#Laguna Bar

[thereisnoafter]

[cainballad]

SQUALL PLEASE 😂😂😂 THATS YOUR FATHER 😂

[manuelharojuradofotosyvideos]

Concierto Complices, Buho Bar-La Laguna-2011.

[popcornbutterfly]

[cuartoretorno]

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Thirteen Months- Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

If the Silco x Reader fics were realistic.

And not in a good way.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

tw: physical abuse, drug use, rough sex, mistreatment of sex workers

Snippet:

Migraine's ripening in his brainstem; the cigar's nearly dead. He stubs its smoldering butt into a crystal ashtray at the table. Sevika's eyeing him with a shrewd mix of caution and concern. 

Ghosts here, too. A shared bed, and the physicality of memory.

"How much sleep did you get last night?" she asks.

"None."

"Figures." Her face goes through a complicated series of micro-expressions. Then it resets into guarded neutrality. "Maven not doing her duty?"

"Maven is, as we know, a marvel."

"Doesn't answer my question."

Silco doesn't answer that, either.

Thirteen months, he thinks.

Thirteen months since his and Sevika's last time. He's not sure what the gap signifies, other than the fact it does signify something, else why'd he keep track of the tally? He's no idea what to call it either: this no-man's land between reproach and rapprochement, a space of tacit glances and barred doors, of shared history and estranged present.

He's got only two working theories. One: it's the symptom of an early midlife crisis, triggered by Jinx's blossoming adulthood and a city narrowly salvaged from hellfire. Two: it's not a crisis, but a crossroads, and Silco's finding himself, after years, in the uncharted territory of unmet need. The kind of need that summons live memory, and makes the memory ache: a shared smoke of brightleaf; a skull resting against a strong shoulder; a sinewy arm slung over a hard waist...

Silco doesn't dwell on the two theories, because there's a third. And he hates it, because it's the truth.

It's not about him. It's never been about him.

It's always, always, been about her.

He would never say he feels the lack. He keeps a revolving door of liaisons who spend the night at the Laguna Lounge, and fill his sheets when they're not filling his head with promises, platitudes, praise. It's a libertine's smorgasbord: from zaftig beauties in crushed velvet to sharp-cheeked high-rollers in bespoke pinstripe.

Except, in Silco's mind, they're an unspooling procession of flesh, like a carnival freak composed of a hundred different limbs. Only vague outlines and fleeting sensations last the distance. He remembers a cute little crooner who'd sing for her supper over his knee. A muscular dockhand with a cock like a bludgeon and an arsehole as pinkly unspoilt as the petals of a Demacian rose. A svelte tinkerer with elegant fingers and the vilest mouth this side of the Fissures; a late-night raver with hair like a halo of sparks and eyes incandescent with holy lust.

He recalls playthings on their knees; paramours at his feet. Recalls his darkest appetites fed; his worst hungers sated.

He recalls Maven.

Last summer, he'd summoned back to his service. She was a dab hand at spreading her lovely legs on command and seeing to his satisfaction without interrupting his twisting train of thought.

Better yet, she was unafraid of his proclivities. Whatever he dished out, she took in stride. Whatever he demanded, she gave.

Talent deserved recognition; Silco had rewarded hers generously. He'd set her up in the Laguna Lounge's east wing. Given her a corner suite, a maid of her own, a monthly stipend. Gifted her with luxury and leisure: anything from high-end threads to high-grade wines. Granted her access to his best, most potent, Shimmer.

He'd also given her an order: Come when called.

For six months, it was bliss. Then it devolved into a nightmare.

Maven was a whip-smart girl with a taste for decadence. But she also had her own vendetta to grind. Her life had been a constant peril, and she'd only made it thus far by making herself indispensable. Now, by a stroke of fortune, she was the Eye's favorite.

And she was determined—at any cost—to secure a permanent berth in his boudoir. 

In bed, she was quick to pick up on his cues; even quicker at cater to his whims. Full-body massages, tongue-baths, foot-rubs—the works. Silco awoke to morning suckjobs that could strip the chrome off a tailpipe. Drowsed to nightly kisses that'd drain the venom from a snakebite.

Sometimes, she'd treat him to wicked games of her own devising. Once, she'd greeted him at the Laguna Lounge's front door in nothing but a black leather harness and a set of gold clamps attached to her nipples. Let him fuck her on the marble-topped bar, and afterward, while he'd lazed back in the sofa and sipped a cognac, sucked him off with those same clamps twined around his balls.

Another time, she'd arranged for a trio of dancers—all male, louche and lithe and oiled to a shine. The first pair had swapped sloppy kisses with his cock between their lips; the third had ridden him for a solid hour. Maven, curled up in the sofa, had watched the proceedings with the feral interest of a cat eyeing a birdcage. After the show, she'd fixed him an icy gin cocktail, a hot-tub soak, and an exquisite dinner of seared filet-mignon, poached eggs, and the creamiest souffle he'd ever sampled.

Silco, replete, had asked if she was angling to become his personal chef. Maven, perched naked at the end of the table, had purred, "Among other things."

"What other things?"

"Whatever you want, my love. Whatever you need."

My love.

The endearment hadn't jarred him. She'd used it often. Yet it'd stuck in his palate that night, like a fishbone between the teeth.

In reply, Silco had taken her bent over the table, her cheek pressed to the linen and the tablecloth bunched between her fists, as the wineglasses toppled and a plate shattered beneath his boot. Afterward, to her wet-eyed dismay, he'd retired to the Laguna Lounge's south wing and spent the rest of the night alone.

A week after the dinner debacle, Maven had greeted him at the door, shiny-eyed and smiling. But in her hands, instead of his nightly brandy, she'd presented him with a box.

"What's this?"

"A gift."

"I've no taste for gifts."

"You'll enjoy this one." She nudged the box closer. "Open it."

Inside was a vial of bright-green liquid. Silco, the premier chem-baron of Zaun, recognized it at a glance. A potent psychedelic distilled from a rare strain of Fissure mushroom. The kick was so intense it made the walls breathe and the ceiling bleed.

"A fresh batch," Maven said, her cat-eyes a slow wandering across his face. "One of my old contacts hooked me up. Told me it'd make our lovemaking divine."

"Divine," Silco echoed.

"Even a devil deserves a taste of the divine. Right, my love?"

She'd gone on tiptoe and kissed him. Silco, tongue curling against hers, let it happen. It'd been a bad day. Another Firelight raid. Another fight with Jinx. Another not-talk with Sevika. He'd allowed himself to be persuaded.

It was a costly mistake.

She'd chosen a smooth-flowing jazz song from his record collection, and set the needle on the gramophone. Chosen a syringe, and a vein in Silco's arm. Chosen her favorite spot, and straddled him on the sofa.

Then, hands braced on his chest, she'd engulfed his cock in a wet glide as the world began its slow-motion collapse. 

For hours, Silco fucked, fought, fucked inside a kaleidoscope of colors. His brain was on fire with a thousand schemes. His cock was electrified with a thousand volts. Maven's hands were everywhere, melting, maddening, merciless. Her mouth, a living furnace. Her cunt, a nest of wet silk and wetter sin. Her screams, a chorus to his climax. The colors were climaxing, too.

She'd begged to be whipped until her buttocks were a nightmare of earthworm-red welts. Silco obliged, and she'd sobbed so sweetly, so wretchedly, as he flayed the meat off her supple young flesh.  She'd begged to be tied to the bedposts and fucked, and he obliged again. She shook and wailed and shook as his cock split her, a rapidfire barrage that had the bedframe jolting and the mattress springs shrieking and the walls coming down. Then she'd begged to be choked, and he obliged once more, and the colors were no longer climaxing but combusting, and Maven's eyes, her beautiful hazel eyes, were rolling back to show the white moon-curves, and her mouth was a perfect circle of rapture, and her thighs were quivering, her spine arching, her cunt squeezing and squeezing and squeezing—

And the high-pitched phantasmagoria liquified into a single blackened maw, and he'd found himself staring into Vander's face. 

"You'll lose everything, Blut."

And the high was stripped bare, and Silco fell into a depthless sea, and drowned.

When he resurfaced, there was a body in the room.

Not Maven. She was slumped by the headboard. Knees drawn up, her hands pressed between them, her head lolling forward.  Seizing her shoulders, Silco shook her awake. She stirred, murmuring drowsily. He'd sifted her tangled hair aside to take her pulse. It was strong. But there were dark fingerprints on her throat, her wrists, her thighs.  Her lovely eyes held a glaze of shock and a deeper, unreachable awe.

In the afterglow, she'd kissed Silco's knuckles, wetting them with tears. And, turning those cat-eyes eyes upon him, she'd breathed, "I won't tell."

The body belonged to a boy.

A lovely, long-limbed lad, with hair like a headful of black waves and eyes like the sun off a churning blue sea. He was a new hire—skittish, as new hires often were—whom Silco had summoned from the lobby, earlier that evening, to restock the bar.

Now he lay starfished on the carpet in a pool of congealing blood. There was a red-lipped gash in his jugular. Vander's knife—now Silco's knife—was planted hilt-deep in his left eye.

Silco had slithered out from bed and crossed the room. Knelt over the boy's body, and stared at the soft sea-glass eyes. It was a stranger's stare. It was his own stare: the face that he'd worn in another lifetime.

"I won't tell," Maven repeated, and Silco felt the icewater closing in.

The blackguards had disposed of the body; Posky had scrubbed down the carpets; the crew sent a fat severance check to the boy's family.

That's how Silco recalls it now: not bloodlust, but a hungover tedium of logistics and a cold stack of paperwork.

He'd not told Sevika. The crew, on pain of death, were likewise sworn to secrecy. Not because Silco dreaded the repercussions. He dreaded, above all, that Sevika would know.

She'd know it'd happened in a psychotic stupor. Know the root of it wasn't naked bloodlust, but naked need.

She'd know, and she'd never, ever, let him forget the truth.

The truth, that Maven was a marvel, but Sevika was worth a million in cold steel—and it wasn't for her grit or her guts or the sheer force of will she exerted in a crisis. It was the other side of her. That quiet side, so seldom revealed.  The  tether that'd quieted Silco's storm, in turn, and steered him to port. Into a bed that was always warm, and a body built of bedrock.

Except the port had denied him safe harbor, and the bed was empty, and the body beyond reach.

Thirteen bloody months.

Maven hadn't lasted half that time. She'd begun to believe their shared secrets gave her leverage. To believe, too, that Silco's devotion belonged exclusively to her. Bit by bit, she began spreading her tendrils across his private life. Began to intrude where she wasn't invited, and linger where she was least welcome.

Suddenly their late-night drinks were no longer a regularity, but a requirement. Suddenly, the backrubs had an agenda, and the footrubs had a catch. Suddenly, Silco could no longer relax after a long day, because instead of a suckjob and sweet silence, he'd get sulking and a strident earful of demands.

She expected no more playthings past his threshold unless she’d hand-picked them—be they crooners, tinkerers or dockhands with rosebud arseholes. No more games unless she lay down the law—be they on a bed of sweat-stained silk or a dirty rug that'd seen better days or a tub sloshing with wine as cold as a dead man's balls. And no more straying from the beaten path: if she didn't fancy a kink, it wouldn't make it to the negotiating table, much less see the light of day.

She was especially jealous of Silco's private time. She'd pout if he took a business call mid-fuck. If a blackguard intruded with an urgent message, she'd slam the door on his face. Once, she'd nearly gutted poor Posky for wheeling in the breakfast cart at an inopportune hour.

To a point, Silco had indulged her peevishness. A coping mechanism, he surmised, given the hellacious circumstances she'd faced in her formative years.  But then, she'd dared to bar Jinx's way into his chambers with the toe of a lacquered heel.

Silco's tolerance took a steep nosedive.

Jinx, to her credit, had given Maven the cold shoulder—nearly regal in its teengirly frost. She'd waltzed right in, a sashay to her stride, pecked Silco's cheek and unfurled the blueprints for a sump-drainage pump across his desk.

Silco had bestowed his usual praise, and the rare show of affection—a palm at the nape of Jinx's neck. He'd not missed Jinx's childishly flushed glee; nor the spite that etched itself at the corners of Maven's pretty, poisonous mouth. After, he'd signed off on the order for the pump's manufacture, and sent Jinx on her merry way.

"It's sweet how close you are." Maven clipped off the word 'sweet' like shears taking off the tip of a rosebud. "She must miss you terribly when you're busy. Why not make it easier on yourselves and move her in here?"

The sarcasm was treacle-thick and spiked with envy. She was testing his boundaries, as she'd been wont to do lately. For Silco, boundaries were ones that didn't need to be enforced. It was implicit that to cross them meant a blade to the throat.

Maven had an appreciation for his knifeplay. But a short memory for the blade's bite.

She'd need a refresher. 

"I'd have thought," Silco said, without lifting his eyes from the blueprints, "you'd prefer our privacy."

"Maybe I would." She slid onto his lap. Her dress, a sheer black number, was a curtain of smoke over his suit-clad legs. She circled her tongue over the shell of his ear, then whispered into it, "Or maybe I'd enjoy it if she invited Vi along, and they both watched."

That had done it.

Maybe it was the mounting pressure. Maybe it was the memory of dead boys and rivers full of corpses. Maybe it was his knowledge of Jinx's late nights, and with whom.

Or maybe, he'd simply had his fill: of the constant scheming, the endless death, the ceaseless want. And fact that his needs—his real needs—could not be satisfied, because they were not the needs of a monster but the needs of a man. 

His need for Vander's absolution. For Nandi's forgiveness.

For Sevika's touch, and the trust they'd once shared.

Silco needed them all, but none were his to take. 

So he'd taken it out on Maven instead.

The backhand was so hard she'd skidded off his lap and crashed to the carpet. A livid mark bloomed across her cheek. When she looked up, shock stole over her face, then an ugly, disbelieving fury. 

He'd never struck her before. There'd never even been any sign to suggest it. 

The Eye of Zaun was many things—each more atrocious than the last. But he was not a man who'd beat his girls. 

Maven was no longer his girl.

"How dare you?" Maven spat. "After all I've done for you—"

Silco's shadow, looming, killed the words in her throat.

"You've two choices," he said, deathly soft. "Leave, and do not look back. Or stay, and take the consequences. I'm giving you this choice because you've served me well. Do not presume that it entitles you to more." His shadow spread across the carpet; Maven's breath caught. "Do not presume anything, least of all what I owe."

The fury leached from Maven's face. Only gelid tears remained, suspended like dewdrops upon her eyelashes. 

And in those tears: fear.

Fear, that the man who had saved her life might yet end it, for a transgression so severe it verged on treason.

"Sir," she began, "I—"

"I said: choose."

Maven's lashes dipped; the tears spilled. Shivering, she turned her head, offering the unblemished side of her cheek for the second strike. 

The choice, and her penitence, were accepted.

Silco hadn't spared her. He'd taken his due. Taken her, after, on her elbows and knees, with an utter absence of mercy. Taken her until she was sobbing real tears, and barely able to keep her balance. Taken her, as he had the night she'd sworn herself to him: her body bared to his blade; the rest of her aching to prove her worth.

He'll call upon that vow again, before the end.

Since that night, she's slept in a huddle at the foot of his bed, shivering under a crisscrossing of welts. Stripes she's earned, and will wear without complaint. She'll crawl on her knees and abase herself for his pleasure. She'll greet his daughter with downcast eyes and a deferential smile, and she'll be twice as diligent in her duties to him.

And in her heart, where ambition and adoration entwine, she'll be twice as covetous. Twice as cunning. Twice as eager to prove herself worthy.

He'll use that, too, before the end.

And, the end's nearly in sight.

Silco's glad of it. A warm cunt's not a confidant, and Maven's a poor substitute for either. In her, he sees his hunger reflected. Sees the limits of what that hunger can take, and what it'll leave behind.

Blood. Bruises. Bodies.

He thinks of Sevika's steady hands and steadier eyes, and wonders what they'd see if they knew the truth. That, in the absence of a tether, he's let the storm run rampant, and it's taken him over a cliff's edge.

And now he's fallen into the deepest, darkest place of all.

His child: compromised, and no longer his own.

[sweetreveriee]

ATTENTION!!!!!!

for those affected by the LA fires, various Planet Fitness locations have offered access to locker rooms, showers, charging outlets, and Wi-Fi for free. The offer extends until January 15th so please take advantage of it if you find yourself in need.

The following locations are participating (alphabetical order):

Anaheim (West Katella Avenue)

Beaumont

Bellflower

Buena Park

Camarillo

Carson (Lomita Boulevard)

Carson (Town Center)

Cerritos

Chino

Compton

Corona (Grand Oaks)

Corona

Costa Mesa

Covina

Diamond Bar

Downey

Encino

Fontana (Summit Avenue)

Fontana

Foothill Ranch

Fountain Valley

Fullerton

Garden Grove

Granada Hills

Hawaiian Gardens

Hawthorne

Hemet

Hesperia (Bear Valley Road)

Hesperia

Huntington Beach (Goldenwest Street)

Huntington Park

Inglewood (both locations on Imperial Highway and Manchester Boulevard)

Laguna Niguel

Lake Elsinore

Lake Forest

Lancaster

Long Beach (locations at Cherry Avenue, Ximeno Avenue, and downtown Long Beach)

Downtown Los Angeles

Los Angeles (Mid City – W Washington)

Los Angeles (Washington Street & Hoover Avenue)

Los Angeles (Washington Boulevard)

Los Angeles (Wilmington Avenue)

Moreno Valley

Murrieta

Norwalk

Northridge

Ontario (E 4th Street)

Orange

Oxnard

Palmdale

Paramount

Perris

Pomona

Rancho Cucamonga (Alta Loma)

Rialto (S Riverside Avenue)

Rialto

Riverside (Tyler)

Riverside

San Bernardino (E Highland and Sterling avenues)

San Bernardino (S. Mt. Vernon)

San Bernardino

San Dimas

Santa Ana (E Edinger Aveune)

Santa Ana

Santa Clarita

Santa Fe Springs (Telegraph Road)

Simi Valley

South Gate

Studio City

Temecula (Winchester Road)

Thousand Oaks (Westlake)

Torrance

Tustin

Upland

Van Nuys

Ventura

Victorville

Whittier (Washington Boulevard)

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟑 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐙𝟎𝟔

𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟑 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐙𝟎𝟔

𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟑 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐙𝟎𝟔

𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟑 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐙𝟎𝟔

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟑 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐙𝟎𝟔 𝐇𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫-𝐑𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

Produced from 1962 to 1967, the Chevrolet Corvette C2 stands out as the shortest-lived generation of the iconic sports car. But that's not the only feat that sets it apart from the rest.

It's also regarded as the most beautiful Corvette ever made by many enthusiasts and is famous for its first-year (1963) split rear window. The C2 also spawned a couple of extremely rare iterations, starting with the Grand Sport.

Developed by Zora Arkus-Duntov, the Grand Sport was developed as a lightweight race car aimed at the Shelby Cobra. The secret program was canceled as soon as GM executives found out about it and only five cars were built. Come 2022 and the Grand Sport is one of the most coveted and valuable Corvettes ever built.

Then there's the Z06, a higher-performance variant of the C2. Much like the Grand Sport, the Z06 was also conceived by Duntov against GM's ongoing support of the AMA ban on factory racing involvement. Aimed at competition-minded customers, the Z06 was a bundle of performance upgrades that included a larger front anti-roll bar, vacuum brake booster, cooled brakes, and a stiffer suspension.

The package also included a bigger 36.5-gallon (138-liter) gas tank that replaced the regular 20-gallon (76-liter) unit. Added for longer endurance races at Daytona and Sebring, the oversized tank was discontinued shortly after its introduction. Of the 199 Z06s sold in 1963, only the first 63 cars got one.

There's no precise info as to how many survived, but these C2 "Big Tanks" are extremely hard to come by. And they're also inconspicuous, so they're also tough to spot at car shows. Except for the white example you see here, which boasts a race-inspired livery.

Showcased at the 2022 Muscle Car and Corvette Nationals (MCACN), this first-year Z06 "Tanker" is one of the very few examples of years of hard racing. Yes, it was restored to its original specifications a few years ago, but it's still highly original and has an authentic oversized tank to brag about.

In addition, it still relies on its 327-cubic-inch (5.4-liter) L84 "Fuelie" V8 and sports a fabulous leather interior in gold. And here's another thing that makes it more valuable than the "regular" 1963 Z06: this car was driven by A.J. Foyt for a few practice laps at Laguna Seca. And, of course, because it's a 1963 Corvette, it also has the desirable rear split window.

[motogp-museum]

Tag Navigation and Intro

Hi!! It's @kissingwalls (this is not a side blog though)

Tags:

Year

year: 2010, year: 2011, year: 2012, year: 2013, year: 2014, year: 2015, year: 2016, year: 2017, year: 2018, year: 2019, year: 2020

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blog: sicar26

blog: motoleafs

blog: aleixespargargo

blog: mototwinkclub

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Rider filtered by year

To find the rider's posts from a specific year, type their initials, rider number, a colon, a space, and then the year into the search bar. For example mm93: 2013 (there are a couple of people I haven't done this for, so check their main tag first)

Here are a few common ones :) (i would put them all but the link limit is humbling me)

Vale:

vr46: 2013

vr46: 2014

vr46: 2015

vr46: 2016

Dani:

dp26: 2011

dp26: 2012

dp26: 2013

dp26: 2014

dp26: 2015

Jorge L:

jl99: 2011

jl99: 2012

jl99: 2013

jl99: 2014

jl99: 2015

Marc:

mm93: 2012

mm93: 2013

mm93: 2014

mm93: 2015

mm93: 2016

Ships (romantic/ platonic/ familial)

Some of these are just people who are together a lot.

pedrenzo

rosquez

team tiny

vr26 riders academy

Jorge/Pecco

Marquez brothers

espargabros

Vale/Uccio

lucalex

dovquez

Organisation

moto2

moto3

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bikes: year (eg. bikes: 2015)

the ranch

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type: gif

type: picture

type: writing

type: video

type: fanart

type: quote

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misano

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assen

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portugal

cota

qatar

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aragón

valencia

silverstone

sepang

laguna seca

indy

mandalika

chang

red bull ring

Circuit with year

You can also search by circuit: year (eg. catalunya: 2015). Just make sure you put a space after the colon. Unless the post said where it was though, I did not put a location tag.

----------

Intro:

(i'll just put it at the bottom so i remember to delete it)

I have been hoarding all of these (there are like 1000 more in my draft and queue lol) for a while now in my draft bc even tho they are like 3 note gifs, they are historical artefacts to meeee.

Anyway, I've got a cold, and so to occupy myself, I decided to just make a blog so that everything can be organised and easy (ish, this is tumblr after all) to find!

I know heaps of my fellow ✨motogp tumblrinas ✨have made archives for their favs, and you are all braver than me, bc I would lose all the gifs immediately if I tried to create new archival posts. So I just reblogged everything and am going to hope for the best in terms of copyright lol

But yeah, these aren't just my favs. This is more just a snapshot of the fandom at different periods. I only reblogged the deactivated ones, but, y'all, use the posts as little gateways to blogs from that time period, it is FACINATING.

As always, peer review is welcome! If i completely messed up a tag (very likely, since i used the mass tag editor), you're welcome to let me know. Also if there's a ship tag, fun tag or something you want me to add in the mass tag editor, lemme know! more than happy to add literally anything ✨✨

I only started this today, so it's very much a work in progress! All the things without a link are because the posts that match up with them are in the queue. I also need to add the ones i forgot

[writing-my-time]

Meet Me in the Bathroom

Donald Pierce X F!Reader This is the first time I've ever posted anything I've written to Tumblr! This is written for @toxicanonymity's Boyd-a-thon, which was almost perfect timing considering he's become my new blorbo. Word Count: 1.7k Warnings: 18+, Smut with minimal plot, alcohol, semi-public sex, fingering, light spanking, over-use of pet names, unprotected sex. Summary: Not even five minutes into your drink, Donald invites you to 'catch-up' in the bathroom. You agree.

Tap tap tap. Tap. The sound is aggravating, the sight even more so.

Donald Pierce slides next to you, practically peacocking his chest out as his robotic digits thrum against the bar table. Each tap of his fingers on the wood makes your eye twitch. Apparently, there’s no escaping the Reaver’s ringleader, not even in a bar right on the outskirts of Laguna Vista. You’ve only been nursing your drink for about five minutes, before he’s made his way over to you. Not even enough time to feel a buzz. He’s got that stupid grin on his face. The one where his gold tooth glints, contrasting his otherwise pearly whites. As the man leans forward, pulling down his red shades to reveal his steely blue eyes, you can’t help but roll your own. Your wordless exchange is one you’ve shared before, though it’s far too early for the two of you to make your way back to wherever he’s staying.

“Oh, c’mon, angel.” He clicks his tongue before sipping his whiskey. “Ain’t like you to refuse a piece.”

You almost choke on your drink, not wanting to stroke the man’s ego with a laugh. Watching as he folds his glasses and tucks them into his jacket pocket, you can’t help but rest your eyes on his chain necklace — Donald notices, chuckling to himself as he leans a little further forward. The chain you’d been admiring now dangles gently off his skin, glimmering slightly as the dim lights of the bar catch it swaying. Soon enough, his whiskied breath hits the shell of your ear, breaking you from your trance.

“I ain’t asking for you to stay the night, princess. Just hoping you’d meet me in the bathroom in a minute or two.” He’s almost pouting, the dirtbag. “Like old times?”

“The fucking bathroom, Don? That’s disgusting” You growl through a whisper.

“Didn’t stop you in New Mexico. Or Lake Charles, or-” “Christ, fine. I’ll be there in a minute.”

God damn it. You chew down on your lip, shutting your eyes to avoid the cocky eyebrow wriggle he’s most likely doing. Why did that work on you? Why does he work on you? Goosebumps pimple your skin as he pulls away. Like you expected, he’s wiggling his eyebrows. Without another word, he shifts off of his seat, swaggering away to the bathrooms, looking back at you with a smirk, he slips an ‘out-of-order’ sign onto the door of the disableds. You swing back your drink with haste.

---

It takes about two minutes for you to convince yourself to actually follow him. Quickly, you make your way across the room in an effort to stay unnoticed by the bar’s other patrons - though, they all seem too wrapped up in their own business to notice two people entering the same bathroom. As you push open the creaky door, you’re met almost instantly with the strong frame of Donald Pierce. Both flesh and cybernetic hands make their way down your sides, and his predatory grip tightens around your waist. Pulling you into the bathroom entirely, Don kicks the door closed with his foot before pressing you up against the cold wood. You still have enough time to look around the bathroom before his lips latch onto your neck. Like you suspected, it wasn’t exactly clean. 

The walls have some kind of mold growing up the side, and in truth, the floor is no better. God knows what the actual amenities look like. There’s a faint droning of the harsh fluorescent light above you, but that holds nothing in comparison to the sound of Don’s throaty chuckle as his hands begin to guide you over the sink.

“You’re not bending me over that thing.” You try to dig in your heels, but you know he’s far too strong to be stopped. That, and you don’t really want him to. “Don, it’s filthy.”

“Stop whining.”

“Don, you’re not fucking me-”

“-I said stop whining.” He cuts your protests off short, turning and forcing you to grip the sides of the decrepit sink as he pushes you against it. “Now, be a good girl and look in the mirror.”

Hearing his order makes your cheeks burn, and you lift your head to catch his image in the mirror. You watch the reflection with shaky breath as Don hikes your skirt up and drags your panties halfway down your thighs. With your eyes focusing on Don, you catch him throwing his head back, growling in frustration to himself before he unbuckles his belt. He drags his tongue over his teeth, flitting his eyes between the sight of your warmth, slick and wanting, and your blushing face in the mirror.

“Wish I could take my time with you.” He admits with a growl, lazily pushing the waistband of his pants under his balls, pumping his cock a few times in preparation. “Shit, I’d worship your pussy if you let me, angel. But we don’t got time.”

You’re about to quip back to him that it was his choice to fuck in the bathroom, but the air is forced out of your lungs as he delves two freezing cold metal fingers into your pink slit. Already, you know he’s not planning on keeping his cybernetic digits there for long; simply working your wetness enough to make room for his thickness. When a moan threatens to escape your lips, you have to remove your gaze from the mirror entirely. Don clicks his tongue, hastily pulling his hand away from your core. “Thought I told you to look, pretty girl.” The southern man reaches forward and grips your jaw, steering your head back to the direction of the mirror. 

Once again, you’re met with your own reflection. You watch through half-lidded eyes as Don grips his length in his hand, coating it in the slick he had gathered from your core. It’s mesmerizing, the way his tip is already red and weeping in his tight grasp. He knows you’re looking, and rewards your focus with a gentle love tap of his cock against your folds. If you weren’t so worked up, you’d bark at him to get a condom, but that’s more time you don’t want to lose. After a heated exhale from Don, he pushes forward. 

While this isn’t the first time his girth has invaded your walls, the pure thickness of him forces a choked gasp from deep within your chest. The man has yet to move, instead he dips his head down, clearly in his own bubble of ecstasy while your wetness envelops him with ease. Don’s hands grip your hips with enough strength to leave bruises, and without warning the Reaver pulls himself completely out, only to ram himself back in. His pace is vicious; the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the dingy bathroom. All you can do is bite down on your lip in a desperate attempt to stay quiet, watching through glassy eyes as Donald’s reflection fucks into you with a snarl. 

“Fuck, angel,” He rasps, catching your eyes in the mirror. “Don't you look so pretty takin’ my cock like this?”

You nod, earning a harsh slap to your ass with his flesh hand.

“Words, baby. You know I like that pretty lil’ voice of yours.”

“I look pretty.” You manage to squeak out through high-pitched whimpers.

“Good girl.” 

His praise is accentuated by his cybernetic hand snaking around your waist and slipping between your soaked folds. Finding your clit, he circles it with an equally brutal pace as his thrusts. There's a knot in your stomach, and already you’re feeling it begin to snap. It's as if he knows, digging his free hand in your hip for better leverage to fuck you even harder; now hitting deep enough inside you to make you need to scream. Instead, you clamp your teeth down around your hand, moaning into the bitten skin. You're so close it hurts.

“Does my pretty girl wanna cum?”

Again, you nod. This time you don't get spanked. When you focus on the mirror, you see Don's face begin to twist into pure bliss. He's close too. In his one moment of being a gentleman, he clearly wants you to cum first, or at least at the same time. Throwing his head back, Don lets out a low growl.

“Cum for me, pretty girl. Let me feel it.”

On command, your body spasms, a quick and powerful release clamping down around him while you whine into your hand. You can't help but squint your eyes shut, feeling the final staggered thrusts from Don before he pulls out with barely enough time to spare. All you can hear is his throaty grunts, right before thick ropes of his release coat your ass. He slumps over your body for a moment, syncing with your own heavy breaths before finally pulling back and admiring his work. The reaver gives your left cheek a gentle smack before pulling your skirt back down over it. He's pocketed your panties. Jerk. As you pull back with shaky legs, you aren't surprised to see he's already tucked himself back in, zipping up his fly as your eyes meet his. Can't exactly have pillow talk in a disabled bathroom, can you? The look he gives you isn't one you've seen before, but you can guess what it means.

“Gotta go?” You assume, finally exhaling a stable breath.

“You know it, angel. Nature of the job.” He shoots you the same shit eating grin as before, making sure to add in a wink this time for good measure.

With that, Donald exits the bathroom without so much as a goodbye. You rest your arms back against the sink, shaking your head as you laugh at your own expense. A minute later, you follow suit, creaking open the toilet door and removing the out-of-order sign. The man is nowhere to be seen, leaving an empty feeling you’d much prefer to drink away than acknowledge. When you head back to your original seat at the bar, the tender sets down a pretty pink cocktail with a note.

See you later, pretty girl. - D. x ---

Thank you for reading! Feedback, thoughts, and other ideas welcome. Maybe more Holbrook boy fics in the future :) Big thank you to @justeverythingprettymuch for hyping me up to post this <3

[brights-place]

AHHH TYSM FOR THE TROLLEX REQUEST I LOVED IT!!!

When you get the time if possible do you think you could write a continuation please? I was audibly like “noooo” at the ending lol I want Trollex to be ok <33

Trollex X M! Techno S/O

Pairing: Trollex X S/O

Warnings: Lots of Fluff, Mild cursing

A/N: A continuation for you pookie!!! Don't worry anyways here's the original piece here!! anyways happy new year everybody this is my first post of the new year of 2025! ── .✦ Part 1 - So here you were in the same cage holding trollex is hand with teary eyes as he cupped your face wiping your tears as he muttered to you in hushed voices - Barb didn't hesitate to hit the bars of your sell "Well look here" barb lips twitched up "Lovers? I assume don't worry rock n roll can help bind it stronger-" "Shut up... just let us be you ahev teh string " "hm... fine Put this techno troll in a different cell farther from trollex" - The panic in Trollex eyes as he grabbed your hands trying to keep you in his arms before you were dragged away from rock trolls into a separate cage horrified him as he was calling out for you as you were chucked into a separate cage hidden by many others

- Trollex was panicked yet Barb threatened him to turn you into a rock troll in-front of him if he didn't be quiet - No matter how many times Trollex would try to find you in the caged area he just couldn't find you even with the quiet whispers that called for your name - When he and all the other leaders for the other genre trolls were propped up on the stage he saw you in the crowd staring at him with panicked eyes - Trollex made a motion for you to stay and be careful as he makes sure your safe a way of comfort saying "I'll be fine" - So when he turned into a rock troll and how you tried to move forward synth and laguna held you back as you stared at your boyfriend with panicked eyes - The aftermath though you rushed to techno so fast as you held him close scolding him as he just smiled at you and pampered you with loving kisses - After the whole situation you to kept each other close comforting each other with affection and genuine love for eachother

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2025 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact

[popcornbutterfly]

[moonshynecybin]

what happened at laguna seca 2013???

brother what DIDNT happen at laguna seca 2013.... kind of the beautiful beginning of rosquez's relationship while also planting the seeds of its inevitable end...

we must begin with the lead up. pre race was crazy it started at SACHSENRING with cal crutchlow and rosquez being mildly exasperated about the amount of success babychamp is having and teasing him about it potentially continuing into laguna seca. look how pleased marc is. like he literally loves older men idk what to tell you. cal crutchlow also made fun of marc on twitter in this gay ass picture of when marc was chillin in the bay area

and then when they actually get to california, tthis happened immediately. starting off with a homoerotic bang as it were. these pics too. like marc was VIBINGGGG

and then during the race, vale and marc have a lil battle and marc passes him at the corkscrew section of the track in the EXACT same way that vale famously did to casey stoner back in 2008... gifs here, and i talk about the myriad complexes vale mayhaps has about it here

POSTRACE WENT INSANE TOOOO vale choked him in parc ferme for the first time but crucially. not the last. vid here, gifs here. and then they were also fuckign crazy in that post race press conference shit went nuts the quotes were bananas... rife with psychosexual implications and little nuggets of characterization. marc is also flirting with the same methodology of a preteen. which would be more mortifying if vale wasnt also having so much fun... i firmly believe that they fucked here. marc also slapped cal crutchlow in parc ferme so take that as you will. maybe the highest rate of postrace bdsm flirting in motogp history which is a HIGH bar tbh

[antifainternational]

Far-Right Mass Shootings, May 2022-May 2023

Now that we know that the mass murderer in Allen, Texas was a far-right extremist and incel (as well as that puzzling but not-that-uncommon mix of being a racialized neo-nazi/white supremacist), we wanted to illustrate that mass shootings by the far-right are not aberrations with this list of similar events from over the last twelve months: December 23, 2022: A gunman opens fire in Paris, killing 3 Kurdish people & wounding 3 more in a plan to “kill non-European foreigners.” The attacker had just been released from prison after attacking migrants in Paris with a sword the year before. December 19-20, 2022: 22-year-old Anderson Aldrich enters a CO. gay bar with an assault rifle & opens fire, killing five and wounding 25 others before he is subdued. November 25, 2022: A 16-year-old former student storms two schools in Aracruz, Brazil, armed with two pistols and wearing a bulletproof vest emblazoned with a swastika. The teen shoots 16 people in the rampage, killing three of them. October 12, 2022: After posting an online manifesto against Jewish & LGBTQ+ people, a Bratislava, Slovakia teen shoots three people outside a local gay bar, killing two and wounding the third person before fleeing. The suspect was found dead the next day. September 27, 2022: Brothers Mark & Michael Sheppard are charged with manslaughter for opening fire on a group of migrants getting water near Hudspeth County, TX. One victim died from gunshot wounds, and one is recovering at an El Paso hospital. September 26, 2022: A gunman wearing a balaclava and a t-shirt with a swastika emblazoned on it enters an elementary school in Izhevsk, Russia, killing 15 people - 11 of them children - and wounding another 39 before turning the gun on himself. September 11, 2022: 53-year-old Igor Lanis’ obsession with far-right conspiracies ends when he guns down his wife, 25-year-old daughter, & family dog, before turning his shotgun on responding police, who shoot him dead. Only his daughter survives. August 9, 2022: A group of Black men helping someone jump-start a car in a Macon, GA. Wal-Mart parking lot are subjected to racial abuse by another man who then pulls a gun and begins shooting at them. May 15, 2022: 68-year-old David Wenwei Chou is charged with hate crimes after storming a Taiwanese church in Laguna Woods, CA. and shooting parishoners, killing one and injuring five others

May 14, 2022: An 18-year-old white supremacist opens fire in a supermarket in a black neighbourhood in Buffalo, NY, killing ten customers and wounding three others while livestreaming the attack.

May 11, 2022: A masked gunman walks shoots 3 Korean women working in a Dallas hair salon. Authorities believe the incident is connected to two earlier drive-by shootings targeting Asian-owned businesses in the Dallas area on April 2nd and May 10th. This is just a list of mass shootings committed by bigots, fascists, and far-right extremists over the last 12 months. We haven't included shooting with less than two victims, thwarted mass shootings, or any of bombings, stabbings, vehicle attacks, or other acts of violence.

In 2022 we documented 477 violent incidents motivated by hate or committed by bigots, fascists, or right-wing extremists, including 112 shootings. These attacks killed 366 people and injured 399 others. Read our 2022 report here. When we say anti-fascism = self-defence, we meant it. The endpoint for far-right ideology is mass murder. Fascists intend to do harm to our communities and will seize on any opportunity to hurt others. The only thing stopping them is ourselves. WE PROTECT US!

[acronym-chaos]

Vancouver Coastal Sea Wolf Themed ID Pack

[PT: Vancouver Coastal Sea Wolf Themed ID Pack].

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

Names

[PT: Names].

Aegir, Ardyn, Azure, Baleen, Brine, Caspian, Cobalt, Crest, Dune, Eryth, Fen, Fjord, Gale, Hali, Harkin, Haven, Indigo, Kairos, Kelpie, Laguna, Lirien, Marin, Marrow, Mist, Morven, Nereus, Nix, Oceanus, Pelagos, Rainier, Reef, Ripple, Riven, Saelin, Searin, Selkie, Siren, Skye, Solmar, Storm, Surge, Tider, Vesper, Veyla, Vyn, Wave, Wynne

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

Aq / Aqu / Aqua, Bark / Bar / Barks, Ba / Bay / Bays, Bri / Brine / Brines, Crest / Crests / Crests, Curr / Current / Currents, Drift / Drifts / Drifts, How / Howl / Howls, Rip / Ripple / Ripples, Sal / Sals / Sals, Se / Sea / Seas, So / Shore / Shores, Surf / Surfs / Surfs, Ti / Tide / Tides, Wa / Wav / Wave, Wo / Wolf / Wolfs

Titles

[PT: Titles].

[Pronoun] Who Dwells Where Land Meets Sea, [Pronoun] Who Hunts on the Foamy Waves, [Pronoun] Who Rises with the Tide, [Pronoun] Whose Eyes Reflect the Moon, [Pronoun] Whose Howl Echoes Over Water, A Howl Beneath the Waves, The Crest of the Waves, The Hunter in the Mist, The Sea Wolf of the Coast, The Watcher on the Shoreline

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, End ID].

Requested by @thestarsareweeping!

Also tagging: @id-pack-archive