc being their Secret Sugar Daddy though then I'm sure they understood why Dragon wanted and was willing to help out Crocodile in this situation). Croc and/or Dragon probably lied through their teeth about the father of the child if Iva-chan ever asked about it, and whatever Iva-chan was told they clearly bought it since they never knew about Dragon having a kid.

When Iva gets there though they can see right away that something is fucking wrong with Crocodile, in ways even he can't understand. He is so uncomfortable 24/7 for seemingly no reason. So naturally Iva-chan pokes and prods at the dumbass until Croc has a break down and explains his weird feelings he can't even word properly and this is how Emporio Ivankov discovered transgenderism

What's that? You don't like what pregnancy has done to your body, doesn't feel like it's yours anymore? You feel love for your child but don't want to be its mother? Good news, you can be its father instead. Bad news, gotta wait until the baby is farted out. Aren't sure about it? No worries, there's time to think about it, and shit's 100% reversible anyways. Just hang in there for a little bit longer, you may feel god awful rn but that too shall pass

(Maybe this is how Iva-chan starts calling Crocodile "Crocoboy", just to get him to warm up to the idea that he could be(come) a man, get used to it etc)

Crocodile has an identity crisis of a lifetime. Like either he knew since he was a small child that something was fucky wucky, or he never realized it until now, either way, he must not have even been aware of the idea that he could trans his gender (which would make sense if Ivankov only recently got their Fruit just sayin'). So yeah. Enjoy that gender crisis, dumbass

Like he straight up just goes through the five stages of grief before he's like "god dammit if it'll make me feel less like I'll kill myself then it's worth a shot, don't care what Dragon ends up thinking"

At some point Croc must've contacted Dragon at least one final time just so they can agree on when and where they'll meet to hand over the baby once it's born (if Croc doesn't die at child birth. I mean they both know he'll be fine, Croc's survived worse. But if something did happen, Iva-chan will take care of the baby until Dragon arrives)

This is One Piece. Luffy was born at dawn.

Crocodile probably insists on getting the T literally immidiately after the baby is out. If he doesn't just pass out immidiately after giving birth. But like within 24 hours of giving birth. Iva-chan is probably like "Crocoboy you're exhausted, chill, your cooch needs to recover" and he's just like "why wait for it to recover when you're going to get rid of it, just do it"

(Iva-chan probably goes and gets Croc some emergency clothes and like bottles and baby food etc because god knows he's going to burst out of his old clothes and he ain't gonna have the tiddies to breastfeed that baby either)

Anyway he gets the rones and gets to enjoy gender euphoria for the first time in his life. Happy times, happy tears, a happy croc

Dude probably nearly shits himself when he tries to speak as he is now voiced by Ryuuzaburo Fucking Ootomo (even Iva-chan is like "HOLY SHIT your voice dropped") (like they probably agressively try to encourage Crocodile to speak more and let them hear that voice and Croc is like "ssssshhhhhhhhh stop yelling you'll wake up the baby!!")

Anyway he finally gets to fucking rest and relax and enjoy the sheer relief of not just being free of his dysphoria but also his baby boy being born and looking all healthy and happy. A happy dad

(If Crocodile was the first person Iva-chan helped transition, and under these circumstances specifically. I think seeing the guy and his sheer relief would give like Iva-chan a new mission in life. To help people like Croc)

(Ivankov: "It's like a great weight has been lifted off your chest... GET IT, 'CAUSE YOU DON'T HAVE TITS ANYMORE! HEEHAW!!" / 🐊: "If you wake up the baby I will skewer you")

Anyway if the Rev Army member stays with Crocodile for too long there's a risk of them getting found out and that'd be bad, so Iva-chan needs to GTFO (they have better things to do, like overthrow some governments and stuff). Also Crocodile needs to prepare because he can't have the Government wondering where the fuck he's been all these months much longer (god knows explaining his sudden manliness is going to be enough to deal with) and the kid needs to go into hiding. If Iva-chan asks where the child is going, Croc probably won't give a straight answer, just that there's a plan and he needs Ivankov to keep the baby a secret etc (perhaps that could be the blackmail Iva-chan brought up in Impel Down 🤔)

Crocodile gets to spend a little time with his baby boy (before and/or after Iva-chan leaves). Crocodiles (the animals) look after their babies for three months before they're on their own, so at most he stayed with his baby for three months, though I'd argue just 3 weeks, simply because that'd a painfully short amount of time that's just perfect for tragic storytelling

Perhaps that was the happiest time of Croc's life. No stupid Government to deal with, no pirates to fight, no villages to pillage. Just him and his beautiful baby boy. Not even the knowledge of knowing he'd have to say goodbye to his son forever would get in the way of his happiness at that moment.

(Did he ever think about what to name the child? Maybe Dragon had wanted Crocodile to name their child and Crocodile was supposed to think of something while expecting, before the baby was born. Or maybe, knowing he would never see that child again (until the Government blows up) he could not bring himself to think of a name. It'd be Dragon's father who'd look after the baby anyways, Dragon should name him)

Dragon comes. Either exactly at the agreed upon time, or perhaps a day early (dude was too excited and wanted to be with his wife and child, together as a family, even if it was for a day). Whenever he arrives;

See the chart earlier in the post

However things go down, Dragon and Crocodile go their separate ways. Crocodile leaves the island immidiately.

Well. I certainly became absolutely deranged writing this.

HOPE YOU FOUND THAT ENTERTAINING

[canichangemyblogname]

They made some interesting choices with this second-to-last episode of TLT. ⚠️ Spoilers for the Episode and discussion of the books.

I did not find Hades very-- I dunno how to put it-- convincing? His characterization was... bland. Compared to his introduction in the book, Hades wasn't bitter, he didn't seem aggrieved, and he was not angry or vengeful or harsh despite believing Percy had stolen from him. This is supposedly a god who is widely feared and despised, yet he offered Percy and Grover snacks. It's like he had no bark or bite.

This is the same man who will look his son in the eye and so cruelly and coldly say that he wished that very same son had died instead of his daughter. He will later imprison Percy for fucking shiggles because he doesn't like the fact the kid exists.

He also just took Percy's word on Kronos??? And used Percy's words to go back on his own word. Essentially like, "Actually, yeah, give me the bolt, so I have all the power to defeat Kronos single-handedly. If Kronos is alive, that is. 😉"

This is a god who was also characterized as hardworking, intelligent, and-- I dunno-- just, I suppose, in the way death is; cold-hearted but even-handed. This god never broke his oath. This god does not like those who cheat justice or death. He was often characterized as "infuriated" by "unfairness," like those who escape punishment for their crimes. But it seemed like he was toying with Percy before withdrawing from his promise. While he was described as a crafty and sharp-witted god, he was never portrayed as dishonest.

This is a god full of great grief and loneliness and capable of great cruelty, but this narrative did not convince me that he was imposing. Up until this moment, he is believed to be the big bad and he just... offers them juice boxes? This really was like the Wizard of Oz. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain. This supposedly cunning and imposing big-bad god who wanted to start a war was... just some dude. And he offered them snacks. "Hey, Fellas." Are you my 80 y/o granddad???

LIKE. He's a god who's KNOWN to hold grudges. His children's fatal flaw is often grudges. And he says, "Family drama is why I don't [visit family] anymore. These grudges go on forever. Super unhealthy." HUH??? "I don't do jealous." WHO? You tried to kill Zeus' daughter because you had a grudge. My guy...

IDK man. Where's the Hades with "eyes like tar" that shone with the suggestion of either a genius or a madman? Where's the purple fire and robes made of screaming souls? That man was GREASY and haggard and gloomy. But the man they gave us looked like he'd just clocked in as CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

I also don't like that this episode got rid of Annabeth-- like-- 1/4 of the way into the episode. Just... POOF. Back to the sea. C'mon. Why'd we have to write her out?

IDK how I feel about Crusty's.

Charon was cool, tho.

[seoness]

hey!! so i had a request: if the idea is interesting to you, how would the hound feel about falling for a powerful nobleman/monarch (maybe essosi?) who's chronically ill & has facial/body disfigurements from a birth defect?

sorry if this is too specific!! i've just been wondering how the hound would feel about essos & royalty and that big cultural gap, and i'm a self-indulgent (and disabled) hag who wants to hear about him having a disabled man as a partner, lol. whether you take this request or not, i love your writing, especially your characterization of sandor! keep up the good work!!

(Sandor Clegane x male!reader) Hi, if this was meant as a request for a fic then just holler at me again and I'll add you to the waiting list. Planning on plowing through them on my vacation. 🤗 Otherwise, here are my thoughts and rambles. Thank you for your kind words! Apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors, I'm trying to be less pedantic.

I just had to draw him acclimated to his new home. Relaxing and having a snack. I dunno what the dude's eating. A large plum? A red onion?

Let's begin with the setting:

We alter his canon. The Hound never became the Hound... well, not Joffrey's. Let the Lannisters have Gregor, there is gold to be had elsewhere. He's heard the tales. Listened as sailors regaled of spice merchants that could rival the riches within Casterly Rock, of princes, magistrates, and emperors worshiped as gods beyond the Jade Sea. One of them will have the need for good steel. As long as his master can point and his purse is full, they need not share the same tongue, Sandor's sword will speak for him. One of those many spice merchants, princes, magistrates, and emperors will be you.

How would it start?

Slowly. Regardless if he's aware and accepting of his bisexuality, he's not some fool desperate to lose his maidenhead. Especially if you're in control of the coin that pays for his wants and needs. His view of you will not be one that is kind. His world is a cruel one, and the life he's lived has been no different. In canon, Sandor tells Sansa (while joking about a traumatized and raped Lollys Stokeworth):

"...if you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can..."

This is not a man that is considerate or empathetic by nature, which can be refreshing in its own right. He'll not eagerly bite the hands that feed him, but neither will he lie and say you didn't avoid his views on a technicality. It isn't your strong arms and steel that protect you. It is gold, and that gold has bought you his. This mindset applies to a wide spectrum of illnesses, ailments, disfigurement (that hinder physical performance), and disabilities. Sandor will wonder if you wanted his services because of his burn, that you see it like some sort of brotherhood. He'll not be completely open to the notion that you are clever enough to not pass on a good swordsman based on appearance. That you can see what more there is to Sandor Clegane than his scar and perhaps you hope he can show the same courtesy.

He won't.

Not at first. Your collaboration together will surround work and only work. You point, and the Hound goes. Sandor will start to pick up words here and there in your tongue. He knows and understands more than he lets on, but dislikes the chuckles whenever he speaks with a heavy Westerosi accent. The armor of dark plate will slowly switch to layered fabrics, chainmail, and pieces of plating (rather than a full set of plate). The once pale skin will darken under the Eastern sun. In Westeros, Sandor despised the showmanship of knights, but there is an honesty to how the Essosi deal with their gold and silk. It's not to boast of valor or honor, it is simple. Wealth. Gone are the comparing of lineages and legends of long-dead men, in Essos gold is everything.

As Sandor begins to adapt to his new surroundings, it won't be lost on the man that it's mostly due to you. You put down the time to explain your customs to him, you are the one ordering the many learned men to tutor your sellsword and you are the one that teaches the Hound what rules can be broken and which will cost him his head. Sandor isn't blind and he isn't ungrateful. His work is no longer a means to pay for his enjoyment, but something that brings him fulfillment in and of itself. He starts to devote time to learning more about you, your interests, and your past.

A good shield knows the one it guards.

That excuse will serve him well for a time. It's when his concern starts to shift that the man no longer can lie to himself. He can protect you from any danger heading your way. A madman with an axe, some assassins here and there, but the struggles that are your own? He knows shit about it. If the gods were true they sure as hells had no intention for him to be a maester.

Sod off

Sandor won't ask about it. He still doesn't want the reason for your friendship to be the brotherhood of the scarred and maimed. Your struggles are yours, his are his. There's no help in stealing the others. His growing care for you will show as the opposite, he'll ask less and seem more distant as you talk. The Hound will become more solitary overall, your servants tell you that he's stopped his usual route to the brothels. Sandor knows he should leave Essos. Gregor has lived for far too long. He'll pack once or twice, try and muster the will to tell you that he's leaving.

More excuses. The rest of your guard is too weak. Didn't that merchant give you an odd look at the last feast? Best stay a little longer, just until you're safe. If pressed too much during this period, the Hound might very well bite the hand that feeds him. He'd like the excuse of being sent away.

Sparks and relationship

When this strange friendship changes to romance is hard to say. He'll not be sober when he makes any deeper feelings known. A blunder. Something Sandor planned to keep his mouth shut about until he died. As a relationship begins to form between you, his support will grow into new areas. If someone rubs you the wrong way, he'll make a note and whisper an insult in your ear. He'll do that too many that trouble you. It's not a brotherhood, but he knows just how annoying it is to be surrounded by whispers and fleeting looks.

Sandor would have found joy in Essos, in your service, and unlike in his homeland, he would have been open that you were the man that he loved... you would have protected him from the hardships that await him.

[treatroses]

You know what since I'm coming out as more than just a gay ficto(someone's who into fictional dudes for my own definition) on here, I'm going to say it. And if any of my non rq friends I met years ago see this, well guess what darlings, I'm radqueer as hell! and follow the neoreligion Equestriaism(so does my F/O Sea Hawk 👀).

I welcome you to Mina3point0!

I'm Mio, I was also once both @leximina and @transmina, I'm radqueer and hid that part of me for the longest time, but lately I've been more confident in myself so here I am. To anyone who's followed those blog's and have found this one, hello!! I don't fit your traditional views of society and I'm okay with that :)

I use he/him and it/its pronouns, am a trans man who's a mlm fictosexual, and my boyfriend is Sea Hawk from She-Ra and the princesses of power. Admittedly Sea Hawk and I were once rivals, but we became lovers over time.

I follow the neoreligion of Equestriaism, which is a neoreligion that surrounds the Princesses from My Little Pony Friendship Is Magic.

This blog while yes will have selfship content is also going to be my main blog. As I plan on posting so much more here compared to before, especially when I no longer feel I have to hide my identity.

I hope you enjoy what I post and if you don't, oh well, at least you got to learn a thing or two about me. I like and follow from @random-sensei-wu-fan, you're free to follow that blog, but I'll be most active here.

Little tag/@ section: @equestriaism(This way if you want you can rb and others can look into the neoreligion)

Userbox by @/wocatana

[tireddovahkiin]

1, 2 & 15

Thank you for the ask Lee <3

Link to the game!

1. Gush about your f/o's sense of style/fashion!

OOOOOO it's so beautiful... I know we only saw Sephiroth in his SOLDIER/battle uniform for the entire game, but I personally like to think that he's into dark academia style/elegant/clothing with dark colors and that look plain. He's a simple man. I don't see him as a fan of bright colours, tbh, and Tsizilia HATES colours. So, good thing is, their house is black or grey themed. Tsizilias wardrobe has black and white things, while Sephiroths has a bit more colour to it.

They both like to dress for the occasions, even as simple as going outside for something. Never leaving the house without the style mhm😎

Sephiroth likes to wear plain sweaters and sweatpants, or t-shirts and pants when it's hot. He's a fan of knitted sweaters a lot. As for when going out, he'll choose coats, usually black or dark beige, simple button up white shirts, or again, sweaters, jeans/leather pants and boots. He even adds a scarf sometimes, not because he's cold, but just because he wants to look fabulous. When it's hot, shirts are unbuttoned, and the sleeves are pulled up. Sephiroth also likes do add sunglasses (Tsizilia chose them for him because she wears hers 24/7, she knows what she's doing alr)

For the special occasions, suits with a special silver lining, black cravat with a pin decoration, maybe even gloves... JSHDLUSGDIUSGIUGFYSD~

Just as I said, simple and practical, yet elegant man.

(Bonus: Sephiroth doesn't weak any pyjamas in bed. When it's winter time, he sleeps in boxers, and when it's summer, he sleeps naked. [IDFC HE SEEMS LIKE THE TYPE IF YOU THINK THAT'S NASTY I DON'T GIVE TWO SHITS- FIGHT ME-])

2. Gush about your f/o's voice!

DUDE. DUUUUUUUDE.

DON'T GET ME EVEN STARTED-

THAT MAN HAS THE HOTTEST VOICE I HAVE EVER HEARD. BOTH JAPANESE AND ENGLISH.

Sephiroths japanese lines are voiced by my FAVORITE voice actor, who also voices Minato from Naruto and Ubuyashiki Kagaya from Demon Slayer! That man REALLY knows the way to act with that calm voice of his... It gives me so much comfort and warmth...

The japanese one does sound a little more 'menacing' compared to english, but both of them are soft as COTTON CANDY... So sultry, and velvetty, dripping slowly like sticky, hot honey~ Sephiroth literally PURRS when he talks. His voice is literally hypnotizing to listen to, like of a siren. I would be EASILY swayed if he was to try and talk me in to his will. It's a real voice of a manipulator. And I fucking LOVE it.

The way it never raises, that guy NEVER yells. EVER. He's as calm as the sea at night. Sephiroth is the most suave of the suave-st ever. Even when he's angry, he's CALMLY angry. And it's even more unsettling than the yelling, in my opinion. You don't know what to expect.

Oh, and when he whispers lowly into Clouds ear every time he decides to mess with him, LORD... I BECOME SO JEALOUS- LIKE I WANT SEPHIROTH TO TEASE ME, PLEASE- TELL ME I'VE BEEN A BARD GIRL, OR A GOOD ONE, ANYTHING--

I can only imagine the way he says stuff when we- when whne um uhm whnw- make out or something-🥴

MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT ALL OF IT? His possessiveness. That man is the most pssessive man I have ever seen. Like it's borderline crazy, almost close to yandere-ish. AND I'M ALL HERE FOR THAT FOOD- Like YES I wan't that man to whisper into my ear that I'm HIS, and his only, as he makes me watch slash people with Masamune before my eyes, YES, I want to hear him just how crazy and insane I drive him, yes I wan't him to always keep me close to him and never let go as he rants about how we're meant to be, and blessed by the fates, YES YES YES YESYEYSYESYEYSYEYS-

I wan't him to ramble about his 'planet conquering' goals to oblivion, I'll listen... Half of it. Otherwise, I get distracted by his beautiful voice... I also make him read a lot to me. Best ASMR for fucking FREE- I'm a lucky gal😋

Favorite lines?

"I'll never be a memory." (YES TELL THEM BABY FUCK EM UP WOOOOOOO-)

"Careful now. That which lies ahead... Does not yet exist." (Ahhhh... His philosphy is so fascinating to decode... What he means about 95% of the time he talks... Like he's such a mystery of a man, I absolutely adore it...)

"You're practically panting... Such a puppy." (WOOF WOOF BARK BARK BARK ARF GRRRRRR ARF ARF BARK WOOF WOOF-)

3. Gush about your F/O’s love languages!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEE HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOOOO-

First, and primary one: Acts of service

Sephiroth is the embodiment of 'Actions speak louder than words'. That is his primary love language, when he first even started dating Tsizilia (me).

As I said once before, Sephiroth is definitely touch starved, but greatly touch repulsed at first. He only ever experienced a forceful touch, touches he had to endure when countless of scinetists exprimented on him, treated him, monitored him. They were always rough, without emotions, treating him like an object, another obstacle, a lab rat, and not a human being. So, being afraid of a loving touch is a 'normal' reaction. He's afraid he might be used again, and he wants to avoid it at all costs. But Sephiroth doesn't realise it won't hurt him, that he is loved, and that that touch isn't fake, it is indeed quite real, and full of love and care for him.

So, he shows it through small acts like, preparing food, helping in the house, remembering something Tsizilia mentioned, doing the chores, bying her gifts, and always being there to listen to her, to help her, to enjoy time with her. He's willing to literally sacrifice himself in an instant if she asks. Anything for her. Because Tsizilia has ALWAYS been by his side, and now he wants to return the favor.

Physical Touch

After experiencing a loving, harmless touch for the first time by Tsizilia, and out of the constant fear of ending alone again, of being left on his own, of being pushed away like always before, he holds close like his life depends on it.

Sephiroth becomes hungry for touch: possessive, greedy, like a dragon to its treasure. And Tsizilia understands that, hell, she even loves it herself (Similar shit happened to her, she's a chaser, a people pleaser, and she always thought her touch meant nothing to anyone ever every time she showed affection, because her heart, when she was young, was sensitive and very loving, but due to life treating her that way, she closed off.) In the beginning of the relationship, Tsizilia was always initiating contact, but seeing him reject it every time, she got scared, and eventually gave up... Until Sephiroth reprocicated for the first time. (AND THERE WERE TEARS LET ME TELL YA-)

Sephiroths touch is firm, but gentle. Even though Tsizilia keeps telling him she isn't made of glass, Sephiroth insists he handles her with care, like she was made of porcelain. But the firm grip she has on her is always there, indicating she AIN'T GOING ANYWHERE, even in sleep- and the fact that it's constant, almost becoming clingy... (HELL YEAH YOU GET ME BABE IM HELLA CLINGY TOO) Sephiroth uses any given moment he has to hold her close. To feel her. To keep reminding himself that this isn't a dream, that it's real. Reading a book? Cooking? Sleeping? Watching TV? Even showering together? That man is acting like a sloth.

But the situation slightly changes when in public. Sephiroth isn't a fan of PDA at all (dw me too), but at least hand holding is a must, or an arm over her shoulders. He STILL wants to make sure Tsizilia is close. Rarely, she kissesher cheek, knuckles, forehead, temple, and hug her. But the definite rarest is direct kisses. He initiates it only when he's like DESPARATE. But, sneaky glances, secret touches under the table on hand brushing? YES. YOU BET YOUR FUCKING ASS ON IT, YES.

There's also gift giving!

I just know bro spoils like every day is a celebration day istfg /j

No, but really. Sephiroth is VERY perceptive as a person, and I just KNOW he'll look out and pinpoint on every longing look Tsizilia directs at a jewelry piece she sees on TV, or a game she wants to buy and play, or when some of her favorite bathing salt runs out, or a flower she saw on the way home. Oh, you BET he saw/heard her. And next time you know, he's bringing a big ass boquett of her favorite flowers, the jewelry lying on the table, or a video game bought and installed on her laptop, you NAME it.

AND- AND THE MAN HAS AUDACITY TO ACT DENSE- like what are you talking about, I didn't hear anything, I just thought of you and brought it... SHUT THE FUCK UP AND KISS ME RIGHT ABOUT NOW—

Every once and then, he will even buy something he thinks will fit her pefectly, like a dress, accessory, or a piece of... l1nger1e hehe~😏 That man NEVER fails. He knows what's he doing, alright. Fashion sense is quite literally like his normal sense. I MEAN LOOK AT HIM- HE AIN'T BLESSED WITH THAT BEAUTY FOR NOTHING. And beside that, he'll even try creative gifts, handmade ones. But, having a meticulous perfectionist ass can be quite tiring😔and he often rage quits. (Again, I can relate SO much.)

[heyjude19-writing]

Also I had a musing I would hope you could share your own opinion on.

I'm so glad you find him as interesting and intriguing as I do C! 🌈

I'm a sucker for Greek mythos and I cannot wait to see how ur Draco’s journey will unfold. His aesthetic lends itself to the classics, lends itself to the analogy which is why I think I often make this connection. On top of his character being simply compelling, he has an air of timeless and competitiveness that reminds me of the age old Herculean hero that stand the test of time.

I don't like to prophesies too much bc I love to go in reading things blind (I avoid conspiracies and teasers like the plague!) but I cannot help myself in getting excited to see how he will confront and face crossroads and compare them to the great ancients.

If our golden boy will be more likely to pull an Apollo or become Achilles. The thing that makes characters interesting imo is how the deal 'in the complicated'. When they are taken away something they want, or confronted with a problem, do they go red or do they mourn in the quiet and peace? And I think from what little we know of in Draco from the chapters of what we've seen, he is a character that has more than what meets the eye. which makes him all the more compelling to see what happens when he splits.

We all know the well told romance of Achilles and Patroclus on how they were lovers/friends but also fellows competitors and Patroclus went to the Trojan war just bc his lover was destined for greatness there. He was a supportive bf haha. Achilles was very much following (up until the death of Patroclus) a very, 'healthy' doctrine to war. He fell in line and was excellent.

But when Patroclus was killed nameless grief took over Achilles and went genuinely insane with his screams of cry and revenge. He cried so horribly that even his mother Thetis could hear in the depths of the sea and went up to comfort his son. He kept the corpse of his lover in his tent for the entirety of the war as he extracted his revenge that was so bloody it was feral. He slept with Patroclus's corpse, delusional kept it, and threatened anyone who suggested to remove it. He wanted to be buried with him by the time the war was done and made Odysseus swear that he would see this happen. Obv as we know he killed Hector.

I remember shivering in class when I was a teen remembering the poem in the Iliad Book 18, that, he said, 'neither food nor drink shall glide down my throat, for as long as he [Patroclus] is mangled in my tent I only crave murder and blood and the rattling of dying'.

So does Draco follow the same blood wounded vengeful fate like Achilles? Will he move heaven and earth to go on his own Taylor swift reputation era tour? Or will he be a different drum, one of peace and calm like the story of Apollo?

The story of Apollo, as the God of music and dance, prophecies and healing (also God of the Sun, queue the analogy of why I think of Draco for obvious blonde hero reasons :P) fell in love with a mortal man named Hyacinthus who was as well a Spartan warrior prince famous for his beauty and everyone wanted him. men and women, the whole lot!

Include the God of the West wind Zephyrus. But Hyacinthus chose Apollo among his many admirers and they had the best romance dude. They would do all kinds of things together like music, dance, archery, they were both extremely sporty (as Leo is!!).

But Zephyrus was rotting with jealousy of their romance, that while they were playing archery, he blew Zephyrus's arrow off course and it hit him in the head and killed him.

Apollo was obviously inconsolable and mourned his lover and tried to commit su**ide many times hoping to join his lover in death. And bc he was inconsolable, he decided to always remember Hyacinthus by naming the famous flower by him and made music and games after him. And Hyacinthus bloom every spring now.

So it will be interesting to see whether Draco will be the type to be bloodthirsty, angry for his Harry or if he is a blonde hero that's more of a mourner?

These are the kind of musings I catch myself thinking of Draco and would love to know where ur heads at when it comes to it :)

oh wow, lots of theories here. so i read the greek classics much too long ago and most of what i remember is related to the web comic Lore Olympus tbh 😅. i'd say i don't really see a hero vs mourner dichotomy in the drarry story im writing as it's not one of war and violence, but more one of two people trying to find their way back to one another. they've moved past the bloodthirsty, angry part of their lives and it's more a question of coming at a relationship from two different perspectives with the same end goal and trying not to destroy each other in the process.

[angrenwen]

"Batman pirouettes away in a panic. They don’t see him until the next official league meeting. He is extremely tight lipped about his ‘child,’ and even though a few leaguers have gone to visit Nightwing since, he just keeps saying, “no, I’m not ruining this. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in years.”

  For a few minutes, they think they’ve resolved the mystery when mission leads them to a population-dense city where some dude is running around picking off a startling number of rumored-to-be-corrupt politicians and some other people. It’s not the thing they’d usually go for, but hey, it’s been a slow week. Slow weeks are good, but no excuse to slack.

  They get their first good look at the perp when they corner the guy, and as tricky as it is to accomplish, it feels like it should have been simpler since the one causing all the havoc turns out to be this gangly older-teen in a red helmet?

  A gangly older teen in a red helmet who takes one look at Batman and just goes, “Oh my god. Oh my g o d. oh my fuckin god you’re kidding me what the eff Bruce oh mY goD--”

  Batman just quietly buries his head in his hands and growls out a no, and in the middle of the subsequent (one-sided) shouting match, the League gets the vague idea that somehow the assassin and Batman are related.

  Flash throws an arm over Batman’s shoulder and tries to be consoling, like, “Hey, man, I get why you didn’t want to talk about your kids. It must be rough knowing one of them’s gone and become a weird violent vigilante, but we’re not gonna judge you for something like that and we’re not gonna shun you or anything, okay?”

  But Red Hood hears and pauses mid-shout to add, “oh my god he didn’t tell you about us??? O hmy god bruce. Wwow. Wow. The others are gonna be so offended. WOW.”

  Batman growls out a “they are happy I am socializing” and after that, Red Hood stops shouting, but is too busy cackling to clarify

  Which is nothing compared to the girl in purple, who starts absolutely busting a lung when they float onto Gotham’s northern docks after a fiasco out at sea leaves Gotham the closest unoccupied harbor. Apparently, Batman wasn’t the only Gothamite suspicious of metahumans, because this purple girl just shows up out of nowhere and lands a solid one on Hawkgirl before anyone even knows what’s happened??

  And then this kid in red shows up just flipping his shit and going “No, wait, that’s the Justice League! Oh my god, you just punched Hawkgirl!”

Even though the response is, “yes, I kind of noticed that, Timborie!” a moment later, both teenagers are clearly visible, flailing some, and rapidly apologizing. They’re scrawny, well-outfitted, but very clearly young. Wonder Woman is impressed at the Spoiler’s fire, though, and commends her.

  “Are you both new heroes? Your skills are already quite impressive,” she says, looking over the two. They don’t really look like much, and they’re clearly fairly uncomfortable under scrutiny, so, feeling merciful, Wonder Woman turns to the only other person present who would be able to answer her questions—after all, Batman apparently knows everything that goes on in Gotham.

  Except Martian Manhunter is looking at Batman the same way he does when Batman is radiating mental discomfort so hard it can’t be ignored.

  “Oh no,” says Green Lantern. “Don’t tell me—”

  The teenager in red coughs into his hand. “Uh. Yeah. Hi, Dad. Glad to see you’ve made some more friends.”

  (That’s when Spoiler starts laughing.)

  Later that same night, as the league is leaving over Gotham’s rooftops, they spot a completely dark figure dancing among the rooftops, who pauses just long enough to give a gleeful wave. Batman gives a hesitant one back. It seems to be more than enough. She absolutely bounces, dives down into an alley, and resurfaces after three thugs and a drug dealer have been left out on the street corner for pickup.

  “So,” Green Arrow says, sidling next to Batman.

  Batman is already fleeing before anything else can be said.

  “They were teenagers,” Superman says later on the watchtower, hands outstretched and making a face like these must be the newest. “He can’t have been training them for that long.”

  There’s something of a murmur of acknowledgement, but no one really seems all that comfortable with anything, and Green Arrow says something about “I just want to know where they’re coming from. Termites?”

  “Right out of the woodwork,” Green Lantern agrees, nodding.

  Aquaman is a little unnerved that Batman’s apparently hidden this many children/apprentices from them. Hawkgirl gives a thumbs-up, though. She’s not speaking unless necessary, because her jaw is still bruised and being nursed with an ice pack, but she’s still giving a thumbs-up.

  Flash, on the other hand, makes sure everyone knows he thinks it’s the cutest thing that’s ever come out of Batman’s existence.

  “Imagine father’s day in the batcave,” he says.

  (He also makes everyone promise to not tell Batman he said that, just in case.)

  They keep on a lookout more often, now, even though they don’t honestly believe there will be any more surprise introductions. They’re just waiting, because at this point it’s almost become a running joke, but even waiting for it to happen doesn’t nearly prepare them for the first time Batman finally allows the League into his cave—a cavern filled with at least a decade’s worth of crime fighting history already displayed in the form of old, tattered uniforms, half of which are recognizable as belonging to the ‘new’ heroes they’ve recently encountered, all sitting alongside trophies from particularly grand fights, a fully functioning medical station next to the garage, and a computer the size of a small car.

  Batman is halfway working up the courage to give his real identity officially, and to buy him more time (because if Batman had to work up the courage, it was going to be worth the wait) they look around, most of them attracted to the bright screen of the computer— when the high-backed chair in front of it suddenly squeaks.

  Batman growls when he hears it.

  “Oh my god,” Flash says, hand flying to his mouth. “Please tell me—”

  At the same time, Green Arrow says, “No.”

  Because swiveling around in the bat-chair is a legitimate child, who doesn’t even come up to Martian Manhunter’s midsection, wearing bright, primary colors like half the costumes on display, and scowling to curdle milk.

  “Father,” the boy hisses. “who are these.”

  “How many children do you have?” Green Arrow says, falling to his knees. Green Lantern shakes his head in disbelief.

  Superman puts his hand on Batman’s shoulder. “Batman, I admire you a lot. But I think you have a problem.”

  Batman sends his tiny son up to bed. The boy refuses to go. He challenges Wonder Woman to a duel. Batman is probably crying underneath his cowl.

  That’s when the butler shows up and asks if it’s a bad time to mention that all the other kids are upstairs waiting for him to formally introduce them to his friends."

AU where the Justice League forms like usual, except Batman maintained his “totally a myth” status and has in fact been active for years before the JL forms. He’s very cautious about trusting them, but still joins, and the others sort of accepts that as long as they trust that Batman has a really hard time with trust, it will all work out in its own weird way

Then, one day, in the middle of a JL mission, the League gets in a tight spot. Out of nowhere, this blue and black blur swoops in and saves everyone’s ass. Maybe breaking some shackles that were proving very difficult, maybe disarm a bomb that the League was just a hair’s breadth too slow to reach without help, but whatever happens, the shadowy figure pauses just long enough to say, “Hey, Batman, you know you there are these things called cellphones now and you can just call sometimes, it doesn’t have to be this dramatic?” and bounds away after shouting ‘let’s do brunch! Bring your new friends!’

Batman is mortified.

No one lets it go.

The entire rest of the mission, the whole League is asking so many questions. Who was that? Do you know him? How do you know him? What’s going on? I didn’t know there was a vigilante in this area?? They don’t let up until he talks.

“That was Nightwing.” Batman is mumbling. The JL forces him to bring them to the Brunch. Brunch happens to be in a run-down apartment on the edge of a bad neighborhood, at five in the morning, in costume. Nightwing introduces himself as Batman’s lovechild with justice.

“I did not realize Batman had a child,” Martian Manhunter says, calmly enough that no one’s sure if he’s accidentally plucking a really loud thought out of the air or if he’s trying to make a joke.

Nightwing stares for a moment falling over laughing. He doesn’t get up. Batman starts trying to apply anti-Joker venom but Nightwing just kicks him and laughs until he cries. He keeps trying to wipe his eyes and his mask keeps getting in the way, so he asks everyone to leave so he can please get a hold of himself

He is still laughing when they leave. Everyone is confused. Batman is furious.  Nightwing manages to breathe long enough to say, “We’re just so glad you’re socializing now, Batman.”

Superman turns to look at Batman very slowly. “…’we’?”

Keep reading

[originemesis]

@cast-you-dxwn xxx

Michaels own eyes are warm, mercurial pools that glimmer at Abel’s unsure words , silver rings that reflect the soft light of his office, just another stark reminder that though the form the Praetor chooses is distinctly human, he is anything but. How often have those same eyes looked up at him from a different face, dimmed and ringed with exhaustion, filled with a contempt only thinly veiled by a smirk and a pithy comment? He would think on it no more, as he disliked comparing Abel to his father any more than he had to. “It’s not that the math is wrong, Abel.” His tone remains genial, his smile not faltering as he begins to straighten up the forms, sorting them into neat stacks and putting them away. “I understand that keeping track of munitions is the furthest thing from a soldiers mind in the midst of battle. In truth I do not mind, as this simply means that you and your comrades are focused wholly on your duties.” As he speaks, he finishes putting away the papers, rising from his desk with a small sigh, dusting down his robes even though they were in no way soiled. “Be calmed, Abel. You are a good man and a fine Legionnaire, I doubt the Centurion has much cause to chastise you for anything. Now, I would so like to hear about what you have been up to whilst we go to procure these promised dumplings.”

Math skills aside, it wasn't difficult to trace already drawn conclusions from the first man to the unmasked Legionnaire. Sure, there were differences ever so subtle- but perhaps not subtle enough for anyone with a grudge to bear to bear it down upon one as mild mannered as he out of battle. Perhaps if it were not considered a rude gesture to the commander, Abel wouldn't have removed his headgear out of consideration for who might wander by and keep Michael past the twenty minute mark with questions. But seeing as it was only the two of them for now, he recalled the importance of removing one's hat indoors. For now.

"So we should be counting every shelling, orrrr?" He wondered, a finger digging into his cheek as he gave it a few thoughtful scratches. Sometimes it was difficult figuring out what the archangel wanted of them, but with enough patience and idle prattle, he found he could work out a whim eventually. A smile summoned as the other rose to join him, he took a shuffle of a side step over to flank the larger being's side and fall into stride alongside him, the silvery gray of a heron's blue tinged wings tucked carefully under each arm.

"I figure she'll be too busy chastising you for not getting up to stretch your legs more often." A light hearted grin granted, he speaks with an eagerly rolled wrist while clutching his helmet down by his thigh. "Oh, you know me. The crystal sea is nice this time of year, so I've been out in the surf here and there. You ought to check out the wave riding scene someti-"

"-time! It's about damned time you locked up, Mic."

There was little hesitation on Abel's part- and perhaps at Michael's height, the seraphim didn't see the seamless way in which the mortal soul slipped his helmet back on and straightened his shoulders- arms tucked behind his back at attention as a certain golden winged exorcist landed nearby in a puddle of pooled robe edges and picking idly at the base of a false horn.

"Seriously, dude- staying late like this is bad for those massive angel joints. I can hear you creaking from all the way down in Sera's office."

Never mind why he was here so late too. If everyone just left on fucking time, he wouldn't have to stay even later to deal with a certain someone in secret. His gaze briefly skipped over the soldier by Mic's side before he turned to start waddling back towards his office at the end of the hall like he wasn't on the same clock out schedule when. "Do me a solid though and don't set the alarm ~ I got door dash comin'." Not like he had to worry about imps finding their way in with him there anyway, as fat of a cat as he might appear, those talons had already proved their worth in that regard.

[ishikawayukis]

wenas otra vez JAJAJA que buena playlist tho, que vivan las canciones de los 90, 00 y 10’s porque ya no las hacen igual 😔🫶🏽 no es que toda la música sea mala ahora pero, pues tengo attachments supongo JAJAJAJ

omg yes please do share theories and memes (when it’s not a spoiler lol) I wanna know everything 🤲🏽 sorry I came late to the scene and have so much to catch up on LMAO hope you enjoy my reactions at least:’)

ITS SO GOOOOD once again it had me invested throughout the story “okay but are the ghosts related to this invisible man? Is the doctor the main bad guy? Is Brook even here or nearby?” the plot is pretty good and exciting!! and yes definitely more silly BUT THATS THEIR CHARM THIS IS WHY THEY GIVE ME LIFE<3 y no es paja, o sea entiendo que hay peleas wow y también me impresionan a veces pero gente vivamos el plot por favor🙏🏽

ALSO WOW THE WAY BROOK’S STORY CONNECTS WITH THEM AND THE BEGINNING OF THEIR JOURNEY???? Oda a veces hace que mis neuronas tengan que hacer gimnasia para acordarme de ciertos personajes JAJAJJAJA pero es bien genial como se conecta todo, I loved this arc<3 let’s see how we do with Sabaody Archipelago🫡✨

Zoro niñera, diciendo que no le reza a ningún dios y venciendo a un samurai de Wano es mi imperio romano JAJAJAJJAA PLUS oh god is so hard to avoid spoilers (so far so good I think?) but I have seen many fanarts based on a Wano arc(?)/saga(?) style and when they mentioned it I was like OH SHOOT FORESHADOWING!!!

f*ck Blackbeard too me vale si le hacen un redemption arc o no o si revive después de una batalla pero espero al menos una vez lo hagan tragar tierra y sufrir JAJAJAJA

estaba hablando con una amiga que es de China y me dijo que se hizo un piercing hélix con pistola y yo 😳 JAJAJAJA pero claramente le fue bien porque sigue teniendo la oreja JAJAJAJAJA justin wasn’t lying when he said never say never 😔✋🏽 pero si ojalá nos sanen sin problemas<3 cuéntame cuando te lo hayas hecho!!

nooooo Belleee😭 peor combinación posible, pero al menos ya estás mejor no?? :’) Thankfully I haven’t gotten sick yet but the weather where I am is trying to test me fr bc this winter is going wild😭😭

OH BTW JAJAJ SANJI RESCANTANDO A NAMI!!! el “skip skip skip” ES TAN ADORABLE JAJAJAJAJA literally every time I see him and he does something cool or silly or adorable I just think of you<3 JAJAJA hoy si mucho texto perdón 🫶🏽

WHAT DO YOU MEAAAAN LATE TO THE SCENE i've literally been here for maybe 4 months we're all in this together i just went a little insane about it LMAO let me know when you finish impel down so that i can share it because it honestly makes me go ?? you guys are kinda nuts

VIVAMOS EL PLOT EXACTOOOOOOO todos los dudebros q les encanta hacer powerscaling simplemente no entienden lo divertido q son estos arcos más misteriosos AJAJ thriller bark my beloved you were so goofy and had so many questions. AND BROOK' STORYYYYY i know that if you were to compare it to robin's is not as sad but man, it made me fucking Sob like i literally couldn't stop crying especially during the las song like woah oda you are a little fuck aren't you. and yeha him connection brook's story to laboon was just :')) he truly is thinking about everything LMAO

dude the wano art style is soooooo good as well, i don't think you can avoid spoilers when it comes to the names of the arcs but as long as you avoid like, actual plot spoilers you're doing a lot better than me LMFAO

naa blackbeard se puede ir a la real chucha perdón lo chilena AJJJAJA top 10 personajes q más odio en one piece literal compitiendo contra gecko moria y a ese weón yo lo quería matar JAJAJ

el hélix con pistola nooooo q valiente de su parte AJAJA y ya me lo hice lleva dos semanitas y está ahí bien bonito y sin problemas ejeje

yeah i'm better already but still haev a lingering cough that is honestly so annoying, but luckily it didn't affect my uuuuuuuuuh stamina? like i can exercise without wanting to die after the first round of things

SLGHDL i'm loving this people seeing sanji and thinking of me that's my stupid dumbass most beloved little guy

[fairytalesandfandoms]

well folks, first Wicker Man (1973) complete

thoughts below (mostly silly, contains spoilers)

Despite having come across quite a few spoilers for this film over the years, I had somehow missed the memo about them all being Scottish, so I was VERY surprised when I heard Howie's Rs during his reading at the start

The start was all very Rocky Horror in that it reminded me of Brad and Janet's wedding.

He flew over Skye and I was like I'VE BEEN UP THERE (Old Man of Storr). And it would be so much fun to be in a plane on water

Chocolate babies, totally normal thing for a shop to have. Gives a new meaning to the phrase ‘aw you're so cute I could just EAT YOU UP.’

When they started singing in the pub: well this is all very awkward for the poor girl

*Christopher Lee appears* HE

And for those of you who also like kilts.... there you go, double whammy

I don’t know what kind of red flag all this Aphrodite stuff is but it sure is one

is that a metaphorical snail

(I meant symbolic but anyway)

THAT'S A FLIPPIN POEM I KNOW THAT ONE

...they were indeed metaphorical snails

‘yes, in comparative religion’ the boot’s on the other foot now or however the saying goes

Ye Ancient Lawnmower

The POOR FROG having to go in the girl's mouth

(seeing the picture in the registrar's office) Oh there’s Rabbie Burns

(when Lord Summerisle's castle/house appears) Now I should know where that is. But do I? No. Could be Dunvegan if it was filmed on Skye

Inside it just looked like a posh stately home which isn't really what I expected for a pagan dude [edit: what I meant was a movie pagan dude]

Lord Summerisle popping out of the chair like

What is his hair doing

He's more affable-seeming than I expected (I know he's actually not)

‘It’s much too dangerous to jump through the fire with your clothes on’ I hate to say this but he does have a point

Something something tension between Christianity and nature/paganism, but alas I am distracted by Christopher Lee

(body falls out of the wardrobe) OH SHIT

Oh they’re all just messing with him now. Is this turning into a comedy

(Howie hits McGregor with a candlestick) Here we go

Okay the 70s guitar music really isn’t lending itself to the atmosphere

(they appear on the cliff) Oh fuckin’ ‘ell

Er, technically is it now not his own free will, since clearly he doesn't want to be sacrificed?

'Willing-king-like-virgin-fool' that’s a lot of words put together

They could’ve just thrown him into the sea right there but I guess that wouldn’t fit their ceremony

Oh come on, you didn’t need to put ducks in there. And a goat!

Lee is going full Saruman now I see

And with the wisdom of someone who has read A Tale Etched in Blood and Hard Black Pencil: that’s gonna take a while

I wasn't expecting the whole Christianity thing to be so pronounced, it did make it more interesting at the end

I should have watched this instead of Midsommar. I was able to be silly about this one. (That is not a criticism!) There were some 'oh shit's fucked up' moments but it wasn't as unsettling to me

I'm watching the second one for Nicolas Cage (and the meme) but I definitely watched this one for Christopher Lee. I wish he'd had more screen time.

[imdoingsortagay]

Let's have some fun

Summary: When you have to accompany your wife at another one of her boring campaign fundraisers, you decided to do something to make it more fun for both of you.

Warnings: Smut 18+, Oral,( claire r), Drunk, a bit of Jen Barkley in the mix, pet names, praise.

Word Count: 2.1k

a/n: fun fact this idea came to me after seeing glass onion and I loved it so much so here!

Campaign fundraisers, are just some of the most boring events to you but Claire always wants you to attend every one of them with her. Rather than pissing off your wife by staying, both of you get ready in the nicest clothes to where you are now, in some rich asshole's apartment surrounded by other rich assholes. At least Jen is here to talk to you if you ever get bored or Claire is busy. 

“ someone looks bored out of their mind,” you hear someone say behind you. As you turn around, you see Miss Barkley looking fabulous as always, in her signature suit and what seems to be a mocktail in her hand. 

“ No really, Jennifer,” you retort to the woman, earning a flick on your head. She also understood your feelings about how boring this part of the campaign is for candidates but she was lucky that you were here supporting your spouse compared to some of the other people she’s helped get elected. 

“ You drinking Barkley?” you ask her and she ignores you, continuing to drink like nothing.

“ didn’t drive here y/n and unlike you,” she point at you,” I can hold my liquor enough to go home and be horny like a regular person”. 

“ Oh, really Jen? Should I ask my sweet wife about a month ago? When the three of us went bar hopping and after 4 drinks, you were whispering to me about how pretty my fingers would look in your-” 

“ fine I get it,” she says as she covers your mouth to prevent anyone else from listening. 

It’s always fun to tease her in public.

A couple more minutes of testing the poor woman before she’s off to convince some old rich dude to spend a lot of money on the campaign. Yet again, you become bored and decided to people-watch from the living room area, not too interested in making conversation with anyone else who isn’t Claire. Looking around the room for her in a sea of men and you find Claire. 

Looking fabulous as always in a beige suit, deciding to rock the same colored shoes as well, opting for some flats for the day. Her hair was kept up in a bun, easy to see her neck from a distance, thinking about the many places you can kiss and maybe leave hickies on it too. Or in other places all over her body since she doesn’t want to deal with a press scandal over this because it will happen. 

For the next hour of this fundraiser, you continue to focus on your wife as she moves from person to person. Looking at how great Claire would give each person a couple of minutes to talk about their concerns, seeing the smile on her face and wondering what must be on her mind. Cause listening to the man talk about concerns of the economy isn’t making her happy but you decide to observe her the rest of the time. Going from person to person until she stops at a woman who just showed up at the party, and looks very familiar. 

“ If you're wondering who the lady was y/n, it’s the woman from the club the other night who tried to flirt with Claire,” Jen explains as she takes the empty seat next to you. All you could do was observe how your wife reacted and as always, she didn’t let this woman make her flustered, only seemed to be treating her like another one of the guests at this party. Jen seemed to be a bit curious as to what you were doing and decided to join you in Claire watching too, getting tired of chatting up with all these rich people. 

“ Claire watching y/n? There is so much alcohol to have and you do this ?” she asks you. 

“ Well I drove here so can’t be drinking unlike you,” you retort back to your friend who continues to drink like she has nothing to do after. All Jen can do is roll her eyes and the comment made about her, always enjoying the conversations that occurred between you both. 

While you both were talking on the couch, Claire could not stop so many thoughts about you going all over the place in her mind, most of them about you. When some of the conversations were getting a bit boring, she would peek around the party to see you observing her from the couch or starting the small talk with some of the other people around you. 

She would be lying to herself that it didn’t make her feel all types of ways at the moment. Yet all she could do is act like she isn't soaking wet and wanting you to fuck her at this very moment. Once she finishes her conversation with the host of the apartment, she makes her way to you on the couch. Claire acts as normal as she can at the moment when she grabs your hands so she can drag you to the bathroom, failing to miss the smirk on Jen’s face knowing what’s going to happen next. The moment that both of you get to the bathroom, your wife locks the door right away and you immediately go to kiss her. 

All Claire can do is whine and moan into the kiss, too turned on to care if anyone hears her while you let your hands roam all over her body. You move your hand to pull her suit pants down to her ankles, not wasting time moving her from the wall to sit on the sink to get a better view of her as you eat out her wet pussy. She gladly lets you manhandle her around the tiny bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible when all she wants is your mouth anywhere on her body. 

“ Look at my pretty little dove, being such a good girl for me,” you say as you leave kisses over her thighs just to see what she does next. As always, she holds herself off from shoving your head toward her center. 

“ Where do you need me sweet dove?” you ask most innocently to your wife when both of you know what she needs at the moment. 

“ my pussy Ma’am, please eat me out,” she whines, too turned on to care and you spare your sweet wife for today and immediately go for her pussy. Claire quickly covers her mouth the moment your tongue starts to lick her pussy, wishing she wasn’t in some supporter's house for a work thing so she could be as loud as she wants. 

Claire can tell that you're going as quickly as you can, not wanting to get anyone suspicious of the two of you. She takes the moment to move one of her hands to your hair to keep you in place and you gladly let her do that. If the both of you were home, then she would be punished but because she’s been so good to you, today you decide to let it slide. 

You move away your mouth from claire’s pussy, seeing her feel a bit disappointed when she sees you enter her welcoming pussy with two fingers. She sees you get up from the floor to kiss her again, letting her taste herself from her lips and taking in all of her as she tries her best to be quiet. You move away from her lips to her neck, making sure to get the point that makes her see stars when a knock is heard from the door, stopping the both of you. 

“ Did we get followed?” she whispers in your ear. 

“ Most people were busy when we left the living room claire bear, we should be fine,” you say back before the person by the door starts knocking again. 

“ Can the both of you let me in please,” she pauses,” I need to talk to Mrs.Debella about the speech that she’s supposed to give in the next 20 minutes or so”.

Of course, it’s Jen at the door. 

“ Can you-” 

“I got it,” you tell her, moving away from your wife to let Jen to the bathroom, which takes her by surprise the moment she’s in the bathroom as she sees her friend fucked out, pants suit down to her ankles, her pussy all wet and puffy for the both of you to see. 

“ didn’t know you had it in you dove-” 

“ Jen we appreciate you but you can either be good for us and stand on the side while I reward my sweet dove or you can help me make her cum before her speech,” by the tone of your voice, Jen moves away to just watch her friend being fucked by you. Claire could not care less as the only thing that she wants now is to cum. 

“ You look so pretty being a good girl little dove, you whisper in her ear as you insert two of her fingers back into her pussy. All Claire can do is stay silent as the two fingers inside of her move at a fast pace to get her to her orgasm. Jen makes her way to the right side of Claire, feeling a bit left out and tired of just being a viewer. As soon as she gets on Claire's other side, your wife brings her friend's lips to hers, letting all the moans out of her mouth and she takes the moment to shove one of her hands in Jen’s pants to be met with wetness. 

“ Look at my two good girls,” you say as you watch both of them,” gonna have to bring you home with us Jennifer after this boring party”. 

“ fuck,” you hear Jen mumble as Claire removes her lips and removes her other hand to taste Jen. “ If your wife doesn’t take half an hour with her speech I would love that daddy.”

“ Can we bring her home with us after Ma’am please?” Claire pleads. 

“ Wanna be a good girl for the both of you please, fuck wanna cum so bad,” she tells both of you.

“ How about you cum for us then sweet dove,” you order, Jen lets her horny mind get the best of her and moves her hand to rub at Claire’s clit while you pump her fingers at a faster rate. It doesn’t take love for the woman to cum between the two of you and you quickly shove your lips on hers the second that she comes so nobody hears those pretty little moans of hers. 

You let Jen get herself together to go back out while Claire’s resting her head on your shoulder, feeling blissed out after the orgasm she had. 

“ How do I look? “ Jen asks the two of you and gets a thumbs up in return.

“ Fix her up and I’ll announce that she’s giving her speech in the next 15 minutes,” Jen tells you before walking out of the bathroom like she didn’t just get fucked. Claire laughs at Jen’s antics before trying to get up but failing badly, lucky for her she has you to freshen up before she has to be out. 

“ Did you want to bring Jennifer back home with us Claire bear? Or was it just something to say to tease her? “ you wonder as you fix her hair up a bit. 

“ If she wants to y/n, it would be fun to have her with us, it’s been a while since we had anyone in bed,” she says while fixing up her pants and making them neat again. The last person that you had sex with was an old friend of yours from grad school who treated you both so well.

“I think it was Agatha who we brought home right dove? Do you remember what happened that night?” 

Claire doesn’t answer the question, just staying quiet but blushing as she remembers what happened that night so you pull her close to you to give her some kisses on her head. 

“ how about my pretty lady walks back out to the living room, gives her speech like a badass bitch and we could bring some Jennifer with us to have some fun? Work with you?” 

The promise of possibly having Jen with you both later in the night motivates your wife as she checks herself one more time in the mirror, asks you how she looks and makes her way out of the bathroom to give a speech to the group of people in the living room like the badass that she is. 

Though you do hate campaign fundraisers, there are times when they can be fun for both you and Claire.

[abyssruler]

brainrots ft. scaramouche x gn!reader

thinking about the dynamic of scaramouche with a reader who has a few screws loose, likes being degraded and is a bit of a masochist. a reader who joins the fatui because getting in trouble intentionally to get scolded and punished isn’t enough, and somehow, you hear about a sadistic harbinger who likes to torment his recruits.

your curiosity is instantly piqued.

so you go around your little village in snezhnaya, listening to rumours about this harbinger—scaramouche, they call him, the balladeer. the more you hear about him, the more excited you become, all while you’re thinking to yourself, why the hell have i never heard of this guy before?!

the fatui you questioned all looked at you like you’ve lost your mind when you giggled—a real, honest to gods, giggle—after they finished retelling you the details of what happened to the recruit who earned the infamous sixth harbinger’s ire.

so you set out on a mission to join the fatui and be recruited under scaramouche’s troops. fortunately for you, there’s a rapid case of recruits mysteriously disappearing (re: defecting) shortly after getting assigned to scaramouche, so there’s a shortage of manpower under the balladeer.

lil snippet i made under the cut:

“Okay, we’ve settled your papers and it seems you’re more fit to be under Lord Tartaglia.”

Your face falls at the news. Placing your palms flat against the table, you lean close to the masked Fatuu. “Can’t I choose which Harbinger I can be stationed to?”

You think he raises a brow at your question, but you’re not sure with the way his mask covers his eyes.

“You can send in a request, but unfortunately, it’ll take a couple of months to be fully processed.” The recruit starts shuffling the papers on his desk, preparing to end this conversation. “Now—”

You slam your fist on the metal table, startling the guy behind it. “Damn it! I wanted to be recruited under the Balladeer!”

Silence.

It’s only when you look up that you realize everyone has gone silent. Looking around, you see everyone staring at you like you’ve grown three heads within the span of a second. You shrug off their gazes and turn your attention back to the guy overseeing your recruitment.

“C’mon, dude! Can’t you, like, pull a couple of strings or something?”

“I…I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly. Did you just say you wanted to be under Lord Scaramouche’s division?”

You sigh dreamily at the mention of the faceless man you’ve come to worship with all the stories about him. “Yeah.”

A woman next to you places her hand on your shoulder, a common gesture people make when making sure a person is okay. “A-Are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am! Do you know how long I’ve been trying to convince mama to let me join the Fatui?”

A guy on your right leans close. “You really want to be under the Balladeer? Have you heard the stories about him—”

“Shh! You never know who’s listening!” Someone behind you interrupts.

You roll your eyes. “Well, duh. That’s the whole reason why I joined the Fatui.”

Everyone within hearing vicinity gapes.

“Y-You’re crazy,” someone says but you can’t see over the sea of faces looking at you as if you’ve lost your mind. Nothing new.

You grin anyway. “Heh, tell me about it. Papa’s always raving about how someone like me couldn��t have come from him. Can you believe he accused mama of adultery? And he says I’m the one who’s insane. Everyone can see how much mama loves the old man, though Tsaritsa knows what she sees in him…”

No one says anything.

You turn back to the guy behind the desk who’s in charge of handling your placement, mood turning sour at the reminder of your impending recruitment under the eleventh Harbinger instead of the sixth. What comes out of your mouth is borderline whiny, “So I really have to wait for months before I get transferred?”

He blinks at you before seeming to come to a decision. “Actually, I suppose we can make an exception this time. Since Lord Sixth has the lowest number of recruits compared to all the Harbingers, new faces are always w-welcome.”

He visibly turns green at his own words. You, on the other hand, are nearly jumping with joy by the end of his explanation.

You lean close, nose nearly touching the guy’s if he hadn’t leaned back. “For real?!”

He nods, scribbling something in your paper. Then, he hesitates, looking up at you with uncertainty. “I…are you sure you want to be transferred there?”

Nodding vigorously, it takes all you have not to throttle him and demand for him to hurry up. “Yeah, I do!”

Sighing, he signs the paper and hands it to you. You take it giddily, not noticing the somber mood in the room.

“Anatoly is overseeing the placement of the recruits. He’ll group you in with your fellow newbies under Lord Scaramouche’s troops. Don’t forget to give him that paper.”

“Sure thing!”

You’re almost skipping as you make your way out of the room, past the gobsmacked looks of the other recruits. The excited smile on your lips can’t be wiped away even if you tried.

While you’re lost in your thoughts and fantasies, the rest of the people watch you leave the room with a too-bright grin for someone who’s just signed their death sentence. All they can think of is how much you’ll regret your decision.

They don’t know just how wrong they are.

(dunno if i’ll continue this, but i have a few ideas on where i want this to go)

[seasidepierre]

sunkissed face pt. 3 | charles leclerc

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS MASTERLIST

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 -  part 8

summary: Some dirty secrets have been aired and you’re not sure how to respond to it. 

warnings: Flashbacks from war Monaco 2021 that will break your heart.

words count: 6.5k

a/n: I told you guys the third part would be up rapidly after the second! Thank you so much for all the love you gave to this series. It was amazing to share the first two parts with you and who knows? Maybe there will be more than three parts in the future 😏🤍 This was written before we’d see Charles brag about his carbonara sauce skills and end up poorly graded by the Ferrari garage, so let’s pretend the dude can cook pasta, okay? (let’s be honest, I’d eat uncooked pasta if he was cooking for me and call him a chef, anyway). As always, a huge thank you to @dansunflowers​ for being the betareader any writer could hope for and for hyping me up so much by threatening to come and beat my ass if I stop writing about our F1 boos.

Charles’ flat was small but cute nonetheless. There was a giant bookshelf full of racing trophies and helmets and even though the living room was tiny, he had made it feel homey, with his piano and with white furniture which didn’t overstuff the room. You weren’t feeling crammed in his space, which was an amazing feat but it still felt cosy enough to make you want to stay for more than just the evening.

Charles had come quickly to your rescue, finding you sat on the steps in front of your hotel and hadn’t even had the time to get out of the car and open your door before you’d been sat next to him. Your eyes were still rimmed with tears and he had sighed, dropping a kiss on your temple but never asking what happened. There had been something in your voice on the phone that had made him think that now wouldn’t be the time for questions and even less for answers. He just knew that you needed him and that’s what he was here for. He had suggested stopping at the beach, to see the sea and maybe get some calming vibes but you had shaken your head no, grabbing his hand instead and sliding it to your cheek, leaning into it with relief. You had dropped a kiss on the open palm and left him to deal with the gear stick after that.

Charles had been a good sport and had left you to chill in his space while he was dealing with some calls from the team, trying to decipher if yes or no, he would be racing on the following day. He had left you to wander in his home, letting you discover anything you wanted to. You had spent a long time looking at his trophies, enjoying the fact that he had been successful and how he’d had to fight for every single one of them. Two trophies were showcased differently than the others and when you came closer to look at the engraving, you understood why. They were the ones he’d won just after his dad’s passing and Anthoine’s death. They held a bittersweet memory to them, but him choosing to enlighten them that way looked like an homage more than anything else. It was a nice reminder of the people he’d lost, a way to celebrate them and to remember what he’d had to go through to get to where he was. Your golden boy sure deserved every bit of success he could get.

You looked at his family pictures, smiled at the baby face of the man sitting at his dining room table and compared the softness of his rounder face to the angles and stubble on the adult’s face. There was no denying that Charles had always been cute but you relished in the warmth his eyes still held. You crashed on the couch to browse some of the books he had on the shelves, diving head first in one about Monaco and learning a bit about the principality. You didn’t even hear him hang up with his team but you sure felt him sitting next to you and dragging your bust to his, making you lean into him.

  “Are you feeling better?” he whispered on your temple, his lips grazing your skin with every word.

“Yes. Thank you for picking me up earlier than we had planned,” you sighed, loving yourself against his strong chest, closing your eyes for one second to allow your mind to rest a little, before you went back to the words displayed in front of you.

“Anything for you.”

  You hummed in response, your eyes still mesmerized by the book on your lap. Charles left you to read in peace, letting his fingers play with a loose thread on your left hip and his chin resting comfortably on the top of your head. At some point, your stomach grumbled, which made him laugh a little and he declared it was time for him to honour his engagement. He left you on the couch to go cook and when he announced it was ready, you were still engrossed in the book, finding it so interesting, he had to physically get it out of your grasp for you to pay attention to what he was saying.

  “Let’s get some food in your stomach before it starts growling at me again,” Charles smiled.

“It wasn’t growling at you,” you rolled your eyes but still took his hand.

  Charles pushed you forward so you’d walk before him, his hands finding your stomach to rub it gently while he drove you to the dining table. He dropped a kiss on your shoulder, thanking the Lord for your off-shoulders dress and hummed when he smelled the perfume on your skin. Your hand flew backward, slipping between strands of his hair, brushing his ear and making him shiver beneath your touch. Your hand ended its journey on the back of his neck, inviting him to land his lips on your own neck, which he did. The soft sigh you gave him was enough to make him happy, wrapping you both in a warm softness that felt so comfortable it should have been a criminal offence. You lost yourself for a second, wishing you had met Charles earlier and that letting him roam his hands on any square centimetre of your skin would be acceptable, but you ended up taking a step forward before you’d lose yourself for good. Charles was too soft on you and it’d be a nightmare to starve for his touch when you’d leave Monaco.

  “You said Bolognese, right?” he whispered, when your eyes finally met the table he had set.

  There wasn’t much more than plates waiting to be filled, but he had tried his best and that’s what mattered. There wasn’t any superficial mess but he did find the slightly shinier cutlery he had stored somewhere in a cupboard and you would be drinking from stemmed glasses so that would be a nice change from your mustard glasses with Disney characters from home. You couldn’t be more grateful for him, that night, for giving you more than you deserved and for treating you to a fancier dinner than you should have gotten.

  “That smells delicious,” you congratulated him. “Thank you for cooking for me.”

“That wasn’t much, but I hope you’ll like it anyway.”

“I’m sure I will.”

  You sat down first, as he took care of your chair like a perfect gentleman. You grinned at him when he served you the spaghetti he had made, feeling like a true princess when really, you were about to eat a very basic meal. But with him and from him, when you knew how busy tomorrow would be? That sure made you feel like you were worth a million bucks. The loud pop of the red wine bottle he had got from his stash made you jump a little before you both giggled at your reaction and he poured you a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon to pair with the pasta sauce. He sure did his research because the wine matched the sauce perfectly.

Once he had got himself a plate as well, you dug into his homecooked meal with pleasure. He was drinking sparkling water, knowing full well he couldn’t afford the alcohol, both when he had to drive you back to the hotel but also when he had to have a complete fresh head tomorrow morning. The wine was solely for you and you enjoyed the gesture even more. He could have served you water too, but he had made it as nice as possible for you. An amazing host, truly. 

  “Do you want to talk about what happened this afternoon?” he carefully asked.

“Not really. Not now, at least.”

“Fine,” he nodded. “So what did you learn from your book?” he smiled.

  You laughed at his words, knowing full well you had been nerding out on his couch like a complete idiot, but at least it had calmed you down and helped you push everything else away. You would have to deal with Harrison at some point, and with Tuwaine, but for now, you were safe with Charles.

You launched yourself into the history of Monaco, letting him react to your findings. An easy-going conversation about the principality started, which you enjoyed a lot. Discovering Monaco from his car yesterday had been fun, but learning more about the story and everything else had felt like stepping a bit more into his world and you loved that. Anything to feel closer to him felt right.

The pasta, indeed, were delicious, which you didn’t fail to tell him while his feet was gently nudging yours. Raising your eyebrows teasingly, you left your sneakers brush his shin almost up to his knee, which made him chuckle and turn an adorable shade of red, though it was nowhere near the red of his beloved car. Playing footsie like a couple of teenagers surely was a bit foolish but you appreciated the easy-going and fun feel that he brought. For the dessert, he had grabbed two small pieces of chocolate cake from the pastry shop down his street and you closed your eyes, groaning at how good it was. Charles’ booming laugh made you do a little happy dance on your chair, letting him know you had appreciated the dinner way more than he thought you would. It wasn’t much, sure, but it was good and it had been spent in amazing company. The way to your heart had a shortcut by your stomach and Charles was delighted to find it out.

It was barely eight o’clock when you both ended your plates. He still had about an hour left before going to bed, if he wanted to be as rested as he could for the race tomorrow, which you understood. Grabbing your hand and helping you up, Charles led you to his piano bench, making you sit next to him while he uncovered the black and white keys.

  “Are you going to play for me, Charles?” you whispered, your chin on his shoulder, your nose tracing circles on his earlobe.

“What do you want to listen to?”

“Anything you want,” you hummed.

  Charles nodded, launching himself in a piece you didn’t know but instantly fell in love with. His eyes closed in concentration, while yours wandered on his face for a moment. There was the stubble on his cheeks that you already loved feeling underneath the pulp of your fingers and the small mole on the side of his nose that you were dying to kiss. His eyelashes rested softly on the top of his cheekbones and your thumbs ached not to be roaming across them too, wanting to feel the skin there and rest your lips on his temple. There was that little spot on his throat, right by his Adam apple, that you couldn’t wait to taste and that you found extremely attractive. But more than anything, there was the softness in his features, the warmth of his smile, the kindness of his eyes that you couldn’t live without anymore.

Charles had been in your life for a grand total of 30 hours or so and you already couldn’t imagine your life without him in it.

Was it how Love at first sight was supposed to be? Was it even Love?

You let out a breath, happy with where you were. Your head lolled down to his shoulder, letting the soft music lull you and soothe your spirit. The sun was setting down by the window in front of you and you took a second to appreciate the view, before focusing on Charles’ fingers on the keys. They were dancing with a surprising ease, amazing you more than you thought you could be. The stark contrast between the loud noises of the garage this morning and the quiet music tonight was astonishing but you loved it nonetheless. Feeling like you were accessing a much more reserved, quiet, shy and private Charles than the one the public could see, you took a minute to charge your heart of all the little details of this night. You wanted to remember it forever, even though the red wine was clouding your senses a little.

  “What is this piece?” you quietly inquired.

“Something I wrote myself,” he let you know.

“A man of multiple talents,” you whispered. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” he whispered, dropping yet another kiss on the top of your head.

  You weren’t sure you’d be able to get your lips off of this man, at some point. It was a constant buzz, calling your lips closer, closer, always closer, making you want to rest them on his skin and never let go of him. But you knew the time had come to let him rest for the race tomorrow and you had to leave.

  “It’s time,” you breathed out, heartbroken about it.

“I know,” he sighed, visibly just as unhappy about it as you.

“You have to sleep, you have a race to win tomorrow,” you whispered, letting your fingertips gently scratch the back of his neck, just where his hair stopped, earning a couple of goosebumps in the process.

“I know, I know. I wish I didn’t have to race tomorrow morning. I wish it was a regular morning. I wish the night didn’t have to end,” he mumbled, a bit dejected, his eyes closing for a couple of seconds while his cheek came to rest on the top of your head.

“That’s a lot of wishes, Mister Leclerc,” you smiled. “Is there any I can make happen, in the time being?”

“Yes,” he exhaled. “Stay.”

  The answer came so easily it could have scared any of you. But you felt in your bones that it was the right one, especially when he smiled in your neck and made you shiver even more.

  “Okay.”

  You texted Tuwaine, letting him know you wouldn’t be back that night. He replied with a couple of emojis, including the knowing eyes and the smirking one, which only made you roll your eyes.

That night, you went to bed wearing a red polo and a pair of shorts that didn’t belong to you, in a bed that wasn’t yours, next to a man that wasn’t even your boyfriend. Still, you wrapped yourself in the sheet and in his arms, resting your head on his chest and letting him bid you goodnight by kissing your forehead, being domestic till the end. You weren’t where you were supposed to be. But how could it feel like it was exactly where you belonged??

  ☀️

  Charles woke up insanely early and woke you up a little later. He was already showered and dressed and would be making breakfast while you were going to the bathroom. You thanked your past self for packing a fresh pair of underwear in an emergency bag a while ago, with a couple of painkillers or other necessities, “just in case”. At least you wouldn’t have to wear the underwear from the day before. However, you had come in a dress and knew Charles wanted you to wear his polo that he gave you the day before. You still had it in your bag, since you hadn’t had time to unpack anything before you left the hotel. You knew you couldn’t wear the shirt on top of your dress but you could still ask Tom or Tuwaine to bring you a pair of jeans from your suitcase, directly to the circuit. You had been wearing your white sneakers with your dress, it could look okay with your outfit, if they brought you your lighter jeans. Texting Tuwaine in a hurry, you put your dress back on and brushed your teeth with the brand-new toothbrush that Charles had fished out of the cupboard, waiting there for him to change his. A forecasting expert, then.

  Charles was rather silent and kept to himself that morning, already focused on his race and trying to keep up with the repairs that had happened during the night. The mechanics he was texting with seemed to be confident that they had managed to salvage everything but there was still that part of doubt creeping in his bones and it showed on his face. Leaving him to himself, navigating his kitchen and trying to make yourself as small as possible so you wouldn’t disturb him. You noted that he acknowledged your presence by grazing the small of your back while passing by you or by pouring a second glass of orange juice for you. You didn’t talk at all that morning, but you still took his hand in the elevator to get back to the garage of his building, which he appreciated, judging by the soft exhale he let out and the thumb that traced a singular circle on the back of your hand. You didn’t take the car that morning but he got two bikes from a small storage room, as well as two helmets. He quickly explained that it was his little brother’s bike and even though it was a bit too big for you, he made quick changes to the seat to make sure you could use it. Charles didn’t go too fast, just enough that it would prevent anyone from stopping him but slow enough that you were able to follow him without too much trouble. He lived very close to the track, the ride only lasted ten minutes before you put your feet back on the ground, making the bike roll next to you.

Charles was so quiet that you couldn’t help but be nervous as well. You knew it wasn’t about you, far from it, and you knew it wasn’t about your night together, but you still wanted to make sure you two were good. So you followed him to the Ferrari garage, smiling softly to his assistant who slid a red paper band around your wrist and slipped you a special pass to make sure you could make your way back to the garage if you were to leave it, which you would to regroup with Tom and the others, at least to grab the pair of jeans you were waiting for. Charles was on auto drive and you followed him, wordlessly. He made his way to the small suite with his name on it and grabbed the fireproof racing suit that was waiting for him. You silently turned your lifted index, asking him if he wanted you to turn around and change without your gaze on him but he shook his head from left to right, not caring a single bit about it. He got out of his sneakers shoes first and socks came soon after. His jeans came second, before he slipped what you assumed were fireproof leggings. The idea of enjoying the view of him in his boxers didn’t even graze your mind. There was a race to win and a certain focus to have. You would help him the best you could but if he needed to be alone, you wouldn’t hesitate to get the hell out of here.

Charles jumped in his suit and knotted the arms of it around his waist, before getting out of his Ferrari polo and changing into the fireproof white shirt. He sat down to put on thick socks and his racing boots that you presented to him, which he thanked you for. Once he was ready, he came back to the garage and went straight to his car, examining the repairs that had been done, asking questions on whether he had to be careful about a part or his way of driving, so the car could hold on.

Your phone beeped softly in your bag and you quickly saw that Tuwaine had brought you your jeans. Charles had already told you that you were welcome to use his suite to change, so you decided to do so, simply squeezing his hand and dropping a kiss on his cheek, before you left to find your friends back. Tuwaine was alone when you found him and even though he teased you about your night off, he did bring the right jeans and a fresh pair of socks, which you had forgot about but was insanely grateful for. You let him know that you would go change and find them back once the race would start, so that they wouldn’t have to search for you.

  “How’s Harrison?” you cringed.

“Weird as fuck,” Tuwaine shrugged. “But if you want to get away from him, I can watch the race with you?”

“Thanks, big T, I appreciate it.”

“Hey, anything for you, lil’ sis.”

  You nodded, grabbing Tuwaine in a quick hug before you made your way back into the maze that was the paddock, so that you could go change peacefully. Charles’ suite was opened to you by a staff member who was waiting for you, curtesy of Charles you’d learn later. The poor guy waited for you to come out, clad in the slightly too big Ferrari shirt with Charles’ name on the tag, written by hand. You were sure someone had to make sure the shirts didn’t get mixed up between team members. Being branded with his name sure did feel great and warmed your heart a little.

  “Looking good in red,” the guy teased, with a friendly smile. “Are you ready to watch the warm-up lap from the garage?”

“I’m not sure where I’m supposed to be, if I’m being completely honest.”

“Charles asked for me to make sure you’d be in the garage until the cars park on the grid, after that he wanted me to walk you to the pole position spot so you could be there.”

  The pride in his tone, tainted by a heavy Italian accent, made you grin. There was no doubt that the whole team was proud of Charles for scoring that pole position, in his home grand prix. Qualifications were a giant part of this race, pole position more than often meant at least a podium so you could feel the buzz and the excitement from the garage. The guy who was escorting you introduced himself as Stefano and you let him slip a pair of red headphones on your ears before he walked you to the screens on the side of the garage so you could watch the cars.

Your headphones were linked to the radios so you could listen to the directives given by his race engineer and the mechanics engineers. The first few kilometres went great but just before he entered the tunnel, the small whimper you got from the car broke your heart. Then the string of “no, no, no”’s you heard ended you completely.

The silence in the garage was deafening. The sudden stop of conversations, of movement, of noise was so heavy you choked on your own breath. You knew this wasn’t good. You knew the “the gearbox, guys”, wasn’t good. You knew that the faces of the mechanics falling weren’t good.

Nothing felt good, nothing felt fair and you only wanted Charles to come back to the garage to evaluate his headspace. After everything he had done for you so far, it was your turn to be there for him.

  ☀️

  Charles had parked his car in the garage and had sat on the floor, next to his beloved car, trying to decipher what was wrong and if, by some miracle, he could still make his way to the grid a bit later. There wasn’t much time left, but if something could be done, it had to be now. Seeing a tall Charles, sitting crisscross on the floor, pointing parts with his mechanics while they were trying to inspect all they could, was enough to make your heart tumble to your feet. But when the head mechanics shook his head, you knew you’d have to pick the pieces up, eventually.

Charles threw his head into his hands, taking a second to hide and breathe. The sole movement made you stand up from your seat and walk to him, silently kneeling in front of him and pushing his head into the crook of your shoulder. His arms stayed limp between you both for a little moment, before he wrapped them around you and sighed.

  “I’m so very sorry, Charles,” you whispered.

“This is racing,” he argued.

“That doesn’t mean it’s fair nor that it doesn’t hurt.”

“It hurts like hell,” he admitted.

“I know, I know,” you soothed him, your hands fraying their way to the back of his neck, rubbing the skin there and trying to erase some of the tension you were feeling underneath it. “What do you want to do?”

“I can’t leave before the anthem, I have to go on the grid.”

“Do you want me to come with you for support?”

“Yes, please,” he pleaded. “I think I really need it.”

  You nodded, sliding your hands from the back of his neck to his cheeks, letting your thumbs rest on the top of his cheekbones, applying just the softest of pressure to console him a little. He rested his head in your hands, leaving you in charge of keeping his head held high, just enough seconds to compose himself again, even though you had seen the gloss in his eyes about three seconds ago. You had talked about the meaning of this home race for him when you were sitting on the top of the cliff above Monaco that first evening. You knew how much he wanted to redeem himself from all the bad luck he had ever gotten from here. Not having been able to ever finish the race had weighed on him more than he wanted to. Not even starting felt like the lowest of blows that could happen to him, and in the big scheme of things, as negative as this day turned out to be, you felt solace in the fact that you were for him to pick up the pieces.

When he felt ready, he nodded a little in your hands, letting you know that you could stand back up and he’d follow you. Though you probably didn’t have the strength to drag him up, you still presented your hand to help him up, which he gratefully took and didn’t let go off, preferring to keep your fingers intertwined and squeezed by his. This minimal force in his hand was enough to let you know that you’d be the anchor he needed for that moment, for as long as he could keep you next to him.

You walked to the grid in silence, ignoring the comforting yells of the public that saw him walk by. There was no denying that Charles was their golden boy and they all felt so sorry to not have him race today, they all wanted to console him and even though you felt the love, you could see that Charles was not ready to just yet. For now, he was hurt more than anything else. He’d appreciate the gestures later, when he’d be in the right headspace.

Charles sat on the little wall next to where his car should have been parked, pushing you down with him. You rested your head on his shoulder, your arms coming to grip his left one, so he’d know you were here and he’d feel your support. Several drivers came to greet him, all of them feeling sorry for him, which kinda felt like rubbing salt in the wound but was still a nice gesture from them. They didn’t all come, a good handful of drivers were there to race and that was it. Though most of them didn’t stay for longer than a couple of minutes to chat, some of them turned to you and greeted you as well, which you appreciated. Daniel Ricciardo, for example, had some very wise words to say to Charles, about heartbreak and overcoming it, which surprised you from the jokester of the grid, but he had sensed that it wasn’t time to fool around. He had quickly introduced yourself to you and had said bye to both of you, which was nice. George Russell had sat on the other side of Charles and had rubbed his back in a comforting manner, before he had shaken your hand and asked you for your name. Your accent had hinted him about your nationality and you had quickly exchanged a few words about where you came from and how you had met Charles. The Monegasque stayed awfully silent in the conversation, staring at the empty grid space in front of him, breaking your own heart in the process. Fernando Alonso had been nice too, coming to chat with Charles and trying to lift his spirits up. He promised this was just a setback, that Charles would do great in the future, that he was meant to be a champion in the end and that one day he’d look back on this event and laugh about it. He didn’t say much to you but he at least said hi and introduced himself, to which you blubbered a “hello” back, visibly impressed by the champion in front of you. And of course, Pierre Gasly came by, grabbing his friend in a quick hug and muttering a few french words in his ear, that belonged to them both only. You knew the bond between these two and let them have their moment together, but Pierre smiled at you before leaving, breathing a “I hope we’ll get to meet properly later” accompanied by a wink, which warmed your heart more than you would ever confirm to anyone.

When the anthem came, Charles left you to go stand with the others and you watched from afar how he stood and how his shoulders sagged when the prince came to hug him, sorry for him. You could see how he wanted to make Monaco proud and how he had failed in the process, leaving him defeated in the end. Charles made his way back to you very quickly and you were left to put some warmth back into this man.

  But that was before he perked a little and stared on his right, leaving you wondering about what was going on and having to lean over him to see what he had caught his gaze. And your heart tumbled even more down to your feet.

Because here were Tom, Harrison and Tuwaine walking your way.

  “Y/N?” Tom exclaimed.

“What the hell?” Tuwaine breathed out.

  But above all else, the face of Harrison said it all, watching you all loved up against Charles, your arm linked with his, your head resting against his shoulder and your free hand on his red suit covered thigh. He looked disappointed, a bit surprised but mostly disappointed, which made your breathing erratic, which in result made Charles’ head snap back to you. He knew you had a somewhat history with Harrison and even though you had promised him you were over it and he had assured that he trusted you about it, he still couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head telling him that you’d had feelings for a guy who was fairly good looking. Charles wasn’t scared to admit it.

Your mouth went agape for a second and you straightened your back, leaving your little nook on Charles’ shoulder which made him quite cold.

  “I didn’t.. I hadn’t..” Tom tried to express, pushing his two index fingers together to mime the fact that he hadn’t make the connections in your explanations, the day before.

“You fucking legend,” Tuwaine whispered, a grin slowly cutting his face in half.

  Harrison was still looking between you and Charles, his eyes dropping to your intertwined hands (when did Charles even slotted his fingers between yours??) and frowning, like he disapproved. Like he even had something to say. Wasn’t he the guy who knew you liked him and didn’t say anything about it? Wasn’t he the guy who left you in the dark and waited for you to get over it instead of clearing things up? The more you stared at him and his confusion laced with somewhat anger, the more irritated with him you were. How dared he? Sensing your buzzing madness growing, Charles squeezed your fingers a little, just letting you know that he was there and he wanted to support in any way he could. But in the meantime, he stood up, let go of your hand and brushed his against his race suit, taking a step toward Tom to shake his hand.

  “Nice to meet you, I’m Charles,” he introduced himself.

“Dude, I know, you’re literally God here,” Tom joked. “Also, I follow you on Instagram.”

“I do too,” Charles smiled.

“I hadn’t realised we had a common friend,” Tom went on. “I get why she disappeared for the majority of our stay here, now.”

“It might have been on me more than her, I’ve made her tour Monaco for quite a while,” Charles apologised, understanding the hidden meaning behind his words and pushing you out of the hit zone, in the most gentleman-y manor. “She’s an amazing road trip partner,” he smiled, looking back at you, even though you were currently trying really hard to pick on a little bit of skin around your fingernails.

“I know,” Tom grinned back. “I’m glad she got a tour with someone who knows what he’s talking about.”

 “Nice shirt, Y/N!” Tuwaine laughed at you.

  Your cheeks turned the same colour as your Ferrari polo, which, ultimately, wasn’t even yours to begin with. But the way Charles turned back to you and smiled at the sight of you in his shirt was enough to fill your heart with the certainty that it was absolutely the right call. Adoration might not be it yet, but the slight pride you could see on his face was endearing, to say the least.

On the other spectrum of the emotion stood Harrison, whose blue eyes were turning darker by the second. If Tom looked a bit confused but somewhat happy for you and if Tuwaine had voiced (not as quietly as he thought he had) his opinion on your escapades buddy, Harrison was showing signs of annoyance, whether it was his face, his posture or his whole silence. A few days ago, you would have been anxious about it. A few days ago, you would have thrown yourself in overthinking, trying to decipher what the hell you had done to deserve it. But today, as you sat on the little wall next to the Monaco grid, your mind had chosen an entire new direction that you hadn’t felt with Harrison just yet. Not as much, anyway. 

You were so pissed at him you couldn’t even try to imagine speaking to him. You’d rather have him leave, really, than to look at you with his judgemental glare.

  “Sorry about today,” Tuwaine ended the discussion. “You’ll be a freaking king later, I don’t doubt it.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. It sucks but it’s racing.”

“Y/N, are you watching the race with us?” Tom enquired.

“I think I’ll stay with Charles,” you announced, voice laced with awkwardness at having been caught and with anger at Harrison.

“Okay, works for me,” Tom threw a thumb up at you. “Text us if you want to meet with us later.”

“We’ll let you both resume what you were doing, but can you please have her back at the hotel tomorrow morning? We’re leaving at ten,” Tuwaine beamed, knowing perfectly well what he was implying.

“I promise she’ll be in the plane with you,” Charles nodded.

“See you later, then,” Tom bid his goodbyes, Tuwaine following and Harrison leaving without having uttered a single word.

  Charles’ shoulders sagged a little when they turned back away from you two and you stood up quickly, to reach for it behind his back. Your hands rested on the top of his right shoulder blade, rubbing at the white fireproof shirt he had slipped on earlier in the afternoon.

  “Well, that went well, I guess?” Charles sighed.

“Tuwaine liked you,” you smiled against his shoulder.

“What about Tom?”

“I think you’re good to go.”

“And the other one?”

“I don’t care about Harrison right now.”

“I can see why you like him,” Charles whispered.

“Past tense, Charles. Past tense,” you reminded him. “I used to like him. It’s not the case anymore. Plus, aren’t you the one I’ve been kissing for the better part of the weekend, now?” you teased.

“I think I’m gonna need you to refresh my mind,” he grinned, his head turning as far as he could go so he could look at you from the corner of his eyes.

“Oh, so I’m not memorable enough?” you pouted.

“I think I’ll remember this weekend for the rest of my life,” he sheepishly answered to your jab.

“I’ll do too,” you promised, in a whisper. “Now kiss me, pretty boy. I’ve been waiting long enough.”

  ☀️

  You insisted on taking a moment outside of the track before you’d make your way back for the final laps. There was no use of staying and rubbing it in Charles’ face. He might love his job and you might be a F1 fan, but there was this undeniable pain in his heart that even you could see. Charles needed to evacuate that before he could think about anything else. So you two made your way to the sea, finding a spot on the harbour that was free of people and you both sat on the little pier, overlooking the waves, wrapped up in each other and basking in the sun.

Charles was breathing heavily, taking big inhales and exhaling loudly. But as his breathing went by, you could hear the faint differences in the sounds he was making. As time passed you by, he seemed more relaxed, more at peace with the events that happened earlier. He was making peace with it, he was accepting it. Ultimately, he was getting over it. Sure, it’d sting for a few days or even weeks, but at least, he was there. At least, he was okay. At least, he had you.

  “I always come to the sea when things are just.. heavy,” he finally breathed out. “It’s calming me down a great lot.”

“I can see that and I can see why,” you softly replied. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“I will, at some point. You’re helping.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you shrugged.

“You’re here. That helps,” he faintly smiled, taking your hand in his. “I think we need to talk about what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

  You sighed, knowing this was more than time. You’ve had quite some fun with Charles this weekend but you knew everything was timed. There was an expiration date on your little relationship, if that even was one, and you had tried to forget about it, to push it back in the back of your mind, for quite a while now. That wasn’t fair on him, nor on you, but you wanted to enjoy what you had for as long as you could. You wanted to bask in his pale green gaze a little while longer, you wanted your palms to stay warm and your hips to stay covered by his hands. You wanted the lightness of this, the comfortable presence on your side, the silence that wasn’t heavy, the genuine happiness that he brought. You weren’t ready for it to stop, but you could only brace for the impact of it all. This was going to suck, even more than him not being able to race.

  “When you’ll board onto that plane, I don’t think my heart will handle it fairly well,” he admitted, very quietly.

  You weren’t sure you even heard him, or that you hadn’t dreamed this. But Charles’ sheepish little face proved you wrong when the hope he held in his eyes told you he didn’t want this to come an end either.

  “I don’t think mine will either.”

“I know you are bound to go back to London and I’m supposed to go back to Italy, to work on the car. But maybe.. Maybe I could come visit you, before I’ll have to go to Baku.”

“That would be nice,” you confirmed, the hint of a smile on your lips. “I could pick you up from the airport.”

“And you could show me around the city; I don’t know much of it.”

“My car is very small, Charles. And it doesn’t sound as good as yours.”

“I couldn’t care less,” he grinned, leaning into you, his nose brushing against yours just ever so softly that you could have mistaken it for the breeze. “I’d have you in any way I could.”

“Then have me, Charles.”

  He nodded, his nose sliding against yours more firmly this time, giving you Eskimo kisses before his head lulled on the side so he could get your lips, for real. You smiled into the kiss, draping your arms around his neck, relieved about the due date being pushed back. You couldn’t wait for new adventures with Charles. You couldn’t wait for the gentle touches and soft kisses, you couldn’t wait to learn more about him, like where he had moles and how his skin tasted on his chest. You couldn’t wait to discover if he had cold feet underneath a blanket, what movie he’d choose on Netflix for a staying-at-home date and what food he liked the most.

You couldn’t wait for your sunkissed boy to bring even more warmth and light in your life.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7  -  part 8

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