#she was put in a very precarious position

[heybenlook]

[Image description: MudBoyMan posts a colored digital comic of Light and L.

Panel 1: Light and L sit at their computers. L says, "Light kun." Light: "Hm?" L: "I have a question I've been meaning to ask you,"

Panel two: A close up of Light. Light narrows his eyes and says, "a question?" He thinks, "dammit… another test to gauge my likelihood of being Kira… What could it be this tiem. Have I done something suspicious? Darn… The baster knew just when to catch me off guard…"

Panel 3: L looks at Light and asks, "What are your pronouns?"

Panel 4: Light looks shocked and says, "My… Pronouns?" Light thinks, "FUCK!!! I wasn't expecting that! What does he mean by this? Do I just say he/him? But that's how we've been refering to Kira! I cant afford any more similarities…

Panel 5: Light presses his lips together tightly and stares into the middle distane. He thinks, "Should I just l just leave it ambiguous and say they/them? but Kira is ambiguous! That would raise L's suspicion for sure… What about a neopronoun? But I'm only a teenage guy in the early 2000s! That would shatter my cool straight guy persona, I shoudn't even know what a neopronoun is! I'm taking too long to respond… I need to say something, fast!

Panel 6: Light says, "she/her" with a strained smile on his face. Internally he says, "FUCK."

Addendum for a second comic:

Panel 7: L stares in surprise.

Panel 8: Light stares back, shaking and squinting with a nervous smile. His thoughts, very faint behind him and with portions cut off, read, "Uhhhh I'm fucked there's no way I just said that oh my god oh god what the fuck is wrong with me this is literally the worst case scenario god oh fuck—too pretty to—convicted crim—why isn't he saying anything oh fuck I need to write some names to calm—oh my lord this—I'm fine I'll just—he'll—kill." The rest is cut off.

Panel 9: L looks tired and thinks, "I see… A trans villain. In hindsight I suppose it explains a lot, but l admit this is an unexpected outcome. What does she expect me to do with this information? Am I to refer to her as such in front of the investigation team? In public? Or is this something I'm expected to keep between us? "I need to tread carefully to maintain her trust and expose her as Kira without being transphobic. She knows she's put me in a very precarious position, socially speaking. I can't afford to slip up here."

Panel 10: L's expression sharpens as he thinks, "I know just what to do."

Panel 11: L says, "me too" to Light, whose eyes widen as he makes a wide frown, his face looking sunken-in. End ID.]

Light answers a tough question

[raeathnos]

.

[racew1nn3rs]

─ 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘷. (𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺) 🍑

⤷ summary: austria. mclaren pr department can't read the room so shit officially hits the fan. at least y/n is getting paid for her troubles. lando thinks he can think his way out of this one 🤣

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"You want us to what?" Y/n asked incredulously.

There is no way. No. Fucking. Way.

"I know this may seem out of the blue, or even slightly unorthodox, however-" Michael started. Thirty-nine years old, head of the McLaren PR Department, her boss, and he thought this was only 'slightly' unorthodox. Right.

"I think we're a little past slightly, don't you think?" Lando muttered from the chair next to her. He wasn't looking at her directly anymore.

She had successfully ignored 127 messages, 53 phone calls, 3 emails, and a handful of indirect messages from Oscar, and he still didn't seem to get the hint. She shot him down once again when he tried to approach her before their meeting, after she had purposefully shown up as soon to the start time as possible to avoid him. Maybe that had been the final straw and he had understood she had no intention of speaking to him.

Lando's eyes met hers and Y/n swallowed down the guilt at his kicked puppy dog look. He was very good at looking pathetic, and she was starting to become skilled at ignoring it.

Not skilled enough.

"I'm well aware this is putting you both in a very precarious position, especially you Y/n considering your career," Michael continued, "but since you two have begun to interact on social media our numbers have nearly tripled. We've increased our social following across all platforms, we've increased engagement, Christ, we've even increased our merch sales. But if you two dated, a real, PR contract-based relationship, the results would be more than we could have hoped for at the start of the project."

"That was the point of hiring me," Y/n said sitting up. Yes, she was annoyed, but at this point who could blame her, "I knew my strategy of personalizing ourselves to the internet would work. I told you guys this would happen, and if we keep to it we could probably still reach these numbers you're looking for. What you're suggesting doesn't seem a bit far to you? A bit too risky?"

"Honestly, Y/n, the fact of the matter is this: we could increase what you've already started. If we go through with this project, we could see a skyrocket in our social media. This could do wonders for the team, especially given the results this season. No offense, Lando."

The Brit seemed to be dragged out of his thoughts at the comment and he simply shrugged and waved his hands impassively. Y/n intentionally ignored his disregard for the situation, because jumping across her seat and choking him would not solve any of her current problems- even if she really, really wanted to choke him.

"Do you understand what this can do to my career? This would look so unprofessional for me. The point of a PR relationship is that it doesn't really seem like a fake relationship. It would seriously decrease my options if or when I leave McLaren if it seems like I date my coworkers. You're basically condemning me to a life where I would never be hired again. I won't do it. I can't do this." Y/n said shakily, before standing up. It felt like she couldn't breathe, and it's not like she could turn to Lando for comfort in this because they weren't even friends. Not that he seemed all that bothered anyway. Lando seemed perfectly comfortable staring into space like the airhead he was.

Zak, who had been standing calmly in the corner of the room leaned toward her and squeezer her shoulder comfortingly. She had no doubt he knew how uncomfortable this situation must be for her. Unfortunately for her, he just didn't seem to care. Or at least not enough.

Michael sighed and stood up as well, walking around the desk he was sitting at so he was directly in front of her and Lando and sit on the desk itself.

"I hear your concerns Y/n, I really do, but you cannot truly expect that we wouldn't have some safety measures in place for your protection, can you? When I said this would be a contractual relationship, I meant it. There would be physical evidence that you were not violating any workplace policies, and were instead participating in a project that involved the relationship you would be a part of. We would provide any future employers with proof of this, given that they are willing to sign an NDA. You would not be left at risk in your future endeavors," Michael explained sympathetically. Y/n couldn't help but feel the insincerity of his words in comparison to his face.

They understood they were putting her in an uncomfortable position. They understood they were endangering her career no matter how many contracts she signed. And yet here they were, asking anyways.

"And if I just don't want to?" She asked and she heard Zak sigh from behind her. He took his hand off her shoulder.

Oh.

"Then I'm afraid we've reached a standstill here, haven't we?" Michael said. She inhaled sharply and looked down.

Oh. They were going to fire her. Of course.

"Are you serious?" Y/n finally turned to look at Lando. At some point in between when she had last looked at him and since she had begun to have her job dangled in front of her face he had stood up. He looked angry, not that he hadn't looked some variation of hurt, angry, and sad since he arrived.

"You can't seriously be threatening to fire her, right in front of me, over a project that no one in their right mind would agree to without any incentive. You do realize you haven't really offered her anything that would make her agree don't you? Do you do this to all of your employees or just the ones who carry nearly an entire department on their back?" Lando spit out angrily. He wasn't yelling, but he had sure as hell left the station of speaking calmly a while ago.

"Lando," Zak started through grit teeth, but Michael held up a hand.

"You're right Lando, I'm sorry, let me-"

"Why are you apologizing to me? I'm not the one whose job you were just threatening."

"You're right," Michael cleared his throat and returned back to his chair, "I'm sorry Y/n. Truly. I don't think we've approached the topic correctly at all. Let me start over. There is, of course, some incentive for you."

Y/n sighed, and looked over at Lando. Like usual, he was already looking at her. He was letting her take the reigns of the situation, he was letting her be in charge.

Because he respects you, a small part of her brain whispered and she closed her eyes and breathed in. She wasn't thinking about that anymore. She couldn't think about him anymore.

She sat down and stared at Michael. He could continue, but that didn't mean she would agree. Lando sat down as well, glaring at Zak over his shoulder until the older man walked away from behind Y/n's chair and back to the inconspicuous corner he had been in when they started.

"We had some extra money allotted in the budget," Michael started uncomfortably, pushing his glasses up his nose. His voice was wavering and uncertain, making his British accent even thicker. Y/n seemed to have an affinity for upsetting British men this week. Call it American reparations or whatever, but she was finding the prospect quite enjoyable.

"There would be a salary increase for you, should you choose to participate in the project." Michael stated, as he shifted some papers around on the desk. He uncapped a pen and wrote down a number on a piece of company branded legal pad paper. He folded the paper and slid it across the desk. Y/n, who had begun rubbing her temples irritatedly, closed her eyes as she sighed through her nose before reaching a hand out to look. Lando's hand slid in front of hers and grasped the paper before she could.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she looked at him incredulously as he unfolded the paper Michael had passed.

"Lando," Michael began and Lando cut the man off with a scoff. He crumpled the paper and tossed it in the trash.

"You're asking the girl to put her career on the line and that's the amount that you offer?" Lando scoffed. Michael continued to try to speak but Lando held his hand up.

"Let's break this down properly before we make anymore stupid offers," Lando said, voice dripping the arrogance that typically bothered Y/n the most.

"You're asking her to stick out her neck for a PR project that may not work the way you're hoping, you'll be expecting her to keep performing her current work functions while also appearing at additional McLaren events as my partner. On top of all of that, you'll probably also want us to be making public appearances on days and times where she wouldn't be working at all anyway," Y/n thought briefly that this might be the most serious she had ever heard him sound.

"You also can't expect anyone to believe any of this if she doesn't also behave like we're dating in public, and expecting physical affection with someone she isn't actually dating is a lot to ask of someone who isn't a robot, if you weren't already aware," Lando stated patronizingly.

"And that's not even acknowledging the multiple hostile workplace environment policies you've broken in this meeting alone. I really hope you're not expecting her to sign a contract right now without a lawyer on top of that, considering that's illegal." Lando finished, staring at Michael with more anger she had ever seen him show.

"So maybe we should try a much bigger number," Lando said, leaning forward in his chair, "might I recommend doubling it?"

Why was he doing this. She hadn't even heard him out since their argument, ignoring any attempts at conversation, and now he was fighting tooth and nail in a room where no one else was defending her. Including the CEO of the company, who quite literally held his job in his hands.

Maybe that's just his charm. That he never thinks things through. That he doesn't think at all, whether it hurts someone else or himself in the process or not. It's just in his nature to fight first and ask questions later. She couldn't decide whether that was something she could handle or not.

Michael cleared his throat and wrote a number down quickly, handing it to Lando this time instead of her. Lando looked at the number and turned to look at her, nodding and handing the paper over.

Y/n fumbled with the paper slightly before opening it and exhaling sharply through her nose. Right in front of her eyes was a one, a five, and 5 whopping zeroes.

One and a half million dollars. Lando had just gotten her one and a half million dollars.

"This," Y/n started with a shaking voice, before clearing it with a harsh swallow. This was more money than she had ever seen before in her life.

"This is what you're offering me instead of my current salary?" She asked uncertainly. She was getting a headache from the tension of the furrow of her brows.

"No of course not," Lando started, never looking away from Michael.

"This is a bonus they're offering in addition to your current salary, right?" He narrowed his eyes at Michael. Michael nodded aggressively.

"Yes of course. This would be a bonus for participating in the project. You would be receiving your current salary as well for the work you were already participating in," Michael assured and his shoulders slumped in relief when Lando looked away to finally look at her.

"You don't have to make any decisions now," Lando began gently, eyes visibly softening, but Y/n could hardly hear him.

Half a million dollars would be more than enough to pay off her student loans. One and a half million dollars was more money than she even knew what to do with.

"I'll do it," She agreed.

One and a half million dollars, she reassured herself as Lando smiled at her softly. She smiled back. She was only doing this for the money; the one and a half million dollars.

Lando ignored the fluttering in his stomach as she smiled at him for the first time all day. He cheered internally. Who cared about money, this would be perfect. He would make sure to be perfect.

Lando would be the best fake boyfriend she could ever ask for, starting now.

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liked by mclaren, lilyzneimer, and 38,890 others

ynusername austria views hit different this time of year 🥴

19,208 comments

user1 you need a bark cause i can dog real loud

user2 so close op, but not quite!

user1 ... i'm too embarrassed to try again atp

user3 A SOFT LAUNCH?? ON THIS FINE TUESDAY EVENING??

user4 i HATE happy couples, they ruin my mood fr

user5 no deadass, like i hope y'all find out you're cousins

user4 she's dating a m*n i feel so sick

user5 the white men got her 🧎‍♀️

user6 you know who else is in austria 👀

user7 i want to tell you to be fr... but lowkey that does look like lando

user8 BE SO FR YOU CAN'T EVEN SEE HIS FACE

user9 i can't believe i'm lany/n truthing in god's year of 2023, but i am

user10 maybe lany/n is the friends we made along the way

user9 don't patronize me bitch iT'S RIGHT THEREEEEE

landonorris what book are you reading 🤨

ynusername stop acting like you know how to read

landnorris i didn't want to know anyways 😀👍

user11 damn girl they pay you to do this 😫 i don't even get vacation days

ynusername hi i'm saul goodman. did you know that you have rights? the constitution says you do. and so do i ☝️

user12 going on a date on a work trip, are we? 🫣

ynusername let's just call it an employee outing (;

user12 WAHT DOES THAT MEAN Y/N???

user13 OH MY GOD???

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liked by oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell, and 40,103 others

mclaren lando norris p4? more likely than you think (ignore oscar, an intern let him out of his cage again) 😞

user14 he looks so happy, no one speak to me ever again

user15 it's that y/n effect

oscarpiastri quick question! WHAT THE FUCK.

oscarpiastri i am NOT an animal 😡 i don't need a cage

lilyzneimer DON'T YELL AT HER OSCAR 🫵 I'LL HAVE THE INTERN PUT YOU BACK.

mclaren yeah oscar 🤨 watch it

oscarpiastri this isn't a funny joke 😔 this isn't haha funny

user16 lando's best results after there are rumors they've started dating... hmmmm

user17 omg not y'all starting already

user16 what can i say the fanfics write themselves

user18 oscar fans can never catch a break, huh?

user19 i knew that last post was too good to be true

user20 @/oscarpiastri what happened to bribery??

oscarpiastri sorry guys, i pissed her off 😓

user21 ig since lando's off the shit list someone had to take his place

landonorris i got p4 for you admin 🤭

mclaren this is workplace harassment

landonorris ):

mclaren 🎻🤏 (it's the world's smallest violin playing the world's saddest song)

landonorris alright, fuck you ig

user23 lando flirting in the comments and then getting turned down in the most humiliating manner, what's new

landonorris ... it wasn't that humiliating

user23 🎻🤏

landonorris STOP OT NOW.

user24 i know y/n's boyfriend is reading these comments and weeping

user25 boy oh boy do i have news for you op

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liked by user26, landonorris, and 21,844 others

f1wags Various sources have reported seeing Y/n L/n, the current McLaren social media manager and McLaren F1 Driver Lando Norris together across Austria during the GP weekend, and celebrating after. Various kisses and intimate interactions were reported by our sources, including the ones pictured above. What do we think about this new workplace romance?

9,450 comments

user26 IS THIS REAL???? IS THIS REALLLLLL??????

user27 THE PICTURES ARE THERE BUT I STILL DON'T BELIEVE IT

user28 they're so cute, it almost makes me forget that this is the most insane thing i'll see all year

user29 bro beat the norizz allegations

user30 THE KISS?? THE BEACH PICTURES??? THE DINNER HUG??? OH THEY'RE IN LOVE IN LOVE

user31 they grow up so fast

user32 he's not hot enough for her, next question!

user33 be so serious 🙄

mclaren zoo wee mama

user34 THIS IS WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF????

mclaren hubba hubba

user35 from the team account is diabolical

user36 and they say bullying isn't a love language

user37 she hated on him so hard he fell in love with her

landonorris damn right she did

user38 lando try not to be down bad challenge *impossible* *never seen before*

user39 oh i know the twitter users that have been getting hate for weeks for saying the truth are MADDDD

user40 they couldn't have been more obvious, we've been in denial

user41 the eyes chico, they never lie

user42 oh i know zak brown is throwing up over this pr nightmare

user43 right like i think people are forgetting she's an employee 💀

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liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, and 77,954 others

landonorris post-p4 cooldown 🧡

25,001 comments

oscarpiastri what's all this then 🧍‍♂️

oscarpiastri i really love how you're so good about telling me things 😮‍💨

user44 someone free oscar from lany/n bro

user45 this was NOT on my 2024 bingo card

user46 i don't think anyone could have predicted lando having rizz

ynusername so true

landonorris HEY.

danielricciardo i wasn't familiar with your game lando

landonorris STOP HITTIG ON HER SHES MINE

danielricciardo damn lil bro no one is taking her from you

user47 "she's mine" down horrendous once again

user48 bro was born down horrendous i fear

carlossainz55 i can't believe you didn't tell me lando! congratulations

landonorris it was a secret you muppet 🙄 but thank you

maxverstappen1 you too make a great couple! congrats mate 🤝

ynusername this was the most max verstappen way you could have said this

maxverstappen1 still bullying me i see 😔

lilyzneimer CUTIE PATOOTIES <3 oh and hi lando

landonorris can't even be mad cause they are too damn cute 😫

lilyzneimer good answer!

bsfuser1 congratulations i guess (she was mine first) 🙄

landnorris thanks! (we can share)

bsfuser2 hurt her and i kill you!!! so cute together tho <3

landonorris you lot are fucking terrifying!! appreciate it (:

zbrownceo Congratulations you two! Can't imagine a better pair 🧡💪

landonorris Thanks Zak!!!

ynusername you gave cali kisses so i guess you're alright <3

landonorris as many kisses as my girls want

user49 MY GIRLS KMSSSS

user50 cat dad cat dad cat dad ‼️

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that's the end of act 1!!! part 2 coming shortly <3 i'm moving into college and starting classes so if updates slow down a bit just know i'm getting things out as quickly as i can ((: hope you enjoyed and feel free to leave your thoughts!!

-

𝙩𝙖𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

@lemon-lav @slutforpopculture @m4rt10ne @urfavsgf @sadsierra2 @96jnie @sltwins @poppyflower-22 @alliumiae @livelovesports @liberty-barnes @the-holy-trinity-l @iliwyss @awritingtree @redpool @elliotts1one @velentine @chaoticmessneutralplease @5sospenguinqueen @charizznorizz @2pagenumb @mxdi0 @cwiphswmwasohmm @tremendousstarlighttragedy @lnspipedrm @itseightbeats @tinycoffeeroom @woozarts @personwhoisther @a-beaverhausen @love-simon @annabellelee @ravisinghs-wife @chezmardybum @greantii @weekendlusting @monserelates @sapphiccloud @halleest @deamus-liv @gigigreens @morenofilm @laneyspaulding19 @lanireadss @dear-fifi @moldyshorts1997 @oliviarodrigostan13 @eugene-emt-roe @ilivbullyingjeongin @im-a-ghost666

[heavenbarnes]

Million Dollar Baby

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: this is essentially a series of vignettes, at this point you’re the duncan-donaldson sugar baby, swearing, effective cheating (tashi approved), mild exhibitionism, face slapping (not with hands), unprotected sex, reader is pretty submissive, thee slightest tashi x reader, patrick mention.

Part one

it’s that part two to “i wanna make it (so badly)” that i kept harping on about! just wanted to prove to you all i could make good on something! enjoy! i still crave this man!

Born under a lucky star.

Rabbits foot. Horse shoe. Triple sevens. Four-leaf clover.

Art Donaldson plays tennis very well.

When you're around?

He's better.

O2 Arena, London, England. ATP men's singles finals.

Naturally the only way you'd ever get close to something like this was on her invitation.

Tashi had invited you.

"I beg your pardon?"

"We'll cover your flights and accommodation- it's important that you're there."

Yes, because you were sure you could sweet talk your way into a lesson with Lily at Buckingham Palace.

Obviously, obviously it wasn't about your silly little tennis lessons these days. But that was the front.

Rich neighbourhood, nosey neighbourhood.

"Tashi, I couldn't help but notice Art's Jeep drive past me as I left Pilates. Just who was that pretty young thing in his passenger seat?"

"She's Lily's tennis coach, he drops her off when she's had to stay late."

Yeah,

yeah.

Drops you off because your legs aren't their best when they've been over his shoulders for an hour.

It was a pretty good front.

So you found yourself courtside in a Lacoste skirt you'd never imagine owning. That's why you didn't own it, Tashi had left it on your bed among other items of clothing she expected to see you in.

Dress-up doll.

Her plaything.

Pulled out of your thoughts by the chorus of cheer, it was all directed to the movement you could just and only see out the corner of your eye.

Art Donaldson took the court with a kind of swagger that made your thighs tense under expensive material. His eyes took to the stands- sweeping over adoring eyes looking back at him.

And then he came to rest.

You could tell he looked at Tashi first, the way his shoulders straightened and the grip on his racquet became even tighter.

Miracle it didn't snap.

Then you felt him look at you, his eyes softened and the corner of his mouth turned up.

A smug smirk as he ran his tongue along his teeth.

And you began to think back on everything that lead you here.

-

You had found yourself in many precarious situations with Art.

And you were acutely aware of the fact you hadn't seen it.

You'd felt it- felt it against your thigh, the heat of your cunt,

fuck, you'd even felt it against the sole of your foot.

Ruined numerous pairs of Calvin Klein's in the process.

But you'd never seen it.

And it wasn't a topic of contention, it wasn't a 'you' thing per se.

It was actually the fact that Art about blacks out every time you make him cum, and that's through a good few layers of clothing.

The thought of getting it out and laying it against your bare skin? Putting it in your mouth? Putting it inside-

Even the the idea of it makes his eyes water. Blessing and a curse, really.

On one hand, he's guaranteed a mind-blowing orgasm.

On the other, it might only last a few seconds.

You were just happy to be there.

Art could give you everything or give you nothing and you'd lap it up every time.

Good girl.

Art looked good like this, he always looked good but there was something about this.

Sat on the couch, thighs spread, large hands balled up on his knees. When you were in this position- on your own knees before him, with reverence- he looked good.

He looked all consuming.

If you asked him, it wasn't a sight Art was used to, something something role reversal.

Your hands ran along the coarse hairs of his legs, ever-so-slightly getting closer to the bottom of his shorts.

(Post-tennis, still a little sweaty- heavy musk if you really got your face in there)

"We'll go as slow as you need, Art."

However he wants it, whenever he wants it.

Quarter to midnight on Tuesday, you were meant to be doing an ungodly load of laundry tonight. But then he'd looked at you, then he'd told you he 'needed' you.

Turns out whatever he wants looks a lot like what you want.

Obedience in spades.

He stopped you before your hands could go any further, opting to reach under the waistband himself. You were all the better for it, too focused on not giving up the extent of your excitement.

Was it weird to say you'd spent a lot of time imaging what his cock looked like?

Probably.

You reasoned it with the fact you knew Art spent a lot of time thinking about what happens under your pretty little tennis skirts. That and he'd seen it more times than you could count, these days.

Things always seem to go his way.

Your breath caught in your throat when Art hooked his thumb around the waistband, stretching the elastic so he could get it out.

Of course, of course it was as pretty as the rest of him.

Flushed pink at the tip, pale and creamy down the length of it. Kind of thing you need to get your lips around.

Banked for another day.

One hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped around the base- Art slapped his cock once, twice on your outstretched tongue.

"A-ahh, f-uck- okay-"

Nice and slow- can't have him blowing the top off just yet.

He couldn't really say you were helping the point. Sitting there, sitting pretty, primed and ready for whatever he wants next.

The sight along was enough material to tug his cock to for the rest of his life.

Let alone being faced with it.

Which is why he did just that- tugged his cock to it.

Long fingers wrapped around a long cock, twisting along the length of it, rolling the palm over the head. Sticky wetness catching in the centre of his palm as he drags it back along the shaft.

Your tongue stayed permanently outstretched, allowing him to slap the weeping tip right on it. If it wasn't your tongue, it was your cheek- wherever he could gain purchase with your skin without tipping himself over the edge.

Yet.

Eventually, Art came in filthy hot ropes across your face and the most minimal amount actually made it in your mouth.

Majority of it was painted across your cheeks, drawn up and sweet under your shining eyes. Bright smile stretched across your face beneath pearly little drops.

Pretty girl-

perfect girl.

-

"I'm sorry- I just need- oh, oh god- just need-"

Incoherent.

A bleary-eyed, incoherent Art.

Chest pressed tight to your back, shorts around his thighs- your little skirt bunched up tight in his fist.

"I need this- I need this- y'so good to me- I need this-"

Yeah, seems like it.

You'd only managed 15 minutes on the court before it'd come to this. Art had thrown his racquet to the wind and ushered you around the side of their changing shed- the same one where he first,

You know?

Yeah.

You'd actually headed for the door but he couldn't wait that long, pulled you between the wall and the tall fence that circled the court. You were both nestled in beneath an Arabian Gingerbread Palm of sorts- naturally.

Art had slipped your underwear to the side and mounted you like a fucking dog.

Desperate.

The sound of his taut thighs slapping against yours was fucking ludicrous, the sight would’ve managed something worse.

He had a look across his face that said he knew this was pathetic- that there was no way he should’ve been rutting into you in broad fucking daylight.

But it’s not like you could see that look, not when his face was pressed into your neck.

“Ohh, you just- you just feel so good.”

Was he crying?

You looped an arm around the back of his head, slowly stroking your nails against his scalp as you struggled to keep yourself from buckling under the pressure.

Your other arm stretched out in front of you, palm braced on the wall as Art continued the relentless piston of his hips.

Through tears even.

“Feels so good, Art- making me feel so fucking good- just rub my clit, touch me a little.”

In an instant, his fingers were under the front of your skirt as he rubbed haphazard circles around the apex of your cunt.

“Like this? You like this? Tell me I’m doing a good job, please.”

Jesus Christ.

“Yes- doing a good job, you always do so good- gonna’ make me cum.”

And like you’d said the magic word, Art was going rigid. Hips slamming into you with a couple brutal and unyielding thrusts, less precision than you were used to with him.

Til’ he was dripping out of you.

His fingers kept going.

Until your face was pressed was pressed against the changing shed wall, sure to leave a lovely pattern of stucco on your skin.

Until you were babbling and canting your hips back onto his hand as drool ran down the side of your cheek.

Until you even realised that he’d dropped to his knees and was running his tongue through your cunt from the back, massive hands splitting your cheeks.

You reached a hand back to grip his hair, pulling his face even further into the sodden lips of your pussy as you fucked yourself back onto his tongue.

“That’s it- lick my cunt, Art. See how good you taste?”

Your ears stopped ringing long enough for you to hear it.

He makes that noise when he cums.

Again.

Tashi watched you both drag your feet back into the house- a sheen of sweat over you both that could’ve looked post-tennis.

To anyone else but her.

She let you pass without issue, but a fine hand pressed to Art’s chest as he tried to follow you to the showers.

“If I ever see you cum before her again, there will be trouble. Understood?”

There was no use explaining that you didn’t mind, that you kind of liked when you riled him up- made him lose control.

That he probably deserved to feel good.

Instead, you heard him murmur an apology before he finally got you under the monsoon shower head in the enormous guest bathroom.

Three more good ones on his tongue, just for good measure.

-

It was a miracle the Donaldson-Duncan mantelpiece didn't crumble under the immense weight of success.

Trophy, after trophy, after photo, after-

"Did Tashi meet Obama?"

Art chuckles over your shoulder as he watches you cradle the photo, eyes wide with admiration. Devotion?

"She did, he invited her to the White House the year before we got engaged."

"Your invite get lost in the mail?"

"It wasn't about me."

Is anything ever about him?

As you continued your impassioned scan of their family treasures, you came to a complete stop at a 5x7 frame.

"Is this a young Art Donaldson?"

You could feel his eyes on you as you lifted the frame with the same gentle touch as you'd lent to Tashi's photo.

This time, your fingers gingerly brushed over the glass- almost as if you could feel the crop of golden curls beneath your fingertips.

"You've never seen any of my earlier games? Junior doubles at the US Open?"

Taking your eyes off a very-pretty-young Art, you threw him a look that said something like 'be so serious.'

"No, I wasn't much for watching tennis as a- what? Six year old?"

Oh.

That's right.

It was impossible for Art to forget the elephant in the room- call him a dirty old man but Art was always thinking about the pretty young thing that he liked best in his lap.

But sometimes he forgot.

"Well, that's me the day Patrick and I won."

"Who's Patrick?"

Oh.

And just like that he's chubbing up in his pants.

Art Donaldson currently exists in a space and time where he has something that Patrick doesn't.

And you're none the fucking wiser.

How could you be? You're still enamoured with the shaggy golden curls and the unspoken pull of a backwards cap.

"Yeah, you would've driven me wild back in the day."

There's a wry smile that catches on the corner of his mouth, right at the same moment he takes the photo from you. You're forced back to reality, present day-

The one where Art's a few years older but still as devastatingly handsome.

"Would've?"

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, feeling a firm chest pressing against your shoulder blades. Feeling crowded.

Feeling caught.

"As if I don't already."

Art spends the evening reminding you of your place.

That, despite the age between you, he's still the one that runs rings.

-

Contrary to popular belief, Art Donaldson has bad days.

Unfortunately for just about everyone in the O2 Arena, he chose today.

Well, the fates decided on today.

As he thrashed his racquet through the air, you could've sworn you heard the 'woosh' it was sure to have made from all the way up here.

Tense, you were slumped in your seat as you couldn't escape the voice in your head-

the one that was telling you your luck had run out.

The one that still sounds a lot like Tashi Duncan.

"COME ON!"

Tashi's voice actually sounded from beside you, making you jump out of your skin.

Naturally, you began searching for Art- searching for something to do, someway to fix this. What was left for you if you couldn't be lucky.

Rabbits foot. Horse shoe. Triple sevens. Four-leaf clover.

Nowhere to be found- but you found Art, found his eyes.

Looking at you.

Pleading with you.

Come on.

There was that pathetic little gaze you'd come to know. When he wanted something, when he needed something.

Art Donaldson always gets what he wants.

You jumped a little when you felt Tashi's hand rest on your knee where it crossed over the other. Perfect manicure drumming against your kneecap, gripping once.

Gripping twice.

Gently, prying it away from the other till they were side by side.

Thighs being forced apart.

Suddenly acutely aware that Art's eyes weren't on your face anymore.

They were on Tashi's hand.

Acutely aware that, among all the pretty things she'd laid out on your bed this morning, there wasn't a pair of panties among them.

That same perfect manicure between your spread thighs, patting you once, twice- right where her husband had made a home.

Under a lucky star.

Art Donaldson had a penchant for getting what he wants.

With an unmatched performance, the arena was turned on its head. Neon green blitz across the court, landing right where he wanted it to.

The crowd cheered his name to a tune only he knew;

How to be a winner.

All guts, all glory.

The deafening commotion chewed you up but it was Art that spat you out. Amongst the noise, the fury, you found him stood staring right at you.

Expectantly.

The weight of responsibility on your chest. Your luck hadn't run out, it was only just the beginning.

To the victor go the spoils.

Somewhere, a rabbit was missing it's foot.

[shadowtriovibes]

the train ain't even left the station

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: G

Word Count: 2K

Summary: request: "If you're up for it I'd love to see a small lil fic of Sebastian sending his child off to Hogwarts for the very first time! Like maybe Sebastian is telling them about his adventures with Ominis and MC to make the child less nervous or just letting them know how exciting things will be for them :)"

in the same 'verse as "it's a sign of the times" [AO3]

Sebastian sets her down and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not too good, alright? It’s worth breaking a few rules every now and then to make a friend, or do what’s right.” “Like how you met Uncle Ominis and he showed you the Undercroft?” she says eagerly. A few feet away, you look up sharply from where you’re hugging Simon goodbye. “Did she just say ‘Undercroft?’” “No,” Sebastian and Anne-Marie say in unison.

September 1, 1910

Suspended overhead in the bustling terminal of King’s Cross Station is a massive clock. Every morning, hundreds of thousands of Londoners – both Muggles and wizards alike, though more often the former – pass underneath the clock as they hurry to catch their trains. Many will casually glance up to ensure they’re still on time as they make their way to work, school, or even the lucky few off on holiday.

As it happens, the first day of September brings countless students to the station on their way to boarding schools all over the U.K., meaning the station stays especially crowded well into the late morning. Worried mums and impatient dads all turn their eyes toward that clock, hoping their sprogs won’t be left on the platform on their very first day of school.

Just as the minute hand slides into place at the very bottom of the clock, a handsome young family emerges from a tiny waiting room positioned at the far end of the terminal.

Hundreds of Muggle men in their funny, black suits and odd little bowler hats have already walked right past the waiting room without sparing it a second glance. In fact, had any of them paused to do so, they would have read a small sign affixed to the door that simply read, “Out of Order.”

But inside that waiting room is a grand fireplace. Not just any fireplace, mind you – one that roared brilliantly twenty-four hours a day, never needs stoking, and, perhaps most importantly, spews out bright green flames.

Sebastian Sallow first exits the waiting room with a precarious cart loaded up with trunks, birdcages, and even some broomsticks of all things. If the Muggles passing by thought anything of the man’s rather odd collection of travel items, no one said a word.

He glances up at the clock and grins.

“Ten thirty,” he says confidently over his shoulder. “See? I told you we wouldn’t be late.”

Beside him is his young wife. Their smallest child, a boy just a few months shy of his fifth birthday, is dozing in her arms. Behind them are their oldest children, a pair of twins, chatting excitedly as they follow their parents toward the barricade between platforms nine and ten.

“Doesn’t it seem a bit redundant to Floo all the way down to London just to put the children on a train back to Scotland?” Sebastian mumbles as your family weaves its way through the flowing crowds.

“Perhaps, but all the children love riding the train,” you remind him fondly. “It’s a Hogwarts tradition, especially for the little ones.”

Having never had the chance to take the Hogwarts Express yourself, you find yourself mildly envious of your eldest children, both of whom will soon be taking their very first journey on the school’s scarlet red steamer train.

“Besides,” you add teasingly. “If I recall, you and Anne met Ominis on your first train ride to Hogwarts, correct?”

“Fine, I suppose you’ve got me there,” Sebastian relents with a soft smile. “I rather think this whole journey will have been worth it if the twins happen to make lifelong friends who save their lives several times over.”

“Do we have to?” your son Simon pipes up, sounding wary. “Because I packed a book I wanted to read.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow at you and gives you a look that reads, He is your son through and through.

“Trying to prove you’re a Ravenclaw already, are you?” Sebastian teases him. “Just like your mum, you are.”

“I’m going to be a Slytherin like you, Daddy!” your daughter Anne-Marie chimes in proudly. “Even Auntie Anne said so!”

You and Sebastian exchange a fond, albeit exasperated look. Ever since Anne (and eventually Sebastian) had accepted the life-limiting curse placed upon her by Rookwood, she’d instead focused on honing types of magic that don’t drain her of her energy or cause her any more pain. She’d found comfort in Divination and has grown into a very powerful Seer, though she often uses her gift to rile up your children with premonitions of being spoiled rotten on their birthday or soundly beating the other village children in their broomstick races.

However, predicting that your mischievous little girl will end up in Slytherin is a fairly safe bet, you imagine.

“I won’t be the least bit surprised if that’s true,” Sebastian says warmly. “But just know your mother and I will love you all the same no matter which house you end up in.”

“Even Hufflepuff?” Simon asks nervously. “Ernest from the village says Hufflepuffs are boring.”

“Don’t forget your Auntie Poppy is a Hufflepuff,” you tease him. “She’s anything but boring!”

That seems to cheer Simon up a bit, but your sweet, slightly shy boy falls back beside you as you get closer to the platform barricade.

“Alright, my love?” you ask him softly.

He reaches for your free hand and squirms up tightly against your side. “It’s really big…”

You size up the high brick archway before you. To the naked eye, it appears as solid as rock, and despite Sebastian’s reassurances that it’s perfectly safe to run straight at it, you imagine you’d be intimidated as well if you were only eleven years old.

“Don’t worry, darling,” you reassure him. “Your father and I will come with you to the platform, you won’t have to go through alone.”

He nods wordlessly and you squeeze his hand. Ever her father’s girl, Anne-Marie takes Sebastian’s arm and the two of them push the wobbly luggage cart straight at the archway, and in the blink of an eye, they’ve vanished.

“See?” you murmur to Simon. “Not so scary, is it?”

With your youngest still propped against your hip, you and Simon walk toward the barricade at a slower pace. You glance around to make sure no Muggles are watching as you slip through the magical brick facade, and then in the blink of an eye you’re on a pack platform surrounded by wizarding families and children in bright, colorful robes.

“Over here!” Sebastian calls out, and you see that he’s pulled the cart right up to the train.

“Help each other with your trunks, just like that,” Sebastian says as Simon and Anne-Marie first carry the trunk marked with an “S.S.” aboard the carriage and then return for the other marked with an “A.M.S.”

Then they carry in their owls – both young tawny birds raised from hatchlings, a gift from their Aunt Poppy. Finally, they return for their brooms, which Sebastian knows for a fact they ought not to have as first years, but he hopes he can talk Headmaster Weasley into looking the other way once they arrive with the intent of trying out for their house Quidditch teams.

(Raising your children in a wizarding village had been quite an eye-opening experience for you. Your twins have been on broomsticks since they could walk, and over the years their godfather Ominis has insisted on making sure they always have the latest model – one for each, so they won’t squabble over sharing.)

You pull Anne-Marie in for a tight hug once the children finish unloading their cart.

“You’ve got everything you need?” you ask her, pretending your voice hasn’t gone thick with tears. “I’ve packed you both some sweets for the ride, remember to share with your new friends, and write to us as soon as you get back to your dormitories please–”

“Yes, Mum,” she says, somewhat impatiently. “We promise we will.”

Anne-Marie kisses her littlest brother goodbye on his chubby cheek, fondly brushing back some of those messy brown curls your husband had given him.

“Why don’t you let your father give you a hug goodbye, sweetheart?” you gently prompt her.

You expect you’re the only one who’s noticed that Sebastian’s eyes have gotten a bit wet as he’d watched his children load up their belongings on the train. Even though he’d likely try to deny it if you prodded him, he sincerely looks like he could use a hug.

As soon as Anne-Marie approaches him with her arms out, Sebastian scoops her up against his chest like he’d often done when she was much smaller – only now her legs nearly touch the floor, and soon he’ll only be able to sway her like this with her feet firmly planted on the ground.

“Have a great term, sweetheart,” he tells her softly. “I can’t wait to hear all about it – even the parts that’ll exasperate your mother.”

“I promise I’ll be good,” she says ruefully.

Sebastian sets her down and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not too good, alright? It’s worth breaking a few rules every now and then to make a friend, or do what’s right.”

“Like how you met Uncle Ominis and he showed you the Undercroft?” she says eagerly.

A few feet away, you look up sharply from where you’re hugging Simon goodbye. “Did she just say ‘Undercroft?’”

“No,” Sebastian and Anne-Marie say in unison.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously and decide to leave it be for now, but as soon as you turn away, Sebastian leans down and whispers, “Write to Uncle Ominis and ask him where to find it. It’s a Sallow’s rite of passage.”

“I will,” she says excitedly. “And I’ll bring Simon.”

“Good girl,” he says proudly.

Anne-Marie manages to free Simon from your weepy grasp so that Sebastian can also pull him in for one last hug, reassuring his son he’ll be proud of him no matter which house he eventually calls home. Then the two link arms as they make their way toward the train, climbing up the stairs behind a gaggle of redheaded children (whose surname you could likely guess on the first try).

They settle into a compartment halfway down the carriage. Anne-Marie eagerly presses her face against the glass and makes a silly face at Sebastian, which he delightedly returns. Simon waves goodbye as well and holds up the book he’d packed, showing it off as if to say, “See Mum? We’ll be just fine.”

With your groggy son in your arms and Sebastian’s arm around your shoulders, you watch as the train slowly starts to rumble down the tracks and into the brilliant September sunshine. It’s carrying your children ever closer to your home, and yet further away from you than they’ve ever been.

You hide a few tears against the lapel of Sebastian’s robes; he kindly wipes away the rest with a handkerchief and kisses the redness on your cheeks and nose until you’re smiling once more.

“They’re going to have an incredible year,” he whispers to you. “It’s Hogwarts.”

You simply nod, not trusting yourself to answer without a stray sob slipping out.

Dozens of parents begin to Apparate away from the tracks as soon as the train rounds the corner, but with your youngest, you’ll need to make your way back to the station’s Floo flames to get home safely. This time pushing an empty cart, the three of you slip back through the brick barricade.

“It sure will feel quiet when we get home,” Sebastian says a little sadly.

“We’ve still got the littlest one,” you say softly, cradling your sleeping boy’s cheek as he clings to you through his nap. “He’ll keep us on our toes enough as he gets older.”

“I suppose,” Sebastian sighs, still sounding morose even as he reaches over and gently strokes the back of his fingers down your singleton’s back.

Then he perks up and raises an eyebrow at you. “Or perhaps we could try for a fourth?”

You shoot him a withering glare. “Not on your life, Sebastian Sallow. We’ve just sent the twins off to school, I think that means we should actually get to enjoy some peace and quiet for once.”

(Though when your twins come home for the winter holidays with countless tales of their adventures with new friends and their pockets stuffed full of Zonko’s products, Sebastian gets to be the one to tell them they’ll have a new baby sister the following summer.)

[trappedinafantasy37]

One of the things that had my mind spinning for a while is that in the Shadowheart origin, if you reject Shar, Minthara will apologize. She will believe that she and the rest of the companions held Shadowheart back from achieving her destiny. She blames herself for Shadowheart making a choice completely on her own, thinking that Shadowheart's concern for herself and others held her back. Minthara feels it to be her fault that Shadowheart is not as powerful as she could be and she is to blame for Shadowheart walking away from her destiny. Minthara sees herself as having failed for Shadowheart making the choice that she did.

I know it is cut content and cannot really be considered canon, but she does something similar in the breakup. Where she's yelling at Durge and asking why they rejected Bhaal. And Durge can tell her it's cause they love her. When the breakup was slipped in, I was initially so angry because Minthara calls Durge stupid for choosing love over power (when Minthara herself chooses love over power). Especially since the breakup happens like 10 minutes after the alurlssrin confession where she says the two of you have an unbreakable bond. I used to be so confused on why she would be so upset that you actually loved her. Then I realized that she's not upset that you love her. She's upset cause she fears that your love for her held you back.

Even though she sees you as her equal, she keeps putting herself as less than you. Where your wants and desires are more important than her own, and your greatness should be put above any affection you have for her. She wants you to love her of course, but she does not want to be what holds you back from reaching for power. To Minthara, power is safety and she has never felt safe. She wants you to keep elevating yourself cause the stronger you are, the safer you will be and by extension, the safer she will be. So you picking her over power means you are less safe and by consequence, she is less safe. And as much as Minthara loves loves, she needs to be safe first. It's why it seems like she keeps making the same dumb mistakes over and over, getting herself into precarious situations. It isn't because she's necessarily blinded by love, but she feels her proximity to power should keep her safe.

I also had a discussion with someone on Reddit, talking where it almost seems like Minthara keeps putting herself in positions of servitude, despite having some pretty ambitious goals involving world domination. We are talking about someone who has been a servant of Lolth her entire life. She tells us she was raised to be a soldier in Lolth's army and that was all she was meant to be. For 200+ years she was a servant and has never been anything else and doesn't know how to be anything else, and I believe she is too afraid to try to be anything else.

As a paladin, she was responsible for keeping social order, follow the word of whatever Priestess was in charge and enacting Lolth's will, partake in surface raids, and kill any of Lolth's enemies. There was very little room for her to achieve what she wanted, because Lolth had to come first. And even if there were things she wanted for herself, they still ultimately had to please Lolth in the end. Her time in the Absolute is no different. She just swaps the Absolute for Lolth and keeps up with the same shit (although she is too brainwashed to tell). So of course she is stunned when Lolth abandons her and the Absolute attempts to kill her and throws her deep into a crisis of faith. 200+ years of service has always bought her safety, until it didn't. So when you come along, she just swaps you for the Absolute. Telling herself, "I just need to be better than I was for the Absolute, better than I was for Lolth, and I should be okay." And her little rant about the gods, Lolth, Bhaal, the Absolute. Minthara is not anti-god. Minthara is anti-gods who do not reward their followers for their service. Because to her, service should be rewarded with something (other than death). She plays both sides when it comes to Shar because although she does think Shar is a poison in Shadowheart's life and believes Shadowheart is better off without Shar, at least Shar did reward Shadowheart for her service by making her a Dark Justiciar and elevating her to Chosen.

You would think she'd learn, but she doesn't. Not because she's stupid, but because her basic need for safety isn't being met. And so be fair, her "mistakes" with Lolth and the Absolute were relatively recent. So she keeps pushing people down the path of ruin and never going down the path herself directly, thinking that if she helps you become powerful, she will be safe. Where if she stands beside as you walk down this path, you will reward her for her service. Where she does not believe you would betray her because she helped you get that power. Where she thinks her service to you should buy her safety. Because to her, the most important thing she can be to you is useful. And she is terrified of being useless. So she provides you with unbreakable loyalty, devotion, and servitude, (and perhaps love). Where she will help you achieve your ambitions, whether it be to become a Dark Justiciar, the Vampire Ascended, the Slayer, or a god. Her path to safety, and greatness, and true power is forever lost to her down in the Underdark. So all she can do is help you walk down yours.

She keeps doing the same stupid shit over and over, making the same mistakes with people over and over, cause her fundamental need to safety is never being satisfied. And her service to various gods and entities technically did buy her safety, but only for an unknown period of time. And when she loses that safety, she thinks that the problem is her. That she was punished because she was not a good enough servant. That if she was a truly good servant, she won't lose your safety and your protection. And she thinks love interferes with your perception of her as a servant. She wants you to see her as a loyal servant first, lover second, because the only things in her life to be truly rewarded was her service, whereas her love got punished.

[kittyoncescribbled]

“I can teach you if you’d like”.

Pairing: OPLA Sanji x Reader

Summary: Sanji finds out you've never been kissed and he's a very eager teacher;

Word count: 1.6K;

Rating/Content Warnings: PG-13; AFAB reader, cigarettes, alcohol consumption;

Author's note: Ok, so... this might turn into a series with Y/N asking Sanji to teach her his ways. I'll see how I'll feel about it, but please: give me your feedback!

“I cannot believe that, Y/N!” said Sanji in a mocking tone, while ducking a punch that would’ve hit him square in the jaw if you two weren’t sharing a bottle of wine while on the crow’s nest as that was the only place that seemed to be away from Zeff’s eyes and gave the both of you at least a little sense of . “I cannot believe you’ve never kissed anyone!”.

“Shut up, you jerk! Not everyone is a whore like you” you replied through gritted teeth. Being the only girl at the Baratie, you dealt with more than your fair share of thirsty boys (and men), so no, you never had that sort of interaction before as overall the amount of attention you normally get was off putting. But of course, that’s what happened when Zeff wasn’t around; if he even though one of the guys was crossing a line, he wouldn’t hesitate to kick someone off the boat in a heartbeat. That little nugget of information about yourself was something that you’d never voluntarily tell, especially to Sanji, but the little wine you had before made your tongue looser than normal.

“And not everyone is a prude like you” the blond replied with shrugged shoulders; unlike you, Sanji tried his way with literally every single female humanoid he laid his eyes upon.

You frowned. “I’m not a prude, I just… got overwhelmed by you guys annoying me all the time. And now I’m too self-conscious of being bad at it, or awkward, or gross, or something like that, so I guess I’ll just never do it and die an old maid” you said dramatically, sliding down the wall in the way only a dramatic woman in her early twenties could. Sanji snorted and sat down by your side while precariously holding the bottle in one hand and placed his free hand on the top of your head. “C’mon Y/N. I’m giving you a hard time but it’s not that big of a deal”.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, forcing Sanji to remove his hand; “Yeah, sure, it isn’t. Guys don’t even want to sleep with a girl if she’s a virgin as they don’t want responsibility, let alone deal with someone like me. No one wants to deal with this sort of baggage… and it’s fine, really. It doesn’t bother me”.

It was very clear that it did, in fact, bother you.

“I can teach you if you’d like”.

Sanji took a deep breath; the fact that he had a major crush wasn’t a secret to anyone at the restaurant and the wine you had shared was making him a bit bolder than usual.

Of course, he flirted with you every chance he had; but Sanji was highly aware of the line he couldn’t cross and that you mostly saw it as playful banter instead of actual flirting. Both of you had your dreams; you wanted to take over the Baratie when Zeff decided to retire, Sanji still nurtured his wishes for the All Blue and neither of you were going to allow anything to get in the way and you were so focused on your  own goals that you were constantly pushing yourself too hard to the point of exhaustion and getting an earful from Zeff after a handful of particularly hard episodes.

The blond had a shaking smile on his lips; enough to claim he was joking if you were offended, but your big doe eyes looked up at him in an unexpectedly eager way. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?” you asked, clinging on his sleeve as you shifted your position, now kneeling on the ground and staring at Sanji; “Please?”

Sanji felt his heart stop for a second, as he’d never imagined this situation: you, on your knees, asking for him to touch you. As much as he wanted this, he didn’t feel like that would be the best option given that you were both slightly drunk (and the romantic in him didn’t want your first kiss to be a sloppy drunk make out). Sanji knew that the jerk side of him would be kicking himself in the morning, but he just couldn’t do it.

���Sorry kitten, no way. I guess that’s the wine talking… talk to me in the morning and let me know if you’re still up for it, ok? For now, I think it’s best if we went to our individual beds, by ourselves”.

You were now pouting and whining, but still managed to get yourself up from the floor and leave back to your room, still pouting and dragging your feet. Sanji stayed out there for a little longer, trying his hardest not to chase after you, smoking one cigarette after the other.

***

The next morning, Sanji was a bit afraid of how things would go with you — he guessed you’d be embarrassed and avoid him, but you were just your regular self: sassy, animated, cheeky and efficient in the kitchen. Even though his mind kept going back to the crow’s nest situation, Sanji managed to keep his cool and muffle his frustration. As much as he hated to admit, he wanted you to remember last night. He wanted you to, again, beg and pout and whine wanting his lips on yours.

But he still thought that turning you down was the best option for both of you.

The Baratie had a regular day — as regular as a day in the Baratie can be. Sanji kept a close eye on you, but it was like last night had never happened. He tried not to let the bitterness get to him, but he was a little disappointed and upset; as soon as he could, Sanji escaped from the kitchen and climbed to the crow’s nest by himself so he could light up another cigarette and overthink.

Sanji was so lost in thought he didn’t hear you creeping from behind him and almost dropped his cigarette when he felt you tapping his shoulder. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his over reaction, ignoring the indignant look Sanji was shooting at you. “What? What is it that you want, Y/N, that’s so important for you to nearly kill me?” Sanji had absolutely no bark behind his words, and you knew that.

“Is your proposal still on?”

Again, his heart stopped; he couldn’t feel his hands shaking slightly, and his whole face felt like it was burning. “Wha-what proposal?” Sanji asked, hoping to gain time and composure. “Don’t play with me, little eggplant. You know what I’m talking about” your pink ears and the fact that you were not able to keep eye contact assured Sanji that you were being serious.

“You mean it?”

“I mean… yeah. I came out here looking for you, didn’t I? It’s better if it's with you and not some random guy…” You looked embarrassed, avoiding Sanji’s gaze and fidgeting with your fingers; Sanji couldn’t help but feel his heart swelling by how endearing you looked right now. Without even realizing what he was doing, Sanji tossed his cigarette to the side and closed the distance between the both of you, grabbing your face with both of his hands and forcing you to look up to him. “Then I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me you really want it, Y/N”.

“Please, Sanji… Kiss me?”

Sanji hesitated for a split second before lowering his lips to meet yours; he could feel your trembling breath fanning his face, count every single eyelash that adorned your eyes and he could feel your perfume in such a way that he felt like he was drunk all over again — vanilla, almost like he was inside of a bakery.

When your lips touched, Sanji felt himself melting and he felt dizzy; his head was spinning and his stomach was exploding with butterflies, his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest and his fingertips were trembling on your cheeks. You were hesitant, taking you a few seconds before shyly embracing Sanji’s neck with your arms, pulling him closer.

Instinctively Sanji’s hand made their way to your waist, feeling the warmth of your skin under the thin blouse you were wearing. He had to make a conscious effort to not cross any boundaries as he didn’t want to scare you or cross a line, but it was hard to keep himself grounded when he started hearing the little content noises that were coming out from the back of your throat.

When you feel Sanji’s tongue touching your lips, your knees stop functioning for a moment and Sanji has to hold you tight so you won’t fall. His confidence and cockyness kicked in, and Sanji quickly had you pressed against the half-wall of the crow’s nest, his hands now seemingly all over you: your neck, your hair, your face, your waist; your head was spinning and now you had your hands tangled into Sanji’s hair, you could taste the cigarette he was having and that mixed with the expensive cologne he always wore made you feel like you were having a fever dream. You could feel yourself getting hotter by the second, and it felt like Sanji weren’t close enough to you.

Reluctantly, Sanji holds your face with both his hands and pulls away; he needs to take a deep breath and regain his composure. You whine, trying to pull him back so you can kiss him again, but Sanji merely kisses your forehead and brings you into a hug, tucking your head under his chin.

“There you go, princess. That was your first lesson”.

[joydoesathing]

Hi, do you have some Raffael and Ann's / Arlenne and Glen's headcanons (P.S You rule!)

Why yes, yes I do. Here comes a

DOUBLE (QUADRUPLE?) HC SPECIAL ✨✨

The Schmichts

They met each other around the early 1930s in New York

The suppressed realist and his manic pixie dream girl baddie™️

Can definitely put up a fight, if needed

Arlene helps Glenn let loose from his close-minded thinking and Glenn Arlene the stable support and validation she needs in those occasional times after she gets wearied out from staying positive 24/7 despite the unfriendly society.

Arlene

A friendly woman who seems to be off in her own world at times

A really good observer and can remember and describe things in detail

Her works and publications are mostly nonfiction but she does occasionally write fictional short stories, both of which are mostly based on real-life horrors the world could offer at the time including those she has experienced and witnessed way back then

She was born in the South and originally worked in a factory in the but later on quit then migrated North with her family to escape the especially nasty hate in the South and later on pursue her budding passion for writing

Despite knowing she's almost definitely going to be put down no matter where she goes, she has steeled her resolve and continues persevering

Glenn

A conformist with a usually no-nonsense personality

Can be a bit hard for him to say how he actually thinks and feels (suppressed man™️)

Having had to work tooth and nail in school and in work to get to where he is right now, all the while being beat down with countless insults and learning the extreme race biases, he has developed the mindset that, even though he's extremely good at his job, he always needed to keep his head low and not step out of line ,lest he would get put out of his job for he knows how precarious his position is.

After meeting Arlene, he did become noticeably more relaxed and smiles more often

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The Cappuccins

They first met in the 1920s in New York ( yes another New York mention, but trust me, I have my reasons XD)

Tall ex-gangster husband and lawyer wifey™️

"I fear no man, but that, *points at Ann*, she frightens me." -Raf

A criminal and a lawyer, getting together? How did it happen? The power of love 💕💕💕

Ann

She comes from a wealthy English family known in a good amount of socialite circles

Quite graceful, crazy intelligent, has impeccable manners and an eloquent way of speaking

She decided to slowly distance away from her family when she was first starting of her career. Ever the ambitious woman she was, she wanted to try to stand independently and make a name for herself.

When she started dating Raffael, she was well-aware that he was part of a gang but she had already fallen for him and was willing to believe that he could change (and he did)

Raffael

Tall, intimidating and quite short-tempered, but a big softie when it comes to those he loves

Back then when he was a teenager he formed a street gang with some of his buddies to earn some money for himself and his parents (they weren't very well-off)

He then quit his gangster life to settle down with Ann for both her and his buddies' safety

He's actually softened a lot after getting married and even visits his parents time to time talk about his life.

From crime hardened gangster to uncle who just chills around in Hawaiian shirts

[stararch4ngelqueen]

cute bath with jason, candles and bubbles and light music playing and he’s sitting behind you and giving you kisses as you just talk about eachothers days

—

Time Written - 10:50 p.m

—

“I saw somewhere that they sell these trays that hang on the tub, like hooking on the edges. You can use it to read your book inside. With a glass of wine or tea, or scotch too.”

Rough fingers along your back rolled any remaining knots in your muscles, calloused hands gently stroking along the junction of our shoulder and neck.

“Scotch?” Jason huffs in amusement. “C’mon, y’know I’m not a scotch guy.”

“Whiskey, bourbon. Whatever,” you giggle, leaning your head forward as you swipe along any stray wet hair, only to feel his fingers completely halt.

“You forgot my tastes??” Jason expressed with complete shock at this horrifying discovery. “Baby, I’m hurt.”

Any further giggling was unavoidable as you see his face; twisted into mock pain, his lips formed into a tragic quiver as he gives his version of puppy dog eyes.

“An’ here I was, so very very proud of myself to drive all across town to that lush store you like so much, All for the bath salts!” Vocally expressing his pain, he clutched his chest in one hand, dramatically swooping his damp curls back to dress his palm over his forehead.

“Oh my god, Jason!”

“And they weren’t even on sale!” Jason continues on, leaning his head back further with feigned agony. “I spent good money on my woman, an’ she forgets that I’m a bourbon man!”

“Jason stop it!” You turn yourself just a little more, both hands coming out of the milky waters to settle along his upper arms.

“I got you that bottle of Four Roses earlier, I know what my man loves.”

Jason smirks whilst withdrawing his hands from their prior positions. He can’t help but laugh a little himself, lowering one of his hands under water to rest along your hip.

“What I love is that pretty look on your face, Doll.” He pinches your chin with feather-like softness before kissing you.

Coming home to this everyday; you, was a gift.

Getting to spend every minute in your intoxicating presence. What drug or alcohol could be possibly infect himself with when his brain provided such ecstasy with one look at you?

The lights were dimmed, the water still clung to its toasty warmth. The milky waters seeping with sweet soap, pearlescent powders, crushed oats and herbal oils.

An exquisite tastes of both lavender and honey soothing elegance, bodies dripping in glittering gold.

In some cases, you didn’t wanna do anything sexual when Jason came home. This bath, for example, both of you were naked yes, but it was possible to not think such thoughts in a precarious state.

Your one and only was home safe and sound, You loved nothing more.

Jason was more than okay with that.

If you weren’t up to it, neither was he. Vice versa.

A perfect, consensual balance.

This was much better than a book, even better than a drink. The sleep he always got after these baths were heavenly, nearly slumbering like a baby each time.

“After the day I’ve had, I prefer this right here instead of a drink.” Jason re-swipes his soaking wet hair back along his head, growing slightly irritated from his dipping curls dripping onto his face.

“What a way with words, handsome.” You smile as you turn your body slightly, letting your upper half settle more comfortably against his. His hand settles along your back, running soothing circles against your glistening skin.

“Jason.”

“Hm?”

“If I did buy you that bath tray, would this mean you’d read to me in here?”

“Probably,” he replies, pondering over which book exactly. Also if he believes he could be comfortable enough with literature in the tub.

“Might as well do some skincare too,” you ponder over the idea, to Jason’s confusion.

“Like, some eye masks or something. Make it a spa day.”

Jason remained… intrigued, adamant. Only eye masks he’s seen you use were those glittery jelly ones you put under your eyes. He’s tried them once, per your request. They weren’t bad, but he didn’t understand the uses to this day.

“You’re just giving Dick more things to talk about.” Jason chuckles, his eyes closing as your hand readjusts his sopping wet, snowy curl out of his face.

“As if he needs to know what we do. This is our time, remember?”

“Mhm.” He leans close, pressing a kiss along your cheek before leaning just a little lower, leaving a softer peck underneath your ear.

“Our time.” He murmurs, feeling your head lean against his touches.

“The day I can dress you in a bright pink robe—“

“Babe no.” Oh boy. “C’mon—“

“-With feather lining and fuzzy slippers. You’d look adorable!” Your purposefully cheery accent had him groaning your name in false irritancy against your neck, rolling his eyes.

“There’s no deal you can make with me for that to happen, Princess.”

“I can be very persuasive, Mister Todd,” your tone drops from its cheerful tease into a more slow, much familiar tune he was well accustomed to.

His chest rumbles with amusement, teal eyes narrowing with interest in your statement. You’re really eager for him to do such? Now you piqued his interest.

“I’d like to see you try, pretty girl.”

[seijorhi]

RHIIII!!!! First off, kisses. Hi love, i've missed you. Second, more kisses because hello?

I will never get over how you can write something so doomed, so tragic, so terrifying -- so beautifully. I love how the reader is... just totally wrong? Reading everything incorrectly, and kind of just spiraling and feeling hopeless because she will always be second. Truly amazing scene-setting rhi because we know something she doesn't. it's just a matter of waiting for everything to kind of unravel.

My questions for you are: How did Aya react to Ushi coming out of that bathroom with unconscious reader? Do you think she sees it for how it is? Their obsession with her beta? What about when the reader's mates separate her and Aya? Would that inevitably happen since Aya will prob not agree to be in a pack with them after that incident and it's not like those alphas will be willing to give reader up either. Which leads me to my next question --> reader wanted someone who wanted her for her. now she has 3 of them. Does she soften up to the idea that she is so desired or will she always remain hostile towards her mates.

Anyway. I love you. Miss you. (i have my first ever set of law school exams tomorrow and here I am writing more in your ask box than I am in my study guides.

mwah mwah

birdie 🐦

ghfjdkhgfjdks pls do not abandon ur studying for the fics they will be there when ur done but ily and good luck with ur exam bby!!!

tbh it wasn't so much ushijima carrying the reader out, more like someone else stumbling in (the door was closed – not locked) to find a still knotted ushijima hunched over his unconscious, bleeding mate and snarling at anyone who came close.

in any case, aya's horrified – and for what it's worth, semi and tendou are pretty fucking stunned too.

for all her faults, aya's loyal. there's no part of her that would ever entertain the idea of mating with the pack of alphas who hurt her best friend, even if she can acknowledge he wasn't in control at the time.

which ofc puts her in the very precarious position of being 'in the way' and 'a problem'. doesn't usually end well for those types of characters 👀 poor aya

as far as your last question goes, it was kinda fun to make this whole thing into a twisted wish fulfilment. i think the biggest thing is that the bonds with her alphas aren't permanent. she has to go through it over and over and over again, and every time it's a reminder that she doesn't want this, didn't ask for it (not like that). they'll hurt her over and over again to reassert that claim, and they'll call it love.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking my (36F she/her) girlfriend (32F she/they) to be out at work if she wants to become myanager ?

It's messy and complicated. I love my girlfriend very much and ultimately I think we are in a shitty situation with no real win and we have a different opinions on how to lose.

I am a polyamorous lesbian. I have a wife but I also sometimes have other secondary partners, and my wife does too.

I am happy to work in a place safe enough that I am out at work (about the lesbian part, not the polyamory part). My wife often comes at afterwork events and because she is a sweetheart, is loved by most of my colleagues.

I have been at this job for 4 years, that's how I met this colleague, Angel. This person looked familiar but I couldn't put my finger on it. We talked, grew a bit closer then I met them again outside of work, at a queer event of my city. This time I recognized them. Angel is trans, non binary and fem presenting, at work she is not out and present herself as a cis heterosexual man. We talked, I obviously swore to keep it a secret but knowing this part of her helped us growing even closer together. We have now been dating for 3 years.

Angel has a longtime girlfriend (childhood sweethearts even) as her primary relationship. Let's call her Valentine. Valentine is working in the same industry but not in the same company. Because it's a niche field, everyone knows everyone and we often meet at work events. I also like her very much and we are good friends. Val is terrified to be out as polyamori at work because she is afraid of what the gossip will do to her work reputation. Valentine has a more public facing role than Angel and I and I absolutely respect her desire to protect what she has.

Even if it doesn't look like it, I do like too to keep private and professional life separated… Angel and I mostly connected outside of the workplace at queer events and are also both deeply involved in the drag scene and the queer political scene of our city. We never flirted at work and have even never stole a kiss on workground. We just happened to fall in love anyway even if we recognized the situation was less than ideal.

Our company has been through a lot of changes recently. My teamleader is leaving and Angel(that previously worked in another department) has been asked if she wants the role.

She does.

I have more experience than her even if she has more seniority with the company. I have been pretty open about wanting a senior expert position rather than managerial one and that's why I have not been offered the role. I am really happy for her and think she will be a great manager and recognize it's a great opportunity.

But I don't want her to be My manager. It's a really dangerous position to have over a romantic partner and she recognizes that. Moreover even if we managed to keep our relationship a secret until now, we know it's a precarious position. If our secret would be revealed while she IS my manager it could be terrible for us. She could be accused of taking advantage of me, or me to want to sleep my way through the top. Keep also in mind that she is male presenting at work and I am publicly a lesbian so yeah… We are also in very committed relationship which is another mess… It would not look good for us should we be forcibly out…

That's why I want to go to HR while her candidacy is being studied and explains the whole thing or at least some of them. I don't want to leave my team because my mentor is there and not a lot of people are doing what we do but maybe we could sort something out together? I would agree for Angel to be the team leader if I have a separate manager… Or maybe Angel could be the leader of another team ? Or I could become a more independent team member ? Angel and I are publicly work best friends so it would made sense anyway for me to have a different manager to keep things more fair.

Angel doesn't want to, and Valentine is absolutely against it. Angel thinks it will ruin her chance at the position. Maybe want to sort things out After she has been offered the job, maybe try to work out how we would work at manager/managee for some time before calling HR. I would not be against waiting for a real offer but listening her talk, I am afraid she intends to push things forever. Angel is afraid HR will reveal our secret to everyone. I recognize our HR team is not the best and even gossipy but it's about really private and protected things (in my country) : our sexual orientation and sexual identities. We also have a very good Union (with queer delegates) and even if I am unsure about HR, I am sure the union will remember them the law protecting us here and will ultimately behave appropriately. But I recognized it's a risk.

I want to break things of with Angel if she doesn't want to go to HR. My wife says it's mean and manipulative to use this kind of ultimatum. The way I see it I am just protecting myself. Angel is putting her job before our relationship and I am OK with that, she is also priorizing Valentine's needs (as she should) but in this case, I should be allowed to do the same and protect myself and my job. From my point of view, Angel could : refuse the position, go to HR, or accept the breakup.

AITA for this ultimatum ? Valentine thinks I am. Angel is confused. My wife disapproves but loves me to much to call me an asshole.

[the-s1lly-corner]

*explodes into your request box*

HEY HEY HEY, im back.

Came to ask an platonic Child!reader with the rest of the gang.

BUT HEAR ME OUT

Child reader is like an wolf in sheep's clothing, like reader has an cute expression on their face but when someone tries to touch them, they'll go like: "touch me and ill rip your hand off" in a full innocent voice and that cute smile.

And child reader has shark teeth.

Tyy!

*explodes*

- 🦭

The cast x child!reader (platonic)

throwing this together after waking up from a really nice nap! i still have the kinger request to work on but my brains still stumped.. sobs.. requests are still open by the way! you can find the link to my rules in my previous post, or you can look in my pinned! :O apologies if some sections for the characters are a little short, my brains still a lil okfvokffvovf from waking up TToTT

CAINE:

a child? in the circus?

he doesnt quite know how to make of it, i mean... its not like he has to make any accommodations, the circus is a place for all ages afterall!

i give you this new concept: dad caine

lightly scolds you when you threaten someone, bad manners!

i think he would be like a stereotypical eccentric dad

in house adventures seem to tone down just a touch so theyre not too intense or dangerous for you, keeps an eye on you to make sure you dont get stuck anywhere or flung across the room

rip bubble, you probably pop them when theyre within a foot of you

pinches your cheek only to have his hand comically chomped off ("now now (reader)! what did i tell you about biting! time out!)

POMNI:

similar confusion that caine has, but like, more so

how did a kid even get their hands on one of the headsets??

honestly i think pomni might be the type to be uncomfortable around kids; she doesnt hate them she just doesnt know what to do with them

also kids can possess a different kind of cruelness when they really put their minds to it and shes already in a mentally precarious position as it is

she doesnt avoid you though!

was bitten a grand total of one times, she made the mistake of trying to take you somewhere during an IHA and she didnt make you aware that she was going to put her hand on your shoulder

JAX:

okay you cant swear in the circus, but i feel like jax has some very creative ways to work around that, making these new colorful euphemisms that dont skip out on the crudeness. he teaches you some of his favorites just to watch the world burn

lightning fast reflexes, should you try to bite or hit him; not that hes going to try to put his hands on you

actually

i can see him picking you up via scooping his hands under your arms, or literally just holding you up by the scruff of your next

congrats theres now the image of jax holding a flailing sheep child in our heads. his shins will be kicked in the second you get put down

thinks its funny when people have to do double takes when you let out a threat or say something dark

RAGATHA:

i think she would be a cool babysitter, or big sister figure to you

similar to caine she will lightly scold you when you're being 'rude'

doesnt try to figure out why you dont like being touched, also respects it. respects your space as well, she doesnt totally baby you

she is a little sad that a kid so young got stuck in the digital world, though

even if you could remember things, i dont think she would ask out of fear of possibly upsetting you

likes making you little things (small pillows, plushes, ect) since i can see her being into sewing.. might be because shes a doll, though

KINGER:

i said it once and ill say it again, kinger is dad. like i already hc he had kids before getting stuck in the digital world, but i also like to hc that he and gangle have a dad/kid relationship, at least when kinger was less... paranoid

like he still has the capacity to be a father figure to you, but i think with you being a little... ermrmfl.. he might be a little put off

tells you stories about "being a king" (ie embellishing the one time he was put in charge during an IHA ages ago) and tells you about some previous in house adventures

youre so short he genuinely doesnt see you approaching sometimes so he either gets jumpscared by you or literally trips over you on accident

is so so apologetic once he gets over the initial shock of suddenly meeting the floor

really if you follow this guy around and show interest in his interests hes gonna adopt you

he knows your threats arent empty, even if they arent hes not going to try to find out

ZOOBLE:

zooble seems like the type of person to find some vague amusement in kids swearing or saying out of pocket stuff, i cant explain why

cant teach you swear words thanks to the censoring of the digital world but hey... they can still spell it out...

honestly i hc that zooble themselves doesnt like being touched so hey you dont have to worry about that, they personally get it

cool older sibling energy. while ragatha gives off sweet n caring older sister, zooble gives off the energy of a cool older sibling who like. idfk skateboards or something

zooble skateboarding real

not much else to say here

GANGLE:

similar to pomnis but this is more so because gangle is intimidated by other people thanks to her shyness!

i think gangle would be in the same boat as you and zooble, in terms of touching, but in gangles case its because shes made of ribbon and thus can be pushed around very easily

would cry on the off chance you snap at her :(

she lets you into her room sometimes to let you draw with her! kids like drawing right?

thats her reasoning, at least

i mean hey, it gives you something to do and gives you a break from all the chaos

actually pretty okay when her comedy mask isnt broken, actually makes an attempt to properly get to know you and crack a few jokes

[feyhunter78]

Can’t wait for my got rewatch with this weather <3 can’t wait for Jon fic

Oooo lucky it's still warm where I'm at, but hopefully we'll get fall weather soon. Enjoy!

Chapter Nineteen - The war has ended, and you must journey home to Casterly Rock, a new future awaiting you.

King Stannis has a firm hand, and an iron will, with eyes akin to a hawk. Any semblance of grief for those pronounced traitors is frowned upon, and in your precarious position—half traitor, half honorable—you cannot risk his displeasure falling upon you, so you pretend.

You do not wear black, nor grey, nor crimson, you wear the green and pink of your mother’s house, the purple, and white of Jon’s, and you smile. Smile for the court, for the King, for Tommen, for Margaery, and in truth it was beginning to help. The pain lessening as your father swept you up into wedding plans, into tales of how Casterly Rock would change once you both had taken your rightful places within it.

Then House Stark left, taking with them Tommen and Margaery. Tommen held back his tears; Margaery smiled so brightly she outshone the sun but you? You felt the cold chill of fear, of grief creeping up, overtaking your lungs and heart until you felt half dead.

You are devoid of feeling, of light, of life, ashen and hollow as you sit staring listlessly out the window as the wheelhouse travels down The Gold Road. Your cheeks are wet with tears, tears that slip unbidden, dotting your violet skirts like stars.

Myrcella’s letter, written in a shaky hand, the tearstained ink running into the corners, lays open in your outstretched hand. How can you grieve when you have not lost what she has? Your father still lives, your standing, your reputation is intact, you will inherit the Lannister seat, and Myrcella? Sweet Myrcella is confined to Dorne, a bastard born of incest, with no standings, no prospects in the eyes of the kingdoms.

You wish to call her home, to bring her safely into the arms of her family, but it is safer in Dorne. Trystane does love her deeply, truly, and she is happy. You will not take that remaining happiness from her, even if it would soothe your wounded soul.

“Y/N, I know you are hurting, as am I, but we must put our grief aside.” Your father says softly from his seat across from you. He is dressed finely, all crimson and gold, your grandsire’s signet ring on his finger.

“Why, why must I put it aside? Nearly all who I care for have been taken from me. Uncle Jaime, Myrcella, Tommen, Margaery, Aunt Cersei, Uncle Robert, Grandsire, who next will they take? You? Jon? Will they wait until I have a babe and tear him from my arms like they did to poor Queen Elia?”

Your father leans forward in his seat, placing a hand on your knee. “The Baratheons are not the cause of our sorrow.”

You shoot him a look.

He snorts. “They are not the cause of all our sorrow, your aunt and uncle made their own choices, Myrcella is safe, Tommen is spared, Margaery is happy, and no one will take Jon or I from you.”

You shake your head, drawing your arms around yourself and holding tightly. “You cannot know that. What if the king changes his mind?”

“Then I shall leave Kevan in charge, and we will flee to Essos. Become notorious for throwing extravagant parties, or perhaps we shall meet up with the blossoming dragon queen and help her retake her throne.” He shrugs.

You shed your grief like a snake, sitting up at his words. He cannot mean… “What?”

He smiles. “Truly, you did not think I would let our blood be spilled for naught?”

Your father squeezes your knee, casting his gaze towards the window, Casterly Rock stands tall on the horizon.

You follow it, watching as the golden rays of the sun radiate out from behind it, bathing the land below in a warm glow. “I thought she was a rumor, or at the very least not a threat?”

“Varys thought otherwise, Seven rest his soul, and I have seen her with my own eyes, she will be quite formidable in the time to come.” He assures you, leaning back in his seat and picking up a sugar dusted pastry.

You lean back as well, wiping the remaining tears from your face. Daenerys Targaryen, alive, and in possession of dragons… “Thank the gods Jon is not Rhaegar’s bastard, surely she would wish to marry him and consolidate their claims.” You remark, twisting your ring, the very one Jon gave you, the only piece of his mother he had. “I do not think I would survive dragonfire.”

Your father shivers and shakes his head. “Let us not speak of such things, instead we must turn our minds towards our people. They will be confused and frightened, we must establish order swiftly and calmly.”

You nod and reach for one of the pastries as well. Food had tasted naught but ash since the executions, but as you bite into the flaky crust—the sweetness of sugar paired perfectly with the tang of rhubarb—satisfaction brings a smile to your face. A Lannister always pays their debts.

As your father sets off parading through the streets—tossing gold to the smallfolk from atop his horse—you take Jon by the hand and make your way to the Lion’s Mouth, striding forward, eyes set straight ahead as they carry the coffins of your family in as well. Your uncle will be laid to rest in the Hall of Heroes, your grandsire and aunt joining the other Lannisters of past.

“Come, we must go up several floors to reach the Lannister quarters.” You tell Jon, leading him up the winding stairs you have not climbed since you were a child.

The stairs and walls are carved from the rock, refined and draped with white marble, red rock you still cannot identify running through the center, a never-ending path. Sconces of gold sit equidistant on the walls, banners, side tables, vases, and statues, room after room decorated lavishly. You and Jon take turn after turn, as they climb up, up, up to the quarters that housed your family for generations.

“I think I shall need a map if I ever venture these halls without you.” He chuckles, eyes wide as he takes in the grandiosity of your ancestral home.

“Why would you ever go anywhere without me?” You ask, half teasing, and half afraid, clinging to him at the very thought.

Jon looks down at you. He is dashing in his finery, his dark curls neat, his beard trimmed, his sword at his side, and his eyes brimming with concern. “Y/N, I swore to you that we would never be parted, do not tell me your faith has wavered now?”

You shake your head, you will not cry, you will not cry, there are so few true lions left in the world, you cannot cry. “No, never.”

He stops and turns towards you, raising your chin with a calloused finger. “Even Queen Visenya feared attempting to take The Rock, you are safe. We are safe.”

You meet his gaze. “I know.”

“King Stannis has sound council, my uncle ensured that.” He continues, his other hand resting on the small of your back, anchoring you.

“I know.”

“Even the Red Viper will soon join them, and if he finds the king lacking, I am sure he will see the end of his reign.” He gives you a wicked smile, one that makes your stomach flip. Have you corrupted him so that the idea of regicide excites him, or is he attempting to ease your fears by making light of the situation?

“I know.” You whisper, taking hold of Jon’s doublet.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, then places his hand atop yours. “All will be well.”

You nod and bask in his presence for a moment. He has been so patient, so kind as you grieved, sitting by your bedside as you sobbed, holding you tightly as you watched Tommen and Margaery wave goodbye.

“Do you wish to show me your childhood quarters, or shall we claim our own from the multitude of empty rooms?” Jon asks, drawing you out of your memories.

“Let us see the empty rooms, there will be time enough to reminisce once my father returns.” You say, smiling as Jon pulls you towards the first open door.

It has been half a year since you sought the safety and comfort of Casterly Rock, your father taking his place as Lord Paramount and the realm settling from war. Though many have just begun to find their way back to their daily lives, it seemed none were quite too put out by being called to The Rock for your wedding.

You stand, hands clasped in Jon’s, your maiden cloak, a shimmering thing of beauty, waves of crimson, a roaring lion with emeralds for eyes, and diamond encrusted claws standing tall, uncowed by the war. Nor by the cold glare of Queen Selyse, or by the scoffs of those who still believed your family should have been stripped of its position and power.

You drown out the septon’s words, they mean little to Jon, and while they mean much in the eyes of the realm. The night prior, you, and he had snuck out to the Stone Garden and gathered beneath the weirwood tree. It was a private ceremony, a Northern ceremony performed by his uncle, his cousin Robb at his side. Your own cousin Myrcella at yours.

Jon’s voice blends with yours as you pledge your undying love, undying devotion, none shall tear you asunder. Jon had all but made these vows to you the day he became your sworn sword, though you had not known it then.

The bridal cloak that had been sent from Starfell is radiant. A shining, shooting star made of thousands of tiny diamonds that caught the light as you moved, embroidered onto rich purple cloth. Jon smiles as he clasps it around you, then without prompting captures your lips in an eager kiss.

The gathered crowd begins to murmur, your father snorts, and you can hear the septon clear his throat pointedly.

“Apologies.” Jon says, looking quite unapologetic, a roguish gleam in his eyes.

Your heart skips a beat, and a giddy giggle rises up, tampered only by the pursing of your lips as you attempt to keep the sound in.

“Lady Y/N Lannister and Lord Jon Dayne are forever bound.” The septon announces, raising his arms to the sky, before dismissing you and Jon.

Jon takes your hand and leads you down the aisle of the sept, grinning like a fool, and you fear you are doing the same.

You stop him before he bypasses the king and queen, dropping into a curtsy. “My King, My Queen, we are honored you would make the journey to witness our marriage.”

King Stannis claps Jon on the shoulder. “Do your duty well, Lord Dayne.”

Queen Selyse gives you a strange look, tilting her head in such a way it makes you feel like prey, then turns her eyes to Jon. “Yes, we would not want a repeat of the previous Lannister folly.”

Your eyes widen a fraction, but you keep your expression neutral, and reply, “My Queen, you have no need to worry, the king himself has put an end to those who acted in such a vile way, their actions will not travel downstream.” Which is far politer than I do not even have a brother, who would I cuckhold Jon with? Have the years you spent wasting away on Dragonstone made you an idiot? How dare you insult me in my home, on my wedding day.

King Stannis only nods and turns his wife away from you and Jon, looking to greet another vassal.

Jon’s grip on your hand tightens, and he leads you out of the sept towards the Great Hall.

“Do not say a word.” You urge softly, knowing what sits on the edge of his tongue. “Not until the king and queen have gone.”

Jon’s jaw is clenched, a muscle twitching, his shoulders thrown back in a defensive posture. “It was not your father who did such things.”

You glance at the surge of people following after you, heading for the banquet. “Come Husband, let us put all that unpleasantness behind us, and enjoy the feast.” You raise the volume of your voice near the end, and those around cheer in response.

You smile as you rest your chin in your hand, watching as Jon dances with Sansa, her flamekissed hair glowing in the candlelight. She laughs as Jon spins her, and soon she is replaced by Arya who promptly steps on his toes. You feel it was a purposeful act, as the young girl has grown to be quite graceful after her many lessons in waterdancing.

Across the floor is your father laughing with your Great Uncle Kevan, while your good-father steals Myrcella away from Trystane and spins her. Her pale pink dress flares out as she spins, her hands outstretched towards Trystane who snatches her back in an instant.

“Lady Lannister, do you mind if I sit?” A woman’s voice, one you are not familiar with, a slightly exotic accent, perhaps one of the Free Cities, but you could not be sure.

You look up at her, she is stunningly beautiful, with violet eyes, and light brown hair swept up with a net of gold and rubies, two strands dangling free and framing her face. “Of course, Lady…?”

“Naharis.” She supplies, gracefully taking the empty seat beside you and folding her hands in her lap.

“Lady Naharis,” you test out the name on your tongue, “is that Tyroshi?”

She nods and observes the dancers. “It is.”

“Well, then you have traveled quite far to attend a wedding.” You say, taking a small sip of your wine.

“Your father believed it would be good for me. To see the joy in Westeros.” Her eyes flit from person to person, never settling, her pale fingers tap, tap, tapping on the table.

“My father asked you to come? I was not aware he knew many Tyroshi people...” You watch her carefully; she is dressed in finery, but there is a practicality to her clothing, and a raw presence that sets you on edge. “It is odd, though, that he made no mention, I believed I knew the names of all who would be in attendance tonight.”

She turns to you, a slight frown pulling at the corners of her lips. “My apologies, I did not wish to cause you distress on such a joyous night.”

You shake your head, donning your Lannister mask and smiling radiantly. “Not at all, the more, the merrier.” Then you lean in conspiratorially. “Though if you are his new mistress, you must say so. He usually keeps them hidden from me, so he must hold you in high esteem.”

She laughs, and it is musical and entrancing, however abrupt it may be, surprise clear in her expression. “Lady y/n, I can assure you I am no such thing.” She glances back towards a particular pair of dancers, and your hackles raise. Jon, she is looking at Jon. “I am merely a friend.”

“I see.”

“He has been assisting me in my quest to reclaim my family’s seat.” She says evenly, smoothing out her skirts, a silver ring on her hand catching the light, a three-headed dragon curled possessively.

You set your goblet down and stand, your stomach churning. Did your father invite the dragon queen here? What were they planning? “You must excuse me, Lady Naharis, I do believe my husband promised me the next dance. I pray you enjoy the remainder of your evening.”

She gives you a small smile. “Thank you, Lady Lannister, I pray you do as well.”

You bow your head ever so slightly and make your way through the crowd, grabbing Jon’s arm, you had told him what your father alluded to in the wheelhouse, but that had been ages ago. Neither of you expected her to attend your wedding. “Jon, I must speak with you.”

“Y/N, come, we must speak.” Your father says, grabbing your free hand at the same time your hand reaches Jon.

You look at your father, and Jon looks at you. “Father, I do not know what you have planned, but this is my weddi—"

“Is it time for the bedding!” Some drunken fool cries out, and soon others take up the call, the crowd surging around you as you are ripped from Jon and your father.

He promised, your father promised there would not be a bedding.

You elbow the nearest man, and shove another set of hands off you, fighting against the tide. Their faces are distorted in your panic, their eyes glazed with drunkenness, their jeers growing louder and louder.

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain, @rebeccawinters, @taylorsfemalerage, @rax-raxus, @certainwonderlandperfection, @nymeriiiia, @burkgolden, @drewsivy

[finleycannotdraw]

Goldenheart question. Who do you think proposes? Ballister or Ambrosius?

Bonus on how they would do it? ✌️🌈

OKAY SO. I thought about this for like five minutes. decided something. and then I changed my mind like five times. and then I was like “hmm. fic time”

I know you just asked for my thoughts but I hope you enjoy this!!

Ballister had a plan.

He loved Ambrosius. Of course he did. He’d loved him when they were classmates at the Institute, loved him when they snuck onto the roof at night to talk, loved him when they became knights, and loved him when the wall came down. He’d loved him for as long as he could remember, so of course he loved him when he looked up from his crossword puzzle and saw Ambrosius dancing in the kitchen, wearing a pair of Ballister’s pajama pants, holding a pancake batter-covered spatula and looking more carefree than he’d looked in months.

He’d marry Ambrosius in a heartbeat. He’d get on a train right then and elope with him if he asked, but he thought his partner deserved something bigger, something romantic, something grand and joyful after all of the stress and responsibility he’d been shouldering since the Director’s demise.

Hence, The Plan.

Nimona had been… mostly helpful. Ballister approached her one afternoon, after Ambrosius had left for work, and sat down across from her. Since the three of them had moved into an apartment together, Nimona had gotten much more comfortable relaxing, which warmed Ballister’s heart.

“What’s up, boss?”

“I want to ask Ambrosius—” he began, and Nimona sat up straight, immediately invested.

“To marry you?” she exclaimed. “Yes. Do it. Why haven’t you done it already.”

Ballister blinked. “I thought you’d be more hesitant about this,” he said slowly. “You used to hate him.”

Nimona waved her hand dismissively. “Ehhh. The past is the past, and all that jazz. Speaking of jazz—”

“No.”

“Ugh, whatever. You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“You’re horrible. Anyway, I hated him when all I knew about him was that he cut off your arm. That was before I’d lived with you guys for a year. And it would be pretty hypocritical of me not to be open to changing my opinions about somebody. He makes you happy. You should totally marry him.”

Ballister smiled. “Thank you, Nimona.”

She scoffed affectionately. “Sure, boss.”

And a plan—namely, The Plan, which was the whole point—formed.

Nimona and Ballister flew all over the city looking for parks and possible activities, such as restaurants or shows. Most people had gotten fairly used to the pair of them flying around, Nimona sprouting wings and carrying Ballister above the streets, so they didn’t worry about staying out of sight.

If Ambrosius noticed or thought it was suspicious that Nimona and Ballister constantly went out together and didn’t talk to him about any of it, he didn’t comment. The three of them still had their movie nights and game nights, and Nimona and Ambrosius still had their terrifyingly intense card games (War, Go Fish, Crazy Eights, and several games Ballister had never heard of) that Ballister was forbidden from joining, so altogether not much had changed.

One thing that did change, though, was how often he paused, watched Ambrosius do something completely ordinary, and thought ‘I want to marry this man.’ It happened more and more with each passing day, until Ballister very nearly proposed to him when he walked into the apartment and found Ambrosius standing with his feet on two separate chairs, about three feet apart, holding a collection of colorful paper streamers above his head while Nimona, in the form of a small monkey, perched on the top of his head and put them in place on the wall.

Ballister stared at them for a long moment before he said, very confusedly: “There wasn’t a more efficient way to do this?”

Ambrosius and Nimona turned at the same time, both looking quite delighted despite their precarious position atop the chairs.

“We’re just mixing it up!” they both replied. Ballister looked around. The living room was covered in party decorations and newspaper, and Ballister thought he’d never seen more glitter in his life. He pictured Ambrosius buying a basket full of glitter for whatever party Nimona was planning on throwing, and wouldn’t have been surprised if his heart actually melted.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked.

“I asked Nimona when her birthday was,” Ambrosius explained. “She said she didn’t have one.”

“And if I do, I don’t remember when it is,” Nimona added. Ambrosius threw his hands out to the sides in an emphasizing gesture.

“Which means she’s never had a birthday party,” he continued. “So we decided that today’s her birthday and we’re having a party.”

“Which is just going to be like a normal night except with decorations,” Nimona said. “The glitter was Goldilocks’ idea.”

Ballister raised his eyebrows, and Ambrosius shrugged unabashedly, then turned back to finish putting up the streamers.

Marry me, Ballister thought.

Within the next week, he had everything figured out. He’d looked at the weather for the next few days, planned where they’d go and when, and had even bought a ring, which he’d hidden in his extra pair of running shoes and shoved under the bed. If Ambrosius noticed that Ballister seemed extra nervous or more likely to become agitated if he spent too long in the bedroom by himself, he didn’t comment.

So yes. Ballister had a plan, and it was much more concrete than ‘something something something, we win’. He didn’t have a script, but he had just about everything else. Nothing could possibly get in his way now.

Or so he thought.

One night—there was nothing particularly special about it; they’d had dinner with Nimona, danced and laughed while cleaning the kitchen, and kissed while getting ready for bed—Ballister and Ambrosius were snuggled up together under their blankets. Ballister’s prosthetic arm was hanging from its charger on the wall, so he couldn’t hold Ambrosius as close as he would’ve liked, but the blond knight was lying with his head on Ballister’s shoulder, which gave him room to wrap his left arm around his partner’s back.

Ambrosius moved to tangle his legs with Ballister’s and gave his middle a squeeze, causing Ballister to smile up at the dark ceiling. If he paid attention, he could hear quiet music through the walls from Nimona’s room, and the moon was shining brightly through the window. Ballister carded his fingers through Ambrosius’ hair and breathed deeply.

Ambrosius, after several minutes, pushed himself up onto his elbow so that he could see Ballister’s face. Ballister’s arm slid naturally to rest around his waist, and he wished he had his prosthetic so that he could tap Ambrosius on the nose. Whenever he did so, Ambrosius’ face would scrunch up in the most adorable way possible, and Ballister had no choice but to kiss him.

“Hey,” Ambrosius whispered, as though Ballister hadn’t already been giving him his full attention.

“Hi,” he said in the same quiet tone, and matched Ambrosius’ answering smile. They bumped their noses together and giggled, and Ambrosius flopped to the side, landing on his own pillow. Ballister freed his arm and laced their fingers together, and Ambrosius brought their joined hands to his lips, then rested them on his chest and stroked Ballister’s hand with his thumb.

“Bal?” he said, tilting his head to the side to look into Ballister’s eyes, which he was quite honestly struggling to keep open.

“Hm?”

“Will you marry me?” Ambrosius asked softly, simply, his gaze full of love, exactly the way Ballister had been fighting the urge to ask him for weeks.

“Oh, come on!” he exclaimed, and got out of bed to grab the ring box from his shoe, forgetting that Ambrosius had no idea what he was doing until he sat up, looking worried.

“Bal?” he said again, this time much more guarded. “I’m sorry, what—”

“I was going to propose to you!” Ballister interrupted, opened the box, and shoved it towards his gobsmacked partner, who stared at it in utter shock before looking back to Ballister’s eyes. “I had a plan! And it wasn’t ‘something something something, we win’!”

Ambrosius’ eyes were shiny. “Was it more like, ‘something something something, marry me?’”

Ballister laughed surprisedly and leaned over to plant a kiss on Ambrosius’ lips. “Yes,” he said. “Well, no. I didn’t have a speech.”

“Hence the something-something-something,” Ambrosius teased. “You know, you never answered my—”

“Yes, good Gloreth, yes, I’ll marry you,” Ballister interrupted again. “Though I think you could’ve inferred that from learning that I was going to ask you the same question.”

Ambrosius laughed tearfully, and Ballister kissed him again.

“I’m not taking your last name, though,” he added moments later. “As funny as it is.”

“Nimona would kill you,” Ambrosius agreed. “So would I, probably. I don’t want to keep my last name either. It made for some good jokes, but other than that—”

“Well, Boldheart is nice, but it wasn’t my birth name. You know the Queen gave it to me at the ceremony because somebody—probably the Director—said that Blackheart sounded too dark for a knight?”

“Right,” Ambrosius mused. “What should we do, then?”

“We could combine our last names,” Ballister suggested. “We could be Ambrosius and Ballister—”

“Goldenheart,” Ambrosius finished, and wrapped his arms around Ballister, shaking with laughter, tears, and joy. “I love it.”

“I love you,” Ballister told him, and there was very little talking for the rest of the night.

When morning came, they headed into the kitchen in their pajamas and found Nimona already up, sitting at the table with her headphones on. She appeared to be drawing—likely another action scene with herself as a large animal with Ballister and/or Ambrosius as her murderous accomplice—and didn’t look up as they entered.

“Morning, Nim,” Ambrosius said as he made his way to the coffee machine.

“Goldilocks.” She acknowledged him with a nod, then raised her eyebrows. “Sleep well?”

Ballister held his crossword puzzle up and hid his face behind it while Ambrosius nearly dropped the coffee pot. They both knew that Nimona was over a thousand years old and there was probably very little she hadn’t seen, and even less she wasn’t aware of, but she was so good at acting like a teenager that it was quite easy to forget. She watched their awkward reactions and snickered, but her eyes widened as her attention zeroed in on something on or beside Ambrosius’ hand.

“So, who snapped first?” she asked pleasantly, a wide grin forming on her face.

“Me,” Ambrosius admitted without turning around. “Wait. Who snapped first? You knew he was planning—”

“You knew he was—” Ballister began too, and they both stopped and stared at each other.

Nimona just burst out laughing.

[demaparbat-hp]

Hi there. ^_^ ♥ First, LOVE your art!♥

2nd, for your Katara joins Zuko in hunting the Avatar AU idea, I have a question. :)

If originally Zuko was hunting him to restore his honor, but now he's part of the White Lotus, does this make the White lotus evil? (The kind that think they're doing it for good, but they're delusional, because their idea is clearly bad.)

Or, if they're not evil, what is Zuko's new reason for hunting the Avatar, if not for his honor? :)

Hello, and thank you for the question!

I hope you don't mind me making this a sort-of continuation to this post, but the replies are connected, in a way.

Now, it may come as no surprise that I love to play with canon divergences. So it stands to reason that one minor change to canon became the basis for Zuko's character in this AU. Mainly, that he stayed behind with Azula to eavesdrop the rest of Ozai's audience with Fire Lord Azulon, and thus was witness to the latter demanding his death in exchange for Ozai's right to the throne.

Zuko, unable to sleep that night, is wide awake when Ursa comes to see him. He delays her, deeply afraid of what's happening, and follows her silently through the dark halls of the palace when she leaves. But Ozai intercepts her. Ozai kills her, and Zuko watches.

It changes everything and nothing at all at the same time. Zuko's desire to be the Perfect Prince isn't because he wishes for his father's attention and love—instead, it comes from a place of grief. Zuko's is a simmering rage that drives him to one day take the throne (the very same throne that turned his mother to ashes and gave her no ceremony) from Ozai in revenge. But to do so he first needs to be ready for it.

Zuko learns to listen. Slithering through the shadows of the palace and pushing himself beyond his limits. But the Agni Kai happens. And when everything is lost, Zuko turns his misfortune into an advantage.

Uncle had started to introduce him to the White Lotus before his banishment, so Zuko becomes a member after he's fully healed. He makes the best out of what little he has—a crew full of agents, traitors and dissidents, and a position and name in the Fire Nation military that, while precarious in nature of his banishment, still allows him certain sway from within.

Time passes, and he grows. He goes to missions for the White Lotus, puts a stop to several plans for minor invasions and battles (nothing major, as to not cause suspicion) and works hard and subtle to better things wherever he goes.

He makes plans. Reckless, half-impossible plans to depose of his father. But they are useless and, most often than not, bloody.

The conditions of his banishment are clear. He is stripped of all titles and rights as Prince and can never set foot on the Mainland ever again. He's no longer the Crown Prince to the Fire Nation and has, by the Divine Law of Agni, no right to the throne. That is, of course, unless he does the impossible, captures the long-missing Avatar, and brings them to the Fire Lord. And that, for obvious reasons, is not an option. It hasn't been an option for the last one hundred years.

Until it is.

Capturing the Avatar is not something Zuko does to regain his honor or earn his father's respect (the first, because he had never lost it; the second, because he's never had it in the first place). It is a necessity. Something he must do if he wants to reclaim his title as Crown Prince, take the throne from his father and end the war once and for all.

But, let me tell you a secret. This AU? It was born because I woke up one day with a single phrase repeating itself in my head, over and over again:

The Prince refused to play Pai Sho, not because he was bad at it but, rather, out of boredom—he never lost a single game.

And that's just it. It's a game.

He can't take an untrained, childish fifteen year old Avatar to his father. But he can give the kid enough time to get ready. Chase him around, play the Bad Guy, push him away from the real dangers out there. Oh, he will deliver the Avatar to the Fire Lord—he just needs to keep his cover as loyal prince long enough for the boy to play his part and become a fully realized Master.

The Gambit is dangerous and double-edged, but all of Zuko's moves on the board are part of the same strategy. This, after all, is just another game of Pai Sho.

And he never loses.

[yyokkki]

Asking to Sketch Them

POMEFIORE 

Vil Schoenheit 

You’re gonna have to schedule an appointment with Vil’s manager first darling, but, because you’re his friend he will accept the request free of charge

Literally started this entire hc series because of this man, the way I draw him does not match up to his standards whatsoever

The best model you could ask for, because it’s Vil so of course, but Pomefiore can prepare any set you ask for in the snap of a finger and they’re giving you a free spa treatment after this???

And that’s exactly why he’s the worst model you could get

Pressure cranked up to 100%

His face is so symmetrical and oh god rook is breathing over your shoulder, staring as you work and he hasn’t blinked in a w h I l e

Once you’re done Vil gives a balanced amount of positive feedback and helpful criticism

But rook

Dude is n it p ic k y, there’s no malice but the guy is intensely observing everything Vil does daily so he definitely has stuff to say no matter how good you do

If you don’t mind the bone crushing pressure, this is probably the most helpful session you could get with genuinely good advice and tips at least in the realm of drawing people as beautiful as Vil

Its either -100/10 or 100/10 depending on how much pressure you put on yourself im sorry but if I were asked to draw a portrait of fucking Beyonce while she sat right in front of me I would cry

Rook Hunt

Boy is grinning ear to ear

Contrary to… Above, Rook is very happy to model for you

Rook is very skilled at staying still for prolonged periods of time even in the most precarious positions so go crazy (revenge)

Usually he’s the observer so to be the one being observed is kind of nice to him in a way

Once you’re done he improvs a unique poem about your masterpiece and how much he loves it 

Whether it’s stickman or hyperrealism on ms paint, he’s framing your work and hanging it up in his room

Next thing you know there’s a scented letter full of flowery poems detailing his gratefulness and his awe at your skill, as well as a huge oil painting of you ready to be hung up somewhere in Ramshackle dorm

This stuff probably comes naturally to him

9/10 Actually quite pleasant for, well, Rook

Epel Felmier

Vil hasn’t gotten around to teaching him how to pose for portraits yet cuz he’s really trying to hammer in the basics first but he will do his best!!

After you actually manage to convince him to do it that is

Posing for a portrait sounds stiff and boring and he’s already forced to put up with that everyday at his dorm

Bribes? Pomefiore basically has everything he needs and more

Food? Vil is gonna kill him if he eats anything outside his meal plans

A place to hide from Vil? Ramshackle is falling apart, he breaks in visits every other day with the other first years already

Your hand in marriage? I don’t think you should be offering something like that for a portrait

A competition? Ya bet yer ass I’m winnin

And now you’re drawing Epel while Epel is drawing you, with the other first years acting as judges

Honestly pretty fun, the atmosphere is light hearted

The other first years are arguing at the side and both of you aren’t super cut throat about it, cracking jokes and laughing at the dumbass combo whenever they do or say something distracting

You exchange the portraits at the end and Epel actually had a good time so it’s a win win situation and yall get to have a sleepover later

He challenges you to an apple carving competition next 

8/10 Turned into more of a first year hangout but it was a good time so who’s complaining

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Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia