#chrome to match his helmet

[justanotherdrfan]

New year, new Beats headphones for our favourite F1 baby girl!! 🎧

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #daniel ricciardo #dr3 #danny ric #beats by dre #beats for DR3 #VCARB #chrome to match his helmet #we love a theme

[hanlimz]

[midnight thoughts: jungwon + bad habits]

pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader (reader is jake's sibling) genre/warnings: angsty fluff (happy ending) / mentions of alcohol, vomit, some blood / idk it could potentially be a bit suggestive but i don't rly think so? wc: ~2.1k a/n: LOL cass write abt someone other than won challenge pt.2: FAILED!!!! / whtv! this had been in my drafts n then i reworked the idea into that jay drabble i posted but i still rly wanted to write abt motorcycle jungwon so here you go.. (it turns rly soft at the end bc i am incapable of writing hurt without comfort LMAOOO)

as you climb out your window to perch atop your shingled roof, a wave of cold surges up your spine, taking care to freeze each and every vertebrae on its way. your breath billows before you, the white cloud contrasting the pitch black of night. from this vantage point, you can watch all the bodies as they move in tandem, warm from the alcohol and the dancing. it's mesmerizing, the rhythmic swaying lulls you into a state of peace, a state of tranquility. paying no mind to the booming party music or the numbness blooming at the tips of your fingers, you let your eyelids flutter closed. comforted by the nothingness, you take in the scent of wet earth mingling with the air freshener you have in your room as it permeates the air. with chilled bones and a clear mind, you remain a passerby, a shadow, a ghost.

that is, until an unceremonious rumbling breeches the music blasting from your brother's speakers. the people below begin to whoop and cheer as the manmade thunder grows quiet; your brother shouts a greeting, and you're all too familiar with the person who manages to turn heads merely upon arrival. a rush of nerves tingles through your body, and you run over a checklist. heeseung, jay, and sunghoon are all presently dancing, sunoo is watching over the kitchen, and riki has been relegated to the dj booth for the night. with all other options exhausted, you know it has to be him.

craning your neck, you catch a glimpse of his crimson steed. it glints, almost menacingly, in the light of the moon. the chrome accents are like liquid silver as he dismounts and casts a myriad of shadows over his bike. jake claps him on the shoulder as he removes his matching helmet. his hair falls out—deliciously messy, perfectly tousled; it's a waterfall of silky, black strands that somehow look windblown and gelled back simultaneously. save for everyone that has continued to dance, girls and guys alike are crowding around the boy and his bike.

a cursory smile is offered to all of the faces in the crowd, but it becomes real as he turns to look at your brother. friends since they met through soccer practice years ago, friends despite their differing social circles, friends through the thick of it all. they push through the throng of classmates, acquaintances, and strangers—closer to the house, closer to you.

before they disappear beneath the awning, jake pulls him into a hug, and you can see him dig his fingers into the boy's leather jacket. "it's good to see you, man," jake says, just loud enough for you to make out. "drinks are in the kitchen with sun, i'm sure he'll be surprised to see you make an appearance."

and, just like that, the party resumes. you watch as the horde of people assembled around the motorcycle gradually disperses, and they begin to partner up again. despite not offering any physical warmth, a fire builds inside of you; small embers of memory are ignited by the nervousness that rips at your stomach. reliving each one is painful—the images that flash behind your eyes are hot, burning themselves into your mind once more. you guess that there are mere seconds left until he comes to see you, and you are proven correct when a measured knock sounds against your door. it confirms any suspicions and lays any doubt you might've had to rest.

you know all too well who this is.

the slab of wood creaks open, groaning as if aged by the cold. gazing back at him, you notice how young he looks when bathed in the warm, yellow light emanating from your desk lamp. he seems to glow, crowned with a halo of innocence, overflowing with something you can't place. this angelic countenance distracts you from the red solo cup sitting in grasp, distracts you from the fact that he is inching forward, distracts you from the movement of his lips. and, after a few moments, he is settling next to you and fidgeting in an attempt to get used to the frigid air. suddenly, you are stripped of your alien status because he is looking at you, seeing you—just as he always does.

ghosts notice ghosts, you think, daring to steal a glance in his direction. he catches you, ensnaring you with those deep, brown eyes, but he doesn't say a word. it isn't like him, really. he's an obligatory people person, a fan favorite, a crowd worker; he can have you doubled over with laughter one minute and crying the next. this irregularity is not lost on you as he continues to stare. you can almost feel the words waltzing on the tip of his tongue, and it kills you—the waiting game. it's one you always manage to lose.

"thought we agreed to take a break from each other ..." you hum, breaking the silence and turning your head away. "hm, jungwon?"

he mirrors you, and takes a sip from the cup. his impenetrable pokerface doesn't give you any hints as to what he's drinking. peeking over, you watch as jungwon answers with a nod and a sharp clench of his jaw.

"so, why are you here?" you ask, scoffing and shooting him a forceful glare. "why are you here, sitting with me in weather you hate, not saying a word? what—do you care about me, suddenly? about us?"

he prickles at this particularly harsh jab, rushing to defend himself, "i told you, [y/n]—"

"oh, yeah—you told me, jungwon. you told me about sunghoon, about how protective he is of his sister, about how he broke siwoo's nose after he found out about their relationship. you told me that you didn't want jake to get in our way, that you didn't want things to get ugly if jake didn't like us together," your tone is venomous enough to kill as you berate him. "then, after i called you on your bullshit, you told me that it was for my own good. you didn't want me to get hurt, didn't want me to walk away broken ... you talk such a big game with your motorcycle and your leather jackets, but really, jungwon? all you told me is that you're a coward."

the aftershocks of your explosion are still rocking through jungwon as he tries to process all of your words. absorbing your poison, guilt and realization wash over him; he is a coward. and, a fool for letting you slip through his fingers. his mouth gapes as he searches desperately for the right thing to say. jungwon flounders, and you take perverse delight in his struggle. all of the weight that had been crushing you is now his to bear; it feels good, but only for a minute or two. then, this parasitic love you harbor for him squeezes at your heart. the silence starts to suffocate you, balls of cotton begin to fill your throat, and the cold air is making your lungs burn. you turn to see him already looking at you, and the apology you were about to let free dies away.

his eyes are wild, frenzied almost. not in a way that frightens you, but in one that saddens you. jungwon is frantically hunting for a way to make you see how sorry he is, for a way to make you stay. he reaches out to you but flinches away on his accord, unsure of what your reaction might be. taking a deep breath, all he says is: "you're right."

as the admission of guilt hangs in the air, it is almost underwhelming. you sigh, preparing to push up from your seat and head back inside, but jungwon stops you. he grips your wrist before he is able to stop himself this time and wills you to sit once more. his hands are as warm as you remember, calloused and rough and surprisingly gentle.

"you're right, [y/n]. i'm a coward, and i don't deserve a second chance—i didn't even deserve the first one you gave me. but, god—you have to believe me when i say that i care. i care about you, about us. my stupid, fucking thoughts got in the way, and i was scared," jungwon explains, blinking rapidly to keep his tears at bay. "i used jake to hide from you, to hide from how much i loved you. from how much i've always loved you."

jungwon begins to shake—from the desperation or the cold, you're not sure. but, as the conversation dips into a natural lull, you usher him past the threshold of the window pane and shut it behind the two of you. a quietude settles between your bodies, a static that coaxes you closer while simultaneously pushing you apart. gently, you slip the tingling tips of your fingers beneath the leather of his jacket; it is replaced with a fluffy blanket before he can blink, and he relishes in the silken sensation blooming in his chest. enveloped by this newfound warmth, you ask him the same question from before: "why?"

he answers immediately, ignoring the searing pain as his blood begins to flow again, "because, i'm not good, [y/n]. i'm not good ... and, you're perfect. i'm afraid—if we go any further, i'll turn you into someone else. i'll ruin you."

you exhale sharply out of your nose, "selfish."

yang jungwon is stunned to silence; the remnants of vitriol seep like a toxic sludge into the cracks forming in his heart—a heart that he claimed to never have, a heart that you managed to steal for yourself. selfish. you called him selfish. jungwon wanted to protect you from the person you might become after being with him; he wanted to keep you away from the sight of bloodied knuckles and the putrid scent of vomit and alcohol. "i'm ..." jungwon starts, incredulity ringing clear in his voice, "selfish?"

"beyond belief," you sniff.

"wh—how?!"

"how? jungwon—who are you to decide what's good for me? who are you to tell me that i'm good ... that i'm perfect? what do you know about me that i don't?" inhaling deeply, you inch forward; jungwon unceremoniously plops down onto the pillowy cloud of your bed, and you follow suit. in this light, the halo makes a reappearance, and you swear the entire galaxy twinkles in his wide, blown out eyes. resting mere millimeters away, you whisper, "who are you to try and make me believe we aren't meant to be?"

his facade is crumbling bit by bit; walls upon walls of cold concrete are reduced to dust in the wake of your storm. falling back into the soft down of your comforter, jungwon flings an arm over his eyes. stupid, foolish—distracted by the possibility of losing you, he managed to make one of the biggest mistakes of his life. "i'm sorry," jungwon admits once more. "i was selfish. you deserve better."

"sure, i guess. if you think so ..." you begin, interlacing your fingers with his and taking away his hiding place, "but, i want you."

jungwon feels fragile in your hands. the look in his eyes is tentative, almost as though if he were to move, you would fade into a fine dust. in this moment, he is vulnerable—a turtle without its shell, a knight without his armor. there is a certain frantic hesitance you can feel as his heart beats against yours; the rise and fall of his chest is not so steady, and the rhythm is not so sure. having already done so once, jungwon doesn't want to lose you again.

you sigh, and jungwon takes in the sweet aroma of starlight mints and lemonade. "stop thinking so hard, won," you murmur. "i want you. i deserve you. i love you."

"you do?" he asks, uncertain.

"i do," you answer, resolute. "can i show you?"

when he nods, the butterflies flitting in your stomach begin to settle because this is jungwon. pressing into him, the rich taste of butterscotch and tang of beer blooms on your tongue; the sensation of your lips slotting against his is only rivaled by the victorious completion of a huge puzzle. perfect in every way—pieces fall into place, and everything just fits. jungwon is familiar, a home that has returned to you. you make jungwon know your love. so, you kiss his forehead, and you kiss his nose, and you kiss his lips.

i want you. i deserve you. i love you.

#enhypen fluff #enha fluff #jungwon fluff #enhypen reactions #; — cass writes: jungwon #enhypen #enha imagines #enhypen imagines #enhypen headcanons #enha headcanons #enha reactions #jungwon headcanons #jungwon imagines #jungwon x reader

[fryingpan1234567]

canonically Jason and Tim have motorcycles, right? and B and Duke too but the other two are more well known I think

ANYWAYS what if everyone in the batfam had one tho? because. the potential.

Dick takes his off of roofs sometimes, but it’s built for it. before all his modifications, it was just a blue and black chrome Yamaha sports bike, nothing special. he added a Nightwing sticker on each side, a bunch of weapons (mostly electricity based), grappling hooks, Nightwing things. there’s even a sidecar for Haley.

Babs (before the wheelchair days) had a purple and yellow one that matched her suit perfectly. it sort of meant she couldn’t use it during the day, but occasionally she rode it to work with extensive concealing of the random dangerous gadgets. hers was also a Yamaha (same model ^^)

Jason canonically has a black shapeshifting one like some maccadams shit but it’s fine— it’s loud as shit, so he doesn’t really use it for patrol, but he loves it during the day. because it’s just black, it’s pretty easy to take it out for completely non-suspicious speeding law breaking joyrides. no harm done!

Cass has a jet black Ninja, and her reputation on the streets is about the same as the nightfury’s at the beginning of the first httyd. dark, deadly, and it’s even quiet in Gotham’s busy streets. watch your back for her.

Tim’s got the BATCYCLE it’s CANON. it’s also canon that it’s got a liquid-cooling engine and a Robin-themed paint job, but fuck that, I say it’s dark red and electric and he rides it to work. so sometimes (most of the time) he pulls up with ruffled clothes and helmet hair, which Conner nearly fainted at the first time he saw it, but we don’t talk about that. he doesn’t use it for patrol because Kon said he’d carry him everywhere if Tim gave him rides in exchange. on the bike. he has said on more than one occasion “wear the helmet, ride a biker” and Tim punches him really hard

Steph’s bike is purple, and the wheels do the hover-shift-glowy thing like in Mario Kart (also purple). she’s not scared of you or anyone; she will ride that shit to school and use it on patrol with the hovering and distracting color and everything. fight me.

in canon, Duke’s bike is electric with a bunch of lights and black and yellow and lowkey built like a tank. I kinda like it! I think it’s a fabulous bike for a fabulous man so therefore he gets to keep it I won’t be taking criticism

Damian gets a green and red and black electric Ninja, plus a helmet that he painted with feathers and paw prints n shit. Jon likes the spare, which is just black but has a red mohawk. what more could you want? he could fly everywhere, but he also could just have his badass motorcycle bf drive him everywhere while he wears his dope ass helmet and vibes to whatever 2000s pop shit Damian lets him play. he’s a professional backpack.

did you think I’d stop at the Batkids? sorry imma keep going

I like the idea of Brucie having a black sports bike that’s 90% modifications like in the movie. no one remembers what it was before he took it all apart and added Bat-stuff, but it looks great now! it’s blown up more times than you can count, just because it’s a really good target for rogues.

Kate has one that’s almost exactly the same, except hers is maybe a little closer to what it was originally. she doesn’t quite have all the same stuff Bruce does, but they’re the same vibe!

anyways that’s the vigilante weirdos club, so like it’s expected that they’d all have a dangerous vehicle. slightly less expected— Alfred freaking Pennyworth has a Harley with tall handles and sparkly black paint, but nobody knew that for such a long time because he barely leaves the manor. all the kids lost their minds when they found out. what can I say

anyways some Bat-bike shenanigans that have ensued:

street races between all the Batkids at least once a week, whether that be on patrol or in civvy clothes

Jason obnoxiously revving really loud whenever he sees one of them in the street, on a date, when he’s picking them up from something, just as often as possible. obnoxious revving. old people hate him

cool lesbian aunt Kate picking up kids from school with her badass bike and epic helmet

sometimes Dick will be talking about “his child” or “his baby” and no one’s sure if he’s talking about his dog or his bike

bike-related thirst traps on social media

“race you to the next light”

not a single one of them has left a Gotham speeding law intact even once (not even Alfred, although he won’t admit it)

Wally likes to get Dick to race him on his bike even though he knows he’s going to win

both Jon and Conner have said something along the lines of “I bet I could pick up the bike with you on it” as a show-off attempt, but Damian and Tim love their paint jobs too much to permit them to try

Batfam on bikes❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#there’s ships if you squint #lmao #dc #dick grayson #nightwing #barbara gordon #batgirl #jason todd #red hood #cassandra cain #blackbat #tim drake #red robin #stephanie brown #spoiler #duke thomas #signal #damian wayne #robin #bruce wayne #batman #kate kane #batwoman #alfred pennyworth #batkids #if you squint: #birdflash #timkon #okay that one’s pretty obvious #damijon

[mamawasatesttube]

6 & 29 for the ask game? i love your work!!

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

not "all the time" per se but i've definitely gone back to both fill in the blanks by @mindshelter and blush by @misspickman a few times. what can i say, i love it when tim is besotted and kon gets loved <3

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

okay i DO plan to post this.. eventually... when i finish the other 5 chapters of it... but given that i have no idea when that will be, here's a bit of the "jon's friends keep thinking his big brother is hot and he's in hell about it" wip sfdkjh (under the cut for length!!)

fanfic writer asks!

Any thoughts Yichen had about going to the skate park tomorrow get zapped clean out of his head as an engine purrs, and a sleek, sexy as hell motorcycle peels into the parking lot.

It’s a gorgeous dark red color, with black accents, exposed chrome exhaust pipes, and a front light and handlebars to match. It’s not obnoxiously loud, but its thrum is powerful and satisfying. It sounds expensive, if that’s even possible.

The sexy bike rolls to a stop right in front of the three of them, and the rider rests his foot on the ground for support. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a leather jacket covered in patches and studs—the shoulders are spiked, and a little chain dangles from one of the pockets.

Yichen identifies a few hero logoes among the patches on both the back and front; there’s the Superman family crest, obviously, on one shoulder, and then Wonder Woman’s winged W on a trapezoid. One of the Flash lightning bolts, too, in red and white—Yichen isn’t good at remembering which hero is which, outside of Metropolis. Is that… no, Kid Flash is yellow. Oh well. There’s others he doesn’t recognize at all, like a round yellow-and-black one right over the rider’s heart with a weird… bird-shaped thing, maybe?

Man, he really oughtta brush up on his heroes.

But that’s beside the point, because holy shit. This guy—this is the coolest guy he’s ever seen in his life! That jacket, the boots—chunky, thick-soled, covered in belts and buckles—and the ripped jeans, with barely-visible fishnets peeking out through the tears. This guy has fashion! Ho-lee shit, what is someone like that doing here?

Jon hops down from the brick fence with a sigh. “Alright,” he says, and leans down to pick up his backpack. “Well, I’ll see you guys.”

“Wait,” Priya says. “That’s your ride?”

Jon blinks. “Uh, yeah? Why?”

The cool as hell motorcyclist pulls off his helmet. Yichen’s jaw drops.

It’s like seeing Jon’s dad’s face transplanted onto a guy half his age and so much hotter. He’s got high cheekbones and a square jaw ever-so-slightly dotted with stubble, and piercing blue eyes just like Jon’s dad, and his hair falls in curls that should be crushed and flattened from the helmet but somehow still look amazing.

“Yo, Jonno!” Conner calls. “C’mon, we’re gonna hold up traffic!”

“I’m coming!” Jon hollers back. “I’m just saying bye, jeez!”

Yichen finally remembers how to close his mouth and does so. He doesn’t feel cold anymore—his face is on fire. “Dude.”

Jon tilts his head quizzically. “Yeah?”

“Dude,” Yichen repeats.

“What, Yichen?” Jon glances at Priya for clarification, but doesn’t seem to find any. What the hell does he need clarified here?

“Dude!” Yichen clutches at his hair. “Duuuude!”

“What!” Jon hefts his backpack onto his shoulders. “Stop ‘dude’ing at me and say it already!”

Yichen jumps down from the brick wall and grabs Jon by the shoulders. How does he not get it? How does he not get it?!

“Dude,” he says, as intense and emphatic as he can hope to get. He shakes Jon slightly, then points at Conner. “That is your brother?”

“Uh… yes?” Jon squints at him. “Is that, uh… a problem?”

Yichen clutches at his hair again. “Dude!” he exclaims in consternation. Grabs at Jon’s shoulders again. “Oh my god. Dude! Dude! You never told me your brother is hot!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yichen almost thinks he sees Conner laugh. Except that’s not possible, because the engine definitely drowned out his words—they’re not that close to the roadside. Priya definitely laughs, though, covering her mouth with one hand.

Jon, meanwhile, wrinkles his nose. “…Ew.”

#answers #bandanabiel #rimi writes #just a lil bit hehe #and thank you!!!!!!

[hoardlikegoldenirises]

blurple time.

finally finished this~ months after he appeared 😅

you can tell there's a bit of a punk/industrial vibe infusing the whole design. i also drew from various details in the comics, and other random things like bulletproof leather jackets.

closeups, ramblings, (and a version with a cape) under the cut:

i was originally not planning to add a cape cause i wasn't sure if i could make it work and tbh. still not sure. i like the way the purple cape looks from behind but the inside is like. idk. if it's purple then it looks weird, but the black feels off to me too... I don't think any of the other colors would work.

oh also i decided this glows in the dark (predictable as always)

Helmet's been through some sketches and stuff, spent a while figuring out the mechanisms and so on and settled on this design in the end.

Obviously you can see here the top is leather, it's based on a combo of a motorcycle cowl (with an angled zip you can just see there, and then the shoulders from an armored motorcycle jacket i was looking at. then the blue is meant to be a (heavily) modified like, boilersuit or whatever those are. mechanic's jumpsuit.

Plus all the spikes. Obviously there's no spider-punk in this setting but I like the aesthetics, and I like giving Hobie like a little thing of his own in terms of hobbies/interests so I thought adding that punk aspect would be fun, esp as it ties into his whole thing with being unsure of himself and being a little different and so on.

the lenses are one piece each, just with different colors of film on them, like you see on a variety of custom motorcycle visors. used chrome silver for the white "eyes," which i think would look cool and matches the metal hardware. very reflective. hobie prob won't be the only design with chrome/mirrored lenses for reflective purposes (thinking about the hobgoblin) (well. technically peter will also have aluminized lenses at one point but that's a spare mask for fires, not a main look)

earlier concept which i drew on my phone actually lol. some of this i obv jus copy-pasted cause it was fine as is, other stuff got tweaked, like i ended up changing the lens shape to look a little more like the comics and i did end up scrapping that shape for the faceplate/chin.

and you can see there i edited a pic from the comics playing with what colors i wanted to use. i liked the steel blue that showed up in some of the older painted art from the Prowler's earliest appearances, and I felt like I wanted to give him a color other than purple and green, though I didn't wanna ditch the purple either, so I ended up with this kind of neon blurple + navy combo that I liked a lot. And the silver too.

back of the jacket and helmet. Didn't originally plan on adding all those spikes but then I was sketching this out and I was like, oh... that would look cool... so i committed!! i like how it looks.

Originally I also had no logo/symbol on the front of the chest so I decided to put one on the back. Then I ended up adding that flat panel to the chest and added the symbol there too, and decided to keep the back one as well. i can def see a 19 year old being like, hell yeah... sick... people will definitely take me seriously now. and you know what. he's right.

i will admit i ended up a little dissatisfied with the story i told involving the Prowler in the linked fic, but... I also probably shouldn't have tried to wedge it between like five warring subplots. But it was like, the spot that made the most sense. If this was a cartoon I think it would be a like... 1-2 issue special focused more on him. And also peter would jump out the window. (The real tragedy that I didn't include cause it's hilarious, poor Hobie XD)

Anywho. Is this mechanism needlessly complex? Perhaps. I tried to simplify it at one point but then the more I thought about it the less the simplified version worked so I stuck with the OG idea here. I mean, i guess I could have ditched the locking mechanism entirely but i thought it would be fun if the helmet was self-locking! I also wanted a way for it to rotate/go visor up even with the spikes, thus it being a pretty large rotating faceplate with the spikes on it instead of elsewhere. not that he ever puts it up in the fic. peter just takes hobie's helmet off there 😂

He's also wearing a balaclava under there which I didn't bother really drawing, mostly to protect his hair (which I put in twists for related reasons of helmet-wearing) (I briefly had been considering braids but then, well, ATSV and Miles G. happened and I said, well now I cannot do that XD) (I mean I COULD have but I wanted to do something else here lol) Anyway. The idea here is that it's a kind of slide lock with a spring-loaded peg that slots into the holes, and the square hole with the square peg locks the faceplate in place and prevents it from rotating, but when the square peg is in the round hole, the faceplate can rotate freely. The only wrinkle here would be that Hobie has to pull on both locks simultaneously or as close to it as possible or he'd risk cracking the helmet (i assume? stress and pressure etc.)

Sliding the lock forward also slides the whole plate forward, which lets me (in theory) have a flush, smooth silhouette while still allowing it to come forward enough to push up. It's not vacuum sealed or anything though. But it does have like... air filters and a voice modulator and some other things. MOST of the suit is super low tech and doesn't require electricity but the helmet probably has batteries or something. (peter's new webshooters at this point are also battery powered lol)

Helmet is pretty typical fiberglass construction with foam pads inside. Idea there is that Hobie made a lot of this stuff using campus workshop resources like autobody or machining shop on campus, for stuff like getting fiberglass, having a space to work in, making polycarbonate lenses etc. Though it's totally possible to do fiberglass work at home too. (peter also uses campus resources for his lenses specifically btw)

Gauntlets!!! Uhhhh ngl very difficult. Trying to design armored gauntlets that don't look like knightly armor is very hard for me cause I always just google reference pics of knightly armor. LOL. I think these came out alright. There's a hint of motocross influence there too (though really even in modern days armor is armor so there end up being shared traits) The gloves ended up being mostly leather with some armored parts, though there is probably some inner armor which is not visible. The claws I left bare since you would not be able to sharpen claws coated in plasti dip—

oh yeah the purple color on all the hard parts is plasti dip, which is basically rubber paint.

The wrist gauntlets are very very very loosely based on a guy's grappling rope web-shooter thing which you can see in this youtube video: link. though i didn't wanna just rip him off so i mostly just said, alright, tubes and a harness—which the prowler already has in the comics anyway, albeit smaller. so really it's pretty much like the comics anyway.

Right wrist has the green laser dazzler, both have grapples, left wrist has EMP (not pictured) which Hobie uses in the scene I have him and Peter fight except then I realized recently I didn't actually explain what that was or how it was working 😂 I probably should have done that scene from Hobie's POV in retrospect. It's an EMP though and it scrambles Peter's spidey sense via interference/signal noise.

(electromagnetic signals being responsible for several cases of irl "hauntings" —> spider-man's haunted)

waist utility belt... I like the way the silver belt on the old art looks! So I decided to make these hard silver hinged cases instead of soft pouches (originally were soft but I changed my mind while coloring) — IDK if these really are metal or if they're just fiberglass with chrome paint lol but either way, shiny chromey, hinged to open, the insides are probably padded... buckle is actually metal though.

Boots—modified snow boots. These are loosely based off of a real thing btw: link to blog post

The silver things are the magnets. Gauntlets are probably also magnetic but those are not visible like the boot ones. I also read some comments saying certain kinds of electromagnets would be preferable for something like boots but ultimately, IDK how to draw that, so I just drew it like they look in jen foxbot's prototype.

There was some other stuff I initially planned on including that didn't make the cut, aside from the cape. I was toying with stuff like a jetpack (or really, a jump jet), gliding/wingsuit, etc. but... I didn't use any of those. Kept it simple and streamlined for the most part. so no gliding for this Prowler, but hey, he's got magnet boots.

maybe in the future if Hobie ends up with an Iron Man-esque collapsible suit, perhaps he'll be able to fly, but for now, he's a college student making a supervillain persona so he can keep himself from getting evicted...

And his face!!! cutie :3 loosely inspired by Greg Eagles' face (the voice actor for grimm from billy and mandy) Not that ATSV had no impact on this design but that was the main thing. Twists to keep his hair protected in the helmet under the balaclava etc. and something he can do himself, and then a twist out afterward.

plus you can see the nose rings I mention in Creep here.

#yes i did use the Peter base for this—they are supposed to be the same height and similar build #nadiart #fanadiart #arghdesign #hobie brown #the prowler #came in through the window last night #shiny art

[drstonetrivia]

Chapter 214 Trivia

The two-part connected covers are so cool, I'm happy we got two colored ones in a row!

There's a sneaky rat (or mouse?) on the cover! Unfortunately I have zero idea what this could be alluding to. It could be nothing, or it could be implying that Ukyo (same colors) is the t(ra)i(t)or…

The inside of Xeno's scar is also colored white! New petri-scar theories?

The name of the chapter is a reference to the Earth Defense Force (地球防衛軍) video game series. Its plot is that radio waves from deep space are picked up by scientists on Earth, and a multinational military is formed afterwards in case the aliens are hostile. Sound familiar?

Suika's helmet has a top part! I am wondering where it appeared from though.

Before this moment, they'd always revived whole statues. If it's possible to revive an incomplete statue, and the missing pieces don't grow back as part of the healing effect of the depetrification, it means it's not the end for someone if they're missing a limb.

Senku is using his arm wrappings to pick up the device. I wonder why he suddenly felt the need to use them…

When glass containing a vacuum breaks, the pieces get sucked in along with the air suddenly filling the space at very high speeds. They then smash into the middle before shattering outwards again. Think of what happens when you drop a rock into a bucket of water!

You may have noticed that the resulting glass doesn't quite follow what should have happened there, so the other possible option for how the glass shattered is thermal shock. Cracks of this type begin perpendicularly to the edge of it, which we can sort of see here.

In both cases, glass would have ended up on the inside of the container, but we see none. Could the medusa's pressure wave have thrown all the glass away from itself? And if that's the case, why are the glass walls still standing?

Chelsea: somehow stealing Suika's job and traits as much as possible. Why is it detective Gen!? Bring back detective Suika!

There's now a third boat donning the "Perseus" name: Perseus D. Monkey. This one is heavily inspired by One Piece, specifically the protagonist Monkey D. Luffy. The head of the ship is painted like a monkey: a reference to One Piece, the steam gorilla, and the old Perseus design.

The ship design itself is a smaller, more maneuverable version of the original Perseus. It's also a hybrid with an engine, and rather than having the whole mast rotate, they've designed it as a sailboat with a rotating boom.

The Kagoshima prefecture mine they probably went to is the Kushikino mine, which is the only one that has selenium-silver ores (naumannite & aguilarite), but also has ores containing both arsenic and tellurium. Because the area is volcanic, there's likely several skarn deposits.

Kagoshima's mines are in fact most known for their gold deposits, so Senku is probably finding more to replenish Chrome's gold stash.

Senku's video camera tube is based off Japan's saticon from 1973. The "SAT" in its name is derived from "SeAsTe"; the symbols for the selenium, arsenic and tellurium used on its photoconductive (not photoelectric) surface.

Remember the fax machine from chapter 207, how Senku said matching up the timing was important? Well the horizontal distortion in the image here is exactly the same concept: the horizontal lines are shifted to the left or right due to minor errors.

Before anyone says that Whyman can hack their television signal from the moon, remember that these are basically cable TVs, where you'd have to rewire it for a new input if you wanted it to display a different image. Anything sneaky would have to be an inside job…

We have the (Stan)Lee vs Xeno baseball game happening on the field outside the castle. Since the ball smashes through the window of the TV room, and the world record for longest baseball hit distance is 177m, you can tell the batters take after Stanley. (They can.)

A reference to 20th Century Fox, one of the many names for one of the biggest American film studios.

Obviously, the 58th is a reference to their current year.

We got a better location on the computer's house, it's a lot closer to Roppongi than I first thought! I wonder how close it is to Senku's grave and Tsukasa's pile of statues that he wanted to revive…

#trivia #dr stone #chapters #214 #this and the previous chapter hold a special place in my heart because of a particular fanwork's setting :)

[sentanixiv]

The One To Call (wc: 2,068) Spent my lunch break today scratching out this modern AU test-write based on a exes-to-lovers prompt:

They are still each other's emergency contact. Which becomes apparent when one of them ends up in the hospital.

Morston, modern AU; reference to injuries sustained, but no details or visuals. John reacting to being the one called when Arthur turns up at the hospital, beat to shit and no one knows how. Plenty of vague/inaccurate medical terms because I am bone-tired and braindead.

Streetlights stretch and streak overhead, a blurred mirror to the dotted lines demarking the lanes on the freeway. Recently refreshed, the paint burns bright under the headlamp, waits for the grease and dirt of the daily grind to dull it into the same muted hues of the cityscape's south end. Rush hour's petered out, though plenty of vehicles still cut between lanes, seeking to make the small gains that'll save them thirty seconds on their commute home. Their pace is sedate in comparison to the streak of copper-and-chrome that routes through without care nor caution.

Wind whips at the hem of his jeans, tangling with threads worn loose from the denim weave. Arms half-bared make targets for bug bodies to strike, stinging as they collide and crash away from the lone motorcycle rider. Ducked low, making the best of his bike's swift profile, John shifts the gear and lets go the clutch. Uneven, the frame jerks beneath him before the tires grab at asphalt and rip him forward faster.

 The steady, streaking lights count out a tempo that matches the beating of his heart, but it can't hope to catch the racing of his thoughts. He drives on instinct and reflex, tearing through the narrow spaces between cars, earning hollers and honks that curse his lineage back to the beginning, but he ignores them. Lets muscle memory guide as he counts the miles and urges the speedometer to edge just a little bit further beyond its max.

 Internally, there's a litany of thoughts that demand he go faster, be there sooner, and a dizzying spiral of questions to why him, what's happening, and who's responsible. Two he can't answer, but the first has the audacity to make sense.  'Why him' is because he's named on the file - the only name - and it's best he comes to talk with the doctor per the voice what'd called him.

 Green highway signs with white lettering catches his attention and he gears down, crosses three lanes and leans to balance the curve as he takes the ramp at an ungodly speed. The red light at the intersection exists as an afterthought, traffic slower here, with fewer cars to obstruct him and he takes full advantage to push the limits.

 Too long still passes before the backlight sign emblazoned with The Blackwater-McCourt Memorial Hospital zips overhead. There's an anthem of sirens accompanied by flashing lights that surrounds the area, but there's no blue to slow him and so he don't. Rides straight up onto the concrete walk and kicks down the stand, kills the engine and grabs the keys before he's through the front doors. Ignores the unhelpful call of a bystander telling him he can't park there, focus intent on the front desk.  A sleepy-eyed volunteer sits there, turning the yellowed pages of a bodice-ripper romance. She blinks and looks up when he stops there and demands the room number.

 "I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear you," she says, apologetic as she dog-ears the page and leans forward with a helpful smile.  "The, ah. The helmet doesn't help."

 Right.  He loosens the latched belting and pulls it off, dragging a gloved hand back through his sweat-streaked hair.  "I said: Got me a call about an 'Arthur Morgan' being here?" he repeats, breathing slow and steady against the rising anxiety that hospitals bring about.  "Whereabouts should I-"

 The name stills her, the rosy hue of her complex fades brief before she shakes it off and smiles wanly.  "I'll call the doctor," she says, hand automatically lifting the phone from its cradle. An older model, push-tone and connected to a landline, she manipulates it smoothly, whispers into the mouthpiece and nods at what she hears.

 John sets his helmet down on the counter, fingers tapping erratic beats against it. His leg twitches, foot bouncing as he holds down the need to move, to do something, to get answers without asking half so nicely.

 "Doctor Roberts is on the way," the young woman tells him, an interruption to his reverie and John swears.

 "You gotta be kiddin' me," he mutters.

 The lady - Mary-Beth, by the volunteer's tag she wears - looks up at him with wide, serious eyes. "She won't be more than a moment."

 "No, I bet she won't," he grumbles, dragging his helmet off the counter. John paces, walks the five steps across the hall and back again at least a dozen times before an exasperated noise jars him out of the motion.

 "You meanin' to wear a hole in my floor?"

 Doctor Abigail Roberts walks up and near past him, grabbing his elbow to pull him along as she nods to Mary-Beth.  "I got this from here," she says sharply and there's no fight against it. Mary-Beth sinks back into her chair, novel absent from her attentions as she digs out a phone. Whatever's gone on, it's about to hit the shitfan of social media and that makes him groan.

 "Ain't you gonna stop her?" he asks Abigail, wrenching his arm free. John keeps pace with her, lets her maintain the half step lead needed to guide them both.

 Abigail shakes her head and points down the hall that'll route them past trauma care. Her hair's pulled back, messy wisps plastered along her temple; sign that she's been in the OR, not long done. They were together for a while, once upon a darker time; one of them whirlwind romances what happened when she was the trauma care doctor and he was the trauma-suffering fool that'd needed care.  John knew her well, knew she liked to look at least a bit composed before starting her rounds, so knew this hectic break from habit meant something real and something that weren't apt to be good.

 "You know as good as I that there ain't no point," she reminds him. True, there ain't. Mary-Beth is no doubt connected to the same network that most of them are and won't be long for her to rouse the rest of the gang now that John's been dragged into it.  "Let it happen, John. It'll make things easier."

 "Nothing's gonna be easy here, Abigail," he tells her flat out. "You know I ain't been 'round Arthur for three years now, so why's I the one that got the call?"

 Crisp steps on smooth linoleum and Abigail does not look at him, only holds her head high and keeps her eyes forward. There's a clarity to them, the sort of shine that comes on when she's feeling something fierce and that makes his gut clench because the thing they're talking about, the man Arthur Morgan?  Well, he's means something to a lot of people, and it sets a poor stage to have that mist about her eyes before they get into the meat of it.

 "Arthur ain't never updated his emergency contacts," she says quickly, checks the chart she's been carrying.  Taller than her, John can make out details on the patient's file and sees his name listed there, like she's just said. "There weren't no one else I could call."

 "That ain't telling me why I'm here."  Why he got a call; don't matter to him if Arthur took his name off his file or not. They'd had a good run and ruined it, but it ain't so easy to change all the records, all the details to strike the other from their lives. Hell, he'd found out week before last that Arthur's name still sat on the lease when he went to renew it, had to explain to the landlord that weren't no one but John there no more. Had to endure the lamenting that Arthur'd been the best thing to happen to him and John never disagreed, but that ain't changed that Arthur'd done the best thing for himself by ending it.

 "Well, John," Abigail begins, taking a breath, "that's 'cause it ain't good."

 John reaches out, grips her arm to stall them both and turn her towards him. "What's that mean?" he asks, eyes seeking to pry something from her gaze that'd answer that. "I been told that already, but it don't mean shit without more. You know that."

 "It means that it ain't good," she replies, unflinching under the stop, under the inspection.  "I done what I could and he's stable now, but..."

The words don't trail off so much as his grip tightens. All these words, this dance around it, tells him more than he wants to know already.  "What happened?"

 Abigail pulls herself free and gestures him ahead, pointing to the left hall. "We ain't sure and I don't got details, but Sadie came by not long after he showed up, says he went missing a week ago, maybe more."  She shrugs, leaves out the why of Sadie being there, but the woman ain't family, so must've been present for function. That meant the police were getting involved, sending her out to get a bead on it.

They slow up outside a door closed, lights dimmed in the hall and the profile of a police guard half hidden in the shadows. John didn't recognize him, didn't much care to because Abigail stopped with her back to the door, keeping him from crossing the threshold. Beyond it comes the muffled melody of medical equipment, monitoring the someone there what'd been hurt. "All I know's that he walked up to ER looking a right mess," she explains, fingers pale in their grip on the chart. "Blood and bruising and, well.  You know Arthur. Anyone else'd not be able to walk, but he managed it.  Said something about gettin' away, keepin' folk safe before we lost him."

 John feels the jerk in his chest, his heart threatening to up and stop on him. "Lost?"

 Abigail shows a flicker of annoyance, smacks one hand against his chest. "Not like that, y'fool!" she hisses. "Charles got him breathing again, Tilly and Karen got him stable, Sean processed him while Lenny paged me."  It's a report, a buffer to give him a chance to breathe again before she provides more details.  "I spent seven hours working on him," she adds, shaking her head.  "Ain't much that weren't busted or broke; looks to me like he got worked over real good. Shoulder torn up, ribs broke, couple fingers were twisted up bad.  I ain't sure all what's wrong. Seven hours to step the bleeding, pull the mess of debris from his shoulder, and cut out the infection, John.  Could be worse, but I won't know more 'til diagnostics gets me the details. And I ain't sure it'll be smart to put him on the table again too soon."

 The flicker of panicked fear calms at the assurance the man's alive, but the small spark of it feeds the fires of his temper at whomever attacked Arthur. Once he knows the extent of it, John will find them - ain't no point denying it, not when the heat of his anger near as burns in him.  John'll find them and revisit it on them, but first-

 "I talked to him some in Recovery, but weren't long," Abigail says, stepping away from the door, up closer to John where she can drop her voice and give an air of privacy. "Arthur said somethin' about Colm O'Driscoll."

 Everything hones in on the name, the target of what'd been a man and was now, in John's eyes, a dead man walking. He jerks back, makes to leave, but Abigail stops him with a hold on his arm.

 "Not yet."  Her voice is insistent, a steady pressure to keep him from leaping off into the dark void wherein the violence beckoned to him.  "I ain't had you called to mess with no stupid vengeance," she tells him, nails pressing against his skin where it's pockmarked with the remains of bugs that crossed his motorcycle's path.

 "Then why's I even here?" he demands. "Arthur and I ain't nothing, no matter what no file says. You know that well as I do."

 Abigail hesitates, the sharp edges of her softening, her expression one she'd used when trying to calm him. "He asked for you," she says quietly.  "Fevered and dying and barely nothing, but as he was coming out in Recovery, weren't no name but yours on his lips. Weren't awake long, weren't real coherent, but you're the one he wanted here."

#kichi writes #rdr2 #morston #modern au #red dead redemption #john marston #arthur morgan #(referenced) #abigail roberts #that's DOCTOR roberts to you tyvm #hospitals #implied physical trauma #references to blood and infection #nothing visceral or seen

[hxdonist]

.::. WHAT WAS CONSUMED OF ME? .::. cyberware.txt

Playing too free and loose with the net has its pitfalls, and Ikarus is well aware of them. Given his first neural uplink in a shady operation at little more than fifteen years old, his still-growing body regularly experienced damage from the electrical impulses often deployed against those picking around where they don't belong- and mental strain endured while netrunning, a close call frying the connections between his mind and his own right hand in his late teens- it was on his mother's recommendation that he replaced it, instead of seeking therapy or perhaps retiring for a short time from his dives into the depths of code for a time to let those connections slowly filter back in.

An Ichibangase/Eisher produced implant Ikarus' right arm is top of the line- installed in his teens and upgraded as Ikarus himself grew into a man, it's been largely the same since his youth, with exception of additional, improved weapon suites and stealth modifications made after-market to ensure that he is never left unarmed so to speak. Bearing pointed, razor-sharp claws cleverly hidden in the paneling of his more 'human' hand, the points remain precise and capable, able to manipulate even the smallest computer chips even with them exposed- though given their lack of sensation- Ikarus tends to prefer to use the touch-feedback sensitive fingers of the 'standard' hand. The flowing arcs of red light and electricity that shift like muscles beneath a hard outer shell are the single indication that the implant contains a railgun- grounded through the additional metal implanted within Ikarus' body after years of net diving, it can muster exactly five high powered, nigh-unstoppable by anything short of electromagnetic shielding shots before requiring a relatively lengthy recharge period of 30 minutes for an additional round, unless overclocked to strip power from elsewhere in his body.

His interfaces are more difficult to place, and are only at their most obvious when under the guise of 1NF1N1T3FUN, a helmet aping the image of a fox's head and face with projectors to display eight eyes over its scrawny, seemingly rotting visage, this headware is intended to mitigate and lighten the load he takes on while in the chair, and hide his identity in holos put out with NANO ZILLA's demands, or ransoms over information. lit in a harsh red and machined to match perfectly with his already installed port and the pre-existing damage to his body, it is comfortable enough to remain hidden beneath as long as he might require it- as only those who have earned his trust in his crew have seen him without it.

all internal interfaces, however, are starting to show their age. the operation to install his neural port was botched- 'overclocking' his connections if he's not careful- or mitigating with his helmet when wired in, he risks the loss of more than just his neck-to-right-shoulder connection- that expanse of his upper body- and some of his back and spine- mapped in sprawling carbon, chrome, and dancing red electricity. This too, is a secret, regularly wearing turtlenecks and long-sleeves to hide the bulk of his damage, in an effort to avoid looking weak, or perhaps, worrying his people. His on-board chipset, used for on-the fly hacking, scanning, and day-to-day business a phone might have previously filled the space of is a decidedly early model, jailbroken and regularly updated with the required work-arounds for modern technology- it works slowly, but effectively- many chromed-up cowboys unable to give chase as Ikarus makes a slow, lazy retreat unfettered by smart weapons or speed-enhanced limbs, quieted by anesthesia in code. . .

#ikarus.aes #ikarus.hc #ikarus.info

[lovelylogans]

the parent trap

CHAPTER THREE: en garde

The boys come to blows. (With practice épées, but in their minds, it’s equally as serious.)

⁂

Oh, yes. Remus is settling into camp just fine.

Specs and Tie-dye—he learns their real names are Teagan and Nick—were, to his absolute delight, absolutely terrible at cards and unflaggingly good sports about it. 

Even when Remus managed to win Nick’s prized nail polish, contraband stolen from his sister, he’d simply shrugged and congratulated Remus on a good game. Remus had celebrated the occasion by painting his nails a sickening shade of green chrome. 

(He, of course, generously let Nick paint his own nails, though he’d chosen a ridiculously bright highlighter yellow. It was kinda cool, really; all the bees in camp seemed fascinated by the color, which had Nick regretting his decision by lunch the next day.)

The first week passes in a blur of finally managing to memorize everyone’s names, though he almost never used them, getting his bed as close to a nest of dirty clothes and his blankets as possible, and finding the kitchen window with the loosest latch so he could sneak into it after hours and steal contraband.

The best part: his counselor, when Remus had swaggered back into the cabin with armfuls of popsicles, had simply shrugged and gone back to writing a letter to his girlfriend back home.

Summer camp, he writes in a letter home to Patton and Virgil, is going AWESOME.

⁂

Now here’s a sport that Roman can really thrive at.

None of this nonsensical American football—no. Fencing is where Roman will make his reputation. He’s rather pleased with himself, actually—fencing was cool. Maybe his success at it would, by proxy, make him cool.

“Halt!” Marvin cries as Roman’s landing a perfect hit at the dead-center of the chest, and Monroe falls on his back to the cheers of the rest of Maple.

Monroe takes off his helmet, grinning up at Roman. “Touché!”

Roman reaches down to help him up as Marvin Jr. cries out, “All right, excellent, kids! The winner and still undefeated champ from London, England—Mr. Roman James!”

Marvin Jr. takes his hand and raises it in the air, as if Roman’s some kind of prizefighter, and the rest of Maple cheers and claps for him, and Roman feels like he’s on top of the world. He turns to rush up to his cabin-mates, whose hands rain down on his back in approval.

He’s distantly aware of Marvin saying, “Do we have any challengers? Oh, come on, fellas…”

Roman takes a moment to drink from his water bottle.

“Awesome hit, Roman!” Asher says, patting him on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” Monroe says, “how’d you get so good at this stuff anyway?”

Roman shrugs, pretending at humility. “I did theater in school—the stage fighting’s stuck with me, I suppose.”

“Well, it’s wicked,” Asher says, then, “that’s right, isn’t it, wicked?”

“Yeah,” Roman says, grinning, “wicked” and they high-five.

“All right, James, you’ve got a challenger!” Marvin calls.

“Here I go,” Roman says, slightly muffled by his helmet, and he turns to face his competitor; suited in green-and-white, helmet and foil already in place, ready to begin the match.

“Go, Roman!” Maple cries as they meet in the center of the makeshift ring, foils clacking briefly together. 

“Fencers ready?” Marvin asks. Roman nods.

“Prête—allez!”

The opposite fencer attempts some fancy maneuver with kicking up the foil from the ground, managing to catch it and swirl it around in some embellishment.

“En garde—Fence!”

And they’re off.

The challenger’s thwacking at his foil repeatedly, as if that’ll somehow get Roman to trip up his guard; he parries all of them easily, keeping his footing as the challenger charges forward. 

The challenger steps out of the ring onto woodchips. Roman lunges, attempting to land a hit just to end the match, but the challenger bounces off of a tree, and Marvin doesn’t call foul even though he’s clearly out of bounds.

Then the challenger slashes his foil through the air, and Roman dodges—again, and to the left—Roman spares a look at Marvin, who still isn’t calling foul, and just barely manages to block the stranger’s foil from hitting a passerby.

“You could’ve hurt someone!” Roman says, furious.

“He wasn’t looking where he was going!” The challenger scoffs, and the match begins to grow fierce.

This challenger clearly has no semblance of strategy—their foil bounce off each other, each parrying each other’s every attempt at getting close enough to land a hit—and Roman’s back hits a wooden post.

He spins out of the way just in time for the foil to land in the post.

Right where his face would have been.

“You seriously could hurt someone!” Roman yells, and clearly Marvin isn’t about to bother stepping in—he plants his hands and cartwheels over a haybale, just to gain some ground away from this—this hacking, whirling dervish of a maniac.

He has the challenger with his back to the haybales now—he attempts to conduct the game legally, though it makes the challenger yawn, putting his face in front of the mask—and Roman snarls, infuriated by this.

The challenger takes immediate advantage, and attempts to disarm him—the foil flies in the air, hovering for an impossibly long moment—Roman runs up to the cabin, leaning over the railing and , gaining the upper ground, hand in the air, and he manages to seize the handle just in time.

“Nice catch!” The competitor says, before he promptly begins chasing Roman up the cabin stairs.

“You’re mad!” Roman yelps, twirling out of the way and doubling back, “completely barking mad!”

“Thanks!” The challenger says brightly, as though Roman’s paid him the highest compliment, and then sidesteps the foil, plants his hands on Roman’s chest, and gives him a great, hard shove.

Roman shrieks as he falls over the railing—he braces himself for a hard fall—but—

SPLASH!

He surfaces—not that the water’s very deep—and coughs, shocked, the wind having been knocked out of him. He’s landed in some kind of trough—really, why on earth was there a trough there? He’s grateful—he could have broken a bone from a fall of that height!

He could have gotten really badly hurt! Not just the fall—during at least five different points in that match!

But Marvin does not seem to care in the slightest. 

“O-kay, that was quite a show!”

Marvin’s approached the green-suited competitor, hoisting his hand in the air.

“I think we’ve got ourselves a new camp champ—from California, Mr. Remus Parker!”

“He cheated!” Roman protests, furious, and finally manages to extract himself from that ridiculous trough—really, who just put water in some random receptacle like that?!—and shakes off the excess water as best he can, though the suit’s quite waterlogged.

But Roman’s protests—and the protests of his cabin—go unheard over the raucous screaming of the Pines; Marvin Jr. is too busy looking at his clipboard to register this complaint.

Roman storms over to put away his foil, taking off his helmet and tucking it under his arm.

“This is absolutely ludicrous,” Roman says, to the loud agreement of Asher.

“He shoved you in the trough!” Asher declares, pointing over his shoulder, where the cheater must be standing. “That’s gotta be against the rules!”

But all fell on stubborn ears; at last, Marvin Jr. looks up from his clipboard, only to say in a mild tone of voice. “All right, boys, now shake hands.”

With a dirty rotten stinking no good cheater?! Marvin Jr.’s out of his bloody mind!

“Come on, boys, be good sports. Shake hands.”

Roman, with a great roll of his eyes, turns around just in time to hear a loud, nasal sigh.

And then he jerks back in shock.

It’s like they’ve stuck a mirror in the ground.

The mirror image pulls back too, eyes bugging out, but it’s like it’s Roman. Same freckles splashed across his cheeks from spending time in the sun; same height, same brown eyes, same brown hair, even the same stubborn cowlick!

But then, it’s like a funhouse mirror, on second glance; the cheater (the cheater! yes! this boy cheated!) has a ghastly streak of white hair throughout his too-long hair; unkempt where Roman was neat, exaggerated in expression where Roman was calm, and, oh yes, a cheating cheater where Roman was honest!

Roman swallows, but he sticks out a hand.

After a moment’s hesitation, the cheater sticks his out. Yes, that’s just the same, too, except, Roman notices with distaste, that the cheater has bitten his nails down to the quick, his chrome nail polish chipped. And, ugh, how is there so much mud caked under them?! Roman’s are neatly trimmed and clear.

But Roman clasps it to shake all the same, real and not a mirror at all; it’s damp, like his, but warm, shockingly so.

The other boy—Remus Parker, hadn’t Marvin said?—yanks his hand back as quickly as he can manage, mussing his already messy hair.

“Why’s everyone staring at us?” He says, loud.

“...Don’t you see it?” Roman says.

“See what?!” Remus says with a scoff and a dismissive shake of his head.

“The resemblance between us!”

The other boy’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

“Resemblance?” Remus repeats. “Between… you and me?”

Roman nods, still stricken; yes, there’s that smirk on the other boy’s face, the same on Roman’s practiced in the mirror before, the one that he tries to use to demonstrate nothing anyone ever says bothers him.

“Let me see,” Remus says, mockingly putting a thoughtful finger to his temple. “Turn sideways.”

Roman huffs out a breath, but pivots to display his left profile; Dad always says that statistically, someone’s left side is almost always going to be their good one.

“Noww the other way.”

Roman rolls his eyes and acquiesces. He feels like he’s in a police procedural to get his mugshot.

“We-ell,” the other boy drawls. “Your eyes seem a bit crossed—you don’t have to try that hard to look at me, I’m right here.”

Roman clenches his fists, tops of his ears burning, as Remus Parker’s cabin mates laugh at him.

“That nose—well, don’t worry, I bet you’ll grow into it.”

Roman resists the urge to cover his nose with his hand.

“And your teeth are like someone shoved a crumbling Jenga tower in there, but hey. That’s Brits for ya, innit?”

And an awful attempt at a British accent too! Roman’s positively fuming.

“But do you want to know the real difference between you and me?” Remus says.

“What?” Roman says snidely. “That I know how to fence and you don’t? Or is it that I have class and you don’t? Take your pick.”

“Why I oughta—”

Roman would be delighted by this utterly American line if it hadn’t been accompanied by this brute clenching his jaw and taking a closer step. As it is, Roman sets his jaw and takes his own step forward.

“Boys, stop,” Marvin Jr. is saying in the background, and Roman is about to take another step forward, and damn that he doesn’t know how to enter fisticuffs when a hand comes down on each of their shoulders.

“Now Remus—”

Roman glowers at Marvin. He doesn’t have that ghastly streak of white through his hair!

“Roman—I mean—”

Remus takes a moment to pull a grotesque face at Marvin before returning his attention to Roman.

“Now Roman—Remus—I-I mean—oh, whoever you are, it’s time to break up this little love fest—”

The boy snarls at him—snarls! Like some kind of animal!—and Roman has to resist the urge to snap right back at him, even as they’re jostled away from each other.

“Whoa,” Asher says, to the general mutterings of agreement of cabins Pine and Maple.

⁂

The discussion of the fencing match and the shock of the identical combatants carried over, Roman found, through lunch, dinner, and even during pre-bedtime downtime when Roman was trying to write a letter to home with absolutely zero mention of it.

He’s absolutely sick to death of this conversation. And yet.

“I mean, don’t you think it’s weird?” Asher pushes.

Roman presses down a little too hard on his pen, where he’s trying to describe the activities he’s gotten introduced to since arriving at camp. I’ve found I’m rather a dab hand at kayaking…

“For the thousandth time, yes, of course I think it’s odd,” Roman says wearily. …spent the whole morning that day in the lake, which was very beautiful (sketch enclosed)...

“You’ve seriously never met this guy before.” another cabin mate pipes up.

Roman rolls his eyes, carefully sorting through his sketches to select the most picturesque for his father. “I’ve seriously never met him before.”

“Nothing? No mention of a weird American cousin or anything like that?”

“I don’t have any cousins our age,” Roman says, settling on a landscape that shows the sun dappling beautifully through the leaves and landing on the glittering lake. “The closest age cousin I’ve got is my dad’s age, and he’s not even technically my cousin, he’s my dad’s cousin.”

“Weird,” Asher says with a shake of his head.

“Weird,” Roman agrees, hoping he’ll be able to resume his letter in peace now that they’ve hashed it out for the billionth time. 

…I’m getting along just fine with my cabin mates, and my counselor hardly seems to have a care about what shenanigans some of them get up to—breaking into the kitchen for sweets and the like. 

It seems to be a bit of a tradition to do that kind of thing anyway; I guess the reasoning is if we do small bits of rebellion, we won’t turn our attention to absolute chaos. Not that I’ve been joining in outside of enjoying the occasional contraband snack, I assure you (so long as you don’t count swiftly establishing myself as the predominant poker talent in the cabin)…

“...dunno, what are your theories, then?” he can hear Asher say to another kid in the cabin, as if Roman isn’t even there. Roman grits his teeth and presses his pen back to paper, perhaps a bit firmer than he did before.

…be sure to tell Grandfather that his new deck of cards has come in handy and I thank him again for the gift. I’ve taught them a few new card games, too, and there’s rumors of them trying to teach me one—have you ever played something called Egyptian Rat Screw? I guess it’s fairly similar to Beggar-my-neighbor. Americans, as usual, have their own take on things. That might be the plan for the evening, if I don’t have any takers for poker this evening.

But that’s proven rather popular. People seem to think they can defeat me.

Someone storms in from outside, clearly in the midst of a rant.

“—my whole allowance, it’s absolutely insane—”

“Who took your allowance?” Asher asks.

“That Remus Parker kid,” he says. “He’s bleeding everyone dry. He’s like a freak poker prodigy.”

A smile creeps across Roman’s face. “Is he now.”

There is a great turning of heads to Roman’s bunk.

More specifically, there is a great turning of heads to Roman’s cubby of pride, where he has placed every trophy he’s wrought from every poker game he’s played in camp.

Every undefeated poker game.

“Say, Roman,” he says slowly. “I don’t suppose… you’d want to win it back for me, would you? I’d get you whatever you wanted from the kitchen. All summer long, even.”

Everyone looks very tempted by that offer. Let alone Roman, who is always a little nervous about the potential of being caught out in the kitchens anyway.

“C’mon, Roman, please,” Asher urges. “I know you want to. Don’t you want to get back at that dirty stinking cheater?!”

That does it.

“Yes, of course, let me just finish this so we can drop it in the post box on our way there—”

He turns and quickly jots off the ending line of his letter, then signing it Love from, Roman James in a great swooping signature that his dad had helped him perfect.

Off to win what will surely be a rollicking poker match!

⁂

Remus tsks in delight as he extends his arms, having to use more than his hands to be able to pull in the sheer quantity of quarters, dollars, chewing gum, candies, nail polish, and—the most sacrosanct—a key to get into the kitchens someone filched from some stupid counselor! No more jimmying open windows for Remus! That will definitely make fulfilling his nighttime cravings easier.

“Sorry, gents,” he says smugly and not at all apologetically as the majority of the Catalpa Cabin’s riches tumble into his lap. 

There’s a great chorus of rumblings as Remus begins to sort the dollars from the quarters, and the food from the money, ostentatiously fanning himself with them. “Any more takers?”

The door to Pine Cabin opens, and Remus cranes his neck over the crowd of spectators that have crowded into the space; he snorts at the sight.

“No refunds, Monroe,” he says. “Should’ve known better than to bet all your money on a two-pair.”

“He’s not going for a refund,” a very, very familiar voice rings out over the flock of Maple Cabin.

They all part to reveal Remus’ clone from an alternate, much dweebier universe.

“But I’ll give it the old college try.”

Remus snorts, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head.

“Sure, James,” he says. “Take a seat.”

Roman James tucks himself tidily atop the bed, hands folded.

“Hold’em? Omaha? Seven Card Stud?” Remus fires off.

“We’ll do a classic Texas,” Roman says.

Remus snorts. Figures. He probably doesn’t even know to ask if they’re playing Short Deck or not.

“Fine,” Remus says, beginning to shuffle, but Roman makes a sharp noise of protest.

“After your stunt at the fencing grounds? You’ll have to forgive me to think you’re not stacking the deck in your favor.”

Remus shrugs, unoffended. He probably would if he knew for a fact he’d get away with it.

“Someone else will have to deal us in, Parker.” Roman says pointedly.

“Fine,” Remus says, settling his sunglasses back on his nose. With the glass root beer bottle beside him, Remus probably cuts what Virgil would call an intimidating figure. 

He hands the cards to the first set of hands that take them. It turns out to be someone from Catalpa; probably good. He doesn’t want James to cry cheater again if someone from Pine had dealt them both in.

Remus can play this in his sleep. Classic Texas Poker, it’s a shoo-in. Clearly he’d bruised more than just James’s body when he’d shoved him in that trough; he’d bruised his ego. 

Shame that James was about to stake his honor on the game that Remus had been playing practically since he was born.

The crowd around them is heavy; Pine, stacked up behind Remus, and Maple, stacked up behind Roman, seemingly as a matter of Cabin Pride or principle. 

The real interesting read of the sway were any Catalpas—even a few of the older boys from Rowan and Sequoia filter in after a while—switching their vantage points from one to another, whispering to each other and gasping appropriately when things get added to the pot.

Remus gets the card. The. Card. Just the one he needed.

Remus smirks at the sight.

“Tell you what, James,” he says. “Let’s make things really interesting.”

Roman arches an eyebrow.

“Loser jumps into the lake after the game.”

“Excellent,” Roman says, examining his cards.

“Butt. Naked.”

There’s a chorus of sniggers erupting from the flock of pre-teenage boys.

A slow smile curls over Roman’s face. “Even more excellent.”

Remus grins back. Oh, when that stuck-up English prude has to go down to his skivvies, or whatever screwed-up word they use for underwear…

“Start stripping, James,” Remus says smugly. He smacks his cards against the table, face-up.

“Straight! In. Diamonds.”

Remus smiles.

“Oh, you’re good, Parker,” Roman begins to hum, a tune that Remus thinks he’s probably heard somewhere…

“But not good enough.”

Remus’ smile drops.

“In honor of my homeland,” Roman says. “God save the Queen, Parker.” 

Roman flips around his cards to display a royal flush, covering his smiling, humming mouth. 

Of spades.

No way, Remus thinks, furious—but he’s the one who passed off the cards to Catalpa, there’s no way he could have—

Remus forcibly shoves down any anger. He can use that later.

To come onto his turf, to challenge him at his thing, all because of a measly little shove?

This meant war.

“Well,” Remus says, removing his sunglasses, and puts his biggest grin on his face.

“Anyone going to give me some music for this? No?”

He dramatically whips off his green, Walden-branded bomber jacket, tossing it in the general direction of his bunk. 

“Come on then, boys, time for me to put on a show! Probably a better one than his lily-white pasty ass would’ve given you!”

And so Remus begins to sprint to the dock, tugging off his shirt in the process, to the great chorus of preteen footsteps behind him, laughing and whooping the whole way down.

⁂

It’s difficult to see their way down to the lake, but fortunately some of the boys from Sequoia had gathered candles so, at least, Roman wasn’t tripping over his own feet on his way down there.

Not that he would have been mocked for tripping; it seems that winning back Monroe’s allowance and handing over a key for the kitchen to their preeminent food heister, Antony, seems to have solidified a place of popularity within Maple, even spreading out to these witnesses from Sequoia and Catalpa. 

The expression on Remus’ face when Roman had won—! It surely made up for the disrespect of being shoved into a trough, of all things. And for this indignity to be from Remus’ own suggestion, only to come back to bite him!

Yes, Roman thought, as he gathered his packed-up-sock full of candy, dollars, quarters, and even his own pounds; victory certainly is sweet.

Meanwhile, Remus had finished his run down to the lake, and was standing amidst the lot of them, staring out at the wide expanse of the dock in nothing but his pants.

“Well,” Remus says. “The pièce de résistance.”

Remus seems entirely unaffected as he officially strips down, and begins to run down the dock.

“CANNONBALL!” He bellows, with little care that any dozing counselors might hear him, and tucks himself up into a perfect ball, letting out a truly impressive splash.

“C’mon,” Asher says, “Grab his clothes!”

“Wait—” Roman says, “what—?”

Too late—Monroe is already lunging for Remus’ messily deposited shirt, and Sequoia and Catalpa are scattering for their own cabins, and Asher picks up his pants, and all that’s left are the shoes and everyone’s running—

“Guys!” Roman says, running after them. “Wait!”

But there’s nothing he can do to stop them—he can only keep pace with the rest of them as they bolt back to Maple, clinging tight to his contraband.

previous chapter | masterpost | next chapter

#my fic #my fanfic #tpt fic

[crawlspacefics]

Hey,

I don't know if you know a lot about cars or not but I've compiled a list of cars of what the senshi would drive and you can tell me what you think.

(If you can look it up if you want)

(This is also going to be a long one lol)

Usagi- Newer Volkswagen Beetle because she thinks it's cute

Ami- Toyota Corolla or Honda Civic. She prefers something reliable and economical.

Makoto- Toyota FJ Cruiser or New Ford Bronco because I see her as an off road driver who enjoys exploring.

Rei- Probably something that runs and drives but I would lean her towards something that is cheap and practical while still enjoying it. Probably a Mitsubishi Lancer Evo or a Subaru Impreza WRX Hatchback.

Minako- Something cool like a BMW M5 F10 (Rip water pump lol) or 2012 Mercedes SL-Class (Rip engine due to trashing the shit out of that car lol)

Michiru- Something fancy yet practical such as a Mercedes E-Class Wagon Diesel or Volkswagen Passat 4Motion.

Haruka- Sport cars obviously lol. I would think a BMW M3 E46 Convertable for daily driver and Volkswagen Golf R to take Hotaru to school while still looking cool lol

Hotaru- Haruka's Golf but Michiru would get her a Toyota Yaris to start but if she doesn't want it, then she's going to get her own car lol.

Setsuna- Anything that runs and drives lol

I love this question! 🌞🚙 (Though I warn I'm not a knowledgeable car person and most of this is based on aesthetics. Also, I'm adding to, not disagreeing with your choices. I like the Yaris!)

Usagi - I agree on the newer Beetle Bug. She needs an automatic, it would be pale yellow with cute glitter decals on the windows and a pink license plate frame. I'd even say she has a pink fuzzy steering wheel cover and some kind of cute pink seat covers. There would be a little crystal hanging from the rearview mirror.

Rei - I feel like I'm being mean to her, but Rei has a faded 1977 Red Gremlin hatchback with the white stripes. It runs (and not much else). And she can shove a dozen people into the hatchback if she really tries. She's no frills with this and also refusing to take anything from her father even though he could have/maybe offered her a nicer vehicle.

Ami - this one was harder. I actually see her on a scooter with a cute little basket on the front. Pale blue with white details and a matching helmet. But, if she were to get a car, it would be a Smart Car. Same pale blue with white details and a little black cat decal on the back window. She's getting her transportation to take her from point A to point B without really thinking of passengers. If it's more than just her going anywhere, the other person is driving. Or alternately, a dark blue Prius.

Makoto - my girl has a small, budget-friendly pick-up truck. Specifically, a Chevy LUV (manufactured by Isuzu). Fading baby blue with a rust spot on the hood and a pink plastic flower hanging from the rearview mirror. She keeps an old wooden crate in the bed to throw stuff in and has a flowered license plate frame. Alternately, she gets a classic Bronco. There's still a wooden crate in the back.

Minako - my party girl gets a party vehicle. A bright sunny yellow VW Bus with polished chrome. It's a bitch to park in Tokyo but she loves it. It has a hippie stoner look but only because Minako loves the aesthetic of all the rainbows and colors and peace sign stickers. There's a blue bird figure glued to the dashboard and she pats its head every time she gets in. Fuzzy dice! Artemis has his very own customized cat seat slung over the front bench (it can be relocated if he wants to get in the back to get away from the commotion of the entire crew on a road trip). She has a custom license plate - SAYLAV

Haruka - like you said, definitely sport cars. And more than one because she married really well. 😁 I definitely see her going with mostly modern cars, like day one off the assembly line. There's a Porsche involved. But there has to be a classic 1965 Shelby Mustang in there somewhere. White with a dark blue racing stripe. She would not besmirch her car with decals. LOL

Michiru - she's going for classy and high end. I had to look some of these up because I'm not familiar with high end 😅, but I could see her in something like a Lexus LFA as her everyday driver. But I'm also giving her a high end modern Jeep for fun, like when they go on trips to the mountains. It is teal. Because she is girly.

Setsuna - she's going for basic use and reliability. Cadillac XTS in dark burgundy.

Hotaru - she'll inherit Michiru's Jeep and have it repainted purple. 😎

#sailor moon #the girls and their rides #sailor mars #sailor mercury #sailor jupiter #sailor venus #sailor uranus #sailor neptune #sailor pluto #sailor saturn

[bunnymajo]

I'm bored so I'm going to rate everyone's Sonic Riders drip (excluding the comics because we're still waiting for everyone else's outfits. Also excluding the Babylon Rogues because that's just their signature look at this point)

Sonic

The chrome narrow wrap-around sunglasses are a good choice, very indicative of the 2000s. If this were redesigned in the 2020s his lenses would be huge. Shoes are definitely his signature colors but redesigned to look more athletic but sleek. A simple but noticeable change 8/10

Tails

Cute little pilot goggles!! His shoes are definitely more detailed and sporty. No laces, just thick velcro straps to hold it together and keep it youthful 10/10

Knuckles

A good choice of goggles that can be worn around the neck. Very practical and easy to keep track of. The pink lenses are also nice. They did a good job of trying to incorporate motifs from his signature shoes into a sportier look but it's just not all there for me. 7/10

Amy Rose

So darling! I love this much sportier look for her and flared out sweat pants. Her shoe design is also top notch!! I like how they switched out her inhibitor rings bangles for some sweatbands. Very fun. 9/10 for the game version, 10/10 once you add the heart glasses the comics are planning to give her.

Dr. Eggman

I'm not immune to a man in a cool sports coat & long wooshy scarf. Helmet's also good. Protect his head. 11/10

Shadow

I don't think they tried as hard as they could've. His shoes are a fun change of pace and I think it's cool they went with a more rimless look for his glasses but I think it could be pushed a bit more 6/10

Rouge

I'm sorry Rouge enjoyers but I think they also could've done more with her outfit. I really love the hibiscus print on her pants and seeing her in a more athletic get up at all is nice, her shoes are great! But like. Look I've been Rouge's size, she needs better support. And it matched with the long gloves looks off for some reason. Also she didn't even get cool glasses!! Where's her designer stolen Versache sunglasses Sega?? 6/10

Cream

I love love love this one! She's so adorable! The visor, the little shorts. Ready for some fun in the sun. Vanilla did good 12/10

Vector

I'm so sorry Vector, I'm so sorry Sega did like the bare minimum. Your new shoes are cool but you deserved so much more. 5/10

Blaze

Now this is a really welcome change of pace for her. Love the jumpsuit and the long bright PINK boots are killer. I wish the yellow was maybe a different shade? And again no sunglasses. Sega. Give your girls some eye protection! 8/10

Silver

The new shoes are so goofy looking but they're also 100% him. You can see these Oshkosh colors from a mile away. Loses points for again no glasses. 7/10

#long post #silly stuff #sonic riders

[tauriatalksmonkeys]

Alternate Evil Ages: A Bulletfic

so @sweetcircuits & i were talking about Evil Ages for unrelated reasons & my brain fed me this idea, so!

it started with me once again dwelling on my thoughts on Evil Ages (fun & cute but also, frustrating bc it's all earth/american-centric history when shuggazoom is a separate planet, & it would have been rly cool to see unique lore/eras. tho it being a 00's kids show i understand why that's not what we got)

and THEN i started thinking about like, the eras of the show we DID get to see--a glimpse of Scrapperton-era Shuggazoom, and then, of course, Cap's flashbacks to the Golden Age.

which THEN led me to, uh. this.

(also BIG thank you to @sweetcircuits who both encouraged me to write this & also was a big help with making sure it worked with the episode <3 ilu)

Instead of landing in the Prehistoric-era, Chiro & Nova land in Shuggazoom. Kind of. It's... different. Recognizably home, but altered enough they feel like strangers. There are buildings missing on the skyline. Some are shorter than they remember. Others are wearing different logos, painted alternate colors. Hovercars whiz down the street, but not the cars of their memory. These ones are shiny chrome with sharp angles and boxy fronts.

They wander the streets, looking for any clue as to what the heck is going on. And then they see people running. They share a glance before they take off running as well, towards the source of the disturbance, not away.

I like the idea of them reaching the place where the Robot is now parked, but it could just as easily be the site of the museum, a town plaza, a park---it doesn't really matter. What matters is what they see:

A man who looks awfully like the museum curator stands in the center, surrounded by giant, creepy puppets with abnormally wide grins. Across from him, a stranger hovers several feet off the ground. He's clad in black and white and orange, a cape billowing from his shoulders. His uniform is familiar; Chiro is wearing it's match right now. But it's not the uniform that really draws the eye.

It's the helmet.

"He's wearing our logo," Chiro says dumbly. He meets Nova's eyes, and sees his confusion echoed there.

Chiro doesn't get a chance to ask what it could mean.

The stranger says--- "You won't get away with this, Puppeteer!"

And the curator-lookalike laughs. "I already have!" He raises a set of pipes to his lips, and begins to blow. The puppets fly forward, hands raised to hurt, and the stranger throws bolts of electricity. It's enough to startle both Nova and Chiro into the fray, joining the stranger.

They are, of course, overwhelmed, defeated, and they wake up in the dungeon with the others, no sign of the helmeted stranger. They don't think about it, for a bit; instead focused on stopping and defeating the Curator.

And then the episode ends. The Curator is gone, disappeared to who-knows-where, or when. The team returns to Shuggazoom, where the dolls sit on display; small and life-less once more. Among them is the stranger. Chiro picks him up, looks at him. He's never heard of any other heroes on Shuggazoom---but then, history was never his best subject. (That's what he has Antauri for, now.)

Speaking of. Antauri approaches. "What have you found?" he asks, and this prompts Chiro to explain the bubble that he and Nova were caught in.

Antauri, too, seems mystified.

On a whim, Chiro pulls at the helmet. It slips off. (Ignore that this doesn't make sense, please and thanks.) It doesn't make sense, but he's half expecting to see the Alchemist. He doesn't. The monkeys have gathered around, now, and upon the sight of the stranger's face, their heads tilt. The doll is simple, of course, but there's enough detail before them. Short, slightly spiky brown hair. Dark eyes. Chiro thinks he's meant to be handsome.

"He looks... familiar," Nova says, visibly unsettled. The other monkeys nod, slowly, just as unnerved. Just as perplexed.

"Who IS he?" Chiro asks.

Episode fade-out.

Four episodes later, they track down a mysterious signal... and find a helmeted stranger.

#srmthfg #srmthg #srmt #super robot monkey team hyper force go #super robot monkey team hyperforce go #my posts #my writing #alternate canon #episode rewrites #monkey fic #evil ages #what is tagging

[klcthebookworm]

WIP Wednesday

So the rescue of Meryl and Vash begins.

Milly-ma’am swung her coat onto her shoulders and picked up her massive stun gun. Her right hand tucked into the trigger guard and the stock rested against her forearm until the end rested in her elbow bend and she braced the wide barrel with her left hand. “Stay behind me.” She told them as she headed out the door first. Chuck swung his backpack onto his back and Hannah carried hers ready to swing it.

A guard in the khaki uniform met them on the porch where they had sat yesterday. “Miss Thompson, you and the children need to go back to your room.”

“You need to release Meryl Stryfe and Vash the Stampede right now.”

“That’s not happening,” the guard answered with a snort.

Milly-ma’am aimed the stun gun and fired before his hand dropped onto the butt of his pistol. The bolt expanded into an X, caught the guard in the chest, and pinned him to the wall on the other side of the porch. He slumped against the metal bars. “Wrong answer,” Milly-ma’am told him. She marched to the south gate and Hannah matched that pace. Chuck huffed as he jogged after them.

No guards were in this section. Hannah darted ahead and opened the hood of the car. “Good. They didn’t sabotage it.”

Chuck tossed his backpack in the car’s back seat. “You were worried about that?”

“It’s what I would’ve done.”

The bike rolled out from under the awning on the right on her own beeping. Chuck patted her handlebars and turned on the face shield of the helmet. The bike sent him a question mark to the display.

“We’re leaving,” Chuck explained. “But you and me gotta go rescue Vash and Meryl-ma’am.”

“Again?” the bike printed on his face shield.

“I don’t know what you’re asking. The baddies here locked them up underground. Hannah has to drive the car.”

Milly-ma’am fired another stun bolt at a guard coming out a door next to the main gate out and flew back into that room. “Hannah, you can drive a car?”

Hannah slipped in behind the steering wheel and started the car. “I’ve been driving vehicles out of the garage and our yard since I got tall enough to see over the steering wheels.”

Chuck climbed up onto the chrome covered fuel tank so he could grasp the handle bars. “We’ll open the gate gate!”

The bike revved, spun to face the gate, popped the main laser cannon out above the headlight, and blasted the metal gate. The metal curled away from the stone with a hole large enough for the car.

Chuck howled, “Aoooow! Now we’ll go get our bro and Meryl-ma’am. It’s at the other end of the courtyard, the door down. Let’s rock….”

“And ride!” Hannah yelled with him.

The bike spun around again as Chuck held on. “Play the Thunder song!”

The bike honked and the strumming guitar solo poured from the speakers as they accelerated up the steps and jumped into the courtyard. Milly-ma’am ran after them until she had to stop and shoot more stun bolts at the guards running out of the building on the right. The bike rolled up the steps, across another porch, down more steps into another garden between the building and the outer wall.

“That’s the door!”

The bike shot the weird door that looked like it was half-buried and rolled through it. Chuck had to hang on even tighter as they bounced down the wide steps. The singer started singing. “I was caught. In the middle of a railroad track (thunder). I looked 'round. And I knew there was no turning back (thunder).”

They ended up in the middle of the lab from the photograph that made Meryl-ma’am vomit. The giant lightbulb was at one end, much smaller than the ones Vash had shown them powering the towns and cities, but this one seemed filled with a pink cloud.

“My mind raced. And I thought, what could I do? (Thunder). And I knew. There was no help, no help from you (thunder).”

The bike finished a lifeform scan and highlighted inside the bulb with a pulsing dot. That was probably Vash. Meryl-ma’am said Vash was in the bulb. How to get him out? The dot looked like it was close to the glass.

Sainsbury jumped up from the computer equipment against the wall. “What the hell!”

“Tail whippin’ time!” Chuck yelled back. “Give me back my bro and Meryl-ma’am now!”

The dark-skinned adult walked toward him and the bike. “Well keeping them under control just got so much easier.”

“That’s what you think! Aooow!”

The bike fired the specialty shot Hannah had loaded onto the side of the front telescopic fork. Sainsbury ducked as it sailed past. “Little boy, you have no idea what you are dealing with.”

The canister bounced off the stone wall and clonked Sainsbury in the head. His eyes rolled up as he dropped to the floor. The canister sprang open and draped rope over the unconscious man’s back.

“You’ve been thunderstruck,” Chuck sang at him along with the singer.

#trigun 98 #my fic #three of a kind #wip #wip wednesday #biker mice from mars

[oceangirl24]

New Chapter- Saudade: Preparation

Shawn oversees the household while Jon is in the hospital. Audrey gives him instructions that leave him questioning her state of mind. Jon's Harley comes out of retirement much to Julia's fear.

Jon's bike was a 1991 Harley Davidson Heritage Softail Classic Custom that was now a collector's piece. It had an air-cooled, four-stroke, 1337cc, 45° V-Twin power plant engine paired with a five-speed manual transmission that could produce 58 horsepower at 5000 rpm.

This Harley came standard with studded-leather saddlebags to match the studded-leather driver and passenger seats and backrest. When Shawn was a teen, Jon rarely used the saddlebags unless he had a lot to carry, as he didn't like the aesthetics of the bags. He only carried a briefcase with him to school that was on a leather strap he wore like a crossbody bag. The saddlebags were missing from the bike now, but it didn't matter as he had no use for them either. He put his hand on the seat. The leather was still supple after all these years. Jon may not ride anymore, but he still cared for the vehicle on a regular basis.

He moved to the front of the Harley and lightly ran his hand over the front fender. He let his fingers caress the Heritage Classic name proudly displayed in chrome script. As a teen, he had more interest in learning to ride the bike than drive a car.

Shawn's eyes drifted over the rest of the bike to the small windscreen and the laced wheels. The most noticeable feature of the Harley was the chrome. The fenders had chrome accents. The engine accents and covers were all chrome, as was the staggered, shorty dual exhaust.

It had been so long since Shawn had seen the Harley, he'd forgotten what a beast it was up close. A wave of nostalgia hit him as he thought about the first time he sat on the back seat of the motorcycle. It was the first summer he spent with Jon when they traveled the East Coast on the bike. Feeling the power of the engine beneath him and the open-air speeds was unlike anything he'd experienced before or since. From the first time the bike roared to life beneath him, he understood why Jon loved it so much. There was a freedom and adrenaline rush that no other vehicle could offer. Even a convertible luxury sports car was boring in comparison.

Shawn forced his attention away from the bike; they had to leave for the hospital now. He stood and pulled the key out of his pocket that Audrey had left him. The key was still on the same Pentagon keyring Jon had way back then.

=============

As he put the headgear on, memories of the helmet came rushing back: the first time he ever saw Jon; the time he came to lecture him and Cory at the Matthews over their strike; all the times he walked into class with it holding it against his hip.

Returning his mind to the present, Shawn stood next to the Harley and leaned into the tank as he put the key in the ignition. He found the balance point of the heavy machine and put it in neutral, then took hold of the handlebars. He pushed it forward, putting his hip into the seat to gain momentum to move it out of the garage.

Once in the driveway, Shawn got on the bike, and started the engine. As the Harley roared to life, the vibration of power surged through him, waking all his senses. Shawn felt like he was coming to life after sleeping through a long, cold winter.

As he released the clutch, he was 15 again and back in the parking lot of the apartment in Philadelphia, where Jon taught him how to ride the Harley. He could hear Jon's voice directing him to hold the clutch in and work the gear lever with his left foot until the transmission was in neutral. Everything his mentor ever taught him about the machine and how to operate it safely ran through his mind like a movie. Confident he'd done everything to his father's satisfaction, Shawn hit the gas and took off after the Yukon.

Read the Rest:

AO3 FFN WattPad

#boy meets world #boy meets world fanfiction #boy meets world fic #bmw fanfiction #bmw #shawn hunter #jon turner #jonathan turner #Audrey Andrews #original character #found family fanfiction #found family #maya hart #girl meets world fanfiction #girl meets world

[booksbydlwhite]

#SampleSunday- The Pearl: A waste of a nice ass

Welcome back to Sample Sunday! I am sharing snips of THE PEARL, my upcoming Black Diamond romance. Pick up last week’s sample tto meet our heroine, Kari Savoy.

Interested in my inspirations for this novel? Follow The Pearl’s Pinterest board.

As usual, I am tracking progress and revelations of writing this book on my author podcast The Bookcast. Catch up with Episode 78 to hear how the writing is going.

Enjoy today’s snip!

As the afternoon blazed through the windshield, I pulled into the underground parking deck at The Pearl, followed the directions toward resident and employee parking and found a spot close to an elevator. I slung a bag over each shoulder, lugged two rolling suitcases toward the elevator, and pressed the button to call it.

A few moments later, the doors slid open. Expecting it to be empty, I lunged forward— into the broad, molded chest of Davis Scott.

He wasn’t in his finely tailored, well-fitting suit. Instead, he wore a skin tight, neon green and black racing shirt, matching pants and molded black riding boots. His arm shot out, his large hand firmly gripping my shoulder. I steadied myself and backed up, releasing the suitcases I’d rolled across the parking deck.

“I am so sorry. I don’t know why I expected this elevator to be empty.”

“Hello, Ms. Savoy,” he replied, in the same stiff tone from our conversation before.

I moved back a few steps and took in the entire view of him, head to toe. Namely… his attire. “That’s right. Dionne mentioned you had a bike. I guess I assumed she meant a ten-speed.” When he didn’t laugh, I cleared my throat and tried a different angle. “So…you ride?”

He nodded. “Yes. I’m headed out for a ride with Jason. Do… you ride?” An eyebrow rose as he asked. He shifted the helmet he’d been holding, propping it against his hip.

“No,” I offered quickly. “I’m too scared to get on those things. My little brother does, though. I recognize the gear.”

“Ah. Well.” He turned and pointed, which made me follow his gaze to an older but obviously well-cared for Harley parked a few spots away. It was simple and understated, jet black and shiny chrome. “That’s mine,” he said, quietly.

“A Harley,” I commented, smiling. “So you’re a serious biker. Moses rides one of those sport things.”

Davis chuckled deep in his throat, then gripped the helmet in both of his hands. “The younger generation prefer the newer bikes. Shiny, push button, electric components. This one is special to me, so I’ve taken care of it.”

“I see.” I reached for the handles to my suitcases. “Well. These aren’t going to get themselves upstairs.” I waited for him to step out of my route to the elevator.

“Do you need assistance?” And just as I was about to think it was sweet of him to offer to help me, he added, “Justin is in. I’m sure he’d be happy to come down.” He unzipped a pocket and pulled out his phone.

“No! Don’t… do that. I uhm…” I maneuvered around him to the elevator with two bags on each limb and pressed the call button again. “I can manage. Thank you.”

“No problem.” He slipped the helmet onto his head and snapped it into place. In a voice now muffled, he said, “Have a nice day, Ms. Savoy. See you in the morning.”

He turned on a heel and made long, purposed strides in the direction of his bike.

What a waste of a nice ass.

#sample sunday #the pearl #Black Diamond

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

I Can Get You Out of Here

Febuwhump 2022: #9. Kidnapped

Fandom: DC, Peacemaker, Vigilante, Adrian Chase

Word Count: 2895

TW: Blood, Stabbing, Kidnapping, Torture, Suffocation, Language

Thank you to @babblydrabbly for beta reading!

@febuwhump, @lacontroller1991

Part 2

Peacemaker marched through the doors of the makeshift base of operations with you hot on his heels, swearing up a storm.

Harcourt looked up from her monitor in confusion. “Peacemaker, Crusader. What happened? Why are you back so early? Where’s Vigilante?”

“Vig and Peacemaker snuck into the compound to try to grab the information and they left me outside to keep watch. The next thing I knew, this jackass-” you shoved Peacemaker hard in the chest “-came running out alone saying they captured Vigilante and we had to leave. Then he dragged me back to the van and drove off before I could go help Vig. He just left him in there alone!”

Peacemaker pointed his finger mere inches from your face, and if you hadn’t been wearing your mask, you probably would have bitten it in your fury. “Hey, that’s on him if he fell behind or screwed up. I wasn’t going to stick around to get caught too.”

“He’s supposed to be your best friend!” you screamed.

Peacemaker muttered. “No. I’ve told him this before, Eagly’s my best friend. Vigilante’s just a… a wannabe groupie.”

You drew back your arm and punched Peacemaker as hard as you could in the face. Luckily for you, he had taken his idiotic chrome helmet off when he came in the door, or you probably would have broken all the bones in your hand. Nevertheless, it still felt like hitting a brick wall.

Peacemaker stumbled back, more in shock than anything else. As soon as he regained his footing, he pulled out his gun and pointed it at your head. You scoffed, “You’re not man enough to even try.”

He cocked the gun and took a step closer to you, the muzzle now centimeters from your face. But you didn’t so much as flinch. However, before he could pull the trigger and call your bluff, Harcourt stepped in. “Alright you two, stop this pissing match. We don’t have time for it.”

Peacemaker reluctantly lowered the gun as he continued to glare at you. But you ignored him as you turned to Harcourt. “So, what’s the plan? How are we getting Vigilante back?”

She sighed. “We’re not.”

“What do you mean? We have to go back for him!”

Harcourt shook her head sharply. “I’m sorry Crusader but we have our orders.” Her tone softened slightly. “I know he’s your partner and…. something more-“ your face grew hot under your mask, “-but we’ve been compromised and need to move. Now.”

“We can’t just leave him there. They’ll kill him!” You looked around the room, silently pleading for a single person to step up to help you. But everyone just avoided your eye. Furiously, you grabbed a handful of weapons that were laying on the table next to you and stalked over to the exit. Yanking the door open, you growled over your shoulder, “Fuck you all.”

When you made it back to the compound, everything was quiet, and you knew instantly that something was wrong. This place had been bustling with workers and guards just an hour ago but now, you didn’t see a single person moving around. The place was huge and there were a hundred different spots they might be holding Adrian, but your gut and previous experience told you that people tended to like to keep their hostages somewhere dark and foreboding. And according to the schematics you had studied before the mission, only one building had a basement. So, that was where you headed.

Getting into the building and down the stairs was no problem. You still didn’t see signs of anyone else and it was really starting to worry you. But you continued on, going deeper and deeper into the bowels of the building. Finally, when you got to the very bottom level, you poked your head out the stairwell and into the basement.

Actually, calling it a basement felt like an over-exaggeration. It was more of a cave, or a room dug directly into the ground below the building. The walls were made of uneven, unrefined rock and the floor was simply made of packed dirt. However, this allowed you to see a trail of multiple footprints heading off to your right. And it appeared as if the people who had made the trail had been dragging something between them…. or someone.

Following the path, you tried to stay hidden in the shadows as much as possible. You still hadn’t seen any other people, but you didn’t want to take any chances. Something felt off about this entire situation, but you couldn’t figure out what. But as you round the corner, all of your concerns about the lack of people no longer matter. Because you had finally found Adrian.

Hands tied high above his head with thick rope, your boyfriend hung limply from the ceiling with his feet dragging heavily across the ground as he swung back and forth slightly. Though his mask was still on, you could see his visor was cracked while parts of his suit were slashed and stained darker. The dirt below him had turned muddy as his blood had pooled beneath him. He didn’t seem to be conscious.

“Adrian!” His name accidentally slipped from your lips in your panic as you took in his appearance. You knew he would be furious if he heard you using his real name, but at this point, you would cherish his rage. He had to be alive to be enraged.

Rushing over to him, you ran your finger gently over his body, cataloging all of his wounds. He began to stir slightly under your touch, and you whispered, “Oh, baby….”

He raised his head slightly and mumbled, “Cruz? That you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Um, it’s just me. No- no one else came.” You knew who he was really asking about but you couldn’t tell him what Peacemaker had said. You knew it would crush him. “Vig, I’m sorry. I should have never let him drag me away from this place. I should have fought harder to get to you sooner. Maybe then, none of this would be happening.”

“It’s okay. I get it. But you need to go.” He stared at you, and you could just make out his eyes behind the visor. They were huge and frantic. “Crusader, it’s a trap…. and I’m the bait.”

Your eyes grew wide as what he had just said sunk in. It made perfect sense. The uneasy feeling you had been having. This was exactly why Harcourt didn’t want you to come back for him, why you hadn’t seen any other people around the compound, why it had been so easy to find him. Because they wanted you to.

But before you could react to the realization, Adrian cried out a warning just as something hard and heavy slammed into the back of your head. As you dropped to your knees, the world went black.

Your eyes fluttered open as a loud groan escaped your lips. Everything seemed slightly blurry and not just because you were still wearing your mask. The back of your head was throbbing in time with your heartbeat as you struggled to remember what had just happened. Hearing Adrian call out your name, you slowly glanced up to see him tied to the ceiling and everything came rushing back. You tried to stand to go to his side, but you realized you had been strapped down. The same thick ropes that held Adrian were now wrapped around your wrists, tying you to the armrests of the chair you were currently sitting in.

Adrian called out again, trying to get your attention. “Crusader! Are you okay?”

You nodded slightly, but then flinched as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through your skull. “Yeah, I’ll be alright. What happened?”

“You both stuck your noses into something that you shouldn’t have. That’s what happened.” A deep voice from behind you called out.

A tall, muscular man stepped into view. You recognized him as one of the men in charge of the operation your team had been trying to take down, but your brain was still muddled, and you couldn’t recall his name.

“Now, I have a few questions that I need answers to before I can leave to join the rest of my friends. And I expect to get those answers by any means necessary.” The man pulled out a large hunting knife from the sheath on his hip. You blanched slightly behind your mask but didn’t give him any sign that the blade bothered you.

“Your friend here has held his tongue surprisingly well up to this point. But now that there are two of you, I have a feeling it will be easier to get someone to talk. Whether for your own sake or for the sake of the other.” The man ran the edge of the blade lightly across your throat and you felt a thin trail of blood begin to seep down your neck under your costume. Adrian pulled wildly against his restraints as he saw the slit appear in your costume and the bright red liquid blooming underneath. It wasn’t deep enough to be worried about, but the message was loud and clear. He only needed one hostage, which meant one of you was expendable.

“I already told you, man! This is all a big misunderstanding. See, we were going to a superhero-themed costume party, and we got lost!” Adrian cried. “We don’t know anything about you or your friends!”

The man stopped directly to the left of your chair as he faced Adrian. “See, I just don’t believe that. And I don’t like being lied to.”

Without warning, you felt his blade slide between your ribs. With a strangled gasp, you curled over, trying to find a position to lessen the pain. You heard Adrian screaming out for you but at the moment, all you could do was focus on not breaking down in tears. You would not allow this man that satisfaction. After taking a moment to regain your composure, you managed to right yourself once more.

The man looked back and forth between you and Adrian. “So, does anyone feel like talking now?” Neither you nor Adrian said anything, but you could see him shifting anxiously in his binds. “No? Okay, that’s fine. Have it your way.”

He ran his hand up and down your side right where the knife was still sticking out of your body. You suppressed a groan of pain but only barely. However, the man still seemed to notice as he chuckled and said, “I’ll leave this next part up to you. I can leave the knife in and let you bleed out slowly. Or, I can pull it out right now and you’ll be dead in minutes. It’s your choice.”

You raised your head slowly and glared at the man from behind your mask. “Fuck you.”

The man shrugged nonchalantly, then drove his palm into the hilt of the knife, plunging it deeper into your side. You doubled over in pain as blood began to pour from your mouth. Within seconds, it had soaked the inside of your mask, blocking your airflow as the material clung tightly to your face. You began gasping for air as you struggled against your binds so you could remove your mask. But the ropes help firm. Every gulp you took just seemed to draw the mask in tighter across your mouth.

Adrian finally seemed to understand what was happening because he too began to fight his restraints as he called out, “She can’t breathe. You have to remove her mask. Please!”

But the man beside you just laughed and tapped firmly against the end of the knife once again. More blood dripped from your lips as the room swam and your vision began to grow dark. But you managed to raise your head just enough to see Adrian’s red visor staring back at you and you wished you could have seen his face just one last time.

Yet just as you felt unconsciousness swallowing you, your mask was torn from your face. You immediately took in a huge, shuttering gasp, desperate to replace the air that was missing from your lungs. You could feel where the mask had smeared your blood all over the bottom half of your face. How it was dripping off your chin, coating your lips, clogging up your nostrils. You knew you had to look like something out of a horror movie, but at least you could breathe again.

The man grabbed you harshly by your hair and jerked your head up to get a good look at your gory face. “Huh. Seems you were pretty good-looking….. once. Too bad.”

He shoved your head down and you toppled forward once again. At this angle, your thumb and index finger could just brush the hilt of the knife still wedged in your side. You waited patiently until you heard him walk out of the room, chuckling to himself. Once you knew you were alone, you glanced up at Adrian.

“Are you okay?” he asked anxiously.

You nodded softly. “For now. But Vig…. I think I can get you out of here.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I can get you out of here.”

“Why are you saying it like that? What about you?”

You shook your head slightly. “It’s either both of us die here or I get you out. And I know which option I’m going to take.”

“You can’t do that. I won’t let you. Cruz, come on.”

“Vigilante.” You don’t know exactly how to explain this in a way that he will accept. “There is no scenario where both of us walk out of here alive. No one is coming for us, and those men could be back at any minute to kill us both. So, if this is the only way to save you, I’m willing to take it. But I need you to promise me that once I do, you’ll get out of here. Get as far away as you can, as quickly as you can. Do you think you can do that?”

“I can’t just leave you here. Crusader, don’t do this.”

“Adrian…. I need you to do this for me. Please.” You knew using his real name was a desperate last move, but it seemed to work because he slowly nodded. You sighed in relief before adding, “And don’t trust Peacemaker. He’s not the man you want him to be.”

But before Adrian could ask what you meant, you leaned forward as far as you could and grasped the hilt of the knife firmly between your finger and thumb. And in one fluid motion, you yanked it from your side. You tried your best to muffle the shriek of pain that tore from your lips, but you knew there was a good chance someone heard you. As quickly as you could, you flipped the blade around and began sawing at the rope around your wrist. You grimaced as you cut into your flesh as much as the rope, but soon, the bindings fell to the floor.

As soon as your one hand was free, you began sawing at the rope on the other wrist. About halfway through, the lightheadedness from before began to creep in and you had to pause. As the blood poured from the wound in your side, you knew you didn’t have much time left. So, gathering your strength, you continued cutting through the rope. Finally, it too snapped off your wrist.

You shakily staggered to your feet and stumbled to Adrian’s side. As quickly as you could, you began cutting through the rope that tied his hands to the ceiling. Blood was trailing down your arms from the cuts on your wrists, and drops splashed down onto your face, but you kept all of your focus on freeing Adrian. Finally, the knife broke through the last strains of rope and you let the blade clatter to the floor.

As soon as Adrian’s hands were free, they flew to your side as he desperately tried to slow your bleeding. He grabbed your mask and jammed it into your wound causing you to bury your face in his shoulder as you howled in pain. He began muttering, “I’m sorry, oh god, I’m sorry,” over and over, but he didn’t let up the pressure.

After a moment, you grew numb to the pain and you mumbled, “It’s okay…. But it doesn’t matter, it’s too late.”

Hastily, you pushed up his mask and smashed your lips against his for just a moment. Then you sank slowly to the floor, but he caught you right before you toppled over. Raising one bloodied hand to his face, you whispered, “I love you. Now go.”

But he just shook his head as he pulled his mask back on. “I love you too. And that’s why I’m not leaving you here.”

You tried to protest, tried to point out that he would never make it out if he had to carry you, but your strength had given out completely. Unable to resist as he gathered you into his arms and headed for the stairs, you simply leaned into his chest and let the darkness swallow you.

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Part 2 coming soon. Please Let me know if you would like to be tagged when it is posted.

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2022 #febuwhumpday9 #fic #vigilante #vigilante x reader #adrian chase #adrian chase x reader #peacemaker #christopher smith #emilia harcourt #freddie stroma #john cena #peacemaker hbo #dc #dc x reader #torture tw #suffocation tw