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glitter-stained · 2 days ago

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Hear me out because I have a vision:

Barbara- centric hacker movie. (Barbara-centric, not Birds of Prey for this one.) Like not a dc adaptation, a hacker movie that's an AU. Fair warning: I understand nothing about how hacking works.

Barbara is a thirty-five years old bisexual overqualified librarian. Every time someone asks her why she works in a library and if she's never bored she replies she likes the quiet and the books, but we see, on her work computer, that she's always reading like one science article one philosophy book and news article etc at the same time to stay stimulated; she also has several degrees and on screen we see notes of her working on p=np because it'd be funny. On a date, we see her hint that she likes that the library is calm because she gets excitement from her nightlife.

The nightlife in question: Her hacker name is of course Oracle. At first, she learnt how to code because she was bored, and then she got invested in the secrets she could unravel, but her real entry into cyber activity happened after she hunted down the identity of the man responsible for the stray bullet that paralyzed her during a shootout and framed him for tax evasion. This isn't like, the heart of the story or anything, just a little flashback to explain her motivation and how hacking helped her regain her self-confidence and grow around it. That part was cut in the final version of the movie because it was very very long but Barbara's actress and those who have seen the director's cut agree it's an important context for her characterization.

The movie is about her uncovering a fucked up ploy by the government to cover up an industrial catastrophe that's already killed hundreds, and continuing to poison people because they're burying the proof so that the industry can carry on for profit. It becomes even more complicated when she finds out not only is this a corrupted government officials issue, but the cia is involved because of the potential interest of whatever chemical is being produced in this factory as a weapon, so it's one woman against the giants of this world.

Thankfully, Barbara isn't truly alone in everything. She has or builds close relationships through the movie, such as:

-Dinah: her old highschool friend with whom she had lost contact, but Dinah doesn't know that at first: she's down on her luck (lost all her money+ scum boyfriend after scum boyfriend, etc.) and Oracle calls her and offers a sketchy job. (She cuts into the funds of some billionaire to do this, highjacking the dumb algorithm he made for tax evasion.) She calls Barbara her conscience and Jiminy (her own conscience is perfectly efficient and still she says that). Barbara is always calling her on an old kind of phone because she doesn't like technology. Barbara calls her "My hands, my eyes, my heart". Around the last third to fourth of the movie, at the start of the build-up to climax, we have the famous "Barbara...call me Barbara moment", except after that the scene continues and they fuck, like you don't see everything but it's not fade to black either, Dinah's mouth on her neck, hands untying clothes, fingers trailing across the other's skin drenched in water from the pool, the classic cliche fingers intertwining, dramatic music, and then we can fade to black.

-Dick: a 25 years old bartender with an inability to keep the same job for more than a couple of months who is haunted by the death of his parents in a circus accident when he was a kid. They start to date because she's investigating his parents' involvement in her case (they were killed to stifle down whistleblowing), I don't want them to kiss in the movie just they're clearly starting dating and then he wakes up alone in her bed and thanks to some adequate plot excuse Dick finds the file about his parents and falls to his knees. I want a scene where he's kneeling at her feet, devastated (idk if crying or not, director's choice) and she's trailing her fingers in his hair and asks him if he wants to help her get him his revenge and he looks at her with so much grief and devotion and says he'll do anything. After that moment they don't really break-up (esp since they weren't officially together) but their relationship has shifted, there's a form of affection/care/devotion but it's less romantic than the cute dating from the beginning (but no less weirder or intense). The music for them is not when she brings him back to her apartment but when he's kneeling at her lap because that's where the climax is.

> I'm not sure who more to include but I'm considering versions of Cassandra Cain, Helena Bertellini or Selina Kyle. Keep in mind that these are civilians in a hacker movie, more than having meta abilities or insane hero skills they need to be smart, brave, motivated af with a bone to pick, trusting in Oracle and generally normal people (though a reasonable measure of Selina's b&e skills certainly wouldn't hurt.)

> They find help in allies amidst doctors/scientists trying to study the apparent epidemic (but the research is being pushed down), maybe Talia al Ghul and Barry Allen?

> In any case I want Barbara to be badass and flawed in a way that's like kinda a bit morally grey, but it's not in a "everyone's a bit of a villain here"; there's a scene in the movie where Oracle is blackmailing a corrupt guy into double-crossing the cia for her and he's like 'you think you're so much better than me" and Oracle is like "oh, it's terribly easy to be better than you, I don't even have to be good."

Anyway the scandal is released and there are protests and justice stuff and they win. I'm not sure how the story ends for Barbara, maybe the last shot is her at the library working on her equations as if nothing had happened but with a tiny floating little smile, maybe she disappears mysteriously from everyone's life leaving a shadow and they're all wondering what she's up to now and why she left (leaving ground for a potential sequel that might never live up to the original) Dick is reflecting about how she changed his life forever and the last shot is Dinah thinking about the way she's missing the part of her soul that was whispering in her ears, etc.

The movie gets released in the theatres etc for a little less than one week before it's cancelled and forbidden forever because of some concerning similarities between the plot and some existent factories that somehow made it to the big screen without anyone noticing, however the movie is already circulating, it's all over the internet, grainy footage from the theatre, leaked bits from the director's cut (not the final cut remember), alleged snippets from the original script appearing on forums, etc. It's too late.

Idk, just- Barbara centric hacker movie. "Any similarities to real life circumstances is purely accidental" type of stuff.

#dc #dc comics #barbara gordon #birds of prey 1999 #i mean that's the inspiration #dinahbabs #dickbabs #tbh i kinda eyeballed the pre-deaging age difference don't think about it too hard #morally grey barbara gordon #she deserves it as a treat #oracle #dinah lance #dick grayson #hacker movie au

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separatist-apologist · 1 day ago

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The Prophecy

Summary: No one has seen or heard from Elain Archeron in two months…until she turns up one day in the Spring Court with no memory of where she's been or what she's been doing.

Tamlin and Lucien will have to work together to untangle the mystery of Elain's missing memories.

My gift for @olenvasynyt- but other people can read, too?

@acotargiftexchange

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Elain had nearly untangled Tamlin’s chain of wards when they all just came crashing down. Lucien strode into the library, eyes blazing and for a second she was certain the whole thing was her fault. She’d pulled them too quickly and they were all aware it was her meddling. Lucien didn’t say a word, jaw set, as he reached for her wrist.

She didn’t have time to say a word—there was merely yanking, and then…somewhere new. Somewhere nice, if not a little dusty smelling. The floral paper on the walls wasn’t peeling or scratched, the paneling on the walls intact, the tile immaculate.

“Where are we?”

“Yew Tree Manor,” Tamlin said, appearing out of nowhere. He was dressed well—his long, blonde hair was neatly styled in a ponytail and someone had trimmed the edges. His beard was gone, replaced with smooth, tanned skin that made him look ten years younger. Combined with his pine green tunic and well-fitted pants, he looked the part of a noble born son. Maybe not a High Lord, but close.

She could certainly see what Feyre had liked. Tamlin exuded strength and power and was handsome if you like that kind of thing. Elain wasn’t certain she did, and wasn’t willing to examine what she did like lest her eyes turn toward the man currently holding her wrist.

“Why are we here?”

“So you can go outside,” Lucien informed her, as if that were a sentence that sounded normal. Even Tamlin winced a little, hearing the words spoken aloud.

“We got you something,” Tamlin added, eyes bouncing from Elain and to Lucien. He beckoned for her to follow, and so she did, relieved she hadn’t been caught with the wards. Her secret was safe, at least for the moment.

There was nothing but lush, rolling hills in every direction. No woods that led to the human lands—the steepled rooftops of a nearby village blurred in the distance, though Elain didn’t believe she’d be allowed off-leash to wander that far. Still, it was a goal—if she could get away from them, she could run to the village and ask for help.

Elain momentarily forgot that when Tamlin presented the gift he and Lucien had apparently decided on it for her. She turned to look at Lucien, who had his hands jammed in his pockets, cheeks flushed with what seemed to be embarrassment.

“You got me a chicken?” she asked, looking at the brown hen cradled in Tamlin’s hands.

“I told you to get the kitten,” Lucien hissed. Elain didn’t know what to make of the whole thing. They’d conspired? To get her a gift? She didn’t know a thing about raising animals, though it was one hen. How difficult could it be? No one had ever given her something half so strange, and yet thoughtful at the same time.

“I thought you ah…” Lucien rubbed the back of his neck as Tamlin nodded his head with encouragement. What was happening? “I thought you could start a garden.” “We have vegetable seeds,” Tamlin added.

“I’ve never grown food,” Elain informed them flatly, walking toward Tamlin to take the bird. She didn’t know what she expected, and yet the feathers were soft and the little creature rubbed its face against her bare arm. Elain was in love despite herself—something about those watery, beady eyes made her hate Lucien and Tamlin just a little less than before.

“Flowers?” Tamlin asked, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. Why did she enjoy that? He wasn’t talking to her like she was a stupid child, she realized. Neither of them were, but Lucien never had so there had never been any expectation that he would. Rhys, and Helion that one time he’d come to visit, always talked to her like a child.

Tamlin was visibly frustrated with her unwillingness to accept this kindness, even though it came with strings.

“I’m allowed outside?” she heard herself ask petulantly. Perhaps she was no better than a child—but he’d kidnapped her, effectively, and she didn’t think she had to be nice about it.

“Yes,” Lucien said. Elain looked outward again, catching the iridescent shimmering of the wards that domed overhead, woven in a far more intricate fashion than they’d been in the manor. She glanced back at Lucien, whose aura had shifted from its usual sunny orange to a brighter shade of red. When Rhys was that color, it meant he was angry, though Lucien didn’t seem mad at all.

He was watching her, though, with an intensity that made her want to squirm where she stood. Did she suspect her?

Be casual.

“The illusion of freedom, then,” she grumbled.

“You could tell us why Rhys sent you here—”

“He didn’t send me anywhere!” Elain exploded, stamping her foot on the ground. So much for not being treated like a child, she thought ruefully. Her temper had merely bested her.

“I don’t believe you,” Tamlin informed her dismissively.

“You really believe Rhys entrusted me with anything?” she asked, turning pleading eyes to Lucien. “You honestly think that?”

Lucien winced. No, he didn’t. Not deep down.

“I believe he’d use you if he thought you were the only one we wouldn’t suspect,” Tamlin informed her, cocking his head to the side. “And I think he’d send you if he wanted Lucien’s cooperation.”

She wanted to scream. A pawn—that’s all she’d ever been, and everyone, even Tamlin, seemed to realize it. Her anger was a vicious thing, clawing at her chest and burning the back of her throat. She tried to swallow it, but her pounding heart made it almost impossible. Elain was so, so tired of being small, of feeling afraid, of being pushed here and there and everywhere else regardless of what she wanted.

“You believe that because you’re stupid,” she declared, stating the words as though they were simple facts. Tamlin bared his teeth, canines elongating as Lucien strode forward, one arm outstretched to keep Elain and Tamlin from shredding each other to ribbons.

“When he finds me—”

“He’ll lock you right back up,” Tamlin interrupted, his own anger getting the better of him, too. “Just like you’ve been. Or is the illusion of freedom acceptable when it's your own sister doing it?”

“You have no right—”

“I think I do,” Tamlin interrupted a second time, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I think I do have the right to speak about it, given everything your sister did and every criticism she laid at my feet. You are not leaving my court until I’m assured you’re telling the truth—you can return to your gilded cage right after.”

“It’s not a cage,” Elain whispered, some of her anger flopping to her feet with a wet smack. Of all the people to be right, she thought angrily. Elain still held her chicken, which seemed content enough against her chest.

“And when you leave…nobody follows you?” Tamlin asked, already knowing the answer.

Lucien was listening intently. Elain looked down at her shoes, because yes, she was followed. Sometimes someone would just spontaneously offer to join her—Cassian, for example, always came with her if he was nearby, even if he just spent the whole time talking without making a purchase.

But more often than not, Azriel or one of his spies would tail her. She wouldn’t see them, but she could feel their presence. She’d tried slipping out unnoticed, telling no one her plan, making her way out back doors, or other little tricks that, in the end, didn’t matter. Elain was fairly certain she was watched everywhere she went, and Rhys likely got a report on how often she walked between the kitchen and her bedroom each day.

“I had a life, once,” she heard herself say. Why was she telling them this?

Pity slithered over Lucien’s features.

“You don’t have to go back,” Tamlin informed her, chewing on the words. “You could go anywhere else.”

“See the world,” Lucien added softly, with more emotion that she preferred. Elain drew within herself, unable to have this conversation. They were her abductors and she simply didn’t trust them. Elain nodded her head and then turned back for the sprawling estate they were going to live in. Rhys, and Feyre by extension, must not know about it if Tamlin and Lucien were willing to extend her leash. Or Rhys and Feyre were close to finding her, so she’d been moved. There was no way of knowing, and no one to ask—not without raising alarms for Tamlin and Lucien.

She paused in the doorway, her fae ears picking up the remnants of a conversation between Lucien and Tamlin.

“...don’t have to be so harsh—”

“Maybe people should stop lying and coddling her,” Tamlin snapped back. “She’s a grown woman, not a child.”

“...new…deserves kindness—”

She didn’t finish listening beyond that. Her plan remained the same. Untangle the wards, make a run for it, and then…and then…

You don’t have to go back,

See the world.

The thought of doing so alone terrified her, but maybe…maybe she should. Elain tried to imagine explaining this to her sisters and their stone faces, how they’d gently urge her to come home and then she’d just…be home. Later, it was always later. There was always something more pressing, something that took precedence, and Elain…Elain was simply supposed to wait.

Well, maybe she was tired of that, too. Elain had begged Feyre and Nesta to travel with her back when they’d all been human—flush with what she now understood to be Tamlin’s money—and both of them had put her off.

Graysen had wanted that, though. When she’d told him about her dreams, he’d encouraged her. Agreed to go with her. Had been just as excited, planning out their honeymoon to the continent. Elain’s chest tightened at the memory—she tried to forget about Graysen just as thoroughly as he’d forgotten her, but it was an old wound that hadn’t scabbed over. She’d placed a bandage to stop the bleeding, but if she peeled it back, it would start gushing again.

She’d loved him. So much it had felt earth shattering at the time. Like it could change the fate of the very world itself. Feyre simply didn’t understand, had written him off because he couldn’t see past the faerie thing which infuriated Elain more than maybe anything Feyre had ever said or done. They’d all been afraid, once—even Feyre, though she liked to pretend otherwise. Elain had been there when Tamlin had come for her sister.

Feyre had been scared, too. Had expected to die. Had been tortured at their hands simply for being human, even. The fae had enslaved them, and even still sometimes slipped across the borders and snatched children or women that were never seen again. The treaty drawn between them was unenforceable and the fae had all the power thanks to their superior numbers and strength.

Elain had hoped, of course, that Graysen would make an exception for her but she knew what he saw. Her sisters, the winged men with swords, the endless demands on Graysen’s resources without any of the self-awareness to recognize why humans might be afraid of them, still. Just demands. So many demands.

She’d written to him in the aftermath, had explained things. Graysen hadn’t responded and so Elain was left to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart. She’d thrown herself into learning to bake, to clean, to mend her own clothes after cleaning them. It was all quaint, cute little hobbies to everyone around them, but in the beginning she’d planned to leave them. She’d simply become complacent.

Elain was afraid.

—

Lucien was grateful for the reprieve. Tamlin and Elain were at the other's throat—the latter angry with the circumstances and the former frustrated to be reminded of his lost love. Lucien might have found it amusing to be caught between an Archeron and the High Lord again had it not been his mate they were currently holding. He was trying to come to terms with the fact she’d never love him.

She’d never like him, either.

It wasn’t lost on Lucien that if he helped Elain slip the Night Court’s grasp, he’d likely never see her again, either. Was it better, or worse, if she never resolved the mating bond? Lucien didn’t know and hoped to never find out. He was a fool, holding out hope there was some magical path between them even in the face of her open loathing.

Tamlin wanted him to make inroads with Summer, so Lucien was doing just that—and he was taking his sweet time, too. Let Elain and Tamlin rip each other to pieces. He spent that first day napping on the beach, which had resulted in a sunburn across his bare chest, though it was well worth it.

Tarquin was waiting for him the next morning, shirtless save for the golden collar he wore around his neck and shoulders. “I never thought I’d see you back in Spring,” Tarquin commented casually, falling in step with Lucien.

“Old habits,” Lucien replied with an easy shrug. “Varian can likely do whatever I was on your behalf.”

“I never thought you did anything on my behalf, at least for the Night Court,” Tarquin replied and Lucien was certain he didn’t imagine the sharpness in Tarquin’s tone. “I assume you didn’t come all this way to enjoy my beaches?”

“That’s part of it,” Lucien replied honestly, “but I’ve also come to speak with the old Spring families.”

Tarquin’s blue eyes seemed to sharpen. “Poaching my noble families?”

“Only the ones you stole first,” Lucien agreed with what he prayed was a charming smile. “No hard feelings, just like when they left?”

Lucien hadn’t been around for most of it—a lot of the families that fled to Summer had done so when Tamlin ascended to High Lord. The ones who had fled after Feyre had destroyed Spring had gone to Autumn or Winter rather than admit to the lords of Summer that they’d been right.

Or, that’s what Lucien assumed anyway.

“I can’t fathom why Rhys would want that,” Tarquin quipped, casually clever just as he’d always been. “His spies fly over once a day…one might think they’re mapping something.”

“One might,” Lucien agreed noncommittally, though that was something he hadn’t considered until right that moment. Would Rhys invade Spring? Lucien had always assumed he’d merely attempt to install his own choice as High Lord—a risky maneuver given the magic could be temperamental.

It still happened—Lucien knew there were nobles in Autumn that had quietly rallied around Eris, looking to depose Beron and install a High Lord they thought would be more favorable to their own goals. Tarquin was truly an upset for Summer just as Helion had been—neither had ever been expected to ascend, and never would had if not for the invasion of Hybern and Amarantha’s meddling

“A High Lord gaining a foothold in Spring would have easy access to the rest of the island,” Tarquin continued, pulling Lucien from his musings. The air was already warm despite the early morning hour. His hair had begun to stick to the back of his neck, even after he’d braided it off his face.

“A strong, Spring Court could prevent that,” Lucien agreed amicably. Let me do what I came here for.

Tarquin was quiet for a moment, the sun gleaming from his well-oiled skin. He’d forgone his crown, or anything that might mark him as High Lord save for the way he carried himself. Tarquin was younger than Lucien and yet stood in a way that betrayed centuries of wisdom and scholarly curiosity. He might have been Helions peer for how carefully he maneuvered in the harsh, political landscape of Prythian. And Tarquin’s position was precarious—if Spring fell, his own territory was in trouble.

The second war was proof enough of that. A strong Spring Court protected the other seasonal courts, alongside the humans who no longer had the wall as a buffer between them. Lucien nearly crumbled beneath the weight of the realization they needed more than just a return of the nobility—they needed new laws, new policies, new alliances. The Solar Courts, for example, had long held an alliance with each other when it came to trade and protection.

The Seasonal Courts needed one as well.

“You’re always welcome in Summer, Lucien Vanserra,” Tarquin finally said as they came upon a fork in the hall. “In any capacity.”

“I appreciate that,” Lucien replied. If he failed in his goals in Spring, he supposed he could always hide in Summer.

“Tamlin, too,” Tarquin finally added before walking off. They weren’t said so easily—there was anger cut just beneath. Tarquin had lost more than anyone during the second war, and Lucien supposed it was easy to blame Tamlin for it. Lucien wondered how much blame everyone else took on while Rhys somehow managed to get off scot free.

It shouldn’t have bothered him the way he did, but by the end of the day, Lucien was seething, unable to move past it. Feyre could have just left. She could have been honest from the start, even if it made Tamlin miserable. Maybe she had to leave with Tamlin in order to get everyone out of Hybern, but did she need to destroy everyone's life in the process? Did she need to ruin his? She got to live happily ever after while Lucien had been the betrayer, had been beaten for his lack of loyalty, mocked at every turn, and treated like an outsider despite doing everything asked of him.

Why?

He stormed home that evening, slamming into the office Tamlin had overtaken. Tamlin looked up, staring blankly at a stack of documents that he clearly didn’t know what to do with.

“You’re a piece of shit,” Lucien said.

Tamlin cocked his head to the side. “Do you want to go outside and work this out?”

“I want you to tell me you’re sorry,” Lucien hissed as Tamlin rose to his feet, fists clenched at his side. “I want you to apologize for choosing Feyre over our friendship.”

He thought Tamlin would hit him. Lucien was prepared for it, bracing himself as Tamlin came closer.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words strangled and stilted. “But I loved her. I still—”

Some of Lucien’s anger lessened. I still love her.

That was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? They both loved her, in their way, and they were both coming to the slow realization that she didn’t love them. Maybe she had, once, in her small, fragile, human way. Certainly not anymore. They were both waiting for a life that no longer existed except in their memories. The ghosts of the three of them still lingered, watching him and Tamlin grieve with what must have been embarrassment.

How did they move on? It had barely been anytime at all and yet Feyre had made such an impression, had brought light and life back into their miserable, cursed existence. And then she’d simply left with their shared enemy without a glance back. Did she ever think about it? Lucien did—all the time. It seemed as if everything had fallen apart so quickly, and in the aftermath everyone had been so focused on survival they hadn’t had a chance to think about rebuilding.

Even now, there truly wasn’t time for it.

“I’m tired of being your enemy,” Lucien told Tamlin, his own half-assed apology. Pride wouldn’t let him say everything he needed to say. Tamlin must have known, nodding his head, jaw set. He wouldn’t ask.

“Then don’t be,” Tamlin said simply. “I could…I need a friend.”

Things could never go back to the way they were, but maybe that was for the best. Lucien considered that, perhaps, there was a new way forward for them.

“How did it go in Summer?”

Tamlin made his way back to his desk, the window open to allow the bright sunlight to pour inside. Lucien hadn’t been here since…well. Since Jes had died. Tamlin had given him private use of it for a time, during which Lucien had wandered that halls crying at the top of his lungs with noone but the long forgotten gods as his witness.

He could almost hear himself, still. Almost.

The estate itself had belonged to Tamlin’s mother, inherited when they both died. Killed, if Lucien remembered correctly, by Rhysand’s father. Tamlin couldn’t stand the memories, or so he’d said when Lucien had asked why they never visited. Lucien supposed he understood why. Everything had been decorated to her tastes, from the cream and sage rug on the floor to the pink and purple flowers stenciled on the wall. The desk would have been brought in later by Tamlin’s father, who’d apparently worked from Yew Tree Estate during holidays with the family.

Tamlin eased into the high backed, leather chair with all the comfort of a male that knew he hadn’t been born for this life. In all the centuries Tamlin had ruled, he’d never once grown comfortable with power.

Lucien supposed it was why they got along so well. Lucien was perfectly comfortable in proximity to power—though he was grateful he’d been born seventh, and never had the expectations of the crown. He thought he might crumble beneath the pressure.

Besides, it was far more fun to carouse than it was to be the head of the court.

“It was disappointing, though illuminating,” Lucien admitted, sitting across from Tamlin. “People are comfortable and unsure—they need someone else to make the first move. Tarquin, though…Tarquin would ally with us. I think he’d loan us gold, too, for rebuilding if it meant we returned to patrolling the border.”

“We have enough gold to pay sentries,” Tamlin said, rubbing his eyes. “If I appoint common males—lesser fae—do I lose all the families we’re courting?”

“Probably,” Lucien acknowledged thoughtfully, “but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. You could elevate loyalists. Give them land, titles, wealth…create a new nobility.”

“That takes time,” Tamlin mused.

“So does begging these fucking blue blooded snobs to come home. We could simply…start over.”

The more Lucien thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. “Either way it takes time. At least this way you know they’re loyal. You’ll never be able to trust nobility I had to poach from another High Lord.”

“I’ll consider it,” Tamlin murmured, which was a relief. Lucien could have wept at those words. How nice, he thought, to have his expertise listened to.

“How is Elain?” he asked as he made his way to the door. He wanted to see her.

“Sulking,” Tamlin replied without glancing upward. Just like her sister, was the unspoken addition.

Lucien almost suggested they return her. Simply weather the rage of Rhys and move on with their lives. He didn’t say it, choosing instead to follow the thread between them until he found her out in the ruined garden. If he gave her back, Lucien knew he’d never be allowed to see her again. For all he knew, Rhys and Feyre could dig around in her mind until she didn’t feel the bond at all, effectively freeing her of him, while torturing him for the rest of his life.

Inevitably, he’d have to let her go, but for now…

“Busy?” he questioned, noting how she’d sectioned off the garden into more manageable plots. Elain was slick with sweat, her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders with a sun hat protecting her from the waning daylight. She was somehow prettier than he was used to, which was not helping him with his coherence.

“You’re back,” she said, wiping dirt from her hands, still on her knees.

“Miss me?” he asked, too breathless to sound casual. She didn’t clock it, or at least didn’t acknowledge she’d noticed, which was for the best.

“No.”

Lucien sighed with exaggeration. “Can I help?”

Elain scoffed. “Help with what?”

“I’m pretty good with a hoe,” he told her. “Surely you wouldn’t mind someone else digging out all the weeds?”

“I like digging weeds,” she replied, examining her broken nails.

“Suit yourself,” he replied, swallowing his disappointment. He’d made it all but three steps back to the house before she called out.

“Wait!”

Lucien’s heart picked up even as he turned slowly to look over his shoulder.

“I…fine. You can help—on the other side of the garden.”

It was a victory, if nothing else. “I could do that,” he agreed, taking in her wary demeanor. Lucien would spend whatever time she allowed, in whatever capacity. Even if it meant being covered in dirt. “Tomorrow?”

She bit her bottom lip. “You’ll be here?”

He nodded, trying not to jump up and down. She cared, in her small, petulant way, and that’s all he needed. Just a small sliver of hope.

“I will.”

“Fine. Tomorrow.”

Lucien grinned as if she’d agreed to let him take her out. “Tomorrow it is.”

#elucien

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fireheartpages · 12 hours ago

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survived | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader one. two. three. four. part five. summary: everyone has their demons, you just chose to run from yours. straight to basgiath war college. and definitely not towards the grinning tall, dark, and handsome marked rider that seemed too kind to be in a hardened place like the rider's quadrant. when you catch his attention and bond a conundrum of a dragon, you finally feel like you can catch your breath. until your signet develops. word count: 2.4k notes: second person pov, reader uses she/her pronouns, has a dirty dancing nickname and a last name. this one’s kinda heavy! mentions of struggling with self worth and trauma, talks about death and an allusion to suicide. if you hear someone buzzing with excitement, it's just me, don't worry! this is the idea i had stuck in my head, for quite a few reasons, and i wanted so badly to get it out on page and now its in my hands ah. not even kidding when i say this concept was eating me alive form the inside out. this feels like the closing chapter, so tbh idk if im gonna write anything more. if i come up with something, or anyone has any requests, i’ll get my pen to page tho :)

You were a good student. A great one, even.

You were top of most classes, feeling like you needed to prove something, and if you weren’t top, one of your friends were, and you were right behind them. And it was true—you were an incredible rider. You could stand on Shocair’s back, and shift your weight and she would bank with the direction. You’d taken up archery, another thing you excelled at. Your aim could use some improvement, but you were getting better. A little more practice, and you could consider yourself a decent shot. And despite your signet not developing yet, you were perfecting your smaller magics. And at sparring—

At sparring, you were okay. Kind of.

You could hold your own, and you were quick. Fast feet and good reflexes, but it was as if you didn’t know how to use those skills.

You were not top of challenges, to say the least.

“Yield!” you gasp, face to the mat as a boy from Second Wing attempts to crush your windpipe. “I yield!”

He lets up, laughing at you, and you roll onto your back, catching your breath. You blink a few times, willing the spots from your vision, but it gets darker and—

No, there’s just someone standing over you.

“Hi, Bodhi,” you rasp up to him.

“Hi, Baby,” he says, extending a hand.

“Hi.” You’re panting a little, but at least your vision is focusing.

“That was…”

“Pathetic. I know.” You wipe the sweat from your forehead and a tear from your eye as your wrist gives protest. You probably smashed it with a bad punch.

“I was not going to say that,” he says, grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. That corner of his lips was one of your favorite things at Basgiath.

“It’s okay,” you say. “At least I’m aware of it.”

“I can help,” he says, a little too quick to be casual, but you don’t mind. It makes you smile.

Your brows raise. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He drops your hand, and only then did you realize he was still holding it. “We can practice sparring.”

“You just… want to help me?” You furrow your brow. “Out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Uh—” He falters. “If you teach me how to ride like you do, I’ll teach you how to spar.”

You nod slowly. “Sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you say, fighting a losing battle with your smile. His eyes were dancing. “When do we start?”

“Now.” He offers you a hand, and leads you over to an empty mat.

“You’re quick, and you’re smart, and when you win, it’s by outsmarting your opponent,” he says over his shoulder, coming to stand in the middle of the mat. He removes his daggers, tossing them on the floor beside the mat and leaving one strapped to his arm. He spins to face you. “Easy money.” He taps his arm where the remaining dagger sits. “Take it from me.”

You shake your head. “Okay.”

You lunge, going for his feet, and he jumps, landing and taking a knee that knocks your own until you’re kneeling, and he’s on top of you, pressing you to the floor. You feel his laugh rumble through his chest against your back, his breath on the side of your face.

“Did I say easy?” he teases.

“You dick—” You struggle, but it’s futile. He lays there for a beat longer, pinning you with his body weight, and you have a flash of an image in your mind, him on top of you, in between your hips—

“Focus.” It's Shocair. Your next exhale is a thanks.

He relents, standing up, offering you a hand, and you’re barely on your feet again before he twists it behind you.

“Take me down,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You—you falter. Fuck. This guy is distracting.

He wrenches your arm away, pushing you away from him, and you’re helpless as you step out and back into him. He pulls you close, and there’s no viciousness in it, no mirth—he’s near gentle as he wraps an arm around you, over your neck, and his other hand disables your free one. He kicks the back of your knee again and beings you both down until you’re kneeling.

“What do you do now, Baby?” It’s your name, but it’s so obviously not, and he’s grinning. This asshole is kicking your ass without even trying and he’s still. Fucking. Grinning.

Gods, you suck at this.

No, actually, fuck this.

You twist your neck so you’re nose to nose with him—kinda, you have to look up to see his face, and he’s already looking down at you. You suck in a breath, looking at his lips. His grip loosens.

Your twist, dragging your joined hands behind you until you’re facing him and you let your body weight fall back. He lands on top of you, right as you knee him in the balls.

He doubles over with a gasp, and you take the opportunity to head butt him. You hear the impact, and you shove him off of you. You jump up, snatching the dagger from his arm band.

“I did it!” you shout, victorious.

“That’s my girl,” Shocair sends down the bond with a beat of pride.

Bodhi rolls over, clutching his face, and you offer him a hand. He takes it, and it takes more strength than it should to get him standing. You rub your forehead where you had hit him, a little sore. This man is pure muscle, even in his face.

He takes his hand away, and it’s bloody. Your eyes widen, a gasp slipping from you.

“Oh my gods. I’m so sorry!” You rush to him, hands cradling the side of your face.

“Nah,” he says, grinning even now. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Your stomach clenches at the words. “Please tell me I didn’t break your nose.”

He shakes his head. “I think the bleeding’s stopping, so, no, not broken.” He tips his head back.

“No, wait,” you say, placing a hand on the back of his neck. “Forward, or else all the blood is gonna end up in your stomach.”

Bodhi flinches. “I don’t have anything to stop the bleeding.”

You glance around frantically, looking for something, anything, before landing on your own t-shirt. You grasp Bodhi’s dagger—now yours, by the laws of the codex—in your hand and rip a band of it, cropping it to your navel before handing the black fabric to him. He takes it and presses it to his nose.

“You did not have to do that,” he says, words muffled.

“I broke your nose. Yes, I did.” You gently pull his hand away, examining his face, cradling his jaw with one hand. Besides being beautiful and a bit red, and smeared with blood, you didn’t see any bruising.

His eyes trace your expression, landing on your lips, and he just… stares. And stares.

“I think you’re okay,” you say softly.

“I know I am.” He’s grinning again, invisible string tugging that corner up. Your hands are on his face, and this is your chance—you run your thumb along his lips as if you could smooth out his smile—but you don’t want to. The way it tilts to one side is quite possibly your favorite thing about him.

“You have a bruise forming.” His thumb comes up, brushing the skin of your temple—presumably from where you had nearly broken his nose.

“It’s your snout,” you whisper.

"Hey." His grin softens, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to the bruise.

“Shit,” he says, reaching up and wiping the cloth over it. “Sorry, blood.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of you as your heart rate kicks up again. And he just stares at you again, like his gaze is stuck.

“I love your laugh,” he says, like a secret, like it’s a whispered admission.

“Your smile,” you responded, equally as quiet, and suddenly you’re little kids at a sleepover, sharing secrets by candlelight, “it’s my favorite thing about you.”

That just widened his grin, and you let your ambitions run free, running your thumb over his bottom lip, cleaning off the blood that had spilled as you beam back at him.

He’s looking at your lips, and he leans in.

Someone drops a weight across the gym, and it makes you jump, creating space between the two of you, and there’s some mix of longing and disappointment in his eyes as you stop back.

“I should go,” you say. “Sorry. About your nose.”

“Sorry about your head,” he says.

You’re walking away, grabbing your flight jacket when he calls, “Tomorrow? Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Let’s go flying tomorrow evening,” you say over your shoulder. “I have a thing or two to show you.”

“I’ll be an eager student!” he says, and you smile all the way back to your dorm.

You let a mender fix the blossoming bruise on your temple when your vanity wins out. The next morning, Shocair has some choice words for you, all of which you ignore, in favor of playing the almost kiss over and over again in your head.

(You don’t even bother to block you out, and it’s something like excitement, or contentment that fills your chest every time you think about how he was looking at you, and you realize it wasn’t your emotions at all.)

You’re sitting at the table in the library, next to Violet and Rhiannon as you comb over another textbook on signets. You and Violet had taken to sharing notes you find, seeing if you can figure out how to get your signets to develop. Rhi is practically doing Violet's physics homework for her.

Dain is here, for some reason, probably because he’s panting after Violet—and everyone can see it. You’re pretty sure this is some attempt to get back in her good graces. She’s having none of it. The four of you are sitting in silence.

You’re just on a rather interesting part about the reflection of a signet on the rider when you hear,

“I just don’t get it.”

You turn, a little unable to suppress the way your nose scrunches up at Dain’s voice. “What did you just say to me?”

Dain looks at you, confused. “What?”

“Did you not—”

“Hush.” That was Shocair.

“Thought I heard something,” you say, the panic down the bond making you heed the warning. “Sorry, never mind.”

The girls don’t even spare you a second glance, just go back to the work in front of them.

“New subtleties must be taken into account when we investigate causality in quantum mechanics and relativistic quantum field theory in particular. In those two theories, causality—” It’s Rhi’s voice, and you look up, wondering why she’s reading aloud, but—

Her lips aren’t moving.

“Despite these subtleties, causality remains an important and valid concept in—”

“Shocair,” you send down the bond.

“Take a deep breath,” she says into your mind.

You do as told.

“Stretch, like you’re tired.”

You again do as she tells you, throwing in a fake-stifled yawn as you do so.

“Get your things and come to the flight field. Now. Make up an excuse.”

“I’m getting tried,” you say, your pulse kicking up.

All three sets of eyes turn to you.

“I’m gonna head out.”

“Should I—”

“Do you want me to walk you back to your dorm?” Dain asks.

“No,” you say, a little too quick. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“That was weird.”

“I hope she’s okay.”

“Does she—”

You clamp your eyes shut, and you try your best not to run from the room.

“Shocair.”

“Get here. Now.”

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” you send to her, panic rising in your throat.

“Run.”

You do so, taking off and making it to the flight field in mere minutes.

“Shocair!” you shout.

She’s in front of you, navy scales glittering in the morning light. She wordlessly extends a leg to you, and you climb on, willing tears not to fall.

She takes off, and you’re not even sure where you’re going. She just flies, and you don’t unseat. Don’t stand, don’t ride the wind as if you were the one with wings. Just grip her pommel for dear life until she lands on a cliff side, leg extended for you to dismount.

You step off, and there isn’t a soul around you. The cliffs almost remind you of home. There’s no ocean at their base, but the view is beautiful nonetheless.

Did she bring you here so you could end it yourself, before anyone else has the chance to? To give you the dignity of choosing your own death?

“Tell me this isn’t my signet,” you say, a whisper on the wind, and you hear shuffling behind you. When you turn, Shocair’s head is lowered, her eyes lidded as the first tear falls. She blinks slowly, and it’s like an apology as she touches the tip of her nose to the center of your chest.

“Tell me I’m not an inntinnsic,” you plead, as if you could ask the gods themselves to change it.

Shocair says nothing, just nuzzles against your chest.

“I survived,” you say. It comes out a sob. “I survived the rebellion. I survived my father, and fleeing to the other side of the province. I survived parapet, and the Gauntlet, and Threshing, and every challenge I’ve been faced with—all of it. I have survived, and my own mind is going to be what kills me?”

“I will protect you.”

“You can’t protect me from the law!” You’re crying in earnest now, and you’re pretty sure this sort of weakness is what would prompt another dragon to kill their rider, but Shocair is looking at you with her own mix of worry and rage—and something akin to an apology. “They’ll find out! And if they don’t, what am I supposed to do? Pretend like I never developed a signet, and it just never affects me?”

She blinks, and shifts until your palm lays flat against her nose, like she had at Threshing. When she’d chosen you.

“I chose you for your mind,” she says, repeating those words—the ones from that day.

You sink to your knees, tears streaming down your face. Shocair settles into the grass in front of you, and you bend until your temple is touching her nose. Sobs wrack your body, and you can’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter. The world had stopped spinning, anyway.

This was it. This was the end. There was no surviving this.

#i’ve had the ending scene absolutely stuck in my head for WEEKS #this feels like when you take a bobby pin out of your hair that had been poking your head all day or something #like the itch in my brain has been scratched #sorry it’s sad lol #should i write more? not sure there’s anything more to this #idk im open to suggestions #bodhi durran x you #bodhi durran x reader #bodhi durran #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #iron flame #rebecca yarros #emmmaswrites

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green-square-anon · 3 days ago

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Two things about your primarch daughter posts just to not spam you.

I know you said he tries and all that. But it's so hard not to feel enraged at Dorn. There's being emotionally inept and then there's not trying. He reads like someone who dosen't TRY. He would have seen something. The kind of parent who never tells his child he loves them or he's proud of them? not sure what parental books he would find that didn't mention that and even then he would have to twist the words so hard to mean "actually I should just feed and clothe her, she'll know". I mean a parent child relationship where the CHILD "gives more than she recieves"? I want to slap him. It's the same feeling I get reading those reader or oc inserts where he's emotionally unavailble to his partner and I don't know if you've seen it since it mostly floats around 4chan spaces and 1d4/1d6chan. But that copypasta where someone talks about how others find Dorn boring but to them he's like that quiet family man at work who dosen't engage in watercooler talk and kinda opens up to his sons and I'm just wondering "wtf is his relationship with the mother" since she's never mentioned. Only with someone emotionally neglecting a child instead of a partner it is much worse. With partners I'm just thinking "leave his ass".

Thankfully I don't think he's THAT bad in canon and the fandom has flandarized him a bit. This is the same man who called Sigismund his "most beloved son" and lined the insides of his armor with fur to never forget the humanity of his grandfather or something along those lines.

On the other hand there's this bit in Echoes of Eternity before Sanguinius dies:

Dorn didn’t know what to say, when nothing seemed worth saying. He was not made for exchanges like these. Many thought him cold in these moments, even heartless, but he was neither. It was purely that defeat was alien to him, as was the quality of emotion shining in Sanguinius’ gaze. What was worth saying when no words were necessary? What did one say to a brother you barely knew, who had nevertheless fought beside you from the beginning to the end? Sanguinius had the answer without even needing to consider the question. ‘Farewell, Rogal.’ The Angel rose to his feet, and the holo tracked upward with him. ‘If we do not meet again in the flesh, know that it was an honour, being your brother.’ The Praetorian nodded to the Angel, wanting the right words, searching for them, and not finding them. The silence stretched out. It dragged. Sanguinius smiled, knowing. The hololith blinked away.

(For the people who like primarch x primarch I thinks there's great potential in Dorn having unrequited feelings for Sanguinius but that's a tangent). Yeah the man is emotionally constipated but he does TRY and in the time as well as the responsibility that comes with parenthood I think, can nearly garentee he would have expressed himself (side note but how the hell did he even get laid if he was this cold?)

Konrad. I know you most likely just didn't consider this (god that sounded unintentionally dickish, not like that, just that you mentioned not having considered the mother before) but I am a little gremlin for "LORE". What about handing the kid of to the mom instead of Vulkan unless mommy met some tragic end? In my oc verse (I'm not bringing that up to enforce lore, I'm saying this because these ideas are free for anyone who wants to build of of them) I intentionally made it so that Konrads waifu came from a family that was both large and tightnit (and relatively wealthy) so that even if Konrad went AWOL or just needed help there WAS that support network of uncles/aunts and grandparents to help. Even if the emotional support network on the fathers side was…. litterally noone. Or perhaps Konrad decided their must be primarch/astartes level protection, which would be smart, and didn't trust himself so "Primarch, but not me" was (to him) the best solution? That would be interesting as hell as a concept.

Primarchs + Daughters (2)

Finally finished the damn part two. Been kinda busy here and there with my new job but lo and behold, the one yall asked for. Soon enough, yall find out why it took me a while writing this one for the two main guys I had to add here.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Konrad Curze

A’right, I’ll open this one with the fact we all know that this man shouldn’t even be legally allowed to have children. I’m gonna be real for a hot second and admit that I stared at the screen for HOURS not knowing what to write because any poor little girl that is born from this guy will have the dubious privilege of being the most sheltered and hidden secret the Primarch ever kept close. With all those visions of death and inevitable doom mixed with the sudden power rush that fatherhood gave him, it left in its wake a perfect storm for this lunatic to develop a paranoid and obsessive need (NEED) to keep his daughter safe; something hard to achieve when he already knows the essence of his Legion. His fatalistic nature regarding his own future would suddenly clash violently with the Primarch’s new found protective stance concerning his child. It's almost sad to consider that this poor man GENUINELY wished to avoid becoming the monster his visions showed, but knowing that he’ll be balancing in the thin line of one day hurting his precious girl (or worse than that) it'll put him in the hard decision of having to let go of her eventually. He is no Perturabo, for that matter. In the rare and far away moments of lucidity, I can see Konrad choosing to protect the innocence and life of his child by trusting in the last person ANYONE might expect the Night Hunter would seek help: Vulkan. Honestly this is just plain sad, man.

Sanguinius

This is it! The golden boy, yall! We all know the kind of person Sanguinius is, but add a precious little daughter in the equation and all you get is the perfect example of textbook girl dad. No matter how busy this man is, somehow he’ll squish some playtime with his baby and enjoy every bit of it. Seriously, this guy acting like a dedicated father is worth being in a stockphoto image. His baby girl asks him to play tea party? Some astartes will find their Primarch hunched over, awkwardly holding a comically small cup between his thumb and index while his precious princess pretends to pour more tea for herself. The daughter of Sanguinius doesn't go a single day without knowing that her papa loves her a lot and when the man isn’t around, the Blood Angels Legion are close to keep her company to the point that even she calls them ‘big brothers’. No one is safe when she wants to play dress-up. The single problem I see with Sanguinius when raising his little girl is that he sins of being completely oblivious to the more mortal side of his daughter’s needs. He easily gets so wrapped up in his role of The Perfect Angel that he doesn’t realize his tiny princess has boundaries that are being constantly crossed, but since she feels the need to prove that she can be like her father, endures all those problems and refuses to seek help about anything. It becomes a kind of toxic mix considering how much Sanguinius is loved and adored by others, to the point that his daughter becomes like a coveted gem too by relation, making her need to prove her own ‘perfection’ an unconscious action the older she grows. I’m not even gonna touch with a ten feet pole the “fun fact” called the Red Thirst on this one because, let's be fair, that would require for me to write more than 3 pages with ONLY Sanguinius and his daughter in the spotlight and that’s only assuming his baby girl didn’t inherit it. I specialized in visual arts and marketing, not psychology jfc.

Ferrus Manus

It took me a while but after some investigating and more reading I can safely put this man in between the Papa-tier and ‘tough love’ guys. His practical mentality and belief of the strongest are (oddly enough) healthily separated from his parenting skills. This is one of the few Primarch that can see their daughter as an individual of their own and makes sure to be as present as possible in her life but the loyalty of this man to the Emperor is his own flaw. Not in the case that he’ll choose the Imperium before his little girl, but because it’ll put him in the dreading and guilty notion that he’ll always prioritize his daughter despite his oath to serve for the Great Crusade. Most of his brothers (except maybe Jaghatai and Konrad) just assume or don’t even think about the long term future of their daughters or simply presume that they will become a great part of the Imperium’s well oiled structure. Not exactly their fault since they never grew up with anything resembling normal. On the brighter and wholesome side (whiplash change!), this is a man who finds handmade gifts more meaningful and always makes sure to explain the reason behind them mostly out of the enjoyment of watching his little princess look so amazed at her papa’s skills. More often than not, Ferrus’ belief of the strongest would falter a little as he perceives the true fragile nature of his daughter and, even if she share the resilient blood of a Primarch, that isn’t enough to convince him that she isn’t vulnerable but instead of letting the worry fester, he’ll try to teach the girl the art of fighting. That’s where the ‘tough love’ kind of guy I mentioned comes out to light. He will not spare kind words during those moments of teaching, as he wishes for his princess to prevail any difficulty but he’ll make sure to always end any sort of training with “I love you so much that the idea of one day not being there to protect you, pains me beyond any form” to make sure that his harsh actions have a reason behind. Honestly, it's the kind of father-daughter relationship that possesses so many shades that makes its own drama novel. Good thing that uncle Fulgrim is always there to smooth the hard edges that may come in the future and makes up for the lack of spoiling the little girl deserves. Ferrus is not amused by it. Forgot to mention that the Primarch will be even more motivated to take off the metal of his hands, for he has yet to truly feel the warm and soft flesh of his baby’s hand. It's the one feeling he keeps missing and craves so much.

Angron

Oh man, another of the hard ones. Okay, if I managed with Konrad, I can tackle this bitch too. You need to comprehend that we are talking about a guy that has been so intimate with the meaning of pain that it's amazing he’ll be capable of ranging through other emotions that don’t involve fury into that combo too. That being said, this whole shitshow of being the father of a young girl can only be described as sad AND tragic. First off, Angron’s daughter wouldn’t even be allowed to leave her chambers at The Conqueror for obvious safety reasons and having her stay on Terra can’t be an option too, as Angron would rather be death than leave in a silver plate this one single pittance of good he helped to create under the light of the Emperor. That being said, any little girl born from Angron would be terribly isolated and one can’t even blame the Primarch for that as he, despite his disposition, finds his daughter as a genuine reflection of what he could never ever dream to have or be. That sometimes results in him feeling short and spontaneous moments of anger from the impotence of not being able to be close to his daughter, let alone console her with anything resembling compassion. This is a man that is horribly aware that he’s away from one sharp stab of the Nails to his brain to end up killing his little girl in one single swat of his hand. The moments of anything resembling fatherly love are few and very tense, for Angron has to constantly be focused on not letting the pain control his actions and that always looks as if he’s dismissing his child’s love language or actions. What else can I say that most people don’t know already? This is just a sad story waiting to end in tragedy and had it not been for how Sanguinius ended during the heresy, I can see The Great Angel taking Angron’s daughter under his care as the only consolation and promise to his corrupted brother before his demise. After becoming a Daemon Prince, Angron’s only genuine and foggy memory of his little girl is her crying while calling him with heavy despair. Goddamn I almost tear up with this one.

Roboute Guilliman

Look at my big nerd! One of the few guys that actually is humble enough to feel more human than any of his brothers… sometimes. I gotta say it, Roboute has the vibe of what happens when someone incredibly autistic suddenly becomes a parent; expect lots of books to try and be prepared for what entails to take care of a mortal baby. He’ll have a wholeass strict routine of activities and diets that you AND the baby must follow to ensure both of your health along with “fun facts” regarding a toddler’s development that half of the time lack the keyword ‘fun’ in there. Honestly, Euten will be a BLESSING sent, for she’ll be the one railing back the most extreme attempts of her adoptive son to try and raise his little princess like she was just another task of paperwork. Over all his quirks, the Primarch of the Ultramarines is absolutely trying his hardest to be a good father just as the one that raised him, but this is a man that half of the time ends up clumsily trying to spend time with his little girl only for it to backfire as he simply doesn’t understand how to entertain his daughter. Good thing the child will simply be happy to spend time with her papa despite his weird personality. More often than not, some of the astartes will see the young lady at her father’s chambers in a little booster chair beside him, doodling on some papers to pretend that she’s a big girl helping her papa with his very important job. It's probably the most adorable sight anyone can ever get the chance to see. Just like most of his brothers, Roboute isn’t that good at expressing his love towards his daughter with words, so he simply let his little princess be on his lap and hug her as if it will be the last time.

Mortarion

I’ve written enough of this man being a father that you all can get a wild idea of how he will be when confronted with parenthood. Even if he believes himself to be undeserving of anything resembling happiness thanks to his perception of being nothing but a tool of the Emperor, this guy will only need to see his precious little flower and feel like everything in the world can be forgotten, including his ever festering negative emotions. His daughter is the single light of love that he selfilish believes is his right after such torturous upbringing although that mentality rarely affects his princess, as he simply shows nothing but care and tenderness towards her. He may be a nervous trainwreck, fully aware that his Legion and himself aren’t exactly safe-hazardous, but that never has stopped him from doing his utmost best to protect the little girl from anything that may hurt her. Like most of his traitorous brothers, Mortarion would not hesitate to bring entire worlds into devastation if it meant that his family can be safe, even if that’ll end up making a terrible gap to grow between him and those he loves. It's quite terrible and sad to know that, unlike Fulgrim or Angron, Mortarion was the closest to his daughter and showered her with as much genuine love as he could in an attempt to avoid being anything like his supposed father (adopted or creator equally), so when he turned into a Daemon Prince, the festering and rotting resentment that consumes him sometimes simmers down when he remembers the laugh of joy his little princess often released when he would carry her up in his arms. Oh yes, some good ol’ gut-wrenching emotional damage, teehee.

I will not apologize for being a mean bitch by writing sad shit. XOXO

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #konrad curze #rogal dorn x reader #wh40k #primarch offspring #not mine though #konrad curze x reader #I initially debated putting this here because I intended this blog to be original posts but figured there was so much of my perspectve in i #it fits #tag character limit lol

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sirwadewilsonfromimgur · 3 days ago

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Deadpool and Wolverine: KCAU Christmas Special

[Authors note: it is a Christmas miracle that I got this chapter out today... Merry Christmas! The next chapters will still be Christmas themed well into the new year]

Part 3

Home coming.

The flight was nice, and it was pleasant to not be molested by the TSA and hobble around waiting for them to finish looking at Greg's Cain. Always annoying, what could anyone possibly sneak in a cain that wasn't an already affective weapon other than the cain itself! And don't say a sword because those cheap things can ba spotted a mile away everyone knows your gothy cain with a cobra head handle has a long knife on the end of it we here it clanging every step you take.

Ellie picked them up at the Wheeler airport, excited to see her bother and his friend.

She was right there on the tarmac. The second James was off the plane, she jumped, grabbed him in a hug, and spun him around with a strength one wouldn't suspect from the 6 foot tall women of average looking build.

I've missed you so much! Though you did spoil my fun. I was going to kidnap you myself if you didn't show up! I even had a big bag picked out, I was going to put you in!

I hope it was a nice one. You know how burlap is chaffing.

It was a big red Santa bag... wanted to be festive for dad!

Ellie was always playfully teasing of her brother... typical of most siblings... but in career and personality, she more openly took after their father Wade. Ellie was a premier assassin and jr executive of MFM "the Family business" Ellie was in charge of the black ops devision, doing "wet work" for world governments that want culpable deniability when someone turns up dead. Ellie loved her job, her dad's, and her brother and sister... everyone else should probably live in fear.

Greg looked at her, Ellie was of darker complexion than James. but in the face, you could tell they were related, James had told him that technically, she was his half-sister... but they never regard each other as such. That was his sister full stop, they grew up together and only ever knew Wade and Logan as parents.

In a bubble gum sweet voice, she informed James and Greg that this year was going to be a blowout!

It's going to be great this year, little brother Aunt Vanessa and Dermot, Uncle Colossus, Peter, Jeff, Laura, Warhead, Yukio, Dopender, Father Kurt, and Uncle Morph are all going to be at Christmas eve dinner. Dad is making his famous Lasagna and Papa cought two pheasants with his bare fucking hands for Christmas day dinner it was amazing! Don't worry, Greg. we'll have prime rib for Christmas dinner as well if you find the bird to gamey.

Wait... circle back... Uncle Morph is going to be in town... will he be staying the night?

They got him a room at the Westin Crown Center... why?

You know why!

Oh.... ooohhhh, ha! I guess Dad and Papa really are going to have a Merry Christmas.

What's wrong with having your uncle Morph staying the night? ... and why do half of the people mentioned have weird names? Morph, Warhead, Colossus?

Morph's birth name is Kevin... he just doesn't like to use it... and frankly, dads not a fan it either, so that's what we all call him. Just a preference. As for why it's a concern... I'll tell you later.

Don't be so shy, James. You brought him home for Christmas, so he must be family... its ok if he knows that our parents and uncle Morph fuck nasty any time he's in town.

Jesus christ, Ellie! You know how uncomfortable talking about them like that makes me. *visibly shudders*

I can't help that our parents are possibly the hornie-est men to ever walk the earth! Might as we joke about it.

Well, that totally makes sense about James then.

I don't like where you're going with this House!

What, the offspring of concupiscent old men is clearly bothered by overt sexuality because he, in truth. has had three divorces because he can't keep it in his perverbial pants!

I knew i liked you Greg! *laughs loudly*

I'm not a psychologist, but it sounds like he's got you nailed down, little brother

As she said this, she turned the car into the driveway of the tower they'd both called home. She again let out a chuckle when she saw in the rear view mirror the deep shade of red James was currently blushing.

One park place hadn't changed much. At least not in a way one could detect. The on-site security was now directly contracted through MFM at very reasonable rates, and every floor had been fitted with bomb resistant glass... at least since "the incident" in 2058... Logan and Wade had paid through the teeth for that little upgrade. But other than that, they were actually at peace with their neighbors. 700 W 31st Street was probably the second most secure building in the city. The only one more secure being the Federal Reserve Bank building down the street. Things were going well until they got to the 19th floor, and Greg triped James coming out of the elevator.

My dad probably saw that! Ass!

Saw what! I don't know what you're talking about. Also, are you gonna run to your daddy all week with your problems?

He's actually probably right... there are security cameras... this is the most secure floor in the building. Just our place and neighbor Dave... you're cute, Greg, but I'd take it easy joshing with your boyfriend... dad wouldn't hesitate to shoot you point blank if he thinks you're a threat to one of his babies.

He's not my boyfriend...

Sure James....

See what I have to deal with Ellie!? He breaks my heart!

They approached the ornate double doors that lead into the condo... Penthouse would be a better description. They were actually new. A veneer of teak wood covering inch thick steel with intricate carvings of bullets, swords, claws, guns, and battle scenes. It looked like it belonged on the front of a temple dedicated to God's of war and violence... Ellie put a key in the door, unlocked it, and opened it.

No sooner than they had passed the threshold like a flash Logan was on all fours running at them. Closing the distance, he pounced arms wide open, knocking all three on the ground. Sniffing them and kissing their cheeks, Logan allowed himself to go a little feral and play rough with his kits. It was the holiday season after all... The fact that Gregory was caught in the crossfire knocked on his ass into the dog pile was another problem entirely!

My babies! ... and some guy? *Sniff* Why do you smell a little like Wade!?

For the love of god, please get off my leg!

Logan stood up and helped Greg to his feet. James handed him his cain as Greg quickly pulled out a pill bottle from his jacket pocket and dry swallowed three pills.

By this time, Wade had already walked up to them.

Sorry about my husband. He's very excited to see all of you. I hope you're ok... If you're not, I hope Kitten had you sign the traditional family liability release forms...

Is that a thing now?

It's not Kitten. Wade extended a hand to Greg... he'd slipped a hundred dollars in his hand by way of apology... I know who you are! It's nice to finally meet you, James talks an unhealthy amount about you. I always did like a guy named Hugh. He said, winking at us.

*Confused* my name is Gregory House, Mr. Wilson.

Sure, it is sun-shine, also Ick don't call me that... it's Wade, or Deadpool if ya nasty...

Leaving Greg to deal with pleasantries by himself, Jams grabbed his and House's Bags. Turned right and walked down the halway like he'd done thousands of times in the past. He detected the faint smell of cigar smoke as he walked past the office. It triggered a little nostalgia. It smelled like his dad Logan and the bear hugs he'd given him when he was a child. He always fet safe in the man's massive arms... truth be told for all the madness of his father's... James always felt safe at home. They were a danger to themselves and definitely others... but not him. They'd do anything for him. He was always quietly grateful for that aspect of his childhood.

He'd walk all the way down the hall... last door on the left. His room, the room he was born in, as a matter of fact. Apart from being immaculately clean, it was just as he'd left it since he moved out. It was December. The sun was already setting over the horizon... soon, the automatic blackout curtains would come down and block the entire east wall of his room made entirely of floor to ceiling windows.

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Before that though the golden glow reflected off the fresh snow was brilliant. In the distance he could make out the top of the massive tree in the heart of crown center. The view is bitter sweet... he remembers loving christmas as a kid... it was the only time for sure that both his dad's were home and "Santa" never held back... it was always an embarrassment of riches... now... now christmas was exhausting... there was never enough time, and Wade Wilson didn't exactly loose his zeal, he got older and leaned more into to christmas... James knew he was due to get roped into a big family Christmas sooner or later... he skipped the last two Christmases... his dad face timed him so that he was sure to see the tears...

He tossed the bags on the ridiculously large Texas king bed... he'd unpack later, unless Mrs. Mangracina, the ancient cleaning lady who'd been working there since before he was born, decided to do it... not one of her official responsibilities, but she did shit like that anyway... she fancied herself a butler for the family at times. to James, she was more of a second grandma, only Italian flavored... she and his grandma Al were actually pretty close. They'd go to bingo and Mass at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic Church on Broadway. She'd confided in the family that she lost her best friend when Althea passed... James fully expected her to be there at Christmas Eve dinner, not as an employee but as a guest and member of the family. A lot of people were going to be there...

If Luara was going to be here she'd take up the guest room... no one was allowed in Grandma's room since she'd passed away... house was in For a surprise... they'd be sharing a bed this week.

Later that night at dinner, Gregory had pulled all of his usual antics and made himself look like a perfect ass... he'd eaten food off James's plate... to the point of just straight-up switching plates with him. telling embarrassing stories and wildly inappropriate jokes at the table... the only people laughing, being Wade and Ellie. They didn't realize what kind of gasoline they were throwing on the fire by encouraging him... or maybe they did. Agents of chaos the both of them. Logan was stoic in the face of it as usual, while Laura actually popped her claws and announced that's enough when she thought Greg punched James a little too hard when he was punctuating a joke at his expense.

The perfect start to a week that was guaranteed to get more chaotic... shortly after Greg and James retired to his bedroom...

James had already showered and settled in to bed with a book when Greg exited the bathroom in his pajamas.

What the fuck is that!

Pointing on at the grayish blue ball of wrinkles cuddling on the bed...

It's Merry, Greg. Do you need an MRI you saw my dad feeding here when we had dinner...

Sorry, let me rephrase. Why the fuck is that... specifically why is it in the bed... Marry has always slept with me since I was little... you didn't let Hector in the Bed?

I didn't... hold on... how old is that dog?

Well, my parents had her before I was born... so tack on a few years, I'd say 47 give or take.

That's impossible...

She's like my Dad's... I'm not a hundred percent certain she can die. My Aunt Vaness told me that Mary is an alternate universe version of my dad, Wade... that's why she's always been close with me... I'm her puppy.

Kitten... puppy... you got any more weird pet names?

Why... you feeling romantic?

Greg looked at James with disgust and then shot a look at the dog with less disgust and more incredulity. Quickly changing the subject.

Thats cute and all, but I'm going to sleep on the couch. I can't have a dog jumping on me or you kicking me...

*Sigh* Greg, this bed is so big it'd take effort to kick you... but also, I promise you'd be less comfortable out there. Unless you got ear plugs.

Why?

this is the best room for the noise you can't hear anything on this side of the condo... you don't want to be within ear shot of the Master bedroom here in about an hour... even with all the soundproofing... Also, having guests in the house doesn't always stop them from fighting.

They fight, every night?

Like clock work... some nights are worse than others, sometimes they throw things... I'm almost certain they throw each other across the room. But that's not the worst of it... first comes the screams of pain... and then... I can't believe I'm saying this much less thinking about it... the screams of Ecstasy...

They fight as foreplay?

Yes, and I haven't been ok since I was 15 and figured that out... if my Grandma was still alive, she'd go into great detail about how they used to be worse.

Wait, isn't the guest room next to their room?

Laura Went to a bar, she won't be home until their *gags* done.

Fine... you and your rodent mother scoot over.

Careful how you talk to Mary... she's smarter than most people give her credit for...

Noted, I guess since she's your mom, she's in here chaparoning... so hands above the blankets tonight.

He winked at the dog, who shockingly winked back. Greg shook his head as he got into bed using a few extra pillows to build a barricade between his bad leg and Wilson who despite how big the bed was, is a notorious sleep kicker.

We'd better get some sleep... it's going to be a long week.

Wilson turned out the lights and slowly sleep overcame them.

#deadpool #poolverine #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool x wolverine #logan wolverine #logan howlett #wolverpool #loganpool #deadclaws #deadpool wolverine #deadpool and wolverine kansas city au #house deadpool cross over au #dr house #gregory house #james wilson #house md #deadpool house MD crossover

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beggars-opera · 1 year ago

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Yearly reminder for people learning about Salem that Tituba was Native American. This poor woman has already suffered enough without people getting her race wrong for three hundred years

#it is important to me that you know that #history #salem #salem witch trials #arthur miller stop please no #recently watched a documentary #where someone noted that even with how little we know about her #if the witch trials hadn't happened she would have slipped through the cracks entirely #and no one would even know she existed #so there's that

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ayrennaranaaldmeri · 1 month ago

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Weisshaupt mission definitively proving that da is at its sexiest when it's wardens and yet here I am feeling an unbearable amount of salt because we walk through a FUCKING WARDEN LIBRARY and they could've put in a fucking NOTE about the HERO OF FUCKING FERELDEN IN THERE. SO GLAD THE FUCKING JOINING CHALICE WAS RECOVERED FROM FUCKING OSTAGAR THOUGH.

#tbd #fae plays datv #datv spoilers #i just #this is everything treviso vs minrathous should've been #bc fuck me that shit was over so fast lmao #enjoying the fuck out of this rn? yes I am #but i refuse to stop being prickly because those little nods to your world state DO contribute #replayed da2 before this game came out it genuinely lovely to have chars talk about how my couscous married anora #or the architect being around getting acknowledged #and there are so many tiny tiny opportunities in this fucking game #where chars will mention someone like leliana #and just one extra fucking line if she's divine now -- like harding saying so when she talks about her #or cassandra 'this lady who did some stuff' getting a different description depending #a note in minrathous about how the chantry's divine is a fucking mage #i'm gonna be honest a world state where even just a handful of variables were acknowledged is all we needed #and it would've made a difference imo #and i hate these writers for bringing back chars like morrigan and isabela and not doing that #like you make the world smaller in so many lorefucking ways but you don't want to add a thing or two that adds to the experience of people #who did play and love all three games before this one lol #john epler: we don't want to add one sentences is but two sentence fragments of the most generic thing we could do is fine #the fucking joining chalice!!!#you know what should've been here a fucking book with wardens who have slain archdemons #since you're on your way to fucking kill an archdemon #but that's too much work #davrin talking about how he wants his portrait up there and i'm like oh so they do acknowledge wardens who kill archdemons just not #y'know the one you played that did

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rabbitindisguise · 23 hours ago

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Idk if this will be helpful to anyone but a list of techniques I would use:

Confine the multipronoun character to one paragraph, and change paragraphs when another character speaks/is described/does something, noting the new character's name before switching to pronouns

Avoid dialogue tags altogether and focus on making the dialogue more obvious with heavy characterization and solid structure that makes who's speaking clear. Then later on you can sprinkle in some dialogue tags as looks appropriate once the reader grasps the character well enough to know what they would say in a certain situation

Use at least one neopronoun or singular they and use it in situations where the other character has the same pronoun but using names is way too clumsy

Probably don't switch within the same sentence (or don't make a habit of it). Unless you're committed to creating a multi pronoun user's dream come true narrative, it's difficult to follow because instinctively you're thinking "oh this is a new character." Much easier to describe them doing verb and then character continuing that verb with a different pronoun in the following sentence

Don't draw attention to it if you're not aiming to do that, it'll look sloppy instead of authentic to life. I've seen some authors make a big point of clashingly putting pronouns together and it's just not natural. Especially when other characters are speaking about them- even if someone is super good with using them equally, they often talk using one pronoun for one conversation/one day/etc and definitely at least for one sentence. But the MOST important thing about this is that people don't usually use pronouns for someone in front of them. So making a bunch of excuses for someone to refer to someone as if they're not there looks weird. Which could be the vibe you're going for- maybe you're writing a piece about gender and want it to smack you right in the face every sentence. But if you're trying to make it blend into the background it will not help to make a point of putting two different pronouns in the same sentence/same paragraph/same interaction with other characters.

Have pronouns that make sense to you. It can be difficult to juggle atypical neopronouns for you at the same time as trying to do multi pronouns for the character. Typing "him" instead of "his" on accident for example makes it even harder to read, and multi pronouns are already hard enough to read as it is (<- should not be smug about this, but is, because he don't have multiple pronouns because it's easy)

Context!!! This one is the most obvious but it really helps.

You can loosen up the further into the narrative you are because they'll be able to guess based on how the character is behaving and characterization.

Example:

Carin tapped his foot irately, becoming the human personification of anxiety. The clock said they were ten minutes late, and the time on his phone said twenty. If they didn't show up soon he was just going to-

The bell chimed and they stepped into the room, telescoping the umbrella with a SNAP! that could barely be heard over the chatter in the coffee shop. The noise didn't abate at all when they entered and the bell chimed again as the door fell shut.

"It's about damn time," he said. Worry creased his brow.

They looked like they were going to apologize and thought better of it. "I don't see what the rush is."

She rolled her eyes. "I told you, we have a deadline."

"So you've said. Like five times." They sounded more amused than stressed now that they were in the shop and out of the rain. The umbrella folded up into a little tube, one of those tiny ones you could get at target. They flagged down the barista.

He groaned. "Do we really have time for coffee?"

"Hi! I'll have a latte, and xie will have an cappuccino."

The barista looked at xir warily, but shrugged xir off. She looked a bit stressed herself since the place was packed with people trying to escape the downpour. Okay, a lot stressed. But the thought of that was making xim feel bad so xie tried not to think about it. [Alternatively: The barista looked at her warily, but shrugged her off. She looked a bit stressed herself since the place was packed with people trying to escape the downpour. Okay, a lot stressed. But thinking about the barista's situation was making her feel bad so she tried not to think about it.]

"Will that be for here or to go?"

"To go. Thanks."

The sound of change made her eyebrow twitch.

"You didn't have to-"

"You looked like you could use a coffee. Now. The deadline?" They asked, leaning their hip against the counter near the WAIT HERE FOR YOUR COFFEE :) sign.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

ok i brought this up in a discord server already but i'm gonna ask this here as well for maximum coverage

when writing characters who use multiple pronouns, what's the best way to avoid confusion?

no i'm not making this a poll as the answers are bound to be a lot more nuanced than a multiple choice question can do justice lmao

#writing

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unproduciblesmackdown · 2 years ago

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in the power of Noticing Things The Xth Time Around the instrumentals-imitative "doot. doot. doot. dooWAH" vocals that kick in during the second verse of centerfold? superlative

#i've heard the song a fair number of times & always enjoyed it a lot. high energy & fun; a little goofy in great ways in subj & sonic style #it is extremely correct to work w/imitative vocalizations in your music no matter what. put in more. More #(and the Vocal [doot] being on the backbeat as opposed to the Instrumental [doot]....superlative!]#and did i Mention that [verse into chorus] synth line...the drumming underneath it...#even the faux Live Performance psychout ending. a song about a Specific Ass Situation thank fucking god. deserved to chart like that.#also anytime i say Dad Rock i use it fairly neutrally lol. i'm a fan plenty of songs that would qualify; to be more specific #lmao love the instances of [no matter how many ties i hear it i cannot distinguish this sequence into phonemes in a way that corresponds to #words (or words that fit into the context in any comprehensible way)] i.e. went ''okay time to look up lyrics b/c i will always be going:#flowers What about her dress??'' & the line is apparently ''while i was thinking about her dress'' lol love when the revelations of #mishearing are funny like Ah right....and claims it's ''slipped me notes'' rather than ''slipping notes'' but doesn't change too much #being like [i cannot decipher these lyrics] is generally a more fun casual version of ''especial tendency to struggle w/audio processing''#versus like not knowing what tf someone's said in this part in a movie or smthing no matter how many times you hear it #or of course the most A Problem: not being able to parse what's being Spoken in some in-person situation #might be an occasion you can't get anything repeated; might be an occasion where for some reason/s a repeat doesn't even help....#also forever the Idiosyncratic Origin Stories behind [genuine friendships formed when you are autistic] e.g. like yeah one of my good #elementary school friendships? was one where we did parallel play; maybe never or very rarely actually Spoke; our Distracting Each Other #was punished with more of a singular intensity than i ever saw Anyone's ''distracting each other'' interactions....#took years of being at the same job (part time; so not like monday thru friday 9 to 5 Always being there at the same time anyways)#for me & a coworker to start talking & become work friends; then regular friends #their name was angel; so the menace i became when we had such a dad rock station on & these alignments occurred #though i would be engaging in singing along to things in general lol so

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theladygazingatemptiness · 2 months ago

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#wak #negative /#tag vent /#man.. why is everything so draining #like.. fr it seems like I can't do Anything for an extended amount of time without burning out and wanting to quit #like. when I was little it was my absolute dream to be able to do nothing but draw all day every day but #now as an adult the thought of it stresses me out and makes me sick to my stomach #I used to get so excited about getting commissions but #now every time I see that someone's commissioned me I just dread doing it as if it's something I'm getting graded for in two days #(note that this isn't a slight against people who've commed me by any means. if you've commed me you're a saint)#(but. that's just how I feel and I wish it wasn't)#which is why comms are closed rn and idk when I'm opening them back up #rn I'm doing commission-based editing/proofreading work for a small publishing comp #something that I Also once aspired to do full-time #but.. I'm already kinda getting tired of it? probably bc my current project is 140+ pages that I have to get done in two weeks #like.. it's not Bad and I'm not quitting (I don't have a choice anyway. this is the closest thing I have rn to a consistent-ish job)#but it.. just gets less fun w every manuscript and I hate that #and like... whenever I go out no matter where I am I just want to go back home #I have no 'dream job' anymore. I have no goals. I don't want to go places or do things I just want to be home sleeping #but. as we all know that's not an option in the capitalist hellscape we live in #hell... even if we Didn't live in the hellscape it probably still wouldn't be an option lol #and of course my mom will not hear any of it and just thinks I'm being spoiled and lazy and 'using my aut as an excuse'#and most people including supposed '''''leftists'''' would probably agree with her too #bc 95% of '''"radical communists''''' on here are Adults Aren't Allowed To Exist Outside Of Working And That's How Things Should Be truther #who vocally treat unemployment as a moral failing and as a Bad Person Trait™ inbetween making Capitalism Bad posts #but I'm getting offtopic. Maybe I Am Useless And Lazy And A Leech Or Etc #but what I'm trying to say is I feel like I'm going to be miserable and feel like just a machine no matter what I do #and like I'm never going to have a happy or fulfilling life #and that my only option is to go to sleep never wake up and hope I'm reborn with no mental illnesses or trauma and into a rich family #but.. fat chance.

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heavenbarnes · 7 months ago

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I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x reader fic #challengers fic #art donaldson fic #challengers smut #art donaldson x fem reader #art donaldson x fem!reader

7K notes · View notes

astonmartinii · 3 months ago

Text

copycat | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x fem reader

they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but really it's just annoying

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

note: sorry to all of the chloes of the world, i just chose a random name!

f1tea

liked by user1, user2 and 27,305 others

tagged: yourusername, chloereed

f1tea: SHE STRIKES AGAIN! y/n y/ln, oscar piastri's girlfriend, recently changed up her style with some bangs and surprise, surprise chloe reed shared her updated look just days later. then to really pour salt in the wound, reed posted yet again in mclaren merch. will she ever give up?

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user3: BRO YOU COULDN'T HAVE WAITED AT LEAST A WEEK?

user4: i think all subtlety was lost when she copied a literal TATTOO

user5: the way it's y/n's tattoo dedicated to oscar as well...

user6: at what point do we get a restraining order?

user7: the day that girl ends up in the paddock we should let y/n fight her with no consequences

user8: this has been going on for so long i feel like y/n has a lot to unleash on her

user9: at this point i think all of us y/n fans should be able to get their lick in

user10: i'm new to f1 can someone explain this lore to me? (srs)

user11: y/n and oscar have been together for nearly four years now, they got together when they were like 19. this chloe reed girl went on one date with oscar when they were 17 and now copies everything y/n does to try and get his attention? like down to haircut and tattoos ... it's kinda crazy and y/n has made some references to it but like we're nearing like the third year of this so i think she might snap soon

user12: it's even got to the point where chloe has like started talking with y/n's accent? she has a very obvious accent so like it's INSANE

user13: and to think all of this over a single date SIX YEARS AGO

user14: on a brighter note - y/n was MADE for bangs they look so fucking good

user15: obviously she should stop but if there's anyone you want to look like, it would be y/n

user16: at this point is it even over oscar anymore? or has chloe lost herself to journey to BECOME y/n

user17: the fact that she still camps out under all of oscar's posts and constantly posts in mclaren merch

user18: and don't even get me started with how she's always in the comments of oscar's sisters' comments

user19: someone needs to get nicole to put this girl on blast

user20: remember before elon took away public likes that mark went on a liking spree about chloe being a lil weirdo

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, logansargeant and 1,209,566 others

tagged: oscarpiastri, landonorris & maxfewtrell

yourusername: summer breakin' with my boy (and his boy)

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user24: MAMA THERE'S A BITCH TRYNA BE JUST LIKE YOU 💜

user25: i unfortunately think she's very aware of it

oscarpiastri: i know you love me because you didn't get annoyed about THEM gatecrashing our couples getaway

landonorris: what if we are a couple HUH???

oscarpiastri: max literally has a girlfriend?

landonorris: ur so close-minded osc

yourusername: i love you osc even with these little stray cats you've picked up

landonorris: did we or did we not organise a super romantic dinner for you?

oscarpiastri: i organised a dinner and you two are so fussy that you left to find some chicken nuggets?

landonorris: therefore giving you a romantic evening on the water?

yourusername: you fell in the water trying to get back on board from the tender and i had to jump in and save you after a fish touched your foot and you began to have a panic attack

landonorris: god you do something nice for people and all you get is SHAMED

mclarenf1: you nearly drowned ???

user26: is chloe going to attempt to drown someone so she can claim she also saved an f1 driver

user27: @georgerussell63 alert the GDPA - NO WATER !!!

georgerussell63: understood 🫡

user28: has it not gotten to a crazy point now that we're warning drivers that this crazy girl might DROWN them ???

user29: at what point do we put oscar and y/n is witness protection

user30: the day she manages to get in the paddock me thinks

charles_leclerc: i see our invite got lost in the mail?

yourusername: please refer to whatever the fuck was going above your comment

charles_leclerc: that you're a victim of identity theft?

yourusername: we been known, but BEFORE THAT

charles_leclerc: oh. you should've let lando drown

landonorris: ???

oscarpiastri: i think that might have gotten me fired?

yourusername: no more papaya rules?

chloereed

liked by user31, user32 and 11,045 others

chloereed: summer breakin'

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user33: oh brother this guy STINKS

user34: i am feeling sufficiently creeped out on the behalf of y/n and oscar

user35: i really don't understand her game here though? does she expect oscar to see this and actually mistake her for y/n and leave y/n for her?

user36: at this point i think she's lost in the sauce

user37: also oscar is hilariously down bad for y/n like he could probably recognise her via vibrational field he would not fall for this cheap imitation

logansargeant: this ain't it btw (it's never been it)

user38: not logan tapping in

logansargeant: who gon check me boo? i ain't got a job

chloereed: i don't know what you're trying to say, but i don't appreciate you spreading misinformation and hate

logansargeant: you have literally copied everything about my best friend down to her sentimental tattoos and you've essentially stalked my other bestfriend for nearly seven years ?

chloereed: it's not stalking if i know i'm what he really wants? she's the imitation of me

logansargeant: you like need help

user39: GO LOGAN

user40: bro has been let of the leash

user41: tbf when you think about it, logan has been friends with oscar for years and by default friends with y/n for just as long so like he's probably seen how this has effected them personally

user42: i don't really see how this is such a big deal, people try and imitate celebs all the time ?

user43: i think it's because she knows at least one of them personally and is very viciously pursuing oscar

user44: also there has to be an aspect we don't know because i don't think logan would be publicly taking her on in the comments if it weren't a lot worse

user45: also ... like it probably feels like shit as a person generally to have everything you do copied and not even get a tiny bit of credit

liked by danielricciardo, patooward and 1,784,039 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 & oscarpiastri

f1: we're ready for you monza

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user46: OMG IS THAT?

user47: i'm being so for real y/n needs to fight her

user48: OSCAR RUNNNNNNNNN

landonorris: do i need to inform the legal department?

yourusername: you might want to give them some sort of heads up

chloereed: why you afraid i'll steal back my man?

yourusername: no i'm afraid i'll get hit with a manslaughter charge

chloereed: that's a threat - my lawyers will be hearing

yourusername: tell them bitch, oscar would still choose conjugal visits with me over ever being with you

user49: came for the fast cars, staying for whatever this drama is omg

user50: i once went on a reddit deep dive about this drama where they compiled all the evidence and holy moly this confrontation has been a long time coming

user51: the best (or maybe worse) thing abotu all of this is that her claim of being with oscar first and dating him when they were 17 is based on one 'date' where is was just a joint ball between their schools where there was a compulsory dance in which they were partners

maxverstappen1: yo this shit is insane

user52: aren't you meant to be in the car in 20 minutes?

maxverstappen1: drama waits for no one @yourusername i got ur back

charles_leclerc: at this point i will mobilise the tifosi @yourusername

yourusername: i can handle her, i might just need some money to fix my nails

oscarpiastri: please do not fight her, she's not worth it

chloereed: she won't fight for your love but i will

oscarpiastri: can you just fuck off

user53: i fear she's pushed them over the edge now lol

user54: i'm glad they're both letting her have it in the PUBLIC INSTAGRAM COMMENTS <3

f1tea

liked by user55, user56 and 34,982 others

f1tea: she's finally done it? chloe reed was spotted in the paddock at monza. will we finally see a confrontation between the two girls?

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user55: i FUCKING hope so

user56: if i were y/n you'd have to hold me back i'm being so serious

user57: i'd be in oscar's mclaren so fast and be driving down the pit lane to look for her

user58: i'd already be in an italian prison sorry not sorry

user59: y/n needs to give me lessons on being this graceful

user60: at this point we should just have an undercard for the race that's these girls tussling it out

user61: at this point i think logan, charles and max are ready to jump in

user62: charles and max being in the comments just before FP getting the scoop is so insane i love them

user63: imagine getting these f1 drivers this pressed over an aesthetic

user64: if you think this is just about an aesthetic you're just being dumb on purpose

user65: but like y/n is just a girl with bangs and a basic look, u could say like half of the female population are copying y/n

user66: but like please look at the actual evidence, it's way deeper than bangs babe

user67: also the TATTOO WHY ARE WE NOT TALKING ABOUT THE TATTOO

user68: whatever happens y/n will always be better than me

user69: she needs to bash her publicly if she won't beat her physically lol

oscarpiastri

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 3,984,022 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: please leave us alone, you'll never be her and i don't want you to be

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user71: STUNT ON THEM QUEEN

user72: a man who vocally defends you >>>

yourusername: love you bby

oscarpiastri: if anyone wants to take me away from you they'll have to defeat me in combat

yourusername: not saying i want that but you would be so sexy in full armour

oscarpiastri: for you... i would wear anything :3

user73: bro said his piece and immediately went back to simping like a pro

user74: if he doesn't offer to wear a suit of armour in the bedroom is he really in love with you?

user75: i guess we're not getting any dad!oscar content any time soon

landonorris: ???

user75: it's a joke about protected sex genius

landonorris: OH

chloereed: that's not what you said then oscar

oscarpiastri: THAT WAS SIX YEARS AGO IN A CONVERSATION I WAS OBLIGATED TO HAVE GET A GRIP WOMAN

oscarpiastri: YOU WILL NEVER FEEL SATISFACTION IN YOUR LIFE IF YOU CONTINUE TO COPY EVERYTHING SHE DOES AND REFUSE TO BE YOUR OWN PERSON

oscarpiastri: so PLEASE FOR YOUR OWN SAKE GET YOUR OWN LIFE AND LEAVE US ALONE

oscarpiastri: oh. i'm blocked

oscarpiastri: slay

user76: so ... oscar... when can we get this level of reading on the radio

yourusername: don't make him do community service :(

user77: but him being sassy is a service to the community

yourusername: you make a good point

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 2,045,677 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername: you can be a copy cat all you like, but you'll never beat the original

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user78: i am sorry i exist at the same time as you

user79: i know this a whole love post but i have a confession, i am IN LOVE WITH YOU GET RID OF THE AUSSIE

oscarpiastri: 🤨

charles_leclerc: this was a whole saga, i'm happy it's all worked out for you guys but this was hella entertaining - when can we do it again?

yourusername: never again hopefully

charles_leclerc: boring!

yourusername: it literally got to the point that you offered to leave your car keys in a 'special spot'

charles_leclerc: well obviously i don't mean to THAT extent but i just want a bit of drama, let a girl live

user80: shit stirrer charles leclerc i love you

user81: we should've known he was in the trenches with this, the inchident knows no bounds

oscarpiastri: i love you and i'm sorry this happened. but you do slay so i could see why people would want to be you

yourusername: i knew me with bangs would be too powerful 😔

oscarpiastri: you're the most beautiful girl in the world no matter what

yourusername: ugh you have me blushing pretty boy

landonorris: cringe

yourusername: maybe if you copied oscar's flirting techniques you'd actually be wifed

landonorris: i thought we just established that copying is bad

yourusername: trust me, you need the help

user82: i'm glad we've returned to peace with the lando slander

user83: they're power is insane

maxverstappen1: can i say helping you come up with this caption is my community service

yourusername: fuck yes

maxverstappen1: stunting on hoes is very much in the public interest

fin.

note: i'm back in a rhythm !! this is not so subtle so i'll expand here: please please please do not steal my work, idc if you change the driver, if you're blatantly stealing my ideas and concepts - to the point that people are messaging me to make me aware, please don't! or at least credit me rather than pretending this a completely original thought. mamma mia didn't bother me as much because it's obviously the musical's idea, but omg undercover verstappen? big reputation? and guilty as sin - down to the series name? i haven't made any posts about this but know it's very much bothering me and if i see anymore i may have to put it on blast. thank you all for reading, soz for the rant but this has been going on for months.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #oscar piastri instagram au #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri social media au

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augustinewrites · 7 months ago

Text

yesterday afternoon - after an unsuccessful coffee shop date - you’d decided that dating sucked. it was much too awkward and formal and not at all like it was in the movies, putting too much pressure on the people involved.

last night - after watching shoko flirt her way into free drinks - you’d been tipsy enough to take her advice.

casual sex! it doesn't have to be with a stranger, just pick someone you know. someone you’re sure you won't fall in love with.

this morning you’d woken up to find gojo laying in bed next to you.

you lay shoulder to shoulder with the one person you should not have picked, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the other person to speak.

“did we really–”

“three times,” satoru confirms happily, rolling onto his side to grin down at you. “i'm surprised we didn't do this sooner, really. our sexual tension has always been off the charts.”

when he leans in to kiss you, his lips meet your palm as your expression wrinkles. “don’t get familiar.”

“we’re naked together in bed– we slept together in more than the literal sense. can’t get more familiar than that.”

“and this never happen again,” you promise, refusing to look at him.

“why? because you’re afraid you’ll fall in love with me? it’s okay to admit it. i'm extremely lovable.”

you’ve seen the way girls fawn over him. how they swoon over his pretty eyes and confident smile. he’s satoru gojo. a legend amongst jujutsu society. you’re no one in comparison, not a user of an otherworldly cursed technique, not from a major clan.

people like him don’t fall for people like you. you’re afraid of rejection, afraid of being hurt.

“we’re friends,” you tell him honestly. “i don’t want to risk ruining our friendship over something like this.”

he tilts his head as your look at him. “shoko told you to try casual sex, didn't she? why not with me?”

“she told you?” you groan, dragging a hand down your face and making a mental note to never ask your roommate for advice for anything ever again.

“hey, look at me,” he urges, grasping your hand. you do as he says, meeting his earnest gaze. “i can be casual and chill, it’s not like i have a huge crush on you or anything.”

it’s so hard to say no to him. you really wish you could.

“i’ll think about it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes when he fist pumps. “but you need to go home before shoko sees you.”

but you’re dealing with satoru gojo, who almost never does what he’s told. “you’re not getting rid of me that easily. come here.”

he winds an arm around you, pulli my you in so you’re snug against his chest. explicit memories of last night flash through your mind, sending heat through your veins.

“i can’t.” you tell him (though you’re mostly reminding yourself.) this is insane— satoru, what are you—”

you’re cut off when he shushes you, whispering let’s sleep in for a little while longer.

he starts to drift off again as you struggle to escape his grasp, but your efforts are futile. even on the throes of sleep, satoru is stronger than you.

so you give up, resigning yourself to a few more minutes of…cuddling. shoko isn’t a morning person anyways.

after a minute, you find it's not entirely awful. it’s a purely physical reaction. gojo is good looking, even with his hair mussed with sleep and his mouth hanging open. because you know that under the softness of his skin lays defined muscle, and spending the morning in his nicely toned arms isn’t the worst thing in the world.

(it’s purely physical, is what your head tries to convince your heart, which is beating a little faster than usual.)

a very soft, content sigh slips past your lips.

then, shoko knocks on your door.

“hey! don’t tell me you’re too hungover for grocery shopping.”

“shit!” you whisper harshly, shoving him away from you. “she cannot see you in here.”

“afraid you’ll have to share?” he teases, narrowly avoiding being hit with a pillow. “okay, okay! where do you want me?”

“closet!” you instruct, scrambling my around the room to make sure none of his clothes are lying around. you thrust them into his hands, pushing him into your closet.

he catches the door before you can close it, smiling down at you. “aren’t you glad we’re doing this?”

you shove him inside, slamming the door shut just ask shoko bursts into the room.

“hey,” you greet, trying your best to appear casual as you lean against the door. your heart beats in your throat, as she squints at you, then lets her gaze sweep across the room.

“did you bring someone home last night?”

“no.”

she looks at you. really looks at you, you think.

“okay,” she finally says, though you can’t tell if she believes you. “i just– i thought i saw you leave with gojo. suguru said you two were flirting all night.”

“gojo and i?” you try to laugh, but it comes out a little strained. “never in a million years.”

shoko only shrugs, and you let yourself relax when she turns to leave…

…only for her to turn around once more, leaning the the doorframe. “well if you really don't like him, just let him down easy, alright? suguru told me he has a huge crush on you.”

wait–

“gojo?”

you hear a sharp inhale through the door.

“yeah,” she nods. “you really couldn't tell?”

gojo…has a crush on you. it takes a few seconds to truly sink in. “i had no idea.”

“of course you didn't. he’s definitely got a really weird way of showing it.”

she turns to leave for real this time, but you wait a couple extra seconds before opening your closet, finding a wide eyed, blushing satoru staring at you.

you can't help but laugh. at his expression, at shoko’s revelation, at this entire situation.

dating sucks, but maybe it won’t be that bad if it’s with him.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff

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harrysfolklore · 6 months ago

Text

lando norris being down bad for his girlfriend: a compilation

summary: lando norris can’t help but talk about his girlfriend whenever he cans, fans make compilation videos about it

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Lando Norris could be described as someone who's not scared of saying whatever crossed his mind.

And that's why he never, ever, missed the opportunity to talk about his girlfriend whenever he had the chance.

He mentioned her during interviews, press conferences, social media post and even fan interactions. To the point where fans started making compilation videos with all the moments he publicly obsessed over his girlfriend.

The most popular one gathered millions of views on YouTube, showing multiple occasions Lando couldn't help but be down bad for her.

The video started with a clip from Q&A with fans, someone asked him about his favorite way to relax after a race. Without missing a beat, Lando replied, "Cuddling up with my girlfriend, of course. Nothing beats that."

"You're really whipped man, It's embarrassing," Oscar, his teammate, teased beside him, making the audience laugh.

"It's not, really." Lando shrugged proudly.

The next clip was taken from McLaren's Tiktok account, their content creator tried to do the "Can you watch my ___ for a second" prank on Lando.

"Oh my girlfriend already did this prank to me," Lando said, laughing at the camera, "Baby, If you're watching this, I miss you. Your pranks are way better than McLaren's"

The video moved to show Lando during a post-qualifying interview, his suit hanging by his waist and his fireproofs showing, when asked about his strategy for the race, he cheekily replied, "Well, first I'm going to call my girlfriend for some good luck wishes. Then, I'll focus on getting to the front."

"Zak Brown should hire your girlfriend as your strategist then," the interviewer joked.

"That would be great but I don't think we would be getting any job done. You know what they say about mixing business with pleasure."

The next clip showed Lando with his friend and fellow driver Max Fewtrell, playing a trivia game about how well did they knew each other. Max had to answer what was Lando's worst habit.

"I'm going to say leaving dirty plates around the house," he said, showing his board, "You do mate, admit it."

"My girlfriend would agree on that," he admitted, "She's always complaining about it."

"I don't know how she's still living with you."

"Because she loves me, and I would die if she leaves me."

On the same note, a video of Oscar teasing Lando followed right after.

"Who's most likely to snore?" Lando read the question, and Oscar quickly put ut the cutout with Lando's face, "How are you so sure? You didn't even hesitate."

"Mate, I've heard you, plus your girlfriend literally complained about not being able to sleep properly last night because you kept snoring."

"I did keep her up last night, but it wasn't just because of the snoring," Lando said, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Put the not safe for work disclaimer at the beginning of this video please."

The next segment was from Lando's own Youtube channel, he was doing a little vlog in Miami before the race weekend.

"Hi everyone," he said, filming himself in the mirror with his camera, "Today I'm back with another LandoLog, I'm going to be filming some behind the scenes of this Miami weekend, so without further ado, let's go," he moved the camera around, focusing on his girlfriend who was putting some mascara on her eyelashes, "Here's my beautiful girl, who takes ages to get ready. Say hi baby."

"Hi everyone," his girlfriend waved, laughing, "I'm not taking ages, I'm just making sure I look good."

"You always look good for me," Lando said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before turning the camera back to himself, "See, I told you she's the best."

The next clip showed Lando and Oscar together once again, this time they were giving a tour around the McLaren hub.

"This is my driver's room," Lando said as he opened the door, "It's cleaner than Oscar's, clearly, and looks like I have a bed."

Lando moved to put together the small bed that was behind the door, "This is an upgrade from last year, we didn't have this. I'll be definitely giving it some good use, to nap or with my girlfriend."

"Can we have a video where you're not a horndog please?" Oscar said, putting his hands on his hips.

"You're the horndog, I never said what we were going to use it for, we're just going to cuddle."

The video moved to show one of Lando's post race interviews after winning the Miami GP, he had been asked ho would be the most excited person about this win besides him.

"My girlfriend, definitely. I couldn't have done it without her," Lando said, his voice filled with emotion, "She's been my biggest supporter, my inspiration, and my motivation. This win is as much hers as it is mine."

The video then cut to a scene from Lando's gaming stream with Max Verstappen. The two drivers were deep into a game of Call of Duty, their banter and laughter filling the screen. Lando was focused, his eyes glued to the monitor as he coordinated with Max.

Just then, Lando's phone buzzed on the table beside him. He glanced at the screen and his expression softened, the comment section noticing, "Hey, mate, I need to go. My girl needs me for something," he said, setting down his controller.

"Lando! Are you serious right now?" Max said, his eyes still glued to the screen.

"I am, see ya," he turned to the camera, smiling not so apologetically "Sorry, guys, duty calls. See you next time."

The last scene was a snippet from an interview, Lando had been asked what he saw in his future.

He paused, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Honestly? I see a lot of racing, hopefully some championships," he laughed, "but most importantly, I see her. I can't imagine my life without her."

The screen faded to black, showing a text that read: Get you a man who is as down for you as Lando Norris is for his girlfriend.

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