#we were talking about how the police force can only address people in one of four ways:

[birdmenmanga]

there IS a temptation to send my mother images of men having sex that I’ve drawn because I think it would honestly answer a lot of questions she has about me. but I say this while simultaneously feeling embarrassed about telling her my plans to make two guys roommates in a story. genuinely have no idea why the latter is embarrassing and why the former isn’t...

[rollercoasterwords]

different anon, but i thought we all agreed canon remus is a timid, sheltered boy? unlike the fanon's alphamale remus. i think that was an important point. don't know why you said like it was a personal interpretation. and i think when the anon called it fanon toxic heteronormative wolfstar, they meant the r & s in your fic are alphamale-ed remus & abused, shorter sirius. you can make disabled remus fight, but the alphamale-ification of him is. i think we writers should try to not spread that remus. man, i don't think you have to agree with the anon or me, you do you and we do we. sent it just to clarify a few stuff

you guys have caught me in a bad mood so fine let's get into it lmao

"i thought we all agreed canon remus is a timid, sheltered boy?"

well, you thought wrong!! generally speaking if you're saying "i thought we all agreed..." about something in fandom, you are wrong. this space is huge and there are tons of different interpretations of canon. i don't like all of them, but you know what i do when i don't like someone's interpretation? i unfollow them or block them or simply scroll past their post or don't read their fic!! it is sooooooo easy to ignore a stranger on the internet's take on harry fucking potter c'mon now

that being said, the idea that remus is "sheltered" in canon is laughable to me. that kid became a werewolf at six years old, he was forced to deal with the harsh realities of the world wayyyyyy before any of his friends. and i guess you could interpret him as timid, maybe, but i personally don't!! professor lupin in the books is incredibly vivacious, sarcastic, funny--plus, he spent his youth fighting voldemort + death eaters. none of that screams "timid" to me.

and, again, even if that was my interpretation of canon remus, this is not a canon-compliant fic. i am specifically putting the characters in a universe where voldemort won and they grew up separately, without all going to hogwarts together, and exploring my interpretation of how their personalities would change. remus in this world is definitely not fucking sheltered and he literally could not be timid if he wanted to survive. you don't have to read the fic if you don't like seeing him that way!

unlike the fanon's alphamale remus. i think that was an important point. don't know why you said like it was a personal interpretation.

again, the idea that "the fanon" is a single united entity is laughable. there are tons of fanon interpretations of remus. you can choose not to interact with the ones you dislike!!! and i said the "sheltered and timid" thing was a personal interpretation because it is.

and i think when the anon called it fanon toxic heteronormative wolfstar, they meant the r & s in your fic are alphamale-ed remus & abused, shorter sirius.

let's just say what you mean here: you think interpretations of r + s where one is more "feminine" and one is more "masculine" are heteronormative. i think that's bullshit! the idea that gay couples where one is more feminine and one is more masculine are "heteronormative" is the shit that's been ostracizing + marginalizing butches + feminine gay men within the queer community for literal decades--genuinely, it was (and continues to be, apparently!) a huge lesbophobic talking point in feminist circles that butch/femme relationships were un-feminist because butches were basically just "mimicking straight men." not only that, but it leads to pretty blatant transphobia on account of, y'know, trying to police people's gender presentation based on how you think someone of their gender is meant to present. so i don't have ANY fucking patience for this discourse and if you try to bring it to my blog you will get blocked.

and i'll address the idea that remus in my fic is an "alphamale" in a second, but for now--what about having one person be shorter and one person be taller in a relationship makes it heteronormative?? are short people automatically feminine to you?? and what about having one party being abused makes a relationship heteronormative?? is being abused an inherently feminine trait?? i'd recommend thinking about what exactly you're trying to claim here before you bring it to my askbox.

you can make disabled remus fight, but the alphamale-ification of him is. i think we writers should try to not spread that remus.

first of all, i think the idea that The Fandom is spreading some sort of plague of "alphamale remus" is silly. The Fandom is not a monolith; the majority of blogs + writers i follow portray him as a wet sock. so if you're being inundated with "alphamale remus" content that you don't like, start learning to use the block button.

beyond that, the interpretation that remus is an "alphamale" in my fic at all just tells me that both you and the first anon have not read the fic in its entirety. the only reason i can imagine that the first anon even brought that up is the fact that remus is in a werewolf fighting ring and acts flirty with sirius when they first meet. we get an entire chapter from remus's perspective where we learn that this is a specific persona he has had to adapt to survive, and we also learn that he is fighting in this werewolf fighting ring for reasons that are specifically tied to the way he is marginalized in this fictional society. the fic spends a ton of time exploring the way his marginalization has shaped his life and i spend over 20k words writing his pov in his head demonstrating that his anger comes from that marginalization, and that the "aggression" he is interpreted as having is a) partially stereotyping because he's a werewolf and b) partially a persona he has to adapt to survive in the werewolf fighting ring. again, if you don't like reading him like that then you don't have to read the fic. but the idea that fighting other werewolves specifically as a facet of the ways in which werewolves are oppressed in this society is something that makes him an "alpha male"....i mean if that's what you're taking away from it then i simply don't want you to read my fics in the first place.

man, i don't think you have to agree with the anon or me, you do you and we do we. sent it just to clarify a few stuff

the first anon literally asked me to rewrite my fic. sure, i could have just ignored the message and blocked them, and maybe i should have--but like i said, you guys caught me in a bad mood, and this is my blog, so. to answer that ask, i actually did have to disagree with them, because i had to say, "no, i will not rewrite the fic." and you've put me in a position where i actually do have to disagree as well, by saying stuff like "i thought we all agree," where not saying anything would be tacit agreement when i don't agree. i will do me, and i suggest you and the first anon go do you far away from that, because it seems like it would be better for everyone involved! i don't really care if you think you were being polite or helpful with this message; i didn't need you to clarify, and i did not need the holier-than-thou moralizing about what "we writers" should do when it's not even something i'm doing.

again, i don't care if people don't like my fic. just don't read it!!!! and just don't follow this blog!!! there is literally zero point in sending me messages like this nitpicking interpretations, especially not when the crux of your issue is that i'm making wolfstar "heteronormative," an argument that is deeply rooted in homophobia and transphobia. felt like ranting tonight, but generally speaking i will just block anyone who brings that shit into my askbox.

[secretmellowblog]

The wild thing about the Fantine/Tholomyes chapters is that —they’re sort of an allegory for the restoration of the Bourbon monarchy?

Fantine is the child of the French Revolution, born during the reign of the Directory. She doesn’t even have a legal name— she’s an “anonymous” Jane Doe stand-in for all the common people who were born during the Revolution and relying on it to improve their future.

Though she had emerged from the most unfathomable depths of social shadow, she bore on her brow the sign of the anonymous and the unknown. She was born at M. sur M. Of what parents? Who can say? She had never known father or mother. She was called Fantine. Why Fantine? She had never borne any other name. At the epoch of her birth the Directory still existed. She had no family name; she had no family; no baptismal name; the Church no longer existed.

Tholomyes, meanwhile, is compared to the restored monarchy. He’s described as the group’s leader,

one felt the force of government in him; there was dictation in his joviality; his principal ornament was a pair of trousers of elephant-leg pattern of nankeen, with straps of braided copper wire; he carried a stout rattan worth two hundred francs in his hand, and, as he treated himself to everything

and is once described as speaking with

with the accent of a man who had recovered his empire….

I feel like Tholomyès’s descriptions might also echo contemporary parodies of Louis XVIII? He looks old/ugly but is dressed in clothes so lavish they make him appear ridiculous. In his incoherent speeches to the group, he encourages “moderation.” Being too moderate/not extreme enough was a common criticism of King Louis XVIII, who was too conservative to be supported by liberals/republicans but also wasn’t conservative enough to appease ultra-royalists.

Tholomyès is also a law student, and will later become a court Justice known for being “rigid”/severe— making him an active enforcer of the King’s laws.

Throughout the chapters the effects of the Bourbon restoration are even talked about explicitly in ways that parallel the description of the couples.

We get all these rosy descriptions of how the couples are In Love and everything is Wonderful and Nothing is Wrong and everyone is Happy and Everything is Fine… but there’s something wrong about it. Something feels off. The “love” feels hollow and fake, like a shallow facade. It feels like something bad is about to happen. Things are clearly not fine. And that feeling of wrongness only builds and becomes more obvious as the story continues.

Then, juxtaposed with the descriptions of the lovers, the story is interrupted by similarly rosy descriptions of the Restoration. The opening chapter (“the Year 1817”) lists all the things happening during the Restoration in the way Hugo later lists all the amusements the lovers entertain themselves with. Then we get a chapter interrupting the flow of the story to address the monarchy specifically. The chapter begins by saying Everything is fine. Everyone is happy. Everyone loves the monarchy. Nothing is wrong. Everything is perfect under the Bourbons. Parisians don’t want to rebel anymore, they just want to laze around amusing themselves like bored cats.

Everything was radiant. It was a time of undisputed peace and profound royalist security; it was the epoch when a special and private report of Chief of Police Anglès to the King, on the subject of the suburbs of Paris, terminated with these lines:—

“Taking all things into consideration, Sire, there is nothing to be feared from these people. They are as heedless and as indolent as cats. The populace is restless in the provinces; it is not in Paris. These are very pretty men, Sire. It would take all of two of them to make one of your grenadiers. There is nothing to be feared on the part of the populace of Paris the capital. It is remarkable that the stature of this population should have diminished in the last fifty years; and the populace of the suburbs is still more puny than at the time of the Revolution. It is not dangerous. In short, it is an amiable rabble.”

But Hugo can’t keep that pretense up for long and it becomes a tirade about how Things Are Not Fine, lots of people hate the Bourbons, and people will be rioting in the streets soon.

Prefects of the police do not deem it possible that a cat can transform itself into a lion; that does happen, however, and in that lies the miracle wrought by the populace of Paris. Moreover, the cat so despised by Count Anglès possessed the esteem of the republics of old. In their eyes it was liberty incarnate; and as though to serve as pendant to the Minerva Aptera of the Piræus, there stood on the public square in Corinth the colossal bronze figure of a cat. The ingenuous police of the Restoration beheld the populace of Paris in too “rose-colored” a light; it is not so much of “an amiable rabble” as it is thought. The Parisian is to the Frenchman what the Athenian was to the Greek: no one sleeps more soundly than he, no one is more frankly frivolous and lazy than he, no one can better assume the air of forgetfulness; let him not be trusted nevertheless; he is ready for any sort of cool deed; but when there is glory at the end of it, he is worthy of admiration in every sort of fury. Give him a pike, he will produce the 10th of August; give him a gun, you will have Austerlitz. He is Napoleon’s stay and Danton’s resource. Is it a question of country, he enlists; is it a question of liberty, he tears up the pavements. Beware! his hair filled with wrath, is epic; his blouse drapes itself like the folds of a chlamys. Take care! he will make of the first Rue Grenétat which comes to hand Caudine Forks. When the hour strikes, this man of the faubourgs will grow in stature; this little man will arise, and his gaze will be terrible, and his breath will become a tempest, and there will issue forth from that slender chest enough wind to disarrange the folds of the Alps. It is, thanks to the suburban man of Paris, that the Revolution, mixed with arms, conquers Europe. He sings; it is his delight. Proportion his song to his nature, and you will see! As long as he has for refrain nothing but la Carmagnole, he only overthrows Louis XVI.; make him sing the Marseillaise, and he will free the world.

It’s clear from the beginning that Tholomyes will betray and abandon Fantine, in the same way the return of the monarchy betrayed and abandoned the poor and vulnerable people who were born into the world of the Revolution.

[theburgessobserver]

ROTG canceled Sequel-SCRIPT!(Found media!!!)

La fin du monde

Extateres arrivent

The Moon made an announcement to the world at large revealing his true intentions: a mind like ourselves, an intellect vast and cool and unsympathetic regarding the plain of existence and our planet at the center of it with envious eyes and slowly but surely drawing his plan against us…

Tonight important news!ACTION NEWS MODESTO CA.

Greetings people of Earth I am Moon soon to be the grand ruler of all.I am here for my moonrocks to give them to me at once!

(Reporter 2)Wow!will you look at that

He made an address to the Earth

Saying it in every country in every language.

Bonjour les genstes de le terre earthy

Saudandons as gentsos de la terra firmy

Saluti,la gentes di terra earthy

Pozdrav vy genty na Zemisky terry?

I SAY Ello you lot down there and terra firma

I have come for you…all of you!

I have been there since the beginning every day growing stronger and fauxing you and your mighty military forces and alleged myths and legends. My Lunar fleet is ready so I can sail off the moon with my army of Lunar robots and Moths to annihilate your civilization afterwards.

When North saw this he calmly drank some cocoa and the flipped ultimate emergency switch.

Moon's forces attacked in the first wawe only the most important towns:New York,Paris,Los Angeles,Rio,Quebec,Pencaster,Pilsen, and Pontypandy,Wales.

This isn't a war, the Chief fire officer Boyce said. It never was a war, any more than there's war between man and ants.' Pontypandy doesn't have a single police officer let alone army base due to the town being involved in so many fires it was decided to give all the funds to the F.D. and canceled the other to keep the town in one piece.Which turned out to be an supringly unsurpisingly bad idea.

1-B1 Lancers were diverted on a there”milk run”to destroy the moons earth base.

The President had a quick speech

“My fellow americans…you know what I must do so let's just skip to it…and promptly pressed the Nuke launch button.”

North and Jack were having a great time talking about and eating rabbit stew and talking about boiled rabbits and how tasty they are unbeknowst to them Bunnymund was there.

In the secret underground safety bunker there was a big argument.

Gentlemen please!NO FIGHTING IN THE WAR ROOM!The President said.

Bunnymund was putting on at full blast the song LEGAL TENDER

Will you please turn that infernal racket off!!!!!!!!!

Cmon Monger we can't have the end of everything without a rocking song to go with it.

Frost manadged to redeem some of the robots with an big speech that made them realized the truth

"Uhhh...why are you bad?Why cant you be like..I dont know?Good?"

The robots imeaditly killed all there former friends which were also robots after this realization.

Moon came across a kid and said:WELL,WELL WELL If it isnt,Sandy!?His mother came in"His name is not sandy". "Shut up Toothiana"Moon replied

Bunnymund and his entire egg army was getting ready to fight

"Why must the world come to an end on Easter"he said to himself angrily.

NEWSPAPER:PREZ JIMMY CARTER SAYZ:TIME TO PRAY…

meanwhile

North was so speechless he lost his voice

Phil the yeti to Dingle the elf

“North has lost his voice!”

“I hope he finds it soon," Dingle said in reply.

Monger couldnt help but start to cry...sniff..."my entire life was but a prelude to this magic moment"He said while shoting armies of moonbots with rocket launchers...and seing sandys giant dynosaurs stomping them to pieces made him add"This is not a dream...its the great reality of life!"

Jack Frost was angry:MIM YOU HAVE KILLED MY FATHER!!!AGAIN!!!!HE WAS FURIOUS

“Now,when you came here I said you were fools who would never accomplish anything and would only die….and now I see….that I was right.

Meanwhile a mad scientist(actually not really mad, quite kind and cheerful)was busy at work creating…a boggity…boggity…MONSTER!!!!

Yes…the Monster…………..CHICKENSTEIN!!!!!!!!

HAPPY APRIL FOOLS!

[neutralgray]

9/11 and Spider-Man: A brief Retroactive Revisit

The year was 2001. I was seven years old and just started second grade. I don't remember a lot of the details but I remember enough. People were frightened. Teachers tried explaining to us what was going on in regards to the attacks on the world trade centers. We held school plays to honor the armed forces. Patriotic songs dominated the air waves. People were bound to one another by shared fear and patriotism. Of course these feelings were felt by us children, too. We were young and emulating our parents. If they were scared, then we certainly were. If they were proud and angry, so were many of us. For a little kid caught up in the aftermath of a terrorist attack, it was so easy to feel American.

Say what you can and will about American imperialism potentially leading into the events of the 9/11 attack, but the overarching timeline of "why" 9/11 happened didn't matter much to the average person just trying to live their life. The American government was responsible for a great many sins, often fueled by joint corporate/government interests and looked over due to American exceptionalism... but on a wholly individual level, little of the "why" or "how" mattered to us. We were attacked and guilty of no greater crime than having been born where we lived.

It was a very frightening and unsure time that is difficult to explain for those who simply did not live it.

As with many great tragedies, it affected the storytelling of that age. That fervent patriotism and fear and loss were the brushes that colored many stories. Even in the colorful and larger-than-life stories of superhero comics, this event could not simply be ignored. The pain was weighing directly on virtually every citizen, including those writers and artists.

Then in December, 2001, Spider-Man issue #36 was published. The front cover was simply black with the title overlaying it in stark white. Good comic covers usually tease the fun adventure the 22 pages will contain, but here there was nothing. The cover felt like a breath caught dead in one's throat.

The issue depicted the events of 9/11, as told in the world of Marvel. It was the same great tragedy it was in our world but now serving along first responders were the likes of Thor and Captain America. The comic tried to respectfully depict the great scope of the real world horror, and I personally think it did a good job considering it had to depict such an event co-existing next to colorful superheroes in spandex.

Spider-Man struggles to answer when a crying New Yorker demands to know how he let this happen-- where was he? He tries to console a child whose firefighter father ran into the wreckage only to lose grip of the boy when the he runs off screaming after seeing his father pulled out of the wreckage by other firefighters. The comic depicts our beloved superheroes helping but goes out of its way to ensure the reader that the real heroes in this scenario are the first responders-- the firefighters, police, and simple volunteers who were there to help. It shines a light on them all at the end, noticeably sweeping the colorful superheroes behind the lines of regular everyday heroes.

It was a product of its time and captures a lot of the raw emotions I remember from that period. It could be argued that any depiction of such an event so soon would be distasteful, let alone when you add in superheroes. I would not begrudge anyone who reads it and detests this story for its maybe tone-deaf approach. In the book's defense, though, I do genuinely believe that J Michael Straczynski was attempting to tell a very respectful and solemn story.

Since its release it's been a polarizing issue and while some of these criticisms may be fair, I wanted to address an issue I don't think is a fair criticism. Or rather, it's a criticism that I think misses the cultural context and the reason we tell ourselves stories.

Above is a controversial panel-- arguably the most talked about single panel in the comic. At ground zero for the terrorist attacks, characters such as Doctor Doom, Kingpin, and Magneto are present and assisting. It highlights their shared humanity with the heroes and superheroes. The story even depicts Doctor Doom, one of the most iconic and capable Marvel supervillains, weeping behind his mask at the tragic loss of innocent life. It's a depiction of everyone coming together under their umbrella of shared pain.

A lot has been made of this panel. The biggest criticism is the in-universe absurdity of someone like Doctor Doom crying at such an event. In the world of Marvel Comics, the entire world has been threatened with planet eaters, inter-dimensional dragons, omnicidal maniacs, hostile aliens, and forces beyond our dimension. In universe, the tragedy of 9/11 would be contextually really small compared to so many of the constant dangers the superheroes have faced time and time again. This also means that the tragedies caused by Doctor Doom and his ilk have certainly caused more actual damage in the world of Marvel than the 9/11 terrorist attacks. This criticism demands consistency--logical reasoning in the universe. Why would Doctor Doom cry for the loss of innocent life if he's done worse himself?

I can only speak for myself, but I strongly feel this criticism misses the point of story telling. Stories do not exist in a vacuum-- they don't merely come into being for us to absorb, interpret, and put away. Stories are ideas. They're ideas organized into a narrative that allows for us to share moral lessons, thoughts, and adventures with others. Stories have been used across millennia to explain everything from natural phenomenon to the nature of good and evil. To quote a friend of mine, sometimes it's the UN-REALITY of stories that allows their themes and emotional weights to really flourish. It's reductive to look at a story like this and claim it makes no sense because it's logically inconsistent in-universe. It may pain the nerd in all of us to say it, but that universe depicted on those pages in Spider-Man is not real. It's never been real. Ours is.

This was a story written by real people affected by a real tragedy. It wasn't written to humanize Doctor Doom or provide some new dynamic depth to a silly colorful supervillain. It was written to comfort real readers who were scared and angry and navigating many of these feelings through their unity as a country of people. It reminded the reader they were not alone in grappling these difficult emotions. For a kid who grew up in a post-9/11 world, I can personally attest that seeing my favorite superhero so scared and lost but still trying to do the right thing in the face of real world stakes helped me navigate those feelings, too.

My ultimate point in making this post is to stress that some stories (such as this one) need to be read with the meta-knowledge that it is a story. We may love and cherish our darlings in fiction but their stories are told for our sake, not theirs. A story doesn't have to make sense to them. It just has to make sense to us.

Those stories are the ones that bring us together.

[catsnuggler]

Thoughts on my shift in the past few days. Long. //I//P//. Free Palestine, Freedom For All, Reject Discrimination. No contradiction between those statements.

I fell for /native/news/ bullshit because I fooled myself into believing racist bullshit. Essentially, I convinced myself, because they're Indigenous (or say they are), that whatever they had to say about this could not in any way be antisemitic. Surely, they must simply be a principled anti-colonialist, and nothing more. If they seem to be going too far, why, it isn't hatred for the Jewish people, it must simply be anti-colonial zeal from their own experiences, channeled toward another struggle.

And the Palestinians are struggling, let's be clear. They are struggling, and they are struggling and suffering under a colonialist force that doesn't respect their fundamental right to life and freedom in their own land, a force of the IDF, the Likud party and their parliamentary allies, of violent nationalist anti-Palestinian settlers, and, crucially, they are funded and supplied by Western Christians, primarily US evangelical Christians, the US military-industrial complex, and many US police forces. Let me be even clearer: Israel is a puppet of the US, and only continues to exist at the leisure of the US and its NATO allies. If it were politically expedient, and more profitable, for them to drop Israel like a sack of potatoes, that would happen in a hot second, because that state is not a partner of the US, not an ally, it is a tool of the US. This genocide against the Palestinians, though conducted by Israeli boots on the ground (not all Israelis, and Jews=\=Israelis, it's not one-to-one), is not simply permitted, but according to the design of the US.

Back to my main point, I was a fool to convince myself they couldn't be antisemitic. Indigenous people... are people. Shocking, I know /s. Unfortunately, that means they can also be antisemitic, like anyone can, and... when there was a shooting at a synagogue in the US, where the shooter yelled "Free Palestine!", and /native/news/ not only refused to address and condemn that act, but just kept posting shit like saying that lighting a menorah means you support genocide and colonialism in Palestine, and that until this stops, anyone who is Jewish is guilty by virtue of being Jewish and celebrating a holiday that commemorates their own historic resistance to imperialist invaders - how am I not supposed to conclude /native/news/ is not antisemitic? You don't have to support the state of Israel, you don't have to support genocide, to oppose discrimination and violence against innocent people on the basis of religion and ethnicity. Opposing genocide there, also means not trying to kick up a pogrom over here.

Besides my point about how I was, admittedly, just plain stupid to assume that /native/news/ couldn't be antisemitic because they're Indigenous... how do I even know that they are? Like that other person said, internet anonymity is a grand thing and a right, etc, but when /native/news doesn't even talk to people, just posts screenshots, doesn't show any sign of deeper personality, how do we even know this is a human? Or only one human? Or if they're Indigenous or not? I'm all for colonizers shutting up and listening to Indigenous people about their own colonization, and what to do about it, but that doesn't mean I need to listen to a robot or a cell of white Strasserists that say they're Indigenous telling me that the best way to support Palestinians is to drive out any and all Jews I see, as if they're powerful and bad people who can put the brakes on this with enough discrimination, instead of just regular people trying to live their lives who don't need damn gentiles like me hounding them yet again.

Anyway, I'm a Norse pagan, I was raised Mormon (and left it primarily for its two-for-one anti-Indigenous racism and antisemitism, among a host of reasons)... so I'm already afraid of being perceived as antisemitic, but even more so of actually being that way. I also have very good friends, who are horrified at the ongoing genocide and oppose the state of Israel, who are Jewish. They are also horrified at the rise in people blaming them for something they, themselves, have nothing to do with. Even supposed friends have said or shared these things... they have received no such hate from Palestinians, but gentiles, well, they've received a lot of betrayal from us; even from me, for a time, even though I didn't consciously do that, just didn't stop to think of the full implications of the sentiments I was sharing.

I'm not waffling. I was just confused, and I'm finding my way now. What I know is, I oppose colonialism, I support freedom for Palestinians, I support militant resistance to colonialism against military targets, I oppose collective punishment and targeting of civilians, and I believe people of all three major Abrahamic faiths*, and of all ethnicities, can share Palestine in peace, provided that reparations are made (and not skimped on), that there are no restrictions of anyone's movement, that nobody is a second-class citizen, and for goodness' sake, no more burning down the olive trees while claiming you want to "make the desert bloom". Of course, whatever state, or lack thereof, cannot be a puppet of the US, cannot rely on militarism, and all reactionary nationalism must be dispensed with.

*Of all faiths, I hope, but I figure most people who want to live there are going to be Muslims, Jews, and Christians, along with the Druze, Sufis, and other minor Abrahamic faiths. It's holy to them, after all. Me, I have nothing against the land, it's just not really relevant to me personally in the sense of being personally sacred, let alone enough to live there. It surely is a Holy Land, and I don't see it as lesser, but it isn't my Holy Land. I don't know if there really would be any kind of specific Holy Land for me, I'm just a confused kinda pagan fella. Anyway, I'm not proposing that any place in the world should only be populated by these or those specific religions, just acknowledging that most folks who will live here will be from this particular religious family.

[lustrous-dawn]

Lucian watched, shocked, as Zane promptly rose from his chair. He hadn't seen Zane so livid since knowing him. "Not here." His silver gaze turned metallic, hand biting down into the rest. 

Looker was unfazed by the harsh demand. His eyes flashed towards Lucian, brows furrowed. "It's him, isn't it?" Observing Zane's glower become darker, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am trying my best to remain patient with you but you have such a way of disturbing the Vespiquen nest," he muttered, tone oozing with sarcasm. 

"You see him," Zane gracefully gestured over Lucian's form, "He is otherwise safe and unharmed. Or would you have me personally play chaperone and kindly escort him to you?" 

"None of that is necessary at this point," Looker bit out. "But I appreciate your kind gesture." 

Resuming his attention towards Lucian, Looker's expression became kinder. It did nothing to soothe Lucian's nerves however, his hand abruptly stroking Shiho's head. He rummaged through pockets, presenting a badge. It wasn't the same as the badges he was accustomed to seeing from the local forces. "I know you have several questions on your mind and I will answer them but for now, you can address me as Looker. I am part of a Special International Police Force and I have plenty of questions for you."

Kneeling down, he maintained this friendly air but was wary to approach further. He made note of the Flygon's growing agitation, fangs subtly bared. 

He offered a half smile. "Ease up, Lucian. We have a lot to talk about."

Startled, Lucian went stiff. Shit… His eyes sought out Zane but the man had his back to him, shoulders locked, arms tightly folded against his chest. He was of no help to him. Lucian was unsure of the history between the both of them but he knew it ran deep for this reaction. His hands were tied. 

"How do I know you can be trusted?" Lucian countered. "That badge could be fake for all I know."

"It is not fake, Lucian." Came Zane's voice. "Tell the kind officer what he needs to know so he can be on his way." 

A break in Looker's features, a glare directed towards Zane. "We will talk later." Then he was all smiles once more. "It is only a few questions. You were the only one upon the Tower at the time of the incident. I need to know what happened." 

Lucian avoided his gaze. "You know the rest. You have my name." He had a hunch Zane would have never uttered it to anymore. "You know Zapdos attacked the Tower and Ho-oh defended it. What more do you want?" 

"That's not how the people tell the story. They say after their bout, Ho-oh scorched the Tower."

Lucian eerily went quiet. "That is a lie." He finally said. "Zhen was only trying to protect Bell Tower." 

Looker waiting for that, eager to pounce. "Tell me then. How else did the Tower got in that state?" 

For a moment, Lucian appeared to be tired. His body sagged against his seat. Shiho chirped by his side, concerned and angered at the stranger for pushing him. When she went to snap at Looker, Lucian gently grasped ahold of her snout, hand enveloping it. "Shhh Shiho," he scolded her. 

"Zhen was… angered." Fear seeped in his spine, his body quivering. "I really don't know what happened back there." The Ho-oh was enraged. All the candor and banter they shared before. He hardly recognized the Phoenix. His last thoughts were focused on fleeing before he could get caught up any further. His Flygon on the same page, who was already soaring them urgently away from the scene.

"I could only feel the intense heat and electricity in the air. I didn't dare look back." 

"There had to be something more," Looker urged him. "Tell me. What was wrong?"

A vivid scene appeared in front of his eyes. That of Zapdos distraught, out of control. 

"Zapdos had crystals...," he began to describe, unsure. "Jammed into its neck."

He hadn't missed Looker looking away and Zane suddenly locking eyes with him.

Lucian's eyes narrowed. "You... the both of you know something about this, don't you," His tone was accusatory, his body tense.

Looker gave him a stern look. "You answered all I needed to know."

[yayneloveart]

Trials and Trimesters, Chapter 11

If Ryunosuke had to give his opinion on British prisons versus Japanese prisons, he would say that the Japanese kind was preferable. While he did not enjoy his time being locked up after being accused of murder, it felt much nicer than being in a British prison. Everything was dank and dark and cold and very unpleasant.

They were led down to the cell block housing those with upcoming trials, passing many people behind bars in plain clothes and not any prison uniforms. Most were either sleeping on their stiff wood beds or cowering in the back of their cell. A very sad sight.

“Here is your client,” the guard told them. “Prisoner fifty-three, your legal representative is here to see you! Stop hiding and come out!”

“Watashi wa nekodesu ka?” an annoyed voice came from the back of the cell. The guard groaned and mumbled something about ‘foreign gibberish’ under his breath before walking away.

“Am I hearing things, or…?” Ryunosuke started to say.

“Is he speaking Japanese?” Susato finished for him.

“Sir?” Kazuma called out to the prisoner. “Can we speak-”

“Quiet!” a man walked out of the shadows at the back of the cell and approached the iron bars. He was short, fairly stooped, with wild eyes and equally wild hair. He shook in fear and was constantly looking around as if to catch something out of the corner of his eye. “They’re all around me… hiding… laughing… listening… right now!”

There was a pause as pregnant as Ryunosuke before they tried talking again.

“Sir, my name is Kazu-”

“You’ve come to curse me!” the man shouted at Kazuma. “You’re a ghost, aren’t you?! You’ve come to put a curse on me!”

“Excuse me," Susato addressed the madman, "do you happen to be Japanese?"

"Oh joy!" The man's demeanor immediately changed. "To hear my native spoken by a fellow Japanese, it's beyond my wildest dreams!"

The man began to dramatically cry with happiness, babbling about how grateful he was to their country for sending him a top tier lawyer.

This feels… strangely familiar…

Less than three months before, Ryunosuke had been in his own cell cowering in fear. He was curled up on the cell futon trying to process what had just happened to him. In only a few short hours, he had gone from enjoying coffee with his best friend and lover, to being accused of murder and arrested.

I wish mother was here…

"Ryunosuke?" The sound of Kazuma’s voice pulled him back to his harsh reality.

“Kazuma!” Ryunosuke jumped up and flung himself at the cell bars. “I didn’t do it, I swear!”

"I know, I know," Kazuma reassured him. "I know you would never kill anyone."

"I don't know what happened, I picked up a pistol from the floor and I heard a gunshot but not from the gun I was holding but no one else had one and the waiter saw me and pushed me into a pantry until the police got there and…"

"I read the report," Kazuma stopped him from continuing to ramble. Ryunosuke had started to tear up and was now sobbing out his words. "It looks bad on the surface, but I will find the truth of this case and prove your innocence."

"You… you will?" Ryunosuke wiped his eyes with his sleeves.

"Of course, I'm going to be your defense attorney."

Ryunosuke pushed his arms through the cell bars and pulled Kazuma into a hug. Kazuma hugged him back, and enjoyed it for as long as he could before the nearby guard forced them apart. "Limited contact only," he told them.

"I’m still scared,” Ryunosuke admitted once the guard walked away. “Everyone keeps calling me a killer  and a heartless murderer. It's like they know I'll be found guilty."

"We both know you’re not, and I’m going to show the world the truth,” Kazuma smiled at him. “I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

There were many things that Ryunosuke was thankful for that day. His lover was also a lawyer and believed his story. He was in a men's prison, versus a women's prison where Kazuma would not be allowed to enter. He did not yet know of his condition, which would have made the whole ordeal worse. Sadly, this prisoner did not seem to have as many things to be thankful for.

Current Ryunosuke shook himself out of his memories when he heard his name being repeated.

“Ryunosuke is an odd name for a woman,” the prisoner commented. “I think I’ve only met men named Ryunosuke.”

Out of everyone in London we could meet, we had to meet the one person who would know my name is masculine!

“Her parents expected a boy when she was born and kept the name anyway,” Kazuma calmly explained. “As I was saying, we are also here on a study tour and were told about your case.”

“And now you’re going to defend me, correct?” The man looked at them with pleading eyes.

“Mr. Natsume… I need time to put all the pieces together before I can make a promise like that…”

“You must have heard all the other lawyers talking about me then,” Natsume looked down dejectedly, his sad eyes watering. “They all say I’m a lost cause, a foreign nobody. I heard people call me hopeless, a lost cause, and some even said I wouldn’t understand what would be said at trial anyways. I’ve been branded as a killer and the trial hasn’t even started yet! And the poor girl isn’t even dead.”

“I can only imagine how it feels…” Kazuma gave Natsume some sympathy.

I can directly relate to him… all too well…

“Everyone here hates me. I’ve traveled across the world to study their history and literature only to be accosted and abused by everyone around me. My greatest wish would be to have a lawyer who can speak to me in my own native tongue.”

Kazuma took a long time to stare at the floor, calculating his next response.

“Give me some time… once I have a good look at the case then I’ll tell you if I will take it or not.”

“We feel that we must find some clues before committing to anything,” Susato added. “A thorough investigation will always give way to the truth!”

“Oh yes, please! Please, go find the proof that I am innocent! I will be waiting here for you, Mr Asogi Esquire!”

—

“So the woman just collapsed with no one else around them?” Ryunosuke asked as he was caught up on all the details he missed while daydreaming. They were riding in a carriage heading towards the East End where they would find the crime scene.

“That's how we understand it,” Kazuma nodded.

“But then how was he arrested if no one saw him?”

“According to him, the police brought in Mr. Sholmes to help,” Susato said. “He said he led the police right to him.”

“You mean, Mr. Herlock Sholmes?”

“I have a feeling that we’ll be seeing him again soon, and not for a casual visit,” Kazuma looked at the notes he had taken up to then. “I need to know exactly what evidence led him to Mr. Natsume. I can only hope that there's a flaw in his deduction, if Mr. Natsume is innocent, of course.”

“Do you not believe him?” Ryunosuke looked over at his husband. “He seemed very convincing to me. Much more believable than Mr. McGilded.”

“I can say he acted the part, but after yesterday's trial…” Kazuma looked down at his hands, “I feel like I can’t take a client’s word for their innocence. I need solid evidence.”

“I believe he’s innocent,” Ryunosuke said firmly. “The fear in his eyes looked real. I know that fear well.”

“I hope you’re right,” Kazuma took his hand and lightly squeezed it.

—

What began as a planned investigation became a wild goose chase as Gregson stonewalled them right at the crime scene. Despite Kazuma’s best efforts, the only information he was able to get out of the Detective was that there were witnesses to the crime, but they couldn't question them until the trial. This led them to discuss their next best step, which is when Susato took her chance.

“We can go see Mr. Sholmes at his home and ask him about the case. I’m sure he will tell us as much as he can about it!”

“Well, if we had his home address then we could do that…” Kazuma thought out loud.

“221B Baker Street! That's his address in the stories, I’m sure that it’s also his real address.”

“Is it safe to have your address be published like that?” Ryunosuke wondered.

[cock-holliday]

I used to be extremely pro-gun-control for this exact reason, and it was a difficult hurdle to acknowledge that my ideas were simply out of touch with reality. Who wouldn’t look at mass shootings and think “we have got to get rid of guns” when this country has slaughter after slaughter? Unfortunately, proposed solutions either won’t be enacted, or if enacted, will make things worse.

Gun culture in the US is pretty fucked, but measures to limit guns will never impact the people who pose the biggest threat, and instead limit the ways people can defend themselves, not just with a gun, but in legal scenarios.

For example, legislature to limit gun ownership by making costs higher and imposing fines means that wealthy individuals will be able to retain guns, while poorer Americans cannot. The idea that the hick Trump supporter in a trailer is the only face of white supremacist violence and not predominantly wealthier suburbanites has done such damage to the idea of who is a threat. The idea that poor folks in trailers are all Trumpy racists and not predominately minorities is also a problem. The vast majority of Capitol stormers were able to pay for expensive hotels, and expensive gear. Raising the cost of weaponry and protective equipment means those same goons can still buy them, and poor minorities cannot. 

We still have problems with chuds roaming around Black neighborhoods after demos and the thing that has kept people safe is being able to show in force against attackers. Bans via cost will not help and will just create a divide in who can maintain weapons.

So let’s look at banning certain types or restricting what you can purchase. Despite the fact that people writing legislature have no idea what they hell they’re talking about when it comes to guns, they will never try to ban the types of equipment cops use. Allowing police to maintain heavy weaponry is dangerous, and means as long as someone is a cop or in proximity to a cop, they get access to these weapons. Bad again.

So limiting to what you can use for hunting, how about that? The problem with heavily regulating hunting gear is how it is used to police Native hunters on their own land. The other problem with bans based on specific type is police can use this as a pretext for arrests or killing. Saying a gun someone had was an illegal type, whether it was or not, or planting an illegal type of gun on someone then becomes justification for violence and death. Bad again.

Okay, we get out of the nitty gritty and just ban all guns. Just take all of the guns away. Every single one. Who do you think will carry out that order? Do we really want police raids? Cops showing up in force to collect guns? Responding to tips from neighbors and busting down doors? And do we want the cops to have a complete monopoly on weapons? Fuck knows they won’t get caught up in bans.

And suppose all guns disappeared with a finger snap. No guns for citizens. Proximity to cops comes in again. You’re a cop? You have a gun. Know a cop? You have access. Money comes into play again. The US is a major exporter of illegal guns. Gun-running between states isn’t hard when there are no hard borders. 3D-printing guns is a whole market now in and of itself. If you have money and resources you will still have guns.

Bans in theory make sense. Bans in practice make things worse. It’s hard to not feel hopeless with information like this, especially when the actual solutions are not popular with the government.

If a shooting is a case of mental health struggles, then expand mental health services. But they won’t. When shootings are cases of white supremacist violence, the solution is to fight against it. But they won’t. Or they’ll expand definitions of terrorism which meansssss MORE POLICE! Expanding definitions of domestic terrorism means increased police powers. More police is bad, expanding of police powers is bad

Any gun control measures that do not include addressing white supremacy and de-arming police means that cops and white supremacists just get a monopoly on guns, when they are the main perpetrators of gun violence to begin with.

Please be aware of this as talks of bans and gun control resurface, and we have the same tired discussions over and over.

You do not have to be pro gun. You can hate guns. You can never want to touch one. And you can still acknowledge that bans will never be as simple as targeting the actual threats, and will instead be used to do more harm than good. 

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

Hissy Fit

Summary: A bad day, a short fuse and a brother in need incite one of Peter Two's new defensive instincts to rear its unexpected head.

“Okay. Not that I’m complaining, not that I don’t appreciate it or anything,” Peter One began as soon as the apartment door slammed closed behind them, “but I’d kind of like to talk about what just happened.”

“I’d kind of like to not do that,” Peter Two shot back in the same tone as he approached, “which will give us the time we need to focus and make sure you’re okay instead.” Though his face was set in stone, betraying very little of his previous anger, Peter One could sense it; he could practically feel it vibrating in his brother’s fingertips as he swept stray curls back from his face, inspecting his forehead and hairline for any damage. “Hmm. No open wounds, that’s good.”

“Dude, stop! I’m totally fine, it’s not even gonna bruise,” Peter One protested, batting his hand away, “so can we address this brand new defense mechanism we just witnessed?”

Huffing in exasperation, Peter Two spread incredulous arms. “What’s to talk about?”

“Well, for starters, are you okay?” Peter Three ventured uncertainly. “I can count on…no hands the times we’ve seen you go off like that. Rageful and bitter, that’s my shtick.”

“So what, I’m supposed to be a passive bystander? I’m Spider-Man! I see someone grab my brother by the hair and slam his face into an alley wall and I’m not allowed to be a little pissy about it? I didn’t see you doing anything to help him!” 

Peter Three’s only response to that was to raise his eyebrows and his hands in surrender and Two sighed with irritable resignation, pinching the bridge of his nose as he collected himself. 

“I’m sorry. It was…good, it was right that you didn’t. You kept yourself in check better than I did. I just…I was already having a bad day. Barely got any sleep last night, then you know I had to skip breakfast so I could help the police break up that anti-hero protest in the east end. While I was there some kids stole my patrol pack so I had to track them down, and MJ’s back home thinking I’m mad at her for some reason so she’s not answering my calls…Overall, just a messy morning. Then seeing that, seeing them push you around and you refusing to fight back…”

“I can take it,” Peter One reminded him earnestly.

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Yeah, well, whatever it takes to make sure no one suspects anything. I won’t risk my identity again, ever again.” After a beat of sober silence, Peter One cleared his throat and folded his arms with more authority so he could force a U-turn to his prior topic of interest. “Anyway, that isn’t the point. I’ve taken a lot worse, you know it, I’m all good. Thanks for asking. But what we really need to ask about is the latest spider-ism we get to add to your list!”

“Seriously? This is how you’re coping with the whole thing, by latching onto some random little detail like that?”

“Not random, not little. Your instincts are evolving! It’s another new adaptation. As far as either of us know, you’ve never done it before, right?”

“Right, okay, I haven’t! And with any luck I’ll end up never doing it again so can’t we just forget about it? It wasn’t a big deal!” The tips of Two’s ears were turning pink, betraying embarrassment even as he tried to dismiss it.

“Peter Two, my good sir, my brother in spider-hood,” Peter Three began, clasping his hands together, “you actually straight up hissed at them. Unironically.”

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Peter Two grumbled lowly. “Yeah, well, I blame you guys. It’s your fault my subconscious strategies have needed to adapt in the first place.”

Self-conscious though he may be about this surprise development, they were well aware that he wouldn’t have it any other way. Some things, some people were meant to be defended. Peter Parker knew it; this was merely proof that the spider within the man knew it too. It was in their nature.

[shxxtingstarss]

therapy no. 36

today's therapy session was ok. I wasn't super happy with the content because it was a lot about my mother.. again. But she is a bit more present at the moment, which already triggers a lot of anxiety, but I'm fighting it successfully, mostly with going to the gym and idk, trying to cope somehow, because in the situations when I'm sitting in bed and having anxiety levels as if I was getting chased down a road by someone who's trying to kill me, I haven't found anything yet that helps me calm down, I just have to sit there and kind of wait it out or live with it, idk.

We talked about how my anxiety levels are this high since my mother is trying to contact me in different ways and I feel attacked by her because of how she's doing that. The last attempt was over a third person, my administrator for my study-funding, lol. She called her multiple times and cried about how she's feeling so bad and is scared I might be impacting her health in a bad way etc, all because I adressed her in my letter to her with her surname. My administrator told me this and talked to me in a very serious and concerned voice and was obviously completely manipulated by my mother. She told me I might want to think about that for a second and how I'm acting towards my mother. I only answered that I'm sorry she had to listen to that and that there is a pretty long prehistory to why I addressed my mother with her surname (instead of "oh my dearest and loveliest best mother on earth" or whatever she would like to hear instead). I didn't really have the guts to tell her more and in therapy we kinda analysed that a bit and on the one hand I was scared to provoke more stress, on the other hand I was pretty sure that my administrator wouldn't believe me because she was captured by the story she got told by my mother. Really effing crazy that she's actually trying to get at me again and trying to have some kind of force over me. Fuck this crazy b., I'm stronger now and she's not gonna win this round, not any round any more. A few days ago (before I got the info of her manipulating my administrator) I had a dream where she completely freaked out as she did many times when I was a child, and I had a similar dream a few months ago and talked to my therapist about it because it affected me for a whole day, in that dream I couldn't do anything against her, I was helplessly exposed to her agression and violence. But in the dream a few days ago something was very different. I somehow managed to stand up for myself, to step in for my boundaries and up against her craziness and the end of the dream was her being taken away in an ambulance and her being admitted to a psychiatric hospital (where she belongs, as my therapist correctly stated - he found it interesting that she was taken to a psychiatric hospital because she never was at one; but I was multiple times - but instead of me, she should have been admitted (way earlier of course, still before my birth actually)).

We also talked about why I was and am afraid that people like the administrator would rather believe my mother's lies instead of the truth, talked about the situations in my childhood where that was the case and where she also always told me that nobody would believe me if I told them what kind of horrors were happening at "home". Probably did that to scare me of telling somebody and to prohibit exactly that - successfully. For years after I got out actually. Well, we also talked about how it was completely different with the policeman I was talking to a few weeks ago when I asked them if it was ok if I called the police if my mother showed up in front of my door someday and threatens me and/or won't go away. I am trying to prepare myself for defense, I am going to defend myself and maybe I'm even going to take steps so I won't have to defend myself again (I'm definitely going to contact the local court so I can get a restraining order of some kind against her).

In the end of the session, I had a thought like "damn, I'm really exhausted" and like two seconds later my therapist asked me how I'm feeling now. I told him so and a few tears ran down my cheek because I smiled through most of the session. I do have a few happy moments here and there, which is really nice, like last sunday where I went out for food with a few people from my gym. But most of the time I'm really pretty down and exhausted. I realised that again last week, when I had a weird gut issue, and I tried to "ask" into my body how I'm feeling besides the weird gut symptoms... and I realised I feel just as bad as I do all the time in the last few months - which is really not great. That def made me think about what I'm demanding from myself and how I'm treating myself (as if I was lazy or a failure or sth like that - which I'm really not). I told my therapist about how I finally realised that I just can't go on like this, like I did the last semester - it won't work and actually will do me even more harm than good. It just isn't possible for me to show the same performance I could still show two years ago and I might want to adapt my plans of how I'm going to finish my studies to that. I really don't know how though, but I'm going to talk to our study counselor about that next week and until then I still have some time to think about it. It seems impossible for me to just "stop" what I'm doing right now, trying my best to somehow still get stuff done. But now I'm failing classes - not because I didn't try, but because it just isn't enogh - and if I go on like this, both my (mental) health and my grades / my acadamic performance will suffer equally from it.

[molsons112000]

Now the police officer that works for the school can be the tracy officer as well. So when they go to the house they can go with the search warrant.They already have grounds to search the house.There is a absentee problem with the child.It is probable cause. So now they legally can go in and search the house. Look at the room, look at the environment. This is why I said they have to have a social worker's degree as well or a social worker certification. These cops must have social worker certification or a degree in social work as well. So they must get specialty training. So the city police do the city.Schools and sheriffs do the county schools where they're independent or don't have a police force. And then the state overlaps them. And now they can be the truancy officer.

The reason I cut a 165 days.Cause I could get away with it, but I didn't do anything illegal.I spend a lot of time with older people.One on one and I want to stores looking at stuff and examining stuff.. I didn't do anything illegal ... But the point is one time I came home for lunch acting like I just came home from school for lunch and the truancy officer was sitting next to my mom. And she knew I missed all those days. That's the last day I ever cut off school again.... But why did it take a 165 school days for the Truancy Officer to show up is my question?

So I am not forgetting the police out of the school.I'm for the police getting more involved in the students looking for children that have drug issues or other issues or that are getting abused and preventing bullying.... So the police can be in the playground.They can show up in the classroom.If there's a problem they monitor the hallways they can search the walkers naked the frisk of student.... And they have to have supervision.For female wand forcement too.Not just male cops, but female and male police officers in the school.I've only seen male cops.I want females there as well..... And they can do safety checks at the house and they have full authority.And they can talk to a judge with the prosecutor and get the proper search warrants.And they're advocating for the child. And they can work with the department of family services d e f s to make To make sure things are going properly....

And the sign note is, I'm p***** at the naacp. Where were they in the projects?They're supposed to be self.Regulating their people working with the churches working with the churches.Them all the black churches and black sororities.And fraternities, where are they working in the projects?Where are they working with their underprivileged people?Where are they doing their charitable work... It should be mandated that attorney's insurances due do charitable work and they do it in their own communities. . Where are those outreaches from the 107?All black schools and then their fraternities and sororities.Where are they reaching out into their under privileged.. .. It's a joke they have everything in place.They need to start addressing their issues getting rid of all the gangs number one.... With different black charities and athletes and so on to address the issues in their community.... And this is where we need association of white people... Just like the NAACP, they have the urban league as well. But this should be duplicated through all races..... This is called peer the peer and it has government oversight from the local to the county to the state to the federal and can have funding from them....

inra

https://www.finra.org › about › rep...

Report on Use of 2022 Fine Monies

May 31, 2023 — In 2022, FINRA spent $6.4 million on regulatory-focused training for staff in FINRA's Member Supervision, Market Regulation and Enforcement ...

finra

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Statistics | FINRA.org

Key FINRA Statistics for 2022 ; Securities Firms. 3,378 ; Branch Offices. 150,647 ; Market Events Processed Daily. 427 billion ; Fines Imposed.

CFA Institute

https://blogs.cfainstitute.org › top-1...

Top 10 Characteristics of Effective Self-Regulatory Organizations

Jun 12, 2014 — For a financial self-regulatory organization ... government oversight. Governance: Strong ... While self-regulatory

AnalystPrep

https://analystprep.com › ... › Blog

Uses of Self-regulation - CFA, FRM, and Actuarial Exams Study Notes

Feb 6, 2023 — Note, however, that they are independent and do not rely on government funding. An example of an SRO is the Financial

So I want the government to get out of the healthcare business.And I want them to be self.Regulating the healthcare business working with the american dental association working with american medical association. I want the government to get back to doing. What it does best and let private business do what it does best and set up the organizations? In between associations and map to self-regulate and the government. Working with those 10 minuto. Make things good and when they don't have the proper things. The government can assist and sometimes replace. Meaning come down and remove the board of a self regulated organization if it's criminal like the teamsters.... They can't have criminals running the self.Regulating organizations.Any association or any union is a self regulating organization.... And you can't have criminals of attorney and sorority ourself regulating organizations....

So tell me where is this infrastructure?In the black community solving their own fucking problems.... So I don't see these missionaries Going Out from the black churches into the black community. Where are the black missionaries going into the black community here? Solving the problems here first and then going to the Caribbean or Africa, but solve it here first. So where are the black missionaries? Where are the black youth groups solving the problems? Where is the NW CP working with? The churches, where are they working in the community through the churches? Where is the urban league? Where is the fraternity's authorities that are all black and all black colleges again? I'm repeating myself, but there's more than enough to solve every f****** problem in the black community. And the government is supposed to help the self-regulating organizations and if they need the assistance of law enforcement. Where is the association of black lawn forcement? That can work in their communities with them helping solve the problem..... So everything's in place.God is now at zero tolerance.... So either you start solving your problems or you all burn in f****** hell.So either you start cleaning up this s***Or you're f****** dead.There is no more chances, so you're supposed to be getting a fire lead under your a**That's my message.You should be scared shitless so you should be highly motivated. ...

[qyllenhaal]

American Pie

Lee Bodecker x Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: The Summer heat gets to everyone, including Sheriff Lee Bodecker who is looking to stir up with his favorite girl.

Warnings: 18+ only!!! DubCon (!!!), Dark themes, age gap (reader is early 20s), infidelity, alcohol abuse, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, spanking.

A/N: I didn’t expect to finish this in one night, but I did! I may have missed a few things to include in the warnings but I believe I got all the major ones. Enjoy!

Hot weather makes people feel more rowdy, like they can do anything just because the temperature is rising and the sun is out for longer. When the number of troublemakers at the bar goes up, so does the number of visits from the police.

Someone was always anonymously calling the police because someone at Tecumseh Lounge was stirring up some shit. They rarely came and when they did they did nothing. The deputy they dispatched would just write down a few things in a notepad and leave. No one ever truly got in trouble and that's because the Sheriff is rumored to be "in'' with the owner.

The rumors are true but the nice ladies and gentlemen from the nicer parts of the county will never see it for themselves. Tecumseh is rough, and nasty. There were more vices here than just alcohol, and most of it was done under the table.

Y/n was crazy to take this job as a bartender at Tecumseh. She didn't know that a hidden prospective for the job was fucking the patrons. One of the other girls working here did it, and so did Sandy despite her brother being the sheriff. Y/n was not interested in the advances pressed on her by the men. They were either married or been fucking "ladies of the night" for years and probably have something. No one who frequented a place like Tecumseh wasn't someone Y/n wanted to go home with. Yet she let Sandy's brother talk to her in any kind of way.

For someone who was the sheriff, Lee Bodecker was here a lot and it wasn't because the drinks were good. Sometimes his sister served him while he interrogated her about her husband Carl. Y/n had seen Carl a few times and she found him to be sleazy. Poor Sandy was stuck working behind the bar while Carl flirted with a younger girl just a few feet away from her. But Sandy would also take some patrons out to the back and get fucked when her shift ended. It seems like an even deal, but the difference is Carl looks happy doing it and Sandy always comes back looking a mess, and not in a good way.

Y/n has been applying for a waitressing job closer to her house. She wants out of this place yet whenever she says Tecumseh is her current place of work, her application gets thrown out. Her aunt got her the job and she wished to god that woman never did. She should've gone and worked at someone's farm doing hard labor instead of accepting the offer to work. She was talked to like she was a whore and there was nothing to do about it because her boss did the same thing.

Friday night shifts are the hardest for her. The men drink harder because they don't work weekends. The influence of alcohol made them relentless when talking to Y/n. They made what they believed were compliments about her body and proclaimed how they wanted to fuck her. She just had to press a smile because the more they found her fuckable the more they tipped her. The low-cut top she wore was not coincidental. While she didn't fuck patrons for 20 dollars, she did put out for their attention.

Not even 30 minutes before her shift and a fight breaks out. She has to call the police because the fight between two men turned into a fight of three, four, and then five. No one looked interested in breaking up the fight, just watching with glib smiles and jovial laughs. This was the kind of entertainment they came for, but it was a pain to deal with as a barmaid.

Police sirens and the lights made some patrons, including two of the people involved in the fight, went running out through another exit. Their fears were pointless since it was rare for anyone to get arrested here.

"Alright break it up," Deputy Brooks' voice boomed.

Whenever an officer was called to come down to Tecumseh Lounge, it was only three policemen who showed up: Deputy Brooks, Deputy McConnell, and the sheriff. They must've worked out some kind of deal with her boss because they come in, don't do shit about the reason they were called for, and they never failed to ask for a drink before leaving. Tonight is no different; they just break up the fight and tell the men to leave but they never force perpetrators to leave.

The fight dissipated a few minutes after the deputies showed up and the patrons grumbled because the fun was over. The two deputies looked around the place to give off the appearance of holding authority then they made their way over to the bar.

"One of your coldest beers," Deputy Brooks didn't greet Y/n nor was he polite. He just demanded what he wanted.

"No free drinks." She tries to keep her tone of voice strong. She is not afraid of these two men who only feel powerful because they have a badge on them. Deputy McConnell was only a few years older than her and she remembers when he was a scrawny kid who got picked on even as a senior in high school.

"We just broke up a fight at your fine establishment. The least you can do is give us a beer," Brooks rebuttal.

There was no arguing so Y/n sighed and went to grab two beers for the men so they could just get out of her sight.

"I need two beers. Not just one," McConnell interjected. Y/n didn't like how they drank on the job, especially since they were going to be driving so late at night.

But Y/n obliges just to get them out of her face. She hates the smug look on Deputy Brooks face as he grabs his beer and walks out with the other deputy behind him.

The rest of the night is Jenny's problem because Y/n was clocking out immediately. She smelled like cigarettes and just wanted to wash the layer of sweat off of her body. All the money her boss accrues from shady dealings, he was too cheap to install an air conditioner. People get angry and agitated when it's so hot out. Even at night the air feels sticky and falls just to the low 80s.

She headed out the back to avoid the incoming patrons. She is fair game to some people now that she is single.

Out back she can hear three unmistakable voices. Deputy Brooks and McConnell were standing by their car that was parked right next to the nice, clean sheriff's car. Y/n is not in the mood to deal with the two dickheads and their boss sheriff dickhead, but she knows they are going to say something to her as she walks back.

"Well if it isn't my pretty, pretty Cherry."

Lee Bodecker's voice punctuated the night air, making even the humid atmosphere feel cold.

Y/n stops in her tracks, knowing that she cannot avoid this without causing trouble for herself.

"Don't call me that."

"You sure like the name last week when I had my head between those thighs. 'Lee...oh Lee!" He imitated her voice which made his deputies laugh. Lee has a beer in his hand, reminding Y/n that McConnell asked for two back at the bar. She should've known it was for Lee.

She was embarrassed by him talking about their time together in front of his subordinates. Lee is married and Y/n is turned off by men with gold bands on their ring finger who try to take her home after her shift ends. However they have fucked on multiple occasions, making him the only patron she has given into. He was mean, but authoritative. Y/n couldn't help herself and she sometimes let the sheriff rough her up in the back of his car.

"I'm only messing with you sweetheart. You don't gotta stand there lookin like you saw a ghost."

Y/n feels humiliated but Lee doesn't seem to care. Lee gets off on seeing her squirm, on seeing her be degraded. She's not a whore like the other woman who works here and his sister, but he fucks her like she is. He has something many of the men inside the dingy joint wanted. Y/n isn't easy, which rare for a female Tecumseh worker.

"I'm just wonderin if you seen my Sandy," he made an attempt to change the subject.

"She's your sister Lee."

The truth is Y/n hasn't seen Sandy in a week. She said something about her and Carl taking a trip but she didn't say for how long. Y/n is not too fond of Sandy to pry into her life. She feels bad for her though. She always comes into work with dingy hair and not to mention the amount of weight she has lost which makes her face look gaunt.

"You better address me as ‘sheriff’ girl. You have no manners. You weren't even going to say hello to the men who keep you safe."

Lee did nothing to make her feel safe. He made Y/n feel on edge when he was around but downright euphoric when she was in the throes of passing in the back of his car. He was just using her to get his rocks off and he only went after her because he wanted someone "fresh" for him. He doesn't respect her or care for her.

"Shouldn't you three be patrolling? Looking for crime?"

"Don't catch an attitude, Y/n. It's none of your business what we do. Besides, all the crime is in that building you just came out of."

"You guys never do shit. All you do sheriff is come and collect money from Leroy-"

"Watch your fucking mouth."

Y/n is not sure why she's still here trying to bump heads with him. She will never win, especially when he is the authority around here. No one challenged Lee because they were scared to death of him. He's a shady sheriff but he's feared.

"I'm leaving," Y/n sighed. She tried to walk away but Lee stood up from leaning on his car and grabbed her arm

"Uh-uh," he shook his head at her as the grip on her arm tightened. She looked up at him with fear in her arms and he felt his cock getting hard "You don't get to leave until I tell you too. I think you owe me for last week anyway, cherry."

"Please...just let me go," she tried to plead. She tried to plea to the man who she's been fucking, hoping that his attachment to her would make him be kinder to her.

"You need your ass to be put in place. I thought I did that a few weeks ago when I spanked your ass until you cried, but you're still as defiant as ever. You'll never fucking learn."

Lee dragged her back to his car and bent her over the hood. He placed her arms behind her back and cuffed her. He wasn't going to arrest her but making her believe he was sure was fun to him.

She can see both of the deputies watching her. Her face was planted against the top of his car as he held her down. Lee pulls her dress over her ass and she feels so exposed.

"Those panties look damp to me. What do y'all think?"

Y/n hears the deputies chattering lowly amongst themselves, probably afraid to say something obscene about the woman the sheriff is hooking up with.

"How many men seen you like this before? Who you let fuck you today?"

"No one sheriff."

"That's right. That pussy is mine."

His rough hand caresses her ass. He wants to spank her for talking back to him in front of the two younger officers. She was trying to embarrass him which called for a punishment.

"You better count 'em or I'll start over."

Y/n just groaned in anticipation of the first blow to her ass. She hates how Lee takes his time and she wishes he would just get it over with. Her heart is racing as Lee gets a firm grip on her hair.

"Bad little girls get their asses spanked. Don't think just because you're not peddling your cunt that you're not a whore," he threatened with anger.

Her panties were ripped off with rage and she was truly exposed. The warm, summer breeze ghosted across her cunt but it made her shiver. She can already feel the heaviness of her hand on her ass before it even comes down. The first smack was so loud that it pierced the dark night's air. Her cry was even louder.

"One," she says breathlessly. Her eyes close so she doesn't have to look at the two men staring at her with wide eyes and tents in their pants.

Lee believes pain is the best discipline for a girl like Y/n. He would never do this to his wife, but he also doesn't fuck his wife like he fucks Y/n. She was a tough thing to crack but she rides him into the night until his car is shaking and he's cumming into a condom.

"You can count louder than that, cherry."

He was mocking her only because they had an audience. The belittling and having her body exposed was humiliating. But that first slap of her ass sent all the blood in her body rushing to pussy.

Lee smacked her ass again and again and each time she pathetically sobbed out the number of hits her ass has received so far. Her skin felt hot and it wasn't because of the temperature. She wanted to cry so bad but she kept it. She has never cried in front of Lee and she isn't going to start now; no matter how painful his brutality is.

"Look how fucking wet she is from getting her ass whooped."

Y/n heard the shuffling of the deputies and there was not doubt they were looking at her glistening sex. She felt like she was dripping and she wanted to press her thighs together so bad to hide herself. That would only make things worse for her and the last thing she needs is a harsher punishment.

"Learned your lesson, cherry?"

She nods, her eyes still closed.

"Good girl."

The sound of Lee's belt coming undone makes her stick her ass higher into the air. She's been trained like a dog who wants a treat to behave this way. A sense of shame consumes her as she acts so shamelessly.

"My good little bitch," he coos. He pulls himself out and lines up the head with her wet slit. "I don't have a condom on me sweetheart. I finally get to feel that pussy of yours."

He was lying. He always kept a pack of condoms in the glove compartment of his patrol car because he couldn't bring them into his home. Plus having them in there would always leave him ready to fuck Y/n. He did not like the feeling of condoms but he can't knock her up when next year is an election year. Having a bastard child with a barmaid from Tecumseh would fuck everything up and send his efforts down the drain.

"Lee no! You have to use a condom."

"I don't have to do anything."

She's stupid to think he would listen to her. She is completely powerless and can only operate to his whims.

"Then please pull out...please," she whispers in defeat. The laugh he lets out tells her that she doesn't get a say in this at all.

Lee pushes on her back with one hand and the other is holding onto her hip. He finally sinks into her and he is in paradise.

"You expect me to pull out when your cunt is this warm and tight? No fucking chance darlin'"

He starts to fuck into her, each thrust earning him a pathetic moan. She feels so good wrapped around him and he vows to never wear condoms with her again. She's the tightest thing he's had in years and he has to go slowly to brace himself or else he is gonna cum. This position gave him so much access to her cunt and he pushed in as deep as he could. His bare head was kissing her cervix over and over again. His thighs slapped against her bare ass and the noise reverberated into the night.

The deputies just stood there; eyes wide with shock but lust filling their veins. They never took Lee as a cheater yet he fucked Y/n he knew her body so well.

Tears slip down her face, but they aren't from sadness or anger. She's overwhelmed by the pleasure Lee is giving her that she can almost forget that they have an audience.

Lee lifted her head off of the hood of the car. She could see them in the reflection. She looked a mess while Lee looked like he was in heaven in her bare cunt.

"You wanna tell them how you never had a man in your ass until I fucked you? Begged for it like a whore?"

His voice has some much grit in it and Y/n wondered where this new fire in him came from. Lee was rough with her but never has he pounded into her like she was just a toy. Most would be surprised to know that Lee can be a gentle lover that had a primal urge to be inside of Y/n. She wondered if he was like that with his wife, but according to him she was just a "wet blanket." Y/n does not know whether or not to believe him because it's not uncommon for men to disparage their wives to women they're having sex with on the side.

"Gonna cum Lee," she cried.

He felt her tighten around him and he was about to cum too. He was going to cum inside of her.

"Show 'em how you cum for me. Let 'em see that pretty face of yours."

Lee pounded into her until she was crying out. Her orgasm wrecked her body and the only thing on her mind was Lee and his cock. If she was asked to speak right now it would just be babble. He fucked her stupid and he's not going to stop until he spills inside of her.

A few more hard, rough thrusts and Y/n feels Lee spill inside of her. She sighs at the blissful sensation. His grip on her loosens, a symptom of the exhaustion that starts to set in. His cock begins to soften inside of her but the two of them are still panting from what they just did.

"Go on. Go home," he slaps her ass one last time just to tease her. His eyes are trained on the sight of his cum oozing out of her and he never wants to look at anything else. But he has a shift to get back to

Y/n reluctantly stands up, her dress falling over her ass to cover her up. She can feel his cum running down her thigh but she's too embarrassed to clean herself up in front of these mean. She accidentally catches Deputy McConnell's eyes before she scurries off to her car. She hears a laugh and then a few more joining in. She's sure Lee is bragging to them about her always being willing to fuck him. She just hopes he doesn't tell them everything they have done together.

-

Lee had been silent for more than a week now. No calls, no visits to the bar, and even his patrol car hadn't ridden down her street. Y/n felt insecure about his absence; like he thought she was an easy slut like the rest of the barmaids. He knows she isn't willing to fuck anybody, but she was not sure if he believed her when she said it.

The days moved so slowly as she watched the door hoping he would come in one late night. She even hoped for a fight but suddenly no one had the energy anymore for a melee.

Y/n was working a late shift tonight. She'd cover the bar from 12 until last call. It was her day off but she had to fill in for some girl at the last minute. If it had been the weekend she would've said no, but it's a Tuesday night which means it would be an easy night of minimal work.

Y/n was wiping down glasses not five minutes after she clocked in and she heard the shrill voice of her co-worker Sydney.

"I'm not dealing with him. Last time I tried to cut him off he threatened to arrest me! I don't know where Sandy is but she needs to be the one here to deal with her brother."

Y/n's ears perked up. She didn't notice Lee in the room when she walked in. The room was dim and it was not always easy to make out customers, especially if they were far away.

"What's going on?"

Y/n walked over to where Cindy's voice was coming from and she was talking to their boss Leroy.

"Sheriff is drunk off his ass and I'm supposed to deal with him. My shift ended five minutes ago and once I'm off the clock then anything that happens in this place is none of my concern!" She said with contempt.

"You work for me. You don't get to decide what you will and will not do at my bar!"

As much as Y/n wanted to avoid a tiff between her co-worker and boss, she wanted to talk to Lee even more.

"I'll take care of it."

Leroy didn't care either way. As long as he didn't have to deal with Lee who was pissed off at him about something. Lee often complained that her boss was a "useless fucker." Leroy walked away from the two and Cindy gave Y/n a small smile.

"Thank you."

"It's no problem. I'll see you tomorrow Cindy," Y/n called to the blonde who was already peeling out of the place. She doesn't think Cindy likes her all that much but she was at least courteous to Y/n.

The bar was dead enough for Y/n's other co-worker to cover while she went to deal with Lee.

He was at a table in one of the corners of the bar; slumped over in his chair and too intoxicated to speak in complete sentences. There was no way he could properly function or drive home. She had a choice to make whether to leave Lee like this or take him home. She had just gotten to work, but the night was nothing that her co-worker couldn't handle. If Leroy threw a fit and tried to fire her she could just get Lee to threaten him.

He was so heavy as he leaned on her to walk to her car. Y/n loathes this man yet she does so many caring things for him that it makes her stomach hurt. She gets nothing out of this exchange yet she continues to go back with him.

She placed him in the passenger seat of her car and he just mumbled to himself the entire ride to her apartment. She was thankful to be on the first floor because it would be a hazard to try to get Lee to walk up some stairs like this. She helped him sit on her raggedy couch. He looked like he was going to vomit.

"How many drinks did you have?" She began her interrogation on him, but she doubts she will get a coherent answer tonight.

"Just one."

As he spoke he reached into his pocket to show her the "one" bottle that he drank from tonight. A few candy wrappers fell out of his pocket when he pulled the bottle out. They were jolly ranchers wrappers which was the kind she bought to share with him.

"What happened? Why did you get so fucked up? I need to get you home Lee."

Y/n was in panic mode. There was no way she could take Lee home but she didn't know how to deal with him like this. He had been tipsy around her before, sure, but she has never seen him this drunk.

"No, no...don't wanna go back. Just let me sleep it off," he slurred. He haphazardly kicked his shoes off and pulled his jacket off so he could get comfortable on her couch. He's going to wake up with a sore back if he sleeps on that thing.

"You can't get drunk like this ever again. And you also can't stay the night here ever again. Your wife is going to find out one day

He just groaned and turned away from her on the couch. She just sighed in defeat. She will deal with him in the morning.

-

She feels the bed around 3 am. She could not sleep after leaving Lee in a state like that on her couch and she has been up ever since. Y/n was so tired but her body was not agreeing with sleep at the moment. Heavy arms wrapped around her as she held her breath.

"You smell so good, Florence. Just like roses."

"Lee, it's me." She waited for him to respond, afraid that he would get upset or angry with her for no good reason. Her ego was a little hurt after he mistook her for his wife.

"I'm just jokin' with you cherry." Even though he was suffering from a hangover, he still has the capacity to tease her.

Y/n turned around to face him but he had his eyes closed and a pleased smile on his face. She can't deny how handsome he looks, especially with his full cheeks.

"Why did you get that drunk last night?"

"I'm a grown man."

"You weren't acting like it last night. You were like a defiant child," her voice began to rise in volume and Lee winced.

"Don't yell, please. You can be mad at me all you want but please don't yell. I've got a headache that's going to last for days."

"It's what you deserve."

Lee finally opened his eyes just so he could see that pouty look on her face. Y/n called him a defiant child, but she was one to talk. She was always acting like a brat around him.

"You don't mean that girl. If you did, you would've left me at Tecumseh. You care about me."

"Lee-"

"Just admit it. You care."

"Lee, you are married."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

This was the uncomfortable conversation Y/n wanted to have. It was always shot down by Lee. He had no problem fucking her, but talking about where they stand or his cheating was always a problem.

"Cherry, I wish you'd just let things be as they are. Wish you would always be a good girl like you are in the back of my cruiser."

"I don't want to be your mistress Lee. If we keep doing this then we're going to get caught and your wife will leave you. Then what?"

"I'll move you in and put a ringer on your finger. Maybe give you a few kids too," he chuckled.

Y/n couldn't bring herself to find joy in his comments. She has some underlying feelings for him and he's right, she does care. But her conscience can't stop thinking about the fact that he has a wife. The only time she forgets is when his dick is inside of her.

"I'm a whore, remember?"

"Just because I fucked you like one in front of my deputies doesn't mean you are one," his hand rested on her hot cheek and he stroked it with his thumb, "you're my cherry girl. The only person I love being inside of. You act like you hate me but you're always wet for me; I bet you're wet right now. I love what we have and I don't want it to end."

She has no more to say to him. She just sighs and closes her eyes. Lee can practically see the wheels turning in her head. While he saw this as a very simple situation, she viewed it as more complex and always seemed to look for ways to make it complicated for the two to just enjoy it for what it is. Y/n is young and Lee is sure she is not ready to settle down yet. They're just having some fun. And if they do in fact get caught and his wife leaves him, then his cherry would make one hell of a wife.

[idy-ll-ique]

no harm done

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x f!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: one mention of a gunshot

requested: nope

word count: 1.6k

summary: y/n works at a bank. one day, three people show up at the bank for a robbery; they work for the most feared crime boss in all of the country, james barnes. who also happens to be y/n's ex boyfriend. but upon seeing her, she is instantly recognized by them and the bank is spared. why? because she is on his 'no harm' list. when she finds this out, y/n decides to pay him a visit, wondering if he still thinks about her. (spoiler alert: he does)

author's note: hiya peeps! enjoy!

masterlist

---

A loud gunshot made several people scream as everyone turned around. At the entrance of the bank stood three people: one woman and two men, whom everyone instantly recognized. Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton and Peter Parker. "Get away from the counter!" Natasha shouted and everyone scurried away from the counter.

Y/N, an employee, sat frozen in place as the youngest man approached her, staring at her with narrowed eyes. All of a sudden, his eyes went wide and he took a step back, turning to his fellow… criminals. They, too, looked at her as he whispered something to them. "We are extremely sorry, ma'am," Natasha apologized immediately.

Y/N blinked, her hand below the counter ready to call the police but I guess it wasn't necessary anymore. "You're, um, you're forgiven?" she replied slowly. The three criminals instantly left the bank as the other citizens looked over at Y/N, who returned their confused glances with her equally as confused ones.

"Did they know you?" a person asked as the atmosphere steadily returned to normal. "I didn't know them," Y/N offered and the day continued as usual.

---

As Y/N stood in line at Starbucks waiting for a coffee, she looked around and saw a familiar looking man sitting there, sipping on his coffee while talking to someone on the phone. Upon receiving her coffee she made up her mind and decided to approach him, making him look up as she stood next to his table.

His eyes widened like they had a few months ago. "Ma'am," he greeted her and she gestured to the seat in front of him. "Can I sit?" He nodded and she sat in front of him, leaning back on the chair. "Do you… do you know me?" she blurted out and he pursed his lips.

"Everyone who works with Barnes knows you." At the name, Y/N froze. There was only one Barnes she knew, and she was pretty sure only one Barnes knew her. "You don't mean Bucky Barnes," she whispered and the man in front of her, Clint, nodded. "I do mean him. He runs a very feared crime syndicate in the country, and he, well… he has you on the 'no harm' list. Do you two have history?" Y/N nodded.

"We, um, we used to date back when we were both in high-school. But then some family emergency happened… it was a peaceful breakup and after that I kinda lost touch with him… does he live here now? In this city?" Clint let out an 'oh'. "He does, yeah. Is there any chance you'd like to meet him? Because I can take you now." Y/N shook her head.

"Sorry, I'm busy today. Can you give me his address? I can visit sometime later." Clint readily gave her Bucky's home address and Y/N got up, bidding him adieu as she left Starbucks, thoughtfully sipping on her coffee. Well well well, life just got interesting…

She hadn't really lost feelings for Bucky, per se. Y/N thought of him often, always wondering where he was now and what he was doing. "I guess I found out today," she muttered to herself. A crime syndicate? He was their leader? His father seemed shady back then but she didn't think Bucky was that kind of a man…

And him putting her on a 'no harm' list? Did he think of her, just like she did? Maybe he still liked her too? She couldn't wait to visit him.

---

"Ye— oh. Oh, lord. Ma'am! Come in, come in please!"

Y/N sent a forced smile towards Peter, who had opened the door to the house. A few days had passed since Y/N and Clint met at Starbucks and she was currently standing outside Bucky's mansion. Well, inside now, maybe. "Hi, Peter, isn't it?" He nodded immediately. "Such an honor," he gushed and Y/N smiled.

"Where is your boss? I'm here to meet him."

"You, um, you'll have to wait, I'm sorry. He's in a meeting right now." Y/N waved her arm dismissively. "I've got all the time in the world," she smirked as Peter led her to the sitting room. Inside sat Natasha Romanoff along with another lady Y/N recognized to be Wanda Maximoff. They instantly stood up at her arrival.

"Miss Y/N, pleasure! What brings you here?" Wanda chuckled nervously as Y/N sat down, crossing her legs. "Oh, came to see your boss, but he's in a meeting, I suppose. I can wait." Natasha hurried to the dining table and poured out a glass of water, handing it to her.

"The boss will be extremely thrilled to see you, he does talk about you a lot," Wanda spoke as Y/N chugged the glass of water. "Does he, now? Fantastic, I can't wait to see him either." All of a sudden, there was a slew of footsteps coming downstairs and Y/N turned around just in time to see Bucky entering the room, Steve and Sam behind him.

He froze when he saw her. Y/N stood up, her eyes filling with happy tears as she took in Bucky's appearance; he had lost quite a lot of face fat that he had in high school, making his jawline appear sharper. He also had a wonderful stubble and fluffier hair, but his eyes were still the same: full of light and determination. "Bucky," she whispered.

Bucky instantly ran to her and hugged her without second thought; he had missed her quite a lot. He was only 18 when he'd taken over the family business— running the most feared mafia in the entire country. He was forced to delete Y/N's number from his phone and cut off all contact with his friends.

After taking over the business he'd sneakily met her one night and made up a lie about moving away and wanting a breakup. It was peaceful, but Bucky still felt guilty about lying. Not to mention he still loved her, even after all these years. He'd thought if she knew what he was, what his work was, she'd never look at him the same again.

A breakup he could handle but her looking at him like he was a monster? There was no way he'd be able to handle that. "Y/N, you're here. Oh my God, I missed you so much," he whispered into her shoulder, pulling her impossibly close, uncaring that everyone was watching. "I missed you too," she whispered back, "But you lied to me." Bucky pulled away.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, I had to. What I do is too dangerous and I can't risk the lives of anyone close to me. My father forced me to break up with you. I didn't want to but I understood his reasoning. It's too unsafe, what if something happens to you?" Y/N shook her head, letting her tears fall free.

"No, I— I still like you, I can't— don't do this to me, please Bucky," she begged and Bucky's own tears flowed when he heard her feeble voice. "God knows I still like you too, sweetheart, but I'm sorry. I have to say no. I can't risk it. Do you know many people are on my back constantly? Once they find out about you, it'll be like a witch hunt—"

"Fine, I'll go," Y/N hissed all of a sudden, not able to contain her annoyance as she stormed past him, walking to the front door to leave. "King of fumbling the bag," Peter sneered as Natasha and Wanda followed Y/N. Bucky stared at the floor, wanting nothing more than to just run after her and beg her to stay.

But he knew he couldn't. He loved her so much that he didn't want to be with her, only because his line of work was too risky. "Dude, are you kidding me?! After all these years, you find out she still likes you and you let her go?! Just like that?!" Steve shouted at him. Bucky's head went lower with shame.

"You don't know," he muttered, "I'll only be risking her life. I love her, Steve, if something happens to her, I don't— I don't know how I'll live. For all this time, the thought of her has kept me sane and going. Knowing she's out there somewhere, living life to the fullest, still alive… if I bring her into my mess…"

"What mess?" Sam chided too, "Look at you! Everyone in the country fears you, all the other syndicates, their bosses, they respect you a lot! You've got top notch security and you're telling me your job is unsafe?! At this point, it just sounds like an excuse to not be with her." Bucky's eyes snapped towards Sam.

"Don't say that!" he roared, "I do love her! I just— you know what—" he whirled around to run after Y/N but froze when he saw her standing right behind him, her hand covering her mouth as a teardrop rolled down her eye. Bucky immediately pulled her into his arms once again, apologizing profusely.

"Don't go. Please, don't leave me again, I love you so much, Y/N," he whispered and Y/N burrowed closer to him, smiling. "I love you too, Bucky, feels so good to be back into your arms after so long." He laughed and dropped a kiss to her head, rubbing her back. "Are you sure about this?" he whispered.

"Never been more sure about anything, Barnes. You heard Sam, your job might not be safe but you are. And I trust you, so it won't ever be a problem," she assured him and he sighed, melting into her arms.

Everyone around them only smiled at each other. "I guess you didn't fumble the bag this time, good for you."

"Shut up, Parker."

---

a/n: thanks for reading, leave a like if you enjoyed!

[physicalturian]

[18+] Deranged Love - Hanma Shuji x F!Reader - Part 1

[Probably contains spoilers from the anime and the manga] [She/Her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone is +18]

Words: 9403

Archive of our own

Warnings : Explicit! / Blood / Injuries / Guns / Bruises / Choking / Blood / Graphic depiction of violence / Killing / Murder / Crying / Trauma /

Summary : Wrong place, wrong guy. Wrong in so many fucking ways it only made the attraction more sick and twisted...Yet I wanted more of him and would end up doing anything for him, with him.

If you feel like I should add more warnings, send me a dm or and ask, I'd rather be safe than sorry

- - -

Routine.

This would be how I would describe my way of life, a routine. I liked it like that, it was safe, comfortable and I was sure of what would happen. Far from me the idea of only doing the same things over and over again, I would sometimes go out with my friends or see a movie—doing things on a whim was not off the table. But I liked knowing what I was signing up for. Surprises, however, never were a thing I enjoyed—seeing my friends in my house when all I wanted was to relax after work was something dreadful and annoying to no end. I would pull through and be a good host, nonetheless, making sure everything was enjoyable, but I would be drained by the end of their stay.

Perhaps that need for reassurance, for a safety net, was the reason why I never truly took an artistic path or even considered any artistic career. It was too free, too unpredictable, too risky. Never could I have imagined myself doing such a thing; those who did were in my eyes the boldest and I admired them greatly for following their dream, but I was not bold, I preferred the solace of a job I knew would always bring me money. A simple 9 to 5 job was fulfilling enough for me; for some it was not, but I enjoyed it. It was something I could do and found relaxing to do, even when there was more rush. It just made sense to me.

There was not much thrill in this job. The people were nice enough; the clients were a bit bitter from time to time, depending on whether the job we had done was in their favor or not. Some of my colleagues would tell me crazy stories about some firms they had worked on or with and I would have a hard time believing it, but perhaps it was because different departments would deal with different types of clients. I had simple people: homeowners, tax payers, easy stuff. I liked it.

Now, even if I was keen on this routine that I had of going to my job, using the same transports, the same paths, headphones in to ignore the people around, I knew when following that same path would bring me trouble. I knew when to break that routine even just a little bit.

Tonight was one of those rare occasions. As I walked back home from work after having had to stay one more hour to help my colleague Darren fix his mistake—I made sure to tell him he owed me for helping him this late—I saw a group of men surrounding someone on the street. With one glance around, the entire street was empty except for those seven men and their victim. The usually crowded place was completely deserted and as I wondered how it could have happened, I noticed bikes at the end of the road blocking any possible traffic. It did not take a genius to know this was something far above me, there was no way I would interfere with that. Turning around, I made sure my steps were less heavy, less determined and started walking back. I did not have time to think I was going to get out of there safely when I heard, “Miss! Call the police-“. A thud sound, followed by a pained moan reached my ear.

When I dared look over my shoulder, I saw the man on his knees, blood pouring from his nose. I recognized him, he was a creepy older man that would sometimes stay longer on the train to look at younger women. Glancing at the other people around him, I kept my face as neutral as possible. Should I call the police? The outfits they wore all had the same sigil on them, the same pattern, and since they did not look like high schoolers I hardly believed those were school uniforms. Which led to the conclusion that they were the ones the news talked about a lot. The city was filled with gangs fighting over territory, not hesitating one bit to kill anyone who would cross them. I was sure of myself, assertive, yes… but I did not possess a savior complex. Seeing that man on the floor made me realize how wrong the system was, but I could not risk taking part in the situation and helping him. There were too many and clearly a lot scarier and stronger than I was. Looking away, I kept walking and heard them laugh, “That’s the right thing to do missy, he deserved it-“ “I said I was going to pay as soon as I got the money!” The victim interrupted; he was speaking very fast, but the fist smashing his jaw was faster to tell him to shut up. “It ain’t about that, you know it!”

Playing my music again, louder this time, I walked away and let them deal with everything, taking a different route than the one I would usually take. It’s alright to not have helped, you wouldn’t have made a difference… But he deserved it… I can still call the police… A turmoil inside my head started as I kept walking. After a few minutes, I grabbed my phone and dialed the police department’s number; they picked up quite fast, asking me what the emergency was. “There are gang members beating up a man in-“ “I’m sorry ma’am we can’t help with that, have a nice evening.” And just like that, the person on the other end of the phone hung up. Looking at my phone incredulously, I called again, all while taking a turn and walking by a warehouse, “Hello, you must have misunderstood me earlier—it is not a joke, there are gang members in the-“ This time, I was not interrupted by the person on the phone but by my arms being grabbed suddenly.

My heartbeat picked up, I suddenly felt sick and my head started spinning. When things like this happened, we’d always think it only happened to others, so when I realized it was happening to me, I did not feel well. Blood drained from my face, from my entire body. It all happened so fast: one moment I was walking past the warehouse, then suddenly my phone hit the ground and I joined it when I was thrown on it with force. My cheekbone took all the damage as someone pressed the side of my face onto the wet ground and made sure to put weight on my back to stop me from moving. I was shivering in fear already, but that fear only grew when my hair was pushed out of the way by a bloody hand, its knuckles painted red and brown from fresh and drying blood. The action did not feel one bit intimate, it was scary, intimidating. With the pressure on my back, I was pressed against the hard floor and could barely breathe, but in a situation like this I knew better than to talk.

I knew that. Yes.

So why did I talk? Why were my nerves acting up in moments like these?

“I am sure you got the wrong person—I’m just an accountant-“ A gun was now pressed against my cheek, I took it as a sign to shut up and did so. The man on my back twisted the gun a few times against my cheek, making me open my mouth from the weird movements against my teeth, like someone forcing a dog to open its jaws to get food out of it. “Aren’t we noisy? Tonight wasn’t the right night to feel heroic, girl.” The man asked as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I closed my eyes in discomfort, my breath hitching. Laughing sadistically, he continued talking, this time his tone lowered, “Rats shouldn’t snoop in businesses that aren’t theirs.” I felt the weight shift on my back, then heard him ask someone, “Keep beating him up, I’ll take care of her then we’ll continue having our fun,” His voice was stern but I still heard some tones of him being carefree, he was enjoying this. He then addressed someone else, “Sounds good to you?” The answer consisted of muffled cries, attempts at screams that were cut off by hits then a gun cocking. With a sigh, the man on me pulled the gun away from my face and tutted the man who was bound on his knees.

I felt the weight leave my back but did not dare move, I stayed right where I was. Steps on the humid ground were heard, getting away from me but clearly approaching the man who I assumed was being tortured. The gun fired soon after, startling me as I tensed up and closed my eyes a few seconds before opening them again. The crazy man that put me on the ground laughed loudly, “Come on, it’s just the thigh, you can still walk for now, yeah?” He had said. Turning my head to look at them, I saw the older man on his knees, hands tied behind his back and suit bloody. His tie was undone, and he had wounds all over his face and chest. “I said you can walk, yeah?” Recognizing the voice, I could put a face to my aggressor as I watched him remove his glove before grabbing the victim by his arm and making him stand up, only to force him to wobble a bit. “See! I am being nice! Talk and it’s all over, come on.” He cooed in something that could be seen as sweet if it wasn’t happening in a warehouse with violent people and a man bleeding on the ground.

“I told you! I don’t know anything I-“ The man with the long earring in his left ear did not think twice before punching the office worker in the face with enough force. I believe I heard his nose crack. I caught a glimpse of the tattoos adorning his hands but could not decipher, from how far I was, what was written on them. The crazy man laughed after the punch, “Wrong answer! Haha, you have one last chance, ok?” He said, leaning over so that his face was at the same level as the other man’s. From my place on the ground, I could only see the wicked smile on his face, and it made me feel uneasy. The tall violent man was clearly crazy, having such a man roaming the city did not seem safe at all and it scared me to think of what else was happening in the shadows. “Alright, alright, please Reaper-“ The man he called Reaper gripped his chin tight and chuckled, “Straight to point, I don’t have time to waste on vermin like you, you’re no fun.” He said as a matter of fact, as if they both believed this. His face had turned serious so quickly that I feared the moment I felt like I could escape, he would change his mind in half a second.

The bleeding man nodded quickly, tears streaming down his cheeks, “It’s Silas&Sons—That’s the name of the firm that discovered something was off-'' While I was left in shock at the mention of the firm I worked at, the Reaper grinned and brought the gun to the man’s forehead, “Wasn’t hard, was it?” the man tried to tell him not to shoot, adding that the violent one had promised he would stop. The latter shook his head, “I said it’ll all be over! Listen carefully next time,” He said the last part like a parent berating their child then winked and pressed the trigger, killing the man in less than a second as his body hit the ground, blood spattering behind him. The man with black and blond hair looked at the body on the ground and chuckled to himself, “There won’t be a next time, but you get the jest.” He huffed with a wave of his hand before handing back the gun he had been given earlier. Turning around, his eyes locked on mine. I widened my eyes in pure terror and turned my face to be in the position he had left me in; I was aware he had seen me, but I was hoping he would not mention it.

The other people that were in the room had gone silent and were probably all looking at me, the woman lying on the floor, shaking, dreading for her life. The odds of me coming out of this unscathed seemed to be decreasing the more I observed what was happening around me. A stinging pain reached my scalp making me hiss, as someone lifted my head from the ground to make me look at them. While turning my head their way, I saw two men sitting on a crate, one with two braids that were long enough to go down to his ribcage while the other had shorter purple hair and glasses. Boredom adorned both their features alongside blood stains on their outfits, and yet they were nonchalant about it. I saw a man leaning behind another crate but barely managed to catch a glimpse of his tattoo that the man called Reaper snapped his fingers in front of me. “Here, I’m your tormentor, not them, yeah?” He grinned. Meeting his gaze again, I forced myself to keep my mouth shut and kept my eyes on him.

“You’re being courageous, not even crying yet! You’re a fun one, gotta love it.” He said happily, his hand patting the cheek that had taken most of the damage when he slammed me on the ground. I flinched when I saw his hand approach my face then winced at the rough touch against the bruising skin. “What will I do with you little rat? Eavesdropping ain’t nice, tattling ain’t it either.” The latter was said in a more serious tone as his expression turned somber, any humor that dripped from his words a moment ago was completely gone and he was now looking at me with caution. “Get up, come on.” I did not have a choice, the grip in my hair did not slacken and I had to follow his movement to avoid most of the pain. My clothes were dirty and damp from the humid ground; I felt my legs shake as I got to my feet and hissed at the pain when he yanked my hair for me to follow him quicker.

Pushing me forward, he threw me against the crate where the two other men were sitting. Hitting my shoulder against the wooden item, I swore under my breath and was about to fall to my knees again when the man with the long braids wrapped his legs around my neck and somewhat choked me. Caught off guard, I gripped his shins tight and tried to break free, but his hold only tightened. I heard him mock me while he dug his heels deeper in my biceps from the position he was in, “Stop moving and it’ll stop hurting, fuck you’re stupid.” He sighed with disdain, bringing me closer towards him but it only pressed my neck against the wood. Gritting my teeth, I stopped trying to get him to let go and let my arms fall to my side, when I felt the choke weaken and took a large intake of breath while focusing my eyes anywhere but on the man in front of me.

The manic laughter I had now heard many times in those few minutes I was on the floor reached my ears again, “I can see you wanna live, what are you willing to do to stay alive?” He asked in a light tone. It was a real question, but I did not want to do anything. I wanted to punch them and make a run for it, but they had guns and strength, none of which I could match in any way. I kept my mouth shut again.

The Reaper chuckled again, “I don’t know if you keeping your pretty mouth shut is a curse or a blessing-“ he stopped himself and slapped my now undamaged cheek with as much force as he could, making me yelp at the pain. I kept my face turned the direction his hand had turned it, but he gripped my chin forcefully and made me look at him. His expression had turned almost sour as he stared right into my eyes, “Fucking answer the question, what are you willing to do?” he spat, his face only breaths away from mine. Keeping a frown on, I uttered, “I wasn’t calling on you, there were people blocking another road-“ His mouth contorted into a smile once again as he pushed my face against the crate before letting go as he threw his hands in the air, and turned around on himself once, “She speaks! God it’s so entertaining to see you’re—Still. Not. Crying.” He gritted through his teeth the last three words before leaning over once again, his face very close to mine just like before.

“You’re telling me it’s a coincidence then?” He asked in a playful tone, clearly mocking me.

Fuck I wanted to make a run for it and get away from here. My heart was trying to beat out of my chest the longer I spent time here, the only thought running through my mind was: I am going to die here. How else would I end up? He had killed a man that had told him what he wanted to know, so no matter what I said he would kill me, right? Stammering a bit, I nodded the best I could with legs still around my neck, “Yes, I hadn’t seen you were here, I-“

“You’re funny! I’ll give you that! God you’re-“ He pulled back and made a rapid movement of his arms approaching me, as if putting me on display, “You’re fun! Ran, let her go.” The first part was said in excitement, the latter in the utmost seriousness. The moment he had spoken those words, the man let go of my neck and I was about to stumble when the Reaper grabbed me by the shoulders. He was tall, strangely tall, way above average, and it only added to all the traits that already made him scary. My whole body tensed, I thought this was it. He glared at me for a few moments before speaking to one of his friends, his gaze never leaving mine, “What do we know?”

An unknown voice reached my ear, it was close, so it must have been the other man on the crate, “Seems like a civilian, said she was an accountant. She also seemed surprised when the vermin said Silas&Son.” That perked the Reaper’s interest.

“Oh, so the little girl knows things. Have they sent you?” He asked, forcing me to look up by gripping my chin once more. He did not care the amount of strength he used, he couldn’t care less if I was uncomfortable, to him I was just a puppet that he could throw around and play with. Clearly he was right since I moved along and did not fight back. If I did, I would die, I was sure of it. “I was walking home from work—I saw my usual path was blocked and people were ganging up against a man so I-“ “You ran? The rat isn’t one for conflict, eh?” He patted my head and smiled almost reassuringly before letting go of me, making sure I fell on the floor. “Then? Make this quick, this ain’t the time for a bedtime story.”

“I called the police so that they could check—they said it was none of their business so I tried again and you-“ Fuck I was stuttering, the stress was too much and once I had fallen on my back, he was a lot more intimidating. He could just pull out his gun and shoot me, I could not get up with how I was shaking.

“You tried to do the right thing, right?” He asked, his back now turned to me. I could not gauge his emotion, so I replied sincerely, “Yes, it was all that I could do-“

Suddenly he turned around and pointed a gun at me, grinning, “Wrong! You could have helped the poor, poor man on the street, yeah? But you didn’t, why?” I did not reply right away, so he waved the gun around before crouching right in front of me and taking a good look at me. “They were too many-“ “That never stops a hero, does it? It’s all about charisma, determination, letting your body act faster than your brain, no?” He asked rhetorically, but while I waited for him to continue he sighed and looked down, his gun dropping lower as his arm fell limp. He started mumbling to himself a moment, using the gun to scratch his hair. Perhaps it was not the most adequate time to do so, but I looked at his outfit and saw he was wearing suit pants and a white business shirt. Quite the outfit for a murderer, but he had made sure to pull his sleeves up to not stain it. He was right in doing so since all the blood from earlier was on his black gloves and his forearms.

“Tell me, rat,” He slowly looked up and gave me a wicked smile, “Are you a hero?” He brought the gun to my forehead and all I did was close my eyes in fear. A sob escaped my lips as I tried to back away, but I was only met with the wooden crate, accidentally bumping my head against the shoes of one of the men sitting on it. “Do you believe there is good in this world? That it deserves to be saved? Hm? Would you die for this pathetic excuse of a world?” He pressed the gun even more against my skin. I heard the click as he disengaged the safety and tried to close my eyes even more than how I had already shut them, but found it impossible. My entire body was shaking, there was no helping the sobs escaping my mouth even by covering it.

I felt a gentle hand push my hand away and opened my eyes in confusion, only to see that the man who was holding a gun against me was grinning, “Answer the question.” He turned the gun horizontally and rested his arm on his knee as he placed his head on his free hand, completely relaxed. Getting lost in thoughts, I stared emptily at him while he started counting down, “Three…” Am I a hero? How would one describe a Hero? None of the mythological heroes could define me, none of those famous franchises either. “Two, think faster.” What answer did he want? Should I give him what he wants, or should I just be honest? “One-“

“I’m not a hero, I didn’t call right away because he deserved it, I-“ Taking a deep breath, I tried to take a hold of myself and calm down the best I could. “He harassed people, no one ever did anything about it-“

“See! Wasn’t hard, was it? Good girl,” He patted my head before moving the gun under my chin and raising it with the end of the gun, his finger never leaving the trigger, “You’re also a bad person then, you’re like us, right? Some people do deserve to die!”

Shuddering, I took a shaky breath and inhaled, “I’m nothing like you-“ “If he died it’s because ye didn’t act quick enough, don’t you agree?” He inquired with a pleading look, the mockery never leaving his tone. “I don’t, no.” My words were followed by the gun leaving my person as the man stood up quickly and barked out a laugh before asking his friends if they had heard that, they only grumbled in reply. He tucked the gun in the back of his pants and I quickly let my head down in fear I had triggered him somehow, frightened it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “I like you, accountant woman. I just wanna see one thing to know what I should do with you—well two, but I’ll start slow.” Bringing his arm behind his back, I tensed again but then felt the gun hit my ankle as he threw it at me.

“Shoot me,” He ordered as he crouched in front of me, his arms crossed over his knees while grinning broadly. “I killed a guy, right? I am bad, killing me should make you a hero.” His little speech was stupid, it only started a vicious cycle of death with no end. Killing a killer that killed one person? It’d make me a killer that killed one person, and so on. But he brought his hand to mine and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the gun before pressing it against his forehead. “Here, you can’t miss from this close, show me you got guts! Come on, do it.” That grin turned into something scary, manic, he was getting off on the thrill. But my hands were shaking, I had never held a gun before, never intended to, but tonight was nothing if not exceptional. When I tried to put my arm down, he grabbed my elbow and kept it up, “It’s you or me, come on, make this fun for both of us-“ “I’m not shooting you in the head! You’re insane-“

Hearing my words well, he barked a laugh then guided the gun to his heart, one of the men behind me sighed and told him to hurry up, but the Reaper only shushed him. “Here, then? Sounds better?” Nothing was right in his head; I couldn’t understand what he was doing. No matter how hard I tried, I did not know the point he was making, but taking all this time to think about it made me lose the position of power he had given me. Forcing my hand to let go of the gun, he took it and, at the speed of light, put it in my mouth, making a sob escape it as he did so. “That’s a missed opportunity, too bad.” He shrugged then as I saw him press the trigger. I closed my eyes, my hands gripping my thighs so tight, it must have left some marks under the fabric of my pants.

The click of the trigger echoed, and I felt myself jump on the spot at how loud the bang was—so this is it? That thought crossed my mind rapidly, but was shoved aside by the loud ringing in my ears. I then heard footsteps echoing around the warehouse. The gun was no longer in my mouth, there were no bullets, it was a blank; I felt my stomach churn and opened my eyes in panic before pushing my tormentor away. I was surprised when he let me do so, but it was better for him. Slamming my hands down, I was on the floor as I emptied my stomach on the concrete. Chuckles reached my ears along with the whispers of a few words, “Can’t even stomach a bit of gun play.” “Should have killed her, blood stench leaves easier than vomit.” The latter comment made one of them laugh.

When I was done, I thought for a second that death was quick, most of the time. And when it wasn’t, you expected it, you weren’t filled with stress. Hence why no one ever spoke of post-mortem vomit. It made me laugh only for a second until I was pushed back on my ass when the man with the earring pressed his foot against my chest, making me wince. “Your name, what is it?” he asked seriously.

Feeling some sort of confidence build up, I looked up at him and leaned over, using the hem of his pants to wipe my mouth, but did not answer. The seriousness on his face turned into the look of someone who had been challenged; he snapped his fingers, then I heard someone say my name, my birthdate and my birthplace. Looking at the person who kept reading out loud, I saw the man with a tiger tattoo on his neck approach before tossing my wallet at me. I did not know when they had found the time to pickpocket me, but they managed to. My cheeks were burning up from the sickness, the stress and the embarrassment this entire situation brought but I still tried to keep my head high, for what it was worth. Bringing my hands to my face, I only now felt the tears that had rolled down my cheeks.

“Okay little tattletale, I think I’ll let you go for now-“ “Are you not going to kill me? Isn’t this what you do?” I asked in a weak voice, not even attempting to get up after all the time you had been mishandled. Both the man with the earring and the tattooed one were standing in front of me. The former reached out for my hand to help me get up, I did not take it, so he sighed loudly and bent over to grab my bicep and forcefully get me up. “We only kill snitches and annoying fucks, are you one of those?” I was about to tell him no when he leaned over suddenly and pressed his index against my lips to shut me up. Startled, I tried to step back but he held the back of my head with his free hand and beamed, “No, you’re not. You’re gonna be useful, you’re just the right amount of malleable,” The finger that had left my mouth moved to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, I shivered in disgust, “I can see it in your eyes that you’ll be a fun one to work with.”

I tried to pull away from him, but his hand gripped my hair tight and kept me in place, stopping me from leaning back when he approached closer, “Since you’re not a hero, we’ll make you a villain then—I mean, it’s not going to be hard considering your stance on killing.” He grimaced at that before turning it into a full laugh and letting go of me.

“Rindou, take her back to her place-“ “I’m not doing that, I got plans with Ran. Send the tiger boy, we’re done for tonight.” The one with purple hair and glasses said as he hopped off the crate, followed by the other man on it. It made the Reaper’s face turn sour as he gripped the one who had just spoken and tightened his hold on his shoulder, “I don’t do escorting, that’s your job.” He gritted through his teeth.

Seeing the tension, I put my wallet back in my bag and cleared my throat, “I’ll—I can walk home on my own, by now they must be gone-“ All of them looked at me with a threatening gaze, I felt like a deer caught in headlights. The man with the braids started walking off, Ran was his name I believe, along with the man with the tattoo on the neck, while the two others stayed right there and glared at me. When I took a step back, taking their silence for permission, the Reaper wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me close to him, “Right, I’ll do it tonight. Just because she’s a fun one-“ “I can walk home alone, it’s no problem,” I tried to push him away, my hands were shaky and had a few scraps. Without the constant manhandling, not that I missed it, I could feel the dampness of my clothes and how cold it was getting.

Looking down at me without any expression on his face, the Reaper turned us around and waved everyone goodbye, his arm never leaving my shoulders. “We both know that’s not true, if we let you walk home alone you might get beaten up by—how did you put it? ‘Gang members’, yeah, that was what you said on the phone.” He hummed, shoving his free hand in his pocket as he guided us outside. I felt uneasy in his hold, I felt like he was walking me towards my execution. I did not want to lead him to my house, but what choice did I have? He would find it sooner or later; at least that’s what he said, but I did not know how much truth there was to it. In my eyes, it was but a small group of violent men that had killed someone.

“In the end you did get beaten up by a gang member, but it could’ve been worse.” He said lightheartedly as he stopped in front of a car. When I paused my steps and still did not look at him, simply waiting for his next move, I felt him grab my chin and turn my head towards him. My breath hitched in fear as I met his golden eyes. He seemed a bit bored now, but I couldn't care less how he felt, I wanted to bolt away from his touch. “You should disinfect that, and you’ll definitely bruise, but you probably have makeup or something to hide that.” He shrugged.

When he leaned over again, I brought my hands in front of me and closed my eyes to stop him from touching me, but I only heard him huffing a laugh next to my ear as he opened the door of the passenger seat. “Get in, I’ll drop you off.” Looking up at him, I blinked a few times then glanced at the inside of the car. I don’t know what I was expecting, something dirty, bloody, disgusting perhaps. But instead, it was perfectly clean, not a speck of dirt in sight. It looked like an expensive car, but perhaps it was just very clean, I did not know. Still unsure, I hesitantly got inside and was about to close the door but felt a certain strength holding it back. The man was leaning on the door and bent over to peek his head inside the car, thinking he needed something. I pressed myself more against the seat to let him grab what he wanted, but his hand reached for the belt and fastened it for me.

“Wouldn’t want you to escape—ah, I mean, safety first.” He said mockingly before winking and slamming the door shut. My hands found their way to the belt and held it tight as I watched him walk around the car. His steps were too big for me to make a run for it, he would catch up on me in no time, I was stuck with him. As he entered the vehicle and fastened his own seatbelt, he pointed at the glove box and handed me his gloves, “Put them back and hand me a wipe, tattletale.”

His craziness was a lot more toned down, for a second I wondered how many faces this man had. The one I was seeing right now was intimidating from how put together he seemed, the other one was scary from how unexpected his actions were. “Why aren’t you killing me?” I asked without looking at him, focused on pushing the gun out of the way inside the glove box and grabbing the little pack of wipes. Giving it to him, his brow was quirked, “Because you’re a good girl,” He grinned, wiping his hands as he continued, “No one would ever suspect you’re working with the likes of a gang. You’re gonna be useful and that’s all that matters, you should be thankful I didn’t kill you. I hate people who eavesdrop.” He said, as he shoved the wipe in the door compartment.

“I didn’t eavesdrop.” I muttered, looking outside the window when he started the car. The laugh that erupted out of nowhere scared me, making me tense again, I dared to look his way and saw his manic smile again. “So, you’re an accountant, pretty boring. You should be thrilled I chose you.” He said in a mix of pride and humor before increasing the volume of the music then drumming his fingers on the wheel. Thinking about his words some more, I glanced his way and lowered the volume, catching his attention as he looked me dead in the eyes. “What if I don’t want to work with you?” I asked, measuring my tone to not piss him off, it did not take a genius to understand this man was unstable and that I needed to tread lightly around him.

Even with as much care as I put in my voice, his reaction was sudden when he turned the wheel and stopped the car on the side of the road. Passing cars honked in annoyance but the man did not care one bit while I had slammed my hand on the dashboard to stop my head from hitting it. Insulting him under my breath, I looked up and saw he had placed his arms on the wheel, his left cheek resting on his forearm. “Then leave. Get out right now, nothing’s stopping you.”

“What’s stopping me is that you’ll kill me, or you’ll run me over, multiple times,” I could see the smile on his face was spreading, but he did not move. The condescendence in his lack of reaction, of action, annoyed me but at the same time frightened me, was he going to slam my head against the window? Against the dashboard? I did not know, but I continued, stammering this time from how nervous I was becoming, “My life is on the fucking line, that’s what’s holding me back.” I spat. My eyes had never left his, even as his smile turned into a grin and his slender fingers gripped the wheel tighter.

When he did not look away, I did. At the same time, I turned on the seat and fully looked ahead instead of facing him. A silence set for a moment then I heard the car start and the man sighed, content, “You’re smart to stay, you’re only alive because I can use you. If you had left, I’d have shot you and left you on the side of the road to die.” He said in a light tone. The words he had spoken had the same effect of a bullet; my guts took a hit without being truly hit. I did not have a choice at all, I was stuck working for a man I did not know without even knowing what I had to do.

His hand rose and I closed my eyes, flinching slightly, “Type in your address, tattletale.” With the little confidence that remained, I lifted my shaky hand and typed it in while telling him that I had a name. Then added, “You should use it. Maybe there is a name I can call you by?” I was not asking for his ID, nor anything specific, if he had a codename in his stupid gang or something like that I would go with it, but calling him Reaper in my head sounded idiotic. “Sorry doll, I think nark or snitch suits you a lot more.” He hummed a moment, throwing me a glance from the corner of his eyes as his hands moved on the wheel absent-mindedly. Huffing in annoyance, I placed my elbow against the window and rested my chin against my fist, thinking he was done. After all, why should I care what he called me? I should simply call him an asshole if he was so keen on calling me a snitch. Or perhaps I should live up to the title and do exactly that, tell the police.

A hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me out of my daydream with my head bumped against the window. Wincing in pain, I heard the man laugh loudly while being focused on the road, “That’s deserved for not paying attention.” He said through laughter. “Pay attention to what? The road? I’m not the one driving-“ “To me, you should keep your guard up, snitch. Who knows what I could do.” He said with a deadpan expression. Without looking at me, he brought his hand to tuck my hair out of the way, then glanced at me and smirked. His touch was light, almost gentle. It allowed me to get a proper look at his tattoo, but I could not focus on it at all, I only tensed up before feeling him grip my throat and bring me closer to him. I made a choking sound and complied to avoid as much pain as possible, “You can call me Hanma, as long as you don’t scream it from every fucking rooftop.”

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. This night was not going as planned at all and every time I found any respite, it would be ruined, and the man would turn violent again. I could not let my guard down, I knew it but when he would just stay put, I could not help myself but think he was done. Clearly he wasn’t. His hold lessened a bit, so I took the opportunity to claw his hand away and pull myself back, my own hand around my throat in protection. “They called you the Reaper.” I croaked, wanting him to talk more so that I wouldn’t have to.

“They did, yeah.” He shrugged.

That was it. He did not add anything else. The matter was closed. When I asked him why they did that, he pulled the car on the side of the road again, startling me in the process. With how on edge I was, I did not realize where we were and thought he would be mad again, but instead he looked over my shoulder and nodded, “That’s you, get out.” He told me as his left arm rested on the wheel while the right one was on the back of the seat, casually leaning on it while looking at me. Looking behind me, I saw my house and felt some hope at finally being able to get home and yet… I did not leave right away and instead prodded, “The news talks about your gang, how many people did you kill?” His eyes traveled from my head to my hands then up to my head again, the arrogance never leaving his face as he leaned back against the car door and waved a hand dismissively, “Take a guess, I think it should be fun.”

I was about to give him a number when he leaned forward quickly, his face right in front of mine as he whispered, “Don’t forget those in comas or those at the hospital, they might not be dead, but they might as well be,” He chuckled happily then approached even closer, his lips right next to my ear, “They’re only alive because I said they could be, like you are. One wrong move and,” leaning back quickly, he clapped his hands, “Bang, dead.” He said dead meaning those in the hospital, but I fully understood he was threatening me, I was not an idiot.

Taking this as my cue to go, I unbuckled my seatbelt and when I was about to open the door, I heard the mechanism of the car locking it. Turning around to look at Hanma, I wordlessly asked if he needed anything else. His hand reached out towards me, “Your phone.”

“I didn’t record this or anything, I was not on a call with the police either, I-“ snatching it from my hand while I was rambling, Hanma tried to unlock it but instead was met with a locked screen. Hesitantly, I took it from his hand, mine being a lot shakier than his seeing how steady his were and unlocked it before giving it back to him. A minute passed and he handed the phone back to me, “We’ll be in contact. Things are gonna change for you, doll. Hope you’re ready for what’s coming.”

He was an unusual character, he was confusing, violent, and surely insane. All of those things added up in my mind, making me accidentally let it slip, “How can one be ready with you? Crazy man…” I said it all under my breath and huffed the last part as I pushed the door open. I let out a sigh when the door opened easily, part of me even thanked the man for not keeping me in any longer but I was still on my toes, certain he would say something else as I left the car, but he did not.

Grabbing my bag, I shuffled away from the car that still hadn’t moved and kept glancing over my shoulders until I reached the door where I struggled to put the key in the keyhole. At each failed attempt my frustration grew, the swears flooded out of my mouth easily and soon it turned into a stupid crying of frustration. “Fuck this, fucking shit-“ when the key finally fit, I hurried inside and locked the door behind me again but this time with the sliding lock, knowing full well I would struggle again too much to lock my door with the key seeing how tensed I still was.

The darkness of my home was what welcomed me. It was awful, it was cold and above everything it felt oppressive—my face was heating up, I was suffocating, my clothes were burning my skin, but I was also shaking. Fanning my face, I made my way to the bathroom with heavy steps, my breath was quickening, was it breathing or heaving? I needed to calm down, I needed to ground myself but I did not know how, this never happened but I felt like I was dying. I could not breathe, my lungs hurt at each intake of breath. “Fuck, fuck, shit, calm down“ I panted while taking off my clothes, I needed to take everything off, I wanted to burn them, it was filthy, disgusting and smelled wretched.

As I took off my top, I caught a whiff of the stench of the warehouse and let out a sob but did not let it stop me even if I could not breathe. I removed the rest of my clothes and knelt by the bath, leaning over to turn the shower on but did not wait for it to be warm to step inside and let it pour all over my dirtied body. The coldness made me take a deep breath that seemed to have helped with the panic attack I was having, but it did not help the crying, so I let it all out while I was washing up. What have I gotten myself into? What happens next? What am I supposed to do now? Is he going to ask me to kill someone? Am I going to have to use a gun? I didn’t want to do any of those, I only walked by something I had nothing to do with and—letting out a scream of frustration, I sat down in the bath and let the water rain on me. I ran my hands through my wet hair and placed my elbows on my knees, grunting again, “I don’t do gangs… I do numbers, I don’t have time to murder people…” I mumbled.

Letting my own words sink in, I let out a chuckle at first and focused my gaze on the wall in front of me then laughed again, shortly. I don’t have time to murder people, yeah… “Because if you had time you would?” I asked myself jokingly as I stood up, laughing again. Shaking my head, I shut the shower off and got out, almost slipping on the water that had splattered around the bath. I hadn’t taken time to put a towel on the floor or prepare anything, fortunately I managed to balance myself and took one from the closet. Once I was dry, I wrapped my robe around my form and stopped in front of the mirror, taking a proper look at the damage I had taken.

The scratch on my cheekbone was bruised, there was another bruise on my neck that I could probably hide with a turtleneck, the season allowed it, and if not with a turtleneck then a scarf would do the trick. Disrobing myself just to take a look at the rest of it, I had some bruises on my arms where I was grabbed to be moved roughly, without counting the pain on my ass but no one would see that. Passing my tongue over my teeth, I was glad as I still had all of them, but my jaw hurt, “Did I bite the inside of my cheek? At what moment could-“ A flashback of when the man slapped me with full force appeared in my mind, fueling me with a bad feeling of uneasiness as I put back my robe. “Bastard…” I huffed before opening the door of my bathroom and stepping inside the dark room again. Talking to myself, I continued, “Nothing’s stopping me from telling the police, who does he think he is? I could very well call them, yeah…” I paused in my steps and scoffed dryly, “Not that they’d listen.”

The news was always talking about the gangs in the city, telling us that the police were working on stopping them, but no one knew the people that were supposed to defend and help were a bunch of sellouts, bribed out idiots. The system we had put our trust in had decided to fuck us over and to leave us to ourselves, it was because of them that I was in this situation. It’s not like it had been hard to stumble upon one of their gang meetings. They might claim discretion, but if anyone could find them, it was anything but. “Who am I kidding? I am fucked,” I barked a laugh and turned on the light, “Guess I am a gang member-“ I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the man my thoughts were plagued with, sitting on my couch, his legs crossed with one ankle over a knee. “Not exactly, you still need to prove yourself. But I love the enthusiasm!” He said while placing an arm on the back of the couch and looking at me with a satisfied smile, not even fully facing me, only to look right ahead once he was done talking.

Usually, one would say don’t turn your back on your enemy, but he was the predator here, he had nothing to fear, I was the one shaking in my metaphorical boots. Deciding to not be useless, I was about to shuffle to the kitchen discretely when I saw him beckon me closer by bending his index finger. Thinking I could play it off as not having seen it, I took one step towards the kitchen when I heard him click his tongue over his teeth, “I said, come here.” Stopping dead in my tracks, I did not speak, and silently opened my bag to pull out my phone and start recording. His hand gripped the back of the couch and I heard him chuckle mockingly, “Ran said you were stupid, but we both know you’re not, now come.” Putting the phone properly on the furniture, I followed his order and walked up to him to stand right in front of him, my arms crossed over my chest to close my bathrobe up to my neck.

“How the fuck did you get in?” I spat. He was not driving, which meant he could not throw me out of a speeding car. He was not surrounded by other maniacs either, and if he had a gun and decided to shoot me, I would have proof of it. There was a semblance of safety, even amidst the fact that the man had broken in without caring. It led me to have some confidence.

The man grinned and leaned over, his elbows resting on his knees. His demeanor was one of a man in control, he knew he could do anything to me because I would bend, he said it himself, I was malleable. But not for lack of will, simply by fear. And if he kept bending me this much, I would not last long, I would break. As long as I feared him, he had the upper hand… but I was not feeling fearless yet. With a low chuckle, he simply said, “Broke in with pliers,” then showed me the pair of pliers lying on the couch. I glanced at my door and saw the chain of my lock was broken as he had said, but that loss of attention directed to him annoyed him. Snapping his fingers, he brought my attention back to him, “Here, you should make a double of your key-“ “I’m not doing that. First, you’ll pay me back for breaking my lock, then if you want to meet up for whatever you got planned for me, you pick a spot but not-“

My breath hitched when Hanma rapidly stood up, his form towering mine as he looked down at me with his hair falling randomly on his forehead. “We got a lotta confidence suddenly, don’t we? Go ahead, finish your sentence, I’m listening.” He cooed in a condescending tone, his face approaching mine as he hovered slightly over me. Looking up at him, I looked down to his chest feeling my confidence wane slightly. When I tried to step back, not liking how close he was to me, he placed his hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Come on partner, let it all out, you seem to have a lot on your mind. Keeping it all bottled up ain’t gonna end up well. We should get along if we’re gonna work together, yeah?” He said in a fake listening attitude, we both knew he didn’t care but I was riled up and clenched my fists.

“I don’t want you in my house, you’re a piece of shit. I don’t want to get along, I want you to fuck off—Get out.” I managed to say everything without stuttering, but his grip tightened on my shoulder, making me tense up even if it was not painfully tight. Simply knowing that nothing was holding him back, not his mind, nor his ethics, nothing. His mood was the turning point of his actions, which means one change of emotion could make him go feral and hit me, it scared me. Hissing mockingly, he tilted my chin up to make me look at him, a smirk adorning his face, “Make me leave then, do something about it.” Grabbing both my shoulders, he pushed me back slightly then spread his arms wide, a huge smile on his face, “Go ahead, I won’t do anything—it’s free hits,” He taunted. When I did not move, he pointed at his face and licked his lips like an animal looking at its next meal.

“Do it, show me your guts, little rat! I hit you right? I put a gun to your head, that must be so annoying, right?” Biting the inside of my cheek, I could feel my frustration building up inside me again. He had done all those things, and no regret was written on his face, none. He had killed a man, broken inside my house, manhandled me and hit me. He had mocked me, humiliated me, mistreated me and while it all happened in a short time span, I already felt strongly about him. Reminding myself all that, I hadn’t realized the hit that flew from my person until it landed on his jaw, my fist feeling like it had hit a wall. His face turned to the side by the end of the action.

Using the heel of his hand to wipe the blood that dripped from his mouth, he looked at me with hooded eyes and grinned, his teeth colored red, “That’s hot, but ye shouldn’t have done that.”

[Part 2]

[sergiovinazzi]

Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Two)

2.9k words, rated E for everyone :)

Lando’s voice, amplified by the TV speakers, echoes around the humming Red Bull garage. “I’m fine but I’ve been better. I can say that I’m not in perfect condition, I’m not gonna lie. Some work to do mentally of course. I talk about that a lot, and mental health and mental strength is very important. I’ve not been sleeping that great and so on… not ideal and I’m feeling a bit sore, but I’m not the guy in the worst position after Wembley. I’ll work on it, I’ll make sure I’m in the best shape possible, and I feel like I can still go out and focus on what I need to do, and that’s the main thing.”

Your mind races as you listen to the boy plastered across the many screens revisit his experience at Wembley. He sounds awful; something about his cadence making it even more obvious that he is really, truly shaken up. The wavering pitch, awkward pausing, fumbling for words; everything about the way he presents himself is serving as a brutal reminder that being physically unscathed is no indicator that harm was not dealt. Even as the interview moves past the topic of last week’s Euro Final, you notice the shift in demeanor and your heart aches. You worry that bringing the watch to him is a bad idea, that it could prompt unbidden memories and disquieting feelings. You understand how big of an event Silverstone is from your dad’s tangents alone, especially for an English team with an English driver, so you reevaluate whether your decision to come was selfish, one made solely to alleviate your own sentiments of guilt rather than to verily right your believed wrongdoings.

On the journey to Silverstone, your dad had made multiple attempts at lessening your stress, even opting for variations of the if he steps out of line I will put him right back in his place father speech. Unfortunately fruitless, your father’s attempts mean you remain just as anxious as when you had first discovered that you managed to obtain a stolen wristwatch.

You’re not sure whether it’s the crisp morning air or your nerves that sends chills across your flesh, but your attempt to ground yourself subtly doesn’t go unnoticed by your dad as he passes you in the garage.

“Time is ticking,” he informs you, a smirk playing on his lips. “No pun intended.”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to downplay your apprehension, but your voice gives away any and all signs of the false confidence you hope to portray. “Can you do it for me?” you plead.

“I can’t just stroll on over to the McLaren garage without an invitation or proper reason, especially not a couple hours before free practice starts. It doesn’t look good.”

“It’s not like me walking in there instead would look any better,” you retort, gesturing to the Red Bull logo plastered across the chest of your black polo. “Your branding isn’t what I would call subtle.”

“Look, the McLaren team are a good sort. They’ll help you out if you just explain the issue and show them the watch. I’m sure Lando will understand too, he seems like a pretty nice bloke,” your dad reassures you.

Sighing, your eyes meet the floor, fingers intertwined with each other as you fidget incessantly. Before you can speak up in further defiance, however, an additional set of footsteps grow nearer and you freeze at the voice which speaks up.

“Christian, how much longer until our media slot?”

You lose your breath momentarily, locking your gaze onto your shoes as you wait for the person to pass by.

“About five minutes, Max,” your dad replies. “We were just about to head over.”

When you hear the footsteps grow fainter, you risk looking up, thankfully being met with only the observance of your father. You don’t even realize that you’ve tensed your body until your dad points it out.

“Relax,” he says. “He’s not going to say anything here, especially not on a race weekend.”

Nodding, you feel your shoulders ease up but you remain quiet.

“Anyways, like I said, our media briefing and interviews start soon and we’re after McLaren this weekend so they should already be back in their garage,” he says, realizing that you still appear troubled by the task ahead of you. “I promise you, everything will be fine. Just go over there and I’ll meet you back here when we’re done. The quicker you head over, the quicker you’re done with it and we can all move on." With that, your dad walks away and you reluctantly leave the Red Bull garage, adjusting your shirt as you straighten up.

You take a brief glance at your phone, turning it off after you try one last time to keep the picture of the boy imprinted in your mind. Eyes darting rapidly, you attempt to scan the paddock for anyone looking remotely like him while you make your way towards the bright orange and blue indicators of the McLaren garage.

The frequency of orange-clad individuals grows the further you stray from the safety of Red Bull’s garage, and you feel your heartbeat begin to increase. Worried that someone would stop you before you could approach the one person you had traveled all the way to Silverstone for in the first place, you quicken your pace.

You’re mere meters away when you spot him. Pushing past a few people while trying to keep your eyes trained on him, you watch as he turns around to talk briefly with the woman next to him.

Huffing, you muster up the little confidence you have and tap him on the shoulder.

His confusion is evident and the blonde woman next to him does not look pleased to have been interrupted. The silence is palpable as they stare at you, expecting an explanation for the abrupt ending of their conversation.

“Hi,” is all you can deliver. You’re at a loss for words while the woman next to him seems to lose what little patience she has with you. Everything you had rehearsed beforehand, gone. Your mind is foggy and your mouth feels dry as you try to compose yourself. “Um, can I talk to you for a second? It won’t be long, I promise.” Your voice breaks at the end and you wish you had never agreed to get on that stupid red-eye to Silverstone in the first place.

Lando offers a look of sympathy and then turns to the woman next to him. “Charlotte, could you just give us a second?”

Pursing her lips and turning on her heel, the woman walks away, heading towards the mouth of the McLaren garage. She’s far enough away that you’re out of earshot, but close enough that you feel her gaze linger as Lando turns back to face you.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he tells you with a smile. “We can take a picture if you want or I can sign some stuff for you.”

“What? No.” You shake your head, mentally slapping your palm against your forehead and forcing yourself to get a grip. Idiot. “Fuck, sorry, that sounded so rude! It’s just-” you rush to explain.

“Oh no, it’s okay!” he stammers. “I should’ve guessed from the Red Bull shirt anway.”

You both share an awkward laugh before you compose yourself and reach a shaky hand into your bag.

“This is going to sound so weird, but I was online shopping for a new watch the other day because I lost mine, and I’m pretty sure I bought the one that was stolen from you. I didn’t know anything about it, I swear. I just...well, here,” you say, offering the watch and its temporary box to Lando.

He looks at you, taking the box only to go wide-eyed at the contents inside.

“I have all the information that I was able to get, but the ad was taken off of eBay and I really wanted to do the right thing and give it back to you. Please don’t be mad.”

“What the hell?!” he exclaims, earning a few looks from people passing by and catching Charlotte’s attention once more. “Sorry, sorry. How did you get this?”

Amused, you laugh quietly while he studies the watch intently. “That was my dad’s reaction too. Basically there was a listing for it on eBay and it was sort of an impulse buy,” you explain. “I didn’t see the news coverage of what happened until afterwards and I felt awful. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, I genuinely had no idea.”

Shrugging, he plays it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.” It’s hard to miss his sudden change in attitude from the interview you watched moments ago and you can’t help but wonder whether he has your or the watch’s presence to thank.

There is a brief moment of silence between you both before he continues. “How much did you pay for it?”

“It was so cheap, honestly,” you say. “Nothing compared to the original price, I’m sure.”

Charlotte, alerted by Lando’s attention-grabbing reaction to being reunited by his watch, returns to where the two of you are standing. “Oh wow, did you find a replacement watch for him?” she asks you, clearly impressed by the apparent likeness.

“No, Charlotte”, he corrects her. “It’s my one. Look.” He hands the watch to his PR manager, who receives it so gently you think she’s afraid it might shatter in her hands. Flipping the watch between her fingers, she studies the small engraving on the underside of the face.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

Lando nods. “It’s the exact date it was given to me, there’s no way anyone else could know that and make a copy of it.”

You feel the need to justify yourself to her. “It was listed online and I bought it before I knew anything about the situation. I didn’t even really know who Lando was until I saw what happened on the news, I swear.” You anticipate her anger or disapproval, preparing yourself to withstand the lecture you’re about to receive and mentally promising that, as soon as it’s over, you can run back to your dad and tell him you just want to go home.

But it doesn’t come.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaims. “We all thought we’d never see it again and you found it on accident.” The smile she gives you sets your mind at ease. “Technically, this is a police matter now, so I’ll have to hand it over to the right people, but this helps us tremendously. Did you get any information about the seller?”

You explain the situation to her, about how the listing was taken offline but you have a printout of the messages and address the seller gave you, which you hand her from your bag. She lets you know that someone may get in touch soon to ask questions but not to worry, that it’s only a formality. Eventually, she asks if you’d like to watch free practice from a spot in the mobile hospitality unit, but you politely decline, explaining that you needed to get back to your dad in the Red Bull garage instead.

Charlotte smiles fondly at Lando and presses the brim of his cap down over his eyes. “Come on, you, we have to go and get ready now anyway.”

He takes off his hat, cheeks flushing as he makes an effort to quickly brush the curls lining his forehead, placing it back on and dismissing Charlotte with a wave of his hand. “Okay, just give me a minute.”

Once the two of you are alone, he pulls out his phone. “Do you have Venmo? I’ll pay you back, it’s not fair that you had to waste your money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

Lando seems unconvinced. “It’s really not a problem.”

“Seriously, it’s all good.”

“Well,” he continues awkwardly. “I have to go, but are you here for the whole weekend or...?”

You shake your head. “Just today. I’m not into Formula 1, I find it a little bit boring.”

“Seriously?! The fastest cars in the world and you’re calling it boring? Why even come to something like Silverstone if it’s so boring?” he feigns offense, doing air quotes as he imitates your apparent disdain for the sport.

Laughing quietly, you shrug. “I have family at Red Bull, so it was basically just luck and convenience that you were in the U.K. this weekend,” you clarify. “I don’t really understand Formula 1, that’s all.”

“Fair enough, it’s not for everyone I suppose,” Lando replies. “So who in your family works at Red–” The end of his question is drowned out by the sound of his name called by an evidently disgruntled, impatient engineer.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, I’ve really gotta go, but, um,” he exhales with a nervous laugh. “I still feel like I need to repay you in some way. Do you want to go get a drink after the race on Sunday? I’m busy for the next few days but Sunday night I’ll be free. Only if you want to, of course, I don’t want to, like, pressure you or anything.”

You laugh, appreciative that the nervousness was shared. “That– Yeah, that sounds fine. I’ll give you my number.”

He types your details into his phone before apologizing once more, thanking you again, and rushing off into the garage.

——

On Sunday, you let your dad believe he’s the one who convinced you to stay for the entire race weekend, but it’s the promise of Lando’s company later that night and the endearing text messages on your phone that prompts the desire to see this weekend through. You had spent the previous nights on your phone, going through driver and team Instagram accounts, as well as the F1 website, to get an idea of what to expect. Typically, it would pain you to look through motorsport news pages, especially with so many of the reports centering around Max and his vie for the championship as of late, but you manage.

You notice almost immediately while settling into your spot at the back of the garage that the energy does not match your own. You are enthusiastic and eager, while the rest of the team is stressed and rushes around you. Presumably, it’s because race day impacts their livelihoods and paycheks whereas it only dictates your family’s dinner topics, but, nevertheless, your excitement refuses to simmer.

Unfortunately, if it was weird for you to be seen at the McLaren garage before the first free practice, it would be infinitely more suspicious for you to be lingering around on race day, so you were not able to catch Lando at all since your initial meeting on Friday. However, you made sure to message him good luck beforehand, to which he thanked you and expressed excitement for your upcoming night.

“If you need anything, just ask. I’ll be on the pitwall,” your dad says, snapping you out of your whirring mind. He notices your obscure behavior, quick to comment on it. “Is it weird? Being here after so long?”

You nod, shrugging. “Unusual, for sure. So much has changed since the last time I came and watched, but I’m excited, though.”

“Well, it’s always good to have you here.”

Reciprocating your dad’s grin, you silently send him on his way. He exits quickly and leaves you to your own devices. Though, your own devices look to consist of impatiently waiting for the race to start and scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Ironically, your boredom with pre-race antics appears to create quite the dichotomy against the chaos exuding from the garage you find yourself encompassed in.

Regardless, your attention is regained when frequent cuts are made to the drivers in their cars, and you recognise that the race will be starting soon. You are temporarily startled when the cars begin moving without hearing an official announcement, but quickly realisee that it is merely a formation lap and no one else around you seems to be paying all too much mind to it.

When the cars return to their positions on the grid, you watch eagerly as the lights flash and the announcers begin yelling. You keep your eyes trained on the orange car towards the front of the grid, watching Lando so intently that you almost miss what happens to the cars in front of him.

Your eyes go wide as you watch the events unfold: the Red Bull car out front collides with what you identify as a Mercedes, spinning and slamming into the barrier. Gasps chorus across the garage as the screens replay slowed clips of the crash as an announcement states that the safety car has been deployed. They replay it from every conceivable angle, your astonishment at the severity is present upon your first viewing, but it’s only after the sixth clip that it clicks in your head that the person in the car is Max.

“For the second time this season, Hamilton and Verstappen clash and tangle on the opening lap, but, this time, it is ending in dramatic consequences for the championship leader.”

If you had perceived the pre-race behavior in the garage as chaotic, this was a whole new level of absurdity.

People rush around you while orders are shouted and frustrations are verbalised.

Your dad is angry.

The last time you recall him behaving like this was when your younger sister had broken the wine glasses he had bought for your mother on their honeymoon. You, however, ignore his yelling and remain encapsulated by the TV, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the events unfolding finally, finally register in your brain.

Car number 33 is in the wall and out of the race, and your ex-boyfriend is inside, silent and unmoving.

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