#Modified Asphalt

[poonamcmi]

Asphalt Additives: Enhancing Asphalt Pavement Performance New Research Findings

Asphalt, also known as bitumen, is a sticky, black, and highly viscous liquid or semi-solid form of petroleum. It is widely used in road construction as a binder mixed with aggregate particles to create asphalt concrete pavement. While asphalt itself provides good binding properties, its performance can be further enhanced through the addition of various chemical additives. These bitumen additives are specifically formulated to modify different properties of asphalt binders and mixtures.

Types of Asphalt Additives There are several main categories of bitumen additives used in pavement construction and preservation.

Anti-stripping additives One of the most common issues with Asphalt Additives pavements is moisture damage leading to stripping. This occurs when the bond between the aggregate and asphalt binder breaks due to saturation of the aggregate by water. Anti-stripping additives work by enhancing adhesion between the aggregate and asphalt cement. They create a protective film on the aggregate surface to prevent water penetration. Common anti-stripping additives include amine anti-strippers and hydrated lime.

Performance grade modifiers Performance grade modifiers are used to upgrade and increase the high and low temperature abilities of asphalt binders. They boost thermal stability and flexibility. Some examples include styrene-butadiene-styrene, styrene-butadiene rubber, and polyphosphoric acid. These additives impart elastic recovery properties and keep the asphalt binder in a flexible state over a wider range of temperatures.

Flow modifiers Flow modifiers help control the viscous and loading susceptibility properties of asphalt cement. They enhance workability and compactability during construction. Compaction is improved through reduced tendency of materials to stick to equipment. Typical flow modifiers are non-ionic surfactants made from fatty acids.

Rejuvenators The rejuvenating ability of asphalt declines over time from prolonged exposure to ultraviolet radiation, oxygen, high and low temperatures. Rejuvenators slow down aging by restoring lost properties. They are solvent-based additives containing oils that can rejuvenate old binds or restore flexibility in reclaimed asphalt pavements.

Polymer modifiers Polymer modifiers such as styrene-butadiene-styrene, ethylene-vinyl acetate, and ground tire rubber are added to conventional asphalt binders to significantly improve their high and low temperature resistance as well as aging resistance. Thermoplastic polymers create a colloidal suspension within the asphalt that enhances binder flexibility and elasticity.

Benefits of bitumen additives The use of bitumen additives provides several construction and long-term performance advantages over traditional pavements.

Enhanced moisture resistance By reducing moisture sensitivity issues like stripping, pavements can withstand exposure to water more effectively. This leads to reduced cracks and potholes formation over the service life.

Extended workability time Properties like increased flow and reduced sticking effects allow longer construction windows even in changing temperatures. Compaction is improved.

Superior high and low temperature tolerance Pavements can counter heat softening in summers and cold cracking in winters more withstand traffic loads. Resistance to thermal cracking and rutting is augmented.

Slowed aging process Oxidation and volatilization of asphalt binders over years is inhibited through barriers and rejuvenating additives. This maintains flexibility for decades.

Recyclability of reclaimed asphalt With restored properties, old asphalt removal can be reused in new construction layers as rejuvenators renew aged binds. Sustainability is increased through recycling.

Mechanisms of action of bitumen additives The exact mechanisms through which bitumen additives enhance pavement performance depend on their chemical composition and functional groups. Common ways include:

- Bonding and film formation: Additives wrap around aggregate with polar functional groups promoting adhesion with asphalt cement.

- Elasticity impartation: Thermoplastic polymers create a colloidal gel structure trapping binders. Chain branching allows flexibility over wide temperatures.

- Dispersion and peptization: Finely ground rubber particles disperse homogeneously within asphalt helping shear resistance.

- Rejuvenation: Oils and waxes in additives penetrate aged asphalt and restore lost components.

- Enhanced workability: Surfactants reduce surface tension, aiding spread and compaction of mixtures.

- Grading improvement: Additives increase acceptable temperature ranges of asphalts as per performance grade specifications.

Bitumen additives are extensively employed today in pavement engineering worldwide due to the improved structural integrity and extended service life they provide to asphalt mixes. When properly formulated and dosed, they effectively modify critical characteristics of binders and mixtures at both construction and long-term performance levels. With continual research and development, bitumen additives will further enhance the sustainability of the infrastructure. Get More Insights On, Asphalt Additives About Author: Money Singh is a seasoned content writer with over four years of experience in the market research sector. Her expertise spans various industries, including food and beverages, biotechnology, chemical and materials, defense and aerospace, consumer goods, etc. (https://www.linkedin.com/in/money-singh-590844163)

[taringill]

MY FAVOURITE GIRLS!💕 I'VE FINALLY DONE IT!😭

МОИ ЛЮБИМЫЕ ДЕВОЧКИ!💕 Я НАКОНЕЦ-ТО ДОДЕЛАЛА!😭

I know that I have made almost no changes to the Rouge, but this is my opinion. I don't mind if the creators make changes👍 Although, come on, cinematic beasts literally copy their gaming counterparts with minimal changes, or no changes at all. So what are you going to do to me?😁

Я знаю, что в Руж я почти не внесла изменений, но это мой взгляд. Я не против, если создатели внесут изменения👍 Хотя, камон, киношные звери буквально копируют свои игровые аналоги с минимальными изменения, либо без изменений воо��ще. Так чтоооо, что вы мне сделаете?😁

Guys, I want to express my opinion. You don't have to read it if you're not interested. I, like many, am waiting for the appearance of Amy and Rouge, I really wait and want to! But I was struck by the craziness of some fans. Who knows, he understands what I mean. Knuckles is confused with Amy (in one shot from the first trailer for Sonic movie 3) because of the lighting, which makes Knuckles' hairstyle lighter and screams about it on every corner. They think that Amy was cut out of some of the footage of the first trailer because... Sometimes they look empty, as if there is room for another character... What the fuck? I don't understand, should the whole screen be packed with characters in every corner? Even an ordinary dent on the asphalt is confused with a shadow (I'm not about the Shadow the hedgehog)!🤦‍♀️ Fuck... There are simply zero arguments. It sounds much more realistic that, for example, the same Amy may appear in the scene after the credits. But these are just rumors. Before the release of the second trailer, I realized that some fans had gone crazy... And after the release of the second trailer, I was convinced that I was right, so you don't have to argue with me. It's useless. In addition, before the release of the second trailer, there were leaks of toys for the third film and NOT A SINGLE HINT OF AMY OR ANYONE ELSE. There were only Sonic, Knuckles, Tails, Eggman and Shadow. Guys, if there was anyone else in the movie, this character would be in the toy set. Recently, new toys were leaked and there is also no one new except Shadow, because no one else appeared in the film.

Okay, I also thought that Amy and Rouge would appear, because the third film is an adaptation of the game SA2: Rouge, who worked for G.U.N. and Amy, who dissuaded Shadow from killing humanity. And I remember the girl I was arguing with, using it as an argument. To which I will answer that, guys, these films are A NEW, ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE, therefore A MODIFIED CANON. And that's okay, it's a NEW UNIVERSE. Do you want to see the same thing? Well, if you're an ardent and old fan, then of course you want to see the same thing. But I'm not. Let's be honest, almost anyone can dissuade Shadow: Sonic or Tom, for example. And Amy will get her new role in fourth film. What's wrong? As for me, everything is fine. This is a new universe! It was clear from the first film)))

Oh, and do you remember the girl I mentioned in the second paragraph? Attention! She told me that the creators would be sexist if they didn't add Amy or Rouge fully to the third film🤡 I'm afraid of people like that...💀 What kind of moronic fashion is it to call everyone (especially men) sexists for no reason? Just to be offended🤦‍♀️ This abomination is infuriating🤮 I wish this disease would go away as soon as possible... If you don't agree with me, then just accept it. Poor creators, my God... They're already trying to please the fans, but they're still bad... Guys, the creators have THEIR OWN plans for THEIR MODIFIED canon. Let's think logically, if there are few new characters in the film, then MORE attention will be paid to them, therefore MORE disclosure and therefore the character is MORE INTERESTING, and not just a stupid fanservice...

Phew, I've spoken out... There may be touchy people here, but I don't care. You can't change my mind, so just accept it. I know it's gone, but I still wanted to speak out. I have the right.

Ребят, хочу высказать своё мнение. Можете не читать, если вам не интересно. Я, как и многие, жду появления Эми и Руж, очень жду и хочу! Но меня поразила шиза некоторых фанатов. Кто знает, тот понимает, о чём я. То Наклза путают с Эми (в одном кадре из первого трейлера Соника в кино 3) из-за освещения, которое делает причёску Наклза светлее и кричат об этом на каждом углу. То считают, что Эми вырезали из некоторых кадров первого трейлера, потому что... Видетили они выглядят пустыми, как будто там есть место для ещё одного персонажа... Что блять? Я не пойму, весь экран должен быть забит персонажами в каждом углу? Даже обычную вмятину на асфальте путают с тенью!🤦‍♀️ Пиздец... Аргументов просто ноль. Гораздо реалистичнее звучит, что, например, та же Эми может появиться в сцене после титров. Но это только слухи. Я до выхода второго трейлера понимала, что некоторые фанаты сошли с ума... И после выхода второго трейлера я убедилась в своей правоте, так что можете не спорить со мной. Это бесполезно. К тому же до выхода второго трейлера были сливы игрушек по третьему фильму и НЕ ЕДИНОГО НАМЁКА НА ЭМИ ИЛИ КОГО-ТО ДРУГОГО. Там были только Соник, Наклз, Тейлз, Эггман и Шедоу. Ребят, если бы в фильме был бы ещё кто-то, то этот персонаж был бы в наборе игрушек. Недавно слили новые игрушки и там тоже нет никого нового кроме Шедоу, потому что в фильме никто кроме него не появился.

Окей, я тоже думала, что появятся Эми и Руж, потому что третий фильм адаптация игры SA 2: Руж, которая работала на ГАН и Эми, которая отговорила Шедоу убивать человечество. И я помню девку, с которой я спорила, приводила это как аргумент. На что я отвечу, что, ребят, эти фильмы ЭТО НОВАЯ, АЛЬТЕРНАТИВНАЯ ВСЕЛЕННАЯ, следовательно ИЗМЕНЁННЫЙ КАНОН. И это нормально, это же НОВАЯ ВСЕЛЕННАЯ. Вы хотите видеть одно и то же? Ну, если вы ярый и старый фанат, то, конечно, вы хотите видеть одно и то же. А я нет. Будем честны, Шедоу может отговорить почти кто угодно: Соник или Том, например. А Эми получит свою, новую роль в 4-части. Что вас не устраивает? Как по мне, всё нормально. Это новая вселенная! По первому фильму это было понятно)))

А, и помните девку, которую я упоминала во втором абзаце? Внимание! Она мне сказала, что создатели будут сексистами, если они не добавят Эми или Руж полноценно в третий фильм🤡 Я боюсь таких людей...💀 Что за дебильная мода называть всех (особенно парней) сексистами без повода? Лишь бы обидеться🤦‍♀️ Бесит эта мерзость🤮 Поскорее бы эта болезнь прошла... Если не согласны со мной, то просто смиритесь. Бедные создатели, Господи... Они и так стараются угодить фанатам, но они всё равно плохие... Ребят, у создателей СВОИ планы на СВОЙ ИЗМЕНЁННЫЙ канон. Давайте рассуждать логически, если в фильме новых персонажей будет немного, то им будет уделено БОЛЬШЕ внимания, следовательно, БОЛЬШЕ раскрытия и следовательно, персонаж ИНТЕРЕСНЕЕ, а не просто тупой фансервис...

Фух, высказалась... Тут могут быть обиженки, но мне всё равно. Меня не переубедить, поэтому смиритесь просто. Я знаю, что это прошло, но я всё равно хотела высказаться. Имею право.

[misserabella]

catch me if you can

street racer! ellie williams x fem! reader

summary; heat rises on the streets, blood pumps with adrenaline in the race, and bad memories come up to the surface with a swing of the steering wheel.

cw; tension, swearing, mentions of death and death of a fictional character, anxiety… in the future there would be +18 content!

special thanks to @winfleurs and @atomicami for inspiring me i luv u! 🎀

“dina! wait up!” you screamed, your heels making it not quite easy to run after your best friend.

your ears were buzzing with the roaring of the audience and the car’s engines. it was a fresh saturday night, and the city seemed as bright as a constellation. adrenaline was pumping through your veins, you shouldn’t be out today. in fact, you’d sneaked out of your house. but you couldn’t help it if your friend asked for it so badly. her boyfriend, jesse, was supposed to be racing today. there was a lot of money on the line. probably about 500k. and dina had to be there. you know, the ‘good luck’ kiss and all that.

the cars looks amazing, modified with the newest technology. you could see the NOS tubes peeking though, ready to push though the chambers of the cars and burn the tires in the asphalt.

shit, you were getting excited.

you followed your friend through the crowd, trying to not lose her black wavy hair out of sight.

“jesse!” she screamed, a huge smile on her features as she ran towards the cars and her boyfriend, jumping onto his arms.

“hi beautiful.” he smiled, giving her a kiss as he held her. you made a gagging sound that made them laugh and pull apart.

“nice to see you too, jesse.” you said as you met up with the two of them. jesse chuckled.

“hey trouble maker, what are you doing here?”

“oh, you know… being a good best friend and all that.” you rolled your eyes, a playful smile on your lips.

“of course.” he hummed, squinting his eyes.

“although i really wanted to see you lose too.” you added and he laughed.

“there it is. i could see it coming.” you winked at him.

“i see you’ve got competition.” you looked around to the cars placed for the race. and you whistled. “a 2015 Lykan HyperSport? that’s gonna be hard to beat.” jesse frowned. “but of course yours is not that bad…” you placed your hand on its surface. “Nissan Skyline GT-R R34… 1999 right?” you inquired and he nodded.

dina seemed just as surprised as him.

“yeah… how do you know all this stuff about cars?” you froze. shit.

“uhh…” you shrugged. “my father. he’s a fanatic.” you quickly spurted out, and the two of them nodded, letting it slide. ‘cause they couldn’t think anything else about it, of course. you were no longer in LA, you were safe.

you sighed. almost fucked it up.

“hey, jess!” the three of you turned around at the sound of a low and sultry voice. your eyes met a pair of evergreen ones, silky auburn hair —tied half and half on a messy bun— and freckled cheeks. she was seating on the hood of her car, girls with tiny skirts and exposed cleavages surrounding her. her legs were spread, a black tank top hugging her chest and toned abdomen, leaving her strong arms exposed.

she was hot. really hot.

“yo williams.” jesse smirked. “ready to eat dirt?” she scoffed, showing off a confident smirk.

“you talk too much for someone who hasn’t beaten me once.” people around you hollered.

“and you talk too much to have that shit of a car.” you huff, and she arched her eyebrows. “Subaru WRX. year 2008.” you pointed out, your heels clicking as you got closer. “i’m sorry for your wallet. the engine and drivetrain must have given you a lot of problems.” you saw the way her jaw ticked and you smiled. “uuuh, seems like a touched a tender spot, didn’t i? i mean subarus are impressive. but not even an STI? come on. you hurt me.” you pouted and she chuckled.

“well, look at that. here i thought your pretty face would be the most interesting thing about you. but you’ve got brains.” she said, jumping off of the hood of her car, getting closer to you as she eyed you up and down.

“not like your kitties here.” you nodded at the girls and they all stared dirtily at you, what made you smirk.

“careful doll, they might scratch you all up.” she warned, playfully, so close to you you could smell her perfume. “and we wouldn’t want that beautiful face of yours to go to waste, do we?” you smirked.

“i would like to see them try.” you muttered, leaning until your faces were mere inches away. she pursed her lips and took a look at you, at your exposed legs and cleavage, beautiful hair and glossy red lips. you had gone for a simple tight tube leather dress that pushed up your tits a little bit too well, and a pair of red thin high heels. a red pendant hanging from your necklace.

“see something you like, ‘williams’?” you inquired, sultry, teasingly and she smirked.

“maybe.” she tilted her head slightly backwards. “what about you? you see something you like?”

“i do…” you nodded, droopy eyes on her own green ones and she smiled. “your car.” she let out a sarcastic laughter, shaking her head.

“but weren’t you just saying how much of a shit it was?” she inquired, eyebrows arched in disbelief.

“now it is. it won’t be once i’ve got my hands on it and touch her all up.” you said as you stared at the cherry red car. the people surrounding you let out ‘uuu’s that made you smile. “you know… a short throw shifter, maybe a new intercoolers…”

“and how are you gonna do that, princess?”

“with a race.” the crowd roared and your friends frowned. dina approached you.

“are you crazy?! do you even know how to race?” you looked at her, and took one of her hands.

“dina… i’ll explain later, okay? but now i need you to trust me on this one, alright?” jesse and dina looked at you, into your eyes, and saw your determination. silently, he handed you his keys.

“if you’re gonna race, you’ll need a car.” you looked at him, and he smiled. you returned it, taking the keys. “if you lose i’ll kill you.” he warned though, and you laughed.

“i never lose.” you promised.

“what do i win if you do?” ellie stepped into the conversation, eyebrows raised. “need to hook me in, gorgeous, i’m betting my car after all.”

“i’ll tell you what.” you smirked, turning towards her. “since it’s not gonna happen. i’ll bet you anything you want.”

“anything i want?” she inquired and you nodded. “don’t pull back later on your promise, princess.”

“i won’t.”

-

you could feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins, the tingling of your hands. you pressed on the gas, hearing the engine roar, and your heart stammered. shit. it’s been so long.

you had promised yourself you wouldn’t do it ever again. but how could you get away from all of this? from the only thing that made you feel something? that made you weak on your knees and your heart race? it was like a drug. every time you took it you’d find yourself begging for more. you needed it on your system.

you had learned how to race since a very early age, even before you had enough age to get your license —yeah, you got in trouble with the police more than once, but they could never catch you—. and even if you loved it, you’d left it all after your best friend had died while racing, in the hands of a crazy dick who made him crash against a building, making the NOS tanks blow up and burning him alive.

you still could remember your screams, how your friends had grabbed at you so you wouldn’t get closer. ‘let me go! let me fucking go!’

you’d watched the only person that got you and unconditionally loved you die in front of your eyes.

after that you’d used the millions of dollars your family name had to drown your sorrows in alcohol and drugs, getting away from the city that had taken away your everything from you and building a brand new life where nobody could know you.

you’d been hard to get to know, always having everybody at an arm’s length until dina had come along, with her stupid smile and warm personality bringing you back to life. you’d forever be grateful to and for her. but her past was something you’d never talked about, and she didn’t want to force you into it.

“i see you shaking there, princess. scared?” williams screams from her car, who just had positioned itself to your right. you scoffed.

“oh yeah, terrified.” you sarcastically said, and she smirked.

“don’t worry babe, you can always sit on my lap later, i have something that will calm you down.” she winked and you rolled your eyes.

“no thank you, once i’m done i’ll be sitting on your car and driving back to my house.” you winked back, and she chuckled, mouthing something to herself that you couldn’t figure out.

“you guys readyyyyyy?!” a girl in a mini skirt came in between the two cars, a gun in hand. the audience roared, and so did your car. there were phones everywhere, recording the impending race —and your victory—.

you bit down on your lip. you were gonna make win that pretty girl, in heels.

“set!” another girl to your right yelled, and your engine roared again, the tires burning.

“ready!” another to your left, one more roar.

“go!” the girl with the gun shot up to the sky, and before you knew you were flying. the world stopped. there was no future. no past. just the present. just that moment.

ellie took the lead, and she smirked to herself, looking at your car through her mirrors. but she just had to take her eyes away from you for two seconds to lose you. “what the-“

she took the curve, and with a honk, you drifted right beside her, in a swift motion getting in front of her backwards to the road, facing her car. you smiled at her, and send her a kiss with one of your hands before harshly spinning the wheel and drifting once again to face forwards, using the NOS to catapult yourself through the asphalt. you relished on the shock of her face. god you could never get used to it. it never got old.

ellie cursed, following right behind you, adrenaline pumping through her body.

“i’ve finally got you.” she smiled, changing gears and speeding up. another closed curve came into your view and you sped up, in a quick movement changing gears and pulling on the break as you harshly manhandled the steering wheel. you could almost see everything on slow motion, the people outside of the car roaring as you perfectly drifted in an U shape.

you screamed, euphoria in the pit of your stomach. ellie used the inertia to pull up by your side, lowering her window. you did the same. you two were on the final straight line. “you ready to lose princess?” she inquired, and you scoffed.

“catch me if you can, williams!” you screamed, and changed gears before pressing the gas. you press the NOS button, the strength making your back press tightly against your sit. you flew through the straight line, ellie copying you and keeping up with you. you could see the finish line getting closer and closer, and the speedometer getting higher.

you knew you couldn’t over do it, the crowd was waiting for the winner there, you couldn’t hurt them, you wouldn’t.

100mph, 125mph, 150mph, 165mph.

“3…2…1…” and just as you crossed the finish line, mere inches ahead from ellie, you harshly rotated the wheel, drifting as you stepped and pulled on both breaks, the tires burning against the asphalt and leaving marks as you finally stopped the car. the crowd roared and quickly approached you. dina and jesse were hollering.

you stepped out of the car with a smile on your face, your best friend jumping to hug you and jump into your arms, making you laugh.

“what?! i mean- what?!? that was amazing!!! since when could you race?!!?? oh my god!!!” you chuckled, trying to calm her down.

“i’ll tell you everything about it later, alright?” she nodded. jesse tried to say something but he was out of words. “it’s okay big boy, don’t waste your breath.” you tapped her shoulder, and he scoffed. “and now…” you turned around, watching ellie as she stepped out of her car. “i’ll be taking my prize.” you smirked, spreading out your arm and showing her your palm. she tilted her head to the side, a playful smile playing on her lips.

“sure. but first aren’t you going to introduce yourself for me, princess?” she inquired. “or should i do it… viper?” your blood froze, as well as the whole crowd. ellie smirked. “you really thought i wouldn’t recognize those drifts?” you quickly got closer to her, your breaths mingling.

those surrounding you started mumbling. your breath was shaky and your body, still filled with adrenaline, slowly filled with anxiety and bad memories.

“viper the street racer?”

“no way!”

“she disappeared years ago, is it really her?”

“i would shut up if i were you.” you hissed, and she leaned in, the smirk on her lips growing. your lips were almost brushing, and with the hand in which she had her keys, she cupped your chin.

“why don’t you make me?”

you needed to get out of here.

why… why now? why after all this years was your past catching up to you?

you quickly took her —your— keys, watching her smile as you got into your new car and started it. the crowd was unraveling and you knew soon they’d start either jumping at you or taking pictures to expose you.

“see you soon, princess!” she screamed as you drove out of there, groaning at the buzzing of your phone. “i caught you.”

-

a/n; ty’all for 7k! i’m so happy that such a large number of people enjoys my work :(🎀 i love u!! also hope you liked this fic! would you like a part 2? let me know!

[endereies]

LEERING AND STEERING - MS

Warnings - Racer!Matt x Starter!Reader, illegal street racing, suggestive language, harassment, small fight Summary - Matt can't stand when someone harasses you Word count - 3.4k Author's notes - Ride or Die is back! lets go! I wasn't going to post this for a while HOWEVER my project that im working is slightly delayed so consider this a filler. Ive had this idea on my mind for ages bc lets be real, we love when Matt protects a girl (even if they arent together). As always, no copying or inspiration without permission, pretty typical stuff! happy reading MWAH love you angels.

The night was still young, the sun having just dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a dusky glow in the sky. You sat on the hood of a stranger's car, your legs crossed delicately. After all, they had to earn that view. The man who owned the car let his arm slip from around your waist as he turned to speak with someone you almost would have pegged as a driver—if not for the way he carried himself. Tyler had always been full of personality, more comfortable managing races than behind the wheel of one. When he wasn’t handling the chaos of the tracks, you could find him tinkering in the garage, a coffee always within reach.

"Yo, Ty! When's this race starting? I’ve got thirty large riding on this shit," His voice cut through the crowd’s growing impatience. Before Tyler could answer, the group around him grew restless, murmurs turning into shouts after the ten-minute delay. Without missing a beat, Tyler paced back to the trio of cars lined up, arms wide as he gestured toward an empty patch of black asphalt. "You got a fourth, brother? If not, you're gonna be waiting a while."

Tyler tilted his head, staring pointedly at the empty space. You slid off the hood of the car, moving toward a small group of girls who were already making deals with the racers.

The night air was cool but not unbearable, and you were grateful for it, especially as last-minute changes to the race list left you and a few others leaning against a crumbling wall. The girl next to you was someone you’d crossed paths with a few times, friendly enough to share the end of a joint.

"What’s taking these assholes so long?" You exhaled the smoke from your drag, swirling around you as you spoke, not caring where it went.

"Don’t get your panties in a twist, darlin’. They’re switching racers. Logan got into a fight again." She rolled her eyes, shifting her weight against the bricks.

"Ace?" You asked, knowing exactly who she meant. Logan was infamous around these parts—his name often echoed even when you weren’t at the track. He’d racked up win after win, and his car was a beast, modified to the max. Nitrous oxide flowed through his veins as much as it did through the car’s engine, boosting the horsepower to insane levels. Once he pulled ahead, there was no catching him. His reputation was built on his car's brutal power, and while everyone hated him, no one could deny the raw violence of his ride.

"Yeah, that guy. Apparently, he tried to sabotage the race. Might get disqualified. I saw the whole thing go down - shame you missed how he got clipped." The girl gave a half-hearted shrug.

You let out a scoff, rolling your eyes at the scene unfolding in front of you. Instead of dwelling on the drama, you reached into your pocket, pulling out a candy wrapper. The heat from your body had already begun to melt the surface, making it sticky and pliable. It was the one constant you always carried with you - your staple. 

"So, what’s the deal? Is this race happening or what?" You slipped the candy into your mouth, sucking on it as you adjusted yourself against the wall.

"Depends on if they find a fourth," the girl replied, eyeing the crowd. "Ty ain’t having it otherwise." Without a fourth car, the night’s events would lose their spark, and everyone knew it.

You rolled the candy around in your mouth, your eyes scanning the growing crowd. The usual characters were here - racer types, mechanics, thrill-seekers, and the occasional rogue who thought they could muscle their way in. The streetlights overhead flickered, casting long shadows across the scene, making it all feel surreal.

"You think they’ll find someone?" you asked, turning back to the girl, who was now tapping her fingers on the wall beside her, clearly losing interest in the drama unfolding.

"Hard to say. Someone always pulls through last minute." She took another drag of the joint, her eyes narrowing as she watched the scene ahead. "But Logan? He’s causing more trouble than usual tonight. Word is he’s pissed about something—guess you don’t get to be that good without making a few enemies along the way." Your fingers idly tracing the outline of the candy wrapper in your pocket. 

"Come on, someone’s got to step up," you muttered your words carefully,  more to yourself than anyone else.

The girl next to you snorted. "They’ll find someone. They always do. But it’s not the cars that make the race interesting, you know." She gave you a glance, a smirk playing on her lips. "It’s the people who drive them."

Before you could even attempt a response, an engine roared over the speech. Heads turned and faced a sleek Nissan R34 Skyline steadily working through the bundle of people. Smoke hissed from the side of the car, hushing everyone to a whisper. The ride was coated in a shade of blue that almost glowed in the moon light. 

Before you could even attempt a response, the roar of an engine roared over the murmur of voices. Heads snapped toward the sound, and there, cutting through the crowd was a sleek Nissan GT-R34 Skyline. The car moved with agility, its headlights slicing strong, drawing every eye in its path. The low growl of the engine reverberated in your chest in a rumble that made the air hum.

Smoke hissed from the side of the car as it came to a halt, the scent of burning rubber mixing with the sharpness of gasoline. A moment of silence swept through the crowd, all attention fixed on the vehicle before them. The Skyline was a masterpiece - its body sculpted to perfection with clean, aggressive lines that hinted at the power hidden beneath. The car was coated in a shade of azure that almost seemed to glow under the moonlight, the metallic paint catching every bit of ambient lights of the street. The contours of the car were sharp, slick, and purposeful - designed not just for looks, but for speed.

As it sat there, engine still rumbling softly, you couldn’t help but admire how the moonlight kissed its curves, highlighting the finely-tuned details that spoke to its performance. The signature wide-body stance, the aggressive front grille, the sleek carbon fibre hood—it was clear this was a machine built for dominance, not for show. And yet, it was a beauty to behold, every inch of it screaming power, precision, and reputation.

A familiar stature left the vehicle, slamming the door with the same cocky smile you’d grown used to. Ty met him halfway, studying the man in front before peeking a grin. “Can’t stay away from a race? Should’ve known your ass woulda showed up ‘ere.”

Matt lifted his face up, flickering between the line of cars and crowds of people. Some had returned back after hearing the engine. “Heard you guys needed a fourth. Lucky you, huh?” He leered towards the others before nodding his head to you. 

You quickly took pride in a strut towards Matt, winking at the guy who easily let you slip earlier. The way he snarled at you made you sway your hips just that little bit further as you met Matt’s side. 

“Angel, you gon’ start for us, hm?” While his gaze was mostly on you, a few other girls had grabbed his attention - that had to change.

“I always do, don’t I,” You traced a finger up his chest to flick his chin. “You know what you get if you win.” His gaze snapped to you - your body to be precise. The candy in your mouth egged him on. The shade of blue that began to coat your lips was too precise to his vehicle for his dick not to jump. “You know it, I’ll treat you good, yeah?”

“Enough you two, we have a race to host.” Tyler’s hands basically pried the two of you apart, pushing you towards the centre of the track and Matt to his car. He raised his voice to grab attention of all four drivers. “Right, y’know what’s at stake here. Thirty hundred each delivered to the winner. First to the end of the block and back here takes the pot. Understood?” None of the drivers spoke up - too busy trying to stare holes into their opponents’ tires. 

You simply gave a nod to Ty, acknowledging it was up to you to start the race. Your arm raises to mimic the wave of a flag before yelling out to the racers. “Three!”

The engine’s revved, sparks and fire shooting out of the exhausts, forcing the crowd to step back. Tyler just chuckled at the sight, new comers not knowing anything almost screaming at the fire.

“Two!” Matt’s eyes glanced over his new line of competition. Idling in his vehicle just inches away was the man who had been holding you moments ago, his fingers still fresh with the memory of your touch. Matt couldn’t help but think how foolish the guy was. Letting you slip away was a mistake and thinking he ever truly had you was even more ridiculous. Matt felt your eyes on him before he had even looked up, the pull of your gaze attracting him. When he finally allowed his eyes to flicker toward you, he was pleased to find you already watching him, a knowing look in your eyes that matched the satisfaction creeping across his face. His gaze lingered on your features, the softness of your lips, the light in your eyes and the tinge of blue on your tongue that he could practically taste himself.

“One!” Your hand struck down, practically hitting your hip which was already angled in a taunt. The cars strived forwards with a push. The wind that stemmed from the movement blew your hair as if it were a stormy day and you couldn’t hold back your cheer from adrenaline. The tires screeched loudly as they tried to grip to the asphalt. Everyone’s cars leered forwards, engines deepening with every violent shift in gears – the number slowly increasing.

The exhausts began to glow a powder blue, sparking every chance it got. Behind the four drivers, crowds of people yelled, hollering at the cars as they sped off. You stood there in the centre, laughing next to Ty.

60…70…80. The numbers rose rapidly, each car its own blur of light. Against the roar of engines, Matt’s thoughts began whirring. Turns and directions in this track were familiar after driving it in races the previous week but familiarity never meant he stopped thinking about his discourse. His eyes steady on the racers. One barely closing in behind and the other two in their own private match ahead.

Ignoring the obvious desire of winning, the red car before him spoke out to him. He wasn’t an idiot, he saw the way the owner of the car had stared primarily at your chest and when you were with Matt, the threat was clear. He glare was heavy but meaningless. He never had a claim on you, just some company before the real show arrived. So, he became an easy target. Although, Matt couldn’t dismiss the obvious. His car was modified, thousands going into the nitrous as well and a streamline finish that made for a serious contender. Built for speed, it became obvious as he reached first place instantly. He couldn’t let himself be carried away, not when the vehicle behind him was tailing so closely that he could give him a bump forwards if they accelerated.

The first turn was simple, a weak bend that spun into much shorter stretch of free road. With the view blocked by Matt’s own car, the blur of pink came to a halt as it spun into the sides of the turn. He could see the amount of money on that car disappear in a second due to pure arrogance, the though of their anger made him chuckle. “Pathetic.”

Drifting was made easier with his car model, stable and strong. Unlike the two other cars that seemed to chew up the road as they struggled to maintain their control, Matt’s car was solid, grounded. Some cars are designed for specific purposes and modifications can either enhance their one skill or balance them out. Their choice was clear. They shared the same one. In a long straight stretch, that would prove to be a worthy race, however with the upcoming turns one flick of the wheel could cost them.

He could feel the subtle weight shift in the rear of the car as he flirted with the edge of the limits of traction. The straightaways weren’t just about raw speed – they were about timing, about knowing when to release the nitrous to maximize your momentum without sending the car into a spin. Matt’s hand rested lightly on the button, ready for the right moment.

The red car wasn’t close enough to challenge just yet, but the other two were still fighting for position ahead. One of them, the one Matt pegged as the more reckless driver, was already taking chances, pushing the limits of his car on the straights. It wouldn't take long before his miscalculations came back to haunt him.

Matt adjusted the steering as they approached the next series of curves. This was the part of the track where precision would separate the winners from the losers. The turns were tight, and the asphalt was worn – perfect for drifting, but dangerous if you pushed it too hard. He was already preparing for the shift in weight, ready to rotate the car smoothly through the first tight curve. As the radius of the turn tightened, Matt eased off the throttle, downshifting to third gear with a quick, practiced motion.

Originally, the red car was a main execution on Matt’s mind and yet now it morphed into the finish line. It began to wobble through the turns, the rear tires losing their grip which sent it into a tailspin. This was the moment. Matt grinned wide, a quick flick of his right hand as he engaged the nitrous oxide system. A surge of power shot through the car, the engine roaring as the extra horsepower slammed Matt back into the seat. The car’s body leaned forward, the suspension compressing as the wheels dug into the asphalt, gripping the road as though nothing could stop it.

Matt steadily coaxed his vehicle into a victory, before drifting to halt, turned 180 degrees. He watched with a smirk plastered on his face – staring right at the crimson car and expression on the owner.

The crowd finally brought his gaze away from the car, the cheers bringing an honest smile to his face. Tyler rushed to his side, leaning on the side of the car while Matt got out.

“Hell yeah, how do you always make it look so easy out there, you’re such a cash grab these days.” Tyler spoke lowly, slinging his arm around his shoulders and pulling him close to slap hard cash into his palm.

Now it was your turn to make an appearance. Lollipop remnants crackled in your mouth with a sharp bite on the stick. By now, your mouth tasted sweeter than his victory.  Yet before you could speak up alongside him, a hand gripped tighter to your wrist than a steering wheel.

“Where are you off to, little lady, hm?” The voice was familiar and once you attempted to yank yourself back, you looked up. You were met with the face of man you were with prior to Matt’s arrival – his face closer than any pleasant conversion. There was no question in his eyes, just the quiet expectation to remain compliant.

His grip made your pulse race, and you couldn’t ignore the unease creeping up your spine. The sugary sweetness of the lollipop in your mouth now felt like an aftertaste that didn’t belong.

You glared up at him, your voice steady but edged with a warning. “Let go.”

His lips curled into a tight smirk, his breath too close to your face. "Don’t act like you weren’t enjoying it earlier, why don’t we continue that?"

Your heart hammered in your chest. This was a rarity in itself, especially in this setting. "I’m not interested. Let go of me." His actions made it clear that he didn’t have the thought of obeying you. Yet before he could respond, a voice cut through the tension, loud enough to turn heads. “You heard her, right?”

Matt stood just a few steps away now, his stance wide and relaxed, but the intensity in his eyes was unmistakable. He wasn’t smiling anymore. The stare he held wasn’t a way to size him up, it was a threat, one he usually never has to make.

The man holding you didn’t look away. Instead, he shot Matt a glance that was full of disdain. "Not only does pretty boy wanna steal my race, he wants to steal my girl too."

Matt’s eyes narrowed. He took a slow step forward, his hands relaxed at his sides but his posture still radiating a quiet threat. "Is that what this is about? The fact I won. Don’t take that out on the girl, I’m sorry she doesn’t want to fuck you.”

The guy’s grip didn’t loosen, but his jaw twitched, irritation building behind his eyes. “You think you can begin playing hero?”

“Only when you play beggar.” Matt replied, his voice low but with a dangerous edge that made the air feel heavier.

The crowd had fallen into an uneasy silence, watching the unfolding standoff. You could hear the faint buzz of the engines as you clenched your teeth, the taste of sugar turning bitter in the tense air.

The guy’s grip faltered, just for a moment, his eyes flicking from Matt to you. Then with a scoff, he shoved you back. Hard.

You stumbled, barely managing to stay upright, your breath catching as your back hit the metal of the car behind you. The crowd murmured in the background, but you didn’t have time to focus on them. Your pulse was racing now, but you straightened, refusing to show weakness.

Matt moved quickly, his movements fluid and precise as he closed the distance between them in a flash. He grabbed the guy by the collar and slammed him against the nearest car, the sound sharp in the air. “Stupid mistake,” Matt muttered softly and before the guy could react, Matt swung at him, landing a solid punch to his nose. The sound of the punch echoed through the street, the force behind it enough to send the guy stumbling back. “Didn’t think you’d be fucking stupid enough to start something you couldn’t finish.”

Blood dripped from the man’s nose, groaning as he touched it to assess the damages. He scoffed once more, attempting to stand tall. Matt wasn’t blind to his quickly clenched fist and grabbed it before he could lunge. His fist slammed back into the car door, his own scrapping roughly on metal.

Everything was silent for too long, your palm soothing where the man grabbed you, Matt’s gaze heavy on who was standing opposite him, and the once cocky attitude dissipating from the man. When he looked away from Matt, he let go, retreating backwards to meet your side.

“Everybody! Don’t y’all got another race to see?” Tyler’s voice echoed, nodding to you before steering the crowd away. Mutters bounced through the crowd, some throwing insults to the pair of them. Even Tyler got a few comments merely for breaking it up.

“You okay?” The adrenaline was starting to fade, but there was still a lingering tension that clung to your skin. You glanced down at your palm where the man had gripped you, the burn of his fingers still fresh, but nothing that couldn’t be shaken off.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice steady despite what just occurred. “I’m fine.” He gave you a small smile, a brief flicker of relief passing through his eyes before he glanced around at the now-chattering crowd. It was clear the spectacle had stirred something in them, but Matt was already moving past it. “Good. Let’s get out of here before I have to deal with another idiot. I don’t trust guys like that to take the hint.”

[vorfreudevortex]

2. SHDW1

a street racer!ino takuma x f!reader fic

redline masterlist // previous: chapter 1 // next: chapter 3

warnings // 6k words - swearing, alcohol, smoking, reckless driving (duh), all characters in college or recently graduated, mount hakone's details are not accurate for the sake of the story so pls don't try to clown me for it, fighting and arguing, mentions of weapons, club scene, dancing/grinding bc it’s canon to me that ino is a fantastic dancer

✰ // the cars and the reader’s appearance in this fic are purposely kept ambiguous so you are free to have aspects look, feel, and be modified any way you’d like.

the vibes for chapter two

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

your body buzzes.

there was quite a crowd at the top of mount hakone. cars line the shoulder of the straight, all modified to hell and back. other teams, car fanatics, and random onlookers stood by; bumping music, smoking and drinking, and getting loose before the race started. it was mostly men, but gorgeous girls in their shortest skirts were mixed in, just wanting to have fun with expensive cars and free drinks on the weekend. you watched from afar as their music and chatter floated up into the stars.

“where the hell is this guy?” satoru whines. suguru's idling nsx is parked in the right lane of the road, just before the starting line. the five of you stand beside the warm motor, letting suguru and shoko's cigarette smoke waft through your hair. the guy who wanted to race your brother still hadn’t shown his face.

you and shoko had gotten ready for the race together, showing off your latest streetwear was always the thing to do at these events. you couldn’t help but don your tightest black corset, a leather skirt and knee-high platform boots. shoko had let you borrow a funky-patterned oversized jacket to wear when the dark mountain air got too cold, while she chose bright red jeans and a blue top.

the boys looked just as handsome. satoru wore loose jeans and a graphic tee, kento with tapered trousers, a linen button up and crisp sneakers, and suguru with an all black ensemble of cargo pants and a hoodie.

“he must’ve pussied out,” suguru says, crushing his finished cigarette into the crunchy gray asphalt.

“we’ll have to find a replacement if he doesn’t show,” kento grunts.

“it’s been 15 minutes, i don’t think he’s coming,” shoko rolls her eyes while smoke puffs out of her glossed lips.

getting bored, you lean dramatically into satoru's arm. “this suuucks! i just wanna see someone race.”

“well,” satoru giggles and ruffles your hair. “we can’t keep clutch waiting around. let’s find someone else.”

the five of you walk over to the shoulder, where the crowd is growing more anxious by the second. they look at your brother expectantly, and whispers of the man who bailed float around.

“looks like he’s not showing up,” suguru announces. “who wants to go?”

the crowd quiets to a murmur, everyone turning heads and waiting for someone to volunteer.

“i'll race you.”

you look up to see the black-haired boy from earlier today, the one that was next to ino. his face holds no expression and his hands are buried in his pockets. he looks like he couldn’t give less of a fuck. his stoic eyes and strong jaw reminds you of someone, but you can’t begin to place who.

“alright, fushiguro,” your brother nods. “let’s go.”

oh, fushiguro? you had no idea he had a son. no— he goes by zenin, right? you recall the exciting stories your dad would tell you as a kid of his past thrilling nights and rivalries. zenin was one of them; you had seen occasional glimpses of him in the garage during visits as a child. he was an absolutely terrifying man, with a prominent scar on his mouth from a bad wreck in his youth.

“two things before we start,” fushiguro says, and your brother pauses. you spot ino, and behind him the tattooed man and the pink-haired boy, as well as another guy with a bun in his hair. you make brief eye contact and your heart flutters, before tearing your attention back to your brother.

“first, i'm racing for pinks tonight,” fushiguro states, and a few whistles come from the onlookers. “and my dad’s here tonight. so no bullshit.” he gestures to his side, but you can’t spot his father in the crowd.

“there’s never bullshit,” suguru scoffs. “racing for pinks? fine. your r34 will cry in relief when i finally get behind the wheel of that thing.”

the jab doesn’t stick for you and your unfamiliarity of the shadows’ racing style, but the onlookers snicker as they know that fushiguro is a notoriously aggressive driver and runs through cars and tires faster than anyone here tonight. he doesn’t respond to your brother, but leaves to pull his car up to the starting line. suguru revs his engine to make sure its warmed up, it purrs and pulls in place.

satoru and kento send him off with handshakes and pats before heading to their own vehicles to different markers along the pass. there will be someone posted at each mile with a radio to update the listening crowd on the race, as well as warn the drivers and audience of any hazards or police as they make their way down the line. you stick your head through suguru's open window.

“drive safe, sugu,” you smile, pressing a small peck to his cheek.

“don’t worry ‘bout me, clutch,” he smiles, not a single nervous bone in his body. “when i get his r34, i'll let you have it.”

you and shoko stand off to the side as the flag girl settles between suguru and fushiguro’s cars, raising her arms. the paints glitter under the moonlight and stars, trembling over their hot engines as they start to burnout at the countdown, prepping their tires and getting them sticky. your heart starts to pound once more, the anticipation and stakes of the race are almost too much to handle. her arms fly downwards, and the race begins.

the two cars peel away from the line, the rubber screeching out and making your ears ring. you let out cheers and shouts alongside the crowd as your brother flies deep into the forest, motors screaming as they echo through the mountainside and disappear.

“phantoms start in the lead,” you hear the pager crackle and boom from a nearby stereo system.

the crowd fizzles a bit, most of them turning back to conversations and liquor bottles while the race fanatics gather closer to the stereo, you along with them.

“i’m gonna go catch up with some friends,” shoko says, motioning towards a group of rowdy girls across the road. “you wanna come with, or stay and listen to the race?”

“i’ll stay,” you respond. “but go on ahead! i’ll see you in a bit.”

you wave her off and take a seat on a rounded post that supported the road’s guardrail, just a few feet behind the crowd bunched around the stereo.

“mile 1, phantoms in the lead,” you hear kento’s voice over the speaker.

“hey!”

your head turns, eyes landing on ino. he stands before you with that same sweet smile.

“oh, hi!” you smile. “thanks again for the pictures, ino-san.”

“it’s no big deal, i’m glad you liked them.”

“so,” you shift in your seat. “you didn’t wanna race my brother tonight, huh?”

“not tonight. i’m still getting my baby tuned just right after some new tires. your brother isn’t easy to race, but i guess megumi wanted the smoke tonight,” he jokes.

“there’s no way suguru would give up his car so easily,” it’s your turn to tease again. “it’s a good thing he won’t lose.”

ino laughs, the handsome sound making the tips of your ears turn hot. “well, megumi won’t give up any easier. so i guess we’ll just have to see what happens.”

“mile 2, shadows in the lead,” and the listeners chatter at the update.

“you know, for someone who’s never passed through mount hakone, you had a pretty quick time this morning,” he steps closer to you. “your brother must’ve taught you well.”

“he keeps me calm,” you nod. “but my time wasn’t that impressive. i think i've just had some good practice swinging around intersections back home.”

“mile 3, phantoms in the lead,” the speaker crackles again. you glance up at ino after the announcement and he sheepishly smiles.

“looks like it’s gonna be a close one,” he shrugs. “well, no matter the outcome… uh—”

he clears his throat. “—we're all gonna hang out at the underground after the race. you should come!”

“the underground?”

“it’s a club in shibuya we usually go to. it’ll just be my boys and a few other close friends meeting up there.” the dim floodlights fail to hide the light shade of pink that tinges ino’s cheeks. your stomach flips at his offer, heart pounding. your fingers twitch.

“oh, i don’t think my brother would like that very much,” you giggle nervously, your own cheeks turning red. “but thanks so much for inviting me!”

“no worries… i better leave you alone before someone rats me out,” he grins. “uh, text me, yeah?”

“mile 4, shadows in the lead.”

you politely nod. “see you around!”

“for sure,” ino takes two steps away from you before he turns back around. “by the way, you look beautiful tonight, y/n.”

he’s gone before you can even process it.

✰✰✰✰✰

takuma ino has great timing, because no less than 5 minutes after he disappears, you spot satoru’s and kento’s tall mess of light hairs bobbing through the crowd. they’ve done their jobs and have made their way back up the mountain to wait for suguru to cross the line once more. blue eyes meet yours and he waves with a smile as he guides kento to you.

“suguru’s got this one in the bag,” he reassures, patting your head like a dog.

“ugh, don’t do that, toru!”

“why?” he brings his face closer to yours. “tryna look pretty for someone, hm?”

“quit, satoru,” kento huffs.

“no,” you reply. “most girls don’t like when their hair gets fucked up after spending so long on it. you should know that better than anyone.”

satoru feigns a gasp, as if he doesn’t see a different girl every weekend. “are you calling me a slut?”

“well i’m not saying you’re a virgin.”

“jesus, stop it,” kento says.

“mile 7, shadows in the lead.”

“they’ve been going back and forth all night,” you point out over the chatter. “suguru will be upset if he has to give up his keys to that boy.”

“he’d kill someone before allowing that to happen,” kento reassures, but it doesn’t sound comforting to you. 

suguru is one of the most relaxed people you know, even his angry words aren’t loud. but he has a kill switch, and there’s nothing scarier than your brother when his temper is lost. you’ve only experienced it twice before, but each incident had left your younger self frozen in fear when his voice and hands would finally raise towards someone. suguru doesn’t fight often, but when he does, his hard fists always land.

“toru, is this fushiguro from the same family as papa’s friend?” you ask. you start to hear the racing motors tearing through the pass, creeping closer and closer. “i thought he went by zenin before.”

“it’s his kid,” he nods, propping a cigarette between his lips. “your papa used to race with him, but he got married and had a kid so his wife made him stop.”

“he took his wife’s last name,” kento adds, the explanation allows the floating information to click together inside your brain. satoru digs in his pockets.

he hands satoru a lighter. kento hates that all of his friends smoke, but gave up trying to convince them to quit a long time ago. you suspect he keeps a lighter in his pocket for when they forget one.

“mile 8, shadows still in the lead.”

“fuck, let’s go,” satoru grabs your arm as he realizes the two are in the last 1/2 mile stretch of the race. kento follows close behind as you’re pulled through an anxious crowd towards the finish line. your blood runs hot as you see the headlights of the cars come around the corner, piercing the mountain’s darkness like a knife.

you recognize suguru’s headlights as the ones in front as they continue to fight for control of the road. you sigh in relief. the cars are a blur as they fly over the finish line, suguru only a few feet ahead of fushiguro. you don’t think much of how close the race was, the crowd cheers and you go pushing between satoru and kento to run towards your brother, stomach twirling in excitement. a few others do the same as the boys slam on their brakes, sending their cars swinging sideways to skid into an abrupt stop haphazardly in the middle of the road.

suguru leaps out of his seat and slams the door behind him, hard. 

oh?

“what the FUCK?!”

you slow your jog as your eyes widen, barely recognizing his roaring voice as cuts into the air. megumi exits his car as well, planting his feet on the warm concrete with tense shoulders and furrowed brows. suguru rushes over to the boy, sweat dripping down his temple from the adrenaline of the pass with fists clenched. you can see the white of his knuckles. his dark hair, which he had pulled into a neat bun, was now a loose and frizzy mess. you come to a stop with heavy breathe, no more than 10 feet away from them.

“you tryna fucking kill me, fushiguro?!”

“shut the fuck up, geto!”

“don’t fucking play with me right now!”

a hand clamps down on your shoulder, jolting you back. you look up and see satoru, his blue eyes wild and serious. your gaze drops down to where his hand rests on the front of his waistband, allowing a rectangular form to be seen through his shirt. 

whoa. since when did satoru own a gun?

“y/n. stay. back.”

you barely hear his snappy command over your racing thoughts. you’re stuck to the concrete, feet unable to move. satoru runs over to suguru and suddenly kento is there as well, latching onto suguru’s shirt with a tight grip. ino appears with the black-haired guy with face tattoos and the broad-shouldered man-bun behind him, all of them hot in the face.

“why the fuck are you driving like that, huh?!” your brother screams, pulling closer and closer to fushiguro. you can only watch the ugly scene in front of you as your stomach flips over on itself. suguru doesn't talk like this to anyone for anything, you know he's teetering over the edge of going absolutely ballistic. “just say you want me dead, just say it, pussy!”

“fuck you!” fushiguro yells back. “it doesn't matter anymore, you won. just take my damn car!”

“i don’t want your fuckass car!”

“suguru, calm down,” kento demands harshly.

“get back, geto,” ino steps in. “this is fucking stupid.”

those were not the right words to say as all the boys are face to face, and suguru lunges towards him. satoru pulls your brother back again before stepping in front of him, the man with a bun shoves into his shoulder. satoru’s pointer finger reaches over and digs into takuma’s chest.

“you don’t want this shit, ino” he hisses into ino’s face. “just leave.”

“i’m not scared of you guys,” takuma asserts, grabbing satoru hand and snatching it away from himself.

“teach your boy some fucking respect,” suguru spits. “he claimed ‘no bullshit’ but you didn’t see the way he was pushing me around back there.”

“i wanted to race, so i raced, dickhead,” fushiguro retorts.

“only your dumbass would call that racing.”

a large, calloused hand comes to rest on your nape, sending chills down your spine.

“geto.”

you aren’t sure if the deep, gruff voice is referring to you or your brother. the boys whip their heads around. when you look up at the sound, you recognize him immediately. toji fushiguro looks down at you from his towering stance, a sly smirk on his scarred lips. his messy, flat black hair casts a shadow over his eyes, making his gaze more menacing.

“please don’t touch me,” your meek voice finally finds words, barely above a whisper. although toji fushiguro’s touch is light, your instinct tells you to step away and your body moves on its own, the man lets his hand fall. it’s been years since you’ve seen this him, but he hasn’t changed other than some added wrinkles. he still exudes an intimidating aura. you can’t believe your papa drinks with this man, let alone allows him into your home.

“y/n,” suguru’s calls, tearing your attention back to him. you must look scared, because his voice is slightly calmer, gentler, than how he was speaking before. “get in the car.”

damn it, you can’t help but know you look weak in front of all these people. your mind is a whirlwind; from suguru’s anger, to satoru’s gun, and now toji fushiguro’s touch. the tips of your fingers twitch as you stare at suguru, frozen. an irritated vein stands out on his sweating forehead. you see ino over his shoulder, but you can’t read his face. you can’t tell what he’s thinking but his eyes are filled with confusion and concern. the younger fushiguro’s face also expresses worry, but his mouth stays shut.

“aw, how sweet of you,” fushiguro mocks your brother. “guess you don’t want your sweet little innocent sister seeing this ugly side of you, huh?”

why the hell is he dragging you into this?

“clutch, i’m not fucking around right now,” suguru obviously strains to keep his voice down for you. “get in kento’s car. now.”

something in your brain suddenly sparks, and you’re immediately turning around and rushing across the road and shoulder to kento’s car. your mind thinks of everything but nothing at the same time, tension reverberating from your body with each step on the concrete. you swing the door of kento’s s13 open as you practically dive into his passenger seat and slam it shut behind you.

as soon as it latches, you hear muffled shouting from several voices. you lean over, arms wrapping around your thighs and forehead resting on your knees, afraid of what you might see if you look out the windshield. you can feel you heart in your throat as you heave, your breathe hard to find in the wild confusion of the night.

the driver’s door flies open and you whip your head. kento immediately turns the motor and puts it in gear.

“i’m taking you home,” he exhales. you can tell he’s bewildered as well, his neat hair coming undone over his eyes and knuckles white over the gear shifter. when you lift you head to look out the window as he pulls away, you see a shadowy silhouette of a tall man standing on the hill behind the line of onlookers’ cars. you think you see a motorbike next to him, but he’s barely visible through the hazy fog of the mountain. it’s odd, to say the least, but not important at the moment. 

you keep quiet. you don’t think it’s worth mentioning.

✰✰✰✰✰

the way home is completely silent aside from the hum of the engine. kento drives you home quickly but safely, his rigidity slowly fading away with each push and pull of the gear shifter. but you haven’t stopped thinking— goddamnit, how you wish your brain would stop thinking. your knee bounces uncontrollably as you suck in a breathe.

“kento?” he hums and glances over to you. “how long has satoru owned a gun?”

he doesn’t speak at first and presses his lips into a tight, thin line.

“a while now,” he finally answers.

“do you have one, too?”

“no.”

“and suguru?”

kento pauses for half a second too long. 

“oh my god— how long has he had one?”

“longer than satoru,” it seems like answering these questions is causing him pain.

“are you lying to me?” your voice is small.

“never.”

it’s your turn to hesitate. you were used to seeing people carry weapons in the car scene back home, where it was so easy to get a hold of one. but to be across the world in a country where only gangs and criminals possessed them, just to find out that your brother and his best friend owned one…

it shocked you. although your mother owned a pistol back home, and you fully knew how to use it, it made you uncomfortable to think your own brother got a hold of one illegally. suguru has always been your safety blanket, the one to call when things went wrong, the one to comfort you. and satoru, the one who always had a watchful eye on the back of your head, the one who you’d always run to if suguru wasn’t there. what are they thinking?

kento parks in front of your house, but you still have one more burning question.

“have they ever… used them before?”

“i don’t think so,” he replies.

“that was supposed to be a yes or no question.”

“i can’t give you that,” he looks… sad?

fine, then. without another word, you slip out of the car and walk inside your home. kento follows right behind you, all the way up the stairs to your room. he pauses at the door, one hand on the knob, as you slump into bed. he seems to know exactly what you’re thinking even though you’re turned away.

“i’m sure your brother is fine.”

“okay,” you croak, eyes burning with tears. tonight was just so… confusing. you could barely wrap your mind around what happened and most importantly, why?

“please try not to worry and get some sleep,” he replies, his voice gentle and solid. “i’ll let him know that you’re home and safe now.”

you hear him shut your bedroom door and pad down the stairs. when he locks the front door after him, you once again hear your papa’s snoring. only then do you let the tears fall, hot and heavy, but suddenly they’re angry tears. you kick off your boots and shove your face into the pillows, you fists trembling with irritation around the fabric.

how could suguru be so... stupid?

✰✰✰✰✰

shadow.takuma: hey are u ok?

shadow.takuma: are u home now??

you snatch up your phone at the notifications. you’ve calmed down now, but the fact that takuma is checking in on your before your own brother is sending hot blood through your veins once again.

clutchcruises: i’m home and i’m totally fine. are you okay?

shadow.takuma: yeah i’m ok!

shadow.takuma: i’m so sorry about megumi’s dad. i didn’t know he was gonna do that

shadow.takuma: and i'm sorry about how i was talking to ur brother

shadow.takuma: it was all really out of pocket

oh? that’s not really the explanation you were expecting.

clutchcruises: it’s okay. don’t be sorry, you didn’t do anything!

shadow.takuma: no pls i feel awful. i feel like he really scared u

shadow.takuma: i think he just did it to get ur brother worked up

clutchcruises: he knew it would bc he knows my dad

clutchcruises: i remember him from when i was a kid

shadow.takuma: seriously??

shadow.takuma: that makes it worse… i’m so so sorry

clutchcruises: seriously, it’s alright! i’m over it now

you were totally not over it.

shadow.takuma: ok… well i get it if ur not up for it but i’ll still be at the underground tonight

shadow.takuma: just in case u decide to come!

clutchcruises: it really sounds fun, i’ve never been out in tokyo before

clutchcruises: i just don’t think it’s a good idea rn, i’m sorry

shadow.takuma: don’t be sorry :) i totally get it

shadow.takuma: text me if u change ur mind?

as soon as you like his last message, suguru’s name takes over your phone screen. you sit up in bed and answer the call.

“suguru.”

“y/n? ken told me you’re safe at home?” he sounds stressed.

“yeah.”

“are you okay?”

“i’m... a lot of things right now,” you admit solemnly. the frustrated tears reappear in your eyes but never fall. “are you?”

“yeah, i’m fine,” you hear the crackles as he adjusts his phone. “i’m so sorry. i’m fucking embarrassed.”

you stay silent, biting down on your lip. you don’t know how to respond.

“i’m so fucking sorry,” he continues. “i totally lost my temper. and when fushiguro came over, i knew i was about to completely lose it. i can’t believe he put his hands on you, i just—”

“—suguru,” you cut him off and he quiets. “why didn’t you tell me that you and satoru carried guns?”

he pauses. “i just didn’t think you needed to know.”

“where did you even fucking get them?!” you rarely got mad at suguru, but you couldn’t help but snap at him.

“you don’t need to know that either.”

“why not? don’t i deserve to know?”

another pause. “…no.”

you take a deep breathe. “when will you be home?”

“in a while. can we talk then, if you’re still up?”

“i’m still a little upset with you, suguru.” you bite your lip. “can we just wait until the morning?”

“yeah, i guess. get some sleep, okay?”

“suguru?”

“yeah?”

“…i’m going out tonight.”

“...with who?”

“some girls i made friends with tonight.”

you feel him hesitate through the phone. the phone crackles again as he fumbles with it. you wish you could see what he was doing, but a part of you doesn’t even want to know.

“...be safe and smart, please... call me if you need anything. and text me when you’re on the way home.”

“i will.”

“thank you.”

“love you, nii-chan.”

“love you too, clutch.”

✰✰✰✰✰

clutchcruises: otw

you have no idea what you’re doing, honestly. the words just came out of your mouth on the phone with suguru. sure, you wanted to meet up with takuma, but you weren’t actually planning on coming. and after all the bullshit that’s happened tonight, a drink sounds so good. you admit to yourself that you also just wanted to do something rebellious towards your brother after pissing you off.

your fingers thrum against the gear shifter as your mustang purrs through the bright streets of tokyo. you had stripped out of your corset and skirt into backless, dark green halter dress before fussing with your hair. you had never pulled on your platform combat boots so fast in your life. you kneaded your glossed lips together, anxious to death over walking into a club on your own. you were really going to hang out with a boy you’ve had one face-to-face conversation with, and for what? 

the plot? what plot?

after parking, you walked silently alongside scattered and rowdy strangers through the street of shibuya, eyeing your phone desperately. takuma still hasn’t responded to your message. good lord, what are you doing? what will your excuse be when suguru finds out?

you find yourself at the back of the line into the underground far too quickly for your liking. you can hear the pounding bass of the music from outside, echoing through your bones. the girls in front of you wear skirts so short and heels so high that you’re really starting to doubt yourself now. why are you here? the bouncer probably won’t even let you in once he sees the beautiful girls before you—

“y/n!”

you look up, meeting eyes with takuma. he gently wraps his hand around yours.

“you don’t need to wait,” he smiles. “i know the guy who runs this place. c’mon!”

he pulls you out of line and towards the door, where the bouncer doesn’t even look twice as you walk past. takuma leads you down a set of dark stairs, still holding you hand. your eyes widen when you reach the bottom. a huge room opens before you, neon lights and lasers scanning over the cramped crowd and huge speakers lining the ceiling, vibrating with every beat of the catchy song playing. 

the walls are lined with couples messily smacking faces while the dj booth stands in the center of the room with a circular bar surrounding it entirely. it’s one ginormous hub of drinking and dancing while booths and tables make small bubbles of calm as they’re scattered sparsely throughout the bodies.

just before you’re consumed by the crowd, takuma turns and puts a warm palm on the small of your bare back. he leans in, his hot and liquored breathe in your ear. your stomach flips and it feels like your body temperature raises about 20 degrees.

“the shadows have a booth by the bar,” he says. “if you want to drink tonight, we’ve got it all.”

you nod, hoping the neon lasers disguise your bright red cheeks. he grins and takes your hand once again, leading you into the sea of people. it’s completely packed, and you can’t help but be pushed around between drunks. thankfully, takuma never loses his hold on you, even when you harshly bump into a tall, stiff body.

“sorry!” you shout at them over the music.

the person looks down at you with a glare, leaving you cowering. it’s a rough-looking man about suguru’s age who grips a beer and wears a skin tight black shirt and jeans. he has light-colored hair, but you can’t exactly tell what color through the rainbow of lights over you. what you can see, however, is the absolutely horrifying tattoos that cover his face and arms. sharp, black lines blanket his nose, forehead, and jawline. thick bands wrap around his biceps and wrists.

as takuma pulls you away, the man gives you a sly smirk. he stands completely still among the constant movement around him. his dark eyes make direct, excruciating contact with yours until you disappear. you aren’t given any more time to dwell on his odd behavior as takuma leads you into the shadows’ wide, round booth.

the table is sticky with liquor and littered with cigarette butts and empty bottles. megumi and the pink-haired boy are standing and pouring shots, while man-bun and space-buns sit back in the booth, both with girls on their laps and wrapped around their necks. a couple other guys are here, but you don’t recognize them. the four that you do know, however, look up at you with wide eyes.

“uh, takuma?” fushiguro asks.

“what the hell?” man-bun says from his seat. the pink-haired and tattooed boys stay quiet.

“megumi!” takuma smiles at him and puts a hand on the small of your back once again. “this is y/n!”

“i know…” he responds, hesitant. “you— i didn’t think—”

“it’s okay, fushiguro-kun!” you smile with a shrug. “don’t worry about it!”

“i—” he stops and puts his hand to his chest before bowing sheepishly. it seems out of character for him, and you think he might already be drunk by the way he unsteadily sways. “i’m so sorry about me and my dad earlier.”

you wave him off. “seriously, it’s alright!”

“oh wait, that’s the girl?” pink-hair says, obviously very slow to understand. his glazed eyes tell you he’s been drinking for a while.

“a shot or two might make up for it all,” you tease.

“i’m yuji itadori!” he points to space-buns and tattoos first, then the man-bun. “and that’s choso kamo and aoi todo.”

megumi grabs a different bottle. “i hope you like vodka.”

“and i hope you like menthol.” yuji holds a thin white cigarette and lighter out to you, which you accept immediately.

“pour me one too, megumi!” takuma grabs your shoulders. “we gotta celebrate!”

“celebrate what?” you ask. his face is right next to yours as he leans over your shoulder. you can’t peel your eyes away from his glittering brown eyes and toothy smile. he shrugs.

“you’re came. what’s not to celebrate?”

✰✰✰✰✰

once again, your actions are beyond yourself. you didn’t plan to actually come out, but here you were in the underground. you didn’t plan to drink, but here you are with your 3rd drink in your hand after 3 shots, teetering over the line from tipsy to drunk. you didn’t plan on things to go so smoothly, but here you are sitting back in the booth after an hour of nonstop conversation beside takuma. his hand never left you the entire time, either around your hand or on your back while the other held a drink.

but you definitely didn’t plan to blurt out a question you already knew the answer to.

“do you like to dance, takuma?” you immediately regret asking, you just know he’s going to reject you.

“i thought you’d never ask,” he laughs. “i love dancing.”

takuma quickly stands up and pulls you out of the booth. he leads you deeper into the crowd until he finds enough space for the two of you to move. takuma pulls you into his side by the waist, then hesitates and loosens his hold.

“i’m sorry,” he says submissively. “i’m drunk.”

“don’t worry,” you giggle in his ear. “me too.”

takuma turns his face into yours. he looks at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes. your noses are just inches away from each other. your sweet vanilla perfume is making him dizzy. you don’t know his stomach is fluttering wildly with butterflies. he doesn’t know yours is too.

the dj transitions into the next song. it’s a mix but you instantly recognize the beat. you gasp.

“oh my god, i love this song!”

takuma smiles. “i’ve never heard this.”

“that’s cause it’s only for the girls.”

you wrap your arms around his neck and his hands come to rest on your waist. now that you’ve stood up and under the strobing lights, you realize you’re much drunker than you thought you were, but can’t find the effort the care anymore. takuma has had his eyes and hands on nothing but you since you got here, but you still want more.

“dance with me, kuma,” you find your intoxicated voice murmuring in his ear as you smile and start swaying your hips. his head spins while his fingertips lightly dig into your sides at your words. takuma swears he’ll never let go. he moves in sync with you to the beat, a permanent grin etched across his face.

he simply can’t believe the situation he’s in right now. the only coherent thought in his liquor-filled head is you. with your silky hair fluttering over his skin and his large hands over the curves of your hips and waist, separated only by the satin of your green dress… someone help him. his brain does backflips every time he’s made contact with the exposed skin of your back. your cheeks are pink from the shots and your glossed lips are puffy from being pursed around a straw or cigarette all night. he just can’t look away.

at first, all takuma wanted was a good look at you, your undeniable innocent beauty was like a magnet he couldn’t escape from. so how did he manage to get you here tonight, drunk and giggly with your body pressed flush against his? god, suguru would beat his ass on sight if he could see where takuma had his hands on you right now.

“you’re a good dancer, takuma.”

“am i?” he twirls the both of you around, evoking a sweet squeal from you before pulling you tighter against him to lean down and whisper in your ear. “what happened to ‘kuma’?”

your face turns red with embarrassment. you wrap your hand around his jaw and turn it away from your burning ear, a finger lingering on his bottom lip. takuma playfully bares his teeth and lightly bites the end of your nail, making your eyes widen before pulling your hand away with a small yelp. he just laughs, he has no idea what he’s doing. the song ends and transitions to another.

“another song?” takuma asks. 

god, he hopes you say yes.

“duh!” you laugh. he spins you so your back is against his chest.

“good, i don’t want you to leave me just yet.”

✰✰✰✰✰

you don’t know how long you and takuma danced for. it seemed like only 5 minutes, but it must’ve been another hour. your feet start to hurt and the liquor is setting in, making you dizzy.

“you okay, pretty girl?” takuma asks, the new nickname tumbling out of his mouth before he knows it. you nod in response. he doesn’t miss your lidded eyes staring at his lips instead of his eyes. 

“you tired?” 

“no,” you shake your head. “but i know i should go home soon.”

he has you facing him again, holding you close. your hand finds takuma’s nape and your fingers absentmindedly play with the ends of his hair, sending goosebumps down his back. disappointed by your words, he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours.

“i don’t want you to go,” he admits.

“me neither.”

your noses bump. takuma’s stomach drops. you sigh. he thinks and thinks, then thinks against it. seconds go by…

“you’re so beautiful.” he mumbles. you giggle shyly in response.

nah, fuck it.

“y/n…” his breathe is hot against your lips. “…can i kiss you?”

“yes, please.”

he reaches up, lightly cupping the side of your face. he’s gentle as your mouths connect, moving his lips against yours so soft and slow. he feels you melt into him, and he deepens the kiss. he lets his lips move in sync with yours, the sweet taste of your lip gloss sending searing waves of need down his stomach every time he catches a hint of it.

oh god, he’s practically floating.

you’ve been driving him insane all night, singing to all the songs in his ear and breathing softly on his neck. and even through the most passionate kiss he’s had in his life, his shitfaced brain understands completely that he’s utterly infatuated with you.

takuma slowly, reluctantly pulls away. it leaves both of you panting while your noses continue to poke and prod as he holds your jaw. your cheeks are bright red, and you know it’s not from the alcohol this time. you’re suddenly hypersensitive of his gentle hands against your cheek and the bottom of your back. your stomach feels light and jittery.

you don’t know what to think, incapable of processing anything coherently after takuma kissed you like that. in the few silent seconds after, you must replay it in your mind a hundred times over. you’ve never felt like this before.

nothing else settles in your mind, only takuma ino… but the one thing you seem to be able to comprehend in your empty little head right now rests over you like a warm blanket—

it’s so over for you.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

redline masterlist // previous: chapter 1 // next: chapter 3

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[madehellline]

Sooo... i never posted anything in here... it's my first fic after so much time, 'cause i heard the song called "Peligrosa" by Urias and i was like, yep i think i'll try something :) ... i hope you guys like :) English is not my first language, so i beg you pardon for any errors

🏁 Street Racer!Reader x Police Officer!Geto Suguru

Title: “Peligrosa”

The city pulsed like a hot engine at 3AM. Skyscrapers sweated neon and smoke. The asphalt vibrated under her steps — black combat boots, steel soles.

“She’s here.” Someone whispered in the crowd, but no one dared to approach. Everyone knew who she was. (Y/n), queen of the street races. Or, as they called her in illegal betting circles: Peligrosa, for her iconic Brazilian-made car.

Hood down, red lipstick on, she leaned against her ride — a matte black 1975 Chevrolet Chevette with burnt pink accents. Painted by hand, scarred by every race she’d ever won.

The radio hummed a deep, slow beat — sensual, heavy. The same beat echoed inside her chest: heart racing, adrenaline pumping.

— “The road’s mine tonight.” she said, without even glancing at anyone.

— “She’s racing Yuki?” — “They’ve got history.”

(Y/n) smirked. The streetlights caught her eyes like headlights in the dark.

Tonight was for vengeance. Or redemption. Or maybe just another race where the world could end — and she wouldn’t care. After all, she knew the city streets like the back of her hand. And if he showed up again, she’d know exactly how to drive him mad in the chase.

(Y/n) spotted her rival pulling up in her Nissan Silvia. Friends, yes — but rivals tonight. In this underground world, respect was earned with rubber, speed, and risk.

(Y/n) slid into her seat and aligned her Chevette to the starting line. A notification lit up on her phone — the route for tonight’s race. She glanced at it and smiled: tight curves, perfect for drifting. Her specialty. Her obsession. Her pleasure.

She’d built her car for nights like this.

Yuki pulled up beside her, revving hard and cutting the limiter, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

Takuma Ino, brown-haired and sharp-eyed, stepped forward. He waited for the green light from the hackers — the ones hijacking the city’s security cams and police scanners.

The signal came. Time to start.

— “Ready?” — 3... 2... 1... GO!

(Y/n) slammed into first gear. The front wheels lifted off the ground. Her entire body vibrated with the engine's roar. Each gear shift was a hit of dopamine. Each drift, a shot of fire to her veins.

She was alive.

She reached the main road — Shibuya — the legendary curve where Mr. Han from Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift had his “fake death.”

She honked hard. Pedestrians screamed and scattered, mesmerized by the spectacle of her car carving the curve with precision and fire.

But then — the sound.

Sirens.

— “Of course he’s here,” she smiled, almost fondly. — “This is his district, after all.”

Her phone rang.

— “It’s Geto, right?” — “Yeah,” Ino replied. “He’s got backup this time. Guess he’s still mad about the last chase. Be careful.” — “When am I not?” She chuckled. — “Is he alone again?” — “Yup. Ever since your last escape, the white-haired guy doesn’t ride with him anymore.” — “Hmmm… perfect. Might play a little.”

— “Gonna live up to the name Peligrosa?” — “Always.” — “Take care.” — Click.

— “Ok Google, call Yuki.” — Calling Yuki...

— “Geto?” Yuki answered immediately. — “Geto.” — “I’m out,” she laughed. “Good luck with your cop boyfriend.” — Click.

(Y/n) looked to her left. The flashing lights got closer. There he was.

Geto Suguru. Perfect as ever. Brown eyes sharper in the night. Black hair tied back. Uniform fitted, flexing over his arms.

He pulled up beside her in the modified police car — his usual Nissan GTR, only louder. Meaner.

She grinned.

���� Flashback: Their Last Chase

The night it rained, the city blurred around her.

(Y/n) flew through the narrow tunnel in Meguro. She knew he’d follow. He always did.

She left breadcrumbs. She wanted to be caught.

The GTR’s siren wailed behind her, closer and closer.

She drifted cleanly into an alley between two buildings. Tight. Too tight for him.

But Geto tried anyway. And got stuck.

(Y/n) parked down the block and walked back, smug.

— “Again?” he groaned.

She leaned on the hood of his car, grinning.

— “You should know my style by now, Suguru.”

He climbed out, furious and gorgeous.

— “You think this is funny?” — “No,” she said, stepping closer. “I think you’re funny. Bringing a boat to a knife fight.”

He stared at her — frustration burning, but something deeper flickering underneath.

— “One day, you won’t get away.”

She tilted her head, eyes glinting.

— “Maybe that day isn’t today.”

She turned and ran back to her car, leaving tire smoke and tension in the air.

🚨 Present: The Almost Kiss

Now, in the dark heart of Roppongi, he was right behind her.

She drifted sharply into a hidden side road — no cams, no traffic. He followed.

She slammed the brakes and stopped the Chevette sideways. The GTR skidded into a stop, centimeters from her door.

Both stepped out.

— “What the hell is your problem?!” Geto shouted.

She met his fury with calm fire.

— “Same as yours. We don’t know how to stop.”

He stepped closer. Too close.

— “Should I arrest you now?”

— “Do it,” she whispered. “Cuff me.”

He reached up, hand curling under her jaw.

Breaths shallow. Lips almost touching.

Then—

Crackle. “Officer Geto, backup needed in Shinjuku. Level 3.”

He closed his eyes. Stepped back.

— “One day, you won’t get away.”

(Y/n) leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

— “And one day, you won’t let me go.”

She vanished into the city once again. Leaving him standing under neon light, tasting the memory of her — like smoke, gasoline... and the thrill of almost.

[olive-fics]

☠'Speed Demon'-Ellie Williams'

⋆By popular request, here's a one-shot (?) of Ellie Williams as a street racer in need of your support before a race..⋆

CREDS TO-@cottagecheese340 (My bsf ♡) AND TIKTOK + INSTAGRAM-@/Offtwotheraces

The sound of engines revving and the distant chatter of the crowd filled the background, a symphony of anticipation that quickened your heartbeats. Ellie's racing suit making a "pfft.." when she walked.

Ellie leaned against the sleek car, her eyes fixated on the darkened street ahead. The roar of engines and the pulsing neon lights of the city's underbelly surrounded her. She turned to you, her voice a low, almost trembling whisper in the midst of the racing chaos.

"Y/N... This race is gonna be close—I don't know if I'm gonna win tonight babe.." Ellie doubted.

Her fingers traced the curves of the car's modified body, the cool metal beneath her touch making her breathing tremble quietly.. She was nervous. It wasn't just the metal that made her tremble quietly though; it was the weight of the race, the stakes, and the undeniable surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

You met Ellie's gaze, an expression and mix of determination and unwavering support..

Your voice broke through the pre-race tension, your words carrying a reassuring weight through the noise of the engines and the anticipation in the air..

"Hey, Ellie, you've got this. You're not just good; you're one of the best out here. Trust me, even if you don't win tonight, I'll make it up to you. But right now, in this moment, I need you to give it your absolute best.. Got that?"

"But Y/N-," Ellie hesitated, her voice tinged with doubt, "I don't know..."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with uncertainty. She looked to you, her eyes searching for reassurance in the midst of her wavering resolve. The weight of the impending race pressed upon her, and for a moment, she questioned whether she should do this or not.

She inhaled a deep, steadying breath, the tension in her frame palpable as her fingers clenched into fists, knuckles whitening from her grip.

"Alright.. Fine."

"You don't have to do this, Ellie.." You took her hand. "Look at me."

Gently tilting Ellie's chin upward, coaxing her to meet your eyes. In a kiss, the world seemed to fade away for Ellie as her gaze slowly rose from the ground. her eyes met yours with a mixture of vulnerability and determination.

"I've got this," Ellie said, her voice carrying a quiet but undeniable determination. She gave herself a mental pep talk, squaring her shoulders and sighing contently.

"Yeah," she added with a soft grin, "I can do this."

Ellie slid into the driver's seat of her sleek, blacked-out car, her fingers instinctively wrapping around the wheel. With the engine humming eagerly, she spared a quick glance at her wrist, tapping her watch to check the time.

Her gloved hands gripped the steering wheel. With her racing suit snug against her form, Ellie closed her eyes briefly, inhaling deeply to calm her heart and lick her cracked lips. . .

As the flagger briskly displayed the green flag, a collective roar from the crowd blended with the growl of engines in anticipation. Ellie's heart pounded in rhythm with the race's imminent start. With a fierce determination in her eyes, she reacted in an instant, her foot slamming onto the accelerator.

In an explosive burst of power, her car surged forward, tires biting into the asphalt with a deafening screech. The acceleration thrust her ahead, and the world outside blurred into a chaotic kaleidoscope of lights and shadows. Ellie's finely tuned driving skills and lightning-quick reflexes came to the forefront as she approached the first hairpin turn with a grace that belied the breakneck speed.

As the race kept on, the roar of engines filled the air, drowning out all other sounds. The racers navigated the circuit with precision, each turn and straightaway a high-stakes battleground. Ellie, in the thick of the competition, demonstrated her racing prowess with every skillful maneuver...

As the race enters its final lap, the tension escalates. Ellie is neck-and-neck with her main rival, "ANDERSON." their vehicles inches apart..

in a thrilling sprint to the finish line, Ellie pushes her car to its limits just barely pushing against Abby's car. The crowd roars as she inches ahead and crosses the finish line first, her car's engine screaming in triumph..

As she caught her breath, her voice barely above a murmur, she mumbled to herself, a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion seeping into her words, "Yeah... good.. fuck.." Ellie would rub the wheel and lay her head back taking off her helmet and stepping out of her car..

After the race's adrenaline-fueled chaos had subsided, Ellie fumbled out of her car, her movements a bit unsteady, and sought you out with an unspoken urgency. Her racing suit clung to her, soaked with the remnants of exertion, and her helmet dangled from her hand.

When she finally reached you, there was no need for words. Ellie enveloped you in a tight, grateful hug, her racing heart now coming to a steady pace.. The scent of the exhaust lingered with sweat and her musky cologne.

"You did so well Ellie... So proud," you mumbled into her shoulder, a smile playing on your lips and a gentle giggle escaping as you held her tightly.

Ellie let out an exhausted groan, her racing helmet clutched loosely in one hand, as she sighed deeply. She leaned in, her forehead gently coming to rest against yours, Ellie's lips then met yours in a gentle, affectionate kiss. Her other hand rested tenderly on your hips, fingers tracing soothing patterns along your pants.

"So... sore..." Ellie mumbled, her voice a soft sigh of exhaustion, as she sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth. Her calloused fingers, gently massaged her calf, coaxing some relief from the aching muscles.

"Let's get you sat down..Hm?" You whispered into her ear setting her down by the bleachers.

With a tender touch, you began to rub Ellie's calf gently, your fingers working in soothing circles to ease the soreness that had settled in her muscles. "Shh... I got you."

Ellie couldn't help but let out content sighs and bite her lip a bit, Ellie hated to seem weak but in all honesty, she loved being pampered.

"You have no idea how much I needed this, Y/N..Fuck-" Ellie ran her free hand through your hair and laughed wiping sweat from her forehead.

"You need sleep, Ells?" You inquired with genuine concern, your voice laced with care. "I can drive us home--"

Ellie interrupted quickly, a hint of worry in her tone, "No-, that's alright."

Ellie's aversion to letting you drive her car ran deep. She was genuinely nervous about the idea, not just for the vehicle's safety but also for your well-being. Her car was an extension of herself, a testament to her racing prowess, and she couldn't bear the thought of it being mishandled or causing harm to anyone. . .

After offering solace to Ellie, her fellow racers and enthusiastic fans, the so-called 'fangirls,' (crazy lesbians) flocked around her like a whirlwind. They couldn't contain their excitement, their voices bubbling over with admiration and their phones poised for pictures. The atmosphere shifted from a private moment to a bustling celebration in the blink of an eye.

Ellie maintained a gentle but firm hold on your hand, anchoring you close to her as the small crowd began to dissipate.

Softly, with a reluctant smile, Ellie buzzed, "Thanks for being here, Y/N. You always keep me grounded.."

You chuckled warmly and gave Ellie's arm a reassuring rub. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Ellie. You know I'll always be right by your side for this."

"I know, and that means absolutely everything to me." Ellie let out a quiet sigh, her hand instinctively rising to gently itch her face.

You squeezed Ellie's other hand gently, "You did amazing out there, seriously-I'm proud of you."

Ellie's gaze fell to the ground, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement..."Oh please.."

"Wanna go home now, Ellie...?" You asked, your tone carrying a touch of reassurance. "I know you're tired..."

Ellie nodded in agreement, her movements slow and deliberate as she slid into the driver's seat of her car. Her fingers ran through her tousled hair, a sign of both fatigue and relief, as she let out a weary sigh.

"Feeling worn out, aren't you, Ells?" You asked in a hushed tone, your fingers gently massaging her shoulder as you sat close beside her in the car.

Ellie nodded and started to drive home.. The engine's purr and the rhythm of the road were a soothing 'white noise' to Ellie..

"Love you, Y/N," Ellie whispered, her voice filled with sincerity and affection.

You smiled warmly, your gaze locked on Ellie.

"Love you too, Ells."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

OK OK I FINALLY FINISHED THIS IM SRRY FOR THE WAIT!⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

♡ Hi! My friend gave me huge inspo/pretty much the whole idea for this! :) I tagged their accounts at the top! ♡

Sorry if this is bad I'm not an author lol-😭

[strangeoval]

Lightweight Spool – Quick Change Spool– Strange Oval Racing Parts

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Ideal for oval and dirt racing

Compatible with Quick Change rear ends

Contact Information:

For more details or to request a sample, visit Lightweight Spool or contact Strange Oval directly:

Phone: 800-653-1099

Address: 8300 Austin Ave Morton Grove, IL 60053

Choose the Lightweight Spool for reliable and efficient performance.

Stay in touch with the latest product developments and company news:

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[quonah4dead]

Whiskey Shakes: Prologue

Word Count: ~3.5k

Rating: Teen+ for language

Pairing: Nellis

Characters: Ellis, Keith, Paul

Summary: A continuation of this thing (Closets May Feel Safe...), inspired by this thing (Primum non Nocere by ladyred-ms). The two boys get back to the Nelson bros' apartment and have dinner after Ellis' confession in Keith's car. The combination of this and the next part was getting kinda long, so it's a prologue now.

==============

The car was directed into the parking space indelicately, crooked between the lines. Tension had begun to rise again in Ellis’ chest during the last few minutes of their return trip. The cry he had earlier may have helped to purge gallons of accumulated misery, sure, and Keith had taken the revelation with minimal comment, which was… Probably good…

Gone was the fear of imminent and violent rejection, and that was nice. It was. But in its place rose something else, growing to be equally uncomfortable if not as viscerally terrifying. Ellis couldn’t quite put his finger on it, fatigued as he was, and he didn’t much care to, either. He really just didn’t feel like thinking about it at all, wanted to shove it down and stomp dirt onto it until it was out of sight, and thus out of mind.

He looked up at the cheap plastic siding that covered every face of the Nelson brothers’ apartment building. The pastel blue greeted him with a kind of exhausted, worn cheer, and the buildings flanking it, colored an equally dusty pastel yellow, felt like they were trying too hard to be happy past their weathering. Despite the structure’s familiarity and its association with people he loved, it currently felt like he was eyeing a penitentiary. The uncomfortable feeling in his chest churned again.

Keith roughly jostled his keys out of the ignition and let his hand flop to his lap. His head then pointedly swiveled to face Ellis, and the shorter man felt the pressure of the look despite keeping his eyes averted. A long, pensive sigh wheezed out of Ellis’ throat and slouched him forward under the weight of Keith’s gaze, and he was sure he looked a little bit like a scolded puppy when he managed to rasp out, “Can’t I just stay in the car forever…?”

Keith didn’t smile fully, but he did sound in very good humor when he barked out, “Nope!” with a sharp jerk upward of his brows.

Ellis let out a low, rattling groan of dread and began to turn to unbuckle his seatbelt and reach for the car door. When he loosened his grip to release Keith’s hand, the blond man casually took it back into his own space, popping the trunk and hopping out of the car easily. “You get the bike, I’ll get the door,” the driver declared, taking the walk to the Nelson brothers’ ground-floor unit half-backwards in long strides, nearly tripping over the curb in the process despite being situated right next to a slope of wheelchair-accessible sidewalk.

Compliance was assumed, though not without merit. He rocked himself out of the passenger’s seat and onto the pale, cracked and patched asphalt. The sun was entering a low hang in the sky, now, and the sound of spring peepers and crickets had already risen to take its place. Soon, the temperature would drop, enabled by a mostly-clear sky, and tiny dewdrops would begin to gather on window screens. In a month, the noise from the frogs would be a proper uproar. In three, cicadas and katydids would be deafening in their cacophony.

The threatened humidity and damp ambiance soothed him, just slightly, as he made his way to the trunk to extract the dirt bike from where it was laid over the trunk bed and folded-down back seats. His hand had settled on the base of the trunk hatch, ready to close it, when he heard Keith’s voice faintly announce, “Ellis is stayin’ here tonight!” from inside.

Paul was home.

Obviously he was. Ellis knew he would be. His custom-modified car was parked right there in his self-assigned handicapped spot. Of course he was home. It’s part of why Ellis was hesitant to get a move on, after all, but being reminded of it halted his progress all the same. If more was said, he didn’t hear it. He did hear the door open and close, and the shuffling of Keith’s sneakers, gentle clicking sounding out from one shoelace dragging on the ground. 

“‘Ey, slug-ass!” came the bark from around the car, followed quickly by Keith craning an impatient look around the lifted trunk door. “Hurry it up. ‘M hungry,” he said pointedly before disappearing again. The taller man was acting… Normal.

It prodded Ellis into motion, though his hand still moved loosely as it dragged the trunk closed with a heavy thunk. He hauled the bike in, door held open for him by Keith, and immediately turned to march his way past the combined living and dining area, straight toward Keith’s room on the left. Paul wheeled out of the master bedroom, just a bit farther down the hall than Keith’s. 

“Hey, Ellis.”

Ellis just barely got himself to make eye contact. And even then, it was only for a moment, with a weak flash of teeth where a smile should have gone.

“Hey, Paul.”

Paul was acting normal. Why wouldn’t he be? It’s not like Ellis told him, too. Though he did briefly think he saw Paul giving him a critical look, out of the corner of his eye.

Ellis wished he, himself, were acting normal.

Keith had already taken up the task of spreading frozen chicken nuggets on a cookie tray when Paul made it into the small, but workable kitchen. The slimmer brother tossed the plastic away before going back to the freezer to grab a bag of premade french fries.

“Nugs‘n’fries,” he declared plainly.

“Oh, hell, no,” the older man asserted, pointing to a cabinet that held a different plastic bag. “You’re gonna fry up the rest of them potatoes. They’re startin’ to look at me funny.”

When Keith turned to scrunch up his face in a childish protest, his brother immediately fixed him with a suspicious and inquisitive look, jerking a thumb over his shoulder with a quirked brow. It shouldn’t have surprised Keith that his brother, perceptive as he was, had managed to pick up on something being different with Ellis, but the speed at which it happened surprised him all the same. While he did his best to school his expression into something innocently neutral and shrug nonchalantly, it was almost certain that some discomfort leaked onto his face. With a turn that was perhaps a bit too hasty, Keith made to pull out a cutting board before heading to the vegetable cabinet. He didn’t know how to communicate to Paul any of the Ellis developments through gestures alone, so he opted to look as normal as possible instead. 

When he turned around with the bag in one hand and a knife in the other, to see Paul still scrutinizing him, he was unsurprised. His brother lifted a meaty fist and raised his thumb upward. Then he flicked his wrist, quickly fixing his thumb downward for a moment, then to the side. It was a simple question, and one he could actually answer without talking about the subject within earshot.

Keith shifted on his feet a moment, trying to figure out how to answer. He settled on angling his remaining full thumb halfway between up and sideways, wiggling it there, and grimacing theatrically to indicate a kind of uncertain, tentative quality to his assessment. Paul’s mouth turned down slightly below his moustache, but the way his brows raised looked vaguely contented, or pleased, maybe. Satisfied, perhaps. After holding that expression for a moment, processing the little news he’d received, he sharply nodded, and turned to look out the kitchen archway and through Keith’s bedroom door directly across the hall.

“Ellis, get out here’n make sure this dumbass doesn’t cut another finger off.”

Neither brother could hear Ellis’ quiet sigh over the sound of potatoes being washed. Socked feet shuffled along the floor as he muttered, “I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” making his way around Paul into the kitchen to scoop up the knife and start cubing the potatoes that Keith had scrubbed.

Preparing the meal was quiet and quick, Ellis long having mastered knifework and seasoning under the guidance of his mother, and navigating around Keith under the guidance of bruised shins and bonked foreheads. Dodging walls and furniture in his perpetual impatience with two plates in hand, Keith led the way to the kitchen table, where Paul was already situated. The TV was on some dumb history thing, volume turned low, and the meal only began when Ellis himself sat down, his own plate in one hand and ketchup and mustard bottles pinched between the fingers of the other.

Chatter at the table was sparse. Ellis had little desire to talk, and the three men spent so much time together that there was little to talk about aside from idle daily updates and questions about plans for the rest of the week. It was comfortable. Familiar. Nice. It had been… a while since Ellis had felt like the company of his friends was anything more than tolerable. When he had been dating Nick, he still loved being with his family, but he was often afraid the conversation would turn toward him in the worst of ways, even though everyone danced around the issue with some degree of grace.

After the breakup, being around other people just felt like chewing on pine needles. The pressure to feign happiness, normalcy, combined with his gross inability to do so, was suffocating. Constant fantasies of escaping would plague him as he tried to pay enough attention to the conversation to reply when it was appropriate.

Currently, he still wanted to crawl under a rock and curl up in moss like a roly-poly, but… Being in the company of the two brothers wasn’t the worst thing he could imagine.

Keith, to his credit, was still acting normal enough whenever he got words out around his latest shoveled mouthful of chicken and potato. When he got up for a fiber shake to slake his bottomless appetite further, leaving Paul alone with Ellis, the older man acted normal enough, too. Minding his business, finishing up his meal in silence.

Ellis still couldn’t help feeling like they were stepping strategically around him.

Plates cleared and delivered to the sink, the three gathered around the TV, Paul lounging comfortably in a recliner while the two younger men sprawled over each other on the couch. The cheap beers they were nursing loosened their tongues. By the time the sun had fully set, the whole lot found themselves laughing at each other for drooling over big guns on the screen, despite the fact that it was obviously just a program to flex the military’s ego.

Like always, Paul interjected with little bits of trivia he knew about relevant programs, followed by some snide comment like “More money than god fer fancy targeting systems, but we had to buy glue traps ourselves for the damn roaches,” or “I know I said it before, but it’d be nice if they’d’uh spent a dime on fixin’ the heater back when I was at Bragg. Swear we was shittin’ icicles half the time.”

Their chatter and the alcohol produced a warmth that was unbroken by the trying-too-hard narrator and his tasteless guitar accompaniment, and when Ellis found himself yawning and blinking away sleep, he realized he felt halfway okay. Of course, this realization was only made after Keith turned a look toward him, more scrutinizing than he’d been in over the past couple hours, and told Ellis to leave with a dismissive wave of his hand toward the hallway.

“Go to bed, grampaw.”

The order took a moment to process through Ellis’ fatigue, and he still wasn’t quite sure if Keith had been talking to him. “Huh?” He managed through slowly-blinking eyes.

“Go on ‘n’ git, yer fallin’ asleep. Take my bed. I’mma stay up a bit later, anyhow. Ain’t tired yet.” The mouth of a nearly-empty bottle was rolling around on his slack lips, like couldn’t be bothered to put it down or continue drinking.

Ellis quirked a brow. “... You for real?”

Keith let his head loll to the side, giving Ellis a low-lidded look with raised brows before returning his gaze to the television just as slowly. “Don’t blame me if yer late for work.” The brunet felt an additional side-eye from Paul.

It was not a harsh command, no more harsh than how Keith usually gave directions, anyway. But being told to take himself to a room reminded him of his previous deeply avoidant behavior, constantly wanting to run off to sequestered safety. The sweet, fuzzy haze of camaraderie faded in the face of being told to go. In its place, his desire to rebel against his friend was only superseded by his desire to resume hiding. The friction between the bottle’s neck and his strangling grip produced a small squeak.

Keith watched in his peripheral vision as Ellis petulantly oozed his legs onto the floor. The shorter man was halfway to standing when Keith asked, “Did’juh tell Ma you’re stayin’ the night?” and his reward for being considerate was watching his friend collapse onto his stomach and groan loudly into the carpet.

Both the Nelson brothers snorted.

Once Ellis had retreated to Keith’s room, the accident-prone man muttered to himself around the mouth of his bottle. “Good Lord, that guy…”

Paul grunted, and took the opening. “Seriously. He does seem better, though, just a lil’. Or at least less dead. Somethin’ happen?” The question’s tone was casual, noncommittal. Tactically so.

Keith exhaled through pursed lips and puffed-out cheeks, shaking his head, struggling with what he should say. What he could say. “I… I think we’re finally gettin’ somewhere.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

Paul glanced at his youngest brother.

“So what happened?”

It was unusual for Keith to need to be prompted.

“Uh… Well, we had a chat, um…” A grimace flitted across his face. “Euuhhh, I, um… I know why he’s been so cagey about shit now, I guess. Which is good… But I didn’t get much more’n that.” Clicking taps reverberated in his mouth as he clinked the bottle against his teeth. The depth of his discontented thought was written into his brow, and his ponderous silence lasted too long for Paul to drop the subject.

“So what was it?”

His mouth turned down abruptly. A struggle played out in his eyes, and eventually the only thing he could think to say was, “I can’t say,” as if he didn’t know. While it was a double entendre, and he directed his tone toward deceit, he trusted that Paul was insightful enough to take the correct meaning. A dark blond brow quirked in his direction.

“Oh yeah?”

Thoughts were trying to rise to the surface in response to the prodding, making his open jaw grind on the air. “Eeeeeyuuuuuup.”

“Izzat right?” The question was delivered flatly, and perhaps it was the disinterested tone that left room for Keith’s temper to rise into the empty space.

“God, Paul, it’s so stupid,” he blurted, hands flying out to either corner of the room. “I mean– maybe it’s not? I dunno? But it just– and he just seems so, like–” his hands shifted around like was trying to grasp at the air in front of his belly.

“He’s got himself convinced it’s this whole thing… And maybe it’s a big deal? But I don’t really think– man, I just don’t get why–” He made an ugly noise in his throat. “I mean, maybe I do? Maybe it’s a big deal…?” He tried for another moment, fruitlessly, to figure out how to communicate anything at all without communicating anything at all. In his failure, he opted to let out a feral snarl and writhe around, flopping onto his belly to face Paul while extending his hands as if to strangle the air between him and his brother. The beer bottle thunked onto the floor. “Stupid fuckin’ motherfuckin’ piece’a shit lookin’ piss smellin’ motherfucker,” he cursed into the couch arm, before biting the worn fabric as hard as he could and jerking his neck around violently.

Amusement and a twinge of concern flared Paul’s nostrils. “Well alright, then,” he drawled slowly, shifting himself back into his wheelchair. He knew when to bother pushing an issue, and Keith was struggling so severely with his inability to ‘say’ that the older man knew to drop it. Maybe he could break his brother’s reticence by playing on his temperament. He was pretty sure he could, in fact, and it would only take one question, if answered honestly, to reach his own conclusions about the topic. But it would have felt wrong to push the issue, and Ellis’ trust in Keith was probably the only thing that could help their family friend heal even a little. He wouldn’t take that from them. “As long as you think things’re lookin’ up, I ain’t gonna complain.”

He began the short journey to the end of the hall, aiming for his door beyond the two rooms of his brothers. Before he got out of earshot, he muttered deep and low, “Got tired’a watchin’ him mope.”

The words alone may have sounded harsh and uncaring, but Keith knew what Paul really meant by them. 

I’m tired of seeing him suffer.

Keith was, too.

Unfortunately, Paul’s prompting had brought back uncertainties in Keith’s mind, and his departure left room for them to fester.

So Ellis was datin’ a guy, he deliberately thought to himself. It was the first time he’d really thought about it since the revelation, and it felt just as weird as processing it the first time.

Guess that means he likes dudes?

It’d explain why he managed to have so many girl friends without having any girlfriends.

Sliding forward over the arm of the couch, his neck and torso crumpled inward, shoulder blades on the floor, legs hanging onto the edge of the furniture. Blood flooded into his head. One of his arms was bent awkwardly against the ground, shoulder and wrist sending stabs of protest that he ignored. 

Do I care?

His other hand idly pinched at the loose, puckered skin around his tummy. There used to be more of it, his reward for the “concerningly fast” weight loss he achieved in the wake of his attempt to mass produce dry-aged squirrel steaks. The weight loss which was, coincidentally, also medically necessary to avoid a whole list of things that Dr. S read off to him very gravely after some blood work results came in. Hardly any remained, now, nearly all of it being consumed to patchwork-graft away the worst of the marring he’d inflicted upon his face. And some other parts.

I don’t think I care. Not like that, at least. Not the way he’s thinkin’.

He didn’t really get it, of course. Ladies were hot as fuck. How could a guy not want to bang ‘em? But there were a lot of things in the world he didn’t get. Not getting things never stopped him from being a badass, or doing whatever the fuck he wanted.

And right now, what he wanted was to be let back into his friend’s life. Hell, be let into his life for the first time, apparently. How long had Ellis been keeping this from him? How had Keith not noticed something was off?

As he vaguely recalled commenting on a hot chick in a movie, with Ellis agreeing in a way that now seemed less respectfully measured and more straight-up dodgy, the answer was obvious.

He simply hadn’t been looking for it.

It’s not like he felt guilty about it, of course. It wasn’t his job to monitor the guy constantly. Wasn’t his job to push and pry at every little thing, and doing so would’ve made both of them miserable. He wasn’t Ellis’ mom, and he didn’t want to be, and Ellis was keeping her out of the loop anyway, too.

Ain’t like I tell him ‘bout every hole I stick my dick in.

But he knew Ellis. He knew that his friend could be a real softie under the gung-ho attitude. He cared deeply for people, felt his emotions just as strongly as Keith did, and if Keith had picked up on anything from earlier today, it’s that Ellis had been deathly, paralyzingly afraid of letting anyone into what was apparently a very important part of his life. Important enough to kill him when it ended.

Must have been really, really fuckin’ lonely.

Kinda made Keith pissed.

Painful pounding thrummed through his face and skull, driving him to kick his legs up and over, flopping fully onto his back. He scowled at the ceiling, stewing in the anger while his blood sloshed back to a more reasonable distribution.

He marched off to brush his teeth and retie his hair into its stubby ponytail, and when he sprawled back over the couch to begin dozing, there was only one thing on his mind, fiery and uncompromising.

I’mma get ‘im tuh fuckin’ talk.

[thecreaturecodex]

Stegon

"Stegon render" © deviantArt user SuperSamYoshi, accessed at his gallery here

[Stegon is a Return of Ultraman kaiju that seems to be an homage to original Ultraman monster Seabozu. Both are skeletal dinosaur kaiju that are treated sympathetically, and Stegon uses a modified version of Seabozu's roar for a sound effect. This is somewhat striking because Stegon definitely kills people. Like, we see construction workers get melted. So I wanted my flavor text to pay homage to that, and to be a technically-against-the-rules-in-PF1e neutrally aligned undead. I'm also including a reference to a thematically similar kaiju who appears in the same series that I'm also intending to stat up in this project.]

Stegon CR 17 N Undead This creature resembles the skeleton of an oversized reptile, its stance quadrupedal. Its skull has a pointed snout and projecting teeth. Its bones are embedded in a tarry mass, giving the creature a bulky body.

A stegon is a chimeric undead creature made out of the bones of dinosaurs and other ancient megafauna. These bones are suspended in a black tarry mass, something like asphalt. When a bone bed is disturbed, not to uncover its secrets and learn about its former inhabitants, but in order to exploit the land, a stegon may rise to avenge the desecration of its grave. These grave sites are sometimes those guarded by an oxter, which can lead the two monsters to collaborating in their destructive vengeance. Once it has avenged itself, stegons tend to roam widely and target land developments, strip mines and other massive construction projects that devastate the land. As such, stegons are among the few undead creatures that are respected in druidic traditions, although a druid would be likely to try to lay the animal souls to rest after they have completed their mission.

Stegons typically attack their targets using their breath weapons and trampling feet. They can breathe a cloud of acidic mist. This acid is much more potent against flesh and bone than metals and minerals, and the gear of stegon victims may litter its lair. If creatures fight back, or attack it, it fights with its teeth and tail if cornered, but is just as likely to try to walk away, trusting to its natural armor and resistances to shrug off attacks.

Stegon CR 17 XP 102,400 N Colossal undead Init +4; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +24, scent Defense AC 31, touch 2, flat-footed 31 (-8 size, +33 natural) hp 300 (24d8+192) Fort +17, Ref +8, Will +16; channel resistance +2 DR 15/magic and bludgeoning; Immune acid, force, undead traits Offense Speed 50 ft. Melee bite +27 (2d8+16/19-20 plus 4d6 acid), tail slap +24 (3d8+8) Space 30 ft.; Reach 20 ft. Special Attacks breath weapon (60 foot cone, 18d6 acid, Ref DC 29, 1d4 rounds), trample (Ref DC 38, 2d6+24)  Statistics Str 43, Dex 10, Con -, Int 2, Wis 10, Cha 25 Base Atk +18; CMB +42 (+44 bull rush); CMD 52 (56 vs. trip) Feats Awesome Blow, Blind-fight, Great Fortitude, Improved Bull Rush, Improved Critical (bite), Improved Initiative, Iron Will, Multiattack, Power Attack, Skill Focus (Perception), Toughness, Weapon Focus (bite) Skills Climb +22, Perception +24, Swim +19 SQ organic acid Ecology Environment any land and underground Organization solitary Treasure incidental Special Abilities Breath Weapon (Su) When a stegon uses its breath weapon, the cone of acidic mist condenses into a 20 foot radius cloud at its origin point. This cloud obscures vision as a fog cloud spell and deals 2d6 acid damage every round to creatures and objects in the area (no save). This cloud lasts for 1d4+1 rounds before dissipating, and can be dissipated with strong or stronger wind. The save DC is Charisma based. Organic Acid (Ex) Acid damage dealt by a stegon’s breath weapon and bite deals minimum damage to creatures or objects made of stone or metal. It ignores the hardness of creatures or objects made of organic materials, such as wood or bone.

[d8nielaa]

Could you do a Steve and Soda fic of them participating in the street races they mention in the book? Either that or them at the rodeo, i wish we had gotten more looks into what the gang does outside of the book but oh well lol

btw i love your writing! honestly better than a lot of stuff ive read, so thank you for taking requests!

Authors Note: yes ofc anon! thank you so much for your kind words, they mean the world to me! I love taking requests because I work off of inspiration-i physically cannot come up with something of my own which is rlly sad . Im still learning and growing😔 also this was the only picture I could find where renni and jason were in the same photo

Rodeo Races

Steve Randle x Sodapop Curtis

The night was electric. The kind of warm, late-summer evening that hummed with energy, and for once, the air felt full of possibility. You could hear the distant hum of engines, the soft rustle of crowds gathering in the shadows, all of it building up to the same thing. It was race night.

Steve Randle leaned against his Chevy, the engine purring beneath his hands as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. He’d been waiting all day for this, and now that it was finally here, the anticipation was driving him wild. The street races weren’t exactly legal, but no one cared about that. This was his world, his speed, and tonight, he was going to show the whole block exactly what he was made of.

Soda sat in the passenger seat, grinning like a maniac as he fiddled with the radio. His energy was always a little contagious, but right now, it was like he could feel the power of the night, too. The engines were roaring, and the adrenaline was already kicking in.

“Man, I love this,” Soda said, his voice full of excitement as he turned to Steve. “Ain’t nothing better than a good race night.”

Steve smirked, pulling on the gloves that were more habit than necessity. “You should’ve brought your own car. I’d let you race me, but I don’t know if you’d survive this thing.”

“Oh, please,” Soda teased. “I’ve got it in me. I can handle it. Just need you to teach me a few tricks. You know I’ve been watching you with that engine since we were, like, five.”

“You wanna race?” Steve challenged with a grin, slapping his hands against the steering wheel, “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when your car ends up in a ditch.”

Soda laughed, his blue eyes twinkling in the light of the streetlamps as he leaned back in his seat, his hands behind his head. “You’re on. But tonight? I’m riding shotgun. You got this, Steve.”

The low rumble of engines from the other cars around them signaled that the other racers were ready to go. The crowd began to gather along the curb, their faces a blur in the soft glow of streetlights. Steve took one last look at his car, a modified beast that had seen more races than he cared to admit. He wasn’t just driving it; he was the car, moving with it, anticipating every twist and turn like it was an extension of his body.

He glanced at Soda, giving him a nod. “You ready for this?”

Soda’s grin widened, almost wicked, as he slapped Steve’s shoulder. “Always.”

The race was about to start.

The street was clear now, just the wide, empty stretch of asphalt that seemed to disappear into the night. A kid—probably barely out of high school—stood in the middle of the street with a flashlight, signaling the start. The hum of engines and the murmurs of the crowd made the air vibrate with excitement.

Steve’s hands tightened around the wheel, his foot pressing against the gas pedal. He could feel the power of the engine, ready to launch. He wasn’t nervous—he never was—but that electric tingle in his fingertips told him that tonight was going to be one of those races that mattered.

“On your mark…” The kid shouted.

“Get set…”

The countdown echoed, the sound bouncing off the buildings, reverberating in Steve’s chest like a drum.

“GO!”

The world blurred.

Soda’s shout of excitement barely registered as Steve slammed his foot to the pedal, the car surging forward with a roar that could’ve woken the whole neighborhood. His heart pounded in time with the engine as they shot down the street, weaving between the other racers in a blur of neon lights and speed. He didn’t need to think; he was just there, in the moment. His hands worked the wheel instinctively, keeping the car steady as the road stretched out before him.

Soda leaned forward, his face full of excitement as he shouted over the wind. “Come on, man, we’re killing it!”

The other cars were close behind, but Steve could feel himself pulling away. He was good at this—hell, he was one of the best. His car hugged the curves like it was glued to the asphalt, and his eyes stayed focused on the lights ahead. He could hear the growl of the other cars, but he wasn’t worried. The sound of his engine was like music, a symphony of power and precision.

Soda’s laughter rang out as they took a sharp corner, sending the car swerving just enough to feel the thrill of it. “Hell yeah!” Soda yelled, throwing a fist into the air. “Let’s go, Steve!”

But Steve didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. His focus was unshakable now. All he could think about was the finish line ahead, a burst of headlights in the distance, growing closer.

They were almost there.

Soda slapped the dashboard as they neared the final stretch. “Just a little further!”

And then, in a flash of headlights and a surge of power, they crossed the line. Steve slammed on the brakes just in time to keep the car from skidding too far.

The crowd went wild, their cheers echoing in the night air. Steve grinned, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He wasn’t the fastest racer out there, but he was damn close.

“You see that?” Soda leaned over, practically vibrating with excitement. “You did it, man. You beat ‘em all!”

Steve looked at him, his grin widening as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “You see the look on their faces? They didn’t even know what hit them.”

Soda laughed, slapping him on the back. “You were born for this.”

The night was filled with laughter and high-fives as the other racers came up to congratulate Steve, though no one could quite match the intensity of the race. As the crowds began to thin out, Steve and Soda stood next to the car, enjoying the cool night breeze, still buzzing from the adrenaline.

“You’re the best, Steve,” Soda said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I swear, no one can race like you.”

Steve grinned, leaning against the hood of the car as he glanced at his best friend. “I’ll give you a shot one of these days, man. But tonight… it’s all about me.”

Soda gave him a playful shove. “Yeah, yeah. Enjoy it while you can, speed demon. You can’t win every race.”

Steve laughed, his eyes sparkling in the glow of the streetlights. “Don’t bet on it.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Authors Note: guess who's getting chipotle??

[jumpywhumpywriter]

A Life in the Hands of the Enemy -- Villain reluctantly saves Hero's Life *BONUS Scene* part 2

Warnings: semi-reformed Villain, kidnapping, ambush, beating of Hero, mention of future torture, broadcasting death

"Amber," he whispered to himself in disbelief. What had she gotten herself into?!

Zack stared blankly at the wall in front of him, processing what had just happened.

Amber. Amber had called him for help. But why him? Did she really trust him that much to put her life in his hands again, even after everything he'd done to her?

On the one hand, Zack could leave her on her own, and not risk the wonderful new life he'd created for himself. He wasn't Villain anymore. But... Amber had also saved him from the death sentence he deserved. He owed her one.

Zack groaned, rubbing his face with his palms. His stupid newfound conscience was getting annoying. The past version of him would stay out of it and let things play out on their own, but... he'd developed a small soft spot for the hot-headed hero. He respected her, maybe a little too much. And whoever had captured her would no doubt have dark plans for her.

But if he did decide to come to Amber's aid... how was he supposed to find her? Her attackers knew what they were doing -- they had taken the time to destroy her phone and ensure they weren't followed.

Tracker, Zack realized with a jolt. He'd never removed the tracking chip he'd given Amber when she was his prisoner. He'd meant it as a means of finding her if she ever escaped his grasp, but now it could be the only thing that saved her. He felt a flicker of pride in himself for that clever foresight on his part, thanking his past self for it.

But there were a few other problems with this situation: firstly, he didn't have his Villain suit to hide his identity, and secondly, he didn't have any of his old weapons that had been confiscated by authorities along with his suit. As a dead man, it wouldn't be wise of him to show up guns blazing without something to cover his face. No one could know he was still alive.

Zack rifled through his closet to find the skii mask he often wore to protect himself when tinkering with things that would generate small sparks. It was perfect.

Now he just needed weapons. He took a look at all the various tools and creations he'd made in his apartment, sprawled out across his work table. Most projects were only half-finished and not functional or reliable. But there were a few he could find use in bringing.

He donned a special belt to hold everything, hooking a modified stun gun to it that could blast high-voltage electricity. Inspired by Supervillain's design when he'd almost killed Amber. He added various fighting knives to his collection, along with some lock picks that might come in handy. Then he sighed, marching to the door next and taking a long black cloak off a hook in the wall that he put on, pulling the hood up over his head after sliding the ski mask on. He wrapped it snugly around himself, hiding the fact that he was heavily armed, and set off to his van.

He drove to the last location Amber's phone had been before it was destroyed, walking into the alley the fight must have taken place. It was as good a place as any to start searching. And it was awful. There was blood visible on the ground, mostly dried by now but the amount of it was what had Zack worried. If it belonged to Amber, it meant she was seriously injured.

And in a small puddle of that blood, was Amber's phone, smashed to smithereens and crushed into the asphalt. Zack's stomach churned with an unknown emotion as he pulled out his own phone, snapping a quick picture of the crime scene in case he needed it later before he pulled up the app connected to the tracker he'd once implanted into Amber's neck. He let out a sharp breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when the signal came through, strong and steady. Only ten miles away from where he was standing.

Zack turned around and walked briskly back to his van. He had a mission to go on.

-------------------------------------------------------

Amber's head was pounding with pain when she came back to consciousness, her ears ringing painfully. Drying blood trailed down her face from her forehead and nose, her broken ankle swollen and throbbing.

She groaned and twitched as her awareness trickled back. Something rough and scratchy was digging into her wrists and ankles, and there was something thick covering her eyes -- she was blindfolded. The rest of the brain fog instantly evaporated in her alarm, and she tugged experimentally against the ropes binding her to -- a chair? What was going on?

And voices. She could hear voices somewhere close.

"...I think she's back," one of them suddenly said.

Footsteps approached, and Amber flinched in surprise when hands touched her head, taking the blindfold off. She squinted at the light that filled her vision, eyes taking a second to adjust.

The first thing she noticed was the camera on a tripod in front of her, then the three men surrounding her, all of which had malicious intent written in their cold expressions.

"Morning sunshine," one man jeered mockingly. "You've been out for quite awhile."

Amber scowled viciously at him with a withering glare, but he only laughed. "What do you want with me?" She snarled angrily.

The man had dark brown hair and eyes, and a small scar on his cheek, and he crouched down in front of the chair Amber was tied to to be eye-level with her. "I'm Roger, and I'm being paid a whopping sum to livestream your death to the city – and I get bonus points depending how long I can draw the torture out. My employer wants to send your hero team a firm message to back off his operations, or he'll start killing other teammates next."

"You're from (Organization)?" Amber gaped in disbelief. She and her team had been tracking them for over a week, interfering with their work and stopping lethal drugs from being transported. They'd been planning to catch and arrest the leader next, destroy everything and put a stop to the business altogether.

"How'd you find me?" Amber demanded, suddenly wary.

"That's not for you to know," Roger chuckled, straightening. "But let's just say your team isn't as secretive and careful as they think they are with their identities."

Amber's face hardened, and she tried to blast him with her fire powers, but only a few pathetic sparks left her hands, making all three men snicker with amusement.

"You must really think we're rookies, don't you?" Roger teased, "to assume we wouldn't take precautions and disable your powers in advance." He gestured to the single metal cuff on her left wrist, right in front of the rope binding it to the arm of the chair. A power-suppressor.

Amber cursed under her breath. How could she have been taken down in the first place?! She was one of the strongest heroes in her team, and she felt she might die of the humiliation long before these men killed her.

The smallest of the three men approached Amber with a syringe in his hand, and Amber leaned as far away from him as possible. "Wait! What is th--" she gasped as he stabbed the needle into her skin, injecting an unknown drug. But whatever it was, took immediate effect. Amber's vision went fuzzy, the world tilting on its axis as she struggled to focus her eyes, a slow, stretching pain taking over.

The man next to Roger stepped behind the camera on the tripod, clicking a button. "We'll be live in 5 seconds," he announced.

Roger slipped a balaclava over his head that covered everything but his eyes and mouth, drawing a sharp hunting knife from his belt, and Amber felt ice-cold adrenaline rush down her spine. No one was going to find her in time. And everyone would be watching her die. On live television.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @whump-queen

[nicklloydnow]

“On Monday, the biotechnology company Colossal Biosciences revealed, with much fanfare, that they have created a trio of white wolf hybrids. Named Romulus, Remus, and Khaleesi, these wolves, Colossal says, were created by making 20 edits on 14 gray wolf genes. These were used to generate hybrid cell lines that were placed in donor eggs, carried to term by domestic dogs. Four pups were born, one of which died. The surviving three now run around a 2,000-acre private facility in the United States where they are “continuously monitored.” It seems that the wolves may never know life outside some kind of confinement.

The company calls these creatures dire wolves, claiming to have brought the species Aenocyon dirus back from extinction. Exactly what Colossal accomplished, however, is opaque. The private company did not publish a scientific, peer-reviewed paper along with its media blitz—there was a flurry of credulous articles that I’m sure you’ve seen on your news feeds—though they promise that a paper is coming next week. A spokesperson told Slate on Wednesday afternoon that the paper has been submitted for peer review, and a preprint version “is being submitted” and should be posted in a day or two. For now, we have precious little to go on outside of the company’s own claims.

(…)

First, dire wolves and gray wolves, like the ones whose genes Colossal modified, evolved independently from each other over millions of years, though the exact degree to which they are related might depend on whom you ask. In 2021 a multidisciplinary group of researchers found that fossil dire wolves, like those found by the thousands in L.A.’s La Brea asphalt seep, were not closely related to the wolves that roam our planet today. Dire wolves appeared to be descendants of an older line of canids (the larger family that includes everything from domestic dogs to foxes) that split off from other canids about 5 million years ago. Though they are genetically closer to jackals, they convergently evolved to resemble gray wolves. The skeletal resemblance can be close enough that even experts sometimes have difficulty properly identifying a dire wolf fossil from a prehistoric gray wolf one. When dire wolves went extinct about 10,000 years ago, gray wolves became more numerous and expanded to fill the niches dire wolves left open.

That’s the current thinking, anyway—as with anything in science, new evidence can change things. Now, Colossal’s own researchers have claimed to journalists that their research has again adjusted the picture, proposing that dire wolves arose from interbreeding between two different wolf lineages between 2.5 million and 3.5 million years ago. This would put them a bit closer to gray wolves. It will be useful to see their reasoning for this shift outlined in a scientific paper, in a format where their techniques can be critiqued by other experts, which is a crucial part of scientific research. But even so, it’s hard to imagine that even a “mere” 2.5 million years of evolutionary change can be captured by 20 gene edits. (According to a statement from Colossal Biosciences sent to Slate, the company aimed “to resurrect the key traits that defined dire wolves.” Its team stopped at 20 edits“[b]ecause we didn’t need more” and because every edit poses some risk to the goal of birthing a health animal.)

Then there’s the Biology 101 fact that an organism is not just its genome. Even if Colossal did make a wolf with a complete Aenocyon dirus genome, those genes would not dictate every choice and every behavior of the creatures they belonged to. The reality is that genes interact with environments, and organisms emerge from the interplay from the two. We know from the fossil record that dire wolves were social creatures, but we’re too late to observe exactly how each generation of pups learned skills from the one before it. Romulus, Remus, and Khaleesi do not have dire wolf parents to learn from—and we have absolutely no way of knowing whether they are truly behaving like dire wolves at all.

(…)

What we’re really looking at, it seems, are gray wolves modified to be dire wolves of George R.R. Martin’s books rather than living, breathing replicas of the actual prehistoric carnivores that hunted bison, horses, camels, and baby mammoths in packs during the Pleistocene. They look like the animal actors on the HBO adaptation of Game of Thrones. Given that Martin is both an investor in and adviser to Colossal, it feels awfully convenient that the company is heavily promoting wolves that are the spitting image of those in his fantasy series. The canids might be “dire wolves” in the fictional sense, but they are not literally dire wolves. Romulus, Remus, and Khaleesi are, at best, a shaky hypothesis of what dire wolves might have looked like. As creatures that were created by modifying modern organisms, and who live in modern times, they are untethered from the evolutionary history embodied by the real dire wolves who now rest in the fossil record. Sure, Colossal has, perhaps, done something here. But Colossal’s wolves are not dire wolves, and they never will be. “As one of our founders stated, ‘this is the moon landing of synthetic biology,’ ” Colossal told Slate in a statement. But the fact is that gene editing can’t reconnect the social lives and ecological roles of animals that have been extinct for thousands of years. Trying to “bring back” dire wolves by modifying gray wolves is like saying you can reach the moon if you jump really high on a trampoline. Maybe you can get an inch closer than you could before. Maybe you can put the trampoline on a platform, too. But you’ll never arrive.

To put it another way, Colossal’s dire wolves are like Tesla’s disastrous Cybertruck. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the co-founder of Colossal is a billionaire. Someone rich felt a pang of nostalgia and made a demand. The infamous and ugly Cybertruck was inspired by video game vehicles. Colossal’s wolves are prestige TV creatures. This kind of thinking is everywhere: Blue Origin is sending Katy Perry way high up into the sky, a stunt to help sell a sci-fi daydream of one day taking a bus to Moon. This isn’t progress; it’s a bunch of toys. Meanwhile, the government is actively gutting science and health agencies, and firing people who do the challenging and often-unglamourous work that research involves—not for personal glory and a shiny press treatment, but simply to advance knowledge and make the world better for the humans and creatures who already live here. Careful and painstaking conservation work, such as the work restoring wood bison herds to Alaska, is overlooked in favor of designer species given meme-sprinkled promo reels.

Facts, as we have bitterly learned over the past two decades, count for little right now. Colossal’s very questionable marketing of its genetic tinkering has already prompted Donald Trump’s oil-friendly Secretary of the Interior Doug Burgum to insinuate that the endangered species list will be a thing of the past if we can just refresh and resurrect species at will. “[T]he status quo is focused on regulation more than innovation,” he posted on X. To say Colossal is the future of conservation is to task the offensively wealthy with deciding the future of life on Earth. Any number of environmental injuries and insults can be justified if we believe that everything can be placed back how it was with a little innovation. Looking at Colossal’s wolves, I don’t even feel a “wow” moment like Ellie Sattler had spotting an InGen-made Brachiosaurus in Jurassic Park. I hurt for these wolves, creatures wholly unaware that they were created to be trophies.”

[doom-dreaming]

well it's not perfect but i'm having fun. here's the intro scene of a fic i never published anywhere

i'm gonna be so honest, i barely remember what i was doing with this fic. i think i was mostly combining the aspects i liked best from bayverse and tfp in terms of plot and worldbuilding, plus pulling in bits and pieces of other continuities to suit my whims. it's been (checks watch) 10 entire calendar years

whatever. go my scarab seeker

It wasn't unusual for Ratchet to hear the white noise of military bustle outside the medbay. However, it was slightly more unusual that he was able to hear it from his office in the back of the bay. And it was downright unprecedented at two in the morning. Expelling a heavy sigh, he pushed away from his desk just as the doors to the medbay hissed open, admitting the towering figure of the Prime. The noise in the outer hall swelled behind him, then faded again as the doors shut.

"What in the name of Primus are you doing online at this joor?"

"I could ask the same of you."

Ratchet snorted. "I'm up to my aft in piles of slag that resemble reports. What's your excuse?"

Optimus chuckled briefly, but the medic noticed the mirth didn’t quite reach his optics. “There’s been…a landing.”

"Last time I checked, you were the diplomat around here," Ratchet groused, narrowing his optics. "Why do you need me?"

"...a crash landing," came the somber clarification.

"...well. I guess that's as good a reason as any,” Ratchet muttered. “I take it that's what's got everyone so excited?"

Optimus nodded as Ratchet joined him, but didn’t offer any elaboration.

It seemed as though the entire base was up in arms. Hundreds of soldiers in full combat gear swarmed through the halls, weaving deftly around the feet of the metal giants that picked through the crowd alongside them.

“I’m going to need a little more information on this, Prime,” Ratchet pressed. “I’m assuming we’re dealing with a single Autobot flier, but it would be nice to have some confirmation.”

“Flier, yes. Alone, yes.” Optimus glanced sideways at his CMO. “But she’s not an Autobot.”

Ratchet balked. “Not a—she?! Prime! This had better not be who I think—” The scene on the tarmac turned the rest of his sentence to static.

Dozens of human soldiers swarmed in a nervous knot around a still shape on the ground—as close as they could get, anyway. Dull pinkish-orange fluid had already begun pooling, creeping outward in slow rivulets, following the texture of the asphalt. It cast a grotesque glow that reflected off the flier’s frame, now twisted into unsettling angles.

Immediately, instinct and training took over. “Let me in there,” Ratchet barked, stepping toward the motionless form. The murmuring humans immediately fell silent and cleared a path, allowing him to kneel.

He instantly understood what Optimus had meant when he’d said she wasn’t an Autobot. Ratchet had assumed the worst, but it turned out she wasn’t a Decepticon either. Not that she hadn’t been—he noticed the insignia on her wings, what was left of them—but her faction modifier was currently set at Neutral. A brief twinge of suspicion flickered at the back of his processor, but he pushed it aside. He could worry about politics later.

As gently as he could manage, he rolled her onto her side, wincing at the sound of grinding metal. Other than the faint warmth that still lingered in it, her frame felt like a corpse; limp, unresponsive. Frayed wires sparked at random intervals; external plating had turned into shrapnel on impact, shearing through energon lines—the majority of which weren’t too vital on their own, but… “She’s losing the most from her wings.” He leaned in closer, then looked over his shoulder at Optimus. “Fell on her left side. Supports for this wing are completely useless; leg’s shattered. I need to get her back to the medbay and start operating before she bleeds out. ...sure as the Pit won’t be flying anytime soon.”

Optimus acknowledged him with a slight nod and turned to issue orders to the other officers nearby, leaving Ratchet to carry the wounded flier—Seeker; no one could mistake such a recognizable frame type—back to the medbay. Fresh, warm energon had soaked his hands by the time he made it through the bay doors; her frame only seemed to get colder and heavier as the breems ticked by. The medic sighed to himself. Another report for the pile.

[42bakery]

I've always wondered why gravel traps can't be substituted for other things like grass that seems like at least wouldn't hurt as much as falling on rocks?

Hi there anon 👋👋👋👋

Okay the problem is that most of the tracks are shared. it's not just MotoGP using them, it's also WSBK, F1, FE and other racing series which I don't know the names of. What works for 1 particular vehicle, might not work for another.

I think the main issue with grass is that 1) is more slippery and can cause crashes, specially when wet and 2) it doesn't slow down cars, which basically don't penalize them for going out of track the same way gravel traps do.

What has been prove to work amazing to avoid track limits and don't cause crashes is the infamous Misano 200 Pianos.

Those are the ones Jerez installed for MotoGP. I don't know if you can see them properly, but as the piano distances from the track, they become taller. The way they work is that at certain point, the bikes start to vibrate, and it upset them. At the end, the riders are forced to approach the track again and for the next lap, they know it, they tend to modify they lines to keep them tighter and less speed, so less crashes.

And if they work so well, why don't we use them more? Because F1 cars! They run so low that those pianos destroy the floors, so the circuits would need to put them for MotoGP, WSBK and other bike series (such as JuniorGP or EWC) and then take them away, and they don't want to invest that much money. Also FIA threated Qatar if they didn't take them away after the disaster it was the first time F1 raced there. I think Qatar has refused, because for MotoGP they still use those pianos

Another thing that could really work is what Paul Ricard track has, which is different asphalts which gets more abrasive as the go away from the track.

If I remember correctly, res strips are more abrasive than the red one, but I'm not really sure nor invested in F1 to keep track of that.

So why we don't see them more often? Because FIA hates them. Gravel trap is what give races some emotions due to the potential of a car getting stuck there.

So basically, MotoGP always gets the short straw in safety matters when a space is shared between MotoGP and F1.

I hope this answer your question, and it doesn't just look like I'm rambling and showing my hate towards F1 and FIA

[lastimeexteriors-nebraska]

Can asphalt shingles be used on low-pitch roofs?

Did you know that while asphalt shingles are a popular choice for many homes, they aren't suitable for every roof type? Specifically, their performance can be compromised on low-pitch roofs, potentially leading to issues like water leakage and reduced lifespan.

If you're considering asphalt shingles for a low-pitch roof, it's essential to understand the challenges and make informed decisions. Equally important is selecting a reliable roofing contractor who can provide expert guidance and quality installation. The right contractor ensures your roof's durability, safety, and aesthetic appeal, giving you peace of mind for years to come.

In this article, we'll explore the suitability of asphalt shingles for low-pitch roofs and offer practical advice on hiring a trustworthy contractor. With the right information, you can navigate this process confidently and achieve a successful roofing project.

Understanding Roof Pitch and Asphalt Shingles

What Is Roof Pitch?

Roof pitch refers to the steepness or slope of a roof, typically expressed as a ratio of vertical rise to horizontal run. For example, a 4:12 pitch means the roof rises 4 inches for every 12 inches of horizontal distance.

Minimum Slope for Asphalt Shingles

Asphalt shingles are generally recommended for roofs with a pitch of 4:12 or steeper. However, they can be installed on slopes as low as 2:12, provided special underlayment techniques are used to enhance water resistance.

Risks of Using Asphalt Shingles on Low-Pitch Roofs

Installing asphalt shingles on low-pitch roofs can lead to:

Water Leakage: Shallower slopes may not shed water effectively, increasing the risk of leaks.

Reduced Lifespan: Increased exposure to standing water can cause shingles to deteriorate faster.

Warranty Issues: Some manufacturers may void warranties if shingles are installed on slopes below their recommended minimum.

Alternative Roofing Materials for Low-Pitch Roofs

If your roof has a low pitch, consider these alternatives:

Modified Bitumen: A flexible, durable material suitable for low-slope applications.

Single-Ply Membranes (e.g., TPO, EPDM): Lightweight and resistant to weathering, ideal for low-slope roofs.

Built-Up Roofing (BUR): Multiple layers of bitumen and reinforcing fabrics create a durable, waterproof membrane.

Hiring a Reliable Asphalt Roofing Contractor

Choosing the right contractor is crucial for a successful roofing project. Here's how to find one you can trust:

Verify Licenses and Insurance

Ensure the contractor has the following:

Proper Licensing: Confirms they meet local requirements and adhere to building codes.

Insurance Coverage: Protects you from liability in case of accidents or property damage during the project.

Check References and Reviews

Ask for References: Speak with previous clients about their experiences.

Read Online Reviews: Look for consistent positive feedback and any red flags.

Evaluate Experience with Asphalt Roofing

Years in Business: Experience often correlates with reliability and quality workmanship.

Specialization: Ensure they have specific experience with asphalt shingles and low-pitch roofs, if applicable.

Review Portfolios

Previous Projects: Examine completed projects to assess quality and attention to detail.

Diverse Experience: A varied portfolio indicates adaptability to different roofing challenges.

Understand Warranties

Workmanship Warranty: Covers installation-related issues.

Manufacturer’s Warranty: Covers defects in roofing materials.

Compare Written Estimates

Detailed Quotes: Ensure estimates include labor, materials, and any additional costs.

Value Over Price: The lowest bid isn't always the best; consider the quality of materials and workmanship.

Key Questions to Ask During Consultations

When meeting with potential contractors, consider asking:

What is your experience with low-pitch roofs and asphalt shingles?

Can you provide references from recent clients?

What warranties do you offer on materials and workmanship?

How do you handle unforeseen issues during the project?

What is the projected timeline for completion?

Making an Informed Decision

Selecting the right contractor involves careful consideration:

Research Thoroughly: Use online resources, seek recommendations, and verify credentials.

Trust Your Instincts: Choose someone who communicates clearly and makes you feel comfortable.

Get Everything in Writing: Contracts should detail the scope of work, payment schedules, and warranties.

Conclusion

While asphalt shingles can be used on low-pitch roofs with proper precautions, it's essential to assess their suitability for your specific situation. Equally important is hiring a reliable contractor who can provide expert advice and quality installation. By following the steps outlined above, you can make informed decisions that enhance your home's value and protection.

Take the first step today: conduct thorough research, seek recommendations, and choose a contractor who will ensure your roofing project is a success. With the right guidance, you'll find the process straightforward and rewarding.