#armored motorcycle pants

[ijustwant2ride]

Motorcycle Product Review:  Sherrie Leggings by Wind & Throttle

My wife has been looking for armored motorcycle pants for a while.  What she really wanted was armored motorcycle pants made for women. 

[icky-rickyy]

Joy Ride

Motorcyclist!Logan x Motorcyclist!reader

I am currently obsessing over street bike tik tok. Taking a short break from my multi part I am writing to supply this beauty.

Rated: E for everyone.

Should I do a part2

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Marissa, your roommate spoke from her bed. She was laid in snuggly under the covers, chin tucked to her chest and cell phone resting on her abdomen as she dedicated the first half of the day to ‘doom scrolling’ as she called it.

“Yeah why not? I never meet anyone, and I never get to show off. I haven’t gone on a joy ride in months.”

You were tugging the zipper of your armored pants up, making sure they were fastened tightly to your body.

“You’re going to go cruising into a bike meet? A male predominant space and expect to get treated like one of the guys? Your tits are out!” She inched up in her bed, resting her back against the headboard.

“The last time I went to a bike meet was with Ethan. And I went as a backpack. I didn’t even have my own bike to show off, I was just eye candy while riding bitch and holding on to him.”

“And I look better on a bike when my tits are out anyways!” You looked down the front of your white cropped top, tugging the bottom hem down.

“Are you going by yourself?”

“Well….. no. I was going to ask Ethan to meet with me. Buutttt, if you wanna play backpack then I won’t invite him.” You were pulling on a thin zip up jacket, zipping it only a quarter of the way.

“I am so sorry but this is my only Saturday off all month, I am not getting oogled at and then being scared for my life while you drive recklessly.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Kay fine. Don’t be mad when I come home with some biker hottie and we’re knockin boots all night.”

You grabbed your helmet from the end of her bed, tucking it under your arm with a firm slap to the top of it.

“Don’t die, and don’t get any STD’s!” She cheered after you as you headed through your apartment to the front door.

You dialed quickly on your phone, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you pulled your keys from your pocket. It only took two rings before it answered.

“Uh hello?”

Ethan was on the other side, asking pensively.

“Are you going to the bike meet at the abandoned Jiffy on 10th?” You hung your helmet on the handle bar of your bike, swinging your leg over to mount it.

“Yes. How do you even know about that?” You could hear him shuffling on the other line.

“You’ll see. I’ll be there in 20.”

You hung up the phone quickly, locking it on to your phone stand and reaching for your helmet. You pulled it on over your hair, tucking the loose strands up in the back before fastening it tightly around your chin.

The bike roared to life beneath you, and your heart settled happily in your chest. You were excited for the evening, ready to see what the rest of the day could hold.

You weren’t even sure where to park.

The abandoned parking lot was already half filled with bikes of all shapes and sizes. Riders stood talking to one another while others stayed perched on their motorcycles simply observing or scrolling on their phones. There were at least 30 people stood waiting, and the meet wasn’t meant to actually start for another 10 minuets.

You tried not to shy away from peering eyes as you rolled into the large group of people, looking for an open spot to put the kickstand up on your bike and put it in park.

There was an open spot next to an older model Harley, the owner stood leaning against his bike puffing a half smoked cigar as he looked to the others suspiciously.

It was a stark difference, your bike next to his.

His classic looking motorcycle next to your lilac purple crotch rocket. Dark black leather next to pink and white accents and flashy rims.

You pushed the kickstand down, staying mounted on your bike as you fiddled with the helmet strap. Your hair fell from its tucked in position, setting your helmet on the gas tank and pulling your gloves off to run your hands through your messy helmet hair.

You tried not to look at the man next to you, watching his eyes scan as his large chest huffed with each inhale of his cigar. He had a leather jacket folded on the seat next to him, clad in a white beater tank top and bootcut jeans help up by a large silver belt buckle. His arms were big and muscular, covered by a vast sea of body hair. A tickle of the dark hair peeked up past the neckline of his tank top and teased at the base of his throat.

He looked many years you senior, and hot as fuck.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” You stuck your hand out to him sheepishly, introducing yourself.

“Logan. Like your bike.” He nodded down, eyes narrow with a stern look on his face. His words were curt but friendly.

“Right back at ya.” You chuckled back, pausing your next sentence when your phone began to ring in your pocket.

“Sorry.”

You dismissed yourself, answering Ethan’s incoming call and pressing it to your ear.

“Hey. Yeah. I’m next to an all black Harley. It’ll be hard to miss me. Yep. See you here.” You pushed your phone back into your pocket after ending the call, adjusting your seating on your bike.

Logan was still looking around, watching people walk past and nodding to the few that gawked openly.

A group of girls still wearing their helmets were walking by, whispering and squealing quietly to themselves at the sight of your bike. They all came by to swoon with you, asking where you got it and identifying questions you weren’t unfamiliar with answering.

You could hear the signature roar of Ethan’s bike as he approached, the girls standing near all making a clearing as he pulled in behind you and parking his own bike. He dismounted, swiftly pulling off his helmet.

“Wow. I’m impressed. You might have just out done me.” He stood with his hands on his hips, watching as you pulled your leg over your bike approaching him with a hug.

It had been nearly six months since your breakup that you had last seen Ethan. You tried a few times after the initial ending of your relationship to rekindle, but it never seemed to work out.

“I didn’t even know you got a bike.” He held you proudly by your shoulders, stepping back and putting his hands to his side when the group of people around the two of you finally registered in his brain.

“Well I was tired of being a backpack, what can I say? This is your fault though. You started this addiction.” You laughed open heartedly to him, watching him nod with a smile.

“Well I have a few buddies here to catch up with, but I’ll cruise with you when we get going later.”

You nodded as a quiet response to him, smiling as you watched him walk away and into a group of guys that all hugged and high-fived him happily.

“Boyfriend?” Logan asked from next to you.

You had almost forgot he was there, looming quietly from his bike.

“No.” You laughed to him. “Ex. This is actually the first time we’ve seen each other in months.” You pulled your phone from your pocket again, sending Marissa a quick text that you had arrived safe and sound.

“His loss.” Logan muttered quietly, pulling a final drag of his cigar. You looked over with a flash of shock, watching him smirk as he flicked the tobacco to the ground and stomped it to ash.

All you did was nod with a shy smile, looking to your street shoes and kicking a loose pebble around.

The entire group of bikers waited for another 10 minutes before everyone loaded up. You pulled on your gloves and helmet again, tugging the strap tight and hopping back on to your bike. Ethan mounted his behind you, you both shared an excited glance before you flicked down the visor of your helmet. Logan pulled on his jacket, climbing onto his bike without any protection. He smirked over to you, you blushed behind the darkness of your helmet.

Your whole body was vibrating in excitement when the group of bikes roared to life. There were at least 50 of you. It was too hard to count when the front of the group sped from the parking lot and out into the street.

Ethan replaced Logan’s spot on the side of you, keeping steady pace as you all began to race down the pavement. Logan followed shortly behind.

Passer-bys in their cars all gawked at the lot of you, heads swinging on a swivel as the singular headlights went by in a flash.

The group was picking up speed, going through main traffic until you took enough turns and ended up on an open paved backroad.

Evening was dwindling down, and the traffic was decreasing by the minute. This left the wide open pavement to the entire fleet of motorcycles to cruise in and out of the two lane road.

People were synced up to each others helmets, talking joyfully through about their lives while others shared music with each other in a collective jam session. You typically would enjoy far too loud music while riding, but you left your ears open to hear the herd of rumbling bikes race down the streets and to pick up on any important or urgent comms messages.

Logan managed to squeeze in between you and Ethan, his classic bike groaned and rumbled deeply as he yanked on his throttle in show. You laughed aloud at his ego display, looking between him and the road as he smiled brightly.

Logan leaned over as much as he could from the distance between you, sticking his hand out in invitation. You veered your bike closer to his, placing your hand in his open palm. He clasped his hand around yours, pulling your gloved knuckles up to place a soft kiss upon them. He squeezed your hand before sending you a wink and letting go.

You put your hand over the mouth of your helmet, tilting your head to mock grace at his chivalry. He threw his head back in a laugh, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

When you both quit giggling you watched Logan’s eyes flash dark with mischief. He scanned the area quickly, locating and calculating the closest bikers before he yanked down on his throttle.

His bike was absolutely screeching, hollering in a deep grumble as he pulled down harder and shifted gears. He was flying through the group, weaving in and out of everyone as he accelerated through them all.

You were almost shocked, watching him navigate the group with ease. You watched a few people flash back to you with confusion. You decided, why the hell not, and yanked down on your throttle just as hard.

The wind was whistling against you as you leaned down into the tank of your bike, feeling yourself accelerate even faster with the aerodynamics. It was a flash of headlights and rainbow colored modifications as you passed each biker swiftly in urge to catch up with Logan who was now coasting freely at the front of the group.

Your comms system was catching nearby voices, hearing them whisper in confusion or holler in excitement.

Logan was looking back as often as he could when he heard your bike accelerating behind him, a wide smile on his face when you finally caught up. You flipped up the visor of your helmet.

“You tryna race?” You yelled over to him.

He shook his head from side to side. “Not tonight doll, just wanted to show off a little.”

“Maybe next time?” You inquired with a smile, watching him roll his eyes playfully.

“Yeah, maybe next time.”

It was nearly 10 pm when you all returned back to the abandoned parking lot. Many of the bikers wished a good night as they broke up from the group to head home, the others followed back and were now parked in the meeting spot. Most were walking around in the light of the street lamps engaging in conversation or perusing the parked bikes in admiration.

You’d mainly went back to bid a goodnight to Ethan and then head home, to thank him for showing and for inspiring you to chase this particular fulfillment in your life.

It’s was hard to ever consider a time when you didn’t have a bike. From the moment you met Ethan and you began riding tandem with him, you were obsessed. The adrenaline, the quick feeling of flying through the open roads, the deep contentment that settled your soul and helped you sleep at night.

“Thanks again.” You confirmed to him, seeing his bright smile underneath his helmet. He held your shoulders kindly and his bright blue eyes shimmered down in pride.

“I’m proud of you. I hope you know that.”

You could have teared up at his endearment. Sometimes you wondered what it would have been like if this managed to work out with him.

“Thank you. Let’s plan another time to meet up, maybe without the other seven million people.”

Ethan nodded in confirmation with a laugh, pulling you in for one last tight hug before separating to head to his bike parked nearby.

He waved to the group and his friends as he drove away on his bike, peering out into the road before he filtered into the straying traffic and was gone in a flash.

Logan had still loomed by, leaning against his bike and finishing another cigar. You were ready to leave and head home, but felt compelled to talk to him.

“Thanks for the fun tonight. This was my first ever meet solo and you, uh, you just made it a lot better.” You stuck out your hand as a formality.

Logan reached out and shook it, his large hand wrapping around your gloved one like earlier.

“Thank you for playing along. Recklessness can get boring.”

You chuckled in response, nervously tucking your hand into your pocket and looking to the ground.

“Hey?” Logan asked, tentatively reaching for the bottom of your helmet. He tugged you closer, tilting your head up to look up at him.

“Let’s do this again, just you and I? Next week on Tuesday work?” He puffed a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

You nodded wordlessly.

“Meet here? 10 am?”

You nodded again.

“Perfect. Good night, and get home safe doll.” He released his grip on your helmet, watching you stay frozen in shock. He stomped out his cigar like he did earlier, mounting his bike swiftly.

You watched in awe as he rumbled it to life. He sent a flirty wink before pulling up his own kickstand. Logan flew out of the parking lot and into the street.

“Oh fuck me.” You groaned, flicking down the visor of your helmet and mounting your own bike to head home.

[drgrlfriend]

@brilcrist created this lovely art depicting a scene from my fic! My Heart Will Be Your Home by dr_girlfriend

Excerpt:

That is … definitely a guy fighting with a bow and arrow.  He’s tall and blond — could probably pass for Steve at a distance, but maybe even a touch taller and built a bit leaner — wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a fancy-looking recurve bow in his hand and a quiver strapped slantways across his back.  He’s got his back to a giant maple tree, and is firing arrows in a blur of motion while ducking lasers from the bots.  These ones look a little like the Daleks from that show Tony and Bruce love — vaguely conical and stumpy, with what seems to be a single laser on each.  

“Why ain’t he gettin’ up in that tree?” Bucky wonders aloud, revving through the preserve.  “It’s a better tactical position.”  He’s starting to see scattered bots now, and he slaloms a course through them, swinging his metal arm and sending them flying as he zooms by.

“Not everyone has sniper training,” Sam suggests.  “He’s probably just some archery hobbyist, or something.  Probably doesn’t know the first damn thing about fighting.”

A bot has gotten close up on the guy’s flank, and he seems to realize just in time.  He somersaults sideways, coming up with an arrow in his hand and jamming it directly into the bot’s side just as a shot from Redwing finishes it off.  

“I don’t know about that,” Steve says dryly.  “Seems to be doing pretty good to me.  Either way, we’re almost on him; Bucky, I’ll take the right side, you take the left.”

“Copy.”  There’s a line of bots advancing on the guy and Bucky pulls up with a sharp twist, planting his left foot and letting the rear of the bike skid sideways so that the back wheel takes out the bots like a row of dominoes.

Out of the corner of his eye Bucky sees Steve hurtle over the handlebars of his own motorcycle and yeet the whole damn thing at a cluster of bots.  No finesse, that guy.

Bucky jumps off his bike, swinging at the bots closest to him.  He’s just about dealt with that cluster and is only a few paces away from the archer when the guy’s eyes widen.  He lunges toward Bucky, pushing him aside just as one of the bots on the ground fires.

The man yelps and staggers, pressing a hand to his side.

“What kind of idiot are you?” Bucky growls, pulling the man back and putting his own body between him and the bot.  “Let me take the hits!” 

A furrow appears between the man’s brows, his mouth gaping for a moment, and then he seems to shake it off, nocking another arrow and loosing it.  It skims so close to Bucky’s face that it stirs his hair, and Bucky whirls to see another bot was sneaking up on him.

“Jesus, these things are everywhere,” Bucky complains, drawing his Glock and firing, taking out the laser of the one on the ground.  

“There’s a weak spot in the armor plating on the left side,” the man yells.  

Time seems to stop for a moment, Bucky’s heart stuttering and then kicking into overdrive.  The air around him suddenly seems crystal clear — Bucky can see every individual leaf on every tree, can hear the sighing of the wind and the rustle of the leaves, the whirring of the bots and the heartbeat and panting breaths of the guy as he ducks another laser.

“Bucky, did he —” Steve starts over the comm.

“Not now, Stevie,” Bucky manages.  He shakes off his shock and forcibly shoves the revelation to the back of his mind in order to focus on the task at hand.  Time seems to lurch back into a normal speed and Bucky concentrates on blocking the man from the line of fire of the largest cluster of approaching bots.

“I’ll make an opening, you run for it,” he shouts.

“I’m not leaving,” the man shouts back.  Jesus christ, another vigilante-wannabe.  They’re coming out of the woodwork these days.  Was this guy even in the park when all this started, or did he come looking for a fight?

“Watch your back,” Bucky instructs with a mental shrug, and then there’s no more time for words, the two of them fighting fiercely against the oncoming wave of bots.  

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter twelve

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: I enjoy this chapter so much, that is all. I also enjoy the chapter I just wrote but you don't get that yet (hehe). This chapter is a little on the shorter side but that's because the next bit is a Bruce POV interlude! Thanks as usual for the comments etc, I love feedback and I love making y'all lose your minds with cliffhangers!

Series Masterlist

word count: 2k

She screamed as hands grabbed her and yanked her off of the motorcycle. 

A primal need to survive rose within y/n as hands dragged her into the smoke. She thrashed wildly, twisting every which way to try and escape the iron grip that held her. Her hands turned into claws and she swiped at whatever she could find. Her nails met flesh and she abruptly hit the asphalt as a man yelled. 

Go, go, go, she shouted to herself, her breath coming in panicked pants. “Help!” she called, but she didn’t have enough air to shout. She was almost to the motorcycle, hands reaching for the key to turn it, when she was grabbed again. 

“Bitch,” the man she had seen earlier snarled into her ear. The fourth murder suspect. Hell, he wasn’t even a suspect. She knew he had killed those two people. She had seen it. 

Pain exploded across her face as his fist connected. 

This time she did scream. 

He laughed. “All this time searching, and you’re right here on our doorstep.” 

She took a swipe at him with her nails again. He moved easily out of the way. She tried to run again but he simply caught her like a cat toying with its prey before killing it. 

Because he was going to kill her. And he was going to do it before Batman or Gordon or anyone else could save her. 

Behind her was the man who’d grabbed her, both of his hands bleeding where she had scratched him. She was between the two men, the motorcycle too far, Batman nowhere to be seen. 

She went still. She looked around wildly for an escape, any escape, but saw none. There was still gunfire from the front of the pub. She could hear sirens now, but they were too distant. They would be too late. 

She closed her eyes. 

“There’s a good girl,” her murderer said. She shivered and almost gagged at the words. “No use fighting it. You saw something you weren’t supposed to, and it’s my job to take care of it, you see. You can’t hide forever, even with your little vigilante friend.” He snorted. “Some good he did you.” 

When her eyes opened, they landed on the gun at his waist. 

She had never shot a gun before, but if she could grab it…

She turned in a slow circle, a trapped animal, wild with panic, searching for a way out under a false calm. 

When she again faced her killer, there was a soft sound behind her. He frowned. 

The smoke was clearing now. 

With another sudden gust of wind, it cleared enough for her to see the man she’d scratched , now unconscious on the ground. 

She ran towards him and the shadow that stood over him. 

The other man grabbed for her but she managed to shrug out of her jacket and get away. 

She was almost to her savior when the shot rang out. 

She gasped and stumbled to a halt. She waited for the pain, the agony, the sudden onslaught of darkness bringing her death. 

When she opened her eyes, the Batman was in front of her. 

The shot had hit him the chest. She could see the mark from it, the bullet perfectly pressed into the armor right over his heart. 

The man pointing the gun stared at them with wide eyes. 

Then he cursed and ran. 

Batman stepped after him, but more shots rang out. He shoved her against the wall and covered her with his body as he took one, two, three more bullets to the chest like it was nothing. He growled and knocked the shooter unconscious as soon as the gun clicked, empty. 

The alley lit up in red and blue as the shooter hit the ground with a thud. 

“I’ve got you,” Batman said, his voice almost hoarse. He turned and caged her in with his arms, her own personal bulletproof shield. She stared up at him, still sucking in panicked breaths. Her face was wet with tears, her vision blurry with them.

“You–” she said but it came out a sob. “They shot you. Oh my god.” Her hands fumbled over his chest in a search for blood. No way he had taken four shots and come away completely unscathed. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked. There was something dangerous in his voice. 

“Are you hurt?” she asked then hiccuped on another sob. 

He ripped off a glove and cupped her face with his bare hand.

Her entire body melted into the touch. She whimpered softly and closed her eyes. “I’m okay,” she said, because she was now. His skin was hot, almost burning where he caressed her cheek. He slipped the hand down her neck and angled her head towards the light. 

“You’re bleeding,” he said. 

“I’m okay,” she repeated. He let out a long breath. “He got away,” she said, because that seemed important. 

“But you’re alive,” Batman said. 

“Hey!” Gordon’s familiar voice shouted. 

“I have his picture,” she said. She didn’t want Batman to stop touching her face. The touch was a comfort, an anchor, a safe haven in a storm. His hands were callused but gentle. “A clear picture.” 

Batman let her go. His absence was an immediate ache in her chest. 

“What the hell happened?” Gordon demanded in an almost-shout as police swarmed the alley. “You were supposed to take her to the store or something, not to a gunfight!” 

She realized that Batman had stepped in front of her again. As if Gordon was going to shoot at her and he was ready to take the bullet. She leaned around him. The presence of Gordon calmed her further. For the moment, she was safe, and Batman was safe, and that was all that mattered. Everything else was a problem for later that she shoved into a locked box in her mind. 

As Batman explained what happened to Gordon, y/n clung to his cape like a kid with a security blanket. She wanted his hand on her skin again, wanted the anchor of his touch, but he had already put his glove back on. 

With a jolt, she quickly pulled up her recent pictures with her free hand. 

“Here,” she said, holding it out between the two men, interrupting whatever argument they were having. “I got a picture of him. It’s him. I know it’s him. He admitted it to me and everything.” 

Gordon took the camera. “I need to–” 

“Keep it, yeah, I know. Just don’t delete anything.” She waved a hand and almost tipped over. Now that the adrenaline was fading, she thought she might pass out. 

Gordon cursed and paced in a small circle. When he paused, he crossed his arms, then used one hand to point at her. “I’m putting a police detail on your house. And I’m taking you home and speaking with Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth both.”

She nodded, but she wasn’t really listening. Batman was watching her, a hand on her elbow, steadying her, his mouth turned down with concern. 

She met his eyes. 

He looked away, as usual. 

“Stay right here,” Gordon said. “I’ll send someone over to get a statement, then I’m taking you straight home.” 

“But won’t they know who I am as soon as they see the police there every day?” she asked. Her brain was finally starting to catch up with things. 

“It’s only a matter of time before they figure it out,” Gordon said, his voice gentling. “I’d rather err on the side of caution. Now stay put, both of you.” 

Gordon strode away, taking command of the scene, having her camera bagged as evidence as he went. 

She didn’t move from Batman’s side. She didn’t want to. Men were being led away in cuffs or on stretchers and she let the movements hold her gaze until she landed on a familiar officer. 

Martinez saw her at the same time and jogged over. “Hey, you okay?” he said, not even bothering to acknowledge the hulking figure that had once again moved to block her view. She thumped a fist into Batman’s armored back to try to get him to move. What, did he think Martinez was a threat? 

“Fit as a fiddle,” she said. She moved to the side so she could see Martinez. “Except for whatever adrenaline and fear do to your brain.” She went to brush hair out of her face and touched the spot where the man had hit her. She winced. “Okay, and the tiny bump on the head.”  

“God, what happened? I heard Gordon’s call come over and we got like, a million calls reporting gunshots and–” He reached out a hand, probably to make sure y/n really was okay, only to be blocked again by Batman. He looked up at him. “Good thing you were here, man.” 

“Good thing,” Batman said in his low growl. She heard the threat in it even if Martinez didn’t. Her brows drew together. Martinez was about as menacing as a puppy. 

“I gotta go,” Martinez said as someone called his name. “Text me later!” 

He jogged away. 

“Friend of yours?” Batman asked wryly. He glanced down at her and away. 

“You always look away from me,” she said instead of answering the question. “It’s like you’re scared to look at me or something. Am I that hideous?” She meant it as a joke but it came out weird, strangled. 

She saw him swallow even as he still refused to look at her. “Because I’m scared to get too close.” His voice was a low rasp. There it was again–that hint of familiarity, like a dream fading upon waking.

“Why?” 

“Because you–terrify me.” 

The words sent a crackle of electricity through her. She opened her mouth to ask why again, but Gordon was back. 

“Let’s go, kid.” He grabbed her by the elbow but she dug in her heels. 

“Wait,” she said, but she didn’t know what for. She pulled her arm away. She went to turn back to Batman, to make him answer her questions, to get him to say why she terrified him. 

But he was gone. 

–

Wayne Tower’s lobby was ablaze with light. The whole security team was there, in a standoff with several GCPD officers. Gordon spoke briefly with Blake and a uniformed officer before escorting her upstairs with Martinez. 

She couldn’t stop thinking of Batman’s words. Because you terrify me. Her? Terrify him? But why? How? She remembered the warmth of his hand on her face, so gentle despite the violence he had just displayed towards their attackers. 

She wondered, albeit briefly, if her mind was focusing on that instead of what had happened to her, like some form of shock. 

As the elevator opened, all thoughts of Batman fled. 

Because standing there, looking rumpled like he’d rolled out of bed, was Bruce Wayne. 

He was lurking behind Alfred, eyes half closed in the bright foyer lights, his clothes baggy and ratty like he was homeless rather than a billionaire. 

He had never looked better, or more far away. 

Seeing him there–even knowing that it was Gordon that had requested he be there and not a concern for her safety–loosened something within her. 

Alfred rushed towards her and gathered her in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright, dear girl,” he said into her hair. “Gordon called and explained.” Her eyes met Bruce’s over Alfred’s shoulder. She expected him to walk away like he so often did whenever they were in the same room lately. 

Instead, he held her gaze steadily. She felt like he was trying to tell her something, but she didn’t know what. 

The thought brought tears to her eyes as the night’s events caught up with her. Bruce was so far away from her and the distance had never been more apparent. She used to be able to read him with a single glance and vice versa. Now his gaze was a wall of blue ice, as distant from her as the Antarctic. 

“I’m okay,” she said, but she wasn’t sure she was.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @warsaur @lachillona02 @crazyunsexycool @doetic @alexiris @that-girl-named-alex @harry-bowie-mercury @vaniasagitaa @widows-writings @missing-loki @exactlyelegantwizard @miriamnox @mavenmoon @eclipsedplanet

[itiswormtimebaby]

Consequences

All actions have consequences as Bug is painfully aware (alternatively: Bucky has a strange way of asking you out).

Pairing: Biker!Bucky and Bug (+Brother’s best friend Bucky, Plus sized reader) CW: Past dub-con kissing/touching not with Bucky (Reader is too intoxicated to make an informed decision but isn’t being forced), irresponsible alcohol consumption, vomiting, references to edibles, mature language and themes, inaccurate depictions of motorcycle clubs, 18+

Picks up after Bucky comforting you when you get way too high

There was a certain sense of freedom that came with knowing you’d already lived through your most embarrassing moment, like shame armor that put everything else into perspective: ripping your pants, passing gas in a crowded elevator, tripping in front of an audience, getting caught crying by your boss, pocket dialing your parents at inopportune times…all painful incidents, but nothing that came close to that night. 

Steve and Bucky were fresh out of the military, having swiftly transitioned from being property of their country to property of the 107th Infantry Motorcycle Club, the MC’s bitch boys. Back then they couldn’t go anywhere without the word PROSPECT stitched across their backs, a designation that had them working twice as hard for half the pay and even less credit. You were freshly twenty-one, coming off the tail end of your third year at University, and just as controlled by stress as the boys were by the bold white letters on their kuttes’.

It had started as a desperate attempt to unwind, an appearance at a friend of a friend’s party. One shot turning into two shots, two shots turning into three, three turning into five, and a beer, or two, or maybe three? And a red solo cup of something, but only one of those, or maybe it was two? But surely not three…

It was like stepping into a movie, like living your own party montage, except the cuts between scenes were stretching out more and more and suddenly you weren’t in the moment you were above it, watching. Did five minutes always pass between each blink? Or maybe it was only three minutes…but really it felt more like ten. Fifteen? You didn’t remember sitting down at the table, that must have happened between blinks, but you remember laughing. You don’t remember the guy's name, but you remember the feel of his lips, his tongue in your mouth. 

Blink. 

Blink.

Blink.  

He had asked you something and you nodded, leaned back in. 

Blink.

Blink.

Was his hand up your shirt? Could the other people at the table see?

Blink.

Blink. 

Blink.

Had you needed to go to the bathroom? You must have because that’s where you’d ended up. 

Blink.

Oh! Steve was on the phone, why did he call you at three am? Or wait, no, you had called him.

“Stevie?” 

Someone was at the door. 

Blink.

Blink.

You were outside, Bucky had arrived. 

His appearance had brought an end to the time void between each blink, all too painfully aware of his hands on your face, his voice a mix of anger and concern as he looked you over, trying to find out what happened. The only thing you couldn’t recall was where he’d gotten the blanket, a checkered thing he had wrapped around you both, a makeshift baby-sling for his best friend's kid sister. He’d had you tighten your hold on his waist before tying it off, the vibrations of his bike churning the liquor in your stomach as he glanced over his shoulder at you, “Hold on for me, Bug.” 

You had held onto him, but not to the contents of your stomach. Bile, alcohol, bits of bread you’d counted on acting as a sponge, it all came bubbling to the surface. Liquor logged there wasn’t even time to react, to turn your head, you’d just let it all go over his back, over those big, bold letters, PROSPECT. The tears had come after that, body-wracking sobs that would have had a less experienced driver scrambling to maintain balance, but Bucky hadn’t skipped a beat. 

In the aftermath you had wished so desperately to forget, for that moment to join the many others that had disappeared from your memory that night, but there was a small voice that said you should be thankful, thankful you got to hold onto the memory of Bucky’s kindness.

He hadn’t reacted in anger, hadn’t been judgmental, hadn’t berated you, didn’t swear about the mess left on him or his beloved bike. He cleaned off your face, helped you remove tear stains and makeup, found clothes that fit for you to sleep in, ensured you drank a glass of water, and spent the night on the floor so you could have his bed. In the morning the bike had been cleaned, his kutte and your clothes laundered, and any attempt at apology waved away. He never brought it up, never threw it in your face, and never told Steve. As shameful as it was, as embarrassing, it was also freeing. You had lived through your most embarrassing moment, it put everything else into perspective: ripping your pants, passing gas in a crowded elevator, tripping in front of an audience, getting caught crying by your boss, pocket dialing your parents at inopportune times…all painful incidents, but nothing that came close to that night. Until you went and got unreasonably high and begged your brother’s best friend to fuck you. 

____________________________________________________

Bucky’s radio silence had you wishing all you’d done was get drunk and puke all over him and his bike, at least you’d already charted that territory. Instead you were left to deal with the fact that you’d not only asked him to fuck you but begged for it when he said no. Which felt creepy, and predatory, and like maybe you shouldn’t be alone with him anymore. On the other hand he’d responded with “when I finally fuck you.” Not if, when; and you couldn't ignore the inclusion of the word finally, which heavily implied it was a thought he’d entertained on his own, separate from your “deathbed” wishes. That finally was enough to keep hope burning in your chest for the first twenty-four hours, but by hour thirty-six it had smoldered down to ashy shame. Shame of embarrassment, shame of potentially ruining what was a perfectly good platonic relationship by burdening Bucky with your feelings, shame at just how quickly you’d dreamed up and projected a happy ending based on one damn word: finally. 

It was enough to do your head in until finally, forty-eight hours post edible hell, Bucky had shown back up. Torn between relief and anger you chose inaction, waiting for him to break the bubble of silence he worked to create. When you didn’t immediately move to the side to allow him in, Bucky revealed the flowers clutched in his vibranium hand, your favorite. Hope.

“Look, Bug, I’m not just going to fuck my best friends sister.”

Disappointment. 

Embarrassed disappointment. 

Embarrassed disappointment that has you lashing out after forty-eight hours of being iced. 

“Wow, you’re such a class act, James. Sure it took you two whole days to let me down but at least you brought flowers! Thank you soooo much, you could’ve just-” 

“Hey!” He cuts you off, sounding genuinely affronted, “Don’t call me that, and anyway I wasn’t finished.” Centering yourself with a deep breath you wave the flowers in his direction, gesturing for him to go on. “I’m not just going to fuck you but, uh, if you’re serious, about the other thing you said- I want to try this for real. I’m not here to let you down, I’m trying to ask you out for fucks sake.” 

What you want to say is yes, yes you were serious, yes you’ll go out with him, yes, FINALLY. What actually escapes you is; “Well you’re doing a really shitty job at it,” comment softened only by the smile accompanying it. Undeterred, Bucky reaches out with one hand to snatch the flowers back, the other grabbing your doorknob and pulling the heavy-wooden-thing shut, leaving you alone on the inside of your apartment, blinking in confusion. Not thirty-seconds later a loud knock rings out, what greets you on the other side is Bucky down on one knee as if to propose, flowers held aloft towards you, his gravelly voice starting in right away, addressing you first by your full name and then; “Bug, Baby, please do me the absolute pleasure,” You know he’s being ridiculous on purpose, sincerity and sarcasm mixing as he continues his theatrics, “no, no, not just pleasure- the absolute honor of accompanying me, James Buchanan Barnes, out. Let me date you before I fuck you?” Snatching the flowers from his hand, you gently smack him over the head with them before moving to shut the door; “Ask me again in forty-eight hours.”

AN: For more Bucky and Bug visit THE WORM HOLE

[potatowilde]

JAKE LOCKLEY/MOON KNIGHT COSPLAY RESOURCE:

🌙Ya know, I never thought to do this but I think it would be a wonderful tool for Cosplayers out there! I'm a Jake Lockley Cosplayer, and have done a wealth of research about his wardrobe from the series. I know as much about is as a fan could possibly know. I'll add to this thread fun trivia as I go I think… If you had any inkling of a desire to cosplay Jake here's some of my finds!! READ MORE UNDER THE CUT!

HAT - The most important piece. From my research it appears to be a Göttmann brand "Jackson Linen Driving Cap" Charcoal (https://www.goettmann.de/en/ ) You can cross reference with the metallic pin on the lefthand side of his cap.

The main site will offer vendors in various areas so check it out! Shop I used: https://scotlandhouseltd.com/collections/mens-summer-hats-caps/products/jackson-linen-flatcap-desert-color

GLOVES - The second big one. So these are not driving gloves, I learned, but interestingly enough shooting gloves. Note the armored knuckles, and the character's role in the show as a gunman. Now, I couldn't find the exact match but an awesome alternative is to purchase motorcycle riding gloves. I found a cheap pair on Amazon, because the next step after the gloves are obtained is to paint them. A talented artist on the MK Costuming team was the brilliant hand painter behind Taweret's ornamental pieces, Layla's armor, and these moon crescents. To paint the moons I simply masked the shapes with painter's tape and used silver acrylic from my local art supply store. It will take several coats.

Here's the glove alternative via Amazon "Harssiney Leather Motorcycle Gloves for Men,Touchscreen Riding Driving Biker Glove with Hard Knuckle Protection,Motorcycle Accessories for Man" :

JACKET - The third most important piece because it is also the most difficult to achieve. This was a custom made raw denim jacket by the MK team, with a 3D printed collar featuring a very unique design. Should you have the funds to pattern this and make to screen accuracy I'd love to see what you came up with! I took the budget friendly route, as it was more suitable for my purposes! For folks who end up making the jacket - Note that the lining is perhaps the same base material as the collar. It's a lighter color on the inside.

In interviews, MK costume designer Meghan Kasperlik has shared that the material is a raw denim, so it's helpful to start there as a base. For my purposes I found a raw denim jacket that was close ish to achieve the shape I wanted via Banana Republic Denim Jacket Dark Rinse. I opted out of the collar just due to budget and time restraints but I hope you can find creative solutions for it!

FINAL DETAILS AKA THE SHOES, THE TIE, THE SOCKS, THE PANTS, AND SHIRT - These will all be personal preference. I think they're readily available just about anywhere. I made a small Amazon stop for the Tie, Socks, and Shirt. AMAZON - Tie AMAZON - White Dress Shirt AMAZON - Rebok Classic Grey Socks JCPENNY - Dockers Gorden Mens Cap-Toe Oxford Shoes Black Already owned - Black slacks FINAL RESULT! Happy Cosplaying!!

[oleander-nin]

The Weight of a Letter

A/N: And we're back! Hi! Sorry for the long hiatus, the story is(hopefully) finally all figure out. I'm going to try and post a chap every other Wednesday, but we'll see how that goes. Apologies in advance, I completely failed Donnie's personality, and this seems kinda rushed, but I promised Wednesday, so here you go. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

Words: 2327

Content warnings: Not much for this chap??? Mentions of mutation, reader watching Donnie, staring, my writing, multi-chap fic

Summary: The first one I received was innocent. Nothing more than a love letter from a secret admirer. But as more letters came, so did the fear and paranoia. Guess secret admirers aren't so romantic after all.

Taglist? If you want to be added or removed, just say so: @ssak-i @sinister-things @ancreativename @t0ta11y-n0t-cup1d @idiotreblogger

Chapter One: A First Glance

The familiar worn-down sign of Repo-Mantis’ junkyard brought a smile to my face, the broken motorcycle I was pushing creaking with each turn of its wheels. I glance around while I walk through the gate, trying to spot the purple mantis mutant who owns the yard. I press my lips into a thin line, my head whipping back and forth as I scan the yard for its owner. I had to drop the old motorcycle off today, I couldn’t wait any longer. If I didn’t do it today, I knew my parents would throw a hissy fit, and I really didn’t want to get grounded right before they left town.

 I frown, not seeing him around. I set the motorcycle by the old shack he calls his office, dusting off my pants as I begin to aimlessly walk around, my eyes peeled for the owner. My head snaps to the side as I hear the familiar sound of someone digging through the junk, metal hitting metal in loud clangs and clashes. I walk towards the sound, my footsteps making a dull thud against the ground every time I take a step. Maybe it was Repo, digging through his junk for some coin he dropped again. Rounding a trash pile, I saw what was digging through the piles of junk. Their back was turned to me, the purple armor thing on his back opening as two thin metal poles came out and started helping the mutant search.

I look in awe, half-hiding behind the pile of junk as I watch the mutant at work. I couldn’t believe there were more out there. Especially one who was both pretty and looked to be my age. I thought Repo and the odd villain was all there was. I felt a bit bad. I saw Ruppert Swaggert mutate on TV. Twice. Plus, Repo’s own stories he had told me after hours of my begging. I can’t imagine it was a pleasant experience, having his humanity ripped away to become a mutant. Sure, he was pretty as a mutant, but most preferred not being outcasts. I was just glad the Government wasn’t rounding them all up.

I snap myself out of my thoughts, returning to watch the mutant at work as I pretend I wasn’t being a total creep. His focus was sharp as he inspected every piece he picked up before either storing it in his armor thing or throwing it onto another pile. I tilt my head, studying him. He seemed so… Intense? I couldn’t place it, but he seemed to be completely immersed in the junk he was sorting through. His head lifts a bit, and I see a glimpse of his face, and the markings on his shoulders. My brow furrows, trying to think. I knew I had seen him before somewhere, but I couldn’t place where. I shrug. It probably wasn’t important.

I shift behind the pile, trying to get a better view. My knee nudges a piece of metal out of place, crashing loudly to the ground. I stare at the large sheet of metal dumbly for a couple of seconds before lifting my head up, meeting the gaze of the seemingly angry green mutant.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” He hisses out, glaring at me. I put my hands up in mock surrender, laughing nervously. I didn’t mean to offend him, I was just… Curious. Plus, he was really pretty. I couldn’t explain it. I was drawn to him in a way.

“I’m so sorry, I was just looking for Repo and then I found you and then I got lost in my head and I know I must’ve looked like a creep and I’m so sorry.” I cut myself off from my ramble at his look of disinterest, my mouth pressing into a line as I rock back and forth on my feet. “Sorry.” I say again, trying to make myself seem like less of a weirdo.

He rolls his eyes and turns back to the pile of junk, ready to ignore me once more. “Repo’s gone. He’ll be back in around an hour.”

I puff out my cheeks in frustration, unhappy with this turn of events. “Do you mind if I just hang out with you then?” I ask, already plopping myself down next to him. The mutant eyes me with a look of mild disgust, rolling his eyes at my presence.

“Yes.”

I chuckle at the annoyance in his voice, grinning at him. He ignores me, continuing to sort through the piles of scrap. I pat at my legs, trying to think of something to say or do to pass the time. I continue to watch him sort in interest, humming softly to myself. “So, what’s your name?”

“No.” He responds, not even sparing me a glance. I shrug, not really taking it personally. I wouldn’t be too fond of someone who appeared to be stalking me just moments before either.

“I’m (Y/n).” I say, offering my hand for him to shake.

“I don’t remember asking.” He replies, one of his tech arms pushing my hand away. I bring it back to my legs, tapping out a pattern on my hips. He seems agitated at my continued presence, his drawn on eyebrows knitting together. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?!”

“Nope!” I say, grinning at him. He frowns, displeased with my answer. He grumbles something under his breath I can’t quite understand, but I assume it’s some not so nice words towards me. Oh well, I was being a bit of a nuisance, but I liked his company. Even if he was completely shut off towards me. 

I watch a small beetle crawl across the ground, pulling my knees to my chest in appreciation of the insect. Its tiny legs carried it across the dirt and through the small sprouts of grass, on its way to wherever its little bug brain decided. I grin, happy to have some form of entertainment. The mutant next to me, however, did not seem to find the same appreciation for the small beetle, as his junk pile seemed to have conveniently been moved directly on top of the bug. I let out an offended gasp, trying to free the poor thing from its metal prison. My hands grip the compacted metal and yank it up, my cheeks puffing out because it was only the size of my hand, so why does this stupid thing weigh like fifteen pounds. 

The purple-coded mutant looks at me in worry at my loud gasp, his eyes scanning me as he takes a moment to try and figure out what was wrong. I angrily point at the smashed beetle, glaring at the now murderer. “You crushed Bartholomew Henry the Third with your careless throwing of the scrap! Apologize immediately.” I demand playfully, pouting as I gesture towards the bug's smashed body.

He did not seem impressed with my antics. He glances at the beetle before looking back up at me, blinking slowly. “It’s dead. You can’t apologize to something that’s dead, dumdum.” He states, exasperated. I let out another laugh and he huffs, turning away from me once more. I carefully pick up the squashed beetle, placing it next to me as I start to dig a small hole in the dirt. I can tell the mutant is watching me through the corner of his eyes, his mouth pressed into a thin line. His eyes held a curiosity towards my actions, trying to figure out what I was doing without showing that he was interested. He was a funny one, watching him made me grin.

Once I deem my hole deep enough, I pick up the bug carcass and carefully place it in. I push the dirt back into the hole, patting it down firm. I take a small piece of wire and carefully twist it into a small U, placing it at the head of the grave to make a gravestone. I smile down at my work, patting the dirt mound once more. I hear Donnie rustling through the junk next to me, no longer paying attention to my grave digging. Whether he got uninterested in watching, or just felt it complete enough to no longer pay attention to, I don’t know. 

He pulls out another thing from the junk, his face lighting up. It was thick, and was more of a rounded square than anything. It had a small cooling fan in the middle of it, red plating, and a couple wires sticking out. I watch his face as his hands rhythmically tap the surface of the object, his body more or less vibrating in joy. “Oh sweet Galileo, I found it!”

I look at the part in his hand curiously, unable to tell what it is. It looked like junk to me, with frayed wires coming out of its main build and scratches and dents covering it. I looked at the turtle, expecting an explanation, but he was too busy messing with the things wires. “What’s that?”

“A part for something I’m building,” He says, a smug smile stretching across his face. He looks at me for once, proud of his find. He holds the equipment piece up with one hand, his other moving around him quickly as he talks. Most of it flew over my head, but it all seemed so cool. I glance around his face, trying to take in all his words. He was finally talking to me, and I couldn’t be more elated. “It’s a state of the art compact motor, I need it for a specific project of mine. It’ll be able to make my tech run so much smoother, I just need to fix it up first.”

“Wait, your tech. Do you mean like the armor on your back?” I ask, looking at his weird armor once more. He sits up straighter, seeming happy with my question. He puts the motor into his back armor, winding up for an explanation. I sit up straighter, crossing my legs and putting my hands in my lap, ready to learn more about his tech. He seems to beam in delight at my new position, clearing his throat and readying to talk.

“This ‘armor’ as you call it is my battle shell. It’s a piece of tech I made to help me, having many beneficial tools that are at my disposal. It’s made of military grade titanium, being able to withstand high amounts of damage without being even so much as scratched.” A smug smile grows on his face once more, his eyes lighting up in delight to the fact I was actually listening to him. I grin, nodding as I look at his battle shell in awe. 

“You made this?! That’s so cool! You’re like, a super genius or something!”

His ego grows more at my praise and he seems to inflate some, puffing out his chest in pride. He continues to explain more about his battle shell, showing me all of its cool features while I look on in awe. Everything he did was so impressive, I was starting to understand his overinflated ego. Sure, I still kind of hated it, but at least he knows how incredible he was. I tilt my head as he talks, my eyes watching him with a small sadness.

“Do you miss being human?” I ask softly. I knew Repo did, and I had always felt bad for him. He seemed to have figured life out after all this time, coping with his new body. But this guy next to me? He seemed to be around my age, only a young adult. I couldn’t imagine having your humanity ripped away from you like that.

He looks at me, his eyes narrowing in confusion. His hands come down to rest by his side, looking at me strangely. “I was never human.” He says curtly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I was created by a scientist as a weapon to destroy humanity,” He says, a strange grin on his face. It felt like he was trying to scare me and I rolled my eyes, smiling a bit. “I started out as a normal softshell turtle. Now, I am a mutant. Don’t pity me, I’m not weak nor upset with my current situation.” 

I wilt a little, the familiar burn of embarrassment flooding me. I look at the ground, laughing nervously. “Oh. My bad. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“It’s okay.”

We both sit in awkward silence for a moment, neither of us knowing how to continue. Or, at least, I didn’t. The softshell seemed perfectly content on ignoring me to look through the junk once more. My head snaps towards the gate, the sound of heavy footsteps sounding through the junkyard. I catch a glimpse of the purple mantis, standing up and brushing off my pants. Donnie watches me curiously, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what I’m doing. Instead of making him guess, I offer an explanation. “Repo’s back. I need to head out. Bye!”

“Wait, that’s it? You’re just… Leaving?” The softshell asks, his voice losing the cocky edge it had the entire time we talked. I smile sadly, rubbing the back of my neck in guilt. “Yeah… I’m really sorry, I wasn’t even supposed to be here for this long. My parents are leaving on a really long business trip in a couple months, and I need to help them get everything in line before they go. I’m so sorry.” My face falls slightly, I really don’t want to leave yet. The purple-coded mutant was funny, if a bit egotistical. I genuinely enjoyed our talk. “Maybe I’ll see you again some other time.” 

The mutant nods, a smile coming across his face as he thinks. There was an odd glint in his eye, a look I couldn’t quite place. “I’ll see you soon then. Goodbye, (Y/n).”

next part

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

Hello! I have recently binged your Pingverse series per my partner's request and was curious if your versions of the sides in that story had canon costume designs I could use as a reference for fanart? Thanks!

[all of the keepers suits look very similar in structure, theyre variations on the "Base" keeper uniform]

Patton: Robin-egg blue and pale yellow suit. More padding than Romans or Logan's because he mostly fights hand to hand. blue rounded goggle-mask (prescription)

Logan: Mostly dark blue, some mid-blue and black. Geometric patterns. theres one on his neck/chest that looks a bit like a tie, prompting "professor quasar" memes. dark blue goggle-mask, a little more angular than pattons

Roman: white and gold with red "sash" (its just a stripe on the suit) resembles a body-suit version of his canon outfit with the detail placement. very early on has a red cape but ditches a few months after the dark sides come on the scene as major players because remus loves fucking with it. white domino mask

and our dark sides

Virgil: full-body armor and helmet, black and dark purple. after the join up he adds some gray and light purples inimagine something like hi-tech motorcycle gear

Janus: a very close-fit black scale-textured body suit that can change with him within limits (he can make it imitate closer cut clothing but not, say, a hoodie.)it comes with gloves. doesnt wear a mask. sometimes but not always he will pair this with a capelet thats bullet proof and doubles as a shock blanket, typically if he thinks hes going to get into a firefight

Remus: just wears usually smth like green cargo pants and a sleeveless black tank top under whatever unhinged tech suit or weapon rig he's wearing that day. also doesnt wear a mask

and while im here might as well link you to the physical description post also

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Gestation 1.5 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

Reaching inside the convex armor that covered my spine, I ran my fingers over the things I had buckled in there.  The EpiPens were meant to treat anaphylactic shock from allergic reactions to bee stings and the like, and likely wouldn’t do a thing to Lung, even if I could get close enough and find a point to inject.  Worst case scenario, the injections would supercharge his power by prompting a surge of whatever hormones or endorphins fueled his power.  Not useful, dangerous at best.  I had a pouch of chalk dust that was meant for climbers and gymnasts, I had seen it in the sports store when I was buying the lenses for my mask.  I had gloves and didn’t think I needed the dryness and extra traction, but I had gotten the idea that it could be useful to throw at an invisible enemy, and bought it on a whim.  In retrospect, it had been kind of a dumb purchase, since my power let me find foes like that with my bugs.  As a tool against Lung… I wasn’t sure if it would explode like regular dust could when exposed to flame, but fire didn’t hurt him anyways.  Scratch that option.

Of course, for all that Taylor is a planner, sometimes, she's just a person who makes mistakes, like with the chalk. Really no reason to buy it, but the thought occurs and it probably wasn't a huge issue.

Lung hauled himself over the edge of the roof.  I had him hurting… I just couldn’t do anything about it.  My bugs were officially useless, there was nothing left in my utility sheath, and I would hurt myself more than I hurt Lung if I attacked him.  Making a mental note to pick myself up a concealable knife or baton if I managed to live through this, I bolted for the fire escape.

Given how methodical Taylor's planning and prepwork was presented earlier, this chapter does a lot to show that... honestly, no, she really didn't actually plan things out as much as she thought. Which makes sense. It's early yet. Presumably she gets better.

“Muh… Motherfucker!”  Lung screamed. 

I mean, that is valid Lung, I'll give you that.

“Cock.  Sucker,” he growled in his heavily accented voice, his cussing interrupted by his panting for breath, “Move.  Give me something to aim for.”

Real "come out so I can kill you" energy here. Does that ever work?

With no warning, a massive shape landed atop Lung with an impact I could swear people heard at the other end of the street.  The size of a van, the ‘massive object’ was animal rather than vehicle, resembling a cross between a lizard and a tiger, with tangles of muscle and bone where it ought to have skin, scales or fur.  Lung was now on his knees, holding one of the beast’s sizable claws away from his face with his own clawed hand.

Enter Player 2: Bitch and her Dogs

I stood, aware I was shaking like a leaf.  I was so unsteady on my feet, from the mixed relief and fear, that I almost fell over again as two more impacts shook the roof. 

A nice touch, that not every author/story would include.

Two more creatures, similar to the first in texture, but slightly different in size and shape, had arrived on the rooftop.  These two each had a pair of riders.  I watched as the people slid off the backs of the animals.  There were two girls, a guy, and a fourth I identified as male only because of the height.  The tall one approached me, while the others hurried to the edge of the roof to watch Lung and the creature duke it out.

And thus come the Undersiders, changing history by deciding to help this random cape out.

“You really saved us a lot of trouble,” he told me.  His voice was deep, masculine, but muffled by the helmet he wore.  He was dressed entirely in black, a costume I realized was basically motorcycle leathers and a motorcycle helmet.  The only thing that made me think it was a costume was the visor of his helmet.  The full-face visor was sculpted to look like a stylized skull, and was as black as the rest of his costume, with only the faint highlights of reflected light on the surface to give a sense of what it was.  It was one of those costumes that people put together out of what they can scrounge up, and it wasn’t half bad if you didn’t look too close.  He reached out a hand towards me, and I leaned away, wary.

...how does one sculpt a visor?

Still, a complete, if a bit clinical, descriptor of Grue/Brian.

“Pepper spray, wasp and bee stings, fire ants and spider bites,” the second of the girls said, answering the question for me.  She was dressed in a skintight outfit that combined black with a pale shade of blue or purple – I couldn’t tell in the dark – and her dark blond hair was long and windblown.  The girl grinned as she added, “He’s not holding up too well.  Gonna feel a helluvalot worse tomorrow.”

Oh, Tattletale, obviously I only know you from discussion, excerpts and fanfic, but my urge to punch you remains, though there's nothing objectionable here.

Also, Tattletale's outfit does seem pretty stereotypical supervillain, tbh.

“Fuck you, Grue,” Regent retorted, with a chuckle and a tone of voice that made it clear he wasn’t really that offended.  He was wearing a white mask, not quite as decorative or made up as the ones I associated with the carnivals in Venice, but similar.  He’d placed a silver coronet around his short black curls, and wore a ruffled white shirt with skintight leggings tucked into knee-high boots.  The outfit was very renaissance faire.  He had a build that made me think more of a dancer than a bodybuilder.

Let's see if Alec is as much fun as he is in the fanfics :P But I do have to respect the theming for his outfit. Probably goes pretty hard to see it in person.

I stared at her.  My voice caught in my throat before I was able to get the words out, “I don’t… I haven’t picked one yet.”

Taylor, no! Don't let them label you with Skitter! NO! :P :rofl:

When I realized what had just happened, I could have cried.  It was easy enough to pin down Regent, Tattletale and Bitch as teenagers.  It wasn’t much of an intuitive leap to guess that Grue had been one too. The ‘children’ Lung had mentioned, the ones I had gone to so much effort to save tonight, were bad guys.  Not only that, but they had mistaken me for one, too.

I mean.... Ooof. She put her whole self, her entire hope, the only reason, or at least the main reason, she fought through the last few months, in becoming a hero. In saving lives, in beating villains... and here she is saving villains and getting mistaken as one. And then Armsmaster is about to make it worse.

I wonder if he'll read quite as much of a dick as the fandom seems to think he is.

[ijustwant2ride]

Bilt Iron Works Kevlar Motorcycle Riding Pants

I reviewed an earlier version of the Bilt Iron Workers Kevlar motorcycle pants way back in 2013. The older version received a 4-star rating, but these pants have been improved over the years.

[msfcatlover]

Death Mask Steph

Oh boy. This is the big one. I've agonized over this, and getting the design right has been... ugh. Nevermind. Here we go.

Death Mask needs to draw on Red Hood and Steph designs. (I would draw from Black Mask designs, but frankly Roman's designs are all kinda boring? He's a skull-head in a suit, and basically always has been; it's simple & effective, but there's not a lot to iterate on there.) Steph's suits tend to be armored one-pieces, but layering is so crucial to most Red Hood designs, that balancing the two has been... tricky.

(I've already shared the Stephanie Brown Costume History page. Unfortunately, the n52 designs page seems to be just descriptions with no pictures, and the page for her n52 appearances doesn't give you many good angles. So here's Steph's "Future's End" & "Future State" designs, as the stand-out missing designs, in my opinion.)

The absolute vital part of any Red Hood inspired design is, of course, the helmet. It's also been the biggest pain. Jason's had some good helmet designs and a lot of bad ones over the years, and (as I've previously stated) finding a full reference page for them is basically impossible. So here's what I'm going with.

Steph starts with a sleek, sculpted black metal base. Say something like this model of Jason's Injustice helmet. The primary difference would be that Steph's helmet opens up at the front rather than the back; the faceplate would be hinged at the top of the head, and it would swing up & forwards to reveal her face.

(Using the Injustice helmet as a base because it more than most looks like it really should open from the front. I'd also say the sides would also be able to open wider, so that it can still fit snug without being a pain to get in & out of. Not that anyone would ever bother to draw that detail, but I think it would look neat opening up in 3 directions all at once.)

Next, most of the face plate is covered by a sculpted skull. This is how she invokes the whole "Death Mask" idea, as well as purposefully stealing Roman's gimmick. Below the teeth are a couple understated tubs & valves, evoking a gasmask---something like this.

(Kinda a Red X look, I'm realizing now that I'm digging through my reference folders all at once... Anyway, this piece seems to be by Laura Sheridan, but her website seems to be down, you can only buy her art seemingly 2nd hand, and I can't find this picture listed anywhere but pinterest.)

The edges, mechanical bits, and any detail work added should be done in copper.

Within the eye sockets are two recessed glowing lenses, like Jason often has, though Steph's glow a dark magenta, casting light that borders on red.

(Obviously, these lenses change size & shape to show emotion through the mask, like you do. They're not designed to---in fact, logically all the bat-masks are designed like this in order to help hide the wearer's emotions---but that's comic logic for you.)

Below the helmet, Steph's suit is mainly made up of reinforced black leather motorcycle pants, a black undersuit, and an armored vest like this.

(But black. Obviously.)

However, she accessorizes. Steph has added a decorative metal ribcage to her armor, as well was plates mimicking a spine. The ribs should be copper-colored, while the spine can be either metallic or black.

(Depending on who's drawing them, the ribs could range from purely decorative to practically another layer of armor. And following the links from pinterest, both of those artists have apparently taken their rib-art down, which is once again very disappointing.)

Steph wears a chunky utility belt which sits crooked on her hips. I personally think it should be black (maybe brown?) with either copper, ivory, or dark magenta snaps/clasps holding the pouches shut (pick one for all pouches, not a mixture). She has a gun holstered on each hip, one on each thigh, a set of throwing knives (3-5) on the front of the belt, and wears her sickle-swords strapped criss-cross on her back.

The swords themselves are made from a copper-alloy, retaining their coppery color, and easily double her reach (are about as long as one arm.) They have a hilt not dissimilar to an Egyptian khopesh, but a completely different blade; Steph's swords have a much more exaggerated curve, and crucially, they're sharpened on the inside of the crescent, where a khopesh is sharpened on the outside. They legitimately look like a crescent moon sickle, stretched out to sword size.

(Khopesh hilt, and genuinely the best crescent sickle sword I can find for what I'm picturing. Steph's would be in much better shape, obviously.)

Steph keeps it understated-but-still-stated with knee-high, buckle-up, black leather motorcycle boots.

(These are mid-calf, but it's the closest I can find that aren't completely over the top. Also, any artist who figured out how to make the laces work without losing the straps would win my unending love for the symbolism of Steph clearly still mimicking her big brother but trying so hard to hide it.)

Steph’s sleeves are armored in black metal plates, ending in sharpened black gauntlets. I don't care much about the specific structure, I just really want that clawed look.

(Shorter would be more practical for finesse work, while longer claws could be worked into her fighting style. I am going back & forth on whether this should be both arms or just one of them, because I’m a sucker for asymmetric designs, but I think it might be a bit too much with all the other details.)

Finally, over top of it all, Steph wears an uneven ivory-colored hooded shawl made of layers of thin, wispy fabric. It hangs down her back to her waist, but bunches up in the front over her collarbones. It's purposefully designed to look tangled & messy, hiding her body shape with all its bulk & fly-aways, and is flimsy enough that grabbing hold of basically any part of it will just leave you with a fist full of torn fabric.

This is the hardest to find examples for, but... okay, so it's shaped roughly like this:

(If anyone can find the non-pinterest source for this one, I'd hugely appreciate it; all I'm getting is a dead twitter link.)

It's layered like these:

And it's made from material like this:

(This definitely gets swapped out for either a white scarf or a brown trench coat pretty regularly, just because those are easier to wrap your head around/draw. I think both could work & be cool, but Steph is trying to give off “undead vibes” with this original costume, and this gives her a more ghostly look which… okay, is heavily inspired by this Jason design.)

Also, Steph's hair is still long, but she ties it up in either a french or dutch braid before going out most of the time. Dutch is for going out in public or to the gym, where she'll lift it off her neck in a ponytail, french then gets coiled into a bun inside of her helmet.

(I am undecided on whether or not she also has an undercut.)

[howtofightwrite]

Okay so I’m currently writing a character that has a background in Muay Thai, but I wanted them to have somewhat of a punk fashion. Now punk fashion mostly consists of tight clothes with unstretchy materials. Changing the pants is not a problem, so Iwas mostly wondering about the upper body and feet. How well can you throw an elbow in a leather jacket? Maybe a vest is a better option? Also shoes, I don‘t like sneakers, and I initially thought to get them cowboy boots because they look cool and also the character loves the sound they‘re making when walking. Now cowboy boots are also notoriously made for not bending at the ankle, which of course comes in the way of kicking. Now I’m not too knowledgable in muay thai techniques, but as the kicks are often done with the shins, would it sill work to have something like low-rise cowboy boots? Or would it be better to have just some thick leather dress shoe adjacent shoes? With free mobility of the ankle?

So, the fun thing with the punk aesthetic is that there's a lot of very practical clothes that are still in theme.

So, starting with leather jackets, good ones aren't going to restrict your movement by much. Parrying unarmed strikes with a leather jacket is actually nice. This is because the jacket (and any insulation in the sleeve) will absorb some of the impact, meaning you're less likely to bruise. Decent quality biker jackets will have some reinforcement (to protect the wearer) and as a result will actually function as armor for light melee combat. It won't save you from a knife or a gunshot, but, depending on the design, it will soften the punches and kicks you take.

Leather, denim, or heavy canvas pants are a similar story. Yes, it's entirely possible to get tight jeans that restrict your movement, but casual cut pants will provide mobility and protection. It really comes down to what your definition of punk pants are.

With boots, the better choice is going to be work boots or motorcycle boots. In both cases you're looking at heavy footwear which armors the foot and protects the wearer. The lack of mobility in the ankle is less of a concern because of the protection the boot provides. In this case, steel toed is a perk, it's actual metal armor over your toes, protecting you from someone stomping your foot. There's nothing automatically wrong with cowboy boots, but that's moving away from the punk aesthetics.

There's the commercial, punk aesthetic. You'll find it in those “counterculture” corporate clothing stores. It's about as inherently contradictory as mass market Che Guevara tee-shirts. And, if you're looking at that, particularly looking at the examples marketed towards women, your assessment of the loss of mobility and general unsuitability for combat is probably spot on. It's cut to be tighter than it should be, for the visual aesthetic and your ability to move in it is a casualty of the same.

And, from my perspective as an outsider to the scene, that's not punk. It's more like punk cosplay.

If you want your character to have a punkish aesthetic, to go hand in hand with their fighting style, then you should probably look at heavier clothes that are designed to take a beating and keep going. That was the original aesthetic of punk. Heavy leather jackets that will protect you from a beating. Heavy pants that will do the same. Motorcycle boots are a big plus here. They're heavy, durable, look good, and they work as armor. Spikes and studs can be retrofitted onto existing clothes, probably with an eye for keeping it durable enough to stand up to a fight. Gloves are up to you, but there's no real downside to having a pair.

For a martial artist buying clothes, you're making constant decisions about whether something will look good, or whether you can move in it. There isn't a concrete line of which one you should select, this is a personal preference, however, if you're planning to take those clothes into combat, expect them to get damaged, and at that point the freedom of movement and durability start to become a lot more attractive options. Ironically, the original core of the punk aesthetic was leaning hard into that combat ready street wear.

So, yes, your character is giving up a little flexibility in their ankles, but not enough to matter, and in exchange, they're armoring them. They're giving up a little flexibility in their arms, though again, not enough to matter, but in exchange they're getting armor. They're not wearing form fitting pants, but the trade off is, they can move freely, and still get the protective benefits of those heavier, and “unstretchy,” materials.

Once you get past that, Muay Thai fits with a punkish attitude. There's no direct connection, between them, but the brutal nature of competitive Muay Thai does sync up pretty nicely with punk.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get early access to new posts, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

[zukos-tiny-burnt-ear]

Here we are! My version of the older gaang!

I'm gonna detail some of my thought processes below the cut

(Original for reference)

So for Aang, I had several gripes about his older version. The first and biggest one was that he looked wayyy to angular, so I softened up his feautures. Additionally, he's supposed to be about 23 in that drawing, and I mean, I thought he looked much much older than that (being 22 I think I have a little insight), so I tried to keep him a little uounger looking as well. Next problem was his clothes. To be perfectly fair I hated just about everything about them lol. Weird long-sleeve shirt under a vest/cape under a sash? It looked. Silly. I opted to keep his clothing similar to his Book 3 outfit, as I really liked it, and added his prayer beads(?), as well as a betrothal necklace! I feel by this point he and Katara would likely be married, and I liked the idea of Katara carving a necklace for Aang

For Katara, at first glance I didn't dislike her design, but then I looked at it closer. The short-sleeved shirt with the fur, implying that its made of quite a heavy and thick fabric sounds like a sensory nightmare. She appears to be wearing a shirt underneath, but the sleeves are clearly no longer than the topshirt, which seems. Weird and unnecessary. Skirt was okay, just a little boring, and she also is wearing pants underneath? So what I did was keep the general vibe, but made the top robe longer, and keep the bottom layer as just pants, trying to be more reminiscent of her old outfits. Gave the belt a little more ✨️pizazz✨️, and also gave her back her water pouch. I liked it, wanted her to have it. The last big change I did was I read up on Inuit tattoos, and decided to give her tattoos as well (Sokka was also originally going to get tattoos, but as it turns out the practice is almost done exclusively by woken and for women, so I decided against it)

Toph. I completely hated and have always hated the notion of her being a cop. It just. Doesn't really sit in line with her as a character imo. My other big gripe is they did nothing different to her hair! Anywho. So my biggest challenge was what would Toph actually do in the future? And I landed on pro-bending! I think she would have really enjoyed it, she'd get to Earthbend for a living (one of her favorite things), kick people's asses (another favorite thing), and make hella money (another favorite thing!) So I decided to put her in a pro-bending uniform, and try to imagine what early ones would look like (I figure she'd probably be one of the first pro-benders). Not much changed to be perfectly honest, aside from some coloring differences, more green trim denoting her as an Earthbender, rather than the neutral yellow/ reddish trim on the modern ones (also I realized only now that i covered her feet. Woops lol). I also chopped her hair short. I think she deserves it (eventually I'll get around to drawing a more up close version of her face/hair)

Zuko. Umm. His outfit baffles me. I cannot make any sense of it tbh. The shirt under the shoulder armor under the outer robe. The motorcycle-esque saddle bags. The skirt over the longer skirt. It all had to go lolol. I get that they were going for him being more like, adventure-ready/battle-ready, but he has a country to run! And is also trying to move away from the heavy militaristic/imperialistic image of said country. So I gave him a more relaxed, diplomatic looking outfit. Also. Where did his crown go? I put that back. He's the oldest of the groip, but still not quite 30. He's the only one that recieved any age lines, and it's just between his eyebrows (I imagine doing paperwork and sitting in meetings would make him furrow his brow a lot). Gave him the teeniest bit of facial hair, tbh I truly think the only one to grow reliable facial hair at this age range is Sokka lol

In my personal opinion, Sokka's original design is the best one. My least favorite part is probably the compression sleeve under the arm wraps, which seems redundant somehow. But overall not too bad! Still, I said I was gonna redesign them all, and I knew I could add a lil more sparkle to it. I wanted to take inspiration from Hakoda's outfits. Sokka really looks up to his dad, so I feel like modeling some of his clothing after him isn't a stretch at all. I also just personally believe that Sokka would wesr Uggs. So I've given him shoes similar to them lolol. Also gave him some facial hair starting to become similar to his dad's as well

[synnthamonsugar]

Otter o Otter, how would the Hive Gods dress? From most fashionable to fashion disaster (including their kids)

OOOH this is a fun ask. I don't know whether you mean in their canon forms or as humans so I'm going with general vibes rather than specifics.

Honestly so much of this is up to individual tastes that I don't feel right ranking them. I put the worst-dressed at the end, but the others I think you could make arguments for in any direction.

Savathun. Inclined toward theatrically feminine styles, like if a drag queen was a woman. Stylistically at a juncture between "witch", "gothic" and "catholic-core": you know the girls who are all about cathedrals and stained glass and crowns and beseechingly eyeing the heavens for the aesthetic. Florence Welch but more. However, she understands the assignment and will dress accordingly. There's a picture of her for each point on the butch-femme chart.

Oryx. Nice. Classic. Understated pieces in quality materials. Think handcrafted cashmere sweaters and pima cotton shirts and wool trousers. More than one tailored three-piece suit. Likes hats and can pull them off. Cassocks and stoles for his religious duties, these are more ornate than his day-to-day wear given their ritual significance.

Xivu Arath. @planet4546b once described her as (paraphrased) a "varsity femme jock" type and that's always stuck with me. Very girly, very sporty, lives in athleisure when she isn't dressed specialized for activities e.g. fencing suits or soft armor for sword fighting practice. You know when she takes her helmet off she's going to have immaculate hair/makeup. (How?) Holds onto and still wears her varsity jacket. Likes leather; has at least one studded motorcycle jacket / pair of motorcycle boots / skirt in the material. Piercings.

Ir Yut. Elevated dark academic. Bit of a librarian vibe. Tailored pantsuits, blazers and pencil skirts and stockings. Plaid and jewel-tones. High heels always. Glasses.

Ir Anuk & Ir Halak. Elegant gothic lolita. Matching everything. Red & green colorways, but stylishly. Prominent musical theming, staffs and notes on their skirts. The silliest little pointy fascinator hats you ever did see, but they pull it off.

Nokris. GNC as fuck. Takes after Aunt Savathun. Classic goth with witchy vibes. So much eye makeup. No hive symbol goes un-blasphemed; whatever the hive equivalent of the "inverted cross necklace" is, this guy's wearing it.

Dul Incaru. 90s-adjacent whimsical gothic. Silk, velvet, long slip dresses, corsets, boleros/shrugs, chunky jewelry, stars and celestial patterns.

Crota. Styleless fail son. Goes to walmart in his fuzzy Cookie Monster pajama pants, Monster Energy shirt and lime green crocs. Ill-fitting suit for formal functions. So bad it almost circles around to being a fashion statement.