#--you had with you was this is a matter of great importance

[hollandsfavbabe]

Wet & Wild II

pairing: art donaldson x reader

synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life

warnings: SMUT, porn with a plot, sexually explicit language, cursing, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, nipple play, locker room sex, swimmer lingo

word count: 5.5k

part 1

tags💜: @midnightwrriting @no1runawaymilkdad @ihave-aboringlife @blahhucantmakeme @laniirackssss @blood-bloss @lmaoyani @geminiflanagansblog @ruyaas-world @hrlzy @povobsessed @stephstephstephsteph @chakin @10ava01 @lem0ns77 @velvrei @hdhdhdndhdndk

masterlist

a/n: sorry if the tags aren’t working, I tried to include everyone that wanted it. lmk if you have questions on anything. hope you enjoy!!

A week has passed since the last time you’d seen Art and you try to rid any thoughts of him from your mind as you enter the women’s locker room, the day so early that the sun has only just risen. You’d only spent a few hours with him, but he feels more important to you than a mere acquaintance, especially considering you’d let him have more of you than most people would ever get to. You try to tell yourself it won’t matter if he shows or not, but deep down you know that it will. Regardless, overthinking won’t help you in the water so you shove it down as you steadily pull on your tech suit, careful not to rip the delicate fabric. Your headphones are currently blaring your hype playlist in your ear, but you slide them off once you notice movement to your left as Chloe opens her own locker.

“You ready?” she asks you, pulling out her own racing suit from the depths of her swim bag.

“Not really,” you admit, giving up on stretching your tight suit to your full body frame for the time being as you opt for a tie-back bikini top instead. Your shoulders are ever so grateful. “I’m so nervous.”

“Why? Because of your race or your little tennis boyfriend?” she teases, lips quirking into a classic Chloe smirk. As your best friend, she was the first and only person you told about your interaction with Art at the party and, of course, she had been teasing you about it since. While during practice it was amusing, you are not in the mood for jokes right before a race, especially one of such importance.

You furrow a brow, shaking your head to signal that it’s not the time for such jests concerning the blonde. As the good friend that she is, Chloe immediately understands as she moves to help tie your suit straps, a simple task that you are unexpectedly failing at due to the pressure of the meet ahead of you.

“You’re going to do great,” Chloe comforts, placing an assuring hand on your shoulder once she’s finished with your straps. “I’m sure of it.”

“What if I don’t break the record?”

“Who cares? You can try again next time. If that’s the worst that can happen, you don’t have anything to be nervous about,” she smiles in assurance. “Besides that record is as good as yours -” she makes a gesture to your tech suit that has the most magical of time bending abilities if wielded by the right swimmer. “You’ve worked so hard for this. Nothing can stop you now.”

“Thanks Clo.” you grin at her appreciatively, and though your nerves don’t settle in the slightest, you feel more comfortable living in cohabitation with them now. They’re so much easier to manage when you’re not alone.

It’s only minutes before the rest of your team has arrived and you have hours before your event is scheduled to take place, yet it only feels like seconds before you’re being seated in the waiting room amongst your competitors, tech suit finally fully on. Rousing music plays through your headphones though you are sure to skip any songs that seem even the slightest bit romantic. You try to slip into the right headspace, the line between confident and cocky that has always aided you in not panicking just before you step up to the blocks in the past. You try to find it, using any method at your fingertips, but it’s no use. You can’t seem to find it no matter how hard you try and suddenly it feels as if the weight of the world is crashing down on you when the door opens and your event is called. You stand with the other women and together you line up behind the blocks.

The sun shines much higher up in the sky than it had been when you dove in during warm ups, blaring down to reflect off the red of your cap that bears the Stanford logo in white along with your last name. You take your rightful place behind the starting block of the middle lane, and though you already wrote your heat and lane in black sharpie on your forearm just to be sure, you can’t help but worry that you’ve already missed your race.

It’s only when the head announcer calls your event on the loudspeaker that you stop dwelling on it, her voice echoing through the stands that seem so much taller now that you're in the center with so much pressure resting solely on you. You rake though the rafters to your left, hoping to be comforted by the sight of Chloe or one of your other teammates until you realize that they are more than likely preparing for their own events in the warm up pool.

It's then, just when the swirling hurricane of emotions is hurtling toward you, that you see him. He’s seated in the first row, blonde curls circling his head like a golden crown and a wide smile lighting up his face when he sees that you’ve finally spotted him, one that you can’t help returning as he mouths sweet wishes of luck to you.

Art came. He actually came!

The storm subsides and all of a sudden you’ve lost all your inhibitions. Instead of buzzing anxiety, you are filled with a new light and the confidence of a record breaker. It’s all so clear with Art in the stands and as his presence wafts away your storm of worries, you come to the realization that you can do it. You know you can.

The whistle of an official blares through the speaker and on cue you slide on your goggles and mount the block. You’re really starting to feel the compression of your suit as you bend into your diving position, waiting for the magic words. The signal that it’s time to race and leave everything you have in the pool as you go.

“Swimmers, take your marks…” 

You take one last breath before the sound blares and you dive off the block. It all comes naturally to you and with the help of your suit, you find yourself breaking out farther than ever before.

You only have a few strokes until you’re at the end of the pool when out of nowhere, the girl in the lane beside you starts to catch up to you until the two of you are neck and neck and it doesn’t escape your attention when she flips a split second before you’re able to.

You know it’s not about winning, you told Art that, but it’s as if a fire has been lit behind you and you’re suddenly determined to go for the gold. You push yourself harder than you ever have before and though you're not sure where the energy has come from, you know it’s exactly what you need. You’ve failed if you’re able to get out of the pool without stumbling.

Before long you catch up to the swimmer beside you, taking your first and only breath as you summon the last of your power, pushing through the water like a jet-ski. At once you’re behind the flags and unlike before, there’s no one beating you to the touch pad resting on the side of the ending wall as you slam your hand down and come up for air.

The crowd erupts with applause once you finish and at first you’re under the impression that it’s because of your win until your eyes glaze over at the scoreboard and nearly burst from your skull at the sight of the result.

You had accomplished your goal. There it was, a time faster than the Stanford record glowing right beside your name. But you didn’t just pass it by a few flimsy hundredths. Your new record was more than a second faster.

You can hardly believe it and you know if the proof weren’t right in front of you, there’d only be disbelief instead of this crashing wave of accomplishment and pride. Though you’re in severe oxygen debt from the race, you find yourself screaming in excitement at your gigantic accomplishment.

“We have a new record!” an official announces through the loudspeaker once the other girls have returned to the starting wall, followed by your name and new time. You search for Art again once you’re out of the water, all but failing to suppress your grin as you find him clapping in the stands and smiling down at you as if you were the most precious stone in the world.

Your teammates are filled with the same immense pride when you join them in the locker room once the meet is over. You’ve since changed from your tech suit, switching out the tight fabric for your cozy hoodie, tie-back bikini top, and a towel tied around your waist. The suit in question now hangs in your locker with the rest of your clothes that you had been in the middle of putting on before the congradulations began.

“I fucking told you!” Chloe shouts, clapping you on the back like you had just won the lottery. You imagine such a feat couldn’t match the pride you feel now.

You almost say that you can’t believe it, but the words stall on your lips. You actually can believe it, this is something you’ve been working tirelessly for. And now, after a long hard race, the record title is finally yours.

“Did I see a certain blonde in the audience?” Chloe smirks, nudging you as you wave goodbye to one of your other parting teammates.

“Maybe,” you drawl, trying your best to hide your growing grin, but the thought of the man makes you feel like flying through the air as year worth of buried emotions bubble up to the surface. You haven’t felt anything like this for a very long time.

“You know what that means…” Chloe whispers to you after you pull away from a hug with one of the other girls who like everyone else, is on her way out. The night’s party is being hosted at a house that’s a longer commute than usual in honor of the women’s tenth annual win and unlike your teammates, you aren’t in any hurry to get there knowing the a portion of the celebration will surround you.

“Drinks on you?” you guess, pretending you are clueless as to what she’s getting at. You hope it’s enough to deter her from whatever inevitably grotesque she’s about to say, but you know it’s to no avail as she laughs and shakes her head.

“Nice try,” she smiles, nudging you with her elbow. “I meant that he’s definetly going to fuck the shit out of you next time you see him.”

You cringe bashfully at her words, hitting her on the shoulder as she backs away from your shrunken form.

“Chloe!” you chide, though you both know no real anger lies within your tone. She’s been like this since the day you’d first met her: always the same old loving, indecorous Chloe.

“Just saying.” she shrugs before turning to say her goodbyes to the last lingering one of your other teammates.

You turn to open your locker, finally ready to change out of your damp towel until you’re startled by the clacking footsteps of unfamiliar tennis shoes heading in your direction. You assume it’s another random spectator who had bypassed the many signs clearly stating that the locker room is for athlete occupance only, but at once you find you’re very wrong when you turn to see who it is.

Art stands before you and though it was his decision to invade the women’s locker room, he looks as surprised as you.

“Hey,” he says, almost breathlessly. You’re thankful when you notice that Chloe is fully dressed to your left, just pulling on her knit cardigan.

She smirks smuggly at the sight of him, swinging her bag over her shoulders before sending you a wink and a swiftly muttered, “Told ya.” Without another word she exits, leaving you and Art utterly and completely alone.

“You realize this is the women’s restroom, right?” you jab as you hear Chloe shut the door behind her, though it’s all in good fun. As far as you know, no one is coming anywhere near the locker room for the next several hours.

“I was waiting outside for you,” he states, gradually lifting his hands from their tense place in the front of his jean pockets. “I thought everyone else had already come out, but I guess I was wrong.”

“That’s just Chloe,” you laugh, gesturing in the direction of the exit path your best friend had just taken. “Don’t worry, she won’t tattle.”

He chuckles, amused by your jest before he takes a slow step closer to you. Like a sparkler to your stomach, you become acutely aware of the tension between the two of you, growing like the blush colored blossoms of a cherry tree in spring. “I’ve thought about what you said.”

This makes you smile.

“And?”

“You were right.”

You’re heart flutters, so light that if it weren’t encaged within your chest you’re sure it would’ve floated away. He pauses to take another tense step in your direction, now only a foot away.

“Do you know how Tashi and I met?”

“I don’t, actually,” you say, words laced with a twinge of sarcasm.

“Right,” he laughs, realizing the folly behind his question. It was more rhetorical than anything, but he begins the story like a spider spindiling its web. “Well it was only about a year ago. We met at the US open. Patrick and I both went after her and you know what she told us?”

You wait for the answer.

“She said she’d give her number to whoever won our match. That was the first time I ever lost and it was to my best friend.”

“That’s who was at your match, wasn’t it?” you ask.

Art nods solumnly, though the pain that had been etched on his face from your last meeting has vanished, as if the thorn in his side has been replced by a budding rose.

“I didn’t know Art, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he urges. “It’s all okay now. I’ve realized that none of it matters anymore and it’s all because of you. If I’m being honest, I thought maybe if I won my match, then Tashi would leave him. But it’s not what I want anymore. I don’t want to be the winner she’s running to. I don’t want to have to earn her love.”

“What do you want?”

There’s a pause, a distinct moment where the glint in his blue eyes from the bright lights above conveys a clever message to you than any words could. Then he speaks.

“I think you know what I want.”

It’s all the confirmation you need to know that he’s finally playing the same game as you. He’s unbearably close now as his head reaches up to gently rake through your stringy wet hair. You welcome his touch, breath catching in your throat at the feeling of his fingers as his lips hover just above yours. If you’re being completely honest, you haven’t stopped fantasizing about it since the night of the party. Since the moment he had kissed you.

“You were right,” he whispers as his hot breath tickles the tips of your top lips with every placid word. “I don’t care about winning anymore. The only point I want to score is you.”

“That’s a really bad joke.” you remark, pointing out the obvious from his corny declaration. But Art doesn’t share your smirk, his face settling in an expression that’s much more sensual.

“I’m not kidding.”

You feel the immediate shift in energy as your smirk fades to parted lips and Art’s longing gaze moves downward from your eyes. What little space left between you is squashed as you allow him to pull you even closer, noses prodigy one another as Art’s fingers drift from the tips of your hair to cup the back of your head. It’s almost salivating the way he looks at you and you’re suddenly eager to remember what he tastes like.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks through a whisper, so quietly that if you hadn’t been right in front of him, you surely wouldn’t have heard it. It’s milliseconds before you’re nodding exuberantly with more urgency than a speeding ambulance (something you might need if your heart decided to beat any faster).

“Pleas-” you start, but Art’s on you before you can even get the word out, covering your lips with his until all you can taste, smell, and feel is him. Everything is him.

He’s gentle with you at first, testing the waters as his lips pass smoothly over yours. You lift up your hands to invite him in, squeezing the toned flesh of his arms before you drag them slowly up to the nape of his neck. You toy with some of the curls that rest there, twirling them between your fingers while sinking into the sounds he makes in return. He lets out a soft moan into your mouth, and at once his tongue melds with yours. You match the new intensity, swallowing each low groan.

Unlike your last encounter, it’s Art who pulls away this time, forcing you to scowl at him in confusion, eyes squinting and lips puffy. He twists his head to the left, glazing at the wide space behind him as he slowly moves the both of you backwards to the nearest flat-board bench until one of its edges grazes the top of his shin.

“What are you doing?” you ask through a whisper, leaning forward so that your lips titillate the tip of his ear which sends inadvertent shivers through his whole body. Art turns back to you, smirking as he leans in for another sloppy kiss, earning a salacious sound from you before his lips shift from yours and trailing from the corner of your mouth to the line of your open jaw where his teeth scrape against your skin. You can feel him grinning as he makes you emit the softest of moans.

“I want to make up for the other night. I said some things - I’m not proud of.”

You give a giddy chuckle as you cup his cheek, amused by the fact that he thinks his past behavior was inexcusable until Art’s head dips to suck on the tender skin of your neck and you can’t help but whine. You’re glad you have the lung capacity of a swimmer otherwise you might’ve fainted from the near constant lack of oxygen.

“Art, honestly-” a sudden gasp is ripped from you as you feel him nipping at your sweet spot, crumbling like a tin can under pressure. “-it’s fine.” you barely manage to finish your sentence.

He places a few more steady kisses to the column of your neck, working his way down to your clavicle. You tip your head back, an unintentional effect from the sensation of his lips as he lays the last just near the edge of your collarbone before raising his head to look at you and it’s almost as if he can see right through you.

“Does that mean you don’t want what I’m offering?” he questions, glancing down at the steady movement of your chest as it rises and falls beneath your hoodie. You don’t recall when in the last few minutes he managed to move his hands down to your waist, but you can feel them now as clear as ever. He grips the sides of your hoodie, nimble fingers sliding under the thick gray fabric until they find the skin beneath and his touch feels like fire, sparking flames along your hips with every small caress. It’s so hot that you aren’t sure how Tashi could pick anyone over him. You aren’t sure how anyone could deny him for that matter.

“No…” you admit and at once his hands start to travel higher and higher until they reach the bottom band of your bikini, inflaming the whole of your torso as he meets the straps still tied neatly together in the middle of your spine forming a perfect bow. His fingers follow the provided path, meeting at the center of your back as he starts to twirl one of the tails of the knot around his pointer finger.

“May I?” he asks, his tone so deceivingly politely as he gently tugs on the string. He waits patiently for your consent as his eyes pan up from your chest to your expression. You can’t get the words out, already too overwhelmed from the sizzling sensation of his touch, but you make sure to nod with the utmost enthusiasm. Who were you to tell Art Donaldson no when he was so eager to touch you? And you, in turn, were so eager to feel him.

He smiled at your agreeance and instantly unfastened the tie of your suit, pulling on the strand until the entire bow came undone. He lips pressed against yours once more before he settled down on the bench and raised the hem of your hoodie just enough to expose your stomach, peppering kisses to every inch of you.

You released your hold on him to assist in pulling the hoodie over your head, tossing it behind you where it lands in a crumple pile near the metal door of your locker. Without any tension left to hold it up, the triangle cutlets of your bikini slump to reveal two perfect pebbled nipples, leaving the towel looped around your waist as your only source of coverage.

Usually you’d feel insecure being so bare for a man that’s practically a stranger, but from the dazed look Art gives you as he takes in the sight of your figure, you find that you don’t mind it in the slightest.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Art mutters almost involuntarily, sending shock waves down straight to your core. The words came bursting out before he could find the strength to hold them back, his brain too busy processing your beauty to have any control over any sort of filter. You return your hands to his head of blonde curls just as he presses one last kiss to the center of your abdomen, exactly below your rib cage.

The movement is so sudden that you can't count the seconds that pass before he grabs at your breasts, each hand perfectly cupping the mounted flesh. His mouth is slower, trailing kisses up the valley of your chest.

His thumb works the sensitive skin encircling your nipple, running over the hardened peak in an unperceivable pattern that forces another well earned moan from your lips. It’s encouragement for his other hand that immediately drifts upwards to mirror the actions of the other. Every pinch and slight movement is like gasoline to your fire, all pouring in a downward stream to the part of you that grows more needy with every passing second. You could cry from the sensation of it all, the intensity only growing when you feel him pass his tongue over your left nipple. You try to suppress any sounds this time, teeth biting down on your lip as you curve your head back, but it forces its way out despite your efforts. You grip the hair fixed to his crown and pressure him forwards so that he remains in place.

“Shit, that feels - really good.” you praise, your phrase strung together like an old beaded bracelet as changes in pace break apart each word. When Art does part from your breasts, it’s to press wet kisses down the line of your abdomen as flickering thumbs replace his mouth. He pauses as he reaches the softest portion of your stomach, stopping just above the knot that is covering your very bare lower half, and though you don’t recall informing him about your lack of undergarments, you are sure that he already knows.

“I need to taste you,” he whispers against your skin.

He doesn’t ask you for permission anymore, but instead glances up at you from his spot on the bench and it’s everything you need to understand what he wants from you. And of course you want it. You’re sure if he wastes a second longer to tend to your throbbing center, you might just pass out in his sturdy arms.

“Please, Art, I need you,” you’re able to get out, though it’s breathy and delicate from the way that he’s rendered you.

He’s quick to oblige as he takes the top of your towel cover in between his perfect white teeth and yanks the fabric hard enough for it to fall to your feet. He’s on you in an instant, one of his hands moving to support your shaky frame as he slides a knee between yours to spread you open.

He coaxes every cry out of you with his tongue, wet and skilled as he traces it along each fold, his nose bobbing against your swollen clit not dissimilar from his left hand that still lies atop your breast. You press him closer to you as he swirls his tongue around you, over and over and never in the same way more than twice in a row. It’s overstimulation at its best, overwhelming you until you're trembling in his grasp and before you know it, you’re riding the edge of the wave to pure pleasure.

“Fuck, Art! I’m- I’m-“ you can’t even finish your sentence, he feels so good. He hums against you in amusement, the vibrations of his voice meeting your core in a melting sensation that you find yourself grinding into uncontrollably.

“On my tongue,” he promotes against you before licking a steady stripe along your center. It’s then that you know you’re done for. Your cry is almost inhuman as you leap off the edge, diving into the heart of the wave as Art finally relinquishes his hold on your breast and uses the newly unoccupied hand to pierce into your arousal, calloused fingers curling into you as he helps you down from your high. Even after you cum you know you still have more in you. And you can tell from the growing bulge in his pants that Art isn’t done with you either.

He stands to kiss you with dampened lips as the taste of your own arousal invades your senses, but you withdraw from the embrace after only a few seconds to ask him your burning question, desire already regrowing like a flooding river of need.

“Art, I need you,” you start, pulling at the canvas material of his button up. “Please, please fuck me.”

“Oh fuck,” he mumbles before pressing his mouth towards yours and back you up to the wall of lockers that are neatly arranged behind you.

Granted by his permission, you unfasten each button of his shirt until it’s enough to pull it off him which he happily helps you accomplish. You can’t tell who’s more desperate for you to feel the dense muscle of his chest as he places your palms face down on his pecs, granting you the assurance you needed to explore his body.

You take your time, squeezing and prodding just as he had done to you until one of your hands is low enough on his stomach to palm him through his light wash jeans. The soft whimper he returns is nearly enough to send you over again. He pulls back as he lets you undo his belt, eyelids fluttering after you’ve unbuttoned and unzipped the only thing keeping you from him. You’re quick to pull him out, not at all shocked by how hard he is and it’s a major ego boost knowing it’s all because of you.

“See what you do to me?” he whispers against your lips as if you needed more proof of his longing for you. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Please,” you beg. “I need to feel you.”

Art is quick to oblige as his calloused fingers grip the soft skin of your hips, so rough that you can feel every callus from his racket as he pushes you against the lockers, thrusting up into you. While he’s dying to continue, he hesitates so that you can acclimate to his size. It takes no longer than a second as you release a guttural groan and wrap a leg around his waist, aiding him in hitting even deeper within you.

“Fuck!” you cry, throwing your head back against the cold metal as Art nips at your neckline again. You’re drowning beneath the blissful rocky wave and from the sounds that he’s making, almost re-enacting one of his matches just for you, you can tell that Art is too.

It happens so quickly that your mind struggles to understand it, spinning wildly as the wave pulls you under once more along with Art who finishes in a similar amount of time. You lean into his chest, breathing heavily as you take in the heavenly scent of his undoubtedly expensive cologne and slightly wincing as he pulls out of you slowly. He ducks to pick up your fallen towel as he starts to clean you up.

The realization that it’s over doesn't quite hit you until Art helps you get dressed, buckling his belt back up only once you’re decent and in return you hand him a spare shirt so he doesn’t have to redo every button on the one you’d nearly torn off him.

“Thanks,” he smiles gratefully, pulling on your shirt which fits tighter around him than it would around you, though it’s nothing to complain about as every miniscule ripple of muscle is on display.

You’re both thinking the exact same thing as you exit the locker room, hand in hand with the same guilty expression on your face as you pass an incoming janitor who is too busy scowling to ask Art what he was doing in the women’s locker room. It’s obvious from the encounter that it won’t be your last and as Art drives you to the planned frat party, you’re even sure that it’s not the last of the night.

Time proves you right as you’re seated next to Art a few weeks later, curled into his side as you share a large plate of the appetizer combo at a local Applebees. It was the only thing open after a long day of matches and meets and steamy rendezvous in between. The two of you were going on steadier than the trunks of ancient trees as you continue to support each other, you attending all of Art’s matches ( even if it meant skipping a practice or two) and Art cheering for you at all of your meets. You’re not sure if it’s the consistent attendance, but the both of you were only getting better at your respective hobbies by the day, particularly Art who hadn’t lost a match since meeting you.

You’re both jokingly arguing over who gets the last quesadilla when a familiar woman stops near your table, joined by a man you’d never seen before, though you recognize him from several of Art's detailed stories. He straightens beside you, gathering himself to greet the new company.

“Hey guys, long time no see!”

“Art,” Patrick nods to his friend before smiling to you and offering his hand, one that you take without a second thought. “I’m Patrick.”

“I know,” you admit. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You must be Tashi.” you turn to the girl and you can’t help, but analyze the peculiarities of her expression. It’s clear she is content with her own man of choice, but something about the way she looks at you tells you that she’s still involved in the tennis philosophy you managed to screw out of Art. She looks at you like you’re a player she’s lost to. And from what Art’s told you, you're certain it’s the first time Tashi has lost.

“It’s nice to meet you.” she fakes a smile before pulling Patrick to the door, careful not to stay long enough for the conversation to lead anywhere important. It’s awkward and strange, but you know it’s for the best. You’re not particularly interested in anything she has to say anyways.

“Did you see that?” you ask, pointing in the direction of the doorway that the couple had used for an easy escape.

“What?” Art wonders, looking towards you in anticipation.

“I think she’s looking for a new winner.”

Art leans in to peck the apple of your cheek, assurance that no matter the circumstance, he’ll never be available to the likes of Tashi Duncan again.

“Must be because I’ve won,” he reasons, “-because I have you and there’s nothing she can do to separate us.”

You smile at his sweet words, praying that he never ceases to use his talent for affectionate poetry as you lean in to kiss him. Whether he wins or loses or even never plays again, you couldn’t care less about the outcome of his career. As long as Art’s happy, you’re prepared to take on any challenge you’re put up to, whether on the court or in the pool.

[forest-hashira]

this absolutely would not leave me alone, in reference to this post. @fushigurro thank u for supporting/enabling me. divider by cafekitsune. this is omegaverse, mentions of heat cycles/sex but nothing explicit. minors dni.

it had been a few days since your synced heat with satoru had ended, and though it hadn't actually lasted longer than normal, it had felt like it, neither of you able to get the kind of relief you really needed. you'd given yourselves a day to sober up and recover, and then you'd had a much dreaded conversation.

you'd been everything to each other since you'd gotten together straight out of school. in all that time, you'd never needed anyone else for anything, even able to get each other through your heats with a little help from some toys. but this had been a brutal wake up call, a reminder that there were some things you'd never be able to do for each other, no matter how hard you tried.

it was unsettling to realize, though, and the following realization that you would have to find someone else to trust in your most vulnerable moments was downright scary. a new partner couldn't be just anyone, especially not if they were going to help both of you when you needed it. in fact, there was only one person either of you could imagine trusting with that.

and so you set up a coffee date.

"you feelin' okay, baby?" satoru's gentle voice pulled you from your mental spiral, and you offered him a weak smile.

"what makes you ask?" you set your drink down on the table, unable to stomach anything because of your anxiety.

"your leg has been bouncing nonstop since we sat down." he peered at you over the tops of his sunglasses, leaning in to rest his forehead against your temple. "it's all gonna be fine, you know that, right?"

"unless he hates us for asking this of him and decides he never wants to speak to us again." you weren't expecting the laugh your words drew from him, and you pinched his side harshly. "don't laugh at me! it's not impossible..."

you could practically feel him roll his eyes at you. "he's not gonna hate us," he soothes, the faintest hint of a purr rumbling beneath his words, easing some of the tension in your shoulders. "i doubt he'll say no, either. he's had a thing for you for years."

"he has not!" you turned and looked up at him, wide-eyed.

satoru cocked his head slightly, seeming genuinely surprised. "he has too! he told me once when we were drunk, before we all graduated and you and i got together. you didn't know?"

"of course i didn't know! he never said anything to me. i knew he was in love with you, though."

it was satoru's turn to look shocked. "you're lying to me."

"i am not! we all saw the way he looked at you. it was obvious."

your boyfriend seemed to pale at your words, as impossible as it was. "for how long?"

"from the very first day i met you guys. he still looks at you like that, y'know."

"who looks at satoru like what?"

suguru's voice startled both of you, and you looked up at him with burning faces. the alpha's brows pinched with concern as he sat across the table from the two of you. satoru pushed a black coffee towards him, but it went untouched as he spoke again.

"are you guys okay? you said you needed to ask me something important. is something wrong?"

you and satoru exchange a look, your omega offering you an encouraging nod.

"sort of," you sighed after a moment. "we, uh. well. our heats synced last week, and it sucked. like it was really bad."

suguru nodded, worry still painted across his features. "even with each other and..." he trailed off, glancing around as if remembering you were in a public place, and that it was probably not a great idea to talk openly about sex toys.

"yeah, even with that," you confirmed. "it was really, really miserable, and we really don't want to be caught off guard if our cycles ever sync like that again. which is why we asked you here."

now he really looked confused. "i don't think i understand."

"we need an alpha," satoru replied, his blunt nature a true blessing in that moment. "and you're the only one we trust to help us – to take care of us."

there was a beat of silence, then another. your heart began to pound, and you felt a bit sick all of a sudden. because this was it, wasn't it? your best friend outside of your partner was about to tell you both that you were disgusting simply for asking, and that he never wanted to hear from you ever again. he was—

"oh, uh... really?" there was no mistaking the flustered look on your friend's face, and that surprised you; he was usually so confident. "yeah, of course. i'm honored you trust me like that. anything you need, just let me know. i'll be there for you."

the relief that washed over you was so intense it nearly made you dizzy, and you were certain you would've collapsed if you weren't already sitting down. "you don't wanna take some time to think about it?"

he shook his head. "don't need to. if it means helping you guys, the answer's always going to be yes."

"whipped for us already, huh?" satoru teased, attempting to maintain his composure despite his face being the prettiest shade of pink.

the smile that tugged at suguru's lips was affectionate, his gaze warm as he took in the two of you across from him. "yeah," he agreed softly. "something like that."

[fatehbaz]

Indigenous genocide and removal from land and enslavement are prerequisites for power becoming operationalized in premodernity, a way in which subjects get (what Wynter names) “selected” or “dysselected” from geography and coded into colonial possession through dispossession. The color line of the colonized was not merely a consequence of these structures of colonial power or a marginal effect of those structures; it was/is a means to operationalize extraction (therefore race should be considered as foundational rather than as periphery to the production of those structures and of global space). Richard Eden, in the popular 1555 publication Decades of the New World, compares the people of the “New World” to a blank piece of “white paper” on which you can “paynte and wryte” whatever you wish. “The Preface to the Reader” describes the people of these lands as inanimate objects, blank slates [...]. [Basically, "Man" is white, while nonwhite people are reduced an aspect of the landscape, a resource.] Wynter suggests that we [...] consider 1452 as the beginning of the New World, as African slaves are put to work on the first plantations on the Portuguese island of Madeira, initiating the “sugar–slave” complex - a massive replantation of ecologies and forced relocation of people [...]. Wynter argues that the invention of the figure of Man in 1492 as the Portuguese travel to the Americas instigates at the same time “a refiguring of humanness” in the idea of race. This refiguring of slaves trafficked to gold mines is borne into the language of the inhuman [...].

---

The natal moment of the 1800 Industrial Revolution, [...] [apparently] locates Anthropocene origination in [...] the "new" metabolisms of technology and matter enabled by the combination of fossil fuels, new engines, and the world as market. [...] The racialization of epistemologies of life and nonlife is important to note here [...]. While [this industrialization] [...] undoubtedly transformed the atmosphere with [...] coal [in the nineteenth century], the creation of another kind of weather had already established its salient forms in the mine and on the plantation. Paying attention to the prehistory of capital and its bodily labor, both within coal cultures and on plantations that literally put “sugar in the bowl” (as Nina Simone sings) [...]. The new modes of material accumulation and production in the Industrial Revolution are relational to and dependent on their preproductive forms in slavery [...].

---

Catherine Hall’s project Legacies of British Slave-Ownership makes visible the complicity in terms of structures of slavery and industrialization that organized in advance the categories of dispossession that are already in play and historically constitute the terms of racialized encounter of the Anthropocene. In 1833, Parliament finally abolished slavery in the British Caribbean, and the taxpayer payout of £20 million in “compensation” [paid by the government to slave owners] built the material, geophysical (railways, mines, factories), and imperial infrastructures of Britain and its colonial enterprises and empire. As the project empirically demonstrates, these legacies of colonial slavery continue to shape contemporary Britain. A significant proportion of funds were invested in the railway system connecting London and Birmingham (home of cotton production and [...] manufacturing for plantations), Cambridge and Oxford, and Wales and the Midlands (for coal). Insurance companies flourished and investments were made in the Great Western Cotton Company, for example, and in cotton brokers, as well as in big colonial land companies in Canada (Canada Land Company) and Australia (Van Diemen’s Land Company) and a number of colonial brokers. Investments were made in the development of metal and mineralogical technologies [...].

The slave–sugar–coal nexus both substantially enriched Britain and made it possible for it to transition into a colonial industrialized power [...]. The slave trade [...] fashioned the economic conditions (and institutions, such as the insurance and finance industries) for industrialization. Slavery and industrialization were tied by the various afterlives of slavery in the form of indentured and carceral labor that continued to enrich new emergent industrial powers from both the Caribbean plantations and the antebellum South. Enslaved “free” African Americans predominately mined coal in the corporate use of black power or the new “industrial slavery,” [...].

---

The labor of the coffee - the carceral penance of the rock pile, “breaking rocks out here and keeping on the chain gang” (Nina Simone, Work Song, 1966), laying iron on the railroads - is the carceral future mobilized at plantation’s end (or the “nonevent” of emancipation). [...] [T]he racial circumscription of slavery predates and prepares the material ground for Europe and the Americas in terms of both nation and empire building - and continues to sustain it.

---

All text above by: Kathryn Yusoff. "White Utopia/Black Inferno: Life on a Geologic Spike". e-flux Journal Issue #97. February 2019. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Text within brackets added by me for clarity. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[cbrownjc]

Hi!! I’m wondering if you know where in the book(s) do Louistat reunited and if there are books/chapters of books that focus on their interactions and dynamics after they reunited? Thank you!!

Hi,

So, Louis and Lestat officially reunite in the books towards the end of the second book in the series The Vampire Lestat -- in October of 1985, in San Fransisco. The night before Lestat's first (and only) rock concert.

Now, there is a reunion scene between them in Interview with the Vampire but subsequent books in the series, particularly Tale of the Body Thief, have Lestat flat-out saying the reunion scene in that book never happened. So . . . 🤷🏾‍♀️

Anyway, their reunion in the book The Vampire Lestat is actually quite lovely IMO:

I felt the lump come up in my throat. I was trembling. I tried to remember what was important, even in this moment, that I must scan the night for others, must be careful. Danger. But none of that mattered now. I knew. I shut my eyes for a second. It did not help anything, make anything easier. [ . . . ] And I forgot all the stiff surly things I had planned to say and I just took him in my arms. We embraced the way we never had in the past. We held each other the way Gabrielle and I used to do. And then I ran my hands over his hair and his face, just letting myself really see him, as if he belonged to me. And he did the same. Seems we were talking and not talking. True silent voices that didn't have any words. Nodding a little. And I could feel him brimming with affection and a feverish satisfaction that seemed almost as strong as my own. But he was quiet suddenly, and his face became a little drawn. "I thought you were dead and gone, you know," he said. It was barely audible. "How did you find me here?" I asked. "You wanted me to," he answered. Flash of innocent confusion. He gave a slow shrug of the shoulders. Everything he did was magnetizing me just the way it had over a century ago. Fingers so long and delicate, yet hands so strong. "You let me see you and you let me follow you," he said. "You drove up and down Divisadero Street looking for me." "And you were still there?" "The safest place in the world for me," he said. "I never left it. They came looking for me and they didn't find me and then they went away. And now I move among them whenever I want and they don't know me. They never knew what I looked like, really." "And they'd try to destroy you if they knew," I said. "Yes," he answered. "But they've been trying to do that since the Theater of the Vampires and the things that happened there. Of course Interview with the Vampire gave them some new reasons. And they do need reasons to play their little games. They need the impetus, the excitement. They feed upon it like blood." His voice sounded labored for a second. He took a deep breath. Hard to talk about all this. I wanted to put my arms around him again but I didn't. "But at the moment," he said, "I think you are the one that they want to destroy. And they do know what you look like." Little smile. "Everybody knows now what you look like. Monsieur Le Rock Star." He let his smile broaden. But the voice was polite and low as it had always been. And the face suffused with feeling. There had been not the slightest change there yet. Maybe there never would be. I slipped my arm around his shoulder and we walked together away from the lights of the house. We walked past the great gray hulk of the copter and into the dry sunbaked field and towards the hills. I think to be this happy is to be miserable, to feel this much satisfaction is to burn.

That isn't the whole of the reunion scene, just the first main part of it.

After this, Louis and Lestat don't really part in the same way -- at least not for as long as they did after Lestat was "killed" and Louis and Claudia fled to Europe. Louis and Lestat are just kind of on-again, off-again in the books after they reunite again in The Vampire Lestat, but I wouldn't say there are major scenes that focus on them coming back together again while they are in their on-again, off-again phase -- at least as far as the books I've read, which only goes up to Blackwood Farm.

I'm still reading Prince Lestat for the first time right now (up to Chapter 14 so far), but I do know that Prince Lestat is the book where Louis and Lestat come back together and, this time, stay together for good once they do (meaning no more on-again, off-again). @nalyra-dreaming, @virginiaisforvampires, or anyone else who's finished that book please feel free to chime in with the scene of info from that book regarding their reunion if you can or feel up to it 🙂.

As to books or chapters of books that focus on their dynamic after they reunite. . . that isn't really something that can be noted or listed in some general way IMO. Because, quite honestly, none of the books focus on them and their relationship alone after Interview with the Vampire. What you see of their relationship in the books following the first one are just character things and moments that are interwoven into whatever larger plot is going on in each book at the time. Honestly, there are some books in which Louis barely appears at all (such as Memnoch the Devil).

So yeah, quite honestly, the first book is the only one that really focuses on their relationship. After that, their relationship together is just part of the character dynamics going on within other stories and plots. So it would be way too hard to list every single interaction and dynamic they have in each book because of that, sorry.

Anyway, I hope this answers your question. 🙂

[fluentmoviequoter]

Defend Myself

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (hockey fan & self-defence teacher)

Summary: During a hockey game, you get into a fight with the drunk man sitting beside you. When Tim Bradford arrives to break up the fight, he decides he'd like to see you again.

Warnings: fight between r and drunk man, unwelcome comments and grabbing (nothing overtly sexual or descriptive), fluff at the end, Tim and Aaron are sarcastic

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

A/N: Why I go back and forth between American and British spellings is a mystery.

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Alright, ladies,” you call to the self-defence class you’re teaching. “What’s the goal here?”

“Defend ourselves and protect our minds,” they reply.

“Right. Because learning how to fight and keeping yourself physically safe isn’t all that matters. Focusing on what can go wrong in life isn’t any fun, so while we work on self-defence, use it as anger management. Have fun with this!”

Your last class on Friday afternoons is one of your favorites. The women are always excited to learn, they listen well and use good form. Most importantly, they really understand your goal in teaching them. In addition to how great the group before you is, you also get to look forward to hockey after they leave. Whether it’s a game or just to watch practice, you find yourself at the rink most Fridays, and as many other chances as you can get. Hockey and self-defence are two of your favorite things, so afternoons like this are borderline magical.

“Uppercut,” you signal.

As you demonstrate the proper way to move into an uppercut after the warmup, you watch the class.

“Can I ask a question?” a woman in the back row asks between moves.

“Of course,” you reply with a smile.

“Have you ever had to use these moves in real life? Like, to defend yourself?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But that’s why we learn it, right? If we know how we don’t have to live in fear about the when.”

“Which is why we chose the bear,” another girl murmurs.

“Can’t always choose. Preparation is key, and knowing how to react is the most important thing you can learn as a woman.”

“Fighting can be boring though,” someone groans.

“Clearly, you’ve never been to a hockey game. Let’s focus, ladies. Take a breather before we move into strength drills.”

You grab your water bottle from the floor and survey your classroom. Hockey fights are certainly more entertaining than fighting to defend yourself, but you enjoy both.

Los Angeles isn’t necessarily known for its hockey scene, but the arena is packed tonight. Your season pass with the seat on the ice is getting plenty of use this year, and as you sit back to watch warmups, you can’t help the smile that grows on your face.

As the crowd grows and the first period gets nearer, two men take the seats to your right. You nod politely when they greet you, but quickly return your attention to the players preparing to skate out. While the announcer introduces the teams and prepares the fans for a good game, you glance toward the men beside you. The one closest to you seems to already be buzzed, and the oversized cup of beer between his legs doesn’t instill confidence in you. Hopefully, he’ll stay quiet, you think. Cheering for your team is one thing but you know too well how quickly a drunk hockey fan can ruin a night. Anyone who’s been to a hockey game can probably imagine your concern.

You try to ignore him as he gets more talkative, but in the middle of the first period, he drains the remainder of his beer and turns toward you.

“Pretty little thing like you prob’y has some questions,” he says. “I can explain it t’ya.”

“I’m good,” you answer firmly.

“If t’changes,” he slurs as he turns away.

It won’t.

The bell rings and the teams leave the ice as the crowd rises in mass. You stay seated comfortably in your seat as your drunk neighbor leaves with his friend. Since you told him you didn’t need his help, he’s left you alone. As long as that continues, you’ll be able to enjoy the rest of the game, and maybe witness a hat trick from your favourite player.

“Here,” your neighbor says as he returns. “Looked thirsty.”

He shoves a cup of soda toward you, and you push it back. “I don’t want that.”

“Just try’na be nice!”

As he falls back into his seat, you lean toward the side to get some room. His arm moves to the armrest between you as he reaches his fingers toward your leg.

“Don’t touch me,” you tell him as you knock his hand back into his lap.

“Jus’ a pretty lil’ thing,” he murmurs as he leans over the armrest.

“Sir, get him under control,” you say to his friend.

“He’s not my problem,” the other man answers.

“Stop.”

He rolls his eyes as if you’re overreacting and sits back in his seat. Your fists are clenched tightly as you watch him move away from you, and you’re mad that he’s causing you to miss so much of the game and keeping you from enjoying it.

“Los Angeles, make some noise for the third period!” the announcer yells. “We’ve got a tight game and tighter teams. Make it a night to remember, LA.”

“Night to r’mem’ba sounds pre’y good.”

You take a deep breath before you raise your eyes. Somehow, your neighbor got more drunk in the short break between the second and third periods than the rest of the game combined. He reaches toward your arm, and when you pull away, he frowns and steps to stand over you where you sit.

“Leave me alone,” you demand as you stand.

After you put a bit of space between you, you notice that the people sitting behind you are watching you. You don’t care, however, as he throws an empty cup toward you. You move out of the way, and it isn’t until he lunges toward you that you truly react. Your fist makes impact with his jaw before he finishes stepping forward.

“Fight!” someone yells behind you.

You plan to do just that. If he can’t understand no or stop, maybe he’ll understand some of your favourite self-defence moves.

“Reports of assault at Honda Center: fight in progress. Attendees have made numerous reports of disturbance,” dispatch alerts.

“Responding,” Tim replies. “Code 3.”

“Aren’t there supposed to be fights at hockey games?” Aaron asks. “That’s, like, half of the draw.”

“On the ice. Fights off the ice are a regular occurrence,” Tim answers. “Usually drunk rival teams.”

“Easy to break up?”

“Sure. If you think pulling a guy who can’t feel anything off of another guy who doesn’t even remember why he’s trying to kill someone else easy, absolutely.”

“Could’ve just said no,” Aaron mumbles as Tim turns.

“Man, back up!” a security guard demands.

He grabs your attacker’s shoulder and tries to pull him backward, but it doesn’t work. As you prepare to throw another punch, you see that the drunk guy’s eye is black and swelling, his lip is busted, his nose is bleeding, yet he still isn’t quitting.

“Jus’ stop playin’!” the man demands as he grabs for your waist.

You push his wrists away and shove him against the glass dividing you from the ice. He elbows backward, but you block it with your forearm as he yells at you.

“The police are on the way!” someone yells from higher in the seats.

“Get off me!” the man roars as he pushes himself backward.

You manage to catch yourself before he shoves you against the seats. When he raises his hands toward your chest, you raise your right leg into a front kick and momentarily stun him into remaining still.

“Kick his butt, lady!” a man cheers.

“LAPD,” Tim announces as he and Aaron enter the arena. “Where’s the fight?”

“Follow me,” the guard replies.

He leads them into the section where the crowd has gathered to watch the fight. The moment Tim sees the number of people invested in the fight and the suspended timer above the rink, he expects the worst.

“Call for backup, Bradford?” Aaron asks.

“Not yet. Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Tim answers.

“I doubt the guy can go for much longer anyway,” the guard adds. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Tim doesn’t get a chance to ask what that means before he reaches the center of the crowd. He watches you elbow the man under his chin. As Aaron takes a step toward you, Tim extends his arm to stop him. You’re clearly winning, but the guy is too drunk to realize that he can’t keep going. He’ll realize just how badly he lost once the alcohol wears off. A night in lockup would do that nicely, Tim thinks.

The man steps back and prepares to jump at you, but Tim grabs his shoulder from behind and throws him against the glass before he shoves the man to the floor. With his knee pressed into the man’s kidney, Tim secures the handcuffs on his wrists.

“Take him,” Tim tells Aaron.

Aaron nods and yells for the crowd to clear a path. He follows a small group of security guards as he walks back to the shop.

The crowd around you begins to spread out the moment your attacker is ripped away from you. You take a deep breath and nod at the officer who helped you.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile. “Little tired. Thanks for the assist, Officer Bradford.”

Tim watches your eyes rise back to his face after reading his name tag. He smiles at you just before the buzzer over your head rings as the game resumes.

“You wanna stay?” he asks over the sound of skates and cheers.

You shake your head and follow him to the staircase. Once you’re in the main area of Honda Center and the noise of the game is muffled, Tim turns toward you.

“That was impressive,” he applauds. “I’ve been called to more fights than I can count. Never seen one under control like you had it. You, uh, you clearly won.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to commend me for getting into a fight, officer,” you tease.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he asks.

“I teach a self-defence class for women,” you explain. “Been fighting for a while but honed my skills for safety more than entertainment.”

“Then they were wrong.” At your confused look, Tim clarifies, “911 dispatcher said there was a fight. You were just defending yourself.”

“He was drunk and didn’t understand when I told him to stop.”

“Which I am allowed to commend you for.”

You smile at Tim again, and he decides that he needs to see you again. More than being impressed by the thorough beating you delivered to the man who was harassing you and trying to touch you, Tim finds you incredibly beautiful, and he knows you’re talented and care about others. He doesn’t want this to be a one-time encounter.

“Have you ever considered hosting a class for the police department?” he asks, looking for a way to ensure he can talk to you again soon. “We bring in instructors from the city occasionally to host free classes. You’d receive compensation, of course.”

“I haven’t, but it does sound nice. If more women knew how to defend themselves, it might make your job easier.”

Tim agrees as he hands you his card. “Call the station in the morning and we can work something out. If you need a teacher’s assistant or anything, I’d be happy to help, too.”

You tap his card against your thigh as you say, “I’d like that.”

“Bradford!” his partner, Thorsen – you feel like you should recognize the name but don’t – calls. “We got another call.”

“Sorry,” Tim tells you. “Hopefully I’ll see you at the station soon.”

“I think you will.” When you smile at him this time, Tim feels like you punched him, too.

[sigmasemen]

WHEN YOU GO ON A DATE WITH THEM. (2/2)

multiple blue lock characters × reader

tags: romance, cute relationships, established relationships, fluff.

taglist: n/a currently.

characters: alexis ness, akira endoji, ryusei shidou, nijiro nanase, ranze kurona, michael kaiser, bachira meguru, rin itoshi, chigiri hyoma.

word count: 2668

extra notes: i originally had sae in this but he didn't make it into the 9 character count i usually do.

BACHIRA MEGURU:

- Bachira loves taking you to amusements parks where ever he can find! He'll even learn to drive just so he can drive you around to them! (Though, sometimes his mother will drive you two as she just wants to meet you properly.)

- He's always winning you prizes with soccer like games, though he has a lot of trouble with ring toss.

- Carnival dates usually last for hours. To the point you'll be from opening to closing (getting kicked out because you stayed past closing). 

- He enjoys protecting you in haunted houses. He sometimes pretends to get scared so you'll hold him.

- He sometimes takes you down certain alleyways to feed stray cats with you.

- "And the monster told me-" You enjoy letting him talk your ear off, feeding him ice cream occasionally to shush him.

- Bachira enjoys carrying you on his back around the carnival. He sometimes spins in his spot to wake you up after you fell asleep.

- You get slushees all the time, they're you're favorite thing to get with him because he scrunches his face when he gets a brain freeze.

- Usually you go to nice shops after the carnival. Sometimes ice cream shops, sometimes to small corner stores to pick up food for a movie night, just matters on the day.

- Bachira sometimes borrows your hoodie for days on end and will only return them at the end of your dates. He incorporates them into his outfits.

- At the end of each date, you get dropped off at home by a still enthusiastic Bachira. He's always carrying all of your prizes in his hands. Occasionally he'll sleep at your place and cuddle your back, though most of the time he has to go home. 

RIN ITOSHI:

- A man that is absolutely horrible with dates. You could explain to him clearly where you want to go and when and he'd still be a bit confused as he doesn't understand why.

- Usually you pick where, but Rin pays for everything.

- He picks you up after school on the dot. Most days he's even waiting there silently for you to come out the door.

- "Are you sure you didn't miss anything important?" "Yes." He rushed there the second school ended.

- He enjoys taking to soccer matches with him. At first, you were a bit confused until you got to watch your lovely boyfriend's eyes slightly light up when he'd see a cool play. You end up asking him questions during the match. He tells you to be quiet but gives up and starts focusing on you too.

- Another big one is renting out places and watching horror movies with you. He enjoys the immersive ones where you feel like you're in it. Sometimes you present theories about what the movies could mean and he immediately adds on as well.

- Rin sometimes gives you a reluctant piggyback ride, but he enjoys hearing your breath in his ear while he walks.

- Haunted houses are also a frequent place, except you jump into his arms in fear a lot. You mention he's strong and muscly? He'll drop you.

- Rin adores giving you foods you really enjoy. He takes you to a lot of tea places for you to try out things.

- Dates end with him at your door step, thanking you for the date and asking when you'd be open again. It always makes you happy that in such a subtle way, he's wanting to go on another date.

CHIGIRI HYOMA:

- A pretty boy with an even prettier partner,

he loves taking to you to malls. He hates going with his sister because she's always dragging him around, but he then gets the appeal when he's dressing you up.

- "Is this good on me Hyoma?" "You look great." 

- He's trying not to smile like an idiot.

- He also enjoys taking you to plays where he can impress you. Like arcades. He's taken you to an arcade almost every date. Plays the soccer games almost every time.

- Chigiri likes running around with you in his arms. This is usually the case when it starts raining in the middle of your dates.

- One time, for his birthday, you took him to a cat cafe and put a black cat in his lap. He got a bit overwhelmed from how sweet the gesture was that he shut down and couldn't respond for a few minutes. 

- You also go to a lot of concerts together to try each other's music taste out!

- Chigiri loves how excitable you are when it comes to dates, so he's huge on giving you fun surprises at the beginning of each date. He notes down everything that happens on each date.

- After each match he plays, you're on the sidelines begging for him to let you take him out on a date as a treat. He always comes, but is a bit embarrassed as he's sweaty on the trips.

- His sister and mother interview you to make sure you're good enough for him on the first date (you ace it).

- At the end of each date, you pull him to you to kiss him on the lips and thank him for the date. If he had the ears and tails like his panther alias suggests? It would be wagging rapidly.

[verosikastrikerexcuser]

helluva boss really wants to whoobify stolas but like he was introduced as a rich guys with a race fetish. i cant look back on that

'you think so lowly of me' my ass. dude that is stuff ppl have said to me to manipulate me

Yeah this is it. People can go on and on justifying Shitlas and they can retcon the scenario all they like they can say oh but Blitz stole the book, oh but childhood friends!!!11 which ironically made it worse because it means Blitz was purchased for a day to be entertainment for Shitlas despite very much not wanting to be. That literally means even as children their relationship was founded on... a transaction for Shitlas' benefit. They can say but Shitlas is sad and lonely, but Shitlas is repressed, but but but.

It doesn't matter. Imps in hell produce all the food, sustaining the rest of hells population including those upper classes very beings, and yet they are treated like shit. They're disadvantaged in doing stuff like starting their own businesses and are seen as just "the workers that do icky stuff I don't wanna do" by people like Shitlas.

Shitlas went ahead and fetishized that. He specifically fetishizes that they're physically smaller which is incredibly demeaning - and hes still at it well into season 2, saying shit like "get fucked little one" about the lawyer imp in Oops (S2 E6).

Idgaf if Blitz tried to steal his book. Blitz can't easily start a business of his own because hes an imp in the first place. Shitlas chose to use Blitz's difficulty to get sex out of him all while disrespecting him and fetishizing his race and the fact that hes a smaller being. Blitz was clearly uncomfortable at that fact and wished he would stop doing it, especially outside of their agreed upon times on the full moon. But no matter what he said or how he resisted, Shitlas all throughout season 1 kept saying and doing weird fetishizing shit outside of their agreed upon times and Blitz could do nothing to get him to stop all the fetishy comments and everything. How are we supposed to ignore and let all of that go and see them as just "both being equally in the wrong"? It doesn't make sense.

No wonder Blitz had was so angry and let him have it in the latest episode. He was exactly right, Shitlas does think he can treat Blitz any way he wants because hes smaller and less important, because Shitlas has been using him as a fetish toy. This isn't some minor fuck up on Shitlas' part. This is a long sustained pattern of behavior that has not properly been addressed or apologized for. This is having a fetish for an impoverished and oppressed race of people and then hurting someone to fulfill of your fetish and gratify yourself.

Contrast this with the latest episode and how Blitz treats Moxxie. Moxxie has expressed he feels harshly treated by Blitz and seems to have a desire for more positive feedback about what hes doing right to be expressed. The show hasn't been great at how its addressed this but in this episode Blitz compliments Moxxie's shooting as they get back to their headquarters. Blitz took in Moxxie's words and has changed his behavior accordingly. He's so much better than Shitlas in every way and I'll die on that hill. He does fucked up shit but not to the level of Shitlas and is far more capable of change and growth. Shitlas just self victimizes, cries at others criticizing him, and dances around the things he's done wrong. Yet the fandom is in a hate spiral against Blitz for being mad at having his species/race and class constantly fetishized. Boooooo!

[faithshouseofchaos]

The roughie and the racer

Part one

Daniel Ricciardo x male!oc

Word count 4k

I don’t know how I feel about this honestly let me know what you think I had to break up with the last 2k words 😭😭😭😭

Caden arched an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. "You want me to accompany you where?" he inquired. His sister let out a sigh. "To the Austin Grand Prix," she repeated. Caden's expression turned sour. "What happened to your date?" he probed. His sister glanced down at the ground and murmured, "He bailed." "And why do you assume I'm free that weekend? Perhaps I already have plans," Caden retorted sarcastically. His sister gazed at him doubtfully. "So, do you have plans?" she asked, fully aware that her loner of a brother likely had no prior commitments for the weekend.

Caden let out a deep sigh and slowly uncrossed his arms. "No, I don't have any plans that weekend," he said, his voice tinged with defeat. His sister's face lit up with a smile. "See, I knew it! And who knows, maybe you'll end up having a great time," she teased, playfully punching her brother in the arm.

Caden rolled his eyes, but a faint smile played at the corners of his lips. "I doubt it," he muttered, rubbing his arm where his sister had made contact. "But I'll go," he conceded, knowing full well he had little choice in the matter. "But don't expect me to enjoy myself. I don't get why you're so into this F1 junk." His sister beamed with excitement. “You're lucky I love” Caden says to his sister rolling his eyes. His sister grinned widely as she ruffled Caden's hair, playfully teasing him. "Awww, Caden, you're such a softie deep down," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Look at how easily you're being corrupted by my influence. Soon you'll be begging me to take you to every race." Caden grumbled as he attempted to fix his disheveled hair. "I'm only doing this because it's important to you," he muttered, his voice tinged with feigned annoyance. Deep down, he couldn't deny the fondness he had for his sister.

"And I won't beg for anything!" he added defiantly. His sister couldn't help but chuckle, clearly enjoying teasing her brother. "Oh, I know you won't beg," she replied with a smirk. "You're too stubborn for that. But mark my words, by the end of the weekend, you'll be a racing enthusiast just like me." Caden scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "In your dreams," he muttered, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'll tolerate the races, but I'll never become a fan like you. It's just not my thing, and it never will be."

Their banter continued as they joked and teased one another playfully. Despite Caden's reluctance, he secretly couldn't help feeling a hint of anticipation for the upcoming weekend and the chance to spend some quality time with his sister. "Just promise me one thing," Caden said, interrupting their playful banter momentarily. His expression turned serious, and he looked at his sister with sincerity. "Promise me you'll make sure we get the best view of the race. If I'm going to suffer through this, I might as well have a comfortable seat."

His sister raised an eyebrow, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Oh, don't worry, Caden," she said with a sly smirk. "I already have it all figured out. We'll be sitting in the front row, practically on top of the action. You might even forget you hate F1 by the end of it." Caden rolled his eyes again, his irritation mingled with a hint of reluctant curiosity. He didn't want to admit it, but his sister's enthusiasm was beginning to rub off on him...just a little.

"Just don't expect me to root for any of those drivers or anything," he grumbled, trying to maintain his grumpy facade. His sister laughed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of asking you to root for anyone," she replied playfully. "You can just sit there and judge them in your head. That's what you do best, right?"

Caden huffed, pretending to be annoyed but unable to suppress the corners of his lips from twitching into a slight smile. "You know me too well," he conceded, a hint of affection in his voice. "Besides, you might discover you find one of those drivers surprisingly attractive," his sister teased, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously.

Caden's eyes widened in mock horror. "Oh, please, don't say things like that! I wouldn't be caught dead crushing on some rich, arrogant racer."

His sister laughed wholeheartedly, thoroughly enjoying Caden's sarcastic reactions. "Relax, Caden, I'm just messing with you," she giggled. "But you never know, stranger things have happened. And if you do end up crushing on a racer, you'll owe me a year's supply of ice cream."

Caden playfully shoved her, trying to feign annoyance, but it was evident he was enjoying their banter. "You're insufferable," he muttered, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "But fine, if I end up hopelessly swooning over a racer, I'll treat you to a year's worth of ice cream. However, I highly doubt that's ever going to happen." His sister grinned widely, clearly pleased with his response. "Deal. But beware, Caden, life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it," she teased, her eyes gleaming with amusement. With the deal struck and the banter still flowing, they continued their playful banter, their laughter echoing through the room.

As the conversation continued, Caden found himself slowly becoming more at ease. Despite his initial reluctance, the idea of attending the race with his sister no longer seemed entirely unbearable. Who knows? Maybe, just maybe, this could turn out to be a memorable weekend. But for now, he would continue grumbling and eye-rolling, maintaining his grumpy exterior as much as possible. After all, he needed to uphold his reputation as a tough, no-nonsense guy.

The weekend finally arrived, and Caden found himself standing outside the entrance to Circuit of The Americas, surrounded by a boisterous crowd of racing fans. His sister stood beside him, bubbling with excitement, while Caden tried to maintain his indifferent facade.

As they made their way through the bustling crowd, Caden couldn't help feeling out of his element. The noise, the energy, the excitement - it was all so foreign to him.

But there was something oddly captivating about the atmosphere. The colorful team jerseys, the enthusiastic chants, the intoxicating scent of engine oil and gasoline. It was a different world completely, a world that his sister seemed completely enthralled by.

“Here,” Cadens sister said, handing him something. “What’s this? " he asked looking at the lanyard. “It’s a paddock pass” his sister says. Caden raised an eyebrow, his tone filled with skepticism. "A paddock pass? Seriously? I thought we were just going to watch the race like normal people."

His sister shot him a teasing smile. "Oh, come on, Caden. Where's your sense of adventure? Besides, how could I possibly ask you to accompany me to the race and not give you the full experience?"

Caden rolled his eyes, but a hint of curiosity piqued his interest. He had to admit, being in the paddock and getting up close with the race cars did sound somewhat intriguing, even though he tried hard to hide it.

“So what team hospitality will we be in?” Caden asked his sister. His sister's eyes lit up with excitement as she replied, "We'll be in the Red Bull hospitality. It's one of the best teams in the league right now, and their hospitality is legendary. We might even get a chance to meet some of the drivers!"

Caden couldn't help rolling his eyes once again. "Meet the drivers? Yeah, because that's what I want, to spend my day chatting with a bunch of pompous, adrenaline junkie billionaires." His sister laughed and playfully punched him on the shoulder. "Lighten up, Caden! You might find that these drivers are not as pompous as you think. They're human beings like us, dedicated to their passion and craft."

“Oh yeah like you and your bull riding? his sister says. Caden's expression hardened at the mention of his own profession. "Bull riding is a true test of skill and courage. Those bulls are unpredictable. It's a lot more than just sitting in a car and pressing pedals." His sister raised her hands in surrender, realizing she had inadvertently struck a nerve. "Alright, alright, I get it. Your bull riding is hardcore, no question. But you have to admit, those race car drivers have some serious skills too. It's not just about the speed, it's about precision, strategy, and the ability to handle these machines at insane speeds." Caden grumbled, still not entirely convinced. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Fine, maybe those drivers do have some talent or whatever. But I'll still stick to my horses and bulls, thank you very much."

As Caden stood among the crowd, a voice interrupted his thoughts. "You ride bulls?" The question came from behind him. Turning around, Caden was met by the sight of a man slightly shorter than himself. The man stood confidently, wearing a crisp Ferrari polo. However, it wasn't the polo that grabbed Caden's attention. What stood out was the curious fashion choice of the man - his jeans were tucked into his boots, making for an interesting appearance.

Caden couldn't help but stare in disbelief at the man's attire. He had certainly seen some unique fashion choices in his life, but jeans stuffed into boots inside boots – a cowboy style – was definitely not something he had come across before. It was a stark contrast to the formal dress code he had grown up with thanks to his father's strict ways.

"Yeah, I do ride bulls now and then," Caden replied, trying to compose himself and look away from the man's unusual boot situation.Caden’s sister gasped, tapping him on the shoulder trying to get his attention but she had no luck because he was still staring down at the man’s boots.

As Caden looked down at the man's boots, he could feel his sister nudge him on the shoulder, trying to get his attention. But his focus remained on the unusual boot situation before him. Feeling a sense of obligation, Caden kneeled down and swiftly fixed the man's jeans, ensuring they were properly positioned outside the boots.

"Jeans go on the outside of your boots," he advised, trying to keep his tone neutral but unable to resist a subtle hint of amusement in his voice.

The man looked utterly bewildered, clearly stunned by Caden's unexpected act. He glanced down at his boots and back up at Caden, as if trying to comprehend what had just happened. "You... you fixed my boots?" he stammered, still processing the situation. Caden stood up, casually adjusting his own attire. "Yeah, sorry, man, but jeans stuffed into boots is just wrong," he replied with a shrug. "You gotta do it right if you're going to be in Texas and I’m surprised that everybody just let you walk around like that”

The man looked down at his boots once again, a hint of embarrassment creeping onto his face. He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I got carried away with the look," he admitted, unable to hide a sheepish smile. "Thanks for the correction, man." “I’m Charles” the man says introducing himself. Caden glanced up and met Charles eye-to-eye, offering a firm handshake. "Caden," he responded simply, his voice carrying a subtle hint of curiosity. There was something oddly magnetic about Charles' presence that intrigued him. "Are you a racing fan or just really into boot fashion?"

Charles grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "A bit of both, I suppose," he replied, his tone laced with a touch of playfulness. "Racing is my profession, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to rock this fashion statement."

Caden raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback. "Racing? as in F1?" he asked, his skepticism evident in his tone as he gestured towards the Ferrari emblem on Charles' polo. Charles nodded enthusiastically, a mixture of orgullo and enthusiasm evident in his expression. "Yeah, Formula 1, to be precise. I drive for Ferrari."

Caden's eyes widened slightly as he took in this newfound information. He had a feeling he was speaking with someone of significance within the racing world, but he hadn't anticipated just how significant. "Well, I'll be damned," Caden muttered, a hint of surprise in his voice. "I never thought I'd be fixing some posh Formula 1 driver's fashion faux pas."

Charles laughed heartily, clearly amused by Caden's remark. "Posh, huh? I guess you could say that," he replied with a light-hearted shrug. "But hey, fashion faux pas can happen to anyone, even F1 drivers." Caden rolled his eyes, not entirely convinced by Charles' self-deprecating remark. "Yeah, well, it's a good thing someone was around to fix it," he retorted, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Imagine if you had been filmed walking around like that."

Charles nodded, his expression turning sheepish once again. "Yeah, I wouldn't have heard the end of it," he said with a chuckle. "Thanks for saving me there, Caden. I owe you one."

Caden waved a dismissive hand, trying to brush off the gratitude. "No biggie. Just doing my Texan duty to spread proper boot style." Charles' eyes widened with interest as he processed Caden's words. "You're a Texan, huh? That explains the boots. And the bulls, I assume?" he asked, a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

Caden chuckled, a subtle hint of pride in his voice. "Guilty as charged. Born and raised in Texas, where cowboys and bulls coexist. Though the bulls might have the upper hand sometimes." Charles let out a hearty laugh, clearly amused by Caden's remark. "Sounds like an interesting life you lead, Caden. Bulls and cowboys, huh? Maybe you could teach me a thing or two about handling those bulls. And I can teach you a thing or two about F1."

Caden raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. "Oh, so you're offering lessons now, Mr. Fancy Formula 1 Driver? I'll consider it, but only if you promise not to bring back the boot fashion blunders."

Charles grinned, clearly enjoying the banter between them. "Deal. No more boot blunders from me, I promise," he agreed, holding out his hand for a mock handshake that Caden reluctantly returned. "And who knows? Maybe you'll end up enjoying the racing world more than you think.”

Caden playfully rolled his eyes, masking his intrigue. "Right, sure. I'm sure the racing world and I will become fast friends. Just as soon as you convince me it's not just a bunch of millionaires driving in circles." Charles couldn't help but chuckle at Caden's remark. "No worries, I won't force you into a racing suit. But I do hope you'll enjoy your day and the race," he said, his voice tinged with sincerity.

Suddenly, someone called out to Charles from a distance, drawing his attention away. "I have to go, but it was great meeting you, Caden. Maybe we'll see each other later." Caden nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Likewise, Charles. Take care of those boots, and yourself. And try not to crash in the race, alright?" "I'll do my best,” Charles replied with a wink, offering a playful salute as he turned to leave. As he walked away, Caden found himself stealing a quick glance at the shortened jeans, still feeling the lingering impact of the brief encounter.

As Caden watched Charles walk away, his sister appeared at his side, a knowing smile on her face. "Making friends already, huh?" she teased playfully, nudging him with her elbow. Caden rolled his eyes, trying to feign nonchalance, but a faint blush creeped over his cheeks. "Don't be ridiculous. I just fixed the guy's boots. It's not like we're best friends now." His sister laughed, seeing right through his attempt to play it cool. "Right, right. Fixing someone's boots is the classic Texan move for making friends," she jested, a mischievous twinkle in her eye."Oh, shut it,” Caden grumbled, feeling a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. "I just didn't want him walking around like a fashion disaster, alright? That's all there was to it." His sister just grinned wider, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Whatever you say, big brother.“

Caden scowled at her, knowing he had inadvertently given her ammunition to tease him about for the rest of the weekend. "Just great. Now I'll never hear the end of this" he muttered under his breath. His sister laughed, clearly amused by her brother's annoyance. "Oh, don't worry, Caden. I'll make sure to keep reminding you of this little boot-fixing episode. It's not every day you get to impress a Formula 1 driver with your Texas manners." Caden let out a long-suffering sigh, resigning himself to the fact that his sister would always be there to remind him of his embarrassing moments. "I should have known better than to step foot in this racing-crazed world. It's like a magnet for embarrassing situations" he grumbled.

As Caden and his sister made their way towards the stands, the atmosphere grew more intense. Cheerleaders performed acrobatic routines, bands played upbeat music, and fans wore colorful shirts and hats representing their favorite teams. The energy was palpable, and Caden couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. "Remind me again why I agreed to come to this madness," he groaned to his sister as the two of them walked to the red bull hospitality and garage.

"Because you secretly love it," his sister teased with a knowing grin. "You’re just too stubborn to admit it."Caden huffed in playful annoyance but couldn't keep the corner of his lips from curving into a small smile. He secretly enjoyed the vibrant atmosphere, despite his initial reluctance. As they entered the Red Bull Hospitality, Caden's eyes darted around, taking in the luxurious interior adorned with the team's signature bulls and crimson red colors. The atmosphere was a whirlwind of chatter and laughter as fans mingled and enjoyed food from various catering tables.

Caden's sister seemed to be in her element, effortlessly striking up conversations with fellow fans and basking in the buzz of excitement. Caden, on the other hand, found himself feeling a bit out of place. He stuck to the sidelines and observed the scene unfolding before him in silence. As they made their way through the bustling crowd, a sudden change in the atmosphere caught Caden's attention. The fans around them erupted into cheers and applause, their gazes fixed on something or someone behind him. Curiosity piqued, Caden turned around to see what had caused the commotion. Standing amidst the whirlwind of commotion was Daniel Ricciardo, the charming Australian driver with a contagious smile. His presence commanded the attention of everyone around him, and the crowd seemed to gravitate towards him like moths to a flame.

Caden's heart skipped a beat as he laid eyes on Daniel's captivating presence. There was something magnetic about him, an undeniable charisma that drew people in, and Caden found himself strangely drawn to it. His sister noticed the way Caden's gaze lingered on Daniel, and a sly smile curved her lips. "Seems like you've found someone interesting," she teased, nudging him gently with her elbow. Caden snapped out of his momentary trance and quickly composed himself, trying to mask his interest in Daniel. "What? No, I was just observing," he replied, trying to maintain a nonchalant demeanor but failing miserably.

His sister arched an eyebrow, clearly amused by his reaction. "Observing, huh? Is that what we're calling it now?" She teased softly, her eyes twinkling with playfulness. Caden grumbled under his breath and turned away, trying to hide the faint blush creeping up his cheeks. "I was just admiring the whole circus, that's all," he muttered, but his sister saw right through his denial.

She laughed softly, clearly amused by her brother's subtle interest. "Whatever you say, Caden. Just don't deny that you're intrigued by the charm of that Aussie driver and besides he’s your type.” His sister rolled her eyes, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Oh, come on, Caden. Don't act like you can hide it. All those guys you've had little flings with over the years, tall, charming, and charismatic. Seems like Daniel Ricciardo ticks all those boxes for you." Caden shot her a glare, feeling a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment at her astute observation. "Shut it," he muttered between gritted teeth. "I'm not interested in him. And even if I were, there's a zero percent chance he'd look my way."

His sister shrugged nonchalantly, clearly enjoying teasing her older brother. "Who knows? People surprise you sometimes. And who says you're not his type?" Her mischievous grin seemed to suggest that she had a few ideas up her sleeve. Caden gritted his teeth, feeling the familiar frustration and annoyance that always surfaced whenever his sister played matchmaker in his life. "Leave it, alright? We're here to enjoy the race, not discuss my non-existent love life," he huffed, hoping to put an end to the conversation. His sister chuckled, sensing her brother's discomfort. "Alright, alright, I'll drop it for now. But just remember, life's too short to hold back from what you want," she said, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder before sauntering off to explore the hospitality area.

As his sister vanished into the crowd, Caden let out a frustrated sigh, feeling a mix of relief and irritation. He cast a quick glance around, his eyes landing on Daniel once again, who was engrossed in conversation with a group of fans a few feet away. Despite his best efforts to remain aloof, Caden couldn't resist stealing discreet glances at Daniel. There was an inexplicable allure about him that drew Caden in, a magnetic charm that transcended the realm of racing. He couldn't shake off the subtle flutter in his chest every time he laid eyes on him. It was a confusing mix of intrigue and unease, and Caden couldn't help but question the strange pull he felt towards the captivating Australian driver. As he continued to observe Daniel, Caden couldn’t help but notice the effortless way he interacted with fans. Daniel's smile was genuine, and he engaged with each person with warmth and enthusiasm. Caden's heart thumped against his chest as he watched, and the thought that he could ever even approach such a vibrant and charming individual seemed far-fetched. He silently chastised himself for allowing his imagination to run wild.

Just when Caden was lost in his thoughts, Daniel glanced in his direction, their eyes locking for a brief moment before Caden swiftly averted his gaze. His heart raced, and a wave of nerves washed over him, silently cursing his awkward demeanor. It was in that fleeting glance that Caden felt a connection, a strange recognition that sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to this encounter than just a casual glance. The moment was brief, but it left an indelible mark on Caden's mind. He couldn’t help but wonder if Daniel had felt it too. The thought tormented him, making him question everything he thought he knew about his own feelings and desires. With a mixture of excitement and trepidation swirling within him, Caden knew that this chance encounter had stirred something deep within him, a flame that refused to be extinguished.

The rest of the time at the hospitality area went by in a blur for Caden as they mingled with fans and enjoyed the pre-race festivities. He tried to keep his mind occupied, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the brief connection he had felt with Daniel. As the race grew closer and the crowd became more hyped, Caden's anticipation to witness Daniel in action slowly replaced his initial apprehension.

As they made their way to their seats, Caden found himself torn between excitement and anxiety. Every time Daniel's name was announced over the loudspeaker, Caden's heart raced, and a mixture of nerves and anticipation swirled within his stomach. He had never felt such a strong connection to someone, especially someone he barely knew, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to this inexplicable pull he felt towards the captivating driver.

The race started, and Caden was immediately immersed in the frenzy of engines revving and tires screeching against the track. The energy of the crowd was infectious, and he found himself caught up in the excitement of the competition. His sister leaned over, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You know, Daniel Ricciardo is leading the race so far. He's quite the skilled driver," she remarked, subtly trying to gauge Caden's reaction. Caden's heart skipped a beat as he heard the news, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety swirling within him. He tried to play it off coolly, shrugging nonchalantly. "Yeah, he's not bad," he replied, trying to keep his emotions in check. "But it's a long race, anything can happen," he added, hoping his sister wouldn't pick up on the newfound interest in his voice.

As the race continued, Caden found himself glued to every move Daniel made, his heart racing with every pass and overtake. He couldn't help but admire the confidence and skill with which Daniel navigated the track, seemingly unfazed by the intense competition. Caden's sister noticed his unwavering attention and let out a soft chuckle.

"Looks like you have a favorite driver now," she teased, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "He's quite captivating, isn't he?" Caden playfully shoved her shoulder, trying to lighten the situation. "Shut it, you. I just appreciate good racing," he protested, though he couldn't deny the undeniable charm that Daniel exuded both on and off the track. The race continued to unfold, and Caden watched with a mixture of anticipation and dread as the leading positions changed hands numerous times. The race was on a knife's edge, with Daniel still firmly in contention. As the laps neared their end, Caden felt a wave of anxiety wash over him. He couldn't help but feel invested in Daniel's performance, his heart racing with each turn and overtake.

As the final lap commenced, Caden's heart pounded against his ribcage, the tension palpable in the air. His eyes were fixated on Daniel's car, watching as it navigated through the curves and bends of the track. The race was nearing its climax, and the suspense was unbearable. Caden found himself involuntarily clenching his fists, silently cheering Daniel on.

The final minutes were a flurry of excitement and anticipation, and Caden's heart skipped a beat as Daniel took the checkered flag, securing first place. The crowd erupted into a roaring applause, and Caden found himself smiling despite his earlier reservations. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for the captivating driver who had managed to capture his attention like no one else had before. As Daniel's car slowed to a stop and he climbed out, waving to the cheering crowd, Caden's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't help but stare, captivated by the magnetic aura that surrounded Daniel. There was something about him that transcended the realm of racing he was charismatic, talented, and undeniably charming.Caden felt that strange pull towards him, a connection that he couldn't explain but couldn't ignore.

His sister, who had observed his reactions throughout the race, gently nudged him once again. "Looks like you're hopelessly smitten with the race winner," she teased, her eyes twinkling with a mix of curiosity and amusement. Caden snapped out of his temporary stupor, quickly regaining his composure. "Smitten? Hardly. I just appreciate good driving," he retorted, dismissing her statement with a casual wave of his hand. However, the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed his attempts to downplay his true feelings. His sister smirked, clearly not buying his denial. "Sure, just ‘appreciating' his driving skills, right?" she teased, her words dripping with playful sarcasm. Caden rolled his eyes, secretly flustered by her teasing yet unable to deny the magnetic pull he felt towards the charismatic race winner.

As the crowd started to thin out and the excitement began to subside, Caden found himself feeling a mix of emotions. There was a strange combination of anticipation and dread building within him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen. Despite his best efforts to push the thought away, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever cross paths with Daniel again. He was pulled out of his reverie by his sister's soft voice. "You know, you've been watching him like a hawk. I never thought you'd be this interested in a race," she commented, a teasing lilt in her words. Caden shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it cool. "I just appreciate good driving, that's all. He's a talented driver." But he couldn't hide the fact that his heart was beating erratically in his chest at the mere mention of Daniel.

As they made their way out of the hospitality and towards the parking lot, Caden's mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the charming race winner. He tried to dismiss the persistent flutter in his heart as mere adrenaline, but deep down, he knew there was more to it. Little did he know that the night had a surprise in store for him

[hacked-by-jake]

Hey!

So after six days of playing Moonvale I finally finished all the achievements of episode 1. Well, nothing happened… not disappointed but I had a sliver of hope that something might happen and not just the satisfaction of achieving all of them but well…

I am on holidays (kind of been forced to take some because I never do!) and I have nothing planned. I stalk tumblr, start writing comments and all but never send them, I play Moonvale then write a bit of my story then I drink a looooot of coffee because I am bored

That’s it, that was my ask (yes I am that bored 😂)

So I wish you a wonderful person a wonderful day!

Hey Hooo!

I'm still working on getting all achievements. I think I only need 4 or so, and I hope I can manage it soon. Because it's bothering me and also, with some I have no idea how and when, I finally need to stop using the same answers every time. But I hate changing things. xD But I won't give up yet. I want all of them. I already know how to get the one but I will have to wait until I can replay. Not going to repeat in the middle of the episode. xD

I also had a little hope that something would happen but actually no surprise. I think it's just for people to replay and have more fun during it.

And well, happy holiday! I hope you can enjoy it a lot. Taking break is important and necessary. And for me, personally, your days sound very good. xD Drinking lots of coffee, tumblr, playing Moonvale, writing. Sounds like a relaxing dream to me. 😂

I don’t know why you're deleting comments but I can tell you, it's not necessary. Send them. Comments are great and even it's there just some funny words, doesn't matter. I like reading them. And I'm sure others do as well.

I thank you very much for your ask. I always enjoy reading about such things. Moonvale but some personal stuff is always amazing as well. It's good hearing from you. And I hope you will have an awesome day/evening/night as well! 😌💚

[stardewpoesie]

Top 5 SnS moments? Also, idk if u read Boruto but top 5 characters that you like from there?

I looooove my sasunaru so much, thanks a bunch for the question! Also, mhmm Boruto doesn't exist to me. I don't acknowledge its existence uwu Studio pierrot are homoph0bic for forcing its existence, therefore i will be heterophobic 👆 (I'm joking but I had to say it)

1.

Sasuke acknowledging Naruto. I believe this is just peak. Because Naruto's story at its core is about Naruto seeking acknowledgment to feel like he has a right to exist. Sasuke did it when they were children (although vaguely), and in the chuunin exams, but even then it wasn't enough for Naruto. Sasuke's words are fuel to Naruto's strength, he will always need his acknowledgment and reassurance.

2.

"Shut up, Usuratonkachi" Honestly, the whole conversation leading up to Sasuke's tears. Sasuke knowing he's loved, that he doesn't need to fix it all on his own, that Naruto has got him and loves him and that's all that truly matters in the end. The world be damned. This is truly one of the most romantic moments my eyeballs have perceived😔

3.

Sasuke protecting Naruto with his life. Sasuke throwing away his vengeance and going against ITACHI to protect Naruto. This moment cemented even to him that his dreams aren't completely in the past like he'd said, but he has someone he cares for in the present as well. And in Naruto's perspective, he didn't know he was important enough for Sasuke to risk his whole life for him. Naruto knowing he truly matters, to Iruka and Sasuke both, just makes me cry. I mean, this should be objectively at #1 place because it cements so much of what they mean to each other. But number 1 and 2 in my list just touch me so deeply personally.

4.

Sasuke's sharingan evolving because of Naruto's beautiful heartfelt words. Truly eyes that reflect the heart. Naruto loves Sasuke sooo much, even when he doesn't understand the real facet of love that he meant. And Sasuke similarily loves Naruto and understands the extent of love in his words.

5.

Naruto telling Sasuke he's glad he knew him in his life. Coming to the conclusion that all that makes sense is dying together (and in VOTE2 they live together. Poetic) the whole conversation in their impenetrable gay space and then afterwards while everyone listens. Sasuke felt truly seen, and although Naruto went to a different thought process than I would have liked, he really, really meant it with his heart that he saw no point in life without Sasuke.

I made this list and got ansty because there are so so many great moments that I can't just encapsulate in a top5 T_T I have to give honorable mentions;

And, and! Sasuke briefely thinking about Izanami and Izanagi before their fight in VOTE2 started. Sasuke went (....) gay silence during it, but he was thinking Naruto and he are Izanami and Izanagi. This is CANON.

Also, also, also, everytime Naruto stares at the orange sunset, when thinking about Sasuke. Yeah, that's gay! And their VOTE2 last clash happening at sunset, that's ALSO gay.

Sorry for the incessant yapping, but I just laugh when thinking about how homoph0bes could read Naruto (must be why they mischaracterize sasuke and naruto). Anyways, gay people always win. Always.

[beeapocalypse]

cannoneer images

[sysig]

Having fun, more and more! (Patreon)

[widowshill]

not for nothing that roger and jeff are wearing completely identical suits for vicki's wedding down to the same pearl stick pin and it's roger that is distinguished with the accessory and the visual emphasis. that roger wears the pocket square and jeff goes plain without one, without a boutonnière (as feels the most probable and appropriate; they both wear boutonnières in roger's prophetic dream of the wedding). that not only is he wearing the handkerchief, but it's folded in such a way as so take as much space as possible – straying from accepted formality of a neat TV fold, occupying more room on the screen, drawing more attention, pointing among other things to his heart in bright white.

[alto-tenure]

hershel layton and angela ledore's friendship is so important to me you have no idea

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt my dupe ocs again... Maybe Quinn does have hashtag issues actually

[waitidontgetit]

Delighted by canon confirmed queer (lesbian?) aloy in the dlc but also actually fuming that it’s been confirmed in a ps5 only dlc. I literally wouldn’t know about it if I didn’t have tumblr, and it seems a bit rude? I guess? To all the fans that don’t have access to it, because aloy as a character has developed so much in the games. And the culmination of what’s been done so far to peak in a moment of breakthrough in a dlc? For her to understand and accept that kind of love is incredible for her character. That people will have to watch on like YouTube and not have the chance to play?? To see a post or an article? To not be able to feel that development of a relationship with a new character as it grows? Bit unfair imo