#jet black urban

[sparkles-oflight]

(20.09.2024) Get someone who looks at you the way Urban looks at Kris

[mogoce-nocoj]

krisgusti and urban_koritnik [x / x]

[rbf451]

Križanke Ljubljana 19.9.2024 zielonaherbata_ ig story 20.9.2024

[sneg-v-avgustu]

...dobr vem, kaj hočeš v resnici

(original videos from jetblackdiamondsofficial's ig story)

[kurooscoffee]

Ne odnehaj 🇸🇮 - Don't Give Up 🇬🇧

Miha Guštin - Gušti and Urban Koritnik announced today that they will record a music video for the song 'Ne odnehaj' (Don't Give Up) from Gušti's album 'Ljubezen osvobaja' (Love Frees You) in Križanke, so it's high time we start learning the lyrics by heart! I'm adding in an English translation because I saw foreign fans were interested in it! ❤️

💬❓ Are there any other songs you want me to translate from 'Ljubezen osvobaja'?

(Some are already translated on lyricstranslate here!)

[rootedinrevisions]

Cop Car

SUMMARY: You and Jake enter a restricted area to watch the planes take off. It's all fun and games until the two of you end up cuffed in the backseat of a car. Things only get worse when your dad, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell arrives on the scene. Loosely based on/inspired by Cop Car by Keith Urban because apparently my thing lately has been making fics out of songs.

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 3.5K

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87

The faint roar of jet engines reverberated in the distance, a low hum that vibrated through the night air. You were wrapped up in Jake’s arms, your back pressed against his chest as you both lounged in the truck bed, staring at the vast sky above. There was a thrill, a kind of reckless energy, in sitting just beyond the "No Trespassing" signs, so close to the runways where the Navy's finest pilots took off.

Your heart raced, though it wasn’t from fear of getting caught. It was from being here, next to him. You felt the soft thud of his heartbeat as you lay back against his chest, your body cocooned in his warmth.

“You sure this was a good idea?” Jake’s voice was low, tinged with amusement as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

You grinned up at him, the glow of the airstrip lights casting soft shadows across his features. “Since when have you ever cared about breaking the rules?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. “Fair point. But if your old man catches us—”

You cut him off with a playful laugh, turning in his arms so you could look up into his eyes. “We’ll be fine. I’ve got a plan.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a plan?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded confidently, leaning in closer until your noses almost touched. “If we get caught, I’ll just tell them how much I love planes. They’ll understand.”

Jake shook his head, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll get us out of any trouble.”

You leaned back against him, your eyes flicking up to watch as another jet took off, its engines roaring to life and tearing down the runway before disappearing into the night sky. There was something magical about it, watching those planes cut through the darkness. You’d loved planes ever since you were a kid—since the first time your dad had taken you up for a ride.

Sighing contently, you snuggled deeper into Jake’s embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back. The moment was perfect, just the two of you, wrapped up in each other. All the worries of tomorrow didn’t matter. It was just you, Jake, and the thrill of being somewhere you weren’t supposed to be.

“Hey, look,” Jake said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Another one.”

You followed his gaze, watching as a fighter jet lifted off into the air, its sleek frame disappearing into the starry sky. For a second, you imagined what it must be like for Jake—to be up there, soaring through the clouds, with nothing but the horizon ahead of him. You admired his ambition, his drive.

“What’s it like up there…you know when you’re flying?” you asked, watching another jet take off, its lights blinking against the darkness.

Jake’s laugh was low, vibrating through your body as his arms tightened around you. “It’s the best feeling in the world…besides being here with you.”

You smiled, tilting your head back to catch a glimpse of his face, the shadows from the runway lights dancing across his jawline. There was something about being here, just the two of you, that felt untouchable—like nothing could ruin this moment. It felt like the world belonged to just you and him.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted it—the glow of headlights approaching from the other side of the fence. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Uh, Jake,” you murmured, sitting up a little. “We’ve got company.”

Jake followed your gaze, his jaw tightening as the headlights got closer. A black SUV with the words “Military Police” emblazoned on the side rolled to a stop just a few feet away from Jake’s truck.

“Shit,” he muttered, sliding out of the truck bed and extending a hand to help you down. His expression was still calm, but you could feel the tension rolling off him as the door to the SUV swung open.

Two officers stepped out, their faces stern and their postures rigid as they approached. The taller one, a gruff-looking man in his mid-40s with a salt-and-pepper beard, was the first to speak.

“You two realize this is a restricted area, right?” His voice was sharp, no-nonsense.

You exchanged a glance with Jake, your heart thudding in your chest. “Uh, yeah,” Jake said, holding up his hands in surrender. “We were just watching the planes. Didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

The officer’s eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted to you. “And you? You got identification on you?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t on base legally, and you knew it. While Jake was a Navy pilot with all the right credentials, you were just the daughter of one of the Navy’s most legendary pilots. That wasn’t going to help much right now.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I don’t have any ID on me.”

The second officer, a younger man with a buzz cut, stepped forward. “Name?”

You hesitated, glancing at Jake before answering. His green eyes were serious, silently telling you to be honest. There was no talking your way out of this.

“Y/N Mitchell,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The officers exchanged a glance, clearly recognizing the name. “As in Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell?” the first officer asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

You nodded, your heart sinking. “Yeah… that’s my dad.”

The older officer exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as if already anticipating the headache this was going to cause. “Well, Miss Mitchell, you’re not supposed to be here. You’re aware of that, right?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Jake cut in. “Look, this is on me. I brought her here. She just wanted to see the planes. I’ll take full responsibility.”

The officer gave Jake a once-over, clearly unimpressed. “And you are?”

“Lieutenant Jake Seresin,” Jake said, pulling his Military ID card out of his wallet and handing it over. The officer examined it under the flashlight before handing it back, his expression still stony.

“You know better, Lieutenant,” the officer said, his voice low and stern. “You’re military personnel. You should know what ‘No Trespassing’ means.”

Jake clenched his jaw but nodded. “Yes sir, I know. I screwed up.”

The officer gave a nod to his partner, who immediately stepped forward and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “I’m afraid you’re both coming with us,” the younger officer said, reaching for Jake’s wrists first.

“Wait, is that really necessary?” you asked, panic rising in your chest as you watched them cuff Jake.

“Afraid so,” the officer replied, his tone almost bored. “Regulations.”

Your breath quickened as the officer turned to you next, holding out the cuffs. “Turn around, ma’am.”

You swallowed hard and did as you were told, the cold metal of the cuffs clicking around your wrists. The reality of the situation began to set in, and for the first time, a sliver of fear crept in.

Jake met your eyes, and despite the cuffs, he managed to give you a reassuring smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady, “it’s gonna be fine.”

You nodded, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the weight of what could happen hung heavy in the air.

The officers escorted you and Jake to the back of their patrol car, opening the doors and motioning for you to get inside. You slid in first, Jake following closely behind, the door slamming shut behind him. The inside of the car smelled like leather and disinfectant, the overhead light casting a dim glow across your faces.

You slouched against the seat, biting your lip to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all. Jake caught your eye and raised an eyebrow.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft as the officers stood outside making phone calls.

You nodded, resting your head against the seat. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

Jake exhaled, his gaze drifting toward the flashing blue lights reflecting in the window. “Your dad’s gonna kill me.”

You let out a soft laugh, the tension easing slightly. “He might. But hey, at least we’ve got a good story now.”

Jake chuckled, leaning his head back against the seat, his eyes closing briefly. “Yeah, some story. 'Remember that time we got cuffed for watching jets take off?'”

You grinned, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You know, we could try to make a run for it.”

His eyes snapped open, and he turned to you, disbelief written all over his face. “You’re crazy.”

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Maybe. But you love it.”

He shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “I do.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of the situation fading as the minutes ticked by. Outside, the officers were still making calls, seemingly in no rush to let you go. But you didn’t care. In this moment, sitting in the back of a patrol car, cuffed and facing who knew what kind of trouble, all that mattered was being here with Jake.

He glanced over at you again, his expression softening as he took in the way the blue lights danced in your eyes. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked, even in a situation like this. And for a second, all his worries about tomorrow and whatever consequences awaited him melted away.

“Your dad’s never gonna let me see you again, is he?” Jake asked, half-joking, though there was a hint of concern in his voice.

You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “We’ll figure it out.”

Just then, the familiar sound of car tires on the gravel made you both look up. The unmistakable silhouette of your father, Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, appeared in the distance, his boots crunching rhythmically against the gravel as he approached the patrol car. The blue and red lights cast long shadows over his form, and even from inside the car, you could see the tightness in his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. He was pissed, no doubt about it.

Jake shifted beside you, his relaxed demeanor faltering for the first time since the police had shown up. His face fell, the reality of the situation finally hitting him. “This is gonna be bad,” he muttered under his breath, glancing sideways at you.

You could only nod, your stomach twisting with a mix of dread and embarrassment. If there was one thing that had always been constant in your life, it was your dad’s protective nature. And now, seeing him storming toward the car—where you sat in the back, hands cuffed, with Jake beside you—it felt like you were about to face the full force of it.

Just as Maverick reached the car, the officer nearest the door gave you and Jake a nod, his face stern as he reached for the door handle. 

“Alright, out you two,” he said, his voice gruff but controlled. 

He opened the door, and the cool night air rushed in, cutting through the warmth of the enclosed space. Jake was the first to move. He slid out of the seat with a quiet grunt, his wrists still bound by the cuffs as he straightened to his full height. The officer standing nearby gave him a once-over, clearly unimpressed, before placing a hand on Jake’s arm to guide him to the side of the car.

Then it was your turn. You followed Jake’s lead, scooting across the seat and stepping out into the gravel. The moment your feet hit the ground, you felt the weight of everything hit you all at once—the flashing lights, the tension in the air, and your dad’s unwavering gaze locked on the two of you. The officers didn’t waste time; you were both led a few paces away from the car, standing side by side as Maverick looked between you and Jake with that intense, assessing stare.

Jake, to his credit, stood still and silent, his jaw clenched tightly. You could sense the regret rolling off him in waves. His shoulders were stiff, and for once, he seemed unsure of what to say. Not that there was much he could say to fix the situation.

Maverick’s eyes moved between the two of you, taking in the sight of his daughter cuffed and standing beside Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seresin. His frustration was palpable, but the way he lingered on you for a second longer made your stomach twist. This wasn’t just anger—this was disappointment.

The older officer cleared his throat, drawing Maverick’s attention for a moment. “Captain Mitchell, sir,” he said, more formally now, clearly aware of the gravity of the situation.

Maverick’s gaze didn’t leave you and Jake, his arms crossing over his chest. “What’s going on here?”

The officer quickly explained, outlining how they’d found you both in a restricted area and how neither of you had proper authorization. The moment he finished, there was a beat of silence. Maverick’s eyes narrowed as they settled on Jake.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” he said slowly, his voice deceptively calm, “care to explain why I’m getting a call in the middle of the night saying my daughter’s in the back of a patrol car with you?”

Jake straightened up, squaring his shoulders. “Sir, it’s on me. I brought her out here. I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t,” Maverick cut him off, his voice sharp. “You didn’t think at all, clearly.”

You winced at the harshness of his tone, knowing this wasn’t going to go over well. The officer standing beside Jake glanced between the two men, but remained silent. Maverick’s gaze shifted to you, and the weight of his stare made your heart sink.

“Y/N, you know better than this,” Maverick said, his voice firm but with an edge of concern. “You know what happens when you break the rules, especially on a military base. What were you thinking?”

You looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Maverick sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to the officers. “Can you take the cuffs off?”

The younger officer hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Sure, Captain.” He stepped forward and unlocked Jake’s cuffs first. Jake gave a slight nod of thanks but didn’t move otherwise, still standing rigid beside you.

Then it was your turn. The officer released the cuffs from your wrists, and you immediately rubbed at the sore spots where the metal had bitten into your skin. The weight of the cuffs was gone, but the tension hanging between the three of you was suffocating.

Maverick gave the officers a short nod, signaling for them to step back. Then he crossed his arms again, his eyes flickering between you and Jake. “You two are lucky it was just the military police who found you,” he said, his voice low but filled with authority. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if this got reported up the chain? You’re both smart enough to know better.”

Jake shifted beside you, finally finding his voice again. “Sir, I take full responsibility. Y/N shouldn’t get in trouble for this. She was just with me. If there’s any punishment, it should be mine.”

Maverick’s gaze hardened as he stared down Jake, a long silence stretching between them. Finally, Maverick spoke, his voice cold. “This isn’t about punishment, Seresin. This is about trust. You’ve got my daughter out here, breaking rules, putting herself in a dangerous position, and you didn’t think for one second about what that means?”

Jake flinched, guilt flashing across his face. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to put her in danger.”

Maverick exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he turned to you, his expression softening just slightly. “You okay?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the situation settle even heavier on your shoulders. “Yeah… I’m okay. I’m sorry, Dad.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Maverick said, his voice gentler now, though the tension still lingered. “But you’re coming home with me.”

He turned back to Jake, his face hardening again. “And you, Lieutenant… this doesn’t go on your record, but if you’re serious about my daughter, you’d better start using your head.”

The night air hung heavy as Maverick walked back toward his car, his command still lingering in the space between you and Jake. Though the cuffs were off and the immediate crisis seemed to be over, you couldn’t shake the knot tightening in your chest. Maverick wasn’t letting this slide easily, and both you and Jake knew it.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” Maverick called out, his voice stern and carrying authority, making it clear this wasn’t a request.

Jake, who had been silently rubbing his wrists, snapped to attention. He straightened up, his posture rigid, falling back into his role as a Navy officer. “Yes, sir.”

Maverick’s gaze hardened as he took a step closer, his voice unwavering. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to say goodnight to my daughter, and then you’re going straight back to your quarters. No stops, no detours. Understood?”

Jake nodded, his usual confidence visibly absent. “Yes, sir.”

Maverick’s eyes narrowed slightly, the warning in his expression unmistakable. “And Lieutenant… Don’t think this is over because you apologized. You put her in danger tonight, and that doesn’t sit well with me. I expect better from you.”

Jake flinched at the words, his jaw tightening as the guilt in his eyes deepened. “I understand, sir,” he said quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

Maverick held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded toward you. “Go on. Say goodnight.”

Jake exhaled and turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of regret and something softer, more vulnerable. As he stepped closer, he hesitated for a second, glancing briefly toward Maverick, then back to you.

Without saying a word, he pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you with a tenderness that melted the tension in your body. You let out a shaky breath, resting your head against his chest as the warmth of the embrace momentarily blocked out everything else—your dad’s watchful eyes, the police cars, the chaos of the night.

Jake leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead instead of your lips, a gesture that felt protective, as if he were trying to shield you from the weight of everything that had happened. “I love you,” he whispered against your skin, his voice rough with emotion. “This won’t change anything. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You nodded against his chest, your throat tight with unspoken words. “I love you too,” you whispered back.

Jake squeezed you gently one last time before letting go. You could see the strain in his expression, the regret hanging heavy in his posture as he pulled away. He gave you a small, reassuring smile as if trying to make everything feel less complicated, even though you both knew it wasn’t.

You reached out, pulling him in for one final hug, a silent goodbye filled with the promise that things weren’t over between you. Jake closed his eyes briefly as he held you, then slowly stepped back, his hands lingering on your arms for a moment longer before he let you go completely.

Turning away from you, he walked toward Maverick, who stood by the car with his arms crossed, his expression still stern but no longer as harsh. Jake gave him a sharp nod, acknowledging the silent tension that still lingered between them.

“Get going, Lieutenant,” Maverick said, his voice firm. “And don’t let me hear about you being anywhere other than your quarters tonight.”

Jake nodded, his voice steady but low. “Yes, sir.”

Without another word, Jake turned and headed toward his truck. You watched as he got in, glancing in your direction once more before he started the engine. The sound of his truck pulling away filled the quiet night, and soon enough, the taillights disappeared into the darkness.

Maverick let out a slow breath once Jake was gone, his rigid stance loosening ever so slightly. He turned toward you, his expression softening as he stepped closer, his eyes searching your face. “You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, filled with the concern of a father who had been shaken but was trying to hide it.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Maverick sighed, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pulled you into a hug. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he murmured, patting your back gently. “Let’s get you home now.”

You leaned into him, finding comfort in the familiar embrace, but even as you walked with him toward his car, your thoughts remained on Jake, his whispered promise still echoing in your mind.

[aoioozora]

Simon.

Part 1

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au Photo credit: quinci Note: Had 'Meddle About' by Chase Atlantic on repeat as I wrote this in one sitting. My first COD fanfiction. Enjoy!

Their hands squeezed against your arms and wrists. You tried to pull and yank away in resistance to their unwanted advances.

“Hey, c'mon, you're cute! You should come with us.” one of them said in a voice that was meant to sound silky and inviting, but came off as sleazy.

Words failed you, all of them stuck in your throat, a large lump of fear blocking them from escaping your lips, tightening within your neck like a balloon about to burst. The memory of self-defense vanished from your muscles as you pitifully tried to fight off three men who were  taller and bigger than you with your pathetic grunts and pleas to be released.

Upon the dark and empty streets, a distant hum of an engine, accompanied by a singular bright light which seemed like a firefly's glow, appeared to he approaching. You took no notice.

The hum of the distant engine grew about as loud as a cat's threatening growl, and the light as that of a strong flashlight. It still didn't catch your notice. 

The growl turned into a loud, deafening roar, seemingly at will, vibrating the still air like an earthquake. It caught all of your attention as it drew near at an alarming speed towards the four of you. 

The three men shrieked with fright, automatically letting your hands go in the process, and covered their faces with their arms. The growling, glowing thing screeched to a halt inches in front of them, sending the sharp smell of burnt rubber up their noses.

When the four of you looked, there stood a shiny, jet black sports motorcycle, upon which sat a rider. He was helmeted, also dressed in ripped black jeans that hugged his tree trunk-like thighs, a black leather jacket that tightened against his muscular arms and broad shoulders. The flickering white light of the street lamp cast a ghastly, ominous glow over him, making him look like some sort of ghost from an urban legend.

The three men recovered from their shock and opened their mouths to berate this biker for interrupting them, but before they even did, the biker flicked up the dark visor of his helmet and revealed his equally dark, glaring eyes. 

“What are you doing with my girlfriend?” asked the biker, enunciating every word, slowly, like he was holding back a dam's amount of rage. His gruff, gravelly, British accented voice was muffled slightly by the balaclava he wore under the helmet, yet every word was heard loud and clear as if they were spoken through a megaphone, and the three men immediately stepped back from you, knowing that messing with another man's girl would have dire consequences. 

You didn't know you had a boyfriend. Yet you played along. 

“Simon!” You cried as you ran to him, going behind the motorcycle and hiding behind his large body. You decided to name him whatever came to mind first.

He sat up straight on his motorcycle to keep you hidden from them as he balanced on the sleek vehicle which rumbled like a distant thunder between his legs. He glared at the three men. “Well?” he asked with a growl that very well sounded the same as the roar of his vehicle's engine. 

They simply backed off without a word, knowing they wouldn't win. The mysterious motorcyclist who you named ‘Simon’, stayed until the three men were out of sight while you still stood behind him, watching them leave. 

“You okay?” he finally asked you when the coast was clear, now turning his dark eyes over his shoulder, where you were standing. 

You let out an exhale you didn't know you were holding. “I'm fine,” You replied with some effort, massaging your aching wrists. 

He paused before replying; he could clearly see that you were rattled by the experience, considering how your eyes still looked apprehensive like that of a hunted rabbit’s. His eyes flickered to your wrists, and he looked back at you. “Did they hurt you?” he asked softly. 

“They just held me tight. I mean, my arms.” You exhaled again, the ache in your wrists easing slightly. Words still seemed to fail you, but they now flowed out a little easier. 

He seemed slightly taken aback by how nonchalantly you said this, like it was a common thing. “Bastards.” he growled in his very distinct accent, clearly not the posh British accent you knew. “This place isn't safe. What were you loitering around here for?” he asked, now holding the handles of his motorcycle as he leaned back and moved his legs, moving the motorcycle backwards so that it was now back on the street. 

You moved away to give him space, and then replied, “A friend of mine lives here. There was a party at her place.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he now leaned forward to cross his arms on the tank of his vehicle. “Do you want to get out of here safely without getting hounded by blokes like those?” he asked. 

“Yes!” you answered immediately. Somehow, you felt like you could trust this man somewhat, especially after he saved you and enquired about your wellbeing after that ordeal. 

He leaned back slightly and patted the pillion behind him. “Get on. I'll be your taxi tonight.”

You blinked. “Are you sure? I don't want to bother you too much.” 

“Look here, lass,” he started, leaning forward again, “I don't know if you know, but besides those cunts, there are muggers here too. And they all wake up at night. If you want to get out of here safely and not be a news report tomorrow, then get on." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, "I'll take you wherever you need to go.”

You were surprised by his straightforwardness, yet it somehow seemed apt for a man with a gruff voice and a fearless attitude. Not another word more, you climbed up on the pillion of his motorcycle with some stumbling, but the man was patient, and leaned his motorcycle to the side to lower it slightly, so you could get on easier. As you were doing this, you couldn't help but notice the musky, earthy smell of his perfume, which reminded you of wet soil, rain, and dark chocolate; a positively divine scent.

“What's your name?” You asked as soon as you were comfortably settled on the seat. 

There was a moment's pause before he answered, “Simon,” with an almost careful tone, as if he wanted to see your reaction. 

As he expected, your eyes were wide with surprise. It melted away slightly as you thought he was just playing around with you. "Come on, that's the name I called you by earlier. What's your actual name?"

"It's Simon." he insisted.

You blinked yet again. "What a coincidence," You said laughingly, "I could've never imagined getting your name right on accident."

“I confess, you surprised me there.” His voice trailed off at the end, as if he wanted to say something cheesy, but he stopped himself, remembering that you were a stranger and not his friend. He leaned back again, yet again moving his motorcycle backwards. 

You instinctively took hold of his shoulder to keep yourself steady as he moved. You tried to ignore it, but you noted how broad and rugged his shoulders were. 

“So, where d'you wanna go?” he asked, taking hold of the handles and twisting the accelerator, making the motorcycle growl. 

You told him your destination. 

“Not too far. Two minutes if I go at 150.” he said, as if 150 kmph was slow for him. But he looked at you over his shoulder, “You okay going fast?” 

“I've never gone fast before.” 

He figured. "Wanna get a feel of it?"

"Sure, I've not nothing to lose... except my life, if you don't drive safely."

He chuckled, and it sounded oddly cute, unlike his gruff voice. "Just trust me, lass. I'm not gonna turn you into a news report."

"Well, you saved my life just there, I expect you to preserve it." You said with a chuckle. It felt strange that you already seemed comfortable enough with him to joke around.

"Nothing to worry about," he assured as he turned forward and revved the engines again. “You'll fly off, so hold on to me tight.” He said with emphasis. 

“Gotcha.”

He got the wheels running, and started slow. The breeze kissed your face and your hair, and in the cool night, it felt freeing. He twisted the accelerator, going a notch faster. The breeze blew against you like a blow dryer, and you squinted your eyes slightly in order to see the quickly passing landscape of buildings, 24 hour convenience stores, and lighted street lamps. 

He gradually increased the speed so you would not freak out, an oddly considerate thing he did for a complete stranger, something he would not usually ever do. 

As the dial of the speedometer passed the 80s and crossed to the 100s, the breeze, now a gust, started to mercilessly slap your face, not allowing you to open your watering eyes. By this time, you had your arms around his waist and your face stuffed in and hidden behind his large back, holding on to him for dear life, while the smell of his perfume consoled your fears. 

He rode on, completely unfazed by this speed, but a little stiff at the fact that a person, a woman, particularly, was holding on to him. It was out of necessity, of course, yet he couldn't help but feel a little strange about it.

As predicted, in two minutes, he reached your destination, which was thankfully a busy area with people still bustling around the open shops like it was daytime. He halted to a stop where you asked, and you took hold of his shoulder again as you mounted off the high pillion seat.

“Thanks a lot, Simon,” You smiled at him. You took notice of the logo on his helmet that carried the Italian flag in a semi-circle; it seemed to stand out over the glossy black shell of the headgear.

He pushed up his dark visor, and the flag was obscured. He nodded in response as his eyes studied your face, taking in the contours of your features all in a brief moment. "How did the speed feel?" he asked.

"Exhilarating," You replied, feeling your heart thumping wildly.

"In a good way?"

"I guess. It was kind of scary, but I liked it."

He nodded, and in his eyes, you could see that he looked a little pleased by your answer.

“I know it's not much but…” You paused, putting your hand in the pocket of your jacket, causing the contents to ruffle against each other. You pulled out a small, hard red candy wrapped in clear plastic and handed it to him. “... This is a little something for you for helping me out.” 

He stared at the little candy on the palm of your hand, almost ready to refuse it out of modesty. But it was just a little candy. Who could it hurt? His fair hand reached out and took the candy, and both of you noted how tiny the sweet treat looked on his palm. He could crush it with his bare hands if he wanted to. Yet, he held it gently and stashed it in the pocket of his leather jacket, murmuring a word of gratitude that was barely audible under the two layers of his balaclava and his helmet. 

“Well, you take care. And don't hang around in sketchy places like that next time,” he said, as if you were his friend of many years. 

You were warmed by his concern for you, and you smiled, nodding. “After that, I don't think I'll hang around there at this time anymore. I'm sure as hell gonna stay over at my friend's place if I'm there till late.” 

“Excellent choice,” he remarked. “I'll be off now.” 

“Take care.” You smiled at him again, and his eye lingered on you a moment longer before he turned his head away. 

He silently revved the engine of his vehicle again and sped off. You stood by the side of the road, watching his figure recede as the distance grew. 

A sense of longing washed over you for this stranger named Simon, and you wondered if you would ever see him again. It was a strange coincidence that you unknowingly guessed his name so correctly, like unknowingly marking the right choice in a multiple choice exam. 

It all came back to you now. The feeling of his rugged shoulder and back under the smooth leather of his jacket; the coarse, gravelly growl of his British accented voice that felt like rubbing coffee powder between your fingers, rough yet pleasing; the scent of his perfume like that of a dark, wet, rainforest; and his eyes… oh, his dark eyes were brooding and mysterious. Under the shade of his helmet, they seemed like swirling little black holes, the gravity around them dense enough to draw you in like a helpless star. 

A shiver passed down your spine as you thought of him, making your cheeks flush with warmth as a distant look reflected in your pining eyes. 

You started your walk back home, thoughts filled to the brim, flooding like a tidal wave with this biker. You were left knowing nothing about him, except for his name:

Simon.

End.

Part 2

Comment if you want to be added to my taglist :)

[elegy-if]

For the very first time in years, you’re met with the scent of fresh air. No antiseptic, no lingering smell of blood, still so thick you can practically taste it at just the memory of it. You’re not going back if it kills you. Which it very well might.

DEMO: LINK (UPDATED DECEMBER 8TH, 2023.)

Nemisi is an 18+ modern horror/romance/urban fantasy interactive novel WIP. Play as a customizable MC, who’s on the run from Vicelie Labs.

The struggle between cosmic deities — now worshiped (or abhorred) as gods — tore its way into your planet not long before you were born. Unluckily for you, you were one of the first generations to be born exposed to Excinate, the name given to the radioactive-like sickness that comes from being exposed to magic not of your world. As your symptoms slowly got worse and worse, you were promptly ripped from your family after a doctor’s visit ushered on by your concerned parents. Since then, you’ve been shipped around and transported from facility to facility to be poked and prodded at.

Until now. No, now you’re free.

Aside from that lingering hunger for flesh you’ve had since becoming infected, of course. Just a little side effect from the radiation, along with a mouthful of jagged teeth and a jaw that can unhinge like a snake.

THE CAST:

Refs for RO skin tones can be found here!

Felix (he/she, bigender + bisexual): Curt, blunt, and too tired to deal with this mess, Felix really had no reason to suspect the lab next to gas station he works night shifts at had anything to hide. It’s not like the screams he heard coming from that direction were anything more than some kids messing around late at night, right? Besides, she'd met some of the employees of Vicelie Labs, and aside from the occasional lingering scent of blood, they seemed like just fine people. 

Okay, so maybe she did have a sneaking suspicion something was up. Not like he could do anything about it. Not until you show up, at least, crashing through the gas station door in such a tizzy you’d nearly run into it.

Tall and lanky, Felix often has a scowl spread across her face. He has tawny brown skin, dark brown eyes, and poorly bleached hair with quite a bit of jet black root growth. His hair is styled into a shaggy wolf cut, and of course one can’t forget the shitty stubble she’s refused to shave since it grew in. Felix has a body that might often be described as scrawny, or perhaps even gangly. A strong gust of wind could knock him over. Felix is most often seen in casual clothes; hoodies, band shirts, and jeans make up the majority of her wardrobe. Has several piercings; a bridge, septum, both nostrils, snake bites, and two eyebrow piercings side by side. She stands at 5’11” tall. Felix is trans no matter what. He will always use both he and she pronouns interchangeably. Please do not use they/them to refer to her.

Dr. Eden Neal (gender selectable, M/F/NB): Kind, but awkward. A doctor who didn’t know what they were getting into when applying for a job with Vicelie Labs. Fresh out of med school, the harsh reality of the labs was too much for them. They were assigned to examine you, and though it was hard to trust them at first (and even now) they were essential in your escape. 

While Eden seems to be a kind soul, your bitter side can’t help but wonder if their assistance in your escape was some cruel joke.

Combined with their soft, rounded features, Eden’s dark hair is in long braids, often pulled back out of their face into a ponytail. They have large golden brown eyes with thick eyelashes, and their skin is a deep brown, with a hint of a cool undertone. More soft than muscle, though they still have some tone and definition to their arms and back. It’s not easy work lifting and moving those heavy vats around the lab, after all. Eden is most typically seen in a lab coat, though they lean a bit more business casual once they start meeting up with you for check-ins after your escape. They stand at 5’4”, regardless of gender. Eden is black, with dark skin.

Sable (gender selectable, M/F/NB): A bit of an outcast, Sable is an extremely shy mortician, and one of your (limited) options for getting the flesh you so desperately crave. They spot you sneaking into the morgue one night, half lucid and drunk with the need for blood and flesh on your tongue. They offer to cut a deal with you — they’ll give you all the scraps and leftovers that they can get away with, so long as you give them any information you’ve picked up about the consequences of using cosmic magic. 

Are they seeking power, or just simply curious about the consequences of magic from a biological standpoint?

Sable is one of the tallest RO’s, standing at 6’2” regardless of gender. They have a bright shock of long, curly ginger hair, and their near ghostly pallor is covered in freckles and beauty marks. Most notably, they have beauty marks to the right of their bottom lip, as well as underneath their left eye. They have a long, roman nose with a prominent bridge and blue eyes. Their body is on the heavier side, with a soft stomach and thick thighs. Sable doesn’t dress to impress as they’re mostly surrounded by dead bodies, typically wearing neutral colored slacks and skirts. They occasionally spice things up with an interesting vest or tie, but are much too scared to stand out to do so often. They have circle glasses. Sable is plus size, with a pear shaped figure.

Eris (gender selectable, M/F/NB): A hired killer, and the only other option you have for sating your hunger besides Sable. You meet Eris as you’re hiding away from Vicelie Labs in Eden's apartment, drawn to the smell of blood from them finishing up one of their “contracts” in the apartment next door. It’s a mess of guts and gore, and you can’t stop yourself from indulging. After a moment of awareness, you go to turn tail and run, only to find Eris still there. They have an offer for you — they’ll kill for you, and you can have at their fresh meat. Certainly an offer that’s hard to pass up, considering your current predicament.

Perpetually masked, you’re actually not certain what Eris looks like behind it. From what you can see, they’re very sturdy. All you can see besides their build is their hair, occasionally peeking out from beneath their hood. It falls to Eris’ wide shoulders, and from what you’ve seen is a dark brown. They stand at 6'0" tall, regardless of gender.

???: You’ve only heard of them in passing at the lab — someone who goes after rogue assets, like you. According to Eden, they’re after you, and with a vengeance.

Good luck.

[sparkles-oflight]

Hello?! I heard this is the place to scream about Urban/JBD and JO?! I am so excited!! It was about time someone finally started sharing more JBD videos as well, I am so ready to make even more gifs of Urban! 🫠

Also just the thought about Kris/Bojan/Urban sharing a backstage again?! 🤭 Aahhh this is going to be so good

And yeah, I wish for them to sing one song together on the stage, please, that would be amazing 🫠

YES! THIS IS THE PLACE TO SCREAM ABOUT THEM!

Listen, all I'm saying is that the fanfic writers will have FUN! So many possibilities!

Urban and Kris are Urban Krisis, what would Urban and Bojan be? What about the 3 of them together?(Okay, I can't see that last one because Urban just looks like their long lost child haha)

JBD and JO Collab needs to happen now. We have 3 people screaming over it on Tumblr, so we have enough people who want it 💅🏽

[coldshrugs]

glamtober #02 - autumn

this is a summoner artifact skirt i don't see a lot, and i don't play summoner myself so it's been something i've wanted to use but can't. the patchwork feel and warm, earthy colors scream "fall" to me, especially paired with leather boots and a matching jacket. for me, the socks and leg strap (included on the skirt) are accessories enough, so there are no gloves or headgear here. sorry about the estinien cameo; he's wearing the millrise top (ink blue) and boots (bark brown), and the night of devilry trousers (mud green). he will probably be back.

items used:

head: emperor's new hat body: calfskin rider's jacket (N/A | raisin brown) hands: emperor's new gloves legs: arbatel bottoms (undyed) feet: urban boots (general purpose jet black | N/A) accessories: emperor's new set

[valkariel]

Sandstrider

I wanted to blend the hood with the capelet of the top to make it one big shawl/cowl, but the hood also looks really nice in default black too.

Head: Neo Kingdom Hood of Maiming - shale brown / chestnut brown Body: Augmented Lunar Envoy's Gambison of Maiming - default Hands: Virtu Reaper's Armguards - default Legs: Assassin's Brais - jet black / default Feet: Seigneur's Longboots - default / orchard brown

Alt Head: Neo Kingdom Hood of Maiming - default / shale brown Alt Feet: Isle Farmhand's Boots | YoRHa Type-53 Boots of Maiming | Urban Boots

Earring: The Emperor's New Earrings Neck: The Emperor's New Necklace Wrists: The Emperor's New Bracelet Right Ring: The Emperor's New Ring Left Ring: The Emperor's New Ring

Main Hand: Archeo Kingdom Sickle - soot black / ice blue Off Hand: --

Fashion Accessory: -- Minion: -- Mount: -- Location: Southern Thanalan - Sagolii Desert

Shader: Faeberry Bokeh

[sneg-v-avgustu]

...da bi te očaral spet in spet

(original video from RTV 1)

[racefortheironthrone]

Now you mentioned i, I am a bit surprised Smallville is prominently and consistently in Kansas? It's Smallville, Kansas. There might be others and certainly cities located vaguely within a real region, but it's definitely the first fictional town or city of D.C. in a real-world American state to come to mind.

So this gets to the weirdness of D.C geography. When Superman was first established, there was much less of a cohesive "universe," so if Siegel and Shuster wanted Superman to specifically be raised in Kansas, that's where he was from and the rest of the geography would have to work itself out.

IMO, this early slapdash approach to world-building has (over time) led to some things that just don't make sense to me as a student of urban history and urban studies:

Metropolis shouldn't be in Delaware. It doesn't make sense in terms of urbanization, given the context of an already-crowded Northeastern Corridor - Delaware simply does not have the capacity to sustain a city of 11 million people, and you wouldn't get a municipality of that size right next door to New York City (as well as D.C's other fictional cities in the area). The whole idea of Metropolis and Gotham being across the river/bay from each other has never really worked for me; you can still do Superman/Batman team-up stories no matter where they are, because Superman can fly and Batman has his own personal fighter jets.

More importantly, it doesn't make sense in terms of historic patterns of urban migration. Moving to the big city in search of the American Dream is a big part of the Clark Kent story, but historically people moving from rural to urban areas overwhelmingly go to the nearest large city, depending on how transportation networks are arranged, whether we're talking about train lines or direct flights or highways or bus routes. There is a reason we can track regional movements of black communities during the Great Migration, because who went where depended on which train lines ran through which states:

This is why I've always felt that, while Metropolis has aesthetically been associated with New York City, it logically should be Chicago. It is the biggest city in the Midwest, one very much associated with robber baron industrialists and corruption at the highest levels, and absolutely stuffed with art deco architecture for Superman to pose on top of. Up until the Tribune Company began to strip it for parts, it's also been a major newspaper town with a long tradition of muck-raking investigative journalism that would inspire a starry-eyed cub reporter like Clark. As one of the original transit hubs and the U.S' own "nature's metropolis," it is precisely the place that a Kansas farm boy would hop a train to, because all trains go to Chicago. Also, culturally I like it better that Clark Kent represents the City of Wide Shoulders whereas Bruce Wayne is the typical Tri-State Area Type-A personality.

Going back to D.C's bizarro Northeast geography, I likewise have an issue with Gotham being in New Jersey...if New York City is also supposed to be a major metropolitan area in the D.C universe. Just as Delaware would struggle to support a city of 11 million people, it would be very difficult to grow Gotham into a city of 10 million people so close to the gravity well of the Greater New York Metro Area. New Jersey is a pretty urbanized state, but its biggest cities tend to range in population from 300,000 to 100,000 - which works very well for a place like Blüdhaven, which is supposed to have something of an inferiority complex vis-a-vis Gotham - because a lot of the population tends to gravitate to NYC for work and eventually housing as well.

I've already said my piece about the lack of cultural specificity of D.C's Midwest.

As far as the West Coast goes, I've always found it a bit odd that Star City isn't where Seattle is supposed to be. Let's face it, the only place where Oliver Queen's facial hair would go unnoticed is Seattle. Also, Coast City is often depicted too far north on the map - if it's supposed to be a half-hour away from Edwards Air Force Base, it should be significantly more southern, down by Kern County and San Bernadino County, not practically up in San Francisco.

[dalekofchaos]

Mortal Kombat fancast(new)

Simu Liu as Liu Kang

Glenn Powell as Johnny Cage

Charlize Theron as Sonya Blade

Ken Watanabe as Raiden

Henry Golding as Sub-Zero/Noob Saibot/Bi-Han

Andrew Koji as Scorpion

Manu Benett as Kano

Rory McCann as Goro

Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa as SHang Tsung(Old, WHO ELSE???)

Tony Leung as Shang Tsung(Young)

Bill Skarsgard as Reptile

Iko Uwais as Kung Lao

Aldis Hodge as Jackson "Jax" Briggs

Elodie Yung as Kitana/Milenena

Zoe Saldana as Jade

Harry Shum Jr. as Sub-Zero/Kuai-Liang

Justin H. Min as Smoke

Brian Tee as Sektor

Chiwetel Ejiofor as Cyrax

Scott Adkins as Baraka

Conan Stevens as Kintaro

Dave Bautista as Shao Kahn

Eugene Brave Rock as Nightwolf

John Cena as Stryker

Jon Bernthal as Kabal

Michelle Yeoh as Sindel

Jade Cargill as Sheeva

Nathan Jones as Motaro

Doug Jones as Ermac

Because of Tumblr's stupid 30 picture limit, I cannot add more pictures, so here’s the rest.

Larry Lam as Rain

Jonathan Patrick Foo as Chameleon

Karen Fukuhara as Khameleon

Jet Li as Fujin

Sonoya Mizuno as Sareena

Brenda Song as Kia

Javicia Leslie as Jataaka

Anna Diop as Tanya

Jai Courtney as Jarek

Karl Urban as Reiko

Mads Mikkelsen as Shinnok

Hoon Lee as Quan Chi

Benedict Wong as Bo Rai Cho

Lewis Tan as Kenshi

Yvonne Chapman as Li Mei

Emma Myers as Frost

Peter Mensah as Drahmin

Derek Mears as Moloch

Charles Melton as Mavado

Ron Yuan as Hsu Hao

Alexandra Daddario as Nitara

Gordon Liu as Shujinko

Constance Wu as Ashrah

Donnie Yen as Hotaru

Daniel Wu as Dairou

Mahershala Ali as Darrius

Matt Smith as Havik

Dominic Sherwood as Kobra

Kristen Stewart as Kira

Tony Todd as Onaga

Ian McKellen as Argus

Eva Green as Delia

Tom Hardy as Taven

Mark Strong as Daegon

Ron Pearlman as Blaze

Jessica Henwick as Skarlet

Milly Alcock as Cassie Cage

Delainey Hayles as Jacqui Briggs

Mackenyu as Takeda Takahashi

Ludi Lin as Kung Jin

Winston Duke as Kotal Kahn

Tao Okamoto as D’Vorah

Jensen Ackles as Erron Black

Dafne Keen and Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson as Ferra/Torr

Tony Jaa as Tremor

Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje as Geras

Emily Blunt as Cetrion

Tilda Swinton as Kronika

[sundove88]

DBZ: Waves of Freedom Chapter 1: Where The Land Meets The Sea

Our story begins in the coastal city of Scalefall Bay, the very place where land and sea meet in perfect unison. But within the urban jungle, a tale of adventure and the pursuit of freedom will begin.

In a stuffy apartment near Scalefall Bay’s biggest company, Empire Oil Drilling Corporations, a young employee groggily sat up and walked over to the closet where a monochrome work suit lay. “Guess it’s time I start another day at work…”, he said to himself, taking out a hairbrush and combing through his jet black locks. Vegeta knew that this would be another work day at the oppressive Empire Oil Drilling Corps, with him straightening his tie for work and placing on his formal shoes, followed by him pacing out of the apartment he called home and onto the sidewalks.

But unbeknownst to Vegeta, miles off the coast of the city he dwelled in was something else entirely- a realm that even he couldn’t comprehend. For beneath the waves, a race of beings known as the merpeople lived in a society quite like our own, and if they ever felt like it, a merperson could shapeshift their tail into legs if they ever felt the need to walk the earth- and that’s exactly what one young merman decided to do. “Goku, Just please, be careful, and be back home soon, ok?”, said a mermaid as she flicked her tail, that being of a purple and gold Asian arowana fish, while her purple embroidered top flowed with the current. “Of course, Chi Chi! I’ll be back as soon as I can!”, Goku replied as he made his way to the surface from his home in the undersea city of Atlantis, his two sons waving goodbye to their father. “See you in a bit, dad!”, replied the older, Gohan as he placed down a waterproof book. “Bring back something from the surface!”, the younger, Goten, said as he picked up a hermit crab in his hands. Both of them shared their father’s sunset orange fins, and as their father breached the surface, he took in a moment to witness the morning sunlight bursting through the clouds. “Man, I’ve never been here before… and I’ve gotta pick up some stuff… but first, I’ve gotta find a place where I can shapeshift!”

Goku immediately spotted a safe area behind a large rock. As he concentrated on shapeshifting, an ethereal light enveloped him instantly, and he felt his tail split and instantly change into masculine human legs, as well as his clothing materializing into being. “Now that is better. Now to finally get some stuff for my family.”, he said as he laced up his shoes before heading into the fray as a human being. At the same moment, Vegeta was walking towards the headquarters of Empire Oil Drilling, pondering over what his future could be like. Another day at Frieza’s workplace… Man, if only he could give me a break for once! He thought to himself as he walked onwards into the black and white landscape. The scent of the nearby Seabreeze was the only thing keeping him sane that morning as he walked through the front doors of the building, not knowing he’d encounter someone who’d change his life for the better. Before he knew it, he was walking onto his office floor and sitting in a cramped office cubby with almost no room to spare, save for a window that provided a view of the nearby ocean, which made him long for the waves even more. In fact, Vegeta hated his job at Empire Oil Drilling Corps more than anything. He felt like a small fish trapped inside a fishbowl that was no way suitable for him, and he longed for the freedom that was the ocean.

After a very long and exhausting day at work, while everyone else went home to spend time with their loved ones, Vegeta immediately headed for the one place where he felt at home the most- the sea. When suddenly, he accidentally bumped into Goku, carrying various items for his family beneath the waves. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”, he snapped, before coming back to his senses. “Wait… who are you, and why have I never seen you before?”, Vegeta questioned. “Nevermind who they call me. I’ve gotta get home.”, said Goku as he made his way towards the water- with all of his clothes on! Vegeta watched in amazement as Goku stepped into the ankle deep water, placed the tote bags of his land finds aside, and the water around him immediately began to turn a golden color. Without warning, the golden water enveloped the young man in an instant, and he began to transform back into his true form. “Wait… What the hell’s going on…?!”, Vegeta replied, trying as hard as he could to block out the flash of light. As the young businessman watched, Goku’s clothes disintegrated into bubbles, his legs began to grow scales of orange, gold, and sunset, and his feet lost their shape and flattened into two perfect fins. As his entire lower body fused at the thighs and ended at the former ankles, there was no doubt that the man Vegeta had met mere moments earlier was a merman- and a real one at that. In a brilliant flash of light, the golden whirlpool dissipated, leaving Goku sitting in the ankle deep water with a gorgeous merman tail the color of the sky at sunset. Vegeta couldn’t contain his amazement. “Y-You’re a merman… A real merman!”, he cried.

At those words, Goku turned around in shock. Nobody had ever caught him in his merman form- until now. “Well, I guess it seems so!”, he said as he perched on a rocky outcrop, and Vegeta followed him towards it. “Sorry if I startled you. I’m Vegeta, employee of Empire Oil Drilling Corps over there.”, replied Vegeta as he sat down on the damp rocks, not caring that his pants got soaked- he knew that they would dry out. “Well, the name’s Goku. I’m actually a merman from the Sector of Atlantis known as Mazu’s Harbor!”, replied the orange tailed siren as he stretched out his fishtail after many long hours of walking on land. “A-A merman, eh? Well, do you actually lure sailors to their deaths with your super awesome looks and clear voices?”, questioned Vegeta as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Hehe! You’re actually mixing us up with sirens. They do that more than we merpeople do.”, replied the merman as he flicked his fins in the afternoon sun. “And are you utterly obsessed with your own appearance, to say the least?”, Vegeta questioned again. “Well, it’s actually the humans who are more into that. We value others for who they are instead.”, Goku chirped as he dipped his tail in the water.

The conversation between them dragged on long until the sun began to set in the sky. “Well, I’d better get back home- Chi Chi’s not gonna be happy about me being gone for this long, and so are Gohan and Goten.” Goku said, taking the tote bags in his hands and immediately preparing to dive into the ocean. “Wait! Kakarot! Who are those people you mentioned?!” Vegeta shouted as his new friend resurfaced. “Those are my family members! And I hope that you can meet them one day!”, Goku said as he disappeared beneath the waves, his bright orange merman tail helping him cut through the water. Vegeta smiled as he looked towards the waves, then immediately went straight to his apartment. Unbeknownst to him, he would end up going through so much more than he thought.

Their encounter with each other was only just a small ripple that would grow into something that would change their lives forever.

[maxwell-grant]

I’ve noticed once or twice among the pulp hero’s a dude with a crystal ball mysterio helmet in a dark suit. I can’t help but notice that what the Orb look is baller, it’s really distinct from other pulp characters he’s getting grouped with. What’s this guys deal and why is he so different from other pulp dudes?

(Meme on the left by Questionposting)

Ethel Knapp, twenty, stood in her furnished room and peered at the gas jet. For ten minutes she had been peering at it, trying to summon the courage necessary to turn it on—without a lighted match above it. She had no money. She had come to Great City from her home in Ohio to work. She had no work. She had no way of returning to her mother and father. But she did have a way of saving herself from further hunger and humiliation. 

The gas jet.

She raised her hand toward it. Startled, she paused. A faint rustling sound came into the room. Looking down, she saw an envelope creeping under the door. She took it up, bewildered, and opened it. Inside lay money— currency held together by a band of silver paper—banknotes totalling $200!

“I can’t bear to see suffering, Angel. I can no more help trying to alleviate it than I can help breathing. If there were any other way of taking money from those who hoard it, and giving it to those who desperately need it—if there were any other way than stealing, I’d take that way. But there isn’t.” - The Sinister Sphere

This is The Moon Man. Moon Man was created by C. Frederick Davies and appeared in 38 stories from 1933 to 1937 and was a cross between The Shadow and Robin Hood, a black-clad urban avenger with a unique costume who stole from the rich to provide for the poor and was viciously hunted by law enforcement and the criminal underworld for it, not helped by the fact that his true identity is that of Stephen Tatcher, the 25-year-old police sergeant and son of the police chief, engaged to the daughter of his worst enemy, a lieutenant constantly trying to get Moon Man in the electric chair.

There's three main things that set The Moon Man apart from the other costumed pulp heroes and Shadow imitators from his day: Number one is that, despite looking a lot like Mysterio, he actually had much more in common with Spider-Man than even The Spider himself, in that he was mostly an ordinary schlub driven to help others who had to constantly pull off precarious balancing acts to keep his job and his secret and his life. 2nd being that he is a far more socially conscious character than pretty much all of his contemporaries, dealing with economic inequality, white collar crime, and grey areas where business practices and law enforcement intermingle with criminality to trample the lower class. He's a Depression-era Robin Hood and the stories are dead serious about it.

And third is that The Moon Man is no gentleman thief or dark avenger: He does none of this for the sake of personal fulfillment or revenge, he isn't tabling fights with gangsters to occasionally do an afterschool special or make a half-hearted gesture at social commentary, this is just what he does as a baseline. He is far less preoccupied with fighting crime than he is saving people in bad circumstances, and the stories are highly preoccupied with the people he saves, and the circumstances that The Moon Man is saving them from. For a weird guy in a creepy mask who goes around in a black coat with a gun in hand, he's an unexpectadly compassionate and soft-hearted (even mopey at times) character.

A chuckle came from the silver‐headed man. “You’ve distributed the money, Angel?”

“Yeah. Got it out right away. And it certainly was badly needed, boss.”

“I know… You realize why I selected Martin Richmond as a victim, Angel?”

“I’ve got an idea he ain’t all he seems to be.”

“Not quite that,” answered the voice that came from the silver head. “He’s quite respectable, you know. Social position, wealth, all that. But there’s one thing I don’t like about him, Angel. He’s made millions by playing the market short, forcing prices down.”

“Nothin’ wrong in that, is there?”, Dargan asked.

“Not according to our standards, Angel; but the fact remains that short‐selling had contributed to the suffering of those we are trying to help. I’ve taken little enough from Richmond’s kind, Angel. I must have more— later."

Dargan peered. “I don’t quite get you, boss. You’re takin’ an awful chance—and you don’t keep any of the money for yourself.”

A chuckle came from the silver globe. “I don’t want the money for myself. I want it for those who are perishing for want of the barest necessities of life. What would you do if you saw a child about to be crushed under a truck? You’d snatch her away, even at the risk of your own life."

“Don’t think I’m questioning you, boss.” Dargan hastened to explain. “I’m with you all the way, and you know it"

"Yes, Angel,” said the Moon Man gently, “I know it. You’re the only man in the world I trust. You know what it is to suffer; that’s why you’re with me”.

The Moon Man lacked much in terms of budget or resources, partially because all of his money went to people in need, and he was under constant threat from the law and underworld alike, each more bloodthirsty than the other in how badly they wanted to mount his Argus helmet on a platter (he didn't even make the helmet himself, he mail-ordered it under his detective arch-enemy’s name). His father is a police chief with a weak heart, which adds an extra pressure to Stephen's secret in that it being revealed will not only lead to his father being fired, but likely dying from shock.

He picks hide-outs with creaky stairs as his main line of defense against intruders, his only line of defense is a gun, he pined over the love of a stubborn lady who initially detested his alter-ego, but eventually learned his secret and grew into a stronger person and even partner as they got engaged. And he only has one other ally he can trust:

He’d gone bad in the ring. A weakened arm made further fighting impossible. He found it just as impossible to find work. He’d drifted downward and outward; he’d become a bum, sleeping in alleys, begging food. Until, mysteriously a message had come to him from the Moon Man. 

Some day Ned Dargan was going to fight again. Some day he was going to get into the ring, knock some palooka for a row, and become champ. And if he ever did, he’d have the Moon Man to thank for it…

His main sidekick from the start, scarred ex-boxer Ned Dargan, was rescued by Moon Man from homelessness and starvation, and he was frequently named “Angel” as it was Dargan’s job to distribute the money, the narrative often filling the reader on the background of the recipients to make them not just anonymous victims, but real people with problems readers in the Depression era would have likely identified with. When we first meet them, Dargan tells him about a steamfitter with a sick daughter who needs money to pay for his kid's treatment, and a pair of kids with a recently deceased mother whose uncles can't afford to take them in and who will go to an orphanage without help, and The Moon Man promises money for all of them.

The main issue with the stories is that they do get a bit repetitive, but they're also fairly short and quick to read, and the strength of the concept, the assertive characters, the compassion, and the class dynamics that usually remain subtext in these kinds of stories, here becomes much of the text itself.

The Moon Man had a remarkable amount of continuity and consistency for a pulp hero, and only picked up more and more enemies that would constantly frame and target him with no additional allies. In fact, circa the end of the run, both his fiancé Sue as well as Angel are well acquainted with the Moon Man’s secret identity by this point and constantly beg Stephen Thatcher to give up his double life, warning him of increasing danger from both the cops and the mob, and in the last story, Blackjack Jury, he's pressured to give up his identity for good by the two and by how precariously his father's job hangs on him being able to capture Moon Man. The story and the character's run ends without revealing what decision he took.

Steve Thatcher lowered his head as though stubbornly to butt an obstacle. A wild scheme— his! He knew it. But, also, he knew the world— cruel and relentless—and he could not stand by and do nothing to save those who were suffering. The mere thought of letting others perish, while nothing was done to save them, was unendurable.

Beyond the written law was a higher one to which Steve Thatcher had dedicated himself—the law of humanity.

And if he were caught? Would he find leniency at the hands of Gil McEwen and Chief Thatcher? No. He was certain of that. Even if McEwen and the chief might wish to deal kindly with him, they would be unable to. The Moon Man now was a public enemy—his fate was in the hands of the multitude. Steve Thatcher would be dealt with like any common crook—if he were caught.

He remembered Ernest Miller’s daughter, who must go to Arizona or die; he remembered Frank Lauder, who must be cared for; he remembered Bill and Betty Anderson, who must have help.

“It’s got to be done!” he said through closed teeth. “Damn it, it’s got to be done!”

He walked swiftly through the night - The Sinister Sphere

The Moon Man is public domain and has seen some usage in modern pulp stories, but (as far as I can find) never really with the same bite that makes these stories appealing, and it's not difficult to see why the character, despite a fairly respectable run and a striking costume, remained mostly obscure. He certainly wouldn't have had any kind of 50s paperback revival without being heavily edited or rewritten entirely just in case somebody was maybe trying to trojan horse any commie talk somewhere, in a character whose main mission statement was addressing economic inequality and getting in trouble with the police over it. And nowadays, with Mysterio being so popular and "Moon Man" taking on a wholly different noxious meaning online, The Moon Man would require a slight overhaul of costume and a complete overhaul of his name, and unfortunately that entails almost making him a different character

The Moon Man stories were adapted into a short comics run circa 1940-42 where they completely overhauled his costume and changed the names, titling him The Raven, but otherwise kept the stories mostly the same. I don't have much of anything to say about him, but there is one additional bit of strangeness that followed The Moon Man's largely unsuccessful transition to comics: The Moon Man was never published in Brazil, but there was a Brazilian superhero in 1962 (which still predates Mysterio) with the exact same name and headpiece. Created by artist Gedeone Malagola who, upon being denied the opportunity to publish his own Phantom stories, simply erased the character’s head, added a cape and used a penny to draw a translucent globe for a head, creating a new hero in turn named Homem-Lua (Moon Man). The character lasted for a couple of years as a back-up on fellow superhero Black Ray’s magazine, before it’s end.

The only detail given about his past is that he was born in Brazil, initially operating near his headquarters in São Paulo before becoming a globetrotter. He lacks explicit superpowers, but is feared by criminals around the world and considered to be an immortal who’s been active for over a century, as many supporting characters in the stories claimed that their grandparents had met the hero. A master of technology who flew around in a personalized jet and was able to call upon the aid of indigenous tribes around the world, who believed him to bear the mark of a godlike entity or be said an incarnation of said entity (as a plot point it's as racist as you'd expect, but also gets a bit funny when you consider how the most famous of moon-themed superheroes this side of Japan, Moon Knight, would pan out 15 years later)

He's mostly a fairly cut-n-dry Phantom clone with some oddities here and there, namely: In one adventure, despite the character being supposedly a human, it was said that all who gaze on his face would die. He was never unmasked in the entirety of his run, and he had no compunctions about executing his villains, whether it was by burying them under a stone idol, breaking dams and letting them drown in the ensuing floods, exploding them, or outright sinking daggers into their chests. It's a very stark contrast to the pulp Moon Man, who preferred to avoid conflict entirely and would only use his gun as a last resort. Ultimately, they bear no official connection, but the strangeness of sharing the exact same name and trademark headgear. It's as if one ends where the other begins.

In some ways, I'd argue the original Moon Man is the purest wish fulfillment pulp hero of The Great Depression, because although eventually he'd take on more bizarre villains, the bulk of his stories are about this regular guy who goes around patching up wounds left by the Depression in a case-by-case basis and (barely) outfoxing and surviving repeated attacks from the powers that be only because he hides his true face from the world. He has no extraordinary abilities or resources, but he makes do as best he can with a ticking time bomb hanging above him.

As unfortunate as the character's present circumstances may be I absolutely think he's got what it takes to be striking and memorable and resonant in ways a lot of his fellow costume avengers aren't, and hey, the guy's public domain, so, if anyone wants to take a shot at reviving him or simply plopping him into a story, add another weird chapter to his history, nothing's stopping you. I simply have to believe there's an audience out there who may fall in love with a well-meaning bleeding heart trying his best who, with nothing but theatrics and smarts and a fishbowl helmet for a head, is driven to fight capitalism instead of Spider-Man.

With a strange, uncanny knowledge the Moon Man selected his victims. Those victims had climbed roughshod to power; some within the law, and others outside the pale. And the Moon Man called on them with a very definite and grim plan— for he walked in the eternal danger of a double menace. If the silent figure had any face at all, it was the face of the man in the moon!