#// completely ignored the concerning statement one

[battle-subway-ghost]

'uhhh, rats... social anxiety... concerning statement... rats and friends and rat friends... incomprehensible inside jokes... lore drop of monumental proportions about the craziest shit ever from my past... rats, again...'

does that work?

I don't even have social anxiety I just have autism. And my past isn't even that crazy??? Lmfao if you thought the sand attack thing I did as a kid was crazy you're not ready for the rest.

I should talk about rats more on here though.

[eternityofend]

Another type of milk.

PAIRING: Francis Mosses x Female!Reader ( Slight Doppelganger!Francis Mosses x Reader. )

Requested: Can I request something for Francis, the Milkman? Like the scenario is: Y'all be talking then, they do it under the desk while the reader is working?

MDNI +18, NSFW.

You scroll through your phone, time ticking with each passing second as you get even more bored. Your job as a doorman was nice however the hours needed to work were plenty enough of time for you to wish you had never taken up such a job in the first place.

You hear a tap on the window as you see Francis in front of you, holding a carton of milk in his hands, his movements were sluggish and his eye bags were darker than when you last saw him.

You ignored the concern building in you and tried to find your wallet to pay for the milk you ordered from Francis, keyword: tried. You frantically searched your pockets and the drawers but there was no sign of a leather wallet in all of the places you searched.

Francis stares at you with a blank expression, completely minding his own business as he didn't question the amount of time it took for you to find your wallet.

"Hey.. can I pay you up in a different way?"

Francis raises his eyebrows, skeptical about your request but nods his head; far too kept up with how much time this delivery was taking. He wasn't used to social interaction anyway, he just wanted to get out.

You motion for him to come into your office, opening the gate for him and closing it once he went through.

A few minutes later, Francis knocks on your door and you let him in, he's still holding onto the carton of milk which you help him put on your desk.

"Mmmm.. so what's this different method of payment are you talking about?.." Francis mutters, his voice husky with the tiredness he felt from his job, tone as curious as ever.

You walk up to him, putting your hand on his chest while smiling innocently.

Francis looked at you with a curious expression, gulping as he was nervous about what you were going to do with him.

Francis looked at your eyelashes, and your pretty eyes, trying to distract himself from the weird thoughts he was thinking; perhaps he was watching too much inappropriate stuff, he should limit himself on that.

"Do you live alone?" You asked, knowing well what his answer would be.

Francis tore his gaze away from you, now staring at your wall. "Yes.."

He hears a small laugh come from you, and his body feels tingly with extreme nervousness. Why were you laughing? Did you expect him to have a roommate or something?

"So you have no one to milk you at home then?" You whisper in Francis's ears, watching him tense up as he caved in to your voice and touch.

You saw the way his knees trembled to hold onto his body, cheeks turning redder than the scarlet milk he frequently delivers.

You put a hand on his cheek, making him look at you with a smile on your face. "Let me help you, that's my payment." You utter, watching his eyes widen as he came across a conflicted statement-- not knowing what to choose.

You really didn't have to wait long.

Francis stares up at you, hand on his mouth as he leans against the wall, ears flushing with blush as he attempted to conceal his noises from you, afraid of someone hearing.

You rubbed your shoe against his bulge, looking at him with a mischievous look on your face, wanting to make him cum from a dry orgasm before you fully fuck him.

"Ah~ Hnn~ Ngn~" Francis moans out, his sounds muffled by how hard he was biting on his hand, throwing his head back at how lewd your method to pleasure him was.

His eyes were teary and his cheeks were flushed, he looked as if he already got fucked by you even if you hadn't advanced that fast yet.

You grin, pressing on his erection with the heel of your shoe-- enjoying the way he stuttered, gripping onto your leg with his free hand.

A tap on the window stops you from admiring him longer, and Francis panics. He couldn't run out because it would be suspicious if the visitor were to see someone come from below your desk, he didn't want to spread rumours as well if someone recognized him.

So he just sat there, both hands covering his mouth.

Wait.. what were you doing?

Francis bites onto his hand, heart pulsing as he felt your shoe rub more against his dick, you were crazy! Why were you still continuing?!

You grinned, twirling your hair as you faced a doppelganger of one of the visitors, not even having to check the ID to know it was a doppelganger.

You had to admit, it sure mimicked the resident properly, but if it weren't for the real Francis already being below your desk, you would've let the doppelganger of Francis in, there were barely any differences as well.

"Oh? My appearance..? I don't quite follow.." The doppelganger muttered, trying to keep calm as he felt rage from how fast you figured out he was a doppelganger.

You were not only a pretty doorman but a smart one too, the doppelganger held back on transforming, wanting to see if he could still convince you that he was the real one.

You chuckle at the doppelganger's confused expression, adding a bit more pressure to your shoe as you pressed on Francis's erection, hearing a small moan come out of him.

The doppelganger's eyes widened, looking around as he was confused at where the noise came from.

What a shame, you'd so tease the real Francis using the doppelganger if only you weren't allowed to spread the fact that Doppelgangers existed.

"I'm sorry, but I don't quite think I can let you in."

You rang the DDD and let them handle the situation, completely forgetting about Francis beneath you, trembling at how much pressure he was receiving.

By the time you remembered about him, you were already finished with the doppelganger situation, seeing him all teary and red just from your shoe.

You laugh, lifting his face up as you stop rubbing your shoe against his dick, grinning at him with a new idea in mind.

"Let's start with the milking process now, shall we, Milkman? But first, why don't you eat me out first?"

You catch his flustered expression as he nodded, moving his hands all the way to your thighs as he got rid of your panties.

Francis moves closer to your pussy, licking on it as his eyes widened from the taste, it was much different than the milk he was used to.

You let out a breathy moan, spreading your legs wider as you felt Francis shove his tongue straight into you, eating you out as if he was a man that was starved for years.

His tongue flicks against your clit, and you let out a full moan, suddenly closing your thighs around Francis's head, he didn't seem to mind however.

"Shit... you sure know how to eat pussy.." You mumble, biting on your lip as you run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the sensation of his cold wet tongue.

Francis's hooked nose makes you moan as it pressed against your pussy because of how close he was.

You moan, throwing your head back when you feel Francis's tongue licking on your clit, lapping it up as if it was water.

Your grip on his hair tightens, clenching down on his tongue as you orgasmed.

Francis moans beneath you, the vibration running across your entire body making you shake and tremble.

You breathe out, your pussy pulsing while Francis explored your insides, eager to drink up all of your cum, not letting a single drop go to waste.

You pull Francis's head away to face towards you. And the moment you see the expression on his face, your pussy twitches at the sight. His eyes are half-lidded, staring at you while his tongue and mouth were filled with your cum.

Francis smiles, and swallows your cum right in front of you, making you bite your lip from how aroused you were.

"We aren't done yet, Milkman." You grin.

But apparently the story is done! I hope you enjoyed the story, this is my second time writing smut :)

[sayruq]

Dear Mark Zuckerberg and Leadership, This letter is a follow-up to the letter that was circulated internally on Dec 19, 2023 and deleted and dismissed due to our Community Engagement Expectations (CEE) on what can be discussed internally. Hence, we are sharing our concerns externally. We, Meta employees, wish to express our disappointment and astonishment at the lack of acknowledgement and care the leaders of this company have shown toward the Palestinian community and its allies. In private conversations, we hear from our Palestinian colleagues about family members they have lost in Gaza and family they are working tirelessly to find safety for. However, any open support for our Palestinian colleagues or the millions facing a humanitarian crisis in Palestine is met with internal censorship of employee concerns, biased leadership statements showing one-sided support, and external censorship that is raising public alarm and distrust of our platforms. Internally, we have called out the months of silencing within our workplace forums. While we loudly display “Your voice is valued”, CEE is used as a guise to delete dissenting opinions and silence employees that may simply be seeking solace from their coworkers or raising awareness about building safer products. While in other companies, employees within Employee Resource Groups (ERG) are allowed to connect and speak freely with each other, ERG’s such as Muslims@ and Palestinians@ have faced so much censorship that an employee proposed just deleting the ERG altogether instead of giving the illusion that we can freely build community at Meta. CEE claims to reduce disruptions in our workplace, yet censorship from CEE has caused many of us at Meta to feel disrupted, unheard, and unsafe to the point that several of our Metamates have decided to resign. In the words of our former colleague, any mention of Palestine is taken down - Even when the post was from a colleague expressing their grief. Even when the post was to celebrate the UN International day of support to the Palestinian people. Even when the post is a link to a fundraiser to help the Gazans. Even when asking questions about product bugs that affect Palestinian voices.

One of the original core values of Facebook was to “Be Open” and our current values claim that “We create a culture where we are straightforward and willing to have hard conversations with each other.” Employees have always been first responders to surface issues raised externally to those internally with the power and knowledge to fix them. However when over 450 colleagues came together to sign a letter similar to this one in December, CEE was used to delete the letter and restrict one of the writers from their work devices for over two months while the workplace, product, and policy concerns brought forth were completely ignored. Employees have attempted to raise product concerns related to the conflict only to have their posts and comments censored or dismissed throughout internal channels. Most recently, questions about investigative reports indicating the possibility of governments, ISPs, and coordinated bad actors using Whatsapp data for military targeting have been met with dismissive and insufficient responses or outright deleted throughout internal forums. Meta leaders have posted numerous strong statements of support for our Israeli colleagues along with condemnation of the attack on Israel on October 7th that took the lives of ~1,200 civilians, both on internal and external platforms. Mark stated on his public Facebook - “The terrorist attacks by Hamas are pure evil. There is never any justification for carrying out acts of terrorism against innocent people. The widespread suffering that has resulted is devastating. My focus remains on the safety of our employees and their families in Israel and the region.”

However, bias and inequity is painfully apparent when those same leaders do not similarly share support for our Palestinian colleagues and allies nor condemnation of the attacks on Palestine, which have now taken ~35,000 civilian lives and created a humanitarian crisis of displacement and starvation for ~2 million Palestinians. This has created a hostile and unsafe work environment for hundreds of our Palestinian, Arab, Muslim, anti-Zionist Jew, and anti-genocide colleagues at the company, who have felt consistently alienated and uncomfortable at work. Many have tried to articulate this through posts on Workplace only to be censored, rebuffed, and/or penalized. Feedback shared directly with leadership on Workplace Chat has been met with dismissiveness. Bias and inequity for the human rights and humanitarian crisis in Gaza is also apparent when compared to the Russian invasion of Ukraine, after which there was an outpouring of leadership support on all fronts, including additional resourcing and investment through various social impact initiatives. The lights in the Dublin office were even painted with the colors of the Ukraine flag. Leadership must do better to achieve true equity and inclusion. Externally, when it comes to Palestine, the dismissive tone and lack of investment by Meta is not new and the company has consistently failed to thoroughly take action on years of evidence of suppression of Palestinian voices on our platforms worldwide. In 2024 the company is still slowly addressing the findings of an independent audit influenced by Human Rights Watch’s (HRW) 2021 letter to Meta on the Palestinian conflict 3 years ago. In the wake of October 7th, Meta has ignored reasonable requests for transparency on our content policies from Senator Elizabeth Warren and other lawmakers around the globe. Numerous civil rights organizations, some of whom are Meta partners, have been met with dismissal on the censorship concerns brought forth - leading to external petitions such as one against Meta’s proposed policy of treating “Zionist” as a proxy for "Jewish”, which collected over 52,000 signatures. While Meta denies any Palestinian censorship or bias to the public, internally groups of employee volunteers have found numerous product and policy issues with disparate impacts to Palestinian, Muslim, and Arab communities since October 7th. The few improvements that have been made were achieved only by appealing to isolated product teams, with minimal senior leadership support or resources. Furthermore, in the wake of global criticism of censorship and moderation, leading into the biggest year for democracy in history, Meta has updated its policy to no longer recommend ‘political content’ by default across Instagram and Threads without clear guidelines of how this would impact content originating from global conflict zones. Meta has continued to fail the Palestinian community through its policies and lack of investment.

“Meta.Metamate.Me.” We believe we are all Meta and are committed to respectfully working together to address the issues internally and externally, while holding firmly to the demands we have been echoing for months: We demand an end to censorship - stop deleting employee’s words internally in order to foster an inclusive environment where all communities feel seen, heard, and safe We demand acknowledgment - share internal acknowledgments of support for Palestinian colleagues and acknowledge the lives lost in the ongoing humanitarian crisis in Gaza to recognize our shared humanity We demand transparency and accountability - allocate dedicated resources to investigate issues of censorship and biases on our platforms and openly disclose findings to build trust among employees and the public We implore you to end the silence - issue a public statement urging for an immediate, permanent ceasefire in Gaza As tech workers, we have a tremendous privilege to work on products that serve the world, and with that comes tremendous responsibility. We have been proud to work at Meta – and want to continue believing in its mission to give people the power to build community and bring the world closer together.

If you're a current or former Meta worker please sign the letter here

[pucksandpower]

Clickbait

Toto Wolff x Ferrari team principal!Reader

Summary: in which a reporter learns not to mess with the power couple of Formula 1 … the hard way

Based on this request

The bustling newsroom of BusinessF1 magazine hums with activity as Graham Lowell, a junior reporter with more ambition than scruples, hunches over his laptop. His fingers fly across the keyboard, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he types out what he believes to be the scoop of the century.

Conflict of Interest in the Pit Lane: Ferrari and Mercedes’ Love Affair

Graham leans back, admiring his handiwork. He’s certain this article will catapult him to journalism stardom. Little does he know, he’s about to learn a harsh lesson in the dangers of sensationalism.

As the article goes live, the Formula 1 world erupts into chaos. Social media platforms light up with speculation and outrage. Within hours, the story spreads like wildfire, reaching the very subjects of its scandalous claims.

In the Ferrari motorhome, you stand before a group of wide-eyed team members, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “I assure you, these allegations are completely false. Our team’s integrity is not, and will never be, compromised.”

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, but you ignore it. You know who it is, and you know you’ll need to face him soon enough.

Across the paddock, in the sleek confines of the Mercedes garage, Toto Wolff paces like a caged lion. His usually calm demeanor is nowhere to be seen as he barks orders into his phone.

“I want our legal team on this immediately,” he growls. “This is slander, pure and simple. They’ve gone too far this time.”

As the day wears on, the pressure mounts. You find yourself fielding increasingly hostile questions from reporters, their microphones thrust aggressively in your face.

“Is it true that you’ve been passing Ferrari’s secrets to Mercedes?” One shouts.

“How long have you been manipulating race results?” Another demands.

You maintain your composure, but inside, you’re seething. The blatant sexism in their questions is not lost on you. They seem all too eager to believe that a woman in your position must have achieved it through nefarious means.

As you push through the crowd, a familiar voice cuts through the chaos. “That’s enough!” Toto’s commanding tone silences the mob instantly. He strides forward, placing a protective arm around your shoulders.

“My wife and I will be making a statement shortly,” he announces, his steely gaze daring anyone to object. “Until then, I suggest you all refrain from spreading baseless rumors.”

The crowd parts reluctantly, allowing you both to escape to the relative quiet of a nearby hospitality suite. As soon as the door closes behind you, Toto’s fierce expression melts into one of concern.

“Are you alright, liebling?” He asks softly, cupping your face in his hands.

You lean into his touch, allowing yourself a moment of vulnerability. “I’m fine, Toto. Just ... frustrated. They’re so quick to believe the worst of me.”

Toto’s jaw clenches. “It’s disgraceful. But we’ll fight this, together. I promise you, they won’t get away with it.”

A knock at the door interrupts your moment. Toto’s assistant pokes her head in. “Sir, the lawyers are here.”

What follows is a whirlwind of legal jargon and strategy discussions. You listen intently as your shared legal team outlines the plan of attack.

“We’ll issue cease and desist orders to every outlet that’s republished the story,” the head lawyer explains. “And we’ll be filing a defamation lawsuit against BusinessF1 magazine and the reporter responsible.”

Toto nods approvingly. “Good. I want them to feel the full force of our response. This ends now.”

As the lawyers file out, you turn to Toto, a hint of worry in your eyes. “Do you think this will be enough? The damage to my reputation ...”

Toto takes your hands in his, his gaze intense. “We will rebuild it, stronger than ever. I won’t let them tarnish everything you’ve worked for.”

Meanwhile, back at the BusinessF1 office, Graham Lowell is beginning to realize the gravity of his mistake. His editor storms into the bullpen, face red with fury.

“Lowell!” He bellows. “My office, now!”

Graham follows meekly, his earlier bravado evaporating with each step. As he enters the office, he sees his editor isn’t alone. A grim-faced man in an expensive suit stands by the window.

“Sit down,” the editor growls. Graham complies, his legs feeling like jelly.

The man by the window turns, fixing Graham with a steely glare. “Mr. Lowell, I’m representing Mr. and Mrs. Wolff in this matter. I’m here to inform you that you and this publication are being sued for defamation.”

Graham’s mouth goes dry. “But ... but I had a source! They told me-”

“A source you failed to verify,” his editor cuts in. “Did you even attempt to get a comment from either party before publishing?”

Graham’s silence is damning. The lawyer continues, his voice cold and precise. “The damages we’re seeking are substantial. Your reckless journalism has caused significant harm to my clients’ reputations.”

As the full implications of his actions sink in, Graham slumps in his chair. His dreams of journalistic glory crumble before his eyes, replaced by the stark reality of legal consequences.

Outside, the F1 paddock buzzes with new excitement. Word of the impending lawsuit spreads quickly, and suddenly, those who were so quick to believe the scandal are backpedaling furiously.

You and Toto stand united before a sea of cameras, your hands clasped tightly together. Toto speaks first, his voice resonating with controlled anger.

“The allegations made against my wife and me are not only false but malicious,” he states. “We have always maintained the highest standards of professionalism and integrity in our respective roles.”

You step forward, your head held high. “I’ve worked tirelessly to earn my position as Team Principal at Scuderia Ferrari. To suggest that my success is due to anything other than my own merit is not only insulting to me but to every woman fighting to make her mark in this sport.”

The press conference continues, with you and Toto presenting a united front against the baseless accusations. As you field questions, you can see the tide of public opinion beginning to turn.

Later that evening, in the privacy of your hotel suite, you finally allow yourself to relax. Toto wraps you in a warm embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You were magnificent today,” he murmurs. “I’m so proud of you.”

You smile up at him, feeling the tension of the day start to melt away. “We make a good team, don’t we?”

Toto chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eye. “The best. Although, I must say, I’m almost disappointed we don’t actually have any juicy secrets to share. It might make things more exciting.”

You playfully swat his arm, laughing despite yourself. “I think we have enough excitement in our lives, thank you very much.”

As you settle into each other’s arms, you know that whatever challenges come your way, you’ll face them together. The storm may rage outside, but in here, in this moment, all is calm.

And somewhere across the continent, in a small, cluttered apartment, Graham Lowell stares at his laptop screen, watching his career and reputation crumble in real-time.

Social media is ablaze with backlash against him and support for you and Toto. As he scrolls through the endless comments condemning his shoddy journalism, one thought echoes in his mind.

“I am so, so screwed.”

[whitexwolfxx310]

|| Baby Mine ||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader || Bucky x y/n

Summary: Bucky comes home from from a mission and finds you sick. You make an appointment at the medical bay expecting a routine visit only to find out some pretty surprising news.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, minor talk of options pertaining to, morning sickness, a disgusting amount of fluff, and a small sprinkle of spice at the end just because I felt like it.

Word Count: 3323

A/Ns: First and foremost, I would like to apologize for my hiatus. It was not intended and I hit a writers block. With that being said, I do have a decent amount in my drafts and have been working on getting some new things out there!

I would like to say a special thank you to @lil-darhk who gave me some encouraging words that I really needed to hear & helped get me back on here. ♥️

This is a ONE SHOT. This is not part of my BBWWS. I am still working on that but this is something I have been thinking of for a while and just felt like writing about. I know that a pregnancy troupe is not for everyone. (Personally, I love it and I'm not sure if I will write it into my other storyline.) SO because of that....I give you this. I hope you all enjoy it because the idea of Daddy Bucky to me is just 🤌🏻💋

Waking up to the smell of fresh ground coffee was always a tall tale sign of Bucky being home. Missions can be unpredictable. He can be gone for a few days, to a few weeks, and sometimes even months at a time. Luckily, this time he had only been gone about a month and a half.

Excitement took over as you forego your usual procrastinating in bed stretch to run out of the bedroom. Opening the door, the aroma was heavenly- as if a coffee shop had replaced your kitchen overnight. But your eyes immediately fixed on Bucky who was wearing a smirk while plating two separate stacks of pancakes.

“Breakfast, doll?” His voice as smooth as the warm syrup flowing down from those pancake stacks.

Running and jumping to wrap your arms around his neck was your response. Bucky chuckled, holding both arms out wider so he didn’t drop the plates. He put them down gently onto the counter so that his arms would now be only consumed with you.

“I missed you too.” You don’t have to look up from being buried in his chest to know that he’s smiling, it’s in the lighthearted tone of his voice.

Leaning back slightly with his arms still holding you, he looks into your eyes and plants a petal soft kiss on your lips.

“How come you didn’t wake me up when you got in?” You frown slightly looking up at him.

He shakes his head slightly and shrugs, “You just looked so… peaceful. I couldn’t bare to wake you up. At least, not without sustenance,” Bucky laughs.

Shifting your eyes from Bucky to the pancakes and back, your lips tug in each corner. “Smart man.”

His cooking always felt like home. It was filling, delicious, and you could almost taste the love it was made it with. “Mm,” the small noise escapes low in your throat as you take the last bite. Looking across the kitchen table, Bucky is slumped in his chair, arms folded with a warm smile as he watches you. “What?” The question comes out as a half joke and half concern.

Shaking his head slightly the smile grew. “Nothing, doll. Just missed you is all.” Leaning forward, Bucky rests his elbows on the table continuing to stare a tad bit more than normal.

“You’re acting weird.” You say, adjusting in your seat feeling slightly awkward.

“So what have you been up to while I was away?” He completely ignored your statement, asking an easy and lighthearted question.

“Um..” you start, breakfast starting to feel suddenly heavy in your stomach. “I uh-“ your teeth start to clench down as you swallow hard at the pooling saliva in your mouth. “I went out with Nat-“ your brows furrowed, starting to have difficulty with getting the words out. Bucky’s face quickly contorts to concern as you continue to fight the inevitable. “and her sister for some…s-some drinks-“ the word makes you gag.

Almost as if you channeled some super soldier serum, you pushed back from the table and ran- praying that the pressure of your hand over your mouth will be enough insurance to get to the toilet. It barely was. Breakfast came back up violently, loudly as you kneeled in front of the porcelain king. Even when you thought there couldn’t possibly be anything else to throw up, your stomach wrung on itself, forcing up every last drop of bile.

Breathing heavily into the bowl, skin now glistening with cooling sweat, you realize that your hair has been pulled out of your face. Your eyesight, now no longer blurry, sees Bucky sitting next to you; his right hand holding your hair back in a make shift ponytail and his left hand on the nape of your neck, the coolness of his metal hand being your favorite thing in the world at the moment.

“I’m sorry…” your sob echoed lightly in the toilet. “I’ve never been hung over like this before,” you sit back on your knees, grabbing some tissues to wipe your mouth. You bring yourself to look up at him through hooded and puffy red eyes, feeling instantly embarrassed. Bucky gives you a small reassuring smile as his hand gently rubs up and down your back.

“I’ve had the Russians drink me under the table a few times too. C’mon…” He helps you off of the floor, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

A warm bath, some fresh comfy clothes and a plain cup of tea seemed to make the nausea subside.

“I knew I shouldn’t have drank last night,” you say, looking into the lightly steaming mug. “My stomach hasn’t felt right in a few weeks. I actually have an appointment this afternoon in the medical bay, but I didn’t know you would be home. I can cancel it-”

“What time is your appointment?” He cuts you off,

“Um,” you look towards the wall and squint at the clock. “Actually in 45 minutes,” you laugh softly at the realization.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He offers.

“And miss your debriefing? Why, Sargent Barnes, that’s highly unlike you.” Even with not feeling great you can’t help but give him shit. This is the normal

Shaking his head softly he lets out a small laugh. “Alright,” he puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “but call me if anything comes up, okay? I’m worried about you.” Bucky’s voice is soft and sincere as he leans in and plants a small kiss on your forehead. His eyes hesitate, locking on yours for a moment. Leaning back in, he presses his lips to yours. “I love you. So much,”

“Love you more, Bucky.” You smile back up at him.

Sitting on the exam table in nothing but a medical gown, you swing your legs gently back and forth while gently nibbling the tip of your thumb as you wait for the provider.

You jump at the sudden knock at the door. In walks the new physicians assistant for The Compound, a young and beautiful woman who looked like she was straight out of school.

“Hi! My names Bree and I’ll be working with you today. According to the nurse who did your intake, you’re here for-“ she scrolls through your electronic chart on a tablet, “some abdominal issues. Tell me about that,” she sits down on a stool, listening intently.

“It’s.. really not a big deal,” you start, she keeps quiet waiting for you to explain in more detail. “I don’t know,” you start to fumble with a few loose strands of hair. “I’ve just felt this sort of… heaviness? It hasn’t gone away and is just always sort of there?” Your voice is unsure, feeling self conscious as you describe this silly little symptom that you felt the need to make an appointment for. “This morning I got sick. Well, I went out drinking last night, so I’m assuming I’m a little hung over.” Your words start to sound like your rambling.

“Hmm,” Bree says in response. “When was your last period?”

“Um,” the gears start turning in your head as you try to backdate events, plans that had been interrupted because of aunt flow. “About 4 months ago?” It probably wasn’t on purpose, but you could see the clinicians eyebrow raise a centimeter in question. “It’s not what you think!” You quickly try to defend, “I’m on the pill! My periods have always been irregular which is part of the reason I’m on birth control in the first place.”

“Okay,” she responds, skeptical. “And you take the pill religiously?”

“Yes,”

“Everyday?”

“Yeah…”

“At the same time?” Bree’s eyebrow inclines just a little more.

“Well,” now she has you questioning everything that you’ve said. “I always have an alarm on my phone and try to take it the same time everyday.” That makes you feel better, justified.

“Have you been sick recently? Aside from this morning, any need for any prescriptions, antibiotics?”

“I had bronchitis, but that was… god months ago?”

“Okay,” she says flatly, “so we’ll just go ahead and do a minor work up to see if we can figure out what’s going on. The first thing I want to do though, is a pregnancy test.” Even though you could feel your face change, Bree quickly added, “Routine stuff. It’s one of the bases that we always cover early on.”

You suddenly become hyper focused on the urine sample you left on the counter top, as asked by the nurse. Bree takes out a small, flat test from a nearby drawer and uses a pipette to transfer the fluid.

It could have been 30 seconds or 20 minutes, but the idea that pregnancy was even a remote possibility has your insides feeling like they’re folding in on themselves.

“Okay so,” Bree starts, getting your attention. “The test did in fact, come out positive. Since your cycles have been irregular, I’d like to do an ultrasound to see how far along you are and then we can talk about options. Just go ahead and lay back on the table, feet in the stirrups.”

"Positive?" You repeat. "But... What? How?" It comes out breathless.

"Well, sometimes antibiotics can actually cancel out the effects of birth control. We try to advise women to not be sexually active as the body might seize the opportunity to ovulate and result in an unplanned pregnancy. How about we just take a look and go from there, okay?" Bree says just a little too cheerfully as she pats the stirrups.

Following her directions is the only thing you’re able to focus on. Going through the motions of laying down, putting your feet up and opening your legs. Bree’s voice is a murmur mixed with a high pitch ringing as you look up at the ceiling tiles, counting each spect while she sets up the portable sono machine.

“Just a little pressure,” she says, guiding the wand like probe, looking at the screen. “Okay. So, judging from the size… I’d say you’re close to about 9 weeks, give or take a bit. Do you want to hear the heartbeat?” She asks, sweetly. And it’s the first time you’re able to look at her since lying down. Bree patiently waits for your answer with a warm smile. You reluctantly nod your head.

The room fills with soft, muffled whooshing. “It’s so fast. I-is that okay? Is everything okay?” You’re searching her face for any hint of something being wrong. In return, Bree just nods gently as she keeps her smile, still examining the screen.

“A fetus’ heartbeat is a lot quicker than ours. Everything looks perfect actually. Would you… like to see?”

“Yes, please.” You didn't hesitate with your answer this time.

The screen gets tilted towards you and your eyes start darting all around looking for the baby. Your baby. At first you don't see anything. It doesn't look like photos you've seen on Instagram of pregnancy announcements. But then, in the middle of what looks like a black balloon, is a bean with limbs. In the center of this bean is a lively flicker. Bree uses her index finger to point to the screen.

"There's the fetus' arms and legs," she points to the extremities, "and here," her finger gently taps on the pulsing center, "is the heart."

The whooshing matches the pace of the flicker; lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Hearing the heartbeat in synch with the pulsing on the screen causes your own heartbeat to match for a moment.

So this is love.

After a moment, Bree removes the probe and rips a paper from the ultrasound machine. "Here's some pictures for you," she hands them to you as you sit up on the bed. "I want to see you back here in three weeks for another check up... unless you want to discuss other options?" You shake your head. "Do you have any questions for me?"

“No, not right now.” You’re solely focused on the pictures now in your hand. Even though the image is burned into your brain, holding a physical copy has some how made it more real.

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind. There was no possible way that you’re actually pregnant. Even with the new noticeable symptoms and bathroom counter littered in double pink lined tests, it still seemed so unbelievable. That’s not even the hardest part. How am I going to tell Bucky?

Just as the reality starts to set in of having to tell the other adult who is directly involved, the front door to the apartment opens.

"Hey, doll!" Bucky calls loudly from the hallway, the thumping of his boots following his voice. "Sorry that the meeting ran late. I figured we could order in tonight. What about that Thai place you like?" He waits for a response while buzzing around the kitchen, no doubt making himself coffee for the dozenth time today. "Doll?" The question echoes through the quiet apartment.

"I'm in here," you acknowledge softly from the living room couch. Bucky pokes his head out from the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief.

"There you are," he starts walking towards you. "If you tell me what you would like for dinner, I'll call it in and then-" his voice and steps stop abruptly. "Hey... you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." You answer, obviously distracted.

"That doesn't sound too convincing," Bucky hesitated, looking you over and taking a few steps closer.

"I-I have to tell you something." Your tone is soft, scared. You’re fidgeting with the edges of your sweater sleeves.

“Is it something the doctor said?” His voice is softer now, reluctant and afraid. While his piercing, cerulean blue eyes continue to search yours for the answer, wide and terrified.

“I-“

Should I have gotten balloons? Made him open a box with one of the pregnancy tests or a cute onesie inside? Bake a damn cake?

“Y/n?!” Bucky didn’t yell but definitely had to get your attention. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?!” He pleaded. Why were the words so difficult to say? Maybe because it hasn’t been said out loud yet. Or that it’s still so shocking. Or maybe that verbalizing it will just make it that more real. You turn on your heels and run to the bathroom.

“Y/n!!” He calls after you, but you know he’ll be just a few steps behind.

Picking up a handful of the positive tests off of the vanity counter with your heartbeat pounding in your ears in combination with his heavy footsteps getting closer.

“Seriously! What is going on-“ Bucky is flustered as he steps into the entryway and stops abruptly at the sight of you facing him, holding the tests fanned out.

“I’m pregnant.” There it is. You’re holding your breath, waiting to see what he’ll say. Aside from contraceptives, you’ve never had any kind of discussions pertaining to a family.

His face softens as he takes a step forward, his eyes hyper fixated on all the double pink lines. Bucky’s chest rises and falls deeply now. “You’re… pregnant? Not sick?” He asks to clarify, being cautious.

“Morning sickness, apparently”, a small laugh escapes and it surprises you. “But other than that, I’m fine. We’re fine.”

The ‘we’re’ part catches his attention. He’s looking into your eyes once again, searching. But, for what?

“Is this… something you want? With… me?” He suddenly sounds so adolescent and anxious. Who can blame him? This took you both completely by surprise. Knowing Bucky, he would support you in whatever you wanted. Whatever decision you thought was best for you, your body, your health in every aspect, he would respect and advocate for. He is being cautious with his response to the news until he knows what your decision is.

Putting the tests down, you take both of his hands into yours and take a deep breath.

“Bucky, if you had asked me this morning, I wouldn’t have known what our future would hold. But knowing what I know now… I want this baby. I want to be a mom and for us to be a family. That being said, I know that this is something that we never talked about. If this isn’t something you want, I underst-“

You’re suddenly cut off by his lips pressing into yours. It feels like a weight has been lifted as Bucky’s arms gently wrap around you to bring you closer. Kissing becomes increasingly difficult around giggles and the obnoxiously big smiles you’re both wearing.

When your lips finally part, Bucky’s eyebrows are raised in excitement. His eyes are darting around your torso as if the news would suddenly show physical changes on your body.

“I can’t believe it…” he breathes, “I actually get the chance to be a Dad-” The word comes out almost as a choked sob. My heart.

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out the ultrasound Bree had given to you earlier, holding it up for him to see.

"Look, our baby's first photo!"

Bucky takes the picture as gently as if someone were handing him an actual newborn baby. He just stares, probably confused as to what he was looking at similarly to you just a few hours ago.

"I know it doesn't really look like anything right now- but I go back in a few weeks and-"

"Are you kidding?" He looks up from the black and white photo to meet your eyes, a watery sheen coating his own. "This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life." Bucky says softly, as if to himself, looking back down at the picture. And he's smiling. A genuine, heartfelt smile.

That night was the closest he had ever held you in his arms. The two of you made up for lost conversations and started planning for your future and what it held as you laid in bed. Bucky talked about how he wanted to build a crib instead of buying one and was curious what the appropriate amount of time was to wait until you could both start telling everyone. Excitement was an understatement for this man.

"Can I go with you to your next appointment?" He asked, in a hopeful tone as his fingers traced along smooth, soft circles around your belly button. You giggle, wincing at one specific caress.

"Hey! That tickles! But, of course you can. You can come to all of them. I was... kinda hoping you would?" In return, your tone holds the same anticipation.

"I wouldn't miss it." Bucky's palm flattens against your belly as he places a kiss against your temple.

"Don't get used to that," You say looking down. "We're going to start growing and getting bigger any day now." You fake a frown, although there is a small part of you that isn't necessarily faking.

"Hmm." A low hum vibrates from the back of Bucky's throat as he shifts his body down along yours.

His fingertips skim the hem of your sleep shirt before pulling it up and exposing your stomach. The coolness of the air makes your abdomen tighten, but is soon replaced with petal soft kisses. "When you say 'grow', I hope you mean grow more beautiful by the day." Each firm press of his lips feels like its igniting your skin on fire with the newfound sensitivity. Your toes start to dig down into the mattress.

"Because, y/n..." Bucky repositions himself onto his knees, one now conveniently pressed in-between your legs. The pressure alone makes your heart rate spike and has you borderline panting. He hovers over you, "There isn't anything in this world I find more beautiful or more attractive than my girl carrying my child." He holds your gaze, intense and primal- more than you've ever seen.

"Do you understand?" Bucky asks with a raised brow. You nod hastily and he grins in response. "Good girl. Now, let's see if those rumors about hyper sensitivity are true. Judging by how you're writhing under me and the wet spot on my knee... I'm really going to enjoy the next few months."

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist! Requests are open!

@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @erinallene @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @cjand10 @bucky-barnes-lover @skyf-7

[reasonsforhope]

"Millions of Australians just got official permission to ignore their bosses outside of working hours, thanks to a new law enshrining their "right to disconnect."

The law doesn't strictly prohibit employers from calling or messaging their workers after hours. But it does protect employees who "refuse to monitor, read or respond to contact or attempted contact outside their working hours, unless their refusal is unreasonable," according to the Fair Work Commission, Australia's workplace relations tribunal.

That includes outreach from their employer, as well as other people "if the contact or attempted contact is work-related."

The law, which passed in February, took effect on Monday [August 26, 2024] for most workers and will apply to small businesses of fewer than 15 people starting in August 2025. It adds Australia to a growing list of countries aiming to protect workers' free time.

"It's really about trying to bring back some work-life balance and make sure that people aren't racking up hours of unpaid overtime for checking emails and responding to things at a time when they're not being paid," said Sen. Murray Watt, Australia's minister for employment and workplace relations.

The law doesn't give employees a complete pass, however...

"If it was an emergency situation, of course people would expect an employee to respond to something like that," Watt said. "But if it's a run-of-the-mill thing … then they should wait till the next work day, so that people can actually enjoy their private lives, enjoy time with their family and their friends, play sport or whatever they want to do after hours, without feeling like they're chained to the desk at a time when they're not actually being paid, because that's just not fair."

Protections aim to address erosion of work-life balance

The law's supporters hope it will help solidify the boundary between the personal and the professional, which has become increasingly blurry with the rise of remote work since the COVID-19 pandemic.

A 2022 survey by the Centre for Future Work at the Australia Institute, a public policy think tank, found that seven out of 10 Australians performed work outside of scheduled working hours, with many reporting experiencing physical tiredness, stress and anxiety as a result.

The following year, the institute reported that Australians clocked an average of 281 hours of unpaid overtime in 2023. Valuing that labor at average wage rates, it estimated the average worker is losing the equivalent of nearly $7,500 U.S. dollars each year.

"This is particularly concerning when worker's share of national income remains at a historically low level, wage growth is not keeping up with inflation, and the cost of living is rising," it added.

The Australian Council of Trade Unions hailed the new law as a "cost-of-living win for working people," especially those in industries like teaching, community services and administrative work.

The right to disconnect, it said, will not only cut down on Australians' unpaid work hours but also address the "growing crisis of increasing mental health illness and injuries in modern workplaces."

"More money in your pocket, more time with your loved ones and more freedom to live your life — that's what the right to disconnect is all about," ACTU President Michele O’Neil said in a statement.

The 2022 Australia Institute survey... found broad support for a right to disconnect.

Only 9% of respondents said such a policy would not positively affect their lives. And the rest cited a slew of positive effects, from having more social and family time to improved mental health and job satisfaction. Thirty percent of respondents said it would enable them to be more productive during work hours.

Eurofound, the European Union agency for the improvement of living and working conditions, said in a 2023 study that workers at companies with a right to disconnect policy reported better work-life balance than those without — 92% versus 80%."

-via GoodGoodGood, August 26, 2024

[mockerycrow]

Talk About Sensitivity In The COD Fandom **Important.**

THIS IS NOT A DEBATE POST. DO NOT BOTHER.

Hey, everyone. After the reveal of Makarov in the trailer (as well as general concern), I think a chat about sensitivity is important. Since the trailer’s release, I have seen a major increase in simping for Makarov posts as well as genuine romanticization of Russia and/or Russian Soldiers. First, I want to talk about the romanticization of Russia and/or Russian soldiers because it’s seriously getting out of hand. I need you guys to realize that Russia is an ultranationalist country and yes, maybe not everyone who lives there believes what their government does, but it’s important to know a big portion of their population does. I have seen multiple posts and edits of this man right here (pictures below).

THIS GUY IS NOT SOMEONE YOU SHOULD LIKE, AND PEOPLE NEED TO UNDERSTAND THAT HE DOES NOT LIKE YOU. This is one of the most popular Russian Soldiers amongst the internet due to the way he wears a mask, gear, has an accent, and is buff. He makes videos teaching soldiers how to kill people—innocent people in Ukraine who are just trying to survive. I have seen people straight up ignore when someone tells them what this man has done, so let me put it this way—he does not like you. He wants you dead. He is racist, a homophobe, transphobe, antisemitic, etc. He absolutely hates The West, and he does not like you unless you are a cis, straight, white 100% Russian. Even if you’re a woman, he DOES NOT LIKE YOU. If you American, HE DOES NOT WANT YOU ALIVE.

[This part is not targeted; just a general statement.] Second; there is a serious problem with how you guys address Makarov as a character. There is absolutely no problem enjoying him as a villain because I do too, but you guys have to realize that Makarov is an ultranationalist—which is exactly what Russia is right now, an ultranationalist terrorist state. “But he’s fictional, it doesn’t matter! it’s not that deep!” It actually is that deep. I keep seeing content for Makarov and I can’t force anyone to stop making “fluffy fics”, but I need y’all to have some fucking decency towards victims and people affected by the war. I know people who are affected by the war who feel ill seeing posts painting Makarov in a good light. If you are going to write Makarov, do NOT romanticize him as a character—do NOT paint him a decent or good light, because you can’t. Write him like the bastard he is. And no, this isn’t a “let people write what they wanna write” situation. You can do that, but please be expected to be judged and blocked by me and many others. Makarov is quite literally the characterization of everything that is wrong with Russia, and what HAS been wrong with Russia. Makarov is not a bad boy, a rebel, etc, he’s a fucking terrorist. Please be for real. “But the military in general is bad, so why does it matter specifically around Makarov?” Please see above my previous reasons. Thanks.

The overall message of this point is to be fucking respectful. There are actual people dying and slaughtered for no reason other than ruined pride and a lot of Ukrainian folk seek comfort and distractions in the internet and their fandoms. This ruins it for them and quite frankly, sometimes how Makarov is being written? It’s completely insensitive. Anyway, below are a few links where you can directly support the efforts and the people of Ukraine. Peace and love, and please write with critical thinking.

[norafaye]

charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary ─┈ · · · charles didn’t get on the podium just for the trophy, he wanted the extra bonus that came with it.

contains ─┈ · · · 18+, dubcon-ish, smut : p in v, unprotected sex, soft-dom!charles, whinysub!reader, exhibitionism, oral & fingering, size kink, mating press!!, lots of kissing, multiple orgasms, usage of pet names (e.g. pretty girl, good girl, baby, mon amour) wc : 3.1k

a/n ─┈ · · · this is a reupload bc my dummy head accidentally deleted my blog (no i don’t wanna talk about it 😞)

꒰ 𖥻masterlist ꒱

“Charles we can’t be doing this here.” you mumbled against your boyfriends lips—who seemed to be in a haste. He currently has you trapped against the wall in his driver’s room, wasting no time in sealing his lips with yours, longing for the taste of you since he saw you enter the paddock to greet him this morning.

“‘S all your fault.” he begins to lightly pepper a trail of wet kisses from the corner of your mouth down to your jaw.

“Mine?” scrunching your eyebrows together in confusion a breathless laugh comes from you, “What did I do?”

It was a genuine question—finding it amusing how his mood shifted from neutral to aroused after watching him change into his race suit. Ah. The way you were eyeing him switch into his red apparel must’ve got him all flustered and the provocative outfit you wore didn’t aid his case in the slightest.

“So pretty, can’t contain myself.”

“Thank you.” you responded meekly, not trusting yourself to utter anything further because of the pathetic noises you may let out. He’s already got you wanting more, aware of what to do to have you in a daze.

You hook your arms around his neck while his own held you in place by your waist. When his face travel down to your throat, Charles’ lips latches onto the smooth soft skin of your neck, licking and sucking gently—a blotch of purple surely forming but it was the least of your concerns with the way he made you feel at the moment.

His teeth begins to lightly graze your plush skin before sinking into it without a warning, hard enough to almost break skin, making a hiss and whimper of sorts tumble out of you. The heavenly sound had blood rushing straight down to his cock. He’d hate to admit the effect that you had on him however, his current actions were enough to speak for itself.

You were divine; so irresistible that his infatuation with you grows more every single day. The way your body molds into his only spurs the sense to fulfill his desires. It clouds his brain, it’s all he can ever think of when he has you like this. So pliable, so sweet and oh was he obsessed.

“Your skirt is too short,” he mumbles with a groan, all the while still assaulting your neck, “Could practically see your panties when you sit down.”

“You shouldn’t have been looking,” you try to tease but your own voice comes out rather weak and shaky upon feeling his breath tickle your skin, goosebumps now rising, “W-we have to stop.”

He completely ignores your feeble declaration—opting to return his lips on yours, greedy and hurried. This time he slips his tongue into your mouth—the muscle dancing along with yours and exploring the wet cavern skillfully. You don’t think you could get enough of it, he was unmistakably a first-class kisser that it almost had your protests die down, almost.

Charles grumbles when you push at his shoulders, your attempts nearly futile because of how he firmly presses further into you. When you manage to pull his face in your hands you look at him for the first time since his ambush on you. The sight before you left you lightheaded; he was panting just as much as you were, lips slightly parted and glistening with your combined spit.

Contemplating your next words, you deliberate if you wanted to continue or put a finish to this, “Charles your race starts in 30 minutes.”

Your statement doesn’t waver him in the slightest, this had you on edge. The thought of being caught with your boyfriends tongue down your throat was not one of the things on your to-do list today. But feeling high off of how his body pins into yours, the scent of musk mixed in with his cologne intoxicating your senses has your head buzzing. The notable anxiousness about the possibility of being discovered vanishes bit by bit along with the little sanity you had left.

“How about this… if you get on that podium today,” speaking again, you decide to try and stop whatever that is occurring because if you don’t, you’re afraid it’ll never end once it begins. And as tempting as it was you really wanted to save yourself the embarrassment if you both were found out. He stares intently with a bit of curiosity as you voice your proposition with careful thought, “You can have me however you want back at the hotel.”

Practically seeing the cogs in his head turn, your heartbeat sets into a rapid pace from anticipation after seeing a smile creep up on his handsome face, dimples digging into his cheeks while his mouth stretches widely.

“Mmmm you’ve got yourself a deal mon amour, but,” his fingers drags down to the hem of your skirt making you stare back at him in surprise, “30 minutes is still enough time for me to feel you up.”

Your knees almost buck from his flirtatious tone, muddled brain not fully registering what he meant until a veiny hand reaches for the band of your underwear, but before he can do anything your hand encircles over his wrist, “Charles we’ll get caught!”

Sucking in a breath and feigning to ponder he shifts himself so his face was mere centimeters from yours, “Well then I guess you’ll just have to keep quiet.”

He was too mischievous about this whole ordeal—aware that he held so much power over you, stronger and determined to get his point across.

There wasn’t anything left that you could do with his persistence so when his digits trail lower and lower, you let him. The pad of his fingers reaches your sensitive bud, circling it delicately. With your breath hitching, your back arches—clothed breasts brushing his chest, the fabrics separating both of your hot skin from touching each-other. He kisses you swiftly to swallow up all your lovely little gasps. Your expressions of disagreement surely forgotten now, it was always so effortless to please you.

Charles acknowledges that his fingers were being soaked by your wetness already, causing a low groan to transpire deep within his chest. A sense of triumph inevitably filled his body whenever he got you to submit to him with a simple ghost of his touch—letting him do whatever he desires in order to please him. Biting your lower lip to halt the sounds that threatened to spill, you braced yourself for his potential actions.

“What is it baby?” he questioned clearly satisfied, rubbing a little harsher to leave you breathless, “Got nothing to say now?”

“M-more, please.”

“That’s my pretty girl.”

Your composure slips away from the delicious friction and attention you got from him, not an ounce of shame shrouded you like it should for giving yourself up so instantaneous but you couldn’t help it. Not with him towering over you, making it seem like you were impossibly smaller than before and not when his rough fingers sent a wave of electricity through your core.

“You’re so wet, barely even had to do anything.” The coarse timbre of his voice was almost condescending, patronizing, to rile you up. Wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue he watches your facial expressions for any discomfort only to find your mouth agape, eyes becoming bleary. So cute.

“Charles.” you whine impatiently, tugging at his wrist.

“Shhh I know, I know.” cooing sweetly at how endearing you were, he just couldn’t get enough and as much as he wants to stare and tease you like this for hours on end, he gives in, recalling the time crunch you both were in.

A shiver racks up your spine in excitement when he lowers himself onto his knees, getting himself leveled face to face with your lower half. Charles doesn’t let another second pass by, heavy hands sliding your panties down in one go and swiftly hiking up one of your legs over a shoulder, the movement authorizes him to catch a glimpse of your glistening cunt.

“God, such a pretty pussy.” he comments aloud, enabling a heat to rise up your body like a plague with embarrassment—a tint of pink adorning your cheeks from seeing how he licks his lips again this time from the view in front of his green irises.

Bunching up your skirt in one hand, he blows a breath onto your cunt, the sensation of the hot air already has you crumbling. He was drooling to have a taste. The tip of his tongue hasn’t even reached you yet and it was nearly unbearable to handle. Your fingers find its way to tangle in his hair—readying yourself, and when he finally licks a stripe up your folds your eyes practically roll back.

“Si bon goût.” (Taste so good.) he savors the flavor that floods his taste buds before diving back into your mouthwatering heat.

A moan of his name falling from you makes him palm at his cock whilst his lips encases over your clit to suck on it. The suction has you pulling at his hair, burying him between your thighs even more. Feeling your fingertips gripping onto his brown locks, nails oh so lightly scratching at his scalp stirs him up additionally. He lets out a groan into your sex, sending vibrations directly onto your bundle of nerves, producing a loud keen from you shortly after.

He draws back briskly, sending you a warning look, “Baby, stay quiet.”

The firmness of his voice causes your heart to skip a beat, you nod your head quickly without saying anything, worried of displeasing him. With your palm over your mouth, you wait expectedly for the return of his tongue, you were left surprised instead as it was replaced with his fingers, the impending sounds from your throat now being muffled.

Charles collects some of your slick with his index finger, dipping the digit into your entrance efficiently. You choked out a breath from how it stretched you out delightfully, always taken aback at how your lithe fingers were nothing compared to his, he consistently reaches places you’ve never even found yourself.

“So tight.” whispering amidst concentration, his face returns to a close proximity so that he can spit directly onto your clit. The saliva dribbles down to your hole assisting him to begin steadily pumping his finger inside of you.

“Oh god,” you remove your hand to display your gratification, “Feels so good Charles.” Though, he was moving way too sluggishly for your liking, “Need more.”

“Yeah?” tilting his head while looking up at you he smiles to himself pridefully, “What do you want amour? Tell me.”

The teasing never fails to have you shrinking within yourself; always self conscious of your timid voice breaking. But you don’t dwell on it too long this time as the minutes you have left together diminishes rapidly.

“Y-your tongue,” you stammer out bashfully solely to earn a raised brow, his facial expression reads that he was awaiting a specific term.

While he pauses expectedly at your words, you close your eyes—biting back at any remarks as your patience was running thin, “Please, Charles.”

“Good girl.”

Delving back in, he pecks your clit before flicking the tip of his tongue up against it. With your eyes screwed shut you quickly cover your mouth again. The only thing being heard in the driver’s room now is him lapping up your wet cunt.

He knew just how much force and where to lick to have you either begging him for more or murmuring out nonsense for him to stop within minutes. The stimulation was already building up remarkably, leaving you to melt just above him.

Charles can feel himself straining in his overalls now, praying that his cock calms down once he was done having his way with you. Though when his eyes scans up to devour your state, drinking in every reaction your face contorts into, he couldn’t handle it—he had to take care of it.

So while adding his middle finger into your soaked arousal, fucking you faster and obscenely flicking his tongue, his free hand palms at his aching cock.

With the stretch of now two of his fingers, the world around you begins to fade out with each ministration. Everything surrounding your sensitive body were nonexistent, just Charles and the blinding pleasure he brings upon you. It was all too much; the lewd wet sounds of him slurping and him humming as he tries to relieve himself at the same time. You weren’t gonna last long like this, especially since your abdomen was getting tighter and tighter, velvet walls securing around his fingers in a vice grip.

“I-hah!… ‘m gonna come.”

The pads of his digits curl into that sweet spongy spot so meticulously, achieving at finding it with no trouble, and with each plunge you were seeing stars in no time. Your drenched pussy squelches and echos around you so filthily and pornographicly, even he puffs out a breath—feeling like he’ll burst at any moment alongside you.

“Come baby.”

On demand, your head is thrown back against the wall and you let go all over his hand, rolling your trembling hips onto his face to get the most out of it. He works you through your spasming climax, fingers moving gradually now as you clamp down on him securely. Your stifled moans were enough for him to reach his own heavenly peak—dousing his briefs in spurts of white cum. He curses in his head hoping that it’s not noticeable and doesn’t seep through his race suit.

Droopy eyelids and strained breaths comes from you as he licks up your release, relishing the taste, legs now quivering in his hold due to the overstimulation. Post-orgasm bliss always made you look so graceful, it drives Charles to want to litter your face in kisses.

Knock Knock Knock.

In your stunned state you almost get whiplash when your head turns toward the noise. Your heart hammers in your chest in a rush of nervousness, frozen in place.

“Charles? Almost done getting ready?” A voice on the other side of the door breaks his trance and you avert your eyes to stare down at him with a frightened appearance. Massaging your thighs to sooth your worries an annoyed sigh departs him whilst giving you one final lick before pulling your panties back up, stabilizing himself onto his feet again.

“Yeah, nearly ready!” he cheekily smiles at you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Be there in a sec!”

Charles jerks your chin to lure you into a deep kiss, having you taste your own essence.

“See you out there yeah?” Adjusting himself promptly, he leaves you in the room to catch your breath in shock, but not without a light smack on your ass first.

His morale was certainly high.

Charles got P2, and he was so damn smug about it during his time up on the podium—staring down at you with a shit-eating grin. A wink was sent your way, innocent to others around you, but the underlying meaning behind it was shared only for the two of you to understand.

Being the one that proposed this agreement had you rethinking your choices. You should’ve known better, Charles wasn’t ever satiated until you were reduced to nothing but a babbling crying mess underneath him.

And since he was in no rush with no one to stop him in this duration, he had all night to finally do the rest of what he wanted.

You were already spent—lying on your back as incoherent pleas leaves your swollen bitten lips from each thrust. The stretch of his cock makes slick from your pussy drool, the bed sheets now stained with your sweat and cum. Brain spinning and becoming mush because you’ve came one too many times tonight that you don’t even bother to keep count.

The incessant whines coming from you only encourages him a substantial amount. You looked absolutely enticing like this; mouth parted in astonishment, breathless moans leaving you every so often when he drives his hips further into you in a harsh manner. He doesn’t let up his relentlessness in the slightest either, no matter how much you whimper and push at him—fucking you like no one ever has is the only thing flooding his own thoughts.

Charles’ night couldn’t get any better, it’s one thing about receiving a shiny trophy for a wonderful accomplishment but getting lost inside of you was a far greater reward that he wishes he can have every time he wins.

“Such a good girl for me.” Mindless praises were spoken any chance Charles can muster up without sounding like he was falling apart himself. He was deranged, you felt like heaven and his gaping eyes never leaves the sight of your tight cunt swallowing him whole. When he feels your walls squeezing around his length for the umpteenth time of the night he hauls both of your legs over his shoulders, allowing him to stuff his cock to the hilt.

“Ah! too big— ‘s too much!” You shriek, small hands shoving at his stomach but incapable of wriggling away from his tight hold on your waist and with your energy depleted long ago it was useless. All you can do is claw at him, lay there, and take it.

Each stroke of his cock pounding into that pleasurable spot lying far inside causes your legs to tremble. He tries to distract the burning knot threatening to snap in your abdomen by pulling you into a searing kiss. The angle was dizzying, the way he was buried into you has your legs straining as they push against your chest. Only making you whine out increasingly by how impossibly deeper he got.

“Feels good, doesn’t it baby?” he smiles into the kiss, aware that you are unable to form a proper sentence without sounding like you were weak.

“Can’t- please! Ngh!—no more,” you shake your head, hanging dangerously close to the edge that it hurts, “Can’t come anymore!”

Sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth to stifle the guttural moan that tries to bully it’s way out of his throat, the head of his length twitches from your struggle to hang on.

He tuts his tongue in disapproval, “Mon amour, I know you can give me another.”

Bouncing off the walls of your shared hotel room were sounds of skin slapping against eachother along with your loud sobs of pleasure. The pace to fuck you dumb doesn’t let up, but when your cunt clamps around him, Charles furrows his brows at how awfully tight you got, slightly constricting him from moving.

“You look so pretty when I fuck you like this,” his thumb searched for your throbbing clit at once, rubbing tight circles in hopes to help you find that blissful release, “C’mon baby you can do it.”

As if we’re instinct, your back bows off the bed, body completely seizing up as your orgasm hits unexpectedly in a silent scream. He halts his pelvis sensing your sex quivering around his cock snugly, focusing on applying more pressure onto your pearl, massaging it more vigorously for your juices to gush all over his stomach and muscular thighs.

“That’s it!” he laughs in awe, “That’s a good fucking girl.”

“S-stop! No more!” You cry out, having enough of the overwhelming euphoria, hands clutching at his wrist to slow down. He seemingly took pity on you, noticing the overstimulation becoming too much so he tones it down touching you now leisurely, alleviating the torture.

You were given some time to come down from the mind breaking high, labored breaths returning back to its original state. When he pulls out his flushed cock from you slowly a shuddering hiss leaves his mouth because of the sensitivity. Still shaking from the aftershocks you set your legs down onto the mattress staying there in absolute bewilderment.

You thought it was over until you detected your weak limbs being maneuvered in little to no difficulty, being brought onto your stomach.

“You didn’t think we were actually done, did you?”

The silence was deafening before his tip nudges at your entrance again. You were foolish for making this deal indeed.

© 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞 2023 please refrain from plagiarizing any of my works. reposting on other media platforms is prohibited.

— reblogs, comments, & feedback are appreciated!

[muntitled]

𝙄𝙍𝙍𝙀𝙋𝙇𝘼𝘾𝙀𝘼𝘽𝙇𝙀

Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Summary: Toji is intent on ruining every other man for you

Warnings: Language, Toxic Relationship, fwb, Age Gap, Minor Gaslighting, Jealousy, Slight Angst, Coercion, Manipulation, Manhandling, Possessiveness, PDA, Threats, Smut (+18) Minors DNI, DUB/CON, Grinding, Forced Orgasm, Rough Sex, Toji Filming You, Video Sex?, Humiliation Kink, Exhibition Kink, Massive Degradation Kink, Neediness, Mutual Masturbation, Humping, Spitting, Breeding Kink, Daddy Kink, DDLG, Massive Praise Kink, Threats, Slight CNC, Extreme Humiliation, Forced Breeding

A/N: Please proceed with caution, I beg

Perhaps your first mistake is assuming you could open his message, glance over it with hooded, glossy eyes, and swipe out, with the blatant intention of ignoring him.

Toji is rarely someone who fancies wasting time. He types like the old man he is, with messages devoid of emoji's or textual abbreviations.

He had simply and succinctly written:

I miss your face.

His message is unambiguous with the expectation that you are now supposed to drop every commitment you might harbour on this thunderous Thursday night to accommodate him and his nighttime hard-on that probably hit him in a slump of boredom.

It irritated you to imagine how secondary you always seem to be in his mind's eye. It pissed you off to think that his words when he fucked you, his blatant degrdation, may hold a sliver of truth. Perhaps you really were just a sex toy he only makes use of when he wishes for a break from the rest of the world and its obligations. That piercing thought that he used you accommodate all his kinks, while he continuously failed to claim you amongst his associates... it broke you. It left you feeling cheap and ragged and worthless and-

another message peaks over your home screen:

I know you're seeing this. Tell him to fuck off.

"Everything okay?" Your head snaps up from your phone, immediately meeting the eyes of the man you had just kissed under the awning of your Townhouse patio. His warm eyes which had stayed warm throughout the duration of your date are now hooded in concern.

"Everything's perfectly fine," You attempt to reassure your coworker who had just taken you on a fantastic date. There is an inflection in your voice which you quickly attempt to clear, "Just a message from one of my students-"

You're interrupted by another incoming notification which you instinctively check.

I miss your cunt. Need to see you touch yourself.

Swiping out of that particular message had been significantly more difficult, and it took all your willpower to ignore the slew of notifications.

"My kids tend to send messages outside office hours too," your date soldiers on, bending his tall frame hoping to draw your attention once again. "It's like they don't understand the concept of school time and downtime. Teachers have lives too,"

Your eyes narrow infinitesimally at the strain in his voice when he says, "I like seeing you in academic work mode, though. It's hot." You immediately notice his words as a veneer to mask the irritation at having your date interrupted by your notifications. All that hangs between you two now is the rites of passage one is expected to complete at the end of every date.

'Ask me up' his eyes practically pleaded, as you noticed him send tiny glances at your front door, 'Ask me up and let's get this over with',

And perhaps, maybe you would have invited him up. Lord knows your own arousal had been building with the steady stream of Toji's messages, one more quick glance revealed the final message:

Do you honestly imagine yourself calling that puny little thing, Daddy?

A shuddering breath leaves your throat as a million questions bombard a million other statements racing through your mind. Questions of how the fuck Toji knew you were on a date were overshadowed by the realization that you are going to sleep with this stranger tonight. You are going to find a new anchor and a brand new distraction.

"Would you like to stay for a drink-" You asked, or would have asked, had it not been for the sheer shock at having your own door open behind you. You spin around, utterly speechless as you and your date both watch Toji answer your door.

"She doesn't drink," He says, leaning his bare, muscled shoulder against your doorframe, the rest of him is clad in his sweatpants, the drawstring left lazily to hang, "So finding any beverage alcoholic enough for her to negate the fact that you're not going to make her cum, will be quite the feat." Your coworker bristles at Toji's remark, but you're corralled into silence. It is as if your brain can not comprehend what your eyes are seeing in front of you. Your voice is dwindling as you attempt to ask,

"Where did you… How the hell did you get my keys?" But Toji disregards you as easily as he has been doing for the duration of your relationship. Arousal be damned, all you allow yourself to feel in this very moment is red, white, and hot, anger.

It is so easy for him to look past you, so easy for him to pretend you're not there when his cock isn't forcing you to take his cum. The anger pulsates through you, straining your tear ducts. If it weren't for his sudden, inexplicable movements you probably would have cursed him out with tears streaking your face.

With his eyes still on your date, Toji pulls your limp body against him. He dips his head to splay a calloused kiss at the side of your head before letting his hands drift over the curvy outlines of your body. He rubs you soothingly, in a way he knows would get you into a compliant, likely sated state as he pushes your head onto his bare chest.

"You're still standing here?" His head tilts as he stares down your date; a scarred lip curling at the end. "Would you like to watch?" By this point, you're so deep into detangling your own conflicting emotions that you're not even sure who Toji is speaking to. What you are aware of is his bulge rubbing against you from behind. His grip on your hips are concrete as he looks at the now utterly angered man, "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to," Toji's lips graze your ear, "She does enjoy putting on a show,"

You're utterly horrified that his words and raucous display have your colleague lumbering away from your doorstep and racing to his car, never looking back.

"That is an utter shame. I think he would've liked to see how needy you get when you wanna cum-" But you've finally gained enough sensibility to push him away from you. Your heart is beating loud in your ear as you push past him and into your living room.

"Where is it,"

"My dick? It's in my pants and it wants your attention-"

"Your shirt!" Your voice thunders up into the rafters of your living room's ceiling, likely in vicious combat with the thunder groaning outside. "You're going to get your shirt and you're going to leave my house and you will then proceed to leave my fucking life!" You're pushing over cushions and decorative pillows as you search frantically for Toji's shirt, "Give me my fucking house keys and leave me the fuck alone, Toji, I'm serious!"

In the tempest of your movements, frizzy hair wild from your outburst and your manic movements, you are utterly seething to find him directly behind you. His head, dipping into the nape of your neck, deposits a row of kisses as he pushes himself up against you.

"I really need to fuck you." He says, completely reducing your earlier words into nothingness, "I need to hear you make those needy little whimpers of yours and I need you to call me Daddy, okay? I need you to tell Daddy you want him to make you a Mommy," He is utterly delirious as he fists your breasts over your buttoned shirt and thrust his hips into your backside. He is deluded by his own fantasies, guided by his own arousal with little to no thought for your own feelings. You hated that his desires flowed parallel to yours. You hated that you wanted exactly what he wanted. You hated that your panties were already steadily getting soaked at just the thought of him needing you so much he started humping lazily into your ass. "Daddy needs you to take care of him, hm? Can you do that, pretty girl?"

Your voice is barely above a whisper when you speak, afraid that it might bleed into a horrendous moan, "When have you ever taken care of me, Toji? You fucking humiliated me-" He spins you around until your chest is facing him. You fight to evade the sight of his cock straining against his grey sweatpants as you stare blankly up at him.

"You like it," Toji says, bringing a hand up to cup the side of your cheek, "And I like that you like it." And perhaps, maybe a sick, emotionally damaged part of you did enjoy it when he made you suffer a little. His words bring revelation, as you think back to seconds ago, how him touching you - disrespecting you in front of your coworker brought on a heightened state of arousal.

"Make yourself cum." He commands as he hurriedly undoes the buttons of your blouse. You quickly notice that his patience has finally cracked, and a vexed scowl now dances on Toji's face as he discards your blouse on the floor, "No more questions. Make yourself fucking cum-" He growls, as he forces you down onto your couch with a hand gripping your scalp and another, pulling a wayward pillow in front of you.

"Make yourself cum because when I touch you, your pleasure is going to be the least of my fucking concerns."

You eye the pillow with slight trepidation while Toji eyes you from above. His hand is still firmly placed on top of your head, lightly craning it backwards to see every emotion running through your face.

"Keep the skirt on," He orders, and watches with hungry eyes as you slowly take off your underwear and mount the cushion in front of you.

"Give me your phone," he is already grabbing at your device, fumbling for the camera.

"Toji, please-"

"It's Toji, now!?" He asks, laughing breathlessly as he presses record and pushes the camera into your face, "Who the fuck is Toji to you?"

Your eyes snap shut, hoping to get away from the invading insectile lense or fresh coat of arousal betweenyour thighs. Your mind is utterly fried by the stimulation you're getting from every output. Your hips have started languidly moving against the pillow, feeling pathetically satiated by the friction against your soaked little clit,

"Look at you- Fuck!" Toji removes his hand on your head to lightly paw at the bulge so deliriously close to your face, "Look at what a fucking slut you are! Do your little work friends know how stupid you get when you're on the verge of cumming-"

"Toji-"

"I said who the fuck is Toji to you!?" The sheer and utter cruelty in his tone has you humping the pillow faster, while you clumsily raise a hand to paw at your breasts. Unable to keep his composure any longer, Toji's hand descends into his sweatpants as he begins to stroke his aching dick in unison with your hips. You watch with hooded, fucked out eyes. Your pillowy lips pull in between your teeth as a pornographic moan bubbles from within your chest.

You decide to give in. "P-Please Daddy, Please fuck me- I fucking need you to cum inside me- p-please-" You're unable to stop, feeling your wetness spread along the pillow, as you watch him stroke intently, "Fuck me- I need you to fuck me, fuck me please, Daddy-" You're utterly breathless, repeating your words like a wanton, desperate whore, "Please… Daddy," you continue to whisper, "Daddy,"

"Fuck-you look so fucking sexy, baby," He doesn't know whether to look at the video of your hips moving greedily against the pillow, or to watch the real thing: your hips making a web of sticky trails of arousal on the couch.

"Apologise to Daddy, like a good girl," He really wants to fuck you but his own pride, the curse of his averous stands in his way, "Tell Daddy you're sorry for being a foolish little whore. Tell him you'll never ignore a message from him ever again-" your shoulders flinch at the sound of your phone being discarded on the floor but still, your hips are unrelenting as you say, "I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm so sorry." Drool drips from the side of your mouth, falling along your exposed breasts, which Toji squeezes recklessly. "Never! I'll never ignore another message from you ever, ever, ever," you're operating on autopilot, as you watch him release his cock from inside his sweatpants, his fingers prod and twist at your nipple.

"I miss your mouth," He utters drunkenly as he bends down, "Kiss me," And you obey as you rise to meet his lips. The soft roughness of Toji's lips only has your hips humping desperately against the pillow once more, his tongue forcing its way inside until you're both kissing with lewdity and ferocity. "Fucking slut-" he says, pulling back to push you backwards,

"My horny humping girl is so ready for Daddy to fuck her isn't she?" You're completely flooded with anticipation, it flows through your arteries, alerting every part of your brain. You feel as though you're about to taste euphoria as Toji roughly pulls your hips to the edge of the couch, lifting it to meet his cock which he hurriedly slams into you.

He fucks you, hard and rough and as needy as you feel- hovering above you so every stroke has his pelvis pushing against your clit as you fucks you into your own couch.

"You thought you could just fucking get away from me, hm?" There's a heavy condescending tone in his voice, one that has you arching your back with your lips pulled between your teeth. You're striving to get away from his harsh thrusts because the pleasure is way too much . It's all bubbling inside you, threatening to spill out everywhere and anywhere.

"I fucking told you, didn't I!?" Droplets of water fall from his hair as he watches you so intensely. You think you might cum on the spot, "Daddy fucking told you that you can't ever say no to him- you can't ever tell him to stop- Stop fucking moving!" But your movements have him more turned on than you'd initially thought, allowing him to use the advantage of his brawn, to lock you down with his iron grip at your hips. You're trapped on the couch underneath him, as he continues to fuck you like you don't exist,

"If you keep moving like that- fuck! If you keeping fucking trying to get away Daddy will have no choice but to cum inside you," Your legs tingle with the nearness of your euphoria, it only expands as he brings his lips directly onto of yours as he mutters, "Daddy's going to cum inside you, okay? Maybe that's what you need to realise you can't talk to other men? Maybe getting you fucking pregant will make sure you'll stop being a fucking slut-"

His cock is shallow and relentless inside your soaked, gummy walls, it pushes against everything it can find and is utterly relentless on that one sensitive bundle of nerves that only he seems to be able to find.

"Are you going to cum!?" He asks, "Because I'm so fucking close baby- I want you to cum with Daddy, okay? Be a good girl for once in your fucking life-"

"FUCK-" You're a screaming, wet mess as you cum so violently, it disrupts the flow of your entire body, "Thats it… Gonna get you pregnant- oh fuck-" he exclaims, his white hot seed exploding inside of you, prolonging the overwhelming sensation of your own orgasm. It completely takes over your mind - feeling so completely full of him. Toji's hips lightly shudder as he attempts to milk as much of himself up inside of you, before pulling away. He is utterly mesmerised by the sticky, white cum oozing out of your puffy vagina. He watches, transfixed, as he brings his fingers up to slide as much of his cum inside you but it all comes sliding back.

"What are you," You're barely able to find your voice, "What are you doi-"

But he already has you upside down. His muscles flex he holds you carefully by your hips, with your head grazing the carpet. You recognize the movement as a relic of the old wives' tale. The second his cum is swimming inside you, you need to lay upside down to help it along.

No scientific evidence that this guarantees any sort of pregnancy, of course, but Toji strikes you as the superstitious type.

"Making sure the job's done." He says, "You think I was kidding about getting you pregnant?"

I can explain...

[theemporium]

[5.6k] an attack in the winter break leaves max reeling as he tries to cope with a new and furrier version of himself. the world seems to think mad max is returning to them but your presence says otherwise.

[find other fright night specials here]

.

It had been a completely normal day when Max Verstappen had his whole life changed. 

Or as normal as it could be on a cold, wet January day in England during the winter break.

The run up to the season had been weighing down on everyone’s shoulders, last minute tweaks and changes and updates being made in hopes of making a car that will continue to dominate the grid. The factory has been busy, day in and day out. With less than a month until the car launch, it felt like everyone was working themselves to the bone to get the car ready. 

Max was no different. Though, it was less about data sheets and car parts for him, and more about practising on the sim until he was beating the previous laps he set. He liked having feedback to give to the team, he liked feeling like he was contributing to the early mornings and late nights. He liked feeling useful to the team. 

He ignored most of GP’s warnings about running himself down on the late nights, waving the older man off with a smile and a promise he wouldn’t stay much later. And it was partially true, he didn’t stay too late. 

No later than you did. 

Because if there was someone equally as determined and dead-set on giving this car everything they had like he was, it was you. 

It had become a routine between the two of you on those late nights where you were the only ones left in the factory. Max would finish up at the sim, make his way towards your office on the other side of the factory where he would walk you to your car, chatting your ear off about anything other than engineering and cars and data to help get your mind off work. Even if it was for a few short minutes. 

There were some days where the two of you would sit in one of your cars for a bit, to just talk. Other days, one of you was too tired to drag the night out further. It varied but it all fit the norm.

Just like that day. 

The flickering street lights accompanied you both as you made your way towards the car park, with Max nodding and laughing along to some story you had been telling him about one of the other engineers. At first, he thought he had imagined the growl—one of those instances that could be brushed off with wind and bushes and the darkness around them that made everything look a bit scarier. 

But then he heard it again. And he saw a flash in his peripheral vision. And next thing he knew, a large beast appeared out of thin air and was heading straight towards you and Max’s body reacted with pure instinct and quick reflexes to shove you out of the way before the beast tackled him to the floor. 

It was a blur after that. 

Hot, searing pain exploding through his body. Blood roaring in his ears. His heart pounding so fast in his chest. The white dots blurring his vision as he tried to turn his head away from the beast. The glimpses of fear and horror on your face before his vision had gone black. 

The biggest concern at that moment was whether or not Max would be okay. If he would be able to compete at the start of the season. If he would be able to continue at all. If the public would somehow find out and expose the story before Red Bull could even prepare a statement. 

The beast was the last thing on either one of your mind’s that night.

But when Max woke up the next morning, completely unscathed with only his bloody, ripped clothes as a reminder of the previous night. The two of you knew there was more to that beast than a normal animal attack, that you were dealing with something beyond your imagination. 

Max Verstappen didn’t expect to go into the next season worrying how in loving fuck he was going to balance being a Formula One driver and being a werewolf. 

Despite what critics and idiots behind a phone screen like to think, Formula One was a very physically taxing sport. Max had spent the better part of his whole life giving his body to training and endurance so he could compete at the level he does. Most athletes are more in tune to their bodies and their wants and needs than the average person, and Max was one of them. He knew his body. He knew his limits. He knew strengths. He knew his weaknesses. 

That knowledge was completely useless when he became a werewolf. 

One attempt at a workout and a dented metal bar later told Max that this whole werewolf thing came with a lot more setbacks than he realised. He understood pretty quickly that this wasn’t something he wanted to get out to the general public. He didn’t know how it would be perceived—hell, he wasn’t even sure how he perceived it. 

But someone had to know. He couldn’t hide it for the rest of the season. 

In the end, a few select people in his team knew about his lycanthropy and they worked together to keep it hidden from everyone else. 

It was a mindfuck working with Rupert to sort out a whole new workout plan, to evaluate his newfound strength and other abilities, to learn his body all over again at the age of twenty-seven. It was weird having to explain to GP, a man who he considered his brother, that he was no longer the man he was before the winter break—that he was hardly a man at all, anymore. It was fucking weird having to look you in the eye and see the conflict of emotions on your face whenever you saw him, whenever you replayed the way he saved you from the same beast that created him. 

It was fucking weird. 

But he could learn. Resilience and perseverance were two traits Max learnt at a very young age. He didn’t give his whole life to this sport just to throw it away because of his newfound—and unwanted—lifestyle. He refused to let it ruin more than it had. He was a werewolf but that didn’t mean he was going to give everything else up. He would deal with his lycanthropy like he did with other problems in his life—privately and out of the spotlight. 

He just failed to realise that something could risk that privacy. 

And he failed to realise it would be his own short temper that could possibly expose him. 

…

Preseason testing taught the team a lot about the car. 

Yet, all Max was learning was that the car was shit, the media were nosy and his patience was nonexistent with every human interaction he had outside of the team garage. He could feel his skin prickle whenever a camera was pointed at him or a microphone was shoved in front of him or his name was called out. 

He thought the glare on his face would be enough to keep people away but it was wishful thinking. He was the reigning world champion and he was driving, what was seeming to be, a hopeless car. It was a journalist’s wet dream.

“Your eyes.”

Max clenched his jaw, ripping the balaclava over his head. “I’m not glaring.” 

“Not that,” GP hissed, trying to pull Max to the side, away from the cameras peering into the garage. “Your eyes.” 

Max huffed. “Stop talking in fucking riddles, mate.” 

“They are yellow,” GP whispered frantically. “Like your—“

“Fuck,” Max groaned, snapping his eyes shut as he let out a deep breath. “Fuck, what? Why? It’s not a full moon. It shouldn’t—”

“There’s a lot that shouldn’t happen with you that does,” GP pointed out, feeling the glare from Max behind his closed eyelids. “We need to get you out of here.” 

“They will see,” Max replied. 

“Put your helmet on.” 

“Yeah,” Max snorted. “Because that won’t be fucking obvious.” 

GP sighed. “Well—”

“What’s happening?” 

Despite not being able to see you, Max still turned his head towards you, almost instinctively. He could feel your hand on his arm, warm and comforting and—

“His eyes look like glow sticks,” GP muttered. 

“So he says,” Max bit back, because he was annoyed and pissed off and GP was the easiest target. 

“He’s trying to help,” you scolded lightly, your thumb swiping back and forth, almost passively like you didn’t realise what you were doing. “Let me see.” 

GP straightened. “That’s risky—”

“Let me see.” 

Max let out a shaky breath, slowly blinking his eyes open until you came into focus.

“Blue,” you said with a soft, reassuring smile. “They are blue now.” 

Max’s shoulders dropped with relief. 

“Get him back to his driver’s room before it happens again,” GP murmured. 

Max bristled, a looming realisation that he was essentially being grounded by his race engineer making his skin feel prickly. But he couldn’t disagree, it was already a close call with his eyes flashing in the garage. He didn’t need the cameras catching it either. 

“If anyone asks, we will say Helmut lost his mind and made you wear contacts whilst you drive,” you teased, keeping your hand on his arm as you waited for him to grab his things. 

Max huffed out a laugh. “I’m sure he will like that.”

“You’ll protect me,” you grinned back at him. 

And yeah, Max would. 

…

The next close call happened after the season had started. 

The car had been improved since the shit show that was the preseason testing weekend, but it wasn’t all that great either. Max knew it was a process, knew the team were reaching the point of getting the car to a truly competitive and dominant state. It just took time and he just needed to be patient. 

But patience wasn’t something Max had a lot of these days. 

All in all, a podium wasn’t bad with the state of the car currently. However, Max knew that the media would be ready to push back, to insist the reigning world champion should be on the top step and not the third, that he should have all the answers to his own failures. 

He could feel it. 

He could feel the shift in his gums as his canines pushed through, pushed against the confinement of his helmet. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He could hear the crowd booing over the blood roaring in his ears. He felt like the whole world had been dialled up to a hundred the second he stepped out the car after pulling up behind the number three sign. 

He could feel it. 

He could feel the way his team reached out for him. He could feel their hands patting his back like it didn’t make his whole body tense. He could feel their hands patting his helmet like it didn’t make his head feel like it was spinning. He could feel their hands reaching to hold his neck, to bring him closer, to suffocate him more. 

He could feel it. He could feel it. He could—-

“Another trophy to add to the shelf?”

Max’s head snapped around to see you on the other side of the barrier, headset still around your neck and a smile on your face that made the third place feel a little less pathetic. 

“Probably hidden in the back,” Max managed to mutter out, somewhat muffled by his helmet and the chaos around you both.

“Surprised you have enough space,” you joked, teasing and lighthearted and so distracting that Max almost didn’t feel the way your hand covered his gloved hands, the way your thumb swiped over the tips of his fingers. 

He hadn’t even noticed his claws retracting, hadn’t even noticed them ripping through the material of the gloves in the first place. 

“Oh,” was all he could say.

“I’ll take care of it,” you assured him, not risking any more with so many people and cameras and microphones. “Go enjoy the podium.” 

“You’re gonna stay here?” Max asked, something in his chest twisting at the idea you would have to run off back to the garage, to the screens and data sheets and computers and away from him.

“I always do.” 

…

It took a few months into the season before a race weekend aligned with a full moon. 

Truthfully, it hadn’t even been a risk that Max considered which, in hindsight, was probably pretty stupid. It should have been one of the first things on his mind the second he realised what he was. It should have been a top priority after his first full moon, somewhere in late January—a night full of pain and discomfort, an experience Max didn’t want to repeat but knew he would have to. 

Ignorance was bliss and all that jazz. 

Yet, it was the Canadian Grand Prix where Max found himself battling more than just the championship that weekend.

He was lucky enough that it wasn’t a night race but that didn’t change the fact he was snappy all weekend, more so than usual. He was irritant and annoyed and perpetually fighting the growing pain through the weekend as it got closer to the full moon on Sunday night. 

GP asked if it was safe for him to even race in this state.

Max, honest to god, snapped his teeth at the older man in response. 

It was tense and suffocating in the Red Bull garage.

No one seemed to question Max’s awful mood any more than it was expected. A few people poked and prodded but the gritted, sharpy responses they received in response was enough to make most people back off. It was being played off as jet lag, a bad quali session and a grid penalty that didn’t feel all that deserved. 

Max was adamant he could race and deal with the full moon. He wasn’t going to let it ruin his career, the sport that he loved and adored and had given his life to. He wasn’t going to let it get the better of him, even if that meant just being snappier than usual to the media. 

And despite GP and Rupert’s concerns, Max was coping well. 

Until lap 57 happened. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH HIM?!” 

“Max, stay calm.”

“I’M FUCKING LAPPING HIM! IS HE FUCKING STUPID?” 

“Max,” GP tried again but his voice was a muffled buzzing in his ears, hardly coherent over the anger and adrenaline and rage rushing through him. His body was acting on muscle memory alone as his car dragged on, as it crawled into the pits before he rushed back out. 

He refused to listen to GP telling him to retire the car. 

He refused to let that fucker in the Alpine think he could fuck his race and get away with it.

He refused—

“He’s growling,” GP hissed, hand covering the microphone and his voice dropping as he leaned over to where you sat on the pit wall beside him. His lips barely moved, not with the way the cameras were laser-focused on him and his reaction to Max disobeying the orders that were broadcasted to everyone watching.

“Fuck,” you muttered, pulling your headset off and reaching for his. “Hand it over.” 

GP frowned. “I don’t think this is going to work—”

“Trust me,” you insisted. 

Conflicting emotions swirled in his eyes before he ripped his headset off, muttering something under his breath before he handed it to you. 

“—FUCKING DICKHEAD JUST—”

“Max?” 

There were a few moments of silence and, for a brief moment, you wondered if the connection had cut. You wondered if he had somehow disconnected the radio from his side, you almost turned to ask GP if it was possible to do before you heard his heavy breathing. 

“I know you’re upset,” you continued, taking the chance and hoping he was listening. “It was a bad move. But you’re a good driver, a great one even. You can save this race. I know you can. Focus on the racing, not the rest.” 

Your words were careful and precise, painfully aware that the radio messages were probably being broadcasted. You knew whatever you said would be picked apart by the media and public, dissected under a microscope. But despite your caution, your only focus was making sure Max was okay. 

“Breathe and win,” you said, your eyes watching the racing feed on the screen in front of you. “I know you can.” 

It was completely silent beyond the sounds of the car until—

“I can. I will.”

You bit back your smile. “Good. I want to see you on the top step, Verstappen.” 

He did, in fact, go on to win the race. The celebration with the team was postponed as he spent the night in aggravating, uncomfortable pain—alone, suffering, excruciating. He refused to let any of you stay with him, to see him in that state, just like he did every full moon since the attack. 

But he still won and that was something nobody could take away from him. 

...

Despite his success in Canada, it was clear the outbursts and frequent accidental exposures of his wolf were becoming a problem. 

It was something he needed to get better at controlling if he wanted to continue the way he was, if he wanted to keep his lycanthropy away from the greedy hands of the journalists. This was his life now, it was something he had to accept and learn and grow with. 

It was just a little hard to do when he didn’t know how.

“This is stupid.” 

Rupert sighed, ignoring the glare Max was currently staring into the side of his head as he continued to hook the heart monitor onto him. “It is no different to when we do this for your training.” 

“Except this time you are purposefully pissing me off instead of torturing me,” Max bit back.

“We want to help,” GP corrected, leaning against the wall opposite of him. “You need to learn how to control the wolf side of you.” 

Max scoffed. “Maybe people should stop being stupid then.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” GP snorted before getting a nod of confirmation from Rupert that they were ready to go. “Okay. We are going to start easy, alright?” 

Max nodded. 

GP glanced down at the laptop in front of Rupert that had Max’s current heart rate showing before looking back at the driver. “Following the incident with Pierre Gasly in the Canadian Grand Prix, do you think you should be more careful when lapping cars?” 

Max let out a noise of disagreement. “What the fuck? Why should I be careful? It’s not my fault he is slow!” 

“I’m sure the PR team will love that response,” GP deadpanned, watching as Max’s heart rate started to speed up. “The stewards deemed it a racing incident.” 

“And the stewards are fucking stupid,” Max snapped back. “I was lapping him. I had priority. Everyone knows that. It’s their job to know that too.” 

The heart rate continued to increase and GP could have sworn he saw a flash of yellow in Max’s eyes.

“Max, control it,” Rupert reminded him.

“I’m trying,” he gritted out.

“They are going to keep poking, Max,” GP continued. “They did it before and they will do it again. They will push and push and push until they get the reaction they want, the one that fits their agenda.” 

Max growled in response. 

“I know you’ve seen it already,” GP said, listening to the beeps of the heart monitor get faster and faster. “Mad Max is back. He is unpredictable. Unhinged. That’s the story they want and that’s the one you are giving them.” 

Max’s breaths were getting heavier. “They don’t know—”

“Exactly, they don’t know,” GP pointed out. “And we don’t want them to know so you have to learn how to control it before you wolf out on them. Before you let them win.” 

His eyes were bright and glowing and yellow, a flash of sharp teeth under his curling lip as he growled and snarled and—

“I’m here! I’m here! Sorry, I’m late, I was getting coffee. Did we start yet?” 

It was like a flip had switched. 

GP and Rupert watched the scene in front of them like it happened in slow motion. The way Max seemed to perk up at the sound of your voice. The way the glowing eyes and sharp teeth seemed to slowly morph back to the Max they knew. The way the rage and anger and frustration was nowhere to be seen by the time you walked into the room, a tray of coffee and a bag of pastries in each hand. 

You stood there, watching the three of them stare at you with mixed expressions. “What? What did I miss?”

“Interesting,” GP commented. “Very, very interesting.” 

…

“You like her.” 

Max let out a string of curse words, almost knocking the mugs of hot water over before he put the kettle down and turned to face his race engineer with wide eyes. Heightened senses aside, he didn’t hear GP sneaking into the kitchen. Or even realise he had been watching Max mutter away to himself for the last five minutes.

“Fucking hell, mate,” Max grumbled, placing a hand on his chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“And don’t change the topic,” GP retorted with a knowing look. “You like her, don’t you?”

Max hated the way he could feel the tips of his ears start to burn. “Like who?” 

GP raised his brows in response. 

Max deflated, his shoulders dropping. “Look, I know what you’re going to say—”

“I think she’s good for you,” GP interrupted.

Max blinked. “Okay, maybe I didn’t know what you were going to say.” 

“She’s your anchor,” GP noted, his lips twitching upwards. “I had my suspicions but today confirmed it.”

“Anchor?” Max repeated with a frown. “Mate, is that not a news thing? She’s an engineer—”

“No, I—” GP let out a deep sigh, muttering something under his breath. “God give me strength. I mean that she helps ground you, helps you differentiate Human Max and Wolf Max.”

“Oh,” was all Max managed to mutter out.

“She’s good for you,” GP repeated with a soft smile. “And she understands you. Maybe if you tell her, we can work something out and—”

“No.” 

He frowned. “No?” 

“No,” Max repeated, blunt as ever. “I’m not telling her anything and neither will you.” 

GP’s frown deepened. “Max—”

“No, you don’t get it. She…” The boy trailed off, swallowing harshly as he tried to voice his thoughts. “You didn’t see what happened that night.” 

“Max—”

“I saved her,” Max stated. “I saved her and she’s only here because she probably feels guilty. I…I don’t want to tell her and make her feel like she has to feel the same because I almost died or something.” 

“You liked her before,” GP pointed out. “Is it so hard to believe that maybe she felt the same? That she cared about you way before you jumped in front of a werewolf for her?” 

Max clenched his jaw. “Drop it. I’m not telling her and neither are you.” 

GP sighed but he knew it was pointless to fight the stubborn boy over it.

“And she doesn’t find out about this anchor nonsense,” Max added, turning around and busying himself with the mugs on the counter. “We’ll find another way.” 

…

GP’s words about you being his anchor rung on a loop inside his head as the next race weekend approached. 

The Spanish Grand Prix was always quite a hectic one on the schedule. The fans were wild and passionate. There was usually more of a buzz around the world championship by this point, an insight into a real fight after nine races. And it brought back good memories, wanted memories of his first ever race win.

It was a reminder why he was here, why he kept coming back every weekend. He wanted to race and he wanted to win and he wanted to be successful. He wasn’t going to let the lycanthropy stop him. 

And even if he would never admit it, GP was right. 

You were his anchor, you calmed the angry, rapid wolf inside him. It was like everything he felt around you when he was human was amplified. He felt seen, accepted. You took him for how he was, not how you wanted or expected him to be. 

You saw Max—not the racing driver or the face of F1’s current dominance. 

You just saw him. 

It was hard to feel anything but relaxed and calm around you, to know that his words weren’t going to be overanalysed or thrown back in his face.

“You ready for this race?” 

Max gripped his helmet a little tighter, fighting the urge to lean back against your touch as he felt your palm between his shoulder blades. He turned to look at you, smiling a little at the clear concern on your face. Like you were prepared to find a way to postpone the whole race if he said no.

“The car’s been good all weekend,” Max replied, biting back his laugh when you rolled your eyes.

“I wasn’t talking about the car,” you grumbled, scoffing. “Obviously the car is good. I was working on it.”

He beamed. “I’m good. Promise.” 

“You gonna win?” 

“For you? Always.” 

Max took deep satisfaction in the way your heart skipped a beat at his words. 

“I’ll be happy whatever you end up,” you told him earnestly, your hand squeezing his shoulder and he had the oddest urge to keep your hand there, to place his own over yours.

Max swallowed harshly. “But you deserve a podium so that’s what I’m gonna get you.” 

You laughed, the sound easing something in his chest. “You’re cute when you’re cocky.”

He barely got a chance to process your response as you headed towards the pitwall, prepared for the race ahead and leaving the boy glued to his spot, blushing like mad.

For what it’s worth, he did win the race. 

…

Things were going smoothly until the British Grand Prix.

Max had been able to keep the wolf inside him subdued and relaxed through the first two races of the triple header. He was racing well, he was being polite to the media, he was acting like the Max before the accident. 

And despite his history and previous experiences at Silverstone and the ever loyal British fans, he didn’t think things would be all that different this year. He would maybe get booed, maybe have a few more probing questions. But nothing more than that.

Nothing quite like this.

It was Friday when it happened. 

Max thought the worst of the weekend—media day—had been put behind him. He was ready to get back in the car, he was ready to make the triple header a three-for-three and win Silverstone. He was ready for a somewhat normal race weekend, one where the focus would be on the five Brits on the grid rather than him (especially with it being Ollie’s rookie season).

Sometimes, he forgot just how passionate fans could be. He forgot just how insane they could be too.

The whole thing felt like it happened in slow motion.

He was a few steps behind you and GP and Rupert, taking a moment to sign merch and take pictures with fans who had been waiting for hours. He assumed the group of you had made your way into the paddock, already heading towards the Red Bull motorhome. 

He hadn’t expected for the hair on the back of his neck to stand up, to feel his whole body react before his brain had. His head whipped around at the exact moment he saw the crazed fan reaching towards you. His body was moving as he watched the scene unfold, as they reached for the collar of your shirt and pulled, as their lips moved to mutter something about Red Bull and whatever nonsense they thought justified their attack. 

And before anyone could even react, Max was already shoving himself between you and the fan and ripping their hand away from you. He could feel his heart pounding, his body shaking, the telltale pain in his gums of his canines begging to push through. He could feel himself lose control as the anger and fear of seeing you hurt took over him. 

“Back. The. Fuck. Off.” 

The fan’s eyes widened, something quite like surprise and terror written across their face as they staggered back. Max had half the mind to wonder if his eyes were glowing yellow, if his face was starting to transform, if the crazed fan was starting to see the monster Max truly was.

“Max.” 

An honest to god growl escaped his lips until he felt warm hands wrapping around his biceps, until he felt someone pulling his body away from the fan and away from the crowd. 

“We need to get him out of here.” 

It felt like he had blacked out. One moment he was staring at the crazy fan, contemplating letting his wolf take over, to give into the anger and rage coursing through him. And the next he was in his driver room, his name being called on repeat and warm hands cupping his face as he slowly blinked back into reality.

“There he is,” you smiled, your voice a soft whisper as you kneeled in front of him.

“I–” Max started but he couldn’t get his words out. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say, not with his heart still pounding, not with the wolf inside him howling and whining and begging to check that you weren’t hurt.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you repeated like you could see inside his head, like you could hear the panic in his wolf’s howl. “Max, look at me. I promise I’m okay. You stopped anything from happening.” 

He tried to take a deep breath but it was staggered and wheezy. 

“I’m okay,” you continued to repeat, dropping one hand from his face to take his hand in yours and intertwine your fingers together. 

Max’s eyes flashed yellow once more before he clenched them shut, urging himself to calm down, to relax, to control his wolf again. And after weeks of being on top of his lycanthropy, it felt a bit pathetic that he sat there for god-knows how long, not trusting himself to lift his head and look at you until he felt human again.

“M’sorry,” he managed to rasp out.

“Don’t apologise,” you murmured, quick to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Please never apologise for being you.” 

Max let out a bitter laugh. “That wasn’t me—”

“Max,” you started but he shook his head.

“Did anyone see?” 

You took a few moments before responding. “No. Other than the fan but I don’t think they really knew what was happening. I don’t think any of the camera angles caught it either but GP is making sure the media team are ahead of that.” 

“Good,” he managed to mutter, swallowing harshly. “We don’t need anyone else seeing what a monster I am.” 

“Max,” and the way you said his name sounded absolutely broken. “You’re not a monster.”

His lips twitched upwards, almost self-deprecatingly. “You don’t have to lie—” 

“I’m not lying,” you said, a little more insistent this time as you lifted his head up to meet your gaze. “You’re not a monster, Max.” 

His chest tightened. “You’re just saying that because I saved you.” 

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m saying that because it’s what I truly believe. You are the furthest thing from a monster I have ever met.” 

Max could feel his voice waver as he spoke. “Not anymore. What I am now is—”

“Beautiful,” you whispered, smiling softly as your thumb swiped over the apple of his cheek. “Just as you’ve always been. Just as I’ve always thought you were.”

Max couldn’t quite find the words to respond.

“You saved me. And despite having every right to blame me for what you are now, what you’re having to suffer through every full moon, you don’t,” you continued. “Where most people would give up, you fought back. You took your life back. You’ve made it work, Max. Do you realise how fucking brilliant you are? You had to learn your whole body again and you’re still winning races like nothing changed.” 

Max let out a shaky breath. “I’d do it again.” 

“What?” 

“Even knowing what happened, knowing what was going to happen to me,” Max spoke, keeping his eyes on you, keeping his ears focused on your heartbeat. “I would push you out the way. I would jump in front of that wolf all over again.” 

Max wasn’t sure how you would respond but he hadn’t expected you to grab his face in your hands and kiss him. The tight feeling in his chest melted away the second he felt your lips on his, the second he was able to get his hands on you and pull you closer. He would’ve been embarrassed at the pleased rumble in his chest if it weren’t for the fact he was too happy to care. 

“I’ll make you see how beautiful that ‘monster’ in you really is,” you whispered against his lips, your nose lightly nudging against his. “No matter how long it takes.” 

Max was sure that he still had a long way to go and a lot more to learn before he could ever say he felt fully normal again. But the idea of facing the road ahead with you by his side felt easier than tackling it alone. 

He may still be Mad Max to everyone else but he was just Max to you. 

And if he was being honest, the opinion of his anchor was the only one he really cared about.

.

[metamorphesque]

Considering the blissful ignorance with which Armenia is treated by the foreign press, I’ve taken it upon myself to keep you (those who care) updated on what needs to be known.

BACKGROUND

Following years of violations of ceasefire and intimidation against Armenian civilians, Azeri military forces used massive force in September 2020 to invade and occupy two-thirds of Nagorno-Karabakh. In September 2023, Azeri military forces took over the remaining territory, contradicting previously agreed-to negotiations and statements (OSCE peace negotiations, trilateral statements 2020,2021).

While an ethnic cleansing was taking place, the Azeri government arrested eight former members of the Republic’s government and advocates for the self-determination of Artsakh. Those detained include Ruben Vardanyan, an Armenian businessman and philanthropist who served as the State Minister of the Artsakh government.

Mr. Vardanyan and the seven others join over 50 Armenians arrested during the conflict, some of whom have been held for years by Azerbaijan. The negligible information on the health and well-being of these prisoners is deeply concerning.

Ruben Vardanyan

In addition to being the State Minister of the Artsakh government, Ruben Vardanyan is an influential Armenian philanthropist who in 2024 was nominated for Nobel Peace Prize for the creation and support for around five dozen new and unprecedented educational, charitable, scientific and humanitarian structures not only in Armenia, but also in a number of other countries.

Mr. Vardanyan has been charged with financing terrorism, although the legal situation for him and the others remains unclear and lacks transparency. The charges levied against him are considered completely unsubstantiated and are seen as an act of political retribution.

For this reason, it appears Azerbaijan is holding him as a political prisoner, hindering his ongoing projects and suppressing a voice advocating for progressive and positive change.

“We are gravely concerned about my father’s deteriorating health, though we are not surprised by his bravery," said David Vardanyan, one of Mr. Vardanyan's sons. "Despite our initial relief, my father’s conditions are only worsening. The world has shown Azerbaijan that it is watching the fate of the Armenian prisoners, including my father, and from our family I want to thank everyone for their support at this difficult time. I hope that this growing international attention may lead to his release in the nearest future. We urge the international community to further increase the pressure on Azerbaijan to ensure that at least his trial takes place in May 2024 with international observers.” The State Department’s annual Human Rights Report, released on April 23, corroborated the unjust conditions that Mr. Vardanyan and other political prisoners and detainees face in Azerbaijan. The report on Azerbaijan estimated that the country held approximately 254 political prisoners and detainees as of December 2023. The judiciary was also described as largely corrupt, inefficient, and lacking independence. According to the report, defendants in Azerbaijan were often “denied the right to a presumption of innocence; a fair, timely, and public trial; to communicate with an attorney of their choice; to have adequate time and facilities to prepare a defense; to confront witnesses and present one’s own witnesses and evidence; and not be compelled to testify or confess guilt.”

Today Azerbaijan has extended the detention period of Ruben Vardanyan by 5 months.

HELP FREE RUBEN VARDANYAN Join the international community in calling for Ruben Vardanyan’s release alongside the other Armenians being held in Baku, Azerbaijan.

TAKE ACTION by adding your name to THE LIST of supporters.

[trippinsorrows]

ltye: apologies

authors note: inspired by roman being roman on tonight's smackdown. it was a bit tricky to come up with a scenario to justify these people talking to roman like he's just anybody, so i had to keep some things vague.

words: 1.5k

warnings: none

The last thing Solana expected to walk into post grocery store trip was a shit show, but that’s exactly what she’s got.

The sound of arguing voices is impossible to ignore, all of them emanating from her husband’s office. Directing security to bring in the rest of the groceries and to leave them on the counter, she doesn’t hesitate to walk into Roman’s office, bypassing the knocking.

Sure enough, she’s met with her husband, his cousins and Sami Uso arguing down with each other. And not a single one of them seems to be listening to each other. They’re all just yelling and talking over each other, Roman, in a surprising twist, not being as loud as the other three.

But, he looks just as pissed. 

If not more.

Despite having no idea what the source of the argument is, it feels immaterial as she intrudes into the almost circle they’ve formed.

“Hey,” she says it too low the first time around, forcing her to raise her volume for the second round. “Hey!” As Jimmy and Sami move towards each other, as if they’re about to progress to something physical, Solana is prompted her to move even closer, her hands raised, separating them. “Stop it right now!” She switches to Spanish, a natural thing that seems to occur when she's upset.

The minute, however, that Roman becomes aware of her presence, he’s gently pulling her toward him, away from the other three. She ignores that, instead asking in English, “what is going on?”

It’s probably a silly question, as she’s almost certain that it’s business related, and Roman has always been tight-lipped regarding a lot of things concerning his work. But, it’s hard for her to ignore this when the tension is literally palpable. 

In another twist that she wasn’t expecting, Jey smacks his teeth, completely ignoring her question and directing his statement toward Roman. “Man, you trippin, Uce! You not trying to hear—”

“Keep fucking talking to me like that, Jey.” Roman sneers, Solana having to place her hand on his chest. More comfort to her than him, she’s sure. “I beat your ass once, I’ll do it fucking again."

“Listen, Roman, man—”

Jimmy scoffs,, moving closer to Sami, shoving him back. “Aye, wasn’t nobody even talking to you!”

Solana hasn’t the slightest clue when the roles reversed where Jey seems more buddy buddy with Sami than her husband and Jimmy. Regardless, that’s not important right now.

“You guys aren’t accomplishing anything,” she cuts in, shaking her head. Where is Paul? This is definitely one of those moments where he needs to be the voice of reason. “Just stop—”

“I’m not listening to this shit,” Roman snaps, Solana looking back at him as he moves away, turning his back. “We’re doing it my way, and that’s fucking final.”

“What’s the point of having us around if you just always do shit your way and don’t even listen to us?” Jey calls after him. 

At that, Roman turns around, speaking from a place of visceral emotions. “Then fucking leave. I don’t need you. I don’t need any of you!”

Her eyes shut as she takes a deep breath. He doesn’t mean that. She knows him well enough to know that he doesn’t mean that. He’s just talking out of emotions. Not logic.

“Roman—” She calls after him, but he turns on his heel once again, slamming the door behind him.

Hand to her face, she refocuses on the men, directing, “just….just stay here. Let me talk to him.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Jey counters, looking just as done as the rest of the men. “Roman refuses to listen to anybody but his damn self, so let him deal with it by himself.”

Nothing about what her husband does should include him handling anything alone. “I’ll talk to him,” she repeats. “You guys stay here. D--don’t leave. Please.”

She’s not sure if they’ll listen to her, but she can’t focus on that right now. She’s instead walking out the office, trying to find her husband who she eventually locates in their backyard. Closing the door behind her, she watches how he paces back and forth, hands on his hips, facial expression hiding not an ounce of his anger. 

She’s careful in how she approaches him, waiting a minute to give him some space. But, she can only wait for so long. “Roman….”

“Since when the fuck do I answer to them?” It’s a rhetorical question. She knows this, but it’s hard for her to not respond.

“I don’t think that’s what they meant, baby…..”

“I’m the Tribal Chief!” He gestures to himself, again, anger toward the situation. Not her. “I make the plays. I call the shots.”

“Yes, Roman, but that—that doesn’t mean you can’t at least hear them out.” 

That interjection is what makes him stop pacing, makes him stop and look at her, really look at her. She sees the way his shoulders drop and watches how he diverts his gaze, apologizing, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t…..you shouldn’t be involved in this.”

Probably not, but it’s too late to not be. “I–I don’t like seeing you guys argue. You’re….you’re better than that, Ro.” Because he is. Because this petulant, petty-like behavior isn’t like Roman. He’s a hothead, but he’s not childish. “I don’t know what this is specifically about, and it’s none of my business, but I do think you should–should talk this out. That everyone should apologize to each other….including you.” 

At that, his eyes go wide. “Apologize?” He points to himself. “I should apologize to him?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Solana—”

“Roman,” she says it again, voice softening, lips pressed together for a second. “Please?”

It’s a tricky, manipulative thing. She’s learned that he can’t say no to her, and she uses that to sway him over. 

And once again, it’s worked. 

“Fine,” he relents, and she leans up to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you.” He only nods, still looking slightly irritated but walking back into the house. 

Solana finds herself overtly relieved to be able to play at least a small role in the path to reconciliation. It fills her with pride that she carries with her as she goes into the kitchen to start putting the groceries away as well as get started on dinner.

With the twins and Sami over, she’s certain that they’ll be staying ov—

“I’m sorry that I ever let you waste my time with this!”

Solana closes her eyes. Her husband has to be the most stubborn person to ever walk this earth. 

She closes the cabinet she was loading the canned goods in and moves towards the office, only for a flustered, irritated Roman to come stomping in said kitchen, rounding the island to stand in front of her. 

“I tried, Sol. I fucking tried, but this is fucking stupid—”

“Roman.” She reaches up to cup his cheeks, holding his face so he’s forced to meet her gentle gaze. “I love you, but you are the single most hard-headed person I’ve ever met.” He cuts his eyes, but it’s an innocent thing. No maliciousness. Or disagreement. Verbally, at least. “I need—I want you to actually try.”

“I did—”

“Roman.” A small smile falls on her face, knowing. She knows him well enough to know they have very different definitions of trying. “If you’re not going to do it for yourself, or maybe not even me….” Solana drops one hand from his face to grab his hand, easily guiding and placing it on the swell of her belly. “Do it for them.”

Solana sees it so clearly. The immediate shift in his mood, his disposition, even his stance. Feels the way he subtly rubs her bump, an almost soothing thing for him. Like he’s being reminded of the lives they created, the two tiny humans who they will raise together, bring up the right way. 

The exact opposite of what they received.

But part of it starts now, leading with the messages they want to send and lessons they want to instill. 

Roman gets that. It’s evident in the way he nods subtly. Eyes closing as he leans over and kisses her forehead. “Thank you.”

Her smile is small but warm as she gestures to the direction of his office. “Go make things right.”

He just gives her one nod before walking off, and something tells her, he'll come back this time with the relief of having found a solution.

Solana finds herself rubbing her stomach, speaking to her daughters who continue to grow and develop day by day. “Your daddy’s a good man.” She sighs, adding on an almost quietly. “We’re just going to have to help him from time to time.”

She’s answered with a swift kick, prompting a hearty laugh and deepened smile.

[rxzennia]

leviathan of the cosmos

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 something unto death as the respawning boss enemy, i haven’t finished 2.1 yet

when aventurine brings up traveling to the reverie hotel in the dreamscape alone, your eyes narrow ever so slightly and you take a step towards him. though you do truly worry for him, you can’t deny that you also want to take a peek at the off-limits-to-visitors area for yourself, too.

he’s been keeping you away from conflict, away from the dangerous games he plays on the daily, but you want to know. you want to see all that he is, his feats and evils, not just what he decides to show you. and if it means following him into the dreamscape, you won’t shy away from your quest of knowledge.

he doesn’t want you to enter the dreamscape reverie with him, but you’re very, very stubborn

“it’s dangerous for you,” he says, giving you the most serious look you’ve ever seen on him, like he’s genuinely concerned (he is)

you tilt your head. even without saying anything, he knows what you’re trying to say – you don’t understand where he’s coming from

he tries to explain, boy, he’s trying so hard to explain to you why exactly it’s a bad idea, but he feels like he’s talking to a wall

are you even listening? hello? 

he can’t see your expression because your scarf is in the way, and your eyes betray nothing

for as much as he loves talking at you, this is the one time he wants you to give him a response

“you’re strong enough.” a statement, not a question, because this man is one of the ten stonehearts, and you know he has more power than he appears to have

well, yes. but, to be honest, he isn’t confident in his ability to protect you

death is a dangerous entity, and even if he’s certain he can hold his own against it…

what if it decides that you are its next target? you, who is so precious and lovely?

he doesn’t want to run the risk. he likes having you around, both as a friend and as a secretary, and the last thing he wants is to lose you

but you’re adamant. “there’s nothing to worry about,” you say, oblivious to all the worries running miles per second in his head

he feels like if he didn’t let you tag along, you’d just follow him anyway and that would be even worse

aventurine thinks he knows you well, perhaps even better than yourself, but turns out he’s just delusional. you’re so timid, so awkward, and when you’ve warmed up to him you’re still silent and brooding most of the time, how could he have known that you have so many cards hidden up your sleeve?

he’s just dealt with a few scattered crew from the dreamjolt troupe, but he might’ve made a little too much noise when he whacked the televisions

it feels like the entire floor’s enemies are attracted by the noise, even memory zone memes are showing up

he glances towards you, who’s doing a really good job at staying out of his way and avoiding attacks

way better than he expected

you don’t seem afraid, either. he can tell that you’re relaxed from your body language

one thing he’s worried about, though, is eventually attracting death 

because that’s the one thing he’ll try his best to protect you from, but he isn’t certain if he can

he doesn’t think you can fight, and your lack of inclination towards conflict only reinforced that belief

sure, you’re built like a fortress and you’re intimidating, but he soon found out that you’re a big softie inside

which, even more unlikely that you can fight. you just feel so… vanilla

you feel like the type who’d try to de-escalate a situation that could otherwise be easily solved with fists

even if you look like your punches would send people into orbit, it's just so out of your character 

he likes that about you, really, but sometimes he wished you have some combat skills

when death inevitably appears, aventurine’s heart drops. it completely ignores him and heads straight for you – perhaps it knows who’s stronger or weaker – its wing rearing back as it coils around you, picking you up by your scarf, and –

he goes pale. he immediately acts, invoking qlipoth’s protection

but he knows how swift death is, and how easily it will lay its claws upon you and take you from him

the shield he casts on you is easily broken in one, two, three slashes

does death penetrate armor? it doesn’t quite make sense – the kind of shield he confers should not have been so easily broken!

before he could even do anything, before he could even tell you how much he treasured you…

you’ll be gone, and he’ll be all alone again

he hates that. and you know he hates that, but what could either of you do?

for as far as he’s come, he’s still powerless to protect the ones he hold dear

he tries, he really does, but his attacks won’t reach death in time, nor will his shield reach you in time

it’s dead set on taking your life, and it’s going to succeed

damn it, he should’ve just forced you to stay in the reverie in reality, or the golden hour, or something

he’d take your annoyance over watching your symbolic “death” any day

he reaches for you – in a fit of desperation, he tries to grab onto you, your scarf, anything

you blink, watching as death’s claws withdraw, and as it swings its blade-laden scythe wing towards you. you seem shocked, but you close your eyes as you welcome the darkness.

the darkness known as your leviathan. 

your white scarf sits perfectly around your neck, and your nose is still comfortably buried in the fabric

but there’s no mistaking it; it’s yours

the serpent emerging from the ends of your scarf, who wrapped around the monster known as something unto death, whose translucent body wound around it until it is no longer visible, who made it disappear…

it obeys you, holy shit, that creature obeys you

but you’ve always seemed so harmless, so sweet, so, so… so innocent

how could someone like you harbor something so terrifying?

yet here you are, swallowing the memetic entity with a gulp, like you’re simply swallowing down your food

you’re eating – no, you’ve eaten death

your leviathan settles into your scarf again, its form dissipating as if it had never existed at all

so simply, so effortlessly, disposing of it as if it’s naught but a mere worm

aventurine stares, at where death once loomed, and then at you, who looks completely fine. he stammers your name, and for the first time, he feels a primal fear in him. it’s different to the fear of uncertainty, of whether or not he’ll still be alive tomorrow, or of being left behind again. it’s a fear more powerful, a fear stemming from coming face to face with someone perhaps even more dangerous than everyone he’s encountered on penacony. the fear of prey before the apex predator on the food chain.

his gentle giant of a secretary all of a sudden doesn’t seem so gentle anymore

he can’t really tell what exactly it is hiding in your scarf, but he has an inkling

before he can make a guess, you interrupt his line of thinking

“bleh…” you cringe in disgust, your face scrunching up as you stumble to find refuge on a nearby couch

never mind, he'll take that back

honestly, you don’t look like someone to be afraid of right now

you look like you’re about to collapse, with how pale you’re getting and how you’re almost retching up your lunch behind your scarf

which you are. the only thing stopping you is the physical aspect of being unable to

he pushes his fear aside, and finds it surprising easy to do so

in fact, it’s so easy that he could almost find your reaction hilarious

if you didn't look like you're three seconds away from keeling over

“you, you didn’t just–” he approaches you slowly, kneeling down by your side, “aeons, you look sick.”

you want to give him a reply, but the sheer flavor of the meme you just swallowed makes you so queasy that you think you might puke the moment you try to speak

his hands slowly reach up to hold your face, “will you be okay?” he asks, quiet and careful

you nod, relaxing into his touch, and he can feel you turn to lean against his palm even through the fabric that obfuscates your face

how are you still so adorable when you’ve just consumed the entirety of death?

you’ve never revealed much about yourself, and you’ve been the biggest mystery aventurine has been itching to solve. but at this stage, he isn’t too sure if he wants to find out anymore. you, your path, your abilities… you’ve been hiding them all, under that guise of innocence.

then again, he’s the one who made assumptions and decided to keep you away from conflict

he still feels cheated, just with no one but himself to blame 

he wants to believe that you’ve been genuine with him! that your personality, at least, isn’t fake

you’re doing a really good job at reassuring him

well, maybe because you’re experiencing indigestion on a couch in the dreamscape after eating something that looks decidedly inedible

it doesn’t feel like you’re lying to him at all, with the way you’re behaving 

when the nausea goes away just enough for you to speak, the first thing you say is a string of curses

and “i really hope i don’t get food poisoning”

it gets silent very quickly, and you two stare at each other

“i… i don’t think food poisoning is what you should be worried about right now,” he manages to say, suppressing the urge to just chuckle, because this is his confirmation that you’re still his favorite secretary

it takes you a while before you let out a very, very quiet mumble of “please don’t fire me.”

aventurine has never expected that to come out of your mouth. “what? why would i fire you over something like this?” he raises a brow, and he’s just as relieved as you are when your shoulders sagged. “i’m just glad you’re okay…”

he tries to lift you up, and you give him an a+ for effort, even if he ends up failing. you lean onto him, letting him carry half of your weight while you try to stand.

“c’mon, let’s get you out of here. you need to rest,” aventurine says, in the most happy, truly grateful way you’ve ever heard him speak. “but, after that? you have a lot of explaining to do.”

[esyra]

These days, I have long debated what to write regarding Palestine-Israel, and questioned why I should write anything at all. The idea that celebrities and the loudest chronically online people you've ever met, blessed in their ignorance and indifferent to livehoods different than theirs, feel the need to opinate on social and geopolitical issues is absolutely insane. Most of the time, they do more harm than good—spreading misinformation like wildfire. Such opinions are what convinced me to ultimately talk about it.

Rest assured I'm not particularly qualified to talk about any of this, then again no one seems (or tries) to be. This is not a statement, simply questions about selected nuance. Full disclosure: I am of Palestinian descent. And I tried my hardest to be all-encompassing and empathetic; if I fail at any moment, my sincerest apologies.

All around social media I've seen only two kinds of posts regarding Palestine and Israel; they're either completely favorable to Israel and dehumanize Palestine or they treat Palestines as a footnote, in which it's made to assure its author doesn't endorse murder but also to point out that Palestine "deserve what's coming." There's a certain nuance required to support Palestine that's not asked when supporting Israel.

I've seen Jamie Lee Curtis reposting a picture of Palestinian children watching Israelis air strikes as if they were of Israeli children. There's no doubt it was a malicious-intended post considering she credited the photographer while deleting the original caption which explicitly explained who the ones pictured were. After being severely corrected in the comments, she simply deleted and made no mention of it. Guess children don't matter if they're Palestinian. I've seen way too many celebrities responding to the conflict with worries about how they might be affected by it, as self-centered and selfish as you can imagine.

I've seen a journalist claim that 40 Israeli babies were beheaded and multiple newspapers (many of them British, because what else can you expect from them?) and public figures reposting as a fact, only for the same journalist to later claim she actually "never said that" (she absolutely did). Also the IDF explaining they have no information confirming the allegations that 'Hamas beheaded babies'. I've seen people using statements from Sabra and Shatila massacre survivors and trying to rewrite Palestine, which were the victims of said crime, as the perpetrators. I've seen people using videos of Russian attacks as Palestinian ones. I've seen a British journalist fabricating a harmful statement from a Palestinian Ambassador to help dehumanize Palestine, and being proud of such. I've seen BBC using the nuances of language to their liking, reporting how Israelis were 'killed' while Palestinians 'died'. Always heard journalists avoid adjectives in favor of being unbiased. Again, guess that's unimportant when it comes to Palestine. Most of all, I've seen people equate supporting Palestine to anti-semitism.

If that belief steams that Palestine and Hamas are one-and-the-same, and the latter is a anti-semitism organization, then that's another concern I'd like to add the recently appraised 'nuance'.

Hamas first appeared during the first intifada, a Palestinian uprising against Israeli occupation of the West Bank, Gaza, and East Jerusalem. The signing of the Oslo Accords in 1993 marked the end of the uprising—an agreement between Israel and Palestine meant to lay the groundwork for the formation of a Palestinian state alongside Israel. Instead, it has erased Palestine's recognition as a State. In its history, Hamas have equate the liberation of Palestinians with the destruction of Israel, likely the reason they're a highly divisive organization that has often been at oddens with more mainstream Palestinian politicians. However, Hamas backtracked on its aims in a 2017 proclamation, making it clear that what it wants is to end a “racist, anti-human and colonial Zionist project.” In its 16th topic, they state "Hamas affirms that its conflict is with the Zionist project not with the Jews because of their religion. Hamas does not wage a struggle against the Jews because they are Jewish but wages a struggle against the Zionists who occupy Palestine."

The description of the Israeli occupation as fascist most likely comes from the similarities of Palestine to an "open air prison". They have no control of their own borders (IDF controls who and what enters or leaves) and are deemed stateless. "In defiance of international law, Israel considers all Palestinians inhabitants of the occupied Palestinian territory as non-citizens and foreign residents." Meaning if they leave their territory, they won't be allowed back in. Their rights in the Arab World are uncertain, particularly in Lebanon and Egypt where they are denied rights to secure residency, employment, property, communal interaction and family unification. Procedures to allow non-residents to apply for naturalisation in Lebanon, Egypt and Saudi Arabia do not apply to stateless Palestinians. So while those asking for Palestinians to be evacuated for their safety certainly have noble intentions, I ask of you: where they will go? Can you imagine walking away from home knowing you're heading into nothing? What's the difference between living in the rumbles of their homes and being homeless in another country?

The ones who decide to stay (and the ones unable to leave) are likely not making it for much longer. According to the United Nations, roughly 6,400 Palestinians and 300 Israelis have been killed in the ongoing conflict since 2008, not counting the recent fatalities. Is it truly a war if one side is so overpowering in its resources and retaliations? I feel the need to point out these stats to question why the notion that "violence is never the answer" is only used now. When it has been the only response until now.

Then again, Hamas remains a polarizing force in Palestinian society. They're an organization that's slaughtering families and less than a third of Palestinians think the group deserves to represent them. There has not been an opportunity, however, for elections to change their representatives. Palestinians living in Gaza must endure an unstable political reality with an unrepresentative government implementing repressive policies against LGBTQ people and abusive policies against detainees. Israel's Prime Minister Netanyahu purposefully propped up Hamas and there has been speculation that Iran has supported them. I've seen many post as if it's a fact, so I'd like to reinforce that it's speculation. In essence, Hamas is a terrorist group with questionable history and even more questionable allies. None of which has the Palestine's best interests at heart.

This has been overly long, and I still haven't touched on all topics I wished to address. Some I probably couldn't express properly since it's such a complex geopolitical issue. Then again, no one seems to try while all seem very comfortable in being as biased as they wish to be. So I thought I add my compassionate two cents in favor of Palestine and all the years of oppresion they've endured. I still hope you'll read this to the end, and extended to Palestine the same sympathetic hand you've rightfully extended to Israeli citizens.

My heart aches for the innocent people murdered, Palestinian and Israeli. Settlers aren’t innocent, but people who were born there didn't really choose to be one. Jewish people following matters of faith don't deserve to die. No one has (or should have) the right to take someone's life away. People at the Gaza Strip that are either just trying to survive or attempting to protect their homes also don't deserve to die, as flawed as their logic and actions might be, and many are missing that nuance. The denial of food, water, and medical aid, violates the Geneva convention. And it's a kind of retaliation that Palestine in its entirety will never be able to match.

Currently, the Israeli government is preparing a ground invasion of Gaza. An anonymous Israeli official said they would turn Gaza into “a city of tents.” A parliamentarian said that Israel should not concern itself with the safety of any Gazans who “chose” to stay in the Gaza Strip, as if every crossing hasn't been blocked.

Soon, the 'war' will end. And when it does, I can assure you Palestine won't be the last one standing. They've never had a real chance. I'd like to remember everyone that, despite Netanyahu's claims that they are "human animals", Palestinians are human beings. People. All of which deserve to live, deserve compassion and deserve protection. They also deserve to be remembered.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @aizawasluckylady for this commission!! I love this twist on Siren Red. What's the twist? Well... you'll have to read to find out <3

---

“Mom. I made a new friend.”

You looked up from your meal. Your daughter was picking out her greens, as any seven year old would. But you were so taken aback by her statement that, for once, you didn’t think to mention it.

... You put your fork down. “Oh. You... did?”

Another parent would’ve been less shocked, for certain- probably not even shocked at all. But you had a good reason to be so confused. 

She nodded with the confidence only a child could have. “I met him near the beach.”

Near the beach?

You and your daughter lived in a very small coastal village built across an island. Though the island was certainly well within the reach of the mainland (swimming distance, at low tide it was barely worth getting the boats out of the harbour) the community was cut off, and incredibly tight-knit. It was the kind of place where nothing happened, and everyone knew everyone. 

There were only a handful of local children; all of whom your daughter Sapphy had known her entire life. There weren’t any other friends for her to make. The group of around twelve would go out to play together, in the complete safety of a town surrounded by beaches where crime just wasn’t a thing. And sure, they had fights- all groups of children did. But they still all considered each other friends.

... So how had she made a new friend?

“... That’s nice.” She had your full attention. “What’s his name?”

“His name’s Red.”

...

You glanced away. You didn’t know anyone in town with that name. And as a single mother, you knew everyone’s names. She continued to eat, oblivious to the healthy amount of concern starting to build inside you.

“Is... is Red his nickname?” You asked, gently. You didn’t want to frighten her, or make her think she was in trouble, in case she decided to stop talking.

“Hm... I don’t know." She was talking with her mouth full. "I can ask him tomorrow.”

“Is he someone’s dad?”

“No. He doesn’t live in the village. But he likes to visit when it’s rainy.”

... Your mind was racing. ‘Doesn’t live in town’? Did a passing fisherman talk to her, and just say they were friends to be polite? Red, Red... no, I definitely don’t know a fisherman called Red. Maybe one of the kids changed their name? But then she would’ve just said someone changed their name. She wouldn’t have expressed that it was a ‘new’ friend.

You continued. “... Is he an imaginary friend?”

Sapphy got a look on her face that said ‘ugh, mom, you’re silly’.

“No, mom. I’m too grown up for imaginary friends. Red is real.”

...

The only other option you could think of was...

... That wasn’t possible. 

You tried to keep your expression easygoing, even as your thoughts became more and more tumultuous. If she was talking to a siren, it wouldn’t have been so friendly as to introduce itself to her. A close encounter with a siren would’ve resulted in it ignoring her, or killing her. Even thinking about the second option made you feel too sick to keep eating. The sirens in the waters around the island had a truce with the locals- a famous truce, at that, from hundreds of years ago. Sirens and humans, on your island, quite happily left each other completely alone. 

(They only went after stupid tourists who treated the island like a personal play park, ignoring the very clear ‘do not swim’ signs.)

... Besides. If a siren was going to try to charm someone, it would be a beautiful sailor or a lonely maiden. What would a siren want with your kid? 

You smiled. “I’m glad you made a friend. Is he nice?”

“Yes.” She visibly brightened. “He’s very nice. He makes jokes about fish. They’re not very good but they’re still funny.”

“... Could I meet him?”

Her smile grew even more. “Yeyeah! He said he’s seen you at the beach before. He said he wants to meet you too. And, and he said he’d like to be friends with you too. You’re gonna like him too. He’s very cool. He has a gold tooth."

Hm. Well, the fact that he wanted to meet you made you feel less nervous. Someone with bad intentions would most likely be trying to keep things a secret. Perhaps it was an imaginary friend after all? She was around that age. She’d never had one before, maybe now was the time. And with a name like ‘Red’...

“Could I come with you tomorrow, then? To go meet him.”

“Yeah! We can go to the rocks after breakfast!”

She was beaming. It made you relax a bit. 

There was no need to worry- it was probably an imaginary friend after all.

///---///

“Mom, it’s really important that I go first on my own, okay?” She looked up at you, full of all the worldly seriousness of a small child. The sea wind was tussling her hair, the sounds of the beachgoers muffled behind layers of cliffs. “Red only comes out when it’s just me."

She had taken you down a steep rock path that lead to a very isolated, very quiet cove, hidden from view on all sides. You were completely relaxed about the whole situation now; this was a lovely place to make a secret hideout out of. 

“All on your own? You’re very grown up.”

Her little chest swelled with pride, and she nodded resolutely. “Ok. You stay right there, behind these rocks. I’ll go wait for Red.”

She let go of your hand. You let her go, watching her move confidently over to the water. She found an edge that only a few inches above the sea line- there, she sat down, crossing her legs to wait.

... You assumed she needed some time for dramatic effect, to get into the game. So you settled behind the rock. Your eyes naturally wandered off, admiring the jagged cliff face around you, the clear blue sky overhead, the seabirds wheeling around each other. 

...

“Red!” She said, excitedly. For a moment, the delight in her voice made you smile.

... Then you heard the distinct sound of something very large moving in the water. 

What?

You jumped, coming back out from behind the rock, your gaze immediately snapping back over to your child.

... Your heart stopped.

Sapphy was still sitting on the ledge, right by the water. In front of her was a massive skeleton monster.

His chest alone as big as she was tall. He had his hands on either side of her; the same way you would’ve put your hands on either side to stop her from falling in. You could see his razor teeth, the cruel sharp edge to his phalange claws. Bloody crimson eyelights. The large curved fin on his back, the scars decorating his ribcage.

It was a siren. A huge male shark siren, close enough to your little girl to bite out her throat.

... He was smiling at her. He looked just as happy to see her as she sounded to see him. His huge violent maw, pulled into a grin that was almost loving- he was looking at her with an expression that was so gentle, so caring. You’d never known anyone else but you to give her that look. He was looking at her like she was his daughter.

...

... You weren’t thinking. Stories flashed through your mind, stories you’d forgotten until that moment. Stories of sirens becoming attached to human children and stealing them away on stormy nights. It was far from night, and far from stormy... but all you could see was a monster that wanted your baby.

At the sound of you running, his crimson eyelights flickered over to you. A glimmer of shock.

You grabbed Sapphy by the back of her shirt, sharply pulling her away from the edge, away from him- and in a flurry of pure parental instinct... you balled up your fist, and punched him.

You punched him. Right in the skull.

Pain immediately ricocheted from your knuckles and up your hand, because of course, it was a TERRIBLE idea to hit solid bone like that. You'd basically just punched a rock at full pelt. But you were still just running on pure adrenaline. You picked your daughter up, high out of the siren’s reach, staggering back a few steps- what was he going to do next? Was he going to attack?

...

He was looking at you. His eyelights were starry. Awed. And a ruby colour had spread across his cheekbones, like... a blush.

“... you punched me.” He said, breathlessly. 

///---///

Red knew, deep in his Soul, that you and Sapphy were his family.

... His feelings started out simple enough. A particularly strong infatuation with you- a pretty human that made his non-existent heart sing. He had spotted you one evening, sitting by the harbour with your legs hanging over the edge and your hair moving gently in the wind... he’d instantly tumbled head over fin. Who wouldn’t? He hadn’t felt such an instant attraction to anyone in a long time, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t returned to the island’s shores inbetween hunts in the hopes that he would catch another glimpse of you.

He’d had crushes before, though. He hadn’t thought anything of how enarmoured he was with you. Sure, the feelings were intense, but he it hadn't occurred to him that it was anything out of the ordinary- anything particularly special.

... One morning, you came to the edge of the rocks again. He happened to be there already. In one hand, you had a bucket with a crab fishing line... in the other, you held the tiny hand of your equally tiny daughter.

Red had never been one for children. He found them loud, tiring, too needy.

... But... then he looked at her. The small human with her hand in yours. He heard her voice, full of excitement at the most inconsequential things. He saw the incredible pride in her eyes when she held aloft the crab she caught- a tiny thing, barely bigger than her palm. He felt the gentleness in the smile that you gave her. 

...

The ache in Red’s chest was unfamiliar. He wanted... to hug her. He wanted to pick her up. He wanted to tuck her close and tell her everything was going to be okay... make bad jokes that made her giggle. He wanted her to smile at him, put her tiny hand in his.

He got the dawning, overwhelming feeling that he'd do anything to keep her safe.

Just like that, he finally got why so many siren mothers fought to the death for their children. He’d do the same.

You picked her up to take her home. Seeing you with your daughter in your arms sparked emotions inside him that he didn’t have words powerful enough to describe. In that moment, Red knew his feelings for you went deeper than a simple infatuation. Deeper than anything he’d ever felt before. It didn’t matter that he was an ocean being, and you and here were relegated to the land; there were more than enough stories of sirens using their magic to solve that particular issue. You were his mate, your little daughter was his child. There wasn’t much else to it, in his mind.

... His family. His mate, his child.

...

... Red knew he had to take the introduction slowly. Relations between sirens and humans weren’t exactly wonderful; as desperate as he was to profess his love for you, approaching you first would be disastrous. You were wary, wonderfully intelligent, and well within your right to be greatly suspicious of any friendliness a random shark siren may show you. 

... But human children were sweet. Open-minded, naive.

Things had gone so well with Sapphy. She thought he was cool- she laughed at his shitty jokes, gleefully poked at his golden tooth, and he successfully held himself back from telling her about how he was her dad now. He had never felt so fulfilled before.

... 

He should’ve expected that his good luck with her would come at the expense of his luck with you.

Here he was. His cheekbone stung. His mate was bristling with anger, and his baby could sense her mother’s emotions- so now, she was frightened too, slowly undoing the work he’d already done to get her to trust him. Red knew he should’ve been panicked, racing through situations in his mind, racing through ways to win you both back.

...

... But all he could feel, looking at your beautiful angry face, was attraction.

Perhaps it was the shark in him, drawn to displays of aggression. You’d punched him. You, a little human woman, completely on her own... at the sight of your daughter in possible danger you had run up to a shark siren and hit it- hit him- square in the face. How could that not make his Soul shudder in his chest? He felt like his love was well-placed.

Besides. The situation was far from unsalvageable.

“hey... hey.” He kept his tone even, trying to shake off the wave of adoration he felt. focus, red, focus. He held up his hands. “it’s okay. easy.”

“Get away from her!” You were frightened, he could tell. More angry than frightened, though. Hopped up on adrenaline and the kind of parental instinct he knew to be wary of.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to scare you.” He lowered into the water more, to appear less large and intimidating. “it’s nice to finally meet you. i’m red.”

You were shaking. But you were also noticeably confused, probably not expecting him to be polite. Hopefully he could get the confusion to trump the anger.

“you’re her mom, right?” He smiled. “can sea the resemblance. you’ve got the same eyes.”

“What do you want?” You snapped, sharply, missing the joke. 

He paused. What did he want? He couldn’t answer you honestly yet. He’d need a few hours to explain fully, and another month at least of bonding to ensure you wouldn’t take it the wrong way and run.

“... just a conversation.” He said. Half true.

You didn’t believe him. It was written all over your pretty face. He kept his voice very, very gentle, trying to lay on the charm.

“c’mon. you’re okay. we both know that if i wanted to do somethin’, i already would’ve.” 

“You can’t do anything.” You pulled Sapphy in tighter. “The treaty.”

“... exactly.” As if he’d ever hurt either of you. “if i wanted a meal i would go somewhere else. somewhere with more idiot tourists.”

You exhaled sharply from your nose, jaw shifting. You didn’t take your eyes off him, not even for a moment- but he could tell that you (at least) agreed with his dislike of disrespectful tourists.

... A crease appeared between his brow bones, the waves lapping softly around his body. He had one more card to play- he didn’t want to play it, it felt scummy. But he was more afraid of losing his chance with his family than he was of the moral implications of the tactics he used.

He let his expression soften even more. 

“... i’m a siren. not an animal. i don’t just go around killin’ and eatin’ everything i see, y’know? i don’t want to hurt you. or your kid.” 

... There was a delay. But... slowly, a small amount of guilt seemed to dawn over you.

He was getting through.

Sapphy, still cuddled against your chest, spoke up. 

“... Mom. Red’s my friend.”

You looked at her. Your face wobbled, like you couldn’t decide whether to be angry or not, but your voice came out stern. “You didn’t tell me he was a siren. We’re talking about this, later.”

“don’t be mad at her. she’s just tryna kelp me out.”

... 

Sapphy’s face lit up, a smile that allowed hope to settle in his chest again. She wasn’t afraid of him- she still liked him. He had that small victory, at least.

You didn’t laugh at his joke. You were staring.

“i’m the gill-ty one here.” He continued. “it’s not her fault she didn’t think some-fin fishy was going on.”

This time, Sapphy giggled aloud.

“See, mom?” She looked up at you. “I told you he makes bad jokes.”

As her eyes turned to you, so did his. He was delighted to see that you had visibly eased. Though he would’ve liked to have chalked it up to his humoiur, he knew it was probably your daughter’s laughter. The sound of her joy was infectious.

... You quickly hardened again, though. “We’re leaving. We’re going to talk about this at home.”

Her little face fell. “What? But...”

“it’s ok, kid.” Red said, gently. “listen to your mom.”

...

Funnily enough, after everything, it was that that seemed to soften you. You gave him a glance that was far less sharp than anything you’d given before, as if despite all your suspicions and reservations you were still appreciative of his gesture. Although he definitely missed the aggression, still unable to help himself but be drawn to it, he much preferred this gentler glance.

...

You spoke reservedly. Trying not to let any emotion show. “I’m... sorry I punched you. Red.”

“... it’s okay.” He let his grin widen a bit. “i hope your hand is okay.”

With that, you turned, starting to walk away.

Though his logical side tried to calm him (they live on an island, they can’t get far) he still felt panic, deep down, at the sight of you leaving with her in your arms. His mate and baby were moving away from him. no. please don’t go. please don’t take her away from me.

... Nothing his logic could’ve said, however, soothed him more than the sight of Sapphy happily waving goodbye to him over your shoulder.

[sanjisluvbot]

Isekai Yandere Strawhats X Black Fem reader Chapter 19

Masterlist

Previous

It felt like the entirety of the last few months was a dream. Not being able to tell anyone about what you had experienced made you feel as if you were on the brink of insanity. You were back to the old life, not that you were angry, or sad for that matter. Your surroundings were just blurry and so was your mind. 

You didn’t pay attention to most things that were in front of you, that’s why it took you so long to realize that next week was thanksgiving. A part of you, the part that suffered and laughed with these people was still somehow stuck in that universe. You had read online a few years ago that prolonged time in another reality would make you feel every symptom you were feeling now, you ignored it. 

This wave of repressed emotions trampled you, it kept you stuck to the ground drowning in an abyss of confusion. “ Y/n I need you to go to the market adn buy the perishables for thursday and– are you listening to me?” knocking you back into your world you seen your mother looking at you in concern. Poor woman had absolutely no idea what was happening to you. 

Everyone around you noticed the change, they simply thought you were going through teenage angst or something else. You would laugh to yourself at times, imagine if they really knew of the turmoil you were dealing with. You would be dropped off at the hospital with quickness. 

At night you didn’t sleep the same, although you were almost always fighting for your life you were also accustomed to the sounds of the waves and the subtle rocking of the ship which helped you fall asleep. The night before thanksgiving you were forced to relive the events of what happened, as your cousin talked your ear off you slowly tuned out the noise when remembering the bone chilling statements of the strawhats. 

“ Y/n… if you leave you will regret this.”

Law was injured, he had been fighting both Luffy and Zoro to give you more time, the rest of the two crews were fighting amongst themselves while you were below deck of the polar tang trying to drown out the noise. The screams of your name were angry, betrayed, and vicious. Luffy shoved his way through Law stretching his arm to grab onto the ship, Law was quick though and used his ability before Zoro could strike him. You were hiding in his room with the door locked and his desk shoved in front of it, the two of you knew how much of a gamble you were taking. 

After agreeing that he would come with you and finally going through your plan you both silently agreed that maybe, in the future after Wano he would come. You knew that although it was unspoken that would probably never happen, you completely altered this timeline. This version of the one piece world was tainted by you in some of the worst ways, turning the heroes into villains that you seen them go up against and the villains that they’ve never even come face to face with. 

You wish you could have law by your side at this moment, and just as you were about the break down the door began to rattle on it’s hinges. 

“ Y/n! I know you’re in there, just come out. We can fix this, we can be as we used to. Don’t leave us.” Luffy sobbed. 

You quickly rushed under the bed. What a cliche you thought. You had to get serious now, it was time to go home and you weren’t going to let anyone or anything stop you. You were in over your head when you got here but you weren’t to blame. Who would’ve know that the people you admire the most would turn out to be monsters. 

When the door unlocked you were almost a memory, fading from this world and from the strawhast grap. Luffy quickly rushed under the bed trying to grasp at the strans off you, the anger in his body welling up. Law had slowly stalked in behind him with his infamous smirk, and Zoro was not too far behind. Angrily he dragged your feather of a body from beneath the bed, “ Y/n… if you leave you will regret this.”

Ashiver ran down your spine but you wouldn’t give himthe satisfaction of seeng you terrified for the last time. When your eyes fluttered yuou realizied you were back in your room, everything as it was and you decided to do the last thing in order to severe the link between that world nd yours. Without another thought you rushed around your room like a mad woman, scrambling for the bits and pieces you needed and when all was said and done you collapsed. 

When you came to it your mother was calling you and your cousin to run a few errands for her. The chill of the fall weather helped keep you grounded and you finally felt like you could fully enjoy their company without being lost in what should be forgotten memories. 

The next few months were a breath of fresh air. You were becoming whole again and life had more meaning than just escaping. You began speaking to people online about your experience, you put into a story. To others your story was fiction, a thought borne from the imagination plastered into the net for an online audience to enjoy. But to you, this was your life story, and you knew it would be far from over. 

The End… of chapter 1

Authors Note: I would just like to say how grateful I am. When I started this series and this account I was at the lowest point of my life, I thought I would live in a never-ending nightmare forever until I started writing. I am so happy that so many people enjoyed this series and I apologize for stringing you along after maybe like the tenth chapter, I want you to know that although at one point I didn't really know what to do with this story anymore I fully put my all into every chapter. I am not a perfect writer but the comments of you all saying how much you like my story and you want more chapters gave me a breath of life that I desperately needed in order to continue. Thank you all and I hope you continue to watch me grow as a writer. - Symphony

Tags: 🏷️: @chaichaiiskai @mizzhellsingsstuff @herwritingartcowboy @axulaphie @toshirolovebot @futmblr @rhicambo @marim0cha @sasukeswife3 @mitskikinnie100 @alaurannara @angstylittleb1tch