#inspirational motorcyclist

[goodoldbandit]

Dipayan Choudhury: The Record-Setting Backward Motorcycle Ride

https://gob.stayingalive.in/revving-up-knowledge-unveil/dipayan-choudhury-the-recor.html On October 7, 2014, in the bustling city of Jabalpur, India, Dipayan Choudhury etched his name into the annals of motorcycling history. Setting a world record for the longest-ever backward motorcycle ride, Dipayan covered an astonishing 125.52 miles (202 kilometers). This awe-inspiring feat not only…

[synthetic-sonata]

did a little character design practice / challenge of choosing an oc, randomly generating a pokemon and trying to design that line if the oc were that pokemon . ft. bonus Normal Chesnaught

[clairdelunelove]

call me

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (rescue drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, mentions of motorcyclist!ghost, protective!ghost

synopsis: the downtime after missions was rarely a time that ghost looked forward to. everyone's aware to leave him alone during this period. that is, until he gets a call from you asking for his help to rescue you from an awkward situation!

a.n. wOW! hi lovelies, it's been a while! I was inspired to write this because something similar happened to me at an anime convention! and yes it was with a mw 2019 jawbone ghost cosplayer hehe (¬‿¬) oh, here's my kofi! and pls enjoy! <3

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obsessed with the idea that ghost would drop everything and come running to you if you called him. 

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the conclusion of an operation was, albeit, a bit bittersweet for ghost. sure, he benefited from the downtime of not being in an environment that constantly triggered his fight or flight response and a small break was necessary for his well-being to avoid pushing past his physical limitations. yet, those were the only beneficial factors he could conjure up. most operators took advantage of the intermission to catch up with friends at pubs or visit family for a couple days– a luxury he never allowed himself to have. thus, he spent the days of rest endlessly secluded. trapped within the barren walls of his flat. choosing to occupy his time thumbing through a nonfiction novel or finishing some exterior maintenance. he referred to his living space as a place to rest his chaos. to ease his hardships into a lasting slumber– that is, until he’d receive intel about a new operation. and his home was an enigma of great strength accompanied with struggle, providing a solitude that ghost was well acquainted with. he preferred it that way. no one reaches out to him during this time of isolation. which is why he doesn’t expect your name to flash on his phone’s screen and it’s even more astounding that he chooses to pick up the call. 

ghost who leans low enough that his leg almost touches the smooth asphalt when he cruises down the road. the sleek, pitch-black motorcycle adapts easily when he wrenches the steel handlebars. after adjusting in his seat, his gloved hands rev to intensify the speed while his mind recalls the conversation he had with you. approximately two minutes ago. the way you quietly pleaded, “could you please come and get me?” and immediately, the lack of context backed with the sticky hoarseness in your voice awakened unease within him. “you hurt?” his instinctive question is followed with a gruff, “who do I need to talk to.” and the sheer seriousness of his threat forces a minor giggle to leave your lips. the sound encourages him to mull over possibilities. where were you? where could you be right now? think, damn it, think. he drags a heavy hand across his face while vaguely remembering the lighthearted conversation you had earlier in the week. a pair of squad members had politely asked about your weekend plans to which you shared that you planned to get some grocery shopping out of the way. a mundane answer that pulled a couple laughs. but now, the rather ordinary task seemed to evolve into a nightmare as he hears you suck in a wobbly breath. “you still in town, sweetheart?” ghost forces his voice steady despite the crazed way he’s tugging on his shoes and shoving away stray papers to retrieve his keys. you instantly respond that you are and he tries not to dwell on the chance that his presence might’ve helped calm your nervousness. compels himself to solve the blatant issue before figuring out why his decision-making is so sudden. why he’s swiftly weaving through traffic in hopes of finding you when he should be relaxing at his flat. but his voice rumbles out of your phone’s speaker when he instructs, “stay put. I’ll come get you.” 

ghost who visibly tenses up when he spots you from the crowd of shoppers. most are occupied in their own business; choosing from a variety of commodities or paying for their groceries at the checkout line. but that’s not what he’s here for. treading through aisles, his appearance manages to raise curiosity from a couple onlookers before they tactfully glance away from the massive man. having one’s identity partially hidden away by layers of clothing while clutching onto a motorcycle helmet tends to facilitate that reaction from the average citizen. it works in his favor. his heavy-lidded eyes scan the room and before long he recognizes a tuft of your hair. he figured his first encounter with you would be under different circumstances, albeit more jovial and perhaps you’d grace him with one of those blinding smiles that you reserve solely for him. however, all he sees is vermillion flooding his vision. you’re backed into a secluded corner of the store by a sleazy man who’s testing his luck. unfortunately for the stranger, ghost was never a believer of good fortune. you venture to put more distance between you and the man but to no avail. he inches closer. “like I said earlier,” you strive to keep your tone of voice stable, “he’s on his way already. I don’t need a ride.” a courageous act but the guy is already responding. a shoddy decision, in ghost’s opinion, because upon hearing the stranger’s crude innuendo, ghost’s nails form crescents within his palms from how fiercely he’s balling his fists. sees you shrink from the words. and he’s a reaper with the sole mission to deliver punishment.

ghost who eases beside you and subtly reaches to touch your shoulder while murmuring, “I’ve got you.” his voice leaves his lips in a soothing drawl that has you inwardly crooning. safety is synonymous with him. always is. initially checks in with you before engaging in conversation with the stranger. you’re top priority. “simon?” his name is a relieved gasp from your plush lips. clearly you weren’t expecting him to step into the situation with hopes of diffusing it. he slowly tilts his head, “told ya I’d come.” mentions it like it’s a common occurrence that he spends his downtime shutting down harassment directed towards you. yet the first observation you make is that he’s dressed rather casually. clad in an ash-colored hoodie and denim jeans that always cause you to wonder whether he has them tailored because of how well they fit his physique. the homey outfit is a sight to behold considering you typically saw him in uniform; you ravished the domestic image. burnt it into your memory for safe keeping. apparently, so does ghost. “you look proper cozy today.” waving a gloved hand, he indicates your casual outfit and the sudden change of topic prompts a small grin to form on your face. which, ultimately, is his entire plan. dragging your eyes to a sudden motion, you watch as he rolls his sleeves up to reveal a swirl of veins and intricately tatted skin. he’s mystifying; everything about him is– which seemingly adds to his appeal and no matter how vigorously you fight against it, you can’t help but feel the inevitable pull. “don’t get any ideas, sweetheart.” of course the comment is meant to scold but the breathy rasp in his voice morphs it into pure sin. he shoots you an inquisitive glance when he regards your heated gaze and wordlessly chastises your behavior with a raise of his dark brows. 

ghost who absolutely resents whenever someone interrupts you. the act itself is rude beyond doubt but it’s especially ignorant when it concerns you. and the tacky stranger had the audacity to do it in front of ghost. from beneath his mask, he clenches his jaw when the other man decides to open his mouth to continue conversing with you. again. ghost shifts, positioning himself between the two of you, and spits out the words, “you’re doing me ‘ead in. do one, will ya?” his tone is level, devoid of any expletives in his question yet his manchester accent is gravelly enough for his words to border a threat. the manifestation of trouble. he pushes up his sleeves for good measure. truth be told, ghost would’ve simply told the other man to ‘piss off.’ perhaps give him the finger. but you were around and he favored appearing posh. 

ghost who basks in the gratifying burn of watching the stranger scurry away from just his words. runs like a scruffy dog getting caught going through a trash bin and he bites back a snicker. but who wouldn’t run from ghost? dressed as the embodiment of shadows and danger. probably his physique too, if he was being honest. towering at six feet and some more. he states, “don’t think the bloke was fond of me.” can’t refrain from the mockery that lines his words. perhaps the possessiveness was corrupting him more than he imagined. he glances at you, paying special regard to the way the corners of your lips curl at his remark, “suppose you’re right. I appreciate you coming, by the way.” isn’t quite sure why you’re thanking him. he’d rush to you whenever you needed him. but he dismisses it with a throaty, “not a problem.” and it dawns on him that the two of you are alone. away from the prying eyes of the task force members. surrounded by the normalcy of civilian life. and the motorcycle gear that he’s adorned with seems obvious that there’s more to him than he lets on. like the fact that he rushed here without a second doubt. there’s a glimmer in your eyes and he’s aware that your mind is racing with possibilities. “I wonder,” there’s a playfulness in your tone as you shift closer to him, “what was lieutenant riley up to before coming to my rescue?”  

ghost who exhibits the duality of man when he’s with you. his voice gets caught in his throat and he promptly answers, “nothin'.” because you’re placing a gentle hand on his forearm. vanquishes him to a robot that can only utter a single word from a single touch. this wasn’t what he was like before; the esteemed protector with a jealous streak. no, he’s reduced to a pining jumble of tenderness for you. even through the layers of clothing he recognizes your warmth and yearns for it. you gaze up at him through your lashes, a telltale sign that his lack of plans served as an invitation to propose more. he knows that look. “you’re quite a secretive man, simon,” you teasingly narrow your eyes, “has anyone ever told you that?” your fingertips trace the swirls of ink on his arm and he desperately tries to fight against the way his eyes drop into a half-lidded stare. your touch always reduces him to a puddle of adoration. “no,” he breathes out and hopes to convey his ardor in irony, “never.” knows you’re grinning at his automatic responses and heat bubbles within him. 

ghost who allows your caress to dip down to his wrist which, conveniently, was the hand that held onto his motorcycle helmet. watches as you draw delicate patterns on the helmet’s shell. recognizes that you’re working up courage. for what, he's not sure. maybe you’ll ask him how long he’s been a motorcyclist. that’s typically the first question that’s settled. but nothing could prepare him for your honeyed voice that asks, “can I ride?” and how you use him as leverage to push up on your tiptoes and pleadingly whisper, “please?” he's pretty certain that you mean getting a ride on his motorcycle. yet, with the way your lips are practically pressing against his neck and how the heat of your breath forces him to stifle a groan of satisfaction, all logic flies out the window. pure, unadulterated hunger for you seizes ghost in an unexplainable grasp. he needs you. wishes he could whisk you away to someplace else. perhaps to his place. gosh, he appreciated the downtime after a mission. “bloody vixen,” he murmurs lowly while slipping the helmet into your hands, “it’s all yours, sweetheart.” on his motorcycle it typically takes 10 minutes flat to get to his place or 7 minutes if he turns a blind eye to the speed limit– which is an act he’s willingly committed before. 

[cornerdreams-txt]

quick headcanons about the new characters in the bo6 crew :)

black ops 6 was phenomenal, btw. i loved it. please come talk to me about it. please. please. please. please. please. pl

★ william "case" calderon

— known to dissociate or space out frequently, but is easily pulled out of it. it's on his record, but it's never caused enough problems for command to really get concerned about it.

— fidgets with his holsters when he's on edge. it's too quiet, or he's waiting for something to happen, he'll rub his fingers against the leather of the straps, or catch his nail on the metal of the buckles, over and over again. even if the weapon inside, blade or gun, is already drawn.

— seems uneasy around smoke or fog, shifty eyes and a pinched brow, but whenever its brought up, he's confused. seems like he has no idea that air that's... thicker, maybe, is a good descriptor, seems to put him on edge.

— unbothered by bugs, snakes, and any kind of creepy-crawly. seems to enjoy them, if anything - helped handle spiders and other insects or pests that found their way into the safehouse. biting insects seem to love him, though - mosquitoes especially. probably a blood type thing, right?

— avid horror enjoyer. seems uneasy about human experimentation, though. him and woods both seem to dislike that kind of trope.

★ troy marshall

— art is a coping skill, and hobby, of sorts. he keeps a pocket sketchbook and a handful of pens in his pockets whenever he can so he can pull it out when the inspiration arises.

— the longer the group stayed in the safehouse, the more that sketchbook filled up with portraits and still life sketches. people, interactions, architecture, sunrises, scenery. memories, ones troy couldn't help but want to capture.

— definitely a motorcyclist. did you see how he handled that bike with case on the back of it? that was NOT this man's first rodeo. 110% has a motorbike of his own. his biker jackets cycle in and out of his daily wardrobe at seemingly random.

— terrible cook. cannot make complex dishes to save his life. can follow instructions, sure, and makes a damn good sandwhich, but do not trust him to make soup or anything of the sort from scratch.

— ...isn't terrible at cooking meat, though. says he learned how to grill from his parents, but didn't really give the team many chances to see for themselves.

— seems to almost act as an older brother figure to the team instinctively. based on how he responds to jokes about him being a mother hen, it doesn't seem like he realizes he does it. (it is welcome, though. the compassion is nice, in such a harsh field)

★ sevati dumas

— very task oriented. you give her a goal and the right motivation, and she'll do it. very very headstrong, though. doesn't like taking orders unless compensated properly.

— food motivated. loves a good savory dish. enjoys exploring other cultures through that. but, no, she will not accept food as payment. nice try.

— good at acting lax and unbothered, but does, in fact, care very deeply. she's empathetic, but forces herself not to show it. she's had that be taken advantage of once, and she refuses to let that happen again.

— very reluctant to get attached or form connections to others, see her admitting she's only with the team until she gets paid. but she still hangs around felix, and she still tries to talk to troy when harrow's fellowship with the pantheon was unveiled. seems like she's not perfect when it comes to avoiding getting attached, is she?

— vibes only but like. i feel like she wants a little sibling. she wants someone she can take care of. she wants to be a good family member to someone, but having a child... no. she refuses to be a mother. she doesn't want to be a wife. she wants to be her own person. (she'd make a great godmother. or aunt. if she had the chance, and if she tried)

★ felix neumann

— if this man isn't autistic i am going to swallow a leather jacket whole like a snake. by the way. just sayin.

— the gloves were a paranoia result. they're metaphorical, sure, a reminder to himself not to harm anyone else, no taking another human life, but also a horrible, creeping paranoia eased in, of "what if they find your fingerprints," "what if you get blood on your hands again," "what if what if what if" until he could only ease it by wearing gloves. worked nicely, in the end. taking them off was... cathartic. to say the least.

— probably an anarchist? the vibes are there. hates society. hates government. wants to dismantle it all and start from scratch. that's the vibe.

— you... my special little man, get the nature autism. this guy can go on for hours and hours about the critters case finds around the safehouse, and case listens attentively and happily. also fantastic at foraging, has dozens of safe-to-eat and unsafe-to-eat plants stored away in his brain, and can rattle off the facts at a moment's notice.

— not the best hunter, but is, amusingly, better with a bow when it comes to hunting than he is with a gun.

— would code simple video games (think similar vibes to the chrome dinosaur game) to play for fun if he got bored enough. good thing he's excellent at finding things to distract himself with, no?

★ jane harrow

— photography lover. not fantastic about herself, but she'll sit and analyze photos taken by others for minutes on end, noting all the little details captured by a camera lense freezing the moment in time.

— does the same with drawn art. paint, sketch, whatever, she'll sit and analyze every little detail she can and point it all out. she loves noticing the details. calling attention to them. letting the artist know, if she can, that she sees all the effort they put into their work.

— her guilty pleasure? window shopping for stuffed animals. always writes it off as being for her niece, or a friend's child, but she wants to collect them. there's something soft, precious, genuine and uncomplicated about plush toys. but she's an adult. she can't afford to be so childish.

— ...alongside the drawing troy made of her, she still also keeps the little teddy bear he insisted on buying for her as a thank you gift, once. but that one isn't in her office. she hides it, away from prying eyes.

— mildly claustrophobic. she can push through it, and she will, when it comes to what her job demands of her, but she likes to avoid enclosed spaces when she can get away with it. it's... easier. feels less like being cornered. (she dances around the real reason she hates it. she never wants to be stuck hiding in a closet, or tucked under a little girl's bed ever, ever again.)

[babbushka]

Death At The Dive Bar

Flip Zimmerman X F!Reader

Inspired by this request, some weird twilight-zone occult occurrences happen to happen to our favorite detective. 3.4k, NSFW

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It’s always the same -- a scream, a crash, broken glass bloodied on the floor. A gunshot maybe, or maybe not. In the dead of night, acts of violence hiding beneath a cloak of darkness. 

It’s always the same -- a 911 call, frantic panicked voices demanding someone come down from the station, someone please help, before it’s too late, even though the very act of them picking up the phone means it’s already done. 

It’s always the same -- until it isn't. And on a dark and stormy summer night in the thick of the Rocky Mountains, a tiny dive bar calls the nearest police dispatcher, and calmly requests to speak to one Detective Flip Zimmerman of Colorado Springs. 

Flip had been in the area when he got the call over the radio, wandering around, scoping out the woods. He knew at once where it was, had heard stories of the place of course, way back in the day when he still wore the weight of the war like a thick leather jacket around his shoulders. When he pulls up in his Chevy it looks exactly the same as it always had been described: run down, small, with a buzzing neon sign proudly proclaiming The Mile High Tavern as the best place to grab a Coors within 50 miles. Nevermind that it was the only place. 

He sits in his truck and glares at the bar. Popular with passers-through along winding scenic roads and most frequented by motorcyclists seeking shelter from the rain, he wonders (not for the first time this week) what the hell he’s getting himself into. The note from the dispatcher had been vague -- a lady was askin’ for him specifically, and he was supposed to find out why. Things like this didn’t bode well for him, usually. 

Especially not lately, not with the way his last relationship flopped. He had tried to explain to the nice woman that his job took up a lot of his time -- had hoped that her big city job had given her a different perspective, but she didn’t seem to think his work hours applied to her. That had been three months ago that she left him, and he was still sore from it. 

No, a woman asking for him directly was the last thing Flip wanted to get himself tangled up in, regardless of the reason. 

Despite the rain, there isn’t the usual line of motorcycles out front. In fact, there was only one car to be seen, an oldie -- something chrome plated and pink, but he can’t really tell in the rainy darkness. The Mile High Tavern appeared for all intents and purposes to be empty, and so Flip takes one last drag of his cigarette, makes sure his gun is loaded and in its holster, and with a sigh of resignation steps into the downpour. 

“Let me get you something nice and warm,” A friendly voice calls over to him from the counter when Flip steps over the threshold, your back turned to him. All at once, Flip’s heart begins to pound. Something about this place felt odd to him, an uneasy feeling that shifted his stomach around. He took another step closer and you continued, “I’m afraid the only hot thing we’ve got tonight is coffee.” 

“Coffee’d be just fine, thank you.” Flip nods with gratitude, before sitting at the bar. Looking around, he notes how quaint the little place is. It’s neat and clean and warm, and he confirms that you are the only person in here. He wonders if you’ve been alone long, and frowns. “I’m sorry - I’m Detective Zimmerman, someone here rang for me?” 

“I’d be that someone, yes.” You slide him a cup of black coffee down the counter that you lean against with a smile. It is dazzling, bright in the dark light of the dive bar. “Thank you for coming out here, I appreciate how quick you were.” 

Well shit, Flip grimaces into his mug, now he feels like an asshole for sitting in the truck debating when, or if, he should brave the rain to head inside. 

You smile at him like you knew he was out there biding his time, a teasing smile that lets him know you’re not mad, even though you could be. It wasn’t professional for a law officer to keep someone waiting like that. 

“What seems to be the trouble?” He doesn’t bring up the fact that they’re alone. 

It was dangerous these days, with all the murders in the woods lately. Women being slaughtered left and right by what Flip is certain is a serial killer, but no one will take him seriously enough about it to do anything. Not without more evidence. 

“Do you..” You pause, as if you’re trying to find the words. No, that’s not it, as if you’re having a hard time spitting them out, like something is preventing you. “May I sit next to you?” 

You look at him with expectation and hope, and he stares into your eyes, searching for what the hell brought him all the way out here on his night shift. The clock strikes three in the morning. 

He doesn’t notice himself nodding with allowance, until you’re walking around the counter and getting close to him. Even though it’s warm in the bar, your hands are cold. 

“Thank you,” You breathe, getting close to him. Not so close that you’re touching, but close enough that he could brush against your shoulder with his own. “I don’t usually work alone, but tonight the other server is sick, and with the storm we aren’t expecting too many people, so here I am. There was something out there.” 

You stare directly into his eyes, and he’s almost taken aback by the seriousness and bluntness of your voice. Your voice is hypnotic almost, the edges of your words fuzzy and sharp at the same time, an impossible combination that has his palms sweating. He wonders for a brief moment if you slipped something into his coffee, but the thought leaves him as soon as it arrives.

“What sort of something?” He finds himself asking quietly, not wanting whatever it is to overhear. He thinks back to the past few weeks, the broken in-houses, the tape on the floor, the screams of agony. Flip sets his jaw and leans in close, looks deep into your wide open eyes, pupils huge in the dark. 

“A figure, on the other side of the window. I saw it in the lightning, I saw its eyes. I think it’s a man. I’m scared.” You whisper, lowering your voice to match his pitch. 

“I can escort you home -- ” He goes to get up, a rush of protective energy flowing through him, scraping the bar stool against the wooden floor, the sound so so so loud in the quiet of the bar, but your hand is gripping his arm the second he gets up.

“No!” Your voice is too sharp again, dark around the edges, and Flip looks down and sees panic in your eyes. He softens immediately, and even though he’s not supposed to, even though it’s unprofessional, even though you’re a stranger, he pulls you into a hug for some comfort. You throw your arms around him in return, and he’s not certain who is comforting whom. “No -- I -- I don’t want it to know where I live, if it follows us. I was hoping you could keep me company.” 

Your face is pressed into his chest, and for the first time in a long time, he feels complete, he feels like he’s never ever going to let go. He feels like you were made to fit into his arms, against his chest. He grows hot, his throat clearing as he immediately steps back to give you some space. 

You’re a stranger. 

He doesn’t even know your name. 

The rain pounds outside and lightning flashes, and Flip snaps back to reality. 

“I don’t think I can stay all night, I would have brought backup.” He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, offering, “I can do a search of the premises, if that would make you feel better.” 

“You shouldn’t go outside.” You shake your head, and Flip lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, glad that you have relieved him from what would have been one bitch of a job. Especially when you look up at him through your lashes and bite your lip and say, “I would prefer it if you stayed in here. With me.” 

“Alright.” He smiles, throwing all caution to the wind because what the hell else is he going to do on a Monday night? “If you’d feel safer with me staying here with you, I’ll stay. But in the morning, I’ll escort you either home or to another safe location, or hell even to the station and you can give a statement, and we’ll have someone out here searching the woods.” 

“That sounds like a plan, thank you.” Your hand rests on the bar counter close to his, so close, he nudges his pinky against yours. There’s no rings on your finger, he notices. 

“In the meantime, what should we do?” He licks his lips, knowing that it’s wrong, it’s an abuse of power -- but who has power over whom? He’s getting lost in your eyes, in the pretty smile you give him as you reach over the bar counter and grab a small rectangular pack of -- 

“I have a deck of cards.” You brandish them at him, looking over your shoulder with a grin. The way you’re bent over the bartop has Flip’s mind doing awful things, things like picturing you without any of those clothes on. “You any good at poker?” 

Flip was not good at poker. 

He’s lost the past two games and you’re already shuffling for a third. The energy in the bar has relaxed significantly, and Flip is starting to forget why he’s there. 

“Let’s up the ante.” You say, in an attempt to discourage or motivate him, he isn’t sure, as you shuffle and shuffle and shuffle the cards. “Each hand someone loses, they take something off.” 

“I don’t see how this ends any other way than me naked.” Flip grunts, not entirely displeased by the prospect. 

“You could win, and then I’d be the naked one.” You point out, and he laughs, a snort through his nose that exhales blue wispy smoke from his cigarette. 

On the first hand, Flip loses -- but that’s all it takes. He unbuttons his shirt and you’re hot on him, pinching his cigarette out and flicking it into the ashtray for him, your lips searing onto his. No one can ever find out about this, can ever know he’s about to fuck this stranger on the job, fuck you silly over the bar counter while on a call, and you don’t seem like the type to tell. Not with the way you’re pulling your blouse up over your head.

He hadn’t really paid any attention to what you’re wearing until it’s off, in a heap on the floor around him. The undergarments you wear are old fashioned, a bullet bra and girdle that hold up a pair of stockings. The clothes on the floor are old fashioned too, almost like the same exact uniform that a waitress might have worn at the Tavern twenty years ago. 

But they look new, and maybe the tavern never updated their uniforms,Flip doesn’t care, not with the way your hands are on his belt, pulling his hard dick out of his pants and spitting down onto it, spreading the spit around, his tip leaking and joining the mix. 

With ragged breath, he pushes you down face first onto the bartop again, pops the straps of your bra, your garter, pushes down your stockings. They rip under his rough treatment, and he feels bad for a moment, just a moment, until his cock is rubbing at the soft wet folds of you and you let out a moan that fills the tavern with warmth. 

“I don’t have a -- ” He starts, pulling away, trying to remember that he’s almost forty for fuck’s sake, he needs to be responsible, he needs to -- 

“It’s alright.”  You reach behind him and grab at his hand, leading him to drape his body over yours, giving him permission to fuck you anyway. 

With a sharp breath he pushes in all the way, bottoms out so that his cock is completely enveloped inside of you, his hips pressed against the smooth skin of your ass, and he almost can’t move he’s so blinded by the feeling. You’re so tight, and so wet, the bar smells like musk and sweat and rain, the sweet salty combination making his mind go dizzy. 

He’s never talked much during sex, and this is no different, but in the back of his mind he wishes he had something good enough to say to you, something impressive. Instead, he thrusts in a steady harsh rhythm that has your knees buckling, your hands gripping the far edge of the bar counter, your cheek pressed against the polished wood, mouth dropped open and eyes shut tight in pleasure. 

Flip’s hands on your waist are tight enough that he could dig them into you if he wasn’t careful, he could leave marks. He almost wants to, wants you to remember him when this is over and he’ll have to go back to the station, have to write a report about all of this. Not this, not you, not the way your sweet cunt clenches around him as you take his force, take his length, hot and pulsing inside of you. 

He needs to see you, all of a sudden, he needs to. Grabbing your arms, he pulls out only long enough for you to whine in protest for a few short seconds, and then he’s taking you to a booth, taking you somewhere padded that he can lie you down and brace himself on top of you. 

You lick your lips as your head rolls back, legs spreading for him to nestle between them as he bends over you, those same legs hooking around his waist. You’re completely naked, your perky breasts begging to be sucked on, and so he does. He wonders if the rasp of his clothes on your skin feels nice, if you like it. If you like him. 

It’s too hot in here, Flip thinks, his eyes shut as he pants against your body. Too hot and bright, bright behind his eyelids as he groans and moans. He’s sweating, and it’s loud, the sound of rain too loud, its wooshing a roar that deafens his ears. He almost can’t think about anything else, can’t think about the way you feel under him, why is it so bright why is it so hot -- 

It hits you first, and you’re squirming, panting and moaning as you come. Flip can feel it squelching between your thighs, his cock pulling out shiny and glistening with your orgasm. It makes him go over the edge, his come filling you up, the hot white spread of it. He tries not to worry about fucking you raw, but it’s been a long time since he hasn’t used a rubber. 

You give him a big grin, stretching out beneath him, your legs falling to the sides where they can. It’s still raining. 

Wordlessly, he gathers you up from underneath him and settles you down on the floor, kissing all over your face, your neck, your breasts. Your stomach chuckles underneath him as you hold him close, breathing in the smell of him. He doesn’t want you to ever let go. 

“Then don’t.” You sigh into his hair there on the floor, and Flip closes his eyes, tired from the events of the day. 

He doesn’t realize that you’ve responded to his thoughts, until he’s in a deep sleep. 

In the morning, he’s alone. 

In the morning, the dive bar isn’t just old, it’s run down. The windows are smashed like kids had been playing pranks here, tossing bottles and rocks through the glass. The shelves are all empty, no liquor, nothing. 

Flip feels like he is frozen as he looks around him. Where were you? Where were the cards that had scattered all over the floor? He is fully dressed, asleep in a booth that is covered in dust and cobwebs -- it wasn’t that dirty yesterday, was it? 

He’s sick, his stomach lurching as he sits up. He doesn’t even know your name to shout it out into the bar. In the light of morning, the rain has stopped, and Flip gathers himself up on uncertain legs. He looks around, trying to find any trace of you, but there isn’t one. There’s only one set of boot prints in the dust on the floor, his own.

Confusion continues to wash over him, which slowly morphs into panic. These windows weren’t broken last night, the floor wasn’t dusty, where the fuck were you? He stumbles to his truck, his mind working double time trying to piece together what happened. Surely he hadn’t dreamt this, what was he doing last night? He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t stoned he -- 

“Come in, Flip, come in!” A panicked voice crackles from his car, and making sure his gun is still in the holster, Flip runs right to his truck, hopping in and turning the engine over. 

“Ron?” Flip grasps the radio tightly in his hand, tuning the frequency to hear better. “Ron is that you? What’s going in?” 

“Flip! Where are you?” Ron asks, direct to the point. 

“I’m up by the fork in the mountain pass, just off the scenic highway.” 

“What?! Are you safe?” 

“Of course I’m safe, why wouldn’t I be? Ron what the fuck is happening?” Flip’s eyes are hard on the tavern, and even from the outside, something is wrong. This place was not open last night, it couldn’t have been. The walls are blackened with soot, the doors are boarded shut. How did he get in -- how did he get out?

“There was flash flooding, down the scenic road. It brought rocks down with it from all the rain. Search and rescue found a couple cars down the cliffside.” Ron rushes to explain, and Flip feels like he’s going to be sick. 

“They’re dead?” He pinches the bridge of his nose -- people were getting caught up in a flash flood while he was getting laid last night. 

“Yeah. You need to get back here, where did you say you were at again?” Ron asks, and Flip can hear that he’s pulling out a pen and paper from his desk. 

“Mile High Tavern. I spent the night here” Flip responds, and then there’s silence. “Ron? Did you hear me? I said I’m at -- ”

“I heard you, but that’s not possible.” Ron’s voice is shaken, “That bar burned down back in ‘57.” 

All at once, everything stops. 

He blinks, and he’s in the roar of the inferno as he comes into your body.

He blinks again, and the bar is gone entirely. 

Nothing remaining but a patch of scorched earth in its place. 

No neon sign. 

No motorcycles

No single car out front. 

Ron is saying something on the radio, but Flip can’t hear. He is reversing out of there so quickly that he almost misses the flash of something behind him -- almost. Flip looks back in his rearview mirror at the bar and sees something, a shape, a young woman in old fashioned clothing far away, through the trees. 

A hand waves, and Flip knows that whatever you were, you saved him, protected him from the flash flood that killed. You saved him, and he fucked you, and he’s sick to his stomach about that, not sure what was real and what isn’t, not sure of anything anymore except that he wants to find you and do it all over again. 

But he blinks, and you’re gone. 

[mcroutfits]

π².⁰²/10 this outfit traumatized an entire generation, EVERYTHING IS SO PUNKY EMO HERE the leather motorcyclist gloves, the long sleeve striped tshirt, the black jacket with those nutcracker kind of lines and the lazy goth inspired make up (for make up i mean smashing your face against pale white face paint and messy black eyeliner). he visits you on your strangest dreams

[saytrrose]

Can we see More about your racing AU please?

Looks so amazing and i love It so much

I do suppose I could share the character design line up!

I really just need to finish designing all the go karts, (atleast most are done!) and then I can make proper cards for them and really get into the written details.

To be honest it’s a little hard to just ramble about info and details without specific questions to go off of, so I’ll try my best hhh

for starters, the tent? Not a tent!

It’s actually a stadium, the amazing digital race!

And rooms? Sort of tweaked, they are more like each character owns a personal garage, a large open space where they store their vehicles and then have a loft above that showcases their cozy safe havens. Bed, entertainment, basically a small room in a much larger one.

I haven’t revealed Ragatha, Zooble or Gangles karts yet but I’ll go ahead and just talk about all of them!

Caine:

Caine has a motorcycle, specifically one inspired off of the motorcycle I’m saving up for this summer, a Kawasaki Eliminator. It’s a cruiser, I’m thinking he has a 600cc model but considering Bubble is his right hand man and operates as the races pit crew- he’s definitely tinkered with Caines bike, making adjustments and improving the engine. God only knows what the little psycho did, but it’s a damn good bike that’s not supposed to rev as loud as it does.

Pomni:

Her kart is inspired off a Volkswagen Beetle, seemed very VERY Pomni to me. Her car mimics her outfit design a lot, I might do some color changes to be honest but it will be super minimal, it’ll be final when the cards are done! She definitely stops at the pit the most often despite her placement in a race, are my tires okay?? Do I need my oil?? I know you just filled it but it went down- is anything damaged?? Sweetie you did one lap..

Jax:

Jesus Christ he has a giant supercharger on the hood of his car, and he is absolutely one of those annoying mfs that reva their engine OBNOXIOUSLY loud all the time like he’s super cool. If you’re wondering who most of the skid marks on the track are from, that’s also Jax. Hes the best as drifting, and he loves to show that off. His car isn’t based too much on an actual vehicle?? I stared at Mario karts and pieced it together, but also gave it a very sports car look, the wing on the back fr fr I think Jax would dig that.

Kinger:

OHHSOSK I was so creative with his little wagon,,, it’s castle shaped!! And the best part? Operates like a rocket. In the back past the battlement (the crown looking thing you see atop castle pillars) ARE GIANT exhaust pipes and yes, they do spit fire !! Operates like a rocket. It’s very cool! (Also he has a great muffler because unlike Jax he’s considerate of others hearing 💔) Oh also, he has one of those silly horns, I forgot how to describe it but you can just look at how I drew it on his kart and you’ll know heheh!

Zooble:

Our second motorcyclist, owns a trike! If you don’t know what that is, picture a bike with training wheels but super badass. 3 wheels! It’s inspired off the Harley Davidson freewheeler, I like that design a lot but it’s def not actually a Harley because istg when you buy those bikes your just paying for the fancy name brand- expect it to be in the shop all the time, smh not good- BUT ANYWAY!! The looks are inspired off it though and I can’t wait for this one because it’s just as crazy kooky as Zoobles design is.

Gangle:

Her kart is based on my favorite car, classic style but not too cool because you can bet she has anime stickers on the back and a decal that says “please let me merge before I start crying.” It’s similar to a karmann ghia convertible, 1963. Cherry red (so so pretty) She always has the top down, unless competing because damn you gotta go fast. That car itself is really slow, top speed normally is 68mph, however people have modified them enough to get up to 120mph. Thats still pretty slow compared to others, but her kart only reflects the appearance of the ghia! It’s much faster and I assume Bubble works on all their vehicles if asked to.

Lastly, Ragatha:

Our 3rd motorcyclist. 4 Karts, 3 cyclists. Her bike is a futuristic style, if you want a good idea then look up “icare bike”! Not so much a straight forward posture, she leans over ofc, you’ll likely get the idea when you see her bike. I’ll be honest, I haven’t gotten too into her design yet because I haven’t started drawing but!! Dark blue leds,, everywhere yes yes so cool ❤️

Sorry that’s so much 😭 but yeah! Just need to finish 3 kart designs for you guys and I can make official ref cards ��

[ave661]

Have you ever considered doing a cowboy/motorcyclist Simon "Ghost" Riley ?...because this man is a whole inspiration haha 🫣🤭

Also absolutely love your work !!! 🖤♥️🖤

that's an interesting idea *-*

[poly-yandere-lovers]

Yantober, Day 1

WARNINGS: Soma almost gets ran over?

Author's Notes: Thank you to @ozzgin for making the Yantober 2024 writing challenge! I felt that this was a bit flat, but I really don't feel like rewriting it. I was more inspired for something a bit later 😉

Tags: None

Soma frantically punches the cross walk button. He wanted to prove to Enma he could be on time to a date, but he's already failing. He being too indecisive with his clothes and hair and now it's 5:30 pm. He's 10 minutes late. He groans. He barely glances both ways then decides to just run across. He's done it before, so it should be fine, right? He sprints across just as a motorcycle speeds up. They screech to a halt, scaring Soma. He jumps, stumbles, rolls his ankle and falls to the side.

"Hey! What the fuck?!" The person on the motorcycle screams. They're lacking the full helmet a motorcyclist wears, letting him see their face. He sits on the asphalt, staring dumbly up at them as they talk.

"--Dumbass, get up and MOVE!!"

He scrambles up, wincing and rushes to the sidewalk. He watches as they speed off, most likely still cursing him. It takes him an awkwardly long moment to get his mind back. Soma runs to meet up with Enma.

Ei have to know about this amazing person~

[eretzyisrael]

by Daniel Greenfield

Dewik died alongside Zakariya Najeeb, a top terrorist who had coordinated operations for Hamas, in the maternity ward where mothers are supposed to bring life into the world.

The terrorist who had taken part in the murder of a 5-year-old girl died in a place of children.

Justice had been delayed for 22 years before finally catching up with Fadi Mohammed Dewik.

“When I heard my daughter was murdered, my first reaction was: there is no God,” Jacob Shefi said at the time. “Then I came to my senses. I thought to myself, here, my two sons and my wife were left alive, even though terrorists shot at them from point blank range. They also shot at me and didn’t hit me, there is a higher power watching over us.”

“She loved to pray, go to synagogue. If only she had gone out with me in the morning, maybe she would be alive,” he said.

Today, Jacob is one of the “Blue Riders” motorcyclists in Israeli law enforcement and posts inspirational religious messages in the wake of the Islamic terrorist attacks of Oct 7.

When Danielle was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, she said that she wanted to be a righteous woman. Today she would have been a young woman, perhaps married with children of her own. Islamic terrorists denied her the opportunity as they had so many innocent victims, from the dead in Adora to those murdered on 9/11, 7/7 in London and Oct 7 in Israel.

Justice under these conditions seems elusive and at times even impossible. And those who are left behind may even wonder if there is a God who sees and makes right a broken world.

Danielle’s full name was Danielle Bat-El Shefi. Bat-El means “Daughter of G-d”.

Murdered on a Sabbath, Danielle was avenged on Purim which commemorates the day when Haman had plotted to kill the Jews, “from the young to the old, little children and women”.

The Biden administration and the world had abandoned Israel, but that higher power had not.

[slytherinshua]

HOLD ME TIGHT

genre. a little tension but not truly e2l. mutual pining/misunderstandings. kinda fluffy. entirely based on motorcyclist!zuho. warnings. briefly mentioned that zuho & reader are spies/assassins. wounds and injuries mentioned (not in detail). zuho is hot (and cute) and rides a motorcycle. pairing. zuho x fem!reader. wc. 2.6k. a/n. originally got the idea from the lyrics of 'tight' and @eternalgyu's delusions 😭 but it strayed a little away from the first inspiration... hope it's still okay tho

“As long as you hold me tight, we’ll be good.” Juho’s deep voice filled your ears as if in a daze. You forced your head to nod to him, though you had barely processed his words. You weren’t in the best of circumstances at the moment— having gotten beaten up pretty badly just an hour before. Your teammate had been in a different area, and only found you once he was done with his portion of the mission. At least you had taken out the enemy, though.

Now it was just a transportation problem. You couldn’t ride your own motorcycle back to base considering your condition. This forced Juho to clench his jaw and offer for you to ride with him. He didn’t want to. Frankly, he didn’t want to have any reason to even talk to you, but he kept being assigned the same missions as you, so now, here he was.

You didn’t really annoy him. Well, maybe a little— but not in the way people usually did. You were clearly very good at your job, and your charisma was clear in the way you carried out every mission. Juho would be lying if he didn’t hold a lot of respect for you. He was known to be a bit cold to the team, rarely ever talking to anyone besides Taeyang. He particularly avoided you, only because whenever he was in your presence, his brain didn’t seem to think straight.

In short, you distracted him. A lot. He wasn’t one to catch feelings on the job, especially this job, where the circumstances were always teetering on the edge of life or death. But it seemed like you broke all his rules. He had encased his heart behind a thick metal wall, yet somehow, you had already started making a dent in it.

You didn’t think anything of the way he was glaring at you— you couldn’t think of a time when he hadn’t glared at you. But you weren’t appreciating the way your inebriated mind was racing with a thought. Just 1 thought.

Baek Juho looked hot when angry.

Given that you were bleeding and not entirely sober at the moment, the thought was beyond absurd. But it was probably because you were injured and intoxicated that those thoughts allowed themselves to enter your mind.

You were dizzy as you clumsily pushed your body up onto the back of the motorcycle. Juho waited until you were on and secure to take his seat. You tried to put on your helmet, but due to your slight head injury, you couldn’t put on your helmet without worsening the open wound. You heard Juho curse under his breath as you winced in pain.

“I’ll drive safely. Ditch the helmet.” He commanded, sliding on his own helmet and revving up the engine. “I’m not going to start until you’re holding on.” He muttered. Your brain caught onto his annoyed tone, and you quickly placed your hands on his shoulders, just slightly gripping his jacket.

“That’s not gonna do a thing.” He commented, grabbing one of your hands and moving it to his waist. Your breath caught up in your throat. In order to hold his waist securely, you had to rest your head against his back. His rather attractive, strong, broad back. You were screwed.

Juho finally started driving once you were holding him as tight as he felt necessary. You were thankful that it wasn’t too much of a windy night, otherwise the breeze would’ve been sure to agitate your wounds. There wasn’t much you could talk about over the sound of the motorcycle, so you kept silent. As you sobered up, you grew evermore aware of how tense Juho was. Was he always this rigid?

To your surprise, when he stopped the motorcycle, you weren’t in front of your team’s base, but instead, a small house. Juho cleared his throat seconds after he had stopped, bringing your attention to the way you were still clinging to his middle. You quickly brought your hands away from him in embarrassment, catching your balance as you got off the vehicle. You were still in a lot of pain, but at least your head was clearer than before. A good 2 am drive did wonders for your mental health.

“Make yourself at home.” Juho said as he opened the door to the house. You weren’t sure what you were expecting from Juho’s home, but you definitely hadn’t bargained that it would be this… warm.

The first thing you were met with when you stepped inside was the meowing of a cat. A light orange short haired cat soon appeared from another room, mewling up at Juho, quick to give his legs affectionate rubs with his head.

Juho coughed, “Don’t mind Huru. I haven’t been home in a while. I hope you’re not allergic to cats?” He queried, looking back at you as he picked up the cat in his arms, cradling the little boy lovingly.

You were dumbfounded. The Juho in front of you was like a completely different person. You tried to rub your eyes to see if you were just seeing things when you caught onto a smile on his face. Baek Juho smiling. Your teammates would think you were crazy if you told them about this later.

“N-no. I’m fine with cats.” You mumbled a late response to his question, standing awkwardly at the doorway. You had discarded your work boots, but now didn’t know where to go or what to do. You felt like you were intruding. Juho was always a very private person. No one but Taeyang really knew much about his personal life. Yet, here you were, welcomed into his living space by the man himself.

“Bathroom’s first door on the left. There’s a kit in the cabinet. Bring it out and I’ll patch you up.” Juho instructed, his tone much softer than earlier on the mission. It was weird, but you couldn’t say you didn’t like the change. There was a comforting sense with the way he was talking to you… almost, a fond look in his eyes?

You found your way to the bathroom, finding it pristinely clean and organised, as if you were at a hotel. This was something you did expect from the man. The rooms at the base would probably be a pigsty if it weren’t for Juho’s efforts to keep things tidy. You located the first aid kit in the cabinet where Juho said it would be, and brought it back out to the living room.

You sat awkwardly on the couch, waiting for Juho to come back. You could hear him rustling in the kitchen. While you were waiting, Huru got curious of the new person in the house and came to start sniffing you cautiously. He jumped up on the couch next to you, investigating you before settling down in a meatloaf position next to you.

Juho came back seconds later, smiling widely at the two of you, “As expected. Huru also has good taste in women.” His eyes held a playful glint as he took a spot next to you on the couch. He got out the supplies needed and started working on the head wound first.

You had been patched up many times by your teammates. It was uncomfortable, and more than not, extremely painful. Most occasions were time sensitive, so there was no room to be careful and gentle when the goal was to stop the bleeding enough to get out of the dangerous situation.

The way Juho was handling you, though, was extremely gentle. His touch was soft, almost hesitant, enough to prevent any extra sting from the disinfectant. He was doing a better job making sure you didn’t feel pain that you would’ve been able to if you had to patch yourself up.

It felt strangely intimate. The small living room, both of you sitting close on the 2 cushioned couch. Huru watched both of you carefully, squinting cutely at his father every once in a while, making Juho smile back. You stayed silent for most of it, until the question became too overbearing for you to keep in any longer.

“How come you’re so warm?” The question came out a little hesitantly, and you gulped down the uncomfortable lump that formed in your throat once you got the words out. Most of the nervousness came from Juho’s expression. He kept a poker face, but confusion soon spread on it as he met your eyes.

“Warm?”

You were forced to elaborate further, fiddling with your hands as Juho set down the blood soaked cotton swab he was holding, “You’re… surprisingly… pleasant to be around?” You offered up the thought, not quite sure if you had articulated it how you would’ve liked, but it would have to do for now.

“Was I not before?” He responded, picking up a fresh roll of bandages and dabbing at a bleeding spot on your arm.

“Well. You were always so reserved? No one would’ve guessed that you lived in this cozy space with a cute cat and a collection of colourful ceramic mugs.” You mumbled. 

Juho stiffened, “You noticed the ceramics?” 

You smiled a little, “They were all lined up so nicely on the shelf in the kitchen… It’s cute. You’re cute.”

Cute. Juho had never been called cute before. Cold, unfeeling, rude, professional, reliable, stern. Those were all words he could easily attribute to himself. But cute? He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, not liking how you were seconds away from delivering the final blow to the damaged and dented metal wall around his heart. It was seconds away from becoming disfigured beyond imagination, all because of 2 words.

“I see.” He whispered throatily, trying to catch his breath from the unmistakable tension in the room. “You must be tired. You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.” He announced, snapping shut the first aid kit and leaving to put it away before you could protest him.

You decided to just go with it. You didn’t have energy or courage to object to anything Juho said. Despite the warmth he had given you tonight, he was still intimidating at times. If he flashed another smile to you, you were sure you’d end up doing something you’d really really regret. 

Lying down on his bed felt like something you were definitely not supposed to do. You were trespassing on his privacy by being here. You should’ve asked him to drive you home instead of letting him let you stay over here. Your brain was racing with the overwhelming thoughts. They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Juho came in dressed in pyjamas. He held a mug of hot tea in one hand and some clothes in the other. You could tell he had showered by the way his hair was still wet, and you willed your brain to stop screaming about how attractive he looked like that.

“I thought you might appreciate some tea. And it would be uncomfortable to sleep in your uniform… though I’m sure you’ve done it before. I brought some clothes just in case you wanted to change into them.” He explained shyly, setting down the cup of tea and clothes on the bedside table and quickly saying goodnight. Just going in to give you those 2 things had his stomach twisting and turning in nervousness. The effect you had on him was undeniable.

The tea made you sleepier, and the clothes were incredibly comfortable to sleep in, albeit a little big on you. It wasn’t hard to fall asleep once you relaxed into the soft fluffy pillows and warm blankets. Your body desperately needed the rest, and you were thankful that there was no work to do tomorrow.

You woke up to Juho’s face dangerously close to yours. You would’ve shrieked in shock if it wasn’t for the sleepiness evident in his eyes. He clearly wasn’t in any state to do anything to you. His eyes weren’t quite closed, but his eyelids drooped down almost all the way. He must’ve also just woken up.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked you in an incredibly deep, sleepy morning voice. His eyes had fallen shut again, but he could feel your stare against his face, and he couldn’t help but curve one corner of his lips up.

“I thought you were going to sleep on the couch?” You asked, bewildered at the closeness between you two. It was impossible to want to move, though, given the ache in your body from the past day’s injuries.

“I didn’t mean to… I must’ve been too tired when I came to check on you a couple hours ago.” He whispered. Your response was interrupted when Huru jumped up on the bed, purring contentedly and headbutting Juho’s cheek incessantly. You giggled at the sight. The way Juho closed his eyes tightly and scrunched up his face, trying (and failing) to get Huru to settle down, was the most precious sight you had seen.

You sighed, “Thank you for your hospitality. I guess I should probably get back to my place now.” Your lack of motivation to actually leave was clearly evident to both you and Juho. Your apartment had always felt a little lonely. You didn’t have the time to decorate it or pick up collecting hobbies like Juho’s ceramics. Neither did you have furry companions to wake you up with affection in the morning. If things went exactly the way you wished them to, you would be able to stay with Juho just for a little longer. His presence right now was more comforting than anyone else's.

Juho sat up, thinking for a second. It seemed as if he could read the thoughts your brain was bringing up, as he suddenly asked, “Do you have plans for later?”

You shook your head.

“Would you like to grab coffee with me?” He tilted his head to the side with a small smile. You couldn’t possibly say no to the sight. His bed hair, soft pyjamas, and contented sleepy face— you were sure he was trying to make you fall in love with him at this point. He was the cutest person you had ever seen.

“Are you asking me out right now?” You asked with a smile, an elated feeling bubbling in your chest.

“Only if you say yes.” He responded, impatient to hear your response. 

“Don’t worry. Going out for coffee with my handsome coworker sounds like a great way to spend the day.” You mused and Juho laughed, mirroring the happiness that you felt.

Since you had met Juho, you had always thought he was cold. His sharp features and serious stare gave off a strong impression, and since he didn’t make much effort to get close to people, that unwelcome belief of his personality lived on in your brain for a long time. But it only took that one coffee date to entirely change your perspective on him.

No, Juho wasn’t cold or rude or impolite. He was warm and friendly and so, so cute. He talked a lot about his cats and his childhood— his interest in music, and, of course, his ceramic mugs. He listened intently to everything you had to say. You talked for hours at the cafe, and then for even more hours at home. You kept talking and talking and talking— always finding more you wanted to say; neither of you getting tired of the company.

After that day, Juho no longer looked at missions assigned with you with distaste. Instead of suppressing the fluttery feeling that you summoned in him with just your mere presence, he welcomed it. He smiled a lot more; enough for your other teammates to start to question his switch in behaviour. You had slowly but surely dented the wall surrounding his heart, and now, he gladly let you in, letting you fill every corner of it with warmth and love.

↳ sf9 taglist: @eternalgyu

[goodoldbandit]

Doug Domokos: The Legendary “Wheelie King” of the AMA Hall of Fame

Good Old Bandit Good Old Bandit. gob.stayingalive.in Discover the thrilling legacy of Doug Domokos, the AMA Hall of Fame’s “Wheelie King,” who set an awe-inspiring world record for the longest wheelie at 145 miles. A King on One Wheel The Man Behind the Legend: Doug Domokos, famously known as The Wheelie King, redefined the world of motorcycle stunt riding with his astonishing ability to…

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

During the climactic motorcycle chase in "The Great Escape" (1963), director John Sturges allowed Steve McQueen to ride (in disguise) as one of the pursuing German soldiers, so that in the final sequence, through the magic of editing, he's actually chasing himself. McQueen played the German motorcyclist who hits the wire.

Although McQueen did his own motorcycle riding, there was one stunt he did not perform: the hair-raising five foot jump over a fence. This was done by McQueen's friend Bud Ekins, who was managing a Los Angeles-area motorcycle shop when recruited for the stunt. It was the beginning of a new career for Ekins, as he later doubled for McQueen in "Bullitt" (1968), and did much of the motorcycle riding on "CHiPs."

McQueen's character of Hilts was based on amalgamation of several characters, including Major Dave Jones, a flight commander during Doolittle's Raid who made it to Europe, and was shot down and captured, and Colonel Jerry Sage, who was an O.S.S. Agent in the North African desert when he was captured. Colonel Sage was able to don a flight jacket and pass as a flier, otherwise he would have been executed as a spy. Another inspiration was probably Squadron Leader Eric Foster, who escaped seven times from German prisoner-of-war camps.

During idle periods while this movie was in production, all cast and crew members, from McQueen and James Garner to production assistants, and obscure food service workers, were asked to take thin, five-inch strings of black rubber and knot them around other thin strings of black rubber of enormous length. The finished results of all of this knotting were the coils and fences of barbed wire seen throughout the movie. (IMDb)

[caracarahoney]

H.I.V.E. Birthday Bundle 2024:

With the best worst father with too many names, Cypher!

(And the color gold.) Buckle up folks, it's a long one!

Playlist- Not Afraid (You Should Be)

The Lab Era Mad IQs- I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME GUY.exe- Superfruit On The Run E.V.O.L.- Marina and the Diamonds Pork Soda- Glass Animals Lent- Autoheart Paranoia in B Major- The Avett Brothers Family Man Clusterhug- I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME C Sections And Railway Trestles- The Avett Brothers The Loss Paper Scars- Lovedrug Black Light- My Epic Cypher Is Born So Called Life- Three Days Grace Look Away- The Dear Hunter Me Against You- Three Days Grace Rumors- NEFFEX The Siege Absinthe- I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME Yin Yang- USS (Ubiquitous Synergy Seeker) NFWMB- Hozier All Alone Leopard- Jack Stauber Paul Newman vs. The Demons- The Avett Brothers Gone Rogue P.O.L.I.T.I.C.S.- MISSIO Wolf In Sheep's Clothing- Set It Off Bleeding White- The Avett Brothers Gone Forest Whitaker- Bad Books, etc.

Art:

I got a rabbit as my animal, which honestly fits- lots of cool symbolism there. Something, something, snares and escaping and prey animal vs predators, etc. I honestly think this man is motivated more by fear than he lets on. Fic: A Temporary Alliance (A negotiation leads to an effective, if begrudging partnership between Cypher, three girls… and a pilot in deep over his head.) Headcanons:

Extremely paranoid ever since he began working in the villain industry, and this only became exacerbated after Xiu Mei’s death. Also misanthropic and believed most people are more bad than good, though he recognized a few exceptions like his family.

Instead of a plain oval of glass, his mask was a modified helmet resembling a motorcyclist’s. Alongside gloves, it allowed him to cover every inch of skin to prevent anyone getting hair or fingerprints for DNA testing.

Had long hair ever since he entered G.L.O.V.E., as he became paranoid that someone would assassinate him while cutting it. As Wu Zhang, he cut it himself and kept it up in a high ponytail (when down, it was a little past his shoulders). After losing Xiu Mei, he didn’t keep up with caring for it as often and let it grow a few inches longer, tucking it into his helmet as Cypher and tying it up otherwise.

Wore his mask anytime he was around others during his Cypher era, including his own henchmen. If he ever needed to sleep– such as on long flights– he would sleep with it on and hold a gun the whole time.

Based his Cypher look on some of the Power Rangers-esque shows Wing would watch as a child; he would watch them with him sometimes as a form of easy bonding time.

Adored Darkdoom’s exploits and would tell Wing bedtime stories about him; took inspiration for the Kraken from Darkdoom’s vehicles.

Despised Xiu Mei at first after the Overlord incident, but acknowledged they were stuck together. Their escape from China was full of violence, running from enemies, assassination attempts, and the usual actiony antics. This is when they first learned to appreciate each other as they both saved each other a few times. 

As a husband, Mao was less physically affectionate. He showed love through gift giving, usually by making Xiu Mei small robots or trinkets or buying her nice things. He was very aloof as a person in general, so she valued being one of the few people he would willingly be close to. They enjoyed having movie or tv nights at home more than any other kind of date, which they’d usually end with a cuddle on the couch.

As a father, he was distant, but hardworking and comparatively loving. He knew from his teen years that he wasn’t cut out for family life, but did his best once avoiding it was no longer an option. He preferred to do the “maintenance work” of the family (house work, handling paperwork, planning stuff, etc) behind the scenes while his wife handled the face-to-face parenting. After Xiu Mei’s death, he was emotionally negligent and occasionally verbally abusive whenever he and Wing would argue, but never lashed out physically. He feared how angry he could be as he grieved and would separate himself early to avoid outbursts, but the absences only made things worse.

After Xiu Mei’s death and a small depressive period, vengeance became his primary goal and he began training himself in combat. This is where some of his absences in Wing’s life came from and where Wing’s early fitness started, as he tried a few times to work out with his father to bond with him. Considering that Wu was always very upset when doing so, it never worked out. Cypher was roughly at Nero’s level in combat by the end and had some training with most weapons; he’s not a boxer and wouldn’t do well in a fist fight, but if he was armed or given the chance to strategize, he could be very dangerous.

Did not build his criminal empire from the ground up– he instead infiltrated and worked under another villain for a year or two before assassinating him and stealing his holdings, using a few robots he’d made to bolster his defenses until he was powerful enough to use his reputation.

Genuinely believed Nero stole Wing for hostage purposes, as he received a letter that appeared to be written by him threatening Wing after his disappearance. In reality, this letter was crafted and sent by Overlord to encourage Nero and Cypher to go to war.

Needed glasses or contacts; his vision wasn’t horrible and he could function without them, but he was prone to bad migraines without them. As Wu Zhang, he preferred contacts, but switched to glasses as Mao Fanchu. During his time at H.I.V.E., he would become very uncooperative if not provided with glasses and an occasional exam. Also had high blood pressure and other chronic stress issues, but knew how to manage them. 

After the fall, he had to do daily physical therapy. Nero ensured he had equipment to do so (which was stored under his bed), but he struggled with chronic pain for the rest of his life. Also occasionally had chronic pain from Overlord’s blast, but this was less frequent. One of the closest relationships to amicable he had as Cypher did come from this though, as he developed an acquaintanceship with Dr. Scott.

After Overlord, he was a brontophobe (feared lightning in particular) and had a strong distaste for the color red despite using it as one of his cardinal colors. Also feared A.I.s and almost threw up at the sight of H.I.V.E.mind in Rogue.

Resented most supervillains’ “they’re disposable” attitude towards their technicians or low-ranking staff, especially as Cypher. He also preferred to avoid killing enemies’ staff, but did so to fit in and get closer to Number One, seeing it as genuinely necessary in his mission to save the world. 

And finally, Prompts! (AKA my rejected fic ideas for this...) - Darkdoom the pirate finding siren Wu after the latter got in a scuffle with the infamous Captain Nero. - A student finds Cypher's cell and talks to him through the door. - In an AU where he survives, Cypher playing Battleship with Laura. - Wu Zhang and Xiu Mei fleeing from G.L.O.V.E. after the Incident. - Cypher arguing with Nero in his cell about bringing Overlord online too early.

Anyways, hope y'all had fun! Can't wait to see what you've all created!

[discosart]

Quinn Hurd, my motorcyclist courier OC from my ME fic The Road Less Travelled.

The main inspiration I got for writing Quinn is Elspeth Beard, who was the first British woman to motorcycle across the world in the 1980s. Her book is called Lone Rider, you must check it out. I got a lot of inspiration and knowledge from what motorcycling a long way in difficult conditions is like. Some of the incidents in her real story directly inspired the scenes in mine!

[retrosofa]

To commemorate Cutie Honey's 50th anniversary, I wanted to post trivia for all 25 episodes. We'll start this week with the first episode: "The Black Claw Grips The Heart."

Screenwriter: Masaki Tsuji

Art Director: Mataharu Urata

Animation Director: Shingo Araki

Director: Tomoharu Katsumata

In the early drafts Honey Kisaragi was originally Honey Tachibana. Honey’s finalized surname name, “Kisaragi” (如月) is a traditional name for February in the Japanese calendar. It refers to the seasonal “changing of clothes.” The name "Honey" comes from the American TV series Honey West.

Honey was voiced by Eiko Masuyama, who would reprise this role a few times over the years, notably in the Re: Cutie Honey audio drama and the Playstation game, Little Witching Mischiefs. She also had a guest spot in Cutey Honey Flash as Dr. Kisaragi’s old friend, Dr. Mitsuko Kanzaki.

St. Chapel Academy is located in Okutama, a mountainous area that’s about an hour and a half away from central Tokyo. St. Chapel itself was most likely inspired or at least named after the real life royal chapel, Sainte-Chapelle in Paris, France. The hymn the students sing during Mass in these early episodes is “Come, Thou Almighty King.”

The freckle-faced girl who stands next to Honey during Mass is her best friend and roommate, Natsuko Aki. Although she’s almost never referred to by her full name but rather “Nat-chan.” Her first name is in reference to natsu or “summer” while aki means “autumn.” In the original manga she is depicted as having pigtails rather than a bob cut and doesn’t have freckles. Natsuko’s anime design was modeled after an unnamed girl who appeared briefly in the Devilman manga.

Natsuko was voiced by Rihoko Yoshida, who’s best known for voicing the titular character in Little Witch Megu, Maria Grace Fried in UFO Robo Grendizer, and Michiru Saotome in Getter Robo. Yoshida would also voice Panther Zora in the 1995 PC-FX video game, Cutey Honey FX. Noriko Watanabe (Sister Jill, Mami) also voiced Natsuko occasionally for whenever Rihoko Yoshida was unavailable.

Honey’s goofy teacher Ms. Alphonne Louis Steinbeck III is based on a male character from Go Nagai’s Kikkai-kun manga. That same Alphonne also served as the basis for Akira Fudo’s teacher in the Devilman TV series. 

Ms. Alphonne was voiced by the late Noriko Tsukase, who had previously voiced Mr. Alphonne’s wife and son in Devilman. Although Ms. Alphonne appears in every other animated Honey series, this is the only version where she is voiced by a woman.

During the early production stages Seiji Hayami was known as Shun Kazami and was described as "falling in love with Honey, despite knowing she’s an android." He would also have a goofy little sister named Zuuko, who would question if she was really related to her handsome older brother. When the series details were finalized, Seiji became more of a comic relief character and his romantic chemistry with Honey was downplayed. 

Seiji was voiced by Katsuji Mori, who would go on to voice Dr. Kisaragi in Cutie Honey Universe.

Katsuji Mori revealed he had ad-libbed Seiji's lines during Honey's first transformation. Originally, Seiji had no dialogue in that scene.

Honey's motorcyclist form is called "Hurricane Honey" which is possibly an homage to Shotaro Ishinomori's Cyborg 009. The lead character, Joe Shimamura, is sometimes a professional car racer who goes by the nickname "Hurricane Joe."

Seiji refers to Hurricane Honey as kaminari musume (カミナリ娘) which translates to something like “thunder girl.” He’s actually referring to the kaminari zoku (カミナリ族) or “thunder tribes”, Japanese motorcycle gangs who were known for their loud and rowdy modified motorcycles.

Sister Jill is the manager of Panther Claw's Japanese branch and Panther Zora's younger sister. The "Sister" part of her name is likely a reference to a religious sister, circling back to Honey attending a Catholic school. In the original series pitch, she was known as Sister Zora.

Jill is voiced by the late Noriko Watanabe, who also voiced Junpei's girlfriend, Mami.

Black Claw’s name comes from the original series proposal, which described Panther Claw’s soldiers as being color coded. Potential opponents for Honey would’ve included Black Claw, Scarlet Claw, Cobalt Claw and Gold Claw. Each would have possessed a specific skill or element, for example, “Scarlet Claw” would’ve possessed fire powers. For whatever reason the whole color coded aspect was dropped but “Black Claw” was still used as the name for Honey’s first real adversary.

According to Cutey Honey Roman Album published by Tokuma Shoten in 1981, Honey's childhood memories are artificial. They were produced by Dr. Kisaragi because he wanted Honey to have childhood memories like any other human girl.

Dr. Takeshi Kisaragi was originally known as Dr. Seiji Tachibana in the original series proposal. In the original manga Dr. Kisaragi looks noticeably younger, has black hair, no glasses and a goatee instead of a mustache.

Originally, Honey was only going to transform once or twice during the first episode. Tomoharu Katsumata (director for episode one) requested that Honey use all of her main seven forms.

Some of the choreography from Honey and Black Claw’s fight is based on sequences from the Abashiri Family manga, specifically when the lead character Kikunosuke battles against teachers from Paradise Academy.

Junpei is based on Kichiza Abashiri from Go Nagai's The Abashiri Family manga. Kichiza is the youngest son of the Abashiri family and is a master of explosives. Junpei was voiced by Kazuko Sawada.

It’s probably worth noting Honey and Junpei are the only two characters to appear in every episode of Cutie Honey.

We'll take a look at episode two next week!