#sao replies

[sexatoxbridge]

I feel like if you still believe in Larry, then I'm not misreading anything. I mean, we have the tattoos and the other 38485 coincidences but knowing you believe too helps :)

Also wtfuck was this shirt? It looks like a shirt you'd find for £5 at a petrol station but also was after the mermaid tattoo when everyone said Louis would get the matching lighthouse. Look at his smug ass face. That fool has a lighthouse somewhere on his person.

[vroom--vrooming]

Expecting Kelly to make a comment on every single bad decision the fia makes might be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard

Who said she needs to make comments on every single bad decision the FIA makes? But if Max was in place of Lewis in the Abu Dhabi 2021 race her and her family would have ripped everyone apart, not to mention the slurs they would have used. If it was anyone else instead of Max with a rocket ship for the last two years and Max was second in the championship she and her family would have come up with all kinds of accusations. You need to realize people like her don't care when others are suffering or being wronged as long as they are doing great. And defending a person like her anonymously online is kind of a joke. Besides these are millionaires and they would be millionaires even if the red flag comes out 40 seconds later. So chill out and take it easy

People are allowed to post about their significant others and show support but the hypocrisy is just through the roof with this one

[alexalblondo]

„Yes, in races you … usually have traffic“

- Daniel Abt in his Will Buxton era

[nobully]

'Where in the world did that cat go?'

'Did he run off with another lover again...'

[nvathuw]

đôi lúc đăng tranh lên xong r nhận đc mấy cmt tích cực của mn làm t vui lắm í

[zot3-flopped]

A brutally honest review of Louis' Argentina concert by a Larrie. They really did let in anyone who wanted to see the show and nobody knew the words to the songs.

There were no pride flags because surprise, surprise - fans have finally realised Louis is a homophobe who doesn't welcome them.

Disabled fans who wanted seats were forced to stand on the pitch - what was Louis playing at? No fans over 20, either. A completely different mix from 2022.

This is not sustainable. He needs to stop touring. Even the staff were laughing at him for failing to sell out the stadium.

MY LTWT 2022 vs MY FITFWT 2024 EXPERIENCE

This past Saturday, May 18th, I went to Louis’ show in Argentina, and I have a lot to say about it…

Let’s start with the show in general. When Louis announced the stadium he would be performing in (one show at Vélez Sarsfield - Capacity: 50k), in my mind I was already considering there was no chance of a sold out show, I already knew it wasn't going to happen. And it’s not that I don't believe in him or the amount of fans he has, but these are basic math to do and simple comparisons with his show in 2022 (two shows at Movistar Arena - Capacity: 15k). I won't go into details, but the chance of him selling out were a few, I won't say it was impossible, but it was difficult.

Here in Argentina, attending shows has become something that not everyone can afford to do, due to the high prices of the tickets. Besides the fact that many fans come from other provinces or distant cities, they need to pay for transport, hotel, food, etc. So, we can also blame the country's economy for not being able to sell out.

Although I maintain that the stadium was too big for him.

Let's not forget (or at least Argentinian fans still remember) that Louis did fill that same stadium, but with One Direction in 2014.

Something strange to note, and that some fans decide to pretend that it’s not strange at all, was that after months of tickets being on sale, and only a few sectors were completely sold out; only three days before the show, the rest of the sectors began to sell out completely. Are you going to tell me that in five months nobody could buy, the fans were collecting money, doing raffles, and in one day magically everything was sold out?

Now let's talk about the show…

My friend @anchorandrope (who I went with) and I had the cheapest sector, one of the highest stalls in the stadium. Both we and the fans who bought that sector were prepared, not only to withstand the cold that we knew we were going to suffer, but we also looked for comfort because we had seats and we were going to be able to be calmer in comparison to the general and VIP fields.

It was two hours before the gates opened, and the stadium staff started to tell us that we were going to have to move to another sector, specifically to the field. Nobody agreed, we paid for a specific ticket and "at the last minute" they decided to change us to another sector. There were long minutes of shouting between the fans and the stadium staff, where they gave us excuses as to why they were changing us, threatened us with not letting us in if we didn't accept this change and even blamed us for following an artist who didn't fill stadiums.

The funny thing is that they couldn't agree on a good excuse. While we were told it was because of problems in the toilets, a group further away were told it was a problem with the sound. If they knew days ago that they were going to change us, couldn't they agree on their lie?

I won't make this part of the story any longer, but much of my sector ended up in the general field, a much better sector than we originally had. But what was the problem? The problem was not being in that place, because I saw him much better than if I went where I should have been. The problem was the mistreatment, the thousand excuses they gave, being uncomfortable, because many of us didn't even have clothes for that sector, or we had backpacks that were too big with too many things, and if you know what it's like to be on the field, you know that you have to go with as few objects as possible.

The problem was all the parents who accompanied their children and got the cheapest seat for a reason, and they had to endure all those hours standing when they had purchased a sector with seats. And even if there were any children, I doubt that they would have been able to see or enjoy the show. There were people with a cast on their arm or with a disability that made it necessary to have a seated area, and they didn't care.

Let's move on to talk about the fans…

The atmosphere was tense.The hours of queuing and the hours of waiting inside the stadium were tense. Louis’ fandom is not what it used to be, and many of those who attended follow some trends imposed by a few fans on Twitter, so we were surrounded. With my friend we spoke in code or omitted to name certain words, because you never know who you have next to you, and at that moment the idea wasn't to look for trouble. You didn't feel that fandom togetherness that there was, and I know about that, I've been in fandom since 2011.

For example, during the queue before going in, an alarm I have on my phone for my contraceptive pill goes off and the song is Silver Tongues. My friend and I were laughing, and I told her that the song I used to use was Kiwi. I knew that she would understand me, that she understood the reference and wouldn't say anything, after all it was a joke with no offense intended, but you never know. The fans around us looked at us as if we were crazy or missing a joke (or just pretending not to understand).

I feel that this fandom lives in a cycle where every now and then we repeat the same “trends” over and over again, but that's a topic for a separate post. 

Regarding the age of fans, I don't have a problem and I don't have anything against new fans starting to listen to Louis, in fact, I strongly encourage him to continue to grow as an artist. But as a 23 year old, it was strange that every single person I talked to was under 20 years old. There were no fans my age, only a few exceptions, not even older. How can this happen? Where are all those fans who grew up with his music? Where are all those fans who were still his fans in 2022?

It wasn't just the tension between fans that was a factor in saying it was a strange show. There were no signs, no flags, as you could see at the 2022 show. Only the brave had been an iconic song at the last show, with its fan project of the LGBT+ flag created by lights in each sector. But this year, I could swear I could count on my fingers the flags I saw. I even read fans on Twitter saying that there was no point in bringing them to shows anymore, as if it was a temporary trend, or something from the Walls era.

When the show started, you could tell it wasn't the feel of a Louis’ show, there was something weird going on. The fans were silent, not singing along to the songs, including Walls. They were just recording. I understand if you don't know a cover from another artist, because I admit, I didn't sing both covers, but songs from his first album… How could you not know them? I could swear I could hear myself singing them and Louis.

The other sectors were silent as well, and those with seats were completely immobile.

In 2022, Copy Of A Copy Of A Copy was one of the songs where the fans sang the loudest, now none of them knew it, as if Louis was singing new songs. I know there are fans who didn't live through the One Direction era, or even despise everything related to it (another topic for another post), but how can they not sing songs like Night Changes or Where Do Broken Hearts Go? Again, in 2022 these covers would have been screamed until fans’ voices were gone.

You couldn't see the dedication or fanaticism for Louis. I could easily believe they just grabbed people passing by the door and let them in. I wouldn't even find it crazy if they had done it either.

In the two years that have passed between shows, it’s disappointing and sad to see this change. And if it wasn't for the fact that I was accompanied, I don't think I would have had a good time in all those long hours of waiting. I would understand if it was the other way around, and this was Louis' first show, and he didn't have the years of career that he has, and the recognition that he has.

Since Saturday, I've had a bad taste in my tongue because of everything that happened at the show. And I'm not the only one who can say these things. I know there are fans who are blinded by their fanaticism and will say that everything was perfect, or will argue that Louis could have sold out (because it happened to me), but it's a matter of taking a moment, thinking and being realistic.

It doesn't make me a bad fan to say his fandom is being horrible lately, it doesn't make me a bad fan to say he wasn't going to sell out. And let's stop blaming each other for this situation and start looking at who are the real culprits in all this?

There is a lot more to tell, but the post would become too long. If anyone wants me to tell more, they can send me an ask and I’ll be happy to continue to explain this.

[ctimenefic]

just had to write this out of my brain, I'm sorry pierresteban lorekeepers if I have fucked up the dynamic, I'll go back to my corner at once

2k of post-Brazil stuff tentatively titled something like slow lane, fast lane, parallel lines

Pierre didn’t pack a podium-worthy outfit for the triple header. Certainly not for Brazil. A party outfit, sure, in case Charles did well – that’s still fucked, a crumpled bundle rank with sweat at the bottom of one of his cases, shipped back home without him two weeks ago after Austin. He hadn’t seen this coming.

No one had seen this coming. 

He has to settle for a creased button up, undone so far the team will be able to see his heart still thudding against his ribs, hours after the last bubbles swirled away into the standing water on the track. It’ll do; he tries to smoulder into the mirror, but he can’t stop smiling. It’s just going to get soaked with sweat anyway, in whatever bar backroom they’ve secured. It was Harriet, he heard, shaking with hope from the moment the red flag came, ringing round Sao Paulo venues with broken Portuguese and her heart in her mouth.

It is strange, being alone for this clutch of minutes, to shower and shave and press cologne against his skin like anointing oil. The team had been all around him the moment he was out of the car, all the way to the hotel. Esteban next to him for hours, hip to hip. Pierre had been warm, despite the rain, the perpetual grey of track and sky.

The shirt is not so white that he’ll look filthy, later, if he’s touched. He undoes another button, just in case. Kiki said, once - if he won, and she wasn’t there. Then it was fine. She’d been joking, maybe, but he hadn’t pressed her. There are many beautiful men and women in Brazil. 

He goes down to the lobby early, already sick of the quiet. He wants the roar back, the force of it against his skin. He wants hands on his back, fingers on his neck, in his hair. Three girls from the team are huddled waiting for a taxi, by the doors, but they hover six inches away now, like without their uniforms he’s unsafe to clasp. Apart, again. 

Pierre drifts away, to the spot where the lobby leaks into a bar and - George Russell is there. As out of place as usual, squinting at his phone, folded up in an armchair that’s too low for him. It turns his knees into a ski slope. He only looks up when Pierre gets right up beside him; then he unbends upright, gets halfway to a handshake before he’s gripping Pierre’s shoulder instead. “Good racing, today,” he announces, like he hadn’t said it hours ago, dripping wet and still horribly sincere, all his natural animosities tucked away.

“Thank you,” Pierre replies, automatic. “I did not think Mercedes were slumming here though?” It is a fine hotel, but not so very nice. The lifts are slow. And Mercedes take up space. They have a sponsor deal, he thinks; some foolish video Charles had sent him last year with a string of emoji. 

Russell snorts. “No. Meeting Alex for our sad bastards dinner.”

Of course. Because for Mercedes, fourth is a disappointment. Which trophy did Russell imagine he’d be snatching today? Pierre’s? Max’s? He hopes Alex charges his meal to Russell’s card. 

“I am going out with the team,” Pierre offers. Immediately feels foolish. He meant- the point was to not invite Russell. It is fun, usually, being rude to him, watching his jaw tic. He is very English about it. 

Now, though, he seems unfazed. His eyebrows jump just a little. “I gathered.” 

His gaze drops briefly down the deep V of Pierre’s shirt. It is perhaps not an achievement with the most notorious homosexual on the grid, but still. There’s some satisfaction to it.

“Where are you- oh!”

The cooldown lap had felt a hundred years long, after an impossibly drawn-out race. Pierre had felt like he could count every drop of spray between his and Este’s cars. 

It is a little like that now, watching Russell’s eyes slide over his shoulder, the way his face changes slowly and utterly. Cheekbones lifted, so his eyes get a little smaller, the start of crows feet at the edges. The top of his face starts smiling before the rest catches up. His shoulders roll too, back and down and open. It happens in a blink, and yet it changes the whole shape of him. Like sunlight through clouds. 

Pierre doesn’t need to look round to guess what he’ll say next. “There he is,” Russell adds, regardless. “Have a good evening, Pierre.” He strides off before Pierre can find the right sniff for such an abrupt dismissal. 

He turns to wave at Alex, but he’s already turned back towards the lift, shoulders up around his ears until Russell slings an arm over them. He hears Russell teasing: “Don’t be a lazybones, Albono, you’re on the fourth floor, we can walk it.”

And then they are gone, and the girls from the team come to collect him for the car, and they are squashed up close enough that he does not have to think about it for too long. Just long enough. 

How many people look at him like sunshine? He had friends like that, once. More than one of them, once.

Tonight, he will say something gracious. Tell Esteban he raced better. That Pierre could not have caught him if he tried. (Perhaps not if he tried. Perhaps that is ungracious. Perhaps he should not remind Esteban that he is the better teammate. That he is keeping the team.) He has a whole taxi ride to find the right words, the olive branch that Esteban will not reject, or discard, or ignore.   

They will hug, and it will not be the last time. The Haas is not so bad; that will help. And ten, or twenty years from now, Pierre can walk into a room somewhere in France, some gathering of old men who raced fast cars, and someone will smile to see him. 

It is twenty minutes to Harriet’s bar. By then he can see it; where in windswept Normandy it will be. Snow on the ground and overcast. He will keep most of his hair, he decides, somewhat against the odds; he gives Esteban a little gut but fewer lines, no jowls. Silver in his stubble, but not his hair. Comfortable shoes. Bracelets on their wrists. 

The bar is good, for a last minute get. The staff on the door know his face, gesture him through. There are beautiful people in clusters, grapes on the vine, ready for picking. And on the dancefloor, Alpine, Alpine, Alpine. In the centre of it, Esteban, tall even there. 

There’s a whoop from near the edge of the throng as someone spots him - one of the pit crew, Marc. It spreads, fast, a sea of heads turning his way, a cheer Pierre thought he might not hear again. They tug him in, hands on his shoulders, back, feet already bouncing, the strange wistful sadness in his stomach already lifting as he raises his hands, shouts with joy and-

Esteban looks across to Pierre and smiles like clouds parting.

---

The carpet in the hotel stairwell has a dizzying pattern, geometric but impossible for the eye to follow. Or perhaps only impossible for someone who has been awake for 24 hours now, staring at it in the half-dark of emergency exit signs. But Pierre has to try, has to trace the thick black lines up and left and down over and over, or the choking gluk sounds Esteban is making round his cock will drive him mad. Tip him over ten seconds into the best-worst blowjob of his life. 

They had taken the stairs because it would be quicker than the ancient lifts. Not quick enough, for Esteban. Despite the risk, Pierre does not want to make up the distance. He wants this to last.  

Esteban pulls off for a moment; his smile is a slice of white in the darkness. Pierre doesn’t mean for his hand to drop to his face, thumb along his bottom lip, down his chin, but it does so anyway. He catches Esteban’s spit on his thumbpad; sucks it into his own mouth. There’s salt to it. 

“You are very wet for me,” Esteban murmurs, matter-of-fact, and Pierre gives up on the carpet, shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back into the corner with a thunk. He has been wet all day, drenched in rain and champagne and sweat. What is one more? He can feel it, the way precome rolls down the underside of his dick to Esteban’s fingers, until Este’s tongue drags back over him, a long side up the inches he cannot fit in his hand. 

(“It’s bigger,” he’d said, and Pierre had failed to hide his smirk. He hadn’t made it up, tripod. And Esteban’s hands are bigger now, too.)

His shirt is undone, bunched at his elbows where hands - some familiar, some strange - had dragged it down to trace the shape of his shoulders, the rise and fall of his arm muscles. He’d tugged it back up in the car back, but not enough to stick, not with Este’s long fingers at his neck. It makes him feel on display now, naked from his thighs up, Esteban’s dark head the only modesty he’s been afforded. 

He’s cold where Esteban had slicked down his happy trail with his tongue. It makes him shiver when Este gets back to bobbing back and forth, and his hair whispers over Pierre’s stomach. He has been touching him all night, never a hand off him, and yet Pierre is still so sensitive to each new collision. He can feel Este grin, smug, around him, like he’s noticed. It doesn’t rankle like it should. 

Esteban divebombs down Pierre’s dick again, and he comes before he can get out a warning, choking on thick air, hot and tight in his lungs. Este surfaces seconds later, cracks Pierre’s mouth open with a finger and thumb on his jaw, and feeds him his come in long, loving licks around his teeth. He’s still got his other hand wrapped around Pierre’s softening dick. As Pierre blinks up at him, stupefied, those clever fingers slide to cup his balls instead. A single digit taps at his taint. 

“Dry here,” Esteban muses. Pierre’s mouth falls open, panting. He thinks his come must still be gleaming on his tongue. He can still taste it. “We can fix that.”

And then there is light, crashing through the dark, as the door to the stairwell on the floor above opens, and the perpetual glow of the corridor shines through. Pierre clutches Este to him like cover. The bastard still has all his clothes on, at least, even if Pierre’s bare thighs are obvious either side of his too-skinny frame. 

The shaft of light falls a little to their left, not quite a spotlight. Perhaps they will not be noticed. Perhaps there is still enough luck for one more miracle. 

Soft steps, on the stairs. And then-

“Fuck,” someone hisses from above them. 

Not someone. Familiar. Far too English. 

Someone who should not be in the stairwell of the Williams team hotel at 4am. But. Pierre is in no position to throw stones. His stones are still in Esteban’s large, warm hand. 

Esteban is being no help. He snickers into Pierre’s neck for a moment, so lightly his lips barely leave his skin. Then: “Take the lift, George,” he calls, apparently deciding plausible deniability is for other motherfuckers. 

His voice is a little rough. Well-used. 

Russell, at least, understands how to play the game. It is silent, except for the hurried steps up and away. The whine of the door. 

“Shit,” Pierre groans. Esteban’s finger presses again at the space between his arse and his balls. “Shit,” Pierre says again. It echoes differently. Higher. 

Esteban is snickering again. “Always so dramatic,” he chides. But his hands are gentle as he pulls Pierre’s slacks back up his legs; does up precisely one button on his shirt and slides his palms down the sides like that will make him presentable for the CCTV in the corridor. “Come on, two floors more to mine. I shall have to fuck you in the morning, you are too spooked now.” 

Pierre doesn’t like the needy sound he makes; Esteban’s eyes gleam. He won’t beg for it, but: “When is your flight?” Pierre’s is late, commercial. They book different flights, more often than not. Esteban’s gaze wavers for a second. But only down to Pierre’s mouth, his navel, and back up. 

“The same. It is the same. I asked- said to change it. After. At the track.” Este must bite his lip – his bottom teeth disappear for a moment. Pierre wants the light back, wants to see his face. “We were-” he says the rest with his hands, palm to palm, parallel – two cars moving in sync around a curve. “And in the cooldown. You smiled at me.”

“I smiled?”

Este huffs. It is just enough like his cruel silences to make Pierre feel alert again, hands twitching to grasp a wheel he cannot see.  “I cannot change it back. It will be sorted by now.” 

There is an inch between them that has not been there all night. Esteban’s weight shifts, like he means to step back further. Pierre has to lunge for him, cram their mouths together. They had not done this at the bar. Touching, yes, everywhere they could get away with, but this was different. Private. 

Este whines a little into the kiss. His fingers get grabby again.

“Fuck me now, and later,” Pierre demands against his mouth. Esteban nods; in the dark his lips leave a smear against Pierre’s temple. 

His echo sounds like a promise. “Now and later.” 

[uzurimisery]

translation: kiss me. / hinata shouyou x reader

Hinata Shouyou’s schedule was packed. Delivery job, language tutoring by his roommate, and practice. Short on cash and not wanting to burden his mom, he picks up another job at an acai shop. It’s mundane and boring but at least he’s got a cute coworker to keep him company and help practice his language skills. 

A/N: This fic has a language barrier written in Hinata’s POV. The words he doesn’t know, if not translated by someone in the story, will appear as “.....” to signify he doesn’t know what’s being said. Reader is Brazilian!

Part of the @interstellar-inn 'Help Wanted' mini-collab

“Hey, Shouyou!” The bells on the door jingled as Hinata threw it open with his shoulder, a volleyball under one arm and his bike helmet under the other, jumbling his volleyball gear between the two.

It was hot out today. 35 degrees Celsius, something like 88 if he did the math to convert it to Fahrenheit, sweat dripping down his neck and past his tank top, riveting down his freckle-covered back. You were behind the counter, in tiny shorts, a white short-sleeve button-up left open, and a blue bikini underneath, scooping acai puree into a to-go bowl, most likely a delivery or pickup order. He liked this one the most on you. The shade just complimented your skin so nicely. Made it seem golden as it shone from the layers of body butter and SPF you had on.

“Oh my god, it’s so hot today!” You grinned at him as he moved past the counter to the backroom to drop off his stuff.

God, you were so cute bobbing along to the Bossa Nova playlist you always changed it to at the start of your shift. While you didn’t mind the Sertanejo that the owner, your aunt, had going, you always said that Bossa Nova was better, more lively, and reminded you of childhood joy and dancing around with your Avô in your grandparents' apartment in Sao Paulo every summer you’d go and see them. You told him he’d understand it better the longer he lived here and became “Brazilian” like you.

Hinata chucked to himself as he returned to the front, free of all his baggage, a towel now draped over his shoulder.

“How are you?” Every time you looked at him and gave a gummy smile like that he thought his heart might burst as the apples of your cheeks eclipsed your eyes, joy palpable in your every feature.

He leaned against the counter as he answered “I’m good, you?”

You turned, reaching to scoop some coconut onto the bowl, referencing your order ticket. “I’m great now that you’re here!” you replied, still moving to the rhythm of Agua de Beber, the movement of your hips drawing his eyes.

You really had the moves. 

“How was practice?” you were facing him again, an eyebrow raised, totally catching him in the act of staring at your ass. A flush crept across his face, hoping that you hadn’t caught a good enough look at him as he came into the shop and he could blame it on the sun.

“It was good! Heitor and I are really getting into the uh…” he trailed off, searching for the word.

“Fluxo?” You supplied, dumping the coconut into the left side of the bowl, next to the bananas. You were always so systematic with how you constructed the bowls. Hinata’s focus was distracted as you turned to the back wall, standing on your tippy toes shorts riding up a bit, reaching for the milk powder. He liked the way your legs looked.

“Huh?” He moved quickly and grabbed it for you. Every day he was glad your aunt had it on a top shelf. 

“Thank you, ninja,” You giggled as you took the container and scooped out some powder. “Fluxo. You know? Like a river.” 

Hinata thought for a second, going through his context clues, piecing together the meaning of the word bit by bit.

“Oh!” It clicked. “Flow! Like a river.”

“Exactly.” He liked it when he got things right, your praise was a dopamine rush. The corners of your eyes crinkling with warmth. It made him feel like he was on top of the world.

“Hey, maybe you could come to our next game?” Hinata suggested, feeling a little bolder from your giggles, a hand still coming to scratch the back of his neck.

“I’d love that!” Your eyes lit up as you replied. “Let me know when and where?” 

“I will.” The promise was easy, the thought of you sitting on the sidelines cheering him on. If he’d won maybe he’d convince you to go get dinner with him too. 

The work day continued normally, the sun dipping lower in the sky, the two of you beginning to wrap up closing as it did. The golden glow seeped through the windows as you wiped down the counter. So mundane, but Hinata swore you never looked prettier. Stray curls in your face, a few caressing your neck. You had thrown your hair up during the middle of the shift, complaining how your neck was too hot with it down. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off you, even as he stacked the chairs together, flipping them upside down on the tables so he could mop. The way you moved, the gentle concentration on your face as you cleaned and organized. It made his heart flutter like crazy. Gave him the same adrenaline rush as being on the court almost. 

As the last customers left,  the two of you wrapped up cleaning. A comfortable silence between you punctuated by the soft musings of Elis Regina in the background. 

“Almost done,” you called out, pulling the cash from the register and depositing it in the safe. “Ready for the beach?”

“Always.” He grabbed his stuff from the back, leaving his volleyball gear for morning practice near the shop, and the two of you walked out of the shop. The two of you were going to a beach party Heitor organized. 

Your excitement was contagious to him. “Me neither. Let’s get out of here!” You cheered as you locked up the shop.

The walk to the party was a short 15 minutes. It was near where they normally practiced, but a span of umbrellas and fold-up tables were set up there. 20 or so people were strewn about, some were drinking under umbrellas, a caipirinha being passed around,  while others were dancing on the makeshift dance floor to some funk that had been created. Their laughter and conversations blending with the music. The small get-together was in full swing, the energy high. 

“Hey Heitor! What the hell is this music? Fuck, …… some better funk.” You called out as Hinata and you met up with Heitor, reaching out to hug him, followed by hugging Nice. Hinata missed a few words but could tell you were complaining about the music.

“........ my choice of music, huh?” Heitor threw his head back as he laughed, clapping Hinata on the back with a short greeting. 

You rolled your eyes, slipping off your button-up. “Because your taste in music is shit!”

“That’s it!” Heitor sprung into action and began chasing you around the party, sand flying up behind you. 

Nice laughed next to Hinata and turned to hug him, kissing his cheeks in greeting. “They’re always like this. Cats and dogs I swear.”

“Yeah, they are.” Hinata watched on as you and Heitor continued your chase. The party seemed more vibrant and full of life as you ran around screaming at Heitor. He didn’t understand a lot of what you said, but your energy was infectious with everyone picking up on it, laughing a lot more. Hinata couldn’t help but laugh along.

After a few minutes, you came to hide behind Hinata, your chest pressing against his back as you heaved heavy breaths. “Help me, he’s a monster.” Your words were breathy, ghosting around the shell of his ear. 

“I’m not a monster! You are just …… work out…… my teammate!” Heitor caught up to you, hardly labored from chasing you around.

He didn’t know what took over him, but he pivoted, bent at the waist, scooped you up over his shoulder, and began running away from Heitor. Nice fell over laughing as Heitor threw his arms up in betrayal. Hinata had one hand on your waist, the other placed on the back of your upper thighs, as you laughed as best you could while being breathless. 

Hinata didn’t run far, about 10 meters away from the party before setting you down. You dramatically fell back, letting yourself collapse against the warm sand, spread out like a starfish.

“My hero! Thanks for saving me,” You were still breathless as you spoke, smiling up at him. 

“Anytime.” He chuckled.

You reached up grabbing his hand to pull him down with you. He was scared of landing on top of you as he went down so he twisted his body to try and avoid it. But by some strain of misfortune, he moved in just a way that left him landing above you, hands catching himself, hitting the sand near your head, his knees landing between your legs. Caging you under him.

For a moment, the music and chatter of the party faded away as he stared down at you, his breath mixing with yours. You were so pretty. Big-eyed staring up at him, lips glossed and slightly parted. He was so close he could see all the little imperfections on your skin that made you so human.  His heartbeat picked up, the unexpected closeness setting him off. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper but making no move to get off of you. 

Your eyes darted down to his lips as he wetted them, the pink of his tongue visible for a second. 

“It’s okay.”

Neither one of you moved, afraid to break the spell. Hinata swore he could feel electricity sparking in the air. That he could feel his pulse echoing in his heart, mimicking the rapid beat of the far-off music. He traced the contours of your face, committing the small details to memory, feeling the rise and fall of your chest. 

His hands itched to move, to touch you more, to wrap around your own. The intensity he felt was mirrored in your eyes. He wanted to close the gap. Feel the soft press of your lips against his own as you lay there wrapped by the ocean breeze. 

“Posso te beijar?” You asked him, eyes switching between his own eyes and lips.

He was so frazzled. “I, uh, I don’t understand.” God he wished he was fluent.

You grinned, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “I’ll show you.” 

He nodded, his heart beating fast. “Yes please.” He breathed his voice like a whisper.

The space between you disappeared as your lips met his in a tender kiss. It was soft and sweet and tasted like your vanilla lip gloss. The gentle press of your lips sent a shiver down his spine, the months of yearning settling in his belly as a swarm of butterflies. 

©️ uzuzrimisery

[anshiiiiin]

This is a comic about my characters from my Boring Story. Sao survived a traimatic event and is mentally disabled. For more than 12 years he always replied yes to any questions starting from "do you want" or "would you like" etc. (here is a comic touching on it https://anshiiiiin.neocities.org/boring%20story/18-bs-always-yes/bs-always-yes.png )

Other 2 guys from the comic deeply care about Sao, and the fact that more than a decade later he feels safe enough to say "no" means the world to them.

[sexatoxbridge]

There's never a time I listen to I Would and don't get confused when I hear Louis say "cause I can't compete with your boyfriend" instead of "my boyfriend"

[nichknack]

I finished the first SAO novel, Kirito and Asuna definitely have more personality than they do in the anime. Like. A lot more.

However, uh, the villain actually has a motivation in the novels??? In the anime when he’s asked why he made SAO he replies “I forgot.”

But in the novel he says that even he sometimes forgets and then it’s made clear that he made the death game because he wanted to make his paracosm truly real.

Like. That’s so much better than “I forgot lmao”

[khruschevshoe]

OFMD Critique: Bad Faith, Fandom, and Respect

All right. You know what? Screw it. I saw one post I just cannot ignore anymore that encapsulated all of my problems with the fandom right now. Personal rant incoming.

I understand that there's a nuance to the discussion of season 2 of Our Flag Means Death, and that there are people going a little too far with both their critiques and their support of the show. But oh my God, I'm tired of being straw-manned and made fun of for legitimate critiques of the show.

I just used the block button on someone in this fandom for the first time. Some of you might think I'm overreacting for this, but I saw a post that I could not on any level stand. This person, who I will not name names of, because I'd rather just block them and never deal with their level of bad faith again, took their one legitimate criticism of those of us who critique the show, the back and forth on whether or not Izzy's death was homophobic or not, and used it as the first in a literal list of straw man critiques that no one I've read in the OFMD Critical tag has made (and I check it like once a day bc I like reading meta, sorry), proceeding to absolutely make fun of the legitimate critiques that people have of the show, parodying them in the worst possible ways. They took our legitimate critiques about everything from the sexist handling Zheng Yi Sao's character, the absolute ableism of the finale, the questionable optics of the handling of trauma, etc. and stretched them into things that they very much were not (two examples were that we were crying ableism bc of something to do with seagulls and that we thought the problem in the Stede&Zheng dynamic was the "emotional labor" involved).

Now I'm pretty sure this post was a joke. I *think* it was a joke. But how in the world am I supposed to feel comfortable in the main section of a fandom like this when the comments and replies to this post were full of people agreeing sincerely that this is what the critical section of the fandom is like? How am I supposed to feel when I just see people making fun of me for my analysis of the show? I love this show. I adore season 1 and I'm clearly still making fan related content (moodboards) for season 2 along with my critiques.

Sure, I vibe way more with fanfiction than the actual canon at this point, but I still genuinely engage with the show. And to have the critiques that I made in good faith, regarding issues that I sincerely care about such as ableism, sexism, homophobia, and the handling of trauma, made fun of and taken out of context and straw-manned to their extreme, makes me feel so absolutely unwelcome in this fandom.

Other than keeping up with the couple of fan series that I'm currently still reading, I don't know if I can stay in this fandom any longer. I can't say that I'm excited for the new season if this is the kind of response that any good faith critique of the show is going to get. I can't say that I feel safe or comfortable when there are this many people ready to dog pile on me for a critique I made with ACTUAL TEXTUAL EVIDENCE to back it up.

I would like to thank all the people who have been making excellent critiques of the show. Their meta-analysis is what got me into making my own critiques, which I was nervous about making in any other fandom. I don't think I've in any way tagged them all, but just a few I can remember off the top of my head. Go read their critiques/meta- it's really good!

@sky-fire-forever @carrymelikeimcute @blue-b-bro @bougiebutchbinch @treesofgreen @sixstepsaway @alex51324

And from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who has engaged with my mood boards or my critiques or anything else that I've made, as well as the amazing writers and artists in this fandom (such as @ruecrown, @aletterinthenameofsanity, @fool-for-luv, and @possumsmushroom). You guys have kept me going with my love for the show and engaging with it for a while now. Despite the stuff that is making me take a step back now, I really did love this while it lasted! I'm still planning on making a few more mood boards, but other than that, I'm going to take a step back from engaging.

Hope this post can spread enough support/joy your way to counteract the ache I'm currently feeling!

Sincerely,

Ashley (aka @khruschevshoe)

[kyuala]

JUROOOOOOOOOOOO a casa em pé de guerra em dia de bra x arg ia ter q rolar uma intervenção pros dois prometerem que iam deixar a criança escolher pra qual seleção queria torcer (ou pras duas ou pra nenhuma) e eles iam ter que aceitar e respeitar a decisão afinal quem mandou meterem um boneco meio-a-meio ne todos estavam cientes dessa decisao na hora de fazer o filho!

daí corta pro pipe com um bico deste 🫸🏻 🫷🏻 tamanho se a criança escolhesse o brasil, resmungando pelos cantos da casa que "vc é argentinx também, olha sua herança, sua FAMÍLIA que vc esta deixando de lado"

ou a mulher com o discurso decoradíssimo de cor e salteado de "a gente carrega na barriga por 9 MESES pra ir e acontecer isso mas td bem, depois nao me peça pra passar as férias com seus avós lá no brasil"

e os dois relutando mas aceitando caso a criança escolhesse os dois ou unidos no desgosto se nao escolhesse nenhum pra nao magoar ninguém, o pipe 100% das ideia "po filhx preferia até q tivesse escolhido aquela seleçãozinha lá, como assim tu nao quer TORCER em jogo de FUTEBOL"

o plot twist seria quando fosse jogo brasil ou argentina x qualquer outra seleção, que o pipe ou a mulher iriam ver o outro e a criança tão animadinhos torcendo juntos, com as roupas combinandinho e pedindo pra torcer junto com eles que iam derreter de amores e não iam se aguentar, fingindo muito contragosto ao colocar a camisa da eterna rival pra fazer a felicidade dos amores da sua vida (MAS SÓ DENTRO DE CASA! EM PÚBLICO AÍ JÁ EH DEMAIS)

queria abrir um tópico de discussão aqui inspirado nos headcanons que a diva @idollete fez: pipe e a mulher grávida discutindo países neutros pra criança nascer pq nem fudendo que ele vai aceitar filho dele nascendo em solo brasileiro e ela aguentando mais um argentino na família? piorou

[noturlesson]

Yall think Sal likes anime? (A drabble)

I feel like he would watch it occasionally since he likes watching cartoons but he's not super into it. He probably started off with SAO or smth and was like this shit lowkey kinda mid.

You would probably be the one to get him into some other shows tho. Maybe smth like Nana? I think he would like Nana a lot, maybe even draw fashion inspo from it???

Omg imagine you guys start watching it together but he watches it on his own bc he got impatient waiting for you and he's too invested in the plot. You whine and pout about it bc it's supposed to be a bonding activity but he replies all sassy like "Maybe you shouldn't have taken so long dick head 🙄💅"

You can't even argue back bc he's lowkey right, but it's ok cause you force him to watch all the episodes with you again.

He definitely gets worked up over what happens in the show, yelling at the screen and going on rants whenever a character does something stupid.

[nhanam]

Trong một thế giới không tương lai...

❝Trong một thế giới không tương lai thì mỗi lần chia tay một người bạn là một lần chết, mỗi nụ cười là nụ cười cuối cùng. Trong một thế giới không tương lai thì bên kia của hiện tại là hư vô và con người bám lấy hiện tại như bám vào một mỏm đá.

Trong một thế giới không tương lai ta cũng không thể biết ai sẽ trúng thưởng giveaway lần này!

Đầu tuần hứng khởi, xin được mở cuộc ghi là giveaway đọc là lì xì đầu năm tới những người dùng tumblr hẳn đang ngỡ admin này đã xù.

Món lì xì này tuy nhỏ mà lại chỉ có một, không những vậy còn đính kèm phụ kiện bí mật chỉ người may mắn nhận được mới biết hihi

Lì xì công khai: 1 cuốn Những giấc mơ của Einstein (Alan Lightman – Lê Chu Cầu dịch)

Cuốn này mới được Nhã Nam tái bản, bìa sci-fi hiện đại tràn đầy cầu kỳ, nhưng bản tớ tặng là bản bìa cũ, vintage đơn sơ mà mộc mạc - tớ may mắn tìm mua được ở một tiệm sách cũ, mối duyên này giờ mong được chuyển tiếp tới một bạn may mắn khác. Năm mới ta cùng tôn vinh cách những cuốn sách tìm đến với mình ngẫu nhiên và tùy duyên như vậy nhé.

Giới thiệu một chút về Những giấc mơ của Einstein. Đây không phải một tiểu luận khoa học về thời gian, lại càng chẳng phải tiểu sử Einstein, mà là một tiểu thuyết theo đúng nghĩa của từ này. Nhân vật chính của nó, bởi vậy, cũng không phải Einstein (bản thân Einstein chỉ là một hình bóng xa xôi làm nền). Những giấc mơ về thời gian của Einstein, hay chính xác hơn, thời gian mới là nhân vật chính ở đây.

Bằng trí tưởng tượng phong phú, Alan Lightman đã tạo ra những thời huống hết sức lý thú và bất ngờ, cuốn người đọc vào vòng xoáy của thời gian muôn hình vạn trạng. Nếu thời gian không trôi theo đường thẳng, mà lại theo một đường tròn, nghĩa là mọi sự kiện đã trôi qua sẽ được lặp lại… Nếu thời gian có điểm tận cùng, thì người ta sẽ ứng xử ra sao khi đến gần cái thời điểm định mệnh ấy? Còn nếu con người là bất tử…

Còn dịp nào thích hợp hơn đầu xuân năm mới này để nghiền ngẫm, trăn trở và đau đáu về thời gian cũng như sự bất khả năm bắt nó?

(1 phút quảng cáo cho nhà không tài trợ: Cuốn này thực sự thú vị, nhiệt liệt giới thiệu tới các bạn!)

Lì xì bí mật: 1 món quà bổ trợ cho công cuộc đọc sách

Luật chơi đơn giản thui: các bạn hãy tương tác với bài viết này và reply 1 con số may mắn <1000, sau một tuần tớ sẽ quay thưởng ngẫu nhiên.

Chúc các bạn may mắn, không chỉ trong màn giveaway hẻo quà này mà trong mọi màn mà cuộc đời sẽ vén lên cho bạn trong năm nay!

❝Ở cái quán nhỏ bày ngoài đường sáu cái bàn và những chậu hoa dã yên có một chàng trai ngồi uống cà phê, ăn bánh ngọt. Anh bình thản nhìn đường phố, thấy hai người đàn bà mặc áo thun cười nói, thấy người đàn bà đứng tuổi bên thành giếng, thấy hai người bạn không ngừng chia tay nhau. Trong lúc ấy một đám mây đen kéo qua thành phố. Nhưng chàng trai vẫn ngồi ở bàn. Anh chỉ có thể hình dung được hiện tại, mà hiện tại trong khoảnh khắc này là bầu trời âm u nhưng không mưa. Trong lúc ăn bánh uống cà phê, anh lấy làm ngạc nhiên rằng kết thúc của thế giới lại tối đen đến thế.

❝Rồi mưa. Chàng trai đi vào trong quán, cởi áo khoác ướt và ngạc nhiên rằng thế giới kết thúc trong mưa.

❝Anh nói chuyện với đầu bếp về món ăn, nhưng anh không chờ mưa tạnh vì anh không chờ gì cả. Trong một thế giới không tương lai thì mỗi khoảnh khắc đều là chung cục của thế giới. Sau hai mươi phút, mây đen kéo đi, tạnh mưa, trời lại sáng. Chàng trai trở lại bàn và ngạc nhiên thấy rằng thế giới kết thúc trong ánh nắng.

[solitude555]

24/9/2024

Khi mà một người trải qua quá nhiều những cái trải nghiệm đau thương thì họ sẽ bắt đầu hình dung ra những kết quả tồi tệ để có thể bảo vệ bản thân khỏi những bất ngờ trong tương lai.

Em hay nhắc về những cái kết. Nhưng không phải vì vậy mà em mong chờ việc mình sẽ phải kết thúc với anh vào một ngày nào đó. Mà em chỉ muốn chuẩn bị cho mình một tâm lý tốt nhất khi ai đó rời khỏi cuộc đời mình. Để chính em bớt đi những đau thương , để em trân trọng hiện tại nhiều hơn.

Cũng thật khổ sở khi tay em ôm, môi em hôn nhưng em không biết liệu khoảnh khắc này có sắp biến mất hay không. Giữa những tháng ngày bị cảm xúc tiêu cực chi phối, em gồng mình lên để em vẫn được là chính em. Mắt em mờ đi vì khóc nhiều, cơ thể suy nhược đồng hành cùng thuốc chỉ muốn ngủ mê man. Bởi khi em ngủ với trái tim vụn vỡ, tỉnh dậy sẽ là phần đau khổ nhất. Những thước phim buồn cứ như có ai đó bấm nút reply từng giây từng phút lặp lại trong đầu. Tại sao mà những điều đau khổ và không hạnh phúc lại để em nhớ một cách rõ ràng như thế.

Em đang dần thu mình lại trong vỏ bọc tổn thương do quá khứ gây ra. Ước gì em thôi tự dằn vặt và đổ lỗi cho chính mình.

Em là kiểu người để dành món ngon ăn cuối cùng. Em cũng đã làm vậy với hạnh phúc của chính mình.