#oval racetrack what's not to love

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 25 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 24 here. Part 26 here.

Summary: All right, well, I guess no one's gonna go swimming in that pool, anymore.

Words: 6600

Warnings: cw--a kylorengarbagedump special: tons of graphic violence and gratuitous bloodplay

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: HI, HELLO, what the fuck am I doing! I'd like to give thanks to @faestae and John Wick for this chapter. Without them, I'd be completely fucked. For some reason, I keep writing shit that demonstrates how little I know about writing anything other than sex. Please let me know what you thought! I'm interested to see what people think about this bit.

I love y'all so very much! Thank you for always offering kindness and encouragement. <3

You hadn’t taken your eyes off of your Commander since entering the car, hoping that, if you stared long enough, you’d be able to identify any hint of emotion, any flicker of feeling in his inscrutable expression. But Kylo Ren sat, back against the partition, hands at his sides, a veneer of distance cast over his face. The harder you looked, the further away he seemed--like a void, emptying itself, slowly, of vulnerability. 

“Do you know how long I’ve known your Commander?” said Snoke. You felt his spider-leg gaze crawling over your figure. “Since he was a boy.”

Unsure if you were supposed to respond, you dipped your head in the tiniest nod you could muster.

“And there was a period where he disagreed, you know. With the idea of Gilead. Did you know that?”

Ren was solid, unmoving, staring through the back windshield. He didn’t blink, didn’t twitch. Swallowing, you allowed yourself to peer over at Snoke. He was watching you expectantly.

“Um.” To be fair, you did know that--you just didn’t know to what degree, and for how long. “I didn’t know that, no.”

“Well, it’s true.” His focus drifted back to Ren. “He was so unsure of himself, back then. Couldn’t ever make a decision. Afraid to let himself achieve what he was truly capable of.” A dark, breathy laugh escaped him. “He was so sensitive, so scared.”

There, right below his nose, you saw it--a twinge of muscle.

“But, thankfully, he’s resolved those doubts, now.” A wicked smile twisted through his skin. “Haven’t you, Ren?”

His eyes, like slate, met Snoke’s for a millisecond. “Yes.”

“Yes.” Now Snoke turned his attention to you. “He believes, like I do, in the roles of society. In the order we can provide by enforcing them.” A glance at Ren. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

“Yes.” His back straightened. 

“He agrees with me that Handmaids are one of those unfortunate necessities of society,” Snoke said. “If we had a perfect world, we wouldn’t need you at all.” He shrugged. “For now, both of you have your roles. Separate and equal.” 

Not that nonsense again. It sounded just as repulsive as when it had come out of Ren’s mouth. “I think we’re both more than that.” You peered at your Commander, who observed you with guarded confusion. “More than our roles.”

Snoke’s eyes sparkled with some sick delight. “Really, now.” He looked to Ren. “We have to make sacrifices, don’t we. To ensure our vision survives to the next generation.”

He averted his gaze, nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ve made many sacrifices for Gilead, Ren.” 

Snoke’s hand laid on your knee, squeezing it, red fabric bunching in his skeletal grip. Your throat thickened with fear, your breath stolen. Ren’s chest filled with slow, tense air, his jaw tight. The knife in your sleeve seemed to sear you with its presence--you imagined whipping it out, swiping the button, slamming the blade right into the old man’s wrinkled neck. Instead, you sat there, watching his hand creep higher, your focus switching between his fingers and your Commander.

Do what you wish with it.

If you tried to attack him now, here, in his car, both you and Ren would end up dead. You shoved the urge into the bottom of your brain, chin trembling as the bony excuse for a hand grazed your thigh--Snoke’s eyes were trained on Ren, daring him to move. 

But he did nothing.

A whirr of a winding engine cut through the silence, and Snoke removed his hand--you sagged with relief. He rolled down the window, making a quick motion with his wrist, the limo stopping for a brief moment. Then it pushed forward, past a gated entrance staffed with at least two guards armed with rifles. Fear dug its claws into your chest. 

The limo coasted up a long, winding driveway, up to what you could only define as a mansion, and came to a halt. Snoke glanced at the both of you, popping the door open.

“We’ve arrived,” he said. “Come, now.”

Ren met your eyes for a brief, electric second before he exited the vehicle. Steeling your nerves, you followed, feeling significantly hampered by the rustling of your dress. As you clambered into the sun, you breathed the heavy summer air and glanced over the property.

A white stone gate with the pair of sentries encircled a ring of decorative topiaries, bushels of red flowers poking through the mulched landscape. The driveway looped like a racetrack through the yard, up to the bleached cement plaza that opened to a glittering fountain pond. The center of the fountain was dominated by a marble carving of Jesus on the cross, his head craned toward the sky, water gushing in clear, noisy rivers from his hands and crown. In front of you, the staired entrance led to a grand, columned pavilion that guided you toward the front door, a glass and iron arch with concentric rows of windows radiating out to the walls. 

All of this might have been beautiful, you thought, had you not been a slave, invited with your owner under the pretense of interrogation.

That, and the two guards coming to escort you to the entrance--also armed, of course.

They bookended you in a line--Snoke, Ren, and you--through the front door, into the vaulted foyer, ivory granite floors stretching out into a wide parlor room, light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Through them, you spied the backyard, complete with a glimmering Tuscan-style pool, enclosed also by that same white stone. And more guards marching in assignment.  

Silent, you kept close to your Commander’s heels as you all climbed the one of the two curved staircases, ascending past an enormous chandelier, tiers of glowing crystal casting flakes of light onto your skin. Despite its warmth, at the last step, you fell cold--there were still more riflemen at the top. The guards ushered you down an empty hall to an open door. They stood at either side of the entrance, and, blood escaping your face, you followed Ren and Snoke inside.

Cherry wood-panelled walls wrapped the oval stone floor, a circular Persian rug rolled out underneath a huge teak desk. It was accompanied by a tall Chesterfield throne upholstered in red leather, two smaller, sister chairs attending the sides. Behind the desk, built-in shelves were lined with heavy, hardbound tomes, all illuminated by two sets of double-necked glass sconces at the two ends of the room.

You stood next to Ren, hands strangling each other as Snoke closed the door and wandered around to the head of his desk. His stride was slow, deliberate, crossing the room like it was slick with molasses. Arriving at his chair, he opened one of the drawers, carding through it before pulling out a folder and plopping it on the flat surface. With precision, he plucked a few pages from it, pushing them forward. 

“Do you remember signing these, Ren?” 

Kylo Ren’s eyes flicked between the paper and his superior. “Yes.”

“Your very first acceptance to the order,” Snoke said, gazing at it. “The evidence of your commitment.” He turned his attention to you. “You said that you think you’re more than your roles. But I know that isn’t the case.”

You cleared your throat, spine straightening. “And I know it is.”

“You’d be wrong,” Snoke said. “Because Kylo Ren is a facade. An identity--a role. Just like yours.” He paused, waiting for Ren to react. He didn’t. “Before he was Kylo Ren, he was a lost, lonely little boy. Always winding up in fights. Parents too busy to care.” 

Ren rolled his tongue along the inside of his teeth, but said nothing.

“But I saw potential in him. Didn’t I, boy?” Snoke offered him a small grin. “I could see the greatness, the cunning, the power you could have.”

“You did,” Ren muttered.

“And this is all you’ve become. Your heart hasn’t hardened. You’re soft. You could never hope to be Kylo Ren.” He sighed, and leered at him. “And I’m disappointed to see that this is the case.”

He was silent, chin raising, stare toward the floor.

“You’re still fighting it, aren’t you?” When he didn’t respond, Snoke’s entire face twisted in a frown. “Answer me, boy.”

“I’m not.”

“No?” Snoke opened the top drawer of his desk and produced a massive silver revolver, tossing it on the desk with a thunk. “Prove it,” he said. “Shoot her.”

Your heart shot between your ears, eyes darting between Snoke, Ren, the gun, Snoke, Ren, the gun, Snoke, Ren, the gun. Kylo Ren was as unreadable as ever--he considered the revolver as if Snoke had thrown down a ballpoint pen. A tiny breath escaped him.

“Everything I’ve done has been for Gilead--my commitment has never wavered--”

“Don’t lie to me, boy!” Snoke’s gaze flashed with barely-leashed rage. “I see how you respond when I touch her, I can feel your weakness for her.”

Ren’s lip twitched. “Weakness. For a Handmaid.” 

“I know your mind, Ren. I know every little thought that goes through your brain. Your impulses are raw, you allow Gilead to suffer under your foolishness. This paper...” He held it up, pointing to the signature--beautiful, loopy letters that read Ben Solo. “The boy that signed it still lives. And he is weak.” 

Snoke pushed off the desk, stalked over to you--before you could even think to move, his hand gnarled in your hair, fingers scraping like screws over your scalp. You whimpered, thinking to scream, to fight, to beg--but worried Snoke would shoot you himself if you did. 

“Show me who you’re meant to be, Kylo Ren.” He ripped you to the floor, shoving you onto your knees near his feet. Then, at the back of your head--something hard. Cold. Another gun. “Or I’ll show you myself.”

In the back of your mind, it seemed strange--for all the scenarios you’d imagined being on your knees in front of your Commander, this had never been one of them. Terror shuddered you, but you stilled the quaking of your flesh, meeting Ren’s eyes, sticking your chin into the air. He stared into you and through you, hooking into your hidden fear, finding himself there. Your chests rose and fell with the same breath, lips parting with the same awful knowledge--there was no scenario where he could save you, no reality where your story could’ve had a different ending. For all of your emptiness, loneliness, wanton need, this was your destiny--two souls, desperate to know the other, denied for every unchangeable reason fate could offer.

Part of you knew that Ren had to kill you. Part of you hoped against hope that, somehow, he wouldn’t.

But then he moved. And he picked up the gun.

“Good,” Snoke said. “Good.”

Ren stepped toward you, face blank, and aimed the revolver until it was inches from your head. You gazed at him, thankful that you’d known relief at least once in the past few years, somehow more thankful that he’d been the one to give it to you. Heat stung your eyes. You wouldn’t cry, not now. You’d wished for death too many times at this point to begrudge its arrival.

“Good choice, my boy,” Snoke said. He jerked your scalp. “Would you like to have a prayer for your last words?”

He scoffed. “What use does a dog have for prayer?”

A hearty chuckle. “Oh, I’m nothing if not a man of God.”

“Last prayer, then.” Ren blinked. “Do what you wish with it.”

In your chest, breath hitched, your pulse flying. The switchblade. Swallowing, you glanced at the floor to Snoke’s foot beside you, then back up, meeting Ren’s eyes. A spark, a crooked crackle of light--you were seeing them, seeing him, seeing yourself, a reflection, an echo, pure resonance in the emptiness of his mind--and in that moment, you knew.

You knew him.

Clearing your throat, you began, “O, Lord Jesus…” 

You pressed your palms together, bowing your head to conceal them as you used the heel of your hand to guide the blade up your sleeve.

“... pour into me the spirit of your love…”

The handle poked through the edge of fabric, the wooden scales cool and smooth. Your tongue was paper, scratching at your mouth.

“... that in the hour of my death…”

With the switchblade fully encased in your hands, your finger dipped to find the safety and flick it free. Perspiration had it slip in your grip, and you flinched for only a second, pinching it tight between your palms. 

“... I may be worthy to vanquish the enemy…”

Your thumb fumbled for the safety, now, finding it behind your sweaty skin.

“... and receive the heavenly crown.”

Pushing it up, you drew a long, deep breath through your nose. Ren cocked his gun. 

“Amen.”

The blade sprung free, and you drove it, a stake, straight into Snoke’s hapless foot. He screamed, his gun clattering to the floor--in that instant, Ren cocked a brow, raised the revolver, and fired. Snoke blew back, blood spattering your crown, a crimson spray cast over the desk, onto Ren’s face, and the body hit the floor behind you with a fleshy thud. 

You blinked, gasping, trembling, too terrified to look behind you, too anxious to not confirm he was dead. A quick peek--a massive crater in the lifeless facade of his skull--and you swallowed, looking to Kylo Ren, without breath, without speech, without pretense. His eyes were wide and wild, his chest heaving with something like excitement--then, outside the study, the guards stirred. 

“Commander Snoke?” one asked.

Ren glanced at the door. His pupils swallowed his irises, and at the corner of his lips, a smirk. He tore off his tie, tossed his suit jacket onto the floor, back and shoulders swelling like mountains underneath his shirt. 

“We’re coming in, sir.”

“Get down,” he muttered as he cocked the gun, aiming it at the door. “Come in.”

You scrambled to the side of the desk and tore off your wings so you could see, curling over your knees, and the door squeaked open. The moment the guard’s head breached the entrance, Ren fired, and you jolted--blood spurted, painting the wall, the body dropped. A second guard flung the door back, rushing Ren before he could reload, but Ren threw his elbow into the man’s chin, wringing his arm around his neck and shoving him to the ground. He drove his heel into the guard’s neck before cocking the gun and blowing a hole through his face.

Heart flying in your chest, you stared at him, mouth open, almost unable to believe what you’d just seen. In the recording, you’d heard Snoke call him a warrior--you just hadn’t known until now what that meant.

“We’re moving.” Ren stalked over and snatched your wrist, but you winced. 

“Hold on!” You tugged away and snagged the switchblade from Snoke’s foot, sheathing it and shoving it back up your sleeve.

“Come.” He grabbed you again, leading you over the leaking lump of the guard and into the hall.

As you breached the threshold and crossed the hall, two guards turned the corner--the ones from the top of the stairs. Kylo Ren shoved you behind him, gunshots spearing your ears, a body falling; then he slammed you against the wall, the trill of wide rifle bullets whizzing by your skull. You screamed, covered your head, and Ren reached out, wresting the barrel of the offending gun and wrenching the guard flush with his chest--he shoved the revolver up to his chin and fired, viscera erupting from the man’s eye sockets and coating you both. 

You gagged, mind whirling--but Ren was crazed, rippling with the heat of exhilaration. He ditched the revolver and tucked the rifle under his arm, shrugging the body off and grabbing you again. Ren hugged you tight to his frame as he marched through the halls; panting, you gazed up at him, futilely trying to process that he had not only murdered his leader, but now apparently planned to gun down the entirety of this estate--when he all he had to do instead was kill you.

He cursed when you reached the steps. A pair of guards was posted at both sets of stairs--and, seeing you, they shouted and charged. Ren’s attention darted between them, landed on the chandelier. He shouldered you back, running forward and leaping from the banister. You squeaked, hands clapping your mouth--but he grappled the chain, feet stumbling over the metal frame as the crystal behemoth swung like a sparkling pendulum in the foyer. The guards hollered, racking their rifles--but Ren fired first.

Using the chandelier like an assassination assistant, Ren pinned the gun to his body and pulled the trigger, spitting a storm of bullets into the staircase, littering pockmarks over the walls. The guards quailed, ducked--Ren jerked the fixture’s chain, rolling his legs down, and he spun, a carousel of death, firing next at the guards climbing the other steps. These two were not so lucky--you caught hot streams of blood splash over the balustrade, and then Ren swung again,  crystals clinking like chimes as the chandelier bowed in wide arcs. Face tight with frenzy, he fired, and you watched the bodies crumple like marionettes and tumble down the stairs.

Bobbing in the air, he cast his gaze around the room, back hunched, an animal starved. You grimaced, crawled forward, gripping the banister, and when he met your eyes, he shifted, making to swing.

“Stop!” came a voice from the back of the home. 

From underneath the balcony, you saw two guards run forward, rifles pointed up--before you could shout, they fired into the ceiling, clouds of crystal fragments spewing into the air. Ren wobbled, dodging with surprising grace, then flung the chandelier back. 

You watched him, lids wide, as he stepped, one foot, another foot, skating over the steel and lurching forward, yanking on the chain like a rope and throwing his legs into the air. His other arm, still occupied with the rifle, swung down, and as he launched himself toward the banister, he fired, sparks snapping, the chain severed. Ren connected with the railing as the chandelier exploded to the floor, crushing the two guards in a splintering spew of metal and glass. Without thinking, you scampered to him, clutching his arms, straining as you helped haul him onto the balcony. He stumbled to his feet and ripped you up by your wrist.

“Commander--”

“Quiet.”

Adrenaline coursed through him into you, absorbed like warmth through your skin. He dragged you down the steps, tossing his current gun and grabbing a new one while you fled over the ragdolled corpses covering your path. In your dress, it was difficult to maneuver, but Ren pulled you through, jaw set firm, ravenous fury dancing in waves from his body. His eyes were focused and feral, a predator, a true, live killer, consumed with a hunger you’d never before seen--not up close. 

He led you toward the front door--beyond the mottled glass, you could spy a pair of guards sneaking close, decked in armor, guns raised. Cursing, he doubled back, your arm popping while he hauled you toward the other end of the home. Then two more guards, also in armor, crept across the pool deck in the same formation, heading toward wherever the back entrance was. Grumbling, Ren tore to the right, wringing you forward--you’d been thrust into a huge kitchen, replete with white quartz countertops and oak cabinetry. You had little time to admire it before he shoved you under the hood of the breakfast nook. Breathless, you pulled your knees to your chest, trying to become as small and unnoticeable as possible.

Slinging the gun over his shoulder, he grabbed two long knives from the butcher block on the counter, sidling up to the wall next to an archway that opened to what appeared like a mudroom. The first sentry peered around the corner, and Kylo Ren snarled, driving the knife through the man’s throat. He choked, gasped, writhing as he fell to the ground, rivers of blood spilling over the floor. The second guard flinched, went to raise his rifle at Ren--but the second of hesitation sealed his fate. Ren jammed his foot into the man’s chest, knocking him onto his back, and stomped his face before shifting the rifle into his hands and ending him with a pop, pop.

Flustered with fear, you made to move--and then spotted that the two guards from the front had made their way into the home, crossing into the kitchen. Before you could warn Ren, one fired, a quick burst, striking him in the side. He roared, crumpling to the floor, a bloom of bright blood staining his side--your body burst with fear, with rage, your mind making decisions without a second of uncertainty. 

As the guards pushed toward Ren, you threw yourself into their path, a human speedbump; they tripped, stumbled over you, over each other, trampling you as they both collapsed to the ground. You craned your neck to see your Commander--he seethed as he stood, punching himself in his wound, each strike punctuated with a furious grunt.

Kylo Ren flipped the free knife into the air, caught it by the handle, and sneered, stabbing one of the guards through the eye--his body jerked, twitched on top of you, and Ren rolled the other man with his foot, aiming his rifle at his exposed face and riddling it with holes. You squealed as his frame jolted with the shots, trying to scramble free--but Ren caught you by the arm again, prying you to your feet. He started toward the back door, but you jerked away--he spun, hair tossed in choppy waves over his face, teeth bared, entire form trembling with the throes of bloodlust.

“The--the front,” you managed to eke out. “You’re injured, let’s get out of here.”

He growled, seizing your wrist and tugging you forward. “We’re not done yet.” 

You swallowed. This was no longer about escaping. It was about revenge.

Led through the mudroom in the wake of his wrath, Ren discarded you to the side of the door and shouldered it open. Two guards stood, anticipating, at the exit, two more chasing around the pool. Your Commander wrapped one of the guards in a headlock, using him as a shield while he surged forward, facing the closest guard while shooting over his arm at the other two. They shook, barraged with bullets, toppling back until they both splashed into the pool, crimson fog weeping into the water. The guard in his grip kicked back, and he faltered--the man closest to him took this as an opportunity to lunge, and smashed into Ren, knocking him and his hostage to the ground.

Chest tightening, you made to move, but hesitated--what would you do? Shoot them? Your brain raced with the possibilities--at this point, you’d picked up a pistol, but you’d never pictured yourself as someone who could end a life. You’d also never pictured yourself as someone who would speak back to the lead Commander of Gilead, get belted over a knee, have her pussy stuffed with a gun, or feel worry for the man who owned her.

That last one caught you by surprise--you weren’t just worried, you were terrified. And not for yourself, but for him. 

Kylo Ren rolled as the other guard approached, his rifle raised--he ducked behind his captive, using him like a barrier and reached down to the man’s side, stealing a handgun from his belt. The other guard went to dodge, but was blasted in the face with two shots, raining blood over the brick patio, crumpling to his knees and smacking the ground. 

Caught in a struggle, Ren went to shoot his final victim through the skull--but the man had already produced a knife from the other side of his belt, and slashed up, ripping Ren across the shoulder and slicing his face. He howled in pain, and the guard took the opportunity to tear himself free, scurrying to his feet, reaching for the gun in Ren’s hand.

Something possessed you--fear, indignity, affection, something--and you dashed through the door, grappled a gun from the corpse closest to you, and cocked it. Maybe, before Gilead, you weren’t a person who could end a life. But now, you were a survivor. And you would be damned if you or your Commander would die here.

Taking the pistol in both hands, you aimed at the guard’s torso. “Hey!” you shouted for absolutely no reason. He glanced over, confused. “Fuck you!”

You pulled the trigger, ears ringing--the bullet nailed his chest, and he staggered, jaw dropped, perhaps wondering if he had really just been shot by a Handmaid. Ren, face smothered scarlet, swung to his feet, swiping the knife from the ground. He snatched the man mid-fall, hoisted him into the air and, snarling, shredded his throat with the blade. A geyser of blood gushed from his neck, bathing Ren in its fever, soaking his shirt, coating the curls of his hair. His shoulders crowded with the desperate cycle of his lungs as he loosened his grip, letting the body hit the ground, crimson bubbles seeping from the wound.

Hands quaking, you lowered your arms, dropped the gun. You couldn’t find your breath, chest fighting for air. Ren turned, eyes tracing the bodies, until finally, they landed on you. Heat hit you, strangled you, wrapped you like wire in a suffocating, powerful, need. Both of you, sprayed with blood, panting, aching--everything you had done, you’d done for the other. His transgressions faded to shadows in your mind. Against every single governmental pillar and logical instinct, you were alive because of him. And you wanted nothing more, now, than to be in his arms.

The word fled your lips, a caged dove. “Kylo…”

Kylo Ren threw down the knife, rushing you, and your feet moved too, carrying you on feathers to him, until your bodies connected, his arms coiling around you, his mouth bruising yours, the taste of iron fresh between your teeth. He was damp with blood, his skin spilled copper into your nose--but despite it all, you groaned, flooded with passion, burning in his embrace. Ren’s tongue drove into your mouth, his hand cupping the back of your head, wetting your hair as he crushed you to his frame. Thighs thrumming with desire, you kissed him back, nipping his lip, threading your fingers through his sticky waves--he moaned, crumbling to his knees, his hold taking you with him. 

“You saved me,” you muttered against his lips. “You saved--”

Ren silenced you with a kiss. “Little bird...” He nibbled the line of your jaw, jerking a fistful of hair and burying his face in it, inhaling deep. “Get these clothes off.”

You shivered. “Yes, sir.”

Keeping his gaze, you gathered the hem of your dress and peeled it over your head, his eyes leaping over every bit of exposed flesh as it was revealed to him. You tossed it and your switchblade to the side, his hands grappling with your hips, sliding up your sides, smearing crimson over your skin. Whimpering, you reached toward your feet, pulling your boots off and throwing them to the side, attempting valiantly to remain kneeling while you inched your underwear down your hips and over your calves. Ren watched, trained on your naked cunt, as you finally flung it behind you.

When you went to begin the arduous task of unhooking your bra, Ren growled, your knees scraping across the pool deck as he yanked you into an impatient kiss. You whined in pain, soothed by his soft lips working yours, new blood from the wound on his face dribbling into your mouths and over your wrestling tongues. He wrested your tits from your bra, dying them red, thumbs skating delight over your stiffening nipples. Moaning, you writhed into his chest, and he gripped your face, nails scraping your scalp while he pulled you closer, groaning into you, leaning--you followed him, chasing his kiss until he was on his back, your legs straddling him, palms planted on his chest.

A soft, anxious breath escaped his throat, and he swirled his tongue over yours before biting your lip and pushing you up, hands settling on your thighs, rocking you back and forth over his thick erection. He watched you, panting in rhythm with you, and you admired him--how fucking beautiful he was, even (or especially) doused in blood--his eyes stark with need, his mouth parted in open anticipation, his muscles tensing as he gripped and squeezed you, jerking his hips into your heat. If he was in any pain at all from the gash on his face or the bullets in his side, it didn’t show--he rolled into you as if he cared for nothing other than the sight of your body over his own. 

“Are you okay?” You placed your hands on his, squeezing them. 

Ren frowned and swatted you off, gathering both wrists behind you in a tight vise. “Interesting question to pose while you’re already grinding onto me.”

You blushed. “I just wanted to make--” 

He shoved two bloodied fingers in your mouth, depressing your tongue, cranking your jaw open. “Ask me again after I’ve fucked that little cunt raw.”

Shuddering, you clenched, and nodded.

“There we go.” He released your tongue, popping your wrists back--your tits swayed from the movement, and he hummed in satisfaction, kneading and groping at the flesh, teasing your nipples. “You’re gorgeous…”

“Oh…” Submerged in desire, you could barely process his words. He twitched underneath you, drawing another spasm from your core. “Kylo…”

He sucked in air through his teeth, digging his fingers into your breast. “You want my cock? Hm?” He reached down, brushed his thumb over your clit, and you whined. “You want me inside you, slut?”

“Fuck,” you whispered. “Fuck, yes, please.”

“Good girl…” 

Ren kept his grip on your wrists, working at his pants until he’d managed to pull his long, heavy cock free. You ached at the sight of it, wanting to slide it between your folds, feel it pulse inside you, bask in its swollen heat. Ren slapped it against you and shifted his hips, pushing you higher, hand stroking his length as he guided it to your entrance. Stoked on adrenaline, on some sort of intoxicating infatuation, you were wet and wanting and warm with need--you sank onto him, crying out when he broke you open, letting him drive deep into your belly. 

“God,” you hissed, “you feel so good…”

He throbbed at the base, rutting up into you and popping your wrists again. “Shh.” His free hand clutched your hip. “I’ll tell you when to speak, little bird,” he muttered. “Be quiet and take this cock.”

Ren’s strength overwhelmed you--he slammed you from below, fucking up into you, forcing gasps and squeals from your lungs. Bliss blazed through your blood as the force of his thrusts throttled you, body quaking, breasts bouncing. His face was screwed in a twist of lust and effort, lip furled, strangled growls escaping his chest--he pumped hard, fast, pinching you in his hands as his own pleasure built. 

“Fuck,” he growled, “that’s right--do you like that?”

“Yes…” The words were as unfiltered as you were. “I love it…”

“Good--good girl.” His stare devoured you while you rode him. “So beautiful… so perfect…” A hand glided up your side, cupping one of your tits. “And all mine…” He grunted, punished you with a particularly hard thrust--you yelped. “Say it.”

A twinge in your heart, distant and irritating. “But I--”

He yanked your wrists, straining your shoulders, branding a bruise into your breast with his fingers. “Say it.” His pace switched, and he rammed your cunt with brutal, deep strokes, striking your cervix with white streaks of pain. “You’re mine.”

“Kylo--”

Ren seethed, throwing you off of him and onto your back, wincing when he loomed over you, and he pounded his side, hissing in pain. Your eyes widened--in seconds, he’d spiraled into mania, his face wrought with possessive fervor while his fist pummeled his wound. If he’d looked beautiful before, now it was sinful: dark hair matted in messy clumps around his crown, his brow drawn in focus, his shirt, torn from the knife, flopping over to reveal his bare chest, showered with blood. He peeled your legs wide, ankles in his fists as he lifted your ass from the ground--and, sneering, he split you, cock cleaving your cunt. In pleasure, you sobbed. 

“Fuck,” he growled again. “You’re so fucking tight…” Ren started fucking into you, slipping in to the hilt, hips hitting yours with loud slaps. “You feel so good around my cock…”

Whinging, you lolled your head on the deck-- his words sent a torrent of yearning through your flesh, and your clit screeched for attention, but part of you knew that touching it yourself would deny you release altogether. So you stared at him, chin tucked to your chest, each stroke bringing new, desperate breath to your lungs as your back scratched the smooth stone underneath you. 

“Nothing to stop me,” he said, “nothing to keep me from you.” He jerked you closer, and you wailed from the depth of his thrusts. “You’re going to be mine…”

“Kylo--”

“No,” he hissed. “Say it.” He propped one of your legs on his shoulder, his hand diving between your legs to rub your clit, covering it in blood--you cried out, clenching, convulsing, pleasure creeping into your vision. “Say you want to be mine.”

The earth turned beneath you. Everything, all of it had been for you, but not in the way that you had hoped. No, it had been to alter the universe to his own whims, to construct a galaxy where he could possess you, keep you, trap you in a tiny, wire cage. His little bird. 

You wouldn’t accept that--not after today. You couldn’t.

“Only if--ah--you’re mine, too,” you replied. “I can’t just be yours! You--you have to be mine!” 

“What have I told you?” Ren groaned, deep and low. “If that’s what you want…” He gathered some of the blood from his face onto his thumb. “Then you’ll want for nothing.” He slicked your clit while he fucked you, the fluid warm and wet and spinning you to the height of euphoria. “Say it.”

“I’m--I’m yours!” You shut your lids, awash in the elated reality of his admission. “I’m yours, Kylo!”

“Cum then,” he ordered, “cum on this fucking cock...”

You were drawn and quartered by ecstasy, spine arcing toward the sky as your core clamped his dick, limbs shuddering with the waves of your epinephrine-injected climax. Ren growled, leaning over you to hammer into your cunt, strangling his groan as he poured his cum into you, rolling his hips until he was empty--empty of rage, lust, and energy.

Swallowing, you heaved, eyes fluttering open, seeking out your Commander’s gaze. Not that his position mattered, in this hazy purgatory of existence. In this moment, the laws and regulations of Gilead didn’t apply to you and Ren. You’d defied them, destroyed them all. Together. 

Something, some emotion you’d wrestled into submission so many times before slithered out of its grave--like hope, but more poignant, more powerful, not just the faith that you could survive. No, it was the dream that you could thrive, that Gilead would crumble underneath both of your feet, that--maybe--you could take a canvas and paint a future with him in it. 

Locking eyes, you spied it there, too, beyond the lowered shield of his anger: a mirror of your mind. His hand fell between your breasts, his lip quivering, fingers skimming down your sensitive, starlight skin. How long you laid there, you weren’t sure, but it was after his soft cock had slipped out of you, after your breath had leveled. Sweat glazed you both. 

“Why did you do it?” you asked, finally. You fumbled for his hand, laid yours over it.

Ren paused, staring at the image of your hand--so much smaller--wrapped around his, analyzing it in his mind like a puzzle.  His jaw tensed, and he pulled away. A piece of your heart wilted.

“I told you,” he said, beginning to adjust himself to decency. “Gilead is flawed. My vision will perfect it.” He met your eyes. “You’ll be mine. And you’ll want for nothing.”

“But…” You narrowed your lids. “You’re mine, too, then.”

“I am.” He stood, gazing over the carnage of the yard--the bodies, the blood, the dyed-red water--all of it turning rancid in the summer heat. “Your Commander.” 

There it was. The mallet of his intention, shattering your dreams to disasters. It was as if you had been thrust into the pool yourself, drenched in cold, icy admonishment. How stupid, how foolish were you to imagine that Kylo Ren could consider bringing Gilead down? How short-sighted had you been to believe, for one moment, that he would ever renounce his ownership of you? How horrible, how awful were you that the tiniest, most foolish part of you wanted to accept this--agree to his terms, as long as he’d stay, somewhere, in that canvas.

He held out his hand. “Come.”

Shaking your head, you grabbed your underwear and pulled it on. It seemed silly, getting dressed when half of your clothing would be muddied with blood. You glanced up at him, mapping the wounds in his body. He was hunched, but not hampered. 

“Are you really okay?” 

Ren still had his hand extended. “Yes.”

You frowned, slapped it away. His eye twitched, attention switching between you and his hand--and, to your surprise, he shoved it in his pocket. You grabbed your dress, tugged it on.

“Continue getting dressed,” he said. “I’ll contact my men and tell them--”

“Hello? Who’s out there?”

The voice, tight with fear, froze you both--Ren’s fists clenched, your heart falling somewhere into your ass. From inside the mudroom, a young woman cloaked in blue emerged, and you recognized her immediately. Snoke’s robot, er, Wife. Christine. She hadn’t spoken once at the dinner. 

Between the gloves, the hat, the heeled shoes, it was obvious she was just now returning home. As she surveyed the yard, her gaze fuzzied, and she tumbled into the threshold. Neither you nor Ren made a move to help her.

“What… what happened here?”

It was a fair question. But admitting you’d both participated in a coup likely wouldn’t go over well. You weren’t sure what Ren’s plan was, but you knew the Eyes could have you both killed if they learned this had been your doing.

“Commander Snoke is dead,” Ren said. “I killed--”

“The guard,” you said, glaring at him. “He killed the guard who killed Commander Snoke. After that, the entire place went up.” Looking back at her, you gestured to Ren. “You need to call an ambulance, he’s been injured.”

Christine, appearing dizzy, pushed off of the doorframe and nodded. “I’ll… I’ll get help. Just…” She waved her hands in circles. “Don’t move.”

With that, she stumbled into the home, the click of her heels growing distant. 

You sneered at Ren, pulling on your boots and stuffing the switchblade in your sleeve. “You’re welcome.”

He watched you as you stood, said nothing for a moment--a twitch of pain crossed his face. “When I’m taken to the hospital, you’ll be questioned,” he said. “Say nothing. I will handle this. And when you get home, bathe and get into bed.” His eyes raked over you. “Do you understand?”

You nodded. “Yes, Kylo. I do.”

Ren exhaled, drinking you in. “I’m going to contact my men before the ambulance arrives. They’ll have work to do here.” He reached out and cupped your face. “Be good, little bird.” He patted you on the cheek, and walked into the home. 

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #bloodplay #tw: violence #just fulfilling all my tfa and tlj fantasies in one fell swoop

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

All Is Fair: Ch. 17 Buying Forgiveness

Tommy has been a shithead, so he tries to buy Lia's forgiveness. Little does he know, she would have totally forgiven him anyway. In the time leading up to Christmas, Lia forms a bond with Charlie and encourages Tommy to do the same.

Tommy was a half-drunk, half-delirious mess. His shambolic footsteps dragged on the stairway, pitching him forward as Lia struggled to keep him from falling. For the previous hour, he’d been whispering what she could only categorize as confession into her hair; at least, that’s what she thought it was, for she could understand very little of it. She had finally convinced him to go back to bed, which led to her current predicament. She wedged her shoulder underneath his arm and coaxed him, “I’ve got you, Tommy, but you have to help me,” and they haltingly made their way to her bedroom.

When they reached their destination, she paused at the door to switch on the light, and in a moment of lucidity, he suddenly rasped, “Don’t... No lights.” He was raw enough to feel shame and to want to hide his face from her.

Once he was on the bed, she helped him out of his jacket, her arm grazing the cold steel of his pistol as she did so. She flinched, then turned her back to drape the heavy garment over the chair. Did Tommy shoot back, or did he just run for cover? she wondered. She stood there trying to collect herself, breathing in and out, pushing those thoughts down. For a fleeting moment, she thought to walk away… just go out into the warm brightness of the hallway and down the stairs to her parlor... leave him to deal with undressing himself, and let him sleep it off. But, just behind her, she heard his shaky breaths and his fumbling hands struggling with leather straps. A rush of almost maternal warmth enveloped her, compelled her to stay, and reminded her that for all his faults she was hopelessly in love with him. When she turned to face him, his glassy eyes apologetically searched for hers as she undid his gun holster. Once freed, his arms went around her. He pressed his face into her belly and he mumbled, “Stay with me, Lia. Don’t leave me.”

Moonlight shone through the window in a muted sliver of luminescence and played off of the silver strands that hid in Tommy’s hair. She brushed it away from his forehead and promised, “I won’t leave you, baby. I won’t ever leave you.”

He was high. The vulnerability he showed her tonight would vanish in the morning, but Lia couldn’t help hoping that Tommy would reveal some small bit of his pain to her once in a while. She couldn’t pretend to understand the brutality and the coldness that overcame him, and the precision with which he could compartmentalize that part of his life. How could he put all of the horrors to one side and just get on with things? But if he could show her that on some level it bothered him, that he had still had a soul to save, she could try to be what he needed.

When she had him stripped down to his undershirt and drawers, she shrugged out of her dress, climbed in beside him, and sank into a deep dreamless sleep.

***

In the days that followed the shooting Tommy and Lia didn’t discuss what had happened. It had been kept out of the papers, so no one outside of Tommy’s immediate circle even knew about the killings or Tommy’s injury. For her part, she was apprehensive about reliving the shock of what had happened to Rodney and the realization that Tommy was much more flawed than she had previously let herself believe. Jenny had tried to tell her about the violence and criminality that were as much a part of him as his pale blue eyes, but until she was faced with the aftermath of the attack and the subsequent murder of the attackers, she hadn’t wanted to believe her.

The Tommy that she fell for was a devilishly charming, handsome man. He told her that he did bad things, but he had an art collection and country estate for God’s sake! She had naively believed him when he said that people didn’t come after him anymore even though it contradicted all evidence. She had never known anyone who needed to carry a gun everywhere, but she had never known a member of Parliament. Maybe all MPs carried guns, she had reasoned. Every warning and every red-flag sailed right past her because she was mesmerized by the warm smell of his skin, the velvet at the nape of his neck, the soft words he breathed into her ear when they were alone.

The little trip to Watery Lane with Polly reminded her that he came from hard beginnings, but it took watching Charlie Strong stitch up a gash from an enemy’s bullet to drive the point home: Once a gangster, always a gangster. Maybe that was what Polly was trying to make her see all along. When she thought back to the way he reacted when she confronted him about Rodney she felt dread. He changed into someone else before her eyes. Polly’s words echoed in her memory, He did have a big heart. Did. Past tense. But then, he was so tender with her afterward. She made herself believe that there was hope for him after all, that Tommy was the paradoxical hard man with a heart. He was ruthless on his climb to the top and would always have a target on his back, so yes, he had to be hard. It was so much an ingrained part of Tommy’s life that he simply accepted it and moved on. She wanted to be like Tommy, and accept it, too.

Consequently, they fell into a comfortable pattern of denial. Nearly every day after it happened, she received a delivery of one kind or another—Flowers one day, a basket of exotic fruits the next, a box of wine and cheese from Harrods, a box of chocolates imported from Switzerland, it went on and on. On the nights he came to stay with her he brought antique volumes of poetry (obviously Ada’s idea) and a diamond bracelet to match the necklace he had already given her. She wanted so much to tell him that he didn’t need to buy her forgiveness, but pointing that out would only draw attention to the subject they were trying to avoid. Instead, she shared her fruits and chocolates with the girls at the library and drew jealous gasps from them as she told about the first edition Shelley that Tommy had given her.

As the holiday season drew closer, Lia finished working out her notice at the Birmingham branch of the library in preparation for her transfer to London. Naturally, she began to spend more time at Arrow House. Charlie was finished with lessons, so he and Lia fell into a pattern of riding, playing games, and baking cookies. At first Tommy had reservations about the growing boy hanging around the kitchen, but then Arthur reminded him of all the winter afternoons that John spent at Polly’s elbow making the Christmas treats. Ultimately, Tommy felt that while he was at work it was nice that someone besides a maid was with Charlie.

He especially enjoyed the greeting he received at the end of a long day. It was often dark when he finally pulled around the fountain and came through the door. Charlie and Lia could hear his car’s approach down the long driveway and had displaced Frances as the ones to meet him at the door. Lia would kiss his cheek and take his coat and hat while Charlie plied him with samples of their latest confections. Dinner at Arrow House was different, as well. Except for the nights that Tommy would be egregiously late, Charlie joined the grownups for dinner. Etiquette and decorum in great houses dictated that children were fed separate from the adults, and Tommy had been too busy to even question it. Lia, however, thought it was strange. She had grown up with family around the dinner table together, and she reckoned that Tommy had as well. Tommy was distant from Charlie in many ways, and she sought to remedy that where she could; having nightly dinner together was a step in the right direction.

One night after dinner, the three of them went into the sitting room for Charlie to play a while before bed. He had spent half of the afternoon setting up a racetrack, complete with pebbles marking the outline of the oval, toy horses on their marks, and toy soldiers crowded around as spectators. Tommy had one arm draped loosely around Lia’s shoulder as he chuckled lowly at the voices Charlie did for the announcers and the people in the crowd. They sipped their whiskeys and whispered their bets to each other.

“I think the black one will win by at least a length,” said Lia.

Tommy leaned closer until his nose grazed her ear. “I think it’ll be the bay. What would you like to wager, Miss?”

She looked up at the ceiling and pretended to think before replying, “How about three kisses?”

Charlie stopped galloping his horses and crowed, “Yuck, I can hear you two, you know.”

“You won’t always think it’s yucky, my boy. Now, run the race so we can see if Lia or your old dad has won.”

When Charlie was once again engrossed in the intricacies of the Derby, Tommy crossed the room to refill his whiskey. He motioned to Lia with the decanter and she joined him for a refill. They were just out of Charlie’s immediate line of sight, so he slipped his arms around her. She relaxed into his embrace and sighed, “This is lovely, but we’ll miss the end of the race.”

“I know what you are doing,” he said. His voice had taken on a more serious tone.

She put her hands on his chest and looked up. “What do you mean?”

“The dinners, the cookies at the door every afternoon, all of it,” he took a final drag from his cigarette and held her gaze as he placed the end in a nearby ashtray. “You are trying to have me spend more time with Charlie.”

“Charlie is a precious boy, and he loves you more than anything, Tommy. No matter what you may think, you deserve his love.”

Tommy stared at her in silence, stunned that she had read him so easily. She was innocent, guileless, and had no ulterior motive for what she said. She only wanted him to have a relationship with his son. The revelation both warmed him and filled him with uneasiness. He had let his mask slip in front of her, and she had seen the guilt and self-loathing that he hid from the world.

He silently blinked at her. When at a loss for how to react, his default was always to stall with a blank expression, a cigarette, and a glass of whiskey. He had stepped back from her and begun rummaging through his pockets for another smoke when Charlie’s high pitched voice called, “They’re in the final stretch!”

She turned to face the boy and his track, and as she did she caught sight of Grace’s photograph. He was far too young to remember the loss of his mother, but he knew the sting of growing up with a father who was absent due to an overwhelming sense of guilt and fear. Lia often reflected that Charlie seemed remarkably well adjusted for a child who had been through so much. She put it down to Ada and the staff, who honestly spent much more time with him than Tommy did. Then and there, she resolved to convince Tommy to have the boy stay in London with them. She couldn’t imagine being separated from him if they could help it.

***

“One of my boys should take you to your parents. I don’t like you taking the train on your own,” Tommy grumbled as his eyes shifted around and noted every shadow of the train station.

Both statements alluded to the very topic they’d been avoiding for a month—one of Tommy’s drivers being shot, and his lingering nervousness about the possibility that danger was still lurking about. Tommy hadn’t minded the train journey before, because Jenny was taking the trip with Lia. At the last minute, though, Jenny decided to stay in town an extra day with her new boyfriend, a Birmingham police detective.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just a couple of hours. Besides, I need a chance to explain to my parents about us. I can’t just swan into the village in the backseat of a chauffeured Bugatti. It’ll give my poor dad a heart attack,” she laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

Tommy cut his eyes at her. “I thought you said you had told them about me already.”

“They know I’m seeing you, but they don’t know how serious we have become. They definitely don’t know about London. I need time to ease them into the idea of me moving to the city with you.” She didn’t say without a ring on my finger, but it hung in the air, nonetheless.

She didn’t want their last moments before the holiday to be anything less than perfect. She wanted the Hollywood movie sendoff, complete with passionate kisses on the train platform, but she would settle for a respectable kiss and less of his moodiness. She cocked an eyebrow and turned her face up to his. He licked his lips and leaned in to oblige her. She blushed up to the roots of her hair when she thought about everywhere his lips had been just a few hours before.

They had spent the night before “saying goodbye” until well after midnight. Tommy (or his secretary) had really outdone himself. They started with an extra-long supper with Charlie. He had become quite attached to Lia and wanted a chance to say goodbye before her trip home. After Charlie went up to bed, Tommy took Lia upstairs where all her things for her trip were packed into Louis Vuitton cases.

Lia gasped, “Oh, Tommy! It’s too much!” She ran her fingertips over the leather and along the brass closures and groaned with pleasure, “Its only a three-day trip.”

He approached her from behind and nuzzled her ear, “Consider it an early Christmas gift. The rest of it is at your house.”

“The rest of it!” She shouted through bubbly laughter, spinning around and grasping Tommy’s face. He was smiling broadly and loudly kissed her.

“You’ll need it when we go to London. So you see, my girl, it’s actually a very practical gift.”

“Wool stockings are a practical gift. This cost more than the house where I was raised.”

He caressed her shoulders and his face took on a more serious expression. “Get used to it, love.”

Lia leaned into him as his hands slid from her arms to her back. He traced down and back up her spine, stopping at the top button of her dress. With achingly slow hands he undid each button while Lia pressed herself closer to his body. Maybe it was the after-dinner whiskey that had made her so giddy before, but now her head was dizzy with want and she found it hard to catch her breath.

After he slid her dress off of her shoulders he grasped her chin between his index finger and thumb and pulled her face up to his. He took in her drowsy expression, and with his eyes wide he gruffly whispered, “Lia, eh? Look at me.”

She fluttered her lashes and complied.

Tommy ground into her until she could feel the blood pulsing through his veins. “I want you to get used to having the best of everything, Lia. You are with me now, and London is on a whole other level than Birmingham. You’re a smart girl, but in London, I’ll need you to be sharp. Can you do that?”

He still had her chin in his hand, but she nodded as best as she could. She had barely breathed out, “Yes, Tommy,” before he had taken her mouth with his own. He spent the rest of the night taking everything else she could give him.

He was thinking of the same thing when he reached into his pocket for his watch. It was time. “Call me when you arrive,” he insisted as he looked her up and down. Even though she would only be gone for a few days, he wanted to remember every detail: the soft waves of her hair, the freckles on her nose, the sad smile on her deep red lips. Standing on that platform watching her go, he began to realize that he wanted her to stay. In the sober light of day, he wanted her to stay, and that worried him.

Hell yeah, I have a Masterlist!

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fiction #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x oc #all is fair

[hulili]

HOW INTERACTIVE EDUCATIONAL TOYS ARE BENEFICIAL FOR KIDS

Learning can be fun. It does not need necessarily have to be boring. With technology invading all the spectrums of our lives, a lot has changed around us. Homes have become smart homes. Phones have become smartphones. And learning have become fun with smart interactive educational toys. Yes. Luckily, our kids are at the best time of this technological era that allows them to learn while having fun.

What are interactive educational toys? As the name goes, these are the toys that are making learning experience captivating and never boring.  “Mamma, teddy is hungry, feed him some milk”. Every parent can relate to this. Isn’t it? Kids love interacting. They even imagine and breathe life into those wooden and plush toys. Interactive educational toys make this dream of your child come true. Toys that talk, play and interact with them are booming the present market. From talking teddy to interactive music players, app-enhanced toys to toy laptops, the seamless range of interactive educational toys are sure to astound you.

Are you still confused about whether you must invest in interactive educational toys for your child? Read on and steer clear all your doubts:

BENEFITS OF INTERACTIVE EDUCATIONAL TOYS

Make them better communicators Being technologically integrated, these toys can interact with your child in real-time, urging him/her to interact with it. Communication is not only about learning the language but effectively imparting the information clearly. Interactive educational toys prod your kids to communicate hence proofing them to become better communicators. The early you introduce these toys, the better. As they say, early connections last a lifetime.

Teach them people skills a.k.a social skills One of the essential skills that will take them a long way in their lives is the social skills or the ability to interact with another individual or group. Interactive playing helps them understand the way their thought process goes. They will know when to stop and or talk. Even though these skills will be majorly manifested in them during their schoolings. But, with introducing interactive educational toys at an early age, you can make this transition easy right at your home itself.

Build lifelong learning skills At this early age, you may not be interested to make you child learn alphabets or numerals (Nor do we). But you can always instil the readiness to learn new things in them. This will help them become a better learner for life. How? Bring them interactive educational toys that will foster curiosity in them. Toddlers have a very short attention span. Interactive toys have the ability to keep them glued for a long time thus enhancing their attention span longer.

Develop motor and cognitive skills These toys encourage your child to think, analyze, and be creative. They tend to use their imagination making the usual playtime even fun and pleasurable. The traditional storytime may become boring soon. They demand new stories every day putting you in a dilemma. But what if their own stuffed toys narrate the same story to them? Interesting right? Interactive education games also help your child to better their hand-eye coordination.

Next, we recommend the following fine toys

Awaken their primal instincts with this deluxe dinosaur track set by AUUGUU. The fun is non-stop as kids arrange the racetrack in various configurations with ramps, trees, a bridge and a gate to maneuver cars safely through and over.

156-Piece set includes 144 pieces of flexible track, 2 toy SUVs, 2 dinosaur figures, 2 ramps, a bridge, a gate and 4 plastic trees. Children exercise their imaginations and learn to problem-solve as they set up amazing dinosaur worlds indoors or outdoors.

Ignite their curiosity about the world and how it used to be as they examine the realistic T-Rex and Triceratops figures. Girls and boys can imagine these extinct behemoths menacing the passing cars and wreaking havoc on the tree-lined dinosaur car track.

Fun for all or even just for 1, our dinosaur car race track includes 2 motorized cars that each require 1 AA battery (not included). Children gain valuable socialization skills and learn how to self-entertain with this set of dinosaur toys for 3-year-old boys and girls.

Durable and non-toxic plastic dinosaur toy playset is environmentally-friendly, BPA-free and safe for children ages 3 and up. The AUUGUU Dinosaur Race Track has passed the highest US ASTM F 963 and European EN71 Toy Safety Standards.

Build the Track in a Snap

Little hands will have no problem connecting, disconnecting and reconfiguring these innovative serpentine track pieces. They snap, bend and twist into customized race tracks to the delight of creative young minds. While your child will love having you join-in on the fun, it is also a great source of self-entertainment on a rainy day when Mom, Dad or siblings are too busy to play.

Put the Pedal to the Metal

Rugged, military-inspired SVU vehicles with lifted chassis take the climbs and turns with ease, speeding past 4 trees, through the double-door gate and escape the jaws of 2 hungry predators. Motorized vehicles are each powered by a single AA battery which is not included. They are guided by the retaining walls of the track segments and can be played with separately as well.

Fiercely Realistic

Our ferocious-looking T-Rex and Triceratops dinosaur figures have been meticulously recreated in color, textures and physical features. Mesmerized by these intimidating creatures, your budding paleontologist may become eager to explore the Cretaceous, Triassic and Jurassic periods. They will also be exposed to how extinction of a species can impact the planet as a whole.

Excitement at Every Turn

With 144 pieces of flexible race track in vibrant rainforest hues, the AUUGUU Dinosaur Road Race Set can be curved in tight ovals, elevated with the included ramps and bridge, and forced into circles for heart-stopping chasing actions. With endless possibilities for laying-out the track in different lengths and shapes, the action never has to stop for your energetic child and a playmate.

Sturdy and Child-Safe

The safety of your child is our top priority. Suitable for ages 3 years and older, every AUUGUU Dinosaur Race Track Play Set adheres to the US ASTM F 963 and European EN71 Toy Safety Standards. Because we are also concerned with protecting other creatures from extinction, all pieces are non-toxic and free of BPA and other harmful substances.

Click the following web link to learn more.↓↓↓

https://www.toysontiktok.com/product/dinosaur-race-car-track-with-flexible-track-dino-toys-bridge-ramps-and-2-race-car-toys-prehistoric-race-track-for-kids-age-3-5/

#toy #toys #eneducation

[ezatluba]

Dog collars hang above a tub filled with raw beef and rice as kennel owner and trainer John Farmer prepares to feed some 60 dogs. In total, they eat about 90 pounds of beef mixed with commercial dry dog food, water, electrolytes, rice or macaroni, multivitamins, and supplements to combat anemia.

The era of greyhound racing in the U.S. is coming to an end

Concerns about the dogs’ welfare and declining betting revenue have led tracks across the country to close in recent decades.

Eight greyhounds thunder around the sandy oval at Derby Lane in St. Petersburg, Fla., the oldest continuously operating dog track in the U.S. Florida voters chose to effectively ban dog racing in the state by the end of 2020, which will wipe out nearly the entire American greyhound racing industry.

BY CRAIG PITTMAN

OCTOBER 1, 2020

It’s 8:30 on a Saturday night in August. A gibbous moon hangs low in the Florida sky, its pale glow no competition for the red neon proclaiming, “GREYHOUND RACING” and “DERBY LANE.” About 300 people are scattered around grandstands that once held thousands, murmuring among themselves while the loudspeaker plays big band and rockabilly tunes.

They fall silent when it’s time for Frederick Davis to lead the parade of dogs.

“TNT Sherlock,” says the announcer, calling the names of the eight sleek animals as Davis makes them pause in front of the stands. Each dog wears a big number attached to a snugly fitted vest known as a “blanket.” “Tailspin,” the announcer calls, “…Charlotte York….”

Next, Davis, 41, and the eight handlers he supervises will put the dogs in the starter’s box. The mechanical rabbit named “Hare-son Hare” will zoom past, squeaking and shooting blue sparks. The doors will fly open, and the greyhounds will burst onto the track, their bodies a blur, their paws tossing sand in the air as they gallop around the oval for 30 seconds. They hit speeds of up to 45 miles per hour, making them second only to the cheetah, the fastest land animal on Earth.

In its glory days of the 1950s, Derby Lane attracted thousands of avid racing fans, such as Joe DiMaggio, who left Marilyn Monroe sitting in the car while he ran inside to place his bets. Now only a few hundred show up for the races, a sign of how its fan base has dwindled.

Famed sports columnist Ring Lardner called Derby Lane “the Churchill Downs of greyhound racing.” When the dogs run, you can still get a hint of its glory days. This was once a place that seemed full of glamour and excitement. The stands would be packed with men and women in suits and hats. Babe Ruth and Sophie Tucker were frequent visitors. Joe DiMaggio once left Marilyn Monroe in an idling car chatting with the valet while he ran inside to place his bets.

Derby Lane is the oldest continuously operating greyhound racetrack in the United States, but it’s headed on its last stretch. Two years ago, Florida had more greyhound tracks than any other state—11 out of 17 nationwide. Now it’s down to three, with about 1,700 dogs still racing.

In 2018, Florida’s voters had the chance to approve a constitutional amendment—Amendment 13—that would ban betting on greyhounds as of December 31, 2020. The proposal, which effectively bans greyhound racing, was brought by critics of the sport who contend dog racing is cruel and inhumane.

The racing industry bet on beating the amendment, arguing that its supporters were exaggerating stories of dogs’ mistreatment. The industry spent just a fraction of what supporters did on the campaign, believing the sport was popular enough that the majority of Floridians wouldn’t vote to ban it.

Greyhounds stretch their legs at Farmer Racing. Though generally gentle and non-aggressive, greyhounds often wear muzzles around each other because they can get competitive

They misjudged. Nearly 70 percent of voters said yes to the shutdown. Now the tracks must close by New Year’s. Derby Lane’s final race will be December 27.

Davis, a tall, slender man with dreadlocks and a quick smile, will be one of 400 Derby Lane employees out of work. He isn’t sure what he’ll do next. He’s been at the track for 14 years and considers this his ideal job.

“I love dogs,” he says, “and I love being outside.”

He might try to become a security guard, he says. That way he could work with dogs again—guard dogs, though, not greyhounds.

He’s not the only Derby Lane employee wondering about the future.

Decline of dog racing in the U.S.

Since the peak of dog racing in 1985, state laws have led to the closure of racetracks across the country. After Florida’s tracks close at the end of 2020, and Iowa and Arkansas’ by the end of 2022, only two active commercial racetracks will remain­—both in West Virginia.

“It’s a shame to have to shut down after 95 years,” says Derby Lane CEO Richard Winning, 64, whose office overlooks the track. His family has owned Derby Lane since it opened in 1925. He predicts that once the Florida tracks close, the ones in other states will follow.

“In 20 years, will anyone even remember what greyhound racing was?” he asks.

This is the one thing on which he agrees with Carey Theil, whose Massachusetts-based greyhound advocacy group, Grey2K USA, spearheaded the drive for Amendment 13: Once Florida’s tracks are gone, so too is the whole industry.

“Florida really was the industry,” Theil says.

Proverbs, royalty, and bribes

Winning is a born storyteller, with a droll manner, a gray beard, and a trio of cigars tucked in the pocket of his teal fishing shirt. He started out at the track 45 years ago collecting 50-cent pieces from the turnstiles, and since then he has worked almost every other job. He remembers when the regulars included rakish gamblers called “The Flicker” and “Champagne Tony,” the track restaurant served a 37-ounce prime rib, and a live band—not recordings—played between races.

Winning says greyhounds are the only breed of dog mentioned in the Bible, which is sort of true. The King James version of Proverbs 30:31 includes them in a list of things which are “comely in going.” (Scholars say the original Hebrew refers to Afghans or Salukis).

The King James translators knew about greyhounds because, back in the early 1600s, England was enthralled by a sport called “coursing,” in which two greyhounds raced to catch a scampering rabbit. Queen Elizabeth I was a fan—hence greyhound racing’s nickname, “the Sport of Queens.”

Dog collars hang above a tub filled with raw beef and rice as kennel owner and trainer John Farmer prepares to feed some 60 dogs. In total, they eat about 90 pounds of beef mixed with commercial dry dog food, water, electrolytes, rice or macaroni, multivitamins, and supplements to combat anemia.

Farmer rubs down his dog Rick Swift Creek with a muscle-soothing liniment. He also checks his dogs for ticks, looks at their nails, and massages their muscles. The dogs spend their days either waiting for the 30 seconds they’re racing or recovering afterward.

In the 18th century, an eccentric English nobleman obsessed with coursing created the modern English greyhound through selective breeding, according to Cynthia A. Branigan’s The Reign of the Greyhound. With lean, aerodynamic bodies, long legs, and shock-absorbing foot pads, greyhounds were built for speed. They have a proportionally bigger heart than other breeds, and more red blood cells and hemoglobin, which carry more oxygen to their limbs. Their sprinting gait (a “double suspension rotary gallop”) and high proportion of fast-twitch muscles power short, quick bursts of speed.

But dog racing as we know it today originated with an American inventor named Owen P. Smith who ironically wanted to be kind to animals. To him, the dying rabbits sounded like a child screaming.

The son of a Memphis undertaker, Smith was a sometime barber who loved to tinker. His brilliant idea: replace the live rabbit with a mechanical one. In 1910, he secured a patent for “the Inanimate Hare Conveyor.”

“Nobody in the history of any sport brought about a change comparable to that worked by the inventor of the device, and yet no inventor in sports history is so little known,” Sports Illustrated commented in 1973.

Smith did more than invent a humane lure. He and two partners designed the first modern greyhound track, which opened in 1919 outside Oakland, California. It failed, as did several others they opened. The tracks flopped because they didn’t allow betting. Gambling, while popular, was illegal.

The first commercially successful track was one Smith and his partners opened in 1921 in a swampy South Florida area known as “Humbuggus,” later to become the city of Hialeah. It was so close to the Everglades that the track owners hired a snake-catcher to intercept stray reptiles. Five thousand people turned out for the first race, watching a dog named Old Rosebud take the $60 purse, according to Going to the Dogs: Greyhound Racing, Animal Activism, and American Popular Culture, by Gwyneth Anne Thayer.

The key to its success: Electric lights. Running races at night meant working people could attend. With Florida’s 1920s land boom in full roar, thousands of new residents sought evening entertainment. The track ran until 1926, when a hurricane demolished it. New owners converted it to horse racing.

Flamenco Dancer, also called Bunny, was one of Farmer’s champion racing dogs. Between 2017 and her retirement in 2020, Bunny earned more than $83,000 in purses, of which Farmer got a percentage. Most racing dogs retire at about five years old, when they start to slow with age.

In 1950, thousands of fans would gather at Derby Lane to watch the races from the grandstands.

Uniformed monkeys ride greyhounds around a track in Culver City, California, in 1932.

Throughout the 1920s and 1930s, a number of tracks had monkey “jockeys.”

R.L. “Tex” Block, an owner and trainer, stands in front of the Derby Club in 1970 with seven of his dogs.

Kitty Wilkerson, the 1969 Festival of States “sungoddess,” stands with L.B.’s Dallas, the winner of the festival’s all-ages championship race.

Owner and trainer Jeanette Eagan ran dogs at Derby Lane from 1925 to 1980. She’s pictured here with Eagan’s Stephen, Eagen’s Maestro, and Rum Dum.

In 1925, on the other side of the state, Derby Lane opened under a cloud. The partners who built it ran out of money and couldn’t pay what they owed for the real estate or the lumber. That’s how T.L Weaver, Winning’s great-grandfather, took possession of the venue. He grew beans in the infield, says track historian Louise Weaver, and between regular races had monkeys in uniform ride the dogs as if they were jockeys, their outfits sewn onto the greyhounds’ blankets so they couldn’t jump off.

Although betting was illegal, tracks in the 1920s “did something sneaky,” Winning said. “They sold shares in the dogs.” The winners would get their money back plus a “dividend.” Losers would fail to recoup their “investment.” Other tracks skipped the subterfuge and ran “on the fix”—they bribed local lawmen.

In 1931, with the Depression bankrupting local governments, Florida legislators floated a bill to legalize wagering on dog and horse races and tax it. Governor Doyle Carlton, a Bible-thumping Baptist, opposed the bill. Thirty years later he contended, “interested parties were buying their way through the legislature” and claimed gamblers offered him $100,000 to sign the bill. He vetoed it instead. State senators overrode his veto, making Florida the first state to legalize betting on horse and dog races.

Once that law passed, racing took off. New greyhound tracks popped up across the state, from Tampa (1932) to Orlando and Jacksonville (1935) to Pensacola (1947) to Key West (1953).

Greyhound racing became part of Florida’s sun-and-fun image. Mickey Mantle filmed a cigarette commercial at Derby Lane. Boxing champs and movie stars hung out at the tracks. The 1959 movie A Hole in the Head shows Frank Sinatra and Keenan Wynn betting on races at Miami’s Flagler Kennel Club.

Susan Butchko, who has been fostering and adopting greyhounds since 1999, pets her newest adopted dog, a retired racing greyhound named Remy. Often described as “45-mile-per-hour couch potatoes,” greyhounds make good pets, owners say.

A newly adopted greyhound explores her new home. She was placed through GST Sun State Greyhound Adoption, which is working to find homes for the hundreds of dogs needing homes once the track closes in December.

At Dippel’s Florida home, retired racing greyhound Roxanne walks through the shallow end of the swimming pool.

‘Dachau for dogs’

Florida tends to be a sunny place full of shady people. The money involved in dog racing attracted plenty of them. Winning recalls seeing Tampa mob boss Santo Trafficante, Jr., laying down bets at Derby Lane. Some mobsters were more than customers. Lucky Luciano and Meyer Lansky had an interest in South Florida dog tracks, according to Scott Deitche, author of seven books on the Mafia.

A state racing commission was supposed to keep out unsavory elements. But in 1950, Senator Estes Kefauver’s Special Committee to Investigate Organized Crime reported that mobsters controlled the commission and made illegal campaign contributions to politicians, including then Governor Fuller Warren.

The mob’s involvement sparked frequent rumors about fixed races where dogs were overfed before the race to slow them down, or their toes cinched up with rubber bands to alter their ability to run, or they were drugged to make them faster or slower.

Dog-doping has continued to be a problem, particularly with the use of cocaine, which can grant a short-term burst of speed. In 2017, state racing officials revoked a trainer’s license because five of his greyhounds running at Derby Lane had tested positive for cocaine. Months later a trainer at a North Florida track was also suspended after a dozen of his dogs tested positive. In the three years since then, state officials say, 10 more trainers have had dogs test positive for cocaine.

The use of performance-enhancing drugs is just one of greyhound racing opponents’ concerns about the industry. Grey2K, which has spent nearly 20 years compiling reports on the welfare of racing greyhounds, says that even standard industry practices amount to mistreatment. When the dogs aren’t racing, for example, they’re often confined to small cages in warehouses. Dogs are forced to race under conditions that can cause serious injuries, too, they say. Grey2K’s website has collected documented cases of greyhounds that have broken their legs and backs, fractured their skulls and spines, and even gotten electrocuted by the lure.

The Florida Greyhound Association, an industry group, did not respond to requests for comment.

The larger concern is what happens to them when they’re not racing.

What makes greyhounds the fastest dog breed also makes them susceptible to injuries on the racetrack.

The low body fat content of about 2 percent and a thin single-layer coat reduces the ability to self-regulate temperature.

At two points during the stride all feet are free from the ground. This allows short bursts at up to 45 miles per hour but offers poor endurance.

A deep chest enables lung power and holds a very large heart that can go from 100 to over 300 beats in one minute, promoting muscle oxygenation.

Long, strong legs with a large proportion of fast-twitch muscle fibers allow sprinting but lead to fatigue fast.

In 1952, the Greyhound Racing Record said only 30 percent of greyhounds bred for racing would become competitors, leaving open the fate of the other 70 percent. Even those that do race only do so until they’re about five years old. Grey2K has compiled all the news stories over the years about greyhounds being destroyed or sold to laboratories for experimentation.

Among their evidence of cruelty: a 2010 case from a track in the Florida Panhandle town of Ebro, where a trainer left 37 dogs to starve to death after the racing season ended. He ended up pleading guilty to more than 30 counts of animal cruelty and being sentenced to five years in prison.

Possibly the worst case happened in 2002. A security guard for the Pensacola track was arrested after authorities found an Alabama junkyard where, over 10 years, he had killed and buried some 3,000 greyhounds. He said he’d been paid $10 each for shooting them when they got too old. A prosecutor called the junkyard “Dachau for dogs.” The guard died before he could be brought to trial on animal cruelty charges.

Graying greyhound fans

The scandals cut down greyhound racing’s popularity as fans were turned off by the repeated reports of mistreatment. Meanwhile, competing gambling operations—first the Seminole and Miccosukee Tribes’ casinos, then the Florida Lottery—began siphoning off the profits, Winning said.

The loyal fans tended to skew older. In 2001, when Steven Soderbergh filmed a scene at Derby Lane of George Clooney and Brad Pitt recruiting someone for their Oceans 11 robbery, their target was Carl Reiner, then 79. He fit in perfectly with the graying greyhound crowd.

Greyhounds in a daily matinee race at Derby Lane chase the mechanical lure around the oval track, a pursuit that’s over in just 30 seconds. Between races, a tractor emerges to smooth the sand down flat again to minimize injuries—a point of contention between the racing industry and critics

Photos of the finish line help Derby Lane judges determine which dogs finished in which place.

Farmer holds award plaques for “America’s Top Sprinter” in 2008 and “America’s Top Distance Dog” in 2015. He keeps his cache of awards and mementoes in an overflowing Tupperware container.

“Young people don’t like to have to handicap” the dogs’ chances, Winning grumbles, referring to the way ardent bettors carefully examine each dog and its record. “They just want to stare at their phones” and not put the time in.

Now the typical race fan is Jim Wickert, 77, a retired golf course owner who shows up at Derby Lane every Wednesday and Saturday sporting his jaunty tan Orvis fedora. A Derby Lane regular since 2003, he enjoys handicapping the dogs’ chances.

“I like trying to figure them out,” he said. “I don’t bet big, but it’s still exciting when you do figure things out and they run the way you think they should.” He said he once won $10,000 on a race.

He’s not sure where he’ll go once the track closes. Nothing else seems as exciting.

When Winning looks back at Florida’s racing heyday, in the 1980s, he remembers Keefer, the dog that won the Distance Classic in 1986. Some 12,779 people turned out that day to watch this superstar run—the largest crowd in track history. Now a Saturday crowd at Derby Lane might number 700 tops, Winning says.

The decline of U.S. dog racing is in part attributed to a drop in gambling. In turn, that has led to a reduction in greyhound breeding.

Year-to-year drop in wagers reflects the decreasing number of tracks open. As gamblers lose their favorite tracks, they tend not to migrate to others.

Over the past 10 years, the money brought in by live greyhound racing has dropped from $117 million to less than $40 million a year, state figures show. At Derby Lane alone, it dropped from about $12 million to $3.2 million in 2019.

The industry tried to adapt, winning legislative approval in 1997 to add poker rooms and simulcasting, which allows bettors at one venue to wager on races at another. Now the poker rooms are packed with younger customers, and the simulcasting has its fans too. Those will go on after dog racing ends, Winning says. But it wasn’t enough to save Florida’s racetracks.

‘45-mile-per-hour couch potatoes’

For a decade, Grey2K tried to persuade Florida legislators to ban greyhound racing, to no avail, Theil says.

Finally, they appealed to the state’s Constitutional Revision Commission, which meets every decade to update the constitution. A Tampa area state senator named Tom Lee—Winning calls him “our idiot legislator”—proposed Amendment 13. The amendment technically bans betting on live dog races, but by extension, it essentially bans the races themselves. Without betting, there is no profit, and the tracks can’t afford to stay open.

Grey2K and its allies, such as the Humane Society of the United States, spent $3 million convincing voters to pass it, Theil says. They spent almost all of it running graphic TV ads showing injured racing dogs.

The Florida Greyhound Association fought back with ads that asserted that Grey2K was exaggerating its stories of injuries and death, as well as warning that the amendment was full of “trickeration” that would somehow lead to bans on hunting and fishing. Its yard signs implied that banning racing would also ban greyhounds.

But the association couldn’t get support beyond its declining fan base. Thayer, author of Going to the Dogs, says the track owners, kennel owners, and dog trainers had been too fractured among their individual interests for too long to present a unified front.

Nearly 70 percent of the voters said yes to the amendment. Winning and others in the industry insisted the voters were confused somehow. A lawsuit to overturn the vote went nowhere.

The impending shutdown makes the future of more than 8,000 dogs associated with the Florida tracks uncertain. Greyhound adoption agencies are trying to find them homes, although not all the agencies are allowed to help. Those that supported the ban are not welcomed by track owners. Only adoption agencies that opposed the amendment can get dogs.

Track veterinarian Donald Beck and trainer Kelsie Gubbels care for BD Wells, who has a minor ligament injury. When he's healed, he’ll go to GST Sun State Adoption to find his forever family.

One of those is Tampa resident Sharon Dippel’s GST Sunstate Greyhound Adoption. She and her husband, Brian, have adopted eight former racing greyhounds themselves. They go through a couple of 44-pound bags of dog food every 10 days or so, she says.

So far, Dippel says, plenty of people have lined up to adopt the soon-to-be-unemployed dogs. She says it helps that the tracks are not all shutting down at once. Some closed shortly after the 2018 vote, while others closed in early 2020 because of the coronavirus.

Who’s adopting them? “Everyone you can think of,” says Linda Lyman of Bay Area Greyhound Adoption in Tampa, another of the organizations working to find homes for Derby Lane’s 776 dogs. “People who had greyhounds in the past or even just heard about them.”

They’re not high-strung animals, says longtime Derby Lane veterinarian Donald Beck. They’re affectionate. In his years of working at Derby Lane, he’s never been bitten—but he has been scratched a few times by excited dogs jumping on him.

As pets, greyhounds still like to run when they get outdoors, even without a mechanical device to chase, Dippel says. But when they get back indoors? “They’re a 45-mile-per-hour couch potato.”

Plenty of people got into the racing business because of their affection for greyhounds. Trainer and kennel owner John Farmer, a Klamath Tribe member from Oregon, fell in love with the breed when he was 11 and his mother let him watch races at Multnomah Greyhound Park. He’s now 55, with so many mementoes of his winning dogs that he carries them in an overflowing Tupperware container.

Once Derby Lane shuts down, he figures he’ll have to relocate to one of the few remaining states that still have greyhound racing: West Virginia, Iowa, or Arkansas—though Iowa and Arkansas’s tracks are expected to close by the end 2022. (Texas’s last track closed in June for financial reasons.)

Grey2K is working to convince those states to join Florida in outlawing the industry, just as it’s going after the other countries where it remains legal: Australia, Ireland, Mexico, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, and Vietnam.

Farmer remains hopeful that he can use his Native American heritage as a way to save racing in Florida. He’s got a plan to convince either the Seminole or the Miccosukee tribes to acquire a track that would operate in conjunction with one of their casinos and thus be exempt from state or federal regulation. That would, he said, “build a tradition.” So far, though, the tribes have expressed no interest.

[whipplefilter]

Let’s-- Go-- Racing--!

I am new to NASCAR as of the 2017 season, so everything's new and shiny and confusing. But I love it. I love the local color, obviously; the people, the radio chatter, the history, the weird hilarity, the strange adorability?? Plus cars, and unabashed sponsorship, and that excellent blend of being a hot fuckin' mess but also a deeply strategic, focused sort of game.

I’ve never seen a NASCAR race in the wild--I’ve been to exactly one vintage race weekend, and saw some dirt track racing a couple years ago--but I’ve heard that in person, it’s an Experience. I’d like to have the chance one day!

Aside from what I see as the obvious appeal of fast cars and colorful characters, the top 3 things I personally find the coolest about NASCAR:

1. Tracks!

I've always loved a good terrain bonus. (+40 Evade if I sit in the middle of this mountain range, you say? Well then! I guess I live here now.)

I guess a common critique of NASCAR is that it's just a bunch of cars circling an oval. But I'm actually like... really really into the ovals. And when you listen to the analysts/drivers in interviews, a lot of them totally are, too. It's like watching a rural agricultural news channel, if you've ever done that: A bunch of people thinking in really specific, intense ways about minute changes in the environment.

The difference between the length of tracks (1.5-miles, short tracks, superspeedways, road courses); the difference in the shapes--is it an oval with parallel straightaways? a D-oval? how's the banking?; whether it's concrete or asphalt; whether it's a night or day race, or what the weather's gonna be like besides, where the shadows are gonna fall on the track. Has there been a re-pave recently? How's the track gonna change over the course of the race, and how will the grooves shift? Where does the traffic happen? Which corners at which racetracks are gonna end you if you've got a loose car? AHH, TERRAIN BONUSES. <3 (Or minuses, as the case can be.)

2. Cautions!!

I have almost no functional understanding of how cautions work (I mean, aside from like.... why they happen, lol), how their number/time of occurrence might be anticipated prior to a race, or what strategies one might deploy in response to them. But I love the wild card effect they can have on a race, because it makes decisions about when to pit and when to stay out so full of drama--especially late in the race, when one good/bad restart can be a game-changer. But early cautions can also be a brain-teaser. I JUST LOVE THAT CUTE YELLOW FLAG, OKAY.

3. Stages!!

Like cautions, I'm unlikely to ever bother figuring out the actual math here. Stages are a new thing that a race gets split into, and you can gain points by being in the top ten at the end of a stage. These points are feed into your points for the season and/or playoffs, if it's that time of year.

One of the main arguments against stages is that it manufactures drama and it's not pure racing around a track. But that's what I love about them? They introduce this additional strategic element, and idk man, at a certain point it's NASCAR's rules that make it so fascinating, though often they're perceived as a hindrance and/or outright nuisance, especially since they seem to change every week and nobody ever seems to know them all. Which is kind of a mess.

I love that stages require teams to change the way they drive in the middle of the race--as a stage ends, or as the points spread alters. I love that racing for stage points vs. racing for a win can result in teams having completely different strategic approaches to the same race. I love that in playoff races, playoff vs. non-playoff drivers will likely have completely different approaches/levels of daringness, and that these things effect not only their personal race but also how they're going to need to be thinking about what everyone else in the field is doing, too.

Overall, I just really love this kind of on-a-dime, dynamic, fast-moving technical stuff, guys. @___@ <3

#nascar #posting into the void

[deehollowaywrites]

This story is different from other stories. It is exactly the same.

You don’t remember a time when you haven’t been obsessed with horses. You’re the sort of eight-year-old girl who crosses her fingers when her grandmother plays the lottery, hoping for a pony to materialize next Christmas. Your bookshelves are lined with Saddle Club and Marguerite Henry; your walls plastered with drawings of Friesians and Andalusians and other quadrupeds prettier than you; your favorite Saturdays are when your mother is able to take you to the trail-riding ranch in the north county. You are so typical a girl that there’s a trope about you.

You are too young to know what tropes are.

To read Hayride (Saddle Club #31), turn to page nine. To read Baby-Sitters at Shadow Lake (Baby-Sitters Club Super Special #8), turn to page eleven.

You were about five years old when your mother joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints--thus, you don’t know any real gamblers. Card games other than UNO, Go Fish, and BS (which stands for Baloney Sandwich) are verboten. Growing up in a majority white, reasonably affluent part of coastal Florida, you have never heard anything good about casinos. Your grandmother of the occasional scratch-off mentions her sisters playing bingo when she visits them in Philadelphia. Clearly Catholics have different rules.

There’s a billboard on US-1 with a gambling addiction hotline number. For four years of high school, driving north to study scriptures before class, you marvel at the idea. It’s foreign. It does not jibe with the worldview of money you were raised with, namely, that you don’t have enough of it to risk it. That you will always be in debt regardless of what you do, how hard you work, how many college degrees you obtain. That despite this--despite vivid memories of EBT in your childhood--welfare is a bad thing.

Where do people in your town even go to gamble?

It’s more accessible in Tampa, where you attend college and graduate school. There’s a Seminole casino. There’s a racetrack, somewhere, far away; there’s a dog track much closer to where you live. None of your friends express interest in availing themselves. No one you know holds poker nights or bets on college sports. You leave the Church--you have sex and smoke weed and drink alcohol, but you don’t gamble.

To try your first espresso, turn to page twenty-four. To visit the Hard Rock for a night of slots, turn to page twenty-two.

You have now lived in two major cities with racetracks and casinos. It has never occurred to you that the term horseplaying exists, much less that people might make a living at it, and the appeal of blackjack escapes you. The Scholastic book fair unicorn posters and Breyer figurines of your youth are lost to Goodwill. You have not been horseback riding since senior year of high school, the fleeting high of galloping across scrub on a sturdy equine of indeterminate origin now a vague memory. You love other things: a man, superhero comics, heavy metal. These things are intricately linked; they originate outside you; they feel eternal, but have a traceable beginning and, ultimately, a concrete ending.

There are many roads to Cleveland from Tampa, and back again.

You drive them by yourself, rarely a good idea. It’s not that ice in the West Virginia mountains is too dangerous, or the impossibility of getting French fries at 7:30AM too frustrating. It’s your mind, left to its own devices and spurred by road signs (Big Bone Lick, har har) and tripped by memories (Mom took us to the Kentucky Horse Park that year). It’s an undiagnosed hyperfocus seeking a new outlet. It’s the newfound yearning to make your art into something serious, something real. It’s a dare. No voices in the car but your own and the preacher on the radio south of Lexington, no hand on your knee to distract you, no laughter mocking enough to turn you aside in time.

It’s already too late.

To take I-95 north through the Carolinas, turn to page twenty-five. To take I-75 north through Kentucky, turn to page twenty-seven.

You are only here because of romance.

Similarly, romance only exists because of here.

Here is Tampa Bay Downs, on an average Saturday. Here is another woman’s lips. Nothing has ever made as much sense as this. That is the sound, you whisper to yourself in your best Agent Smith impression as horses rush past the fence, of inevitability. You’ve been flying, it seems; you know the horses are Thoroughbreds, not Pegasus, but it’s all the same. You’re a librarian and this is what you do. Research! Facts! Trivia! The answer to a crossword puzzle clue that has stumped your grandmother!

‘1930 Triple Crown.’ ‘Gallant Fox won that one.’ ‘No, it’s one word, it ends in -e.’ ‘Sande.’ ‘What?’ ‘Earl Sande. S-A-N-D-E. The jockey.’

You’re a writer and this is what you do. You’re a lover and this is what you do. You’re a horse girl and this is what you do.

Your girlfriend takes you to Saratoga, first in October when there’s nothing but leaves and the two of you hand-in-hand peering through the gates, and then during the season. It’s the only track you’ve been to besides the Oldsmar oval. It’s everything horse racing is, a snow globe of wealth and prowess and history and prestige. You’re wearing a hat on a Wednesday, a dress printed with ponies, a golden horse-head pin on your purse. You have opinions about Lasix but aren’t sure how the betting window works, whether you can use one of those kiosks or should download an app. You are clearly a tourist, and you do not give a fuck.

You’re about to place your first bet.

You have reached the end of this journey, which is also its beginning, because a racetrack is a closed circuit. You are, with no regrets, lost.

#Urban Hayseed #diana's writing

[junker-town]

Inside the heartwarming world of Hot Wheels collecting

What seems like a simple hobby can take you across the world.

In 1995, Sheri Abbey was at a swap meet in California when something small caught her eye: a classic model Radio Flyer wagon Hot Wheels car, with a spoiler, rear-mounted engine and butterfly style steering wheel.

Abbey had always appreciated machines. She grew up in Michigan, where she lived in a household of car enthusiasts. Her dad owned a body shop and would occasionally race. Together, Abbey and her father built hot rods, American muscle cars with large engines modified for speed.

It made sense her love of big cars might translate to an affinity for small ones. But when Abbey picked up the toy, she couldn’t have known where it would take her.

“I didn’t realize how collectible they were,” Abbey says. Soon, she was sharing the hobby with her son, who was three at the time. “We would go to car shows and because of Hot Wheels, he would know the names of all the cars.”

A lifetime of collecting had begun.

Mattel released the first Hot Wheels toy line in 1968 with 16 cars, which included custom versions of the Camaro, Barracuda, Mustang, Thunderbird and Beetle. They have become known in Hot Wheels lore as the Sweet 16.

Hot Wheels quickly became a force in the toy market. They sold for a dollar, making them a perfectly affordable toy for parents whenever they went to grocery stores with their kids.

Hot Wheels have evolved in the decades since. The mainline cars — the dollar cars you might find at your local Wal-Mart — still exist, but now premium-series cars, with more complex designs and better materials, are sold at a markup. Mattel also makes Treasure Hunt cars, which are special edition versions of the mainline cars.

Hot Wheels is no longer marketed strictly for children. The fact people who grew up with Hot Wheels, like Abbey, still love them so many years later isn’t an accident. Mattel has consciously made Hot Wheels more appealing to adults.

Amy Boylan started in the software division for Mattel in the late-1990s. While she was with the company, Boylan noticed there were thousands of Hot Wheels collectors around the world, and built an official site and forum to bring enthusiasts together. The Hot Wheels Red Line Club was established. For an annual membership fee, collectors had access to purchase higher-end cars.

“We ended up having 5,000 members in the first six months,” Boylan says. “I realized right away how big it was and how rabid our collectors were. Collectors always collected, but we brought order to it. We built a community of almost 100,000 people worldwide.”

In 1999, family members in Montana tipped Abbey off to a friend who was selling his Hot Wheels collection, which totaled more than 7,000 cars, including some from the original 1968 release. When she acquired them, she started selling the cars as a side hustle.

Eventually, her childhood enthusiasm for taking apart real cars bled into her hobby. Abbey got into customization.

“You could make them into anything you can imagine,” Abbey says. “That’s when your artistry just takes over.”

Abbey took Hot Wheels cars that retailed for a dollar, stripped them and put them back together with new parts. They sold for $30 apiece.

Her customized cars caught the attention of the Hot Wheels community. In 2004, Mattel flew Abbey to Japan for a customization event.

“I’m a country girl,” Abbey says. “So going to Tokyo was crazy. Everything was overwhelming. It was a wonderful experience.”

Abbey spent six months working on various Hot Wheels customs. One of the most memorable cars was a McDonald’s Studebaker that Abbey turned into a Dragster.

“I had the details right down to how I wired the sparkplugs,” Abbey says. “I put in the gas tanks. You could see all the details. I roughed up all the tires so it looked like it had been doing burnouts.”

In 2009, Abbey was inducted into the Diecast Hall of Fame as a customizer. Now 58, Abbey has gone back to work as a machinist. The money is good enough to help pay for her two kids to go to college, but working seven days a week means Abbey has had to leave behind her Hot Wheels hobby for the last five years.

Now, Abbey airbrushes and customizes life-size cars.

“I’d rather paint bigger things,” Abbey says. “The small cars were getting tedious, and I’m getting a little arthritis in my hands.”

Abbey’s Hot Wheels origin story is just one of many. That’s the beautiful thing about collecting: You make your own rules. How you enter the hobby — whether it is because of your love of cars, or because they were a huge part of your childhood — is very much unique to you.

Some collectors, like Marcia Walker, take up the hobby from their significant others. Walker lives in Wisconsin, and first learned about Hot Wheels when she met her now-husband 23 years ago.

“He was collecting them,” Walker says. “And I was like, ‘Um, these are toys. What’s the big deal?’” She was soon swept up in the Hot Wheels world. Walker attended local collectors’ shows with her husband and helped him track down hard-to-find cars. She fell in love with the experience, and eventually Hot Wheels became a family bonding activity with her two sons, who are now 18 and 21.

“We took them to all these Hot Wheels events,” Walker says. “They were able to see things in the world other than the four corners of our house.”

Walker estimates her family has thousands of Hot Wheels cars in their collection.

“To be honest I would be afraid to find out,” Walker says. “There’s cases under the stairs, there’s cases in the closet, there’s boxes here, there’s boxes there. I don’t think there’s a room in the house that doesn’t have Hot Wheels in it.”

Sheri Abbey

One of Sheri Abbey’s custom designs.

Jeremy Iglesias

A look at Jeremy Iglesias’ collection, which contains more than 1,500 cars.

Some collectors are simply gonzo. James Savel, 60, joined the Red Line Club in 2003. Today, his basement is filled with Hot Wheels cars from the original collection, and every decade thereafter. The oval-shaped Sizzler racetrack he used to race his Hot Wheels as a kid still sits in a storage room in his basement.

Standouts in his collection include the Chevy Bel Air Candy Striper and the Volkswagen Beach Bomb. The purple prototype version, Savel tells me, is currently worth $300,000.

“Periodically I’ll come downstairs and just look at the cars,” he says.

Savel’s son Mark, 34, finally got into Hot Wheels last year, to the delight of his father. When Savel had his will written up recently, he divided his most valued items between his son and daughter. “My sister gets his record collection,” Mark says. “I get the Hot Wheels.”

Savel jokes that when he passes away, Mark, a real estate agent with a keen understanding of return on investment, will probably sell his dad’s entire collection the next day. “He’s probably right,” Mark says, laughing.

Mark is getting married later this year, and because of the expenses involved for the family, Savel vowed to stop spending so much money on Hot Wheels. “And then I get a call from him,” Mark says. “He tells me he bought the Hot Wheels Tesla Racer.”

The car is remote controlled and costs $400.

“Shipping is free though,” Savel says.

Many collectors are sentimentalists, chasing what they once yearned for as kids. Jason Marshall, a 45-year-old graphic designer, has also watched his Hot Wheels collection grow in the past five years. In 2015, he was walking past an aisle of Hot Wheels at a store when he noticed a new Lamborghini that was just released.

Marshall remembers watching Transformers in the 80s and the first time he saw different models of Lamborghinis — the Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Countach — transform.

“They were full of opulence,” Marshall says. “It was the style. The way the doors just went straight up. It was unlike anything that has come before or since.”

In the past half-decade, Marshall has devoted himself to collecting every single Lamborghini that Hot Wheels has produced. He’s about 15 cars away, but two will be particularly hard to track down.

The first is a plated 18-karat gold car, one of only 1,000 produced in the 1990s. It is a mail-in car, meaning you could only receive it if you mailed in specific receipts, making it a much rarer than the cars that usually sit on grocery shelves. This particular Hot Wheel currently carries a price tag of around $300 on the resale market.

The second is a 25th anniversary edition Lamborghini produced in 2000 for Mattel’s birthday. It was given to employees with a “happy birthday” message on the hood. Marshall says he’s never seen one in person, and only knows it from a picture online.

So, why not buy an actual Lamborghini in real life?

“Who’s got a few hundred thousand dollars for a car that you probably have to pay triple that over its lifetime for maintenance?” Marshall says. “And that’s not even considering insurance.”

The commonality among all of the collectors, no matter how they found themselves immersed in Hot Wheels, is the joy that it brings them.

Jeremy Iglesias, 18, lives in Atlanta and is studying automotive technology at Chattahoochee Technical College. In his five years of collecting, Iglesias has amassed more than 1,500 cars in his Hot Wheels collection.

“There isn’t a right way to be a Hot Wheels collector,” Iglesias says. “Cars usually get sentimental value either by being present with me for an event, going with me for a trip, gift from a person, or something from my childhood.”

There is one wrong way to be a Hot Wheels collector. Like other items that appreciate in value over time, Hot Wheels are popular among resellers.

Adam Janusick, in his mid-20s, lives in central Illinois and has been collecting since 2011. He says the most challenging thing about the hobby these days is dealing with scalpers — those Hot Wheels buyers who are only in it for a profit.

“These guys will watch the stores like vultures,” Janusick says. “Hot Wheels comes in boxes of 72. The moment those boxes come off the truck, they will be there, ripping them apart, taking any car worth of any value, buying them, bringing them back home, and instantly putting them on eBay for a markup.”

Recently, Janusick has developed a strategy for tracking down Treasure Hunts. The key is to ignore big box retailers like Wal-Mart and Target and browse local grocery stores, where scalpers are less likely to look.

He was digging one day in Hy-Vee, a local grocery chain, and noticed something suspicious about a BMV C4 Hot Wheels. The paint was a little darker, more sparkly than the mainline car. The wheels were shiny and actual rubber.

“I audibly shouted, ‘no way,’” Janusick says, his voice rising as though he was back in the aisle discovering the car for the very first time.

Instead of growing out of Hot Wheels, many collectors grew into them as they got older. The hobby isn’t just a nostalgic trip; it’s about taking their childhood dreams seriously.

Abbey is a perfect example. Though she has reached the end of her road as a Hot Wheels collector, she still keeps that part of her life close. She has plans to move to a smaller place, where she wants to shrink her collection and set up displays for her customized Hot Wheels and awards.

“As a kid, you dream of the unattainable thing,” Marshall says. “As an adult, when you make money, you can afford a few things that you couldn’t before.”

By embracing what some might consider a childish hobby, Hot Wheels collectors show dreams can be valid from any age. Growing up simply means realizing that truth.

[workfromhomeyoutuber]

MotorsportReg.com / Hagerty: UI/UX Product Designer for Automotive/Motorsport SaaS

Headquarters: Traverse City, MI URL: https://www.motorsportreg.com

MotorsportReg.com is the best place to organize, find and attend automotive and motorsport events. We are like Eventbrite for anything requiring an engine: racing, track days, autocross, karting, drifting, motorcycles, karting and rally. 

Part of Hagerty, an automotive lifestyle brand for people who love cars, we are a fully-remote SaaS team supporting 1,300 clubs, racetracks and sanctioning bodies with our CRM, event management platform and marketplace. With 7,000 events managed annually by our customers, our goal is to be the number one commerce platform for motorsport events - making it easier to organize and attend events. 

About the Role 

As the lead and sole designer on our product team, you will own all UI/UX mobile and web design for MotorsportReg.com. The ideal candidate is highly inquisitive and outcome-oriented, validating intuition derived from experience with quantitative and qualitative input from users, contextual research and analytics. 

Balancing visual design, information architecture and interaction design, you will collaborate closely with developers to rapidly get value into the hands of users. You will create and maintain guidance and patterns which developers can independently use to implement common screens and flows while you focus your deep thinking on new features and unusual use cases. Like painting the Golden Gate bridge, the job is never done; we return to the beginning and start fresh based on what we’ve learned and the current requirements. 

Responsibilities 

Collaborate with the Product Manager to conceive and design new features and services from scratch as well as improve existing systems

Use a complete range of fidelity to support decision-making including sketches, user flows, wireframes, mockups, and prototypes

Analyze user feedback and activity and, partnering with the Product Manager, determine how to iterate to enhance the user experience

Independently conduct concept and “hallway usability” tests to gather rapid feedback and partner with the Hagerty UX testing team for more formal research

Create and maintain guidance and patterns which developers can independently use to implement common screens and flows while you focus on new features and unusual use cases

Nail the big picture flows, architecture and navigation as well as the micro-interactions of animations, loading states and transitions

Everyone on our team talks to users and attends motorsport events – this keeps us close to our customers and our empathy high

Requirements

Strong portfolio of product design, interaction design and visual design for mobile/web applications 

Experience with complex applications where you've made tasks feel easy and approachable

Have great writing skills to effectively communicate with the team and customers (as a remote team, we live on Slack so you will write a lot)

Familiarity with HTML/CSS - no need to be a front-end developer but you should be comfortable translating photoshop/sketch/etc into HTML/CSS

Experience working with developers deploying frequently and having the discretion to judge what is good enough to ship and iterate rather than wait for a perfect release

Previous role in a distributed environment such as a remote worker, freelancer or self-employed is (almost) mandatory

Bonuses 

More front-end skills including familiarity with ReactJS / VueJS / Javascript would make our heart flutter

Experience with modern development practices that include Git, Docker, AWS, continuous integration and deployment

User research and testing experience such as UserTesting.com, designing A/B tests, analyzing MixPanel data, usability audits, picking up the phone or observing a user.

What You Can Expect 

As a remote team, we stay connected with Slack and Zoom. Our software lifecycle revolves around Git, Docker, AWS and Node/VueJS. Design has been a mix of Sketch and InvisionApp (but we're not tied to them if you have other faves). We have daily huddles to keep things moving and you'll have regular 1:1s with your manager to discuss your needs and goals. 

We have deadlines like everyone else, but because we value work-life integration, we do not expect routine long hours. A well-rested and well-rounded top performer with ruthless focus will deliver substantially more in 40-45 hours than a team of burnouts sitting in front of a screen 60 hours a week. 

Who You'll Work With 

We're a 15-person team which means you'll interact with everyone but, on a day-to-day basis, these are your four primary future teammates until we grow the team further in 2020: 

Brian Ghidinelli created MotorsportReg in San Francisco after experiencing the pain of managing HPDE events with paper forms, paper checks, and manual spreadsheets. Our emphasis on continual improvement comes from him.

Ryan Guill has 20 years of experience as a software developer across many industries which helps him solve problems elegantly. He has special strengths at the database layer that let us do things with SQL you can't achieve with an ORM. Ryan is based in Tennessee and cares deeply about making the lives of our users easier.

Katie Moosman worked at Miller Motorsports Park and Circuit of the Americas as a MotorsportReg user before joining the team. With more than 14 years in the industry, she is based in Utah and recently transitioned from our customer success team to developer role.

Chris Redrich is our product manager. He grew up watching family members race trucks and modified stock cars at the local oval track in Southern California where he still resides. He sits at the intersection of business requirements, user needs, roadmap prioritization and team execution. Chris will be your manager in this role.

Whether you're a motorsport fanatic or have never set foot at a racetrack, you'll find our team and our customers to be a fun group of passionate enthusiasts. 

What We're Offering 

Competitive market-rate salary dependent on experience 

Work from anywhere in United States

The team gathers twice a year for fantastic in-person retreats

Occasional on-site visits to motorsport events with potential or current customers

Medical, vision, and dental coverage for you and your dependents including Telemed service on your phone

3 weeks paid time off annually, rolls over and accrues up to 12 weeks

401K with up to 4% instant matching 

Maternity leave of 12 weeks + spouses eligible for 2 weeks. Also adoption assistance up to $5,000.

Hagerty Drivers Club with roadside assistance for your cars

Hobby related benefits including Automotive Enthusiast Certificate, Auto Restoration Scholarships, Hagerty Driving Experience, Collector Loan Discount program and Hagerty Driving Academy

Also: Employee Assistance Program, Tuition Reimbursement, Student Loan assistance, Car Seat program for new parents

MotorsportReg is part of Hagerty, a company with a strong culture infused with automotive passion and a certified Great Place To Work

Ready to take the Green Flag? 

We hope you’re the one!  Let us know why you want to work with us by filling out our application including a link to your portfolio.

To apply: https://hagerty.wd5.myworkdayjobs.com/en-US/hagerty/job/California/Lead-Motorsport-SaaS-Product-Designer_R933/apply

from We Work Remotely: Remote jobs in design, programming, marketing and more https://ift.tt/2vxnrKr from Work From Home YouTuber Job Board Blog https://ift.tt/2vH8zcH

#WorkFromHome #OnlineJobs #RemoteJobs #Entrepreneur #WorkFromHomeJobs #WorkAtHomeJobs #Self Em

[jeremystrele]

51 Oval and Racetrack Shaped Dining Tables to Elevate Your Dining Space

An oval or racetrack dining table is great for cultivating a soft and elegant aesthetic. They have the same flowing curves as round dining tables, yet they are a better fit for long and narrow spaces. Plus, many designs come with extensions to further expand the seating capacity—perfect for those that love to host but are short on space. Looking for a fresh look that not everyone has? An oval dining table is an excellent option for those seeking an offbeat aesthetic as well, as they are less common than other shapes. Overall, an oval or racetrack dining table may just be the instant upgrade your dining space needs! And our collection explores options for every style and budget. You just have to pick which one best suits your home’s needs.

$1024BUY IT 60 Inch Oval Dining Table: A crisp white pedestal base highlights the warmth of this wood tabletop, making it the perfect blend of modern and contemporary. However, if you don’t love this particular combination, this design is available in 3 tabletop colors and 4 base colors that you can mix and match. Plus, if 60 inches is too big for your space, it is also available in a 48 inch width.

$4049BUY IT Oval Black Marble Dining Table: If you prefer the luxurious and bold look that black marble and brass provides, this small pedestal table is a great option. Its smaller size is perfect for tucking into a vacant corner and it offers a vivid touch to both minimalist and maximalist spaces. This intimate table is perfect for everything from sipping cocktails to playing cards. In fact, it was inspired by the idea that a table’s role is to gather people. Available in multiple colors.

$2789BUY IT Oval Oak Dining Table with Extension: Infuse your home with Scandinavian charm with this oak table. While it looks circular and small in this photo, it easily extends out into an oval shape that seats up to 10 people. But no matter which form it takes, it will always impress with its unique design and exquisite wood grain.

$2514BUY IT Scandinavian Oval Dining Table: This oak tabletop with ceramic tile detailing and contrasting metal legs not only create a unique table, but a functional addition to any home. The ceramic tiles in the middle of the tabletop are ideal for laying down hot pots and pans, while the large size can host up to 8 people comfortably. Add a bench like shown above to keep the table minimal, yet highly functional.

$4699BUY IT Contemporary White Oval Dining Table: And if you prefer a table with a more contemporary feel, this long and lean beauty should be a front-runner. While its large size and triple pedestal base give this option a bit more bulk, its frosted glass tabletop, glossy finish, and white coloring ensure that it still feels light and airy. Place in a dark dining room to create dynamic contrast or use in a lighter room to keep the design clean and soft. Seats up to 12.

$1469BUY IT Black and Gold Oval Dining Table: This textural delight is what narrow dining rooms crave. It has a subtle coastal vibe with its textured rope base and Acacia tabletop, but it also has a glam factor that many coastal pieces lack. A great way to infuse your home with summer vibes all year long. Also available with a white tabletop and wood base.

$3299BUY IT Black Oval Dining Table: Want a black oval table but a more minimal design? This simple black beauty is a great option with a design that lets its curves take the spotlight. This table is available in 92 inches and 84 inches, so it has plenty of room to accommodate get-togethers or large families. Plus, it is available in multiple colors such as Oak, Walnut, and Black.

$1409BUY IT Grey Oval Dining Table with Pedestal Base: This table doesn’t need any fancy bells and whistles to impress—its sleek curves and large stature is more than enough. Its build combined with its oak veneer finish will elevate any contemporary dining space.

$462BUY IT Oval Dining Table with Frosted Glass Tabletop: Frosted glass and polished stainless steel give this table a distinct contemporary feel. It has an extendable racetrack tabletop that extends from 47 inches to 61 inches. It is a great table for homes with kids as the glass top is easy to clean and can stand up to stains and spills.

$969BUY IT Long Oval Dining Table: Horizontal lines strewn across this marble tabletop give it an extra boost of allure. With its soft rounded edges, this table fits right between oval and rectangular tabletops. It provides more room than your traditional oval, yet, it doesn’t have the harsh lines of a rectangular design. Great for homes that need all the tabletop space they can get but want a softer aesthetic.

$4199BUY IT Narrow Oval Dining Room Table: And if you prefer to draw the eyes with design as opposed to pattern and detailing, this long and lean treat is a must. The pairing of the angular base and curvaceous top create a stunning effect. That isn’t to say it doesn’t have beautiful detailing as well, though. Its tabletop etched with various diagonal lines certainly adds to its appeal. However, we should mention there is one downside on this table… the chubby cat is not included.

$1099BUY IT Oval Dining Table with Geometric Base: The artful design of this oval table’s base instantly drew our eye. The airy circular pattern that creates the metal base has a striking contrast to the thick oval top. This table pairs particularly well with colored dining chairs. Rich jewel tones like emerald, sapphire, and royal purple would look lavish with this design.

$1985BUY IT Oval Dining Table with Sofa Seating: This dining room table is the epitome of comfort! The black pedestal table comes with a corner sectional that will add a boost of comfort to any meal or gathering. Ideal for a large eat-in kitchen or those who simply want a combination of luxury and style. The banquet seating has tufted cushions and the pillows shown are included.

$1299BUY IT Oval Industrial Dining Table: This dining table has an industrial aesthetic that you don’t want to miss with its wooden tabletop perched upon a black metal base. The wooden tabletop is chock full of character as it is created with reclaimed pine wood. It has a prominent wood grain and unique imperfections that add to the table’s overall charm.

$199BUY IT Oval Dining Table with Glass Top: Want something a bit more refined? This wood and glass oval table should be on your shortlist. It not only has a tabletop that is easy to clean, but it also has an open shelf that is perfect for stashing your coasters, placemats, or laptop for when you need to clear the table.

$183BUY IT Oval Drop Leaf Dining Table: Alright, this table isn’t technically a full oval, but with its half oval shape and unique design we felt it belonged on our list. This small table is great from small dining spaces, particularly those that the dining table is pushed up against the wall. Fold down the leaf to enjoy a square dining table that doesn’t crowd the room. Need more space? Simply pop up the leaf to accommodate an extra guest or two.

$689BUY IT Contemporary Oval Dining Table Set: The rich brown coloring of this table will add a splash of warmth to any room. It has a fully removable leaf and when closed, this table tucks into a neat little circle. Pair with the matching chairs and bench for a more traditional feel or go with fully upholstered chairs to create a cozier aesthetic and play up the warmth of the design.

$556BUY IT Contemporary Oval Dining Table with Glass Top: A simple glass oval tabletop allows the base of this table to become the star of the show. With its soft curves offset by the crisp edges of the open shelf, it is full of intrigue and functionality. If you are looking for a transitional table, this is a fantastic choice.

$927BUY IT Two Tone Extendable Oval Dining Table: The two-tone finish doubles the color and the style of this Farmhouse-inspired table. It features an extendable tabletop, a kiln-dried hardwood build, and a lightly distressed finish. Seats up to 6 guests.

$1779BUY IT Oval Expandable Dining Table: And if you want a rustic table with more of a natural appeal, there is always this extendable delight with rave reviews. It is available in Espresso, Natural (shown), or a mix of both tones. Encouraging Review: “Oh how I love this table. if I could give it 10 stars I would. I purchased the espresso color – it’s a very dark brown, almost “distressed” looking top. The table legs don’t get in the way, but add so much interest to the table. It comes with an extension – easily will seat 6 with the leaf, but can probably squeeze in more.”

$489BUY IT Counter Height Oval Dining Table with Drop Leaf: Two drop leafs allow this table to be neatly pushed into a corner when closed—ideal for small spaces. It features a shiplap top and diagonal bracing that add extra visual interest to this distressed piece. Seats 6 when extended, 4 when drop leafs are closed.

$373BUY IT Counter Height Oval Dining Table with Drop Leaf: This deeply distressed table is all about looking cottage chic. Whether incorporated into a farmhouse, lakeside cabin, or eclectic dining room, it will feel right at home!

$569BUY IT Distressed Oval Dining Table: A hand-carved trestle base supports an oval top on this rustic option. The entire table is made from solid pine and completed in a distressed finish, giving it that highly sought-after cottage chic look. Worried about uneven floors? This table even offers adjustable feet, so you don’t have to worry about that dreaded wobble.

$1099BUY IT Wood Dining Table with Chevron Pattern: The parquet chevron top of this dining table not only inspired the name of this piece, The Parq Dining Table, but it also adds exquisite detailing through both pattern and tone. Splayed and tapered legs complete this table’s modern aesthetic. Also available as a round table.

$591BUY IT Rustic Oval Dining Table: The easy-glide leaf system of this table ensures that is more than just a showpiece—it is also highly functional. Notable features on this table include the planked tabletop with a wire brush finish, crisscross pedestal base, and build made from a mix of pine solids and veneers.

$940BUY IT Oval Solid Wood Dining Table: If you are looking for a subtle hint of color, check out this oval dining table. It doesn’t only have that highly sought-after Farmhouse look with its wooden build and dual-tone coloring, but it also offers a splash of color with its sage green base. Also available in multiple neutral tones.

$859BUY IT Oval Dining Table Set for 6: Fresh and simple, this table takes a more simplistic approach with its solid linen finish. With this table, you don’t have to worry about finding matching seating as the 6 grey chairs are included.

$461BUY IT Double Pedestal Oval Dining Table: Dual pedestals add to the sturdiness and enchantment of this oval table’s design. It has a butterfly leaf extension that is ideal for spaces that lack storage as the leaf folds under the table, as opposed to lifting out completely.

$1376BUY IT Extendable Oval Dining Table: The cool grey of this dining table will have your dining space feeling fresh and contemporary. It has a sculptural pedestal base that mimics the gentle curves present on the oval tabletop to create a uniform and dynamic look.

$329BUY IT Extendable Oval Dining Table with Storage: Keep your dining area free of clutter with a bit of hideaway storage. Pop open the bottom cabinet of this oval table for a secret space that is ideal for storing dishes, cookbooks, barware, linens, etc. Highly recommended for small spaces that could use a little extra storage with their seating.

$6062BUY IT Saarinen Oval Dining Table: Want all the luxury that comes with real stone? We can’t blame you! After all, that’s one reason we love this Saarinen dining table. Its simple pedestal base really allows the intricacy of its white and grey marble top to take center stage with this piece— architect and designer Eero Saarinen was a genius at creating expressive sculptural forms and this table is no exception. Marble not for you? This table is also available with other premium tabletops like wood veneer, laminate, and quartz.

$847BUY IT Faux Marble Oval Dining Table: If you love the look of the Saarinen dining table, but it’s out of budget, this is a fantastic alternative. It has the same soft curves and organic shapes as the designer piece, but instead, it sports a faux marble top and metallic base. However, it is available in other colors. Comfortably seats 4.

$1449BUY IT Marble Top Oval Dining Table: Another marble and gold option that is overflowing with the look of luxury. It is a feminine spirited design that sports clean architectural angles, a brass-finished base, and recessed apron.

$1239BUY IT Oval Glass Dining Table: This bent glass dining table is like a piece of modern art for your home. It has a striking appearance with an oval tabletop, bent glass supports, and figure-eight base.

$499BUY IT Glass Racetrack Dining Table: This racetrack dining table will enable a clean line of sight through your dining space, making it feel more spacious and open. A great find for minimalist spaces or contemporary dining rooms.

$1369BUY IT Narrow Oval Dining Table: We are all about the angled, tapered legs of this piece. They incorporate a big dose of contemporary appeal to this table and help make the semi-gloss grey top stand out. Available in 84 inches or 96 inches, in multiple colors.

$1695BUY IT Mid Century Modern Oval Dining Table: Then there is always this table with more of a Mid-Century Modern vibe. While it employs the same shape as its contemporary counterpart, it has a modern feel thanks to its warm wood finish. It just goes to show, material matters!

$1559BUY IT Minimalist Oval Dining Room Table: Speaking of material mattering, the wood finish on this contemporary pedestal table makes it feel warm and inviting. An extraordinary focal point for a large kitchen or dining space. Available in multiple colors.

$859BUY IT Oval Glass Dining Room Table: A dining table that serves up style and glamour! A curving X Base and glass oval top are paired together to create a functional and stunning place to share a meal. Seats up to 6.

$8529BUY IT Sculptural Oval Extendable Dining Table: Go big or go home! Get technologically advanced with your dining table and go for this large marble option that offers an automatic extending function. Two leaf extensions slide out from underneath the table and level off to extend the table’s elliptical shape. Also available with a glass tabletop.

$7075BUY IT Modern Oval Dining Table: This table has the appearance of a round pedestal table split in two and stretched in opposite directions. It is well-suited for both the home and public spaces with its simplicity, Danish-inspired design, and easy wipe surface. Want a more natural look? This table is also available in Oak.

$2087BUY IT Art Deco Oval Dining Table: An ornamental gold base that utilizes cross hatching gives this oval dining table Art Deco flair. However, if gold isn’t for you, the playful geometric base is also available in silver.

$319BUY IT Retro Oval Dining Table: A bit of retro charm may be just what your eating space is missing. This white table, with its gleaming chrome legs, creates the perfect base for colored chairs to take center stage.

$6950BUY IT Oval Foosball Dining Table: This table scores major points for both fun and style! This dining table doubles as a Foosball table, yet, its architectural lines and curves make it far more elegant than your average game table. As a bonus, the addition of a glass top makes it perfect for eating on. Both kids and kids at heart will adore this unique table.

$4560BUY IT Colorful Oval Dining Table: Or maybe you want to be playful with the addition of color? If that’s the case, then this oval table with its multi-tone base has your back. The playful build of this table was inspired by papier-mache. Its elegant base is actually made out of paper! But don’t worry, it also has a wood and cardboard frame, so it won’t blow over with a single breeze. In fact, it is a highly durable table in general.

$480BUY IT Walnut Wood Oval Dining Table: For dining spaces where the elegant style of Mid-Century Modern is needed, this wood table is an excellent choice. Its timeless style will evolve with the coming and goings of trends, while its walnut finish is sure to last. Accommodates up to 8 people.

$2198BUY IT White Oval Dining Table: Like many minimal white dining tables, this small dining table offers the perfect blank canvas to build any style upon. Pictured, you can see a coastal vibe was cultivated using bamboo and rattan chairs. Want a more classic look? Pair with wood chairs. Or maybe a bit of luxurious color? Try colored velvet chairs.

$269BUY IT Oval Dining Table for Patio: Oval dining tables are also great for outdoor areas like patios, backyards, and poolsides. Take this rattan table, for instance. It is perfect to not just use as an outdoor dining table with its weatherproof build, but it also makes for a great snack table or serving table at BBQs and outdoor get-togethers. Available in Brown or Grey.

$2135BUY IT Oval Dining Table Set Seats 10: Want you table to blend in with a nature surround? Try a teak dining table like this one. It not only offers an extendable tabletop with a butterfly leaf, but its slatted chair design allows them to drain and dry quickly after rain showers.

$310BUY IT Metal Oval Dining Table: Not only can this table withstand sun and water, but its cast aluminum build also means wind won’t be an issue. Plus, it even has a hole in the center for an umbrella to shade you on hot summer days.

$1803BUY IT Oval Outdoor Dining Table: Add a bit of color to your backyard or patio with this dining set. Its perforated design allows water to easily drain off the tabletop while contributing to the chic feel of this set. If you love the look but aren’t into the color, there is no need to fret. This set is available in a whopping 24 color options, including hard to find shades like bright pink, bold orange, mint green, and sunshine yellow.

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