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studioeisa · 18 days ago

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growing sideways 📧 jeonghan x reader.

yours, whether you like it or not,

📧 pairing. co-workers!jeonghan x reader. 📧 social media au & epistolary (told through emails). 📧 genres. alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: co-workers. romance, humor. 📧 includes. mention of alcohol; suggestive language; profanity. workplace rivals, corporate jargon, engineering terms i definitely butchered, use of y/n l/n for e-mail purposes. title from noah kahan’s growing sideways; waaay too many kahan references, really. style and format insp. by cinnamorussell’s tell all your friends i’m crazy (i’ll drive you mad). 📧 notes. this is a bit long, but we ball. in one of my first conversations with @diamonddaze01, we dreamed up workplace rival yoon jeonghan. i offer it, now, as part of a month-long celebration for the person i’ve dedicated a good quarter of my work to. tara, i’ll never meet someone who won’t know about you. nanu ninnannu pritisuttene! 🔭

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from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Test Platform Validation Report (EU Submission)

Yoon,

I reviewed the validation draft you uploaded this morning. Fascinating interpretation of clause 4.3.2. Bold of you to skip the stability data appendix entirely. I can only assume it was an artistic choice.

Also, the raw tensile data from the 0528 batch isn’t included. If it was meant to be in the shared drive, it wasn’t in any of the usual folders (QA_Share > FR_Validation > tensile_data > missing_files > probably_Jeonghan’s).

I’ve attached my edits. I added actual numbers.

Regards, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: Test Platform Validation Report (EU Submission)

Thank you for the prompt review. I assumed your obsession with clause 4.3.2 would outweigh your impulse to nitpick, but alas—some things never change.

The stability data was excluded intentionally while awaiting results from the accelerated aging test. If you opened the protocol (second folder under QA_Share > FR_Validation > tensile_data > definitely_not_missing), you’d see that.

As for your edits, I appreciate the effort. It’s cute when you pretend Excel likes you back.

Best, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: EU Submission - FR Manufacturing Coordination

Yoon,

Not that I expect you to read full briefs, but just in case you skimmed this one: yes, the transfer protocols need to be locked before next Friday if we want the France site to hit qualification by Q3.

Your last edits to the QAP template were inspired. I didn’t know it was possible to confuse ISO 13485 with a haiku.

I’ve restructured the equipment IQ section. You’re welcome. You’ll need to coordinate with Wonwoo at the Lyon site for vendor access, assuming you remember to email him this time.

I’ll see you in Lyon.

Disrespectfully, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: EU Submission - FR Manufacturing Coordination

Of course I read the brief. Just because I don’t annotate every margin with red ink and superiority complexes doesn’t mean I don’t understand the deadline.

I’ll coordinate with Wonwoo, assuming you don’t scare him off again with your charmingly blunt emails. (I still have the screenshot of him calling you “intimidatingly competent.”)

By the way, your IQ revisions look fine. Shockingly legible this time. Congratulations.

I’ll see you in Lyon. Try not to sabotage the coffee machine this trip.

Until customs detains us, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: EU Submission - FR Manufacturing Coordination

If Wonwoo was intimidated, it’s because I sent him instructions written in complete sentences. A rare treat, I know.

You still haven’t confirmed the calibration matrix. We’ll need the traceable certs before equipment ships, or do you plan to charm EU regulators into letting us slide on documentation? Actually, don’t answer that. I’ve seen you talk to vendors.

Also: bring the correct adapter this time. I’m not sharing an outlet with you again.

Best of luck (to me), L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: EU Submission - FR Manufacturing Coordination

The calibration matrix is in the tracker: third tab, fourth column, next to the thing labeled “READ ME, PLEASE” Try it. It’s fun.

And yes, I plan to charm the regulators. You, on the other hand, can stun them into compliance with your piercing PowerPoint transitions.

As for the outlet. I’m bringing an adapter. And a surge protector. For reasons.

Looking forward to our time in France. Nothing says “teamwork” like four days of jetlag and passive aggression.

Yours in regulatory purgatory, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

YJH 👿 (Work) [8:13 AM]: why do you type so aggressively. the guy next to me thinks you’re yelling at me You [8:14 AM]: he’s not wrong. YJH 👿 (Work) [8:15 AM]: did you really need three highlighters in your carry-on? You [8:15 AM]: yes. the pink one is for your mistakes. YJH 👿 (Work) [8:16 AM]: romantic You [8:16 AM]: if you die on this trip it’s going to be from a highlighter to the throat. YJH 👿 (Work) [8:17 AM]: worth it You [8:17 AM]: you are the worst seatmate in existence. YJH 👿 (Work) [8:18 AM]: you snore when you pretend not to be sleeping and your pointy elbow crosses the line You [8:18 AM]: so we’re calling it a truce? YJH 👿 (Work) [8:19 AM]: we’re calling it foreplay

☾ You have silenced Notifications.

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from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: FR Submission Debrief + Documentation

Yoon,

Per our debrief notes (the ones not written on a cocktail napkin), I’ve uploaded the final QAP revisions and vendor qualification summaries to the shared drive. You can stop emailing me pictures of our hotel room as “documentation.” Though impressive dedication to fieldwork.

Also, your expense report still lists the mini bar from Tuesday night. Pretty bold move, considering you insisted you only drank half the bottle.

Respectueusement, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: FR Submission Debrief + Documentation

You’re welcome for the in-room stress testing of French plumbing. I was being thorough.

Also, I did only drink half. You drank the other half and then told the front desk I was your emotional support engineer.

Re: shared drive. I see your formatting crimes continue. I fixed your spacing in the risk assessment table. Try to be better.

Yours across all timezones, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: FR Submission Debrief + Documentation

Yoon,

I’d fix my spacing if you’d stop adjusting my bullet styles just to mess with me. And next time, maybe don’t volunteer us for the plant tour while hungover. Watching you nearly fall into a vat of solvent was not the regulatory impression we wanted.

Stop calling me yours, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

P.S. You still owe me one (1) bed. I’m adding it to your performance review.

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: FR Submission Debrief + Documentation

Not my fault someone booked the hotel late and got us the romantic suite. You’re lucky I didn’t call room service for rose petals.

I’ve uploaded the final sign-offs and confirmation from the French regulatory contact—who says we’re the most “thorough and theatrically matched” engineers she’s worked with. I think that’s a compliment.

Let me know if I’ve missed any appendices. Or if you want your highlighter back.

Yours, even if you deny me (hotel registration said so), Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

P.S. I liked sharing the room with you. Not because of budget errors or international confusion. Just because it was you.

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from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Supplier Audit Timeline + Other Things

Great audit notes, as usual. I’ve attached my edits for the CAPA log. We’ll have to discuss column F, because your formulas hate me.

Also, bold of you to post a photo of flowers on a Tuesday. Does SVT approve PTO for midweek romance now?

Am I being cheated on?, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Supplier Audit Timeline + Other Things

Yoon,

Corrected the formula logic in column F. Try not to break it again.

And yes, Tuesday dates are a thing now. Believe it or not, some people find me tolerable enough to see more than once.

Shocking, I know.

Regrets, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: Supplier Audit Timeline + Other Things

Don’t worry. I’m sure your second date will be charmed by your bullet point consistency.

Personally, I’ve never seen the appeal of dating someone like you. Too sharp. Too bossy. Too quick to judge formula errors.

Fortunately, SVT doesn’t require us to like each other outside of Gantt charts.

Yours, whether you like it or not, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Supplier Audit Timeline + Other Things

Yoon,

Believe me, the feeling is mutual. I'd sooner date a malfunctioning tensile tester.

I fixed your math in the timeline estimates. Again. Please don’t bother me for the rest of the week. I’m going to be busy preparing for date number two.

(You wish I was) Yours, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

You [11:42 PM]: he ghosted me. u jinxed it. You [11:43 PM]: i shaved my legs for nothing. hope ur happy. You [11:44 PM]: he said he liked my slides. he LIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You [11:45 PM]: sitting alone at a bar rn contemplating the meaning of life.. and if i can blow u up telepahteitcally.... YJH 👿 (Work) [11:45 PM]: *telepathically YJH 👿 (Work) [11:46 PM]: which bar. You [11:47 PM]: fucking MANSPLAINER You [11:47 PM]: don’t come near me EVEREVER

YJH 👿 (Work) requested your location.

You started sharing your location with YJH 👿 (Work).

You [11:50 PM]: fuckfcuckfuckity my fat fucking thumbs FMLLL YJH 👿 (Work) [11:53 PM]: i’m coming. don’t order tequila until i get there. or do. i want to see the disaster myself. You [11:55 PM]: jerk YJH 👿 (Work) [11:56 PM]: always. save me a seat, heartbreak girl

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from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Equipment Revalidation Schedule

Yoon,

Your revised equipment validation timeline looks solid. I’ve flagged the dates where QRA and process requal overlap. You’ll need to talk to Ops to make sure there’s no resource conflict.

Also, thanks. For the other night.

Don’t make a thing out of it. Reluctantly yours, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: Equipment Revalidation Schedule

Wow. A “thanks.” What is this, a truce?

Noted on the QRA overlap—I’ll sync with Ops and shift our timeline by 2-3 business days. I’ve attached a revised Gantt for your very critical review.

Also: you owe me fries.

Yours with no reluctance whatsoever, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

P.S. Don’t let your guard down. I’d hate for you to start thinking I’m nice.

P.P.S. You’re beautiful when drunk. Infuriating, but beautiful.

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Equipment Revalidation Schedule

Attached: my comments on your Gantt chart (see rows 14–27). Also, your font choices are unhinged. You’re lucky you’re marginally good at your job.

Fries are contingent on you not mentioning the karaoke. Sober now, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

P.S. You’re nice when you think I’m too drunk to remember.

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: Equipment Revalidation Schedule

I’ll swap the font if it means less red pen in my inbox.

And don’t worry, I’d never mention your rendition of “Dancing Queen” in front of senior management. Or that you made me sing backup.

As for being nice: I was just making sure you didn’t fall asleep in a nacho basket. Again.

Drunk on you, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

P.S. I remember everything you said. Even the parts you don’t.

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user1 fly safe, babygirl user2 ermmm.. am i witnessing a soft launch ?! min9yu_k I’d know that YSL bag from anywhere 😏 user3 How can I be youuu :( user4 is that a BOYFRIEND?! junhui_moon strategic non-response to any of the comments here #respect

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline

Attached: updated protocol outline and projected data submission window. Added notes re: temperature excursions flagged by the lab.

Unrelated, but I saw your latest post. Interesting how you managed to frame the lighting just right on that cafe table. Almost as if someone you work with took the photo.

Also, bold choice uploading a cropped version of that one picture of me holding five tote bags. Very “soft launch,” very subtle.

Launched like a rocket ship, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline

This isn’t the time.

The humidity chamber failed mid-run and half of the accelerated aging samples are compromised. I’ll need to retest from baseline and revalidate the controls. Not sure yet if it pushes our submission, but I’m flagging it with QA.

I suggest you review section 6.2 of the protocol instead of obsessing over my Instagram.

L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline

Didn’t mean to distract. I hadn’t seen the alert yet. Engineering just looped me in on the chamber issue. I’ll prioritize sourcing backup samples and contact Tech Ops to check chamber calibration across all zones.

You’ll have data. We’ll make it work.

(But if you were soft-launching me, I looked great.)

Trying too hard, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline

Yoon,

Appreciated. Sorry I snapped.

I just really didn’t want this run to go sideways. I know it’s not your fault—but I’ve been fielding calls since 7:00 a.m. and I’m a little fried.

Yours and then some, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

P.S. You looked ridiculous, but sure. Let the internet wonder.

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline

You can yell at me any time. Preferably not before coffee, but I’ll survive.

QA says they’ll expedite sample disposal so we can start the new batch by end of week. I sent you a revised Gantt. And a snack. Don’t fight me on it.

Yours in whatever way you’ll have me, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

P.S. Internet speculation is already intense. I’ve received two DMs inquiring if I’m truly off the market. Is this your twisted little way of staking claim?

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline

The snack was suspiciously well-timed. You’re lucky I like sesame.

Re: QA—I’ll update the submission calendar and notify Regulatory we’re adjusting the stability window.

And tell your fans I’m flattered, but my standards are higher than “guy who argues about font weight in shared spreadsheets.”

Yours for some reason (When did I succumb to this?), L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline

For the record, I wasn’t arguing. I was advocating for consistent formatting.

Also: I’m sorry. For earlier. I should’ve checked the system alerts before joking around. You always catch things first, and I forget what it’s like to be under that kind of pressure all the time.

Let me know what else you need. I mean it.

Yours for equally no reason (I bookmarked the first time you signed off with ‘yours’, btw), Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

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from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Apologies for the Timestamp

Yoon,

I realize this is past hours. I won’t pretend it’s an emergency—it’s just the draft for the stability test realignment we discussed. I needed to get it out of my head or I wouldn’t sleep. It can wait until morning. I just didn’t want to forget.

Sorry. Again. Sleep well, or party well, or whatever it is you’re doing tonight.

Terribly sorry, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

Got your email—yes, timestamp noted.

I’m out. Drinking. Loud music, terrible lighting, questionable tequila. I’ll look at the draft during actual work hours. I promise.

Also, you do know that you’re allowed to exist outside work. Don’t apologize for thinking too hard. That’s half your brand.

Buzzing like a drunk bumblebee, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

Yoon,

Enjoy your night out. Try not to bully the DJ. May your drinks be overpriced and your lighting flattering.

And hey—hope you pull. You deserve someone mildly tolerable for a few hours.

Cheers, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

The drinks are terrible. The lighting is flattering. I’ve technically pulled, but she’s more interested in the bartender now, which is fine because—

I miss you. You, and your midnight overthinking, and your Excel color codes, and the way you always say “don’t wait up” but still check your inbox five minutes later.

I miss you. Stupidly. Even while I’m here.

Yours at my own risk, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

Yoon,

Pray tell why you're getting drunk and you're "pulling" what I can assume to be ABGs whose names you won't even know in the morning, and yet you're still in the club, emailing me? Missing my drunken emails?

Why? Are the girls of Wall Street not enough for you?

Totally not jealous, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

I can answer this so simply, it won’t even be fun.

The girls of Wall Street will never be you.

No one will ever be you.

I'm not enjoying my night as much as I should because you're not here. I'm in the club, drunk AND emailing you. That should tell you everything.

Come out with me next time. Wreck my plans. Ruin the music. Steal my coat.

I may be playing with fire, but to hell with it.

Burning myself, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

I can feel you overthinking all the way from here. You’re probably thinking that I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and regret all of this. That I will be unable to face you at work come Monday, when I am no longer drunk out of my mind and thinking you are the most brilliant, most gorgeous, most infuriating person alive.

You will be right. Thankfully, though, these are—what do the kids call it? ‘Receipts’. You will have a paper trail. These emails will be between you, me, and that Australian guy from IT.

He will know, and you will know, that I may have the most miniscule work crush on you.

Jesus Christ. What am I? A high schooler?

Let’s try that again: Love is just a chemical reaction that compels animals to breed. What I’m feeling for you isn’t love. It’s so much more than that.

Love sucks, and I need to sober up, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

Get home safe, Jeonghan.

Yours, with questions, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

You just called me Jeonghan.

Yours, with answers (maybe), Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

That’s your name, isn’t it?

Stop e-mailing me while you’re at the club.

Fine. Yours, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

P.S.: I may have the most miniscule work crush on you, too.

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

i am goi n to die

Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

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sanjisprincesswifey · 1 year ago

Text

pros and cons list

summary: the good, the bad, the ugly, perfectly curated into a pros and cons list

black leg sanji

pros:

constantly wants to color coordinate your outfits together

let’s you pick meals at minimum once a week

very good kisser (he practiced with his pillow a lot before your first date)

he wants you to walk him like a dog

sanji never lets you forget how much you mean to him

always remembers important dates, birthdays, anniversaries, etc.

remembers the little things and notices your absence (will often go to try and find you)

adapts to whatever love language you respond to

cons:

the nicotine smell embeds into your sheets and clothes and is a pain in the ass to get out

yells for any minor inconvenience

occasionally too handsy

always finishes before you

major jealousy issues

is constantly horny

says he’s fine but he’s dying inside

doesn’t understand the concept of alone time and takes it personally if you ask to be by yourself

roronoa zoro

pros:��

the best napping partner

protective

is a softie but only with you

very emotionally intelligent

gym trainer boyfriend

let’s you take the relationship at your own pace because he can’t be bothered

loves to mark you and give you hickies

always makes sure you finish first

cons:

stinky (bro smells like sweat and steel)

does not have a single romantic bone in his body; you’ll literally have to teach him how to be a boyfriend

is extremely blunt

snores super loud

might fall asleep while you’re talking

you can no longer be friends with sanji

doesn’t ask you to date him, just assumes you are together

gets upset when you can’t keep up with his drinking

monkey d luffy

pros:

the best hugger

extremely loyal to you

hides midnight snacks for both of you

lets you sit on the ship’s figurehead with him

king of silly sentimental gifts (hand-picked flower, cool rock, pretty seashell, that sort of thing)

always makes sure you’re included in conversations

shares his favorite foods with you

can always make you feel better

cons:

doesn’t know how to be quiet or whisper

never lets you win arguments

throws himself at you with no regard to his strength

no concept of personal space

rubs his boogers on you

accidentally makes fun of the noises you make during sex

will steal blankets from you while you’re asleep

points out your pimples or zits

usopp

pros:

always finds a way to make you laugh

grows flowers for you

comforts you if you’re insecure

handmade gifts!!!!!!

brags about you to everyone

loves to show you off and tell stories about your adventures together

names special attacks after you

always lets you in on the pranks he pulls

cons:

is insecure

would sacrifice you to an enemy to protect himself

shows you bugs even if you’re afraid of them

incredibly awkward with all your firsts

clammy hands

make jokes during arguments (it makes you madder and the cycle continues)

never tops

sometimes pranks you too

nami

pros:

lets you take a few of her tangerines

immune to her reprimanding when something bad happens (most times)

extremely thoughtful gift giver

shares her money with you

cares deeply about you (don’t point it out though because then she’ll stop)

is always telling you how pretty you are

very good in bed

is more lenient with your allowance

cons:

pawns gifts you get her

bad communicator

critiques everything about you

can and will distance herself from you

charges you if you piss her off

talks about vivi way too much for having a whole other girlfriend

doesn’t apologize after fights even if she caused them

bullies you (with love)

nico robin

pros:

leaves you notes in books to find later

the voice of reason in your relationship

notices and compliments you on every little change you make (haircuts, style change, etc.)

extremely good listener

literally a human search engine; so smart you can ask her almost any question and she knows the answer

passionate lover; treats you like a god in bed

soft lips

spoils you in every way that she can

cons:

can make you feel dumb with her endless knowledge

will never say ‘i love you’ first

always tops (a possible pro depending on your preferences tbh)

has nightmares almost every night ):

closed off in the beginning of your relationship

franky hits on her (and you) all the time

rather be reading than with you

takes your relationship extremely slow

portgas d ace

pros:

can heat food up for you at any time day or night

loves pda

plans fun dates

probably says ‘i love you’ a million times a day

into body worship (both ways)

kills bugs for you

walk him like a dog, sis !

never says no to you

cons:

sweaty and greasy in the summer

farts and gives you a dutch oven

doesn’t take anything seriously

adhd moments

mommy AND daddy issues

likes to lay on top of you even though he’s huge and basically crushes you

talks with his mouth full

is loud in bed (because he enjoys it so much) and everyone can hear when you two have sex

sabo

pros:

another body worshipper

dragon claw fist. need i say more?

the best secret keeper

praises you

would actually bow down to you

very respectful, asked you to kiss on your first date

awkward but sensual lover

a loyal puppy

cons:

loves being right

sore winner & loser

cocky ass mf

talks about luffy and ace 24/7

never on time

bad temper

might catch on fire if he’s mad

loves to tease you (again, could be a pro depending on your preferences)

shanks

pros:

buys you anything you could ever want

good kisser

always showing you off

treats you like a queen

calls you his wife

very affectionate in public

another worshipper; does that thing where his kisses lead up from your hand to your shoulder

when he gets drunk and you try to kiss him, he pushes you away and says “get off me, i have a wife”

cons:

gets you riled up during the day

teases you all the time

can be unreliable

bad at flirting

drunk all the time

still makes jokes about his arm even though it’s been YEARS

lingering alcohol smell

pervert

trafalgar law

pros:

rarely cooks but always does for you when you’re sick

smells amazing all of the time

lets you do this eyeliner in the morning (based off this fanart)

is a victim of the ‘she fell first, he fell harder’ trope

gives you sound solutions to your problems

literally becomes addicted to you and can’t live without you

flusters easily, very shy

would shave his facial hair if you asked him to (please tell him to shave off that godforsaken beard)

cons:

very blunt

never talks about his feelings

grammar police

a virgin; he doesn’t know what to do but fakes confidence like he does (it makes your first time a bit awkward but just talk him through it, babe)

humbles you without meaning to

over explains if you broach a subject he likes

sassy

just stares at you when you try to flirt with him

eustass kid

pros:

scary boyfriend privilege

an absolute beast in bed

insanely good kisser

raspy morning voice

you get to use his boobies as a pillow

is very smart but kinda dumb

eats pussy like a starved man

will always save you some food (it’s how he shows he cares)

cons:

dramatic

hangs out with killer more than you

will put the milk carton back in the fridge even if it’s empty

you can never be mad at him or make him mad because he’s the biggest asshole ever

ignores you if you’re fighting

zones out while you’re talking

if you send him a long, thoughtful text, he’ll respond back with ‘k’

what’s his is his and what’s yours is his

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated (✿◠‿◠)

#black leg sanji #sanji x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #monkey d luffy #luffy x reader #usopp x reader #nami x reader #nico robin x reader #portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #sabo x reader #shanks x reader #trafalgar law #law x reader #eustass kid x reader #one piece x reader

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gazavetters · 2 months ago

Text

Official Statement from the GazaVetters Team ‼️

In light of the extremely harsh humanitarian conditions we are enduring, we fully recognize the immense suffering experienced by our people. This suffering surpasses the limits of human endurance, yet we believe that our dignity and core values must never be lost under any circumstances, nor can they ever justify engaging in harmful behavior or exploiting others out of desperation.

Recently, we have received several complaints regarding certain accounts sending messages that contain explicit threats, such as: "I will harm myself or my family if I don't receive donations." We want to stress that such behavior is completely unacceptable and in no way reflects our ethics or the principles upon which this project is founded.

We are the people of Palestine: doctors, engineers, teachers, writers, and individuals of untouchable dignity. We will remain loyal to our values, no matter how severe the hardship.

Accordingly, we announce that any verified account found to be engaging in such actions will be immediately and permanently flagged as “Scam/Bot,” starting from May 10, 2025, with no possibility for appeal or review. We have granted campaign organizers a full week to correct any misconduct and to cease these practices immediately.

We urge all our respected followers to work with us in maintaining our collective credibility by reporting any account that sends such messages. Reports must include a screenshot and be sent directly to the following account: @dawoudi. Appropriate action will be taken promptly, whether it involves flagging the account or removing it entirely from our lists.

We reaffirm that the GazaVetters Team has zero tolerance for such violations and will continue to work diligently to protect the integrity of our campaigns and the dignity of our people.

With utmost respect and appreciation,

The GazaVetters Team

@dawoudi

إعلان رسمي صادر عن فريق GazaVetters

في ظل ما نمر به من ظروف إنسانية بالغة القسوة، ندرك تمامًا حجم المعاناة التي يعيشها أبناء شعبنا. وهي معاناة تتجاوز حدود الاحتمال البشري، لكننا نؤمن بأن كرامتنا وقيمنا الأصيلة لا تُفقد تحت أي ظرف، ولا تُبرر بأي حال من الأحوال الانجراف نحو ممارسات مؤذية أو استغلال الآخرين بدافع الحاجة.

لقد تلقينا مؤخرًا عددًا من الشكاوى بشأن قيام بعض الحسابات بإرسال رسائل تتضمن تهديدات صريحة، مثل: "سأؤذي نفسي أو عائلتي إذا لم أتلقَّ تبرعات". نود أن نؤكد أن مثل هذه السلوكيات مرفوضة تمامًا، ولا تمثل بأي شكل من الأشكال أخلاقنا أو المبادئ التي يقوم عليها هذا المشروع.

نحن أبناء فلسطين: أطباء، مهندسون، معلمون، كتّاب، مفكرون، وأصحاب كرامة لا تُمس، وسنظل أوفياء لقيمنا مهما اشتدت الصعاب.

وبناءً عليه، نُعلن أن أي حساب موثّق لدينا يثبت تورطه في مثل هذه التصرفات، سيتم وسمه بشكل فوري ونهائي بعلامة "Scam/Bot"، وذلك ابتداءً من 10 مايو 2025، دون أي مجال للطعن أو المراجعة. وقد منحنا أصحاب الحملات مهلة تمتد لأسبوع كامل لتصحيح أي سلوك خا��ئ والتوقف الفوري عن هذه الممارسات.

نهيب بجميع المتابعين الكرام التعاون معنا للحفاظ على مصداقيتنا الجماعية، من خلال الإبلاغ عن أي حساب يرسل رسائل من هذا النوع، على أن يتم إرفاق صورة للشاشة (screenshot)، وإرسالها مباشرة إلى الحساب التالي: @dawoudi. وسيتم اتخاذ الإجراء المناسب فورًا، سواء وسم الحساب أو حذفه من قوائمنا تماما.

نؤكد مجددًا أن فريق GazaVetters لا يتسامح مطلقًا مع هذا النوع من الانتهاكات، وسنواصل العمل بكل جد لحماية نزاهة حملاتنا وكرامة أهلنا.

مع فائق الاحترام والتقدير،

فريق GazaVetters

@dawoudi

#free plaestine #free gaza

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toxicrivalries · 5 months ago

Text

To our most dearest most beloved elle @gayferrari ✨

Happy birth-week from carp @antspaul and myself. Please enjoy this wonderful and silly gift from the pair of us ❤️. We're so glad to have you in both our lives, and hope this brings you joy.

(also here on ao3)

Image ID under the cut.

[a series of 10 images describing Charles Leclerc’s journey into becoming a mouse during the 2025 Formula 1 season.

IMAGE 1:

A screenshot from Autosport’s website.

‘Leclerc made mouse in new Ferrari strategy’ followed by a banner of two images showing Leclerc in his human form and also as a striped field mouse.

The text reads:

‘Charles Leclerc has turned into a mouse ahead of 2025 season testing, as reported by official channels earlier today.

Leclerc’s transformation occurred as an experimental effort by Ferrari to maximize their drivers’ physical reflexes. Other teams have already logged formal complaints. The FIA have yet to make their official decision, but an insider source insists that “there is nothing in the rulebook that dictates mice cannot compete in Formula 1”.

Ferrari boss Frederick Vasseur seemed quite pleased with the outcomes. When asked if the Monegasque driver could communicate over team radio while in mouse form, Vasseur responded that his team are presently working through solutions. He reassured Autosport that Ferrari’s mouseification process is ‘entirely reversible’, though it seems the subject of the transformation must be willing to undergo the process again - a task far more difficult to achieve with a vocabulary limited to squeaks.’

IMAGE 2:

Charles Leclerc in mouse form, standing near the cockpit of his F1 car. He is a striped field mouse wearing a ferrari cap.

IMAGE 3:

Charles Leclerc in mouse form, standing on the head of his golden Dachshund Leo. Leo is running towards the viewer with a red chew toy in his mouth.

IMAGE 4:

Screenshot of Leclerc’s radio message during a race. The radio reads: ‘Squeak Squeak ****** Squeak’

IMAGE 5:

An advertisement of Parmesan cheese being sold by Charles’ ice cream company. Charles in his mouse form is posing by a wheel of parmesan. The word LEC in brand font is above his head.

IMAGE 6:

A screenshot from the GPDA’s instagram profile. It shows the GDPA’s statement on Charles’ mouse transformation.

The text reads:

“‘GPDA Statement regarding “Mouseification’

As athletes, we wholeheartedly understand and support technological developments in revolutionising our sport. As such, we commend the efforts of the scientific and engineering minds behind Ferrari’s “mouseification” process. However, as the representative body of Formula 1 drivers, the GPDA must voice its concerns.

First, we must state that the Grand Prix Drivers Association does not exclude non-human members. Indeed, our purpose is to represent all drivers, including drivers who are mice. Should the FIA, stewards, or any other members of the governing bodies of our Sport single out our rodent co-competitors, it is within the duties of the GPDA to intervene.

Further, the GPDA would like to express concern for the ethics of turning drivers at the pinnacle of motorsport into common household animals. While the engineers of this technique have made assurances that it is reversible, we want to be 100% certain this is the case. Additionally, we want full confirmation that no driver should have to undergo a similar transformation without his or her express permission and consent, regardless of any competitive benefits it may provide.

Lastly, we would like to state on record that GPDA members who have been transformed into animals are willingly participating in the Sport, and that it is not considered animal cruelty. However, should a team force a driver to compete in animal form against their will, the parties involved will be liable for animal cruelty.

The GPDA wishes to be as collaborative and as forthcoming as possible with the stakeholders, teams, individuals, and governing bodies involved in these changes to the sport that we all hold dear.

Best regards,

The Directors and Chairman of the GPDA on behalf of the Grand Prix Drivers.

#RacingUnited for our Safety, our Sport, our Fans.”

IMAGE 7:

A screenshot of Charles’ interview with the Athletic. The title reads: “Man or Mouse? Leclerc opens up about mouseification, cheese sponsorship, and 2025 WDC hopes”

It is followed by a graphic banner. The banner displays the Ferrari badge, Charles in his human form, and Charles in his mouse form. His mouse form is wearing a Ferrari cap, and is on a red circle background.

IMAGE 8:

A screenshot of Charles’ interview with the Athletic, containing an excerpt of it.

The text reads:

“Man or Mouse? Leclerc opens up about mouseification, cheese sponsorship, and 2025 WDC hopes”

Indeed, Leclerc has gone from success to success since the opening of the 2025 season. Within a week of claiming the top step in Melbourne, the Monegasque driver announced a new personal sponsorship and collaboration with none other than Parmigiano Reggiano — a match made in heaven, since Leclerc’s momentary mouse metamorphosis.

“It’s changed my outlook on racing,” he squeaked to his interpreter, four-time world champion Sebastian Vettel, at whose farm Leclerc has been rumoured to reside since his mouseification. “Being a mouse, it gives me more courage in the car to try things I wouldn’t be trying in previous seasons.”

This new perspective can be seen in how Leclerc carries himself, though he is only ten centimeters tall. When asked about his target for this season, he answered without hesitation: “To be world champion. This hasn’t changed. I am more certain than ever that this year it is possible.” The current points standings would not disagree. “No mouse has ever been world champion. It would mean a lot to the greater rodent community. It would mean a lot to me.”’

IMAGE 9:

A breaking news announcement from the official F1 channels. It is framed in Ferrari red. It shows Charles’ in mouse form on his car.

The text in the image reads:

‘BREAKING

Ferrari left with ‘no way to reverse’ Leclerc mouseification.

IMAGE 10:

A photo of Sebastian Vettel at the paddock. Charles Leclerc in mouse form is sitting on his shoulder, wearing a little bucket hat.

END ID]

#charles leclerc #sebastian vettel #ferrari #f1 #dan.txt #elle ilysm 💕#writing the little texts was SO fun i was giggling the whole time #also shout-out carp for their excellent PS skills #my fic #mine

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ew-selfish-art · 2 years ago

Text

DpxDc AU: Tim as a child was never given a lot of information regarding the scribbling messy handwriting that appeared over night all over his arms- naturally he came to his own conclusions.

Tim Drake was home entirely alone at 9 years old and was about to go out for the night to test his brand new long exposure camera lens when he sees the writing on his arm. It’s not English, like he assumed it was at first, but it was using the alphabet to represent… Tim isn’t bad at math but this formula is complex for his little genius brain.

Looking at his camera, he decides he can spare a moment to look it up, solve it, and get back out into old town Gotham in time for Batman and Robin’s final patrol lap. He does just that, finding the problem to relate to some aerospace engineering and then quickly deduces what laws and theorems need to be applied. He finds a pen, writes down his findings in much neater handwriting onto his arm, and goes out. It’s barely a remarkable night at all. He gets a much more memorable photo of Robin roundhouse kicking a hench person.

Things just continued on that way. Tim would find some complex math, physics or chemistry prompt on his arm (surrounded by various question marks or notes or sad faces)- he’d answer it as best he could and move on with his life. Perhaps his parents were manifesting these pop quizzes? Perhaps his subconscious felt guilty about abandoning his studies for more Bat related pursuits? Tim really didn’t care to think much about it once he became Robin- there was too much on his plate and too many peoples problems for him to fix.

Notably, however, after the attack at the Tower, the pop quiz appeared and Tim wrote back that he wouldn’t be able to find an answer to this one. It was the only time Tim questioned the markings appearance and it was because the next thing that appeared was “Hope you feel better soon.”

… his parents wouldn’t include that on a pop quiz. Cursed then. Tim decided it must be a curse, whatever, he’d deal with the implications later in life.

Tim then has the worst year of his life, hes 15, no longer Robin and the questions from his curse are getting less math oriented and more… philosophical. A lot of mentions of death that, in hindsight helped him actually grieve, and a lot of theories about dark matter and souls. Tim answers back as best he can but he’s drained and his answers aren’t very good in his opinion. He gets minimal feedback.

It all comes to a point that he’s at a family dinner, Bruce is at the head of the table, Jason has promised just to stay for dessert, Damian hasn’t thrown a single insult his way and Steph was laughing at him- when a new theoretical model appears on his arm.

“You’re just as bad as Bruce, Timberly. Hiding a soulmate from all of us, how fucking typical.” Jason points out, while watching Tim scribble back some math with a question mark onto his arm.

“A what? No, this is just a curse. I get pop quizzes every now and then.” Tim bats away Steph who rapidly approaches and began to analyze his arm (the rest of the family isn’t far behind).

“Drake. Explain how you came to this conclusion.” Damian seems more curious than anything, if his lack of insults was anything to go off of.

“Since I was young I’ve had at least weekly math check ins, I never had a parent or anyone else around so I assumed my parents had me cursed to ensure I stayed on top of my studies. Sometimes it’s physics or chemistry, for a while there it was a ton of philosophy and behavioral psychology.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Master Tim, I believe the lack of adults in your life has led you towards a false conclusion. That is most certainly a soulmate mark. The individual to whom you are responding is undoubtedly your other half.” Alfred attempts to calm the room before explaining to Tim. Tim isnt sure if he believes the butler, though Alfred only very rarely lied, so he grabs the pen once more. He writes his first question back: “Who am I to you?”

The room waits in anticipation and within moments a brand new line appears on Tim’s arm and he is vindicated: “We do math together???”

——

The reason Danny is failing English is because his built in homework helper sucks ass at metaphors and has apparently never read any classic literature. The tutor on his arm is great at puzzles and math tho.

Danny gets a reply back one night that he wasn’t expecting (Who am I to you?) and he mentions it to Jazz. Who goes insane that Danny didn’t even question it and just went with “meh, probably haunted” as his explanation for the phenomenon for all these years.

Apparently, if Jazz was right, he had a soulmate who was uh, super fucking smart. That was an overwhelming thought.

The next day Danny is in crisis mode and writes back “Wait, WHAT AM I TO YOU??? Can I help on your homework??”

Danny gets vindicated when the writing on his arm presents a shit ton of dates and information for an unsolved Gotham cold case. See, Haunted.

———

Eventually between Danny becoming the top candidate for astrophysics at Wayne Enterprises and Tim Drake being outed as having contributed tips to the GCPD that solved cold cases- they meet and realize just how dumb they’ve been.

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 5 days ago

Text

1964 Chevrolet Cheetah

The 1964 Chevrolet Cheetah, also known as the Bill Thomas Cheetah, was an American sports car designed and built entirely with American components. Developed by Chevrolet performance tuner Bill Thomas between 1963 and 1966, the Cheetah was created to compete with Carroll Shelby's Cobra. It featured a front-mid engine layout and a chrome-moly tubular chassis, with independent suspension borrowed from the Corvette. The sleek fiberglass body included distinctive gull-wing doors and housed a 377 cubic inch small-block V8 engine that produced about 475 horsepower. The car’s lightweight design contributed to impressive acceleration and handling.

Despite its promising performance, the Cheetah faced challenges such as insufficient chassis rigidity for road racing, which led to handling issues, and cooling problems caused by inadequate ventilation that resulted in engine overheating. These problems were later addressed by owners through various modifications and improvements. Only a limited number of Cheetahs were produced, with different configurations and modifications over time. Some were converted into roadsters, while others competed in racing events, achieving notable successes. Today, the 1964 Chevrolet Cheetah remains a rare and highly regarded collector’s car, celebrated for its bold design and ambitious engineering.

#Chevrolet Cheetah #chevrolet #cheetah #Bill Thomas Cheetah #Bill Thomas #car #cars #muscle car #american muscle

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mrsfancyferrari · 5 months ago

Note

Hey author,

Loved your work! I have a request for a Max Verstappen fiction. Here's the idea:

Max Verstappen and the Reader have been friends since childhood and started dating when they were 15. The Reader is currently the number one ranked tennis player, with 2 Wimbledon titles, 3 French Open titles, and 2 Australian Open titles to her name. She is the best in women's singles and doubles tennis at the moment.

The Reader is a badass, known for her fiery press conferences and domination on the court, much like how Max is in racing. Despite being a power couple in front of the world, they are very vulnerable and weak for each other. They know the struggles both have been through—she understands the impact Max's childhood and his father, Jos, have had on him, and he knows the challenges she faces, including attacks and pressures from the media.

They are incredibly supportive of each other. Max attends all her Grand Slam matches, and she visits his races. They are deeply in love and very open with each other, understanding each other's feelings and experiences.

That's the type of story I have in mind. I hope you like it!

Best regards,

Anon.

Power Couple

Summary: Max Verstappen and the Reader have been friends since childhood and started dating when they were 15. The Reader is currently the number one ranked tennis player, with 2 Wimbledon titles, 3 French Open titles, and 2 Australian Open titles to her name. She is the best in women's singles and doubles tennis at the moment.

Song: Slow Down · Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: I hardly had any ideas for this one but I tried my best! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 6.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

It's messy, chaotic, and punctuated by the sharp thwack of a tennis ball and the roar of a finely tuned engine. It’s the story of you and Max, a whirlwind that started when you were both just fifteen, a story that’s still unfolding in the dazzling glare of the spotlight.

You were fifteen and a force of nature on the tennis court, even back then. Your name was already whispered with respect in junior circuits. You carried a racquet like an extension of your arm, and your focus was so intense it was almost palpable.

That summer, your training brought you to a small, dusty tennis club nestled in the Dutch countryside, a far cry from the manicured lawns of Wimbledon, but the perfect place to hone your craft.

He was there too. Not on the court, but lurking near the chain-link fence, a lanky boy with eyes the colour of storm clouds and a mop of unruly brown hair perpetually falling into his face. You'd noticed him, of course.

How could you not? He was the only teenager there whose attention wasn't glued to the endless practice sessions. Instead, he seemed more interested in the growl of the beat-up scooter he’d arrived on.

One day, during a water break, you were staring down at the worn-out grip on your Wilson when he spoke.

"That's a good shot," he said, his voice still cracking with that awkward teen timbre.

You looked up, surprised, and saw him leaning against the fence, an almost shy smile playing on his lips. "You mean the forehand?" you asked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a nervous habit you hadn't quite shaken off.

He shrugged, his eyes dancing with something you couldn't quite place. "I don't know. All of them, I guess? You look like you're trying to kill the ball."

A chuckle escaped you. "It's called intensity."

"Yeah, well, I like it." He pushed off the fence and walked a little closer. "I'm Max."

"You know, I've noticed," you teased, a smirk spreading across your face. "Always lurking by the gate."

His grin widened, making him look younger and somehow much more approachable. "Lurking? I prefer… observing." He paused, then gestured towards your racket. “Do you think you could teach me to hit like that?”

And just like that, a friendship was born, as naturally as the changing of seasons. You didn't actually teach him to play tennis, you decided, though, that he was far more enthralled with the intricate mechanics of his racing kart, and you found yourself drawn to the way his eyes lit up whenever he spoke about the feeling of speed and control.

You spent the rest of your summer evenings not on the court, but tinkering with his kart in his garage, or racing against each other on the empty country roads, the roar of engines a stark contrast to the quiet thud of tennis balls you were used to.

You taught him a little about the precision and discipline you carried from your sport while he showed you how to embrace a more reckless, unbridled kind of passion.

As the weeks passed, those shared moments morphed into something deeper. One warm evening, after a long day at the track, you found yourselves lying on the grass, looking up at the stars.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable and charged, until he turned his head, and his hand brushed against yours.

"You know," he said, his voice low, "I can't imagine not having you here. You're… unlike anyone I've ever met."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You had thought the same thing, again and again. "You're kinda different yourself, Verstappen," you whispered, your gaze fixed on his face.

He picked up your hand, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “Are you going to let me kiss you?” he asked, his stormy blue eyes searching yours.

You didn’t hesitate. You tilted your head slightly, and that soft, hesitant kiss was the start of something bigger than either of you could have imagined.

The next few years were a blur of teenage milestones, shared victories, and the quiet comfort of understanding each other. You traveled the world, following your dreams. You were winning Grand Slams.

You mastered the art of the backhand and the perfect serve, while he climbed the ranks in the world of Formula 1, learning the intricacies of high-speed racing and the relentless demands of the professional circuit.

You learned to navigate the complexities of a long-distance relationship, the bittersweet ache of goodbyes followed by the heady joy of reunions.

You’d meet in far-flung corners of the world, a stolen weekend in Monaco, a quick coffee in London, sharing late-night calls across different time zones, finding solace in each other’s voices.

You learned to listen, not just with your ears, but with your heart, understanding the unspoken language of ambition and dedication, of relentless pursuit, from someone who truly understood what was involved.

He was there in the stands when you clinched your first Wimbledon title, his applause echoing louder than the roar of the crowd, his pride radiating across the stadium.

You, in turn, were glued to the screen, every race day a nail-biting affair as you chanted his name like a magic spell. You celebrated his wins with unabashed joy, commiserated over his losses with a fierce loyalty that only a childhood best friend, a lover, could offer.

Your life now is a whirlwind of press conferences, sponsor obligations, and the unwavering pressure to stay at the top.

You glide across the court, a graceful yet powerful force, your focus sharp and unflinching, yet when you catch a glimpse of Max in the crowd, you allow yourself a secret smile, a silent reminder of your shared history, of the kid he was all those years ago. He is a reminder of that simpler time.

There are moments, like now, after another grueling day on the court, when you close your eyes and let the roar of the crowd fade away, replaced by the rumble of his scooter and the memory of his first shy smile.

You might be number one in the world of tennis, a name whispered in awe, but you know, the best title you've ever earned is his girlfriend. And that, you think, is the greatest prize of all.

And, as you’re getting ready for the next press conference, you're thinking of the next time you see him. The thought has you smiling again. . . .

The roar of the crowd is a familiar symphony, a constant hum beneath your focused breath. You adjust the headband, the familiar terry cloth a comfort against the glare of the stadium lights. Wimbledon’s Centre Court is your kingdom, the lush green grass your canvas.

You’re leading 5-3 in the third set against Elena Rybakina, a formidable opponent, your every move calculated, precise. A serve, a blur of motion – ace. The roar erupts, a wave of sound that threatens to lift you off your feet.

You know you've got this, the title within your grasp. You’ve worked for this, bled for this, every single grueling practice session, every sacrifice, all culminate in this moment.

You win the game, the match, and the crowd goes wild. The air crackles with energy, the taste of victory sweet on your tongue. You shake hands with Rybakina, a brief, respectful acknowledgment of the battle fought, then raise your arms in a triumphant arc.

Another Wimbledon title under your belt. You can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the familiar mix of elation and exhaustion. It’s a high like no other, but underneath that surge of victory there's another feeling, a quiet hum of anticipation.

You know who’s waiting for you.

The post-match media scrum is a blur - flashes, questions, microphone in your face. You handle it all with your usual icy grace, your well-honed responses a shield against the endless prodding.

You’re used to it; it comes with the territory of being the best. But you’re itching to escape its glare. You see your agent, Sarah, giving you a quick nod, and you know it's your cue. A few more polite words, another practiced smile, and then you're slipping away, finally free of the spotlight.

You find him in the players' lounge, perched on a sofa, his eyes tracking yours as you walk in. Max. He stands as you approach, a smile playing on his lips that makes your heart do that familiar little flip.

The harsh lines that often harden his face are softened when he looks at you. He gathers you into his arms, his embrace both fierce and gentle.

"You were incredible," he whispers against your hair, his voice roughened with emotion. "An absolute beast out there."

"Thanks, you," you murmur, breathing in his scent, the familiar comfort of it grounding you after the storm of the match. You pull back slightly, your gaze catching his. “Did you watch the whole thing? Even with your schedule?”

He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. You were destroying her. Honestly, you're the most dangerous person I know." You laugh at that, a genuine laugh that’s rare these days, a laugh that only he can draw out of you.

Later, back at the house in Monaco, you sit side-by-side on the balcony, the Mediterranean Sea shimmering under the moonlight. He holds your hand, his thumb tracing patterns on your knuckles.

In this serene space, the world outside fades away. The tension that always seems to cling to you both loosens, the relentless pressure of your careers receding into the background.

"You know," Max begins, his voice quiet, "sometimes I still can't believe it. You, the best there is. Not just in the world, but the best there could ever be.”

You turn to him, your eyes searching his. "And you?" you ask him, “World Champion twice? Sometimes I can't believe you’re not some superhuman entity.”

He squeezes your hand, his gaze unwavering. "We both push ourselves to the edge, and beyond," he says. "It's what makes us who we are, isn’t it?"

"Yeah," you agree, leaning your head against his shoulder. "But it's also why we need each other." The silence that follows is comfortable, a space filled with shared understanding, a knowing that transcends words.

The days that follow are a brief reprieve, stolen moments away from the relentless cycle of competition. You spend them walking along the coast, laughing, rediscovering the simplicity of just being together.

But the respite is always fleeting, the demands of your respective careers always looming on the horizon. You’re due to fly out for a tournament in Washington D.C. in a week, and Max is scheduled for a race in Hungary two weeks after that.

The night before you leave, the atmosphere is thick with a quiet anticipation. You’re curled up on the sofa, your favourite movie playing softly on the TV, but neither of you is paying much attention.

Max pulls you closer, his hand slipping beneath your t-shirt, tracing the curve of your back. His skin is always warm against yours, a familiar comfort.

"I wish you didn't have to go," he murmurs, his voice husky. "I hate being away from you."

You turn to face him, your fingers cupping his cheek. "I wish I didn't either, but we know how this goes. We’re just two very busy, very overachieving maniacs.”

He smiles, a flash of his boyish charm. "Yeah, but that's why I love you. You’re as insane as I am." He leans in, his lips finding yours, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist.

The morning you leave, the goodbyes are short, a quick kiss on the lips and a promise to call every day. You watch his car disappear down the driveway, a small ache settling in your chest.

It's the same ache you feel every time you part ways, a reminder of your connection, a reminder of what you have to come back to.

The tournament in D.C. is a brutal battle. You're seeded first, as always, and the pressure is immense. You win the first few rounds with your usual dominance, but then come up against a rising star, a young American player who pushes you to your absolute limit.

The match goes to five sets, each point a war of attrition. You’re exhausted by the end, but you win, the taste of victory bittersweet.

That night, you’re in the hotel room, the city lights twinkling outside your window. You’re on a call with Max, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves.

He’s telling you about his practice sessions, the improvements he’s made to his car, and you’re listening intently, your mind drifting away from the exhaustion and the pressure.

“You were so close out there,” he says suddenly, “your match was insane, I was so nervous.”

“You always are,” you giggle, picturing his intense face watching your match on the TV. “Just like how I feel every race you’re in.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, the hum of the call a gentle lull. “I’m proud of you,” he says, his voice soft, “you always make me so proud.”

“And I you,” you murmur, a lump forming in your throat.

“I love you,” he whispers, and you feel like you're home again, all the way across the world.

“Love you too, always.”

You fall asleep with his voice still ringing in your ears. The next morning, you wake up to a phone call you weren't expecting. It’s Sarah, your agent, and her voice is strained.

"There's been an accident," she says, her voice barely a whisper, "Max... he was in a crash during practice."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. The room spins, the world blurring at the edges. Your breath catches in your chest, a cold dread gripping your heart.

"How bad?" you manage to ask, your voice shaking.

"We don't know yet," she says, the uncertainty in her voice doing little to assuage the terror that’s now flooding you. "You need to come home, now."

The next few hours are a chaotic blur. You’re on autopilot, racing through airports and boarding planes, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You barely register the faces around you, the sounds of the world muted, as if you're underwater.

All you can think of is Max, his face, his smile, his voice. The thought of losing him is unbearable.

You arrive in Monaco in the dead of night. The house feels cold and empty, the silence deafening. You make your way to the hospital, your every step heavy, the weight of your fear pressing down on you.

You find him in a small, sterile room, his body connected to monitors. He’s pale and still, his face almost hidden by the shadows. You feel like you’ve been ripped open, the pain so sharp it steals your breath.

You rush to his side, your fingers reaching for his hand. His skin is cold, but his grip tightens around yours, a small, reassuring squeeze.

His eyes flutter open, and he looks at you, a flicker of recognition in his gaze. "You’re here," he whispers, his voice hoarse.

“Max,” you breathe, a sob catching in your throat. Tears are streaming down your face as you gently cup his face. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

He smiles weakly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. “I knew you would be,” he murmurs, his eyes closing again, “always, even when I’m an idiot driving a race car.”

You don’t say anything, you just sit beside him, holding his hand, and watching him breathe, a silent promise passing between you, a bond forged in childhood, strengthened by shared triumphs and endured through deep pain - a love that would always, always persevere. . . .

The scent of burnt rubber and high-octane fuel clings to him even before the door shuts. You hear the familiar click of the lock, and then the heavier thud of his boots hitting the tiles of the hallway.

You’re sprawled on the couch, a worn-out copy of “Open” by Andre Agassi resting on your chest. Jimmy, the ginger behemoth, is purring like a motorboat on your left thigh, while Sassy, the sleek black panther, is curled into a perfect ebony question mark at your feet.

They’ve been your constant companions during the lull before your next tournament.

“Hey,” Max’s voice is low, tired, but a ripple of warmth underlies it. You open your eyes, the intense afternoon sun filtering in through the tall living room windows making the world outside a blur of gold and green.

You push Agassi off your chest, feeling the book’s weight leave a slight indent.

“Hey yourself,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. You watch as he shrugs off his jacket, the Red Bull logo on his polo a vibrant dash of color against the muted tones of the room.

He looks drained, the lines around his eyes slightly more pronounced than you remember from the last time he was home. You know those lines; they’re etched by the relentless pressure of Formula 1, the constant travel, the unending pursuit of milliseconds.

He kneels beside the couch, reaching out a hand to scratch behind Jimmy's ears. The cat pushes his head into Max’s palm, a rumbling purr vibrating through his frame.

“They’ve missed you,” you murmur, running a hand down Sassy’s velvety back.

Max glances up at you, his blue eyes, usually so sharp and focused, are a little softer now, a touch vulnerable and definitely possessive. “Not as much as I missed you,” he says quietly, his gaze lingering on your face.

You feel the familiar warmth spread through your chest. It's crazy how after all these years, the simple act of him looking at you like that can still make your heart do somersaults.

He settles onto the couch, his long legs stretching out and nearly touching your feet. He pulls you into his side, and you nestle in, the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting lullaby.

The tension in his body is palpable. “Bad race?” you ask softly, tracing small circles on his arm with your fingertip.

He sighs, a gust of air escaping his lips. “Third,” he replies, the single word carrying a weight that you understand completely. “Just… not good enough, you know?”

You nod, because you do know. You've had your share of crushing defeats, the sting of a missed shot, the frustration of an opponent playing out of their skin. You’ve both built entire empires on a foundation of ambition, a constant striving for perfection, despite the inherent impossibility of it.

You know how those ‘not good enough’ days can feel.

“You’ll get ‘em next time,” you say, your head resting against his shoulder. There’s no need for platitudes or empty reassurances. He knows that you know.

A wry smile touches his lips. “Easy for you to say. You’re basically untouchable on the court right now.”

You chuckle, a low, confident sound that ripples through his frame. “Untouchable? Please. I just know how to make my opponents sweat a little.”

You raise your eyebrows, a mischievous glint in your eyes. He is so well aware of the press conferences where you don't mince your words.

He lets out a genuine laugh then, the sound is music to your ears. It’s raw and real. “That's the understatement of the century,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “The way you went off on that reporter after your French Open semi-final was legendary."

You roll your eyes dramatically, though you can't suppress the grin that spreads across your face. “He asked if I was scared of my opponent. Scared. As if. I’d rather face a thousand of those volleys than go through another interview like that.”

He pulls you closer, his arm tightening around you. "You're fierce," he murmurs, burying his face in your hair. "On and off the court. It's... it's one of the things I love about you.”

“And you’re terrifying behind the wheel,” you tease, knowing that a lot of his race opponents are afraid of him on the track.

He chuckles again, a low rumble against your ear. “And you love that too,” he says, the teasing note in his voice back.

You don’t bother denying it. He knows you too well. You know him too well. You’ve built something that is so incredibly strong because it was always built together. You’ve seen each other through the highs and lows, the wins and losses, the triumphs and the heartbreaks.

You’ve navigated the pressures of fame, the relentless scrutiny, the isolating nature of being at the top – together. You were just kids when it started, two teenagers with big dreams and even bigger personalities.

You fell in love navigating the ups and downs of life, and you grew up together, which made things that much stronger.

The silence that follows is comfortable, filled with the unspoken language that only two people who have known each other for so long can share. You can feel the tension slowly leaving him, as if your presence is a balm to his weary soul.

“Tournament soon?” he asks, his voice muffled against your hair.

“Yeah,” you reply, “Dubai. In a week.” You know the time change between Dubai and Europe will be brutal, but you’ve become accustomed to that aspect of your career.

He lifts his head and looks at you, his gaze intense. “You’ll crush them,” he says with absolute certainty.

You smile, the confidence in his voice a tangible thing. “Just like you’re going to leave them all in the dust next race, huh?”

He grins, that familiar flash of competitive fire returning to his eyes. “You know it.”

You trace the line of his jaw, your fingers lingering on the slight stubble. You could spend hours like this, just the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s presence, the noise of the world fading away.

There’s a vulnerability in him that only you get to see, a softness that he hides from the cameras, the reporters, the rivals. And in return, he gets to see a side of you that very few have been privy to, the quiet tenderness that lies beneath the fiery exterior.

“Want to order some takeaway?” you ask, the thought of cooking suddenly feeling like a monumental task.

“Pizza?” he suggests, his eyes already sparkling with the thought.

“Only if it has pineapple,” you tease, knowing that it is the most controversial thing you could possibly say.

Max groans, throwing his head back against the couch. “You are absolutely going to be the death of me,” he says, but the smile on his face belies his words.

You laugh, the sound light and free. You lean in, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s the taste of home, a place where you are both just Max and you, where the pressures of the world are just whispers in the distance.

You know that outside this space, you are both world-class athletes with unwavering determination, but in each other’s arms, you are just two people who grew up together. Who fell in love.

Who, despite the relentless demands of your careers, will always find their way back to each other. You are, after all, each other’s constant. You are, and will always be, each other’s home.

The roar of the engine was a familiar lullaby, a sound that had been a constant soundtrack to your life since you were kids, perched on the sidelines of karting tracks, watching Max whiz by in a blur of red and orange.

Now, instead of a flimsy kart, you were strapped into a beast of a car, the smell of hot rubber and high-octane fuel filling your nostrils. You glanced at the familiar, focused profile of Max beside you, the set of his jaw a testament to his concentration.

This was supposed to be a fun exercise, a publicity stunt dreamed up by Red Bull’s marketing department – the world’s number one tennis player, and the reigning Formula One Champion, taking a joyride. Except, this wasn’t a joyride.

This was a terror ride, and you were pretty sure your heart was currently trying to stage a coup and escape from your chest.

“Max,” you started, your voice a little too high pitched, a far cry from the confident, booming voice that usually echoed through stadium press boxes. “You know I’m used to your speed, right? On the track, where it's meant to be, not on some random circuit at 300 km/h.”

He didn’t answer, just a subtle twitch of his lips hinting at a suppressed grin. You gripped the grab handle on your side of the car so hard your knuckles turned white.

It was no secret that Max, much like you on the tennis court, thrived on pushing boundaries. He was a master of controlled chaos on the track, and right now, you weren’t so sure about the "controlled" part.

The car accelerated, forcing you back into your seat. You let out a yell, a mix of fear and adrenaline coursing through you.

You were used to controlling your own trajectory, predicting your opponent’s next move, the satisfying thump of a perfectly placed serve. This, this was utterly out of your hands, at the mercy of Max’s foot on the accelerator pedal.

“Max! Verdomme! Slow down!” You bellowed, resorting to Dutch as your carefully constructed composure shattered into a million pieces. You could feel the g-force pressing against you, throwing your head against the headrest as he took a corner at an impossible speed.

You braced yourself, bracing your hands against the dashboard, trying to find something solid to cling to.

You could hear him chuckling, the sound muffled but distinct. You could practically see the mischievous glint in his eyes, even though you were looking straight at the dashboard.

“What, is the little tennis star scared?” He teased, his voice laced with amusement.

He downshifted, the revs of the engine screaming higher, and you swore you felt your stomach try to migrate up into your throat.

“Scared?! I’m not scared!” You shouted back, partially for his benefit, mostly for yours. “I’m just… concerned about the structural integrity of this car. And my very delicate internal organs!” You knew you sounded pathetic, not the self-assured athlete the world knew and feared, but you couldn’t help it.

This was Max Verstappen, after all. He had a unique way of bringing out your most ridiculous, human side.

He laughed again, a full, genuine laugh this time, the kind that made your heart flutter even while your stomach was performing gymnastics.

He glanced over at you, a grin playing on his face. “Relax, schatje. I have it under control.”

And maybe, just maybe, you did believe him, for a split second anyway. Then he slammed on the gas and you screamed again, a string of Dutch curses pouring out of your lips as you gripped the headrest with an iron fist.

Each turn was a rollercoaster, each acceleration a punch to your gut. You found yourself cursing in Dutch, English, and even a little bit of French, a linguistic mashup fuelled by sheer terror.

You caught glimpses of the blur outside, the landscape a streaks of green and brown. You tried to focus on breathing, trying to regain a semblance of control over your runaway emotions, but every time he hit the accelerator, you lost it again.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, or perhaps just a few minutes of extreme adrenaline, the car slowed, and pulled into a stop. You were slumped back in your seat, a sweaty, disheveled mess.

“That was… an experience,” you managed, your voice still a bit shaky.

He turned to you, his eyes sparkling as he gave you a wide, triumphant grin. “Fun, right?”

You almost laughed, a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “Fun? Max, I think I aged at least five years in that car.” You reached up and felt your pulse, which was still trying to break free.

He tilted his head, the playful gleam still dancing in his eyes. “But you said you're used to my speed."

You threw your hands up. “Yes, but I didn’t know you’d be trying to scare me, you… absolute menace.”

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated in your chest, and then reached over and undid your seatbelt. As he did, he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Maybe just a little.”

You felt yourself blush, despite the fact that you were also on the verge of throttling him. As he stepped out of the car, you took a moment to collect yourself, smoothing your clothes and trying to appear somewhat pulled together.

As you reached up, your fingers brushed something small and hard attached to the car’s dashboard. It was a camera, aimed directly at you.

Your eyes widened, and then everything clicked into place. The teasing laughter, the exaggerated acceleration, the playful comments – it had all been an elaborate, incredibly mischievous ploy.

You burst out laughing, a genuine, unrestrained laugh that echoed around the open space. You couldn't help it. It was absurd, ridiculous, and completely, utterly Max.

You covered your face with your hands, still laughing. He watched you, his eyes sparkling, a smile playing on his lips.

“Did you get all of that?” you exclaimed, still chuckling. “The screaming in multiple languages? The death grips on the dashboard?"

He shrugged, pretending to look innocent, but the smirk on his face told another story. “Maybe.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, your voice laced with amusement rather than anger.

“Only for you,” he replied, that familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes.

You lowered your hands, a smile now playing on your lips. “I should have known, shouldn’t I? That you would never just do a normal lap with me.”

He took a step closer, his eyes meeting yours. “Where’s the fun in normal, liefje?”

You knew he was right. Normal was boring. And as much as the terror of the hot lap had made you want to wring his neck, you also wouldn't trade it for anything.

It was another reminder of the chaotic dance you and Max had always been in, a dance of adrenaline, teasing, and a love that ran as deep as the engine roar that had been the background to your lives.

This was your Max, and despite your near-death experience, you wouldn't have him any other way. You stepped out of the car, ready to face the world, and whatever else he decided to throw your way. The camera might have captured your terrified screams, but it had missed the grin that was now plastered across your face.

You were ready for your next match but you were also ready for whatever chaos Max decided to unleash next.

Life with him was never boring, and you wouldn't have it any other way. . . .

The crisp December air nips at your cheeks as you step out of the car, the familiar rumble of Max's engine fading behind you. You pull your coat tighter, adjusting your beanie, a small smile playing on your lips.

The holidays. A welcome respite from the relentless pressure of the tennis circuit. A chance to breathe, to ground yourself before the Australian Open looms. And, most importantly, time with Max.

He's already by the padel court, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he bounces a ball. Lando and Charles are there too, bickering about something trivial, their usual competitive energy already buzzing.

“Took you long enough, slowpoke,” Max teases, tossing the ball to you.

“Traffic,” you retort, catching it easily. “Besides, someone had to pack the snacks, didn’t they?”

Lando groans dramatically. “Snacks? You brought snacks? This is serious competition, woman!”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of your on-court persona flickering through. “Oh, I thought this was just a friendly get-together. Unless you’re scared, Lando?”

He splutters, Charles chuckling beside him. “Scared? Of you? Please. Just wait until I unleash my padel prowess.”

Max wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Don’t listen to him, liefje. We’ll crush them.”

That Dutch endearment always makes you melt, and a genuine smile spreads across your face. He knows exactly how to disarm you.

The game starts, and the air is filled with the thwack of the ball, playful taunts, and the occasional groan of exertion. You and Max move with a practiced synchronicity, years of playing (and bickering) together evident in your easy communication.

Max is surprisingly good at padel, his reflexes honed by years of racing, and you find yourself relying on his power, setting him up for winning shots.

“That’s cheating! You have your wife on your team,” Lando grumbles, wiping sweat from his brow after another point you and Max win.

“Jealous, are we?” you retort, grinning. “Maybe you should find yourself a tennis champion girlfriend.”

Charles snorts. “Good luck with that. Finding someone who can keep up with you is a challenge.”

You playfully shove Charles’ shoulder. “I’m not that intimidating.”

Max squeezes your hand. “Oh, you are. Especially when you give those death stares on court.”

He's right, of course. You can be ruthless. You have to be. The pressure to stay on top is immense, the media constantly scrutinizing every move, every word. The expectation is suffocating sometimes.

Later, as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the court, you’re sitting on the bench, catching your breath.

The score is ridiculously lopsided in yours and Max’s favor. Lando and Charles have conceded defeat, blaming everything from the altitude to the snack selection.

Max sits beside you, his arm draped around your shoulders. “You were amazing out there,” he says, his voice soft. “Like always.”

“So were you,” you reply, leaning into him. “You know, for a race car driver.”

He laughs, a warm, comforting sound. “It's all about reflexes, liefje. And a killer instinct.”

He understands that killer instinct in you, the drive to win, the unwavering focus. He sees it because he possesses it too.

It binds you together, this shared understanding of the relentless pursuit of excellence, the sacrifices required, the price you both pay.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his eyes searching yours. “With everything… the media, the pressure. Are you okay?”

It's a question he asks often, a constant check-in, a reminder that he’s there, always. It's a tenderness he rarely shows the world, a vulnerability reserved only for you.

You sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It’s tough. The whispers, the judgment… sometimes it feels like I'm living under a microscope.”

“I know,” he says, his voice laced with empathy. “They’re brutal. They try to tear you down because they’re jealous of what you’ve achieved.”

He knows what it’s like to be under that kind of scrutiny, to have every mistake magnified, every victory questioned. He lived it his entire life, his father's relentless expectations and the constant pressure to perform.

You trace a pattern on his jeans with your finger. “It’s different for you, though. You have the car, the team… you’re surrounded by people who support you, who believe in you.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm. “And you don’t?”

You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Of course, I do. But it’s… lonely at the top. Everyone wants something from you. It’s hard to know who to trust.”

He understands that too. The isolation that comes with success, the constant questioning of motives.

“You have me,” he says, his voice unwavering. “You always have me. And I know it’s not the same, but Lando and Charles… they care about you too. We all see how hard you work, how much you dedicate yourself to your sport.”

He pulls you closer, his warmth enveloping you. “Don’t let them break you, liefje. You’re stronger than they think. Stronger than you even give yourself credit for.”

His words are like a balm to your soul, a reminder of your strength, your resilience. He sees you, truly sees you, the fierce competitor and the vulnerable woman beneath.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s just… sometimes it gets overwhelming.”

He kisses your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Then let me carry some of the weight. That’s what I’m here for.”

The sun has almost completely disappeared, and the air is getting colder. Lando and Charles are packing up their things, their boisterous energy subdued.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Lando calls out. “We’re heading back. You coming?”

You look at Max, a silent question in your eyes.

He squeezes your hand again. “Go. I’ll stay a little longer. I want to watch the stars.”

You nod, knowing he needs the quiet, the solitude. He finds peace in the vastness of the night sky, a reminder that his problems, his pressures, are small in the grand scheme of things.

You stand up, giving Max one last kiss. “I’ll see you back at the house.”

As you walk away, you glance back at him. He’s sitting on the bench, his head tilted back, gazing at the stars. In that moment, he looks so young, so vulnerable.

The weight of the world, the expectations of millions, seem to melt away, leaving only a man searching for solace in the vastness of the universe.

You know you would do anything for him, fight anyone who dared to hurt him. You are his anchor, just as he is yours.

Later that night, you find him on the balcony, wrapped in a blanket, still staring at the stars. You join him, slipping under the blanket, pressing close to his side.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, your voice soft.

He lets out a long sigh. “Just… everything. The season, the pressure, the expectations.”

You reach out and take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “You’re going to be okay, Max. You’re the best. You always have been.”

He turns to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and tenderness. “And you? Are you going to be okay?”

You smile, a genuine, heartfelt smile. “With you by my side? Always.”

You lean in and kiss him, a long, slow kiss that speaks of years of shared history, of unspoken understanding, of unwavering love.

In that moment, under the vast expanse of the starry sky, you are just two people, connected by a bond that transcends the pressures of fame and the demands of the world.

You are simply Max and you, a team, a partnership, a love that has endured the test of time and the scrutiny of the world. And that, you realize, is all that truly matters. . .

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dostoyevsky-official · 4 months ago

Text

Boris Spassky, who has died aged 88, was the gallant loser of the most famous match in chess history. The Russian champion conceded his world title to Bobby Fischer at Reykjavik in 1972, but gained a host of admirers for his sportsmanlike behaviour and dignity in defeat. When Fischer had failed to appear for the opening ceremony, Moscow wanted Spassky to claim victory by default and return home. But he had struck a bond of friendship with the American at their previous meetings, and agreed to a first game postponement that allowed the London financier Jim Slater to save the 24-game match by doubling the prize fund.

Spassky then won the first game after his opponent blundered, followed by the second when Fischer defaulted after a dispute over television cameras. The German arbiter Lothar Schmid arranged for game three to be played in a small backstage room, despite renewed opposition from Soviet officials. There was still a narrow escape at the start of the game when Fischer began to complain and Spassky headed for the door, so Schmid forcibly sat them at the board and demanded: “Play chess!”

Once he got into the match, Fischer proved in irresistible form and won five of the next eight games, effectively deciding the outcome. Spassky was stunned, but joined in the applause at the end of the impressive sixth game, and maintained his friendship with his rival when they analysed together at the final ceremony. He was also pragmatic, depositing his share of the prize money in a western bank in defiance of an edict that winnings should be handed to the USSR sports federation.

Spassky was born in Leningrad. Neither his father, Vasili, a construction engineer, nor his mother, Ekaterina Petrovna, a teacher, played chess, though his younger sister Irina became a USSR women’s draughts champion. Spassky first played chess at the age of five on a train during the evacuation of Leningrad to escape the German siege, but then forgot about the game until he returned home after the second world war. By then, his parents were divorced.

In the summer of 1946, Spassky began to visit a chess pavilion in the city’s Central Park and became obsessed with the game: “I used to go at 11am and return home at 11pm. When the pavilion closed in September it was like death, with no chess.” In 1947 he joined the Leningrad Palace of Pioneers (a youth centre for extracurricular activities), where the inspirational Vladimir Zak, who had coached several grandmasters, recognised his talent. At the age of 10, Spassky beat the world’s best player, Mikhail Botvinnik, in a simultaneous exhibition, and improved rapidly. By 15, he was the youngest ever Soviet master, with a positional and solid style.

[...] Spassky was cultured, handsome, calm and athletic. At college he was a high jumper and volleyball halfback, and after he lost the world title he became a keen tennis player. Sometimes he would arrive at chess games in tennis gear, put his racket beside the board, and agree a quick draw. His conversation was often ironic, and he was a mimic whose favourite targets were Lenin and Botvinnik. But he also had an introspective, modest and sometimes melancholy side to his character.

Spassky’s peak period in world chess was relatively short, and his rout by Fischer at Reykjavik was a career-defining moment, yet history is likely to regard him as a great champion. His harmonious and universal playing style combined grace with power, and his best games have the classic lucidity that can inspire amateurs. His forte was the middle game, where his imaginative yet sound and deeply planned strategy could erupt into decisive tactical attacks. His notable opening was the king’s gambit 1 e4 e5 2 f4, rarely seen at the top level, where his 16 wins and no losses included victories over Fischer and Karpov.

Spassky was unlucky in that he had to contend with Tal and Karpov at their peaks as well as with Fischer. As a personality, he was among the most articulate and likable of the world champions, a man who charmed ordinary fans while keeping the respect and admiration of his peers.

#chess

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sophianightdreamer · 5 months ago

Text

Things that happened in the Official Transformers RPG's lore.

So, I've got my hands on all three rulebooks of the official TF RPG. And also the G. I. Joe RPG, but that's irrelevant right now. My batch did not include the crossover rulebook, sadly.

Therefore, notes on the lore and other details in the "basic" canon, because TFWiki did not go into the details, that grew into this list of odd events mentioned.

First thing first, the general continuity is very close to Cyberverse or G1 Fanon, having the basic outline of G1 cartoon, but with details and chunks of backstory pulled from elsewhere - Optimus is a former archivist/data clerk, Bumblebee is a sportscar, et cetera.

To note, there's a somewhat short introductory "who-is-who" list and basic character sheets with profiles both.

Well, I've already got my whiplash, so it's your turn now.

There's something very funky going on with Devastator. Prowl's introduction blurb directly states that something Combiner Wars-esque/Prowlstator has happened, and reads as implying that Autobots hijacked Devastator. By all accounts, Scrapper is alive, making it a possible genuine canonical instance of Prowlastator with Scrapper alive, but the Constructions as whole are placed with the Decepticons. But, Tergamax mentions that among people that were at any moment replacement parts of Devastator there were five Autobots, Prowl included. What happened?

The "who is who" listing for Autobots includes declarations of jobs/roles/traits. Some of these are notable: 1) Ironhide is a chemist 2) Swerve is in Public Relations 3) Rung is Psy-Ops 4) Perceptor is specifically an engineer 5) Bumblebee is noted as "Hero of the People". Must be popular.

Speaking of roles, monochromatic SIC of the day is Jazz, who is also a strategist now.

All of the people in the introductory list are implied to be the Ark crew, and there are problems regarding space travel for Autobots right now. This means that Anode, Lug, those two kids from IDW2, Elita's team and Glyph are on the crew.

Rattrap is a Decepticon.

Optimus Prime has a thick Iaconian accent in Cybertronian. It turns "Teletraan" into "Teletron".

Character sheets include a list of languages that character speaks. Some of these past the standart English+Cybertronian are completely random. Optimus Prime speaks Dutch. Korean is surprisingly popular. In what could be a nice callback, Slingshot has Arabic. The only two people who know the language of newly-introduced alien species of Catharsians are Ratchet and Wildrider. But the crown is taken by First Aid, who has both ASL and Quileute. Yes, the basically extint language of a small tribe warring legally with Stephanie Meyer.

Speaking of languages, both Megatron and Shockwave are noted passable polyglots, and both lack the Universal Translator perk Soundwave, Blaster and Perceptor have. But while Megatron has vague but limited "languages from across Decepticon territory", Shockwave has "all common languages", implying he knows at least a bit of almost everything manually.

Tracks is a triple changer, apparently.

Decepticons' thing is mass-producing sparkless drone clones of their own members.

There's a general threat level system with lists included, where 0 is a random human civilian, 24 is Optimus and Megatron, and 25 is Omega Supreme and Scorponok. Chosen numbers for some characters are thought-provoking. Jazz is 14. Ratchet is 15. First Aid is 9. Wildrider is 6. Ironhide and Starscream are tied with 17. Lord Zarak by himself is 10.

Transformers The Movie sort-of happened, with no apparent notable casualties except for Megatron, who got Galvatroned, but there is a chance that Cyclonus, while a minion of Unicron, predates those events. He is also in an odd position of formally being a part of Decepticons and not the followers of Unicron, who are technically a separate faction.

Scorponok and Deathsaurus are member of Decepticon High Command/Conclave along with Shockwave and Soundwave. Nobody trusts Starscream, so he is not there, but he has the air force.

Mindwipe is, once again, a sorcerer.

Predacons, the combiner team, somehow adopted a sharkticon.

The evil plan du jour of, apparently, pre-Unicron era is converting Earth into the second Cybertron via several colony sites.

#Transformers #Maccadam #And don't get me started on the game mechanics themselves #That is a separate topic and will take a hour #There is a lot of interesting things in those blorbs #Brainstorm envisioning the future #Llyra being binary-bonded to someone #Everybody being on Earth because of Jetfire #It's a bit sad the Enigma book did not roll out new locations #But it proposed a scenario essentially boiling down to “do not lock Optimus and Prowl in one room”#I did not touch the little things in profiles too #And yet what was that with Devastator?#Oh and Megatron almost decked Shockwave due to the latter's lack of ethics #Please do ask me about the details

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bunny-jpeg · 5 months ago

Text

make you feel good

toto wolff

request: For the Valentine’s Day request! 37 with Toto Wolff 😩 including jealousy, possessiveness 37. “could he make you feel as good as i do?”

tags: smut/pwp, jealousy, possessive behavior, age gap (20s/50s) mating press, mentions of breeding, teasing, semi public fingering

eros (the valentine's collection)

toto tapped his pen against his desk at the pit wall. the seconds ticked away slowly, your warm giggles filled his head which only made him grow hotter. the corner of his mouth twitch as he heard an engineering make more sweet comments about you. you only fawned at his words.

you were painfully oblivious to his intentions. you only had eyes for toto, it put blinders on in regards to anyone else. you couldn't tell when a boy was flirting with you.

however, that didn't soothe his jealousy. toto could be a little protective of you. he had to, especially since you were so innocent at times. your giggles filled his brain once more and he almost snapped the pen in half.

he quickly looked over at you and said in a tense tone, "princess. come here, now."

toto was quite good at balancing you on his knee while he went over what he needed to do for the weekend. in a flurry of activity no one noticed toto's hand on yoru thigh. he looked focused on papers and the screens as his large hand moved up your thigh and under your skirt.

you needed to learn obedience, you couldn't be such a slut, especially when toto allowed you at his job. he had a reputation which left very little room for misbehaved little sluts in whorish skirts. you held your breath as his fingers touched your achy pussy. you felt a shudder of want through you. couldn't cause a scene, not while toto was working. his ability to multitask that way made you feel excited all over.

"behave, princess. it's rather not have an international incident." he said softly as he watched your resolve crumble. especially when he got his fingers at your clothed pussy. and with a little adjustment of you on his lap, he teased your clit over your panties, "shhh, now. let me work." he kept an arm around your waist with his fingers dipped between your legs.

his grip was like a vice, you weren't going anywhere. you let out a small noise that you covered up with a fake cough. your short nails dug into his shoulder, he kissed your cheek and felt heat under his lips.

"could he make you feel as good as i do?"

you shook your head and felt the pleasure course through you. this was an act of dominance. toto wanted to cement in your head that you were a taken woman. that you were with one man, toto wolff. you felt your place on his knee uneasy as you tried to pull yourself together.

"please." you said softly then bit your bottom lip as he applied more pressure to your clit. you bit back a moan and kept yourself focused as pleasure hit like waves against a rocky shore.

only he could make you feel that good. he kissed your cheek before he pulled his hand out from your skirt and covered your thigh once more with his large hand. the jealous old man looked from the corner of his eye to see if he had an audience. most weren't paying attention, save for the poor engineer who thought he had any chance with you.

toto noticed, yo didn't. and he only added salt to this poor guy's wound when he pulled you into a tight kiss. all that could be taken from that was, do no touch what belonged to toto.

by the end of the day, when you both got back to the hotel. the possessive feeling was extended to you. you had to remember who you belonged to, toto couldn't blame you. you wasn't your fault you were so stupid sometimes. but toto was always there to remind you, that what was a good partner did after all.

toto lingered like a shadow and soon struck as he stripped you of your clothes. but you weren't about to touch him. he pulled your skirt off your hips and near ripped your white t-shirt. his larger hand groped your breasts.

your back to his chest as he almost bruised your pretty tits with his tight grip. you squirmed and your noises quickly grew in volume. but toto kept you close to him, using his size and strength.

"no, no, no princess. where are you going?" he said lowly, "you act like that was with a total stranger, but won't give me what is mine? seems unfair?"

"i'm sorry." you should have known. a jealous man like him only grew in the feeling the more you moaned and whined. you knew you'd be covered in his possessive marks soon enough.

"i know, my princess. you're just so silly sometimes. don't realize that the world is full of men who wish to hurt you." he kissed the top of your head, "poor thing. need a protector in your life. but protection comes at a cost, right? you're smart enough to know that everything comes with a price."

his words made your legs feel weak. you whined, "toto, please."

"you beg to beautifully. it is quite cute." he said lowly, "all for me. every inch is mine." his hands spread across your shoulders, "can you remember that for me? or do you wish to continue to be a whore?"

you whimpered, the pleasure burned in your soul.

"i will happily let every member of the team have their way with you. from top to bottom, like the whorish toy you are. you'd be happy to be the team's stress relief after a rough weekend, right? because you're just that much of a little whore."

"please." you gasped, "i only want you." it was true, you only craved toto. he made you mad for him. his love was intense and it radiated through you like a wildfire.

he leaned in to kiss your neck, "then get out of what little clothes you have left on and on the bed. if you don't, i'll make you." his voice excited you.

he let go of you and watched you rush to the bed. he admired how quick you moved in such little clothes. he loved how you body looked. it was something to admire. he followed you with his hands at his belt.

you got onto the bed and toto was close behind you. he already had his belt off before he got onto the bed. you let out a small noise and started to undress him. "fuck, toto." you exhaled as you felt excitement in your core as you stripped him nude. his toned body made your pulse jump and your rub your thighs together in anticipation.

"see, this is all yours." he ksised your jaw then his slacks were on the floor. then the briefs were tossed to the other side. you shared another kiss before he was between your legs.

you felt flustered then yelped when he hiked your hips up up and got your knees to your cheeks. that glossy pussy on display for him. it was intoxicating. he eyed your smaller form and heat curled in your gut from his heavy gaze.

"you always look better on your back." he remarked before he inched his cock into your needy cunt. a slice of heaven that he got to fuck almost daily. he could already feel the pleasure in his mouth like a lingering taste.

you moaned as he moved against you. you held onto your legs under your knees. he moved against and watched you tense up for a moment before you relaxed.

his pace was strong and rough, little time for gentleness when there was seething envy in your lover's core. it made you feel heat radiate through your body as he made sure he fucked you in such a way that you never thought about anyone else ever again. he fucked you in a way that only a lover could. you'd yearn for another more as long as he kept your slutty little mind full of pleasure. have your sweet pussy yearn only for him.

and with the noises you were making, he was near certain that you weren't going to pull a stunt like that ever again. the position he had you in left you pinned under him. to fuck with heavy thrusts. it was like a fire in both of you as he fucked your most sensitive spots.

you were toto's alarmingly younger lover and he had expectations for you. to fuck you into a sweet submission and you were to behave for him. he'd give you the world! you were perfect so of course he'd be a little jealous of those tried to pluck you out of his grasp!

he leaned over you further and worked you achy cunt until you were a whiny mess. he admired you, you looked beautiful under him and when your eyes fluttered shut he said firmly, "eyes open, princess. i want to see those beautiful eyes." then quickened his pace to force you to open them.

the older man gave you a tender kiss on the lips before he said, "so beautiful. you look good under me. so needy." then licked his top lip at the sight of you. all he could think about was how great you took his cock, he knew he had you all to himself.

"fuck, toto, please!"

you were to be cherished, to be loved, to be ruined by toto.

"see what happens when you behave? when you listen to me and be a good girl. you get the royal treatment." he kissed the corner of your mouth and you moaned.

you made such beautiful noises.

"will you behave from now on? be my good angel. you are so important to me." he kissed you on the lips. the kiss was passionate and you moaned into it.

when he broke away, you nodded sweetly. you licked your lips before you found your words, "yes, fuck, yes. i'll be good for you. please, ah! i promise."

and toto cracked another smile before he moved quicker. his thrusts left you out of breath and it made your toes curl as your cheeks were pressed against your knees. he had you bent to his liking, it still made you flustered with sexual want. you felt the pleasure thump in your core. the heat made your cunt soaked as he fucked you up against the covers.

"toto." you whined.

he kissed your lips once more, pressing against you. he groaned into the kiss. he held yo by your legs and kept up the rapid movements. the mating press allowed him to hit all the right spots inside of you.

you grippe your thighs tightly and let pleasure was over you. you shuddered and moaned the noises were sweet and it made toto fuck you harder. you weren't going to last much longer.

"beautiful, beautiful." he said softly as he continued to thrust. he could feel the bloom of pleasure in his chest. he shakily exhaled from the pent up emotion in his body. you squirmed and he eyed you hungrily.

you reached for him and gave him another searing kiss. everything felt heightened in your body, you murmured, "i love you."

"and i love you."

with a few more thrusts, you held onto your lover tightly and climaxed. you let out a sweat moan and then a small gasp as the lust washed over you. it left an intense afterglow in your mind, an intense sexual euphoria. everything ran hot in you.

toto watched you come apart and moved faster. there was no slowing him down. he kissed you once more as he soon finished inside of you.you moaned into the kiss and he nudged his cock all the way inside of you.

he slowed to a stop and took you by your face. he gazed at you once more before he gave you another tender kiss. you dropped your legs to the bed and toto continued to kiss you

you were soon curled up against him, you gave sweet kissed to your love and he happily accepted them while he held you by your middle.

"you'll be my good girl?" he asked softly.

you nodded, "of course, always for you, toto." you glowed under his affection. you'd be good for him. but you couldn't help but be alluring to so many.

but toto would make sure that everyone knew that you belonged to him. only him <3

#bunny writes #reader insert #formula 1 #formula one imagine #f1 smut #formula one smut #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula one #torger toto wolff #toto wolff smut #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff fanfiction #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff

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too-much-tma-stuff · 4 months ago

Text

Years Later

Previous | Masterpost

It had been almost three years since Danny and his twin brother Damian had come to live with their father and Danny thought that they had both done pretty well for themselves. Damian had settled in, bonded with the family, stopped trying to kill their siblings, and made friends with Superman’s youngest son. He still had a very hard time relating to civilians, but everyone had their issues, right?

While their father had been missing for a while they’re all had to step up, and their eldest brother Dick had become Batman and finally made Damian the new Robin. It wasn’t how they had expected that to happen, but even through the grief of losing their father both Damian and Danyal had been happy he got the roll. Dick being Batman had been temporary because both Tim and Danny had been sure Bruce was still alive, and with both of them they’d managed to convince others and free Bruce from the time stream.

When Bruce had recovered and was ready to become Batman again Damian had remained Robin and Tim had gone on to be his own hero, Dick returning to being Nightwing. Damian was happy to work with their father again, training and bonding as heroes. He was good at it too, even if his methods were a bit more violent then Batman would have liked, they were working on that.

As for Danny, he had never joined the night life properly. His siblings teased him about it a little, but Bruce had nearly cried for joy when Danny had been firm in that regard even if he couldn’t escape it entirely, being surround by it as he was, he could refuse to put on a mask. He still wanted to help keep his family safe, so he worked with Tim and Bruce on manufacturing the bat’s gear, and learned how to hack and program with Babs. He ended up an engineer and a ‘guy in the chair’ for his family while they went out to fight crime.

It was calmer, and more fun for him, not to mention less exhausting which allowed him to focus on being as much of a ‘normal kid’ as he could be. He joined more clubs then Damian, and made some civilian friends! Including Sam Manson, who had rich parents who were uncomfortable happy with their daughter hanging out with a Wayne, and Tucker who was at the private school on a scholarship because of his engineering prowess. They were good friends, and Danny was happy to have them despite Sam’s weird family, who he tried to avoid.

It was all going pretty well, except for one thing, the experiments on the Lazarus water. He had started working on it with Tim and Bruce, but been right that Bruce would hold them back, and it meant that the experiments were going nowhere. He thought that he probably could have talked Tim into doing some of the more out there things he wanted but then Tim left, and Bruce was still keeping track of what Danny was doing leaving him unable to work without fighting against his father every step of the way. His brother too, because he had been right that Damian would be loyal to Bruce once their father earned it.

Danny had theories, and charts, and things he wanted to try. But they all came from hunches and dreams which just weren’t enough proof for The Batman even though this was at least half magic and that was half instinct. Danny was nowhere near where he wanted to be at this point, and could not even manufacture his own substitute.

It hadn’t been an imminent problem until the League of Shadows finally realized neither Danny nor Damian had any plans of returning and started trying to claw them back. Talia still sent Danny bottles of Lazarus water sometimes, but it seemed like she was having to smuggle it out which meant he was getting significantly less. There were the clones too. The lack of Lazarus water seemed to be how they were trying to flush Danny out and force him to return, and the clones were being sent to drag Damian back as well.

So far there hadn’t been any clones of Danny, but he was keeping an eye out just in case. The lack of water wasn’t an immediate threat since he had some stockpiled but he was very worried, and if he didn’t figure it out soon it would turn into a problem. He wouldn’t be able to run tests anymore if he was having to save all of it, and if he couldn’t run he wouldn’t find out how to manufacture it. It would end the same way, with him having to return to the League of Shadows or try and steal more water himself which would just end in the same dilemma when he ran out again.

He could try to convince Bruce again in light of this, but they’d had multiple talks about this over the years and though the dependence on the league was becoming a bigger issue Danny wasn’t sure that would matter. Bruce’s world view was uncomfortably black and white. Besides he had bigger long-term plans.

It wasn’t just to recreate it, yes that was the initial goal but that wasn’t going to be where his experimentation ended and he knew it. He knew in his bones that once purified the waters could be used for so much more then just healing the sickly and killing the healthy. The raw energy in them was meant to be so much more! And then there were the dreams, which had never stopped and had only been getting more vivid and insistent as time went on.

More then just a voice calling him now, they showed him things. They showed him an ancient war that had torn holes in reality, an ancient king of blood and magic who had done much harm. And again and again the glowing green portal that he knew he had to build! He had never cared much for destiny, but he couldn’t just ignore this, especially when he could feel the pain of the ancient being who called to him. Just another secret to keep from his family because he didn’t want them to interfere.

It would be easier to do what he needed to do without adult supervision, and he had some ideas about how to go about it. He needed space first, and equipment. Money could get all of that, but how much could he steal without father noticing? He had already started of course, skimming a bit here and a bit there off the top and stashing it away, but the way that was going it would be far to long before he had enough money for everything he needed.

There was another thing that worried Danny too, that he’d seen during his time as ‘the guy in the chair’. The new player in Crime Alley, that Bruce was… worried about, but not hugely yet, he was just getting established after all. The problem was, he was incredibly violent, and his techniques reeked of the league, and of something more. Danny had the uncomfortable feeling he knew exactly who it was beneath the red hood, another secret that he’d kept coming back to bite him. But everything in him still rejected the idea of just coming out and telling all his secrets. Knowledge was power after all, and maybe he could still use this as well.

In fact, he was sure that he could use it. He just had to play the game right, and this might turn out to be exactly what he needed.

It had been easy to steal some of the other bat’s gear, just a mask, and a few weapons just in case. Easier still to sneak out on a night when they were already out on patrol and head to crime alley with put being spotted. They rarely patrolled there anyway, not that there wasn’t crime there, but because all of it was so integrated in gangs and organized crime there wasn’t time for the little fish and trying usually just lead to more trouble. He would have heard if there was a planned strike because it would have been all hands on deck.

So he put on the mask, and the symbol of the bat, and simply wandered into the territory of the Red Hood. He grappled to an inaccessible roof where he wouldn’t be easy prey for petty thugs and simply waited knowing that Red Hood would find him. It wasn’t long before he heard the thump of someone much heavier landing on the roof behind him and turned to see a familiar hulking man. Danny felt his breath catch in his throat with the chill and he breathed carefully through the odd sense of Pit being nearby that he hadn’t felt since leaving the league confirming his suspicions.

“Well well, you’re a long way from the roost aren’t you birdy? And all on your own?” Red Hood asked, a modulator disguised the sound of his voice, but not really his patterns, Danny smiled and rocked back on his heels.

“All by my lonesome. Because I wanted to talk to you, I recognize league training when I see it. Did they send you?” He asked cocking his head to the side. He refused to tense up or act like he was intimidated or afraid, that would only make him seem like prey and wouldn’t do any good. He was here now, and wasn’t sure he could beat Jason so if the other did attack… well Danny would just have to lay in the grave he’d dug for himself.

“No,” Jason snarled, his fingers twitching around the gun in his hand as he stepped forward. “I don’t work for those fuckers. But they told me, they told me what Bruce did, and how quickly he replaced the last robin with another blue eyes black haired boy. Are you the next one in the chain? He needs to pay for the way he treats those kids.”

“Ah so they cocked you like a gun and pointed you in our direction,” Danny said with a sigh. “No, I’m not the next robin, and that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I have a deal to offer you, Jason.”

Jason snarled and moved quickly, before Danny could blink the gun was pointed straight at his head. “What sort of deal Brat? Because if you’re planning on blackmailing me what’s stopping me from just shooting you? You won’t be able to tell anyone then.”

“I don’t think you’d shoot a child Jason,” Danny said softly. “But no, I mean, not telling Bruce is part of the deal but I have more to offer then that. There are experiments I want to do, things I want to find out that father will not let me. I need a space and equipment for a lab. In return, I won’t tell anyone your secret identity and I can get you access to Bat tech, and build some new things for you. I’ve been building and adding to bat tech for years, without the Batman’s strict morals holding me back I bet I can build you some… interesting weapons.”

There was a long moment of silence between the two of them before Jason threw his head back and laughed, lowering his weapon. “Well I want to get back at Bruce, and I think enabling another one of his kids to turn against him is an excellent start.”

Danny relaxed and grinned as well, he wasn’t actually planning on turning against his father or siblings but he didn’t feel like arguing about it. Especially when they probably would see this as a betrayal. As if they hadn’t all kept secrets. As if Tim still hadn’t told Damian or Bruce about the Legue of Shadows bases he had blown up and all the people he’d killed while searching for Bruce. Not that Danny was going to out his brother of course.

“I’ve been clearing out any gangs that use kids from the Lanes,” Jason said, his posture relaxed now. “They left plenty of empty warehouses, you can have one of those for your lab. I can get you a decent amount of equipment taken from mad scientist and drug rings I’ve busted but I’m not getting you a fucking grocery list. Anything you want that’s missing you’ll have to get yourself,” Jason said, pointing at Danny.

“I wasn’t expecting you to play nursemaid. Anything you can’t get I can get a hold of myself. I still have access to Bruce’s bank account and he’s used to me regularly making orders of mechanical parts and scientific instruments for the work I do for him. I can get what I need.”

“Good, I know you’re a kid, but I’m not holding your hand,” Jason sneered.

Danny laughed and shook his head; “You should know that none of us Batman take in are kidsin any way that matters. Dick had already been out fighting crime for four years by the time he was my age. I’m no different, I was raised in the league even before moving in with dad. If you tried to hold my hand, I’d cut it off.”

“Feisty,” Jason said in a tone of approval. “Meet me at the docks same time next week. I’ll have gotten what I can for you by then, you can set it up on your own.”

“I can handle it. I’ll build you something to start, but after that I won’t be keeping a schedule. You can make requests if there are things you need but I have a lot of work to do,” He said before he rolled off the roof backwards and slowed his fall enough to get the grapple out and swing away.

To his disappointment his powers hadn’t really grown as he did, so slowing himself was still the best he could do. Just lessen gravity’s effects on him a bit, density shift his limbs for a few seconds but not longer, and not his whole body, blend into shadows but not disappear. He was stronger, faster, and a little more sensitive then the average person, but that was all which was both annoying, and confusing because the voice in his dreams promised him he could be so much more.

He was home that night before his brother and father, and he had a proper fucking plan! He was going to have a lab, a secret place that he could do what he needed to do free of restrictions. He would need a secret identity of his own, a suit that would hide him fully so not even Damian would be able to recognize. A full helmet and a vocal distorter like Jason had, maybe one that sort of matched though he’d have to run that by Jason. So much for not putting on a mask he supposed, though he wasn’t exactly planning to be a hero.

He couldn’t wait!

---------

It was easy to ask Sam to act as a cover for if Danny was caught out of the house. He would get in trouble for sneaking out to stay the night with a girl of course, but that was much better than his lab being found. She was happy to enable his rebellion though he hadn’t told her the entire truth about what he would be doing, just asked that is his family called she would say he was with her.

He spent his down time in that week using scrap from the cave to build his helmet and since he was always tinkering with one thing or another no one really noticed. He left cosmetic details for later so he could ask about making it match with Red Hood’s a little bit. For now, he kept it black for the most part. He’d need a suit too. Black, white, and red sounded good, he could easily get the black and red material since it was used in Batman’s and Robin’s suits, the white would be something he’d have to make himself.

With that in mind he started working on his suit as well. He was going to be essentially a villain for now, he might as well lean into the aesthetics of it and have some fun right? He wasn’t planning on hurting anyone or being ‘evil’ but he was going against Batman and teaming up with Red Hood so he knew how that would look. He didn’t know fully what he wanted it to look like, but he knew that he wanted claws so he started with that and after a few sketches he had a design.

All of the vital areas of his body were clothed in black, a vest tunic that went down to mid thigh with a red wrap belt to keep it from flapping around too much. The long sleeved shirt underneath was white, going down over his hands in tight gloves tipped with red claws like they were stained with old blood. Each arm was wrapped elbow to wrist, and around the palm with black bandages of thick material that made them nearly gauntlets. The pants underneath were loose and white, stuffed and secured into black boots with thick durable tread and laces in red.

The helmet was black as well, with red eyes and white detailing along the seems and forming a sort of mouth. It would do for now, he could always change it later but he wanted to have this done by the time he started working on his lab so there was a pretty tight deadline. He was still putting the finishing touches on it the day before he went to see Red Hood again, on a weekend night of course, the bats would be busy and everyone could sleep in in the morning.

He fully suited up with tools tucked into his belt and his weapons strapped to his back and snuck out the window not long after the bats flew the roost, making his way quickly to the Alley and down to the docks. Landing on one of the taller roofs he pulled out a pair of small binoculars equipped with night vision and thermo sensors and scanned the area, quickly spotting Jason and a few, what looked like workmen, bringing boxes into the warehouse. Just in case it was a trap Danny waited for them to leave, and once Jason was alone dropped down and slid into the warehouse.

There were tables set up around and boxes on the floor, the lights were on which was good, he’d need electricity. And there was Red Hood, standing in the middle of the warehouse with his arms crossed, his posture tense and impatient. He turned and looked Danny up and down, letting out a distorted chuckle. “You really committed to the bit huh?” He asked, amusement coming through the distortion.

“Well I’m going to be doing this, I might as well. The last thing I want it to be recognized coming in and out, or caught by any of the bats or birds,” He hummed, reaching up to turn off his own vocal distortion which made his voice sound like ghostly whispers. “By the way, I am trained to fight and I practice daily. If you need backup call me. I won’t hurt father or our siblings, but if anything is compromising our deal or my lab I’ll defend it.” He started to open boxes, seeing what equipment Jason had found for him.

“They’re not my siblings,” Jason snarled, his fingers twitching on his crossed arms.

“As you say,” Danny said blandly, rolling his eyes under his mask. “I should warn you as well that I’m going to be working with Lazarus water here.”

“What?!” Jason practically roared. “You’re going to be bringing Lazarus water HERE?!”

Danny dodged on instinct, and was almost surprised when he found Jason hadn’t tried to shoot him. “Yes. I know what the league uses it for, but it clearly has a lot of untapped potential. I think if I can purify it and harness it right I can use it for something Good. I know you’ve had a bad experience with it, I have too,” Danny said, turning back towards Jason with his hands on his hips.

“I died too, when I was eight and they dunked me in the stuff as well. I saw what you were like after they pulled you out, I know why you’re afraid of it. But I know what it’s like and I swear that is Not what I will be using it for. And I’m not doing it for the league either, I don’t want any of this research getting back to them. I have my own motivations, and that includes healing the lasting effects the Pit had on me, hopefully I can heal you as well. I’m not making any promises since I haven’t even started yet, but I might.”

Jason took deep, slow breaths and even through the eyeholes of the mask Danny could see Jason’s eyes were glowing green with familiar maddening rage. “Fine,” Jason growled and stocked out of the building.

Danny let him go. Jason clearly needed time to cool off, but Danny hoped he would come back before he had to leave so that they could talk more about check ins and how to contact each other. If he didn’t it wasn’t the end of the world. Danny would be coming back regularly and didn’t need permission to do so. Jason would know where to find Danny when he was ready to talk about whatever.

Danny pulled a trip wire and a few bombs and batteries out of his pouches and set up a first perimeter with alerts and a second one with traps. Once he felt more secure in his space Danny started to empty the boxes and set up the burners, beakers, distillers and the other equipment Jason had managed to get for him. Danny was surprised and pleased to find a generator as well! This way if he needed extra power he had a way to get it without raising any flags.

It took him a few hours to get everything set up and make a list of the things he still needed, which was mostly more advanced and sensitive. He muttered to himself as he checked over the building knowing the rudimentary security he’d set up was Barely enough for a regular lab, he’d need much more substantial protections for this. Probably a fail safe to destroy the research if someone unauthorized gets in as well. Despite wanting to rush there was no way he could start working with the Lazarus water for at least a month, till then he could tinker with weapons between deliveries of equipment and other things to do.

He didn’t see Jason again before he headed home, but he wanted to be there a bit before he knew dad and Damian would to avoid running into them. He stripped off his costume leaving him in the white pants and a tank top before carefully climbed back through the window to his bedroom. He knew the placements of the cameras like the back of his hand and was sure he could sneak in and out without being seen but just in case he’d rather be spotted in civilian clothes. He wasn’t a known yet and he wanted to stay off his family’s radar as long as possible. Especially because despite having a costume he hadn’t thought of a name yet!

He could always just wait and see what his family started calling him when they eventually became aware of his… rogue persona, and go with that but they didn’t always have the best taste. With his assassin training and his abilities, he thought that it would make sense to have some sort of name referencing a ghost. He didn’t want one that was too obvious though so it was probably time to do a little bit of research to find a ghost that would suit him. Maybe on a school computer so it couldn’t be easily traced back to him.

He should ask Sam too, she was really into this spooky stuff so she’d enjoy helping him pick a name. He wouldn’t be fully honest about what he was looking for, just that he was researching different ghosts, she’d be happy with that. She might put two and two together once his ‘rogue persona’ became known, but as long as he didn’t hurt anyone he thought she’d be on board. He just didn’t plan to tell them till he had to, one less potential avenue for exposure.

There were a lot of things he hadn’t told her or Tucker, that was the problem with having a family like his, whether he was involved or not any relationship had to be built on lies. He couldn’t tell them about being raised in a cult of assassins, about being heir the Demon Head and the Batman, he couldn’t tell them about his family’s hero work. What was one more secret on top of all the ones he and the family were already keeping?

#dc x dp #danny phantom #fanfiction #demon twins au #danyal al ghul #damian wayne #dick grayson #bruce wayne #sam manson #tucker foley #multi chap fic #tim drake #cassandra cain #alfred pennyworth

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qiu-yan · 1 month ago

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did jin guangyao kill jin rusong? a discussion of several different possibilities

(reproducing the stuff i wrote here because i still think it's interesting)

jiggy antis typically claim that it is confirmed as canon that jin guangyao killed jin rusong....and then are content to leave the conversation at that. this seems like both a prematurely decisive claim and a waste of interesting discussion material. thus, i've decided to discuss several different possibilities/explanations as to what exactly happened regarding jin guangyao and jin rusong.

the below includes 4 diffeent scenarios/explanations in which jin guangyao did kill jin rusong, and 3 different scenarios/explanations in which jin guangyao did not kill jin rusong. all scenarios have been written to comply with what is strictly written in canon to the best of my ability.

yes, he did do it

yes: it happened exactly as sect leader yao said: self-explanatory. as sect leader yao said, jin guangyao killed rusong purely to cover up the fact that qin su was actually his half-sister. (this is the version of events preferred by jiggy antis.)

yes: he mercy-killed rusong: maybe rusong was already showing signs of a life-altering disorder as a result of the incest. or maybe jin guangyao just felt that, if the incest information ever came out, rusong would be doomed to a life of suffering in a heavily prejudiced society. jin guangyao himself had spent his entire life suffering and getting kicked around due to his own proximity to society's pariahs/taboos, so perhaps he felt that he could not subject his son to the same miserable existence. thus, jin guangyao gave rusong a more peaceful end, before (in jin guangyao's mind) society could force rusong to suffer.

yes: he allowed rusong to die through inaction: this is really only a "kill" under a utilitarian moral framework. by this explanation, maybe jiggy found out in advance that someone was planning to kill rusong; however, for any of the other reasons listed here, jiggy decided to do nothing and allow the assassination to happen. thus jiggy would consider himself guilty of allowing rusong's death to happen through inaction.

yes: he did it to justify eliminating an opponent of the watchtowers: maybe the advancement of the watchtower project, which jin guangyao knew would make society a safer place, had hit a deadlock because of a particularly stubborn opponent. so jin guangyao killed rusong and framed the opponent in order to engineer a situation in which his annihilation of the opponent would be entirely socially sanctioned.

and here is where the utilitarian arguments come in. perhaps jin guangyao knew that the watchtower project would improve the lives of millions of people and would make society as a whole safer. and he saw that one political opponent as the final major barrier. and jin guangyao could think of no other way to get rid of this guy. so jin guangyao weighed the lives of those millions of people against his one son, and concluded those millions of strangers were weightier; his son became his iphigenia.

of course, this is still a rather unhinged plan to just come up with on your own, so perhaps a better explanation of events is this reasoning paired with the "he allowed rusong to die through inaction" series of events.

no, he did not do it

no: rusong was killed by political opponents and jin guangyao blamed himself: now we reach the "he didn't do it" section of the potential explanations. jin guangyao has a habit of claiming kills he didn't strictly perform himself; so long as the chain of cause and effect can somehow be traced to somewhere near him eventually, jin guangyao will claim credit for someone's death. this is how jin guangyao takes credit for the death of jin zixuan: even though [novel canon] no one forced wei wuxian to lose control of wen ning and no one forced wen ning to attack jin zixuan, jin guangyao still acts as if he can call himself jin zixuan's killer, simply because he sent jin zixuan to wei wuxian's location.

jin guangyao, in pursuing the watchtower project, aroused a lot of public anger. jin guangyao made himself, and by extension his wife and his child, the political enemies of many, and thus political targets as well. thus, if an enemy targets the life of jin rusong because they are jin guangyao's enemy, jin guangyao is entirely justified in feeling as if rusong's death is his fault. after all, if he hadn't pursued the watchtower project, then maybe rusong would still be alive.

no: jin guangyuao said "he had to die" as a Cope: losing your son sucks. perhaps jin guangyao, in the despair following his son's death, tried to cope with the new reality by telling himself that rusong would have had to die anyways, because he was an incest baby. if rusong was always slated to die, then the fact that rusong is now dead can now be survived. thus, "rusong had to die" becomes an emotional coping mechanism for jin guangyao.

no, jin guangyao himself is uncertain if he allowed rusong to die through inaction: this one is a a bit fanciful but bear with me here. on one hand, jin guangyao loves his wife and son. on the other hand, jin guangyao is horrified by his marriage with his wife and by the existence of his son, because his wife is also his sister and his son is the product of incest. jin guangyao lives with not only this horror but also the constant fear of exposure, because if this information ever got out, the lives of himself, his wife, and his son would all be over.

rusong's growth thus becomes a source of dread, not hope: every day lived brings the possibility of rusong developing some disorder or condition that eventually proves the incest. is it not possible that jin guangyao, living every day under such fear, might come to believe that things would be better if rusong stopped growing older? if rusong died--then gone too would be the evidence of the incest, would it not?

now along comes the political opponent who assassinates rusong. jin guangyao does not see it coming and is thus unable to stop it. but afterwards, upon beholding the corpse of his son, what does jin guangyao feel? rage? despair? no--relief! he feels relief! though he also grieves, the constant fear shrouding his entire life has, for once, lifted!

but if jin guangyao is relieved by the death of his son, what does this imply? can jin guangyao truly say, with full confidence, that he did not see the assassination coming? can he really say, with heaven and earth as his witnesses, that his failure to stop the assassination was not to some degree a choice? is there truly no small part of him that did in fact see the assassination coming--yet, knowing it would be so relieving for him, simply chose to do nothing?

but if jin guangyao did not see the assassination coming at all--if rusong's death truly cannot be pinned on jin guangyao at all--then what does that say about jin guangyao's power? about jin guangyao's safety? jin guangyao being innocent of killing through inaction means that jinlintai really is somewhere assassins can penetrate into. then jin guangyao son really was killed by a force he had no way of stopping. then, in this situation, jin guangyao really was powerless.

you can remove the ambiguity and argue the case either way: jin guangyao knew about the assassination and let it happen, jin guangyao legitimately knew nothing and could not have stopped the assassination. but the ambiguity makes this scenario more interesting to me. jin guangyao lives for the rest of his days uncertain if he chose to allow his son to die through inaction, or if he really was just weak enough to fail to protect his son. maybe jin guangyao's memories of the incident even manage to start distorting after a while, implying either one or the other depending on jin guangyao's own mental situation.

thus, when jin guangyao says "rusong had to die," he himself uncertain if he's justifying his actions or delusionally coping with a reality he had no hand in making. when jin guangyao says "i killed my son," even he himself is uncertain if he's even telling the truth or not.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #jin guangyao #jin rusong #yanyan speaks #jiggy apologism #long post

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