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ohbo-ohno · 1 year ago

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Kinktober Day 15 - Noncon

Ghost x Reader - 4.6k (on ao3)

summary: You find yourself cornered in a Maze of Mirrors. (Reader POV)

cw: noncon everything, face fucking, pussy slapping, degradation, kinda a wedgie? like a front wedgie? is that a thing?, orgasm denial

note: if you like this (or hate it but like the concept) read Halloween Haunt by Harley Laroux <3 her erotica is top tier

You’ve always loved Halloween - always been the kid with the scariest costume in class, always had the house decorated with uncomfortably realistic decorations. When your sorority sisters dressed up as black cats and sexy witches, you spent hours painting the most realistic zombie makeup you could. (Your sisters complained for months that you ruined the pictures, but the frat boys had all thought your makeup was far more interesting than theirs. God, you do not miss college.)

Regardless, you’ve always been known to love any and everything scary. There’s something about the thrill of a scare - the creeping horror as you start to realize what’s coming, the ultimate reveal - that always gets you a little squirmy in your seat. Your first crush was Skeet Ulrich in Scream - specifically the scene where he’s covered in blood, licking his fingers.

You get all those ooey-gooey good scared feelings as your friend drags you through the decently crowded fairgrounds. The actual fair - the one that comes yearly, that no one ever calls anything but the fair - had left only two weeks ago, so this travelling fair had set things up in mostly the same arrangement and, you suspect, to trick certain people into thinking they were the same company.

You’ve already forgotten what your friend said the event was called. She hadn’t needed to give many details to convince you - you heard travelling circus, horror themed, interactive workers, and you were in. The branding isn’t very strong anyways, the only place the name was displayed was the entrance booth, and none of the workers seem to wear any sort of logo, so you don’t feel too forgetful for letting it slip your memory so easily.

You’re not very impressed with the fear factor so far. You hadn’t done too much makeup (hadn’t wanted to risk being mistaken for a cast member) but since it’s the night before Halloween you’ve got a half-done costume on - a clown. Just some white face paint, black lips, and overdrawn triangles around the eyes, a little smudged to make it look like you’ve been chasing someone down and working up a sweat. Your hoodie and tennis skirt look a bit out of place, but you’d wanted to be comfortable since you hoped you’d be spending your night running from actors.

But even a face full of makeup feels like it might’ve been too much effort for this place. Most of the costumes look like they’re from Party City at best - some of them even look very lazily hand-made - and none of the workers seem particularly interested in scaring people. Still, the crowd is easily amused and even a wave or a feint towards a customer has shrieks ringing in the air every few minutes.

You sigh a little disapointedly as you and your friend linger on the edge of the fairgrounds, off to the side and in the dark so you don’t have to deal with the crowd. She pulls out a cigarette and offers you her light.

“I’m sorry,” she says, lighting the stick between your teeth when you lean forward. “I really thought it would be scarier than this. Some of the posters…” she exagetates a shiver. “I thought they’d at least have better costumes.”

You eye a man in a werewolf mask across the pathway, pissing into the dirt. He’s got a flannel and jeans on, and the mask is a little bit crumpled like he pulled it out of a Walmart bin this morning. You’d bet money the flannel was just a happy coincidence he noticed when he showed up for work.

“Yeah,” you sigh, blowing out a lungful of smoke and watching the actor try not to get his dick stuck in his zipper. “Not really your fault, though, these things always look scarier in the ads. Wanna get out of here soon?”

You pass the cigarette to her. “In a bit,” she replies. “I want to try and find some food first. You hungry?”

You shake your head with a grunt. “I wouldn’t trust anything cooked here, honestly. Might just pick up something on the way back.”

She passes you the cigarette for one last breath. “Well I’m too hungry for that. You good on your own for a bit?”

You crouch down a moment to stub out the cigarette, leaving the butt in the gravel. “Yeah, sure. Might see if these fun houses have anything worth seeing in them.”

“You should!” She smiles over her shoulder at you as she starts off to a more well-lit section of the fair. “You never know, maybe they stick the real scares in there!”

You give her a final wave and shout, “Here’s hoping!” at her back as she leaves.

You linger outside for a little longer, scanning the few structures nearby to decide which one you want to waste a few tickets on.

There’s a Freak Show, but you already know you’d be horribly disappointed if you went in there, something labeled a “House of Horrors” that you’re sure is as much a scam as the freak show, and a few games that have cheap prizes lined up above them.

Across from you, with no lights around it and just one attendant - slumped over, hopefully sleeping - at the front, is a House of Mirrors. Figuring it’s the least likely to be a waste of time (and knowing the kid won’t wake up to charge you), you head over to the building.

The closer you get the more you worry about if he’s asleep or dead, but his snores rattle the little tickets resting on his desk so you figure he’s just a slacker. It’s almost too easy to get by him with all your tickets safe in your pocket. There’s no one else around the darkened corner of the fairgrounds, but you’re quite sure no one would bother snitching on you this late at night. All the parents with little kids left hours ago, leaving mostly teenagers and adults of varying ages left to wander the park.

There’s music playing from speakers that you can’t see, an old clown-themed song that sounds like it’s playing on a scratched up DVD. You’re pleasantly surprised as you make your way through the dusty lobby and into the main section of the building, creatively labeled MAZE OF MIRRORS.

Their branding could definitely use some work, but you’ll give them points for ambience - the lights are turned so low that it’s nearly too dark to see, making all of the mirrors even more difficult to spot. You find yourself a little spooked as you start to make your way through the maze, grinning to yourself.

It’s a shockingly difficult maze, you quickly discover. The music is so loud in some spots that you can hardly hear your thoughts, and so faint in others that you think it might be turned off. The maze itself is a series of either tight, tiny hallways or large open rooms. Whoever designed it clearly knew how to take advantage of the space they were given, the maze feels ten times bigger than it looked on the outside as you wander through.

You know the trick to mazes - keep one hand on the right wall and eventually you’ll find your way out - but it’s fun to just wander around the place, so you let yourself get stuck wandering in circles. You’re glad your friend isn’t here to see how many times you manage to walk into a mirror fully confident that it’s not there, only to whack yourself in the face. For how low maintenance the rest of the fair is, you’re surprised that the hall of mirrors is what they focus their upkeep on.

You’ve been in the maze for about five minutes when you see him.

He scares the shit out of you at first. You spot him behind you in a mirror - one you’d just walked into, which is the only reason you can see well enough to notice him - standing at the entrance to the hallway you’d turned down. He’s clad in all black, except for the skull mask over his face. You think he’s just something taped onto the wall with the way that he blends in, but then that mask titls to the side and you’re struck with the bone-deep knowledge that you’re being watched.

“Shit!” You shout when it first registers that he’s not a piece of paper, one hand coming up to clasp at your erratically beating heart while the other steadies you against the mirror. He doesn’t move past tilting his head a bit further, and after a moment you relax.

You don’t turn around, but you study him a bit in the mirror. It’s too dark to see much more than the outline of his body, but he’s big. He looks like he’s wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans with the mask, and he must be wearing gloves to cover his hands since you can’t see them.

You huff out a laugh as you let both of your hands fall to your sides.

“You got me good,” you call, glancing over your shoulder. You almost jump again - he’s closer than you’d realized, but too far away for you to touch. “I didn’t even see you follow me in here.”

He doens’t say anything. You turn around more fully, leaning back against the mirror and crossing your arms across your chest.

“You gonna start chasin’ me now?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow. You’re playing up the sass, but it’s always fun to mess with theme park employees.

The man takes a few steps forward, heavy boots thudding against the cheap wood flooring. He really is an intimidating bastard, far scarier than any of the other actors you’d seen so far.

“Well?” You call out, standing up from your spot. “Do I get a head start?”

Still no answer. He rolls his head on his neck, then steps to the side and walks into one of the connecting hallways without sparing you a glance. When you step closer to see which direction he’s chosen, he’s already gone.

You huff another laugh to yourself, shaking out your limbs and bouncing a few times on your toes.

Now that you know there’s someone in here with you, the thrill of a scare is starting to get you worked up. You hope they don’t have any rules against physical contact between actors and customers, just imagining the skeleton man tackling you has shivers running up your spine.

You don’t bother to be any quieter as you keep wandering through the maze. You bump into just as many mirrors, continue to question the speaker placement, and keep an eye out for any skeleton masks lingering behind you.

You see him a few more times, always behind you, always just out of reach. He gets progressively closer everytime you spot him. You're reminded of the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who - every time you look away, he gets closer.

It’s fun. More fun than you’ve had all night.

He finally catches up to you what you guess is about half an hour later. Youre just turning another corner, thinking about how it’s been a bit since you’ve seen your shadow, when a hand plants itself firmly between your shoulder blades and shoves.

You’re sent to the ground with a cry, palms scraping against the floor. There’s a gloved hand collaring your throat before you can think to do much more than catch your breath, hauling you up and holding you in the air.

Your eyes fly to the mirror less than a foot away, staring wide-eyed at the image reflected.

There’s you, in your messy clown makeup and hoodie, being held up by a giant swath of black behind you. He’s not ducking down at all, his feet planted on either side of your splayed legs as he towers above you. The way you’re being held up, your head doesn’t even reach his belt buckle. The contrast of your shock and discomfort to his plastic mask has your thighs clenching, just a bit.

He doesn’t duck lower, just tilts his head in that now-familiar way of his and pulls you a little further up. His hand is absolutely massive, thumb resting beneath one ear and his fingers resting below the other. You choke a bit as you’re lifted, knees scrambling beneath you.

This close to the mirror you can see his eyes - bright blue, surrounded by black paint, and staring back into yours.

He lowers his head, his free hand tugging your hair until you lean back and look straight up. The hand on your neck shifts to hold you in that position, his other hand lifting to pull the black part of his mask up.

He’s white, with thin lips and a broad jaw. You pant as you stare up at him, incapable of processing what’s going on.

His jaw works for a moment, lips twitching, and before you realize what he’s about to do you feel something wet splatter against your cheek.

He spit on you. Who the fuck does that? Being tackled and manhandled is one thing but spitting? You recoil reflixivley, lips curling as you reach up to try and wipe disgusting liquid off.

“What the fuck-” You start, but before you can even finish your sentence you’re yanked forward by your neck.

You yelp as you’re thrown from between his thighs, hips twisted awkwardly and head slamming back against the mirror. You cry out at the sharp pain at the back of your skull, but before you can think of doing anything there’s a hand around your neck again, a body crouched in front of you - over you - keeping you from doing anything.

You gape up at the actor, panting and surprised. None of the other employees even got close to touching customers - half of them didn’t even look like they wanted to be there - what the hell is this guy’s problem? Does he just take his job way too seriously

He’s far too close to you now, your nose nearly brushing where his shoulder be, his boots on either side of your thighs, his chest pressed so close that you can’t do anything with your hands.

The hand not around your neck comes up to your cheeks, grabbing them both in one hand and pinching until your lips pucker up. You squirm, letting out a noise of surprise and pain when his thumb and pointer finger dig in between your teeth to force your mouth open. One eye squeezes shut at the ache, but there’s nowhere for you to go with him caging you in.

This time when he spits, it lands right in the little hole he’s made for himself. With how close he is, you see the way his lips twitch up in the corners.

You try your best to get out from under him, hands pushing at his shoulders and legs desperately kicking. But he’s like a statute above you, hard as stone and immoveable.

He leans so close that his lips nearly brush yours, meeting your glare with a spark of amusement.

“Like how it tastes?” He purrs, chest rumbling against yours.

You make a noise somewhere between offended and annoyed, trying to throw yourself every which way for even an inch of freedom. All you manage is a tighter grip on your jaw and neck, leaving you wincing.

“Lots more where that came from,” he promises.

It’s insultingly easy for him to manhandle you, and you curse all the times you swore to yourself you’d finally start taking self-defense classes. You can barely manage a single blow, and when your hands or feet do make contact he doesn’t even flinch.

There’s absolutely nothing you can do as you’re wrestled to the floor. He gets you flat on your back then kneels over your head, his knees so close that you worry he’ll squeeze them together and pop your head like a berry.

He doesn’t give you a chance to sit up, planting one heavy hand in the center of your chest and leaning his weight forward, knocking the air out of you. You finally regain the ability to speak when his other hand moves to his belt, undoing it right above your face.

“What are you-? No, no, get the hell off me!” You shout, desperately pushing at his arm and trying to get enough leverage with your feet to squirm away. “Don’t you fucking dare- help! Somebody help!”

Your screams go ignored, blending right in with that stupid clown music and bouncing off the mirrors just to come straight back to your ears. Your noise doesn’t deter him at all, and he’s got his belt off and jeans yanked down despite your resistance.

“No, no, no, don’t- stop, please, you can’t-” you gasp, eyes flying wide as you find yourself staring up at his cock above you.

He doesn’t give you any warning, just grabs your jaw, holds it open, and sheathes himself down your throat.

Your limbs spasm, every instinct in your body screamin to get away as he slips right past your gag reflex. You’re terrified that you’ll vomit and choke on his cock, the fear dousing you in icy cold and leaving you limp for a minute. All you can think about is breathing around the intrusion in your throat, finding some way not to suffocate and die on a sticky mirror maze floor.

“Finally,” you hear him grunt from above you. He grabs both of your wrists, easily ignoring your weak pulls and tying them together with his belt. “Somethin’ to shut you up.”

You try and make a sound around his cock, yanking your hands away and panicking even more when you feel how firmly tied they are. You make another sound, insitively trying to cry out even with something stuffed in your mouth.

He moans above you, lowering himself to his elbows over your body. “Yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Mouth feel’s fuckin’ heavenly.”

You go silent, determined not to give this piece of shit anything he wants. Tears pour down your temples and across the tops of your ears, and your throat burns.

His hips move slowly against your face, grinding himself as deep as he can get before pulling out just a few inches and sliding back in. He’s got an unfairly large cock, and there’s already an ache developing in your jaw from just seconds held so wide open.

His foreskin catches on your teeth when he pulls the whole way out just to fuck back in, and you’re sharply reminded of the fact that you have teeth.

When his cock bottoms out, his balls resting against your eyes, you bite down, praying it’s enough to break skin.

It’s not. Instead of blood pouring into your mouth and a screaming man falling off of you, you hear the man snarl, pulling his dick out entirely and slamming it back down your throat so harshly that it feels almost like he’s punched you in the face.

“No fucking teeth,” he snaps above you, and you feel his weight shift back onto his knees, then his hands grab at your thighs and throw them open. He flips your skirt up and before you can think to bite down again lands a stinging slap against the gusset of your underwear.

You nearly scream around his cock, hips snapping closed to try and smother the pain. He only growls another sound, using one hand to hold you open and the other to rain down a series of progressively harder smacks.

Your breath hitches as you sob, hardly able to get any air in around his thrusts as he starts them back up again. Every time he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, he lands another hit to your poor pussy. You can’t help but wail around him.

“There it is,” he moans, the sound loud and unrestrained. “God you feel good screamin’ around my cock. Good fuckin’ hole, huh?”

He punctuates the last four words with slaps, leaving his length inside your throat and going back to that horrible grinding against your face. You go silent again, using all of your willpower to keep from screaming. What little thought is left in your head is used to figure out how best to breathe through your nose without choking on snot.

He doesn’t smack you again, but you feel his fingers trace around the edges of your panties. Your hips wiggle against your will, just trying to get away from the violation. One of your legs is pinned to the floor by the thigh, but the other oscillates between going limp and trying to get leverage and force your body up.

His fingers hook around the gusset of your underwear, but before you can even worry about him touching you there, he pulls them up towards your body.

He does it with such force that you’re left squealing, hips flying off the ground to try and lessen the pressure against your clit. His hand pulls so far up that you feel it resting nearly at your belly button. You can’t help the little gasping, gagging noises as he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth again.

You hear - you feel - him laugh, swaying his hand from left to right. Your hips try to follow naturally, just desperate to alleviate any of the pressure you can.

“Like a little puppet,” he murmurs, yanking even further up, moaning when you scream.

He lets them go only a few thrusts later, big hand smoothing the fabric down over your cunt. You can feel that it’s stretched out, a little looser around the meat of your pussy, and the thought only makes you cry harder.

But you go silent again. It’s the one thing left in your control - even pinned to the floor, hands tied, legs useless, mouth stuff, you can decide how much noise you make.

He doesn’t like that. He groans a little when you go quiet again, tapping your thigh sharply.

“No, come on, make your little noises again. Feels real nice on my cock.”

This time you’re ready for the smack against your vulva, and you remain silent. You stay silent for the next three too.

His hips work with a little more force again, balls smacking against your face and leaving you to squeeze your eyes shut. After the next slap his hand doesn’t lift again, just rubs over your vulva slowly.

It’s pure luck on his part that he happens to rub over your clit. It’s a pure lack of luck on your part that you moan at the sudden and unexpected pleasure, completely taken off guard.

He stills above you, then slowly repeats the movement. You’re helpless to the little whimpers coming from your throat, and you curse the fact that you’ve always been loud during sex. He zeros in on exactly how to rub your clit unreasonably quickly, fingers sure through the fabric of your underwear.

“That what you need?” He rumbles a laugh above you. “Pain won’t make you noisy, but pleasure will? I can work with that.”

Before you can even begin to question what that means, your underwear are tucked to the side, and there’s a face buried in your pussy.

He doesn’t bother taking any time to explore or try and learn your body, just dives tongue-first to your clit. His technique of lick first, figure out what feels good later unfortunately works on you, and you’re left writhing beneath him, eyes rolled back in pleasure and moans muffled.

He groans agaisnt you, too, lips vibrating against your clit in a horrible and delicious way. “There you go.” You can barely hear him over the sounds of your own choking, especially with his own voice muffled in your folds. “That feels good, keep going.”

You don’t want to, but the magic he works against your clit leaves you no choice. You can’t help the hitched cries spilling from your lips, even if they make you cry all that much harder as you hear them.

He doesn’t take much longer to come, and you’re torn between resenting the fact that it’s your sounds that get him off and being glad that he does so he can get off of you.

He comes with a loud groan, sent right into your cunt and dragging you far too close to an edge you do not want to see, and sends thick ropes right down your throat. It’s almost a kindness that you can’t taste him, only have to swallow as quickly as possible so you don’t choke. The movements of your throat only draw out his orgasm though, and you’re locked in a terrible cycle for what feels like an eternity.

He doesn’t get you off. You’re not sure if you’re thankful or not.

You gasp when he finally pulls out of your throat, taking uninhibited breaths for the first time in far too many minutes. You can’t shut your jaw from the pain, but you also can’t kick your legs when he kneels up more fully.

He’s silent as he takes back his belt, and no matter how much you beg your arms to move, they remain still on your stomach. He shifts off of you, and you whine wordlessly when he grabs a handful of your hair, wiping his flaccid cock off in it.

Still, you don’t move.

He stands and redoes his belt silently, the jingle loud even with the clown music still playing. You stare up at him, and he holds eye contact with you. For some reason, you can’t look away.

He crouches down again before he leaves, and you can’t help but flinch away. He doesn’t touch you sexually again, though, only reaches out and pushes your jaw closed with two firm fingers.

You hate that he still has the mask pulled up, because it means you can see his smirk.

“That was fun. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.”

He’s gone before you manage to understand what he’s said, and the tears start all over again when you do.

—

It takes you a while to scrape yourself off of the floor. You only catch sight of yourself in one mirror before you stare at the ground.

Your makeup is ruined, teartracks running down your temples and both cheeks. There are smudges along your jaw where his hands grabbed. Your lips are swollen and red. It could not be more obvious what’s just happened to you.

You plant one hand on the wall to your right, and keep your eyes firmly planted on your sneakers as you leave the maze. You feel almost detached from yourself, unable to truly understand what happened, what it means.

The throbbing between your thighs is distracting. You worry you might chafe from how soaked your panties are.

It doesn’t take long to find your friend once you finally make it out. She takes one look at you and laughs, teases you about having fun without her. You can’t bring yourself to correct her, and she picks up on your tone quickly, dropping the subject.

The two of you walk silently to your car. You hate it, but you can’t help but scan every actor. Thankfully - or maybe not thankfully? You don’t know anymore - none of them are even close to as big as the masked man in the hall of mirrors was.

You tuck your hands beneath your armpits as you finally make it to the parking lot, walking as quickly as you can get away with without running. Your limbs go a little looser as you get to your car, mind relaxing as it recognizes how close you are to safety.

You freeze when you finally make it to the driver’s side door, lungs going still and heart beating so quickly you worry it’ll pound right out of your chest.

There, sitting in the driver’s seat, is a skeleton mask sewed onto a balaclava.

#this is not very edited but i am BEHIND #this was originally gonna have like two more scenes but then it started to annoy me #i am coming to you again to confess: i did not read through this #ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #kinktober #kinktober day 15 #bo writes #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kinktober 2023

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 8 months ago

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1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

Bullet on Wheels: The 1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

Easily one of the wildest General Motors dream cars of the Motorama era, the Olds Golden Rocket was the epitome of Jet Age design. Let’s take a closer look.

Throughout the 1950s, Harley Earl and his forward-looking crew at the GM styling studios frequently turned to aircraft and space travel for their inspiration. There might be no better example of the automaker’s guided-missile design theme than the far-out Golden Rocket, Oldsmobile’s Motorama dream car for 1956. “The Supersonic Age comes to automobile styling!” the company proclaimed.

1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

Constructed in fiberglass on a shortened Oldsmobile passenger car perimeter frame with a 105-inch wheelbase, the Golden Rocket was essentially a bullet on wheels in side view (above.) But under the skin, the show car was fairly conventional with a 324 CID, 275-horsepower Olds Rocket V8 up front, Hydra-Matic automatic transmission, and leaf-spring rear suspension. The custom wheels employed integral brake drums, and a pair of fuel tanks were housed in the rear fenders. Note the “dotted-line” segmented whitewalls, a novel feature that never went any further.

1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

At a little more than 200 inches long but less than 50 inches tall, the Rocket sported an impressively low silhouette, which required some ingenuity in the packaging of the two-seat cabin. For easier entry and egress, a roof panel popped up when the door was opened on either side, while the steering wheel rim swung upward and the bucket seats rose three inches and pivoted on their mountings. Upholstery was blue and gold leather, while the speedometer was housed in the steering wheel hub. The lap belts and driver pedals display a strong aircraft influence.

While the Rocket seems to be one of the more obscure GM dream cars in current times, it did include some ideas that turned up later on the General’s production models. The stubby rocket-type tailfins would adorn some memorable Cadillacs of the early ’60s, while the split-window teardrop rear window is extremely familiar. It was next tried on a dead-ended 1958 Corvette styling proposal, then famously appeared on the 1963 Corvette Sting Ray coupe. As with a number of GM Motorama dream cars, the fate of the Golden Rocket was not officially documented, reportedly, but it hasn’t been seen or heard from in years and is presumed destroyed.

1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

#Oldsmobile Golden Rocket #Oldsmobile #car #cars #Golden Rocket

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bikebound · 10 days ago

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Today on BikeBound.com: BACK IN BLACK: Harley Pan America from @blackcyclesaustralia, built for a customer who wanted his big 150-hp ADV trimmed down, streamlined, and matte black. Paint: @popbangclassics Seat: @carmans_auto_trimmers Photos: @goldcoaststudio Head over to ⚡️BikeBound.com⚡️ for the full story! ——— #superhooligan #panamerica #harley #revolutionmax #harleydavidson #scrambler #harleypanamerica #streettracker #bikelife #dirtbike #scramblers #superhooligan #harleyscrambler #custombike #custommotorcycle #modifikasi_motor #modified #trackerscrambler #bikeporn #harleyscrambler #advrider #blackcyclesaustralia #bikebound via Instagram https://instagr.am/p/DClxsDGuWmq/

#cafe racer #cafe racers #scrambler #street tracker #custom

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localgremlinboy · 1 year ago

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I have been sitting on these for a long time because I wanted to have some more varied stuff but I haven't had time to write anything! So here's what I've got! Honestly these are some of my favorites

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6]

- Whenever he's kicked out of an area or event, Oswald proceeds to start shoving anything not taped down into his pockets. He doesn't need the stuff, he just likes to be petty and ruin it for everyone else

- Bane has done a series of infomercials for various products & services that only air on late night product channels. Alfred is the only batfamily member who knows, he was doing laundry late one night and nearly lost it

- Mr Freeze writes restaurants/companies when they wrong him. Like nice formal letters, signing them and everything

- The Joker has an imdb page. Actually a lot of the villains do but like the Joker has one he updates with fun facts. Who says they're accurate but they sure are fun

- Riddler freaking hates puppets. Their soulless eyes say it all. He refuses to or "work" with puppets. That being said, Scarecrow has chased him around with Scarface once or twice "for science"

- Scarecrow has and still does write letters of recommendation for his ex students. He freaking still has Gotham University letterhead paper and everything. Honestly some of his students have gotten the job from his letter alone (maybe it's out of fear but like it's still a win), and they 100% send Jonathan thank you gifts in Arkham. He's got one of those dorky teacher scrapbooks where he keeps the thank you letters. One of his students even crocheted him a little plush scarecrow. It's like, they don't love his crimes but you know that was ol kooky professor Crane for ya

- Harvey kind of has a soft spot for sitcoms, he used to watch them with his mom growing up. One of their favorites, ironically, was night court

- Bane has a famous chili recipe and he makes one batch a year. It's fucking delicious! He makes an edition with meat and a vegetarian version too. Of course consults Ivy for home grown excellent quality vegetables and she gets first dibs in return

- the Joker has not one but TWO released albums. One is essentially a mash up of all the serenades he's made Batman listen to over the years and the other one is called "The Holidays with the Joker: Christmas selects edition"

- Scarecrow's car is a mess. He's got a work truck of course but his main car is like a wood panel sedan that he's been driving since he was a professor and refuses to get a new one. It's a fucking mess, he has like clothes, papers, garbage all over the place. He still has term papers he forgot to grade under the seats. Riddler HATES his car, with a passion

- Riddler has gone through the pain and suffering to teach all the rogues how to use discord, he had once hoped it would make their crimes more efficient. They have a group chat but it's mostly suffering on his end as all chaos ensues

- Scarecrow owns a Halloween train village he has set up in one of his lairs. It plays instrumental versions of Halloween songs as it goes around the track

- Joker will push open cups off of tables because he can. He's got the chaotic energy of a cat awake at 3 am

- Riddler and Scarecrow's friendship starts like super formal and co worker like but after like a year and a half, evolves into a weird symbiosis. Jonathan points at random ass objects or books and goes "you" when he's with Edward. Eddie has a habit of fixing or picking debris of Jonathan, usually when they're crimeing. Also one time, they were both startled so bad by Batman that Scarecrow jumped into riddler's arms like Scooby & shaggy, except they both held onto each other for a second before toppling over. Robin then unmasked them like scooby doo

- Harley & Ivy are frequent Panera customers and often get pick up orders there under "codenames" given by Harley. All the workers know who "Plantmamma" and "the quinnanator" are but like they tip great and everyone should get to enjoy soup

- Bane has one CD in his car, it's a 2010 greatest hits CD that someone accidentally left in there. Who you ask? He has no idea

- Harley has a getaway playlist preloaded in her phone for car chases

- Riddler and Scarecrow watch reality tv/game shows together. They binged all of survivor and the amazing race in a year. It was a joke at first but they both got really into the shows. They have both applied to be on amazing race together and unfortunately haven't been called back

- Joker still uses cassettes (and vinyls probably) except he mixes them himself and labels them all stupid titles like "Birthday bash #9", "Baty's mix", "what's the deal with airplane food?", "etc". But he also has a tape recorder and makes notes to himself and labels those ones too, so he gets his personal notes mixed up with his music jams all the time. He goes to put on some epic clown music and instead it's a twenty minute recording he made of himself eating fruit loops

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crashingthisbane · 2 months ago

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Batman Rogues' Cars: My headcanons (with pictures) PART TWO

Two-Face:

He drives a non-street legal car and he gets in a lot of trouble for it, but he doesn't care. It fits his vibe too well for him to not use it. However, he has another car in case the first one is impounded.

(I have no idea what make and model the first car is. It seems to be a custom build, and the mechanic calls it the 'Two-faced' car.)

License plate: DBLTRBL

His second car:

Porsche 911, custom wrap job.

License plate: 2NDRIDE

Mad Hatter:

His car is so fucking bad. Beautiful, but bad. He refuses to upgrade to a faster one and almost immediately loses every chase with the Batmobile. He simply does not care. The vibe is immaculate. (Has several cupholders, as well as a hat rack.)

Ford Model A License plate: WNDRLND

Mr. Freeze:

Due to his accident, he drives a modified van. Normally, refrigerated vans are only kept cold in the back, but this van is also cold in the driver's seat. It doesn't get cold enough for him to take off his suit (otherwise it would damage the vehicle's electronics and operation), but it does reduce strain on it by keeping the outside temperature colder.

Refrigerated Van

License plate: FRZN

Harley:

She drives a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Obviously. While not the best motorcycles, she couldn't pass up the opportunity for such a fun ride.

License plate: J3ST4H (Thank you to @the-hopeless-fanboy for the suggestion of the license plate!)

Ivy:

Drove an EV before deciding that the lithium batteries were still too bad for the environment. She uses a bicycle now (or her powers if she's not trying to be inconspicuous.).

No license plate, obviously.

Punchline:

She drives a fast and loud car. She wants to be seen and heard by everyone in Gotham. The car has LED underglow lights that alternate between purple, blue, and green).

Lamborghini Huracán STO (pretend the mirrors are blue and the spoiler is green, i couldn't find one with the exact paint/wrap job I imagined)

License plate: PUNCH13 (thank you for @venuslovesfrogs for suggesting her and the license plate!)

If people like these, I'll keep doing more. Please comment or tag which rogues (or anyone really) you want to see next!

#batman #two face #mad hatter #mr freeze #harley quinn #poison ivy #punchline #harvey dent #jarvis tetch #victor fries #harleen quinzel #pamela isley #alexis kaye #batman rogues #dc rogues #rogues headcanon

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thatcrazypoppiigirl · 1 month ago

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Okay, so, per my post a few weeks ago, I'm going to start posting more stuff about my book. So for the very first post about it, the pitch notwithstanding, here's the character sheet for my main character Ash at the very beginning of the series. I'm going to do a cut here, because this thing is long as hell. I'm also unapologetically sharing with everyone the character sheet from my Creative Writing degree out of my worldbuilding courses.

THE BASICS:

Character Name: Aisling Caireach Hayes

Nickname: Ash, Phoenix

Origin of Nickname: Shortened first name, vigilante alias

Birthdate: 3/21/1998 (25 in universe)

Place of Birth: Columbus, Ohio

Ethnicity: Irish, Scottish, and mixed Northern European

Religion: N/A

Height:5’2”

Weight: 95lbs

Body Type: Ectomorph, triangular (wider hips than chest)

Eye Color: Amber Gold

Glasses or Vision Enhancements: N/A

Hair Color: Orange-red

Hairstyle: Long, waist-length spiral curls

Grooming: Has trouble upkeeping her hair due to lack of giving a fuck

Skin Tone (pale, tan, olive, brown, etc): Pale Ivory

Face Shape: (round, square, oval, chubby, heart-shaped): Heart-shaped

Prominent Features: Freckles, button nose, roundish-almond eyes

Tattoos or Distinguishing Marks: Watercolor phoenix tattoo across her back, overlapping sun and moon tattoo at the base of her neck

General Health: Never gets sick.

Disabilities, Illnesses, or Weaknesses: Always on the verge of starving due to her high metabolism.

Fashion and Style (what do they wear, how do they wear it?): Dresses in a gothic punk style. Lacy dresses and blouses paired with ripped jeans and fishnets, combat boots, and a leather or suede jacket.

Special Jewelry: A small ring in the shape of an A made of aquamarines

COMMUNICATION SKILLS:

Languages Spoken: English, German, Spanish

Accent or Dialect: Newscaster accent

Favorite Phrases: “Oh, for the love of fuck.”

Do they curse: Frequently

Demeanor: calming, severe, solemn, withdrawn (As Phoenix she’s brash, bright, and cheerful)

Mannerisms: Crosses her arms defensively, hums frequently when lost in thought, biting the inside of her cheek when tense

Gestures: Speaks with her hands a lot

Posture: Straight back, shoulders back.

LIVING CONDITIONS:

Place of Residence: 2214 Bridlewood Boulevard

Type of Residence: House

Surrounding Area (city, rural, etc): suburban

Describe Residence: Three bedrooms and two bathrooms, a small living room, and a connected kitchen with an open floor plan

Who do they live with: N/A

Pets: N/A

Overall quality of living conditions: Good, clean, everything in working order

Home Décor: Minimal, but dark colors and low lighting

Important features of the home: A horseshoe hung above the front entrance, left there by her grandmother.

Type of Vehicle: Emerald green Volkswagen New Beetle with seafoam detailing

Age of Vehicle: Made in 2001

Defining characteristics of the vehicle: A custom interior change- the front passenger seat flips up to reveal a secret compartment. There’s a single daisy flower decal near the license plate

Quality of Vehicle: Older but still going strong

Additional information: The Beetle belonged to Alyssa Shaw originally, and was left to Ash by Camilla Shaw.

PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS:

Marital Status: Single

Significant Partner(s): (Future partner) Harley Amin Fadel

How did they meet partner: You’ll just have to read the book for that.

Nickname for Partner: Lee

Previous romantic partners: None of significance

Important family:

Mother: Abigail Hayes

Age: 56

Living or deceased: Living

Mother’s occupation: Military Surplus Store Manager

Father: Jack Hayes

Age: 58

Living or deceased: Living

Father’s occupation: Tailor

Siblings: Rory Hayes

Describe the quality of relationship with any significant family members: Mother- Not on speaking terms. Father- Not on speaking terms. Rory- Not on speaking terms.

Children: N/A

Friends: Maggie Torres

Best Friend: Formerly, Alyssa “Alice” Shaw

Describe relationship with friend(s): Ash keeps few friends, if any. She self-isolates a lot, especially after Alice’s death. Alice was, as she put it, her “soulmate”.

CHARACTER PERSONALITY AND PSYCHOLOGY:

Any psychological issues or illnesses: Depression, Suicidal Idealization

Meyers Briggs Personality Type: Defender- ISFJ-T

What do they love: Life. Ash loves everything about life and living.

What is their passion: Folklore and linguistics, protecting others, and painting

What do they hate:

What would they die for: The people she loves, the people she protects.

What do they value: Authenticity, Determination, Loyalty, Love, Trustworthiness

Greatest strength: Her determination and strength of will

Greatest weakness or flaw: Her mercurial anger and her loving heart

Their favorite attribute: Her physical ability to help others

Least favorite attribute: Anything about her physical appearance

Biggest secret: Being a metahuman vigilante

Biggest fear: Losing another person she loves

Most likeable trait: Her honesty

Least likeable trait: Her… honesty

How are they perceived by others: Distant and impossible to nail down entirely.

Proudest accomplishment: This implies she’s satisfied with anything she does.

Other accomplishments: Maintaining her honors status at university while patrolling every evening as a vigilante seems like an accomplishment.

Biggest regret: Never telling Alice she was in love with her

Most embarrassing moment: The night her brother caught her trying to have a one-night stand. Trying is the keyword here.

Personality quirks: Makes snap decisions, is a perfectionist, can’t tell a lie to save her own life.

Would they like to change anything about themselves: Everything about herself.

Short term or long term goals: Her only goal is to dismantle the terrorist group Slate and finally get revenge on the man who killed Alice.

Obstacles: A lot of them, and they’re all named after different rocks.

Heroes or role models: Phantom Ox of Montana, and Seraphim and Archangel of New York City

Negative role models: N/A

Biggest life influence: Her parents had the biggest impact on her, followed tightly by Alyssa’s death

PAST HISTORY:

Hometown: Lockbourne, Ohio

Past relationships:

First love: Alice Shaw

First sexual experience: N/A

Major childhood events:

Best memory: Going to the beach in Florida with her parents and brother, and flipping off the camera with him when their father took a picture of them.

Worst memory: The death of Alice, and the helplessness of having to watch her die

Saddest memory: Her fight with Rory that led to the schism in her relationship with her family

Quality of childhood: Really good. Her family was happy and she was well-loved.

Educational experience/level: Junior at University

Significant school experiences: Growing up being “popular” at school- on the softball team, the track team, and a cheerleader, being known by everyone, but everyone being too afraid to be her friend

Special skills or training: Kickboxing, ballet training, Judo, some Muay Thai and Krav Maga.

Hobbies: Painting, reading, researching obscure folklore stories. Is vigilantism a hobby?

DAILY LIFE:

Morning routine: Wakes up at 6:30 am, eats a heavy breakfast, practices her stances and dance positions on days when she doesn’t have early classes, and then heads to school.

Afternoon routine: Spends most of the afternoon at class and the library, or working at the vintage record and book store. Rarely eats lunch.

Evening routine: Eats a heavy dinner, then heads out to patrol. Usually patrols until close to two AM.

Sleep habits: Sleeps between three and four hours a night.

Additional information: On rare occasions, Ash will head out to grab coffee with Maggie and they’ll update each other on their lives. They occasionally go drinking together.

POWERS AND ABILITIES:

Fire Manipulation - Due to an internal process, Ash’s body converts all unnecessary energy into heat. She naturally runs a temperature of about 101 Fahrenheit. Her body can withstand extreme temperatures (she’s handled molten glass with her bare hands before) without any issue, although if she gets too cold, her heat output is drastically lowered. Her heat is tied strongly to her emotions, and thus she burns hotter when angry and grows cold when sad. Through “vents” beneath her skin, she secretes a gas that’s undetectable to the human eye or nose, but that is highly flammable upon contact with air. She can open the “vents” at will and channel fire across her body, which does not burn.

She uses this ability in a multitude of ways, but her two favorites are super heating her hammer and creating hot air vortexes to “fly” inside. She can use heat waves to create mirages, and she can create quick walls of heat that deflect things moving below a certain velocity. This does not deflect bullets. It can slow them, but she can still be shot.

Accelerated Metabolic Rate - Ash has a heightened metabolism, which forces her to eat two to three times the amount of food a normal person needs to survive. While she could survive on the amount of food a normal person eats, she would be unable to use the majority of her abilities. In addition, she sleeps half the time a normal person would and heals at a faster rate. It's not instant, and she can still be injured just as easily as a normal person.

On the flip side, these abilities have left Ash rail thin. She is constantly on the edge of collapse at the end of the day, because she never quite eats enough. Her soft face is graced with heavy under-eye shadows from her pushing her already limited required sleeping to the edge, and her refusal to care for herself properly.

Durability - Through training, and helped by her enhanced body, she is faster and stronger than anyone her size should be. She can take bigger punches than people twice her size, but she suffers just as much damage as they would regardless. She’s more durable than the average human, and can fall as much as four stories without sustaining life-threatening damage. She might break her arm, but she’ll get up and walk away. She can heal fractures in a week, and fully broken bones in the span of a month or two, depending on the break. In the case of some breaks, she still requires medical attention, though she has been lucky to not have that level of damage as of yet.

Enhanced Senses - Although it is to a much lesser extent than her fellow metas, Ash has two enhanced senses. She has what equates to tremor-sense of up to twenty meters. She can sense direction and speed, and it's muffled by the addition of wearing boots. She also has what she refers to as "bird vision". She has telescopic vision and can pick people out for as far as four street blocks.

Vibe Checker - While not a thing she can really prove, Ash has what has been jokingly called the "Vibe Checker 9000". Ash is very good with vibes, and can easily tell when people are lying to her or hiding things. She has "clicks" where she can tell when things have fallen into place the way they're meant to.

EQUIPMENT

A large, solid steel hammer in the form of a meat tenderizer with a full-length handle wrapped in black and red tape. the head weighs thirty-four pounds, and on one side is smooth and flat, while the other side is spiked with quarter-inch diamond-shaped studs. It has a red wristband that Phoenix usually keeps wrapped around her wrist. The hammer has a phoenix and flame print carved into the side. She also has a thigh and waist holster for the hammer, for when she’s flying or not fighting. Some other items on her include a police scanner, zip ties, duct tape, and a first aid kit, all neatly contained in the small backpack she carries with her everywhere she goes.

Her vigilante outfit consists of a black and red ceramic mask designed to look like feathers and a crest, and a black leather and Gore-tex jacket with a deep hood. She wears black Gore-tex pants with armored elbow and knee guards, gathered by her mother from the army manufacturer she works for. Underneath this, she wears a suit crafted with materials from her mother by her father, the tailor. It's simple, red and black, and shows at the edge of her sleeves and when she raises her arms. Her suit and boots are made of Gore-tex Crosstech and Kevlar materials and are made to her exact specifications. The suit is full body and covers all but feet, hands, and head. They took a pretty penny to acquire, but Ash takes safety very seriously.

BACKSTORY:

Ash’s head was spinning when she woke. She felt like a train had hit her head on, her body as achy as if she’d fallen off a building. And she had done that before, so she knew what that felt like. There were hushed voices off somewhere in the distance, but she didn’t care about that. She didn’t care about the bone-deep chill that was suppressing her heat either. Instead, she started tossing her head back and forth as she looked for her friend.

Alice wasn’t immediately within sight. That wasn’t necessarily a red flag, although she would look back on it later and realize it had been intentional. She thought nothing of it and assumed the older girl had simply managed to make it without getting injured this time. She let her eyes close for a moment and fell back unconscious.

Memories swirled through her head, interlaced with dreams. Memories of meeting Alice for the first time, and their first patrol together. Dreams of a hand reaching out to her and a scream. Memories of Alice bringing her meals during finals, of them celebrating her seventeenth birthday. Dreams of Alice’s body lying lifeless on the ground barely out of reach. Memories of the man consumed by shadow as he reached out and touched her, sucking the life and heat from her body.

She bolted awake, jolting upright. It hurt her entire body and she groaned. Hushed voices stopped and then hands were on her face and in her hair.

“Ash? Oh my god, Ash, baby, are you okay?” Her mother’s hands pushed her curls back from her face.

“We thought we were going to lose you, darling.” Her father’s hands tucked her hair back and held it there.

Ash coughed and felt her insides practically crack with the cold that was permeating her body. “Mom, Dad… where’s Alice? Is she okay? What happened to me?”

She saw her mother look over her head at her father, the two exchanging a look. Her mother swallowed, and her rough hands cupped Ash’s face. She had a sad smile on her face. “Your wristband’s automatic monitor sent out an SOS when your body temperature dropped to 80 degrees. We came as quickly as we could. You were so cold when we arrived that we thought you were dead. It wasn’t until we brought you home that you started to warm up. We didn’t know if you were going to make it.”

“Mom, where’s Alice? She was with me.” Her voice had a bit of edge to it, and she grabbed her mother’s hands, moving them away so she could look around their basement that had served as her base of operation for the last few years. The second cot had a body in it, and she saw long raven hair. She breathed out, and she reached her hand out to touch Alice’s shoulder.

“Wait, Ash, don’t–”

Her fingers met Alice’s shoulder and cold radiated outward and into her fingertips. A deep cold, a frostbiting cold. A dead cold. She felt her heart stop and she jerked her hand away before reaching back out and shaking the older girl’s shoulder. “Alice? Alice, wake up.”

Her father reached out and took her hand, pulling it back. She struggled against him, trying to reach for the girl as tears filled her eyes. “No, no, Alice, wake up! Alice, please, I know you can hear me, wake up!”

Her parents began to restrain her, and her father eventually slung her over his shoulder and started to carry her up the stairs. Tears fell from Ash’s eyes, warm, but not as warm as they should have been. She pounded weakly against her father’s shoulders. “No, let me go! Why isn’t she waking up? Why isn’t she waking up?”

“Ash… Alice is dead.”

The words froze her and she stopped moving as they left the basement, Alice’s body finally disappearing from view. Her father gently deposited her on the couch and her mother quickly came in to wrap a blanket around her shoulders, curling the edges in under each other to make sure it was secure.

“I’m so sorry, Ash. I’m so sorry. She was already gone by the time we got there. We couldn’t save her.” Her mother gently rubbed her shoulders through the blanket and shot her father a concerned look. “She’s still cold, Jack. What do we do about this?”

“We just wait. There’s nothing else we can do. We don’t even know what they were fighting.”

Ash’s eyes flashed up and she whispered, her voice hoarse, “It was like he was made of shadow. All the lights went out when he came in, and all the warmth disappeared. He was fast, faster than me. He sidestepped me and then reached out and touched me. I felt all the warmth in my body leave me, Mom. I got dizzy and I fell down. I think Alice tried to bend reality and he got to her first.”

Her voice broke when she said her friend’s name. Not her friend, her soul mate, her better half, the truest match for her in the whole world. She was in love with Alice, she loved Alice like the moon. She was the softness to Ash’s angles, the calm to her fury, and the deep night sky to her midday heat. Ash was the sun, and Alice was the moon, perfectly in balance with each other. Her perfect. Other. Half.

Gone now. Gone now, and leaving Ash all alone again.

“Her mother is going to be here soon, Ash. We called Mrs. Shaw.”

“Camilla is coming?” Before the words were even out of her mouth, there was a knock at the door. Ash felt her blood run even colder than it already was. She pushed the blankets aside as her father went to answer the door. Something stuck in her throat and she gasped in softly as the door opened. Camilla Shaw was a tall and regal version of her daughter, the same raven black hair and green eyes as the girl. Right then, those green eyes were sadder than Ash could ever remember them being.

She stepped inside the door, and even at that distance, she heard her softly say, “Where’s Aisling?”

“She’s over on the couch with Abigail. She only just woke up.” Camilla looked up and directly into the sitting room and into Ash’s soul, it seemed. Her eyes weren’t accusatory like Ash had been expecting. No, they were just sad. The woman stepped into the house and slowly walked to the sitting room, and Ash stood, unstable and clutching her stomach. She closed the distance between them.

“Camilla. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I should have- I should have–”

The woman entered Ash’s space and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. Ash felt tears hitting her shoulder, and the woman’s soft voice rang out in her ear. “This isn’t your fault, Aisling. Alice knew the risks. And she loved you dearly. She would be so happy you survived. Please don’t blame yourself.”

Ash immediately burst into tears and held the woman bone-crushingly tight, before letting up so she didn’t hurt her. She heard Camilla gasp slightly before sighing. She was still silently crying into Ash’s shoulder while Ash now bawled openly.

They held each other and cried for a while, and then they all went downstairs. Ash’s father and mother help Camilla carry the cot out to her van. Ash stayed in the room. As soon as they were past the doorway, she walked up to it and went to close it. She made eye contact with her father as he rounded the corner on his way out. He nodded sadly to her.

She shut the door and engaged the lock. A long time ago, they had rebuilt their basement, adding panels of industrial radiant heat transferring panels as the walls. They had exchanged the door for something heatproof and made sure it was a perfect seal.

Ash walked to the middle of the room and sat down. Her breathing, which had finally come under control, hitched and caught in her throat. She let it out. A blast of fire erupted out from her, lifting her hair into wild tangles in the air and blowing her clothing away from her. The cotton clothing caught fire, blazing up around her and falling away into ash. She screamed, her throat tearing and tasting of iron. She screamed and she screamed as the room got hotter and hotter. The plates of the room creaked as they started to radiate the heat into the earth, but not fast enough. The temperature of the room burned hotter than Ash had ever burned before as she screamed and cried out her despair.

Alice was gone.

Alice was GONE.

Ash screamed until she couldn’t scream anymore. Then she curled up on the floor, her vision blurry. She closed her eyes, and they stayed shut. She felt the last bit of strength in her body leave her, and then there was nothing.

Ash was alone again.

#writing #Phoenix Rising #Poppii's ramblings #Ash Hayes #character sheet #original character

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dolores-20 · 9 months ago

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Custom prompt

as he bustles around the kitchen, preparing their traditional Christmas Eve dinner. Morgan, their little miracle, is sleeping soundly in her crib, her tiny chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. Harley is sitting on the floor, playing with his toys and occasionally looking up at his mother with a bright smile.

Peter can't believe how lucky he is. He never thought he would have a family of his own, let alone a loving husband and two amazing children. He gently rubs his growing belly, feeling the kicks of his daughter, and can't help but smile at the thought of their future together.

"Hey sweetheart, the turkey smells amazing," Tony says, wrapping his arms around Peter's waist and resting his head on his shoulder.

"Thank you, honey," Peter responds, leaning back into Tony's embrace. "I can't believe it's already Christmas Eve. It feels like just yesterday we were celebrating Harley's first Christmas."

"I know, time flies," Tony says, kissing Peter's neck. "I can't wait to see the look on his face when he opens his presents tomorrow morning."

"I know, he's been counting down the days," Peter chuckles.

As they finish setting the table, Harley jumps up and down with excitement. "Is it time to eat yet?" he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Not quite, buddy. We have to wait for Grandpa and Grandma to get here," Tony explains.

Harley pouts for a moment, but his spirits are quickly lifted when the doorbell rings. He runs to answer it, eager to see his grandparents. Peter and Tony exchange a knowing look and follow their son into the living room.

"Merry Christmas Eve, Grandpa and Grandma!" Harley shouts, hugging his grandparents tightly.

"Merry Christmas, my boy," Steve Rogers says, ruffling Harley's hair. "You're getting so big."

"Hello, my little love," Natasha Romanoff says, giving Harley a kiss on the cheek. "We missed you."

"I missed you too, Grandma and Grandpa," Harley grins.

The rest of the evening is filled with laughter and love as they enjoy their dinner together. Peter can't help but feel overwhelmed with gratitude as he looks around the table at his family. He's grateful for every moment he gets to spend with them, and he knows that this Christmas will be one to remember.

As they finish their meal, Tony suggests they open one present each before heading to bed. Harley's eyes light up at the idea and he eagerly grabs a gift from under the tree.

"Open it, open it!" he says, bouncing on his seat.

Peter and Tony exchange a look before giving their son the go-ahead. Harley tears open the wrapping paper to reveal a brand new toy robot.

"Wow, thank you, Mom and Dad!" Harley exclaims, hugging them both.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Tony says, his eyes full of love.

After the presents are opened and the dishes are cleaned up, Harley falls asleep in Tony's arms, exhausted from the excitement of the day. Peter and Tony tuck him into bed before heading to their own room.

As they lay in bed, Peter rests his head on Tony's chest and listens to the sound of his husband's heartbeat. He feels content and happy, knowing that he has everything he could ever want right here in his arms.

"Thank you for the best Christmas Eve ever," Peter whispers, placing a kiss on Tony's chest.

"Anything for you, my love," Tony responds, wrapping his arms around Peter and pulling him closer. "Merry Christmas, Peter."

"Merry Christmas, Tony," Peter says, falling asleep with a smile on his face.

I know I'm late with this post I'm sorry

#omega peter #starker #tony stark x peter parker #tony x peter #mcu #marvel #tony stark #peter parker #natasha romanoff #alpha steve rogers #domestic fluff #alpha tony stark

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loorain · 7 months ago

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Sims 4 Fontenot Legacy - Sigrid's (and Anya's) Birthday

Morning arrives at the Legacy House, and it's a day Sigrid has been dreading for quite some time: her birthday. For most sims, a birthday is an exciting endeavor, but for Sigrid, it's a reminder of how fleeting time is. Knowing she'll likely have to put on a brave face for most of the day, she spends the early morning outside on the porch by herself, reflecting on everything.

She can't help but think over the entirety of her life, especially those lost along the way: her parents, sister and brother. They missed so many milestones, both their own and others in the family. Death being so frequent in Sigrid's life, it's no wonder she grew into a gloomy sim with a fear of death. For Sigrid, Grim always seems to be hiding just around the corner.

Alma: Hey, Mom!

Sigrid is jolted from her thoughts by the sound of a familiar voice.

Audrey: Happy birthday, Mom!

Okay. Make that two.

Alma: Happy birthday, Mom!

Sigrid: Oh- what's this?

Alma: A gift!

Audrey: From both of us.

Alma: But it was my idea.

Audrey shoots her sister a dirty look.

Sigrid: Aw, you two are the absolute best! Thank you so much girls.

Alma: Don't mention it.

Another dirty look from Audrey.

Audrey: You're welcome, Mom.

Once the girls head off to school and Robin to work, Sabrina takes Sigrid out for a day at the spa. They don't often get time alone, just the two of them. Sabrina thought it'd be nice to treat Sigrid for her birthday and allow them some casual cousin-bonding time.

Sabrina: Ah... this is the life, yeah?

Sigrid: I have to admit this is pretty nice. Can't remember the last self-care day I've taken. Chasing two girls around doesn't always allow for ample me-time.

Sabrina: Trust me, I may just have Juno but he runs me ragged. Between him and the restaurant, I'm always a little all over the place.

Sigrid: How is the restaurant doing, by the way?

Sabrina: Honestly, pretty good. I've got a good team and the customers are steady. It's not easy being a businessowner, but it has it's perks. I can customize my schedule and make time for Juno and things like this, which is great.

Sigrid: Yeah, it seems really nice to be able to work for yourself.

A comfortable silence falls between the two for a moment.

Sigrid: You know, now that the girls are in school and Robin has his new job, I've been thinking... maybe it's time I create a career for myself.

Sabrina: Oh yeah? What do you want to do?

Sigrid: I think... this. I always loved playing spa with my siblings. Harley hated it, but he dealt with it for me. I think if I can hone those natural skills, it could be a good way to earn a little cash here and there, and it'd be fulfilling because I'm making sims feel confident and beautiful.

Sabrina: Sounds like you've been thinking about it for some time.

Sigrid: Yeah, well... I never saw myself as just a housewife. I'd like to have something for myself. Now that I'm entering a new phase of life, I want to take more control of it. Do things that make me happy.

Sabrina: As you should. You already know Robin will be your biggest cheerleader.

Sigrid: Yeah. He's adorable.

Sabrina laughs.

Sabrina: Ah, well good to hear that your love has stood the test of time.

The duo wrap up with a little sauna time, which proves to be beneficial for both of them! Sigrid never realized how much she needed a relaxing day out, but the time out definitely helped her feel a lot better.

And after Robin gets off work, he and Sigrid meet with Anya and Haru for a celebratory dinner! The two birthday girls are more than happy to see each other and happy to have a buddy to traverse into the next stage of life together with -- one that includes extra fine lines, gravity taking its course, and hot flashes. So many hot flashes.

The two couples even managed to get seated and dining within two sim hours! (a major feat I'm not sure how I pulled off 😵‍💫)

Having a calm evening out without the kids and celebrating the end of their once plentiful youthfulness while looking towards a future with hopefully much more wisdom was just what this group needed.

While the men take care of the tab, the girls get a moment outside to get some fresh air and chat.

Anya: Well, this certainly has been nice. No kids, just us adults. And now, I guess we're really adults.

Sigrid: Trust me, my knees are already feeling that title.

The two giggle.

Anya: No, but seriously, I can't believe this time has come. You know, my mother's life was so short. She missed out on things like this. She and my stepfather could only dream of what we have.

Sigrid: I know the feeling. Getting older always scared me because it always felt like I was simply getting closer to the end. I don't want to live in fear, though. I want to live. For my girls, for Robin, and for me.

Anya: You know, it's really nice having someone around who understands just what I've been through. I mean, I have Robin, but he was too young. Plus, boys.

Sigrid giggles again.

Sigrid: Well, guess we can feel good knowing that we'll always have each other.

Anya: You're my sister for life. Don't think you can ever get rid of me!

Sigrid: Wouldn't dream of it, sis.

After saying their goodbyes, Robin and Sigrid head home.

Sigrid: You know, I really did have a good day today. No, scratch that, it was a great day.

Robin: That's great to hear. I really tried to corral the girls into doing their part, and Sabrina was more than happy to have an excuse to not head into the restaurant for a few hours.

Sigrid: And the choice of dinner was also great. Seriously, Robin, you've made this birthday so much bearable for me. I'm not exactly thrilled to be getting older, but the future doesn't seem so scary anymore, and a big part of that is thanks to you.

Robin takes Sigrid's hands in his.

Robin: We've been together for many years now. We've celebrated and mourned, watch each other grow as individuals and create a family together. Some sims might wonder, "do they ever get tired of one another"? As a teenager, I couldn't quite imagine what this far in the future would look like for me, but teenage me would be so ecstatic that it ended up like this. From the moment I met you, I knew that no matter what else happened, you were going to be part of my future.

Robin: Well, I got you one more little thing.

Robin pulls out the classic rose, reminiscent of their first date together. Sigrid's eyes light up.

Sigrid: Ever the romantic, even all these years later.

She takes a deep inhale, enjoying the scent.

Sigrid: It's lovely, Robin. Thank you.

Robin: Anything for you.

Sigrid: Will you ever get tired of spoiling me?

Robin: You kidding? It's my life's mission. Spoiling my girls, especially my special girl.

Sigrid: You are... the greatest man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. When I first met you, I felt safe for the first time in my life. I could allow myself to not think of the future as dark and scary and see the potential in it.

The space between them begins to close.

Sigrid: Maybe as a teenager you couldn't see the future, but for me, you were always my future.

Robin nuzzles closer.

Robin: I love you. Forever and always.

Sigrid: Forever and always.

#sims 4 #sims 4 fontenot legacy #sims 4 legacy challenge #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 modded #simblr #ts4 #ts4 simblr

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trijyacustommotorcycles · 2 years ago

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純正シートを二次加工で乗りやすくカッコよくカスタムシートを製作オーナー様に少しでも喜んで頂ければ嬉しいですシートでお悩みの方はご連絡下さいね . #seat #customseat #カスタムシート #シート #harley #harleydavidson #ハーレー #ハーレーダビッドソン #trijya #トライジャ #motorcycle #bike #custom #custommotorcycle #バイク大好き #バイク好きな人と繋がりたい (TRIJYA Custom Motorcycles 刻美 KOKUBI) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpznmwtPFKb/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#seat #customseat #カスタムシート #シート #harley #harleydavidson #ハーレー #ハーレーダビッドソン #trijya #トライジャ #motorcycle #bike #custom #custommotorcycle #バイク大好き #バイク好きな人と繋がりたい

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cuzikan · 8 months ago

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This one-off 1956 Buick Century X was custom-built for GM styling director Bill Mitchell.

Bill Mitchell was Harley Earl’s handpicked successor at GM Design and Styling. Their association seemed to go beyond the standard boss-employee dynamic. Many called it a father-son relationship. Mitchell was just 23 when Earl appointed him chief designer of Cadillac. His design of the ‘38 Cadillac 60 Special was a landmark. But Mitchell was a “Buick man”. His father was a Pennsylvania Buick dealer, and despite being the design prodigy given the reins of the Corporation’s premier car division and style leader, Mitchell ached to draw Buicks. In 1954, Mitchell, right, with the iconic ’65 Mako Shark Corvette, became GM’s Director of Styling, working under Harley Earl. Mitchell drove over 50 “personalized” vehicles during his GM career and was best known for his love of Corvettes and Camaros. But his heart belonged to Buick and, in 1956, he created the customized ’56 Buick Century X. It wasn’t a landmark dream car like Earl’s Buick Y-Job or the ‘51 GM Le Sabre, but a modified production car – special order 90022 – a true factory custom. Buick auto show cars were the glamour models of the Corporation. Much was expected from the Century X; Buick delivered. Mitchell’s 225 changes were more subtle than startling, hardly the usual fare for a GM “dream car” of the 1950s. Dual side exhausts exited through the rocker panels requiring holes cut in the frame with plates welded around the openings for added strength. Century X also wore twin telescoping power headrests, swivel bucket seats, plush carpeting, Skylark-style wire wheels, Mitchell’s signature red chassis, and a prominent tachometer. Chrome accelerator and brake pedal trim told anyone who knew the design section’s secret internal language that this was indeed BILL MITCHELL’S BUICK CENTURY X. Being a racer at heart and taking a page from his mentor’s corporate playbook, Mitchell had the Century X driven to Elkhart Lake, WI for the Road America races in 1956. His timing was good. A new V-8 Corvette – another Mitchell favorite – defeated a field of Jaguars to notch the mighty Corvette’s first victory at Road America. Mitchell spent the race weekend cruising around the resort village much as Harley Earl had done at Watkins Glen during 1951 Grand Prix week with the Le Sabre dream car. Bill Mitchell spent 42 years at GM, working his way up to Vice President of Design, a position he held for 19 years. He retired in 1977 and opened up William L. Mitchell Design, a design consultancy he ran until really retiring in 1984. He passed away in 1988.

#buick #one of a kind #classic cars

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 7 months ago

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Cadillac was founded in 1902 by Henry Leland, who named the company after Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac, who happens to be the founder of Detroit. Just 6 short years later Cadillac brought the idea of interchangeable parts to the automotive industry and laid the ground work for modern mass production of automobiles. As a result, Cadillac became the first American car to win the prestigious Dewar Trophy from the Royal Automobile Club of England. After earning such high praise Cadillac adopted the slogan "Standard of the World."

In 1910, Cadillac became the first company to offer a passenger car with a fully enclosed cabin, a major change from the vehicles of the time. Two years after that, in 1912, the company released the Model Thirty, the car with no crank, which was the first production car to feature an electronic self-starter, ignition, and lighting. By dropping the crank starter, Cadillac opened the door to women drivers, and was able to bring the prestigious Dewar trophy back to Detroit, making Cadillac the only car manufacturer to claim the award twice. Nearly three years later, Cadillac brought the world the V-type, water-cooled, eight cylinder (V8) engine, which would become the signature of the Cadillac brand.

The Roaring 20's was not only a big decade for the country but was also important for Cadillac. In 1926, Cadillac branched out and offered customers more than 500 color combinations to choose from. As the famous Henry Ford saying goes, you can have any color you want, as long as it's black. Cadillac changed this mentality. That same year, the company brought in designer Harley Earl to design the 1927 LaSalle convertible coupe, which made the car the first to be designed from a designer's perspective rather than an engineering one. What Earl created was elegant, with flowing lines, chrome-plate fixtures, and an overarching design philosophy, that made the Cadillac brand known for beauty and luxury.

In the middle of the 1930's a midst The Great Depression, while most companies and families were struggling Cadillac created the first V-type 16-cylinder engine for use in a passenger car. This engine would go on to be one of the most iconic engines in Cadillac history. Shortly thereafter, Cadillac released a V12 version to give buyers something between the already popular V8 and new V16 engines.

Cadillac went quiet in the 1941's when they suspended automobile production to help produce planes for the war. After the war ended Cadillac adapted some of the aircraft technology and created the first ever tailfin on a vehicle. This feature is now found on almost every car and was one of the biggest reasons that Cadillac was given the first ever Car of the Year award in 1949.

The tailfin took off rather quickly and by the mid to late 1950's it was being featured heavily in the design of nearly every vehicle. Also in the 50's Cadillac began developing power steering, which helped the automaker take third, tenth, and eleventh places at the 24 Hours of Le Mans. After Cadillac's stunning "victories" power steering quickly became the new standard of the industry.

Small but meaningful innovations filled the 1960's for Cadillac. In 1963, the company made front seatbelts standard in their vehicles, which lead to the eventual passing of a federal law requiring front seatbelts in all vehicles just one year later. Then, in 1964, Cadillac brought to market automatically controlled headlamps and redefines luxury with Comfort Control, the industry's first thermostatically controlled heating, venting, and air-conditioning system. Over the next few years, Cadillac introduced variable-ratio power steering, electric seat warmers, and stereo radio.

While the 1960's were fairly quiet, with only some smaller, luxury items being introduced, Cadillac started out 1970 with a major bang. Cadillac opened the decade by unveiling the 400 horsepower, 8.2-liter engine Eldorado. With its completely redesigned axle this model boasted the highest torque capacity of any passenger car available at the time. Closing out the decade, Cadillac brought to market the 1978 Seville which used onboard microprocessors in its digital display. This started the era of the computerized automobile.

Throughout the 1980's Cadillac laid low, working on some new technologies that would come to market in the early parts of the 1990's. The first feature to debut was an electronic traction control system on front-wheel drive vehicles. Cadillac began offering this as a standard feature on the 1990 Cadillac Allante. This same year Cadillac would go on to win the Malcolm Baldrige National Quality Award. Two years later, in 1992, the company developed a feature that allowed the engine to run for up to 50 miles without coolant, and a unique induction system for near-perfect fuel distribution. The Seville Touring Sedan of that year would become known as the "Cadillac of the Year" thanks to features such as an all electronically controlled Powertrain, traction control, anti-lock brakes and speed-sensitive suspension. Closing out the decade, Cadillac introduced the, now iconic, Escalade SUV.

CELEBRATING 100 YEARS AS 'THE STANDARD OF THE WORLD'

Coming up on the 100th anniversary of the Cadillac brand, the company had to do something big or the decade, and they did not disappoint. Cadillac started off the 200's by introducing the F-22 stealth aircraft inspired Cien Concept, which ended up winning a few design awards. Later in the decade, in 2008, Cadillac expanded the Escalade SUV by making it the world's first full-size luxury hybrid SUV. In the same year, the company redeveloped the CTS Sedan. This redesign has been incredibly popular and even won the coveted 2008 Car of the Year award. A short year later, the performance edition CTS-V, becomes the fasted V8 production sedan in the world, establishing a record lap time of 7:59:32 on Germany's famed Nürburgring.

#cadillac #cadillac eldorado #cadillac fleetwood #cadillac deville #cadillac coupe de ville #Cadillac escalade #car #cars #Cadillac Escalade SUV

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wetsteve3 · 2 years ago

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Old school Bob jobTwin cylinder 74 CI engine

Pre 1940 leaf spring front end

Flanders handlebars

Aluminum fuel tanks

This 1947 Indian Chief is an old-school bob-job built up from the best-looking Indian parts. The engine, gearbox and frame date from the postwar era, with a plunger frame and the upgraded 74 CI Chief motor with standard 3-speed gearbox, hand shift and foot clutch. The machine has been modified with a pre-1940 leaf-spring front end and a pair of cast aluminum tanks from the 1930s. It’s all been assembled as a period postwar bob-job, which was the hot setup for many motorcyclists in the era, with as much sheet metal as possible discarded for a massive weight reduction, a bobbed rear fender, cowhorn Flanders handlebars and a solo seat completing the style.

The stance in this instance is long and low, with a prewar vibe given the leaf-spring forks, although the plunger rear suspension gives a more comfortable ride. The inspiration for the bob-job (now called simply ‘bobber’) began even before the advent of Class C racing in the mid-1930s, all the way back to the mid-1920s, with the California Cut Down style, which used the same formula for increased performance: ditch weight, open the pipes, raise the handlebars, lower the center of gravity. The Cut Down style was the original American custom motorcycle style, and the first widely-replicated custom look from any region.

The Cut Down saw its peak with the Harley-Davidson JDH, and a few were even commercially produced by independent motorcycle shops, with instructions on shortening/lowering the ‘J’ frame published in magazines like Popular Mechanics. With the introduction of Class C production racing in 1936, the style was given a new life as the bob-job, as riders customized their street machines to look more like race bikes. This 1947 Indian Chief Bobber is exactly such a machine, modified to look like a racer, but fully street-legal. It’s as old school as it gets, and Indian bob-jobs are much less common than Harley-Davidson customs in the early postwar era, making this bike very rare.

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oceangirl24 · 2 years ago

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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

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nexttm · 2 years ago

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location prompts || accepting ➜ @crimeloyalty revenge sex in someone else’s car.

It isn't the idea that is offensive, or even makes him uncomfortable. It is the car itself that is beyond obnoxious, but even that isn't the problem. It is the mere size of it. Or rather; the lack of size to accommodate someone as tall and wide as him. Sure, Harley claims they are fairly similar in height, but Simon has seen the dude in pictures. They don't wear the same size of shirt, so to speak.

The more surprising part is finding and getting hold of the car. It stands out from the rest of Gotham with simply being on the firm end of the color spectrum that screams “Rainbow!” at your face, true. But it is also his car. It just seems like it should be harder and not so… parked right in front of a club with the key still in the ignition. Who even has a car that needs a key to be inserted these days? Jesus Christ. There are all kinds of things Simon would like answers to about the matter, but now is not the time, nor does he ever expect to even get those answers. Not even if he sits down with the man himself.

Keeping his hands in the pockets of his worn-out jeans, letting Harley climb all over the purple vehicle to satisfy her need to simply… take things. He can't deny that she is due more than a few things if even half of what she claims is true about the Joker, and frankly he is sure she even tones down the version she supplies for him when she does start talking.

The climate in Gotham is perhaps not the most inviting this time of the year, chilling to the bone with the humidity getting frozen as the lower degrees taking over the country. Even with the balaclava on his breath still leaves little trails of fog on every exhale. How Harley is fine with simply wearing booty shorts is nothing short of amazing. Not that Simon is complaining. Not at all. If anything, he is looking. Respectfully.

He only notices that he's been prompted and missed it once he catches sight of a finger calling for his attention to move from Harley's ass to come closer – and to look at her face and not just her ass. If the balaclava didn't cover his face as it did, a smile of the more abashed kind would be visible. With a step closer he has one hand on the top of the car, and one on her ass, gently nudging her to climb over to the passenger seat. There is no way he'll let her drive, even without her drinking prior to the idea of; “hey I know a great car to have sex in.” Not that the plan is to really drive the car. It is more along the lines of taking it for a very different kind of ride.

With a healthy amount of skepticism while attempting to get in the car, Simon is fairly surprised he actually fits behind the wheel. Closed door and everything. The “I told you so” goes completely ignored in favor of putting his hand between Harley's legs. The perks of the shorts being so short is truly the lack of material between those pale thighs. He has half a mind to get the car on the road, but he'll need both hands for that, and Harley seems entirely too happy with keeping one of his hands busy and all to herself – judging by the happy grin and content moans coming from her. Is it performative? Oh no doubt about it. But he doesn't care one bit. The whole stunt is to put on a show, and a show they will give.

With no windows pulled down ( it was on purpose, and not a rookie mistake thank you very much ), the whole car fogged up pretty fast. With the multicolored lights on ( both inside and out, why not let the battery run to the bottom of all pits, right? ) and the stereo playing whatever weird playlist had been left on, it didn’t exactly take them long to manage another rearrangement of bodies and limbs. Thank whatever carshop had custom built the car to allow the driver’s seat to be moved back another two feet.

While Simon kept most of his clothes on, pants merely pulled down to his knees, balaclava pulled up over his head. Harley was the contrasting opposite. Shorts together with extravagant jacket and one singular shoe was occupying the passenger seat. A bra in matching colors to her hair was hanging from the rearview mirror, much to Simon’s appreciation of being able to get his face on her chest, pulling on her piercings with his teeth. The thong to go with the bra had been left on for the sole purpose of seeing the lace next to his own cock when being pulled to the side. So sue him for having a thing for lace – few piece was big enough to fit him so he’d have to make due somehow.

Having the steering wheel in the way of really getting any leverage with his thrusts, it was basically lodged against his knees and therefore restricting movements in what could only be described as a most inconvenient way. What he lacked in movement he certainly made up for in dedication, however. Both of his hands held on to Harley’s ass, gripping hard enough bruises even someone like her. Having big hands certainly had it’s pros at times like these. Two of his fingers pressed further between her cheeks, against her hole just hard enough to tease, but not enough to give her anything. The gasp and following whine it earned him only made him laugh through the moan stuck in his throat as she sank down over his cock, soaking wet or not he was still a lot to take, and the tremble in her thighs gave her away.

As much as it was a moment for the two of them, something they shared and most certainly enjoyed. It was still clear it was a show. Harley’s hands all but roamed over the windows as if she’d been fathered by a windshield. If it was for the purpose of opening the fog so people could see them, or if it was for the actual purpose of moving herself was harder to tell, most likely it was a combo of the two.

With her hand accidentally catching the steering wheel, causing the horn to not just honk but fill the street with the most loud obnoxious melody known to mankind – this really was a clown car. Simon could only laugh. His whole body curled around hers, holding her close as they both laughed through the struggle of catching their breaths. This had to be the dumbest situation he’s been in. At least the dumbest situation from the past five or so years.

With his face buried against Harley’s neck, feeling her hard at work pulse against his own forehead, while their skins stuck together from the sweat they had both worked up over the past twenty some minutes. Most of it having just been an attempt at how to maneuver themselves in the dumb car. Looking out at the street gave even more perspective on how dumb it really was. They had a crowd now. A rather big one on both sides of the street, he didn’t need unfogged windows to figure as much out. And after the honking they certainly had everyone’s attention.

If Simon had struggled with getting off before this very moment, it was nothing compared to now. The paranoia was creeping up, tickling the back of his neck more than Harley’s nails were clawing for his attention all over his body. Now where was that damn key? Did they leave it in the ignition- Yes, yes they did. His fumbling hands, having let go of Harley’s ass. Slowly attempted to locate not just the key, but also in what position the steering wheel was. All done as gently as possible as to not startle anyone outside, or give it away to Harley so she’d give too much away to the outside.

With a firm grip on the wheel with one hand, and one on the key it barely took him two seconds to get the car started, and in the first gear, forcing the vehicle out of there before anyone could move too close. Maybe it was a night for both kinds of rides after all. Now this certainly ticked off something he’d never tried before.

#crimeloyalty #• game response

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