#Engine Immobilizer

[selkies-song]

Solved a REALLY interesting car case today (albeit with a lot of help) and I'm on cloud 9. This is why I'm doing what I'm doing.

[tedkaczynskiofficial]

As an engineer, touchscreens in cars drive me batshit crazy. You want to know how you know that touchscreens are lazy and bad design? Actual luxury brands still have physical buttons. They may also have a screen that is touch screen, but they have hella buttons.

Yeah, having to take your eyes off the road to access basic features like audio or air conditioning is unsafe, and I hope these automakers get the shit sued out of them when someone gets hurt. The result is probably going to be people getting deadlocked out of accessing anything while driving rather than the reintroduction of buttons, but still.

Replacing physical buttons and controls with touchscreens also means removing accessibility features. Physical buttons can be textured or have Braille and can be located by touch and don't need to be pressed with a bare finger. Touchscreens usually require precise taps and hand-eye coordination for the same task.

Many point-of-sale machines now are essentially just a smartphone with a card reader attached and the interface. The control layout can change at a moment's notice and there are no physical boundaries between buttons. With a keypad-style machine, the buttons are always in the same place and can be located by touch, especially since the middle button has a raised ridge on it.

Buttons can also be located by touch without activating them, which enables a "locate then press" style of interaction which is not possible on touchscreens, where even light touches will register as presses and the buttons must be located visually rather than by touch.

When elevator or door controls are replaced by touch screens, will existing accessibility features be preserved, or will some people no longer be able to use those controls?

Who is allowed to control the physical world, and who is making that decision?

[taknikinc]

Multi Effect Evaporator (MEE) a multiple-effect evaporator is an apparatus for efficiently using the heat from steam to evaporate water.

It work as the higher numbers of effects higher steam economy, and lower steam consumption as per evaporation of water.

[kabr0ztrousers]

how about fem reader being kidnapped by aliens and being touched and experimented on by there weird science tools. And then aliens needing readers milk to feed there babies cause it's better than theres.

Happy to oblige, and thanks for your patience! Without further ado, here's:

Kabr0z Writes Episode 25: Suddenly, Sci-fi

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Alien abduction; kidnapping; dubcon; noncon; weird science; sextoy use; drugging/intox; hucow; overstim;

###################################

You didn't often get chance to come out here. You used to live much closer to the moors, but had to move into the city for work. You don't own a car, no point when there's trams and buses everywhere, so it's only when something brings you back to your hometown you get to revisit your old stomping grounds and reminisce on the past. You wished it had been on better terms, but the funeral was weeks ago now, and the old house you grew up in now sat empty, ready for the buyers to move in. You doubt you'll ever find the excuse to come here again now.

You shiver. From the brisk January winds, from the weight of memory.

There's a sound, you're not sure where from. More of a feeling than a noise, like a purring engine, heard from underwater.

Light. All around you, a perfect circle of blinding azure light. Your skin tingles and you notice dirt and pieces of grass floating up past you. Your hair looks as though you're in a swimming pool, floating beneath the surface, spreading out in a soft brown halo around your head. Your stomach flips and you're no longer in the moors. You're in a room, lit by that intense azure light. You screwed your eyes shut against the glare, you could still see the blue but it's less painful this way. There's a chittering sound around you, like marbles being shaken in a jar. The light cut out. You opened your eyes.

The room is still very blue, but lit much softer now. The bare walls and floor a dull silver. The chittering was still happening. You remembered something, that conspiracy nut at work always said if you think you're on an alien spaceship, you should stomp out some numbers. What were the numbers? You racked your brain. Two, three, five, seven, eleven? Whatever, it sounds like a plan.

You start stamping. You're not sure what doing maths at them will achieve, but they do seem to take notice. You finish stamping eleven times, and something taps back. Thirteen taps. You hesitate. 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, what next? Again you tried to think back to conversations you earnestly tried to not have at the time. Seventeen. Still not sure why, you stamped seventeen times, carefully counting your steps. The chittering started again. Louder, more insistent. The. The door opened. Whatever it was that stepped out into the room was in some sort of bodysuit, it looked pretty heavy-duty, and whatever it was he was holding you didn't want to get on the bad side of it.

You allowed yourself to be shepherded to another room, the alien keeping you at a distance from itself.

It was a curious sight, it had six limbs you could see: two legs and four arms. It only came up to about your shoulder, at a guess, but had a pronounced slouch so you weren't sure if it would normally be that short or if you just had the jailor with terrible posture. It showed you to a bench and motioned towards it. You sat, assuming that's what "pointing at the knee-high table" means in their culture.

That, on reflection, was a mistake.

More of the azure light bathed you. You couldn't move a muscle, paralysed where you sat. The alien opened a cupboard hidden in the wall and pulled forth a long stick with a hoop on the end. Weightless and unable to resist, it was an easy job for it to lie you down and take a bladed implement to your clothing, stripping you naked with effortless cuts. Once it had satisfied itself that every stitch of fabric was removed and you were quite immobile, it removed its suit.

A huge beetle-like creature stood before you. Mandibles chittering that rattling language into a device stuck to its thorax.

It pulled more tools out from the wall. Smaller ones, less for herding at arms length. It stood over you and started prodding you, dictating notes at your reaction. At least, that's what you guessed it was doing, it might just make that noise.

The tests got steadily more invasive. Once it had satisfied itself poking you, it started pushing devices inside you, one went into your mouth, one in your ear, it opened your legs and pushed thin probes into your asshole and your pussy. Was it taking your temperature?

It withdrew the probes, and pushed a tube into your mouth. You could see something inky-black start to flow down from the ceiling into some clear piping running down near you. You couldn't look around to see what was happening precisely, but you could guess. Something bitter flowed over your tongue from the tube. You gulped it down on reflex. It stung going down, like drinking indigestion. You could feel your heart start to race and your cheeks redden. Your whole body felt like it was blushing. Your clit started to tingle and throb. Your pussy ached and clenched. Your breathing caught and your eyes rolled as you felt hornier than you ever have before.

The alien thrust pushed something up to your pussy, and you came immediately. You heard it scurry back as your abs clenched in time with your cunt and you felt a stream of fluid escape you. You've never squirted before, who would've guessed all it newded was a cocktail of alien drugs.

The orgasm died down, but the neediness remained. You didn't care about the whole abduction thing. If you could speak you'd be begging it to fuck you. You didn't need to beg. It pressed something against you again. Again your whole body bucked and clenched, but it wasn't deterred now it knew what to expect. Something round was pushed into you. It only went an inch or so in, but you could feel the shape of it. Curved upwards, the end nestled exactly on your g-spot. A chittered command. It started to buzz. You felt your back arch as an animalistic groaning wail escaped you. You were shaking again, being held in an orgasm for minutes before it dies down. You could still feel it buzzing, driving you to another. Tears welled in your eyes as your aching cunt clenched and leaked in protest.

The alien kept taking notes, repeating the same pattern of chittered speech when you climaxed again and again. The repeated orgasms were taking their toll. Your mouth was dry but for the drip of bitter drug, your legs were twitching and aching, your abs were on fire.

Then it pushed a needle into your arm.

You couldn't see it coming this time, but you felt something hot in your veins. Your skin felt as if it was on fire, then freezing. Your breasts started to ache. With every fresh orgasm you felt hot, then cold, then your tits would ache more, over and over.

Ten? Fifteen? You don't know how many times you came until it happened. You felt a stream of milk spray from your nipples. Spurting out of you, pulsing in time with the painful clenching waves.

The chittering was manic, as though the creature was possessed. Devices were secured to your tits, probes suckling the milk from you in gentle sips, the new sensations only serving to speed up the frequency with which you kept cumming.

You don't know how long ago that was, time is meaningless here.

You were moved to another facility, then more women joined you, then men started to appear too, hooked up to similar machines.

An alien had come to your bedside once doing its rounds of the inmates. It explained in broken English, they had bought Earth in a land deal, and most humans are now livestock for them. They don't believe in eating sentient beings, but humans produce edible byproducts, which can be extracted.

So here you are. A dairy cow for aliens.

Forever

#############################

A/N: There's one more sci-fi story in the requests box, which will be tangentially attached to this but not really. I might reuse the alien race, they're fun.

If you want to see anything, get anything, or ask anything please don't hesitate! I'm hungry for ideas and inspiration, I won't judge, and I won't name you if you don't want

[rafecameronssl4t]

Unfinished Lap || F1 driver!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: One moment, Rafe was dominating the race; the next, it all slipped away. You tried to steady his rising emotions, but his frustration overwhelmed him, leaving you no choice but to walk away from the paddock.

Warnings: angst, kinda toxic!rafe if there’s anything else lmk!

Word count: 1,865

A/n: nfl!rafe x dcc!reader later today!!! (Second part is up!)

MASTERLIST (F1 driver!rafe x fem!reader au masterlist)

“No! No! What happened?” Rafe’s voice crackles through the radio, his panic lacing every syllable as the chaos unfolds on the screen. Your gaze flickers back to the broadcast, watching his Ferrari crawl around the track, smoke billowing from the engine.

One moment, he was dominating the race, leading effortlessly—now, he’s barely moving. A mechanic’s voice cuts through the air, sharp with frustration. “His engine’s fucked,” a mechanic mutters, his voice heavy with disappointment. The team around them exchanges grim looks, all too aware of what this means for Rafe.

In your head, you can already hear his inner monologue—his fury at the failure, his frustration bubbling to the surface. Rafe was the kind of guy who measures his worth by every lap, every second on the track. Failure doesn’t sit well with him—especially failure that isn’t within his control.

You swallow the lump in your throat. The best you can do now is try to stay positive, to soothe the storm he’s bound to unleash on himself. But you know how hard that will be. Rafe is a perfectionist. The smallest misstep, the smallest flaw, eats away at him. Problems that he can’t control, like this—like his car giving out—will be the ones that break him.

Your gaze shifts back to the screen, where Rafe’s car is now completely immobilized. Smoke still rising, he’s done for the day. You exhale sharply. The screen zooms in on him, his face a mask of frustration. He’s already agitated, you can see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way he rips his gloves off his hands. You sigh, half in pity, half in resignation, when hand suddenly appears on your shoulder.

Austin gives you a sympathetic look. You force a smile, trying to lighten the moment, you both know the storm Rafe’s about to bring. You watch as the safety car pulls up in front of the garage, Rafe soon emerges, his movements stiff, every step heavy with the weight of his disappointment.

He walks past his team, offering a few terse pats on the back, but his face is an unreadable mask. It’s clear he’s holding everything inside, and that’s never a good sign. When he finally approaches you, your heart sinks. You open your arms, ready to offer the comfort you know he needs.

But Rafe, eyes dark with frustration, only snakes his hand briefly around your waist, his touch cold, distant. “It’s okay-“ You start but is cut off my him, “It’s not. It was a fucking shit show, so don’t say that it’s okay,” he spits, his voice low but sharp, full of venom as he practically hisses the words into your ear before brushing past you.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. His words hit harder than you expected, the sting of them sharper than you imagined. You can feel your heart beat erratically in your chest, a mix of shock and hurt washing over you. You scoff, trying to hold yourself together, trying not to let his outburst tear you apart.

His behavior is worse than you thought—this rage, this venom he’s spewing, it’s not just at the race. It’s at everything. And you, standing here, helpless to make him see reason, feel like the target. Rafe’s PR manager, Mia, watches the exchange from a distance, her eyes filled with sympathy.

You give her a small, dismissive wave, brushing off the weight of the situation as best as you can before turning sharply to head toward Rafe’s room. You close the door behind you, and the silence envelops you both. Rafe sits hunched over, his head in his hands, but when you speak, he doesn’t respond.

“It’s not your fault,” you say, your voice soft but firm as Rafe lifts his head from his hands. His eyes lock onto yours—cold, distant, unreadable. The usual fire you know him for is gone, replaced by a storm you can’t understand. You step closer, your heart tightening in your chest as you meet his gaze. “You know that, right?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just stares at you, his jaw clenched tight, his expression a mask of frustration. There’s something else behind his eyes, something that feels like defeat. “I don’t need your sympathy, Y/n,” Rafe mutters, the words barely escaping his lips, low and edged with annoyance.

You flinch, but you don’t back down. You refuse to let him push you away, not now, not when he’s clearly falling apart inside. “I’m not trying to pity you,” you reply softly, crossing your arms as you take another step forward. “I’m trying to help you.”Rafe growls under his breath, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t need help. I need things to fucking work out for once,” he snaps, the bitterness in his tone cutting through the air like a blade. Your chest tightens at his words, but you stay calm, your hand trembling slightly as you reach out to him, your fingers running through his hair, offering a fragile comfort.

You lean his head against your stomach, holding him in the way you know he needs, even if he doesn’t want it. “You were doing great out there, Rafe,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady. “It wasn’t your fault the car broke down. You couldn’t have known—”

“Just stop, Y/n,” he interrupts, his voice rising, harsh and guttural. He jerks his head away from your touch, the movement quick and sharp. He stands up abruptly, pacing away from you as his frustration boils over. “I’m fucking tired of this. Tired of everyone pretending like it’s fine when it’s not.”

You watch him, unsure of how to respond. He’s pacing now, back and forth, his movements agitated, like he’s trying to escape the tension that’s building up inside of him. The room feels smaller now, and you feel more distant from him than ever before. “Why do you have to keep pretending everything’s okay?”

He spits, his eyes flashing with something fierce, something you can’t quite pinpoint. “You keep telling me I’m fine- that I did well- but it doesn’t fucking matter. It’s not fine.” You stand frozen, trying to make sense of his words, your heart sinking with every second. “I’m not pretending, Rafe,” you say softly, trying to make him see, trying to make him understand.

“I know you hate losing, but you were amazing out there. I just… I just don’t want you to beat yourself up over something you couldn’t control.” “You don’t get it, do you?” he snaps, his voice breaking with the weight of his own frustration. “I don’t need your fucking sympathy. I don’t need you trying to make it better with your damn words. Words don’t fix this.”

The sting of his words hits you like a slap in the face, but you hold your ground, refusing to let the hurt show. “I’m just trying to look out for you, Rafe. You think I don’t know how much you’re killing yourself over this? You’re destroying yourself from the inside out when things you can’t control go wrong. But I can’t just sit here and watch you do that to yourself.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes with a dismissive gesture. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want your fucking help.” His voice is cold now, empty of anything resembling warmth. He sinks into a chair in the corner of the room, slumping back as if the weight of the world has finally crushed him under its pressure. “I’ll deal with it myself.”

You stand there for a moment, the silence deafening, before the frustration boils over, spilling from your lips before you can stop it. “I’m sorry for caring about you,” you mutter bitterly, the hurt in your voice unmistakable as you turn away. You can’t stand to be near him right now, not when he’s pushing you away like this.

You grab your bag, the strap slipping off your shoulder as you prepare to leave the Ferrari garage. Your pace quickens, the footsteps echoing too loudly against the concrete floor. The people around you, the team members, staff, mechanics—they all seem to part in front of you, but their gazes follow you, like they know something’s wrong.

And it makes everything worse. As you make your way towards the exit, Austin steps into your path, his eyes scanning you with concern. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks, his voice low but urgent. You freeze for a moment, his gaze locking with yours. You don’t even know how to begin explaining what just happened.

The words that Rafe had spat at you earlier still sting, his anger, his frustration—none of it was about you, but somehow it felt like it was. “I… I need to get out of here,” you mutter, trying to sidestep him, but Austin’s hand gently grips your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

It’s as if he’s waiting for you to break down, to tell him what’s going on. But you can’t. You just can’t. You feel your chest tighten, your throat constricting. Every part of you wants to leave, to get away from the suffocating atmosphere of the garage, the pitying looks, and the questions you don’t want to answer.

“I… I just can’t right now,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t want to break down in front of him, especially not here. Not now. Not when everything feels like it’s crumbling around you. You shake your head, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. “I just need space,” you choke out, your voice cracking under the weight of it all.

“Please, I just need to go.” Austin doesn’t stop you this time. You step out of the garage, the cool air hitting your face, but it does nothing to numb the pain inside. As you walk past the crowd, the stares feel even sharper now, their judgment cutting through you like a knife. You ignore them, but the weight of their eyes only adds to the heaviness in your chest.

“Y/n, why are you leaving so soon?” A voice calls out from behind, but you don’t turn. Paparazzi surround you almost instantly, their cameras flashing in rapid succession, each click a reminder of the chaos you’re trying to escape. You keep walking, your head held high, your face stoic, their questions are nothing but noise.

You reach your car, your hands trembling as you unlock it, your phone buzzing relentlessly in your pocket. Your phone buzzes in your pocket again, persistent, like it won’t let you escape. You pull it out, knowing who it’s from before you even look at the screen. Rafe’s name is there, multiple texts, all apologies and pleading, the usual dance he does when he’s trying to fix something.

But this time, you can’t bring yourself to read them. Not now. Not after everything that just happened. You scoff, a bitter sound, the frustration and hurt bubbling up again. With a harsh swipe, you shove the phone back into your bag and slam the door of your car shut, the sound of the engine roaring to life offering you a strange kind of relief.

PART TWO HERE

[woso-story]

Through Thick And Thin - Part Three

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Other Parts

The second Mapi pulled into the hospital’s parking lot, Alexia was out of the car before the engine even stopped. She ran across the pavement, her boots slapping against the concrete, hair sticking to her face from the Barcelona heat. She didn’t wait for Ingrid or Mapi, didn’t bother with anything other than getting through the sliding doors and to the front desk.

“Excuse me, where is Y/N Y/L/N?” she asked, voice trembling. “She was brought in this morning—there was an accident. I need to know where she is.”

The nurse behind the counter looked up with a calm professionalism that only irritated Alexia more. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I can’t give you that information unless you’re a family member.”

Alexia blinked. “What? No, you don’t understand. I’m her girlfriend. She lives with me. We’ve been together for over two years—por favor, I just need to know if she’s okay.”

“I understand, but you’re not registered as family. Without permission or documentation, I can’t release any information.”

The panic that had been simmering in Alexia’s chest erupted. “This is crazy! I don’t care about the paperwork, I just need to see her! What if something—”

“Alexia!” Ingrid’s voice cut through the haze, firm but gentle. She walked up beside her and put a calming hand on her arm. “Wait. Didn’t Y/N make you her emergency contact here in Spain? She told me once.”

Alexia froze.

Her mind reeled for a second, and then—it hit her. Months ago, when the team doctor asked everyone to fill out a basic medical info form. A “just in case.” You’d asked her if it was okay to put her name. She’d laughed and said, “Sure. Nothing bad’s ever gonna happen anyway.”

But here they were.

She scrambled for her phone, fingers shaking as she searched through old emails and scanned her cloud drive. Minutes passed—each one like an eternity—until she finally found it. A pdf. Her name, bold and clear, under Emergency Contact.

She shoved the phone across the counter with a trembling hand.

The nurse reviewed the document carefully, and finally gave a small nod. “She’s in surgery right now. That’s all I can tell you for now. I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait until a doctor comes to speak with you. It may be a while.”

Alexia barely heard the last part. “Surgery?”

“She’s stable,” the nurse added quickly. “But we don’t have more information yet.”

It wasn’t enough. Nothing was. But at least it was something.

The three women moved to the waiting area, and for a while, none of them spoke. Alexia sat down, but she was anything but calm. She couldn’t stop crying. Her hands trembled in her lap, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. The fear was pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t lift. Her body was here, but her mind was still racing—through all the things she should’ve said, should’ve noticed, should’ve done.

Mapi leaned in, wrapping an arm around her best friend. “Breathe, Ale. You have to breathe.”

“I can’t,” Alexia gasped. “I can’t stop thinking—what if—what if she doesn’t…”

“She will,” Mapi said quickly, even if her voice wasn’t entirely confident. “She will. She’s strong. You know that.”

Ingrid stood, silently walking outside. She didn’t say anything, but she knew what needed to be done. She called the team first. Then your family. One by one. Her voice stayed calm, but her hands were clenched the entire time.

---

The world returned to you slowly, painfully.

You blinked against the harsh light, the ceiling above you coming into focus through the haze. Your head throbbed. Your body ached. And your leg..

You tried to sit up but a sharp jolt of pain froze you in place. You cried out, breath catching in your throat.

Your eyes darted down.

Bandages. A cast. Your leg—immobile, elevated, swollen and bruised, wrapped tightly from mid-thigh down.

Where was Alexia?

You were alone.

The panic rushed in immediately.

You needed her. Her voice. Her presence. The way she always made you feel like everything would be okay, even when the world fell apart.

“Alexia…” you whimpered, your voice weak and dry.

Moments later, the door opened. A doctor stepped inside, followed by a nurse. He looked young. Kind eyes. But you didn’t care.

“Where is Alexia?” you croaked. “Please.. I need her.”

The doctor exchanged a look with the nurse, then nodded. “You’ve been in an accident. A car hit you. You’re safe now, stable. You were in surgery—”

“Where is she?” you said again, more urgently.

The nurse softened. “She’s here. She’s been waiting for you. We’ll bring her in now.”

Alexia was on her feet before the doctor even finished calling your name. She bolted toward him, eyes wide and desperate.

“She’s awake?” she asked, not waiting for permission. “Can I see her?”

“She’s asking for you,” the doctor said gently.

That was all Alexia needed.

She followed him down the hall, Mapi and Ingrid behind her. Her heart was pounding as they reached your room. The moment she saw you—small, bruised, tangled in IV lines and bandages—her legs almost gave out.

You looked up, eyes glassy with unshed tears, and the moment your gaze met hers, Alexia fell apart all over again.

She rushed to your side, carefully taking your hand—the one that wasn’t wrapped in a splint—and kissed your fingers. “I’m here,” she whispered, tears falling freely. “I’m here, mi amor.”

You clung to her hand, grounding yourself in her presence as the doctor explained everything.

“You suffered two fractures in your right leg—one in the femur, one just below the knee. We performed surgery to stabilize it. You also have two fractured ribs, a bruised arm, and minor concussion. Thankfully, your helmet protected you from something worse. You’re lucky.”

You stared at him in stunned silence, your body stiff.

“Will I… can I still play?” you asked quietly.

The doctor paused. His expression shifted—empathetic, but unsure.

“We’ll have to wait and see how your healing progresses. There’s a chance, yes. But there’s also a possibility that you won’t return to professional football. It’s too early to know.”

The words hit you harder than the car ever did.

You looked at your leg, at the cast, at the machines around you—and everything felt like it was crashing down.

Football was your life. Your identity. Your purpose.

You broke down, sobbing, and Alexia moved closer immediately. She leaned over, pressing her lips gently to your forehead.

“We’ll get through this,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Together. Like we always do.”

You wanted to believe her. You really did.

But the doubt had already taken root.

[dasketcherz]

headcanon: what if I gave this man a pistol

okay so I wanted hugo and varian to have different fighting styles despite sharing the same skill set as alchemists and I wanted their weapon of choice to also strongly reflect the kingdoms they came from.

for varian, he has his staff and throughout their quest he uses it often to illuminate the group's path, especially in darker places—which makes sense because he's from corona, the kingdom of light.

so for hugo, being from ingvarr aka the iron kingdom of warriors run by technological advancement and utilitarian system—I imagine him owning a pistol that he made himself that he specifically modified to accommodate alchemy wherein his ammos aren't bullets but rather alchemical compounds instead (think like Varian's project obsidian in season 3 but on a much smaller and portable scale) and he's made a built-in switching compartment so he'd have element variety of compounds as ammos ready to go. (think like Honey Lemon's chemistry purse)

it just made sense to me that he'd know how to make and use a firearm (frankly even his DnD counterpart knows how to use a riffle) considering his mentor Donella is a royal engineer and arm's dealer (at least basing this from Varian's Tangled Trials Lore by @i-found-you-justine-time) he's bound to pick up a thing or two from observing and watching her work—plus this provides a practical explanation to why he chooses to wear fingerless gloves instead of a full safety gloves like Varian—because he needs that extra mobility to pull the trigger faster.

and this also says a lot about his character because he made it solely and purely for self defense, designing his weapon with the intent to only immobilize opponents rather than actually inflicting serious harm to others.

[kzrosa-writes]

rivaling contradictions | dottore x reader

cw: fem!reader, harbinger!reader, dottore n reader are rivals, nsfw, riding, teasing, edging, dottore being a teensy bit desperate, bondage in the first half, dottore is a meanie, MINORS DNI!!!!

summary: after a meeting with the rest of the harbingers, you were in dottore's room, paying the price for foiling his research and results.

likes , reblogs n follows r appreciated!

Never in your life would ever imagine yourself sprawled out on the bed of your rival, legs spread apart with your thighs wrapped around his waist. Such a thought would’ve had you scoffing, considering it absolutely ridiculous. But when you feel that rosy tip prodding against your folds, you are snapped back into reality and reminded that yes, this is real.

The Second Harbinger has always been known as a cruel man, with his brutal experiments and ruthless methods of quenching his thirst for knowledge. A power-hungry man he was, and he certainly was living up to the reputation as he rubbed and teased at your clit. You suppressed a whimper, and the harbinger knew he was doing a perfect job at riling you up. 

Sliding a hand down the expanse of your exposed torso, he brushed his fingers against your right breast, cupping it in his hands before squeezing it gently. His actions were so tender, you almost forgot who the man on top of you was.

Il Dottore, your biggest rival.

Ever since you joined the Fatui as a harbinger, you were delegated important tasks by the Tsaritsa personally. You were a well-known inventor and scientist who studied and graduated from the Akademiya, and moved to study engineering in Fontaine. Well-versed in the realm of science and engineering, you were constantly pitted against the Doctor. Although it was never your intention, foul rivalry had sprouted between the two of you; a battle of wits and genius. The constant pressure and competition coming from Dottore’s side had caused you to harbour less than pleasant feelings towards him, and his snarky behaviour towards you did not help one bit. Soon enough, the two of you had grown to become fully-fledged rivals, always seeking ways to outdo the other.

It was only during a meeting with the rest of the harbingers when everything came crashing down. The Jester was listening to everyone sharing what they had managed to accomplish since the last meeting, until it came to Dottore’s turn. Dottore was flaunting one of his research results, as usual, when you suddenly intervened with data results of your own research, completely contradicting his. Your claims and results had more solid and concrete evidence, causing the Jester to completely disregard his work. 

“You’re going to regret that stunt you pulled back there,” were Dottore’s last words to you before storming out of the meeting room once the meeting was over.

And that is what led you to your current situation.

Laying on your back, legs wrapped around his waist and his lengthy girth brushing against the sensitive skin in between your legs, in Dottore’s bed. Your clothes had long been discarded on the floor, long forgotten. Your hands were bound together by his belt, which he tied to the bedpost. You were practically immobile, the thrusts of your hips for friction the form of movement you could make.

But even that was rendered impossible when he gripped your hips roughly, his calloused fingers digging into your skin in an attempt to keep you still. You whimper, your lips swollen and glossy with the remnants of the kiss you shared previously. He squeezed his hips before leaning slightly forward, his figure practically towering over you. 

“Hmm… Do you really deserve to be touched, darling? Do you deserve to have my cock up your pussy?” Dottore teased, the tip of his cock barely brushing against the damp cavern between your legs.

You could only whine in response as one of his hands slid in between your thighs, readjusting its grip around his waist. Your mind was too hazy with lust to comprehend a single word he said, only the thoughts of his large dick buried deep in your walls.

Dottore chuckled derisively as he began to circle your clit with his cock. He watched with amusement as your face contorted into expressions of pleasure, your eyes closed and your fingers curling in the air. Without warning, he slid his shaft inside of you, causing you to jerk forward and gasp as you felt him stretch you out.

“S-So big!” You whined, your chest heaving from the sensation. 

“Darling, we’re just getting started. If you think that is big…”

You suddenly felt a sharp thrust upwards, eliciting a scream from you. “Y-You bastard!”

He only chuckled before dragging his length out of you in a slow, lazy manner, teasing and taunting your cunt. Turns out he hadn’t pushed himself fully into you, and you weren’t expecting him to feel that big inside of you. 

He pressed his cock back inside of you before pulling out again, his pace gradually growing faster and rougher. The sound of his deep grunts with each thrust had you clamping around him, rubbing it against your walls.

You threw your head back in pleasure, strings of moans echoing throughout the room. Watching you succumb to his touch brought the harbinger an immense sense of pleasure; unbridled, sadistic pleasure.  

Hastily grabbing a pillow, he lifted your hips before sliding the plush material under your back, before changing his angle. This new position granted him better access to all of your sweet spots, and the ability to thrust deeper into you, deeper than you thought wasn’t possible. Lewd, needy moans escaped your lips as you felt his cock slam roughly against your walls, his free hand exploring and mapping out the contours of your body. 

Not long after, you could feel the familiar, warm knot forming in your stomach, and you knew you were close. His once sharp thrusts were now sloppier, his hand gripping tightly on your hips while his free hand continued to tease your body. With the way he was holding onto you, you were almost certain that his grip would cause marks and bruises the next day. 

Just a little more, you thought. Just a few more thrusts and a few more touches and a few more thrusts—

Your eyes widened as you felt him withdraw from your pussy, a lewd squelch emitting from the withdrawal of his cock. You let out a shaky whimper, mourning the loss of the fullness inside of you. You thrust your hips upwards, desperately yearning for friction. You heard Dottore chuckle before gently lowering your legs onto the bed, his touch tender; a stark contrast to the ruthless way he fucked you not even a minute ago.

“Aww, is my little inventor needy?” Dottore cooed, a cocky smirk plastered on his lips. You huffed in annoyance, still squirming from the loss of contact. “You don’t deserve to cum, darling. Not after that humiliating stunt you pulled on me earlier.”

You whined, your eyes screaming and begging silently. Just another thrust, you wanted to say. Just another thrust and let me cum—

You were cut out of your thoughts when you felt him undo the buckle of his belt, freeing you from your restraints. You looked at him with confusion, unsure where this was heading. But when you saw him sit himself against the headboard, with his legs spread out and his hands patting his thighs, you understood immediately what he wanted.

You wasted no time climbing onto his lap, sitting yourself comfortably on his thighs. Your own thighs were straddling his waist, his hands finding its way to your hips once more. There was a hungry look in his eyes, for once lacking the familiar coldness as he looked into yours. 

“Lift your hips up for me, baby,” He said, his voice deep and raspy. You swore you could have felt your pussy clench around the air. You abided, carefully lifting your hips up for him. He held your hips as he lined your pussy against his cock. You carefully took hold of his shaft, your thumb gently caressing the tip. He let out a deep groan before tightening his grip on your hips ever so slightly. 

“Slide it in, baby.”

He commanded, and you abided. You carefully lined his cock against your hole, before slowly sinking fully onto his lap. You let out a shaky moan, the sensation of this new position bringing tingles of pleasure all over your body. Dottore let out a groan on his own, leaning his head against the headboard as he felt your velvet folds encircle him. Slowly, he helped you to lift your hips high enough before pushing you down once more.

“Fuck, baby— you feel so fucking good.”

He guided your movements against his cock, his movements slow and unhurried. Dottore had you wrap your arms around his neck as you rode him, your fingers curling around the loose strands of his blue locks. With such a close proximity to him, you only realise now just how fucking hot he looked without a mask. His deep, crimson orbs, the skin right at the point of his left cheekbone decorated with a faded scar, and his lips so soft, so sweet, so kissable—

You were snapped out of your trance when you heard him pant heavily, his arms now wrapped around your waist as he sloppily thrusted upwards. You could tell from a mile away that he was reaching his breaking point. You were too.

“Archons, your pussy is so fucking good, darling,” He grunted, burying his face in your neck, his breath fanning against your already warm skin. “I wanna cum inside you, baby.”

Your eyes widened momentarily at his words. Inside of you? Wasn’t he just opposed to the idea of you getting off to his cock? You both were too far gone now, you were certain that he had forgotten that you were his biggest rival in the Fatui. Honestly, you didn’t even care anymore. All you wanted right now was his big cock inside of you, and sweet, sweet release.

A loud groan escaped Dottore’s lips as he felt you quicken your pace, bouncing eagerly on his dick. He could tell that you too were chasing your high, and he wasn’t going to do anything to stop it this time. Not when he was close to squirting his cum inside of you. 

Dottore’s hips jerked upwards, causing you to gasp from how deep his girth had pierced into you. You pulsed tighter around his cock, your moans like a sweet melody to his ears. Desperately, Dottore cradled the side of your cheek before pulling you into a needy kiss. You moaned against his lips as you continued to grind against him, your fingers messily tangling into his hair. You could feel him shudder against you as you tugged on his locks. He nipped at your bottom lip, his tongue running against the plump flesh before slipping into your mouth. His tongue explored your mouth, aching to map out every inch of you. He pulled away hastily, his breath ragged and erratic. 

“I’m g’nna cum, darling. Are you gonna cum f’me?”

Hearing his words caused a wave of heat to rush to your cheeks, but your desire for release was stronger. You nodded shakily, your movements against his hips growing more sloppy and lazy. 

With a final thrust, you felt the walls of pleasure come crashing down, a loud, desperate moan running off the tip of your tongue as you felt yourself cum all over his cock and thighs. Dottore let out a low moan before gripping your hips tightly, bouncing you roughly on his dick when you felt a warmth fill you with a rapid speed. 

“A-Archons— D-Dottore–!”

Dottore’s movements slowed down as the aftershock of his climax declined, his length still buried inside of you. You gently lifted your hips to pull out his cock, watching at the pearly beads of his cum mix with the sticky juices from your pussy. You carefully got off his lap, aiming to rest beside him, when you felt a tight pair of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Your eyes widened with shock as you felt the male hold you close, his breathing still laboured from your previous activities.

“D-Dottore…” You whispered, your voice hoarse. 

He didn't budge, his arms still firmly wrapped around your waist, the feeling of his chest heaving against yours. For a moment, the two of you stayed that way, in each other's arms. 

When Dottore finally pulled away, he reached his hand out to cup your cheek, your fingers gentle and tender. “You were amazing, darling— absolutely breathtaking.”

His praise caused you to blush, looking away briefly from shyness. But he only pulled your chin back to face him, his eyes filled with a soft, tender gaze — one so unfamiliar from a man like him.

“If you ever do something as ridiculous as foiling my research, I will fuck you even harder next time and make sure you can’t walk for the next week.”

You only chuckled, a small smirk forming on your lips as you looked up at him. “I look forward to it.”

— masterlist ・ navi ・ request rules ♡

[sunny44]

Pole position and broken wrist

Pairing: Max Verstappen x GF!reader

Warnings: broken wrist, medical center, medications etc…

Summary: Where Y/n broke her wrist on qualifying day.

It was one of those days when everything seemed to be in the right place. I woke up with Y/n by my side, her hair spread out on the pillow and a serene smile on her face. The sun was shining outside, and I felt a positive energy in the air. Today was qualifying day, and confidence was high. The car was fast, and the team's work had been impeccable throughout the weekend.

Y/n and I had a special ritual on race Saturdays. After breakfast in the motorhome, we would go to the paddock together. She was known for her vibrant personality and, of course, for her ability to get into unusual situations. I still remember when she spilled a tray of drinks on the team boss during her first visit to the paddock. But those moments, no matter how chaotic, only made me love her more.

We arrived at the paddock, and Y/n quickly started interacting with the mechanics and engineers, drawing smiles and laughter. It was impossible not to be infected by her light and carefree spirit. While she mingled, I focused on the qualifying session ahead. I knew she would be there supporting me, as always.

The qualifying session started, and the car was perfect. I managed to top the timesheet right in Q1, and that pace continued until the end. When I crossed the finish line in Q3, with pole position secured, my heart raced with excitement. I knew Y/n would be waiting for me in the garage, ready to congratulate me with that smile that made all the problems in the world seem insignificant.

But when I returned to the garage, something was off. I didn't see Y/n anywhere. Usually, she would be jumping with joy, ready to give me a celebratory kiss. Instead, I was greeted by worried looks from the team members. Before I could ask what was going on, one of the mechanics, Dave, approached me, a concerned expression on his face.

"Max, there’s been an accident... with Y/n," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

My heart froze. "What happened?" I asked, trying to stay calm.

"She was walking through the paddock, and you know how she is... Always bumping into things. Apparently, she tripped and fell. She tried to grab onto a metal structure but ended up slipping and falling hard. She broke her wrist."

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. The image of Y/n, hurt, flooded my mind, and a sense of panic started to grow inside me. "Where is she now?" I asked, already moving towards the garage exit.

"They took her to the medical center here at the circuit. She was in a lot of pain, but they said she's going to be okay. They just need to immobilize her wrist and maybe take her for more detailed exams."

Without wasting any more time, I ran towards the medical center. Everything around me seemed like a blur. The people, the sounds, even the noise of the engines... It all disappeared. The only thing that mattered was getting to Y/n.

When I entered the clinic, I found her sitting on a bed, with an expression of pain mixed with frustration. Her arm was already in a temporary splint, and the doctor was beside her, explaining what they would need to do next.

"Max!" Y/n exclaimed when she saw me, her eyes shining with a mix of surprise and relief.

"Y/n, what happened?" I asked, approaching her, feeling a wave of relief seeing her conscious and talking, even though she was visibly uncomfortable.

She gave an embarrassed smile, something she always did when she was in trouble. "I’m a complete klutz, Max... I tripped over one of those damn toolboxes and, trying to balance myself, ended up falling. And, well... you know the rest."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair and sitting next to her.

"Is it hurting a lot?"

"Yes, it hurts like hell."

"Do you have any idea how much you scared me?" I asked, taking her free hand and intertwining our fingers.

"I'm so sorry... It wasn’t my intention to ruin your pole day," she replied, with a pained little laugh.

"The only thing that matters to me right now is that you're okay," I said, kissing her forehead gently. "And, look, we’re still going to celebrate this pole. We’ll just do it at your pace, okay?"

She smiled again, this time more confidently, and nodded. "Sounds like a good plan."

The doctors entered and started discussing the next steps, mentioning the need to take her to a hospital outside the circuit for a more detailed X-ray and possibly to cast her wrist. The idea of her having to spend the rest of the race weekend with a cast worried me, but the relief of knowing it was "just" a broken wrist calmed me down.

After a few hours, we left the hospital with her wrist properly casted. I insisted we return to the motorhome and spend the rest of the day there, away from any potential dangers in the paddock. She hesitated a bit but eventually agreed.

We settled on the sofa in the motorhome, with Y/n lying next to me, her arm carefully propped up on a pillow. The TV was on, showing a replay of the qualifying session, but I hardly paid attention. My focus was on her, making sure she was comfortable and cared for.

"Max, you don’t have to stay here with me the whole time," she said softly, looking at me with a shy smile. "You should enjoy the rest of the day with the team, celebrate the pole."

"I'm exactly where I need to be," I replied, running my fingers through her hair. "Besides, who’s going to take care of you if I'm not around? What if you trip over the carpet now?"

She laughed, though she winced in pain right after. "I really am fucking clumsy, huh?"

"You are, but you’re my clumsy, and I love you for it," I murmured, leaning in to kiss her.

...

The next day, I woke up to the soft sound of Y/n's breathing beside me. Her arm, now casted and propped up on pillows, was a constant reminder of how clumsy she could be. But seeing her there, sleeping peacefully, I knew that even with a broken wrist, she would still make her day and mine unforgettable.

When Y/n finally woke up, the lazy smile she gave me warmed me inside.

"Good morning, champ." she murmured, trying to stretch without moving her arm too much.

"Good morning, clumsy." I replied, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "Ready for another day of adventures?"

"More than ready," she said, with a sparkle in her eyes.

"Is it hurting a lot?"

"It’s starting to hurt more now, I think the painkillers are wearing off."

"Well, you stay there while I get dressed and grab your meds." I said, getting up.

"I can get them." She tried to get up but I stopped her.

"No, no. You stay there, safe and sound, I’ll get the meds." She agreed and lay down.

After I went to the bathroom and got dressed, I got her meds and handed them to her. She got up afterward, went to the bathroom, and I helped her get dressed since moving her arm was straining her wrist and hurting.

"Ready?" I asked, putting a Red Bull bucket hat on her head and giving her a peck, making her smile.

"More than ready." She said, and we left the motorhome together. "You know, I was thinking… since I’m going to have this cast on for a while, I’ll make it more interesting."

"Interesting how?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Autographs!" she exclaimed, as if it were the most brilliant idea in the world. "I’ll ask some of the guys to sign it for me. It’ll be a nice memory of this whole thing."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You really are full of ideas, aren’t you?"

"You knew who you were getting involved with when you asked me out," she replied, winking at me and holding my hand.

Y/n was visibly excited, and even with her arm in a cast, she radiated a joy that was contagious.

Lando was her first target. As soon as she saw him, she ran over to him, carefully balancing the cast on her arm.

"Lando! You have to be the first to sign!" Lando, always the jokester, gave a mischievous smile and took the Sharpie Y/n was holding with her free hand.

"So, do you want me to write 'Caution: very clumsy' or something like that?" He asked, as he signed the cast, and Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t hold back her laughter.

"Just sign it, Norris. And make it look nice."

"Alright, bossy." He handed the pen back to her, and after chatting a bit and wishing her well, we went after the next victim.

Charles was talking to some members of his team, but Y/n wasn’t intimidated.

"Charles! I need your autograph, please." she said, waving the cast in his direction, and he smiled warmly, taking the pen.

"I saw pictures of you online with a cast but didn’t know what had happened. Are you okay?"

"I’m better, yeah. I tripped over a toolbox... Long story," she replied, laughing at herself.

"Well, I hope you get better soon," he said, carefully signing the cast with his name and adding a small heart next to it. "And try to stay away from toolboxes for a while."

Carlos was next, and Y/n knew he wouldn’t miss the chance to tease her. When she approached him, he raised an eyebrow and gave her a knowing look.

"Max, you really have to keep an eye on her," Carlos said, laughing. "She’s a danger to herself."

"Tell me about it," I replied, smiling as Carlos signed the cast.

"Y/n, are you collecting accidents now?"

"Let's just say I'm adding a little drama to the weekend," she replied, extending her arm.

"There you go," he said after adding 55 to the end of his signature. "I hope you get better soon."

"Thank you Chili." He gave her a side hug and started walking towards the Ferrari garage.

"Try not to break anything else," he yelled and went inside.

Alex was walking past us when Y/n spotted him. "Alex! Please sign here," she said, and he promptly complied.

He made a neat signature, adding a small trophy to the side. "I hope this brings you luck to recover quickly," he said.

"Thank you, and bring Lily to the next race." He nodded and left.

Oscar was the last one before we returned to the Red Bull garage. He was focused, but when he saw Y/n approaching with that smile that said “you have no choice”, he smiled too.

“Oscar, you’re next on the list,” she said, shaking her cast.

“Honored to be a part of this collection,” he joked as he signed it, drawing a little kangaroo next to his name.

Finally, we made it back to the Red Bull garage, where Y/n handed me the pen.

“Now it’s your turn.” She said smiling.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” I said, taking the pen and thinking about what to write.

I decided on something simple but meaningful. I signed my name, and next to it I wrote, “I love you, my clumsy.”

She looked at the cast and then back at me, her eyes shining with emotion.

“It’s perfect, it’s definitely my favorite signature,” she said, smiling.

The day went on, and soon it was time for the race. Y/n was by my side until the last second before I got in the car. Even with her injured arm, she was there, smiling, supporting me, and reminding me of what really matters. mattered.

When I finally got into the car and got ready for the race, I knew that no matter what happened on the track, I had something very special waiting for me at the end of it all. The race was important, sure, but Y/n… she was the reason I gave my best, on and off the track.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“Before the accident X after the accident”

Ps: I’m okay guys, just a broken wrist

[coco-loco-nut]

Broken Bones

pairing: george russell x reader

summary: George gets in a wreck and you happen to be the surgeon on-call.

a/n: i loved this prompt, i hope you love it ❤️

masterlist

————————

George was enjoying his home race, he was holding P3 with a comfortable lead due to some great defending earlier in the race. Unfortunately for him, mother nature decided to put her hand into the race and have a pop up rain shower come through.

“It should clear through shortly, let’s keep with the softs,” his engineer says, hoping to outsmart those pitting for inters. George says a quick response and continues focusing on the track, especially the dry line. With the rain pouring, he catches a wet line in turn 4, sending the car spinning and into a barrier.

You rush down a couple floors to where you have been paged. Being the only orthopedic trauma surgeon in the hospital and on-call, you have to make haste.

“Is there really no one else to take this?” you ask, looking at the chart that has initial images and the patient information.

“Big fan?” the nurse beside you asks as you mentally plan the procedure. Most of Britain is basically a fan of the racing driver.

“Yeah. It’s not ethical, but I took an oath,” you tightly smile, beginning the process of scrubbing in.

“You are a great surgeon, you will have no problem keeping the fan part of you out of your mind,” the nurse reassures you. You take a couple deep breaths before heading to surgery.

The procedure goes well, you repair the broken wrist and fix the damage as best you can. Of course, time will finish healing it, but you do your best.

Afterwards you scrub out, finish paperwork, and go home. You won’t need to check in until anesthesia wears off, and that can take a while. You return later in the day, dressed in business casual and your lab coat.

“Mr. Russell, how are you feeling?” you ask, needing to check on your work. You close the door behind you when you enter the room.

“You are so pretty,” George says, still a little out of it.

“Thank you. Mind if I check your arm?” you ignore your blush.

“You look like my wife. She’s a doctor too, soooo pretty,” George babbles.

“I know, love, let me see your arm,” you say gently, sitting beside him.

“What happened?” George asks with a confused look.

“You spun out and crashed into a barrier. It was raining, you were on slicks, and caught a wet line,” you explain, carefully examining the surgical site, removing the splint immobilizing the wrist.

“I know that much. Injuries?” he asks, eyes trained on your wound examination.

“Broken wrist. We are going to brace it rather than cast it,” you check his chart for other injuries noted.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, I love you,” George says, moving his non-injured hand to grab yours.

“I love you too, Georgie,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb over his hand as he processes everything. You note things in his chart, making sure your observations and updates are written down.

“I’m glad you did my surgery, I wouldn’t trust anyone else,” he smiles, you can’t help but smile back. It’s not illegal, but it certainly is borderline unethical to treat your husband.

“I’m happy to hear that. Why don’t I go and see if your family is out in the waiting room?”you hum, needing to stay inconspicuous. Of course, those close to you know who your husband is, but since you don’t share his last name it isn’t obvious.

“One kiss before you leave,” George pouts and you hesitate. “Please, I was just in a crash and your kisses make me feel better,” he pouts. You playfully roll your eyes and lean in, giving him a quick kiss.

“I love you, I’ll be right back,” you reassure him. You find his family and Toto waiting outside in the waiting room.

“Family of Mr. Russell,” you say, calling them to you.

“Y/n, dear, did you do his surgery?” George’s mom asks, a little hopeful.

“I did, I was the only one here and on call. Thankfully nothing too major, he can probably get back into a car in a month if we rehab him correctly. Want to see him?” you ask, knowing the answer. You lead them to his room, but stop Toto before he walks in.

“Y/n-“ Toto starts but you don’t hesitate to cut him off.

“You got very lucky that the broken wrist was the worst of it. Keeping him out on slicks? Are you stupid, a win is not worth more than a life,” you fume.

“I know, I gave his engineers and strategists a talking to. I just wanted to check in on him, but knowing he is in your care is all I needed. I check in tomorrow then,” Toto stays calm, knowing you had to since George was brought in and you needed to yell at someone.

“I, um, thank you. He should only be here another day for observation. I’ll keep you updated,” you recompose yourself and watch as Toto leaves.

“She’s just the best doctor ever. So pretty too, and smart, and really good at surgery,” you overhear George tell his parents, he likely just got another dose of pain meds.

“Thank you, Georgie. You are a pretty good patient,” you smile from the doorway.

“Can you believe that doctor loves me? And she married me?” George asks his mom who laughs.

“You chose a wonderful wife. Why don’t you let her get back to work?” his mom asks, catching your amused gaze.

“Yes, I have another surgery scheduled. I will check on you in a few hours,” you walk over to your husband, giving him a quick kiss.

“I love you so much, I want to have babies with you,” George blurts, causing your face to flame bright red.

“Okay, let’s talk about that later,” you awkwardly say, stepping out of the room.

You are quick to return after your scheduled surgery. You know the nurses rotations and know that they won’t check in for another hour.

“There’s my beautiful wife,” George grins as you walk in. “You look so sexy post-surgery,” he eyes you up.

“Really? I don’t feel like it,” you slide onto the bed beside him, careful to avoid hurting him. You relax in silence for a minute before you address the feeling eating at the pit of your stomach. “Please try not to crash again. I know it’s unavoidable, but the feeling I got when I saw your name and didn’t know how serious the crash was. It… I don’t think I can describe the panic,” you take a deep breath, closing your eyes and focusing on the sound of his heartbeat under you. The cool hospital air is a stark contrast to his warmth.

“I’m sorry, it’s the one part of racing I hate too,” George is unsure how to respond. He looks at the blank hospital wall, as if it’ll give him the answer. “I’ll always come home to you, and I have a badass surgeon to take care of me,” he laughs a little, trying to lighten the mood.

“I can only do so much, like brain surgery? You are on your own,” you grin, happy to let the vibe change.

“You could do it, you can do anything,” George says, he always gets gushy when he’s tired.

“Okay, baby, you should get some sleep. I’ll go home and get you clothes. I will be back tomorrow morning to check on you,” you yawn, also needing sleep. George knows you can’t stay in the room too long, and he wouldn’t want you to stay up in an uncomfortable chair.

“I love you. Drive safe,” he mumbles, tiredness washing over him in waves. You fix his sheets and make sure he is okay before kissing him goodnight and leaving. It feels weird, to go home and not have him there. You burn the rest of your anxious energy by reaching out to some good physical therapists that you know to help with George’s recovery.

Under your watchful eye, he makes a recovery similar to Lance’s, even with you fussing the first few races post-injury. You framed one of his x-rays. George had to listen to you talk about how beautiful it was, you claimed it to be your best work. It allows for a good story when having friends over, and it reminds George to not let it happen again.

[giuliettagaltieri]

Sad Little Thing

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Lovesick!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Crybaby, Love Guru, and the Sleep Deprived

Warning: Angst, swearing, one sided pining, shallow/light writing, you and Rafe are equally stupid in your own ways.

Word Count: 2057

3 of 4

Your eyes were bloodshot and dry by the time your engine stalls.  It makes the runabout lurch and shake before coming to a complete halt and just getting rocked by the gentle waves.  You glance down and bite your lip when you see the indicator for the gas tank. 

Great, you just successfully stranded yourself in the middle of the ocean at night.  You clench your teeth when a strong gust of wind makes goosebumps erupt from your arms.  Your mom and dad could be worried sick.  This was a bad idea. 

“No shit, Sherlock.”  You mutter to yourself.

You just had to make a mess out of everything.  First with Rafe, then running away from the party, and the cherry on top, here you are, in the middle of pitch black waters, you can’t see anything, no lights from the island, no boats.

Slumping in your seat, you check your pockets for your phone.

“Really?”  Groaning, you climb over to the built-in mattress over the stern when you realize your phone has zero service.  With your lips wobbling, you hug your knees to your chest.  Your breathing started building up as you look around the dark canvas around you.

You wanted to curse someone, anyone, but deep down you know you have only yourself to blame but you don’t want to admit that either.  Why can’t Rafe just forgive you like the way he did before?  You always mess up but he always makes you feel better too, he talks shit about anybody who wronged you, but why is he taking her side?

A bloodcurdling scream scratches at your throat as you lashed out, your delicate knuckles punching over the mattress, fat tears soaking your cheeks as the air in your lungs gets thinner and thinner.  You gnash your teeth when the mattress only dips to receive your hits.  Shallow lines appear on the leather surface as your nails accidentally scratch them.  You grip your hair, scalp burning as you pull in frustration. 

“I said I was sorry!”  You scream into the ocean.  While you blindly hit around, you miss how your clenched fist slams over the metal sticking out at the edge of the mattress.  The impact made an unmistakable sound of a crunch that had your stomach dropping to a pit. 

Gulping, you look up into the sky, hiding your hand from your line of sight as you cannot believe how you could manage to make everything worse.

A shiver rushes over your body when you feel warm liquid drip on your hand.  The pulsating pain spreading from your fist has your entire hand shaking and bile threatened to rise to your throat. 

With a gulp of air, you bring your left hand up to look at the damage. 

Your pinky was dislocated, it is bent at an odd angle, the skin between it and your ring finger was split and dark hot liquid was pouring out, you can barely see from the lack of light at the moment but you see it staining half your hand.

Rafe would have taken care of you if he was there.  You sobbed as you gently clutch your hand, bringing it to your chest. 

You have to do it.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you held your bent pinky and with a couple of sharp breaths, you pulled it sharply to realign your bones.

Your scream was pure agony, spit dribbling down your chin as you collapsed on the mattress.  With shaky breaths you willed yourself not to pass out as you climbed off to search the compartment for the first aid kit with the minimal help the flashlight from your phone could offer.  

It wasn’t restocked, just your luck.

Grabbing the clumps of gauze pads, you press hard on your wound, your eyes squeezed shut the entire time.  With no antiseptics, you just decided to carefully tape your pinky to your ring finger to immobilize it and try to prevent more damage.

Over your phone, you inspected your hand, the side of your palm is starting to swell and heat up.  There were no painkillers in your first aid kit.  With cold sweat dripping your forehead and soaking your back, you figured that trying to sleep to numb the pain would be the next option.

It’s alright.  Your dad will find you.  He’s probably out searching right now.  You just hope Rafe wouldn’t know.  You made yourself look pathetic in front of him, you can’t handle anything worse.

A loud call of your name was what woke you.  The sun was slowly rising, you can see it in the far distance, just barely above the horizon.  Groaning, you get up, immediately wincing when you accidentally lean on your injured hand.  It’s swollen really badly now.

“Y/N!”

You stand up on your shaky legs and see Topper waving at you.

If he’s here, Rafe could possibly be looking for you too.  You can only imagine the earful he would give you.

Smiling weakly, you wave back.

“Jesus, Y/N!  You scared us.  Disappearing like that.”  Topper tells you when he gets close enough.

“I’m sorry.”  You can’t even look him in the eyes.  “I uhm…I ran out of gas.”

Topper scratched his head.  “Yeah, I figured.”

He helps you to his boat, giving you a bottle of water while he works on the lines so he can tow your boat.  He was not happy when he saw your hand but upon seeing how broken you already look, he chose to shut up.

“How did you find me?”  You ask, your throat still sore from screaming and crying all night.

“Rafe told us where to go.”  Topper turns to you and smiles.  “He’s looking for you.  Kelce too.”  He says just to break the silence and you hum.  The sun is slowly climbing up, making the sky look like it had watercolor poured all over it.  “We started looking for you last night.  Kelce and I had to go home to rest for a while and started searching again before dawn.”

You squeeze the empty water bottle a little too tight.  “I’m really sorry for causing trouble.”

“Nah, I get it.  Kelce told us about what happened at the party.  I have known you for years now, Y/N, and frankly, I’m not that surprised you did this.”  Topper chuckles and your cheeks flush in embarrassment.  “Hey!  We’re close enough to the island.”  He fishes his phone out of his pocket.  “I should tell Rafe I found you.  He’s up all night, looking for you.”

Your eyes widen upon hearing that.  “Maybe,” you interject a little too loudly, “maybe we shouldn’t do that.”  You say, more calmly.

Topper glances at you from his shoulder.  “Okay.”  He hesitates but he slips his phone back to his pocket.  “Why?”

Smiling awkwardly, you stand next to him, wobbling a little with the speed of Topper’s boat cutting the waves.  “I don’t want him to see me right now, at this state, especially when his anger is at its peak.”

“I’d say he’s more of uhm…worried than angry.”  Topper smiles and you return it weakly.

You’re not too sure if you believe that.

“I really messed up, Topper.”  You sigh as you lean on the boat.  “I was so protective of him.  He’s probably sick from how I am all over him all the time.”

He clears his throat, not really knowing how to tread through this conversation with you.

“Maybe it’s because you’re a little too…easy?”  He winces when you whip your head to him.

“What did you say?”

Fuck, you sound pissed.

“Look, you’re giving Rafe everything he wants.  There’s no challenge, so why would he pursue you?”  He tried to explain as kindly as he can but there’s no easy way to put it.  “You need to put yourself first before him, let him see your worth instead of selling yourself to him all day everyday.”

As much as you want to kick Topper’s knees inward, he’s right.

“You think he’ll like me more if I stay away?”

He grimaces at the thought, he could potentially start another conflict.

“Don't stay away, just…prioritize yourself more?  You know, reservations.”

“Right.”  You mumble.  “You’re a great guy, Topper.  I know you’re Rafe’s friend, not mine, but I’m really glad you’re doing all of this.”

Topper flashes you a smile.  “What are you talking about?  I’m your friend too.”

“Really?”  You look at him brightly.

“Yeah!  I’m actually hurt right now.”  He jokes.  “All this time I thought we were really good friends.  Do you just see me as an acquaintance?”

“Neighbor.”  You reply cheekily, making him laugh.  “I should invite you to join girls' night.  You’d blend in really nicely, plus you give great advice.”  This immediately cuts his laughter and he clears his throat, a soft blush coating his nose, making you elbow him playfully.

Your father picks you up from the docks and rushes you to the hospital, after thanking Topper, to have your hand looked at by a doctor. 

Despite the painkillers they gave you, it was excruciating, having your finger realigned properly.  You can’t even laugh at the compliment the doctor gave you for packing quite a punch.  With a change of clothes and properly splinted hand, you sit patiently on one of the benches in the hospital. 

You’re waiting for your father to come back from paying the medical bill when rushed footsteps echo around the hospital corridor. 

A pair of shoes that you know too well, as it was you who helped him pick it out, stops in front of you.

“Y/N.”

You look to the side, not really wanting to see him at the moment.  Topper or your father must have contacted him.  It was silly of you to think you can hide, knowing how persistent he can be.

“Y/N.”  He spoke a little firmer, making you look up briefly before you look away again.

“Not now, please, Rafe.”  You sigh, too exhausted to handle his outbursts.

He sits next to you, you glance discreetly just in time to see him running a hand over his face.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You seriously think I don’t know that?”  You roll your eyes as you glare up at him.  “I of all people know that, Rafe!”

He faces you, his eyes wide in anger.  “You don’t!”  He breathes out a cold laugh as he taps his index and middle finger on your temple.  “You…You weren’t thinking and you don’t know anything! At all!”  You flinch slightly at his rising voice and he immediately backs up.  He glares at the wall, his shirt stretching as he sighs. 

You drop your eyes to his twitching hand.  You wanted to hold it but you’re scared you’ll do something he doesn’t like again.

“I was up all night, looking all over for you.”  Rafe whispered harshly between clenched teeth.  “And you just couldn’t settle with being stranded in the middle of the ocean, you had to hurt yourself too!”

“I know, I know.  I’m sorry.”  You whispered.

Rafe runs a hand over his buzzed hair, shaking his head.  “No, no, no, Y/N.  I leave you for a while and you pull these stunts.  You’re becoming a liability.”

You gasp as you look at him with scared eyes.  He couldn’t possibly mean that.

He leans close to you, until his warm breath is fanning over your face.  “I can’t trust you with yourself.”

Despite the fight you are having you couldn’t stop saying the next words that fall from your lips.  “So take care of me!”  You cry as you shut your eyes, tears rushing out uncontrollably.

Rafe licks his lips, his eyes watching you sharply.  God, you’re fucking dependent on him.  He pulls you closer and presses a kiss on your forehead but you pull away.  He presses his lips together.  You’ve never done that before, you never pull away when he initiates physical contact. 

He puts a hand over your nape and pulls you back in.  “Listen, I can’t be around all the time, okay?  Do you understand?”  You nod at him as you struggle to wipe your tears.  “I need to see that you can take care of yourself too, can you do that?”

You nod at him again but he clicks his tongue.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Rafe.”

Lovesick Little Thing

[fatkish]

Aizawa and Class 1A x Student Alchemist Reader

In this, the reader has the same tattoos as scar. The reader’s left arm deconstructs molecules and their right arm reconstructs molecules.

The reader is quirkless so they use Alchemy to even the odds and are good at combat.

The reader took the entrance exam and has similar grade to Momo. Momo and the Reader share the 1/20 place amongst their peers

The reader aced the written test and destroyed the robots by using their alchemy to disassemble them. They got 45 villain points and 45 rescue points

When the teachers were looking over the students papers, Aizawa and Nedzu were amazed and skeptical of the reader being quirkless

Aizawa didn’t believe that you were quirkless so he used his quirk on you during his quirk apprehension test. Obviously it failed and he realized your were being honest on your paperwork. Still grilled you about it

Aizawa is ever so slightly more protective and stricter on you than other students. He worries all the time so he is a little harsher on you but you know that he just wants to push you a little more

You’re currently studying both flame and medical alchemy. You tend to study with recovery girl and help her out whenever you get the chance

During All Might’s hero vs villain training you were paired with Momo (Mineta didn’t get into the hero course) against Jirou and Kaminari. You won by creating a sleeping gas and put them to sleep whilst you and Momo wore gas masks she made

Bakugou refuses to admit your strength but has a secret respect for you since you beat him by altering his sweat’s molecules so it wasn’t explosive

Izuku has so many notes on you and has asked to draw your tattoos and you even began to teach him basic alchemy, although he sucks at it

When questioning you, you told Izuku that you were quirkless which he accidentally let it slip to his friends who then let the class know

After that you explained to the class that alchemy can be performed by anyone, it just take years of study and practice to perform and understand the basic rules and applications

Some didn’t believe you so you removed your shoe to show them all your second joint in your pinky toe as proof

Some still have a hard time believing it but most of the class accepted it

Kirishima, Sero, Iida, Jirou and Uraraka think you’re (manly) incredible and ambitious for dedicating yourself to something and making yourself strong despite the odds

Ashido, Kaminari and Hagakure still don’t believe that you’re quirkless

Tokoyami and Shoji both admire your strength and perseverance in trying to become a hero despite lacking a power and having been ridiculed and criticized for your dreams

Ojiro and you train in martial arts often as a means to strengthen one another

Tsuyu and you get along just fine as you both are some of the more mature students in classs

You tend to hang out with the quiet kids like Shoji, Tokoyami and Koda

You and Momo both bond over and help each other study the molecular make up of certain items

During the USJ attack, you used your flame alchemy on the Nomu. You used your conductive gloves to create the flames and tried to roast the Nomu

You took Hatsume’s place on Midoriya’s team in the Calvary battle

You fought Iida in the first rounds and won by creating a rugged and difficult terrain to run in as a means to slow him down, then you used your alchemy to seal his engines and managed to hit him in a pressure point that immobilized him

Todoroki was amazed when you were able to beat him in the sports festival. You turned his ice into water and then changed the arrangement of the stage’s molecular structure to that of quicksand and used the ground to swallow him up, winning your match.

Bakugou was pissed off when you altered your body’s carbon to be on the outside creating a skin of diamond like armor that his explosions couldn’t beat

You got 1st place in the festival but All Might accidentally let it slip during the award ceremony that you were quirkless

You got the third most offers from pros for internships out of the class

You ended up going with Best Jeanist and had a rather good time compared to Bakugou

After the Internships were over, you had mastered your flame alchemy and used it against All Might in your practical exam

Bonus: Todoroki learned that you can’t use flame alchemy when it’s raining or if your wet and accidentally started the ‘useless when wet’ shtick.

Now Bakugou makes fun of you whenever you get your gloves wet and acts like you need protection and enjoys babying you.

[riality-check]

ao3 link

In the odd, floating space between dream and reality, Viktor thinks of a wooden spoon. 

They only had one in their little house near the fissures, and it had been passed down to his mother from her mother, and her father, and so on back as far as a family line could go. At least, that was the story he was told when he was young enough to sit on their moth-eaten sofa and his feet would fail to reach the ground, swinging above it instead, beating infinite dust into the air. More concrete evidence of its age lay in its staining, in the way it smelled like spices Viktor’s mother had never been able to afford.

He does not know what happened to the spoon when she died. She died second, and the house was sold, and the contents of it became a feast for his neighbors, transfigured into vultures by desperation, hunger, want. Amidst the chaos of clawing hands and the coins too heavy-light in Viktor’s small palm, the spoon was lost.

He wonders if its new owner recognizes the marks in the handle as the work of his baby teeth.

Doctors were difficult to come by in the Undercity, and harder still to pay. Most of the time, they were “doctors,” and not doctors. But before it was determined (he always considers this in the passive, for there truly is no one to curse but nature - no, topside - itself) that any further intervention would be ineffective, his parents had paid many “doctors” to intervene.

And anesthetic had cost extra.

Viktor’s baby teeth scarred the entire length of the spoon’s handle. If he remembers correctly, he lost his first one prematurely when it had lodged in the wood more than his gums.

So when he stirs as an adult on his Academy bed and the first thing he perceives is the pain arcing up the side of his right leg and burying itself bone-deep, the last vestige of his dream is a shadowy figure - large, vague, always pitying - hovering above him and instructing him sadly to bite down.

Viktor wakes himself by bloodying his own tongue.

The warm, sticky copper startles him alert and upright, which is a mistake. Upright is… less than ideal. The pain crawls up further, to his spine, eliciting a hiss. It is electric, warm. Pulsing in time with his heart.

It is not a good indication for the remainder of his day.

He attempts to swing his legs over and out of bed, determined to grit his teeth and push through. Today, he only has one class. It is an upper-level physics course, taught by Heimerdinger, who is far more passionate about this subject than that introductory engineering course from a few semesters prior.

He would be willing to… cut Viktor some slack, as the saying goes. If anyone on campus would, it would be Professor Heimerdinger. After all, he knows Viktor the best, knows of his circumstances and story before the Academy beyond stereotypes and rumors, even if it is only the barest shred. He offered Viktor open office hours. Years into his studies and he has not gone once for anything beyond his academics.

But Viktor does not want slack. He must do what is required of him. He must learn. He refuses to give any of them ammunition in the firefight to prove that he does not belong here.

Keep his head up. Quit remaining silent. Jump, irregardless of the pain.

And where did that land him? With an immobile, agonizing leg at quite the inconvenient time.

His left leg moves easily enough with no more pain than the usual soreness. However, his right leg is locked from hip to toe, a result of the agony in his joints and the spasming of his muscles. When he attempts to adjust it, to simply rotate his foot, his nerves scream.

Viktor wants to vomit. But he must go to class.

He closes his eyes and gingerly hefts his leg into position. The movement lights his nerves up like live wires from his toes to his lumbar vertebrae. With a distant sense of pride, he notices that he is able to keep himself from crying out. 

It is a small victory that is easily overshadowed by his subsequent slip on the sheets.

His feet crash onto the floor.

And then he does cry out.

His left leg buckles as it should to brace for impact. His right fails to do so, and his heel takes the brunt of it, and the pain scrambles up the back of his leg and causes him to swear as his vision goes spotty.

Bite down.

When it clears, he only hopes that his neighbors did not hear.

Braced on the bed, breathing through his teeth, he spots the clock outside his window.

He swears again. This time, he does not care if the neighbors hear.

He scrambles to make himself presentable. Other students, those from major houses with fond, excusable reputations of drunken weekends and foolish trysts, can afford to attend class disheveled. They can wear rumpled clothing and sport messy hair and be laughed off.

Most students would be laughed at. Viktor, doubly so. 

He braces himself on the furniture of his dormitory, keeping all the weight he can on his left leg. His cane, resting near the door where he foolishly left it last night, glints mockingly in the morning sun. 

Were it not counterproductive and deeply irrational, Viktor would snap it.

Instead, he tears his bag from his chair and snatches his cane on his way out. There is no time to put on the brace.

The brace. That stupid, ramshackle contraption. It was the root of this. The device, an easily disguised relief, a facsimile of normalcy, had given him far too much confidence. He neglected his cane. He forgot his limits.

Running. What an idiotic notion.

He cannot help his bitterness. Simply walking in this state is… immensely difficult. His right leg has loosened up enough to bend at the hip, but only a fraction. Neither his knee nor his ankle will yield. Even with the support of his cane, each step sears up his right leg, sparking in blacks and whites behind his eyes.

Twice, he must stop in the hallway and swallow back a flare of nausea. For once, he cannot hear the idle chatter of his fellow students. It has been replaced by a high-pitched whine, twining in perfectly discordant harmony with the pain.

Distantly, he supposes that this must be very bad.

But he makes it to class. That is what is important. He collapses into his front-row chair seconds before it begins and blinks away the spots in his vision.

Heimerdinger frowns at him. He says something, but Viktor’s head is not in this classroom. It is inside his own body, in the pain that refuses to abate, that pulses and sears and spasms in his leg that could have been normal.

Later, he will blame his actions on the delirium of pain. He is, after all, reduced to his basest instincts. An animal, operating on conditioned memory.

Bite down.

Though it is anything but, he knows it could seem rational to his classmates. Viktor steps outside of his body. He watches himself open his bag and take out a piece of jerky he swiped yesterday from the school kitchen. He does not taste it as he places it between his teeth. 

He hooks his cane behind his knee. 

A sigh through the nose. A tightening of the jaw. An adjustment of his grip. His hearing has dropped out. The jerky tastes like old leather - and he would know; once, when the spoon was dirty, Viktor was instructed to sink his teeth into his father’s worn tool belt. 

At the board at the front of the room, Heimerdinger scrawls the homework from the previous lecture in his indecipherable script.

But that does not matter. What matters is making the pain stop in the only way accessible to him.

Bite down.

Viktor wrenches.

And finds himself, dazed, in the infirmary.

Read the other installments: 1, 2, 3, 4 6

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

Sort of a mix of exhibitionism, breeding kink, and experimentation/medical kink, but I really love the idea of hanging out in a group of friends/strangers when we all get abducted by aliens interested in humanoid reproductive and sexual capabilities. Waking up to find myself suspended and covered in some strange diodes/electrodes as some strange being prods at my body, jotting notes and making comments with little acknowledgement of me. Left immobile by the strange technology, I'm forced into presenting my wet pussy while a girl is floated over to me with her cock erect, bumping clumsily against my lips and clit until one alien finally guides her member in, and once its in they bind us together in a makeshift doggy position, looking to test how long it takes for ejaculation to occur with limited movement. Desperately trying to distract ourselves even as her swelling cock stretches me, as my pussy can't help but weep and shiver around her, until its too much, her desperately apologizing to me as her hips hump shallowly, me reassuring her as I feel her twitch, eyes on our strange captors to see how they speak with pride and fascination to each other when they see us fall over the edge of orgasm. They test all our limits with increasing interest, how much cum we produce, how much we can take, depositing fluid directly into the wombs of those subjects who have them, the endurance of each subject. They start to note different subject's tastes and preferences, that this one cums faster when struck while another responds when touched lightly and quickly with instruments until laughter is produced. The aliens are fascinated to learn that even if they are not stimulated themselves watching one of their companions be tested on, toy up their ass and down their throat and cock being milked, results in similar arousal symptoms. The trans-galactic team is especially fascinated to find that some human suspects are even interested in the aliens themselves; a whole new task force/research team is put together to test alien-humanoid breeding possibilites. One scientists finds the eggs of their own species incubate well in human stomachs and wombs, their heavy bellied subjects' caring instincts kicking in; even the most reluctant subject who refuses food begins responding positively with an alien baby in their belly. Another finds that human breast milk is the key component in a breakthrough cure for its species, quickly arranging meetings with its home research crews, a contented human in one of their sets of arm who sits placidly as they're used as a tool for presentation. Some breakthroughs don't even have a real purpose other than the scientists own fascination- one of the ship's engineers takes a liking to a specific subject, and when it's discovered that his frequencies and sustained eye contact with his eyestalks can bring a human to orgasm without physical contact, he manages to make a compromise that he gets to keep his new pet in his personal quarters so long as he contributes to the research with his ability.

.

[dostoyevsky-official]

Inside the Bakersfield raids that showed how Trump’s immigration policies will sow chaos

On Jan. 7, the phones of immigration advocates in Bakersfield began lighting up with calls from immigrant farmworkers. The messages said the U.S. Border Patrol was conducting an indiscriminate dragnet in the area, pulling over vehicles presumed to be carrying immigrants to work and taking dozens into custody.

[...] Rather than “targeted” enforcement, the Border Patrol conducted “random stops of vehicles exclusively founded on racial profiling of individuals,” Ambar Tovar, director of legal services for the UFW Foundation, told me.

The officers raid locations where they knew they would find farmworkers gathering — such as at a Home Depot, where immigrant laborers come to seek day work, and along California Route 99, the highway traveled by immigrant farmworkers heading to their jobs. At some spots, where they were asked to show warrants naming targeted individuals, the officers simply drove away without answering.

[...] One aspect of these raids elicits broad agreement: Their effect was to sow fear.

[...] Creamer estimates that about 25% of immigrant workers in the area stayed home from work in the first day of the raids, and 75% afterward. That continued until Jan. 10, when word spread that the Border Patrol had left the county and gone back to El Centro.

Until then, he said, “the raids sent shock waves through the entire Central Valley,” the breadbasket of California and of the entire country. [...] It’s hard to overestimate the impact that raids like these could have on California agriculture, which, like other states, is highly dependent on immigrant labor. The raids occurred as the harvesting of California oranges, mandarins and lemons was entering a peak period for fresh fruit. California accounts for about 90% of the domestic supply of oranges, mandarins, lemons and grapefruit.

About 20% of the estimated 24,000 citrus farm employees in California work in Kern County, Creamer says. In this case, he adds, the immediate impact was muted because the raids occurred over only four days and the schedule of citrus harvesting can be somewhat flexible.

[...] What struck immigrant advocates about the raids was the sheer thuggishness of the operation, which dovetailed neatly with the uncompromosing rhetoric about immigration sounded by Trump during his campaign and in his inaugural speech Monday.

Agents transported detainees from Bakersfield to El Centro, a drive that can take as long as six hours, instead of processing them locally, where they would be available for local legal advice and representation. Detainees said they were released in El Centro without transportation home.

[...] Agents in an unmarked car pulled over Ernesto Campos, the owner of a Bakersfield gardening service who was naturalized as a U.S. citizen more than 10 years ago. According to a video Campos shot on the scene and that was aired on Bakersfield TV station KGET, the agents demanded that Campos’ passenger, an undocumented employee step out of the truck. Campos informed them that the passenger already had an asylum hearing scheduled. Campos shut off his engine and gave the agents his driver’s license.

Nevertheless, according to an exchange captured on the video, an agent slashed Campos’ truck tires, which can be seen deflated on the video. When Campos asked why the agent had immobilized his vehicle, the agent replied, “I’m not going to argue with you, bro. You did what you did, I did what I did.” He verified that Campos was a U.S. citizen, but he was arrested on suspicion of “alien smuggling.” Campos was released about four hours later. The border Patrol didn’t respond to my request to identify the agent and explain his conduct.

[theyfabuser]

Want to put together a trans-only event at a delayed-reveal address, and engineer the guest list so it's all transfems except for one cuntboy party favor. I'd put a drink in his hands on the way in and wait for him to use the bathroom, then move furniture to block the front door before announcing his role as a gift to my trans sisters. When he comes out, the atmosphere is completely different. All eyes are on him, mentally undressing him moments before an equal mass of eager hands do it for real. He could be a gym rat with years on T and still be overpowered by sheer numbers. Four girls would pin down his limbs, rendering him completely immobile while two girls make use of his holes. Once he's creampied and gagging on cum, then we flip him over so the girls who like anal can have a turn. His body has to satisfy every single guest before we finally let off. If he's too battered and exhausted to leave on his own, then we get to have even more fun the next morning!