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bosspigeon · 9 months

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see me bare my teeth for you

i know i'm not the only one who thought it was incredibly stupid to let the amoral vampire twink stick his teeth in your neck, so i thought i'd do a rewrite of the bite scene with a Tav who doesn't have the self-preservation instincts of a ham sandwich~

The tiefling’s eyes burn like embers in the dark, and set deeply in the ashen-grey of his skin painted blue-black by the night’s shadows, he looks very much like a vengeful spirit risen from his grave to smite those who wronged him in his life.

But Astarion is hungry.

And now his face hurts, to boot. He didn’t expect the big devil-spawn to be able to move so damned quickly.

But, well, sore jaw or no, the cat’s out of the bag, so he has no choice but to resort to his usual means of survival, however much it rankles–he grovels. He simpers and plays up the pitiful creature, weak from hunger, with all the best puppy eyes he can muster, pouty and sweet.

The tiefling–Pyre–he’s a veteran soldier, with the discipline and strategic mind to match. Astarion watches those glowing ember eyes as they take him in, flickering over him top to bottom, as if ascertaining what sort of threat he is, and how quickly he could eliminate that threat. He hasn’t even bothered to stand up, still sitting on his bedroll, not quite relaxed but as close as he ever seems to be. He doesn’t seem to be so paranoid as to sleep in his armor, but his massive broadsword is lying conspicuously close to his hand. Astarion curses that he didn’t have the foresight to kick it away before he tried to snack on the big bastard.

He wants to snarl, but he hides his fangs the best he can, however much his stomach protests, however much he wants to sink them into the brute’s stony flesh and feed.

“You tried to bite me,” Pyre rumbles, and finally something in his expression shifts with the slight quirk of one scarred brow. Astarion follows the line of the scar down over his cheekbone, narrowly missing his eye. It is one of many. The man’s face and–as one can only assume–his body are mapped with scars, wicked blade slashes and puckered burns and jagged claw gouges. A lifetime of battles fought carved into his skin like a mountain battered by storms. Still standing, against it all. “How can I trust you?”

“Because we don’t have a choice!” the vampire retorts, with perhaps more desperation than he’d ever care to admit. “Not if we’re going to save ourselves from these worms…” He flails his hand a bit, looking at the ground between the tiefling’s splayed legs and staunchly not at his damnably expressionless face, his burning ochre eyes. From what little he knows of Pyre, he is a man of action. Of practicality. Of making necessary decisions with what little they have. Astarion is an asset to the tiefling, same as the tiefling is to him. “I need you alive. You need me strong.” He meets Pyre’s eyes again, and he almost regrets it. The heat of them settles deep in his belly, making him feel unsettlingly warm and… seen. “Please,” he ekes out, refusing to be consumed. He does the consuming, thank you very much. “Only a taste, I swear. I’ll be well, you’ll be fine, and everything can go back to normal.” It’s all he’s got. He’s already weak. For all his bravado, if Pyre decided to attack him now, he’s not entirely sure of what sort of fight he’d be able to put up.

Pyre is implacable, his expression as blank and unmoving as a grey cliff face from which he seems to have been hewn. He looks to be completely immune to Astarion’s game.

The vampire tenses, preparing for a fight.

There’s a long moment of silence, and in it Astarion swears can hear every pulse of the stolen blood he does have coursing sluggishly through his corpse-cold body.

The mountain of a tiefling shifts. His gaze does not falter. But he nods, once. “Fine,” he rasps, and Astarion will never quite be over how strangely soft his voice is. “But not a drop more than you need.”

“Really?” He reels back, surprised, almost sure the man would either send him on his merry way to fumble through the underbrush until he stumbled across a sickly deer, or put him out of his misery then and there. “I-” He’s certainly not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, however. He smooths his expression, reigns in his untoward eagerness.“Of course. Not one drop more.”

And then they stare at each other, for a beat, then two. Astarion standing, Pyre sitting up, watching him, eyebrows slightly raised and the dim firelight flickering across the contours of his damnably blank face.

“I… Wouldn’t be easier if you…” Astarion purses his lips, eyes flicking up briefly and then back down again. He gestures awkwardly to the rumpled bedroll. “Had a bit of a lie-down?”

“You’re not touching my neck,” Pyre says simply. His gambeson’s high collar is very firmly buttoned. To be quite honest, Astarion’s not sure how he thought to get past it without either waking the tiefling trying to get it out of the way, or gnawing through a mouthful of wool. Before Astarion can ask what he’s meant to do, then, Pyre extends a hand. Without his gauntlets, it is as callused and scarred as one would imagine of a veteran swordsman. His nails are thick and black and look as if they have been filed down to utilitarian dullness from naturally sharp points. He turns his hand palm-up, unbuttoning the cuff of his sleeve and pushing it over the swell of his muscular forearm. There, a prominent vein snakes through the tough grey flesh, pulsing temptingly at the thin, vulnerable skin of his wrist. There are scars there, too, but older. Faded to a dull white. Neat lines in a row almost up to the elbow.

Astarion drops to his knees with a pout. “Alright, alright. Ruining my fun…”

“The blood is all the same,” Pyre says flatly, “Don’t complain about where it comes from.”

“Fine,” the vampire huffs, taking the proffered arm gently. As he draws the wrist in, saliva pooling in his mouth the closer that tantalizing vein comes to his teeth, he feels Pyre’s other hand at his shoulder. He freezes when it shifts, and strong, scarred fingers curl firmly around his throat.

His eyes flicker up to meet Pyre’s, staring at him with a coolness that belies their fiery hue. The fingers flex, but don’t squeeze.

“An assurance for me,” the tiefling rumbles, the grim line of his lips firm and implacable, jaw squared. “And a reminder for you.”

He’s not sure what he expected of his first time feeding from a thinking creature, but the reality is… more than he could have imagined.

It’s nothing short of rapturous.

There’s a squirmy weight of anticipation in his belly that sinks deep, and before he can make even more of a fool of himself, Astarion sinks his teeth into the tender skin, and a gush of dazzling heat floods his mouth. He almost moans at the taste. Almost. It feels almost too hot, like it’s going to leave his mouth feeling numb and tender, the skin peeling. And so rich. He drinks, and drinks, and drinks, wanting to lose himself in the taste, the heat of it, and never stop drinking until there’s nothing left, but he can feel the weight of Pyre’s hand around his throat every time he swallows, his thumb against his pulse, can feel yet more heat radiating from the man’s stout body, not touching his beyond the necessary points of contact, but still so close.

He takes another long, languorous pull, eyes rolling back, and when he swallows the hand on his throat squeezes hard, and he jerks away, blood rolling down his chin.

For a moment, he sits there gasping and dazed, staring wide-eyed up at Pyre, who has him by the neck. His own hand rises almost of its own accord, trembling, to his lips, fingers hungrily pushing the stray droplets of blood into his mouth, eyelids fluttering with bliss. He does moan then, and Pyre jerks his hand away, as if he’s the one who’s been burned. As if he’s the one with a burgeoning, blistering heat working its way from his belly to his extremities until his fingertips are tingling with it.

Astarion licks his fingers shamelessly, and the scalding weight of those eyes doesn’t feel quite so stifling now that he’s full of warmth. “Apologies,” he pants around the finger in his mouth, “I was just… swept up in the moment. He stumbles to his feet, head light and floaty and bright with the fresh blood slowly working its way through his body, waking it up. “But it worked!. I feel good. Strong. Happy!” He offers a mocking little bow.

Once again, Pyre looks at him as if nothing untoward has occurred between them, even as he pulls a ragged scrap of fabric that might have once been a piece of an old shirt from his pocket and wads it up to press over the wound in his wrist. He doesn’t offer any response.

“I didn’t kill you, did I? That’s what matters.” Astarion happily chatters in his stead, rushing with newfound energy, feeling as if he could take on the world. A part of him (perhaps several parts of him) are struck by the urge that he could pounce on the tiefling now, and have a fairly good shot of taking him down. Astarion would be out a powerful ally, but oh, what a meal he’d be…

He shakes himself and beams, hands on his hips. “And look what you’ve gained! Together, we can take on the world!”

Finally, finally, Pyre cracks something that could almost be called a smile. Just a slight twist of the mouth, a touch wry, and he lowers his heavy lids a bit more. “I hope so,” he almost chuckles. “I look forward to seeing you fight.”

“Shouldn’t take long,” Astarion chirps, delighted. “So many people need killing.” He offers another stilted little half-bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more… filling.”

And he turns on heel and struts out of the circle of the fire, off towards the woods. There’s a swagger in his step. He feels ready for anything. But he stops, and turns back slightly, the weight of those eyes fair burning a hole through his doublet. “This is a gift, you know,” he offers. “I won’t forget it.” And then off he goes, disappearing into the trees, and only when he is certain Pyre can no longer see him does he lean heavily against the trunk of a nearby tree until he can convince his damned knees to stop trembling. He raises a hand slowly, and brushes his fingers against his own throat, eyes closing and exhaling a shaky sigh.

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #pidge writes #oc: pyre #pyre is a 'tiefling' on paper but in reality! he's a cambion <3 #i love him dearly #also yeah i have not played the game and i will not be able to for a while #but that's never stopped me lmao #uuuh ask to tag ig?#special skill: giving vampires a crisis #i think you're a bit touch-starved mate #unprompted #been sitting on this since early access and finally decided to throw it out there yeehaw

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larnax · 1 year

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"agnea can enlist stalwart companions!!!" agnea's """"companions"""" will attack the wrong enemy 100% of the time and retreat from battle after 2 turns

#c.paradisi #octoposting #the eagle ochette grabbed 20 levels early has been more ride or die than any knight npc ever will be #oh but also i like that the characters' intro chapters will often have you fight with companions #thronés chapter actually used her companions' special skills to do some foreshadowing which was cool #and having them work like party members instead of npcs with the dumbest ai possible makes that not annoying

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oetscop · 2 years

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more random childhood neglect thoughts. within the last month ive been (re???) diagnosed with ocd and also crohns. i originally wasnt going to go through with an autism diagnosis because its damn near impossible when youre an adult and also (technically) a woman. and id have to seek out another specialist and i just. frankly dont want to do that lmao

but after talking with my pcp (who heard me talking abt ibs and was like thats absolutely not fucking ibs) shes like pretty convinced i have dyspraxia. which makes sense i mean i have adhd and im probably on the spectrum

but i never considered it. i didnt learn how to tie my shoes until i was like. 8. and its not even like..the normal way. and it always takes me a fucking long time. and i never thought anything of it. bc nobody fucking taught me how. everyone around me just KNEW. and i was keeping mine tied and just slipping my shoes on. literally a teacher taught me when i tied my shoes together one time and like was shocked that i didnt know how to fix it.

so like. who even knows. like what if thats something i wouldnt have struggled with if someone just told me how to do it? i dont fucking know.

the older i get the more resentful i am.

#hvisker fra likhuset #ill probably delete this post later idfk #also the last time i tried to get an autism diagnosis i got kicked out of the office early #dude said id be there for two hours #and he just #told me i ticked all the boxes for autism #but didnt want to move forward #after 45 minutes #and i had to walk all the way across town to get home in the pouring rain #if my mom just gave a fuck and took me somewhere as a little kid #when i was absolutely not normal developmentally whatsoever #i have to wonder how like. how different id be #bc school sucked #and instead of thinking maybe we should like take her somewhere #i just got called stupid and lazy and got put into special schooling #which destroyed my already abysmal social skills #plus i was home alone like #for weeks at a time #like for all of high school #which was great at rhe time sure but who leaves a fucking suicidal 15 year old home alone for weeks #when she cant even cook for herself #fuck sake #i dont know

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foxstens · 2 months

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ender magnolia is in early access and it's already a masterpiece

#my posts #gameblogging #liveblogging ender magnolia #i still don't like the setting quite as much but the story is very interesting #there seems to be more of it like there's more npcs more talking which i like bc here it's good #the walking is a bit slow but you get a dash really early #other than that the movement is excellent and the combat has more feedback which feels good #oh right the map is def different it works more like ori's map now #the music hasn't really hit YET but it definitely will #there's a bit more buttons it seems like there's gonna be some special skills but no idea what they are yet #also the first thing i noticed is that the background layers are insane #there's so much depth and its so pretty hfnhgdngjd #overall 9/10 so far based on like half an hour lmao

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themontessoriacademyofarlington · 3 months

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Toddler - Valentine's Day Celebration

What a great time the toddler students had at their Valentine's Day Celebration today! There was a very special snack available for everyone to partake, and partake they did. Happy Valentine's Day!

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littleartistsblog · 7 months

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Why art is important at an early age?

Art encourages people to develop a wide variety of skills that are not only useful for life but also for learning. It tells them that art is part of our lives, and is all around us. It also fosters an early-age passion for art and culture. So here are the benefits of art for children- https://little-artists.com/why-art-is-important-at-an-early-age/

#Motor Skills #Creativity #Cognitive development #Why art is important at an early age #art classes singapore #art jamming singapore #art teacher singapore #art competitions #art workshop singapore #art class for special needs

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vauxxy · 4 months

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SECOND THAT

luke castellan x reader

★ “i’m restless, i’m wrestling with the song that you love, it’s been stuck in my head”

ABOUT - luke castellan is the only one at camp who sees right through your perfect and poised persona; and all he wants is the satisfaction of ruining it.

WARNINGS - smut, mentions of choking, both the reader and luke are TERRIBLE but luke is much worse lol, swearing, written from the perspective of a deranged luke, penetration, only loosely proofread.

A/N- i have NEVER written and posted smut before EVER. like i get close but i never go all out. so… no hate guys 😘 also i feel like this is a bit ooc for luke so just pretend he’s actually insane and terrible guys!!! if you ignore his incoherent ramblings, it’s PWOP sooo… anyways this might be the first and last time i ever write smut who knows

luke castellan is no amateur when it comes to pretending to be something else. growing up, the only thing that mattered to luke was receiving praise or recognition for being ‘great’ or ‘honourable’ or whatever.

when you live your whole life pretending to be a perfect person, you kinda start to believe you really are a perfect person.

and if everyone you meet also believes you are indeed a perfect person, what’s the harm in continuing to pretend?

at the end of the day, both parties gain something. you get the validation and acclaim that you truly deserve, and they get a role model they aspire to at least halfway resemble.

luke is the sweetest guy at camp- everyone loves him. and he deserves it, doesn’t he? he deserves their praise and love and respect. gods, he should be rewarded for pretending to be so admirable for so long. he’s entitled to it.

you, on the other hand? you don’t. you don’t deserve an ounce of the praise luke has worked so hard to receive.

to luke, you’re vermin. behind your polite smiles and sweet words, there’s darkness. there’s an evil lurking within you- he’s sure of it.

he sees it during early morning sparring sessions, watching from the wings while you tactfully dodge every attack that comes your way. and when you eventually falter, he sees how your eyes turn cold and your smile fades.

he sees how you take a shaky breath, brushing yourself off with your bony hands before flashing a toothy grin. he feels nauseous when you extend your arm out to shake the hand of your opponent- because how the fuck can they believe your little act?

your gentle kindness and bashful charisma is so obviously fake. of course, he’s not pissed that you’re acting; everyone at camp is acting to an extent. but you’re going all out, and he can still see through it. what pisses him off, is that nobody else seems to recognise how truly malicious you can be.

maybe it’s because you’re pretty. luke is no stranger to getting special treatment based on his appearance, and neither should you be. maybe that’s the whole basis of your appeal. it seems to be the only thing holding your pathetic little facade together, considering your sloppy acting skills.

if you were ugly everyone would be able to call out your bullshit straight away, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about sharing the spotlight. honestly, the only reason why everyone loves you so much is because half of them want to fuck you, and the other half want your attention or approval- not that it’d be worth anything.

it was the last week of spring, meaning only the year-rounders and a few of the older kids were at camp. you just graduated high school, and arrived at camp early.

of course, you just had to return to camp prettier, taller, more confident, and with a fancy college acceptance letter. maybe you were much smarter than you let on- but it became very apparent that your intelligence wasn’t the reason you got accepted into NYU once he learned what you were studying.

“oh, i’m getting a degree in art history,”

seriously? art history? that’s gotta be the funniest thing luke has ever heard in his entire life.

“really? why art history?” he asks politely, watching your every move as he awaits your dumbass explanation.

you shrug cheerfully, looking around at the few other campers scattered around in a tight-knit circle as they wait for you to tell them about your ‘lovely’ 18th birthday and ‘eventful’ senior year.

“i don’t know, my mum works with a lot of artists, so she said it’d be a good conversation starter,” you say cheerfully, as if it wasn’t the stupidest thing to ever exit your mouth.

luke can’t help but let out a little giggle, before instantly lowering his head to offer some non-verbal apology. but to his surprise, you laugh along. “yeah, i really wanna score a job at the MET or something. i don’t mind either way,”

luke nods politely, letting the conversation continue without interrupting with a snide comment or unsolicited laughter.

he plays along as the conversation continues, pretending he doesn’t want to grab you by the throat and push you against the wall, demanding you to confess. demanding you to tell the fucking truth; that you’re a manipulative sycophant who’s bound to end up in rehab for getting addicted to designer drugs.

why is he the only one that sees you for who you truly are? gods, if he knew any better he might be charmed. you were naturally picturesque- or at least you seemed to be. the way that you were sitting on the grass with your hair draping over your body; you looked gorgeous. but you always look gorgeous, that’s your best quality after all.

of course all of camp half-blood was fooled- you were to pretty and kind to be lying. maybe it was better to let them keep on believing that you were this perfect image of a girl.

but he’d still appreciate the satisfaction of seeing you for who you are- seeing you in your rawest form.

and then suddenly, he saw it. some athena girl asked you if you wanted to go on a run with her later, to which you politely declined. of course, you kept your composure, told her that you had to take a nap, offered her a sympathetic smile and a ‘maybe next time’. but she didn’t see the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head as soon as she looked away.

luke was astonished. you really were getting sloppy, huh?

and yet, nobody else saw it. nobody else saw the look of disgust on your face as soon as she finished talking. he was seething- how on earth could everyone be so blind?

luke looks around at the group of people surrounding him, his eyes darting back to you ever 5 or 10 seconds. they all look at you with awe- as if you’re the most precious thing on earth.

fuck that. he was going to put you in your place.

a few hours pass, and it was finally time for everyone to walk back to their cabins.

luke spots you walking alone to your cabin, your face dimly lit by the moon as it shines over the camp. he’s so overwhelmed with anger, he couldn’t fathom caring about the consequences of whatever situation he was about to put himself in.

he quickly catches up to you, meeting your walking pace as he shoots you a friendly smile.

“hey, y/n. you got a minute?” luke asks, still adorning that charming smile. you smile back at him, nodding your head ever so gently, as if it would fall off if you moved it too fast. like a rusty elvis bobble head bought 1976 that resides on the dash of your grandmother’s busted car.

“yeah, why?” you hold your hands behind your back as you walk beside him, slowly approaching your empty cabin. luke shrugs his shoulders. “oh, i just had a little question. mind if we talk in your cabin?” he asks.

you nod, opening the door for luke and letting him walk through. you close the door behind him, before leaning your back against the wall. luke stands in front of you, his cheery demeanour vanishing as he crosses his arms.

“why the fuck are you such a little bitch all the time?”

you furrow your brows, mirroring his posture as you cross your arms defensively. “excuse me?”

luke rolls his eyes, letting out dry laughter as he looks you up and down. “you heard me,” he adds, watching you anxiously begin to pick at your lips with your freshly manicured fingernails.

“do you have a problem with me or something?” your whole body feels tense as you continue picking at your lips, your eyes locked onto his.

“yeah, i do have a problem. i’m tired of your little ‘nice girl’ act. it’s getting fucking annoying,” luke scoffed, taking a step closer towards you. your eyes darken, before shaking away your hostile expression.

“are you sure you wanna do this right now, castellan?”

“is that a threat?”

you pull your fingertips away from your lips, shifting your weight to the other side of your body as you cross your arms once more. you let silence fill the room before finally speaking up.

“listen, luke. everyone pretends to be someone they’re not. you and i just tend to do it more than others-“

luke cuts your off, taking another step forwards. “fuck off, we are not the same.”

you roll your eyes, banging your head against the wall as you groan irritably. “so what? are you gonna go around spreading cheap lies about me now?” you ask tiredly. luke shakes his head, slightly shrugging his shoulders.

“nah.” he replies curtly, his voice blunt and expression vague. “mkay, then what the fuck is your problem?”

luke takes another quick step forward, tightly holding your chin in his hand as he lifts your head to face him. “you’re my fucking problem.”

you let out a dry laugh, staring into his eyes as you attempt to intimidate him. “you’re such a loser.” you whisper, refusing to fight back against the way he’s gripping your face.

he stays silent, biting his lip as he looks over your form. “and you’re a brat.” he retorts.

“are we just going to keep throwing insults back and forth all night, or are you gonna explain why you’re so obsessed with me?” you ask playfully, cupping his face in your hand as an attempt to patronise him.

luke is stumped. to be fair, he is entirely obsessed with you. and he has been for years now. and now he has you cornered, watching your weak attempts at asserting dominance over him.

luke was over it.

suddenly, luke leans in, harshly pressing his lips against yours. you retract your hand from his face, pressing it against the wall as you feel his body moving towards you.

he wraps his other hand around your neck, only gently gripping it as to not alarm you.

luke is surprised by how you sink into his grip, pulling away to see your closed eyes and swollen lips. when you wipe your mouth and look at him with those hauntingly innocent eyes, he’s almost fooled.

you scoff, smirking as you tear away from his grip and take a few steps back. “is that all you wanted?” you say confidently, watching him turn around to watch you carefully pace around the room.

he shakes his head, groaning quietly as he walks over to you once more.

luke purses his lips, trying to suppress any sense of genuine attraction to you. but when his eyes gaze over to your red lips and flushed cheeks, he can’t help but let his mind wander.

“if you’re done, you can leave, castellan.” you say irritably, leaning against your bed frame.

it goes straight to his dick when you call him that, especially when your voice sounds so hoarse and cocky. he feels as though he’s finally accomplished what he’s been yearning to do for years now. he’s seeing the real you.

he couldn’t dare squander this opportunity now.

he pushes you down onto your bed, watching how your hair flows over your newly made bedsheets as your head hits the pillow.

“but you don’t want me to leave, do you?” luke says lowly, hovering over your body as his hand hold your wrists together above your head.

“i don’t care what you do, castellan.”

luke groans, pressing another rough kiss against your lips. you kiss back for whatever reason, and your firsts relax within his grip. it was almost as if you got off on the idea of someone calling out your bullshit. or maybe you got off on the idea of somewhat hating your guts. either way, luke knew you were more than eager to continue.

he let go of your wrists, before biting your bottom lip. your mouth opens slightly, offering entry to his tongue, deepening the kiss.

you hand cups his face, while the other grips his shoulder. after a few moments, he pulls away and begins sucking at the skin of your neck, leaving purple marks on your delicate skin while you let out hoarse whimpers.

his hands begin to fiddle with the fabric of your shirt, causing you to push his body forwards as you position yourself to sit on his lap. you take off your shirt, throwing it away as you run your hands down his back.

luke looks down at your chest, growing more aroused at the sight of your lacy little bra. it’s as if you knew someone was going to see it.

you feel a hardness growing from under his jeans, poking against your upper thigh as you slowly grind against his lap. luke let’s put a low moan, continuing to bury his face in your neck.

“i fucking hate you,” he growls, gripping the sides of your waist with his hands as you move against him.

“don’t care, take off your shirt,” you demand hurriedly, running your fingers through his hair as you tilt his head up to look at you.

luke rolls his eyes, before taking off his shirt. he quickly presses another series of harsh kissses against your neck, fiddling with the clasp of your bra as you push your chest up against his. you giggle softly at his incompetence, before he finally unhooks it and ravenously pulls it from your chest.

luke pushes your body backwards onto the bed, trailing kisses down from your neck and onto your tits. you let out a quiet moan, before biting down onto your hand in order to stifle the sound. his large hands knead your left breast, while the other grips the area just under your right breast, resting on top of your ribcage.

luke’s hands slowly move downwards, hip thumb tracing circles against the side of your hip as you gently grasp onto his hair. his fingertips gently pull down your shorts, leaving you in only your underwear.

he rubs his thumb over the wet fabric, before tilting his head to look up at you. “pathetic,” he mutters, smirking at your flushed faced. you groan, burying the back of your head further into the pillow as your back arches involuntarily.

luke’s thumb massages your clit from over the soaking fabric, watching you squirm in response. he lets out a dry laugh, before pulling down your panties and tossing them onto the floor.

“luke…” you moan quietly, closing your eyes as your hips jerk into the mattress. his fingers trace your wet folds, before letting his thumb rub circles against your clit and forcing two fingers inside of you.

you whimper before pursing your lips, rolling your head around as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out. he quickens his pace, pressing down harshly against your clit while beginning to suck on the skin of your upper thigh.

luke holds down your hip with his free hand as you begin to squirm.

suddenly, he stops.

you look at him with a confused expression, your face red as he pulls his fingers out. he chuckles at your disappointed face, before taking off his pants and boxers. you stare at his length unashamedly, biting down on your bottom lip.

“so fucking needy.” he says lowly, his voice horse as he softly begins to continue massaging your clit. you moan, feeling your back arch as he positions himself in front of your legs. he forcefully spreads them open as he teases your folds with the tip of his erect member.

you let out a little whine, your voice trembling as you try to move your hips against his length.

luke rolls his eyes at your poor attempts at penetration, before slowly pushing his cock into your entrance. you let out a breathy, high pitched moan, your hands eagerly gripping your bedsheets.

he gradually pushes in the entirety his length, continuing to rub circles into your clit. luke tightly grips your waist as he begins to slowly pull out, before jamming himself back in. you let out a breathy yelp as you body moves with his thrusts.

like continues relentlessly pushing in and out of you, massaging your waist as his thumb gradually increases the speed of its attack on your clit.

you try to steady you breathing, your face flushed as lukewarm continues to deliberately overwhelm your body.

“mm… luke, i’m gonna…” you mutter, your hips jerking upwards. he smiles at you, amused by how blissed out you look taking his cock. “so soon?” he teases, rapidly moving against your body.

you let out a stammering series of whimpers as your back arches upwards, feeing yourself suddenly release. luke grins, continuing to rub circles into your clit as he rides out your orgasm.

luke slowly retracts his thumb, repositioning the hand to gently grip your hip. he begins to slow down his movements, before quickly thrusting into you repetitively. you squirm, the movements of your hips constrained by his grip.

suddenly, he pulls out, releasing onto your stomach. see? he was a gentleman.

luke gazes over at the girl he just reduced to a panting mess as he stands up and puts his clothes back on. he smiles at you as he zips up his jeans, before kneeling besides you as you turn your head to look at him.

“i wont tell anyone how fucking pathetic you are, don’t worry, princess.”

you nod, staring at him as he continues to look at your defenceless body. “such a pretty girl,” he hums, cupping your face in his hand before kissing your forehead.

he reaches over to your discarded underwear and gently pulls them up your legs, the gesture acting somewhat as a peace offering. he takes a step back, simply taking in how endearingly stupid you look.

you slowly sit yourself up, grabbing your camp t shirt and putting it on. “goodnight, luke,” you choke out, your voice hoarse and breathing shallow. he nods, smiling softly as he turns to walk away. “night, princess.”

#luke castellan enemies to lovers #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fic #luke castellan smut #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan imagines #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader smut #pjo #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #pjo x reader #pjo tv show

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mostlysignssomeportents · 15 days

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Boeing’s deliberately defective fleet of flying sky-wreckage

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW (May 2) in WINNIPEG, then Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), Tartu, Estonia, and beyond!

Boeing's 787 "Dreamliner" is manufactured far from the company's Seattle facility, in a non-union shop in Charleston, South Carolina. At that shop, there is a cage full of defective parts that have been pulled from production because they are not airworthy.

Hundreds of parts from that Material Review Segregation Area (MRSA) were secretly pulled from that cage and installed on aircraft that are currently plying the world's skies. Among them, sections 47/48 of a 787 – the last four rows of the plane, along with its galley and rear toilets. As Moe Tkacik writes in her excellent piece on Boeing's lethally corrupt culture of financialization and whistleblower intimidation, this is a big ass chunk of an airplane, and there's no way it could go missing from the MRSA cage without a lot of people knowing about it:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-04-30-whistleblower-laws-protect-lawbreakers/

More: MRSA parts are prominently emblazoned with red marks denoting them as defective and unsafe. For a plane to escape Boeing's production line and find its way to a civilian airport near you with these defective parts installed, many people will have to see and ignore this literal red flag.

The MRSA cage was a special concern of John "Swampy" Barnett, the Boeing whistleblower who is alleged to have killed himself in March. Tkacik's earlier profile of Swampy paints a picture of a fearless, stubborn engineer who refused to go along to get along, refused to allow himself to become inured to Boeing's growing culture of profits over safety:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-03-28-suicide-mission-boeing/

Boeing is America's last aviation company and its single largest exporter. After the company was allowed to merge with its rival McDonnell-Douglas in 1997, the combined company came under MDD's notoriously financially oriented management culture. MDD CEO Harry Stonecipher became Boeing's CEO in the early 2000s. Stonecipher was a protege of Jack Welch, the man who destroyed General Electric with cuts to quality and workforce and aggressive union-busting, a classic Mafia-style "bust-out" that devoured the company's seed corn and left it a barren wasteland:

https://qz.com/1776080/how-the-mcdonnell-douglas-boeing-merger-led-to-the-737-max-crisis

Post-merger, Boeing became increasingly infected with MDD's culture. The company chased cheap, less-skilled labor to other countries and to America's great onshore-offshore sacrifice zone, the "right-to-work" American south, where bosses can fire uppity workers who balked at criminal orders, without the hassle of a union grievance.

Stonecipher was succeeded by Jim "Prince Jim" McNerney, ex-3M CEO, another Jack Welch protege (Welch spawned a botnet of sociopath looters who seized control of the country's largest, most successful firms, and drove them into the ground). McNerney had a cute name for the company's senior engineers: "phenomenally talented assholes." He created a program to help his managers force these skilled workers – everyone a Boeing who knew how to build a plane – out of the company.

McNerney's big idea was to get rid of "phenomenally talented assholes" and outsource the Dreamliner's design to Boeing's suppliers, who were utterly dependent on the company and could easily be pushed around (McNerney didn't care that most of these companies lacked engineering departments). This resulted in a $80b cost overrun, and a last-minute scramble to save the 787 by shipping a "cleanup crew" from Seattle to South Carolina, in the hopes that those "phenomenally talented assholes" could save McNerney's ass.

Swampy was part of the cleanup crew. He was terrified by what he saw there. Boeing had convinced the FAA to let them company perform its own inspections, replacing independent government inspectors with Boeing employees. The company would mark its own homework, and it swore that it wouldn't cheat.

Boeing cheated. Swampy dutifully reported the legion of safety violations he witnessed and was banished to babysit the MRSA, an assignment his managers viewed as a punishment that would isolate Swampy from the criminality he refused to stop reporting. Instead, Swampy audited the MRSA, and discovered that at least 420 defective aviation components had gone missing from the cage, presumably to be installed in planes that were behind schedule. Swampy then audited the keys to the MRSA and learned that hundreds of keys were "floating around" the Charleston facility. Virtually anyone could liberate a defective part and install it into an airplane without any paper trail.

Swampy's bosses had a plan for dealing with this. They ordered Swampy to "pencil whip" the investigations of 420 missing defective components and close the cases without actually figuring out what happened to them. Swampy refused.

Instead, Swampy took his concerns to a departmental meeting where 12 managers were present and announced that "if we can’t find them, any that we can’t find, we need to report it to the FAA." The only response came from a supervisor, who said, "We’re not going to report anything to the FAA."

The thing is, Swampy wasn't just protecting the lives of the passengers in those defective aircraft – he was also protecting Boeing employees. Under Sec 38 of the US Criminal Code, it's a 15-year felony to make any "materially false writing, entry, certification, document, record, data plate, label, or electronic communication concerning any aircraft or space vehicle part."

(When Swampy told a meeting that he took this seriously because "the paperwork is just as important as the aircraft" the room erupted in laughter.)

Swampy sent his own inspectors to the factory floor, and they discovered "dozens of red-painted defective parts installed on planes."

Swampy blew the whistle. How did the 787 – and the rest of Boeing's defective flying turkeys – escape the hangar and find their way into commercial airlines' fleets? Tkacik blames a 2000 whistleblower law called AIR21 that:

creates such byzantine procedures, locates adjudication power in such an outgunned federal agency, and gives whistleblowers such a narrow chance of success that it effectively immunizes airplane manufacturers, of which there is one in the United States, from suffering any legal repercussions from the testimony of their own workers.

By his own estimation, Swampy was ordered to commit two felonies per week for six years. Tkacik explains that this kind of operation relies on a culture of ignorance – managers must not document their orders, and workers must not be made aware of the law. Whistleblowers like Swampy, who spoke the unspeakable, were sidelined (an assessment by one of Swampy's managers called him "one of the best" and finished that "leadership would give hugs and high fives all around at his departure").

Multiple whistleblowers were singled out for retaliation and forced departure. William Hobek, a quality manager who refused to "pencil whip" the missing, massive 47-48 assembly that had wandered away from the MRSA cage, was given a "weak" performance review and fired despite an HR manager admitting that it was bogus.

Another quality manager, Cynthia Kitchens, filed an ethics complaint against manager Elton Wright who responded to her persistent reporting of defects on the line by shoving her against a wall and shouting that Boeing was "a good ol’ boys’ club and you need to get on board." Kitchens was fired in 2016. She had cancer at the time.

John Woods, yet another quality engineer, was fired after he refused to sign off on a corner-cutting process to repair a fuselage – the FAA later backed up his judgment.

Then there's Sam Salehpour, the 787 quality engineer whose tearful Congressional testimony described more corner-cutting on fuselage repairs:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PP0xhIe1LFE

Salehpour's boss followed the Boeing playbook to the letter: Salehpour was constantly harangued and bullied, and he was isolated from colleagues who might concur with his assessment. When Salehpour announced that he would give Congressional testimony, his car was sabotaged under mysterious circumstances.

It's a playbook. Salehpour's experience isn't unusual at Boeing. Two other engineers, working on the 787 Organization Designation Authorization, held up production by insisting that the company fix the planes' onboard navigation computers. Their boss gave them a terrible performance review, admitting that top management was furious at the delays and had ordered him to punish the engineers. The engineers' union grievance failed, with Boeing concluding that this conduct – which they admitted to – didn't rise to the level of retaliation.

As Tkacik points out, these engineers and managers that Boeing targeted for intimidation and retaliation are the very same staff who are supposed to be performing inspections of behalf of the FAA. In other words, Boeing has spent years attacking its own regulator, with total impunity.

But it's not just the FAA who've failed to take action – it's also the DOJ, who have consistently declined to bring prosecutions in most cases, and who settled the rare case they did bring with "deferred prosecution agreements." This pattern was true under Trump's DOJ and continued under Biden's tenure. Biden's prosecutors have been so lackluster that a federal judge "publicly rebuked the DOJ for failing to take seriously the reputational damage its conduct throughout the Boeing case was inflicting on the agency."

Meanwhile, there's the AIR21 rule, a "whistleblower" rule that actually protects Boeing from whistleblowers. Under AIR21, an aviation whistleblower who is retaliated against by their employer must first try to resolve their problem internally. If that fails, the whistleblower has only one course of action: file an OSHA complaint within 90 days (if HR takes more than 90 days to resolve your internal complaint, you can no have no further recourse). If you manage to raise a complaint with OSHA, it is heard by a secret tribunal that has no subpoena power and routinely takes five years to rule on cases, and rules against whistleblowers 97% of the time.

Boeing whistleblowers who missed the 90-day cutoff have filled the South Carolina courts with last-ditch attempts to hold the company to account. When they lose these cases – as is routine, given Boeing's enormous legal muscle and AIR21's legal handcuffs – they are often ordered to pay Boeing's legal costs.

Tkacik cites Swampy's lawyer, Rob Turkewitz, who says Swampy was the only one of Boeing's whistleblowers who was "savvy, meticulous, and fast-moving enough to bring an AIR 21 case capable of jumping through all the hoops" to file an AIR21 case, which then took seven years. Turkewitz calls Boeing South Carolina "a criminal enterprise."

That's a conclusion that's hard to argue with. Take Boeing's excuse for not producing the documentation of its slapdash reinstallation of the Alaska Air door plug that fell off its plane in flight: the company says it's not criminally liable for failing to provide the paperwork, because it never documented the repair. Not documenting the repair is also a crime.

You might have heard that there's some accountability coming to the Boeing boardroom, with the ouster of CEO David Calhoun. Calhoun's likely successor is Patrick Shanahan, whom Tkacik describes as "the architect of the ethos that governed the 787 program" and whom her source called "a classic schoolyard bully."

If Shanahan's name rings a bell, it might be because he was almost Trump's Secretary of Defense, but that was derailed by the news that he had "emphatically defended" his 17 year old son after the boy nearly beat his mother to death with a baseball bat. Shanahan is presently CEO of Spirit Aerospace, who made the door-plug that fell out of the Alaska Airlines 737 Max.

Boeing is a company where senior managers only fail up and where whistleblowers are terrorized in and out of the workplace. One of Tkacik's sources noticed his car shimmying. The source, an ex-787 worker who'd been fired after raising safety complaints, had tried to bring an AIR21 complaint, but withdrew it out of fear of being bankrupted if he was ordered to pay Boeing's legal costs. When the whistleblower pulled over, he discovered that two of the lug-nuts had been removed from one of his wheels.

The whistleblower texted Tkcacik to say (not for the first time): "If anything happens, I'm not suicidal."

Boeing is a primary aerospace contractor to the US government. It's clear that its management – and investors – consider it too big to jail. It's also clear that they know it's too big to fail – after all, the company did a $43b stock buyback, then got billions in a publicly funded buyback.

Boeing is, effectively, a government agency that is run for the benefit of its investors. It performs its own safety inspections. It investigates its own criminal violations of safety rules. It loots its own coffers and then refills them at public expense.

Meanwhile, the company has filled our skies with at least 420 airplanes with defective, red-painted parts that were locked up in the MRSA cage, then snuck out and fitted to an airplane that you or someone you love could fly on the next time you take your family on vacation or fly somewhere for work.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/01/boeing-boeing/#mrsa

Image: Tom Axford 1 (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Blue_sky_with_wisps_of_cloud_on_a_clear_summer_morning.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

Clemens Vasters (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:N7379E_-_Boeing_737_MAX_9.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

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artbyblastweave · 10 months

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Still playing Skyrim. And I’m interested to report that the game is actually better than I remember, on balance. But I’m kind of fascinated by what’s going on with Lydia, mechanically and narratively.

Lydia is the first follower who gets shoved in your face just by virtue of following the main quest. There are others you can pick up earlier, but not without finishing errands (for Faendal and Sven), by forking up a pretty big chunk of change for the early game by hiring Janessa, or by going out of your way in some other manner. If you’re completely new to the game and you’re just powering through the main story as it’s presented, she’s the first option for a follower that the game highlights for you in giant blinking neon lights. And as a quest reward, she’s mechanically kind of a godsend at that point in the story; a doubling of carry capacity, an excellent meat shield and distraction, a way to extract utility from weapons and armor you don’t want to use yourself. More subjectively she provides the impression of a stalwart ally or companion in what can be a very lonely worldspace to exist in. There’s very little reason not to take her with you, and once you have her, the majority of companions being equal, there’s very little reason to get rid of her until she stops level scaling.

Despite the mechanical utility Lydia provides at a crucial point, and the resultant likelyhood that you’ll haul her along for the ride, she’s only a couple steps up from the companion cube. She has no specific, non-fungible impact on the narrative beyond demonstrating Jarl Balgruuf’s favor. Her deferral to you is automatic; if someone is actively paying her a salary to help you defile graves, cut deals with every deity on the continent and invade the afterlife, it sure as hell isn’t you. It isn’t clear what her gig under Balgruuf was before she was assigned to you. She has no personal narrative. She has no personal side quest. One of her biggest inklings of personality is when she expresses vague dissatisfaction with being treated as a pack mule, but then she does it anyway. She’s party to world-shaking events and political upheavals, but she’s present purely in her capacity as your appendix, so reality simply treats her as your plus-one.

She’ll block doors you’re trying to get through, and she’ll get mad at you if you push her out of the way. She’ll charge into battle or set off traps while you’re trying to sneak. She’ll microaggress you with stock Nord dialogue while pulverizing your enemies, a plurality of whom are also Nords. She’ll distract bosses long enough to buy you breathing room for a healing spell or a potion. You’ll kill her by accident with an ill-timed area-of-effect spell, roll your eyes, and, ultimately, probably reload your save. Because she might only be a couple steps up from a companion cube, but the whole gag with the companion cube is how ridiculously low the threshold is for the audience to get genuinely attached to something in a video game. A thin character invites apophenia. Behaviors that are purely downstream of dev thoughtlessness will still imply character traits if taken at Watsonian Face Value. In this case, inexplicable undying loyalty, reserved comments on impressive landmarks, and comical stoicism in the face of some of the weirdest events it’s conceptually possible to encounter. So here’s to weird, underbaked companions in Bethesda Games, and everything we can project onto the void they provide. And Here’s to that related genus of character- units in squad-based tactics or management-sim games with permadeath mechanics who last long enough and accumulate enough equipment, skill points, etc. that they become your Special Little Guy despite otherwise lacking any deliberate character traits.

#thoughts #meta #skyrim #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls #TES #lydia #skyrim lydia

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art · 2 months

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Creator Spotlight: @chaaistheanswer

Hi everyone! I am Clara, but you can also call me chaa! I am a digital artist based in Auckland, New Zealand, with a bachelor’s degree in Creative Media Production. After graduating from uni, I moved out to pursue my art career and I’ve been a freelance digital artist ever since. I love concept art, especially character design! Creating characters influenced by my love for fantasy is what I live for. Thank you for stopping by, and I hope you enjoyed my art! And thank you, Tumblr, for this opportunity!

Check out our interview with Clara below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

I specialized in art in high school and have a bachelor’s degree in Creative Media Production from Massey University with an animation pathway. For our thesis film, which I worked on with several of my classmates, I took on the role of producer, art director, and concept artist. Our short film was featured in the Wellington Film Festival Terror-Fi in 2020. After graduating, I went on to become a freelance artist, but my goal is to work for the gaming industry as a character concept artist. Ever since I first picked up a pencil, I knew I wanted to become an artist!

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

Art block is quite common among artists, and unfortunately, I too have fallen prey to the affliction. I have several ways of overcoming art block: watching movies, playing games, reading, or going out for a drive with my sister. These are just a few things I love to do to help keep my creative juices flowing!

What is one habit you find yourself doing a lot as an artist?

I tend to obsessively research about completely unrelated topics while I draw. I find learning new things helps improve my concept designs, especially in creating backgrounds for my characters.

Over the years as an artist, what were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

Video games and anime were my biggest inspirations! Anything with a captivating story that’ll send me to the edge of my seat, and loveable characters. I’m particularly drawn to high and dark fantasy.

How has technology changed the way you approach your work?

Technology has made a huge impact on us artists over the last few years. I used to draw a lot on paper, but since getting a tablet, I find myself searching for the undo and redo buttons and even trying to zoom constantly while I draw on paper. I used to only draw for myself as well, but after posting my art online, I now have an audience to whom I can share my art. Because of this, I am able to earn a living doing what I love by creating illustrations for clients.

What is a recent creative project that you are proud of?

I am very proud of this recent commission I’ve done for a client! Fortunately, the piece turned out exactly how I wanted it to look, and my client was very happy with the result. I am also in the process of working on a Webtoon, which is going as smoothly as I hoped it would be before its re-release!

What advice would you give to younger you about making art that's personal or truthful to your own experiences?

The best advice I would give my younger self is to never hold back! Try not to think about the negatives of creating and sharing art that you believe in. Embrace vulnerability, and don’t be afraid to dig deep into your own emotions and experiences. Always explore, and don’t limit yourself to your own bubble. And most important of all, stay true to yourself! Stay true to your values and beliefs, and never compromise your own authenticity for the sake of pleasing others. Your art is a reflection of you as a person.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@yuumei-art has been an inspiration to me since my early Deviantart days. I admire how she uses her skills to focus on environmentalism and cyber activism. @nipuni is another inspiration of mine. I found her when I was in the process of recovering from Dragon Age Solavellan hell. I admire how she manages to capture faces well while also sticking to her style. Her paintings are so beautiful and very pleasing to my eyes!

Thanks for stopping by, Clara! If you haven't seen her Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here. For more of Clara's work, follow her Tumblr, @chaaistheanswer!

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #chaaistheanswer

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starkwlkr · 2 months

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Could you do fic for Mark Webber with wife reader? (He's Oscar's manager) And they both acted like dad & mom toward Lando and Oscar, especially. Just them spending time together and worries for the boys whenever something goes wrong. Mark does his best to comfort her. Just something fluff and cute. Maybe a little surprise for Mark at the end. I'll let you decide what it was. Tag me later!! Thanks!! :))

work parents | mark webber

thanks for the request!! @pear-1206

When you and Mark were dating, you supported him throughout his career in F1. Now that you were married and had a teenage daughter, you were supporting another person in F1, Oscar. He was young, talented and skilled. You were sure that in a couple of years he would be world champion. You tried to attend as many races as you could, mostly during the summer since your and Mark’s daughter was out of school. Your daughter was studying in Harvard at the moment meaning you and Mark haven’t seen her since spring break. She had secretly made plans to surprise you and Mark at the race. Oscar was the one that had gotten her a paddock pass.

It was Oscar’s first home race so you knew you had to attend. It was going to be a special one after all. You got up early to start getting ready while Mark was getting a few extra minutes of sleep.

Mark still asleep shirtless. He looked so peaceful that you didn’t want to bother him considering he arrived home late the night before, but you had a tight schedule to follow. You walked to the bed and gently placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Mark, you have to get up, honey. Oscar might already be waiting for us at the track. It’s race day.”

“Give me five minutes.” He mumbled.

“I’ll let you do anything when we get back—” You couldn’t even finish since Mark had gotten immediately.

“We wouldn’t want to keep Oscar waiting, hurry up, love.” He tried to give you a morning kiss but you stopped him. “What? Don’t act like you care about morning breath now.”

“I already put on lipstick—”

“And you can put it on again. I want to kiss my wife.” You rolled your eyes, but gave in.

As Mark got ready, you made sure you had your paddock passes. Eventually you made it out of the house and now you were on your way to the circuit. Mark had his hand on your thigh while the other was on the steering wheel. When you made it to the paddock entrance, Oscar was waiting with his girlfriend Lily.

“Hi, I hope we didn’t keep you waiting for too long.” You said as you exited the car. “Lily, so great to see you again.” You greeted the girl.

“Hi Mrs. Webber, great to see you too.” Lily replied.

The group of four made their way into paddock, greeting fans and photographers. Mark held your hand making you remember the times when you were still dating and Mark was still racing. You followed Mark and Oscar to the Mclaren garage since Lily had excused herself to go to the Mclaren motorhome. It felt nice to be back.

“Mrs. Webber!” Lando greeted you as soon as he saw you. “Lovely to see you as always.”

“Hi Lando.” You hugged the Brit.

“No mini Webber today?” He asked when he noticed your daughter wasn’t with you.

“No, she’s in Massachusetts. She sends luck to both of you though.” Mark responded.

Oscar wasn’t one to spill secrets, but when he knew something that he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, he would act nervous. He absolutely hated it.

“She is? Nice, right? Who would’ve thought that mini Webber would go to Harvard!” Lando and Oscar were both called by Zak so they excused themselves from the couple.

“Okay . . .” You brushed it off as him being nervous about the race. You scooted closer to Mark. “First home race must be getting to him.” You whispered.

“I’ll take care of him, love.”

“Don’t forget about Lando.”

The 2023 Australian Grand Prix was one big chaotic mess and you were there to witness it. It felt like a rollercoaster of emotions when the race was restarted again. After three red flags and 58 laps, Max had won.

“P8 for Oscar, what a race.” Mark said, sitting beside you. “You can let go of my hand now, honey, race is over.” He gestured to your hand that tightly held his. He couldn’t remember what lap you decided to hold it, but he didn’t mind.

“Thank fuck. I thought I was going to have a heart attack or something.” You let go. “I just wish my baby girl was here.”

“She’ll be home soon. Summer is just around the corner and then we’ll have a moody teen girl with a coffee addiction in our house. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

When Oscar got back to the garage, you and Mark were there to celebrate his points. “You did so well! Good job, Osc!” You hugged the driver.

“Thank you, Mrs. Webber.” Oscar smiled.

“Oh! Where’s Lando? Was it P6 or 7? Who cares? Points for the Mclaren boys!” You cheered as you left to go find Lando. Lando’s race engineer had told you that the driver was in his driver’s room so you walked to the room in search of the Brit.

As you were about to knock on the door, Lando and your daughter came out. Talk about perfect timing. . .

“Mum . . Hi.” Your daughter laughed nervously.

“Listen, I love you to death but what are you doing here? You should be in Boston!” You scolded the girl.

“This sounds like a family matter so I’m just going to go.” Lando tried to leave it you stepped in front of him. “Hi Mrs. Webber.” He innocently said.

“Good job on getting points.” You sighed and gave him a hug. “Now care to explain?”

“It was her idea! I am the true victim here!”

“You jerk!”

“Okay! Stop it.” You raised your voice. “Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

“I wanted to surprise you and dad by coming here and Lando and Oscar were helping me so I hid here. I’m only here for a couple days . . I missed you guys.” She explained.

“Yeah, what she said.” Lando added.

“We missed you too. I am definitely surprised and dad will be too. Come on, we have to celebrate the Mclaren boys scoring points!” You grabbed your daughters hand and walked together to meet up with Mark and Oscar.

Lando stayed behind a bit confused. “You’re not mad at me, right Mrs. Webber?”

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #mark webber x reader #mark webber imagine #mark webber fanfic #mark webber #mark webber one shot

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misshoneyimhome · 3 months

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I’m OBSESSED with your prompt list & I want to request everything for Jack, but don’t want to spam you 😭 so I’ll do one to start hahaha

Can you do Jack with the prompt “Can you help me with my tie?” / “Can you zip up my dress for me?” — either one or both, whatever you’re feeling :)) <3

Babe, feel free to spam me anytime 😉 Although, I'm still practicing my writing skills when it comes to Jack H 🤍

But of course - though I did do a bit of a combo of the two 🌺 and in the end, it turned out to be nothing but sweet fluff

Hope you enjoy it 🤍

Word count; 2.1K

[bestfriend!Jack x reader] - again, I know 🙈

・✶ ｡ﾟ

As one of Jack Hughes’ closest friends, you were simply there for him through thick and thin. From the early days of his hockey career to then, as he’d become a big name in the NHL, you saw every success and setback, always giving him your unwavering support and encouragement.

Your bond with the Devils' star player was definitely something special, built on trust, mutual respect, and shared experiences. Together, you faced the ups and downs of life in the spotlight, as well as found solace in each other's company amidst the chaos of the hockey world.

And to put it bluntly, it wasn’t uncommon for people to mistake you as a couple. Although you tried not to post anything on social media, rumours often circulated. Even family members assumed there was something more to the story when he brought you over at almost every holiday family gathering. However, you were nothing more than his best girl friend. Which to him was probably the highest status one could ever get.

Despite Jack's busy schedule and the demands of his career, you just always remained a constant presence in his life, providing stability and comfort. Whether it was cheering him on from the stands at games or simply being there to listen after a tough loss, you were always there when he needed you most.

You even saw every girl who tried their luck with him, and all of them failed to stick around. Though you weren’t really sure why that was always the case. To you Jack was a good guy, busy sure, but good overall and anyone would be lucky to be with him. However, you could also understand that often his demanding lifestyle simply became too much for anyone to handle. And after every time he showed up at your place, you were the support he needed through every breakup.

And Jack cherished your friendship immensely. With you, he could be himself without any pretence, knowing that you'd accept him exactly as he was. He could put on a facade and a guard for the rest of the world, but with you, he knew it was of no use. You always saw right through him, for better or for worse.

So, when Jack invited you to join him at the Devils’ team event, it wasn't a surprise to anyone. Spending such time together had become second nature to you both, a cherished ritual that brought comfort and joy. You'd even spent so much time with his teammates that a lot of them had grown to be your close friends as well. They were almost like the protective brothers you'd never had.

And you, of course, accepted his invitation without hesitation. So, as you got ready for the event together, you felt a sense of excitement in the air, anticipating a night filled with laughter, camaraderie, and maybe even something more.

Jack stood in front of the mirror, his face displaying frustration as he attempted to knot his tie once again. Though it was something he'd often do before a match, tonight it just didn’t seem to work out for him. The smooth fabric slipped through his fingers, refusing to cooperate despite his repeated attempts. But then, with a soft sigh, he caught a glimpse of your reflection in the doorway, a knowing smile adorning your face.

"Struggling there?" you teased, slowly moving closer to him.

Turning to you, Jack looked relieved. "Actually, yes. Could you help me with my tie?" His voice held a touch of embarrassment, a contrast to his usual confidence on the ice, which made you chuckle softly.

"Of course," you replied, closing the gap between you and reaching for the silk tie. Your fingers skilfully worked the fabric into a perfect knot in no time. And as you adjusted it, your eyes met his in the mirror, and there was an unexpected shift between you, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air.

Then once Jack had sorted his tie, his gaze lingered on you, admiring the elegant lines of your evening dress, and he simply couldn't look away, struck by how stunning you appeared.

"Wow, you look amazing, y/n/n," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

A blush crept onto your cheeks at his compliment, a soft smile forming in response. But before you could form a reply, though, you remembered the zipper on your dress.

"Actually, I could use your help too," you confessed, your voice barely audible. Turning slightly, you presented your back to him, feeling a tiny surge of nerves at the intimacy of the request.

And without hesitation, Jack moved closer, his presence sending a wave of anticipation through you. His hands brushed lightly against your skin as he reached for the zipper, the gentle touch surprisingly sparking some kind of awareness between you.

As his fingers softly traced your back, you felt an unfamiliar desire stirring within you, drawing you both a little closer together. And unintentionally, you leaned in a little closer to him, prompting him to gently rest his palms on your waist, as for a brief moment, time stood still, and you admired each other in the mirror.

It was a moment of soft intimacy hanging in the air, and you couldn’t deny that thoughts were starting to form in your mind. Thoughts that had been there before, yet you always just shook them off, as you didn’t believe they’d mean anything - Was there truly nothing more between you and Jack, or had you been fooling yourselves this whole time?

However, with the evening's urgency weighing on both of you, the passing seconds reminded you of the time slipping away. And with a small sigh, Jack reluctantly pulled away, his hands lingering for a moment longer before he finally zipped up your dress.

"We should probably head out," he said, a hint of regret in his voice.

And you nodded in agreement, carefully stepping away from him. Yet, despite the pressing schedule, the electric tension between you remained, silently hinting at what perhaps could be.

As the night progressed, Jack found himself unable to shake the growing feelings in his heart. And if anything, they only seemed to deepen with each passing moment, fuelled by seeing you effortlessly mingling with the other guests at the event.

"She's looking good, huh?" Luke's voice suddenly snapped Jack out of his thoughts, bringing him back to reality.

"Yeah, she really does..." he replied softly, his gaze still fixed on you from across the room, drawn in by the warmth of your smile.

And Luke couldn’t suppress his amusement and grinned knowingly, nudging Jack with a playful elbow. "So, are you going to make a move or what?"

"What do you mean?" Jack pretended innocence, though his eyes revealed the truth of his emotions.

And Luke had to roll his eyes, not buying Jack's act. "Come on, man, you're practically drooling over her right now."

"I'm not drooling... I'm just admiring how great my best friend looks..." Jack tried to defend himself, but he knew it was futile.

"Sure, sure, but we both know that you're totally checking her out!" Luke laughed, finding the situation more than amusing.

For months, if not years, Luke had had a bet with Quinn about when you and Jack would finally admit your feelings for each other. And not just as best friends. It was obvious to everyone how both of you always tried to act calm and nonchalant, however, there were often hints of something lingering in the back of your minds. Yet, none of you took the step to admit it.

And amidst the brotherly banter, Nico suddenly interrupted with a grin at the sight of their exchange. "What's going on? Who's checking out who?"

"Oh, just Jack ogling y/n," Luke teased, earning a chuckle from Nico.

"I'm not... ogling her!" Jack protested, though the teasing only fuelled his growing attraction.

"Well, I wouldn't blame you if you were. I mean, she looks really hot tonight," Nico chimed in with a mischievous grin. "I mean, if you don't make a move on her, someone else might."

And those words seemed to hit Jack like a splash of cold water, stirring a hint of jealousy in his gut at the thought of someone else showing interest in you. Especially a teammate of his. It was as if it was the push he needed to finally gather the courage to act on his true feelings.

So, as the event neared its end, Jack started to feel a little nervous about speaking his mind, which wasn’t usual for him. But as he prepared to bid farewell, determination surged within him. He simply couldn't let the night pass without expressing his feelings, without taking a chance on what could be.

Standing by the exit of the venue, Jack took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was about to say. He then reached out, gently taking your hand in his, sending a jolt of electricity through you with his touch.

"Y/n, there's something I need to tell you," he began, his voice trembling slightly with nerves. "Tonight... tonight was different for me.”

“Jack, what do you mean?” you flashed him a crooked smile, slightly unsure what he was trying to say.

“I mean, I think… I think I realised that I have feelings for you, more than just friendship."

His words hung in the air, the weight of them palpable. And as you looked at him, your heart was beating faster than you’d ever experienced. You had to swallow hard as you processed his confession. But then he continued.

"I know this might come as a surprise, and I completely understand if you don't feel the same way," he added with a crooked smile, his gaze searching yours for any hint of a response. "But I couldn't let tonight end without at least trying to tell you how I fe-"

Interrupting him with a surge of confidence, you reached up and tenderly held his face in your hands, pulling him into a gentle kiss. And in that moment, as your lips were connected, Jack felt a rush of emotion engulf him, a sense of completeness and contentment unlike anything he had ever known.

There was a comfortable warmth spreading through him as his mind processed your actions, and though almost completely frozen, he still managed to respond with his hands finding your hips.

And as you slowly parted from the kiss, his heart couldn’t stop racing with a mix of excitement and relief. He looked into your eyes, trying his best to read your thoughts.

"Y/n, I... I," he started, uncertainty evident in his voice.

But you simply smiled softly, your fingers tracing his cheek. "Jack, I've been feeling the same way," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just didn't know how to say it."

Relief flooded through Jack, his tension easing as he released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "Really?" he asked, disbelief tinting his voice.

You nodded, a shy smile gracing your lips. "Yes, really."

And suddenly, it was like a giant wave of happiness washed over Jack, filling him with a warmth he hadn't felt in ages. Without another word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.

"Shit, then I’m really happy I told you," he murmured into your hair, his voice brimming with gratitude.

"Me too," you replied with a light chuckle, planting a kiss on his chest. "I've wanted to tell you for so long, but I just didn’t want to risk… you know, our friendship in case you didn’t feel the same."

“Yeah… I guess I’ve just sort of realised… sorry it took so long,” he added with a sweet chuckle.

“Oh, you know, better late than never.”

And wrapped in each other's embrace, Jack knew this was where you belonged. Looking into your eyes, he vowed to do whatever it took to make you happy, to build a future together filled with love and laughter.

Meanwhile, a few feet away, Luke and Nico observed the sweet interaction between the two of you. And with a heartfelt chuckle, Luke turned to Nico with a smug expression.

“Guess I can call Quinn and tell him I won the bet then.”

“What was the bet on?” Nico inquired with a chuckle.

“Oh, just that he said they wouldn’t admit anything before one of them was in a serious relationship,” Luke explained. “But I didn’t think they’d ever get that far.”

“And clearly, you were right,” the captain let out a deep laugh.

#my asks #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #new jersey devils imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine

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