#failed attempts snippets

[echofoxart]

FANFIC SNIPPET TIMEEEEEEEEE

I'm undetermined on if I like writing Kinger, but i do love the idea of guilt ridden Kinger.

Kinger lifted a hand to his head, wincing. Was it just him, or was the light growing brighter? It felt…. Brighter. Too bright. 

She was yelling. Roaring. He hadn’t been there. Oh, she hated him now, didn’t she? She should hate him. His Queenie… he’d done this. He’d….

Kinger shook his head, looking around. It was dark now. Oh so, wonderfully dark. The oppressive light had gone, taking with it the clear edges and details of the environment around him. … Good. He’d rather the blurred world. 

[unforgivenn]

Failed escape/rescue attempts

Y'know, there's just something about failed rescue attempts or escape plans gone horribly wrong that just gets to me. It's not just the adrenaline rush of the chase or the thrill of the near miss, although those are definitely part of it. Being someone who's definitely more into psychological and trauma whump, It's the raw emotions, the sheer horror etched on the face of whumpee, when they realize that everything they hoped for is crumbling right before their eyes.

Picture this: you've got this poor soul, trapped in the clutches of their tormentor, clinging to the faint hope that someone out there cares enough to save them. Maybe they've been planning their escape for weeks, maybe even months or years mapping out every detail, every possible scenario. They've decided how to deal with the worst-case scenario and if they do get caught. They've played it out in their mind a thousand times, imagining the moment when they finally break free, when they taste sweet freedom once again. They keep dreaming about it, about how they'll greet and probably cry when they see their family. They think about what all things they'll do when they're free. They haven't been to a karaoke for a very long time.

But then, just when it seems like everything's falling into place, when they're on the verge of breaking out, it all goes to hell in a handbasket. Maybe the rescuers get ambushed, taken out brutally and mercilessly right in front of them. You can see the horror in whumpee's eyes when they see blood gushing out and covering their loved ones who decided to rescue them.

Whumpee screaming and shouting out their rescuer's names trying to get them up. Anything for them not to close their eyes. Whumpee's crying, their sobbing as whumper holds them back by their arms, not letting them run to their loved ones. They don't fucking care about what'll whumper do to them for showing this attitude. Right now, their world was just revolving around the near dead bodies on the ground. Maybe they even faint from the shock.

You can practically see the hope draining from their eyes, replaced by a bone-deep despair as they realize that their chance at freedom has slipped through their fingers. They feel so guilty. It's all their fault. All of it just like whumper said. If they weren't alive then the others would've still been alive. It's all their fucking fault. They feel guilty for even thinking of freedom because there's no way they deserve even a minute of it. The moment from the night keeps playing over in their mind making them break down more than just once.

Or maybe it's even worse. Maybe they're just seconds away from freedom, fingertips brushing against the promise of a new life, when it's all snatched away from them in an instant. It's like a gut punch, that moment when they realize that their fate is sealed, that they'll never escape the clutches of their tormentor.

And then there's the aftermath. The punishment for daring to dream of a life beyond their suffering. Maybe the whumper takes out their frustrations on the one they were trying to save, doling out punishment with a cruel and merciless hand. Maybe they're told, in no uncertain terms, that no one is coming for them, that they are utterly and completely alone in their misery.

[ultravioletbrit]

snippet hour

Thank you for the tags @courfee, @arviyya, & @wolfpadx - I have loved reading all your snippets!! 💜💜 I'm so late to this, but here’s a snippet from a jegulus bingo fic I’m desperately trying to finish before the bingo deadline....

“Do you go to the gym this early every day?” Regulus attempts not to sound too eager or hopeful, he’s pretty sure he fails if the knowing smirk James gives him is anything to go by.

“Yeah, I like to get my WOD out of the way first thing in the morning.” James says casually.  

Regulus can feel his face flush and his eye widen. “Your… your wo… your… your what?” He stammers.

James’ smirk grows into something wicked. “My WOD. Workout of the Day.” He explains. “I like to do it in the morning, clears my head for the rest of the day.”

“Right… right, your wo… workout of the day. Right. That’s… that’s good.” Regulus' heart rate feels erratic, like he’s the one that just worked out for an hour. “Err… well… have a nice day, Mr. Potter.” He says quickly as he turns around and pretends to busy himself with his nonexistent work.  

“You can call me James.” James tells him again, a smug smile clear in his voice even though Regulus doesn’t turn around to see it.

He listens to James’ footsteps shuffle across the lobby and around the corner to the elevators. He doesn’t turn around until he hears the elevator doors close and he’s sure James is no longer there.

“Fuck.” Regulus releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He has another hour left of his shift and every second is spent completely distracted by thoughts of James Potter and his… ‘Workout of the Day’.

np tags - @itsjaywalkers, @bluedahlia912, @ecstarry, @calamitoustide, @emlovessid, @otrtbs, @just--vi

[worldofgoo]

my weird issues led me to withdraw socially pretty heavily (at least by my standards?) for a couple years. like when i got super weird and tried to abandon this blog & went off onto a sideblog where i talked to myself for a while. but ive been making an active effort to be more confident and sociable and less insecure, i feel like its pretty fun like i dont take any of this too seriously but im trying not to put up too many emotional barriers either

[fag4dykestobin]

last sentence tag game!

rules: in a rb or separate post, post the last sentence you wrote in any of your wips (original, fanfic, etc), and tag as many people as there are words.

i got tagged by @devondespresso :) im going to break those rules also because the true last sentence i have is short and the "context" is fun. this is from my blaseball au that will likely never ever see the light of day

The girl who is not 011, because she’s 011, even if she doesn’t really want to be most of the time, huffs a little, starts walking toward them. El can hear Dustin behind her start babbling and scrambling away, trying to drag Lucas with him, but she doesn’t take her gaze off of her doppelganger. They have distrustful eyes only for each other.

The imposter holds out her arm. Tattooed in the exact same place as El is a similar brand, but not identical.

011-B.

[bmpmp3]

its 12 am. listen to my wips boy.

[phantom-z0ne]

WIP Wednesday when in doubt, post eerily accurate predictions online snippet for @oriharaizayadividesintoslytherin

"I should've asked earlier, but what exactly are we looking for, Sam?"

The ghost floated over to her, an expression of frustrated concentration scrunched his face. "A ring. It's here somewhere, I can feel it! But I can't. . . ugh! I just can't pin it down!"

"A ring. . ." Brooklynn echoed hollowly, eyeing the messy surroundings, "Sure. Alright. We can do this!"

Nyla lounged atop the couch, her dress moving in a nonexistent wind. "We should search the private rooms first, right? Isn't that where killers on TV usually hide their spoils? And it's less likely anyone they invite over will stumble across them."

"Good idea. I would waste too much time if I started in here." Brooklynn nodded, bracing her hand on the armrest as she stood. "Who decorates this much anyways? It's just distasteful at this point."

"He probably murdered his sense of style." Nyla rolled her eyes, passing through a gold goat statue(a nod to his gang??) as she made her way to one of the closed doors.

"That's not all he murdered." Sam wiggled his eyebrows in Brooklynn's direction before following Nyla. Brooklynn sighed, she was surrounded by those with the worst sense of humor.

[v-writes]

Captured King Snippet

DPXDC inspired by this post by @mokulule

It's probably going to be one long one shot when it goes up on ao3, but here's a little less than 1k of the beginning (by snippet I do mean most of what I have written so far lol)

Pt 2 Pt 3 ao3

Phantom had been quiet since he was apprehended.

Silent in a way that someone who needed to breathe, someone with a beating heart, could never be, and Batman could tell it had Superman on edge as he stared through the one way glass into the interrogation room. But then the uncanniness of the young man they had captured was probably a minor stressor compared to the concern of what would happen if Phantom got loose, his arrest had been brutal. Clark shouldn't even be in the observation room, any fight that left him as battered as he was should land him in the Fortress of Solitude's medical facilities, but getting that through to him when Phantom was still present was a losing battle.

So many of the League's heavy hitters, including dipping into Justice League Dark for magical support, and Phantom had danced around them.

The only reason they had been victorious in the end was because-

~~~

After several failed attempts at capture based on power match ups leaving the league member unable to land a meaningful hit, or arriving too late to stop or catch him, an ambush had finally been successful.

The ambush location had been set up for them, pending inspection by their team, based on Phantom's history and pattern of attack.

A pattern that was too aggressive, to recent for Bruce to have time to investigate to his satisfaction before action was needed.

The research facility had been pre-cleared of civilians and intel, the latter of which irked Batman. Every instance of a League member beating Phantom to a facility location ended with Phantom fleeing, if only to return later. So why would the GIW need to clear their servers to the degree they did.

Each member of the ambush team chosen with the utmost care, carefully strategized, every outcome accounted for, and in the end-

The why was unknown, but Phantom couldn't use his intangibility on Captain Marvel, leading to Marvel turning the fight into a one on one grapple despite the close quarters limiting how much help the rest of the team could be.

Phantom had barely made a sound most of the fight, ignoring the team's attempts at communication, he'd barely hissed at the brutal slash Wonder Woman had landed, barely a grunt at Superman's blows, dancing around Green Lantern's constructs, a motley of growing bruises on his skin and seeping wounds. And Phantom had reciprocated in kind, Diana had come out of the fight bruised, but largely unscathed, but Green Lantern was only 'standing' due to his ring and will, and whatever Phantom had done to Superman's ribs wasn't healing without attention, at least Clark Kent calling in sick to the Daily Planet would help his cover.

But Phantom screamed when Captain Marvel called down lightning on him. Broken, and bone chilling even through the comms, the volume deafening. And Marvel had read the seizing muscles followed by going completely limp, the uneven and new breathing, the tears, the presence of any reaction at all as landing a disabling blow.

Phantom took advantage of the lowered guard, but then at their proximity, it probably wouldn't have mattered lowered guard or not. And Phantom reciprocated in kind.

Phantom's eyes shot open, glowing bright in the night sky, energy arcing off of him as he sent Captain Marvel's lightning back through him.

Captain Marvel's cry cuts off sooner than Phantom's had, quickly replaced by Billy's, having been so close to him when he transformed, Phantom catches him quickly, instinctively, as he begins to fall. Cyborg's drones catch Phantom's expression as he processes what just happened clearly, eyes widening, mouth opening slightly, shock shifting to horror as he stares crestfallen at the boy in his arms.

"We're too high up." The first words anyone on the Justice League had heard him say, despite the GIW claiming he had a reputation for chatting nonsense incessantly. "The atmosphere it's, the air is too thin, too cold, he-"

"Phantom." Superman's tone is unyielding, firm, Phantom's eyes dart to him, "hand him over."

Phantom stares at Superman for a long uncomprehending moment before startling into action, "right, of course," drifting closer to Superman he carefully places a stirring Billy in his arms, as soon as Phantom lets go Green Lantern wraps Billy in a force field.

Billy takes a deep breath, eyes shooting open, twisting in Superman's arms his eyes snap past Phantom, but the warning his glance gives the ghost isn't enough.

Cruel, was not a word that could ever apply to Diana. Ruthless however, was an apt description, her lasso wrapping around Phantom's throat, he didn't need to breathe, but it would prevent his sonic attack, and provided her leverage to swing him around like a dog with a chew toy, diving towards the Earth she slams him into the ground, creating a crater at his impact, and holding him still long enough for Zatanna to swoop in from where she lay in wait to contain him.

~~~

Because something wasn't adding up.

The petition for help from the US government had made Phantom out to be a recurring issue, yet hadn't reached out until his most recent attacks.

Research notes going back nearly a decade, tied closely with a branch of the U.S. government none of them had heard of before.

Laser focused on his target unless absolutely forced to shift his attention.

And it took a lot to draw his attention, he displayed a worrying number of powers and abilities, skilled in evasion and combat, he didn't hesitate to match any of the league blow for blow until he-

Phantom's face when Captain Marvel had transformed played over and over again in Bruce's mind.

There was a difference to him in fighting Captain Marvel, the Champion of Magic, Earth's Mightiest Mortal, and Billy Batson, the 14 year old out too late on a school night.

As there should be.

But there wouldn't have been to the menace the GIW had described.

The GIW would be expecting an update soon.

The league didn't have one for them.

Batman refused to have one for them until he had more information.

Unfortunately their greatest source of information was tight lipped and unresponsive.

[world-of-aus]

This One's For You

Pairing: hockey player!bucky x NHL Photographer! Reader

Warning: Bucky barnes being a heartthrob

Authors Note: another snippet of Bucky and hotshot 🤭

The arena is a buzz of excitement; gold and black line one side, red and blue line the other, the two colors meeting and molding in the middle of each side. You’re at ice-level behind the protective barrier of Plexi-glass as you wait like the many fans for the game to start. Your equipment sits on your chair – a lone stool that has unfortunately seen better days. As you go to get your camera set up you feel your phone vibrate in the confines of your jean pocket.

Plucking your phone from your jeans you see an unread message from Natasha waiting to be opened. A picture of your jacketed back stares back at you, the message below reading,

‘You’d look so much better with your jacket off, a certain right defenseman would agree with me.’

‘It’s cold!’ you shoot back.

‘I left the apartment with you this morning, you have a long sleeve under, black one, remember?”

You curse your roommate under your breath, another message popping up below that one.

‘Take it Off or I’ll personally go take it off!’

‘Shouldn’t you be taking pre-game photos?’

A moment later a photo of Bucky walking in through the backstage of the arena is taking up your screen, he’s wearing a tailored suit, his hair lazily slicked back as he winks at the camera, his all too pink lips curled in a wicked smile. Your heart skips a beat in your chest, your teeth capturing the smile that threatens to break through.

‘Now take it off.’

‘So bossy’ you mutter under your breath as you take off your jacket, your jersey that she gifted you for your birthday now on full display.

‘Happy now?’

Her text takes a while to come in and only then do you realize why when her text comes in with Bucky’s contact attached. A picture of you adorning his jersey pops up a message appearing shortly after.

‘See now that looks so much better! Woops wrong chat..’

You whip your head around trying but failing miserably to find the blonde in question. Your phone vibrates in your hand.

‘Looking Good Hot Shot! Drinks on me after the win..”

‘At least take her to dinner first Barnes.. 😉’

Your cheeks are warm despite the cool air of the arena nipping at your skin as you read the messages transpiring between the two.

‘He didn’t mean it like that Tasha! Besides he’d need to secure a win against the Rangers first.’ is your odd lame of an attempt to dust away any feelings between the two of you your friend is trying to make appear out of thin air.

‘The win was in the bag the second you stepped foot into the arena Hot shot, you wearing my name was just an added bonus, oh I totally meant it like that but can the drinks be on you instead?’ 😉'

‘With all those puck bunnies sporting your last name throwing themselves at you I doubt you’ll remember, but given the chance you remember drinks can be on me.’

“Stop sabotaging yourself.” You jump slightly, hand on your racing chest as you look over your shoulder finding Natasha, her gear tossed over her shoulder, lanyard laid against her chest. She gives you a pointed stare, “you and Barnes have been doing this same old dance for some time now and it’s getting tiring y/n.” She shakes her head at you, “Not like that, this whole will they won’t they, we’re rooting for the two of you y/n. He’s not Brock,” she murmurs her hand reaching out for yours. “He’s reaching, barring his hand to you – you just need to meet him halfway and trust that he’ll catch you, we all know he will, we’re all just waiting for you – he’s waiting for you.”

You suck in a breath at her words, she knew where your uncertainty came from when allowing yourself to feel anything for the bruin's player, “but what if he doesn’t, you saw how -” you shake your head not willing yourself to go back there.

Both your phones vibrate in your hands but you only see yours,

‘Not letting you back out now hotshot because the only bunny I’ll be chasing is you tonight, hopefully the drinks taste as sweet as you.’

Natasha’s grin is evident as she closes in on you one arm going around you as she hooks he chin on your shoulder. “You see!” she points at the screen you still look at. “You’re not wrong about all the puck bunnies sporting his name wanting an inkling of his time, but he only has eyes for you, let him know you see him right back y/n.”

She’s grinning squeezing your arm as she reads your reply,

‘Hope you run just as good as you skate Barnes.’

Natasha throws her head back on a laugh as you pocket your phone reaching for your camera as you get into position the announcements popping up on the screen. “This game just got so much better!”

Red and blue lights flood the arena, the sea of Rangers fans standing tall, getting loud as their teams players flash across the screen. The players glide onto the ice from their opening, circling the arena as they hype their crowd. You’re quick to take notice of a few of the players lingering on your side egging the opposing teams' fans on. It’s short-lived as the screen changes, shades of black and gold flashing, the Bruins players coming onto the screen. The crowd behind you roars in excitement Natasha joining in as you lift your lens, they come in fast and hot as they circle the arena in the same manner. You’re quick to get shots in rapid succession, focusing in on a few personal shots at the player’s that are closest to you.

You spot Sam, the camera finding him easily as he does what he does best. He always gets a kick out of warming up the crowd, getting them riled up for the game. It puts him in the headspace he needs to ensure his team a win. Your camera spots Steve next, he’s gliding closer to where you and Natasha are, a grin pulls at your lips, heartwarming for your friend who gets herself closer to the glass. You capture the moment he comes to a stop in front of the Plexi-glass his gloved hand pressing against where her’s already rests waiting. You lean back a bit to get both of them in the shot you know Natasha would be requesting that photo by the end of the night.

“Kick some ass out there Rogers, give me something to celebrate tonight.”

The dirty blonde taps the glass throwing a wink her way, “Good luck out there Stevie!” you call out, as he turns to skate to where Sam is. A tap on the glass has you turning your head in the other direction, the crowd seemingly getting louder as Bucky approaches you from the opposite side of the glass. You bring your camera up to capture him, a breathtaking smile cutting his lips as he stares at you through the lens of your camera. You notice he doesn’t get as close as Steve does, but he only has eyes for you as he glides across, “this one's for you hotshot!”

“Good luck out there B!” You hide your smile behind the lens of your camera capturing the grin that splits his lips before he’s turning to the call of his name.

The referee's whistle kicks off the game, and its as good of a game as Natasha said it would be.

You don’t set your camera down for a single second of the game as you focus on the players on the ice and capturing ‘the shot’. You’ve managed to dodge a few pucks and players that have flown your way into the glass. It’s fast paced, brutal even as both teams fight to secure that win.

It’s down to the wire now, the crowd is tense as they watch their teams leave it all on the ice. Your cameras resting against your chest, Natasha gripping your hand in hers as your eyes follow the players. “C’mon c’mon, bring it home!” she pleads. You catch the moment Steve begins his move for the winning shot, your camera coming up to follow the game behind the lens of your camera. Bucky and Sam stay in Steve’s line of sight as he passes the puck to Sam, Sam then glides forward Bucky just a few feet off to his side to get the puck from the left defenseman. Capturing the moment Sam makes the pass, you hold your breath as Bucky swings, the buzzer sounds a split second after, the roar of the crowd loud behind you as Natasha jumps into your side her own yells of victory loud in your ear.

“He did it! Y/n he fucking did it!!” She screams shaking you.

You can’t find your voice as your camera shutters away, but the way your heart races, the smile parting your lips gives way to the emotion filling your chest.

“C’mon let’s go!” Natasha urges pulling you along to get the two of you out onto the ice.

You thought the excitement was palpable behind the glass, but it’s electric out on the ice with the celebrating team. You’re capturing as many images of the teams victory as you can before Natasha spots the guys urging you on. You let her go capturing the moment Steve gets her in his arms, the kiss the two share between them. You find Wilson next he’s all smiles at you and your camera as he glides towards you. You lower the lens momentarily to let him pull you in for a bone crushing hug, “you guys did it, I’m so proud of you Sammy!”

His lips press to your head, “it was all for you hotshot, I’ve got to say when your boys determined, he’s determined,” he grins as he pulls away to look down at you.

“It wasn’t just for me, it was for the fans, for the team.” You lamely argue.

His grin only grows, “yeah? Tell him that then.” And then he’s gliding off to the side towards where Natasha and Steve wait. Bucky stands feet away from you grin on his lips, his hair a sweaty mess, your camera comes up. Each shutter brings him closer to you till you have no other choice but to lower the device and take all of him in. He’s barely got his arms open enough before you’re eating up at the last foot between the two of you your arms going around him.

“You did it B, you won!”

His arms wrap tighter around you, his nose buried in your hair, “I told you hotshot, this one was for you and I meant it.”

You lean back taking in the right defenseman, there’s that smile, the one you always find directed at you. “You did, didn’t you,” you breathe unable to look away. “Guess the drinks really are on me tonight.”

He chuckles grin splitting his lips further, “don’t think that’ll be the only thing on you tonight,” he murmurs pulling you closer, his head lowering to yours, he stops just before his lips brush yours. “you gonna let me catch you hotshot?”

“Yeah B. I think I am.”

[livwritesstuff]

snippet of a fic i'll hopefully finish this weekend

“Speak of the devil,” Robin says, looking back at Steve with an irritatingly smug smile on her face, “Look who it is.”

“Speak of the devil?” Eddie repeats with a big grin on his face, “I knew my ears weren’t ringing for no reason. All bad things, I hope.”

Steve barely hears him though, too busy trying desperately to tap into that telepathy or mind control or whatever everyone claims he and Robin have to make her shut the fuck up already!!!

Unfortunately, he fails because Robin is suddenly exclaiming, “Hey, Eddie! Steve’s shift is about to end. You should give him a ride home.”

Eddie stares at her.

“His car is in the parking lot.”

Robin hesitates, “Uh...yeah. That...is right, but Steve is letting me use his car while I practice driving.”

Steve’s eyes narrows.

“I’m doing what?”

“Yeah-yeah-yeah,” she nods, her voice getting hysterical and fast in the way it usually does when she starts to lose control of the connection between her brain and her words, “Remember? I was gonna drive myself home tonight and then-and then I’m gonna pick you up in the morning on the way to work tomorrow. As practice.”

“That’s awfully nice of you, Steve,” Eddie says slowly, looking between the two of them suspiciously.

“Isn’t it?” Robin adds with an innocent smile, “So can you give him a ride?”

After another moment or two, Eddie replies, “Sure,” apparently deciding against interrogating Robin about her more-than-obvious lie, “I’ll meet you outside, Steve?”

“Sure thing,” Steve manages (as in - he manages to wait until Eddie's gone to attempt strangling Robin).

"I did it for your own good!" Robin exclaims from behind the rolling cart of VHS tapes she's currently using as a buffer between them.

Steve tries to yank the cart out of her grip, but she's got that wiry, theater kid kind of strength, so he can't make it happen, which means Steve's really got no other choice but to let Eddie drive him home.

"I'm never speaking to you ever again," he mutters.

"Yeah, right," Robin laughs, "Let me know how making out with Eddie all night goes."

[akawifeyy]

risk! | smau & fic (FC43)

description: franco colapinto is a playboy — everyone knows that — but he does have some boundaries that he’s unwilling to cross. that is, until he meets you. the younger sister of oscar piastri. then he’s willing to risk it all.

tropes: forced proximity, mutual love, forbidden romance, age gap (18 and 21), op81 sister!reader!

face claim: gracie mckenna

trigger warnings: suggestive content, swearing

| note: this is a combination between a smau and a fic, meaning that some social media snippets are mixed throughout, along with blocks of prose. hope you enjoy!

tagged: @ williams, @ francolapinto, @ f1

comments (2718):

@ user1: this is so ridiculous, he's literally just being used to get girls to watch F1 🙄

-> @ user2: I agree, he can't even drive

@ user3: CONGRATS FRANCOOOO #argentina 🇦🇷

@ williams: We're so grateful to have Franco on our team, and can't wait to see what he will achieve in these upcoming races!

Melbourne, Australia (2025)

There was no way you could ever do this. Get in a tiny metal race car and go spinning around in circles against nineteen others for almost two hours? That was a tall order for anyone, yet your brother always exceeded expectations. You watched him glide through the track, his papaya car shedding sparks as he pushed the engine to the max. He was incredible, carefully looping around and setting records.

It was his home race; nothing lesser would have been expected. Oscar needed to excel, to survive against the pressure. Over the past few weeks, it was like he was glued to the sim, practicing this circuit repeatedly, making sure every movement was executed flawlessly. This was the final countdown: FP2, meaning that in less than a day, Oscar's skills would be put to the test.

Behind you, your best friend Georgia, wolf-whistled. Lando Norris, Oscar's teammate, had just entered the paddock. His curly hair was obscured by his classic neon-green helmet, his race suit hanging loose around his waist. "I'm so ready..." You heard him say to Zach, and then you turned your attention back on Oscar, who was on his final practice lap.

The car moved around as if it were a dagger, slicing through the track like the weapon it was. When he finally slowed to a halt, you rushed to meet him. He exited the car, removing his helmet, chest heaving with exertion. "Hey, Y/N," he said, smiling.

"Hi, Osc! You did amazing!"

He flushed, not one for compliments. "Sure. Where's Mom?"

"I think she went inside because it was too hot. I'll go get her," you said brightly, trailing after him.

Oscar shook his head. "It's OK, don't worry. Stay out here a bit, I think Lando's about to go on."

"I don't really care about him," you blurted. "I was waiting until you were done to go walk around the track."

Oscar raised one eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Even though you were younger than him by only five years, he acted like you were still a child. You were eighteen, and just one semester away from going to uni! You wouldn't have constant supervision there.

"Mom said I could," you pouted. "You're not in charge of me, I'm an adult now."

"Yeah, but you can't read a map, and you're naive," Oscar pointed out. "You trust everyone."

You gave him a look. "Like that's a bad thing. Anyways, I'll see you later!"

Oscar hugged you quickly, his eyes watching you concernedly, and you rushed off to explore the circuit.

Melbourne, Australia (2025 / continued)

You exited the McLaren paddock, tugging off your jacket and tying it around your waist securely. It had been a while since you'd been able to go to a Grand Prix; your parents hadn't let you because of all your studies. But this was Oscar's home race, and it was monumental. After months of arguing (and failed attempts at bribery), you'd finally convinced them to let you tag along.

The sun beat down on you, warming you from head to toe. It felt nice to finally feel a bit of a breeze, since you'd been cooped up in your room all week, prepping for your finals.

As you wandered through the grounds, you watched as fans cheered for their favorite drivers. You saw a few Australian flags here and there. One even had Oscar's face on it, next to a koala on a eucalyptus tree and a kangaroo, and you laughed.

You passed the Mercedes and Haas motor homes, where you saw Kimi Antonelli and Ollie Bearman talking. They were close to your age, and potential friends, but whenever you tried to talk to them, Oscar ushered you away.

"They're guys. And F1 drivers. They can't be trusted," he told you.

You rolled your eyes. "So that means I can't trust you."

Eventually, you found yourself in the Williams paddock, watching as they prepped the car for its final practice before the race. A man with the most attractive dimples you'd ever seen was talking animatedly with his race engineer, discussing potential strategies.

You were enthralled by his lilting accent, caught on every word and phrase. He finished with the race engineer and turned to his car, but then he stopped, noticing your presence.

You were wearing a bright orange blouse, and the jacket wrapped around your waist had Oscar's number on it, immediately incriminating you.

"Hello there," the man said, a grin dancing on his lips. "I'm Franco. And you are?"

Seven words, and you were hooked.

Text messages between Oscar and Y/N (2025):

@ yourusername: home is where the heart is 🩷

tagged: @ oscarpiastri, @ f1

comments (182):

@ yourbffusername: had sooo much fun w you!

-> @ yourusername: i love being with youu

@ oscarpiastri: I already miss it

-> @ yourusername: go kick ass in china 😼

@ user4: Just dropped to my knees in the middle of the grocery store. She's just that beautiful

Two weeks after the Melbourne Grand Prix

You flopped down on your bed, feet kicked up in the air as you texted none other than Franco, the same driver you'd met in the Williams paddock. He was funny and flirtatiously silly, but he was smart too. You had a lot of conversations about your upcoming university days, and he gave great advice on the topic.

"You don't always have to listen to your brother," he texted you a few nights after you'd met. "You're your own person, cielo."

You two had bonded over your mutual love of horse riding, a hobby of yours that you were trying to continue despite all the stress of the past year. Franco sent you a few photos of his horse, and one where he was shirtless. You spent more time ogling that picture than you'd care to admit.

Talking to Franco was therapeutic, and you didn't want to hide the blossoming friendship (or more?) that you two had. But you knew how overly protective Oscar was of you. You didn't want to spark a rivalry that could play out poorly on track. It wasn't worth the drama.

You weren't going to avoid telling your brother forever, but you wanted to wait a while to make sure that you didn't give him an aneurysm for nothing. Franco had a reputation as a playboy, like all other F1 drivers, but he was still young and a rising star. He could be using you — at least, that's what the little voice in the back of your mind warned. It spent too much time listening and believing everything Oscar had told you.

There was a knock on your door, and you jumped, turning the screen off so that no one could see the conversation you'd been having.

I've never met a girl like you before.

You're my princesa, you know that? All pure and perfect. I wonder how long it would take for me to absolutely ruin you.

"Dinner's ready," your mother called through the door.

"Thanks, I'll be there in a minute!" you responded. Once you heard her footsteps recede, you texted Franco that you had to leave, and hurried outside, your cheeks blushing red.

@ francolapinto: ¡P8 en el Gran Premio de China! Es muy emocionante ver todo el progreso que ha logrado Williams. Estoy agradecido de ser parte de este equipo. ¡Hasta la próxima carrera!

(P8 in the Chinese Grand Prix! Very exciting to see all the progress Williams has made, I'm grateful to be part of this team. Until next race!)

tagged: @ williams, @ f1

comments (489):

@ user11: Amazing work, Franco!

@ yourusername: podium coming when???

-> @ francolapinto: Soon 😏

Text messages between Franco and Y/N (2025):

The Confrontation:

You fidgeted under Oscar's heavy stare. Even through a phone screen, his brown eyes pierced you. "I need to tell you something, but you can't flip out, OK?" you said.

"Oh God, what did you do now?" Oscar responded, preparing for the worst.

You shook your head, putting your palms up in a gesture of surrender. "Nothing bad! I swear!" You hesitated. "Well...I've been talking to someone. A guy, for a bit now."

Oscar sucked in a breath. "Not Lando."

Your jaw dropped. "Absolutely not."

"Good. Who is it, then?"

You closed your eyes, praying to God that Oscar wouldn't explode from anger. "Um...Franco?" You waited for the name to register.

Oscar blinked. "The new Williams driver?"

You nodded. "Yeah, that's who it is."

"That's who you chose?"

"Yeah?" you questioned, cocking your head to the side in confusion. "Is there something I should know? I mean, other than the fact that he's a supposed playboy and —"

"— He's fine, I suppose," Oscar mused under his breath. "Just be careful, alright?"

You froze in shock. "Yeah, I will be. Thanks for not freaking out."

"You're eighteen, I can't stop you from being romantically interested in someone. All I ask is that you don't engage in activities that should be done after marriage." Oscar pursed his lips. "I love you, Y/N. I'm always looking out for you."

"I know, and I'm thankful. You're the best older brother in the world."

@ francolapinto: Felices tres meses para mi hermosa novia, Y/N. Gracias por escucharme hablar y estar siempre ahí, incluso en los momentos más difíciles. Hasta pronto, corazón mío.

(Happy three months to my beautiful girlfriend, Y/N. Thank you for listening to me speak and always being there, even in the most difficult moments. See you soon, my heart.)

tagged: @ yourusername

comments (5895):

@ user11: I KNEW IT 🥳🥳🥳

@ user12: we weren't delusional guys!!!!!

-> @ user7: I love clowning and then being right

@ yourusername: hard launchhhh ‼️

-> @ yourusername: love you so much franco, i don't know what i would do without you!

-> @ francolapinto: Muchos besos, mi amor 💋

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[2-dsimp]

Snippets on more cuckoo bird egg trauma but darling literally never leaves it unattended

And boom plot twist it's not from the cuckoo avians

Yandere Harpy x harpy darling

Tw: fem reader, heavy angst, gaslighting, manipulation, coercion, betrayal, emotional abuse, sabotage, mentions of miscarriage

◣────•~❉᯽❉~•────◢

“Sweetheart? What is that doing in our nest?” Lynx asked, neck craning seeing you huddled over an egg. You perked up hearing your mates voice, then both of you had been trying for a clutch. But there was no luck so you happened to be acting as a foster mother for an hatchling that was recently abandoned.

“Ah the parents seemed to have left this poor baby behind. So I decided to raise it as one of our own.” You cooed, nuzzling at the little fuzzy avian babe. You were proud to showcase the baby to your mate.

“We can finally have that family we’ve always wanted, aren’t you happy?” You chirred, Hopes high in believing that the both of you would go on to raise the abandoned avian together.

“As our own…? Huh. Yeah I’m totally stoked love. This little one’s gonna be a hoot to raise ahahah.” Though his voice was humorous, you missed the dark expression on your mates face. His feathers bristled as he looked down at the hatchling with silent scorn. He couldn’t let his animosity show, not yet. The harpy knew you needed a bit of healing from failed baby making attempts. So he bid his time letting you live out your fantasy.

For a short while it was smooth sailing, from your perspective Lynx seemed happy to interact with the hatchling. Taking on the role of it’s father, the sight of them bonding gave you joy. Filling the emptiness in your heart of not being able to bare y’all’s own clutch.

But alas this temporary happiness wasn’t meant to last. One night you were awoken by the beating of wings and the shaking of your shoulders. The hatchling in your arms was squirming letting out soft chirps of protest as if its peace was being threatened. Your eyes snapped open in alarm.

“Muse~ guess what? I found the little ones parents~!” Your heart dropped, feathers ruffling as you let out a small caw of disbelief. “What? What are you talking about?” Not trusting your own hearing. It couldn’t be true, it’d make no sense.

“Baby It took a couple days but I’ve managed to track em down. Being a celebrity does come with good connections am I right?” Lynx chimed cheekily, his wings happily fluttering directing your face to look at your baby. Fraternizing with their biological parents. The parents you had believed, no desperately wished were out of the picture.

“Lynx this is some cruel joke! Why have you gone out of your way to do something so, so unnecessary!” You cried, he knew, he knew how much you needed this. The peace only a family could bring. After mourning the loss of your former chicks that never came to be. That child you took underneath your wing was to be your pride and joy. “You didn’t see what I saw! They were abandoned! Unwanted! We—”

“You thought they were abandoned, but we both know that’s just not true baby.” He cut you off with a sickeningly sweet coo. His talons tethered you down in place. His clawed hands squishing your cheeks forcing you to watch the tear jerking reunion. “See? The little one was separated from its parents not abandoned!”

“No, no Lynx that’s our baby, I found em, we were happy raising them together. You made a mistake. It can’t be their real parents—“ You uttered, eyes welling up with tears not wishing to see anymore. Your mate’s wings enshrouded you both in a tight hug. His voice ringing in your ears, entirely dismissive. “Listen, honey you made an honest mistake. But it’s okay!”

“It’s not okay—“ Lynx shushed you, with a finger to your lips. As he continued to prattle off, in an upbeat chirp ignoring your weak protest. “Yknow, after I reached out to them, they thanked us both nonstop for temporarily taking care of their hatchling” He emphasized the word temporary, wanting you to understand that lil ball of fluff didn’t belong to you. That it never did have a place within y’all’s nest. As he’d never accept any hatchling that didn’t come from y’all’s sacred union.

“The mister and missus gave us some nesting gifts! Some freshly gathered fertility herbs to get our own clutch going. Aren’t they so nice?” His words amplified by the happy trilling of the chick’s parents becoming reacquainted with their long lost hatchling. It was a genuine show of belonging which shattered your delusions.

“Oh darling, don’t be sad, soon enough we’ll have our own clutch. Tonight I’ve got a good feeling you’re gonna take. Now cmon let’s show our guests out. We’ll put those fertility herbs to use once they’re gone mkay?”

————

Little did you know those harpies were paid actors, right after they left from y’all’s nested home. Lynx, sneakily wired cash into the “parents” bank accounts as they flew away with the confused avian chick in their arms. Where it was dropped off at an orphanage, forever lost to the system. You couldn’t hear its cries for you, the sad chirps yearning for you to come back. To embrace them within your warmth. The baby was always calling out for you, their mama.

[perlelune]

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | i.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Your hands quake around the bucket of mice as you stand above the terrarium. The bright-skinned creatures inside writhe around, in anticipation of their next meal. You peer inside the metal bucket at the little mice with their cute whiskers and beady eyes. Your heart twinges. They will soon meet their end, courtesy of you. But what else can be done? The snakes need to eat. Because if they were not fed, the colorful reptiles would break through the glass in search of the food they were denied. You used to have nightmares of it as a child. The lab crawling with snakes, their neon scales filling every corner.

Natural order restored as every warm-blooded creature in their vicinity turns into prey. 

You suppress a shudder. While that never happened, you can’t erase the slight chill dancing through your bones whenever you approach the terrarium. 

Other lab assistants have offered to take on the task, noting your discomfort. You’ve turned each of them down. Mother has given you this job ten years ago. A gift, she called it. More of a challenge quite frankly. A way to test your nerves, that she always deemed too delicate. She never expected you to go through with it. “Hippity, hoppity, little one,” she mockingly sang that day as you fidgeted before the ceiling-high glass case filled with snakes to the brim. Their scales were a deep green back then. Nothing like the pink, yellow and blue shades they don today. A plethora of mutations throughout the years has made them what they are now.

You tip the bucket against the edge of the glass case, abandoning the poor rodents to their fates. The reptiles are quick to dive upon them in a heap. The mice’s helpless squeaks reach a peak, piercing your ears until they’re silenced quickly. You watch, stomach tight while the snakes open their maws and swallow the furred animals whole. The spectacle will never sit well with you.

Still, you school your features and steady your heart. Mother’s voice echoes through your head.

Emotions are a weakness. They must be harnessed, contained.

Harnessing your emotions. A feat you could never achieve. One that makes you a failed experiment in Mother’s eyes. A waste of space. A disappointment.

You start climbing down the ladder to gather more mice from their cages. Your insides clutch at the prospect of gently picking them up only to escort them to a sorrowful fate.

The train of your thoughts is interrupted when voices erupt from the other end of the long hall. 

Recognizing them, you freeze. Panic floods your veins. You haste down the ladder, the bucket clattering as you discard it on the floor. 

You scurry inside the nearest office and duck beneath a table.

The voices grow in the lab. You eavesdrop, allowing you to catch snippets of the conversation. They’re discussing Mother’s latest experiments with the Avox subjects. One succumbed to a chromosome translocation with a wolf mutt. The finer details of replacing the subject and what can be learned from the results are discussed in cold, clinical fashion. No regard for what was a human life, now lost, is granted. The Avox was nothing more than a slab of meat meant for slaughter. The slow, barbaric kind.

Ice seeps through your veins. You loathe visiting that room, the one displaying Mother’s human experiments on unfortunate Avoxes. Their beseeching gazes. Their warped pleas parroted by the jabberjays above them. You almost passed out every time you were tasked with monitoring their electrolyte status or switching their intravenous tubes.

Head rising from under the desk, you allow yourself a peek. 

Mother’s here, of course. You recognized her voice right away. Then, there’s…him.

You let your gaze rest on him, never having the chance to observe him like that. Steal a glance from the back of the lecture hall. Get a glimpse of him amidst his crowd of friends, always in his element of course, owning every room he’s in.

Never before did you get to just look at him.

The first thing that strikes you is how beautiful he is. Handsome in that dazzling way the pretty boys in the sappy books smuggled from the Districts your mother berates you for reading are.

She calls them stupid. For you however, they are your only escape from the dismal humdrum of the Capitol. Fictional worlds that shield you from the harshness of reality. Your saving grace.

Platinum locks combed back from his face. Eyes as blue as the sky. Sharp, angular features.

Coriolanus Snow.

Behind the safety of the glass panel, openly admiring him is easier. In fact, you find it almost hard to peel your eyes away.

No wonder half the girls in your cohort can’t stop gushing about him, how there’s an irresistible, slight air of danger hovering around him since his brief time as a peacekeeper. Even Io Jasper noticed it. And Io never notices anything that she can’t wedge between two glass slides and examine under a microscope.

Awe mingles with envy in your chest. This is who your mother chose as her unofficial successor. The worthy, cool-headed apprentice she has yearned for years. She’s been through so many people, each more eager to please and impress than the last. None ever fit. Not even you. Especially not you. Nobody except for him.

No one had ever passed your mother’s crooked tests before Coriolanus Snow came along.

Blue eyes travel upward, the Snow heir seeming to sense the scrutiny upon him.

“Is someone here?” he says, pushing forward.

Your pulse quickens at the sound of Coriolanus Snow’s deep voice, disturbingly close. You crouch to hide from view.

Mother’s exasperated breath reaches you from behind the glass panel.

“Don’t worry. It’s probably my daughter. I’m afraid she’s quite useless,” she says matter-of-factly.

Your heart sinks. Face warm with embarrassment, you shrink beneath the desk. You bring your knees to your chest. Hearing such words shouldn’t affect you. Not after all these years. Yet it does. A pointed reminder that you can never measure up. That you’re a glaring mistake, lucky to even be allowed to wander the halls of the Citadel and be given a semblance of responsibility, however small.

That you’re not enough, will never be enough.

That you should never have been brought into the world.

After getting caught, you file away your embarrassment and make yourself small. Even smaller than usual. It's not too hard. When you aren’t working at the lab, your schedule consists of attending lectures and studying for long hours at the library. It keeps you busy enough to find excuses to skip a few hours at the lab. After all, midterms are only a few weeks away. They require your entire focus. You can’t fail and add more of a shameful stain to Mother’s name.

It’s why you ramped up your studying since the Academy. You were painfully average then, tragically unremarkable, not even ranking high enough to get your own tribute to mentor in the tenth Hunger Games. The shriveling stare she cast upon you the day of the reaping after Dean Highbottom failed to speak your name is burned into your mind forever. That day, you failed Mother again. You swore to yourself to never let it happen again afterwards.

This year, you will study harder, until your eyes fall off if necessary. If you can pass every class with flying colors and perhaps even aim for the valedictorian spot, you can prove Mother that your existence isn’t a complete and utter waste. It might be a lofty goal for you, but you’ve been ranking higher with every test these last few weeks.

For days, your path does not cross Coriolanus Snow’s again. Your peace is maintained. You get to almost forget how piercing his blue eyes were that day, even from behind the glass panel.

Today, you don’t expect things to veer away from your usual routine. You sit in the back of the lecture hall as is your habit. Students pour inside at a sluggish pace while you peruse your notes from the previous class. They barely make sense, even to you. Defense economics has never been your favorite subject, possibly your most hated in fact, and paying attention during Professor Cloudsbane’s class is even more of a challenge. More than once, you dozed off, the complicated concepts struggling to fully sink into your mind.

Keeping up with this class is twice as much work than all the other ones. Even Mother’s bioengineering and military strategy courses do not give you so much grief. Concepts she’s drilled into you since childhood are easier to digest.

Which is why you’re flabbergasted when the results of last week’s test are passed around and you receive yours. In disbelief, you blink at the paper multiple times.

It’s the highest grade you’ve gotten the entire semester. Possibly the highest one in the class. You bask in the private, secret victory. You’re always so behind. You plan on enjoying that tiny moment. You hug the test to your chest, a smile creeping upon your lips.

���So what score did you get?”

Your head whips up, the sudden voice startling you out of your thoughts.

Bright cobalt orbs fill your sight.

You gape in disbelief. Coriolanus Snow.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize he and his group of friends have elected to occupy the seats in the row before yours today. You’re stunned. They’re usually sitting somewhere in the middle of the hall, not quite at the front but close enough so that Clemensia can comfortably harass the professor with a ceaseless string of questions as she’s known to do.

“So?” he asks again. His eyes dart down. “Your grade?”

Your throat knots as you gawk at him. When you don’t reply, he huffs out a laugh and swipes the piece of paper from your hand. You’re too flabbergasted by his actions to even react.

Empty hands hanging before you, you watch him purse his lips as he inspects your paper.

“Hm, top grade. Figured.” His eyes twinkle. “Expected from Dr. Gaul’s daughter, I suppose.”

“You almost had it, Coryo. But she beat you,” Clemensia teases, wiggling her eyebrows. Meanwhile, Ivy Briarose, Clemensia’s close friend, giggles at her comment. 

You steal a glance at his test; he’s holding it next to yours. Surprise surges through you. There’s only half a point between your grade and his. Just half a point…but still. Coriolanus always aces Professor Cloudsbane’s tests. Him getting the top grade is often expected. But this time, the Snow heir falls behind…you. 

You can hardly believe it. A sliver of pride flutters through you. The fruits of your labor are beginning to show.

“If you don’t watch out, she’ll steal the top student spot from you,” Livia chimes in. You can tell the blonde is reveling in this, that strange animosity between her and Coriolanus on full display.

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks, his tight-lipped smile unfaltering as he studies you.

“I suppose she could,” he utters softly. Despite his tranquil expression and the smile pulling his lips, a peculiar unease settles in your bones. You shift in your chair, goosebumps blooming across your flesh.

He hands you your test back without a word. You’re relieved when he turns and the class starts. 

Still, even with his back turned, the weight of his sizzling scrutiny doesn’t part from your skin. 

The class proceeds, the words pouring from your professor’s lips a befuddling heap in your ears as usual. You jot everything down, acutely aware you’ll need several hours if not more than that to decipher everything he said. Your mind already throbs at the prospect. 

You sneak a glance at the row in front of you. It’s mostly filled with the top students, most of them mentors that last year at the Academy. Some of them aren’t even taking notes. Only Coriolanus sporadically does. He appears to have no issue keeping up with this class, unlike you who drowned in the first few minutes.

You’re relieved when the lecture reaches its end. Your mind is on the cusp of overflow. You desperately need a break. 

You pick up your things and rush to the exit. In the hallway, some guy bumps into you from behind, sending the books in your arms flying across the floor. He doesn’t say anything to you and you bend to pick up your books. Tears press behind your eyes. This is nothing. It shouldn’t make you blink back tears. It’s not the first time someone’s treated you like you were invisible. 

“Hey, apologize.” 

Your eyes drift skyward. Stumped, you watch Coriolanus grip the boy who bumped into you by his shoulder. 

“What?” the guy replies, confusion scrunching his features. 

“You bumped into her. I said ‘apologize’,” Coriolanus articulates, as if he were addressing a particularly slow child. When the guy tries to leave, rolling his eyes, the blond squeezes him tighter. Tension flickers in the air. They trade looks and doubts creep on the guy’s face, his face blanching. 

He clears his throat and whirls to you.

“Sorry,” he blurts out.

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

He turns, likely hoping to leave again, but Coriolanus tuts him, pointing at your books, still scattered across the floor.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he says, arching his brow.

The guy unleashes a sigh but hunkers down to collect all of your books. He gives them to you in a neat pile as you stare at the spectacle, mouth agape.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

He nods and saunters off, avoiding Coriolanus’ eyes.

Coriolanus grabs your hand, helping you to your feet. The pads of his fingers are rougher than you expect, calluses pressing against your soft skin. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you rise. 

You’re not sure what to say, your nerves flaring beneath his stare. But you suppose you should thank him. While you struggle standing up for yourself, he just did it for you. So you mumble the words under your breath and begin heading in the opposite direction.

With his long legs, Coriolanus easily keeps up with your hasty strides. Your heart skips a beat as he falls in step with you.

“I feel strange asking this but…” He leans above your shoulder to whisper, “Are you avoiding me?”

“I-I’m not,” you stammer, your pulse racing with the lie.

The blond chuckles.

“You’re walking awfully fast for someone who’s not avoiding me.”

“I’m just running late to my next class.”

“What about your mom’s lab?” he challenges. “You were hiding from me, weren’t you?”

Your lips tighten. If only he’d drop it. You don’t want to revisit that awkward moment. Everything about it makes your stomach ache.

“I…wasn’t,” you lie, your voice barely above a breath. Your face warms as a smile plays upon Coriolanus’ lips. You halt in your tracks, hugging your books against your chest as you pivot to him. You bashfully meet his gaze. “I was just a little spooked.”

He tilts his head, mirth swimming in his cobalt orbs.

“Spooked? By me? Do I scare you, angel?”

The pet name, uttered like a caress, sets your heart aflutter.

“No,” you mutter. Another lie. And it’s like he’s picked up on it, his soft, pink lips stretching even more.

“It wasn’t nice what she said,” he says abruptly.

You blink in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

“Dr. Gaul, about you. It wasn’t nice.”

You shrug. “I’m used to it. It’s fine.”

He approaches you. The scent of his pricey cologne engulfs your senses. It’s masculine but the faint scent of roses lingers underneath, as if stubbornly clinging to him.

His voice lowers, his gaze entrapping yours. 

“It’s not fine. You work so hard to make her see you. You’re a good daughter.” You don’t realize his hand’s moved to your face until one of his fingers traces the curve of your cheek. Your heart races at the sudden touch. Coriolanus’ thumb drags down to your chin, his attention landing on your bottom lip. He smiles. “Hard work should be praised, rewarded even.”

Disarmed by his closeness and the strange words rolling off his tongue, you retreat.

You readjust the books between your arms.

“I s-should go. My next class is about to start.”

His words interrupt you.

“Hey, why don’t you have lunch with me and the others today?”

Your stomach clutches. You think about Coriolanus’ usual crowd, a bunch of kids from wealthy, influential families, popular and revered. Clemensia Dovecote. Livia Cardew. Ivy Briarose. Hilarius Heavensbee. Festus Creed. Most of them now hold the admiration of their peers for having survived the chaos the Tenth Hunger Games were.

You’d never fit in with them. In fact, you never did. Coriolanus must know that. Is he trying to punish you for eavesdropping on his conversation with your mother the other day? 

“I-I never talked to any of them,” you answer, panic swelling in your gut.

His brows crumple. “If you don’t talk to anyone, you’ll never make friends.”

“That’s okay. I don’t need friends,” you retaliate.

“It’s always useful, having friends,” he rasps. “The right connections, they can get you far.”

You anxiously roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I’m not good at…making conversation.”

“We’re having a conversation now,” he says, laughing.

As you mull over what he just said, a small smile tugs your lips.

“I guess we are.”

His gaze sharpens. “That’s a pretty smile. I’d love to see it more often.”

His low, soft voice sends chills through your spine.

Coriolanus’ long lashes droop as he gauges your expression.

“I’d be disappointed if I didn't see your face, angel.”

You fidget, your eyes sinking to the floor before rising to meet his again.

“I don’t know if that’s okay… for me to show up like that.”

“I’m inviting you, so of course it’s okay.”

He speaks like it’s a given, like whatever he says goes. His confidence unsettles you. 

You fall quiet, weighing your options. There’s something in Coriolanus’ silky voice that makes it hard to say no, but you’d hate being the unwanted guest at the popular kids’ table. 

Still, the expectation on his face makes you not want to let him down. 

“I’m not hearing a yes.”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter belatedly. 

A broad smile spreads on his handsome face.

“Perfect. See you at lunch then, angel.”

As he strolls away, your feet remain glued to the floor, your mind lingering in disbelief of what just occurred. 

[k-s-morgan]

Those Gentle Slopes That Lead to Hell: Snippet 2

Here we go! For those who haven't seen it, here's snippet 1.

--------

Ciel was struggling to put a name to the emotions circulating through him now that he could see Bard stuck in a bed. Despite the heavy covers, he was still shivering badly. His skin was bluish, resembling something that belonged on a corpse, not a living human, and deep, vicious gnashes were embedded deeply in his neck.

Even if Bard recovered, these ones would scar. They would always serve as a reminder of what was done to him.

“I never ordered you to do this,” Ciel said evenly. Sebastian shifted, his lips twitching in an almost petulant expression.

“I believed it was implied.”

Such a light-hearted, simplistic response stood in wild contrast to what was appropriate at the moment. Uncertainty continued to gnaw on his bones, and Ciel tried to mask it, sending Sebastian a long, cold stare.

“What makes you think you can rely on your faulty interpretations of my orders to act?” he asked. “Who gave you the right to maim one of my most loyal servants without getting my explicit approval first?”

Sebastian seemed to have finally understood that he, himself, was standing on increasingly thin ice right now. That despite his incessant attempts to close the obvious gap between them through some shared activities, he failed — again. Amusement died, with agitation coming to replace it.   

“I thought you standing there and watching qualified as your explicit approval,” he replied, just as coldly. Ciel couldn’t help but flinch, stung.

Sebastian… wasn’t wrong. Ciel was there; he stood by without a word. He watched. He liked it — some parts of it, the power that came with it. But…

Bard flailed his arms suddenly, gasping and trying to suck in some air. It was like he was underwater again, desperate for a single breath, only this time, his eyes remained closed. His panic, though, his mindless, animalistic terror — it was the same, and nausea twisted Ciel’s insides into a tight, rotten knot of regret.

“It’s Bard,” he murmured hoarsely, wrapping his arms around himself. Strange. He wasn’t even cold, Sebastian made sure of it. “He’s one of us. One of ours. It’s not right to— we shouldn’t have done it. It’s too much.”

Sebastian let out a laugh. Somehow, even after everything that happened today, it still struck Ciel as far too callous — he glared, and the laughter was instantly cut off.

Sebastian’s face went blank: his eyes were the only part of him that remained alive, and they flared with rage so profound that Ciel’s breath caught in his throat.

“He harmed you with my hands,” Sebastian hissed. “He gave me something that could have killed you and watched me hit you to force you to drink it. The fact that he is ours is the only reason why he is still alive at all.”

Delight skittered across his chest, leaving a trail of perverted heat that made him shiver. Ciel licked his lips, unsure what to say, unsure what to feel.

It’d been a while since he’d last felt so out of place. The whole night was one of the strangest and most uncomfortable experiences he’d ever had — and few things could unsettle him these days.

“Bard didn’t know,” Ciel found himself saying. “He didn’t think an allergy could have such serious effects. If I had died, it would have been an accident.”

The moment the words were out, a wave of self-disgust crashed into him, trying to drown him in shame and censure.

These words weren’t in Bard’s defence. Not at all. They were an attempt to poke at Sebastian yet again, to see how he would react, to give more fuel to his anger — as if everything that happened wasn’t enough. Was there no limit to his greed?

Well… in all the things that still had the power to shame him, morality wasn’t included.    

Sebastian growled, and Ciel’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he drank the sound in.

“If you had died from an accident he caused,” Sebastian said poisonously, “it would have taken Bard decades of torture to finally be released from this life. If you had died from an accident he made me cause…” Sebastian shuddered, his eyes flashing pure, violent red, and more caustic pleasure spilled through Ciel’s veins.

Yes. That was the reaction he’d been looking for. 

[wisteria-lodge]

What do you think about the take that Lucius is a little neglectful towards Draco?

It comes from how 1. When Harry and Draco met, Draco is by himself in a street, feeling bored. 2. Lucius scolds Draco about his grades and complaining about Harry yet seemingly failed to get a tutor or therapist or consider Draco’s feelings. 3. During Hogwarts Mystery, Lucius often leaves Draco in the Hands of others or by himself. (Even During a Christmas event, Draco is found on the streets by himself, upset and annoyed because he felt Lucius was not spending enough time with him.)

Okay, I'll play.

1 ~ Draco and Harry meet in a clothes shop, not the street, and here's the quote:

“My father’s next door buying my books and Mother’s up the street looking at wands,” said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”

I actually don't think Draco's bored at all. I think he's having a good time being independent and showing off in front of the new kid. He's got a bored-sounding voice, which is different. A bored-sounding voice is low energy, too-cool-for-school, which is very Draco. And apparently, Lucius is running Draco's errands, and Draco thinks he can get him to buy him an extra present. That seems the opposite of being neglectful.

2 ~ Therapists aren't a thing in the wizarding world, and mind-healers are fanon, so I don't expect that would be on Lucius' radar. But here's the complaining about Harry bit:

“. . . everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick —” “You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. “And I would remind you that it is not — prudent — to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear —"

I wouldn't describe this as scolding. If anything, this is just advice. Yes, Lucius is clearly pretty done with the subject - and if this is indeed the twelfth time Draco has brought it up, I get that. But just the fact that Draco has been able to complain about Harry Potter so much to his father does mean that he had to have been around his father a lot in order to do it. And Lucius wasn't completely zoning out. So, that also does not read as neglectful to me.

“Ah, the Hand of Glory!” said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy’s list and scurrying over to Draco. “Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir.” “I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin,” said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, “No offense, sir, no offense meant —” “Though if his grades don’t pick up,” said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still, “that may indeed be all he is fit for —" “It’s not my fault,” retorted Draco. “The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger —” “I would have thought you’d be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam,” snapped Mr. Malfoy.

This is the angriest Lucius ever gets with Draco, and I think it's an interesting snippet. Yes, Lucius is embarrassing Draco by bringing up his grades - but in a way that seems to be intended to correct or undercut Borgin's attempt to flatter Draco and butter him up. Lucius has also switched out of the more respectful "Mr. Borgin" he was using earlier in the scene to just "Borgin" - communicating to Draco that Borgin isn't actually important (unlike Draco, who is.)

Draco then talks back a little, comes up with an excuse which is - a lie. Hermione is a muggleborn, which Lucius comments on, so she's unlikely to be every teacher's favorite. Especially since one of those teachers is Snape, Lucius' buddy, and he knows for a fact that Draco is Snape's favorite.

This whole scene is really about Lucius telling Draco that he needs to be more tactical, and check his privilege. Lucius is in this shop because he's selling dark artifacts - he's powerful, but he's worried. He's not so powerful that no one can touch him. Draco's the same. Lucius is telling him he can't afford to make an enemy of Harry Potter, and he can't afford to just coast through his classes and blame bad grades on teachers playing favorites. Draco's catchphrase at this point is "Wait Till My Father Hears About This," and I think that's slightly worrying to Lucius. He *can't* swoop in and solve all Draco's problems.

(although he does try - buying the Slytherin team brooms is basically just a way to buy Draco friends, and when Draco says he's been mauled by a hippogriff, Lucius does everything he can to get rid of it. And Hagrid says, "’Spect Lucius Malfoy would’ve come marchin’ up ter school if yeh’d cursed his son [to vomit slugs]. Least yer not in trouble.” If anything, Lucius is slightly overprotective.)

Like, it's a plot point in Book 6 that Lucius cares so much about Draco that Voldemort is able to punish (and control) him through Draco. Also, just a detail I like - in Books 2 and 5, Lucius sends Draco newspaper clippings about the Weasleys getting in trouble because he (correctly) thinks that Draco will find them funny. I think that's kind of cute, in a very Malfoy sort of way.

3 ~ I've never played Hogwarts Mystery, and don't consider it canon. But honestly I just find it adorable that Lucius is taking Draco with him on errands? It's very bring-your-kid-to-work.

And getting your co-workers/employees to look after your kid on a bring-your-child-to-work day is pretty normal. In my experience anyway.

Draco "Wait Till My Father Hears About This" Malfoy is... kind of a daddy's boy, so it doesn't surprise me at all that he's kinda clingy and needy as a kid.

[guesswhoisofftheirmedsagain]

A Dead Birds Chick

Instead of wanting to kill him, Jason goes to recruit Tim instead, because what could be more poetic than the first bird you lost, taking away his own replacement, and keeping him happier, healthy, and safer than you ever could?

(Jason would learn of, and weaponize Tim’s hero worship of him back when he was Robin.)

——- (little snippet)

Jason hesitantly placed a hand on the kids shoulder, his body stiff. “By doing this, by doing nothing but giving him a placeholder Robin, you’re not fixing the issue. What happens if you get hurt, or worse, who’s left to keep him in check? To really make things better in the long run, you need to get to the root of the issue, or else everyone looses.” Tim’s eyes stayed trained on the city below them, the wind bellowing in their ears. His legs swung slightly as they both sat at the edge of the building. “But I can’t just leave him! What would happen to Gotham? Batman needs a Robin, he needs- one.” The eyes of Tim’s domino mask gave away his feelings as he spoke. ‘Me’ was a word the kid couldn’t bring himself to say.

“He lost Robin, putting yourself through this type of treatment is only going to end up worse for both of you in the end.” Jason hoped to whatever god that was out there that whatever bullshit was coming out of his mouth sounded halfway decent, god why didn’t he prepare for this more? “How can you be sure of that?” Tim sounded hesitant, and a bit weary. He knew who Jason was, Jason had told him on their second meeting. It was a bit of a gamble, but the kid had kept quiet. Slowly building a relationship with the kid was key.

“I was Robin, remember? I’ve seen it first hand. I remember the freedom it gives you, and I am not asking you to give up that freedom.” Tim was, quite obviously, neglected by his parents both growing up and now, it was so easy to tell, even from an outsider’s perspective. Jason could imagine that taking Robin away from this kid would be taking away his lifeline. “But- how could I be Robin without Batman?” The kid sounded defeated, this was it. This was the moment Jason been building up to. God, he can’t fuck this up.

“Be my Robin.”

A beat of silence.

“What?” Tim’s voice was almost blank, confusing leaking through his failed attempt at masking it. “You heard me Tim, be my Robin. Whoever said that Robin had to be Batman’s partner?” Jasons smirk could be heard in his voice, by the kids change in body language, he got him. Hook, line, and sinker. Or well, floater? He was trying to save the kid, after all. “I could work with Robin?” Yes that’s it, distract him from the original goal of this conversation. The pure hope in Tim’s voice almost made Jason regret manipulating him a little bit during their meetings, but all would be made up for in the end.

“Yes, how would you feel about working with your predecessor?” Jason latched onto that, he knew the kid looked up to him, especially back when he was Robin. He would use it against the kid without him knowing. Tim lit up, his whole body turned to face Jason. “I- I would be honored-!” Tim’s mind ran so fast his words couldn’t keep up. Jason genuinely smiled, this was going perfectly. “Great. You’re coming with me.” Jason stood up, dropping the last of the Robin suits trackers onto the ground and crushing it beneath his boot. He had been subtly snatching them during their conversation, and was sure the big bad bat had been on his way sense Jason broke the first one.

“Wait, like now?” Tim was frozen to his spot on the roof, staring at Jason as he started walking away. “Yep, let’s go.” Jason didn’t look behind him, and satisfaction took over as he heard the sound of Tim scrambling behind him, and the soft taps of small steps rushing to catch up to him. Tim was his bird now, and he was going to do a much better job taking care of him than Bruce could ever dream of.