#Mountain Bike Wear

[market-insider]

Exploring the Mountain Bike Apparel Market: Riding in Style

The global mountain bike apparel market size was estimated to reach USD 5.12 billion in 2030 and is anticipated to grow at a CAGR of 5.0% from 2023 to 2030, according to a new report by Grand View Research, Inc. The growth of the market can be attributed to the rising popularity and increased participation in mountain biking. Mountain bike apparel plays a crucial role in providing protection against falls, collisions, and harsh weather conditions while ensuring comfort and flexibility for riders. The increasing adoption of mountain biking as both a recreational activity and a competitive sport has led to a growing demand for specialized gear and apparel that can endure the challenges of off-road cycling. The top wear segment dominated the market with a major share in 2022.

Gain deeper insights on the market and receive your free copy with TOC now @: Mountain Bike Apparel Market Report

There is a noticeable increase in the demand for technologically advanced fabrics in mountain biking garments that provide features like temperature regulation, moisture-wicking, and abrasion resistance. A lucrative growth can be observed owing to the development and promotion of high-quality materials. Moreover, there is an opportunity to cater to consumers seeking versatile and multifunctional clothing options by offering mountain biking top wear that can be utilized for other outdoor activities, such as hiking or running. Expanding product offerings in this manner can help reach a broader audience. The specialty stores segment held the largest market size in 2022. Specialty stores play a significant role as a common distribution channel, catering to the specific requirements of outdoor enthusiasts and offering a range of products including apparel, accessories, and equipment.

Collaborating with specialty stores provides an opportunity for mountain biking apparel brands to effectively reach their target audience. However, it is important to note that competition for shelf space within these stores can be fierce. To stand out, brands must differentiate themselves from competitors and deliver high-quality products that align with the demands of outdoor enthusiasts. Europe accounted for the largest share of the market. The popularity of cycling tourism is surging in Europe, driven by the increasing health consciousness and desire for active vacation experiences. Within this trend, mountain bike tourism has particularly captured the interest of cycling enthusiasts and adventure seekers.

With its diverse range of routes and varying levels of difficulty, from scenic trails to challenging mountain rides, mountain biking has become a sought-after activity. Consequently, the demand for specialized mountain biking apparel has risen. In response, numerous companies in the region offer a wide array of high-quality garments designed to provide durability, breathability, and moisture-wicking capabilities, catering to the specific needs of mountain bikers. Various steps are adopted by major companies including partnerships, mergers & acquisitions, global expansion, etc. to gain a higher market share.

[barksbog]

I've been looking into hiking a lot with leon and it's honestly driving me up the walls how gentrified hiking is here in Austria. most of the nicer routes are overrun and/or have horribly expensive parking.

multi day hikes/short camping trips are impossible here if you're broke and have a dog because you need to reserve and pay to sleep in sheds in the alps (that don't allow dogs) and all forms of wild camping are illegal.

idk the realisation that all of the "hardcore" hikers sleep in little well temperatured huts that usually even offer food and drinks made me realise hiking like that is just another pay to play sport. i'll just keep crawling down the day trip mountains instead.

[heintzmagic]

[orcelito]

So Turns Out !

My shoulder myscle pain is likely due to my hypermobility issues lmao. My occupational therapist was moving my arms around as part of the initial assessment & found that the muscles are tight, but the joints themselves are very loose. Which would explain the tension in the muscles, since they have to overcompensate for the bad joints.

At this, i mentioned to my occupational therapist that I can literally pull my shoulders out of socket, and she was just Laughing, bc Yeah, that would explain it.

So we will be doing work to strengthen the muscles around my shoulders, not just the problem muscles, to try to lessen the amount of strain they feel. I Also am supposed to work to fix my posture lol, since that also messes with the shoulder shit.

So! There is a path to recovery! I just gotta work for it.

[beeapocalypse]

be aware. two strange guys spotted in the desert

[retro-system]

why is there a music change in the 0.1 seconds you're in a building in the madrid course but not while you're underwater in rosalina's ice world??

[bitegore]

i gotta get rollerblades that fit me its been too long

[oldermenlvrgrl]

Filthy animal

Logan doesn’t regret much in his life but pushing you away is his biggest mistake.

Logan howlett x human! reader.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: hella angst to cry to, swearing, excessive drinking, loss & grief, his fighting era, dark themes, he’s an alcoholic, stalking, insecurities, depression, anxiety, memories of sex & sexual themes, kissing, talk of breeding/pregnancy, hormones, ovulation, mentioning of self harm, a/b/o themes, he eats raw meat like a feral animal.

A/n: to the one person that wanted me to write this, between when origins end and x-men begins era. He has a bike in this before he goes to the academy idc he’s hot when he’s on a bike

The house is too quiet. The log cabin stood on a mountain top overlooking the vast earthly landscape below. His fingers trace over the wooden bannister of the front door. Feeling every crevice and panel. His mind is numb to the feeling of longing. He doesn’t even know why he did it anymore. The pain in his chest that never yields is too unbearing. He sighs, locking the door and leaving it behind him, like he did with you. Locking away the love he had for you in a cage and leaving it behind.

He goes to the bar, the only place known to give him comfort is at the end of a whiskey bottle. A fat stogy lit between his fingers. The smoke dancing in the air. He doesn’t care that he’s told to not smoke. He nurses the glass, hunched over the bar. Aggression flaring up his face. A hungry dog with food aggression bowed over lapping at liquor. He clenches and opens his hand, feeling the metal under the skin gyrate.

For weeks this is all he has known. Lumber yard (when he shows up), fighting cage, bar and home. It wasn’t even home without you there. You were the only thing that was home to him. Now that you were gone he didn’t have a home.

“Now introducing…the Wolverine!”

Logan gets up staggering along the sea of people. Putting the head of the cigar in the drip of whiskey that resides in his glass. Shedding his flannel and his tank to his bare chest. His veins pulsing and his vision impaired. They open the fenced gate and his head is hung down as he focuses on walking straight. He never planned to win this fight. He didn’t want to. He wanted to get the shit beat out of him so he can feel something other than grief.

The man before him is about seven foot, a mutant with the way his skin is stretched. The bell rings and they size each other up. Walking around the cage. They don’t speak and he prefers it to be that way. He raises his fists and cowers his head behind them. The abomination swings and hits him in the side of his head where his ear is. The hit wasn't normal, the hit felt like he got his head run over by a train. He smiles knowing that this beating was exactly what he lusted after.

He staggers up against the side of the cage. The coldness of the metal burns his hot skin. His drunken eyes look at the crowd and he faintly imagines that he sees your silhouette. Another hit to his abdomen. He holds his arm over his stomach and holds onto the fence. He stares out with unsteady eyes to where he sees a mirage of you wearing his dog tags around your neck. Your pretty neck, your pretty hair, your pretty face. His pretty girl. He starts to smile wider, white bloodied teeth. The blood poured behind the crevices in his mouth. Down his chest. Speckling his skin with rogue.

His head rears back as the abomination throws his fist into his nose. Blood starts flowing down his nasal passages. The square part of his chin where it’s shaved is covered in fluid. Another, another, another. He’s surprised he’s not missing teeth as he’s sprawled down on the white plastic floor in a splattered bloody pool. His torso, bruised and battered. He’s laughing. It’s taxing as he feels his broken ribs poke into his lungs. He watches the man parade around him in a victory lap, money starts being handed to and fro. Cradling his ribs as he continues to laugh. He laughs at himself, at how much of a joke he is. How he doesn’t have any restraint or respect for himself. He’s a mockery of who he once was. He looks to the crowd once more to see your face and he doesn’t.

The usher lifts him up and shoves his balled up clothes into his chest. Telling him that he’s banned from the establishment. He’s a joke to the fighting scene and to the bar. Logan isn’t sure if it’s the concussion or the liquor that makes him hear “come back tomorrow.” So he pats the man on his shoulder with a bloodied grin and goes back home.

He drinks himself to sleep that night. If he doesn’t drink, he can’t forget and he’d rather go bankrupt with all the liquor he buys than to remember you. There’s a part of him that desperately latches onto your memory. The bits and pieces that were domestic.

He doesn’t even bother going to the yard. Deep down he knows he’s fired, he couldn’t care. He sits in his big empty wooden cage and just watches the sun change into the moon and stars. Fighting off war flashbacks and memories of you. The only cure is whiskey, and he hadn’t eaten in days. His hunger only grows with each passing day. He can’t eat anything after remembering those home cooked meals you made him.

Nothing suffices. His house was destroyed after he purged it. His couch was torn to shreds, his clothes, and walls. Everything. He didn’t have a television or radio.

So he sits in a leather chair overlooking the mountain in the loose boxers that hang loosely around his hips. His legs spread wide and out, his arms lazily laid over the rests. His bicep only flexes as he sips from the lip of the bottle. A lit cigar he lethargically puffs on occasionally, feeling the burn in his chest simmer down his stomach. The tendons in his neck bulge as his heart rate rises. Fuck, he thought about you.

He thought about the times he’s hurt you.

Once it was deep in his sleep, you cradled against his broad sweaty chest. The sheets scattered in the dark. One of your legs kicked over his torso. His arm around your back, pushing you closer. His body is rigid and tense. His body feverish as he perspires. Sweat drips along his brows and temples.

His face winces as he watches his brother dismember innocent people before him. The hopeless desperate yearning he feels in the pit of his stomach grows. He feels nauseous as his face twists in agony. He shouts and shouts to no avail. The metal between his knuckles, pushing out. He grows anxious.

He feels you shuffle and that’s when he slices your upper arm. Your breath staggers as you jolt awake with fearful eyes, he’ll never forget you pulling away from him. He stands from the bed, watching you with horror, stricken across his pale face. He watches your feeble hand touch the blood that welts from the wound. The sheets draped over your torso as you stood and walked to him. He doesn’t look into your remorseful eyes as your soft red painted hand comes to touch the hair on his face. Cradling his jaw in your palm. He doesn’t welcome your warmth, he doesn’t deserve it. As your touch lingers, his claws retract.

“It’s just a scratch.”

You whisper softly. He doesn’t listen.

“It’s just a scratch.”

He mutters to himself as he takes another drink from the bottle. It wasn’t just a scratch, not to him. That single cut meant that he couldn’t even protect you from himself. How was he supposed to protect you if he contributed to your harm? He thinks of another memory.

He was close. His abdomen tightening and his balls drawn tight. He feels your walls constrict around the thickness of his cock. Pulling and tugging with each bounce of your hips. His head thrown back into the pillows as he grits his teeth together, thick eyebrows furrowed as he concentrates on feeling your wet slick coating his wide thighs. The smell is brutalizing him. The smell of your cunt weeping for him.

He peeks and watches your breasts bounce and your nails dig into his hairy chest. The hair on his lower stomach glistening with your slick. He bucks his hips up into your core, hitting that spot deep inside your womb. He feels your heated breath on his neck. Your nipples brushing against his own as you lay on top of him, the metal of his dog tags pressed between each of your chests.

Allowing him to bury himself inside you. His strong hands hold your hips in place, your legs widening to let his aggression grow. He pours everything he has into breeding you. His heart hammers against his chest as he hears your whimpers. The silent cry of yours to breed you full of his pups.

He growls deep in the back of his throat. Jackhammering his thrusts, the filthy sound of your squelching cunt is music to him. The sweet smell of your ovulation makes him drunker than any whiskey. He can’t control himself anymore. He ruts and ruts against your puffy pussy as you squeal for him to slow so you can breathe. He doesn’t and continues to pound into your pelvis, rocking your entire body against his. It’s painful how hard and fast he’s pulling you down. His legs half bent as he pulls your ass down to touch his thighs with every thrust. He growls as he pushes all the way inside and releases his seed into your weeping cunt.

The pain from his bleeding knuckles is excruciating but not as much as the quiet squeak from your little mouth. He pulls his head up and sees the little slits he made on your thighs. He lays his head against the pillows with a long sigh. Knowing that he couldn’t bear hurting you anymore. He couldn’t have you baring his pups and risk hurting you.

He couldn’t even get hard anymore without you. He couldn’t smell your hormones, couldn’t smell how desperate you wanted him. It wasn’t the same without you. He drinks. The cigar burns the inside of his index and middle, he doesn’t care. He lets it scorch his tanned skin. If it burnt the entire cabin he wouldn’t care either. He remembers the night he ended it with you.

He was drunk to the point where he was a vegetable on his leather couch. Shirtless and only in his dirtied torn blue jeans. He waited until you got home after work. He made up his mind a couple days ago and he didn’t have the courage to do it sober minded so he drank himself to it. He smelled you before he watched as the door knob wobbled and you stepped forward. He hated how beautiful you looked and his stomach twisted. You had groceries and a pretty smile on your face. It turned into a frown as you saw him with the bottle.

You asked him if something happened at the yard and he said no. You took the groceries into the kitchen after kicking the door closed with your foot. You started taking the groceries out and putting them into the cupboards. The raw meat you had to get from the local farmers was bloody as you put it in the fridge. You turned to get another item and were met with his glossy eyes. His mouth turned into a snarl. His eyes glanced over your confusion and his heart weakened. He desperately wanted to comfort you, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t in his nature to. His chest heaved as he looked at the inscribed dog tags around your neck.

“I want you out of my house.”

His words were heavily slurred, but he knew you understood them as your brows pinched together and you stopped looking for things to put up.

“What?”

It was weak and it killed him. He stared at the wooden floor, taking another swig. He raised a thick eyebrow and looked down the curve of his nose at you with blurry hazel eyes.

“You heard me.”

You shook your head and placed your hands on the counter, trying to ground yourself. Your world was falling apart in front of you.

“You’re drunk.”

You say meekly, barely above a whisper. He doesn’t reply. That was true, but the saying drunken words are sober thoughts still apply. A wave of emotion hits you, and your eyes water. You sniffle and turn to him. Your Logan wasn’t there. His eyes were glossed over and he was a shell.

“You don't mean that.”

He watches your bottom lip wobble and tears fall down your face. His heart drops and he drinks. His lips polished over with alcohol. The tension is thick and restricting.

“What happened to our future together? Where you wanted me to be your wife and to have your kids?”

You look down at your feet as you cry.

“When you said you’d never leave and that I’d always be your girl?”

He doesn’t speak and resentment grows in your heart.

“Is there another girl?!”

He doesn’t know why but you insinuating that he’d be able to love another woman than you angers him. His snarl grows and he shakes his head.

“Answer me!”

You push his chest and he stumbles back. That enrages him, his claws push out. He puts the bottle on the counter and pins your hands together and pushes your hips against the wood. You try to move and get his grip to loosen but it doesn’t. He pins you with your hands together behind your back and his body pushed against yours. His hands pulled into fists as he attempted to control his anger. He smells like liquor and his musk. He smells your fear and sees the same sorrow he feels.

“No. There’s never been and never will be. If you come back to my house and if I ever see you again..”

He trails off and looks to the bottle of booze, not wanting to admit it but deep in his heart he knows it’s for the best.

“I’ll kill you.”

You frown and choke out a sob as he lets you go. He stands in the middle of the kitchen with his head downturned. He hears you weep as you gather your things. Dreading the sounds of hearing the wheels of your suitcase trail down the wood. He hears the door open.

“You don’t mean that.”

He listens to the door close and the scent of you leave. Fury rages through him as he destroys everything around him, it doesn’t matter if it’s handmade or expensive he ruins it. He destroys his entire house trying to defile the thought of you. Destroying everything you’ve touched or reminded him of you. He wanted to destroy himself.

He decided later that night he had to see you. Had to breathe in your smell and that’ll fix him, put his mind on track. He was still scared as hell to hurt you, but the agony of being without you is greater than the risk of hurting you. Logan was selfish and all he wanted was you.

He sat outside the building where you worked on his bike and waited. Perched like a predator waiting for prey. He was surprised that he was steady enough to even get there unscathed. He sat on the side of the road, not in the parking lot. The engine turned off and he listened to the birds chirp. He made sure to not let you see him. Digging into his pocket he takes the fat cigar out and places it between his lips. Taking the lighter and cupping his hands around the flame as he puffs it to life. The embers burn and the smoke swirls around his head. The evening slowly dying into night.

Raising his nose to the air and sniffing as he smells your hormones. Your car pulls out of the lot shortly after and passes him. He sees the side of your face through the window and his heart burns. Your face is puffy and gloomy, completely contrasting the sunshine you exude.

Chewing on the end of the cigar, he starts the motorcycle and turns behind you. A good couple cars between him and you to separate the distance. He follows you down the familiar path down to your parents house. The long pine trees and barren fields full of crops. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he’s doing or what he’s going to do. All he knows is that he needs to see you, something primal deep inside him tells him that.

He pulls into an open field, overlooking the farm house. Staring with foggy eyes as you pull in. Gazing at your car door as it opens and you step out. He leans forward to fully look at you as much as he can from the distance. Whistling low at the pretty sight. Then as if you were never there you leave his sight and enter the house. He sighs, leaning back on his bike. Looking to the sky he determines that night shouldn’t take no longer than an hour. He waits.

He waits with a cigar between his plush lips. His hands flexing on top of his thighs. Clenching and opening, enticing the burn of his knuckles spreading open. Observing with eager eyes as each light in every window turns dark, except yours. A wishful smile spreads on his face. Knowing the next thing you’re about to do before going to bed is cracking your window open, and without fail he sees your little hands opening the pane. His heart soars as he’s proud that you’re still his girl. Still, having the same habits and quirks he’s grown to admire.

With that, he takes the cigar from his lips and pushes the end into the palm of his hand. Snuffing the smoke and flicking it into the field. He swings one of his long legs over the bike and starts his trail down to your window.

Begrudgingly, he comes to terms with having to climb up the side of your family's house to your room. The ivy woven into the side provides a grip for his climb. The poor gutter he tried to climb groaned and cried as the hinges unscrewed from the roof as he tried to pull his body weight up it, so the ivy would just have to be adequate. As he climbs, your scent grows stronger and his head starts to get fuzzy. The toes of his boots stuck between some panels. The broad pads of his fingers stuck on the window sill.

Propping his head up, he watches you lay on your bed watching television. Some movie played that you weren’t too keen on paying attention to. If you looked over you’d be able to see his wild hazel eyes and his tufts of hair poking far above his head.

You move to lay on your other side and he wishes to see your pretty face again. Without fail and as overplayed as it is, you truly were a sight for sore eyes. He listens eagerly to your mother’s voice beckoning you to dinner. Like the good sweet girl you are, you obey. Getting up from your bed and walking over to your door. A hand outstretched and touching the knob, but hesitantly, you pause. Logan’s heart drops and the hair on the back of his neck perks up. Can you see him? Your beautiful eyes wander over to the window screen and he ducks his head. Almost losing his grip and falling into the grass below. Your mother yells your name again and he doesn’t pull his head back up until he hears the door close.

He takes one of his hands and summons the metal between his knuckles to grow out. Cutting open the side of the window screen, he pulls it to the side. Hoisting himself up and over into the other side of the window ungracefully.

He’s not as nimble as he once was. He falls on his hands and knees with a loud thud, similar to a cat. He stills, anxiety rushing to his face as he listens for a reaction. Only hearing the chatter of common conversation between your parents and you, he stands. Reality hits him with a rush of adrenaline. He’s in your room. What the fuck is he doing? Guilt crawls up his spine and he flicks his head, ridding the fear. He needs this. His fingers trail over various objects in your room. Wooden dresser, mattress, vanity. His slow saunter stops as he looks at your vanity closer, his dog tags nestled with a Polaroid tucked under the chain.

The weekend your parents took you both camping. He was supposed to propose to you on that trip but got cold feet.

You’re sitting in a little dress on one of his spread thighs in a lawn chair. The neck of a beer bottle was between his fingers over the side of the arm rest. You’re wrapped behind one of his big burly arms. The veins and muscle in his bicep flexed. Caging you to his strong chest as he holds you close. He’s only wearing his white sweat and oil stained tank. He just got done working on the bike, trying to figure out why it’s making a funny noise and arguing with your father about something. It’s evening time and the sun is shining between the maple trees. Everyone waited eagerly as your father grilled dinner. Your cheeks are rosy with a big precious smile as his face is shoved in your neck, pressing kisses into the tender area making you giggle. Your mother took that picture.

He swallows thickly as he sits with that feeling deep in his chest. Logan knows what he did was wrong and he feels like a reformed prisoner in his own mind. The duality is that he is also the police officer always beating him with a bat, constantly repeating the same behavior that has caused him to get in the prison. He loves to self sabotage and he fears that this fatal mistake was the end of it all. All he was and ever will be is an animal.

A strong aroma hits him all at once, he lifts his face and sniffs the air. Oh, god. It’s your clothes. Your smell is on all of them and it's surrounding him. Suffocating him. Something spurs him to start opening drawers. He pulls out various clothing, shirts, and jeans are too faint.

Pulling out another drawer, he goes to his knees. Panties. He grabs a handful, one of them being a devious pair of white cotton that has your name embroidered on the top and shoves them into his leather pocket of his jacket, closing the drawer. Stealing one of your dainty shirts that had your scent on it the strongest and holding that to his chest. He holds it to his nose and takes a long breath in, holding the smell deep in his chest. He almost moans as he exhales. He feels the front of his jeans tightening and his metal belt buckle poking his abdomen. He groans and adjusts the crotch of his jeans, trying to ease the discomfort, but it only makes his fervor grow.

He stares at himself long and carefully in your vanity mirror. An animal is all he sees, stealing your clothes because he can’t bear not breathing your scent. A pervert even. He smiles at the names, pride swelling in his chest. The pride is shot with a steady arrow as he hears a set of footsteps coming up the hall. Looking frantically for somewhere to hide, he figures your closet would be as best as he’s going to get. He makes sure that everything was in place as he first saw it and barricades himself inside your wardrobe.

This great and powerful Wolverine had fought in many wars and witnessed things that not even the most seasoned veteran can survive. Yet, he’s scared of the judgment of a woman he’s in love with. He’s sweating bullets, fat dwallops of sweat rolls down his hairline and neck.

Through the slits in your door he watches eagerly as the towel wrapped around the bust of your breasts falls. His breath stutters and he balls the shirt up and presses it against his mouth to stifle his hurried breaths. His almost green eyes roll back in his head, watching your bare breasts contort along with your body as you bend over to find clothes in your dresser. The smell is unbearable, the fresh scent of your dewy skin. The warmth of the water falling into every hidden crevice that only he can see.

His stomach growls. His starvation is growing worse. He palms his hard length. Raising your arms you put on one of his old hockey jerseys he gave you. He groans and his head thumps against the back wall. He can’t bear it. What if he jumped out and ravaged you? Would you be upset? He’d never forgive himself for it, but the need for release is far too much for him to withstand. You’re just a little woman, he couldn’t do that to you. Defile his sweet girl and breed her, only in his thoughts he entertains the thought. Stepping into some of his old boxers too. He’s been wondering where those had gone. Maybe he and his girl weren't too far off. Cut from the same perverted cloth.

You crawl into your bed with a deep sigh. Cuddling up with some childhood teddy bear. He watches your heavenly face twist as you cry into the fur of the bear. His heart breaks. He’s defeated, he hates to see you cry and it’s even worse when he can actually feel the sorrow fill his heart. He stands there for what seems to be an eternity watching you break down into a helpless little girl. Broken and distraught. In that moment he knows that you’d never love him the same.

He waits until your puffy eyes close and the soft snore falls from your parted lips to leave your closet. Closing the door behind him, he stands before your sleeping beauty. Admiring your face from afar. Logan is a hated man and he’s never cared, but he cares all too much that you do. He goes to his knees, quietly. Tucking your shirt into the waistband of his jeans. He tucks a fallen strand of hair behind your ear and kisses your nose gently. As gently as an animal like him could. Pulling up your blanket under your chin.

“I’m sorry.”

He whispers. He stands to his feet again, marveling at the memories he’s had with such a dream of a woman in the glow of the moon. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear the wiggle of the door knob and your mothers breath of your name. He twists his body and jumps out of the window. Again, he lands on his feet and he runs. He runs on all fours. Dirt getting under his fists as the claws give him leverage to run faster.

Your mother places a gentle hand on your shoulder as she sits by your feet. Blinking your eyes open, you look at her with blurry vision.

“Logan?”

He’s panting and his eyes are wild as he flies down the road on his bike. Feeling as if he just robbed a bank. He’s a wanted man. You know that he was there. You had to. The deep pit in his stomach is too expensive for you to not have.

As soon as he’s up the mountain and parks haphazardly in front of the cabin, he’s stripping off his clothes. He’s burning alive. He’s left only in his tattered jeans. His stomach twists and turns and before he knows it, he’s pulling out every single meat he has in his fridge and tearing it open. He feasts like a wild animal. Tearing the plastic open and the blood dripping down onto him. His chest and jaw slathered in dead animals. Pork, poultry, cow it’s everywhere. He doesn’t care if it’s not cooked, his hunger is far greater than his rationality. He doesn’t even breathe as he devours. His hands were coated in blood like he murdered someone.

When he finishes he stares at his destruction. Only bones were left in various places. His torso was even coated in red. He groans, chewing the fat of some animal and swallowing with a gulp. He finds whatever beer he has in the fridge and pops the lid off with his claw. Taking a prolonged gradual swig. Your shirt, surprisingly, still hung sloppily and pure under his belt.

He roams to his trophy case, full of all his war memorabilia and opens the door. Taking the wooden case full of cigars out and putting one between his bloodied lips. He sets the bottle beside the case and lights the cigar. It’s almost as good as an orgasm. For the first time he feels full. His needs were almost completely met. The only thing missing was you. He walks sluggishly to his open front door, leaning his shoulder against the frame. Switching between smoking and drinking as he listens to the night's ambiance. Listening to the wild animals howl.

Just a game of hide and seek was all it was. It was Fall. The leaves were scattered like a carpet on the floor of the woods. It was a random day where both of you were off and rather going into town, he thought it’d be fun to teach you how to fish. After multiple failed attempts of you becoming bored, he decided to play a game with you.

The game was completely rigged. Who would’ve thought the man with insane primal senses would be great at finding things that didn’t want to be found. The adrenaline was catching up to you both as you sought after him. The widespread woods were winding and confusing, but you were determined to find the animal. The cold nipped at your face as you kept your perseverance. Suddenly, you stopped. Realizing that instead of you finding him, and him staying hidden he reversed the game and was trailing you. A peculiar feeling arose, the thought of him following you without you even knowing coiled your stomach.

All of your theories were proven right as his big arms wrap around your torso and pulls you down into the leaves. He laughs heartily against your neck as you push up, straddling his waist. You hit his chest softly.

“You filthy animal I was supposed to be hunting you!”

He shakes his head with a small smile, squeezing your hips as he stares up at you with childish eyes.

“Maybe you’re just not that good of a hunter.”

Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open.

“Hey!”

You hit his chest again, and he sits up. Kissing your nose.

“It’s okay, lil’ bunny.”

It sincerely unnerves him how unobservant you were. How oblivious you were to the world, but that same reason is why he loves you. He loves that you’re different, even if you were human you understood what it felt like to be a mutant. He flicks the end of the cigar down into the asphalt and closes the front door. The blood on his body is dried and caked on him. Stripping the rest of his clothes in the hall as he goes to the bathroom. His house is still trashed and he doesn’t care to clean it until his life is put on track again. Until you’re in his life again.

He turns on the faucet and lets the water warm. Looking at himself in the mirror while he waits. He looks righteously like an animal. His hair wild on his head, the blood goes from his mouth down to the v-line of his hips. It’s brutal and chaotic. He wonders if this is what life is going to be like for him for the rest of eternity. Nature made him a freak, man had made him a weapon, and god is making it last too long. The water blurs the mirror and he no longer sees himself in the reflection. He steps inside the scalding hot water and his thoughts don’t slow.

All he’s thought about is you, all he can think about is you. You’re the last thing that’s keeping his humanity. Without you he turns into this beast of regret. He watches the blood pool around his feet. The blood mixed down his chest and face and down the drain. He wishes to drown but knows he can’t. He wishes to die but that’s too humanly for him for it to be possible. Maybe even love was too human for him to obtain. He thinks about calling you and then it passes. He thinks about his mother for a minute and that passes. Every wave of emotion, feeling and thought passes through him as he cleanses his body. He stays in that sauna of a shower for an hour.

When he gets out he pats his skin dry from one of the towels you bought out of the cupboard and ties it around his waist. Pushing his wet hair back it slicks back and stays. He knows he’ll wake to the two tufts being straightened on his head in the morning, he doesn’t bother. Bending down, he picks your shirt up off of the hallway floor and holds it to his nose. Closing his eyes and breathing in your intoxicating bodily perfume. He can already smell it fading. It’s damp from the water still clinging onto his chest. He sits down on the leather couch that he’s shredded. Contemplating if he should call, it’s late and he knows you have work in the morning. He shouldn’t bother.

The smell of you gives him motivation. What if? What if she does misses me and wants me as much as I want her. That’s blasphemy, he thinks. Yet, he ponders it seriously. He breathes in your shirt once more and finds the phone he’s thrown against the wall a couple weeks before. He dials your number apprehensively. His nerves shot to hell as he holds the phone to his ear. The buzzing and monotone hum of service sends his perturbation to his chest. His stomach clenched tight with bated breath. He hopes that you don’t answer, but his soul wants you to. He almost thinks about hanging up and it continues to ring. What is he even going to say? He doesn’t know. He never knows. His eyes widen and he doesn’t breathe as he hears your sleepy voice.

“Hello?”

You whisper into the phone and he doesn’t say anything. He’s internally panicking, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Hello?”

You whisper again and he doesn’t speak, his head is in a frenzy and his hand is shaking.

“Logan?”

When you say his name he drops the phone. Trepidation strikes him. He hadn’t heard you say his name for weeks and the sleepy softness of your voice sparked something in him. He’s scared of that feeling, petrified even. Logan Howlett’s only fear is love.

He fell asleep with your shirt cradled tight into his chest. The morning’s sun is the only thing that awoke him. He didn’t fall asleep that night until dawn. He was too paranoid and scared to fall asleep, the anxiety of possibilities kept running through him. He sighed and the feeling he felt was worse than any hangover. He knew he was broke in every way possible, he didn’t have any money, he didn’t have anything. He didn’t even have you. He groaned and cursed himself as he saw last nights doing in his kitchen. He honestly doesn’t remember anything after what occurred at your house. He didn’t have any food left nor any liquor. He had to do one of the things he hated the most, grocery shopping.

His strong anxiety was almost numbing to him now. He’s felt so high strung the past few weeks that he’s used to it. He strolled through the store with a shopping cart that had one of its wheels broken and he almost thought god did it purposefully to mock him. He wandered helplessly through the aisles, grabbing miscellaneous food. Knowing most of it wasn’t going to even last him the rest of the week, but he needed something to get by.

Most of his cart was filled with strong liquor. He wanted to forget you and move on, and maybe finally kick the bucket with alcohol poisoning. He’s reaching into the fridge to grab another case of beer when he feels a soft tap on his shoulder. His stomach drops. It couldn’t be. He stands and looks over his shoulder and sure as shit, there you are.

You have a little smile on your face and your cheeks are dusted red by embarrassment. Looking to your feet, you see a pair of cotton panties peeking out of his jacket pocket. Your cheeks grow a darker red as you see that your name is embroidered on the top.

“I- uh, I-,”

You shut your mouth tight, cursing yourself for the hurried stutter and if he wasn’t so nervous himself he’d think you being flustered was cute. You look up at him through your lashes. He takes notice of the flint of his dog tags around your neck and his heart soars.

“I’m cooking dinner tonight at my parents house and was wondering if you’d like to come,”

You scratch the back of your neck, uneasily. Beaming timidly.

“You don’t have to come of course! And it’s just if you’d like if you’re not busy, I’m cooking steaks and I know you like-“

“What time?”

Your rambling stops and you give him the best kid going to Disneyland look he’s ever seen.

“Six.”

He nods and you smile. The trajectory of his life seemed to be on track again. This was the right timeline.

“I’ll be there at five.”

You smile wider.

“Thanks, Logan.”

He gives you a small smile and nod of his head in response. You start to turn to leave before turning back, looking both ways before you whisper to him.

“If you wanted a pair of my panties, you could’ve just asked.”

You give his cheek a quick kiss and walk away with a bounce in your step. Leaving him blushing and blinking at the case of beer in his hand, trying to figure out what actually just happened. Those small moments that are just so humanly indescribable makes him feel much less like a filthy animal.

[celuere]

IMAGINE MAVUIKA AS A BIKER AND YOU GUYS GO FOR A RIDE TOGETHER AND SHE HAS A BLUNT IN HER MOUTH WHILE POUNDING U ON HER BIKE 🙏🙏🙏

anon i see you vision and i am here to fulfill.

in a mordern au too OHEHQKBRKW she‘d randomly pick you up from your workplace after your shift, with one of those stupid smiles on her lips as she greets you with a kiss I AM SO MORMLALENWLRNWKRBBWNENE NORMAL ABOUT HER. and wether you like it or not she‘ll force you to wear a helmet and her biker jacket that’s like way too big on you and omg i am so sick

(creampie, semi-public????, kind of a modern au)

„how do you like the view, baby?“, she‘d coo right into your ear, a strong hand placed on your hip as she guided you back down on her cock.

you could barely focus on the stunning scenery that stretched over almost the entirety of south natlan, the setting sun drowning the territory of the people of springs in an almost glittering landscape.

you could only focus on your pussy being stretched open on her cock, a thick layer of your mixed cum coating the expensive leather of her motorcycle. usually the peaceful chirping of birds and a few single groups of saurians playing around would fill the atmosphere. now it were your moans ringing through the mountains as her tip grazed that spot inside your creamy pussy again. the surrounding area swiped empty of any wildlife.

„too busy to talk, i see…“, lowering her gaze down to the creamy ring your juices already formed around her base, your girlfriend couldn‘t help but groan as she gave your ass a nice squeeze.

it somehow always ended up like this whenever she picked you up for a ride. her cock deeply buried inside of you, pumping her cum into your pussy as you held onto the handles of her motorcycle for dear life. oh, don’t forget the joint stuck between her teeth. she‘d let you get a taste for each orgasms you earn over her dick. the sweet scent surrounding you almost alluring, seductive. it‘s brings a certain atmosphere you couldn’t quite accurately describe.

you could hear her exhaling the smoke again, the scented cloud hitting you from behind, dampening your senses as she presses you all the way down on her, feeling you clench and grip around her as your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

„shhh… sweetheart, not so loud… wouldn‘t want to alert any rangers in the area…“, now peppering a gentle kiss on your neck as she let you calm down, her mind wandered off to however she shall than you for the… stress relief. a hot spring date? a nice dinner? a saurian expedition? hm…. she’ll have to think about it on the way back.

„there, you can have the last few puffs, just as i promised….“, handing over the blunt into your hand you chuckled slightly, still panting from the earlier „workout“.

„why, thank you…. w-was certainly worth it…“, you could fill her fingers gently brushing your messed up hair back behind your ears as the smoke filled your lungs, your cunt still warming her. the silence between you was oddly comforting, never awkward.

„wanna visit mualani?“, you put the joint out before flicking it into her portable ashtray, she‘d give you an entire earful if you dared to leave it out in the wild.

„first, get off my lap, princess… can’t possibly drive around with our leak all over my motorcycle…“, she patted your thighs before helping you get off of her, another gush of your mixed left your spent hole.

„a-ah… s-sorry…“, the pink spread faster over your face than you would have liked. but your girlfriend just chuckled before handing you a paper towel to clean yourself up as she got to work on removing your slick off the leather seat.

„it‘s okay, baby. no need to apologize…“

you’re so gonna suck her off later.

[boredbakedbeans]

class divide & struggle in haikyuu

haikyuu twitter has brought up the theme of class struggle in hq and it really got me thinking just how subtle and effective furudate is in portraying class divide throughout the story.

hinata is introduced riding a bike, seeing volleyball through a store TV (not his own like Hoshiumi, Ushijima, Kageyama), and years later he's still riding a bike up and down a mountain every day for an hour to get to school and practice. how the gyms in the public schools like nekoma and karasuno have stages because they're multipurpose, as opposed to the specific volleyball facilities that shiratorizawa and other private schools have. the bond that nekoma and karasuno have as being the public schools in their prefectures, being known as "scavengers", taking what they can get and fighting tooth and nail for it. THE DUMPSTER BATTLE.

Shiratorizawa Academy vs. Karasuno High. almost every other school (aoba johsai, shiratorizawa, kamomedai) having non-volleyball team-specific tracksuits and merch, while karasuno wears the generic "ics" athletic wear. star players like ushijima and hirugami having family that played pro-volleyball and got them started from a young age in professional spaces.

daichi's nightmare about the basketball team overtaking their gym and not letting them practice. kageyama noticing right away that the floors in the all-japan youth camp weren't wooden. takeda working overtime to try to get gyms reserved, practice matches organized, buses rented out. ukai still working at his grocery store his entire first year coaching karasuno (suggesting that karasuno couldn't afford to pay him enough).

karasuno having to adjust to the lights and the height of the ceiling at nationals, when all the other teams were used to it. karasuno renting out that little old inn for nationals, right next to the giant, 25-floor hotel that other teams were staying in. inarizaki intimidating their opponents with their huge student section, affording to literally transfer an entire student BAND from hyogo to tokyo.

it's the reason that there's something specifically annoying about ushijima when we first meet him, something off-putting as we see hinata and kageyama watching shiratorizawa practicing for the first time in their fancy gym at their huge school. something infuriating about hearing ushijima talk down to hinata and basically dismiss karasuno as a threat entirely. when ushijima says aoba johsai is "infertile soil", hinata thinks, if they are infertile soil, then I Am Hinata Shoyo from the Concrete. and our concrete school, despite all odds, despite lack of resources and funding and reputation, will still beat you. i don't have what you have and yet i will still make it to the top!!!!!!!

[bi-writes]

i didn't have an amazing christmas this year so i projected this onto bestfriend!roommate!simon and im sorry about it but im also not sorry about it but i tried to end it nice

more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 6/?)

cw: mature language and content, mentions of past trauma, mentions of unrequited love and lack of family, mentions of death and loneliness, allusions to violence

you waited for the ringing of the call to stop. you were seated on the couch, the laptop propped up in your lap as you stared at the screen hopefully. your heart skipped a beat when the ringing stopped, a circling loading screen popping up until a grainy video came through.

simon was seated in the dark; you guessed that he was hunkered down in his room, seated on his bunk. he had his skull mask on; the plate sewn onto a balaclava, eye-black hiding most of him in the void of the terrible quality video, and you tried not to notice the mysterious drops of something against the white of his mask.

"hey, simon," you greeted him, giving him a gentle smile. simon ran a gloved hand over his head, nodding.

"''ello, luv. i know the time is bad, if...if you want to head to bed, 's alright with me."

you scoffed, "you know that's not happening. i don't care what time it is here...i always want to talk to you."

he grunted lowly, looking away for a moment at something out of your view before looking back. you moved to go sit by the window, keeping the laptop propped up as you looked outside. you could see the soft lights lighting up the neighborhood; twinkling lights, mostly in red and green, sparkling between the soft snowfall that had began to fall against the pavement.

there was something so peaceful about the moment. you could see the wind pushing the snow at an angle as it fell, starting to add a fresh blanket of white to everything. if you squinted, you could see two people in the apartment across the street, trying to build a small bike in the early hours of the morning. one of them held papers, instructions you guessed, and the other held a screwdriver and was trying to fit the two back wheels onto a base.

"how are you?" you asked suddenly, looking back down at the laptop. "you look like shit."

simon laughed dryly, "you can't even see me."

"i know you," you laughed with him. "and i know that even through the shitty camera, you're worse for wear."

he hummed, looking down for a moment.

"i've had better days," was all he offered, and you swallowed hard, trying to look at him better.

"i miss you, simon."

you said it easily. you did miss him. he was so far away; you didn't know where he was, but you knew it was far. and he did not say when he would be coming back; you suspected he didn't even know himself when he would be.

"i miss you, too, luv."

you looked out the window again. you looked at the couple again, watching one of them take a few bites of some cookies that were laid out while the other had a few hearty gulps of the milk in the glass beside them. your eyes watered a little. their house looked...full. stockings hung over a dwindling fireplace, christmas tree lights giving the room a soft yellow glow, a mountain of presents gathered under a full tree of ornaments.

there was nothing in your apartment. no lights, no tree. you never liked to keep one; you had no one to buy presents for. and simon--this day only brought the wrong kind of feelings to the surface. feelings of torture, of unexpected discovery, of death and the stench of it which couldn't be covered by lighting evergreen candles or baking sugar cookies.

so much of the day surrounded family--of which you didn't have. no one to visit, no one to bring the wine while you cooked the ham, no one to hand you a gift and no one for you to give one to either. you had learned a long time that it was best not to dwell, but it was hard. it was hard when you looked across the street and saw people that had so much more of something. something that you desperately wanted, but couldn't be bought.

when you looked back down at the laptop, simon could see the tears in your eyes clear as day. your eyes were so glossy and wet, and he swallowed hard as he looked at your face, illuminated by the twinkling lights that were bright outside.

"sorry--" you whispered, reaching up and wiping your cheeks with the sleeves of your sweater. "sorry, i don't know why...i don't know what's wrong with me." you laughed it off, but simon could hear the pain in your voice. something aching and scratchy, something hollow.

"did...did you get what i sent?"

you looked up at him, frowning a little.

"sent? like...a package?"

"oh, christ, luv, don't tell me you haven't left the flat all day?"

you opened your mouth to respond, but you closed it, smiling shyly.

"just...go check outside. i can see it bloody snowing, go get it before it gets ruined."

you got up from your seat, going outside momentarily. when you came back inside, you had a wet box in your hands, and you set it down on the table as you when to go get something to cut the tape off. when you had opened the box, there was a smaller one inside, a nicely wrapped burgundy box that fit in your lap. you took a seat in front of the camera again, seeing simon's messy handwriting on the top of the box.

happy december 25th.

you laughed reading it, looking up at the camera after you reading the message.

"just another day, right?" he asked. you had new tears now, but they weren't sad. your heart was beating fast, making you take shaky, fast breaths, and you tried to smile, but it was hard.

"j-just another day," you whispered back to him. you took the top off the box, taking the tissue paper out to reveal a little plushie inside. it was a black teddy bear, but this one was unique. someone had fashioned a little skull mask of it out of felt, messily sewn fabric fit over the bear's face with the beady black eyes peeking out from the eyeholes--just like simon's. you picked up the bear, letting the box fall to the floor, and you tipped your head back as you tried to keep your tears inside. "simon--"

you and simon had never really gotten the chance to just be kids. to just be. to just enjoy and to receive something that didn't serve a purpose or a function, something unnecessary and trivial--something considered extra. because possessions were luxury, and you can't remember the last luxurious thing you had ever gotten.

"i know," he said lowly. "fuck, i--"

he pushed his own laptop down, and the camera tilted so you could only see his lower half. you watched him lose a bit of control, more tears coming down your face as you held your breath. simon cleared his throat loudly, ringing his hands together nervously before he picked the camera back up to his face.

"i'm getting the next fuckin' plane out of here, y'hear me?"

you brought the bear to your chest, hugging it gently before nodding. you wondered if this was why he had gotten you something like this--something to hold onto when he was gone. something to remind. something that would make you remember in the simon-shaped void you seemed to dwell in all too often.

"okay."

you had spent many december 25ths without him. you had spent many december 25ths right here, on a lonely windowsill, watching through the windows of lives that you wished you were living. this loneliness was not new--but now the loneliness was shared, and it hurt to share it.

you fell asleep there, watching glittering lights between the snowfall and holding the bear to your heart. the laptop went dark after awhile, and you slept there by the windowsill, wondering if anyone looked in and wanted to live this life instead.

the empty, quiet life of nothingness and bad dreams.

but it was something warm that woke you. a familiar hand, cradling the back of your head, whispering against your hair.

his breath was shaky. sucking in with difficulty, and then breathing out in rough stutters. your eyes opened slowly, your cheek squished against his tactical vest. you realized that he must've just gotten home--he was still head-to-toe in his gear, and you were staring up into the skull plate.

"simon--!"

you wrapped your arms tight around his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. you gasped as you held him close, and it took everything in you not to burst into tears. your heart fluttered at the thought that he must've left as soon as he told you last night--determined to get back to you.

when you pulled back, simon rested his forehead against yours. you nuzzled your face against his, soft breaths as you grounded yourself in the realization that he's here, he's with me, he's alive.

"just another day," simon murmured, gripping your head with both hands. you swallowed hard, opening your eyes and meeting his own. you swear you saw something sad in them, something emotional, tears of some kind, but he blinked it away before you could look too long. "but i...had to come home."

your nodded reaching up and putting your hands over his on your face.

"i love you, simon."

if he had paid enough attention, he would've heard what those words truly meant. that you didn't just love him, you love him. not want, need, not a preference, but a requirement. undeniable, endless, raw, soul-sucking love--the kind that tore up your insides and spit them out without remorse.

but how can you really love someone like me?

simon tangled his gloved hands into your hair now, tugging gently.

"i love you more."

how can you love someone who's already dead?

[captainlondonman]

STUDENT TO WORKIE

‘Dave, can you deliver this present to my father when you are back in town.’

Tony asked.

Dave had been spending the weekend with his friend in his university town. and was on his way home.

‘Sure thing mate,’ Dave replied. ‘I haven’t seen your father for years’

‘Neither have I much as he and Mum rarely speak.’

‘What does he do?’

‘Something in the building sector. He should be around in the evening. I’ll give you the address. Just hand it over on the doorstep and anyway I’m sure he won’t even ask you in. He is a bit rough but to be honest he buggered off soon after I was born. Never remarried, probably because he is so difficult.’

The day after getting home, Dave took his bike and went round to the address given by his friend. Ringing the doorbell he heard a deep voice shouting from the other side.

‘No need to push so fucking hard I heard you.’

The door flew open and standing in front of Dave taking up most of the doorway was a man with full HiViz kit. This was not what Dave was expecting.

Something in the building sector, Dave thought he would be a bit like himself a Surveyor. But standing in front of him was a well built hunk of a man wearing only a HIViz waistcoat his large hairy chest from neck down showing, with a slight beer belly pushing out over his workgear trousers. The waistcoat was back enough to show a pair of nipples that looked unreal as if they had been pulled out to be large and juicy. Both arms were hairy and covered in tats all the way down to is wrists which then a fat hands with nails ingrained with dirt. The man had a thick moustache and unshaven around the chin, his hair cut to a No 1.

‘Christ’ thought Dave h’ow can this be Tony’s father. No wonder they hardly talk. Who’d want this guy as a father?’

‘Who the fuck are you,’ the man said staring at Dave

‘Er, I’m a mate of Tony and he asked if I would drop by and give you a present. I suppose it’s your birthday.’

‘I get a present once a year from that little shit and he never bothers to contact me. Mind you I ain’t any better. He’s a right little ponce thinking he is much better than me. I suppose you are also a little mister big shot eh?’.

‘I don’t think Tony is at all like that and a bit unfair of you to say that.’

‘Oh a right little mouthy are you?’

‘Well I suppose if you have cycled across town you might as well come in and have a beer. I have just opened a bottle for myself.’

As Dave walked into the kitchen he could smell the man, unwashed and a smell of stale ciggies. The guy handed Dave a bottle and said

‘Want a ciggie?’

‘No I don’t smoke.

‘Well all workies like a good smoke so if you don’t mind I will.’ he said lighting up.

‘So tell me a bit about yourself.’

Dave explained how he knew Tony and how he was studying surveying.

‘So you are the posh guys that come on site and tell me what to do eh.’ The man said laughing. ‘Anyway I am Pete which you probably know from my son. Not like me is he. Probably like his ma all slim and pretty, a bit like you eh?’

‘I wouldn’t describe myself as pretty.’

‘Well you’re hardly man mountain are you?’

The two guys continued to talk and had another beer and then another till Dave said ‘I think I need to get back but after all these beers can I go for a pee please.’

‘Just before you do let me get you a HiViz waistcoat as its now dark and you are on a bicycle. Hold on.’

A minute later Pete returned with a dirty Hi Viz waistcoat.

‘There you are, the bathroom is just next door.’

Dave went in and could smell pee and saw piss marks around the rim of WC. It all looked pretty untidy and then his eye caught sight of a jockstrap hanging out of a dirty laundry basket.

Normally Dave would have turned his nose up in disgust but there was something so manly and uncouth about Pete that he could not resist touching the jockstrap. It was covered in piss marks and as he handled it he could almost feel it slightly crusty as though it was died cum.

Before he knew what he was doing he stuffed the jockstrap into his pocket feeling his cock start to stir in his chinos. 

‘Shit I’d better get out before my cock is stiff.’

With the jockstrap in his pocket he walked back into the kitchen and thanked Pete for the HIViz.

‘Not a prob mate, bring it back any time I’m sure I’ll see you again’. he smirked.

Once home Dave for some reason kept his HiViz on, he wanted to keep it on but most of all when he took the stained jockstrap out of his pocket he wanted so much to smell it. He instinctively put it over his head and brought the deep yellow stained pouch down over his face rubbing it all over  as he took deep breaths. The odour of dried piss was overwhelming as he pressed the material tight against his nose. He could feel the dried cum brush against his face. The smell was intoxicating, it was almost making him dizzy but it so excited him knowing that this jockstrap belonged to his friend’s father, the uncouth workie, the beer swilling cigarette smoker with the hairy body and his HiViz gear. As he breathed deeper and deeper so the blood rush moved down to his cock. It was ramrod hard and he had got so excited the precum was oozing out of the tip. He smothered his face with the jockstrap feeling the stench become part of his face. He wanted to smell, he wanted to be dirty like Tony’s father. Shit the man was so fucking sexy even with his large belly but all that hair and unsahevn look was such a turn on. Knowing it was his best friends’ father made it even better. As he sucked the jockstrap so he could feel the piss and dried cum soften he let the taste run down his throat..His hand was now wrapped around his dick. The more he sucked at the jockstrap the more his hand slid up and down the shaft.

‘Shit I want Tony’s dad .I want to suck and fuck with the bloody workie.’

As the throbbing came to a climax he shouted

‘I only want fucking workies.’ And with that he shot his load over the floor whilst almost gagging with the jockstrap down his throat taking in every bit of piss and cum.

Without cleaning his dick he put on the jockstrap so the last few drops of his cum mixed with Tony’s father’s piss and cum. His cock immediately got hard again but Dave wanted his cock encased in the dirty jockstrap and he could feel his shaft rubbing against hardened piss and cum. It felt good to be wearing it and he put the Hiviz waistcoat back on and went to bed feeling almost as if he was part of Tony’ father workie body. He woke up the next day and stretched but as he did so he thought his body felt slightly different. Looking at himself there was a change but he could not quite understand what the difference was. He looked as if he had been working out a bit, there was more definition to his muscle arms and even the beginning of a 6 pack. His shoulders had widened a bit and the bulge within his jockstrap seemed a bit larger. He decided not to shower but kept the jockstrap on. He liked feeling dirty and having the older man’s piss make its smell . When he put his T shirt on he put the waistcoat back on.

There was something about Tony’s father that was drawing him to go back. The main was uncouth, a dirty workie with a high body smell.. Someone that Dave would quickly walk by, but it seemed odd but he found the man had a sexual power and thinking of him standing there with his bare hairy chest had his cock rigid. It was like a magnet but how could he go back. He decided he could make the excuse of returning the HiViz waistcoat and by going back a few hours later he reckoned he was being polite. Shit what would Tony think if he knew that Dave was getting off thinking about his father and wearing the filthy jockstrap.

He knocked on the door at the same time as the previous day and when the door opened Pete just smiled. He was wearing the same HiViz jacket with his hairy chest protruding but this time he was wearing a dirty very stained pair of joggers  which his belly fell over as well as a mud stained pair of rubber boots up to his knees. When the door opened Dave almost had to step back with the smell.

‘I thought you might be back sometime. Sorry about the turn out mate but it’ been a busy day down in sewers. Stinks a bit eh, but you quickly get used to it. Better than any aftershave’ he smirked. He waved Dave it and Dave could see that Pete’s hands were still filthy and probably covered in sewer shit.

‘I just wanted to return your HIViz.’

‘You can keep it. You can always try to wash it and get rid of all the stains. Anyway come in and have a beer.  The kitchen stunk of sewage But to Dave’s surprise the more he smelt it and was repulsed the more he started to take deeper breaths and found his crotch was responding and stiffening under his chinos. ‘Christ how could I like this bloody awful smell ‘he thought ‘but its turning me on.’

‘You told me you don’t smoke but if you have a beer with me you really should have a puff. It helps the stink in here. What say you eh?’

Dave didn’t even consider saying no, he almost instinctively took a ciggie out of Pete’s pack.

‘That’s better, let me light it for you.’

Having never smoked before Dave found he knew exactly what to do and he held the ciggie just like Pete drawing deeply and exhaling a large cloud of smoke.

‘See I told you . All real men smoke mate. Talking about real men, you seemed to have bulked up a bit. I thought you and Tony looked a pair of wimps but today you look better. Perhaps it’s the HiViz waistcoat, ha ha.’

Pete came forward to give Dave a can of beer and standing in front of him at eye level Dave could make out a long line of cock stretching down one side of the joggers. He was clearly commando.

As Dave took his first gulp, with Pete still standing in front of him staring down.

‘So you stole my jockstrap did you?’

Dave almost spat out his mouthful of beer

‘Don’t give me a fucking excuse boy. I left it out knowing full well what you would do. You couldn’t resist it could you, all nice a crusty and yellow stained with my piss. Bet when you got home the first thing you did was have a massive wank eh. Thinking of me wearing it no doubt. You liked the idea of Tony’s dirty workie of a dad wearing it The problem is mate that I ain’t got anything under me joggers so me cock has been bouncing around all day and the more it moves around inside the more horny I become.

As he said this he put one hand down inside his joggers and stroked the full length of his cock moving forward to stand right in front of Dave. As he took his hand out the cock was like a rigid pole tenting outwards and a small stain of precum showed itself through the cotton.

‘Bet you got my jockstrap on now. Admit it.’

‘Er yes.’

‘And bet you love it and don’t want to take it off.’

Dave was silent.

‘Well if you steal something then you have to pay back.’

Dave’s eyes were glued to the crotch with Pete’s erection forming a good 8inch tent. Pete put down his beer and with one hand slipped his hand down his belly and into the joggers, pulling out a massive erect prick. Dave could not believe it, the guy was wearing a thick steel cock ring, making every vein of his shaft stand out almost pulsating. As the cock sprang out so the foreskin was pushed back revealing a large glistening head. The slit of the cock was straight in front of Dave’s face and he could smell the unwashed cock.

‘So you take from me and now you pay back. You love the smell of my piss stained jockstrap so now you can suck the real thing, unwashed and smelling of several days of piss. Don’t think you are just going to lick my tool, you are taking the full length down that throat of yours.’

Dave could smell the rank cock in front of his face but the smell was like an aphrodisiac. It made him so horny and he knew the only thing he now wanted was to have the massive cock all the way down his throat

‘What are you fucking looking at. You don’t give blowjob just looking boy.’

Pete grabbed hold of Dave’s hair and pulled him in. For a moment Dave almost gagged at the smell but at the same time he wanted to savour the stench of the cock before swallowing it down his throat.

‘I want you to take the whole throbbing fucking length of my dick so your mouth is pressed up against my cock ring and you can taste the metal.’ With his free hand Pete wrapped his dirty hand around his shaft and pushed it to force Dave’s mouth open.

‘That’s it boy take my fucking stinking cock. Open yer mouth nice and wide.

As Dave opened his lips he felt the precum tip of cock force its way into his mouth and the smell of piss rode up through his nostrils. The more he smelt the piss the wider his mouth opened. 

Pete still held tight Dave’s hair pushing his head further and further up to take more and more of the throbbing shaft.

‘You love my cock don’t you. Wonder what Tony would think of you gagging to give his father a blow job. Not such a prissy boy now are you taking a workie’s dirty cock all the way down yer throat.’

Dave let his saliva work overtime to allow the cock to sink further and further into his throat.

The idea of sucking off Tony’s father was even more of a turn on. By now Dave’s cock was sore it was so hard in the jockstrap but he was so engaged in sucking he could not unzip himself.

‘Don’t even think of wanking yerself. I want all your concentration on my big cock.

‘That’s good boy I can feel my prick sliding down the back of your throat.. Nice and big for you. Not really a pay back though as you are loving it. Now I can see your lips touching my cockring. Feel the metal pushing against you and now you have the full length and can feel my precum slipping down inside you. It’s time to thrust this dick up and down inside that throat of yours.’

Dave did not need to be told what to do. With his mouth fully into Pete’s thick hairy bush, the piss smell ran through his body down to his own cock and the jockstrap was nearly ready to burst inside him. Pete took hold of Dave’s head with both hands and gripping him he started to move his prick back and forth at first slowly so he could savour Dave’s spit around his shaft.

‘You fucking know how to suck. Bet you have only ever sucked a boy off before but now you are giving a good workie blowjob. Keep your spit going boy as I love pumping you.’

Pete pushed in and out with greater speed taking his head almost to the edge of Dave’s lips so he could feel his helmet ridge on the point of coming out and then he rammed back in right up to his pubes. Faster and faster he pumped and the more he pumped the more Dave wanted.. 

‘Shit boy you are fucking great I am ready to fucking explode.’

With that Pete withdrew his cock grabbing his spit covered shaft and shed his thick white creamy cum over Dave’s face and down the front of his T shirt.

‘That’s it boy lick it all up around your face.’ 

Dave could feel the cum dripping down his chin onto his shirt. 

Having all the cum over him was too much for Dave’s cock and he exploded his load into Pete’s jockstrap the cum oozing out through the cotton and through his chinos forming a large stain in his groin.

‘Fucking great. That’s what I call a blowjob.’ Pete said and looking down at Dave and saw the large cum stain on his chinos.

‘Looks as if you enjoyed it too mate. You can’t go home looking like that all my cum on your shirt and now that nice big stain on your trousers.’

Strip off and I’ll get you something to go home in. But keep my jockstrap on as a minder as you obviously love it.’

Pete came back in with a Hi Viz short sleeved shirt and a pair of De Walt  grey workgear trousers , both covered in mud and grease marks.

They ain’t clean but at least better that all that cum. Go on and the get the fuck out of here and you can take a can of beer and this pack of ciggies with you.’

As Dave put on the gear thrown at him he could smell how much they had been used and it was as if they had been down the sewers with Pete. For a second Dave thought it would be better to wear his own gear but the smell of what he had been given was good and made him feel more like a man.

Pete looked at him. ‘They look for now as if they are a bit big but don’t worry about that. Keep the Hi viz waistcoat, tell you what, you are looking a bit more like a workie. So why don’t you come a see me at work and see that you think. It’s in Bank Street and you will see the portacabin. Come later tomorrow afternoon. OK?’

It seemed more of a command to Dave rather than something to consider. Besides, that had been the best blowjob ever and even now Dave could still smell the man’s cum as well as his piss and now the sewage smell of the borrowed clothes

‘I’ll bring this gear back to you.’

‘That’s up to you. So now get off I need a few beers after this.’

When Dave got home  the first thing he did was open the beer and slurp it down. There were 5 ciggies left in the packet Pete had given him. He was desperate to smoke them all just the way Pete had done. He hoped by smoking them all his hands would look covered in nicotine, just like Pete. He now loved puffing. Why the fuck had he never smoked before. In all the workie gear it seemed only natural to smoke, right down to the tip. He had decided to keep the clothes on when he went to bed. He wanted to feel  the Hiviz against his skin and he liked the smell of the gear he had been given. The clothes did seem a bit large but so what? The next morning he work up and the smell hit him. It felt great and when he got out of bed to look at himself he could not believe it, the clothes were no longer big but a snug fit, the yellow HiViz shirt was tight against his chest showing off a true 6 pack, the arms were bulging with muscles. He looked at the De Walt trousers. They were no longer too long but he seemed to have grown 4 inches and were now nice a tight around his crotch showing a decent bulge. He was almost looking like a workie but his hair was still that floppy fringe though he thought he seemed to have a darker heavier growth around his face. When he went to piss and opened up his flies to take his cock out from the jockstrap it seemed so tight in the jockstrap. The first thing to hit him was the rancid smell of piss and cum and then as he flipped his cock out to pee his cock was now thicker, really thick where it jutted out of his now dark really hairy pubes with a long foreskin sliding over his helmet.

‘Fuck’ he said ‘this looks a whopper. A real workie cock’

After breakfast we knew there was a place he needed to go to. The barbers. He chose a place he knew was frequented by the local workies having seen then sitting waiting for a cut with all their Hiviz gear on. There were a couple of guys being cut when he went in all in their HiViz They looked round and one said.

‘You’ve been down a fucking sewer mate. Doing a real dirty job eh.?’

Dave just smiled and sat down. One guy was then finished and left so Dave sat in the chair. The barber said

‘So what do you want?’

The other workie said “Get rid of that stupid long hair for a start’

Dave knew what to say. ‘I want you to take a razor to the sides and then cut the top to give me a full chav cut with a really short straight cut across the forehead.’

‘That’s it mate give him a real chav cut . Then he will start to look like a workie.’

The barber took the razor and gave a number one cut going on to give a real pudding bowl cut to his top.

Even the barber said, ‘That’s better mate I think we all agree this suits your clothing and as you are a workie then you need to look like one.’

The other workie got out the chair and leant over to whisper into Dave’s ear.

‘Great bod you go there mate Would like to see a bit more of that sometime. You could do with a few tats. I go to a place just right for a new boy. Gimme yer phone and I’ll give you my number. Us workies need to stick together.’

Dave handed his phone over as the guy typed in his number. As he did Dave looked at the guys crotch which had a good bulge showing in his Hi Viz.

As the guy handed back the phone he again whispered

‘I see what yer looking at. You won’t be disappointed. By the way I like yer smell a real turn on for us workies.’ And with that he paid and left the shop.

The barber smiled as he finished Dave off .’Think you have made a conquest there. That’s what a good chav haircut has done for you.’

Dave looked in the mirror, with his chav haircut and those muscles he really did look like a workie. Gone was the prissy student. He now wanted to go and show his friend’s father his new look so walked down to Bank Street and saw the portacabin door open.

Looking inside he saw Pete sitting at a desk who looked up and spluttered

‘Christ what a change in you boy. Thank fucking Christ you are now looking the part. A real little chavvy workie eh. See those rubber boots over there put them on. They are nice a dirty but that won’t matter when I take you down into the sewer. Also put the hard hat on, need to be safe. I’ll put a torch on mine so lets go. Dave caught sight of himself with the full kit on and with such a covering of mud on his clothes and the hard hat he could hardly believe the change.

Pete opened up the manhole and told Dave to climb down the ladder into the bottom tunnel. Once both were down Pete switched on the torch. The first thing Dave was aware off was the smell but it was only a stronger version of how he smelt. He breathed it in and found his cock starting to rise.

‘Like the smell now don’t you ‘Pete said. ‘Turns me on every time I am down here.’

Before Dave could reply Pete grabbed hold of Dave and spun him round pressing him up against the wall of the tunnel. Leaning in against Dave’s back Pete whispered in his ear. ‘You and I have some unfinished business. Its payback time again. First you steal my jockstrap but now you owe me for making you a man and Christ you now look fucking horny. And don’t tell me that having my dirty cock down yer throat you don’t want it up that nice bubble butt of yours. I know the idea of being fucked in a sewer by a real man turns you on.’

Pete took his big rough hands and let them ride over Dave’s cheeks and then placing his hands around Dave’s waist unbuttoned the workgear trousers pulling them down to his knees. Dave was now unable to move

‘I wanna fuck you with the jockstrap on, my jockstrap. Now stick that nice arse of your out to take my prick. ‘

As Dave did as commanded so Pete undid his flies and flipped his sweaty cock out letting a large godbof spit onto the shaft

‘I’m nice and sweaty after working down here today and you can feel that stick of my dick going right up to the hilt in yer arse.’

Dave now only wanted to be fucked Since giving Pete the blowjob he knew that he had to be fucked by this monster tool. Shit what could be better that being fucked in a sewer by his best friend’s father.

‘Go gentle will you please.’

‘That arse of yours could take a baseball bat so quit the pathetic tone with me. You had my cock rammed in your mouth so you managed that no prob. Then you can take my prick up inside you.’

Dave felt his cheeks being parted as Pete pressed against him. His cock searching for the hole

‘Nice big hole you got there mate. No probs taking my dick or perhaps you’d prefer the baseball bat?’

‘No just let me have your cock. Make me feel like a real workie being fucked.’

Dave could feel the spit on Pete’s head finding the hole and then the push. For a moment he winced as the head found its way into the hole. But once past he was ready for the full length of Pete’s shaft.  As Pete pushed his tool up the hole he put one hand to his mouth releasing a large gob of spit then put his arm around Dave’s head smearing the spit all over his face before wiping the dirt and muck off the wall in front of Dave and wiping that on top of the spit.

‘Now you look like a real dirty workie who has been down the sewer. Your vface all covered in sewer shit and spit. Bet you like the smell of my spit and the muck eh?’ 

‘Sure  it is making me feel like a real workie. Fuck any studies. This is what I want to be a real man always dirty with me beers and ciggies like you and have a good fuck with the lads.’

‘That’s what I knew you wanted as soon as I set eyes on you. Now take my cock right up to the hilt.’

‘Shove as far up as you want, I want to feel your spunk shooting right up my body and now your cock is so far up get my cock out of this jockstrap.’

Pete moved his hand down to Dave’s groin and peeled back the jockstrap to let Dave’s cock spring out. As it did so Pete grabbed hold of the shaft wrapping his hand around the throbbing cock.

‘Shit man you’ve got a good one there. Any workie would be glad to have that rammed up them. Now let me give you a good wank and have you shoot all over the sewer wall.’

As Pete slid his hand up and down the down the shaft so he pushed his own cock in and out with increasing ferocity his cock ring almost vanishing into Dave’s hole. Both men started groaning with pleasure and Pete leant forward to kiss the back of Dave’s neck. One hand was now round Dave’s waist so he could have full hold and the other was wanking faster and faster. He knew from the throbbing that Dave was on the point of orgasm and this made him so horny and ready to cum himself. Dave wiped some more sewer mucj off the wall to smear across his face. He wanted to feel fucking dirty

‘Let it go mate I’m about to shoot my load into that lovely arse of yours .’ Pete shouted

‘Fuck me man let me have every drop of your spunk.’ As Dave thrust his arse out to take in the full length of the cock so he came his spunk spurting out against the sewer wall. Pete unloaded his cum inside Dave making Dave feel as if it would come out his mouth such was the force of spunk.

Pete took his cock out giving a quick wipe before putting it back into his joggers.

‘No point is washing it mate. Smells better this way. As for you, cover that smeared cock of yours with the jockstrap and make it even more crusty

So Workie Dave, happy now?’

‘Too fucking right, this is the real me , a man and fucking workie. Give me all the dirty jobs. Who wants to wash when you can stink like this. Being fucked by my best mate’s father was awesome.’

‘Tell you what boy, why don’t you ask Tony to come home. You and I can have some fun and make a man out of him. That would be a turn on eh? Tony you and feel sucking and fucking.’

‘Fucking amazing’ Dave replied ‘ I’ve always wanted to get my cock up his arse.’

Dave then took his phone out of his pocket.

‘Being a workie sure gets the pick ups from the other guys. This real hot workie gave me his number and I reckon now my cock would love a good fuck and his bod looked just right. Plus he said he’d take me to his tattoo place. Can’t be a workie without a good few tats, just like you. Shit man give me a ciggie’ 

Handing over his packet Pete said

‘Well make sure we keep your workie gear on when you meet the guy’

‘Is there any other way to fuck?’

[diocletianscabbagefarm]

Our skulls are made of thick cheese and tulips, which absorbs most impacts 😙 🌷🧀

Looking at comments in this silly bike helmet debate does show me how many people are used to painted bicycle gutters without separation from car traffic as the optimistic high end of cycling infrastructure.

I suspect helmets never caught on here (though the authorities are trying) because of a number of factors such as 1) overconfidence due to riding a bike - often alone - since being a preteen if not a toddler, to the point it’s second nature 2) most trips being short and a part of other activities such as riding two-three streets over to the local shop or public transport, rather than being classified as a separate category of activity like a sport, like “jogging” is different from walking. It strikes me that North-Americans often classify it more like a sport and I’ve heard multiple cycling advocates talk about the way this is a hurdle as cycling is dismissed by car drivers as a leisure activity rather than legitimate means of transport 3) the benefits of a helmet are seen as rather marginal because the streets are already pretty safe here (car fatalities occur at one tenth the rate they do in the US for example) because a) since the 70s Dutch street design has tried its best to physically separate bikes from the biggest danger on the road (cars) through segregated bike lanes, curbs, barriers and foliage in between. According to design guides mixing is only allowed in places where cars drive very slowly (30km/h, or about 19mph) and the volume of traffic is very low b) city design routes cars and bikes through different routes through the city to common destinations (the most direct route for a cyclist might be a straight shot through a residential neighborhood while the cars are routed along the highway around the city) to avoid them coming into conflict with each other. This is called “ontvlechten”, meaning ‘to disentangle’ c) most drivers are not overtly and actively hostile to cyclists. Almost all of them cycle too, so they tend to be aware and deferential to cyclists because they know what it’s like to be outside their steel cage.

Because of this, the hassle of using a helmet is likely seen as not really worth it, because the context doesn’t necessitate it as much. Here’s some typical Dutch street design.

Look at that sweet sweet separation.

I mean if I had to cycle on what passes for biking infrastructure in North America where you’re wedged on a tiny painted lane between SUVs trying to run you off the road for daring to infringe on their sacred asfalt while needing to go onto the road to circumvent rows of cars parked in the bike path, while trying not to get launched into the air like a SpaceX rocket due to potholes, before the bikelane inevitably simply ends and you need to bike on the road for a couple blocks before it resumes… I wouldn’t be wearing a helmet because I simply would not be fucking cycling at all.

[itsdeniini]

ENHYPEN IDEAL DATES - what would their ideal date with their partner look like ᰔᩚಎ

⌗ a tarot reading ᵎᵎ

Heeseung 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ lovers, empress, 6 of cups

Heeseung is a home buddy. He doesn't like going out of the house; he would rather arrange a date at home. He would invite his bae to watch movies/anime or play a game with them all the time. It's not excluded that he chooses this method to get as many "accidental.. 😶‍🌫️ touches" and interactions. He is quite impatient when it comes to a situation when someone he loves is next to him and he can feel their warmth, so he would lose his composure and snuggle closer to his boo under the blankets, as well as rubbing their cheeks and kissing them. Basically, he would shower his significant other with affection and care. Matching items to wear together is also something Heeseung would enjoy doing, like couple rings or wearing loose t-shirts and laughing at the way they look too big on his babe.

Jay 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ knight of pentacles, page of wands, 10 of cups

Jay would agree to go shopping with his partner at the mall as a date! He wouldn't get annoyed easily like the other guys, as he is a big fashionista! He would get invested in the process to the maximum, commenting actively on the outfits: what suits his boo and what is better not to take. Let's not forget that Jay is a bit (a lot) of a jokester too; he would do silly things like give his bae a hat with bunny ears or take little sneak peeks in the changing room. They both would wander around the different stores, starting with something light like a shoe boutique and ending with the grocery store. At home, of course, there will be a fashion show, and after that, they both will fall asleep under the sounds of TV. 😴

Jake 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ knight of cups, 2 of cups, 10 of pentacles

He takes it very seriously. It is important for him to show his love and care. He can even cancel his plans/meetings to be with his lover. Jake is a true romaaaantic. 💘 He would give them bouquets of their favorite flowers and treat them to something delicious. I feel like he would prefer to walk with them on the seashore and hold hands; this boy needs physical contact to be completely fulfilled. Another activity, hm? Sitting on a bench, cuddling, watching the scarlet sunsets and kissing in the dark >.< He’d love to surprise them with thoughtful little gifts and handwritten notes. Jake enjoys creating unforgettable memories and capturing moments with his lover. His ultimate goal is to make them feel cherished and adored every single day.

Sunghoon 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ page of pentacles, 8 of wands, strength

Sunghoon loves hiking, so he would invite his date to ride a bike somewhere in the mountains. This love for nature and sports should be common so that both can immerse themselves in this atmosphere. Having reached the top, they would leave the bikes and go for a walk to enjoy the fresh mountain air. He would turn on the guide mode and tell his boo about the area, perhaps about his childhood memories related to this place and how often he visited here with his parents, but I don’t think that his date will listen to him much. 😌 He can keep babbling continously, and that can be irresistible for his date, as they would just want to shut him up with kisses and their hands tightly clinging to his neck. It works with Sunghoon, need to hint him that he should slow down a little - show him physical affection that he would respond to with pleasure.

Sunoo 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ fool, page of swords, 3 of cups

I just KNEW that would come out for Sunoo ^.^ The ideal date with him is an amusement park! Even though he's terribly afraid of heights, he is more considerate of the person next to him than to himself sometimes. He would make sure hold his lover hands tightly while they look at the view below, sitting in the Ferris wheel booth. He's a bit of a tease himself, so he would deliberately shook the booth to see his bae reaction, and if it stops working... well, of course, we go nowhere without a roller coaster, hehe~ 🎢 True, both of them would feel a little nauseous afterwards, but that's the main point of having fun! Having gone to almost all the attractions, Sunoo and his bae would go back home and do something like a nightly routine, do skincare and discuss the latest gossip.

Jungwon 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ page of cups, knight of swords, 10 of cups

I JUST HAVE TO SAY IT! Jungwon would invite his boo to a cafe with cats! ♨️🐈 Something tells me he has long wanted to visit there himself, or that in the future we will get kitty-related content from the boys. He would like to sit at a table in the farthest corner; this place will offer them a wonderful view of nature. Jungwon would make different jokes every now and then all evening, trying to cheer his bae up. He would chat about everything they could and share impressions and dreams. Cats would come to both of them so that they could pet them or treat them with food. After having a good time at the cafe, they would go for a walk in the park under the night sky, and we know how much Jungwon enjoys those strolls; he would maybe even take an electric scooter to add a little bit of dynamic before the end of the date. He won't forgive acts of service like serving his boo with a snack and covering them with his jacket so they don't get cold, then sitting together on the river bank, hugging each other, merging with many other couples.

Ni-ki 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ wheel of fortune, 4 of cups, 6 of pentacles

Ni-ki would take his date for a walk into the city. He loves gambling and the pride that comes after winning. He would blow all his money on the slot machines that are located on every corner, determined to win a prize for himself and his boo, like a bunch of keychains and soft toys. Also, he likes to entertain himself in a more chill way. I can presume that he would like to take his partner to the library and read a new manga. When they both get hungry, he will offer his date something delicious to eat so they can regain their energy for the next activities. That would as well combine relaxing and perhaps a bit of extreme, hm? I can think about boating; it can truly get overwhelming as you're in the middle of a lake, rowing a single boat, but Ni-ki would never try to get in front of his bub and go far away just to tease you and leave them behind, no~ *sarcasm* They can also ride on the same boat together, it's more romantic like that after all. ❤️xoxo

[buttl0rd]

I'm watching like a hawk for that new kid 🤲 THE BABY

ALRIGHT HERE HE IS!! lemme introduce you to the new kid 👉👉

this is carroway - he's the best 😎👽

this is gonna be a long post cause i have so much art and content to gush about. i love this kid 👇

Some fun character details:

he was originally supposed to be like the 90's movie tough bully kid but he's ended up just being a stupid asshole. he probably likes to think he's really cool and tough 💪

has 3 younger sisters, hates being outnumbered by girls

huge foodie and finishes whatever you don't eat. not fussy at all

always leaving his mittens outside. they get all wet and gross in the snow

affectionately ripping on everyone he loves. he's a total asshole but most people know he doesn't mean half the shit he says. the real ones tolerate him 😔🤙

he doesn’t know he’s bisexual (don’t tell him, he’ll find out on his own)

Hobbies & Interests

Aliens. Carroway is a firm believer in alien life and has an immense interest in UFO sightings, alien communication and all things outer-space. He often brags to his classmates that he has been abducted and probed, and is friends with the Martians that visit South Park sometimes (do any of them believe him?). He has a telescope that he set up in his friend Dante’s treehouse which he uses to spot UFOs in the night.

FUN FACT: His probe is linked with Cartman's. It's the connection that makes it possible for OCs to exist in the same universe as canon characters.

Drums. He has a drum set in his garage on which he practices every day after school. He has exceptional rhythm and is very talented. He keeps drumsticks in his backpack just in case he encounters a drumset or anything he can make a beat with (tables, benches, trashcans, etc.) Neighbors complain to his parents about the noise, so his garage is sound-proofed to the best of Mr. Carroway’s ability. 

Snowboarding. Carroway goes snowboarding every few weeks. His family do snowboarding trips and he LOVES it. He also skateboards and rides his bike when he’s not up in the mountains, kid just likes to go fast. He dreams of being a professional snowboarder when he’s older.

TFBW: Boarderline

Boarder is a special flying support unit, part of Coon & Friends. He delivers high-impact quick attacks with his hoverboard and can heal/cure status conditions with his awesome space beams. As a speedster he utilizes the whole battlefield and is constantly moving, making him difficult to hit.

Origins:

He was a human that got abducted and genetically modified by Martians to serve and protect the alien race. After battling in many galactic wars he returned to his home in Colorado. His abilities were noticed by the superhero organization, Coon & Friends and Boarder was recruited to join their alliance. He provides support to Coon & Friends in battle.

Design:

Inspired by the gear he wears when he goes snowboarding.

His superhero costume consists of a white bodysuit with black tape accents and a big old metal zip. There's reflective blue strips on the gloves, boots and around the edge of his signature spaceboard. He's got these iconic space goggles that protect his face when he’s flying at the speed of light.

His name is a play on words - board (from his hoverboard) and borderline (being only just good enough for Coon & Friends). Allies call him Boarder for short.

SOT: Skullrogue

Skullrogue is Carroway’s Stick of Truth character.

He is a rogue-class unit and is quick and sneaky on the battlefield. He has a long black hooded cloak and a skull mask. His main weapon is a pair of daggers that are enchanted with flame magic. He cannot use magic himself but he is proficient with weapons, especially the daggers. He throws them and uses them to stab enemies in the back.

Skullrogue has an undisclosed edgy backstory, like any rogue player. He is mysterious and broody and so cool. He is loyal to the Wizard King and thinks Princess Kenny is hot.

Post-COVID

As a young adult, Carroway becomes a professional snowboarder and competes nationally in competitions. He becomes famous and earns a lot of money from his career, travelling the world for competitions. He makes it all the way to the Winter Olympics, representing the USA in the snowboarding category

After a career-ending injury in his mid-30's, he had to retire from snowboarding early and now lives off his sponsors and used-to-be-a-big-shot money. Despite being wealthy, he moved back to South Park and lives in a trailer (it’s easier than having a huge house). 

He sometimes needs a walking aid to get around and is medicated for chronic back pain.

He was too busy with his career to find love when he was younger, so he stays single and lonely in his 40s. He still goes out and does sport events, commentaries and sponsorships - he remains famous even though he cannot compete anymore. He’s like a living legend in the winter sports community. 

I'm still working on a PCOV design for him so stay tuned for that...

Anyway that's it for now!! I hope you love him 😘

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 11 - The Epilogue

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Epilogue (End!)

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, soapghost // Hurt/Comfort, MWIII spoilers - Coming soon to AO3 as well!

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It's been two months since Makarov. Two months of questioning bordering on interrogation, intensive therapy, mountains of paperwork, and near-crippling setbacks. The British military has placed Soap on medical leave while the doctors decide if he's solid enough to serve again, and he's also been required to remain on base as they assess the threat of Makarov's remaining network. His status among the living has been classified, of course, which means he can't contact his family, but at least it's not a hardship to stay close to his friends and the man he loves. And despite the fact that he's tried to kill Ghost on three separate occasions after waking from vivid nightmares, despite the fact that he still occasionally hears whispers telling him to blow up the base and everyone in it, Price, Gaz, and especially Ghost refuse to leave his side.

Soap tries to believe he's worth it.

At least he knows for sure now that he is Soap.

A couple of weeks after returning to Credenhill, Laswell's lab rats came back with results from the journal that, while still incomplete, were divergent enough to confirm a non-matching sample to John MacTavish's DNA. He didn't realize it was weighing on him so heavily until the burden was lifted. Further confirmation came in the form of a raid on Makarov's Siberian base — records of facial reconstruction surgeries on multiple subjects, including Soap's stand in, proved it wasn't the serum alone that changed people's appearance.

But Soap doesn't care about any of that right now.

Because he's currently sitting in a car in front of his parents' house, palms sweating as he stares at the bright red front door. His da always repainted it a different bright color in the spring to brighten up the rainy season. A thousand childhood memories flit through his mind, and he has to take a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

He doesn't technically have approval to reveal himself to his family, but as Ghost said when Soap first brought it up: who's gonna rat him out? Laswell? Not likely. And Soap's family has suffered long enough.

He has suffered long enough.

And when Price cut through the red tape to approve several weeks of leave to "take care of business" with a wink and smile, Soap couldn't get to Scotland fast enough.

"Ready?" Ghost murmurs, hand coming to rest on Soap's thigh.

His body is attempting to shake his bones out of his skin, but the warm, comforting weight steadies him. He grits his teeth, slips on one of Ghost's plain black balaclavas, and nods. 

They step out of the car, and the familiar sound of pea gravel crunching under his boots throws him back to his childhood, his chest twinging at the sepia-toned memories of slipping bike tires and skinned knees. Soap keeps his gaze locked on Ghost's back, too afraid of getting lost in the memories to let his attention wander. They're both wearing civilian clothes, though Ghost is wearing a SAS cap as an identifier along with a black medical mask covering the lower half of his face.

The door opens before Ghost can knock. Soap's chest caves in at the sight of his father filling the doorway. He takes after his da the most — broad, dark-haired and blue-eyed — and Soap scans over every new line and every extra gray hair since he'd last seen him.

He looks older. Worn.

"Mr. MacTavish, you might not remember me, but I'm Lieutenant Simon Riley. I have some news for you. May we come in?"

"Aye. I remember ye. But I cannae understand what yer doin' here. There's no one left for ye tae take away from me now, is there?"

The bitterness in his father's tone is a pill that threatens to choke Soap. He doesn't realize he's stepped forward until Ghost's arm comes up to wrap around his shoulders.

"No one to take away, no. But I did bring someone back."

At the pointed emphasis, his father blinks, and for the first time, he glances at Soap. His eyes widen as blue meets blue.

"It would be best if we come inside, Mr. MacTavish," Ghost says in a gentle tone.

"Aye," his da whispers as he opens the door wide.

They file inside, and Soap can't take it anymore. As soon as the door clicks shut, he rips off the mask.

"'Allo, Da. Surprise?"

He doesn't have a chance to say anything more as his da barrels into him, nearly knocking him over. Tears stream down his face and soak into Soap's shirt, and Soap realizes he's crying too as his Da whispers "my lad, my lad, my wee laddie is home" over and over in his ear.

---

Ghost warned Soap from the beginning not to try to be his old self. And as one of the few people with experience in coming back from the dead, he trusts the advice.

It doesn't make it any easier to follow it, though.

It takes the whole first visit before anyone in the MacTavish household can speak or look at him without bursting into tears. His two sisters Meg and Claire and his brother Paul arrive as soon as possible with spouses and kids in tow. He goes from one embrace to another and then back until even his touch-starved body can't take much more.

The devastated glances at his many scars are even more difficult to handle.

Ghost is a life-saver, gently-but-adamantly telling them all that Soap needs to rest but they'll be back in the morning. His mam wants him to stay at the house, of course, but he just... can't. She seems to understand, even if he can feel her disappointment following him out the door.

"You're doing good, Johnny," Ghost praises in a soft tone as they drive back to their rented place. "It's not easy to set boundaries. But they'll learn. And you'll heal. Eventually, things will equalize."

"Thank ye," he says, sounding tired even to himself.

The words aren't enough — will never be enough compared to everything Ghost has done for him over the past few months. But he'll be damned if he doesn't at least make sure Ghost knows he's grateful.

The soft look he gets in return and the gentle mouth and hands that worship him later that night reassure him that Ghost does, in fact, know.

---

The July wind is downright balmy for the Highlands, only coaxing a hint of red into the apples of Ghost's bare cheeks as they walk hand-in-hand down the path toward their rented cabin. They're about a mile from the nearest village — close enough to walk but far enough to feel cozy and isolated on the cabin property. 

Soap looks over and smiles at his lover. The smile widens to a grin at the way Ghost smiles back, his cheeks taking on an extra flush.

They've been in Scotland for two weeks, and visiting his family has gotten easier with each passing day. They look at his scars less and at him more. And he's acclimatizing to all the touching and affection they need to give to make sure he's really there and alive.

His da hasn't taken kindly to their insistence that they can't talk about what happened. Soap can only promise him that it was the fault of the enemy and not the Task Force.

His mam hasn't taken kindly to the fact that he won't confirm if he and Ghost are an "item" as she calls it, but neither he nor Ghost are ready for that level of MacTavish exuberance. For now, their story is that Ghost has been assigned to watch over Soap due to his trauma recovery.

Which is going... Well... it's going.

They're taking a walk in the first place because Soap stormed out of a video call with his mandated therapist. Ghost followed him with their jackets and his gentle, undemanding presence. After a couple of miles, Soap's anger, mostly at himself, burned out, and he let Ghost slip a hand into his and pull him close.

How could he not smile at that?

"Been thinkin'," Ghost says in that calm, almost monotone voice of his.

It always sets Soap at ease, so it takes him a moment to prompt, "Aye? Does it hurt?"

"Cheeky fucker. Listen up."

"I'm listening."

"Was talkin' to your da—"

"Tha's dangerous."

"You gonna let me talk?"

Soap presses his lips together to hold back a laugh—God, it feels so good to want to laugh again—and nods. "Sorry. Just feeling a bit off kilter."

Ghost squeezes his hand. Soap squeezes back.

"He said he's got a bit of land a few miles north he's been meaning to sell. I've been earnin' money for years with nowt to spend it on. I thought if you wanted, we could buy it and maybe build a place of our own."

Soap jolted to a stop. Their linked hands strained for a moment before Ghost walked back to him.

"The MacTavish farm?" Soap asks in a breathless tone.

"Mmmhmm," Ghost confirms. "Your da says the old house is gone, but the foundation is still sound."

Soap remembers long days on the farm with his granda, almost thirty years ago now, with the nostalgic fondness of childhood. He would play with the animals and "help" his granda around the farm as a wean.

The idea of living there now...

"Are ye sure? It's a bit secluded."

"Even better," Ghost says with a small smile.

"When would we have time to build a whole house, though? S'not like we'll get leave like this again any time soon."

Ghost puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close. Soap comes willingly, always grateful for the warm and solid presence of the man he loves. Their lips meet in a gentle kiss, the glide slow and lazy, as if they have all the time in the world. As if—

Soap pulls back suddenly and searches Ghost's bare face. His expression is just as relaxed as the kiss, that small smile still gracing the corners of his lips. 

"Ye want tae leave the military?"

"About to hit my years of service for a full retirement. And..." Ghost's smile drops away as he lifts their clasped hands to press a kiss against Soap's knuckles. His voice is soft and serious as he admits, "I don't wanna risk losin' you again. Don't think I'd survive it, Johnny."

Soap swallows and lets himself sink into the admission. The whole of his career, all he's ever wanted is to use his skills and knowledge to make the world a safer place. Instead, he lost three years of his life and inflicted immeasurable harm while in the hands of the enemy. Even if the psychologists and the brass clear him to go back to work, he's not sure he'll ever trust himself in the field again. With the precision required for their jobs, that's practically a death sentence.

Besides, his family would be glad to have him home for good. And he knows they'll come to love Ghost, too. His mam is halfway there already with all of Ghost's subdued politeness.

The more he thinks about it, the more the idea of getting out — of getting a fresh start — appeals to him, though he supposes that's not really a surprise in the end. After all, the most important thing he ever found in the military would be coming with him to Scotland.

"I wanna be wherever ye are, Simon Riley."

Ghost's smile returns. Their next kiss explodes with joy, and Soap leans into it, letting himself be swept away by the swipe of Ghost's tongue and the hard press of his lips. When they finally pull back, Soap is ready to run back to the cabin, eager to take Ghost apart and be taken apart in return. Ghost holds him back, though, his gaze once more serious.

"I want you to be sure about this. No regrets."

"I think it's a grand idea," Soap says before kissing him again. "Where ye lead, I'll follow, aye Lt?"

Ghost hums as he finally lets go of Soap's shoulders and gently tugs at their clasped hands. "How about we walk together, side by side?"

A slow smile spreads across Soap's face as visions of a quiet life dance in his head — a life without fear of capture or torture and without the risk of losing each other at any moment.

"Aye," he murmurs. "I can do tha'."

He kisses Ghost one last time before letting him pull them back toward the cabin.

There's still a lot of work to do before they can take that final step forward, but until then, he'll cherish the idea of a house all their own where they can live out their days in peace. After years of hell, it's good to know a bit of heaven awaits him. And maybe when they finally have a house of their own, Soap will indulge in those matching rings he's been dreaming about. 

Because it wouldn't be heaven without Ghost by his side.

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FIN