#sprinter drink

[kyjen-r]

[roseskylie]

• like or kyliejenlisa on twitter.

[thefashionforwardfiles]

Drink Sprinter x Revolve| April 11 2025|Palm Springs,CA|Coachella

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Kylie Jenner has mango Sprinter

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞

Parings → Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings → Embarrassment, teasing, suggestive content, swearing, fluff, chaos, Tom being dramatic, public humiliation, Instagram live, playful banter, secondhand embarrassment.

Summary → During an Instagram live, Tom embarrasses himself by getting too handsy, not realizing it’s live.

You weren’t even planning on going live, but boredom struck, and here you were—sitting in front of your vanity, phone propped up, chatting with thousands of people while doing your skincare routine.

“Okay, so this is the toner I’ve been obsessed with lately,” you said, holding up a pretty glass bottle. “It’s so hydrating, and my skin has been drinking it up like—” You paused as you tapped the product into your face, glancing at the flood of comments.

“Queen is blessing us with a random live? We won today.”

“Not me ignoring my assignments for this.”

“The skincare routine, finally!”

You giggled. “I love how invested you guys are in my skincare. Should I do this more often?”

The chat exploded with “YES!!” and variations of “Absolutely,” making you laugh as you moved on to serum.

You were mid-way through explaining how this particular product made your skin look “glowy but not greasy” when the bedroom door creaked open. Tom walked in, fresh out of a shower, towel slung around his neck, wearing sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, looking all soft and cuddly. His curls were damp and tousled in that unfairly attractive way.

A soft smile formed on your lips as you caught his reflection in the vanity mirror. “Hey, love.”

Tom came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and leaning down to press a kiss against your temple. “Hey, darling,” he murmured, voice raspy from sleep.

You saw the chat go wild.

“OMGGGG TOMMMM”

“PLS HE’S SO CLINGY”

“This man is in love, your honor.”

Completely unaware of the audience watching, Tom pressed another kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, moving closer to your neck. “Missed you,” he murmured.

You snorted. “Tom, you were literally in the other room.”

“I know, but I still missed you,” he whined dramatically, swaying you side to side.

The chat was eating it up.

“Tom is the clingiest bf ever confirmed.”

“He’s such a golden retriever lmao.”

Tom finally glanced up at your phone. “Are you recording a video?” He asked, tilting his head.

You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could, Tom’s hand slid up and—without hesitation—he gave your boob a playful squeeze.

S Q U E E Z E.

At the same time, he leaned in and whispered into your ear, “Fuck, you look so hot in this top.”

You let out the most unholy yelp known to mankind.

“Thomas!”

“What?” He grinned.

“I’m LIVE ON INSTAGRAM!”

The color drained from Tom’s face so fast you swore you could see it happening.

His eyes went wide like a deer caught in headlights, and then—without a word—he bolted. Full on, Olympic sprinter, ran out of the camera frame.

The chat absolutely lost it.

“OH MY GOD DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?!”

“TOM. THOMAS. THOMAS STANLEY HOLLAND. YOU DID NOT.”

“I CAN’T BREATHE LMFAOOOO”

“Poor Y/n is TRAUMATIZED.”

“NOT ON THE LORD’S INTERNET.”

Your jaw was still on the floor as you turned to the camera, completely flustered. “I—” You put your hands over your face, groaning. “That did not just happen.”

Tom was yelling from somewhere off-camera. “WHY DIDN’T YOU WARN ME FIRST?!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW YOU’RE GONNA DO THAT!!”

Your phone kept buzzing with comments, and then the real chaos began.

Harry: “I was so invested in the skincare routine. You had to ruin it, you idiot!”

Sam: “We did NOT need to see that, Tom 😐”

Paddy: “Does someone have holy water?”

Harrison: “Keep the freakiness for the bedroom, mate.”

Tuweine: “Did NOT expected that, T.”

Zendaya: “There are CHILDREN present HERE!”

Nikki: “Thomas Stanley Holland, you better behave!”

Your jaw dropped at that last comment. “Oh my god—your mum is in the chat.”

You heard a muffled scream from the hallway. “NOOOOO.”

Laughter bubbled out of you as the chat continued to go crazy.

“Y/n, go check if Tom is still breathing.”

“The way he ran out, I’m crying.”

“Nikki Holland coming in with the FINAL BLOW.”

Still reeling from what had just happened, you barely registered the nonstop buzz of notifications. The comments were relentless.

“Y/n, drag him back on camera. We need a public apology.”

“TOM GET BACK HERE.”

“He’s literally in his ‘cringe I wanna disappear’ era.”

You snorted, calling out over your shoulder, “Tom, they want a statement from you, Mr. Holland.”

From the hallway, you heard a muffled groan. “Tell them I’m dead.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned the phone slightly toward the open door. “Guys, he’s being dramatic.”

There was another flood of messages.

“Drag his ass back.”

“We demand accountability.”

“Not him hiding like a guilty puppy.”

Taking pity on your boyfriend, you got up and walked out of frame, finding Tom leaning against the wall, face buried in his hands.

You poked his arm. “Tommy?”

“I can never show my face on the internet again,” he mumbled.

You giggled. “Aw, c’mon, it’s not that bad.”

Tom peeked at you through his fingers. “Babe, I grabbed your boob. On live. While thousands of people were watching.”

You bit your lip to stop from laughing. “Yeah… yeah, you did.”

Tom groaned, dropping to the floor. “This is worse than that time I accidentally liked a thirst tweet about myself.”

“Oh, way worse.” You grinned, leaning against the wall next to him. “But at least you’ve given the internet something to talk about for the next decade.”

He whined, tugging at your hoodie, burying his face into your stomach. “I hate it here.”

You ran your fingers through his curls soothingly. “You’re fine, baby. I think they loved it. But you still owe an apology.”

“Tell them I’m deceased,” he mumbled dramatically, voice muffled against your hoodie.

You rolled your eyes before gripping his shoulders. “Nope. Get up, babe. You’re not getting out of this one.”

He whined. Whined. Like a toddler being told to share his toys. “Y/n, please.”

But you had no mercy. You grabbed his wrist, tugging him up onto his feet.

“Nooo—don’t make me go back there,” he whined as you dragged him toward the vanity, his feet literally dragging against the floor.

The chat absolutely lost it.

“NOT HER DRAGGING HIM LIKE A CHILD 😭”

“This is the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Tom, buddy, you did this to yourself.”

With one final tug, you plopped him back in front of the phone. Tom dramatically flopped onto the chair, throwing his head back like he was in physical pain.

Then, with the biggest sigh in the world, he stared at the camera, and said in the most deadpan voice: “I would like to formally apologize for what just happened. I am a disgrace. A fool. An absolute idiot. Please respect my privacy during this difficult time.”

You burst out laughing, and the chat exploded.

“HIS FACE LMAOOO”

“We forgive you, but only because this was HILARIOUS.”

“You’re a menace, Tom.”

“HIS FACE I’M WHEEZING”

“THE DRAMATICS.”

“You are NOT escaping this, Thomas Stanley.”

Shaking your head, you wiped away a tear of laughter. “Oh my god, you are so dramatic.”

Tom glanced at the chat, saw Nikki’s comment again, and groaned. “I am so getting a call from Mum later.”

You patted his cheek. “That’s a future Tom problem.”

He pouted. “Can I at least get a kiss to make me feel better?”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

The chat went crazy.

“HE’S SO ADORABLE 😭”

“Not him sneaking a kiss mid-apology.”

“The way they’re so in love I’m sick.”

Tom smiled against your lips. “See? They forgive me.”

You shook your head, turning back to the camera. “Okay, I think that’s enough chaos for one night. Love you guys, but I’m ending this before Tom does something else embarrassing.”

“Hey—”

You ignored him and waved. “Bye, everyone!”

As soon as the screen went dark, you turned to Tom with a smirk. “So… still feeling like an idiot?”

He sighed, wrapping his arms around you again. “Yes. But at least now I have you to comfort me.”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it.”

Yeah. Yeah, you really did.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

[physalian]

10 More Character Types the World Needs More of

Part 1 was specifically character dynamics, but I’m considering this a sequel anyway.

1. Fiercely independent character’s lesson isn’t to “trust people”

I’m not projecting. You’re projecting. There is a divide wide enough to fit the Grand Canyon between “trusting that someone isn’t lying” and “trusting someone to follow through on a promise”. Most dumpster fire attempts at these characters (almost exclusively women) rely solely on mocking them for the former because “not all men” or something.

Being consistently let down in life makes you hesitant to a) gain friends, b) pursue romantic interests, c) maintain familial relationships, d) get excited about any event that demands participation from someone who isn’t you. None of this is simply a bad attitude—it’s a trauma response. There is no lesson to be learned, and not even exposure therapy can help because it’s a real, legitimate, and common stunt people pull, whether they mean it or not.

So write one of these characters and legitimize their fears, give them someone who proves the exception to the rule, but do not let the lesson be “well they just haven’t found the right person yet”. Even the “right person” can let them down. It's about not becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy by sabotaging a good thing to prove it will inevitably go bad.

2. Conventionally attractive men who aren’t horndogs

I’m going to find every way I can to tell you to write more aces. This is to fight the stigma that attractive people must be attracted to people. Give me gorgeous aces and demi’s, men, women, enbys and everyone in between, who put a crap ton of effort into looking their best, and yet happen to not have a very loud libido. They look good for themselves, and not to impress anyone else.

Give me someone who could have anyone they wanted, gender regardless, and just simply has no interest. Or, they do actually have a significant other, but sex, how hot their partner is, or how horny they are, isn’t their internal monologue. I don’t even care if it’s unrealistic, it’s annoying to read.

And, you know, giving men male characters who aren’t thinking about sex all the time can be good, right? Right?

3. Manly warrior men who also write poetry

A.K.A Aragorn, Son of Arathorn. Just give me more Aragorns, period. This dude is either covered in filth, blood, guts, and the last 30 miles of rugged terrain, or singing in Elvish at his own coronation while pink flower petals fall. A man can be both, and still be straight.

A man can also drink Respect Women juice, you know? He ticks off all the boxes—he’s gentle when he needs to be, not afraid to hide his emotions, kind to those who are vulnerable and afraid and need a strong figure to look up to, resolute in his beliefs, skilled and knowledgeable in his abilities without being arrogant or smug, and the first boots on the battlefield, leading from the front.

4. Characters who are characters when no one is watching

This is less a specific type and more a scene that doesn’t get written enough. This whole point comes from Pixar’s Cars. I. Love. This. Movie. It’s not Pixar’s best, for sure, but this is my comfort movie. The best scene, one that’s so unique, is when Doc (aged living legend) thinks he’s alone when he rolls out onto the dirt race track and comes alive tearing around the oval.

This character’s unbridled, unabashed glee and euphoria at proving to himself that he’s still got it, when he’s completely unaware of his audience, is perfection. Not enough credence is given to characters to just… enjoy being themselves. He’s not doing it to prepare for the climactic race, he’s not doing it for the plot, he’s doing it just to do it, not even to prove Lightning wrong—just for himself.

Give your characters a “Doc Racing” scene. Whatever their skill is. Maybe they’re a dancer, a skater, a swimmer, a painter, sprinter. Just let your character love being alive.

5. Characters whose neurodivergence isn't “cute”

A.K.A. Lilo Pelekai from Lilo and Stitch. Really, her relationship with Nani is peak sibling writing. But Lilo herself is just so realistic with how she interacts with the world, how she interprets her relationships with her so-called friends, how she organizes her thoughts and rationalizes what she can’t quite understand, and how friggen smart she is for an… 11-year-old?

But she’s not “cute”. As in, she wasn’t written by generic Suits who were trying to cash in on the ND crowd by writing what they think will sell, but also making her juuust neurotypical enough to still be palatable by the rest of the audience. Lilo’s earnestness is what endears her to everybody. But also, she doesn’t get a free pass for her behavior, either. Her “friends” aren’t forced to accommodate her and Nani isn’t written as the cold-hearted villain for trying to discipline her.

6. Straight male characters with female friends

Am I double-dipping a bit here? Yes. While I completely understand how tempting it can be, this type of character is in dire need of exposure and representation to prove it’s possible. No weird tense moments, no double-glances when she isn’t looking, no contemplations about cheating on his girlfriend (and no insecure jealous girlfriend either). Just two characters who enjoy each other’s company and are able to coexist in a space and be in each other’s spaces without hormones getting in the way. Peak example? Po and Tigress from Kung Fu Panda.

Let these two rely on each other for emotional strength in times of need, let them share inside jokes, let them have a night alone together at a bar, at home, cooking dinner, getting takeout, talking on the patio in a porch swing… with zero “will they/won’t they.”

7. The likable bigot

I’m actually on the fence with this one but it’s something I also don’t see done often enough and I’m adding it for one reason: Bigots aren’t always obvious mustache-twirling villains and the little things they do might seem inconsequential to them, but are still hurtful. So showing these characters is like plopping a mirror down in front of these people and, I don’t know, maybe something will click. They don’t have to be MAGAs to be dangerous, and only writing the extremes convinces the moderates that they aren’t also the problem.

Example: I have a “friend” who recently said something along the lines of “I have lots of gay friends” followed up shortly by “I don’t think this country should keep gay marriage because it’s a slippery slope to legalizing pedophilia.” You know. The quiet part being that she *actually* thinks being gay is as morally abhorrent as being a pedo. But she totally has lots of gay friends. Including one who was driving her during that conversation. (It’s me. Hi. I’m apparently the problem, it’s me.)

She’s absolutely homophobic, but the second she stops announcing it, she’s a very bubbly person. She’s a ~likable~ bigot and thus thinks she can distance herself from the more violent ones.

8. The motherly single father

I say “motherly” merely as shorthand for the vibe I’m going for here. “Motherly” as in dads who aren’t scandalized by the growing pains of their daughters, and who don’t just parent their sons by saying “man up boys don’t cry”. Dads who play Barbie with their kids of either gender. Dads who go to the PTA meetings with all the other Karens and know as much if not more than they do about the school and their kids’ education.

Dads who comfort their crying kids, especially their sons. Dads that take interest in “feminine” activities like learning how to braid their daughter’s hair, learning different makeup brands, going on nail salon trips together. Dads who do not pull out the rifle on their daughter’s new boyfriend and treat her like property. Dads who have guy friends that don’t mock him and call him gay. Dad who does all this stuff anyway and is *actually* gay, too, but the emphasis is on overly sensitive straight men’s masculinity here.

Wholesome dads: a shocking amount of single-parents to female anime protagonists.

9. The parent isn’t dead, they’re just gone

Treasure Planet is an awesome movie in its own right, but what’s even better? This is a Disney movie where the parent isn’t dead, he’s just a deadbeat who abandoned his son and isn’t at all relevant to the plot beyond the hole he left behind for Jim to fill. The only deadbeat dads Disney allows are villains and those guys are very vigorously chasing an aspiration, that aspiration just doesn’t include quality fatherhood. Or motherhood. Disney has yet to write a deadbeat mom, I’m almost certain.

I just wrote a post about the necessity of the “dead parent” cliche, but what is perhaps more relatable because it’s more common, and what earns even more sympathy and underdog points for the protagonist? The hero with the parent who left. Then there’s a whole extra layer of angst and trauma available when your hero can now plague themselves with the question of if the parent leaving is their fault. Death is usually an accident. Choosing to abandon your kid is on purpose.

10. Victim who isn’t victim-blamed or told by their friends (and the narrative) to forgive their abuser

Izuku Midoriya lost so much support from me the moment he told his friend, bearing the consequences of domestic violence across half his face, that Midoriya thinks he’ll be ready soon to forgive his abomination of a father. I am firmly in the “Endeavor is a despicable human and hero” camp and no I’m not taking criticism. I audibly gasped when I heard this line and realized Deku was serious. Todoroki needs friends like the Gaang to remind him that he's allowed to hate the man who's actions caused the burn scar across his f*cking face.

I understand that the mangaka apparently didn’t anticipate the vitriolic backlash toward Endeavor during his debut and reveal of his parenting tactics but the tone-deafness of telling a fifteen year old with crippling emotional management issues and a horrible home life that his abusive dad in any way deserves and is entitled to forgiveness on the grounds of being related is disgusting.

Take it back further to a more famous Tumblr dad: John Winchester. Another despicable human who got retroactively forgiven by his sons after his death in a “he wasn’t so bad, he really did try” campaign. It’s one thing if the character believes it, it’s a whole different matter if the narrative is also pushing this message.

Katara is a perfect example: She lets go of her grudge for her own peace of mind and stops blaming Zuko for something he had no hand in, stops blaming him simply because he’s a firebender and he’s around to be her punching bag. She doesn’t forgive the man who killed her mother, because that man doesn’t deserve her forgiveness. Katara heals in spite of him, not because of him, and had she let him off the hook, she would have gotten an apology for getting caught, not for what he did (which is exactly what happened).

[shuavez]

from a woman — nicholas a. chavez

masterlist

summary — nicholas’ favourite part of every event is stripping the weight of the evening at home with you, along with the formal attire. inspired by from a woman by mariah the scientist.

word count — 1.6k

tags/warnings — suggestive towards end, established relationship!au, a load of self indulgent lovesick waffling, nic is a down bad introvert™

a/n — dedicated to my loveliest eternal brainworm buddy @titsout4nicholas because where would i be without u my baby breezy. it’s been like 3 years since i’ve written, let alone published so please be Kind. reblogs are appreciated!

The cacophony of camera shutters, the soft thrum of a slow R&B track, and the hundreds of layered conversations still echo in your ears, lingering like the faintest scent of perfume even now, 20 minutes after leaving the gala. The evening was a whirlwind—one he’s always halfway reluctant to step into. The flash, the glamour, the carefully curated conversations—it all has a way of exhausting him in a way few things do. And yet, it’s unavoidable. A necessary part of his world.

Nicholas has a love-hate relationship with these events, and he knows you do too. You’d much prefer a boozy brunch with his younger brother and his girlfriend or a late-night detour to a hidden, hole-in-the-wall wine bar where the two of you can melt into the anonymity of the darkened corner, away from prying eyes and familiar faces. Galas, premieres, high-profile shows—they rank high on his list of least favorite things about the job, symbols of a lifestyle he tolerates but doesn’t fully belong to. They feel hollow compared to those quiet, intimate moments you share together, where he can simply exist, undisturbed.

The warmth of your hand sliding into the freshly cut hair at his nape, your fingers threading gently through the soft strands, pulls him out of his thoughts, away from the smattering of raindrops trailing down the driver’s side window. Your touch is light, yet possessive, grounding him in a way nothing else can. He leans into it instinctively, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment as he savors the quiet intimacy.

His own hand, as if by reflex, drifts to your thigh, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the fabric of your dress. The gesture is simple, almost automatic, but it speaks of a familiarity and comfort that words can’t capture. He opens his eyes, meeting your gaze, and for a moment, the rest of the world blurs, leaving only the two of you in this small, rain-kissed cocoon.

Sometimes, the feeling overwhelms him so much that he thinks he may be ill. He hasn’t been able to give it a name because, to him, love just doesn’t quite cover all bases. You represent a degree of normalcy in his life—a fixture for calm among all the chaos. Sharing new music finds over breakfast and drinking overpriced red wine to the tune of Solange. That’s when he’s happiest, when his head is the most quiet.

It’s just past 1 when the sprinter finally pulls to a rest outside the high-rise that houses your shared apartment. The city is a hum of distant lights and sounds, yet here, at this moment, it all fades into background noise.

Nic slides out of the van with a heavy exhale, loosening his tie as he follows you into the dimly lit lobby. His silence only breaks once you’re in the peaceful sanctuary of your apartment. “Thank you for coming tonight,” he says, and you watch as the tension he’s been carrying all evening seems to peel away with his blazer as he drapes it over a chair by the door.

“Of course, my love.” A hint of relief softens his expression as he catches your eye. You flash him a small, tender smile over your shoulder, sweet and familiar, just slightly lopsided where your canine meets the plush of your lower lip. It’s one of the things he’s always adored about you. He can’t help but smile back, his first genuine one of the night, as he follows the click of your heels into the kitchen.

You’re moving gracefully from cabinet to cabinet, pouring two glasses of deep red wine as the quiet of the apartment settles around you. He watches you, entranced by the simplicity of the moment. The familiar rituals—the clinking of glasses, the way you hand him his without a word—ease away the last threads of stress from the evening. “It was really lovely to see Cooper again,” you say, handing him a glass. “I missed him.”

Nic nods, taking a sip of the wine. “I know. I missed him too… but I think I missed this more.” He raises his glass, clinking it softly against yours, his gaze never leaving your face. Here, in the quiet of home, with the world locked outside, he’s finally where he wants to be.

Before long, the two of you are nestled together on the couch, your heels abandoned somewhere near the door and Nic’s tie totally undone around his neck. The soft pulse of a Majid Jordan song drifts through the room, setting a gentle rhythm to the night. The golden glow of the corner lamp casts warm shadows, wrapping around you like a private swaddle. You sit close, faces mere inches apart, sharing laughter and stolen glances as you exchange stories from the evening, each word slipping easily into the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Nic’s hand moves slowly along the length of your bare legs, his touch a soft, languid caress that leaves warmth in its wake. Every so often, his fingers pause to trace gentle shapes on your skin, little loops and spirals that make you shiver. His fingertips linger on the back of your thigh, drawing delicate, invisible I love you’s that you feel more deeply than words could express. Between quiet whispers and playful smiles, his hand finds yours, fingers intertwining as his gaze settles on you, warm and intense. He leans in slowly, his lips hovering just above yours, breath mingling in the charged silence. The teasing brush of his mouth is soft at first, a gentle taste, before he presses deeper, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His hand slides up your thigh, anchoring you to him as the kiss deepens, each touch and shared breath stoking the quiet, simmering heat that fills the room, drawing you both into something irresistible, something you don’t want to end.

“I should’ve known the red wine was a setup,” he murmurs with a smirk, barely pulling back as you playfully smack his chest. The laughter you share breaks through the tension, leaving you both grinning as Nic settles back into the couch, his lap open and inviting. You climb onto him, feeling his hands rest comfortably on your waist as you nestle into his embrace, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest. Somehow, he makes every intimate moment feel like the first all over again, taking you back to late nights in college bars and stolen moments in his dorm room, where everything felt new and thrilling.

Even now, he still makes you feel giddy, like that young, lovestruck freshman, dreaming of a future with him—a white picket fence, a home filled with laughter, maybe a couple of kids running around. Each touch, each glance brings those dreams rushing back, making you feel as if you’re right back at the beginning, falling for him all over again.

Nic watches you, noticing the way your gaze seems to drift, lost in thought even as your eyes rest on his. A small, knowing smile curves his lips, and he lets out a soft, amused huff before giving his legs a gentle nudge to draw you back.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, his voice low and inviting, reaching out to pull you closer until you’re nestled comfortably against him, fully present with him once more.

His fingers trail up your back, tracing soft, languid patterns that send shivers through you as you settle deeper against him. His touch is gentle yet intentional, fingers curling at the nape of your neck as he brings his forehead to rest against yours, the two of you sharing a breath in the quiet warmth of the room. His gaze meets yours, a familiar smolder that sends heat spreading through you, and the world outside blurs, leaving just the two of you wrapped in this moment.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with something deliciously dark, “I think we should take this to the bedroom, instead.”

The words sink into the silence, charged with a longing that leaves you breathless. His thumb brushes across your cheek, lingering with a tenderness that contrasts the intensity of his gaze. He leans in slowly, capturing your lips in a deep, unhurried kiss, savoring the closeness, the taste of you. His hand slides up, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you even closer, the warmth of him seeping through your skin.

You feel a rush of boldness, your hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, deftly unfastening each one until the fabric falls open, revealing the smooth skin and taut muscle beneath. You let your fingers trace along the dips and valleys of his chest, his heartbeat slightly erratic as your nails graze the skin. The feel of him, solid and steady, grounds you even as the intensity between you builds. You part just enough to look at him, taking in the way his chest rises and falls, his breathing as unsteady as yours.

The shared look says it all, an unspoken agreement in the glimmer of his eyes, in the way his hands skim down your sides, leaving trails of sparks in their wake. Without a word, he shifts, adjusting himself so that he can lift you easily, legs coiled around his waist as he carries you through the soft-lit rooms to the familiar, inviting comfort of your bed.

As he lays you down, he pauses, gaze roaming over you with a mix of reverence and desire. His fingers brush down your arm, pausing to intertwine with yours, grounding you in the quiet intensity of the moment. Here, where the moonlight and cityscape filters through the open blinds, there’s no rush, only the anticipation building between you, thick and sweet.

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, each one a promise, a reminder of how much he loves you. And as his lips find yours again, slow and leisurely, you know tonight will be one to remember.

[chevxyn]

CONFLICT = CHEMISTRY!

in which you and sae got into a lil conflict outside a football stadium & the paparazzi's made a false statement that the two of you are dating.

an itoshi sae smau series.

mature language in aiku’s banner.

act 0, introduction ii; sae’s group.

itoshi sae

the prodigy

- 18

- still cares about his little brother (allegedly)

shidou ryusei

zesty demon

- 18

- delusional (thinks sae wants him)

oliver aiku

womanizer

- 19

- swears that the drink in his pfp is apple juice

sendou shuto

ace hyena

- 18

- wants to marry an hollywood actress (any1 pls)

michael kaiser

german prodigy

- 19

- the only white guy in the group

julian loki

the god sprinter

- 17

- the only reasonable & normal one

extras : sae’s priv

taglist : @vaelils (please lmk in the comments if you wanna be tagged!

©chevxyn

[cryptotheism]

Amber Skies question for ya, CT! What kinds of games are popular among the different species of Amber Skies? These can be card / board games, children's "playground" games, drinking games - any way you wanna take the prompt.

Oh my god I actually have lore for a card game in universe. The Lwes-Atalan and the Teykorile share a love of card games. They use a "Royt-Pattern" deck that is partially double-faced. Meaning the Five of Shells has a shell pattern on the reverse side. Part of the game is being able to see what suit the next card is, so you can force another player to draw potentially negative cards.

Gambling is a large part of both cultures. Though the Lwes-Atalan tend to favor more strategic, math-heavy games, while the Teykorile tend to enjoy more social-combat focused games that require misdirection and bluffing.

The Baquari have a sport similar to football. It's effectively capture the flag but with mixed martial arts and a focus on wrestling. It's popular among multiple strains because it has roles for several different body types. You need scrawny sprinters, beefy wrestlers, and dexterous throwers. A notable rule is that you can't move while you have the ball, but you can carry the guy that has the ball.

Theres a game similar to chess, played with a deck of cards and wooden pieces. You kinda set up terrain and then deploy pieces on them. There's land tiles, mountain tiles, forest tiles, etc. The different pieces move on them in different ways.

[zuzla33]

I had a great weekend and I'm back with some questions

why did Timmy have to do PR on two luggages at once at Coachella? ... wouldn't that oversized backpack be enough?

why did Lizzie and her creeper do Jenner's tequila PR at Coachella? ... Sprinter also on display ofc

why hasn't anyone told MissNipplesOut that checking the camera before EVERY PDA drastically lowers the value of her acting?

what did Timmy have in that backpack?

why does a 40+ woman think that acting like a teenager won't look awkward?

why is Timmy's agent a.k.a. Nick present for his every PDA with MissTittsOut? … can't the boy work on his own?

what happened to Armie's hand? ... fell on a skateboard while taking care of the kids?

what does Timmy have in that cup every time MissTitsOut is around? … because he literally never goes without a drink when he's around her

[kyjen-r]

[roseskylie]

• like or kyliejenlisa on twitter.

[simplynims]

SETH HEADCANONS 😛😛😛

Sure, I got a few!

Seths a no sabo kid (Stole this headcanon directly from @/stxph-artist) but can understand it if someones speaking to him in Spanish.

Seth doesn't drink much nowadays but he can hold his liquor pretty well.

Is a bit of a bug guy! He knows a lot about insects due to being outside a lot, specifically if they're poisonous or not. Also knows quite a bit about reptiles, rodents, birds etc etc because of it aswell.

He has the gene where cilantro tastes like soap.

Really likes chocolate covered almonds, favorite candys are Almond Joys.

Isn't much of a tech guy outside of cars, he gets the appeal of having a touch screen built in a car but God it gives him a headache trying to figure it out.

I feel like he'd be a great track n field type of guy in highschool if their highschool had one. One of the sprinters for short distances, a discus thrower or shot putter for sure.

Seth had a growth spurt first in middle school before Alphonse grew like a fucking tree in highschool during freshman year.

When camping he doesn't have a lot of signal on his phone, so he downloads horror audiobooks in advance to listen to while he's out in the woods. Has a few of his favorite scary story podcasts saved too, good background noise as he hikes.

Not much of a social media guy, really likes YouTube though, has a few posted vids about cryptids and such on there. Big fan of a YouTube channel called "Snarled", specifically their "Wanna Hear Something Scary?" series.

Can cook pretty decently, his go to meal is making chicken quesadillas. They're fairly easy to make with a few ingredients.

Lactose intolerant 😔

That does NOT stop him from eating dairy products, case in point the chicken quesadilla headcanon above.

[thefashionforwardfiles]

Drink Sprinter x Revolve| April 11 2025|Palm Springs,CA|Coachella

-

Kylie Jenner has strawberry Sprinter

[nectardaddy]

HOLY SMOKES !

           🛠 we listen we don't judge

CHECK ENGINE LIGHT : language, implied drinking

COME AGAIN : masterlist

🛠 yn and semi work at aphrodite (nightclub in poker face by @aozui !! go check it out !!). yn is a bottle girl and semi is a bartender. I love the haikyuu cinematic universe ok, just roll with it even if it doesn't exactly line up, thanks!

🛠 mattsun works at the funeral home in this, and god help that loser of a man… semi was already friends with him and tried to set him up with yn. things didn't work out (cue mattsun dry heaving and sobbing over fumbling her) but they're all friends now! 

🛠 yn doesn't know a single thing about cars. like at all. she does, however, drive a toyota sprinter trueno (if you want to know what it looks like look up “car from intial d”) so car guys do in fact annoy her about it. 

🛠 she pulls lots of late shifts and the drift drivers come in there all the time, so she knows most of them! she had a really, and I mean really, short fling with atsumu but it ended just as fast as it started. but this is the first time bokuto has brought kuroo though :) 

taglist (open, send an ask)

@causenessus @softpia @renardiererin @kodzu-ken @phoenix-eclipses

@wyrcan @honeekyuu @wakashudou @wolffmaiden @eggyrocks 

@yogurtkags @bakery-anon @totallytatum @mollyrolls @standcom 

@jadeoru @hyunteru @kameyyy @nekozaki @sandwhitches 

@angelichwv @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @crypt-0rchid @gigiiiiislife @boosyboo9206 

@sahrii @rriwyu @sickpatientt @s6rine @chososcamgirl 

@ohio-gyatt-mega-sigma-rizzler @lvtilzs

[lokirulzart]

WILD WEST AU!!!!

You ever notice that when fools do a western AU, they cheap out on the horses or ignore them entirely??? WELL NOT HERE, FOLKS. ONLY THE HIGHEST QUALITY HORSE CONTENT. BECAUSE I LOVE Y’ALL AND ALSO HORSES.

Frank has a snooty Appaloosa because he’s fancy, but also appaloosas are reliable trail horses, so that means he can go bug collecting without worrying much. His insect collection is the envy of all the rich collectors in the whole county.

Wally ended up with a chestnut Arabian mare, because Wally is too small for a bigger horse and I just think it’s funny. HANG ON THERE, PARDNER!! SHE’S A WILD ONE!!! Luckily, Wally is usually unaware of his own horse acting up, and the mare ends up tiring herself out just because Wally simply doesn’t even notice her… he’s too busy spacing out. But he’s one of the best Bronco Busters around thanks to her!

Hunter/trapper/fur trader Barnaby has himself a lovely Shire mare with a sweet and patient disposition. She has no trouble carrying whatever Barnaby has hunted as well as big ol’ Barnaby himself… but he still feels bad about making her work, so he only ever hunts what he needs to in order to get by.

Julie and her mustang are BOTH wild. Julie had the chance to tame her, but instead she just fed off of her spirited energy and now the two of them just tear around being crazy together, getting into trouble, rolling in the dust… Julie wouldn’t have it any other way.

What better steed for a Pony Express postal worker than a sure footed mule?! Seriously, mules are the mountain goats of the equine world. Eddie’s mule might not be as fast of a sprinter as some horses, but this animal can trek over ANY terrain, ensuring that all of the mail gets delivered on time. They have yet to miss a single delivery.

(Snake oil) Salesman Howdy Pillar has a general store in town as WELL as a covered wagon to travel around, ensuring that everyone gets the best deals on their pork ‘n’ beans, biscuits, tobacco, and tonics. You want it? Howdy’s GOT it… and his team of 3 dapple gray Connemara ponies, and one brown one, will make sure that you can get it… also the tallest character having the smallest horses makes me giggle.

Poppy doesn’t have a rideable horse yet, which is perhaps for the best. She spends a lot of time at Howdy’s general store or riding in his wagon. She is his best customer. But she has recently come by a thoroughbred foal that she is now raising from a bottle. So perhaps one day very soon Poppy will have her own tall and elegant steed to carry her around… let’s just hope he’s not too fast for her.

Sally is a performer at the local saloon by night and helps out with cleaning during the day… she knows NOTHING about horses… but one night, after all the local drunks went home, a poor American Paint got left behind. Nobody came back to claim the animal, so Sally boards him at the local ranch and visits often. She hopes one day to learn how to ride him, but it’s slow going. She is, after all, a singer and actress first.

AND THEN HOME THE SALOON!! YOU DIDN’T THINK I’D FORGET HOME, DID YOU?? He has a small stable in the back and a second floor, where Wally lives! Wally gets to spend all his free time hanging out, meeting up with his friends, and drinking all the apple juice he wants! (Just don’t tell him it’s apple juice, he’ll get confused. He thinks he’s just drinking whiskey like everyone else. It’s easier this way.) Also Home is the only saloon that can kick out belligerent drunk people itself!

Also Bonus OCs, Luna O’Hare the bilingual cartographer (created by @m0stlygh0st) and Simon, my boy, the ranch hand! Luna has an Andalusian that she likes to dress up, braid it’s mane, and stick flowers in it-… as snacks for later. They’re also grazing buddies and Luna can often be found eating the horse feed because it’s so similar to rabbit food. Simon has a gelding Quarter Horse with golden retriever energy and not a single braincell to his name. Poor Simon… but at least his horse loves him.

YEEHAW!!!! 🤠

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 18

Warnings: Vomiting!

Summary: You drank too much and puke it all up in front of Ghost because you’re a classy chick

Word Count: 1,991

ao3 link

Uh oh.

You were going to throw up.

You could feel those tell-tale signs, the pain in your stomach, the watery saliva at the back of your mouth, that tightness in your throat. Shit. You had about ten seconds to get to the toilet; otherwise, it was going to happen in your bed.

At a speed only matched by an Olympic sprinter, you flung yourself out of bed and ran to the bathroom, already beginning to gag as you lifted up the toilet lid, hugging the porcelain as you chundered into the bowl. Ugh. You thought you’d been lucky and avoided this after a night of binge drinking, but clearly, it had only been lying in wait. At least you hadn’t puked on Ghost.

Christ. How unappealing must you be to him now? You sounded like a damn plague victim. God, your stomach hurt. That was it; you were never drinking again. This was the last time you were going to allow yourself to get to this state again. At least the bathroom floor was nice and cold. You were still wearing your tights, the waistband digging into your stomach, which was not exactly helpful in your current situation, so you pulled them off, careful not to take your head away from the toilet for too long. Motherfucker, how had you puked on your own hair? It was so gross you almost wanted to cry. At least the vomiting had stopped for now. You flushed the loo, then gingerly pulled yourself to your feet using the sink as a crutch, your fingertips brushing against something fluffy as you did so. Ah, yeah, Soap was sleeping in the sink again. You still didn’t understand what his affinity for it was, and you gently scooped him up out of it, apologising, “Sorry, babe, I need the tap.” He was floppy in your hands, dead weight, a pain in the ass to shift, and you dropped him on the bath mat before turning back to the taps so you could rinse the bile out of your hair. You didn’t dare look at yourself in the mirror, slumping down to the floor and resting your back against the bathtub, praying that Ghost was still asleep.

“Feel better?”

Of course he wasn’t. You cracked open an eye to look at him, finding him standing in the doorway to your bathroom, illuminated from behind by the lamp in the living room, leaning against the doorframe, a glass of water in his hand. You shut your eyes again, leaning your head back over the bathtub side, wrapping your arms around your middle, “Not really.” You heard his footsteps approach, and then the soft touch of his thighs against yours as he sat next to you, and the cold touch of the glass on your skin as he placed it on your leg. Wait a second. Ghost wasn’t wearing trousers. Your eyes snapped back open, and you took a good look at the man beside you.

Ghost was only in a plain green t-shirt and white boxers. That was something. Now you could see his legs; his thighs were thicker than yours; he could crack a fucking watermelon in half with them! His skin was tan for an Englishman and covered in scars and dark blond hair, like the rest of him. On the top of his right thigh, the skin looked strange, bald and shiny, pulled taut. Was that a burn scar? It was fucking massive! Had someone tried to roast the man like a joint of beef?

The very thought of food made your stomach roil, and you groaned, pushing the glass of water over to Ghost as you crawled over to the loo again, cheeks beginning to burn in shame as the bile crept up your throat. Why did he have to come across you this night? Why couldn’t it be a night where you looked sophisticated and sexy, and he railed you over the kitchen counter rather than watched you puke your guts up? You weren’t a quiet puker either; Katie could throw up right next to you, and you’d never know, whereas you sounded like you were expelling demons.

And yet, Ghost was kind. Sure, you could hear him suppressing his sniggers, but he held your hair back for you and rubbed your back, much like you’d done for Helen. Christ, you hoped that wasn’t how Ghost saw you; as a friend. You finished retching, hoping that was the last of it for tonight, resting your cheek on the seat as you pressed the flush again, thankful that you were neurotic about keeping the bathroom clean. Ghost held out the water insistently, and you took a sip, swishing it around in your mouth before spitting it out. You groaned and went to sit back, finding that Ghost had shifted to be right behind you, so you sat between his legs and let yourself fall back onto his chest, resting your free arm on his thigh.

“You can’t hold your booze, can you?” Ghost teased, and you grumbled back at him, “Bite me.” You didn’t really want to think about anything; your head was beginning to pound, and trying to recall things only seemed to make it worse. But there was one memory you couldn’t shake.

“Did you seriously wank in my bathroom?”

You felt Ghost laugh behind you, his chest shaking, and he reached up to run his hand over his buzzed head, “Man has needs.”

You twisted in his lap so you could look at him, seeing the mirth in his eyes and the smile on his lips. There wasn’t an ounce of shame on his face.

“Do you really carry around photos of me?”

You would have thought that would have made him even the slightest bit defensive, but he was an open book.

“Keep ‘em in my wallet.”

“Okay, more pertinent question, where did you get printed photos of me?”

“Took ‘em off your phone.”

Yeah, you should have expected that. The man already had a track record of stalking, theft, breaking and entering; the list went on. You looked at him suspiciously, “Do you have naked photos of me?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“I swear on Johnny’s life.”

Strange. You regarded him inquisitively, but there wasn’t a hint of lie on his face. Not that there would be; he was a special forces soldier, no doubt he was great at lying.

“There were a lot of photos of me naked on my phone. You’re telling me you didn’t save a single one?”

He looked down at you, his eyes strangely intense, “I need to earn those. Couldn’t even look at them.”

It didn’t seem like the type of thing a man would do, but then again, Ghost wasn’t a typical man. Nothing about the situation was typical or normal. Perhaps you’d been ignoring that for too long.

You shifted out of his grip, crawling to the opposite side of the bathroom so you could sit with your back against the sink cabinet and look at Ghost properly.

“What are we?”

It sounded painfully cliché even as it left your lips, but you had to know.

“What do you want us to be?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pursing your lips, “Don’t answer a question with a question.”

Ghost grinned, but you poked his thigh with your foot, “I’m serious!”

He opened his mouth to make another joke, but you scowled at him, and he thought better of it. He sighed, resting his arm along the side of the bathtub, tilting his head back as he looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. You didn’t interrupt, your stomach tense in a different way as you awaited his response.

“As far as I’m concerned,” he began, still staring at the ceiling, “I’m all yours. Have been for months.”

You raised a brow at him, even though he wasn’t looking at you, “Exclusively?”

“I haven’t touched another bird since I met you.”

It was hard to tell if the feeling in your chest was nausea or butterflies.

“That why all your army lot keep calling me your missus?”

He laughed, finally looking over at you, running his hand over his buzzed hair again, “Aye, well, it’s not like I keep you a secret.”

Apparently, you’d been in a relationship without knowing. For months. Well, Ghost had said he was yours; he hadn’t said anything about you being his. Maybe that’s why his eyes had what looked like a slight hint of insecurity to them.

You fiddled with the hem of his jumper, “I’m sure you’ve stalked me enough to know my feelings on the matter.”

“Wanna hear you say it.”

“Come off it. You know I’m yours.”

It was impossible to miss the way his eyes lit up, a wide grin spreading across his face. He reached across the bathroom to grab you, his arms encircling your waist so he could pick you up and pull you close to him, holding you against his chest. It was impossible not to feel how hard he was; it was practically jabbing into your thigh, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity, “Seriously? I’m all sweat and puke right now, and that makes you hard?”

“As a fucking rock. ‘d take you to bed right now if I didn’t think you’d puke on me.”

“Yeah, I think the motion might kill me.”

Ghost practically purred into your ear, “I could be gentle. Take it slow.”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t.”

That made him groan, and he shifted you slightly so he could reach down to adjust himself, “Christ, the things you do to me.”

You snorted and stifled a yawn, and Ghost sighed, “You done puking for the night?”

“Unlikely. But for now, at least, yeah.”

He shifted underneath you, lifting you as he got to his feet, carrying you back through the living room into the bedroom. Soap had snuck in while you were throwing your guts up, having taken your pillow as his bed, so Ghost put you on his side of your bed, leaving Soap undisturbed. You looked at him questioningly as he went to leave again, “You’re not gonna wank in my bathroom again, are you?”

“Why, you wanna watch?”

“Yes.”

He froze in his tracks, letting out a breathy laugh, “You’re testing my resolve, little love.” He shook his head, “I’m fetching you a bowl, just in case.”

You were about to tell him where they were, but he’d already gone. Right, the man knew where everything in your house was. Instead, you just made yourself comfortable underneath the duvet again, shifting the pillows around until they were the right level of cool. The jumper, though cosy, was a little too hot for bed, so you pulled it over your head and tossed it on the floor. That would be a fun surprise for Ghost.

He returned quickly, placing the bowl on the floor next to the bed and the glass on your bedside table, then carefully climbed over you, slotting himself in between you and Soap. As his fingers reached out to pull you close, they hesitated, and he lifted the duvet slightly, looking at your bare back. You heard his sharp intake of breath, and the controlled way he exhaled, his fingers carefully wrapping around your waist as he gently pulled you back against his chest, the fabric of his T-shirt soft on your skin. His voice tickled your ear as he spoke. “You’re an evil little bitch, you know that?”

That made you smile, and you settled with your back against him, linking your fingers with his and bringing his hand up to your cheek, his arm snugly wrapped around your chest. You could feel how tense his muscles were and how hard he was, and it did wonders for your ego as you settled down into the pillow, smug as a cat that got the cream.