#hazard pattern

[maraschinotopped]

ive been staring at the naqtube channel page just doing analysis thoughts in my head for like 15 minutes and ive just been hit with the realization that Damn this is not normal. normal people dont do this. either the mental illness or the mild sickness is doing something to me right now.

[tristantzara]

i love how the Fowler's Folly wikipedia article explains nothing

[tricornonthecob]

Brain i am TRYING to SLEEP and tomorrow i need to WORK i do not need to think about fluff scenes i want to draw or fic vibes i want to marinate on

[randomtechnologydesign]

Drop2 - MR

[trans-ylvania]

i wake up delirious + in excruciating pain with no discernable cause i have no idea what happened last night i open spotify and you guessed it 8th grade by pencey prep

[arosebyan0thername]

We sell live catnip and wheatgrass at work and when I was unpacking the shipment yesterday there was a big fucking snail in one of the wheatgrass pots and I brought him home and spent $50 to set up an enclosure for him and ive been watching him explore and eat grass for two hours now and I haven't felt this kind of joy in years, he's my best friend

[zahlibeth]

hmmm. okay. I have one final conundrum to solve re: this blanket.

I need 3+ raised garter lines to start. The first 2 have to be the same colour. The last one has to be pink/rainbow stand-in because it's the start of the section, and each section begins/ends with a raised line.

Do I do...

- 3 raised lines all the same colour, making the first rainbow stripe a little wider

- as above but cut rows off the first stripe to match? this would feel uneven

- 3 all white? Feels like a bad idea as this is the bit likely to go in baby mouth. see also: three in colour and then start with a white blanket stripe

- 2/1/1 like the top

- 2/2/2 like the bottom, but I think I've ruled this out because it feels Too Much alongside the actual stripe height (the flat bit)

- 2/2/1? i.e. two compressed stripes and then the normal stripe?

- something else??

I wanted to do 1/1/1 but I can't :( (doesn't work nicely next to the i-cord which wants the colour change to start 2 stitches early on the previous row)

[belzebong]

We are reaching month 6 of unemployment:):):):)

[addaxbones]

zircon i hate to break it to you but i think you have one square out of place

this one should be a little more on-brand

(and I planned it with an actual nonogram maker, so hopefully it should have much fewer errors than the first one where I just winged it)

[ffgallery]

ff_openfire

vanilla Capture the Flag map.

[reasonsforhope]

"Morningside Park, a beloved neighborhood park in Miami with sweeping views of Biscayne Bay, will soon pilot an innovative approach to coastal resilience.

BIOCAP tiles, a 3D-printed modular system designed to support marine life and reduce wave impact along urban seawalls, will be installed on the existing seawall there in spring 2025. BIOCAP stands for Biodiversity Improvement by Optimizing Coastal Adaptation and Performance.

Developed by our team of architects and marine biologists at Florida International University, the uniquely textured prototype tiles are designed to test a new approach for helping cities such as Miami adapt to rising sea levels while simultaneously restoring ecological balance along their shorelines...

Ecological costs of traditional seawalls

Seawalls have long served as a primary defense against coastal erosion and storm surges. Typically constructed of concrete and ranging from 6 to 10 feet in height, they are built along shorelines to block waves from eroding the land and flooding nearby urban areas.

However, they often come at an ecological cost. Seawalls disrupt natural shoreline dynamics and can wipe out the complex habitat zones that marine life relies on.

Marine organisms are crucial in maintaining coastal water quality by filtering excess nutrients, pollutants and suspended particles. A single adult oyster can filter 20-50 gallons of water daily, removing nitrogen, phosphorus and solids that would otherwise fuel harmful algal blooms. These blooms deplete oxygen levels and damage marine ecosystems.

Filter-feeding organisms also reduce turbidity, which is the cloudiness of water caused by suspended sediment and particles. Less water turbidity means more light can penetrate, which benefits seagrasses that require sunlight for photosynthesis. These seagrasses convert carbon dioxide into oxygen and energy-rich sugars while providing essential food and habitat for diverse marine species.

Swirling shapes, shaded grooves

Unlike the flat, lifeless surfaces of typical concrete seawalls, each BIOCAP tile is designed with shaded grooves, crevices and small, water-holding pockets. These textured features mimic natural shoreline conditions and create tiny homes for barnacles, oysters, sponges and other marine organisms that filter and improve water quality.

The tile’s swirling surface patterns increase the overall surface area, offering more space for colonization. The shaded recesses are intended to help regulate temperature by providing cooler, more stable microenvironments. This thermal buffering can support marine life in the face of rising water temperatures and more frequent heat events driven by climate change.

Another potential benefit of the tiles is reducing the impact of waves.

When waves hit a natural shoreline, their energy is gradually absorbed by irregular surfaces, tide pools and vegetation. In contrast, when waves strike vertical concrete seawalls, the energy is reflected back into the water rather than absorbed. This wave reflection – the bouncing back of wave energy – can amplify wave action, increase erosion at the base of the wall and create more hazardous conditions during storms.

The textured surfaces of the BIOCAP tiles are designed to help diffuse wave energy by mimicking the natural dissipation found on undisturbed shorelines.

The design of BIOCAP takes cues from nature. The tile shapes are based on how water interacts with different surfaces at high tide and low tide. Concave tiles, which curve inward, and convex tiles, which curve outward, are installed at different levels along the seawall. The goal is to deflect waves away from the seawall, reduce direct impact and help minimize erosion and turbulence around the wall’s foundation.A

How we will measure success

After the BIOCAP tiles are installed, we plan to assess how the seawall redesign enhances biodiversity, improves water quality and reduces wave energy. This two-year pilot phase will help assess the long-term value of ecologically designed infrastructure.

To evaluate biodiversity, we will use underwater cameras to capture time-lapse imagery of the marine life that colonizes the tile surfaces. These observations will aid in documenting species diversity and habitat use over time...

In the coming year, we’ll be watching with hope as the new BIOCAP tiles begin to welcome marine life, offering a glimpse into how nature might reclaim and thrive along our urban shorelines.

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 5: Get Along With The Voices Inside Of My Head

Masterlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 (Here!) / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 /

Adolescence is a broad concept. 

It is the period of transition between childhood and adulthood. It includes big changes, from the body to how they relate to the outside world. 

It also qualifies as the most painful and awkward stage in somebody’s life, which comes hand in hand with pushing boundaries and breaking scheduled patterns.

Patterns that Timothy Drake had taken years to figure out and were now as broken as the old vase he had hidden from Alfred for the past two years.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Clicking furiously at the wide keyboard of the batcomputer before rolling away in his chair with a frustrated groan, Tim rubbed his face roughly with his still-gloved hands, as if the action itself could take his mind off the subject that has been bothering him for the past four days (not that he would ever admit to himself how much it was bothering him).

That girl.

Jesus, where to even begin?

Not only had she disrupted her assigned schedule, but she had also flipped completely on her behaviour and structured habits. 

(Y/N) Wayne had been an easy person to read. From the very moment her existence was revealed to the public eye. Way before he even became part of the family.

A child who had blocked trauma, shoved into the hands of a man who had just found out was her biological father.

A girl exposed to bloodthirsty reporters and paparazzi, developing a fear of the spotlight, and making her look like a fool in front of cameras.

A kid who got the moniker of ‘The Embarrassment of The Wayne’ and made sure to live up to that name.

There were four falls in water fountains, two dresses ripped off in the middle of galas, five accidental stumbles that injured multiple civilians, and multiple newspaper articles about whether she was truly related to Bruce once Damian took the public's attention with his introduction.

She was a walking hazard and a whole meal for the media vultures.

And that was only for the public, personality was a whole different beast.

She was meek, quiet, and too polite. 

Too polite for Tim’s taste. 

Always picking up his stray coffee cups (even when they were so dirty and he was pretty sure something was alive at the bottom of them). Looking over his shoulder, and asking him if he was getting any rest. Leaving him tea outside his door when he hadn’t left his desk for days. Asking him if he was eating. Asking him if he had taken a bath. Asking if he needed any help with a case.

Asking and asking and asking and asking and asking.

It infuriated him to no end.

It felt as if she was faking it. Nobody could care that much without wanting something in exchange. Not without an ulterior motive.

So he took some drastic measures.

Learning her routine was an easy task. She would wake up around four in the morning on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays to do her extensive morning routine. Tuesdays and Thursdays, she would sleep in until seven in the morning.

 In the early days, she would trim her hair ends and retouch her roots so her natural hair color was never in sight. Keeping the same length and not a hair out of place. She was very precise with it and took her time while doing so.

Next, she would take a shower and lock herself in her room for half an hour or so. He never knew why exactly, but it was something she always did. Without a single miss.

After that, she would wander around the manor until she reached the piano room. She would practice until Alfred came to find her for breakfast and take her to school.

Whenever Tim heard the piano in the morning, he knew it was time to either wake up or go to bed depending on which situation he found himself in.

If she didn’t touch the piano, he wouldn’t know what day it was. And depending on the day, he would know how long he would have to wait in his room so he wouldn’t have to listen to her obnoxious questions and see her wide eyes.

(Y/N) hasn’t touched the piano in the past four days.

And it was driving him mad.

“I just don’t get it! She loves hugs!”

Along with Dick’s pity party.

The older man was doing pull-ups by the training mats, still wearing his suit minus the mask. Grunting as he took deep breaths when his head reached over the metal bar he was hanging off.

“She runs at me the moment I come to visit. Every single time. And now she just doesn’t even look my way?”

Tim sighed, giving Dick a glance from the corner of his eye as hands slid off his face.

“When was the last time you even cared about such things?” he deadpanned, turning his chair to face the acrobat.

Dick had his own place. He didn’t live at the manor anymore, hadn’t for years. Tim could count with just one hand how many times Dick had come to visit them in the past three months.

Why was he acting like he knew her better than Tim himself?

“Since she did a switch on her personality!” he said before letting go of the pole and landing on his feet inside the mat.

Dick grunted as he stretched out his arms upwards, making his way towards the computer and picking up a cold water bottle on a nearby bench.

He shook his head, opening the cap and taking big, loud gulps from the bottle as Tim turned once again toward the computer with a roll of eyes.

“She is a completely different person, and don’t pretend you haven’t noticed too.”

Of course, he had. Because he actually lived with her.

Before he could snap back at him, a deep, gravely voice interrupted their conversation.

“What seems to be the problem here?” Bruce questioned, emerging from the zeta tube and pulling off his cowl. His footsteps echoed against the walls as he reached the two young men.

They didn’t even hear the zeta tubes powering up.

Dick crossed his arms with a glare pointed towards the bat, leaning against the table while Tim gave the man a simple side eye.

That made Bruce lift an eyebrow, not expecting that reaction from the boys.

Everyone had been acting strangely as of late.

And he was getting tired of not knowing why.

“Would any of you care to explain what has you both unfocused and distracted?”

“We’re not distracted…” Tim muttered while tapping on his keyboard, hoping that Bruce would leave the subject alone.

“It’s nothing.” Dick shrugged, moving his gaze to the side.

“If that’s true,” the older man grunted while glancing between the two of them. “Then why are we still trying to figure out the missing kids case?”

That made the boys sigh and grunt under their breaths.

True, they haven’t been able to find any other clues on the case. It was all leading to dead ends. No similarities between. Schools, families, extracurriculars, age, neighborhoods, parents' jobs, and even the locations of disappearances did not link to one another.

There was no way the cases could be linked to one another. Too many differences.

And yet, they couldn’t ignore their gut telling them that they had to be connected.

But what?

“It’s just… You know who.” Dick said while rubbing the back of his neck with an awkard air as Bruce questioning gaze landed on him.

“No, I do not who you are refering to.” his stern and direct tone making Tim and Dick share side glances.

Tim spun around on his chair, facing Bruce with a deadpan expression. “It’s (Y/N). He refers to (Y/N).”

Silence fell between them.

“...What about her?” Bruce dragged the question. Shoulders tense and eyes sharp.

“Jeez, I don’t know?!” Dick snapped back, lifiting himself up and moving his arms around as he talked. “Maybe because she has been acting like a different person, refuses to talk to me, or even look my way, and even curses like a sailor?!”

He whipped his head towards Tim, pointing at him with his index finger.

“How does she even know curse words? She is too young to know those words!”

While Dick continued on his ranting, Tim simply spun back to the computer. He was controlling himself from snapping at Dick, since he was acting as if she was some kind of little kid that he knew everything about.

And also, because he was pissed at Bruce. Since he knew very well that the man was not aware of what had been happening in his own house, with his own kids.

“He wouldn’t know, Dick. Bruce has been out for the past few days.” Too busy with some Justice League business. Kon had mentioned on their last call the other day that it had to do with the ruler of Genosha. Something about an alliance of sorts.

The older boy came to a stop from his rant to look at the too quiet man. He suddenly found himself rubbing the bridge of his nose and looking way older than he was.

“...Bruce.”

The man sighed tiredly, covering his mouth and looking at the floor. A deep hum leaving his throat.

“You have seen her, right?”

Tim smiled smugly to himself at the answering silence behind him.

His family always forgets how petty he can be.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

“How about this one?”

“ .. / -.. --- -. .----. - / .-.. .. -.- . / .. - “

The young girl groaned as she threw out another old cardigan over the overgrown pile of clothes lying by the bed. It varied from shirts, pants, dresses, and many other clothes that she had been fishing out of the old wardrobe for the past three hours.

Who knew a ghost could be picky with what her old body could and couldn’t wear?

It all started when the only way to communicate with Wayne’s Ghost (whom she was calling from now on until she found a better nickname) was by the flickering of the light from her lamp. 

It was simple at first. One flicker meant yes, and two flickers meant no. But it left her unsatisfied and also limited communication. She wanted to have a real conversation with someone who understood what she was actually going through. Which leads to the next step.

Learning Morse code.

It wasn’t hard! After borrowing a few books from the library about the subject (which she did only after she was sure none of the weird guys were wandering around the manor), and speed-reading through the pages, she had learned Morse code in under five hours of relentless reading.

She was not sure if that was normal, but nothing about her situation was normal.

Looking now at the very empty closet, a sense of sadness began building at the pit of her stomach.

Even with her permission, it felt invasive to take out something so personal just to make space for her own stuff.

Especially after listening to the recordings. 

Those words were still rumbling in between her ears.

˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖—》✧《—˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖

Diary Entry: Year 4

“Today, Mister Alfred got me a letter and some gifts from my mom. I don’t know how she got them out of the hospital, but I’m sure Uncle had something to do with it. I’ll write to him and hopefully get Alfred to send it.”

“I’m sure he and Father are not talking to each other yet.”

“I get it. Kinda. He did bad things. But he’s always been nice to me and never fails to send gifts on my birthday. And it’s always expensive stuff too!”

“Sometimes, I wish he were the one to take me in. And it makes me feel bad because I know Father is trying to do the best for me and the family.”

“I wish I weren’t so hard to handle. Maybe, that way, they wouldn’t be so busy all the time and spend time with me.”

“...It’s my tenth birthday today. Alfred got me new pencils and paints. Mom sent me a necklace with a card explaining what it meant, and many of her old clothes, too. And uncle got me a green jacket that’s way too big on me, but it’s cozy at least. I’m sure I can grow into it.”

“Father’s been locked in his office since last night. I knocked a couple of times, but he didn’t answer. He’s probably tired. I’m sure he’ll remember this time.”

“Dick promised to bring ice cream today too, but he hasn’t answered my calls today. He could be stuck on a case, too, so I understand he’s busy.”

“And Jason left some cookies outside my room this morning. I ate them before breakfast, but Alfred doesn’t know it yet, so shhh!!”

“Besides that, this year wasn’t so bad. I got good grades at school and got to visit Mom a couple of times, too. In the last visit, the guards let us talk without the glass window between us. I was happy to be able to hug her again after so long.”

“...I miss her a lot. I miss our old house too. The manor is big and all, but it’s very cold.”

“And lonely.”

“I shouldn’t complain… Father has done everything to give me a good life. But I wish Mom would get better and come back for me.”

“...I want my mom back. I want her back so bad, and it makes me sad, too.”

“I think that could be my wish this year. Wish for my mom to get better soon.”

“I think it’s a good wish for this year, right?”

˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖—》✧《—˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖˖

Yeah, that made her tear up and take a couple of breaks in between listening to the recordings.

Mom was a strong word.

It made her heart tight, and so many overwhelming feelings flooded over her. 

Warmth from tight hugs. Soothing lullabies in a language she could not place. Soft fingers running through her hair. Loving words in a voice she couldn’t put a face to. But she knew who it was. It wasn’t hard to figure it out.

She also wanted her mom back.

The flickering of the lamp on her nightstand made her wipe away any stray tears, sniffling her nose with the back of her hand and taking a deep breath.

“Alright, I’m fine. Totally fine.” She muttered to herself as she looked at the closet once again.

On the far corner, a deep green jacket caught her attention.

She took it out of the closet, holding it by the hanger as she looked at the piece of clothing with a growing smile.

On the tag of the neck, the initials U.H. in a very fancy font stood out. The young girl had the feeling that this was one of the gifts of the recordings had mentioned.

It was a forest green, with two vertical white stripes running down the sleeves until they reached the cuffs. The material was lightweight, with a soft fabric on the inside, but breathable. It had a total of four pockets, two outside and two inside on each side.

Without thinking about it too much, she took it off the hanger and put the jacket on.

When she turned to the mirror, there was a grin on her lips.

It fitted almost perfectly. It was a bit long on the sleeves, but she could roll them a bit, and it would look stylish either way.

As she messed around with the zipper and the neck of the jacket, she rambled to her companion out loud about the look.

“I know it’s a gift from your Uncle, and I’m trying to find my style, so if you don’t want me to keep it on, that’s totally fine by-”

The lights flickered brightly.

“ -.- . . .--. / .. - .-.-.- / .. - / .-.. --- --- -.- ... / .-- .- -.-- / -... . - - . .-. / --- -. / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- “

She was stunned for a few moments. Then, a soft smile and glassy eyes reflected in the mirror, fingers playing with the hems of the soft fabric.

“Thank you.”

A sharp, cold breeze ruffled her hair, making her laugh and swipe at the empty air around her.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

“-and I need the report of her latest appointment sent straight to my mail, is that clear?”

When the meek assistant agreed to his demands, Bruce hung up the call with an exasperated exhale. Leaning back on his chair as he calmed down his anger and frustration.

The incompetence of Gotham Central Hospital personnel was something to be studied.

It wasn’t exactly their fault. He hasn’t been in touch about Bianca’s case for about a year now, but he had been expecting that the staff had been taking care of her and keeping up with her mental state.

Especially after the last incident involving her.

And that was another incoming headache.

The boys had been acting out of sorts throughout the week. Dick had been actively coming to the manor so often due to current case in his hands and his sudden need to share some of time with (Y/N). Tim is frustrated over not getting any proper sleep and not finding any sort of shared link in the case. And Damian was… well, he kept mostly to himself, but he could see something was bothering him by how much he was muttering and slamming the training dummies harder than usual.

And then, there was (Y/N).

Bruce could admit he wasn’t a great dad. All of his children could testify and give proof of it.

But he knew he had failed her, especially when it came to being a father.

And it wasn’t her fault at all. It was all on him.

Because he was a coward who couldn’t face a child who bore the face of the people he had failed to help.

It wasn’t an excuse, but it was a reason.

Which was why he always paid for packages of gray contact lenses and expensive black hair dye.

If Bianca were in her right mind, she would have shot him right in the head without hesitation for allowing their girl to change herself simply because he couldn’t look her in the eye.

‘...maybe it isn’t too late to fix this.’

Bruce rubbed his face, feeling the stubble on his jaw since he hadn’t shaved in the past few days. The negotiations with Erik Lehnsherr had been draining, and with lots of conditions on how the Justice League could set foot on the country without getting blown up on the spot.

Even then, they weren’t able to reach an agreement.

A sudden notification made his phone vibrate, taking his mind off his deep thoughts. 

It was from the hospital. Bianca’s current lab tests and consults, attached to the mail. That made him relax a little bit.

Until his sight focused on the sender.

Gotham Central Hospital: Psych Ward

All of the reports for the police and files they had been searching for the case, there wasn’t a single document from the hospitals. Medical issues, birth certificates, laboratory analysis, and vaccines up to date.

They hadn’t searched for medical history yet.

Bruce got up from his chair and quickly made his way back to the cave, a thought hiding in the back of his head as the case took hold of his priorities once again.

She can wait. I will make it right, but she can wait.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

By the time she was done, it was almost 10:30 PM. 

She wasn’t planning on throwing all the clothes away, even if Wayne had told her she could do it. It would be a waste to do so, and at the moment, she didn’t have a style in mind that would suit her yet. So, for now, she would have to use some of the clothes that Wayne agreed to let her keep.

The pattern of shades of green was pretty obvious, but she wasn’t gonna complain. It felt right to use green.

Which was why she didn’t take off the jacket from the moment she put it on.

Instead of shoving all the discarded clothes into trash bags, she put them into boxes that Alfred got her once he knew what she was doing with the clothes.

“A change of style and removing old things is a sign of new beginnings, my dear. Don’t feel shame for it.”

That old man was easily becoming her favorite person in the world.

After Billy, of course.

And her ghost companion, too.

…and maybe her mom as well-

A sharp knock at the door broke her away from the difficult task of tapping the boxes that were overflowing with clothes. She didn’t move from her spot on the floor, sitting with her legs crossed and fingers with pieces of tape stuck on them.

It was usually Alfred who always knocked and asked to be let in before opening the door. The other guys, thankfully, hadn’t come to look for her at her room in the past few days.

So, whoever knocked at her door wasn’t someone she knew.

“Hell, no,” she muttered while cutting another stripe of tape with her teeth, glaring at the door as if it had offended her. 

“I ain’t talking to anybody. I’m too tired to handle their issues.”

Sticking the stripe over the absolute abstract monstrosity on top of the box (better safe than sorry. Wayne had already told her it was too much tape, but she wasn’t risking the box busting open while taking it to the thrift store tomorrow with Alfred after her follow-up visit with Dr. Vidal.) Curiosity began to creep into the back of her head.

Wayne hadn’t said anything for a while, maybe she was resting. ( Do ghosts go to sleep? Do they even need sleep?)

It wasn’t Alfred, for sure. He would have said something, and a few minutes had already passed by.

The gremlin? (Nah, he was still pissed off about the orange juice thing. His fault for being too slow to reach for it.)

The pale hallway ghost? (Pretty sure he only stuck to his room, judging by the pile of dishes outside a door a few halls down.)

Not Touchy Guy, probably. (Almost biting his finger off yesterday was enough warning unless he was THAT stupid.)

…So who?

Before she could think about too much, in the blink of an eye, she stood before the door with a hand already on the handle. A few papers flew off behind her, the gush of wind making the bell wind chime hanging by the window sound off.

Seems like her own body acts before she even finishes the thought.

‘Gotta get a grip on that, too,’ she noted while biting her lips inward, opening the door slowly, and looking into the hallway.

It was empty and dark. Not a person on sight.

Rolling her eyes as she began to close the door once again, her gaze landed on the floor.

Leaning against the wall by her door, on the floor lay a purple backpack. 

She leaned forward and picked it up, noticing how heavy it was with a small grunt. Before going back into her room, she looked back into the hall, waiting for someone to pop by or something.

It didn’t happen.

Once she was back in her room, she climbed on the bed and opened the backpack. It was brand new, the material without a single scratch or dirt on it. And the books inside it as well, the smell of fresh paper and ink emitting from it. In the front pocket, she found something that made her open her mouth in shock.

A phone. A brand new phone.

She quickly turned it on, easily excited over having something like that on her hands.

‘I never had a phone before! Thank you, whoever you are! I owe you big!’

It didn’t have a lot of apps or stuff. The picture roll was still there, judging by the thousands of pics in there. But it had only one contact registered on it.

Jay.

Said contact also had sent a message.

‘Take care of your stuff. You need books to pass your classes.’

‘And stay out of trouble’

That made her snort, scratching her cheek while looking down at the text and at the bag. A smile grew on her lips at the thoughtful gift.

And then it was wiped out when the sudden realization hit her.

“Fuck, I forgot about school!”

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Hope everyone is doing amazing and well. My trip was great, I really needed to disconnect for bit before facing finals weeks (which I haven't cried yet so it's a big success!!) Lots of important details in this chapter and I can't wait to see what y'all think about and come up with lol. I'll add on the translation to the morse code later bc I'm posting this at 1:40 in the morning and i got a final presentation in the afternoon, so wish me luck!! Sending lots of hugs and love, GG✨

Morse Code Translation:

( .. / -.. --- -. .----. - / .-.. .. -.- . / .. -) I don't like it.

(-.- . . .--. / .. - .-.-.- / .. - / .-.. --- --- -.- … / .-- .- -.-- / -… . - - . .-. / --- -. / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.-) Keep it. It looks way better on you.

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen

Bonus Memes:

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Honeysuckle.

Pairing: Butterfly!Fae!OC x Reader.

Word Count: 4.2k.

Written For A Very Lovely Anonymous Commissioner.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Aphrodisiacs, Dehumanization, Unhealthy Relationships, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Borderline Monster-Fucking.

The moment you saw her, you knew that she had to be the most beautiful creature that you would ever see.

Her wings were what struck you first – about ten feet tall and five across, the upper arch curved downward to better complement the large, black splotches currently prying into you through the shadows of the unlit garden. Swirling patterns of orange and red danced across a rich, dusty sort of brown, while white framed the outer perimeter, standing out sharply against the dull foliage. Although you’d initially mistaken her for one of the large, nocturnal birds that’d taken to crashing into your sugar water dispensers in the early hours of the morning, it was clear that she was more or less a woman – her long, sculpted legs bent and tucked against her chest, the arch of her back clear even in the dim light of your lantern. What seemed like hundreds of thousands of braids cast in the same shades as her wings hung to her waist, a pair of furred antennae tangled among them, and domed eyes larger than your fist and blacker than the night sky stared you down, unblinking. It was only when your eyes met hers that you realized your own gaze must’ve been just as invasive, and found the will to turn your attention to more important things than her (admittedly, extremely strange) appearance.

Instead, you poured your energy into the only other thing you could think to do: speaking. Or, attempting to, at least. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” And then, after a sharp inhale, a steadying breath, “I—I’m staying in the cottage this garden belongs to. Are you hurt, or injured, or—god, do you even speak English?”

If she had any intention of responding, she didn’t plan to do so vocally. The creature—the woman remained where she was, utterly motionless, utterly silent. It was only when you hazarded a step towards her that she reacted at all, her wings fanning to either side as she—

Ah.

So she was hurt.

The position of her wings had hidden it before, but you could make out the cause of her distress clearly, now. From the uppermost tip of her left wing to the lowest curve stretched a jagged tear, as if someone had taken a knife to it. Instantly, a new irritation blended with your prior concern, but you forced yourself not to dwell. There were more important things to focus on, at the moment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you repeated, edging that much closer. When she curled further into herself, you paused, lowering yourself onto your knees and placing your lantern on the ground in front of you. “I understand, you’re hurt, and there’s not much I can do to help you, but—” Holding up one hand, you shoved the other into a pocket of your apron, fishing out a single, palm-sized peach. You picked it earlier, planning on eating it yourself, but you’d never been so glad to have forgotten a meal. “You… You like sweet things, right? Are you hungry?”

Tentatively, you held the peach out to her, and before you had time to process that she’d moved at all, a hand had lashed out and snatched it away. You watched with rapt interest as her lips slit apart and a pair of pointed fangs (her maxillary palps, you figured, although you couldn’t be sure) dug into the peach’s tender flesh, her curling tongue lashing out to lap at the flesh and lick up the juice dripping down her fingers. While she was distracted, you moved closer, kneeling less than a full arm’s length from her wings to better admire the way they fluttered with every little movement, seemingly indifferent to her injury. There were more details you hadn’t noticed – she wasn’t wearing any clothes, but her entire body was covered in a fine, brown setae that grew thicker around her neck and chest and thinned as it reached her face and hands. She had an extra pair of arms, too, currently crossed over her chest, tucked so neatly underneath their more expected counterparts that you hadn’t been able to see them at all from a distance. Despite everything, you found yourself smiling. “If you’re in any pain, I can help with that. And—And, if you’re sensitive to temperature, you’re more than welcome to spend the night inside, but only if you’d like—”

Your attention drifted back to her face, and immediately, you cut yourself off. Her gaze was trained not on you, but on the space behind you – more accurately, on your lantern, still where you’d left it on the grass. “Oh,” you muttered, laughing to yourself. She must’ve been more moth-like than you’d realized.

Taking it by the handle, you offered it up to her as well. “I know it’s not much, but there’s enough oil in it to last until morning. If you get cold, I can bring out some blankets, too.”

It was obvious she didn’t understand a thing you were saying, but still, she eyed the lantern wearily. After a moment, she raised the lower of her right hands, angling her fingers and flicking her wrist. As if by magic (most likely because it was, probably, by magic), a perfect ball of light appeared in her palm, stagnant for a moment before rising a few inches into the open air. Wordlessly, she held it out in your direction.

For a long moment, you were silent.

In the even longer moment following, you were also silent.

Finally, when you started to think she might lose interest in you entirely, you managed to spit something out. “C-can you do that again?”

For the first time since you’d stumbled onto her, you saw the corner of her lips quirk upward.

You spent the rest of that night watching a strange, ten-foot-tall butterfly woman conjure strings of light until the sun rose and you fell asleep in the grass.

And at the time, you didn’t know to be anything but relieved that, upon waking, she was still by your side.

~

She healed remarkably quickly – a near-transparent chitin film appearing over the missing portion of her skin within twenty-four hours of her initial appearance. Still, Leo (as you’d started calling her when you realized she could only express her own name through a series of swirling patterns of light and borderline inaudible clicking sounds) seemed to have little interest in leaving your cottage and even less in leaving your line of sight. It took her less than a full two days to start trailing after you as you did your daily work around your garden and the forest that surrounded it, less than a week to start knocking on your windows at night, pouting when you tried to explain the concept of sleep through a language barrier, and today, on your one month anniversary, you’d finally gotten her to come inside properly. Currently, she was poking through your bedroom while you worked at your desk, transferring a never-ending list of borderline meaningless statistics from your roughly handled field journal to more appropriate sheets and charts. Or, trying to work, anyway. Admittedly, it was difficult to take your eyes off of her.

And, as you heard something large and fragile hit the floor and shatter, you were forced to give up any pretense of attempting to. Sighing, you twisted around your seat and immediately found Leo, standing next to your bedside table, what used to be a lamp sitting in shattered pieces at her feet as she stared down at it with a hawk-like sort of vigilance. Her wings were tucked cautiously against her back, lips pursed in concentration. You could only shake your head, grinning as you sighed. She was smart, but curious, and painfully unfamiliar with anything remotely human. It was cute – just how little she seemed to know about you.

(You were aware, somewhere in the back of your mind, that your judgement around Leo was skewed. Mostly, you could chalk it up to scientific curiosity, not wanting to disturb a live specimen as it would act in its natural habitat and all, but even you knew there must’ve been something else to it, something more selfish. It might’ve just been her naivety. It was hard to get mad at someone who didn’t know she was doing anything wrong.)

Eventually, her gaze shifted to you. “Broken,” she said, assertively.

You couldn’t stop yourself from chuckling. She was getting better at your language, even if the words still sounded somewhat awkward on her inhuman tongue. “Very broken,” you agreed, waving her over to you. “I’ll clean it up later – have a look at this for me, first.”

Turning away from her, you fished a thick, leather-bound book out of the chaos that was your desk and opened it to a marked page. “I think you might be one of these,” you said, pointing to an illustration of a half-moth, half-man type creature. Admittedly, the written description lacked many her more other-worldly traits, but there were only so many types of butterfly people to choose from. “They’re supposed to be—uh, extra-dimensional, I think, which would explain your more supernatural abilities, but they’re kind of, um—”

“Hideous. Very hideous.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “That.”

She reached over you, one left hand resting on your shoulder while the other flipped through yellowed pages. She’d only been searching for a minute or so when she seemed to find what she was looking for, pointing decisively to an illustration of an extremely beautiful woman kneeling in front of a disemboweled man’s body, her mouth dripping with blood and one of her hands still buried inside of his torn-open chest. The caption underneath it read ‘Fae, neighbors, folk of the air’ in golden illuminated manuscript.

You pursed your lips. Fairies weren’t real, but this illustration did look a lot more like Leo than yours had.

By the time you looked towards her, she’d lost interest entirely, instead fiddling with a picture frame that’d previously been on the corner of your desk. In an instant, you felt your blood run cold. You could’ve sworn you’d hidden all your framed samples before inviting her inside, found every single pinned-up dragonfly, moth, and butterfly and stuffed them all into the deepest, darkest closet you could find. You couldn’t imagine how you would’ve felt – stumbling into an alien creature home only to find a miniature version of your own carcass nailed down behind a pane of glass. She must’ve been so afr—

The frame tilted towards you, and you managed to pull yourself out of your panicked spiral long enough to realize that she was not looking at a preserved insect, but a picture of your housecat – a cute one, too, taken while she was leashed on your patio, sunbathing on her back. You sighed, sinking into your chair and smiling up at her. “That’s Missy. I thought about bringing her, but she’d be a terror on the local wildlife.” And then, more hesitantly, “Do you have any pets?”

You couldn’t imagine Leo taking care of anything, but she seemed fond enough of birds ‘and other insects. Plus, if she did have a pet, it’d tell you something about where she came from – if she had a house, or migratory season, or there were other people with wings and antenna and a spare set of limbs lurking just outside of your peripheral. It was a good place to start, but she didn’t seem to understand the question – only pursing her lips. “…Pet?”

“Like, an animal that you take care of, that you love,” you started, gesturing vaguely, as if that’d make your point any more clear. “Most people have cats and dogs, but—”

“No cats.” Her wings fluttered, her gaze narrowing at the picture. “Big teeth. Sharp claws. Violent.”

“Got it, no cats.”  You slung an arm over the back of your chair. “It’s too bad. Missy was a good girl. You two would’ve gotten along.”

She seemed to think for a long moment, considering. Finally, as one of her free hands came to rest on the top of your head, she glanced towards you. “You are… pet?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “No, no, I’m a friend. Do you know what that is?”

If she wanted to answer, she didn’t seem to think of it as a priority. Her hand fell to your chin, another rising to cup your face entirely. Her thumbs traced over your cheeks as she smiled down at you, and with an airy laugh, you melted into her palms. “Good girl,” she cooed, her voice saccharine, her tony sappy. “Very good girl.”

It would’ve been a sweeter moment if you hadn’t heard the familiar sound of glass shattering at your feet, your picture frame dropped and discarded with just as little thought.

~

As far as you could tell, her wings were necessary for flight, but not actively a part of it. As the chitin film healed over entirely, the shape and color of her wings seemed to shift, taking on a luminescent green overtone, the eyes on the upper segments fading as their lower counterparts sprouted a pair of long, curling tails. Her fur and hair followed suit, and by the time she was able to get her feet off the ground, she was practically unrecognizable as the creature you’d first taken in. You were proud of her, even if you doubted she needed your support. Or, you wanted to be, at least.

Even after Leo had all-but recovered, she stayed nearby – rarely leaving your sight for longer than an hour. If you hadn’t been so curious, you might’ve been concerned. Butterflies were short-lived, migratory creatures. It wasn’t normal for them to stay in a single place for so long, not unless they were looking for a ma—

You were drawn out of your thoughts as you felt something light hit the top of your head – flower petals, you realized, as pieces of shredded coneflower and button bush trickled down into your lap. You tilted your head back, immediately finding Leo hovering about ten feet above you; tearing apart a handful of flowers petal-by-petal. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to – grinning as she motioned for you to follow her. You didn’t bother trying to resist, only pushing yourself to your feet and trailing after her.

She landed on the very outskirts of your property – where your garden met the forest proper. It took a few minutes of wading through foliage, but eventually, you managed to join her in her makeshift clearing.

The smell of iron hit you, first.

Not rot, but blood – fresh and metallic, strong enough to make you reel back. You almost stumbled, almost tripped, but a larger hand caught your wrist, trapping you where you were. You made no attempt to pull away. No, you were too focused on the—on the corpse in front of you, all blood-soaked feathers and broken bones and spilled viscera. It must’ve been a hawk, or a falcon, something with an absolutely massive wingspan and claws to match. Any other identifying features had been crushed, bent out of shape, or reduced to a fine, liquid pulp that was slowly soaking into the ground.

Your gaze flickered back to Leo, her grin just a touch more satisfied than it’d seemed, before. “Leo,” you started, forcing an unsteady smile. “I know we talked about pets, but—”

“Not a pet.” The correction was as swift as it was sugary. “A treat. A gift.”

Huh.

You didn’t remember teaching her that one.

~

It was more startling than you would’ve expected – waking up to the feeling of feather soft hands.

You guessed that wasn’t entirely true. They weren’t feather soft, and you should’ve known better than to say they were. Velvet would’ve been more a more accurate comparison, or satin – anything soft and rich that seemed to melt where it touched your skin. You couldn’t have been waking up, either, because that would’ve meant you were asleep, and there was no way you could’ve been asleep and staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom, feeling more exhausted than you ever had before. You would’ve liked to sit up, to see what was going on, but you couldn’t seem to move.

Leo was above you, straddling your waist. In her new form, she was practically iridescent – her wings reflecting the dull moonlight as if she was the one glowing. She was summoning her lights, again – drawing strings of silver drew drops with one hang while the other shaped them absentmindedly into a ring, one large enough to fit around your thigh. Or your neck.

For whatever reason, your mind was unwilling to linger on the thought.

She lifted her head every so slightly, her inky gaze settling on you. She was already touching you, one hand cupping your cheek while another brushed through your hair, but it took you longer than it should’ve to recognize just how warm your face felt, to put a name to knotted tension resting heavy in the pit of your stomach. You wanted to push her away, but your arms felt like lead at your sides, and— oh, she was already dipping down to your height, nuzzling gently against the top of your head before her hand found your chin, raising your head as her lips found yours.

It was less of a kiss and more of a prolonged collision, her tongue slipping easily past your parted lips, raking over your own with a measured kind of slowness. Her taste was as sweet as her voice, as her touch – all honeyed nectar and syrupy ambrosia and pure, liquidized sugar. It was beyond overwhelming. It was beyond euphoric. You were melting into her before you could so much as think about stopping yourself, letting out a fractured whine as you moved her lips sloppily against hers, as the tapered tip of her tongue hit the back of your throat and—

And you drew back with a sharp gasp, shuddering as you pressed yourself into your mattress. You shouldn’t be doing this. You couldn’t do this. She wasn’t an animal but god, she wasn’t far off.

“Leo,” you managed, trying to keep your tone gentle, soothing. If she heard, you couldn’t tell – her attention only falling to the crook of your neck, then the dip of your shoulder. “I—I’m not really sure we should be doing this, and I really wish you wouldn’t touch me, and—”

“Quiet.” Just like that, your jaw went slack, that sugar sweet scent intensifying and dulling any coherent thought you might’ve had to a numb, blank static. A deep, rumbling sort of reverberation sparked in her through as she nuzzled into your chest, her body slotted against yours. While one of her hands remained on your cheek, another found the hem of your dress, toying with the fabric for a moment before moving her attention to your neckline, instead. The first tug was gentle, experimental, but her impatience must’ve won over her curiosity; the sound of tearing material filling your quiet bedroom as a single, pointed claw traced a jagged line from the base of your throat to your midriff, the ruined fabric falling away without resistance. “Useless,” she muttered, half-under her breath. “In the way.”

It was an awkward position, her back arched, her wings clasped tightly against one another, but she didn’t seem to mind – her lips trailing over your collarbone, then the curve of your breast. You shut your eyes, but it would’ve been impossible not to feel her tongue lapping shallowly over your nipple. Your hands balled around the sheets as her lips wrapped around the sensitive bud, more of whatever awful substance she produced dripping down your skin, pooling on the flat plain between your breast, spreading a terrible sort of heat to everything it touched. She rotated between sucking and laving, a hand coming up to knead at the unassulted side of your chest with just a touch too much force to be for the sake of your pleasure.

You didn’t want to feel anything. You didn’t want to react. You didn’t want to, and yet, you couldn’t seem to swallow back the low, cracked moans and hitched whimpers spilling past your lips. Leo’s purring grew louder, her spare set of hands finding your hips as they bucked pathetically against nothing. It was almost a relief when she pulled away, lifting her head. Through your eyelashes, you watched her eyes narrow, lips pursing. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought she looked disappointed.

You tried to call out again, to tell her to stop, but your voice remained despondent as Leo repositioned herself, slipping into the space between your open legs. What was left of your nightgown as done away with entirely, and with a hand wrapped around either of your thighs, she bowed her head, her tongue dragging over the length of your clothed slit. Instantly, her expression brightened, and for the first time, you were forced to acknowledge the slow, viscous heat slowly leaking out from between your thighs, forced to listen as she hummed in delight and tore through your panties, the silk as easily defeated as your nightgown had been. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes as her tongue dragged over your now-exposed pussy, lapping up the slick staining the inside of your thighs. Her nose ground against your overly sensitive clit as she buried herself in your cunt, less focused on your pleasure and more dedicated to eating you alive – pointed teeth scraping against tender flesh as she ran the flat of her tongue over your entrance, refusing to let a single part of you go uncared for. Because she was caring for you, like a lover, like a nurse.

Like an owner.

You dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek with enough force to draw blood. She was not a lover, or an owner, and she wasn’t taking care of you – nothing about this could be called caring. You tried to snap your thighs shut, to pull yourself up, but the blunt tip of her prolonged tongue dipped into your entrance and it was all you could do to scream – the noise tearing out of your throat as something pathetic and miserable. If Leo noticed your agony, she wasn’t in a place to care, too busy curling her tongue inside of you, grinding against the clenching walls of your cunt and abusing every spot that made you shake and moan and drip. It wasn’t hard to see what she was motivated by, what she was chasing after, but knowing why she was doing this didn’t make it any easier to endure. You’d never be able to look at her again, after this. You wouldn’t be able to let her stay with you, anymore. You’d have to make her leave.

That was, if you ever found a way to.

You managed to get an arm underneath you, but it didn’t matter. Her unoccupied pair of hands clamped down around your hips, your thighs forced onto her shoulders as she straightened her back and threatened to fold you in half, all-but devouring your cunt with a renewed gluttony. Fuck. Fuck. Her tongue was too fast, too flexible; twisting inside of you, filling you entirely. The pressure on your clit, while not deliberate, wasn’t helping, and it was only a matter of time until you could feel your legs twitching where they were propped on her shoulders, until your vocalizations turned form moans to whines to muttering – all ‘stop’ and ‘no, don’t’ and ‘not there’, hasty and incoherent and humiliating. You couldn’t stop yourself, though.

You were starting to think you’d never be able to do much of anything ever again.

She didn’t stop when you came. You doubted she even noticed; her purring only growing louder, the movement of her tongue taking on a more wild sort of pattern. No, she drew back after you’d gone limp underneath her, your voice dying until those little, keening nothings were the only noise you could make. Distantly, you could feel your body being lowered back onto your bed, Leo shifting above you, then two fingers swiping over your cunt. You felt something prodding against your lips, and too exhausted to resist, opened your mouth. “Good girl,” Leo cooed, her inflection mimicking that of someone talking down to something smaller, something lesser. The taste of your own slick mixed with her saliva flooded your senses, as vile as it was saccharine. “Sweet, and pretty, and good. My good girl.”

Her head dipped, her lips finding yourself. This kiss was softer than her first, tender rather than hungry, lingering rather than desperate. As she held you there, you felt something wrap around your throat – cold as ice and soft as velvet. When you found the will to open your eyes, you looked not towards Leo’s expression, her dazzling smile, but to her right hand and the beaded silver cord tangled around it.

You didn’t have to guess what the other end was connected to.

“All mine.”

[randomtechnologydesign]

Cthulhu Collage

[marlynnofmany]

Spice in Space

“Of course your food is a biohazard,” Zhee said while the security scanner approved our delivery.

“The label’s just a precaution,” I said. “Pretty sure this is mostly pepper.”

“Right, yes, the food flavoring that gives your meals the flavor of fire.” Zhee tilted his head, bug eyes looking at everything at once while managing to roll sarcastically. “Not a hazard at all.”

“I don’t mean the really spicy kind,” I said as the box slid out of the scanning machine. “Just the regular spices to sprinkle over eggs and whatnot.”

Zhee picked up the box in his pincher arms. “Right, because eating fire-flavored unhatched creatures is a perfectly normal thing to do.”

I laughed and followed him out into the spaceport. “It is where I’m from!”

“Absolute maniacs, all of you,” Zhee declared with a flick of his antennae. “Now where is that food stall? The briefing said it would be tiny.”

“Tiny and close,” I agreed, looking around. Once past the security checkpoint, this place was a riot of booths and pedestrians with an artsy wave pattern on the ceiling that seemed to dampen the sound. It wasn’t as loud as most spaceports I’d been in.

“I see a directory,” Zhee said. “Let’s just check that.”

“Wait, there it is!” I pointed to a little kiosk between full-sized restaurants. It only held enough room for tubs of ingredients, a gigantic hot plate, and the guy currently scraping food around on it with flair. The sign said “Earth Fry.”

“Of course,” Zhee said, moving toward it. “I should have just looked for the fire.”

As we maneuvered through the crowd of Strongarms, Mesmers, and miscellaneous others, the guy tossed the food with his spatula, caught it deftly in a takeout box, and handed it to the customer waiting at the side: another human. No surprise there. By the time we arrived, he was ready to greet us.

“Hello! Can I interest you in some Earth Fry?”

Zhee held up the sealed package. “We have Earth ingredients for you. Apparently they are hazardous.”

“Oh! Yes, thank you! That’ll be the hot sauce and other stuff.” He took the box and found a flat surface to put it on, then accepted the payment tablet I held out for him. “Thanks for being so fast. Somebody got a bit clumsy during the lunch rush and knocked over a few things. Paid for ‘em, but I can’t get all of these local.” He signed for the delivery while I tried to place his accent. Australian?

“Luckily we were just coming from a trade hub,” I said. “This stuff is straight from Earth.”

“Excellent. It’s been a while since I was home, and you can’t beat the real thing for spices.” He handed the tablet back.

“Very true,” I agreed. “Where are you from?”

“Melbourne,” he said while I congratulated myself on guessing right. “Still getting used to how little any of that matters out here. To the average offworlder, Earth is one place with one type of person.”

“And we’re all lunatics who eat poison, right?” I agreed with a sly glance at Zhee.

He spread his pinchers. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Hey now, the garlic is only poisonous to some creatures from Earth,” the guy said, pointing to an airtight tub. “And the onions. If you want the real toxins, the alcohol stores are that way.”

Zhee looked at the ceiling. “It’s like you all have a death wish. Or take pleasure in hurting yourselves.”

“Some of the pain tastes good?” I said with a wave toward the hot sauces.

At the same time, the guy said, “There’s a reason they call us space orcs.”

I laughed. “Do they still? I wouldn’t think enough people even know what an orc is.”

To my surprise, Zhee recited, “Mythological creature from your planet, famed for strength, durability, and lack of foresight. Rumors do go around.”

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” I said.

“Nobody thinks that’s funnier than my family,” said the Australian. “I get no end of jokes about it. Especially from my mom’s side — she’s from the US, and thinks we all say ‘space’ funny.”

“Does she?” I asked. “Interesting word to focus on.”

“Right? She insists that it sounds like ‘spice,’ and I just don’t see what she’s on about. But!” He held up a finger and fiddled with his collar. “That did lead to my favorite shirt.” With a dramatic sweep of his overshirt, he bared a bright red T-shirt that said “Spice Orc.”

I burst out laughing. “That’s fantastic!”

“Mom was pretty proud of herself for this one,” he said. “Gave it to me for my last birthday.”

Zhee declared, “Appropriate. Entirely in character for your species.”

“And we even brought you spice!” I laughed.

“That you did!” he said, resettling his clothes. “Care to try some? The shredded beef dish is particularly tasty.”

I looked at Zhee, then turned back without waiting for a response. “We’ve got a couple minutes. I’d love some. With extra garlic, please!”

“Coming right up!” He spun his tongs like a gunfighter, and began tossing ingredients onto the hot plate where they sizzled madly.

Zhee just grumbled and looked put-upon, but didn’t object. I planned to make a big deal of enjoying the tasty fire-and-poison meal on our walk back to the ship.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[monzabee]

prison for life - mv1

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where if anybody hurts you, Max is going to prison for life.

Pairing: max verstappen x pregnant!reader 

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, mentions of throwing up, cursing, kinda angsty in some places, jos verstappen

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i’ve been in such a max mood recently that is actually shocking to me, but i just needed some fluffy anything after working on smutty pieces for weeks. i got this idea in my dream and honestly i think it turned out better than i could’ve imagined!! feedback is always appreciated, and my requests are currently open if you want to check that out, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

If you would have to choose a word to describe Max, it would be ‘overprotective’, because that’s what he is. It’s not a bad thing, per say. He isn’t overbearing or controlling at all, but he is simply overprotective. And if you thought he was overprotective when the two of you were dating or when you first got married, you have to admit that you were not, at all, prepared for his protectiveness when you told him that you were pregnant. Apart from his initial meltdown over becoming a dad, or rather becoming like his own father, Max has been pretty chill about the whole thing – with the exception being your safety, of course. The underlying problem isn’t the fact that you’re some sort of daredevil because you’re not, the problem is the fact that Max believes that everything is out to get you. 

The olives you wanted to eat for breakfast? Choking hazard.  

The candles you bought for the living room (to be purely decorative, but still)? Fire hazard.  

The pool lounger Victoria thought would be a cute addition to the pool? Drowning hazard.  

The seatbelt in his car that is surprisingly tight? Could be all three, according to Max, given the right (or wrong) circumstances.  

So, yeah, maybe he wasn’t that scared of becoming a dad, but he was surely scared of you being in danger. That’s why you agreed to stay back for the most races this year – you knew he didn’t need to worry about you or your baby’s safety on top of the stress he had to deal with during the usual racing weekend. That was until you realised how much you would miss your boyfriend after almost a month of not seeing him due to a triple header. And so, you did the thing any person with a common sense would do – flying out to see him without telling him beforehand, because what’s the fun in that?  

The sheer look of shock on his face might be the funniest thing you’ve ever seen when you meet him in his driver’s room, but of course Max doesn’t share the same sentiment as you. Because all he chooses to focus is the fact that you were on a plane – a 0.23% risk out of very 7.7 million flights each year, but still. He spends at least half an hour, just checking you over and assuring himself that you and the baby are fine; at some point he decides that you need to go to the nearest hospital to get an ultrasound just to make sure the baby is okay, but you tell him to fuck off and calm his tits down in the kindest way possible. And that’s how the two of you end up on the small couch in his driver’s room, with his arms around you as you lay between his legs, his hands splayed on the swell of your stomach as he caresses the skin through the fabric of your dress. His voice is low as he tells you about his day, mostly media duties since it is only Thursday, and how he thinks putting a cat tree in the nursery is a bad idea (that was your idea initially, but you can see how having two rumbunctious cats hang out in the nursery could cause problems). 

“I also thought about something else,” he mumbles, suddenly busying himself with the flower pattern of your dress instead of looking at you.  

You raise your brows slightly, motioning him to continue, but let out a huff when he doesn’t do so right away. “Come on,” you whine softly, “tell me what it is Maxie.”  

“I don’t want him to get into karting.” His words are soft, mumbled, and most definitely final. You know how Max can be when he puts his mind into it, and this particular topic has been a discussion in your household ever since the two of you found out that you were having a boy. “I don’t want him to go through what I went through.” 

Letting out a soft exhale, you motion Max to six next to you on the couch. “He won’t,” you assure him, voice soft as you give pleading looks at him, “you’re not your father, Max.” He gives you a look that basically begs for you to not dwell on the topic, but you continue despite the look he gives you, “And what if he wants to get into karting? Are you going to tell him no?” 

Max tries his best to ignore the knowing look you give him, knowing very well that he won’t be able to ever say ‘no’ to his son, who already has him wrapped around his finger. “I might do that, you never know.” He grumbles, hiding his face in your hair – though the soft giggles coming from you manages to put a soft smile on his face. “You’re supposed to agree with me, you know, we have to be a united front.”   

“We’ll discuss it when the baby comes, until then, I’ll be the voice of reason.” You emphasise, poking him at his bicep to convey your point. “You feel better now?” 

“Kinda,” he murmurs, leaving small kisses onto the exposed skin of your shoulder as he keeps on murmuring against your skin, “I would feel better if I knew you stayed in bed all day, relaxing.” 

With that, you choke a loud laugh, and motion him to stand up as you try to do it yourself – though, of course, he has to help with the baby bump being in the way of you doing any sort of physical activity. “You’re funny, let’s go get me ice cream.”  

The only response you get back is a confused look from your husband, his head tilted to the side as he eyes you warily. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Um, excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow, “Your son,” pointing to your stomach, you emphasise your words, “is craving ice cream right now.”  

Max’s eyes soften instantly, and a smile creeps across his face. He nods, taking your hand gently as he helps you up. “Well, if my son wants ice cream, then ice cream he shall have.” 

You giggle as you both make your way out of the driver’s room, Max's hand never leaving yours. The paddock is bustling with activity, but for a moment, it feels like it's just the two of you, cocooned in your little world. As you approach the nearest concession stand, Max’s protective instincts kick in once again. “Is this ice cream stand safe? How long have they been here? Do they have the proper health certifications?” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Max, it’s ice cream, not a five-course meal. I’m sure it’s fine.” He sighs but nods, deciding to trust your judgment. After all, you did manage to fly all the way here without incident and somehow alerting him. You both get a generous serving of your favourite flavours, and as you sit down to enjoy your treat, you feel a sense of normalcy and contentment wash over you. 

Max watches you with a tender expression, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and worry. “I know I can be overprotective,” he says softly, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face, “but it’s only because I love you so much.” 

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I know, Max. And I love you too. But sometimes, you need to trust that everything will be okay. We’ll figure things out together, just like we always do.” 

He nods, his gaze shifting to your belly. “You’re right. I guess I need to talk to my mom.”  

“Why?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in curiosity.  

“Well, she promised me she’d look after you but you’re here, so I think we need to have a talk about not keeping secrets from each other.” He mumbles, dragging a hand down his face. 

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Oh, Maxie, who do you think helped me with my bags at the airport? Your mom is unsurprisingly a strong woman.” 

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I should’ve known better than to think you’d stay put for a whole month.” He sighs, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. “Alright, but next time, at least let me know you’re planning something. My heart can only take so much.” 

Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice-cream into at least staying put withing the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice cream into at least staying put within the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. He periodically checks in, making sure you're comfortable and well-fed. Each time he sneaks a glance your way, you catch him with a knowing smile and a roll of your eyes, and he returns it with a wink. He knows that there is absolutely no reason for him to be checking on you as much as he does, because you’ll be fine in the cool hospitality suite with enough water to keep you hydrated for years, but he can’t help but worry about anything and everything going wrong. And his worries prove to be true when he sees the one person who he definitely doesn’t want around you.  

“What are you doing here?” He asks the approaching figure, “I thought you were not going to be coming to this race but the next one.”  

“Given the drop in your performance in the last few races I thought I should be here for... support.” His dad supplies, eyes finding you behind his son’s back on one of the couches in the hospitality, “And I can see the reason for why you’ve been distracted lately, what is she doing here?”  

Max scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest protectively, “She’s my wife, she is more than welcome to be here.” 

“She’s also a distraction, Max,” his father points out, “you’re going to lose your focus if you keep–” 

Since Max is faster than his father where it matters the most, he cuts him off before he can say anything further. “Leave, I don’t want you here.” 

Max’s father looks taken aback, his eyes widening momentarily before they narrow into a scowl. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice low and dangerous. 

“You heard me,” Max replies firmly, his stance unwavering. “I don’t want you here if you’re going to criticize my wife and stress me out, or worse, stress her out.” 

“You’re being irrational,” his father argues, taking a step closer. “I’m just trying to help you stay focused.” Seeing that his son is not going to back down anytime soon, he points a threatening finger towards him. “I’ll be back on race day, but you better be ready to put in a winning performance,” his father finishes, his voice laced with finality. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving a tense silence in his wake. 

Max sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair as he watches his father disappear into the crowd. Looking back at you over his shoulder, talking to some interns from the social media team, he can’t help but feel the dread of you having to face his father – which gives him another reason to somehow stop the two of you from running into each other during the weekend.  

On Friday, Max’s luck decides to do him a favour as you tell him that you’re not feeling well enough to go to the track with him for the qualifying, and though it is true that he wants you to be with him, he also realises that this will give him one less thing to worry about. He knows how stressful it can be for you to navigate the bustling paddock and deal with the crowds, especially with the added pressure of possibly encountering his father. 

“You rest up, okay?” he says, his voice full of concern. “I'll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything, just call me.” 

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “I will, Max. Good luck today. We'll be cheering you on from here.” 

Max leans down to kiss your forehead gently as he mumbles into your skin, “I love you.”  

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice soft and comforting, “be careful out there, okay?” 

Max has one goal throughout qualifying, and to his team principal’s dismay, it is not being on pole. His one and only goal is to get the session done with as quickly as possible and get back to you as soon as he can. After the session ends, he barely waits for the car to come to a stop before jumping out and heading straight for the hospitality suite. His team notices his urgency but knows better than to question it once he tells them he’ll pay whatever fine the FIA will give him for missing his interviews. 

Bursting through the door, Max finds you resting comfortably on the couch, a cup of tea in your hands. The sight of you immediately calms his racing heart. “Hey,” he says softly, walking over to sit beside you. “How are you feeling?” 

You smile up at him, still in his team gear and the hat he almost never takes off, the warmth in your eyes easing his worries. “Better, now that you're here. How did it go?” 

“Starting on pole,” he replies, mostly in a mumble, taking your hand in his. “But all I could think about was getting back to both of you.” 

You squeeze his hand, your expression tender. “I'm proud of you, Max. You did great.” 

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thanks. Let's just relax for the rest of the day, hm? I want to hold you to make sure you’re not getting out of this bed until tomorrow.” 

“You know, I would be happier about this proposal if it was until different circumstances,” you sigh, earning a laugh from him as he pulls you towards his chest, being careful not to spill your tea, of course. Why? Because it is a safety hazard, of course. 

As you settle back into the bed together, Max feels a sense of relief wash over him. The stress of the day melts away in your presence, and he realizes how much he needs these quiet moments with you to forget all about the outside world and focus his energy on what actually matters instead. 

The next day, feeling much better, you prepare to join Max at the track for the race. He’s still concerned but reassured by your determination to support him. As you arrive at the paddock together, Max is more attentive than ever, keeping an eye out for his father in hopes of trying to prevent the two of you running into each other. Navigating through the bustling paddock, Max keeps a protective arm around your waist, and a hand on your bump whenever the two of you stand somewhere talking to someone, guiding you through the throngs of people. His eyes constantly scan the crowd, his jaw set in a determined line. The other drivers and team members greet you warmly, and you return their smiles, feeling the anticipation that surrounds you. 

“Max, relax a bit,” you whisper, squeezing his hand as you notice the tension in his posture. 

He glances down at you, his expression softening slightly. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay.” 

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “but we’re here to enjoy the race and support you. Try to focus on that.” 

He nods, taking a deep breath as both of you make your way to the Red Bull hospitality area. The team welcomes you with open arms, and you settle into a comfortable spot where you can watch the preparations for the race. He asks one of the interns to keep an eye on you, which he thought he was being sly whilst doing it, but you of course catch him in the corner of your eye. That’s when you realise the man walking towards him, your eyes meeting in nothing short of disdain for each other.  

You stiffen slightly, your hand tightening around Max’s hand as he turns just in time to see his father approaching, his protective instincts kicking into high gear as he lets go of your hand and decides to wrap his arm around you protectively instead. 

“Max,” Jos says, his tone neutral but carrying an underlying condescension. “We need to talk before your race begins, walk with me.” 

Max's grip tightens around you for a moment before he reluctantly loosens his hold. “What is it, Dad?” he asks, his voice steady but tinged with irritation. 

Jos's eyes flicker to you before focusing back on Max. “I wanted to discuss strategy, but I can see this isn't a good time.” 

Max's jaw clenches, his protective instincts on high alert. “If it's important, we can talk here. I’m not leaving her side.”  

Jos sighs, clearly frustrated. “Fine, if that's how you want it.” 

Max’s arm remains firmly around you as his father steps closer. “Make it quick,” Max insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. If other people were to see your eyes moving from one Verstappen to the other, they’d probably think you are watching a tennis match, though the situation in front of you is certainly more tense than that. 

Jos glances at you once more before addressing Max. “I just wanted to remind you to stay focused. Pole position is a great start, but you need to keep your head in the race.” 

Max's eyes narrow, and he lets out a scoff, “I know how to do my job, no need for reminder. Anything else?” 

Jos shakes his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and resignation. “Just don’t let distractions cost you the win.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Max hisses, taking a step towards his father as he gently pushes you behind himself. You have to put a hand against his chest to slow him down, though that doesn’t prove to be a sufficient prevention method. “I already told you; she is my wife, and he is not going anywhere so you better get that into that damaged brain of yours.” 

“Max,” you try to plead with him, “please, not before your race.”  

He gives you a look over his shoulder for a short moment before turning back towards his father. His jaw is set as he looks at the man in front of him. “I’ll only tell you this one more time. When she’s here with me, you don’t show up. If you do show up, you don’t come near her, you don’t talk to her, you don’t even look at her.” Another step taken towards his father has you tightening your hold on him, but he still manages to convey his message. “Try something like this again, and you won’t be in my life anymore let alone my son’s.” 

Jos's lips press into a thin line, his eyes darting to you briefly before settling back on Max. “Fine,” he repeats, his tone colder. “Just remember what’s at stake every time you get behind the wheel.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.”

It’s not the first time Max has stood up to his father, not by any means. But you can tell that this time affects him in a different way. The weight of the words exchanged and the implications for their future relationship linger in the air. You can feel the tension radiating from Max as he watches his father walk away, and it takes a moment for him to relax his posture and turn back to you. “Please tell me something that will calm me down so I don’t somehow do something that would put me to jail.”

“Okay,” you singsong, quickly positioning yourself in front of him so that you can fix him with a strict look on your face. “You are not doing something that will put you into prison, period.”

“I’m going to need a very good reason because all I want to do right now is follow him to his car and punch him.” Unfortunately for you, the way his jaw is set is a telling sign that, no, Max would actually do something like this given the circumstances.

“There is no sim racing in prison.” You try to provide, giving him a weak smile.  

Max's lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile at your words, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. “No sim racing in prison, huh? Do you honestly think that would keep me from doing something stupid?” 

“I panicked!” You exclaim, hitting him on his chest lightly as he laughs at you silently. “How are you supposed to help me raise our son,” you point to your stomach to emphasise your point, “if you’re in prison, huh?”

Max's smile grows wider, the tension in his posture finally starting to melt away. “Okay, okay, you’ve got a point,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. “I need to be here for both of you. But it’s so damn hard to ignore him.” 

You reach up and cup his face in your hands, your eyes soft and filled with understanding. “I know, but you’re stronger than him. And you have more important things to focus on. Like winning this race and getting me more ice cream on our way back to the hotel.” 

He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly as he lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re right. I can’t let him get to me. Not today.” 

“Exactly,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, “I usually am.” 

Max laughs, the sound lightening the mood even more. “Yes, you usually are,” he agrees, pulling you closer for a brief kiss. “Thank you for always knowing how to calm me down.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “Now, go out there and show everyone what you can do. We’ll celebrate with ice cream afterward.” 

“Deal,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with affection and determination. With one last squeeze, he lets you go and turns towards his team, his focus now fully on the race ahead. “But I feel like I need to let you know that I would definitely go to prison for life for you.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t you have a race to win, Verstappen?” 

He grins, giving you one last kiss before heading off to prepare for the race, giving you a grin over his shoulder as he starts to move away, “So, I’ll get the rest of that kiss after the race, then?” 

“Yeah, Max,” you let out a breathy laugh, your eyes not leaving his for a moment, “after the race!”