#biking cent | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hamilando · 6 months ago

Text

ੈ✩ nxdes? (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : charles leclerc x fem reader

summary : “have you seen my boyfriend ?” “HAVE YOU SEEN HER !?”

tw : fluff, very suggestive

a/n : So this was requested anonymously, so if you are seeing this, Hope you like it 💫

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡

liked by user1, user2, user3 and others

f1mommy how I feel when I feed you all thirsty socks 🧦

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user1 idk what is killing me- the caption or the photos 🗿

user2 English or Spanish ?

user3 f1mommy 💀🦅

user4 charles, don’t be shy, drop it on me

user5 I want to ride carlos like he rides his bike-

user6 did she just call us socks !?

charlesleclerc can you stop leaking pictures ? I won’t hesitate to sue you

user7 oops-

user8 LORD PERCEVAL GOT SERIOUS THERE

f1mommy @ charlesleclerc you weren’t complaining when you sent me your nudes 💋

user9 AND I-

user10 is it true or -

user11 mommy, can we get the charles junior baby pics ?

user12 that’s quite a way to frame it 💀

user13 she casually dropped christian in between

f1mommy @ user13 you would need some Jesus after god hears your thoughts

user14 istg this girl has been taking sarcasm classes

f1mommy @ user14 rizzing your mama up classes

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f1mommy this is a Charles leclerc fan page ( minus the nudes)

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user1 SHIRTLESS CHARLES !?

user2 IN HD!?

user3 I WILL BE YOUR SUGGA MOMMA F1MOMMY

f1mommy hit me up bbugurl 💋

user4 yes, you all are correct, he was talking to me in second pic

user5 serving your delusion ofc

f1mommy she serving looks atleast user4 @ f1mommy ily 😭

user5 who is she ?

user6 we don’t know, we just enjoy what mommy gives us 😮‍💨

user7 how does she get them ?

user8 she hacked their phones ?

user9 techie alert

f1mommy the only tech thing I know is incognito at night 💪🏻

user10 digital footprint ?

f1mommy you would like mine on you though ?

charlesleclerc can you stop leaking my pictures ?

f1mommy can you stop fucking me ?

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f1mommy me watching y’all burn your brains to guess who is me

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user1 if this accounts turns out to be run by a 50 year old lady-

f1mommy you will ask me to fuck you ?

user2 just tell us who you are

user3 she has a things for dilf

f1mommy I am one myself -

user4 I will pay you 69 cents to reveal yourself

f1mommy I would prefer performing 69 💋

user5 dududuu HELL WHA-

user6 I have given up-

user7 the iconic toto

user8 Only king toto can help us

user9 I can feel the user smirking reading all the comments

user10 the person is definitely a sadist

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f1mommy Hi, I am yours and his mommy 🫶🏻 @ charlesleclerc

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user1 WHAT ?

user2 YOU ARE CHARLE’S GIRLFRIEND !?

f1mommy yes baby girl ☺️

user3 please tell me that this is a joke

charlesleclerc now can you send me some ?

charlesleclerc after you have exposed that I am your boyfriend ?

f1mommy you have the keys, come watch it in 4D

user4 so now y’all decide to be freaky ?

user5 now Charles interacting on a fan account makes sense

user6 the pictures too

user7 so she really didn’t hack-

user8 welcome to the fam sis

f1mommy I was there way before you love 🧡

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from-the-working-classman · 4 months ago

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It honestly depends on how wide are your car lanes, how safe is your city, how much of the population actually uses bike lanes, etc.

Before moving states, I lived in a crime infested city whose main use of bike lanes was just as the OP above described it — except the aforementioned lane was just. an extremely thin blue line painted at the edge of each car lane. To make for more room they cut off a part of the sidewalk; what only allowed two people abreast wound up even slimmer.

I don't know how it is now, but they filled the city with bike lanes. And for what? A daily average of 3K cyclist for a city with over 2 million inhabitants? That's nothing! It's a superfluous waste of money.

But when I moved! Oh, we're talking about streets with three massive traffic lanes on each side, sidewalks that allowed 3-4 people abreast most comfortably — and not one, but two bike lanes (one for each direction) that circled the city from coast to almost every major street.

The crime rate? Zero to none.

The percentage of cyclist in our city? I'd say a whopping 70% or more. They held annual marathons, cyclist events and even minor racing circuits. Every weekend they cleared two coastal car lanes for cyclist use only — and they were very well used. Even during the colder months.

This was the city capital and one might think the smaller cities were less zealous, but you'd be wrong!

Only the smallest towns and farming communities that held simpler infrastructure were free of the superfluous infrastructure; and it's not as if they needed it anyway.

Bike lanes are such a happlessly Southern Californian idea. Between their wastefulness and niche application, it just screams "sheltered moron" from start to finish. Truly one of their greatest blights.

I just adore losing half a sidewalk and half a vehicle lane as well as all the trees and bushes that used to be there to accommodate a massive swath of terrain for something that's used exclusively by crackheads stealing each other's bikes and retards on e-scooters for the three months out of the year that it isn't over 100 degrees or under 30 and snowing. We certainly benefit from this and not another turn lane or parking patterns that act as a barrier for storefronts and sidewalks or some nice greenery.

#Of the Written Word #The Answers #Maybe you have a city problem and not a bike lane problem‚ I don't know #But! This city built and planned for this kind of infrastructure #So if you can't do that‚ then it really shouldn't be everywhere.#both states are Cities Georg outliers in a different end of the spectrum #so I'm just adding my two cents here #The Discourse #Walkable Cities #Others #Infrastructure

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teaboot · 8 months ago

Note

I love your post about being a security guard. Would you please tell us about some of the cool people you meet at work?

Ooooh I can do that!

One time on foot patrol I got called to talk to a guy who had his pet off-leash, right? And there's a pretty big road nearby, and some restaurants, so I head over to see if I can convince him to leash what I believe to be his dog before it runs into a diner or humps the wrong leg or gets clipped or whatever

But I get there. And I see the guy, he's exactly as described, but there's no dog nearby so I'm kinda confused

But then I see his parrot

And I'm trying to keep a straight face when I get there but I'm in uniform and he sees me and stops and the three of us (me, him, parrot) kind of just stare at each other

And I dont know what to say, I have not been trained for this, and I'm trying to figure out if this is even a problem or not, so I just tell the guy, "I'm gonna be real with you man, this is a new one for me".

And to his credit the dude was actually very kind and polite, introduced me to the bird and all. Little fella made some *frighteningly intelligent* eye contact with me the whole time, of course.

Anyways it turns out the bird was about sixteen years old and smarter than me, so I told them they were both above my pay grade and were good to go as long as they didn't go into any eating establishments, since technically it'd be a contamination risk.

VERY cool afternoon.

Also another time a very cheerful woman claimed she could read auras and told me mine was yellow, and I got to tell her that yellow was my favourite colour, which was cool!

And one night I was on mall duty and I found six teenagers all crammed into one of those 25-cent kiddie rides shaped like a school bus, which was hilarious, but I had to tell 'em "I am so sorry, this is the best thing I've seen all day, but I do need yall outta there, I love you all" (the ride things have weight limits and break down constantly, it's a pain in the ass.)

Aw shit, this other time I found two teen boys pushing each other in a shopping cart- and they were having such a great time, I felt so bad, it's exactly the kind of shit my brothers would do- and I think that one was like "sorry guys, liabilities, do it where I can't see you".

And this one probably shouldn't be funny but there was this guy with a bike, right? Belligerent, abusive towards staff, falling-down drunk, you know? And I was supposed to get him out of the building, but instead when I asked him to make his way out he jumped onto the bike and started riding around me in circles shouting "WHORE! WHORE! WHOOOOOOOORE!"

Same guy, the day that I first met him, he was peeing at a payphone- I asked him for his name and he straightened up, put his shoulders back, and said with all confidence, "My name is Donald Finkley and I take it up the butt!"

His name was not Donald Finkley. The real Donald Finkley was someone he just didn't like very much

#Names changed for confidentiality obvs #But yes I meet a lot of characters for sure #Teaboot #Teabooot stories #Teablart

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batsplat · 4 months ago

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Wait what’s the tea on Valentino’s sleep patterns 👀👀 (fellow insomniac / recent motogp fan always looking for more representation)

oh yeah, if you're looking for representation for poor sleeping habits you've very much come to the right place. his sleep patterns are pretty remarkable you have to say. way too nocturnal for a professional athlete, reliant on naps to get through the race weekend, all power to him for somehow making that work and winning all those titles. pretty sure I've read somewhere that he's still known for doing sim races at ungodly hours these days, just how he lives his life

tbh I can't remember off the top of my head where I'd actually read about his sleeping patterns, but I've cobbled together a decent selection of quotes from the usual sources. the most interesting stuff he's said on the topic is in his autobiography - where he goes into rather a lot of detail about his preference for the night. given that it's quite a lengthy passage, I've chucked it under the cut. he frames his nocturnal inclination as not only suiting his natural body clock better, but also as a way of escaping the rest of the world - of being able to move around in peace and silence and anonymity. plus, he liked to spend his nights in the garage to... *pinches bridge of nose* have some special personal time with his bike, when it was just the two of them. take that as you will

before that, let's just start with a few more general descriptions of his sleeping patterns. from early in his career, jerez 1998 (from oxley's vr files):

The camper only holds two people, but that's okay. I don't like my dad to sleep with me, because when it gets to ten o'clock he starts saying: "Vale, Vale, got to bed!", but I can't go to sleep before one or two. We did share a motorhome in '96 and it made life very, very difficult for me.

and about brno 1999 (from oxley's vr files):

On weekends when I'm not racing, I never go to bed before six or seven on Sunday morning. If it's a party, maybe even later, but going to bed at six in the morning is quite normal for me! Even when I was 14 I used to go to bed at 4am. Quite often I'd be riding around the local minimoto tracks until after midnight! If I go to sleep at 11 or 12 I just lie there, my eyes wide open. Maybe I would be good for 24-hour racing!

and then a few years into his premier class career, valentino says the following (x):

'I have a lot of energy after 2am,' Rossi agreed. 'I like to sleep in the morning. I have some problems at the start of the day.'

we've also got a description of crew chief jb's influence in terms of making sure valentino wasn't slacking off by sleeping in (from oxley's vr files):

Burgess' talents aren't restricted to getting the best out of a 500. The Aussie has been in GPs for decades and knows how to extract the best from riders as well. He expects 100 per cent commitment both on the track and in the pits, and when he doesn't get that, he gives 'em hell. Some other crew chiefs won't do that - they're too overawed by their riders' superstardom. JB laid down the law last summer when late-sleeper Rossi turned up late for practice. Rossi suggested that in future one of the crew should be despatched to his motorhome each morning to make sure he was out of bed. No way, said Burgess, I'll be there to give you your wake-up call. Rossi's not overslept since.

and from 2001, in valentino's own words:

Q: Tell us about your sleeping habits, JB has had to wake you a few times for practice... VR: I never go to bed before 1 o'clock, and there's no limit on when I go to bed, but even when I go to sleep very late I always wake up at 8.30, though when I do wake up I always have a big confusion for the first five minutes, then after that I remember: "Oh fuck, I'm at world grand prix!" So I have a shower and then I'm okay. I never get up too close to riding time because the 500 is a dangerous bike so it's necessary to be awake when you climb aboard. Back in the afternoon after practice at four or five o'clock I'll sleep for another hour.

only semi-related but valentino's also talked about... you know, this generational shift - where the sport has become more professionalised, which is reflected in certain lifestyle changes (from barker's rossi biography):

"The next generation is always stronger. They are more professional, they put more effort in, they make a perfect life, they eat in a good way, they don't drink, they go to sleep early, they train every day from the morning to the night... I come from an era where the riders drank beer and smoked cigarettes!"

also plenty of talk of jet lag obviously... doesn't struggle with it too much headed westwards because he says he basically lives on american time anyway. the other direction is tougher, but in his youth he decided that he might as well try to continue living on italian time. so he essentially went racing at 5 in the morning (about phillip island 1998, from oxley's vr files):

I don't have a problem with jet lag, I always sleep. Last year in Indonesia I stayed on Italian time for the whole grand prix - so I was racing at five in the morning! But the difference is too great to do that in Australia.

how on earth are you racing motorcycles like that. mind you, he won that 1997 indonesia race

so yeah. king of disordered sleeping. given the nature of motogp schedules and how they do kind of require you to actually get up in the mornings, congrats to him for being remotely functional during race weekends. crazy how he even won the odd race

and here's the autobiography passage:

My day, usually, begins in the afternoon. It’s as if I exist inside my own personal time zone. I live at night, because I love the night. Now, this might make you think I do goodness-knows-what in the wee hours, or that I don’t live the life of a professional athlete. It’s true, I don’t live the life of an athlete in the traditional sense — early to bed, early to rise and all that — but this does not mean that I’m not careful about what I eat and drink or that I don’t train. In fact, I train a lot, both in the gym and on the bike. It’s just that I go to the gym in the afternoon, rather than the morning. Equally, when I’m training on the bike, down at the quarry, I always go in the afternoon, never at nine o'clock in the morning. My body has a certain type of metabolism. It is used to living according to a different body clock. That’s why, even if I’m travelling all over the world, I don’t experience jet lag and I rarely go to bed before 3 a.m. It’s much more likely that I’m just tucking into bed as people are leaving for work. As I say, I have a special relationship with the night. I like moving in it, living in it, thinking in it, relaxing in it. The night fascinates me, because it’s the period of least confusion. The world calms down, it goes quiet. And, besides, I’m Valentino Rossi. I’m wanted... I'm a fugitive. Yes, I’m always running away from my _ beloved countrymen. The Italians. I’m proud to be Italian, I'm proud of our merits and I regret our shortcomings. Italians are exceptional people. In every way. Even when they start loving you. Because that’s actually when problems can arise — if it’s you that the Italian falls in love with. Italian people are warm, empathetic, spontaneous. But they can also be excessive, oppressive and disrespectful. I don’t know who said that Italians will forgive everything except for success. Whoever it was, they were right. Because it’s absolutely true. After the 1997 season, I could tell I was becoming popular. Year after year, that popularity turned into fully fledged love. They’re in love with me now and, as a result, since the 2004 season, I’ve been a man on the run. And there’s no escape, no end in sight, because wherever I go they find me. There are simple things, the little pleasures in life, which I simply can’t engage in when I’m back in Italy. I can’t go to the bar and have a cappuccino, because I would not be able to drink it. To be fair, I can do it in Tavullia, but that's the only place. If I go more than a few kilometres in any direction from the centre of town, that's it, everything changes and I become, once again, a hunted man. I can’t walk into a store, look at something and decide what I want to buy. In fact, I can’t stop anywhere, not even at a petrol station. If I stop, I’m screwed. Somebody will recognise me (Italians are exceptionally good at recognising people), make a lot of noise, call other people and then, before I know it, I’ve been swallowed up by the crowd. If I schedule a meeting with someone, we have to meet in a secret, out-of-the-way location and, even then, we can't linger. I can't go to a restaurant if there are too many people inside. And if I do go, I can't go at a normal time, say eight o'clock. I have to go later, much later, when people are leaving. And I can't sit where I like, I have to hide away in a corner, in the shadows. As for places like cinemas or the beach, forget about it. They are just always off-limits.

Having said that, I do mix with people. I do it because I like doing it. It’s just that I wish I could do it as a normal person, because, deep down, I am a normal human being. This is part of the reason why I have to live at night. It would be that much tougher during the day, with all those people about. Plus, I don’t like the traffic, the chaos, the noise, all those people running all over the place, stressed out and out of breath. The night is different. Everything is softer, there are fewer people around and you are much more free. It’s like a parallel dimension. The world is different at night. Everything is different. That’s why I’ve assimilated the lyrics of a song by the Italian artist Jovanotti, “Gente. della notte” (“People of the night”). It has become my personal anthem. Jovanotti is one of my favourite singers and I find myself agreeing with him on most things. I love his work. What else can I say? The night is my reality. And I don’t change just because Grands Prix are scheduled during the day. My way of being and living is reflected in what I do during races. I don’t really change. Obviously, I don’t go to bed at dawn, but let’s just say that when I do, finally, go to bed, there aren’t many people around. Everything is better at night in the paddock. There is silence, the people _ have disappeared and, with them, the chaos. I can wander around freely, most of all I can enjoy the empty pit area and my bike. Yes, my bike. Because at night I often slip into the team garage. At some races I do it every single night, because I love being with my bike. My night-time activities can be traced back to the years racing in 125cc, and are directly tied to my passion for aesthetics and the stickers, which would later become my obsession. I don’t leave anything to chance'when it comes to choosing the colour or the stickers for my bike. That’s why I’ve always been central to any and all discussions when we were deciding the aesthetics of my racing bikes. I’ve done it always, with every bike, at every level, with every team. And, naturally, I still do it today. Nobody has ever been allowed to attach a single sticker to my bike, unless it was the logo of a technical sponsor. Until a few years ago I was totally inflexible about this. Now, Roby takes care of the number: he attaches it because then he needs to cover it in transparent paint. But apart - from -this, which is primarily a technical procedure anyway, I take care of everything else to do with the stickers. And this takes time and planning, which is why I started going to the garage at night. During the day it is packed with people. There are mechanics, technicians and others around. I would just get in the way, if I wanted to get near the bike just to check the stickers. As I got older and progressed from 125 to 250 and then to 500 and on to MotoGP, I maintained that passion for aesthetics and stickers, as well as the habit of dropping in on the team garage at night. I enjoy the bike during the day _ obviously, but my relationship with the bike is so special that I can spend hours with it, just looking and admiring it, making sure that everything is in order. Those are very personal moments which I find difficult to describe. The Japanese guys, both the executives but also the engineers never knew this, not the guys at Honda, not the ones at Yamaha. I don’t think they would really understand. They would probably view it as a waste of time, since I don’t actually do anything concrete. I never touch anything to do with the bike itself, beyond, obviously, the stickers. And yet I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when I’m not doing anything. It’s a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy.

During the day everything happens so quickly, frenetically, neurotically. However, there is a sacrosanct moment when I need to step away and isolate myself. Once my commitment to the team is over, usually around 5.30 p.m., I retire to my motorhome, relax and take a nap. It usually lasts a couple hours and then I go out. There’s always something to do after dinner. Of course, the range of options depends on how many friends are around. I really start enjoying the paddock around ten o'clock at night. Before going to sleep I check on the bike again and then I go into the team motorhome, which serves as an office. Now that I’m at Yamaha, I have an office all to myself. That’s where I keep all my race gear. I do this for two reasons. My own personal motorhome is an absolute mess, nothing more fits in there and I probably couldn’t find anything amid all the junk. Plus, the office is where I change into my racing suit before going out on to the track. Thus, at night, after going to the pits to see the bike, I go to make sure that all my stuff is where it should be: gloves, suit, socks, boots . . . everything needs to be perfect, because I just don’t have time in the morning to hunt around for stuff. Thus, each morning I have to follow a very precise routine. I’m like a robot, everything is the same each day. Because the truth is that I need to be like clockwork. I just don’t have the time to think. Somebody generally comes to wake me up — usually it’s Jeremy, because he doesn’t trust my ability to wake up on my own! I then get up, wash my face (my eyes are still shut at this point) and try to stay awake as I ride the scooter from the motorhome to the pits. I then go up to the office and get dressed. There too everything is done mechanically. It takes the slightest hiccup to throw everything off, forcing me to be late to the testing.

"I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when I’m not doing anything. it’s a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy" well -

#some of you lot really should be making more use of -#- the line 'because that's actually when problems can arise - if it's you that the italian falls in love with'#//#brr brr #//clt #batsplat responds #i can also remember a post-retirement interview where he was up early to watch the motogp race and was suffering? can't find it though #im on the other side of the generational shift on this... the idea of approaching professional sport like that makes me twitchy #like so much of it these days is controlling every controllable variable perfect optimisation and all that. this feels so casual!!#and is honestly one of the things that makes his longevity the most impressive. one hell of a change to have to make mid career

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choslut · 6 months ago

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NSFW. minors + ageless dni.

been thinkin about being biker!sukuna’s least favourite bimbo girl…

if there’s one thing biker!sukuna will never understand, it’s the reason why oh why you decide to slather all that ridiculous makeup on you when your face is perfectly fine as it is. you’ll come striding out of your sorority house with a compact mirror and a powder blush in hand, too busy to even flash a smile at your awaiting boyfriend, who has been waiting over half an hour for you to come out.

sometimes, biker!sukuna wonders why he bothers with a girl like you. if he sliced open your brain and looked inside, it would be full of van cleef jewellery, miss dior perfume and countless tubes of sky high mascara. you’re all looks and no substance, and even when you try your damned hardest to rub two sticks together in that empty fuckin’ brain of yours, the only thing you manage to end up doing is setting your remaining two braincells alight.

he hates it, but he also loves it.

you’re so damn easy. you stammer and simper every time he even does so much as touches you, and biker!sukuna especially loves watching your brain completely shut down when he whispers dirty shit in your ear.

“if we weren’t at a gas station right now, i’d be fuckin’ you over my bike.”

“your ass looks gorgeous in that dress, sweets. you wearin’ panties underneath?”

“c’mon, you’ll let me hit raw, right? i promise i’ll pull out. wouldn’t wanna make you a mommy before you’re 25.”

he’s dirty, rough, vulgar biker!sukuna, and you’re his pretty little bimbo bitch, even if he doesn’t think you’re even worth two cents sometimes.

and he surely fucks you like you aren’t worth two cents, too.

“fuckin’ take it, slut.” he’s got you bent over the sink in a public restroom, hands on your hips as he drags your ass back and forth on his dick. “wanna be showin’ off your ass to any perv that walks past?”

“mhn, noooo, ‘kuna,” you whine, eyes squeezed shut and jet black tears running down the apples of your cheeks. “ ‘m sorry.”

a loud slap! echoes off the tiles of the bathroom, accompanied with a large, hand-shaped bruise on your ass. “no, y’not, doll, because if you were, you wouldn’t have done it to begin with.” he grabs your hair and pulls you back against his chest, lips just grazing the shell of your ear. “since you wanna be showin’ off to every cockslinger who walks past, why don’t i show you what it’s like to be fucked like a real whore, huh, baby?”

your top teeth dig into your lip and you groan. he’s so mean, treatin’ you like this, but tucked in the corner of your empty little brain, you love it. because, if there’s one thing bimbo dolls love, it’s being roughed up by their big, bad biker boyfriends.

a/n : i have an ongoing event to celebrate the reopening of my blog! check it out here.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

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vixensbrainrotts · 1 year ago

Note

can you do some angst to fluff for chifuyu matsuno where after finding out about the future from takemichi, he attempts and fails to break up with his girlfriend to protect her but she refuses/he loves her too much?

Yes absolutely I can! Thanks anon for the ask <3, also first my Chifuyu piece yay!

Love prevails - Chifuyu Matsuno

Content: ask-based (thanks so much!)

Tropes: before the black dragon fight, right before Christmas, angst to fluff

Warnings: crying, slightly angsty, not proofread

Summary: Chifuyu has to do it. Not for him, but for you.

Vixens two cents: I loved this idea omggggg. I was so into writing this so I hope you enjoy it just as much as I did! I couldn't bare to make it gut-wrenchingly angsty at the start so im sorry if I let you down there a little... anyways thank you for requesting btw!!! to everyone else, requests are still open of you have an idea of your own, im kinda going through a little bit of writers block so requests really just make my life a little easier.

“What.” Enraged, Chifuyu roared at his friend. Actually, he wasn’t quite sure if he could consider Takemichi a friend after what he had asked him to do.

“It’s the only way I could see a change happening! I’ve seen what happens if you stay together through this! She’s gonna run in and try to save you along with Hina and then both of them wil…” his voice choked to a stop, a painful sob wracking his body before he continued “I saw it happen Chifuyu! I saw what Toman becomes; what we become! I’m doing it too, I have to and I know how hard it is but it’s the only way!” Takemichi was sobbing hard, eyes swollen and bloodshot, nose snotty and red.

Silence ensued, only disturbed by the sniffling of Takemichi, his voice hoarse as he cried to his friend. Slowly, silently Chifuyus eyes filled with treacherous tears, his eyes burning against the cold winter air. He tried very hard to keep them at bay, his lip quivering and his fists clenching, his nails digging into his palms.

Then his resolve broke, his eyes stinging as fat tears rolled down his cheeks and running between the cracks of his lips, coloring his tongue salty.

Surely there’s another way. Surely it doesn’t have to be like this.

His body betrays him as at convulsed brutally, a sudden sob bursting past his lips and wracking his chest. He stared at Takemichi: furious, confused, scared.

This can’t be it.

Despite the pain he felt as they stood across one another, crying and shouting, blaming one another for their losses and shortcomings in a future sure to come, it came to an end.

Silently seething they parted ways that evening with a mutual promise. ‘Keep them out of it. Break up with her to keep her safe.’

When Chifuyu called you to meet up with him on Christmas Day, you were delighted to meet him. You had a little gift for him (a coupon to the manga store you two frequented and a little treat and a toy for Peke J) neatly wrapped sitting in your lap as you sat on the bench on the bridge.

You fiddled with the curly string that tied the paper together, a little nervous. You were supposed to meet here 5 minutes ago but he still hadn’t shown. He was late, it was unusual for him. Normally you’d come to the allocated spot and see him already waiting for you, so him not being there made you uneasy in the first place.

Just as you flipped open your phone to dial him, your ears rund with the familiar rumble of his bike. You twisted your head in the direction, and you were greeted with Chifuyu pushing the kickstand of his bike out, and setting it to park not too far from where you sat.

Elated, you rose from the bench and brushed off your coat, watching him pull his helmet from his head as you approached him.

“Hey you.” You started once you reached him, reaching up to fix the hair that was messed by his helmet with your free hand, but he caught it. “Hm?” You hummed in question, looking at him.

He wore a sullen expression, one that clashed with what you had expected from him. His eyes were cold, notably avoiding your gaze, his brows furrowed and his lips a tight line. He pushed your hand down and dropped it, still not facing you.

“We should sit down.” His voice is flat and emotionless, it scared you a little. As you both walked to the bench you were taken aback by his unusual behavior, seeing a stranger lead you rather than your boyfriend.

Confused you follow him, letting him sit you down next to him. “Are you ok?” You ask, voice small as you reach out a hand to touch his arm, resting the gift next to you as you look at him again. This time he returns the gaze, fixing his eyes on yours and seemingly studying your face. “Yeah.” It didn’t sound convincing though.

A few moments passed where you both sat in silence, and you decided to take action. Reaching for the gift, you presented it to him and chimed “Merry Christmas Chifu-”

“We should break up.”

Your world stopped spinning. Mouth still open, your tongue felt numb, and your fingers colder than ever. Your head spun and your vision blurred.

Am I really going blind from shock?

No. You were crying.

“What?” Chifuyu had to bite back a laugh because you mirrored him perfectly. “What do you mean we’re breaking up? What happened?” You started questioning him immediately, indifferent to your tears as your voice remained steady. He had to hand it to you, you had a stronger resolve than he did.

He hated the way you looked at him right now. Furious, confused, scared- fuck, you were just like him, weren’t you? Your hands were still clutched around the gift, neat blue wrapping paper and a yellow bow holding it together. His favorite colors.

It stung when he sighed, feigning a cold attitude as he looked away from you. “Yeah.” He wanted to sound convincing so bad.

“Why?” Your voice wasn’t small anymore. You had adapted a demanding, defensive tone as you lowered the gift and glared at him, eyes still tearing.

You rehearsed this, don’t fucking cry. He reprimanded himself, thinking of the ‘script’ he had prepared the night before.

“Because I don’t think that we are good for one another. Specifically me for you. I’m a terrible influence on you, I’m finally able to recognize that now.” Chifuyu chanted, sure as a prayer just as he rehearsed. The words came out of his mouth without emotion, without meaning.

“Is it because of my parents?” You ask him, thinking back to the less than great first impression Chifuyu had made on your parents, but that was over a year ago, and by now they had smoothed out their relationship. You thought that everything was fine.

“No, it’s- it’s me. I promise it has nothing to do with you.” His voice shouldn’t have cracked, he shouldn’t have stuttered but fuck the way you looked at him with fierce determination made him crack.

You stared at him, completely baffled as your nose and cheeks turned red in the icy winter air. He could hear the cogs turning in your brain, trying to make sense of the situation.

“It’s you!? You want to break up with me? You’re consciously making the decision to leave me? Why! Give me a good reason why Chifuyu because this can’t be right!” Tears were streaming down your face and you had stood from the bench, standing in front of him, the little gift having been thrust into his hands mid anger.

“I-“ his eyes were wide and his mouth stood agape. This is off-script!

“You can’t! You can’t! Chifuyu I’ve been with you through thick and thin, you’ve been with me through good and bad! How is it that now all of a sudden that you want to break up? We fought once for two weeks straight, and I feared for us every day, but we didn’t break up! Ive shouted at you and you’ve screamed at me, but we always worked it out in the end! Why is it that now all of a sudden, without conflict, you want it over?” Your voice was thick with emotion, a knot in your throat as you defended your relationship, condensation billowing up on front of you.

Chifuyu didn’t answer for a while, sitting, eyes wide on the bench in front of you as he marveled at your teary-eyed strength.

“I’m sorry y/n.” He broke the silence, voice low and shaky, staring at you. “I’m so sorry.”

He should have just told you. He realized suddenly, shrinking into the bench, shrouding his face in his hands and looking down to where the gift layed in his lap, eyes squeezing shut tightly.

“How dare you Chifuyu?” Your voice was downright booming, “how dare you question my love for you? You think it’s so disposable that you can just throw this all away?” He didn’t answer, only sinking further into himself as he started to cry, shame and regret clear in his voice as it shook with every whine and sob.

Heaving a sigh you sat down next to him, facing front, away from him again. Silence reigned once more, only disrupted by Chifuyu's cries and your sniffles.

"I love you Chifuyu.”

He cried harder, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop the tears from flowing, but it was useless. He tried focusing on evening his breathing, but as soon as he did, he felt pressure on his shoulder and chest, and his breath hitched again. Your warm, familiar scent surrounded him, and the welcome sensation of your hand stroking his chest helped him center himself again.

Slowly, surely, progressively, he stopped crying so hard, sobs dying down to sniffling, and eventually he pulled his hands away from his eyes, the cold air kissing his face as he brought his arms to wrap around you. He allowed himself to bury his nose in your hair and breathe, closing his eyes as his lips quivered again, pursing to kiss the top of your head where it lay on his chest.

A few more moments passed again before he whispered back "I love you too."

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokrev #tr content #tokyo manji revengers #chifuyu matsuno #chifuyu x reader #tokyo revengers chifuyu #tr chifuyu #tr fluff #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo revengers fluff #request #requests open #reqs open

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thoughtportal · 3 months ago

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Copenhagen, the bicycle-friendliest place on the planet, publishes a biannual Bicycle Account, and buried in its pages is a rather astonishing fact, reports Andy Clarke, president of the league of American Bicyclists:

“When all these factors are added together the net social gain is DKK 1.22 per cycled kilometer. For purposes of comparison there is a net social loss of DKK 0.69 per kilometer driven by car.” 1.22 Danish crowns is about 25 cents and a kilometer is 6/10 of a mile, so we are talking about a net economic gain to society of 42 cents for every bicycle mile traveled. That’s a good number to have in your back pocket.

And what are all the “social gains” that bicycling grants the city of Copenhagen?

A number of factors are included in the equation such as transport costs, security, comfort, branding/tourism, transport times and health.

Considering that both sitting and car exhaust kill you, it’s a safe bet a lot of the net benefit to society is simply that cycling makes you less of a drag on health insurance and the safety net.

Since the total health benefit of Copenhagen residents’ healthy cycling habits is DKK 5.51 per km, the annual benefit is worth the equivalent of approx. DKK 2.0 billion.

Which means that Copenhagen, a city of 1.2 million people, saves $357 million a year on health costs because something like 80 percent of its population commutes by bicycle, even in winter. That’s $300 per person per year. Clearly, the reason the new Danish minister of the interior said she’d “rather invest in cycle tracks than freeways,” is that only one of those has a positive return.

#article #gist #bikes vs cars #urban planning #solarpunk #Copenhagen #denmark #city planning

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unspeakable-imagination · 6 months ago

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Cigar Smoke and Sleepless Nights | Part Five

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x reader

Reposts and likes are appreciated

Cw: Cigars and smoke, drinking, reader has ptsd. Logan has ptsd, canon-typical violence, references to abuse, other mature or explicit things

Parts One Two Three Four

I'm begging, people send in asks I wanna make more content.

Your circadian rhythm had to have been fucked, but your were unsure. You resorted to wearing sunglasses to combat the pain and migraine daylight brought you and winced at any light that was brighter than one or two house lights. The sun, the windows, every light in the damn school- it was overwhelming. The snow had melted in a few hours.

It was a new day, and you still hadn't slept. You were anxious, regularly itching behind your ears every fifteen minutes till they were raw and blood was beading under your nails. The cent of copper and iron made you go in overdrive, as the smell of your own blood consistently followed you.

Figuring since it wasn't as cold, now would be a great time to go buy cigarettes and a new lighter. It was easy to skit around the crowd of students on the stairs and out the door as quick as you could. You weren't sure where the nearest gas station was, but you figured if you just followed the road, you'd find it.

Your off-brand canvas jacket piled ontop of the other four layers you were wearing were keeping your arms warm- but your legs were freezing and your boots weren't built for this weather. You didn't have much eles, and figured maybe you should buy more with what you'd earned from charles, after your cigarettes, of course. Addiction was a hell of a money drainer.

You were already off the drive and a quarter of a mile down the road when your ears picked up the sound of a motor cycle. The wolverine? Maybe it was Scott finally getting his bike back? You just kept walking- but it only took a few minutes for you roaring engine of the bike to considerable slow behind you. You could smell the tabacco and the liquor.

"Why are you walking in the cold," He said, tip-toeing the bike next to you since he was going to slow to ride. You glaced over. He was in his traditional jacket, a flannel buttoned up underneath. His jeans were dirty and his hair was a bit longer that you thought you'd remeber, granted you'd hardly seen in.

"I need to get cigaretts. And clothes, I think." He simply blinked at you, one of his thick eyebrows raising.

"It's like.... a four hour walk?" His head tilted to the side. "And it's forty degrees. Get on the bike." He wasn't really asking, atleast it didn't sound like it. He sounded- and smelled annoyed. With the fact he'd saved you the day before- you figured you'd be best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

You nodded and both you and the bike stilled. He leaned it to a side as you shifted over and swung your leg over the seat behind him. The moment you were on the bike, he pushed it off the tilt and walked it a little bit. "Put your arms around me or you'll fall, kid."

Your heart beat faster, not at the nickname- but the idea of touching him. "Okay," you said quietly, meekly. Your arms snaked around his waist over his jacket and he grumbled, revving the engine and getting the bite going. You winced a little, the sound hurting your ears. It only took a few moment to get used to it to. If logan noticed, he didn't say anything, but your arms got tighter around him.

It seemed like Logan broke more traffic laws than what existed, and it make you grimace. He took you to the gas station, a safe bet for your cigarettes, but he was giving his own thick carton of Cigars. It was easy to calm your nerves, making you feel like you weren't taking advantage of the ride, since he was doing his own thing.

After the gas station, you were expecting to go home, but when he pulled into the shabby parking lot of a local, run down department store with a cheap-ish clothing section, you smiled. He mumbled something about staying here when you slid off the back of the bike, but you were too preoccupied with looking through the windows to notice.

The little bell above the glass door jingled and you beeline past the snacks and register to the clothes and bags. A think, canvas-type backpack that was black hung on the rack. It was perfect to carry your things in. You grabbed that, and poked your head around until you found a suitable pair of boots, another hoodie, another set of jeans, and some other amenities like underwear and even a few loose shirts and a single pair of sweats you'd be able to work out in easier.

After buying everything and stuffing it into the backpack, you left the store, logan was leaving again the wall, watching the bike on his kickstand while smoking one of his fresh Cigars. When he saw your shoes peak out of the doorway, you heard him say something like 'that was quick,' and then walk to the bike, putting his cigar out on his hand like you'd seen before.

"Doesn't that hurt," you asked, meeting him at the bike.

"Not for long," he said, showing you his hand. "I don't want to get it dirty. Cigars are expensive." You knew that, constantly looking at the price of whatever cigarettes were cheapest wherever you were.

He got on and you followed suit, and on the way back to the mansion you went. The smell of tabacco relaxed you a little. Not as much as if you were actively smoking, but maybe- just maybe. You laid your head against his back and took a deep breath, focusing on the smoke smell more than the metal. You relaxed even more, your arms going slack. Tuning out the noise of the bike, the rumble of Logans breathing, and the bite if the cold against you hands, it was easy to say you fell into your own little world.

Logan found it stange. He listened to your heart relax and ut piqued his curiosity. What type of mutant were you, anyways? Why were you so skiddish? So quiet? So traumatized?

All he said yesterday was that you were using his mug. It was like you went into an intense trace, and it acctually worried him. Not a single soul in the school acted like you did- and everybody had their own shit to deal with- but you acted so special.

Did it have to do with your mutation? It wasn't something he could think on long, he had to focus more on driving than on you.

The time passed like a blur, and before you knew what was happening, the bike was slowing on the gravelly road of the mansions driveway. When the bike stopped completely you muttered thanks under your breath, slid off the bike, and beeline towards the door, not even looking at Logan. You felt his eyes burn holes in the back of your jacket, but you ignored it. You were itching to get to the back of the mansion, craving to get to a safe spot from prying eyes of children to suck down a cancer stick. You didn't even bother to take off your bag or weave. Just straight through the front door, through the hallways, and out another, more discreet door.

Finally leaning against the brick, you mumbled the fresh pack out of you pockets, tearing off the plastic and putting the garbage in your pocket. You felt the cool metal of the zippo and quickly tugged it to bring the flame to the cigarette you had already unconsciously put between your lips.

The first inhale felt like euphoria, like a drink of fresh water after walking in a desert for two days. It made every bit of tension melt away and made the pit in your stomach feel a little fuller. You quickly sucked it down, finishing down to the filter in record time. Maybe. You could take a nap and awake at dusk like your body needed.

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