day-dreams22

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ok i get it if brazilians are all touchy and flirty, but what's your excuse german boy

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MANON 'Fright Song' — Monster High x KATSEYE

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GABRIEL BORTOLETO | Post-race interview Austria GP 2025

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x

nico “thanks for all the love and support 😼”

gabi *giggles*

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I love explicit fanfic. I love smutty shipping. I love horny one shots. I love filthy erotic nasty longfics.

I love character or plot driven fic that uses sex as a tool for characterization, conflict and catharsis, and I love fic that exists solely to be hot and sexy.

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Isack Hadjar appreciation post.

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15 years in F1, 239 race starts, a Le Mans win and one semi-retirement... Nico Hulkenberg is finally a Formula 1 podium finisher

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They fight like an old married couple

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KATSEYE — Monster High Fright Song

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I understand some of you are 19 but that is not an old man, he's 32.

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Is he bothering you queen? 💅

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....they're somehow out-yaoi-ing everyone like i thought it was just hehe haha's they're gonna kiss if nico gets his first podium AND THEN BOOM IT HAPPENS AND THIS HAPPENS 💚

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STOP CENSORING YOURSELF ON THIS WEBSITE. FUCK SHIT SEX MURDER ALCOHOL DRUGS FAGGOT DYKE QUEER TRANS BITCH SLUT WHORE SEX SEX SEX SEX!!!!!!!!!!!

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GABRIEL BORTOLETO | Post-practice interview Austria GP 2025

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Banged out a couple scenes of this bad boy. Don't worry, there's plenty more to come. I just happened to get a prompt that derailed my brain so I'm going to divert over there for a quick minute. So uh, enjoy the start of the Gabico gladiator au :)

The Mediterranean sun beat down on the arena. The sand burned where it rose above the sides of Nico’s sandals, and sweat dripped down his neck even though it was not yet midday. He hefted the training sword in his hand, spun it, a distraction, and watched the muscles in his opponent’s legs tense and bunch before he lunged. Too late. Nico stepped sideways, evading. He tapped the back of a thigh with the edge of his dulled blade. 

“Blood,” the magister announced, calling their fight to a close. Nico drew himself up to attention, sword by his side. His opponent did the same. 

“Drink water,” the magister said to Nico. “Magnus, you’re next.” 

Nico stepped into the shade at the edge of the arena and accepted a ladle of water from one of the servant boys. On the far side of the arena, near the house, a young man stood watching. Nico squinted, trying to see. The man wore a tunic with a purple sash draped from one shoulder. Wealthy, then. Perhaps a buyer. The water was warm – Nico drank it all.

“Arena,” the magister called. “Nico, Magnus.” 

The blond man’s name wasn’t Magnus, but it was easier for the Romans. Nico enjoyed fighting him. He was wild, ferocious. They understood each other. 

When at last the magister called their fight to a draw, and they half-collapsed, panting and exhausted into the sand, the man near the house had disappeared. 

~*~

Nico didn’t spare him another thought – men came and observed the training often enough. Sometimes money changed hands, and fighters entered the ludus. Sometimes, rarely, they left. The lanista was selective in his purchasing and trained his fighters well. Nico understood the good fortune that had brought him here. He had served another master first, and bore the scars. 

The magister rapped on the door to Nico’s cell an hour before the dinner meal.

“Make yourself presentable,” he said. “You have been summoned to the master’s house.” 

Not by the master, Nico noted. “To fight?” he asked. 

The magister shook his head. “Showing off the goods, I expect,” he said. 

Nico swallowed down the rage that boiled in his chest whenever these requests were made. He stripped naked and used precious water to clean his face, remove the dust from his calves and feet, wash his hands. He dressed neatly in the plain white tunic and simple brown belt that were provided for such occasions, tied on the sandals that showed the least wear. He lived his life in a cell he could cross in three strides, ate, pissed, slept under constant observation. And yet, when it was convenient, when the lanista desired it, the door to Nico’s cell was opened, and he was told to report to the master’s house. No shackles. No armed guard. Nico had proven he was trustworthy, a risk of neither flight nor violence. His own impotence enraged him.

Usually, the master sent for two or three of them at a time. Any more likely seemed too dangerous, but Nico had seen the guards train – he liked his odds. Alone, he could have killed everyone in the villa before the guards had time to respond. Tonight, Nico was by himself. His stomach grumbled as he walked towards the house. They were never fed when they were the ornamentation for a dinner party. If he was lucky, one of the servant boys would stash him a portion of food for his return. 

Nico slowed as he approached the house. The evening air was warm, swirling the spiced scent of cypress trees from the hill. He heard no raucous laughter from inside, no drunk patricians. The tie racks outside the stables stood empty. Nico walked to the servant’s entrance and waited for the vilicus. The old man greeted him with the measured reserve that all the other slaves showed the gladiators, as if they might become lessened through association. As if they were any less slaves themselves. 

“Follow me,” the vilicus said. He led Nico past the dining hall and into a residential part of the house he’d never seen before. “The young master is in the study,” the vilicus said, pausing in the hallway.

Nico inclined his head in a show of polite deference, and approached the indicated door. He’d spoken with the lanista before on a number of occasions, but he’d never been summoned alone. A tendril of anxiety wound around his heart, and he forced himself to take a slow breath, hold it, exhale. It was simply another form of battle. Nico knocked on the doorframe and waited to be addressed. 

The man who approached the door was not the lanista. He was young, almost a youth, Nico thought. He had dark eyes set under dark eyebrows, a fine nose, slender face. It was the man who had watched them training from across the arena, Nico realized. Watched him.

“Master,” Nico said, lowering his head. The vilicus had called him the young master. This must be the lanista’s second son. He hadn’t been to the villa since Nico had arrived. 

“Do you know who I am?” The man asked. 

“My master’s son,” Nico responded. 

The man’s expression was difficult to read. Nico might have thought he looked offended, but that was absurd. 

“My name is Gabriel,” he said. He looked at Nico expectantly. Then, receiving no answer, prompted him. “Your name, Gladiator?” 

“My name is Nico, master,” Nico replied, surprised. Surely the man knew who he’d summoned. His name earned him a smile from the young man. 

Gabriel waved his hand. “You needn’t say master every time you speak. I know who I am. Come in, sit.” 

Nico entered the room warily, looked around. They were alone. The room was lit by two lamps, and deep shadows fell across the space. Nico sat in one of the wooden chairs next to a desk. Gabriel sat on the cushioned bench. 

“I have watched you train,” Gabriel said. “You’re an impressive fighter.” 

“Thank you,” Nico said, unmoved by the compliment. He was well aware of his own capabilities, and was not yet sure of Gabriel’s intentions. 

“I spoke to Marius,” Gabriel said. “He said my father invites the gladiators to dinner from time to time.” It was not how Nico would have described the invitations, but he did not interrupt. “Would you dine with me tonight?” Gabriel asked. 

“Of course,” Nico replied. He did not think his lips formed a smile. Soon, the guests would arrive, and he would be the same piece of meat as always. How much does he weigh, how do you train him? Questions asked past him, hands on his face, his body, assessing him like a horse at auction. 

Gabriel’s eyebrows drew together, a shadow darted across his face. “It is not an order,” he said. He smiled like he was trying to appease a young child. “Only a request.” 

As if Nico were stupid enough to refuse a request from his master. “And I am happy to oblige,” Nico replied. 

The furrow between Gabriel’s eyebrows eased, and his smile turned into something warm and inexplicably shy. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Come, I think dinner will be ready soon.” 

Nico followed him to the dining room.

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Not people saying “Fandom has always been like this” in that vent post I made. No. It hasn’t always been like this. Fandom has NEVER been like this until recently and if you were in fandom pre-tumblr purge, pre-twitter, pre-netflix boom, pre-tiktok….then you would fucking know it was nothing like this.

We still had the drive to create. We still sold prints and charms and made zines…but it was never like this.

The introduction of streaming, binge shows that drop all at once, tiktok and vine RIP i still love u vine but you were the beginning of a particularly ugly era) creating this bite sized, quick paced ‘content’ era of creation and it bled out into fucking everything else.

Fandoms didn’t die down when the show ended or the season was over. You didn’t mass unfollow artist, writers or moots just because they changed fandoms. There wasn’t this need to please the algorithm in order for your posts to get seen by people and enjoyed.

Fandoms used to last YEARS. Star Trek is literally the oldest running fandom out there and you got people in there that could care less about the new stuff and still have been happily prancing through their fucking fifty year old fandom today. Hell, even SPN after all it’s fuckups and shitshows has a dedicated fanbase STILL creating tons of art and fic.

There is no patience anymore. No calm feeling of taking in fandom and friends at a pace that which doesn’t make you stressed and is still fun.

Do I blame fandom for this? Of course not, but people are complacent with it and start changing their vocab to accommodate and end up making the situation so deep it cant be fixed.

We call Art & Fic Content now, completely stripping the value of what it is to a level of consumerism instead of personal entertainment & community bonding.