#because writing is not enough folks i need to /see/ it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justanotherbirdbrain-blog · 3 months

Text

A Workshop for Creating Magical/ Fictional Crystals: A Guide from a Geologist

Hi folks, its me, here to talk about fictional writing again! Today I'm just tackling the idea of magical stones/mana stones by looking at existing minerals today and some neat properties that they have, and how you can apply these things to a fictional world. The goal is mainly to help you if you are stuck trying to come up with a unique magic system, or a unique identification/characteristic of your mineral.

First Things First: Mineral Shapes

I am exhausted, petered out, down-right fatigued by seeing every mineral depicted with having the crystal structure of calcite and quartz. There are soooooo many cooler, more interesting crystal structures, don't you think you would stop and take a look at a perfect cube in nature? It is completely unsettling.

Second: Color

Color within minerals can either be really important, or not important at all! It is your choice to decide if color is going to be something that means something to your mineral. But what are some times when the color is important? Well.... there are some elements that are called chromophores, this classification just indicates that these elements, when present, will determine the color of whatever they are in. So, if you wanted to treat mana like a chromophore, you could say, "Oh everything that contains mana turns green!" This could mean that regardless of the mineral, if that mineral is a specific color, it means it contains mana. This concept is exciting because you can just stop here and use minerals that already exist! You can also use it as an indicator for a magical ore! Chromophores are typically metals, so if you are making a new metal weapon, making the ore of that metal a unique color would make a lot of sense!

However, your mineral can also just be every color of the rainbow like quartz and perhaps that's what makes identifying your mana stones elusive and create an illusion of scarcity that your character can solve.

There are other things that can change the colors of minerals, like radiation damage, and electron exchange, but I think that is beyond what would be helpful! So lets talk about some unique color properties that happen in nature that seem magical in the first place! Maybe you don't need to design a mana stone, but you want a unique gemstone that only the royal family passes down or something (IDK).

The first one is the alexandrite effect! This is where a mineral can change color in natural light vs. incandescent light. (the mineral itself is not changing, but the lights contain different amounts of different colors that then get absorbed by the stone). Even if you don't use electricity in your fictional world, you could have the colors change in the presence of light magic. This could create fun misunderstandings about what the mineral is reacting to!

Pleochroism

Pleochroism is something that most minerals have, it is frequently used to help identify minerals in thin sections, however minerals are usually not pleochroic enough for it to be visible to the naked eye! Pleochroism is just a fancy name to describe the change in how light is absorbed based on the angle of the mineral! So if you scroll up to the first image where I showed a lot of crystal shapes, most of them have angles where they are longer and shorter! This will effect the way light travels in the crystal. Tanzanite is a popular mineral that does this.

Photochromism

This is when a mineral will change color (in a reversible way) when exposed to UV light (or sunlight), I am not going to go too into the details of why this is happening because it would require me to read some research papers and I just don't feel like it. The mineral that is best known for this is Hackmanite!

Alright! These are all the really cool color effects that might inspire you or maybe not, but now I am going to talk about how you might find your minerals within a rock!

When I see a lot of magical caves/mines, typically I see them with some variation of a geode honestly, but most minerals are not found like that! Now I am sure most of you guys have seen a geode, so I will not really talk about those, but I will talk briefly about porphyroblasts which is when the mineral grows larger than the minerals around it, this happens in metamorphic minerals!

sorry random stranger, but this is an image of garnets inside a finer-grained rock at gore mountain in New York!

Another way you might find minerals is in a pegmatite! This is when all minerals are really large! This is a formed from really slow crystalizing magma!

But something else to think about is that your mineral might just be massive, it doesn't have to have distinct crystals, it may be similar to jadeite where small grains grow together which leaves it looking smooth and seamless! A note about all of these is that you would have to mine into the rock to find these, there would not be any natural caves in these rocks! Caves are only ever really formed in limestones and maybe marbles (rocks that react with acid).

How can your characters identify these minerals?

Typically when you are out in the field you will look to see what type of rocks the minerals are found in (The overall texture of the rock will tell you how it formed). If you know how the rock formed, it will narrow down the amount of minerals you need to think about by quite a bit! Next, you are going to look closely at it and observe its crystal structure, does it have an obvious crystal? if so what is the general shape? If it is broken, how did it break? Did it fracture like glass or did it break along uniform planes. Some minerals have a thing called cleavage (breaks along planes of weakness). If a mineral exhibits this habit, it will again help narrow this down. Next we can look at color. Color can be misleading, because minerals like quartz can be any color imaginable, but minerals like olivine will always be green! The next thing your character can do is test for hardness, minerals all have a specific hardness that can help identify it as well.

After you go through all of this, your mineral might have some special property! This could be magnetism, fluorescence, reactions to acid, or any of the color changing effects I mentioned above! Other than that, your character can take it back to a lab and do a number of things to identify it, but the most typical thing would be for them to make a thin section (very thin piece of the rock) and observe it under a cross polarized microscope!

On that note folks! I hope this helped in some way in thinking of new magic mineral properties! I have other guides that explore some different fictional worldbuilding issues you might run into, but if you have any topics you would like me to cover please that I haven't mentioned already, let me know!

#geology #rocks #creative writing #fictional world #worldbuilding #dnd #dnd worldbuilding #worldbuilding stuff #writing resources #info post #information #writing

4K notes · View notes

caesium-55 · 1 month

Text

—seven days. [ ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. here's part 2 folks. part 3 is on the works now. did i write this fic instead of studying for my important quiz tomorrow? yes, yes i did. pls pray for my score.

masterlist.

For Christmas in 2019, Max has gotten you an apartment near his in Monaco. It is a loft apartment good for one on the 8th floor, a building away from where Daniel and Max lived. Originally, he wants to get you the unit a floor below his. You decline quickly, insisting that you are very fine with rooming with Julia and Kendall, who are both members of the Red Bull PR team whom you have gotten close with since your first year working with Red Bull. Max may have beef with the PR team for making him do a lot of embarrassing shit for the views but you're besties with most of them and actually thank them for making Max suffer through PR stuff because you cannot afford therapy and watching Max suffer through PR-related activities is a good form of free therapy. Also, Monaco apartments are fucking expensive. Red Bull might be paying you well but not well enough to afford an apartment in a country as expensive as Monaco.

“I want you close,” he tells you. If you did not know any better, you'd have butterflies fluttering in your intestines right about that moment. Sometimes, Max utter the most heart-fluttering of nonsense without meaning to. It causes your heart to stutter more times than you would like to admit.

“Well, I don't want you close.”

Max will never ever win an argument with you. He knows that. You know that. The best he can do is come to a compromise, a compromise that is usually tailored to suit whatever you want.

So you got that small loft apartment a building away, good for one person only. It's easy to clean and it's cheap, Max already said that, which makes you happy because you can set a payment plan for that. An apartment as a Christmas gift is already too much, borderline giving you a heart attack already. Rich people spending their money give you, a person of the middle class folks, heart attacks. Why can't Max be normal and give you a normal gift? A bracelet? A bag? You’ll even accept it if he gave you a slice of cheesecake. Not even your parents can buy you an apartment.

It has only been three years since the keys are passed on to your ownership and people say three years is enough time for a person to make a place home. But your apartment doesn't even feel like home, only a place you’ll sleep in if you happen to be in Monaco for the evening.

Home is that humble, two-storey house painted in red and yellow in Lynnwood Avenue, Vista Del Pueblo, Austin, a total picture of a picket fence dream. Home is Abuelo's old farmhouse in El Paso where you spent your childhood riding horses and driving ATVs across the dusty dry earth. Home is the retro milkshake place owned by the sweet old couple that has been in the neighborhood longer than your entire existence. Home is the tree-lined streets where you walked the family senior dog, Niko. Home is the Austin Fire House, your Dad’s workplace that you visited a handful of times back when you were a child to deliver cookies that your Abuela baked so your Dad could share it with his co-workers. Home is your mom’s clinic in the middle of downtown, always smelling like eugenol, disinfectant, formaldehyde, and her perfume. Home is not glitz and gold and glamor and cash cash cash. Home is not seeing wealthy people left and right. Home is not Monaco.

And it is not like you stayed long in your place either. You're always off traveling around the world with the Red Bull team and accompanying Max wherever he needs your presence. You don't even spend your breaks in that apartment because you immediately fly home to your family once a break is graciously given to you before flying off again to watch Max collect trophy after trophy.

Six days from now, you're going to be flying off to Texas. That means you have six days—less than six days actually—to pack all your crayons and go. Of course you're going to pack up the day before you leave. Doing shit last minute makes your life exciting, and it's not like you had a lot of shit to pack anyway. All your belongings can be tucked into a total of three suitcases. Three years worth of belongings in three suitcases.

you: you doin good there?

Max has been holing himself up in his penthouse since your arrival from Abu Dhabi, probably dealing with his breakup with Kelly. A shame, really. You thought the two looked good together. (Do they really? the asshole part of your brain thinks.)

And P. Thank God for that child’s existence. You hate children but P is an exception. P brings the best out of Max. Max has gotten the chance to act as the father he never had. It's heartwarming, to be honest.

him: not really no

him: can you bring me coffee

you: on it champ

Fifteen minutes later, you’re knocking on the gigantic double doors of his penthouse, a tall styro cup of espresso from that cute café two streets down and a slice of blueberry cheesecake because you’re thoughtful enough to buy him his favorite cake. You experienced a breakup before. A cake and an icecream work wonders when it came to healing broken hearts.

“You're fast,” he immediately says after opening the door. You kind of expect that he’d look worse, snotty and messy and looking like he ran from hell and back. But no, he looks……fine? His sweater and shorts look absolutely neat and comfortable and dry of snot. His hair is a little fluffy from lying on his bed but not too messy. He doesn't even look like he was crying. No red-rimmed eyes. No red nose.

You fake gasp, putting a hand on your chest for additional dramatic effect, “The fastest racer in F1 callin’ me fast. Truly honored.”

A smile plays on his lips, sidestepping and beckoning you in.

You frequently come by Max’s home, for work purposes of course, but you still cannot help but be amazed by the enormity of it every time you enter. Max’s penthouse is twenty times bigger than the apartment you currently live in. One man and a big house—it must be very lonely now that P and Kelly are no longer around. Now, you’re even more worried about what will happen the moment you go back to Texas.

Oh… You still haven't told him yet.

“Coffee,” you hand him the warm styro cup to which he accepts gratefully. He utters his thanks, taking a whiff before sipping, letting out a pleasured moan.

You make your way to his gigantic kitchen, navigating your way through his cabinets in search of a plate and a fork. You slide the cheesecake on the plate towards Max, who followed you to the kitchen and sat on the empty stool in the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” he says, picking up the fork and taking a bite. He glances at your feet, eyes trained on your YSL. The obnoxious sound of the heels clicking against the floor as you walk probably is the one that caught his attention.

“You know, you've been wearing the same shoes since 2019.”

Points for Max for noticing. These YSL Opyum heels are the first luxury items you bought for yourself after saving for three years to buy one pair. You saw a rich international student wear it once back in university and you liked how sophisticated it looked compared to all the pairs of converse or platform boots you owned. So you made it your life’s goal to own one. In 2019, after doing tons of part time jobs in university and working with Red Bull for a whole year, you managed to buy yourself one on your birthday and you’d been wearing them to work ever since.

Your regular work uniform consists of a Red Bull polo shirt, a pencil or a slit skirt, and that specific pair of heels. Around 2021, you bought another pair to replace the old one because the old one broke. And 2022 again.

“What's wrong with ‘em?” you ask, brows furrowing as you followed his train of sight. Your heels might be a year old already but they still look fine.

Max blinks, “No, there's nothing wrong. Just…Do you think you would want to wear some other design?”

“No,” is your reply. “I like ‘em just the way they are.”

“Okay.”

Your conversation drifts into something else as Max finishes his coffee and cake. You spend the rest of the day in Max’s penthouse, lying on his plush couch while a slasher movie from the 2000s played on his wide TV. He has given you access on his Netflix account so you abused it to your heart’s content because you don't even have. a Netflix subscription. You can absolutely afford one, you just choose not to. You have opted in using your phone mid-movie because the movie is beginning to get real scary but you do not want Max to think you're a coward so you acted like you're disinterested instead.

“Oh look, Charles is also back in Monaco. Do you want to hang out together?” you nudge Max with your foot, who swats it away from him, face contorting in disgust. You show him the post on Charles private IG—yes, you were mutuals in each other's private IG because whoever is friends with Max was friends with you by extension—on your phone.

“Stop makin’ that face, my feet are nice.”

Your toenails are a glorious red now. Ferrari red actually and they suit you better than the Red Bull red. Huh, maybe you should have considered applying for Ferrari instead of Renault in 2018.

“No, it isn't.”

You roll your eyes, pulling it away from him and sitting up, “Do you want me to schedule you a dinner with Charles? You might need the bro time, you know? Dad said bro times are also important, but not as important as family time, of course. My bro broke up with his sweetheart back when I was still in uni and his best buds were the reason he was back up in tippy top shape by the end of the week.”

Max stares at you blankly, “I think I understand the words individually but not the sentence entirely. I don't know if it's the accent or you Americans just have a strange way of structuring your sentences.”

“Point is, hang out with a friend because a friend can help you move on from a pussy.”

Max hurls a throw pillow at your direction, which you luckily avoided thanks to your non-racer level but still considerably good reaction time, but unfortunately, this action causes your center of gravity to shift and before you know it, you're falling from the couch. Unconsciously, you grab Max but then Max doesn't expect that you’ll grab him so now, you’re both falling off the couch and onto the floor.

You groan.

“Fuckin’ ass, man. That was uncalled for.”

He flips you off.

Nevertheless, Max ends up following your advice though and calls Charles to hang out the next day. Lestappen fans should be thanking you on Twitter the next day for bringing those two together on an off-day in Monaco. Maybe they'll hang out and eat together in a restaurant? Maybe they'll go on a yacht picnic?

Except Max sends you a message at high noon.

him: sos

you: is your kitchen burning

him: no

him: but this is still an emergency and you need to come quick

him: he’s with his girlfriend and i don’t want to thirdwheel

you: succ it up

him: you can’t do this to me

him: i just got my heart broken in abu dhabi

you: where are you

him: home

him: i also need help in cooking

Charles is the one who answers the door when you knock. He looks genuinely surprised when he sees you and you deduce that Max hasn't told him that you're coming over.

“Babe, who’s that?” you hear Alex’s voice behind Charles and you light up immediately, quickly moving past Charles to throw your hands around the sweet young woman.

“Alex!” Alexandra laughs and hugs you back. The sound of her laughter is as pretty as she and God definitely has favorites because why did he sculpt this twenty-one year old like the daughter of the Aphrodite while you look like you were born from one of Hephaestus’ sperm that lost the gene pool contest? The world is unfair. You always get the short end of the stick, may it be career-wise or appearance-wise, and you can't even bring your personality to the table because normally, without the whole act of professionalism and sophistication you put on, you act like an extroverted American frat boy on a good day and a sassy drag queen slash war freak on a bad day so yeah, you guess that's the short end of the stick, too.

“Seriously?” you look up and saw Max holding a frying pan, staring at you unimpressed. You roll your eyes and slowly pull away from the hug, gaze returning to Alexandra.

“How’ve you been, sweetie? Been a while since I last saw you.”

You didn't get a chance to talk to her in Abu Dhabi and in Las Vegas.

“Good,” she replies, smiling sweetly and ugh, you want to pinch her cheeks so bad. But Charles is pulling you away from Alexandra before you can do so.

“No, no, she is mine, yours is right over there,” Charles says, pointing at Max, who's still standing there in the corner. “Go on. Shoo.”

You roll your eyes before walking up to Max, “‘Sup?”

Max raises a brow at you, “So Charles’ girlfriend gets a hug and I get a sup?”

“Well, she's Alexandra Saint Mleux and you’re just….” you look him up and down. “Nevermind, what you trynna cook?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I thought you said you were cooking.”

“I said I needed help with cooking.”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “You’re going to let me do the cooking, aren't you?”

“You know that pasta you made in September that you said was your mother’s recipe?”

A sigh escapes your lips as you roll the sleeves of your button-up to your elbows and power-walked your way to the kitchen, the sound of your YSL heels clicking against the floor bouncing against the walls of Max’s kitchen.

Lunch goes great. Charles and Alexandra love your cooking. Max has even asked for seconds. Good to know that he's eating well. Somewhere down the line, champagne is served even though it’s mid-afternoon and the four of you're sitting in Max’s balcony, staring at Monaco scape below. Thankfully, it is a cloudy day in Monaco. The heat of the sun isn't too harsh on the skin. Despite that, you hand Max a sun screen.

“Sorry about Kelly, by the way,” Alexandra says. Your conversation has drifted towards Max’s failed relationship now.

“That is very nice of you to say,” replies Max, smiling slightly. “But I’m okay.”

You give him a look, clearly unconvinced. Admitting vulnerability gives him hives so he's definitely lying.

“You look too okay for a guy who ended a three-year relationship,” Charles muses and his words get you immediately thinking.

Oh? So they’ve been dating that long? You never noticed.

“Even [Name] looked worse when she broke up with that Williams mechanic two years ago and they dated for like what? Barely a year?”

“Unprovoked!” you exclaim. Alex and Max laugh.

But yeah, Charles is right. When you broke up with Leo in 2021, it was not the prettiest sight. He entered Williams mid-2020 as a mechanic and he immediately caught your attention. He's kind and handsome and a very sweet guy. You have similar interests—engineering—and a similar sense of humor and you just….work so well together, you know? You were sure he was your soulmate the moment he cracked up that Physics pickup line and you know it was the same with him. You swore to God that you’d run away from all the British charming assholes but Leo made you eat your own words and gave you a run for your money.

But alas, 2021 season came and Red Bull Racing became busier than ever because Max and Hamilton got crazily competitive and Max demanded your full attention, needing you as a support system to win.

And Leo. Well, he’s busy, too. Engineers are always busy. But he felt neglected because all your attention was on Max. He felt like he was competing with Max for your attention and it shouldn't even be a competition in the first because Leo was the boyfriend and Max was not. And you cannot even deny that you prioritized Max that year. You wanted Max to win. You needed Max to win, so he can finally ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.

Losing Leo is devastating but Max won the WDC title that year and while you spent nearly a month crying over Leo after the breakup, you're hoping that at least, in 2022, you’ll finally get that damned engineering position at the cost of losing your soulmate. That the tears you shed and the broken heart you carried inside your ribs will be worth it if it was in exchange for your dream. Then, it does not happen. The job isn't given to you and you spent the early months of the 2023 season wishing that you have chosen Leo instead of Max Verstappen.

“You’re still friends with him, right?” Charles turns to you.

“Of course,” you say honestly. You're still mutuals on IG and he still hearts your IG stories at times. You still talk, too, on the freer nights where there's a lot of time to waste. “We ended on good terms.”

“How about you, Max?”

“Can we not talk about this please?”

The four of you empty that bottle of champagne and once the sun has begun retiring for the night, Alex and Charles also left. You're soon to follow, fixing your tote bag and going through the mental checklist in your head so you will not forget anything and not waste energy returning here to pick it up.

“You can stay for dinner.”

Max’s offer surprises you.

“No.”

His face drops as quickly as your answer came.

“You're goin’ to let me cook again.”

“No, I’ll cook.”

You give him an unimpressed look. Clearly, you're not convinced.

“I swear, I’ll cook.”

“What if I get poisoned?”

“You won't get poisoned.”

When you continue staring at him, he sighs.

“Just stay please?”

Of course, you stayed. He asked after all.

You keep your eyes on him as he makes dinner with clumsy hands and a bit of unsureness behind his actions.

“You're goin’ to burn it, honey,” you point out.

“What honey? I didn't put any honey in it.”

You blink. He blinks back.

“You’re gonna give me aneurysm one day.”

Shaking your head, you walk into the bathroom at the end of the enormous hallway, lock the door behind you, lean your back against the door, and slowly slides down until your ass meets the cold bathroom floor. You slap a palm against your forehead and purse your lips to stop a scream from erupting.

God fucking dammit, Max is too adorable back there and this is not doing good things for your heart.

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #manager!reader #fluff #formula one #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 fanfic #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv33 #mv33 x reader

621 notes · View notes

f1byjessie · 3 months

Text

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part one.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by mclaren, landonorris, and 505,281 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername a smiley lando is the best lando in my books! to celebrate the end of the 2023 season, here's a handful of my favourite photos from throughout the year!

view all 3,171 comments

mclaren What a happy lad! We can't wait to see that smile again in 2024 😁🧡

↳ yourusername you and me both! 🤝🧡

user she's got the dream job omg

↳ user IKR??? imagine just getting to follow lando around and take pictures of him all day, i'd be dead within the first hour

↳ user he'd smile at me and i'd be asking “what are we” on god 😩😩😩

↳ user is that literally all she does??? she just follows him around and takes pictures??

↳ user there’s probably a technical term for what her position is and i just don’t know it, but bc there’s so much going on around the track at any given moment, sometimes the press and other media workers are focused on something or someone else, so she’s hired on by mclaren to specifically focus on mclaren to make sure that there is content for mclaren or mclaren sponsors to use. she’s not just lando’s photographer, she also takes photos of oscar, the pit teams, and the other staff that work in the garage, but she was hired on when lando started so her portfolio is pretty full of him. hope this helps!

user didn't know i could need so much orange in my life but here we are

user LANDO NORRIS SUPREMACY

oscarpiastri i see who the favourite is 🫤

↳ yourusername you literally SAW me picking photos for your post too

↳ oscarpiastri yeah but you posted his first 🫤

user guys this is the face of the 2024 wdc winner take it in now

user i could write a 50 page thesis on the importance of these photos and what they mean to me and how the serotonin they make me release could replace my depression meds

user lad’s like a mini danny ric with how smiley he is

landonorris best photog right here folks

↳ yourusername you're only saying that bc i always get your good side

↳ landonorris i'll have you know that all sides are my good sides 🤨

↳ yourusername whatev helps you sleep at night luv 😊

In 2019, when you took on the job of being McLaren’s lead photographer, you hadn’t expected it would garner you the amount of attention it has, or that it would slingshot your career to levels of success you never could have anticipated, or that you would get a best friend out of it.

When you first met him back in those early days, you’d thought Lando Norris was an arrogant, pretentious, self-righteous prick who thought he was hot shit because he was a Formula One driver. However, he’d quickly proven you wrong when he’d admitted to you that a lot of the confidence was an act━ carefully constructed to hide his insecurities about his performance both on and off the track.

“I mean, we’re drivers, yeah?” He’d said. “But we’re also actors. We’ve got these personas that we have to uphold even out here on the paddock, and I’m always worried I’m not playing the part well enough.”

It hadn’t made a lot of sense to you then, you thought he was pulling off the persona of Total Douche remarkably well, but in Shanghai, things changed.

After the Chinese Grand Prix, things were dour. Lando had DNFed━ the first in his Formula One career━ which contrasted greatly with his previous accomplishment of P6 in Bahrain. Carlos Sainz hadn’t been doing very well, either, and it didn’t paint a very pretty picture for McLaren so early in the season. You’d thought he’d throw a hissy fit, tear Daniil Kvyat apart for his role in the crash, or at the very least throw some shade his way, but he hadn’t done any of that. He’d accepted his fate with grace, joked to the media about how boring the race had been because of what had happened, and then gone on to congratulate Carlos for at least finishing.

What was even more shocking, was that despite his disappointment and the frustration he must’ve been feeling, instead of going back to sulk in his lonesomeness or drown out his feelings with booze and loud music at some club, he’d comforted you later that evening.

The morning of the race, as you’d been getting ready in your hotel room, you’d gotten a text from an unsaved number admitting to you that they’d been taking part in a months-long affair with your boyfriend but had been previously unaware that he was already taken and therefore wanted to let you know to clear their conscience. You’d managed to hold yourself together then━ mostly because you’d already done your makeup and, quite frankly, didn’t have the time to sob it all off and then attempt to salvage it━ but as the day drew to a close and the adrenaline of the race and its excitement wore off, and with nothing else to keep you distracted, you were struggling to keep yourself composed.

Lando had somehow noticed in that weirdly perceptive way of his that something was off, and he’d sat with you, asked what was wrong, and listened when you━ through tears━ explained the situation to him.

“He sounds like a total fucking muppet,” he’d commented after you’d said your piece, and he’d done it with such a deadpanned expression that it had startled a genuine laugh out of you. Because yeah, you’re (now ex) boyfriend had been a muppet.

After that━ and after all the rom-com and ice cream binging you’d both done in his hotel room afterward much to the chagrin of Lando’s nutritionist and the displeasure of his PR officer━ you’d rescinded your initial judgment of him. He was significantly less dickish than you’d originally thought, and it let you finally understand what he’d meant when he’d talked about putting on a persona.

The cocky, know-it-all prick that Lando pretended to be half the time was all just an act to hide his overly self-critical nature fueled by his insecurities.

By the end of the season, he’d gained a little confidence of his own and had subsequently toned down the assholery when he no longer needed to “fake it til he makes it,” and you were calling him your friend.

It’s 2023 now, and he’s since been upgraded to best friend status━ a role he takes very seriously, and constantly reminds you of.

“I’m your best friend━” case and point, “━you have to come to Bali with me. Literally, like, what am I gonna do without you there? Do you expect me to just go by myself? What if I get lost? Or what if somehow the mafia, who have unknowingly had a hit out on me for years, track me down there and I’m kidnapped and ransomed off for billions of dollars? What will you do then?”

“You just want me to take pictures of you,” you answer, rolling your eyes only because you know he can’t see you through the phone.

He gasps in mock offense. “I cannot believe you think I value you so little! I want you to take pictures of me and be here to help me make fun of awkward tourist spray tans so I don’t feel like a total asshole for being the only one who laughs.”

You laugh at that. “Well, unfortunately laughing at bad fake tans doesn’t pay the bills.”

“But taking pictures of me does.”

“Yeah, when McLaren is paying.” You turn back to your laptop, a photo put on pause mid-edit splayed across the screen. It’s of Lando, as most of your photos tend to be despite your attempts at keeping things even between the McLaren boys. It’s the last of the images you need to send over for their 2023 sendoff, and when it’s finished you’ll officially be without work for a painstaking two months. “I’m on break too, technically, until they need promotional shit for the new season.”

He huffs, and you can almost imagine the childish pout on his face. “What are you even doing, then?”

You hesitate, not because you don’t want Lando to know about your winter plans, but because you don’t really know how he’ll react, which means it could be anything between genuine happiness for you and congratulations, or abject horror and feigned screams of anguish. He’s always been dramatic like that, but even more so now that he’s comfortable enough with you and himself to have crawled a decent way out of his shell.

Even still, he’s your best friend and it would make you a pretty shitty person if you didn’t tell him.

“Believe it or not,” you start, wringing your hands together, “but Manchester City actually hit me up with an inquiry. Asked if I’d be interested in working with them on a project documenting their training throughout the winter months. I said I would love to.”

He pauses for a good long moment, and you prepare for the screaming, but all he says is━ “Man City? You traitor. I thought Man United was our forever!”

“Be so fucking real right now, Lando Norris,” you answer, laughing as you do so. You’re relieved, at least he hasn’t gone the feigned anguish route, but you also can’t tell if he’s happy for you or hiding his true feelings behind humor like he’s prone to doing. “You know damn well you only watched them for Christiano Ronaldo and he hasn’t played with United since 2009.”

“Technically he played for them in the 2021-2022 season,” he grumbles.

“Yeah,” you deadpan, “and he was dogshit. We both agreed to pretend it never happened.”

He groans, “I can’t believe this. My day is ruined and my disappointment is immeasurable.”

“Oh, get over yourself. It’s only for the winter. I’ll be back in McLaren Papaya by February when they need me snapping shots of you and Oscar next to the new livery,” you promise.

The reality is that it’ll probably be sooner. McLaren has always been good about getting you back at HQ pretty quickly, either to get some snapshots of the beginning of Lando and Oscar’s pre-season return or to just capture some material of the engineers at work to promote their readiness. You understand why they can’t keep you around all year━ no Lando and no Oscar means no you━ and with the sheer amount of content you capture and edit for them throughout the season, they’ve got enough to last them the handful of weeks you aren’t working.

Unfortunately, you aren’t working with a driver’s salary to keep you sustained over the break and rent certainly hasn’t been getting cheaper. In past years, your bank account has been chirping with crickets when you’ve returned to work after the winter, and that was before your landlord had decided to make your life a living hell.

You have an important job, but it’s by far the most important, and sometimes sacrifices have to be made. Working in sports media taught you that early on.

“Who knows?” Lando’s voice snaps you back. “Maybe Jack Grealish with his perfect hair and perfect calves will steal you away and you’ll be in sky blue forevermore.”

You laugh, “Jack Grealish is a happily taken man, and although he does have perfect hair and perfect calves, I’m more of a Haaland girl anyway.”

He guffaws. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re so far gone that you already have a preferred player. Jack Grealish is England’s poster boy! Everyone loves him whether they like City or not!” He heaves a dramatic sigh. “Christ, I can already feel you slipping through my fingers. I give it a week over there at Etihad before you call me up telling me I can find a new best friend because you’ve replaced me with Phil Foden and Julian Alvarez.”

“For someone who supposedly hates Manchester City, you’re certainly well-versed in their roster.”

“Well duh, I need to know my competition,” he says, like it’s obvious.

“Ah, yes,” you snark back sarcastically. “Because you, a Formula One driver, have to be worried about the football players of Manchester City.”

“Apparently I do if you’re calling yourself a Haaland girl now!”

You burst into cackles and he’s following shortly after with chuckles of his own that eventually peter out into a comfortable silence. You are really going to miss him for the few months you aren’t working with him.

The Formula One schedule is so jam-packed across the season that it typically means you’re getting to see him every day for an hour or two at least, if not for the entirety of the time he’s at the track. You follow him and Oscar to their sponsor obligations, their interviews, and everything in between. It’s honestly rare if you’re not getting a moment to goof off and dick around with one another━ and it’s even rarer for you to not actually see one another face to face in passing at the very least.

The off-season is your least favorite time of the year for this very reason, and though it makes you feel a bit full of yourself to think so, you imagine Lando doesn’t enjoy this time of year much either for the same reason.

“I promise I won’t replace you with any of the City boys,” you say after the silence has stretched on a moment longer.

He huffs again, but you can envision the smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose even if you do, I’ll just show up to a match and steal you away again.”

“As if. Have you seen Grealish’s calves?”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by user, user, and 517,472 others

footballfansofficial BREAKING: Manchester City Forward Garrett Ward caught with mysterious woman revealed to be well-known Formula One photographer Y/N L/N! The two were seen sharing a romantic evening on Friday, the 5th of January, ringing in a passionate start to 2024. Garrett Ward has been with Manchester City since 2021 but was out on loan to a lesser-known Championship League team until 2023. He has just recently begun to play for his team again, but an injury early into the season has seen him benched for a majority of his time back. Y/N L/N is a photographer for Formula One racing team McLaren and has been working with them since 2019. Recently, she has been working with Manchester City to help promote a new docuseries following the men’s team’s winter training. Check the link in our bio for the full article!

view all 12,971 comments

user OMG GARRETT WARD??? NOTORIOUS BACHELOR GARRETT WARD???

user who is she? like genuinely how is she relevant 🤔

↳ user no literally cuz like who even gives two shits about formula 1?

user girl works in f1 why can’t she stay there

↳ user i’m sure there are plenty of drivers who’d smash her idk why she needs to try and get footballers too like bffr 😒😒😒

user aint no way this bitch is kissing my man rn

user literally what does he even see in her??? she’s not even cute AND she’s wearing man united colors 💀💀

user Y/N L/N??? I THOUGHT SHE WAS WITH LANDO NORRIS???

↳ user LITERALLY ME TOO?? like she posts him all the time on insta so i just kinda thought they were an item or smth?? trouble in paradise maybe

user she’s fucking ugly wtf

user i wish these footballers who get with regular women would realize there are so many better girls out there that would ACTUALLY treat them well and would support them in their careers. like i bet this girl doesn’t even know anything about football. she works in f1 and that’s where she should stay bc nobody cares about that shit round here. she probably doesn’t even know the first thing about how football works, but i bet she’ll be at matches pretending like she knows what’s happening. garrett ward is gonna flush his career down the troilet for this chick bc she’s gonna convince him his busy schedule ain’t worth it and then city will be down a great forward for good, and it’ll all be her fault

user i mean she’s kinda pretty tbf

↳ user stfu she really isn’t

↳ user she gen looks like any random bitch off the street

user these comments are not it…. 😬

↳ user maybe you f1 fans just don’t know how to handle constructive criticism

↳ user is the constructive criticism in the room with us rn?? cuz all i’m seeing is bullying and hatred directed towards an innocent woman who’s only ��crime” was going on a date

user ok so she can take photos?? 🙄🙄 maybe she should get a real job

↳ user she’s probably only with him so she can mooch off of him like a fucking gold digger

user AINT NO WAYYYYYY

user it’ll last a month max 😌 i’m calling it

user ayo lando come get your girl

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette

━━ a/n: here we have it! took me a bit longer than the start of american smile did, but lando's story is officially here! (and it's a whopping 2.9k words to start us off). first and foremost, before we get started, garrett ward is 100% an oc and obviously does not play for manchester city, and this is bc i would feel absolutely horrible portraying a real person in the way that garrett will be later on. gather from that what you will haha! regardless, i hope you enjoy this first part and stick around for the rest!

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 #oscar piastri

869 notes · View notes

dailyadventureprompts · 8 months

Text

Monsters Reimagined: Bandits

As a game of heroic fantasy that centers so primarily on combat, D&D is more often than not a game about righteous violence, which is why I spend so much time thinking about the targets of that violence. Every piece of media made by humans is a thing created from conscious or unconscious design, it’s saying something whether or not its creators intended it to do so.

Tolkien made his characters peaceloving and pastoral, and coded his embodiment of evil as powerhungry, warlike, and industrial. When d&d directly cribbed from Tolkien's work it purposely changed those enemies to be primitive tribespeople who were resentful of the riches the “civilized” races possessed. Was this intentional? None can say, but as a text d&d says something decidedly different than Tolkien.

That's why today I want to talk about bandits, the historical concept of being an “outlaw”, and how media uses crime to “un-person” certain classes of people in order to give heroes a target to beat up.

Tldr: despite presenting bandits as a generic threat, most d&d scenarios never go into detail about what causes bandits to exist, merely presuming the existence of outlaws up to no good that the heroes should feel no qualms about slaughtering. If your story is going to stand up to the scrutiny of your players however, you need to be aware of WHY these individuals have been driven to banditry, rather than defaulting to “they broke the law so they deserve what’s coming to them.”

I got to thinking about writing this post when playing a modded version of fallout 4, an npc offhndedly mentioned to me that raiders (the postapoc bandit rebrand) were too lazy to do any farming and it was good that I’d offed them by the dozens so that they wouldn’t make trouble for those that did.

That gave me pause, fallout takes place in an irradiated wasteland where folks struggle to survive but this mod was specifically about rebuilding infrastructure like farms and ensuring people had enough to get by. Lack of resources to go around was a specific justification for why raiders existed in the first place, but as the setting became more arable the mod-author had to create an excuse why the bandit’s didn’t give up their violent ways and start a nice little coop, settling on them being inherently lazy , dumb, and psychopathic.

This is exactly how d&d has historically painted most of its “monstrous humanoid” enemies. Because the game is ostensibly about combat the authors need to give you reasons why a peaceful solution is impossible, why the orcs, goblins, gnolls (and yes, bandits), can’t just integrate with the local town or find a nice stretch of wilderness to build their own settlement on and manage in accordance with their needs. They go so far in this justification that they end up (accidently or not) recreating a lot of IRL arguments for persecution and genocide.

Bandits are interesting because much like cultists, it’s a descriptor that’s used to unperson groups of characters who would traditionally be inside the “not ontologically evil” bubble that’s applied to d&d’s protagonists. Break the law or worship the wrong god says d&d and you’re just as worth killing as the mindless minions of darkness, your only purpose to serve as a target of the protagonist’s righteous violence.

The way we get around this self-justification pitfall and get back to our cool fantasy action game is to relentlessly question authority, not only inside the game but the authors too. We have to interrogate anyone who'd show us evil and direct our outrage a certain way because if we don't we end up with crusades, pogroms, and Qanon.

With that ethical pill out of the way, I thought I’d dive into a listing of different historical groups that we might call “Bandits” at one time or another and what worldbuilding conceits their existence necessitates.

Brigands: By and large the most common sort of “bandit” you’re going to see are former soldiers left over from wars, often with a social gap between them and the people they’re raiding that prevents reintegration ( IE: They’re from a foreign land and can’t speak the local tongue, their side lost and now they’re considered outlaws, they’re mercenaries who have been stiffed on their contract). Justifying why brigands are out brigading is as easy as asking yourself “What were the most recent conflicts in this region and who was fighting them?”. There’s also something to say about how a life of trauma and violence can be hard to leave even after the battle is over, which is why you historically tend to see lots of gangs and paramilitary groups pop up in the wake of conflict.

Raiders: fundamentally the thing that has caused cultures to raid eachother since the dawn of time is sacristy. When the threat of starvation looms it’s far easier to justify potentially throwing your life away if it means securing enough food to last you and those close to you through the next year/season/day. Raider cultures develop in biomes that don’t support steady agriculture, or in times where famine, war, climate change, or disease make the harvests unreliable. They tend to target neighboring cultures that DO have reliable harvests which is why you frequently see raiders emerging from “the barbaric frontier” to raid “civilization” that just so happens to occupy the space of a reliably fertile river valley. When thinking about including raiders in your story, consider what environmental forces have caused this most recent and previous raids, as well as consider how frequent raiding has shaped the targeted society. Frequent attacks by raiders is how we get walled palaces and warrior classes after all, so this shit is important.

Slavers: Just like raiding, most cultures have engaged in slavery at one point or another, which is a matter I get into here. While raiders taking captives is not uncommon, actively attacking people for slaves is something that starts occurring once you have a built up slave market, necessitating the existence of at least one or more hierarchical societies that need more disposable workers than then their lower class is capable of providing. The roman legion and its constant campaigns was the apparatus by which the imperium fed its insatiable need for cheap slave labor. Subsistence raiders generally don’t take slaves en masse unless they know somewhere to sell them, because if you’re having trouble feeding your own people you’re not going to capture more ( this is what d&d gets wrong about monstrous humanoids most of the time).

Tax Farmers: special mention to this underused classic, where gangs of toughs would bid to see who could collect money for government officials, and then proceed to ransack the realm looking to squeeze as much money out of the people as possible. This tends to happen in areas where the state apparatus is stretched too thin or is too lighthanded to have established enduring means of funding. Tax farmers are a great one-two punch for campaigns where you want your party to be set up against a corrupt authority: our heroes defeat the marauding bandits and then oh-no, turns out they were not only sanctioned by the government but backed by an influential political figure who you’ve just punched in the coinpurse. If tax farming exists it means the government is strong enough to need a yearly budget but not so established (at least in the local region) that it’s developed a reliably peaceful method of maintaining it.

Robber Baron: Though the term is now synonymous with ruthless industrialists, it originated from the practice of shortmidned petty gentry (barons and knights and counts and the like) going out to extort and even rob THEIR OWN LANDS out of a desire for personal enrichment/boredom. Schemes can range from using their troops to shake down those who pass through their domain to outright murdering their own peasants for sport because you haven’t gotten to fight in a war for a while. Just as any greed or violence minded noble can be a robber baron so it doesn’t take that much of a storytelling leap but I encourage you to channel all your landlord hate into this one.

Rebels: More than just simple outlaws, rebels have a particular cause they’re a part of (just or otherwise) that puts them at odds with the reigning authority. They could violently support a disfavoured political faction, be acting out against a law they think is unjust, or hoping to break away from the authority entirely. Though attacks against those figures of authority are to be expected, it’s all too common for rebels to go onto praying on common folk for the sake of the cause. To make a group of rebels worth having in your campaign pinpoint an issue that two groups of people with their own distinct interests could disagree on, and then ratchet up the tension. Rebels have to be able to beleive in a cause, so they have to have an argument that supports them.

Remnants: Like a hybrid of brigands, rebels, and taxfarmers, Remnants represent a previously legitimate system of authority that has since been replaced but not yet fully disappeared. This can happen either because the local authority has been replaced by something new (feudal nobles left out after a monarchy toppling revolution) or because it has faded entirely ( Colonial forces of an empire left to their own devices after the empire collapses). Remnants often sat at the top of social structures that had endured for generations and so still hold onto the ghost of power ( and the violence it can command) and the traditions that support it. Think about big changes that have happened in your world of late, are the remnants looking to overturn it? Win new privilege for themselves? Go overlooked by their new overlords?

Art

#monsters reimagined #bandits #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder #heavy topics #monsters reimagined

1K notes · View notes

etheries1015 · 2 months

Note

Etheries hello! If you're open to requests right now, could you write something for twst where they find out (gender neutral but presumably afab) reader is pregnant with their child? I'd love to request for Azul, Vil, Malleus, and Rollo specifically but any others you think would be fun to write would be fun to read too. Thank you!!

YYYAAAA!!! I LOVE THIS CONCEPT Twst men with children make me so giddy inside hehehehe. Especially the non-humans for some reason, like Fae and Mer folk aosiefjlskadjf

You're pregnant!! Their reaction?

you know what, I decided to throw in how many daughters/sons I'd think they would have, too. For shits and giggles.

Featuring: Azul, Vil, Malleus, and of course I need to add my baby girl Lilia <3 I'm sorry, I really can't write Rollo, I sat here for an hour trying to think of something, but I suppose he is where my creativity halts... my apologies. I hope you like this nonetheless!

General warnings: Afab reader, but no pronouns are used. I feel like there is obvious malleus favoritism because I think he's a huge simp that wants a bunch of babies LMFAOOO, there's so much to write on him. And Lilias is a little bit more on the angsty side of things...but overall fluffy! Not very proofread either <3

Azul

He is BEYOND anxious. More anxious than he had ever felt in his entire life. You? His lovely significant other, pregnant, with HIS child? His offspring?

Almost faints at the news. When you tell him the news, he just stares at you with wide eyes and jaw ajar.

He is happy, truly, but he's honestly a mess. Will this be a mostly human child? Will you be giving birth to an octo-egg? Will they need to be birthed in the water of the sea? So many uknown variables and questions swim in his mind, but his first plan of action is to hug you tightly and sob into your shoulder.

CONSTANT doctor checkups. He's asking you to go more often than they would recommend, but he can't help it. He needs to be 10000% certain that you are going to be okay and find out what form his child will be taking.

Imagine if it's twins, oh my gosh. He would actually faint.

his children will have a never-ending supply of love from Uncle Jade and Uncle Floyd

Weird presents, probably ingesting food from the sea by his recommendation, prenatal potions, and bed rest. If he read it, you were doing it. Your health was his number one priority.

Azul is probably leaning towards a traditional father, going to work and getting as much profit as possible to support you and his children. But of course, he will take a significant amount of time off to help you and any obstacles that come with having a mer-folks child.

On the sweeter side...

His hands will be trembling ever so slightly, with tears in his eyes every time he feels your stomach. He will kiss your stomach, and lay on your lap to be close by. He can't believe he has come so far in life- to the point where he has a beautiful significant other such as yourself and a child on the way.

He worries about many things, finances, being able to get the most out of life, if he will be able to provide for you and this child, and the kind of life his child will have.

Kind of hopes that his child is mostly human. He was bullied for his species, being slow, pudgy, and whatnot. That's not the life he wants for his children if they end up looking more like him.

You're able to calm his nerves, though. All in all, he is incredibly excited to meet his new baby, and will be doing so by his beloveds side <3

I personally see him having one child. Probably a boy, probably an easy baby. I don't think Azul would want more than one child.

Vil

the moment he saw that positive pregnancy test, he had a conflicting wave of emotions.

Of course his outward reaction was to hug you, stroke your head, and pepper your face in kisses. Of course, the news elated him, he seemed calm and collected enough, but there were many worries in his mind.

He doesn't want to accidentally "ruin" his child.

Vil was always in the face of cameras, the face of the public's wary eye, and was hyper-focused on his image and how others may perceive him.

He would hate to accidentally subject his child to the same watchful eye of the public and create this whole image that he needs to be perfect. He wants this child to grow up how they choose, with good values, instead of fearing what may come out of the public opinion.

always hiding you and shielding you from paparazzi. He wanted to hide the news that you were pregnant until later down the line. There are some crazy fans out there, and he would never risk something happening to you. Face masks and disguises were not unknown to you from dating him already at this point, but it was almost as if it came out tenfold.

Rook and Epel = sweetest most doting uncles ever!

Vil had to slap Rook on the head when he felt like Rook was getting a little too handsy with your baby bump.

Epel made sure you had the best batch of apples straight from the farm! Good for the baby, he says!

Vil loves playing music for you and his child, piano, singing...he loves it. it's great bonding for the both of you. He'd hum and sing songs to your stomach while rubbing it gently.

Finances will never pose a problem. Another thing that was never a problem, was Vil going out of his way to take off work and make sure he was there to properly take care of you. You never felt abandoned and alone despite his busy schedule and the fact he was always out doing some sort of movie shoot or commercial, he would never hesitate to take off or call in if you were having a particularly rough day.

Overall, he's excited! He hopes the baby grows up in their own skin and individuality, making choices for themselves when it comes to their career path. And a little side note...he really liked how cute you looked waddling around pregnant with a baby bump. Heuehue.

I can envision you and Vil possibly having two-three children, pretty even in age difference. Depends! I think he would like a big family, get a home with plenty of space. I can see him with both boys and girls, I think I see Vil being a really good "girl dad" tho.

Malleus

absolutely ecstatic. He wanted this so so so bad. He was over the moon. He held back an embarrassing display of giggling and fangirling over the fact he impregnated you, instead opted with a smile and a "Wonderful."

You sometimes wonder if he purposefully did something to result in your pregnancy because I like to think he's a little bit insane like that, but it's okay! You don't mind!

This man wants so. many. kids. Half-fae Half human children run around the castle bringing it to life and showing off the world the unity between humans and faes. He doesn't care if anyone else doesn't agree with this, he on the other hand is absolutely bemused by you and the fact you are bearing his children.

Will they come out as eggs needing to be hatched? How long will it take to hatch with your nonmagical side? Will they have mostly human attributes? Will his fae genetics be so dominant that it's like a bunch of little copies of him? Will his child have your ears and his eyes? and vise versa? will his child come out looking just like he did, in a full dragon form, or will his child come out like a normal human? He has asked ALL of these questions and more. He is so excited.

Buys a lot of clothes, builds rooms in the castle (yes, rooms. because he knows you will have more of his children and wants to be prepared.) "Can never have enough to be prepared for all outcomes," He says. Whatever floats his boat, I suppose!

Appoints the most skilled doctors there is in the Valley. You are always, without a doubt, taken care of. He reads piles upon piles of parenting books, he's always by your side, to the point where sometimes he brings you into important meetings just to be sure you were in his sights.

He vows his children will never feel the crushing lonliness he did as a child. He vouches to always be availble to have meals with his children, to play with his children, and be active in their learning process. He will allow them to travel all over and gain knowledge, and be certain they will never feel like they are missing out on anything.

He LOVES your baby bump. At night in bed he will press his ear up against your stomach, rub it, kiss it, talk to it. He is so infatuated with you and your body. Kisses every single stretch mark, and his hands are all over you. Seeing you pregnant with his child stirs up some sort of desire to keep you that way, but he tries to...push down this part of him. For the most part. Heuheu.

And when you two are sleeping, his dragon tail always comes out to wrap around you protectively. It's his way of making sure both of you are safe through the night because sevens forbid anything happens to his beloved and their child(ren).

Honestly, I am a firm believer that Malleus would have twins, for some reason. Two hatchlings! Together! A boy and a girl. (I have a whole fic idea for this...you'll probably see it one day. heuheu.) or two boys. I think it would be super chaotic with two twins with big draconic features and attitudes, alot of running around and mischief in the house!! He would of course go on to have more children with you. I think it may become an addiction for him. Or not! I can also see him being content with two.

Lilia

Honestly, when you first gave him the news, he was uncertain how to feel. He inquired if you were serious,him raising a child at his age? He wasn't certain he'd be able to do it. He raised Silver, and now that his magic reserves were dwindling, he was worried he wouldn't be able to fully be there for you and your baby.

"Lilia...i'm pregnant." Once those words left your lips, his normal silly demeanor dropped slightly. He had a thoughtful look upon his face, eyes wide staring at you. He asked if you were certain, and it was initially a long and deep discussion about your future together and how things will pan out.

After talking it out, a few tears and heartfelt moments, Lilia smiled brightly and gave you the biggest hug and kiss on the cheek. He started to become a little more excited! And once you shared the news with Silver, Malleus, and Sebek, they were more than happy to pitch in a helping hand.

Honestly, I think as he saw your baby bump grow, so did his excitement. He of course loved the children he adopted more than anything in the entire world, but something about looking at you holding your tummy full of his very own blood, it felt...different.

He was nervous, for sure. This was a child that was going to carry his lineage, his very own DNA coursing through that baby. He wasn't sure how things would turn out but prayed that this baby would have a life of peace and acceptance, unlike his war-filled days and alienation for being a lesser type of fae.

He was OBSESSED with how you looked pregnant. He could get used to this sight, you waddling around, swollen feet... for more in-depth details about how he felt about you being pregnant, you can take a read at this fic I wrote a while ago about it. All in all, he pampers you to death. Rubbing your feet, kissing your stomach, tracing your stretch marks with his fingers...oh he could truly get used to this.

He does fear what the future may hold. He wants all of his children to see him at his strongest, not to see him slowly give into old age as his magic fades to nothing. You may have to reassure him a few times throughout your pregnancy that you and this child will love him no matter what, and remind him that YOU are magicless as well. And Lilia would make an amazing father, with or without his "power." It's his personality and determination as an amazing, child-loving figure that will give this child a life to look forward to.

Once he gets over the insecurities about becoming a father to a new half-fae, half-human baby, he starts to dig up old parenting books he used to have.

He will give this baby, and you, as much love as he possibly can <3\

I can see Lilia with a girl! Probably just one baby, because he can only handle so much anymore! He would be an AMAZING girl dad. He would be a great father regardless of the gender of the baby, but I can really see him with a daughter for some reason. The visions are strong with this one.

650 notes · View notes

mojoflower · 1 year

Text

So You Want to Tumbl?

There are lots of newcomers here these days, and I thought I'd spell out how to begin and what it means to ‘curate your own dash’ for folks who haven't grown along with Tumblr for the past decade.

If you're coming from a platform where content is fed to you, Tumblr can seem barren and intimidating in the beginning. But that's actually a good thing! What it means is that you will see what you want to. If you're in a fighting mood, go find political discourse. If you're feeling fragile, make your dash nothing but art and nature.

How to begin?

You’ve made your blog and picked out your icon (seriously, choose an icon: otherwise you’re indistinguishable from bots). Feel free to be anonymous. Most of us are, and it’s wonderful to have a place that’s not tied to your Real Life. Here you can be a fandom freak (like me!) and no one judges you and your boss will never find out.

Now seek out tags that interest you. For example, I was just looking through #moss because I like peace and green things and old-growth forests. (And, apparently, beautifully naked fae-men, heh.)

Now you follow that tag (if it's a popular tag, it'll say how many followers the tag has, which is beneficial to know if you're making a post that you want to reach all its interested audience) and posts with that tag automatically fill your dash. Voila, you have begun to curate your experience!

Do Follow: tags; blogs in that tag that you like; people who comment on posts in the blog/tag you follow that seem like they’re up your alley. The more people you follow, the more varied and nuanced your dash is.

Don’t Follow: people who make comments or posts that raise your blood pressure. Topics that upset you. Discourse that has you arguing in your head for the rest of the day. PLEASE avoid toxicity. Real Life is hard enough.

How to be Social and Interact

If you want to find your tribe and interact, it’s best to start following individual blogs. (If you follow a blog, they have an opportunity to follow you back. Simply following a tag is a passive, one-way street.) To Tumbl is to be in a vast cocktail party, and you need to mingle and eavesdrop to find the things that galvanize you.

How to be seen and heard

💬Comment on posts (please always stay positive and enthusiastic: we really try to avoid toxicity). You can read other comments (and reblogged comments) by clicking on the notes:

🔁Reblog posts you like, both to show your support and to show other people what kind of things get you excited. Reblogging is essential to the tumblr ecosystem, because it’s the only way posts move around and get seen. You can also “like” posts, but that's a much more passive way to interact. Also, reblogs and your own original posts show up on your blog and prove that you're not a bot.

Create your own posts and remember that the first 20 tags you use are essential, because that’s what gets you seen (and followed) by strangers. Tags 21-30 are good for searching and archiving on your own blog, but they don’t count on the dash. Instructions on how to Make A Post.

Participate! Once you find your crowd, you’ll discover that there are always things going on. For example, in fandoms, we’ve got writing events, art events, crafting and cons. The more you try to be involved, the more new friends you’ll discover. Tumblr allows for such an organic community. One person has a thought, and many others build on that thought, creating something far greater than the sum of its parts.

There is no real algorithm beyond using those first 20 tags. This may be discouraging to folks who are used to working an algorithm, but we like it fine here, because it keeps everyone real and keeps obnoxious social climbers/capitalists out of your face.

Be patient! Just like in real life, when you find yourself in a crowd of people you don’t know, it takes a while to form connections. Watch and listen, and learn to read the room. Honestly, the thing that will win you the most friends/followers is honest enthusiasm about your space.

Don’t aim for the big names to become your new buddies. You’re more likely to find a thriving coterie among other fresh faces. Don’t assume that because they’re small or new they have nothing to offer you. Often, this is the fire that keeps any given corner of Tumblr going.

Tumblr Etiquette

NEVER REPOST (without explicit permission). Reposting is when you cut and paste from someone else’s content and then make it into a brand new post under your own blog name. That is stealing and is very condemned. Reblogging is when you use 🔁and the OP (original poster) remains attached to their post and continues to see and be in charge of interactions.

Reblog in addition to Liking. A post that you 'like' is static. You are not helping it to get to a broader audience. If the post or poster is something/someone you support, then REBLOG that sucker: it deserves to fly!

Reblog and add your own content. One of the best parts of Tumblr is that you can comment on a post, or even add to it in your reblog (as long as you’re not being a dick, okay? Or changing the topic, which is known as ‘hijacking a post’). Here is a wonderful example of the Tumblr ecosystem at work, where someone had a thought, other people had thoughts about that thought, and then a bunch of artists jumped in. Tumblr posts BUILD COMMUNITY, and you can be a part of that conversation. (Do try to refrain from reblogging with vacuous comments just because you want people to notice you rather than because you actually have something to add, though. That’s just clutter.)

The most important part of “curating your experience” is learning to Block.

You can block individual blogs, Anons, people in the comments that you find upsetting. Here's a post on How to Block.

Block entire tags or keywords if they are triggers for you. (Here is a post on how to do that.)

Blocking is self-care. It is not a platform to demonstrate to the community how much you hate someone and how they should, too. Usually the blocked person never even knows you’ve blocked them. If they do something egregious (like tell you or someone else to kill themselves), then ‘Report’ them.

You can block something (like #US Politics) if you can’t handle it at the moment, and then unblock it later. Block a friend if they’re spamming something you don’t like and then unblock them later. It’s all good! You are in control of what shows up on your dash.

But doesn’t this mean my dash will be single-topic and boring?

The simultaneous joy and pitfall in following individuals is that MANY blogs are not single-topic. You will be exposed to all kinds of reblogs/ideas/other people from the folks you chose to follow, and can decide for yourself if you (a) want to be involved in that topic, (b) are indifferent to that topic, or (c) want to run from it screaming.

Also, the blogs you follow will move from hobby/theme/passion over time, and you can move with them, appreciate their new topic without vibing with it, or drop them altogether.

And THIS is how you curate your dash, my friends.

***Install New XKit extension. It’ll make your life easier!

***Here's the Tumblr Help Center, where you can learn more details.

#welcome to tumblr #new users #tumblr #tumblr etiquette #tumblr tips #how to tumbl #mojo muses #twitter refugees #long post

6K notes · View notes

weast-of-eden · 1 month

Text

I've been thinking about how I could contribute to the ACD/Granada Sherlock Holmes fandom for a while, seeing as I'm neither an artist, a writer, or anything actually useful lol. But then I realized something I myself always treasure are curated fic recs, which I could actually do! I've read probably like 25% of all the h/w ACD and Granada fics on ao3, so I compiled a short list for anyone who is just starting out with the fandom. Without further ado, may I present

Eden’s Top Picks for Beginning ACD/Granada Fics:

(edit: i made a second list here!!)

The Adventure of the Doctor's Heart by mistyzeo 12k | Rated E Summary: Holmes has observed much of Watson's habits and tastes over time, which is why it surprises him when his friend objects strangely to a folk song sung at the conclusion of a case. Disturbed by the Doctor's unexpected display of emotion, Holmes becomes determined to lift his spirits by any means necessary, with mixed results. Notes: obviously if you're going to read canonverse h/w, you are going to read mistyzeo. this one is just so good and angsty and features music (!!). it's got some steaminess but it also has wooing. basically it has everything you ever need. this is my odyssey, my iliad, my hamlet, etc.

Cameo by what_alchemy 8k | Rated M | For Archive Users Only Summary: Holmes and Watson become embroiled in a case Scotland Yard refuses to acknowledge. A soulmate AU. Notes: i honestly skipped over this fic for a while, since i'm not the biggest fan of soulmate aus. do not make the same mistake i did, because this shit HITS. this fic has hit after hit: soulmate-mark based case for our main duo, angst, hiatus feels, MORE ANGST, and ofc a happy ending. ugh. read this fic if you enjoy being happy.

A Tide That Does Not Turn by tweedisgood 3k | Rated T Summary: Holmes is a very bad patient with a devoted doctor who adores him. Watson wishes it was safe to speak up, but his friend is a tide that does not turn. Notes: do NOT read this if you don't like angst... ok now i'm sensing a pattern. anyways this is the first hurt/no comfort fic i read for this tag and i literally have cried more than enough tears over it. poor, poor watson :( iconic author though, read everything they write!

The Adventure of the Glad Outlaw by radondoran 7k | Rated T Summary: While Sherlock Holmes solves the mystery of a student's disappearance, Dr. Watson is more puzzled by the changing dynamic between his flatmate and himself. Notes: cute pastiche! a nice little mystery and a nice little get-together. ahhhhhh.... this fic is like cotton candy to me, so sweet and fluffy. defo recommend

Hands by MinorObsessions (draculard) 1.4k | Rated T Summary: Naturally, there are some things Watson thinks about Holmes that don't make it into the books. Notes: i'm also in the star trek fandom, so if you know anything about that then you know that hands are kind of A Thing in both circles and ergo i now Have A Thing about hands. so this is a nice little ode to holmes' hands, featuring some doctoring by watson AND a nice reverse appraisal at the end. it's so sweet :)

Conductor of Light by ColebaltBlue 1.4k | Rated T Summary: A Victorian stiff upper lip won't prevent you from falling in love, but it might prevent you from realizing it. Notes: they finally get their shit together! honestly i would recommend this fic to anyone just starting out with h/w fics in any medium. the characterization and dialogue is A1, and their argument is really realistic to me, idk. also features the iconic HOUN quote for its title so props to that!

A (Mis)fortunate Man by sans_patronymic 1.5k | Rated T Summary: December, 1880. Watson writes a note which may be his last. December, 1899. Watson writes back. Notes: READ THE TAGS BEFORE READING. this was a gut-wrenching read but god i cried at the end for watson. don't worry, this one has a happy ending. ugh now i wish there was a second chapter where watson lets holmes read the letters. to sum up: oof, my heart

The Second Smartest Man in London by FairSinner 73k | Rated E Summary: Dr John Watson returns from Afghanistan to Victorian London, wounded, traumatised and alone. When he meets Sherlock Holmes, his life begins to seem worth living again. But Holmes is a man who despises sentiment and Watson cannot seem to expunge it from his heart. Notes: congrats, you've made it to the end!! so now i must confess that it's been a loooong time since i've read this fic, but the private note i left on my bookmark was just "holy shit", so i'm sure it's a banger. i'm also sure it has angst because i love angst and i love bookmarking angst so i can read it again and again and suffer infinitely. enjoy :)

anyways, now that i've put these all here i realized how much i enjoy angst and hurt/no comfort fics. if any of you guys have a favorite fic you want to link or want to plug your own writing, feel free to!

#i hope this is coherent #or at least helpful to someone lol #sherlock holmes #acd holmes #granada holmes #granada johnlock #acd johnlock #fic rec #acd johnlock fic rec #granada johnlock fic rec

269 notes · View notes

vivgst · 4 months

Text

She hates monotony and loves the new challenge she finds in you, so she won't rest until she gets her way, as always.

Pinning this so new folks will know I write.

Part two here

Her eyes wandered curiously around the bar and she rolled her eyes. It was more of the same and she was already tired of spending her money on sex she didn't find really good in the first place.

The same women, the same uniforms that were uncomfortable to even look at, the same playful glances that didn't provoke anything and she wanted to leave, but her men were drooling all over the place and she didn't want to be a killjoy, more than she already was.

Men are so easy to satisfy…

Her eyes landed on a table in the back and she saw you, with an icy gaze as you judged everything that was happening around you and she wondered if you worked there, which was a little obvious considering you were collecting used glasses from that table.

But you didn't match the place, you weren't wearing a uniform, you had a black dress that hugged your body and was full of rhinestones that looked excessively expensive and she raised an eyebrow curiously. You weren't the owner, she knew that.

“That dress looks too expensive to wear it in this place.” She spoke in a low voice, you turned to look at her and to her surprise, you kept her gaze, impassively and blankly.

“That way, only men who can pay for me will approach me.” You responded, walking towards the bar to wash the glasses and she followed you, snickering. You were a brat, she liked that.

“You are not a stripper.”

"No".

"Why?"

“I don’t need to do that crap to get customers’ attention.” You said in a monotone voice and narrowed your eyes at her, looking her up and down but that didn't offend her, it amused her, it intrigued her. “As you can see.” You added in a mutter.

“Ah, cabrón…” She raised her eyebrows and let out a chuckle, shaking her head. “Me salió mamona la gringa”.

“No soy gringa.”

“Pareces.”

"But I’m not. And you’re wasting my time, if you’re not going to pay for me then you can leave.” You were bratty, pedantic and she liked that, it would be more fun to watch you beg and she would do it, she promised herself.

Maybe it wasn’t going to be easy, but she was used to it, working hard was something she had to do on a daily basis.

“I bought you the moment I saw you, chula.”

You weren't in the mood to do this, but it was never something you could decide for yourself, so you guided her towards the back of the club, to the largest room, because although you had never spoken to her you knew she was El Sin Nombre, and that she always spent too much money.

Valeria looked all over the room, it suited you, it didn't match the rest of the place either, it was very luxurious.

Her gaze returned to you and she gave you a look up and down, the mocking tinge in her eyes was obvious but that didn't faze you, accepting humiliation was part of the job and no one was important enough to offend you anyway.

“You look frigid, even though you are beautiful.”

"I am". You muttered nonchalantly. She hummed thoughtfully and sat on the couch, pouring herself a glass of whiskey. Valeria was smart, she knew you wouldn't do anything beyond serving her sexually, however she was curious about you, which was quite noticeable and made you want to roll your eyes.

“A pretty face is not enough to sell as much as you claim.”

“Yet here you are.” She gave you a warning look that you almost missed, because you weren't interested in being afraid of her, despite everything that was said about her. "Men like to know that I'm hating what they're doing to me and that I can't do anything about it, it makes them feel they have power, power that they don't possess outside of this room."

You had a point, and it made sense, which made Valeria feel sick.

She wanted to mold you, take away that mask of coldness, she didn't want you to hate her hands, she wanted to make you addicted to them. However, she knew she should be patient with you, and she didn't care.

Since she had gained power, no one had refuted anything and although at first that filled her ego, it had become boring and she had found a new challenge in you.

"And what do you know to do?" She asked, you knelt in front of her, reaching her pants, which took her by surprise, but she grinned and leaned back on the couch.

“I'm good with my tongue.” You said nonchalantly as you nimbly got rid of her pants and underwear. She gently grabbed your chin and pulled your face up so you were looking into her eyes, which made you feel vulnerable for a moment.

“Then show me.” Valeria murmured, drinking from her glass but not taking her eyes off you.

#valeria garza #valeria cod #valeria x reader #valeria mw2 #cod mw2 #valeriathirst #thirsty #modern warfare 3 #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza smut #valeria garza x you #cod x reader #mw2 #modern warfare #call of duty #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare

390 notes · View notes

space-mango-company · 13 days

Text

Stranger | Chapter 5

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread!! Holy moly. Here it is, folks. The scene that inspired this whole fic. I had fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it. Once again, I appreciate everyone who likes, comments, and/or leaves kudos so much. I really started this fic for myself but good golly, that dopamine rush whenever I get a notif might be more addicting than spice. I'm glad to be part of the bald man brigade.

Also, I can't believe I'm only now questioning why I decided to write this in the second person? I guess maybe I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and not that deep, lol. At this point 'y/n' probably has enough personality to just be a straight-up OC. It's funnier because I don't even find second-person or y/n fics any more engaging either. I always detach myself by giving 'y/n' her own name and only seeing her as a character in the fic.

ANYWAY, sorry to ramble. Stay safe and have a good one, ya weirdos.

You step out into the dark cul-de-sac of the guest hall, illuminated only by the large suspensor lamp in the middle. Feyd-Rautha looks you up and down, seemingly entranced by how the dim light casts his shadow on your modest dress. Atreides blue, he recognized.

"Trying to sneak into my rooms again?" you say arms crossed, leaning on your door. "I didn't appreciate the last time, by the way."

"It's my house," he says cooly, "and I did knock this time."

You stare at him indifferently.

"Quite the display from you yesterday morning, using The Voice on me." His voice low and raspy, "I should have you drawn and quartered."

You scoff in his face. "You almost choked me to death. Are you trying to start a war?"

He takes a step closer and his face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek, "I didn't think I'd like you this much, little hawk."

"What do you want, Feyd-Rautha?" you had no patience for him right now.

"Ah," he steps back, a dark smile on his face, "I've been waiting to hear my name from your tongue." His hand reaches for your lips. "I've grown quite tired of 'na-Baron'."

You grab his wrist before he can touch you. "If you're only here to toy with me, I would rather be left alone to prepare for bed." You release his hand and turn to open your door.

Feyd-Rautha props an arm against the doorway to block you. "We're to be married in three days," he says, "and I just can't seem to bring myself to let go of my 'harpies', as you called them." He meets your gaze. "You said you'd kill them. Did you mean that?"

You look up at him with steely eyes. He towered over you but your heart felt no fear, "Yes."

His coy smile returns. "Good. Come to my training hall tomorrow," he says, walking away.

"What?" you call after him.

"Dress to fight," he says over his shoulder. "I want to see what you can do, Atreides."

You needed no help from Zora in putting on a loose shirt and long pants. The plain beige outfit certainly wasn't as elegant as the dresses you had been wearing so far. But it was comfortable and you could fight in it, which was all that mattered. Still, you look yourself in the mirror. The soft, airy fabrics draped over your figure well but perhaps you were not in the best shape as you once were. Your muscle mass is much less than your brother's and he wasn't particularly built himself. You admit you did wane off your training sessions with Gurney and Paul leading up to your departure from Caladan. Nevertheless, you were still a skilled warrior. Another secret you've been keeping from the Harkonnens.

You were 14 when you started learning the blade. Watching Paul, 2 years your senior, practice with the Atreides Warmaster lit a fire in you. You didn't hesitate to pester your father to let you train with them and of course, there was nothing he could deny his darling daughter. You were a fierce and determined student. Gurney Halleck was a man you genuinely believed to be one of the best fighters in the Imperium, along with Duncan Idaho. Gurney would train you and Paul on even days. On odd days, your mother would teach you the Weirding Way. These lessons, much like the rest of your mother's teachings, your father wanted to know nothing about. After becoming decently adept at Prana-Bindu and gaining almost complete physical control of your body, Lady Jessica insisted that you also be skilled in the Bene Gesserit style of combat.

You were far from mastery in either but the combination of both trainings made you a formidable fighter. Despite this, you could never seem to beat your brother in a sparring match. A fact that frustrated you to no end, though you appreciated that Paul never went easy on you. You'd always blame it on him having trained for longer than you have. But in truth, you knew there had just always been something special about him.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Zora's soft voice wakes you from your thoughts.

"Hm? Right. Yes, let's go." You quickly tie your hair out of the way and grab your father's dagger from atop your dresser.

There was no fanfare when you entered the hall. On one end, the na-Baron's concubines sat chained on the steps of the shallow recessed pit in their leathers, their glares piercing through you. Your eyes linger on them as Feyd-Rautha and his Warmaster greet you.

"I was starting to think my lady bride was bluffing," Feyd-Rautha says as you approach him. The older man beside him offers you a polite bow.

"Perhaps she wasn't so keen on your brutish games," you bite back. "Your lord uncle won't be joining us?"

"No," Feyd-Rautha crosses his arms, "but he'll be hearing about your victory. Or your demise."

"Right. Well, I assume you'll be releasing them from those chains," you nod towards his pets "Not sure why they're necessary."

"Oh, trust me, little hawk. They're necessary." Feyd-Rautha motions to a servant.

"Your blade and shield, my lady," they bow, presenting you with a knife and a small device you recognize as a Holtzman shield.

"I've brought my own," you unsheath your father's dagger. You contemplate taking the shield but remembering that the na-Baron forwent it during his gladiator fight, you decide to do so as well. "They've no weapons anyway, the shield seems pointless."

Feyd-Rautha shrugs, "If you insist."

You take a deep breath, "Let's get this over with."

You lightly stretch as you walk down the steps of the shallow pit to stand opposite the na-Baron's concubines. You had come into this on the pretense of righteousness. For Iassa, you told yourself. But you've known her a mere two days. A part of you wanted to show off. You were good and you knew it. You could probably kill anyone in this room, even Feyd-Rautha. You craved the respect of the people here: the Harkonnens, the people of Geidi Prime. You figured this was one way to get it.

Feyd-Rautha walks around the pit to one of his concubines and kneels to whisper something in her ear. You assume a fighting stance when he moves to release her from the chains. When you meet her eyes, they are filled with feral bloodlust.

Suddenly, you weren't so bold. The veil of courage you have maintained since you arrived, even when Feyd-Rautha had your neck in his grip, is torn apart when you face this woman. You could tell no part of her would hesitate to rip your throat out with her bare teeth. You were almost relieved they were unarmed, but you weren't sure if that would make them any less lethal.

Fear grew in your chest and you had less than a moment to recite the Litany in your head before the concubine lunged at you.

You crouch down in time and slash at her abdomen as she approaches you. You turn to face her on the other side of the pit and she wastes no time in attacking you again. She attempts to grab your armed hand but you take hold of her wrist first and move to pin it behind her back. Quickly, your blade drags across her throat and she falls to your feet.

The kill has not yet registered in your mind but your heart is racing. You can almost hear your blood coursing through your veins. You held your arms outstretched, your eyes focused ahead, ready for the next one.

Across the pit, Feyd-Rautha licks his lips, smiling as he releases his second concubine. This time, you walk toward her while she moves to attack you. You clock her head with the pommel of your dagger and knock her a few steps back. She reaches a hand to wipe the blood beginning to drip out of her nose. After examining it, she snarls and bares her sharp teeth at you. Your mind is blank now. She dodges your first slash then manages to land a blow to your jaw. You seethe from the pain. You spit out the mixture of blood and saliva filling your mouth. The anger at the hit drives you to rush at her. Seeing an opening, you duck down to her waist and stab her twice. As she falls to her knees, the look of determination doesn't leave her eyes until the very last moment.

When you turn around, Feyd-Rautha has already released the last concubine. The ruthless scream she lets out disorients you. She pounces and knocks you over. She straddles you and pins your arms to the ground, your blade sliding inches away. She screams again in your face at the death of her sisters. You wedge your right knee between you and her abdomen, the only thing keeping her teeth from reaching your throat. You grunt as you struggle to free your hands. In your periphery, you see Feyd-Rautha, wielding his own blade, take a step into the pit.

"GET BACK," you roar, and he is powerless to refuse.

You turn back to your opponent still on top of you and you butt her head with your own. She loosens her grip and you kick her off to hastily crawl to your weapon. When she reorients herself and attempts to grab you again, you hook a knee under her arm and flip the both of you over. With your weight on her chest and both your knees pinning her arms down, she thrashes underneath you, claws digging into your right ankle. You take your blade in both hands and her screaming is silenced when you sink your knife deep into her heart.

When you rise, the room is quiet. Your chest heaves. The stark white ceiling lights don't help the lightheadedness that begins to wash over you in the post-adrenaline rush. Feyd-Rautha says something from behind you but his speech is garbled as you reel from the thrill of what just transpired. You were electrified. You almost... wanted more.

Then, the realization of the revolting scene you are in settles upon you and you are knocked off your high. You look at the leather-clad bodies scattered around you, the grotesque way they lay on the floor, the red blood pooling around them made brighter by the sterile grayness of the room. You did this.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it. In reflex, you turn and raise your blade at the offender.

Feyd-Rautha holds his hands up, "Whoa, easy, Atreides. Trying to kill me? Don't want to start a war, do you?"

You yield your weapon. Your eyes dodge his as you look to your feet and try to steady your breathing.

"Enjoy your first taste of blood?" Feyd-Rautha says, the look in his eyes indecipherable to you. He raises a hand and swipes his thumb on your cheek. It comes away covered in crimson.

You gasp and reach for your face with your own hand. You don't even know if it's your blood or theirs, or when it got on you. Your heart pounded, unable to decide whether you were repulsed or proud.

"Look at you," he says licking the red off his finger. You could not help but stare at him through the strands of your hair that had come undone in the fighting. "You're beautiful like this," his hand reaches for your face again.

"No," you say low and quiet when you swat his hand away, "you're sick." You didn't know if you meant him or yourself. You calmly turn to leave. No one stops you when you make your way up the shallow steps of the pit. As you pass Iassa—no, Zora—by the doorway, you tell her flatly, "Prepare a bath."

You had never taken a life before. Today, you took three. You were glad you didn't know their names. You decided you'd never find out.

After Zora pours a final pitcher of hot water into the bath, you tell her, "You may go. I'll dress myself later, thank you."

She bows and makes her way out of your rooms.

In your solitude, you bring your knees to your chest. You had been quick to wipe the blood off your cheek before you even reached your quarters. Now, you cup the water into your hands and rub it into your face, the slight sting of the heat comforting you.

He was a cruel man, your betrothed. This is what you've decided. Having you kill the concubines he claimed to want to keep so much. But wasn't it you who threatened to kill them? He started it, you argue with yourself, when he had Iassa killed. You felt like a child.

When you used to hear of Feyd-Rautha's exploits, you had to mask your disgust. And yet now, you had killed so easily in that pit as he had in the arena. What was this place doing to you?

When you left Caladan, Paul had never killed anyone either. You wonder if he ever does, would he feel the same exhilaration you did when you slit that first concubine's throat. No. Your brother was fierce but, like your father, he had a good heart. You beat him by three. You hoped it would stay that way.

You think about your future here, marrying Feyd-Rautha. Producing heir after heir under the Baron's watchful eye. You were a broodmare. Despite all your fancy training and education. Despite your little demonstration earlier. It was the bitter truth.

You missed home. You missed walking along the beach at night with your father. You missed your mother's gentle hands brushing your hair. You missed the banter and teasing with your brother. You missed Gurney, and Duncan, and the cold breeze on your balcony, and getting to roam free and going anywhere you pleased. When the tears come, you sink deep into the bath so they might fade away in the water.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove @mamawiggers1980 @sstardussty @aboutthenabaron

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha fic #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #atreides reader #dune #dune part two #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

309 notes · View notes

rustedhearts · 11 months

Text

the incident ♡ part i (boxer!steve x librarian!fem reader)

summary: a brutal argument and steve's terrible temper drive you away from your malibu home. steve loses you again, and this time, you're both left wondering: has he lost you for good this time?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring ✶ part ii, part iii ✶ main masterlist

tags: angst, so toxic, more manhandling (mostly just Steve grabbing her), shoving, brutal verbal argument, Steve is genuinely terrible, also there's like no build-up, we get straight to it lol.

a/n: this is it, folks. this is the incident, the one that changes everything for steve and libby. it's rough to read, and this is your warning now that it's bordering domestic abuse. but once again, i will never write explicit violence against women (as in, he will never hit her).

malibu, california, november 1992

"Every time. You do this every fucking time, Steve."

The back of your head was just as pretty as the front, but Steve hated the sound of your voice when it was yelling at him. He deserved it, of course—he always did. But that sharp, scolding snap—it enraged him. No matter how much he deserved it, no matter how awful he'd been. Steve hated being yelled at.

"Do what? He was askin' for it."

"Asking for it? Do you hear yourself? You knocked him out cold, you fucking prick!"

Steve stopped short in the open doorway of your Malibu home, holding the doorframe. Freshly cleaned, scented of lemon cleaner, a little slick on the floor. He watched you stomp up the carpeted stairs in your little heels, bag swinging with every pound of your feet. You had that pursed, scrunched look on your face he knew all too well.

But when you yelled at him, he just wanted to yell back.

So, he followed suit, quickly closing the distance between the pair of you. He reached the bedroom just as you threw your purse onto the bed, whipping around to head toward the closet.

"So fuckin' what? I'm just supposed to let some creep—"

"—oh my god, Steve! How many more times are we gonna do this? Its-it's fucking driving me insane!" you shrilled, turning to stare at him in exasperation from his position in the doorway.

Steve huffed, stepping into the closet toward his array of black fabrics on the other side. He whipped his shirt off and let it pool on the ground, belt clinking as he slid it from the buckle.

"Yeah, whatever. How d' you think I feel when I see guys like that all over you, huh? I mean, Jesus Christ, he was practically drooling on your tits, Libby," Steve snarled, hands waving in those open, empty gestures that you always rolled your eyes at.

You paused in your pursuit of changing clothes. Comfortability could wait. Steve needed to understand how infuriating it was to be tugged at and shielded like a doll. How enraging it was to be treated like nothing more than his object, something to possess and hold onto.

You felt like a toy in the tight grip of a boy that refused to grow up.

"He wasn't doing anything. We were talking, Steve. Would you have reacted that way if it were a woman?"

Steve rolled his eyes this time, shoving his jeans over his thighs toward his ankles. He kicked them off, reaching for a pair of loose, black Nike shorts that he usually wore around the house.

He kept his back to you as he yanked them over his hips, slung low enough to show the newly cut muscles he'd gained over gruesome training for higher-stake title fights. He'd been training at a rigorous pace that worried anyone not on his payroll—you most of all.

He was always littered in bruises, always sporting some kind of migraine bordering concussion—and most of all, his anger was at an all time high. If it wasn't something you did, it was something you hadn't done. If it wasn't you, it was anyone nearest you that breathed wrong. It was anyone, anywhere, anytime. No one was spared of Steve's wrath.

But you bared the brunt of it.

"No, because a woman wouldn't be slobbering all over you—"

"—we were talking, Steve! Something you and I don't seem to be doing lately. So yeah—"

"—what? What the fuck are you talking about?" Steve's face screwed sideways, body turning to face you finally.

"—yeah, I'm gonna talk to someone who actually listens to me. It's like talking to a brick fucking wall with you lately."

Steve reared back, then jutted forward: chin first, eyebrows furrowed, eyes squinted inquisitively. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He hadn't been listening to you?

"Well, maybe I'm fucking tired after working all day, honey. Maybe I don't wanna hear you whine and complain about how boring it is—"

"—ew, God, did you just say that? Do you hear yourself? You think you're so fuckin' important. So fuckin' high and mighty now that you're in Hollywood, right?"

Steve glared at you, jaw tightening. "You know I don't give a shit about—"

"Oh," you snapped, brows raising. "Oh, you don't? No? No, you didn't throw a tantrum after you lost that fight last year?"

"No—"

"You didn't freak the fuck out when Title didn't cut you 'what you deserved' after the Davidson fight?"

"No, don't twist my fuckin'—"

You were standing toe to toe now, Steve half-clothed and barefoot, the dress you'd been wearing all day still sticking to your skin from Californian heat and a humid gym. Your feet were killing you. Your face was flaming hot. Steve's nostrils were flaring rapidly and his breathing was growing unsteady.

This had been building up. After months of fighting and making up, after weeks of giving silent treatments only to be suckered into his kisses and murmured apologies. Months of picking up pieces of picture frames he broke in outburst, deciding to hang them up without the glass to keep from breaking because you couldn't afford his temper. Weeks of wondering when you'd break, when you'd finally snap and ask what the hell happened to the man that protected you, loved you, made you feel like something special and cherished?

Because the man standing in front of you was nothing like the man you first met. The man standing in front of you, millions of dollars richer and all the worse for it, was a cold, hard shell of who you once knew.

"I know you, Steve. You might think you can fool me by pretending you don't care about Hollywood and money and fame but—I know you, Steven. And all you care about," you stepped closer, glaring up the tip of your nose at the broad, fuming boxer, "is your ego."

It was the one-fingered push to his chest that set him off. You were on your way through the door, heading back into the bedroom to put space between the pair of you. But Steve wouldn't let you have the last word. Steve wouldn't let you be right.

"Oh, but it's my 'ego' payin' for all this, isn't it? Huh? I haven't heard you complainin' about all those diamonds around your neck, right?"

The grip Steve had on your arm was all too familiar, and he used it to yank you back around with a force that made you flinch. His hand burned where it wrung your bicep, and you ground your teeth to keep the tears at bay. You wouldn't cry prematurely. You had every right to scream and rage right now.

And with the way Steve was looking at you right now, all condescending pouts and head tilts, chasing your gaze when you wouldn't give it to him because he wanted to corner you—it made you feel truly insane.

"Yeah, you don't care so much about my 'ego' when I'm fundin' your lifestyle, do you, sweetheart? When I'm buyin' all those pretty dresses and fueling a fuckin' jet." Steve punctuated the sharp snap of his teeth with a tightened grip on your arm, using it to yank you into his chest.

You shoved at his chest, eyes starting to burn. "So fucking take it, Steve. I don't want any of it."

Steve tipped his head again, face too close for your liking. You suddenly didn't find those swampy eyes so endearing. The menacing sneer he wore in the ring wasn't so handsome up close.

"No?—"

"No!" you snapped, shoving him again, glaring up at him with wet eyes. "Take it all back, you fucking asshole! It means nothing to me. I was here for you. I was here because I loved you!"

You were crying now, and you hated yourself for it. Why wouldn't you just be strong, breathe through it? Why did he always have to get the best of you? Why did he always have to make you cry?

Steve was silent this time, and it almost made you feel worse. Since when did he have nothing to say to 'I love you?' With a whimpered grunt building in your throat, you shoved your forearm into Steve's stomach, urging him away. His hand loosened around your other arm just enough for you to rip it away, and with another shove to his chest, you yanked free from his hold and stomped toward the closet.

"Here, take it all back, you fucking dick!"

You hurled your clothes toward the bedroom where Steve was fuming at the end of the bed, glaring at all the items piling on the plush, cream carpet. Dresses, skirts, shoes, purses. When you returned to the bedroom, you yanked the pearl drop earrings from your ears and tossed them toward his looming figure. His eyes hardened when they barely brushed his nose.

"There, have it, Steve," you snapped.

You stomped toward the door, rushing for the stairs. Stepping over the mess you made, Steve was quick to follow, bare feet padding the freshly cleaned wood until they met the carpet of the stairs again. You ignored him, sniffling and wiping at your tears, until he took one large step in front of you. You took one back, bumping into the entryway wall as a result.

Blocking your path to the kitchen, Steve crossed his arms and glared down at you. He had you cornered. "Don't act like you're so fucking innocent here, honey," he sneered.

You rolled your eyes, mirroring his stance and folding your arms. "Yeah, I'm sure you'll find something to dock me for, Steven. What did I do this time, huh? Did I breathe wrong?"

"You always fucking flirt with them. You always flirt with other guys, and you know what that does to me. You do it just to fuck with my head." Steve tapped his temple and you tipped your head back with a groan.

"God, you're still on this? I don't flirt with anyone, Steve! The only man I want to be with is you!" Though you weren't so sure you even wanted that anymore.

You wanted Steve—grumpy but lovable, privately sweet and adorable with a dry sense of humor that always made you giggle even when he wasn't trying to be funny. You wanted the Steve that brought you flowers every time he came to pick you up back home in Indiana. You wanted the Steve that begged to wash your hair because he 'liked how your shampoo smelled,' and the Steve who watched you sleep because 'you looked so pretty.'

You didn't want Steve 'The King of the Ring.' You didn't want the Steve that glared and screamed and treated you like another opponent in the ring.

"Oh, yeah? Well what was so fuckin' funny that you had to caress that guy's arm today? Tell me, baby. Was he just so fucking funny—"

"—Jesus, Steve, shut up!"

The tip of Steve's finger bumped your nose when it came to point in your face. "Don't tell me to shut up."

You smacked his hand away, rivaling his mean stare with one of your own. If stares could slice, Steve's head would be in pieces by now.

"Or what?"

The apple of Steve's cheeks were round and red, and a splotchy trail of heat began to scale the length of his neck. You should have shut up. You should have walked away.

You should've left him months ago when you cut your finger cleaning up another one of his messes and he told you to 'be more careful.'

You shouldn't love a man like this.

"Stop it, Libby," he told you lowly, head shaking. "I don't wanna do this with you."

You scoffed, brushing your hair away from your forehead. It was starting to gather a sheen of sweat. "Yeah, right. You only wanna yell at me when I don't yell back, right? You push, and push, and push, and then call me crazy when I finally explode, right, Steve?"

Steve dropped his arms and placed his hands on his hips. His shoulders shrugged in that cocky, douchebag way that always had you boiling.

"I mean...if the shoe fits."

And it was there that any chance of dropping this argument went out the window. It was there that you truly lost it.

Bobbing your head, you dropped your own hands and used them to shove Steve's chest, punctuating every word with a little nudge. You were only adding fuel to the fire, but you were too enraptured by your own fury to care. Finally you were angry, and finally it felt good.

"Oh, is that right? Well, you know what they say about you, Steve? You're just. Like. Your. Daddy."

The house fell silent. You weren't sure Steve was even breathing. But he was staring at you, eyes void and face blank. The only sound that filled the emptiness was the thump of your own heart, like a gong reverberating in your ears.

The regret didn't have a moment to sink in before Steve lunged back into place and slammed his hands into the wall on either side of your head. You jumped, freezing stock-still between his arms caging you in. Your breathing shallowed, caught in the center of your throat.

"Oh, yeah?" Steve growled, tipping his head to find your eyes again. "That's how you feel, honey?"

"Well," you swallowed, steeling your nerves. Steve wouldn't get the best of you today. "If the shoe fucking fits."

"Shut up!"

The impact of Steve's fist against the drywall felt like a firework in your ear. Earth-shattering, ear-splitting, jolting you so hard you lost your breath for a moment. You felt the whoosh of air when he reared back, felt the boom of his hand breaking the foundation. It crumbled in chunks of shattered plaster, clattering against the hardwood.

The room around Steve seemed to vignette. Shadows gathered around the shape of his face, and the space in your lungs shrunk to a minuscule amount. You suddenly couldn't breathe. There was no room in your body for air. Your ears hurt and your cheeks felt swollen, the way they do when you're about to be sick. That sore, stinging ache that came from the onset of tears gathered behind your eyes.

Steve's face went through a series of shifts in the next few palpable moments of silence. First, contorted in anger: brows furrowed and angled down, lip curled into a sneering scowl, cheeks flushed hot red. Then: the brows softened and knitted together, his cheeks dimmed to a soft pink, and his mouth fell agape. His fingers uncurled from their place in the wall. More plaster fell to the floor in chips.

"Oh...oh, god, baby—"

You were out of there. You were so out of there.

You ducked under Steve's arm, still crowding you against the wall. You sprinted for the door, unconcerned about your purse or any of your belongings strewn around the house. The only thing on your mind was getting away.

"I-I'm taking the car," you stuttered out, though you weren't sure why. Maybe you were talking to yourself, reminding yourself to keep moving, to not stop. You couldn't stop. You had to keep going.

"No, don't take the car, baby—"

The jingle of keys between your fingers sounded miles away. As did Steve's voice, following you out the door with a pleading upturn and a nasally whine. He was crying. In the back of your mind, you registered that. Someplace in your head, you saw his tears, heard his pleading.

But you just kept going.

You slid into the car and slammed the door, immediately encompassed by the thick heat collected inside. The brown leather was warm. The engine rumbled to life.

Steve ran across the driveway, all flat grey stones he had redone. His bare feet collected flecks of dirt, little pebbles lodged in his heels. But he had to get to you. He lunged for the car—his car, with you in the passenger seat leaking a shower of tears he wasn't quite sure you knew you were shedding.

Steve banged on the driver window and winced at the sight of his own hand: swollen, split at the knuckles and seeping hot blood. It trickled down his hand and raced for his wrists. He hated how it stained the glass of the window, how it got all over the handle when he yanked at it.

"No, baby, please. Please, baby, open the door. Please, please, please."

You yanked the car into reverse, fingers unsteady and buzzing with some far off, tingling feeling. Everything felt like someone else's actions, someone else's body. It felt like you were watching from a distance.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't go. Baby. I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry."

You were hiccuping and choking on your own breath as you slammed your foot on the gas and whipped the car around. In the rearview, Steve jogged after the car, half naked and bleeding, and you hurried to put it in drive and haul off. You squealed out of the driveway, down the hill, and toward the end of the street, sobbing the whole way.

It was about five minutes later that you managed to get ahold of yourself. You slurped up whatever snot attempted to escape your nose, wiped it with the back of your still-trembling hand, and clicked on the turn signal to go right.

There were only two other people you knew in Malibu. Right now, you needed a friend.

♡ ♡

to be continued...

783 notes · View notes

solarpunkani · 10 months

Text

hi would like to make this clear that this is gonna be an unhinged rant about my college classes.

For context, one of my classes is a semester-long group project (hell) and I pitched the idea of solar powered community fridges to my group and we rolled with it. Here's a post i made on it previously. We don't have to make the fridges themselves, basically just talk about the problem our concept addresses (food insecurity in this case) and how we think this concept would work and how, in a hypothetical reality where we made it real, we would test to see if it worked.

Anyways we had to post the rough draft of our presentations so people in other groups could see what we were doing and comment on them with their thoughts and all. Yknow. Classic 'college class discussion board have to reply to at least one project with quality feedback' stuff. And

Man.

I am so frustrated.

Highlights:

My group keeps insisting that we should have an app for the solar fridges. I don't know why they think app design needs to fit into community fridges but they put it into the draft posted to the forum.

In this case they proposed the app would be kinda like Instacart? Where people who want to donate to the fridges but don't have groceries on them and don't feel like going to get groceries can put in money and then people will then go buy the groceries to put in the fridge. Or use the funds to help with fridge maintenance. And the fridges would have 'QR codes, links, etc. to connect community members for the common cause of helping tackle food insecurity in the community.'

Lots of the comments were pretty good! People liked the idea. There were some concerns about insulation and keeping things cool with low energy cost (the program is online but the college itself is in Georgia USA so many people are in Georgia) but yknow.

But the frustrating part to me I guess is that a lot of people seem convinced that people would use the fridges 'unfairly' and that we'd need to find a way to restrict how much food people can take out or how many times they can use it or something. Which frankly in my opinion defeats the purpose of it being a community fridge. Here are some examples of things people have said so far (comments are due tomorrow evening but I'm mad now so I'm venting now):

One student said "How will you know if the pantry is being utilized fairly?" and "How will the app work? In a dream world, this might be a way to help with tracking and accountability. (Just a thought…) Maybe folks would need to sign up on the app, they get a code… and the fridge acts as a sort of vending machine to deliver what they need. This would give you data to measure success. :)"

Which. I just. This feels completely antithetical to the purpose of a community fridge??? Or a community anything???? Little free pantries and little free libraries don't operate on a 'you get a code to access it once' vending machine basis?? We even mentioned community farm stalls/community pantries in the draft write up! And showed examples!

Another student said "Great thoughts. I am concerned about one person taking all the food for themselves. It might be a great idea to have them in an enclosed area with access control through the app that would log and lock out people who are overusing the resource. Perhaps a barcode could be added to Apple Wallet to track each individual's arrival? Possibly having a mechanized lock and opening mechanism that would only allow each fridge to be open for a specific time before automatically closing and locking? Each scan would only allow access once each 24-48 hour period, preventing "password sharing.""

I cannot emphasize enough that this is the comment that has brought me here today because with all due respect what the flying fuck do you think is the point of a community fridge! I'm already prickly about the idea of limiting access to the fridge itself to only people with cellphones, but to this degree?! Like maybe its because I'm the one who came up with the concept and I care about terms like 'mutual aid' and 'community building' and 'judgement free accessibility to food' but have these people not heard of the concept of helping people?!?! With no strings attached?!? If someone takes all the contents of a community fridge or pantry--which, seriously, how likely is that--they're probably hungry and need it! The concept of putting community resources behind a lock and limiting accessibility is just repulsive to me???

Like someone else commented with this excellent point--"As several have addressed above, I am also wondering how would you monitor use? If you use the simplicity of the honor system, it could easily be taken advantage of. However, I feel like if you were to create some sort of access code, how is it to say that they people needing the use of the fridge will have access to the necessary technology to get the code? It's a tricky situation to think about." For the purposes of this hypothetical assignment where we'd need to track how many people are using the fridges? Yeah I guess we'd need to be able to track how many people use it and when. But in reality??? In real life reality where people are living and struggling and hungry??? I just don't really give a shit!! Helping five people is better than helping none, and locking access behind technology everyone pretends is universal but really isn't is not the way to help!

And of course one of my groupmates is already commenting on all these posts like 'oh! I really like the idea of restricting access to a code! :)' even when someone said 'hey my family struggled with food insecurity when I was a kid and I think this would be helpful but not if you could only access it with an app some of the most vulnerable citizens wouldn't be able to access it I wouldn't have been able to access it' my groupmate was still like 'oh but that wouldn't be a problem today now would it? :) Maybe we should make a way to get a code without downloading the app :)' like maybe there shouldn't be an access code in the first place?!?!

Like am I crazy or like. What the fuck. Again I am here so I don't blow up on a bunch of masters students in a discussion post but like UGH

"you gotta be able to gague if the people who're using it are the people who actually need it" food insecurity can look so many different ways for so many different reasons and you can't always judge by appearances and income levels who is struggling to feed themselves or their families!! There are people who have nice jobs who are struggling because they're caring for sick family members or kids or dealing with student loans or ANYTHING! There are people with nice clothes who are trying to decide between buying groceries and paying rent! There are people living in their cars or couch surfing looking for jobs who also happen to own an XBox or a Laptop!!! "Sorry you can't access the community fridge because you don't look poor and needy enough to me. but if you do, good news--you can only use it once every 48 hours so make it last!" Bullshit utter bullshit.

I talk to people in my life about things like community fridges and little free pantries and mutual aid and the like and people are always like 'ok but theres gotta be strings attatched' BUT ACTUALLY NO THERE DON'T GOTTA!!! Maybe we could change how we view our fellow human beings and stop assuming that everyone around you are greedy little demons looking to ruin everything good and that you are the only holy and righteous saint on the streets who understands the concept of 'community resources' and 'sharing' maybe??? It's like that post about community fruit trees where people are like 'oh but what if people steal all the fruit' like HELLO? how do you STEAL a PUBLICALLY ACCESSIBLE RESOURCE

I'm tired of this goddamn class I'm tired of this goddamn group project if anyone actually has the ability to make a solar powered community fridge you have to promise to keep it accessible and not put it behind locks and QR codes and limited access and facial tracking BS promise me promise me promise me

#out of queue #community fridge #i am going to go INSANE this class is driving me INSANE have yall not HEARD OF ACCESSIBILITY #AND COMMUNITY RESOURCES????#ani rambles #solarpunkani is solarpunkangy

628 notes · View notes

valhallaas · 1 year

Text

That’s My Girl

pairing: bradley rooster bradshaw x sunshine!reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: SMUT (18+, minors dni) vaginal fingering, p in v, cream pie (wrap it up, pals) jake stirring the pot like the shithead he is

summary: when everyone but rooster sees it, there’s always a texan willing to step up to the plate.

a/n: not me cackling while writing this like some crazed woman. ya’ll can blame @glen-powells for this. the text messages can prove it.

Part 2

Part 3

It surprises you every time you come back to the Hard Deck how it hasn’t changed. At least the atmosphere. Civilians and aviators alike. Penny grins at you when you walk in. Elbowing your way through the crowd, you take a seat at the bar, leaning far enough over to let her kiss you on the cheek. Her and your mom had been best friends. Penny’s known you since you were in diapers, helped your mom through the divorce, and helped you when she passed away. You always did your best to come visit her when you could. You’re on leave for the next two months and you aren’t wasting it anywhere else but here.

“Long time no see.” Penny says as she grabs you a drink.

You only grin. “You’ll be seeing so much of me, you’ll be sick of me.”

“Is free labor included in that?”

“Always.” A two toned whistle catches your attention. Turning to look behind you, you sigh at the sight. Holy shit. They’re all here. Your eyes narrow at the blonde, his grin widening when he catches you staring. “Maybe not tonight, Pen.”

Penny shakes her head. “I didn’t think so. Go on, then.”

Throwing her a grateful smile, you’re up and heading towards the pool table. It’s a reunion, no doubt. You’d been overseas the last few months. Seeing everyone here is a blessing. You can’t help the splitting grin on your face when Bob wraps you up right in his arms. How the two of you hit it off, you’ll never know, but you aren’t complaining.

“Look who it is, folks. Our Sunny girl. Did ya’ll see it get brighter in here when she walked in?”

Your eyes roll so far into the back of your head you’re surprised they don’t get stuck. Turning, you come face to face with the blonde who’d called for your attention.

“Hangman,”

He pulls the toothpick out of his mouth and winks. “Sunshine.”

“What’s got y’all here?”

“You.” Phoenix answers, standing from where she knocked two solids in at the pool table.

You turn to look back at the bar. Penny’s already looking at you with a smirk. What a little sneak. You should’ve known she let you go too easily. Shaking your head you step forward and snag the pool stick from Hangman. He smirks, but doesn’t say anything. You quirk an eyebrow. Lieutenant Jake Seresin keeping his mouth shut? It’s a goddamn miracle. His eyes never leave you as the game finishes. Phoenix grumbles at her loss, you were three shots behind when you started. It’s not your fault that you’re good, that you’re very good. Handing the stick off to Bob, your eyes scan the bar. It’s been almost thirty minutes since you got here. It’s a Saturday night and the bar is busy.

No Hawaiian shirt in sight. No porn mustache spotted anywhere. Your shoulders deflate. If everyone else is here, why isn’t he?

“Who you looking for, Sunshine?”

You glance sideways. “Wouldn’t like to know.”

Jake only grins. “Your bird boy ain’t here yet. Had a meeting with Maverick, I believe.”

Fucking Christ. Are you really that hopeless when it comes to him? So exposed that even Bagman can tell that your head over heels for Rooster? It’s not like it’s your fault. If you had it your way, you’d be happy with your own company. But the heart wants what the heart wants.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do. Because as much as you pine for him, Bradshaw is a dumbass.”

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t noticed, Sunny. You’re still that kid from down the road. You need to do something to make him see you.”

The thought has crossed your mind. You’ve known Bradley so long that he probably didn’t think of you that way. Your teeth bite into your cheek, hands fiddling with the hem of your dress. You don’t miss the way Hangman’s eyes take you in. His gaze lingering on your bare thighs. You huff out a small laugh, pulling his attention back to your face.

You and Jake have a weird relationship. He annoys you to no end but you trust him with your life. Pretty sure you’re the only one in the bar that does. Jake’s been protective of you since you met at Top Gun. A relationship without the relationship, you suppose.

“Can always stir the pot,”

You blink. “What?”

“Make him jealous, Sunny.” A snort escapes you and you slap a hand over your mouth. Jake’s smile is wide, his head falling back with a deep chuckle. “Oh, Sunny girl.”

“I have no one to make him jealous. Even if I did, that’s a stupid idea. What am I, in eighth grade?”

“Honey, look at who you’re talking to.”

Green eyes devour you when you look up at him. He is right. No one gets under Rooster’s skin more than Hangman. You bite your lip, unsure. You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. But there’s a fire in Hangman’s eyes, like he’s got a point to prove. Playing with the hem of your dress, you scrape the toe of your shoe against the floor. Fuck it, really, what do you have to lose?

“What are we going to do, exactly?”

Jake raises his hand, cupping the side of your face. His thumb lightly drags over your bottom lip before pulling it down. He pulls it away and looks down at the faintly smeared mauve color now on the pad. He lifts it up to his mouth and rubs it in.

“What are you doing?”

His lips tilt into a knowing smirk. “Teasin’.”

He’s going to get you in trouble. Lifting a hand to your own mouth, it’s smacked lightly. Sharp eyes glare at him.

“Go pick out a song. Let’s dance.”

“Dance?”

“Yeah, Sunshine, dance. Now go, and pick out a good one.”

You roll your eyes but do as you're told. Eyes follow you the whole way to the jukebox. You lean over, just a bit, the bottom of your dress rising up to tease. Was that why you wore it? Maybe. You wouldn’t tell. Flipping through the songs, you pause a few pages back, a knowing smile taking over your face. Putting the money in, you twirl back to face Jake. When the song starts playing he laughs.

“Honey, you are playing dirty.”

“You started it.”

“Well, you do have your boots on.” He says toeing your Ariats.

“Come on, Texas. Show me how to boogie.”

“You are asking for trouble.”

An eyebrow raises. “Pot, meet kettle.”

Jake doesn’t say anything else. His hand grabs for yours, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you tightly to him. You can’t help but gasp when his thigh slots between yours. Tightening your grip on his shoulder, he twirls you both out and makes room to have a dance floor. The other patrons cheer while watching. A few cat calls thrown your way. A carefree laugh makes its way from you. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this way. It’s silly, really. To think that teasing a grown ass man made you feel this way.

“Just a heads up, Sunny girl, Bradshaw’s been watching since you went to pick out the song.” Your heart drops. What now? You go to turn your head, to try to find him, anything, really, but are stopped short. Jake slides his hand into your hair keeping you still. “Stop. You’re going to ruin it. I can see his fucking vein bulging from here.”

This is a good thing, right? This is what you wanted? His attention? Jake knows what he’s doing. He’s never led you astray before. Hopefully he won't start now. Jake lets you go, hanging you out with one hand before twirling you around. You’re facing away from him now, and you come face to face with Rooster. You inhale sharply, the smell of him overwhelming you.

“What’s going on here?” He asks, no preamble.

“We’re dancing, I know you have eyes, Bradshaw.”

Bradley looks from Hangman down at you. Head to toe his eyes blaze over you. A fire touching your skin. Licking at the top of your exposed breasts and down your thighs. You can see his lips twitch. The man knows you. His hand reaches out, pinches the fabric of the dress, rolling it between his fingers. It’s his favorite color, and by the look in his eyes you know he knows you wore it just for him.

“Hey Sunshine.”

“Hi Rooster.”

“Couldn’t wait for me, huh?”

You frown. Opening your mouth to talk, you’re promptly cut off. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Rooster shrugs. You follow after him to the table where all your friends are. Most of them try their hardest to look as if they aren’t watching this scene play out like a movie. You jump up to sit on the table, grabbing your drink and taking a sip. You hand Hangman his beer, his glare still on the man beside you. Neither of them say anything for a long time. They just stare, having a silent conversation that you don’t know how to decipher.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for Bagman, Sunshine.” Rooster finally says.

You snort, ignoring Jake’s smirk. “He wishes.”

“That why your lipstick is on his mouth?”

“Who’s mouth should it be on? Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” Jesus Christ, he’s trying to get you into fucking trouble. Widened eyes look at Jake, his face more stoic than you’ve ever seen it.

“What does that mean?”

Hangman huffs, taking a pull from his beer. “All I’m saying Bradshaw, is that you’ve got a hell of a woman hanging off every word you say. Waiting on you to finally do something. So, you better fuck her before I do.”

Did he know you could hear him? You’re sitting like two feet away. Neither of the men back were backing down and it’s making your anxiety spike. They’ve always been at each other's throats. You’re not sure when their little feud became about you.

“Did she say that?”

“Say what?”

“Did Sunshine say that she wanted you to fuck her?”

There was no hiding the smugness in Bradley’s tone. Hook, line, and sinker. A muscle twitches in Jake’s jaw from how hard he’s clenching his teeth. Suddenly, he glances over at you and you know you must look like a deer caught in headlights. He sighs but it doesn’t sound like one of defeat. More like he’s losing his patience.

He steps towards you, thumb trailing over your bottom lip. “If it doesn't work out with him, Sunny. You know where to find me.”

Hangman turns without looking at either of you again and makes for the jukebox. Your lips quirk up when you recognize the song.

***

The sound of the door closing is your only warning. Hazel eyes meet yours in the mirror as you roll your neck. Your body relaxes when you feel him press up against your back. He’s so warm it sends chills running down your spine. The bathroom isn’t all that big. Bradley stands behind you, invading your space and swallowing it whole. There is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. It’s easy to see that Hangman’s words have gotten under your skin. Your heart thunders in your chest at what’s going to happen next. A small prayer is sent off that Penny never finds out.

“You look good, flower.”

You smile at the nickname. “Thanks. It’s always fun when you can dress up in civvy clothes.”

He huffs. “The dress is really something,”

You grin at him through the mirror and you see Adam’s apple bob, hazel eyes fixated on your lips. You swallow, your throat thick. Tearing your gaze from his, you smooth your hands down the soft material, fingers playing with the hem of it. You took a chance with it, and you’re grateful it’s working out in your favor.

The tension is thick and heady. It clings to your skin, his callouses catch on your skin, gluing themselves to you. The music from the jukebox beats against the bathroom door, it’s the only thing accompanied by your heavy breathing. Your eyes shut when his hand pulls your hair to rest over one shoulder. A light yank of your hair has them snapping open. You meet his eyes in the mirror. One eyebrow quirks up at you. With a shaky breath you nod. Bradley leans in, lips lightly brushing against the expanse of your neck. His gaze rests on the soft spot right next to where it connects to your shoulder. You tilt your neck not only to give him more access, but permission too. Your lips tilt at the groan he lets out before his lips are on you.

Slowly his hands pull your sleeves down your arms. Goosebumps rise on your exposed skin. It makes you feel a little vulnerable. But then Bradley pushes himself even closer. He’s got his Hawaiian shirt on, jeans, and his boots. You can feel him breathing, his chest warming your back. It’s when he pushes his hips against you—you can feel him. All of him. A whimper escapes you and you see him grin in the mirror.

A hand trails down your side while the other moves to your chest. Your head falls back when a nipple is taken between his calloused fingers. You’ve only dreamt of what his hands would feel like. Your imagination didn’t do him justice. The heat coming from him is intoxicating. You’ve been so caught up in him that you haven’t realized a hand has been slipping down, down down. Fingers toiling with your dress, pushing the skirt up slowly. A hum rumbles from him when his fingers finally find your core, slipping between your folds. You’re completely soaked. You’ve been this way since he appeared right in front of you. Your breath locks in your throat when he slips a digit in.

“Christ,” he mutters, voice thick like honey. “No panties, flower?”

You whine, you can’t help it. You push your hips back into him, arching your back. His voice, the accusation in his tone. You knew what you were doing when you left your house. Maybe he’d come home with you, fucking you good and proper in your bed. Not pressed up against the sink of the Hard Deck. Bradley pulls his finger out only to push it back in with another. He does this, warming up your body, until you’re moaning, your own hand wrapped around his wrist and guiding him. You can’t stop your hips from grounding down on his hand. Desire has taken over. Bradley has left your nipple, hand now wrapped around your throat, holding you hostage to watch yourself in the mirror. He grunts when you clench around his fingers. You’re close, so close.

“Bradley,” you whine, fingers digging into his arm.

“I know, flower. You want it real bad, don’t you? Let me feel it. Let me feel you gush all over my hand sweet girl. Would you like that?”

You’re going to come off his words alone. A moan falling from your lips as the pressure tightens. It’s only moments later when the band snaps, hot liquid flooding throughout your body. Your head falls back against his chest, another moan filling the small space.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.”

You can feel him moving behind you. The distinct clinking of his belt being undone. Your whole body grows hotter in anticipation. Searing heat hits you, a hand stroking himself while the other is spreading you open. Heat pulses between your legs. There’s no doubt that he’ll split you wide open. After what you just pulled with Jake, you’d be surprised if he was forgiving at all. It’s a little fucked up, but it warms your belly all the same. Lifting your head, you gasp when his eyes meet yours. Bradley’s pupils are blown, lust and primal desire have taken over. His lips pink and full, he bends down and kisses right between your shoulder blades. Traveling up your spine, over your shoulder, he digs his teeth in where it meets your neck. You don’t miss his smirk when you moan.

He slides a hand across your ass, slapping you just hard enough to leave a red handprint behind as he thrust deep, bottoming out. A hand clamps down around your mouth, muffling the scream trying to break free. He’s big, so fucking big. He’s filling you up like never before. It hurts, a pain that you will never get enough of. Your knuckles turn white with each rough, lazy thrust. Bradley slides a hand along your spine, up the back of your neck and into your hair, your breath catches as he pulls your head up and you’re meeting his gaze in the mirror. He’s watching you come undone around him. Each stroke pulling more and more pleasure. Your cheeks are flushed, pupils blown with lust, and lips parted as each of your clipped breaths turn into whimpers.

“Flower,” he grits, hand tightening in your hair, “you feel so fucking good.”

You stare back at him, feet spreading wider to let as much of him in as you can. His teeth dig into your skin again, this time leaving bruises behind. It makes you whine. Little secrets that litter your skin. He thrusts harder, rougher until your hand is pressed against the mirror just to keep you balanced. He’s fully claiming you. Cock punching into the deepest part of you. Neither of you are too worried about the sounds escaping you now.

“Bradley, I–” you're cut off by a whimper when he reaches that spongy spot deep inside you. Over and over again, you feel it approaching, your orgasm is going to come crashing down and you’re ready to bask in it. Your face lifts up, like a sunflower searching for the sun.

“Flower? Are you going to come for me again? Are you going to let me feel you come around my cock?”

“Yes! Yes, I–Rooster, fuck,”

You come on his cock like a tidal wave, and when you collapse against the counter, your body trembles, heaving desperately for air. Bradley groans, pulling you up until you’re flush against him. His lips meet yours in a messy kiss, bucking his hips harder until he’s chasing his high right over the ledge with you.

“Good girl,” he praises, wiping the sweat off the back of your neck. “Good fuckin’ girl. That’s my good girl.”

The jukebox is still blaring when you exit the bathroom. Slowly you make your way back to where your friends are. Ignoring all of their knowing stares you reach for your drink and down it. When Bradley finally makes his appearance beside you, a possessive arm thrown over your shoulders and a quick kiss to the crown of your head. Hangman’s watching the both of you, a knowing look in his eye.

“So, Bradshaw, how was she?”

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw one shot #rooster bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw one shot #bradley rooster bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfic #rooster bradhsaw fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic

1K notes · View notes