#motorcycle boots 2023

[leathercollectionus]

Takaaki Nakagami Motorcycle Boots White

Takaaki Nakagami Motorcycle Boots White are the replicas of those boots worn by him in the MotoGP 2022 season and have particular features concerning the rider’s foot safety.

Takaaki Nakagami Motorcycle Boots White

[riconastyoutfits]

Get the look! Same company but not the exact pieces.

[iplayghoul]

let the light in

xx: cowboys! eren & onyankopon x reader . .

9.9k words — life on a ranch, porn with plot, tension, feelings, eventual sex, fucking in.. mud & rain, reader is referred to as 'she', 'girlie' etc, use of 'daddy', lots of spit & being dirty, reader is a country bumpkin, light arguing, thumb in ass, pussy spanking, spitroasting, cunnilingus, crying, some squirting & creaming, lots of shortened words & punctuation (country dialect duhh), not proof read sorry, awkward moments.

notes: been writin dis since december 2023... enjoy u guys :] rbgs appreciated

“hiya mrs. brown!”

worn out boots of marble cake pink and brown swirls, graze the dirtied gravel near the elderly woman's cottage as you slip from the horse. mary-lou, you affectionately call her, dusting her pinked moist nose with a pat before hobbling onto the stone path. over the horizon, the pastel orange and yellows of the sun threaten to melt into your skin, kissing it golden as the morning begins and so do your deliveries. 

golden-blonde, french curl braids woven into your roots fall past your lower back ending in thick, loose curls, some held together by bows and others hair clips. they bounced with every step. mrs. brown was the first on your list of deliveries today. on cool mornings like this when spring teases its approach, you often bake little treats for the other villagers. apple tarts, blueberry jellies, cherry pies with freshly picked fruits, warm buttery honey-milk breads and healthy breakfast muffins: all made with ingredients grown at home! but, we'll explore the garden later.

calling this a village was a bit of a stretch, realistically, a happy delusion at most. acres of farm property was shared by each of the residents whose homes were nearby, despite the farm areas creating distances of land behind them. tok, tok, tok! the haste below mary-lou's hooves pulled you back to your task as you rearranged the goodies and stepped onto the wooden plank. mrs. brown sat atop her rocking chair, crocheting a blanket you'd commissioned. a chuckle, “ [  ] , dearest, always in y’head, aren't yuh?” mrs. brown softly muttered, deep brown skin crumpled besides her lips, short pastel curls tickling her ears. hands busied with the neapolitan coloured yarn. her countryside twang was a pleasant aerated tone, reminding you of your own parents. 

you huff and offer a smile. “mrs. brown I've—”, “must I remind you, dearest, eleonora,” the playfulness in her voice offers it a quiver. “and let me guess . . . cherry pie?” thin, quivering lips stretch to a smile, your plump ones mimic hers as you nod with a sweetened expression. “yes, eleonora, I know how much y’love cherry pies n’–”, “and my grandson does too, y'know!” you stop to stare at her as she wears nothing but a smug look on her face, her head bobbing side to side with a ‘you know damn well’ manner. 

eleonora lived mostly alone. when her daughter married, giving her a sole grandson they'd moved to the city. luckily for her, and you, her grandson moved back on his own to the country. he fixed cars, motorcycles, tractors– you name it, he's got it covered. she said his name was onyankopon or, ony’. to be honest, you spied around one time to catch a glimpse of him. back when you first moved in and eleonora became immediately smitten with the idea of you and her grandson as potential lovers, you snuck around where ony's ranch was, peaking at who the man could be. you barely saw him really, the small flash of him you saw all greasy with engine oil was so far away! but infatuation always grew in you from a small bud, slowly growing before flower petals started spilling out your throat.

“are ya’ stoppin by him too, darlin’?” she pries further, “I ‘dunno els’ . . . y'know I haven't actually met ‘em right?”, “oh I know dear,'' she breathes, “ he's strong, he's tall, he surely is handy ‘round the house and- and he's not ‘onna dem toxic masculine things i hear ‘bout on the Internet! I think he's had a boyfrien’ b'fore, that must count!” she relieves your hands of the heavy treats while speaking, “eleonora . . .”, “c'mon darlin’, you've got t'get married someday, n’ imma’ be the flower gal!” 

all you can do is shake your head and accept the sweet kiss to the cheek she offers you before trotting back to your horse. mary-lou grew rather impatient! settling her brown and white spotted body to the ground awaiting your return. to be completely honest, you craved love. the partying, sex and relationships of college got old and moving here right after left you high and dry with the weight of ‘unlovable’ bearing down on your shoulders. the lack of men your age was . . . a troublesome dilemma but who were you to complain? you hiked yourself back onto mary-lou and continued your journey to the next cottage home. 

looking over the blueberry skies and whipped cream clouds kept you in grandiose delusions of a love so pure and sweet, like powdered sugar that you could indulge in, maybe one day.

♡

“down girl, down!” 

The rough, deep voice shakes the silence near the upcoming ranch. after your deliveries, you'd end up with a few apple-cherry tarts remaining, sometimes the neighbours are vacationing in the city, or insist you keep some! by this time, the sun shone fully now, its warmth tingling your skin. “awe, shucks, man!” another voice caused your brows to furrow, peering up ahead at the ranch . . . the one in which eleonora's grandson resided. from what you could see without the sun in your eyes, two men of tall statures– roughhousing with gorgeous horses. the one in the cowboy's hat was doing a terrible job of trying to calm one of them. their manes were a beautiful silky white, shining healthily under the sun as they lifted their front legs to the air before trotting around the . . . shirtless men again. mother would scold you now if she could see you openly ogling at the two, you push that thought to the back of your mind.

mary-lou slows on your command beside their ranch gate, huffing and happily shaking out her mane as she watches the other horses play. something possesses you to hop off with the remaining tarts, awkwardly shuffling to the fence– your pink-brown boots were worn mismatched to your strapless white lace top and similar mini-skirt. “uh . . . howdy there fellas!” both men turned to your direction, blocking their eyes from the sun and beginning to stroll over.

the closer view made your breath catch in your throat. the one on the left, you assume is el's grandson, his skin was a dark mahogany brown, he glistened slightly with sweat in the sun, deeply defined muscles prelude veins below his belly button then covered by bright blue jeans and black cowboy boots to match his hat.

he had a handsome face. 

thick two-toned lips spread to reveal a bright smile, a few teeth plated with gold caps as he teased the man to his right. this man had dark, black, shining curls that rested atop his shoulders, two eyebrow slits decorated with piercings, matching ones on his . . . pretty lips. his skin was a dusted tan, sunkissed tone and he wore black jeans atop his brown boots. You couldn't miss the tattoos that crept up the side of his abdominals, you were curious.

“how c'n we help ya’, miss?” the left spoke up and your cheeks felt hot, it's been a while since you heard that pet name, you chalked it up to the blazing sun. “well, uh, you're eleonora's grandson, right?” you nibble on your nails nervously, he nods, “I just . . . thought it’d be nice to give y'all these extra treats i baked.” pushing the basket in their direction and allowing the dark haired one to peep under the cloth, he had a mischievous look to him and he elbowed the other in the ribs with a slick smile, “wass ya’ name, pretty? ‘m eren, dis is ony’,” he pointed between them, “ n’ y’made these y’self, ma’?” eren pulls out a tart, staring down at you through long eyelashes, “oh! uh I‘m [  ], n’ yes! I did n' I grew all'em fruits m'self too!” you bounce on the heels of your boots, nervously.

ony’ stays mostly quiet you've noticed, taking in your outfit as well, his eyes raking over you. eren warmly feeds him a bite of the tart as their horses trot over to mingle with mary-lou. “how long ya’ been livin’ ‘round here, sugar?” ony’ speaks up soft and mellow, grabbing himself his own tart to taste. eren reaches out to pet mary-lou. “i guess it’s been a about a year now! y’see i moved out ‘round here after college.” you nibbled your shiney bottom lip, “what ‘bout y’all? your grandma talks ‘bout you all the time, but, i ain’t really seen you round here?” you turn to eren who makes a kissy face at mary-lou before turning to you. “i mostly tend to the farm ma’, as y’can tell, ‘m better with the animals than ony’ here.” he flashes you a smile and props his arms against the fence biting his lip and lowering closer to your eye level. ony’ playfully smacks his arm, flashing a gorgeous smile with his gold teeth sparkling in the sun, “shut up, man.”

you look away quickly, catching yourself staring at his lips, he certainly doesn't miss it. you totally push the basket towards eren’s arms, “y’c’n have the basket y’know i always weave more, i’ve gotta get goin, now,” you rush, “wait– take m’ number, pretty,” eren offers before reciting it a couple times so you’ve got it down. “n’ which onna’ these ranches ‘s yours, mama?”, you're mounting mary-lou once more, “it's not too far! it's the ranch with the blue fence n’ the pond out front!” 

♡

the days after that remained uneventful, with no deliveries of any kind, you preferred to remain on the ranch tending to the animals and house work. you'd never texted eren, only saved his number and stalked his contact profile . . . and opened his chat section many-a-times without saying anything. taking a liking to someone new is hard. you don't forget the many times a partner toyed with you, assuming innocence and naivity of you based soley off your appearance, then doing whatever they'd wanted behind your back. you were past that now, hopefully at least; the concrete walls you used to block others out wasn't something you'd liked to be reminded of.

padding out the back door, the coldness of the stone path chills beneath your bare feet. your toes painted with the cutest design within your artistic range, accompanied by the musical arrangement of your anklet. you pick up a dirtied bucket with the many things you'd needed to complete your chores for the morning, taking a long look at the expanse of the ranch. 

a deep breath of clean air, healthy green fields relieve your eyes of their stress; partly cloudy skies was the forecast! weather for hanging outside, the cumulus clouds indicated it to be the perfect day for fishing too! the pond was still, the little lambs were just waking up in their pen, the gardenias were blooming; the white dexter cattle mulled around, seemingly bored behind the fence. just as you begin to walk by with the bucket of feed, the cows behind let out soft, deep ‘mooooo’s’: a ‘good morning!’ greeting in their own way. each receiving gentle pets to their fur.

your mental list of duties was shorter today: pet the cattle, inspect the lambs & brush their fur, throw feed for the chickens & clean their coupes, feed the dogs, feed the fish.

you couldn't help but wear your best little dress to do the tasks today, a simple white thing that cupped your breasts just right. “oh, how are ya’ buttercup!” you squealed in delight as the silky white wolf dog rushed up to lick your feet, his opposite onyx counterpart, bentley offered a short bark to show her delight, sitting peacefully and obediently. she'd recently fallen pregnant with pups, confusing as you'd given both animals the proper precautionary procedures! while filling their food bowls, you couldn't help but be reminded of eren and ony’. your toes dug into the grass a bit, excited at the idea of . . . sharing your home with someone else again. both men seemed pleasant, highly attractive, but feelings always confused you. perhaps they were only being decent human beings to you, nothing more.

to be honest, you hadn't had the best history with relationships. it's part of– it's one of the main reasons you'd decided to move out to the countryside. casual sex was fine, yeah, whatever, you enjoyed it. however, when it comes to your relationships, you refuse to believe you attract shitty people. from making fun of how excited your are by things, to the way you dressed, wore your makeup, your hair, how you cry— the whole works had been used against you. there was only so much of it you could handle. moving away meant . . . fresh start, new people, new experiences. and most importantly, a place where everyone did as they pleased. as much as people think gossip goes around in small villages, the country area was mostly pleasant. neighbours traded crops for items, enjoyed each other's company and minded their own business.

sitting beside the pond, bentley and buttercup eagerly cuddled up at your side; the joy this life brought you was comparable to hot chocolate at the end of a winter day. now you think about how long its been since you could cuddle someone on a cold day. it probably hasn't been since your mother was alive. now was a good time to visit eleonora.

♡

a raspberry lemon loaf warmed your hands as the weather began to cool. the trudge to eleonora's ranch was tranquil, pleasant animals, butterflies and chirping birds kept you occupied for most of it. that is, until your boots dragged to a stop in the dirt, noticing a familiar face in el's front yard. 

onyankopon's hair was short, brushed into smooth waves atop his head and faded on the sides, revealed by the lack of cowboy hat. he was shirtless, once again, knee deep in the dirt of his grandmother's yard where he dug the soil for new plants. you swallow, nibbling a plump lip that made your mouth spring from the strawberry flavoured gloss. a colder breeze blew up under your thighs, blowing your simple little dress slightly; furrowing your brows with concern as you peered at the beautiful bright sky, you force yourself to walk up to the gate and begin to unlatch it. 

eren's grassy green eyes meet you first, his hands busily feeding a plump cherry into his mouth. pretty pink lips sucked them in, unwelcoming to the juicy red droplets that escaped the cherry. he licks his lips to pull them in. you take a deep breath and focus on not dropping the raspberry lemon loaf. “h-hiya everybody!” you greet, noticing eleonora seated in her usual spot on the rocking chair of her porch while observing the two men. 

you hold the loaf somewhat close to you and swallow hard, walking along the stone path of which both men were at either side of. ony’ in the dirt and eren manspreading on the front steps. you held eyes with the ground. “howdy ony’, eren, nice to see you two ‘gain,” you say in a pleasant mumble as you make way up the stairs to eleonora. “brought you this raspberry lemon loaf els’!” you look at her smiling slightly, caught off guard by that signature smug look she held. what insane thoughts about your love life could she be brewing now? the silence from the two men was noticeable too, you were sure they'd turn to look at you as you presented the treat for el’, “my, my! well doesn't this just look lovely!” she claps clammy hands clad in flower themed rings and laughs jolly. “ony’, son, could you get us some tissues n’ forks? oh- n’ eren darlin’ why don't you bring out the pitcher ‘f lemonade with s'm glasses.” the two men stand as she calls upon them, uttering out their deep ‘yes ma'am's’ as they towered above you in walking by. your eyes trailed them slightly before turning back to eleonora who never (not once) misses your silent pining.

ony’ wore his jeans low on his waist, the band of his boxers showed off its maker's name. eren, on the other hand, wore a white wife-beater below unbuckled blue overalls, leaving them hanging over at his waist. “so, have ya’ found y'self a boyfren’, honey?” eleanora asks somewhat loudly as the two men shuffle around the kitchen bearby and your eye widen. “now what kinda’ question is that els’?” you sputtered, “you know I haven't got one.” eleonora giggles like a school girl. you take a cool seat onto the steps. eren and ony’ share small smiles as they return with lemonade and dishes. ony’ takes a seat in a chair opposite eleonora, elevated above you whilst eren makes himself comfortable back in his spot across from you on the steps. raspberry lemon loaf is shared around with the cool glasses of not-too-sweet lemonade to wash it down, eating brought silence besides low groans from the two men who seemed to enjoy your baking. their groans were not sensual, but pressing your thighs together was still a must as a reaction to the unexpected sounds of pleasure. fuck, you felt like a creep. eleonora complimented your skills, asking, “[  ] , did ya’ grow these in the box gardens y'made?” you nod and swallow quickly, all attention to you as eren mumbles ‘box garden?'. ``yea els’, the box gardens ar’ doin’ great, but I've got some extra wood around I think I'mma try to make a few more like the boxes I bought from the market!” eleonora smiles as if she were expecting to hear you randomly bring up your recycling duties. 

“ony’, can't you n’ eren build those boxes f’[  ]? I strongly believe lil’ ol’ her shouldn't handle all dat’ wood . . .” you internally blush deeply at the innuendo and take the final bite of your slice of the loaf. eren speaks up, “y'sure right on we can, els’ . . . y'okay wit’ us helpin’ y'out ma?” he takes a quick glance up at ony, locking eyes with him who also lets his stare above you burn into your scalp. “s– sure, I don't mind!” you mutter out lightly and eleonora gives a jolly clap, “well ain't that just darlin’! the day's young, y'all can get started right now!” you have to hold your breath to avoid your last sip of lemonade going down your larynx. the two men mentioned how they're not busy the rest of the day and wouldn't mind before you can even collect yourself. somehow, coming over to eleonora always results in you being roped into another scheme of hers.

and just like that, you found yourself on a quiet . . . and awkward walk back to your ranch with the two young men following closely behind you. anxiety bubbled in your stomach, clamping your lips shut to avoid letting the insecure feeling from escaping your lips. the nerves were getting to you with every second that passed by. “s-so, uh– wassup wit y'all ‘round here?” they both walk up to match your pace. “oh, well, ony here prefers to do all the technical shit like– fixin’ cars n’ all'at.” eren shoves his palms into the pockets of his overalls, walking up ahead where he could look back at the two of you while talking, he maintains glances with onyankopon that you just don't seem to understand. “I prefer to stay on the ranch n’ watch the animals– y'got any besides that horsie?” 

“oh– yea i've got m’ horse, mary-lou, two wolfies: bentley n’ buttercup.” a sweet smile stretches on your face, tummy warming a bit. “oh! and I've got names f'all my fish in the pond, my little lambs– oh they're just the cutest! a–and my fluffy cows! they're lovely,” you clasp your hands in excitement, eyes following your footsteps, sputtering happily over the animals. “gosh, n’ I'm tryin’ out a little butterfly area in my front garden, but m’ not the best at it, can’t tame butterflies y’know— they pee on ya’ too! that's fuckin’ crazy,” you reveal with a giggle. as you look up to ask the two a question, you can't help but blush, embarrassingly at that. eren and ony stared at you with pleasant smiles, deeply dimpled too. “oh my, m’ sorry for my ramblin’ how rude of me–”,”no. no, keep talkin’ pretty.” ony's deep voice encourages you and you peer curiously at him: trying to figure him out. he turns away from you licking his lips and spares eren a look before he starts walking again. it urges you both to continue onto the ranch as well, eren shakes his head with a chuckle; he thinks he’s got a handful on his hands. 

“y’got a boyfren’ ‘round here, [  ] ?” eren brushes hair over his shoulders, asking the question calmly whilst maintaining a look up the path, ony’s arm brushed yours as he walked close by. “well– no, what about you?” you melt your lips together before stuttering out,”wait, not– i mean, girlfriend . . . well– i don’t care–!” ony barks out a laugh while eren turns around to give you a bright smile, all three of you burst into giggles. “nah, no girlfren’ or boyfren’, ma’.” ony speaks up gently, “but, uh– me n’ E’ might be lookin’ for a third to make us official, i dunno.” your eyes widen but ony gives a nonchalant shrug, handsome face glowing with a smug smile like he didn't just drop #thebomb on you. it reminded you of his grandmother, you look to eren who’s looking back at you and onyankopon with just a slight grin and your breath catches in your throat. “oh! there’s the ranch just up ahead,” you blurt out and skip past eren, scurrying over to unlatch the gate to your front garden as the two followed you in.

now your heart felt like it could melt. like– like a huge strawberry ready to burst! what did ony’ mean by that?  oh, how you felt like a dizzy little dove. luckily the dogs rushed up to you, excitable and ready to meet the new visitors who they eagerly sniffed. ony’ and eren were happy to roughhouse on sight laughing with the dogs and complimenting the patch of primula's you were trying to grow, the pretty pinki-ish flowers were just beautiful. you lead them through your home, overly conscious about each step you took while they surely eyed every nook and cranny of your decor. “um- y'guys need anything? I've got some snacks . . .”, “nah, we're good,” eren mumbled, sounding obviously distracted by their nosey observations of your living space. you hear the tone of your dryer going off just as you unlatch the netted back door that served as another layer next to the already opened wooden one. 

“holy shit,” ony’ whispered, your organization of the backyard was impeccable. clean and solid fencing around the cows, plants on the left with storage on the other. you left the two to walk out into the cold breeze that passed by as they observe the surroundings and the pile of wood waiting for them; all while you quickly rushed to the laundry room nearby to dislodge your clothing and stuff them into a basket. you hurry back out to join them.

“so, here's one of the other boxes i made,” you gesture to the dirty box filled with planted Spanish thyme, “i know it looks kinda wonky but, hopefully you guys can do better,” you offer an awkward laugh and sit on the back steps, legs crossed. 

eren and onyankopon share a look, then grab some planks bringing them more into your line of view with some of the tools nearby and sitting in the grass. even in your own home, you felt a little out of place. in silence, eren and ony’ shared alot of chemistry you didn't understand. despite this, what ony’ said on the way here never left your mind. “y'guys got alot ‘f experience . . . relationship-wise?” you scratch behind your ear. they worked separately lining up wood and nailing them into place, muscles working diligently. “mm, yea. ‘guess y'can say that ma',” eren glances at ony who hums low and offers you a small smile.

“it's jus’ that– ‘m thinkin’ ‘bout watchu said earlier . . .” you blink, fumbling, “unless that was like a joke ‘r somethin’—”

“i wasn't joking.” onyankopon confirms calmly, his jaw tight. you allow the silence to continue for a few beats, eyes flickering back and forth between the two and your hands petting the dogs that came to lay beside you. “we don't expect ya’ to jus’ trust us like that, missy,” eren offers gently, shoving his curls into a small bun and you nibble your bottom lip. 

ony's brows furrow and he's hammering the last few nails into his box before he speaks up. “how c'n we get to know you ma’? me n’ E’ been . . . chillin’ for over a year. since college, actually, n’ we been watchin’ y'too. w’dont expect you to feel the way we do in 10 minutes or even in a day. let us get t'know you.” you squint a little.

“y'serious?” your chest feels a little hot and you're praying to the gods you don't fuck this up. “c's i don't intend on gettin played wit’ ‘specially not out here, y’hear me?” and you don't mean to raise your voice a little, the sounds just flow out. “hey, hey now,” eren pushes his finished work aside and stands, tugging his overalls up, hands resting on his hips. “we don't got no bad intentions, sugar, chill wit’ us,” and you blink up at him, unmoved.

“m'kay, let's just say i decided to ‘chill’ wit’ y'guys,” you stand up, fold your arms and start, “what exactly are we g'nna do, hm?” you look back and forth between them, not missing the way your buttercup whines on the steps where she lay, evidently fed up with all the chatter. “y'got 3 seconds n’ don't say sex. one,” 

“who said anythin’ ‘bout sex?” ony’ joins you two as he puts the tools down, “two,” “yea, y'better shut that shit up. let's bake sumn together, show us around y'day, hang wit’ us at our ranch, talk about shit. fuck y’mean sex?” you stubbornly stay silent and stare. eren’s jaw bone pokes out with the way he clenches it. “we're not lookin’ for sex. if we wanted sex from you we coulda seduced you a long time ago, sugar,” he shrugs with a smile and you lick your lips, sighing. “okay, ‘m sorry. I’–I'm such a bad host,” you mutter out, “y'all want anything to eat? or some water.” you hear a low ‘okay’ from ony’ so you shuffle away to the kitchen to grab some bottles for them.

you tried to focus on the coldness of the bottles on the way back as a way to cool your temperament. “i moved out here wit’ intention ‘f startin’ fresh n’ shit.” you start, tossing them bottles before plopping yourself beside buttercup who nuzzled her cold nose into your thigh. the two men were sitting once again, evidently having spoken to each other in your absence.

your voice was shaky as you took a deep breath, garnering the courage to speak up for how you felt, “i'm tired of gettin’ dogged out, n’ played wit’ n’ allat bullshit.” you pout.

“‘m not exactly sure how gettin’ involved wit’ two handsom’ fellas is gonna help me figure out to– to i dunno, regulate m’ emotions.” you frown and shove some braids back behind your ear, “s’ like i damn near avoided it– i moved back t’the country damnit.” a sigh, “i cant just figure out how to adore n’ love– people again or if i'mma be able t'dish it out as much as before.”

“you get what i mean?” your ramble ceased as you finally look up from your focus on your knees and look back and forth between ony and eren. ony chuckles softly while eren offers you a smile and speaks up.

“we'll take it slow, you'n gotta ‘love’ anybody yet, mama,” ony nods at his words, “gotta build a friendship wit'chu first, we not playin’ ‘round.” 

♡

a week or so passes in which life goes by as normal. you spend your days busying yourself with gardening and grooming your animals, baking treats and new concoctions. the only exception is eren and onyankopon have somehow easily squeezed themselves into your life.

on your deliveries you hear, “howdy, ma',” they chase across their lawn and hop across the fence to drag you inside and sit you down in the warm house where the two eagerly pester you to try the . . . ‘shrimp alfredo’ they whipped up. 

thus, the two would end up in your kitchen, breathing over your hair whilst you instructed them on the proper technique. “naw, i don’ told E to do all'at,” onyankopon protests. so too do they pester mary-lou and your dogs, roughhousing and giving them baths much to their dismay.

through many experiences you learn, onyankopon isn't particularly fond of being tickled, or of wearing shirts. he stays shirtless almost all twenty-four hours of the day and you can only avert your eyes. eren is obsessed with overalls and has an array of them: gray ones, distressed ones, short ones, and he never buckles them properly.. on the ranch, the two gorgeous white haired horses were named armin and reiner, two friends they shared from college. sparkling like diamonds as you're given the opportunity to ride them each around the boys’ ranch in the golden sun. you'd also learned that the two were sexually . . . fluid, they'd called it. vaguely, they'd mentioned their sex lives and based on what they said you couldn't help but assume they were talking about each other. who else was there out here except you?

“yeeehaw! can't catch up, can'ya’?” eren howls and shouts as he trots across the ranch on his horse, ony lagging behind in the chase. here you sat on a wooden little bench near the steps of ony' and eren's ranch; clad in a simple white cropped tank and blue jeans with a chunky belt, your cream coloured cowboy hat sit pretty atop your head. a pretty calico cat licked at your bare feet and nudged you for pets. 

at this point, you felt yourself slipping. it was obvious by now you'd grown to enjoy each other's company and serious conversations were imminent.

what were we, how will the dynamics work, what would they expect from you? just then you felt a tap to your forehead.

“heya, girlie,” eren squats down before you to grab your attention, “watchu, thinkin’ ‘bout,” ony’ mumbled, toying with a toothpick between his teeth. 

you smack glossy lips together, “jus’. . . ‘bout us three y'know? how- like, where do we go fr'm here huh?” your eyes flutter, cheeks warming. you feel the silence actually, eren and ony’ are doing that stupid thing where they talk to each other with their eyes. 

butterflies flap their wings about, joyous as ever. it makes you smile a little, as you're beginning to grow nervous. “let's talk inside ma’,” onyankopon suggests, stepping past you into the house where eren follows. 

“me n’ ‘ren c'n take care ‘f each other n’ you, know that?” 

you all shuffle onto the dark gray couch in the living space. ony’ and eren's ranch had a deep modern aesthetic. dark oak accents adorned both the outside and inside, complimented by gray and brown shades of furniture. 

“i know that . . . ,” you pout, 

“so wassup,” eren stares you down, the emerald swirl of his eyes warmed your belly yet you couldn't maintain eye contact with him for long, eren just had that kind of stare without realizing it himself.

“‘m g'nna be frank, ion wanna impose on nothin’ y'folks got . . . n’ my past relationships ain't been the best.” you huff and continue, “‘m jus’ puttin’ that out there. i feel like we've been talkin’ for a while n' I'm fond of y'all.” 

“i jus’ don't wanna be the one to mess things up,” you finish in a whisper. 

onyankopon hums low and eren plays with his lip ring, “n’ das’ all, girlie?” he asks and pursed his lips, dimple deepening at that. you give a nod and a small ‘yup’ while intertwining your hands onto your knees that were pressed together. “y’ talk to us, we talk to you, got that? if it's an issue y'got: don't hesitate to let us know,” ony’ iterates.

eren makes a noise of agreement, “y’communicate everythin’ wit us, sugar, we're serious,” and you nod slowly. “‘kay . . . i get that,” your eyes feel a little wet with emotion, ones you're not too sure of yourself.

you were happy to hear them affirming their commitment yet still anxious for the future. regardless, you couldn't help but lurch forward, you grab the back of eren's neck to press a sweet strawberry jelly flavoured kiss to his cheek, leaving a baby pink glossy print on his cheek along with a loud ‘mwah’ as you smiled. similarly, you crawl over his lap to do the same to ony’ who only bit back a grin, gold capped teeth glistening in the light much like the glossed smudge on his face.

♡

inevitably came the days you'd call the ‘honeymoon’ phase in a relationship, except it lasted what felt like forever.

these days you preferred to be cuddled up in your bedroom, legs being warmed by a black, gray and white blanket you were committed to crocheting. with a couple dark, gloomy days where the usual creamy clouds frowned down on you, the animals often retreated to their pens and little beds of hay to seek warmed from stormy weather. buttercup and bently invaded each others personal space in their dog beds down at the living room, you smile a little at the thought.

“yeen gotta be like that, ony’,” you hear eren groan in a mischievous pout as the two men exit your bathroom smelling of your bath soap. onyankopon mumbles something of ‘’s a stupid idea’. you giggle under your breath, hands hard at work weaving and looping the thick yarn for the blanket. 

“ [  ] , watchu’ think, sugar?” eren plops himself onto the bed, “hm?” still fixated on your progress, ony’ huffs from his seat on the ottoman, lotioning his chest and arms then turning back to rub some excess onto eren's foot. “i told ony’, let's take the horses f’ a ride, ma’, he talkin’ bout ‘oh it's rainy’, i think it'll be chill,” he smiles big and winks expecting something of an applause for his great idea of fun.

“ion mind whateva’ y'guys wanna do, jus’ once we shower ‘gain after, ‘fore we get sick,” you shake your head at the thought. ony’ smacks his teeth, “c'mon, don't support him.” 

“what, playin’ in the rain is fun, baby!” you chuckle, eren simply props his head on his palm, enthralled by your meticulous work. regardless, he nods mindlessly in agreement at the discussion.

just like that, cowboy hats and boots were thrown on and you head down to the stables to round up the horses. ony’ and eren raced each other down to them before you could even get a word in. the thought reminded you of buttercup and bently who currently settled and slept with one's head atop the other.

the fresh rain smell hits your nostrils quickly, smelling of the humidity off the grass and pitch of the street. you could audibly hear the wind bristling about the bushes as it cooled your skin. all you wore was a thin white tank top, jeans along with your classic pink-brown boots to match your hat. eren and ony’ warmed up the horses, encouraging mary-lou to shake out her mane and trot a little. onyankopon was seated by reiner, rubbing at his legs to warm him a bit and doing the same to armin. of course, you stare unabashedly, his muscles (unclothed) bulged with each motion, waistline visible amid his jeans.

you stare so much so, that you don't even notice eren come up to your side to press a wet kiss to your neck, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and gives your ear a kiss too, “starin’ at my man, girlie?” he laughs boyishly and you swat him, “dat’s m’ man too, freak,” he gasps falsely at the insult and you speed off to grab the harness for mary-lou; ony’ pretends he didn't hear the bickering and mounts his horse.

“s’ not rainin’ all too much now, see?” eren comments, scooping his hair back into a low bun under his hat. the three of you clicked and clocked through the damp grass and onto the street, letting the drizzle of rain moisten your skin with each speckle. you gnaw at your bottom lip, lost in thought as you trail behind the two men. at the same time, another cold gust would brush past you three, drying your skin again. yet, as you flinch when a particularly large droplet mands on your cheek, the rain picks up again and you smile.

sometimes moments like these felt so good, connecting with nature and taking in the beauty of the weather. it didn't stop you from being distracted, eren's white wife-beater was getting soaked. the tattoos creeping up his side peaked through the material and stared right back at you. you bitr back a groan and cover your warming face with your palms, wiping it clean of rain, while eren and onyankopon fall back on their horses. the peaceful silence with nothing but the ‘tock’ of the horses’  hooves kept your mind wandering. 

now drenched, you could only imagine peeling off these clothes, a strap of your flimsy little tank top blew off your shoulder, and you felt the material sticking to the bulge of your breasts nestled in your black bra that now stood out ten times as much. god, you felt like a fuckin’ pervert. you couldn't even bring yourself to look down at your own chest, feeling scandalized enough. something about thinking of yourself in . . . near erotic situations such as this made your clit thump like a sweet little rabbit's nose.

nonetheless, you ignore it and allow the rocking atop mary-lou as she walks to distract you. onyankopon rides his horse nearer to yours and eren does the same, you gasp under your breath when ony’ nudges you. “wassup,” he murmured, “nothin’ ‘m jus’ distracted.” you comment plainly and eren huffs out a laugh beside you. 

all you do is stare down at mary-lou and pet her mane, the pulse between your legs pushed to the back of your mind. “y'so bad at lyin’, know that?” eren laughs, you blush and groan, “no ‘m not, shut up,” 

“chill, chill,” ony’ whispers, in his stupid, sexy, amazing, deep voice and you let out a big shuddering breath. as you're riding you feel ony's wet bicep brushing against yours. this had to be the end of you.

ony’ reaches an arm behind you, stretching to meanly pinch eren's shoulder. you're not sure what that meant but you didn't care to know. “where we ridin’ to?” you ask, rubbing glossy lips together. “mm, let's jus’ head to me n’ ony's ranch,” 

“kay,” you settle with that, sweet n’ soft.

“wanna race, jaeger?” ony’ slips in lowly, pulling ahead and looking back at you two with his. . . stupid handsome smile, “h- hey now, let's not–” and you're interrupted by shouts, “let's go!” eren pulls off.

you groan softly, hiking up mary-lou’s harness a bit as you begin to gallop behind the two men. the raindrops stung against your skin and you whined trying to catch up to the two and your breaths harsh. with each hard breath you let out you couldn't help but let it bubble up into laughter, you just felt so good. 

you felt giddy, blinking away raindrops that attacked at your eyes and racing past the two men, who yelled and called out to you, “yo, ma’ we gon' catch up,” ony's cowboy hat flies back behind his head, held up by the string beneath his string as he pulls the white horse forward chasing after you.

the three of you speed past grunge fencings and rosey bushes all bowing their heads now from the deluge. your tank top was completely soaked, and you imagine so was eren's when you pulled in the gates of their ranch and headed around back where you could free mary-lou to run around in the fenced horse enclosure.

you sit on the ground and linger near the side of the house by some plants, boots kicking about scattered hay and picking up sticky mud. eren and ony’ pull in the same time, wet chests heaving and eyeing you as they quickly hop off and lead their horses to the enclosure. “you win, watchu want?” eren huffs out, swinging his hat off and tossing it to the side, letting the rain seep into his curls. “hm?” you moan while rain kisses you, “i get a prize?” 

he nods and slumping down against the wall next to you and propping his arm on a plant. you take the time to stare at his pecs . . . light brown nipples peaking through at you. eren catches you staring, it forces you to look away quick and brush a wet braid out of your face just as ony’ arrives.

“yall chillin’?” 

“yea . . . mama's chillin’ alright,” eren smiles up at ony who lays in the grass beside you. “she baskin’ in her– win,” eren laments, reaching forward to tickle you and you bark out laughter lurching at him. his fingers pet your ribcage and you grab eren's shoulders, “what the– fuck! eren!” you squeal and wrangle with him. ony’ sits in the wet dirt beside you guys with his hands resting behind his head, basking in the rain and ignoring the shoves and pushes nudging him.

“i swear t’ god ‘ren, you– ack!” eren flips you on your back and you land hard with your head on ony's thigh while he wrangles your hands above your head. digging your feet in the ground for leverage couldn't help with the mud slipping beneath you. onyankopon only hums in amusement, watching you stop struggling beneath eren, your chests bouncing with gasps of air.

“you . . . y'know that's not fair, eren,” “i know what's not fair, sugar?” he stares you down, grip on your wrists tight with his chest pressing against yours. the swell of your breasts popped out of your tank top, glistening and sticky when it touched his skin. “mmm, you want somethin’?” he sucks his lip rings into his mouth teasing you, eyes wide and glossed over, throat drying. you lick your lips and slip from his grasp, sitting up and leaning your back onto ony's chest. just as you make that decision you swallow hard feeling his wet chest through your thin top. you wipe some wetness off your forehead evidently applying some mud that was on your arm to the spot.

you catch your breath, rubbing dirtied arms onto your shirt to clean them as best you could. you felt filthy but god, your fat little cunt ached laying in the dirt. 

“onyan'” you call out to the man behind you with your eyes trained on eren who simply sits back smiling impishly at you, “yea, sugar?” 

“wan’ m’ prize,” it comes out in a whine.

“yeah? ‘n what's that gon’ be,” he murmurs low in your ear, eren still hears him. you let out a ‘hmph!’ deep in your throat. then, you drag dirty hands against your tank top before peeling it off you and above your head, tossing it into some grass elsewhere.

crawling on your knees, ass arching in ony's direction, you gesture to eren with a finger, “come here, c'mon,” and you grab the back of his neck, kissing up his sweaty wet throat licking and sucking up anything your mouth touched. you press your lips to eren's, cold wet metal between you two when you let his tongue into your mouth, sucking it up when your lips lock hot.

eren groans into your mouth, hand gripping at your ass concealed by your jeans and he falls back into the mud. you reveled in the slick sound of your lips separating from each other, tuning out how soaked your jeans were getting in the rain. the ambient pelting sound on the rooftops only edged you on further, sitting in eren's lap.

“fuck, you're nasty,” eren mumbles against your lips when you pull away for a second, fingers toggling with the buttons on his jeans. he resists a big smile, elbows resting in the muddied dirt to hold himself up while you roughly tug his jeans down a bit. just enough room for you to reach his dick.

“see how she treatin’ me, ony'?” eren wipes rain off his nose, locking heavy-lidded eyes with onyankopon then down at you, “she roughin’ me up ‘cause she won,” he grumbles and you pull his cock out.

eren flinches when his dick is exposed to the rain, tan-brown tip oozing pre mixed with droplets. your knees dug into the mud beneath you, ass arching up. you stare shamelessly at eren's dick, letting the saliva build up about your tongue while you press a few kisses to the tip. his breath shudders above you, leaning his head back for the rain to fall on his face. “c'mon, pretty, do watchu want,” you grip him tight, feeling like your palm could memorize the girth and veins that popped out. then, tugging him up slightly, you slot your mouth in the gap between the bottom of his dick to his balls. sucking on the skin, you let you built up salivation drip down his balls, slurping the heavy sack onto your tongue.

you suck eren's balls into your mouth, swirling your tongue around mounds and his mouth drops open revealing his tongue ring. he grins, giving you a loud shameless groan, he was certainly showing off for ony’ who sit behind you watching. “suck it like dat, yea,” eren mumbles to you, licking the rainwater off his lips. he lets you have your way a bit more, focused on your features: the way the rain made your eyelashes clump together, the droplets sliding down your nose, to the spitty goop around your mouth all over his balls.

“c'mon, c'mon,” he pulls your mouth off him with a hand gripping the base of your hair, licking the splittle off your chin then kissing it into your mouth and swallowing your whines. “y' fuckin’ nasty, jaeger,” onyankopon mutters lowly behind you and eren bites back a smile. “filthy ass, take that shit off,” you up off your knees, flopping back on your ass where you fiddle with the buttons on your jeans. 

your cheeks burned, both eren and ony's eyes grilled into you and everywhere you touched got streaks of mud in it after having your hands dig into the sopping ground. on your arms, your boobs, eren's shirt. slowly, you shucked your jeans down, slipping them past your ankles along with your boots. your panties were stuck up your ass when you sit in some wet patches of dirty hay, tossing the jeans aside realizing you wore significantly less than the other two men with rain beating all over you.

eren and ony’ share a look then eren's the first to lurch forward gripping your legs with his muddied hands, pushing you back to lay in the dirt and kissing about the clear parts of your belly. he nips at the swell of your breasts in your bra, sucking and kissing wherever he saw fit. “er– eren,” he's prying your legs apart, pushing them ‘till your knees were besides your ears. “eren, stop–,” then he's plucking your panties out your ass and sliding them up your thighs, he stretches the thin little things beyond repair to sling them off your ankles. “what the fuck,” you whisper, eren's fucking unreachable n’ you're both staring at your fat puffy cunt. he takes a second to look to the side at ony’ before returning his attention to your pussy, sprinkles of water sliding down, yet the blubber of slick collected between your lips was noticeable.

the pretty thing was so fat your hardened clit could barely peak through. eren dips his tongue deep, digging at your hole then dragging his tongue through your folds illiciting a low gasp. the cold metal bar in his tongue nudged at your clit. he curled his tongue around the bundle of nerves, giving it a few flicks before spitting and licking another strop up your cunt. “feels– fuckin’ good, eren, oh,” you whimper, his gentle motions paired with the ambient beating of rain against your skin had you on a high. he shakes his head side in your cunt, arousal making sticky strings beside his cheeks as his nose nudges the fat of your pussy. “holy shit,” you press your head into the soft ground beneath you, eyelids fluttering shut when eren suckles softly on your clit. you hum and moan, licking your lips and feeling your head spin, “‘ren . . . oh my god,” he slurps noisily suctioning his mouth over your pussy, sucking hard over and over and over again relishing in the throb of your clit against his tongue.

“he knows, baby,” ony’ murmurs and your mouth drops open with a loud moan, his voice just did something for you. you felt the muscles in your legs twitch, itching to close them with each swipe of eren's tongue and swirling pleasure in your tummy. your hands dig into the dirt behind you, legs quivering.

“tastes fuckin’ good don't it?” he's mumbling and eren's groans into your pussy sends shockwaves against your clit, he nods vigorously. “ohh– shit,” you sit up on your elbows digging in the mud, hair soaked and heavy and your legs only spread wider; your eyes trained on eren's tongue making sloppy circles around the fat mound in your pussy.

eager, you slip your hands into eren's wet curls, stuffing his face into your cunt, “eren, eren– yea-ah!” his groans rumble in his throat and here came the fucking waterworks. your climax comes hard along with several slick kisses to your clit, beads of sweat and rain slipping down between a furrowed brow and a guttural moan ripping from your throat.

eren's mouth releases its latch onto you, your legs flopping into puddles of dirt beneath you. “prepped her f'you,” eren licks his lips and looks to onyankopon who sits there with a fat bulge beneath his jeans although unbuttoned.

“mm yeah?,” you both shuffle over to the wet patch of hay ony’ sat in, slightly less soaked albeit equally as muddy.

onyankopon gestures to eren with two fingers as he lifts himself up, brushing water from his face and allowing eren to take a seat against the wall. your eyes flicker between them, sitting with your butt resting on the heels of your feet feeling exposed. it doesn't help that eren reaches behind you to unhook your bra, your cheeks feel hot. nevertheless, you slip them off your arms.

onyankopon shucks down his jeans just below his ass,  “ [  ], come right here,” walking on your knees you shuffle forward to ony’ who puts a hand above the swell of your ass, pressing his bare chest to yours. ony's gaze is something serious, he bends his neck and clasps his lips to yours. it's slow, methodical and hot. onyankopon breathes deep and groans into your mouth. your body goes limp a little: drooping in his grasp and relaxing against his body as his tongue gently guided yours against his own. “mhm, okay . . . okay,” he presses a few kisses to your lips with a squeeze around your throat as he weans you off his mouth.

“turn ‘round,”

you whine, “w'nna look at'chu,” 

ony's unmoved, he swallows, “look at ‘ren, baby,” and he guides you as you turn in the slippery mud to arch your ass up to him, his palm glides down the small of your back deepening that arch while your head rests on your folded arms before you. the position makes it hard for you to focus properly on eren, you peep at him through your eyelashes.

your cunt is sticky, swollen lips bound together by the white film of your arousal after the orgasm eren gave you, and you feel ony's hands kneading your ass. he spreads them, watching your pussy lightly spread open with it. you hear his belt buckle jingle slightly as his hands continue to massage your back right along with the downpour. ony’ grips his cock in his hands, tugging the thick thing lightly a couple times. he catches eren staring as he pumps it harshly before pressing the fat tip against you. 

“fuuuck,” ony’ slaps his cockhead at your entrance letting it get coated by your arousal before slipping the first inch in slowly and already you're speechless. “holy– shit,” your cunt stretched to accommodate the girth and ony’ grips the curve of your back for leverage, letting out a guttural groan while slowly inching into you. 

he sits in it for a moment, allowing you just a moment to familiarize yourself with the fat pipe he just lay in you; then, he's pulling out slowly and pushing in again and you whine. “what the fuck,” you feel ony’ lean his weight over you, and you gasp as he starts smacking his hips to your ass.

paired with the wetness of the rain, his hips leave a stinging slap against you and you're faltering with your tits mushed against the mud. eren left your pussy sloppy, your cunt whipping up loads of cream slick around ony's cock and your mouth is just ajar. jaw tightening with shallow, whiny moans cascading past your lips, ‘ah's and ‘oh's are all the men hear. “mm, ony’,” you try to murmur, body giving way fully to the mud beneath and ony's grip on your tightens,”watchu’ want, hm',” he grumbles.

oh how he knows nothing of the way your clit throbs everytime his heavy balls slap against your cunt.

“wan'— wan’ it deeper, please,” and you gasp hard when ony’s hand comes up to your ass, digging his thumb into the curled rim of your butt before bringing a foot to the ground for leverage; his ankle beside your ear, you eagerly grab onto it. “got fuckin’ good manners, don't she?” he grunts out, and the other man nods. 

onyankopon gives you two warning strokes, pressing his cock to the hilt and curling his thumb inside your ass and you feel overwhelmed. then, you gasp in a loud sob  as ony’ starts drilling his cock deeper into you, his hips smack you hard and his weight presses you everytime he drives his cock in. “fuck, fuck–,” you're squealing, hands draw digs into the mud as you can't help but writhe against the mud. “feel good?” you all but whine in response, “feel fuckin' good?” “ye- yes!” you mewl out. ony’s muscles contract and you can see it in his leg, intent on keeping you from sliding away from him under the soaked muddy slop.

the noises are . . . obscene. pornographic bursts of air shooting out amidst the stirring up of your melting cunt and your cheeks burn with embarrassment along with fresh tears streaming but you're breathless. “so fuckin’ loud,” ony’ mumurs,  his lips curling into a smile when he hears the noises you make.

“m’– fuck, m’ sorry,” you weep and your walls squeeze ony’ tight. you feel a glob of slick collect at the tippy top of your cunt, the fat bulge of your clit and stickily drip down onto the ground with each rock of your bodies. “takin’ m'shit fuckin’ good, sugar,” onyankopon drawls low and you sob.

you hear him whistle above you and with  a quickness eren's pants come into view. he sits, legs spread with his groin in line with your face against the ground. he scoots forward enough so he can lift your head and replace the mud beneath your nose with the musk of his balls. “‘ren, ‘ren, ren,” you're chanting, itching for your orgasm approaching with each quick and sloppy drag of cock in you. “m” right here, girlie,” ony's pummeling you from behind and your drooly mouth now has eren's pretty tanned cock slapping against it. “holy– fuck, hng- shit,” you mutter out before you're latching your lips onto eren's tip, inviting him into your mouth. he controls it, gripping your braids and rocking your head onto his dick.

“c'mon, c'mon, takin’ that shit s'fuckin’ good,” eren praises when he starts to snap his hips into your mouth, matching ony's strokes. he strokes your soaked hair gently, juxtaposing the nasty aggression each rock of his hips brought. you gagged, muffled, globs of spit streaking down your chin as you relaxed your throat for eren's dick. in the same way, you're making a mess on ony's cock, coating his length in hot creamy release that trickled down your own cunt. “she's fuckin’ creamin' on it, E',” and you moan when eren laughs cruelly above you, “cream on y’fuckin’ cock, ma’,” he grunts.

each drag of cock against the ridges of your cunt, the slosh of your mouth had you moaning in a frenzy. “was’ ya’ problem, huh?” eren groans out, and onyankopon knows exactly what your problem is.

“mama's bout to fuckin’ nut, huh?” he can feel the extra squeeze around his cock and rolls his neck to let some rain coat his face and distract him from his own ache. they listen to how you squeal around eren's cock, hands grabbing at his jeans and ony’ pumps his thumb into your ass consistency. 

“mmm, fuck,” onyankopon hums, angling himself so the curve of his cock digs at you just right, and he smiles: satisfied when you start to squirm and fuss beneath him. eren pulls you off and you sob, coughing a little to clear your larynx. you whimper as eren all but ruts against your face. “keep her right fuckin’ there,” ony’ groans and you grasp onto eren's jeans, cunt twitching with each movement yet eren forces your shoulders back to keep your body where ony’ wants you: daggering his cock into you with a forcefull quickness that eren's rutting mimics. 

“ohmygod, oh!” you blubber out, chanting ‘shit, shit, shit's

“gon’ leave you fuckin’ gapin’, quit playin’,” and you weep.

your hips twitch and you feel the knot in your stomach stiffening, “wan’ you're cum, want y'all's c–cum, fuckkk,” wail into eren's skin and take his cock back into your mouth just as your cunt spurts and your ears feel clogged from the rush of blood to your abdomen. “take it, take it, take that cum, baby,” eren groans. you felt light-headed, stars twinkling at you around the edges of your vision as your eyes rolled and soon you were forced to blink away the brain fog to swallow the thick loads eren gushes into your mouth. 

he whines, unabashedly and onyankopon gives you a couple more strokes before his cock is digging into you to bury his surge of cum into you with a hiss.

eren falls back, letting you catch your breath and stroking rain away from your face. ony’ pulls out quick before you start to get sore, giving your cunt a few wet slaps before eren's pulling your limp aching body onto him to give you some relief. “gotchu’, gotchu’.” he consoles.

“c'mon, E,” ony’ rushes, “huh?”

“gotta’ get out the fuckin’ rain,” he puffs out a laugh before he's lifting you off eren. they both try not to slip in the mud, hurrying off into the ranch for long hot showers.

[e-vay]

The Shadora Horde - 2023!

Here are all the ShadowXAurora kids I've made (so far hahaha!). As I always mention, I'm always open to Shadora fankids that you guys make. I can never have too many Shadora babies. I made changes to the original 5 so they're now closer in age and I also balanced out their powers more. Some of them were a little OP originally but I think I've fixed it. I have super detailed descriptions of each character below the cut!

PIPER

Birthday: 11/12 (1st Born)

Age: 16

Role: Leader

Powers: Combustion, Weapon Summoning

Weaknesses: Disorder

Dream Voice Actor: Brittany Snow

Theme Song: “Smile” - Wolf Alice

Piper is the first born in the first litter of Aurora and Shadow and is the natural leader of the group. She is generally sweet and respectful but is very proud of her pedigree so can be a little judgemental at times. She is a perfectionist to a fault and will become easily aggravated if things don’t go her way. Though she can be cocky, she is overall a caring and loving person and is quick to help those in need. Piper has naturally wild bangs and a large patch of fluffy fur on her chest. These traits drive her crazy! She always has her bangs pinned down to the side and her chest fur covered up. In her teen years she takes up motorcycle riding and it helps loosen her up and embrace her more wild side. 

Piper is capable of harnessing the power of the Chaos Emeralds to perform Chaos Blast and Chaos Control. Without the need for Chaos Emeralds, Piper has combustion powers. Piper can incinerate objects with a snap of her fingers. She has excellent mastery and precision of this skill. She was given the task to train Cinder to control his combustion powers, but the two tend to get frustrated with each other since control comes so naturally to Piper and it’s incredibly foreign to Cinder.

Piper is naturally drawn to Amy’s hammer wielding abilities and grows up admiring it. Though she isn’t allowed to use the Piko Piko Hammer, Amy trains her in good hammer-form with the use of props. IF Mammy Amy ever decides to retire, she will bequeath her hammer to Piper. The hammer’s design will change based on Piper’s personality.

-

ZANE

Birthday: 11/12 (2nd Born)

Age: 16

Powers: Super Speed

Weaknesses: Arachnophobia 

Dream Voice Actor: Robert Buckley

Theme Song: “We Are Young” - 3OH!3

Zane is the second born in the first litter of Aurora and Shadow. Zane is a daredevil and an extreme extrovert. He is most like his Pawpaw Sonic with his quick wit and high energy. He does not like emotional confrontations and will go out of his way to avoid uncomfortable situations. Even though he’s mostly easygoing, he butts heads with his dad a lot. 

Zane is a huge flirt and frequently develops intense crushes on people, but due to his short attention span, he’ll move on quickly (think Romeo with Rosaline). Zane is very fond of children and enjoys being the center of attention. Even though Piper is the leader of the group, the younger siblings tend to follow whatever Zane is doing. Lucky for Piper, he mostly listens to what she says.

Zane is capable of harnessing the power of the Chaos Emeralds to perform Chaos Control. Without the need for Chaos Emeralds, Zane has super speed. He wears special shoes that can transform based on his needs, but he prefers the motocross boot style when he’s not running.

For hobbies, Zane likes to do extreme stunts and attend/throw parties. He has dreams of being a DJ with his brother Nova. 

-

NOVA

Birthday: 11/12 (3rd Born)

Age: 16

Powers: Plasma (Ionikinetic Combat)

Weaknesses: Laziness

Dream Voice Actor: Josh Keaton

Theme Song: “Weirdo” - K.Flay

Nova is the third born in the first litter of Aurora and Shadow. He is very peaceful in nature and would rather find roundabout ways to solve problems than coming to blows (though he attributes this to knowing he would cream his opponent due to this strong bloodline). He’s a bit of an oddball but he embraces his quirkiness instead of being concerned about how others think of him. He often comes off as aloof and is rather lazy.

Nova is capable of harnessing the power of the Chaos Emeralds to perform Chaos Control. Without the need for Chaos Emeralds, Nova has plasma/Ionikenetic powers. He can shoot radioactive plasma at his enemies which can burn or dissolve material on impact. Nova does not like using his powers because they are so destructive. 

Nova is very close with his brother Zane and will go along with his schemes, even if his heart’s not entirely in it. He is artistic and tends to live a very messy, disheveled lifestyle. He loves to collect things and can be considered a packrat. 

-

ASTER

Birthday: 4/8 (4th born)

Age: 15

Powers: Telekinesis, Telepathy

Weaknesses: Codependency 

Dream Voice Actor: SungWon Cho [x]

Theme Song: “Despair and Traffic” - SOFT PLAY

Aster is the first born in the second litter of Aurora and Shadow. Though he seems rough on the surface, he’s actually the most academically intelligent of all his siblings. He is loud and passive aggressive but can appreciate the beauty in peace and quiet when he chooses. He is very theatrical and enjoys making a huge spectacle out of his battles, including saying poetic catchphrases and even coining the term “Prepare for the Blitz-Aster Disaster!” He is secretly a romantic at heart.

Aster is rarely seen without his sister Blitz. He is the brain to her brawn. Though he’s the more level-headed twin, Blitz’s dominant personality tends to direct their fighting strategies. He does not know how to be independent, which can be used against him.

Aster is capable of harnessing the power of the Chaos Emeralds to perform Chaos Control. Without the need for Chaos Emeralds, Aster shows early signs of telekinetic and telepathic abilities. He hasn’t mastered many techniques yet, but with some proper training it’s possible he could become a force to be reckoned with. If only Blitz would shut up for 5 minutes so he could concentrate!

Aster enjoys challenging mind games, like chess. 

-

BLITZ

Birthday: 4/8 (5th born)

Age: 15

Powers: Energy Blasts (“Chaos Spear”)

Weaknesses: Codependency, Impulsivity

Dream Voice Actor: Jessica DiCicco [x] [x] OR Chloë Grace Moretz [x]

Theme Song: “God Complex (Mojo)” - poutyface

Blitz is the second born in the second litter of Aurora and Shadow. Blitz is brash and forward but can be a little spacey. She has a short attention span and is easily bored. She considers fighting as a form of playing. She is very proud of herself and her heritage and isn’t afraid to namedrop to get her way. 

Blitz is rarely seen without her brother Aster. She is the brawn to his brain. Blitz’s dominant personality tends to direct their fighting strategies despite her brother’s concerns. She is very theatrical and enjoys making a huge spectacle out of her battles, including saying poetic catchphrases and even coining the term “Prepare for the Blitz-Aster Disaster!” She is very codependent and hates doing anything without Aster.

Blitz is capable of harnessing the power of the Chaos Emeralds to perform Chaos Control. Without the need for Chaos Emeralds, Blitz has the natural ability to perform Chaos Spear which can dagger her enemies with energy.

Blitz loves fashion and is a huge trendsetter. She would love to be a fashion designer if world domination doesn’t work out (She’s just kidding – relax already!)

-

Cinder

Birthday: 2/18 (6th born)

Age: 14

Powers: Combustion, Stellar Tantrum

Weaknesses: Migraines, Short Temper

Dream Voice Actor: Michael Daingerfield [x] [x]

Theme Song: “Tantrum” - Ashnikko

Cinder is the first born in the third litter of Aurora and Shadow. He has a very short temper and is incredibly impatient. He is the most like his father in that he is not very talkative and would rather be left alone than socialize with others. His outbursts of rage can often be used to his enemies’ advantage by being misdirected to his siblings and teammates. He is also terrified of himself, which makes him constantly on edge. 

Cinder is NOT capable of using Chaos Emeralds and instead has to rely on his natural abilities. Cinder has combustion powers, but unlike his sister Piper, his powers are based solely on his emotions so he has a very hard time commanding the direction and radius of his blasts. Piper was tasked with training Cinder to better manage his combustion powers, but the two tend to get frustrated with each other since control comes so naturally to Piper and it’s incredibly foreign to Cinder. When Cinder goes into a blinding rage, his fur and eyes change color and sparks of energy will fire off randomly around him. When in this form, he can perform a move called “Stellar Tantrum.” This move is highly destructive and will incinerate any and all objects nearby. He has absolutely no control over this power once it’s unleashed.

As a child, Cinder was more outgoing but still prone to crying outbursts. However, during one particular fight with his sister Diamond, he accidentally unleashed a Stellar Tantrum and severely burned her. Luckily Boon was able to use his healing powers to reverse it, but Cinder has never forgiven himself and has never been the same ever since. Cinder requested a special Inhibitor necklace be made to help dampen his powers, but it’s not very effective. It works more as a placebo than anything else. He keeps everyone at a distance whenever possible and thinks there’s something evil in him, despite his parents’ reassurances. 

Cinder doesn’t like to discuss his hobbies, but he actually loves baking and reading books.

-

DIAMOND

Birthday: 2/18 (7th Born)

Age: 14

Role: Tank

Powers: Brute Strength

Weaknesses: Poor eyesight, Light sensitivity

Dream Voice Actor: Kimberly Brooks [x] [x] [x]

Theme Song: “Cleopatra” - Nova Twins

Diamond is the second born in the third litter of Aurora and Shadow. She has a sweet disposition and is very polite, even to her opponents. However, she can be a smart ass at times and is quick to make jokes. She is highly dedicated to physical training but outside of the gym she’s very easy-going. Diamond was born with Oculocutaneous albinism. Due to her albinism and nystagmus, she is sensitive to light and has very poor eyesight. As a baby and toddler, Diamond mostly clung to Aurora whenever outdoors as she could bend the light around Diamond and protect her from UV rays. As Diamond got older and grew more independent, Tails’ Workshop crafted a special brooch that acts as a light shield when activated. Diamond never leaves home without it.

Diamond is NOT capable of using Chaos Emeralds and instead has to rely on her natural abilities. She has incredible strength and is physically the strongest of all her relatives. 

As a child, she and her brother Cinder got into a fight where he accidentally unleashed a Stellar Tantrum and severely burned her. Luckily Boon was able to use his healing powers to reverse it. She has completely forgiven Cinder and has never held it against him, but he continues to be distant with her to this day.

She enjoys training in the Shadora Home Gym to better perfect her fighting skills and she is almost always found sporting earbuds so she can listen to her favorite punk rock and metal bands.

-

Boon

Birthday: 2/18 (8th Born)

Age: 14

Role: Support

Powers: Healing, Mood-Boosting

Weaknesses: People-pleasing

Dream Voice Actor: Ben Schwartz [x] ← Please watch this whole interview, it will leave you grinning ear-to-ear the whole way through

Theme Song: “Smile” - Dami Im

Boon is the third born in the third litter of Aurora and Shadow. Boon is the embodiment of a ray of sunshine and has 10000% charisma. He genuinely loves everyone he meets and enjoys putting smiles on people’s faces. Boon is very silly and has a very childish sense of humor. He also has a lot of energy and has a habit of rambling without realizing it.

Boon is NOT capable of using Chaos Emeralds and instead has to rely on his natural abilities. He has incredible healing abilities and can heal the wounded, but it takes a lot of energy from him so can only do so much at a time. He cannot revive the dead. Boon also has a “mood-boosting” ability, where he can positively affect the emotions of others. This can only be done by making direct contact with someone and the effect only lasts temporarily. Boon’s powers positively affected Aurora’s pregnancy, making her third litter the easiest and stress free of all her pregnancies (Thank you, Boon!)

Boon wears special rocket boots so he can quickly fly to anyone in battle who needs assistance. His boots have a button on the heel to activate them, and he likes to click his heels together to turn them on. Though he never complains about his duties, Aurora often worries about Boon’s need to please others and reminds him that he can’t help others if he doesn’t help himself. Aurora and Boon are the most alike of all her children as both are prone to singing outbursts, goofy jokes and harmless pranks to make people laugh.

—

All Shadora kids are mortal and did not inherit Shadow’s immortality. However, they do heal faster than the average Mobian.

—

Want to get more of a feel for the Shadora kids? I've made a Spotify playlist dedicate to their theme songs, songs that make me think of them, or general music they would listen to. You can listen to it here, but be warned it contains explicit songs.

—

A NOTE ABOUT SHADOW’S “AGE”

Shadow is immortal so therefore he doesn’t age. However it’s been long debated in my Shadora stories whether or not he will give up his immortality to live a normal life with his family. I have him in these drawings as still being immortal, especially because I like the angst and challenges that comes with (ex: how are your rebellious teenagers supposed to respect you when they are seemingly “older” than you?) but I haven’t actually decided when he will decide to be mortal. 

BUT if you ever draw me fanart or write me fanfics and you want to have become mortal at an earlier point in his life I’m totally cool with that! I’m flexible.

[pabtsblueliving]

I loved Come to Papa! I have the biggest crush on Chibs 😍. The man gets hotter as he gets older! Can I request for Chibs, maybe a first date with him??? He's trying to impress her. Like it's hard, right? Thanks!

Baby, I'm Yours

First date with Chibs

WC: 1.2K

Warnings: smoking, drinking, making out, like one curse word.

Hello, who doesn't have the biggest crush on him, hard not to. He was hot then and is still hot now. I started and finished when I got back from work, been wanting to write this all day. Bit rushed, but thank you for requesting, enjoy!

xoxo pabtsblueliving 💋

pabtsblueliving © 2023

You were nervous. A date.

You fiddled with the edge of your clay colored dress, sitting in your living room waiting to hear the motorcycle revving down the street. You were pleasantly surprised when Chibs Telford had asked you on a date.

You worked at the tattoo shop all the Sons had come through when they needed a new tattoo, or a new prospect was finally being initiated. You’d seen chibs a few times, never interacting too much unless it was a hello in that gorgeous voice, and a wink. A smile returned from you to him.

A few days ago he’d stopped in by himself, and you were cleaning up the shop. 

“Chibs, hey what can I do for you?” You smiled to him,

“Hi Lass, how’s the day?” He responded, “I’ve got a question, mayb’ bit out tha’ blue” He took his sunglasses off, put them on the counter, and leaned against it.

“Yeah, of course, what’s up?” You furrowed your brows, and taking off your gloves

“Ehm, would you want’a go on a date with me? Dinner, drinks, take yeh on tha’ bike?” He let out a breath he was seemingly holding since he’d arrived

Your eyes widened, and you smiled a bit, “Oh! Uhm, yeah, Chibs,” You looked down and smiled, then looking back up at him, “I would love to.” You beamed.

He gave you a smile, and a chuckle, “Alright, lady. Then uh, its a date” He picked up his sunglasses and began to walk out, confident in his stride. 

“Chibs, hold on.” You chased after him, meeting him at the bike.

He sat down and looked up, you continued, “When and where?” You chuckled a bit, he seemed to miss that part.

“Oh, ehm,” He let out a puff of air, “How about, tomorrow, 6pm, I’ll pick yeh up?” 

“It’s a date” You smiled and turned away, closing down the shop as he rode away.

And now, you find yourself, where we started. 

You fiddled with the edge of your clay colored dress, sitting in your living room waiting to hear the motorcycle revving down the street. You were pleasantly surprised when Chibs Telford had asked you on a date.

You’d just finished your third cigarette, in 30 minutes and a cocktail. You weren’t used to dates. You kept to yourself, provided your service of body art to the Sons, went out with friends sometimes, but that's really it. 

You let out a shaky breath. Did your hair look stupid, was your dress wrinkled, did your boots match your outfit? You were ripped from your thoughts when you heard the bike. His bike. You flew out of your seat, finding the nearest mirror and smoothing out your hair, adding lipliner and gloss to your lips.

He removed his gloves at the door, rapping his scarred knuckles on the door. Those three knocks finally pulled you into reality. You smoothed your dress and opened the door.

Upon opening the door was Chibs. He looked different, but handsome. He had black slacks with boots, a black button up that had more than a few buttons undone, and his cut. God, he looked great. 

You smiled and pulled your purse to your shoulder, “What do you think,” He started, “Clean up ok, for an old crow” His hands went up, presenting himself.

You laughed, “Clean up maybe too well” You winked. “Ready?” He held out his hand and a helmet. You nodded, strapped on your helmet and climbed behind Chibs, wrapping your arms around his sturdy frame.

And off you went, to the best date of your life. You went to an outdoor, casual, restaurant in the desert, 20 minutes from home. You had a chatty dinner, followed with a few drinks. You didn't want it to end.

You swallowed a sip of your cocktail, and took a drag of a cigarette, handing it to chibs as he leaned back in his chair taking it. The sun was setting on the desert, and he looked incredible.

“So,” You said, blowing out the smoke, “I’m surprised you’d asked me on a date.” 

He took a drag and chuckled, “Why’s tha’, Lass?” He raised a brow.

“I don't know, we’d never really spoken too much before, here and there. A wink and a smile maybe…” a smile broke out as you spoke, and he laughed.

“Well, em, I’ve had my eye on yeh for quite some time, Darlin’. Just recently grew the balls to finally talk to you and ask you.” He winked, bastard.

“Well, then thank god for your…balls…” You began to giggle and he chuckled, handing you the cigarette back.

As you took a final drag he spoke up, “How about we get outta here, love?” 

He handed you your helmet and put his sunglasses on, leading you back to the bike, and you rode off back to your home. 

He walked you to your door, a large, warm, hand at the small of your back leading you gently. You dug for your keys, nervous about his sudden silence.

“Damn…keys…uh,” You chuckled out an apology, and looked back. Finding him with his hands in his pockets, looking right at you. 

You finally grabbed your keys, and asked, brows furrowing, “What?” you questioned.

“Nothin’...I just eh, had fun…” He stalked closer, the space between you and your door, and him was getting increasingly smaller.

“I had a lot of fun too, Philip. I’d love to do it again sometime…soon…” You dropped your purse on the floor, and he trapped you between him and the door, arm above your head. You smelled his cologne, hoping it sticks to every item of clothing you're wearing.

You began, “so maybe like in a few days we can plan someth-” you started, cut off by a soft “shut up” 

You felt the chill of his rings on your cheek, and the smell of the leather and cologne on his skin, tasting the cigarette you shared not long ago, before you reached up and grabbed the shoulders of his cut. You quite literally melted into his kiss.

The arm above your head moved to the small of your back, bringing you in, This wasn't a normal kiss. It was sweet, slow, nothing too heated or sexy. 

You were soon interupped by the shrill of his cellphone, and he pulled away, breathing heavy as he sighed and answered the phone, while you remained in his grip. 

“Yeh?....Alright’ well, mate yer fecking interruptin’....You need me right now? Where?....” He answered on the phone, keeping eye contact with you then sighing, “Alright, Jesus christ, Tig give me twenty minutes.” He slammed the phone shut, forehead falling onto yours.

“I gotta go, lass…” He whispered, bringing a hand and stroking your hair.

“It’s ok, do what you’ve got to do Phil.” You gave him a wink and a smile, kissing right below his scar on his cheek

He winked back, and began to walk to his bike, “So, ill see yeh’ again, yes?” He yelled from down the driveway.

“After tonight, baby I’m yours.” You yelled back, a smile etched into your skin that would remain there for the whole night.

[nyc-looks]

Tiger, 18

“My hat and motorcycle jacket are from Fried Rice NYC, pants are MNML, shoes Mihara Yasuhiro‘s big boots. The hat is actually relatively large – it feels like a little helmet!”

Sep 22, 2023 ∙ Greenwich Village

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles and Jeffrey Dean Morgan | New Jersey Convention, Main Panel (April 16, 2023)

(x)

“hey dad! times been good to ya” (x)

when jensen and danneel had crushes on each other but were tied up with other people jensen wrote her a note that said “not now. but someday” and she still has it (x)

jdm was on jensens first date with danneel bc JENSEN INVITED HIM BC HE HAD NO IDEA IT WAS A FIRST DATE (x)

jensen: jdm got off a motorcycle in slomo and i saw hilarie’s jaw on the floor. she had no idea who he was (x)

fan: fav backstage moment from cons jdm: when i told everyone i was having a daughter bc i wasnt supposed to  (x)

jensen: when we announced the end of spn and at SDCC there were 7000 people and i told jared “take this in. this is it”  (x)

*everyone arguing over an answer* jensen; glad we figured that out. great job jdm: im still confused (x)

jensen got in trouble for sharing info abt a project last con so he will not be saying ANYTHING (x)

fan; SOLDIER BOY COMING BACK? jensen: uh…….no comment  (x)

theyre talking about their daughters jdm: mine will be the death of me jensen: one will be the death of me and the other will take care of me jdm; mine will be twerking over my grave jensen: HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW DADDY  (x)

.@JDMorgan : the year I did #Supernatural and Grey's Anatomy changed my life #SPNNJ (x)

.@JensenAckles getting the part of Tony in West Side Story in high school was life changing - after his baseball coach talked him into doing it. (x)

(x)

the drama teacher at Jensen’s school wanted him to be in the spring musical and his baseball coach was like “you’ve played with me for three years. go give this a shot i promise we’ll be in the front row”  (x)  a talent scout was at the play and told jensen that he had it and he should come to LA and he went “lol take a hike” (x)  THE ROLE WAS TONY IN WEST SIDE STORY!!! and his whole baseball team was like “woah ” (x)

jensen: getting into the industry is harder now that it was back then jdm: i dont even know how to get an agent now jensen: yeah dont ask us for advice  (x)

Question: Jensen, what was your favorite thing about soldier boy? JDM: the codpiece. *crowd laughs* JDM: sorry, I thought you were asking me.  (x)

the boots soldier boy wore on the show are the same ones that dean wore on spn. they’re called carolinas  (x)

jensen: jdm texted me when i was getting fitted and he was immediately like “SHOW ME THE COD PIECE” and i was like “perfect timing i have five of them lined up which one” AND JDM SAID “PICK THE BIGGEST ONE” (x)

fan; nash was amazing. is there hope for touring in the future for radio co? jensen: thanks it took a lot of drugs jdm: he’s not lying  (x)

jensen: touring might be aggressive but anything is on the table  (x)

jdm: i watched it online and i remember texting you being like “what the fuck is going on that was amazing” (x)

jensen looked at steve and said “this is a bad idea we should leave” right before going on bc louden swain KILLED and they didnt wanna follow that  (x)

.@JensenAckles : even tho it was a vengeful mission, John set out to right a wrong. In The Winchesters we wanted to show John before that trauma.  (x)

jensen says the pilot of spn “holds up today”  (x)

fan: whats your fav format to play in (movies, tv, voice acting, etc) jdm; whatever has the best writing. we knew supernatural was going to be good by the first ep (x)

jensen turns towards tv bc he doesnt know where it’ll go and where it will end (x)

jensen: ive done soap operas and that was 20-24 pages of dialogue a day (x)

APPARENTLY ONE TIME JENSEN TAPED JEFF’S DIALOGUE TO HIS CHEST AND HE WAS LIKE “WE GOTTA GET THROUGH THE DAY LOOK AT MY TITS”  (x)

JENSEN TALKING ABOUT FRIENDS AND HE YELLS “PIVOT” (x)

jensen: i heard “anyway you want it” in the car and almost got out before the second chorus hit bc i thought i was late for stage (x)

fan: go to karaoke song? jensen: have u ever done karaoke? jdm: never in my life. i think you asked me once and i said “goodnight 👋🏻 ” jensen: right but it was more like “goodnight 🖕🏻  (x)

(x)

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2023

No. 22 Glass Shard

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Prison Era

Warnings: Injury, Blood

“Don’t take it out!” You swatted Daryl’s hands away from a large glass shard protruding from his right side. “You might bleed out. We don’t know if it hit anything vital.” He scowled at you and murmured something you couldn’t hear but dropped his hands to his sides. “Shouldn’t be picking fights.”

“Ain’t pickin’ no fights. We needed the meds n’ we got ‘em.” He snapped, walking toward the bike with his left hand below the injury. 

“Wait a minute! You can’t possibly think you’re driving us back like that!”

He looked at you like you’d sprouted another head. “Why wouldn’ I?”

Lord, give me patience. Don’t give me strength because I’ll kill him. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You’ve been stabbed, Daryl. You’re bleeding. When someone bleeds a lot, they sometimes pass out. I’d rather not be behind you on a fricking motorcycle if that happens.”

Scowling again. Typical. “Ain’t gon’ pass out. Le’s go.”

You started to follow but decided against it. Appeasing his pride would get you both killed. Planting your feet, you crossed your arms. “No.”

Daryl had thrown his leg over and plopped heavily onto the seat, raising his brows at your brazen refusal. “Wha’?”

“You heard me. I said no.”

“Woman, don’ make me leave ya here.”

“You would never.” Your eyes narrowed in challenge, flickering down toward his boot when he toed up the kickstand. He really would never, right? When he started the engine, you really started to doubt but would not be swayed. He was already pale and sweaty, droplets of blood pooling behind his boot. With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. Daryl cared about you. You had to believe that he wouldn’t leave you. 

He watched you with a stoic expression, only faltering once you stood straighter. He must look like shit if you wouldn’t trust him to get the both of you home. Lowering the kickstand, he shut off the bike. “Wha’s the plan?”

You blinked at him. 

“Ya let me start up the bike n’ make enough noise ta attract ev’ry walker in there n’ ya didn’t have a plan?” 

“Well I didn’t exactly think you’d try to bully me into letting you kill us, Daryl!” You dropped your arms and looked around while he muttered to himself. You spotted a pick up next to the gate. It must have belonged to the men that attacked you. The driver’s door was still open. Maybe they just happened to leave the keys and you wouldn’t need to hotwire the stupid thing. “Wha’re ya doin’ now?” The archer called after you when you sprinted toward the truck. 

You leaned inside with a spirited ‘yes!’ upon finding the keys in the ignition. Next up: fuel. “Please be enough. Please be enough.” You turned the key and watched the fuel gauge before leaning out. “Will just below half get us back?”

“Should.” He yelled back, getting off the bike. He stumbled but caught himself, leaving your heart hammering. You definitely couldn’t drag him to the passenger side, much less get him in there.

Climbing back out, you jogged over to help him. “Let’s get the bike in the back and I’ll drive, okay.”

Daryl only nodded. You pushed down your concern and opened the tailgate, helping him lift the bike into the back. Damn thing was fucking heavy but if you were hauling it, that was the only way to get it loaded. Panting, you closed it up just in time to see the man beside you sway on his feet. 

“Whoa!” Small hands grabbed his shoulders to steady him. “You okay? You’re looking a little pekid.” He was panting just as hard as you were, which wasn’t a shocker since the two of you just bench pressed a 400 pound bike into the back of a pickup. Probably not the best idea when one of you has a large piece of glass playing poke-the-vital-organ. 

He lifted his hands to gently grab your wrists, lowering your arms from his shoulders. “M’fine. Le’s jus’ get outta ‘ere. We got company.” A nod toward the area behind you had you turn toward the group of walkers approaching. 

“Okay, hop in.” You walked around him but slowed your steps to make sure he made it all the way to the passenger door. Sure, he was using the truck to steady himself the entire way but he finally climbed inside. You quickly slid behind the wheel and started up the engine. Once you pulled out onto the road, a little of the anxiety churning inside your chest dissipated. “We’ll get back just after dark, I think. Get Hershel to take a look at you.”

When he no more than hummed in reply, you glanced over at him. His head was against the window, eyes closed, lips parted to release shallow pants of breath. His skin glistened with sweat while holding a sickly pallor in stark contrast to the dark circles around his eyes. You would bet anything that if you touched his skin, it would be cold.

“Daryl? Daryl, your wound. How’s your wound?” You asked frantically, trying to split your attention between him and the road. 

“S’fine, Y/N. Jus’ drive.” 

“Let me see.” You requested softly, still trying to stay on course. 

“Drive. M’fine.” Daryl replied. He hadn’t opened his eyes at all. 

Mindful that neither of you were wearing seatbelts, you slowed to a stop and turned in the seat, grabbing at him to turn where you could see. He was slow to open his eyes. 

“Knock it off. Why we stopped?” The shove he gave you was gentle but enough to put some space between you. He didn’t expect you to come right back, this time to roughly grab his vest and pull him down across the seat. 

“You pulled it out?!” You yelled, pressing your hand over the steadily bleeding wound. His blood coated the interior of the door, the seat, and had puddled on the floor. “I said not to take it out, Daryl!”

“Didn’.” He replied quietly, sounding more than tired. “Got…got pulled out loadin’ the bike.”

You gaped at him. “And you didn’t think to say something?”

“Didn’ wanna worry ya. ‘Sides, m’fine.” His eyes slowly closed. “Doc’ll fix…me…righ’…”

“Daryl?” You kept one hand on the wound and used the other to shake him. “Daryl?! Goddamnit!” Peeling off your flannel overshirt, you folded it and pressed it against the injury, laying his arm over it to hold it in place. You climbed back behind the wheel, glad to have him lying across the seat so you could check his pulse while you hauled ass back to the prison. 

You found yourself carding your fingers through his hair, stroking his jaw, feeling his pulse, anything that let you know he was right there. His skin was so cold, his breaths so shallow that you could hardly feel the exhale at all. 

When the prison was within sight, you almost didn’t even stop to let them open the gates. 

Carol found you pacing outside by the picnic benches three hours after you had returned with Daryl. Three hours after you had leapt from the cab of the truck screaming for help. Three hours after you had collapsed to your knees watching Rick and Glenn carry Daryl inside. Three hours after you couldn’t find a pulse.

“He’s alive, Y/N.” The woman said softly. She sat down on top of one of the tables and watched you. You were thankful she had led with that but still couldn’t bring yourself to stop wearing a hole into the concrete. 

“But?” You weren’t naive. There was something more if she wanted to give you the good news first. Wanted you calmer. A very Carol tactic. You loved her for it but couldn’t entertain it. Not now. 

Carol could sense that. “Whatever he was stabbed with nicked his liver. Hershel was able to repair it but there was some internal bleeding. Hey,” she reached out to grab your hand. “He lost a lot of blood so he’s not out of the woods yet but he’s tough.”

“That’s the problem, though, isn’t it?” You laughed wryly. “Everyone thinks he’s invincible, so he feels like he has to be. He didn’t even tell me that he was bleeding out, Carol. He was just gonna sit there and…and…”

“Okay, okay, come here.” Carol pulled you to sit next to her, hugging you tightly. “You’re right. We need to make sure he knows that it’s okay to need help.” Pulling you back by your shoulders, she swept your hair out of your face. “And when he is better, we’ll get to work on that, okay?” You nodded, allowing her to wipe away your tears. “He’ll be okay.”

You sniffled and nodded again, more softly than the first time. “Can I see him?”

Daryl made it through the night. Hershel had said his chances of a full recovery only increased after that. You hadn’t slept much, but couldn’t bring yourself to close your eyes just yet. So you just sat in a chair by the bunk with your head lying on the mattress by his hand. Your own hand looked so small wrapped around his, your skin so much paler than his tan. You counted any freckles you found on his arm. You even cleaned from underneath his nails. 

Carol eventually came by with two bowls of oatmeal. You thanked her quietly while never raising from your spot. True to form, she came over and kissed the top of your head, giving your shoulder a squeeze. Her dainty hand then on Daryl’s bicep, gently rubbing up to his shoulder and back down before she walked out of the cell. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out. When you opened your eyes again, it was dark inside the cell. An almost burned out candle filled the room with dancing shadows but it was the eyes that reflected the flame that had your attention. 

“Daryl!” You leaned closer, touching his face, his neck, anywhere you could while his eyes followed you. “I’m so glad you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” His voice was rough from sleep and lack of use. He coughed weakly, face scrunching in pain before smoothing out again. “Thirsty.”

“Be right back.” You jogged from the cell to fetch some water and to let Hershel know Daryl had finally awoke. The veterinarian came not long after you had finished settling Daryl against the pillows once he had taken a few sips. 

“Blood pressure is a little lower than I’d like but that’s likely from the blood loss. Everything else looks real good, son.” He patted Daryl’s leg before standing with his crutches. “I’m sure you know you’re benched for a while though.”

“Yeah, figured.” Daryl shrugged a shoulder. He looked as though he could fall back asleep at any given moment. 

“Alright. I’ll check in tomorrow morning. Get some rest.” The older man stopped beside you and added “the both of you.” You gave him a nod and wished him goodnight. 

“Ya okay?” Daryl asked before you could even sit back down. You chose to sit on the edge of the mattress instead of the chair. 

“I’m fine now that I know you’re okay. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I know. M’sorry.” He answered quietly, his gaze falling away from yours. He knew exactly what you weren’t saying. “You should have told me.” 

“Hey.” You reached up to brush his hair away from his face, smiling and letting your hand come to rest on his cheek. “Don’t worry. We will be talking about this but I won’t yell at you until you feel better.”

“S’real comfortin’, Y/N.” His smirk was half-assed at best, either from fatigue or guilt. 

“I know. I have a great bedside manner.” You beamed. Getting to your feet, you moved closer to his own and crawled onto the bed and across his legs to his left side. He turned his head to watch you, each blink lasting longer than the one before it. 

“Guess it ain’t half bad.”

“Oh come on, it’s phenomenal. What other caregiver’s gonna crawl in bed with you and snuggle?”

“Hope ta hell Hershel don’ take notes from ya.”

“He had a hard time with the missing foot but you two looked super cozy when my shift began.” You snorted when he shrugged the shoulder you had cuddled against, jarring you back a little. 

“I can’ stand ya sometimes.”

“Pft, you love me.” You nuzzled your nose against his cheek before kissing it. He huffed a tired laugh and let his eyes drift shut. 

“Eh, I migh’.”

“Wait, what?” You blinked. “You might what? Daryl?” The only replies were his deep, even breaths. You laid your head back against his shoulder and watched him, biting back a wide smile. Now you had even more to talk about. 

[hel-looks]

Johannes and Rasmus

Johannes: “I dress to play or for pockets to be carried. Sometimes I dress just to live another day. I don't always like what I wear but it's the only possible that were in the moment.” Rasmus: “I'm wearing shorts that I made, thrifted motorcycle boots and some accessories suitable for a hot festival day full of tomfoolery and mischief. I take inspiration from intriguing strangers and everyday beauty around me.”

12 August 2023, Flow Festival

[silent-raven13]

Mysterious Black Cat

(Hobie is Spider-man in 2023 and Miles is Black Cat AU 🤭)

Hobie jumps on a building with his Spider-man mask on, a very high tech Spider-man suit with colors of Red and dark Navy blue ripple web designs, even his Spider logo was more dynamic. The suit isn't as important, it's what's on top of it.

The punker had thick heavy combat boots on, black cargo pants that had paint and random patches with accessories chains. He wore two belts as a fashion stable to his look. All tied up into his black leather jacket with stubs, designs with paint, and forced stitches of patches. He had on bracelets and black motorcycle gloves on.

It is a bold statement instead of basic suit. No, he loves being himself. Anyway, he stood above the building to check on the location of his main mission.

It's a Saturday night, the club he's staring with his dark eyes he could see his main targets. A group of thugs that were selling dangerous drugs from the Oscorp from that damn dictator Osborn. That baster had created an underground drug cartel to sell off drugs that makes people like zombies, and obeying the tyrant!

The Spider-Man clutched his hand into a fist spotting one of the main drug dealers bringing into a couple of girls, that baster! The asshole had spread those nasty drugs into his neighborhood affecting adults and children- many innocent lives were lost because of that drug. His team tries to help as much as they can with the orphans. So many adults that were parents in the Projects were victims of this drug.

The drug starts off like meth, then it starts to make a person feel brain dead to the point they would stay in place for hours. Then they would scream or shout, "Hail Osborn!" That some fucked up drugs.

No, Hobie Brown were murder the fuckers. Cops are all pigs being paid to look the other way. Fuck Them! He took off his mask revealing his handsome face; with piercings on his lip, and eyebrow. He smirks getting down to the club, they won't pay attention to his suit, since it's the club and he's wearing so much on top of it.

The club is pumping and booming with loud music as the Spider-man casually stroll inside without being noticed. The club is like a futuristic theme with bright colors, so many half naked dancers, and people in costumes. All sorts of diverse people are here in this popular club, good thing too. He blends so well, he thought his wicks would stick him out and his fashion.

The crowd were drinking and dancing without a care in the world. The tall slim punker went by the bar to order a beer, he sat being aware of his surroundings. There was a couple fighting on his right side, a group of friend taking shots behind, and his main target on his left side.

The drug dealer sat in the VIP lounge with a group of girls- Well, a mix of women and femboys. Who knew the drug dealer was into that stuff?

Not that he cares, labels are whatever to him. "The Bloke enjoys a good cock, who knew!" He thought to himself before taking a sip of his beer. His dark eyes glanced over finding a bottle waitress in a bunny outfit handing the VIP guest a very expensive bottle. The femboys in skippy outfits flirted with the drug dealer as they get their own glass filled with champagne.

"That baster!" He scowls thinking about the money this dealer is spending on stupid shit. That same money that came from the poor people from his neighborhood! "I'll teach that twat a lesson."

Unaware of someone behind him passing by, his Spider Senses went off. "What? Who was that?" He quickly turns to check behind him to find a sea of people dancing, his Spider Senses still going off. "Who was that?"

The twenty three year old got off from his stool leaving his finished beer on the counter. He went through the dance floor trying to find the person that set off his Spider Senses, he bite his bottom painted black lip out of habit. He's not one to be worried about unforeseen circumstances, Spider-man always find a way to solve any troubling issues.

He walk through the dance floor, until he stop in his tracks finding someone- Someone irresistible! His dark eyes widen like to white sauce dishes, his jaw slightly dropped a bit without opening his mouth. The song plays in the background.

"I stare at your soul (stare at your soul)," A dark skinned person wearing tight pink crop top with long sleeves showing off their naked shoulders, a very pink short mini skirt and high platform boots with white fishnets leggings. The person sway their hips into the music.

Hobie felt his mouth dry to the point he couldn't swallow his own salvia. This person had cute long twists (with some dye pink) hairstyle with butterfly clips, he wasn't sure if this was a man or a woman. He didn't care, but he was speechless by this unknown person. "I'm facing temptations (temptations)"

This mysterious person had an amazing body, beautiful lean muscle, tall about six foot two inches, and beautiful legs... Hobie's eyes checks out their air. When the person finally turns around still dancing to the music.

The Spider-man seems like he had seen an Angel. It's a beautiful black young man; probably around his age range like twenty three or twenty two. This lad had light makeup on to match the pink outfit, with soft blush and lip gloss. Oh, his lips are so plump filled with volume, a beautiful round wide nose, and those big heavenly Honey brown doe eyes.

"I wanna do right, we both want the sensation"

The person finally noticed Hobie staring at him, then smirks at him. "Hola, papí! Me estas mirando?" His voice pinched up a bit to sound a bit feminine.

No doubt, this was a man with a beautiful fit figure; with lean muscle, and such soft glitter glistening skin.

For the first time, Spider-man had shut up, never in his life he sees someone so extremely unique and attractive to him. This young man surely caught his eye, seeing his face reminded him of sunshine.

Then he came over towards him, Hobie stood as if he was frozen in place. If he could pink like a cartoon, he would. He gulps when the young man went up to him all seductive those doe eyes totally fooled him. They were so innocent, compare to the way he twirl and sway to the music.

"So, can we? Play with the stars tonight?"

"Que pasa, papí?"

Ah, the language barrier... damn if only he knew how to speak Spanish. He only knows a few words like that will help him flirt. The beautiful Sunflower, yes he decided to call him that. Once he got a whiff of a light scented of floral and sweet vanilla. Hobie gulps again as the young man giggles, "Ohh, not a Spanish speaker?"

"Can we make them all align?"

"You know English?" Hobie finally asked.

The mysterious minx could only smirk at him, "Your British?" The accent sort of threw him off.

Hobie chuckles in amusement, "Yeah, from good ole' London, darling."

"Well, Welcome to the States, man." He spoke in his normal voice.

The Spider-man grins widely, "Thanks, mate. I was wondering if you wanna dance."

"Sure. I never met a British guy like you before," He went up to the tall male, his bum grinding against Hobie's crotch. Then, his left hand got a hold of the punker's jaw with his plump lips moving, "I kinda wanna try it."

"You wanna try a good Brit, huh luv?" Hobie finally got the confidence, once he saw this person is into him.

"Hehehe," He chuckles, "Maybe." The group shakes as more people dance on the dance floor.

"Mmm, what's your name, luv?" This time the punker's hand got ahold of the young man's waist such soft meaty hips.

"Miles."

"So what's it gonna be? Yeah"

"Miles..." Hobie repeated the named, it sounds heavenly to him. "Last name?"

"Hold on, handsome. We still haven't dance." He giggles, "Your in a hurry."

"You're beautiful." The punker lower his head to whisper in Miles' ear.

"Heh, I know." Mies humms as he whine his hips against Hobie's crotch. Being busy with the sound, he let the punker's hands rest on his waist.

'"Cause tonight's the night, so, baby..."

Hobie grind against Miles' rear as his hands slowly rubs against his side hip to his thigh, "What's your name, hm?" Miles finally asked as his hand gently placed on the punk's cheek.

"Hobie."

"Hobie?"

"Actually it's Hobart... Hobie for short." He didn't know why he gave his real name.

"I never heard such a name." Miles pulls away to twirl and dance with his hands slid down to his chest all the way to his waist as he sway his hips. He's like an exotic dancer with his body moving like a snake. It's pretty enchanting.

"It's an old English name... Named after me grandad." His eyes glance over to his enemy finding the drug dealer been staring at Miles for a bit. Then his hand pulls Miles' hand to get him close so he can grind against him.

"It's a cute name, Hobie. I like it. It rolls off the tongue." His arms wrapped around the punker's neck, then his lips slowly move almost sexual, "HO-BIE."

Oh merciful heavens, he never felt his knees so weak and his heart beating so fast. "Are you flirting with me, darling?" He asked with his voice deep.

"Mmm, maybe." The mysterious young man playfully stick out his tongue, "I like to play."

"Play?"

"Mmhhmm, you can be my new toy."

Hobie was about to answer until his spider senses went off. His dark eyes glanced over at the drug dealer saying something to one of his men in the ear. The next thing he knows, the same bodyguard went through the crowd heading towards them. "Papí? Are you okay?" Miles' voice brought his focus onto him.

"Huh, oh- um yeah, what was that, darling?" He saw the cute Sunflower didn't like being ignore.

"Nothing. I guess- Oh!" Miles felt a tapped on his shoulder turning around, "Hm?"

The same bodyguard, "Hey, boss wants to talk to ya." He pointed at the man in the VIP.

"Me?" Miles looks confused.

"Yeah." He let Miles walk ahead, then he stop Hobie, "Not you! Go find yourself another trick."

Miles hears this with a scowl on his face. A trick? Hobie glares at the bodyguard, then the man noticed, "Do we have a problem?" He reveals his gun.

The pink dressed young man's eyes widen, "Hey, man. There's no need for that."

"Nah, mate. I don't want problems..." Yet. Hobie snorts, taking his leave. "See ya, Sunflower."

"Sunflower?" Miles smirks at this nickname, he likes it. It's cute. "Heh, see you later, Moonflower."

Hobie's faces felt as if he was turning into a dark warm berry color. That's cute, he likes it. As much as he likes the name papí.

As the two separate ways, Hobie sneakily went into a dark corner where he put on his Spider-man mask and climb up on the high ceiling with metal beams with bright flashing lights. Luckily, the club is built like an urban warehouse, so he stay hidden up top.

His eyes scan the room to noticed there's about twenty bodyguards, five men with big guns, and one drug dealer. His eyes focus on Miles heading to the VIP.

The young man stood with his hands on his hips, "I heard you want to see me?"

The drug dealer inhale his long joint with a grin on his face, he had one girl on his left and a femboy on his right. They were kissing his necks and rubbing his chest. "Yeah," The drug dealer's name Slick had his full eyes on Miles' body. Nice body, beautiful legs and pretty face, "How much for a dance, doll face?" His voice deep.

Miles arched his eyebrow, "Huh? Sorry, man. I'm not a stripper."

"So? I'm not asking ya if you're a stripper. I'm asking how much or..." He lift his chin slightly giving his men a sign to show their guns at Miles, "do I have to force ya?"

The young man stood being confused, "I'm just a normal dude wanting to club. Do you really have to show off like that?"

"It seems you haven't heard of me, trick! I'm a powerful guy," Slick finally sat up making his groupies look uncomfortable almost afraid by his voice, "if I tell you to get on your knees and suck my dick. You do it, bitch! Now, I'm not asking again."

Slick got up to grab Miles' hands, "Hey man, don't fucking touch me!" Miles struggles to break free.

"Bitch, I'll make you learn!" He was about to smack the pink haired male.

Hobie was ready to drop down to save Miles, until all the lights turned off causing everyone in the club to scream.

(Part 2)

[leathercollectionus]

Red Moto Boots

Red Moto Boots is the replica of those worn by Michael Van Der Mark in WSBK 2023 having particular features concerning the rider’s foot safety. and ease.

Red Moto Boots

[carisi-dreams]

Fictober 2023

Prompt number: #13, “Come with me, hurry.” Fandom (AU if applicable): Law & Order: SVU Pairing: Nick Amaro x Reader, Motorcycle!AU Rating: T Warnings/Tags: Warnings: none; Tags: AU

----

The motorcycle roared into the parking lot and you’d barely felt it stop under you before Nick was cutting off the engine and yanking his helmet off. He helped you off the bike and unclipped your helmet before it felt like both of your feet were even on the ground again.

“I knew we should have left earlier,” he grumbled as he gently tugged the helmet off of you and strung it up on one of his bike handles. “I don’t actually drive as fast as you make it seem.”

“I’m sorry, but there is no way that I could have moved any faster,” you apologized with half a shrug and swallowed a yawn. “You know I’m not a morning person.”

“Okay. Well, we may still make it.” Nick grabbed your hand and laced your fingers in his before he tugged at it. “Come with me. Hurry!” 

He started jogging and you forced yourself to keep up while trying not to trip over your own feet. You’d been to this park a few times as a kid and you had no idea why Nick insisted on taking you on a random Sunday to watch the sunrise. He’d come home with the idea on Friday and as much as you pleaded with him to have two days where you could sleep in, he insisted that you couldn't miss it.

“Babe, do we really have to run?” you squeezed out. You were fully awake now, though, and Nick’s excitement was starting to brush off on you. Even as you yawned again you did so around a smile. “I’m not up for a morning jog.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re impossible in the morning,” Nick laughed even as he picked up his pace. His boots left deep patterned grooves in the dirt that had a few brave blades of grass pushing through it. “This is worth it, I promise.”

You opened your mouth to say something else and he cut you off.

“And, I will buy you the biggest coffee you want on the way home,” he added.

You closed your mouth with a satisfied grin and picked up your pace as you dropped his hand.

“In that case, let’s go! What are you waiting for?” you called over your shoulder as you passed him. There was a vague idea of where he was headed that you were happy to chase down until he caught up.

“Was ‘coffee’ really the magic word?” Nick managed to sound playfully incredulous, and not at all out of breath, as he caught up to you easily. 

A wide grin spread across his face and it made your breath catch. First thing in the morning, to see him looking soft and playful was a wonder in and of itself. This was not a side of Nick that you saw often. In fact, you could probably count on one hand the number of times you’d seen him look like this in the last year. But then again, it had been a very long year. Your heart ached for Sonny, and his old lady, and for Nick, and Veronica, and yourself. It had been a long year.

“Maybe,” you tossed back just a beat too late. You kept the smile plastered on your face and turned away slightly under the guise of watching where you were going as you kept pace next to him. “You’ll have to try it a few times to be sure.”

“And just what do I get out of this exchange?” Nick asked with a side long grin. He slowed and you slowed in turn, bumping into him intentionally. He laced your fingers together again and your chest loosened. 

“A caffeinated girlfriend,” you replied dryly. “Now what is so special about this sunset?” You turned to him and looked up into his face in question.

“You’ll see,” Nick said with a private smile. Then, he gathered you in his arms and turned you to face where the sun was painting streaks of soft yellow in the sky.

[crynwr-drwg]

Message from the EZLN regarding recent gossip and rumours. Full text below:

P.S. THAT WARNS. – We were already going to tell you what this whole thing is about, but reading, seeing and listening to the string of atrocities that the «specialists» in everything and knowledgeable in nothing say and write (about supposed withdrawals, dismantlements, advances of organized crime and «returns to the past” – Coletos had to be the majority -), we decided rather to let them continue burping.

With their deep analysis and well-founded research, the zapatologists state: “an example of the Zapatista defeat is the loss of indigenous identity: young indigenous people already wear cowboy boots, instead of walking barefoot or in huaraches. And they get ready to flirt, new pants and shirt – or ironed! -, instead of wearing blanket pants and buying their wives according to indigenous uses and customs. And they ride motorcycles, instead of carrying their women coletas bosses on their backs. The only thing left is for young indigenous women to wear pants or, what a horror!, play soccer and drive vehicles, instead of serving the coleta ladies. They even dare to dance cumbias and ska instead of Bolonchon, and sing rap and hiphop instead of psalms and odes to the landowners. And, as another sign of the loss of their indigenous identity, they even pretend the absurdity of being subcommanders, commanders, and women commanders! And pretend to govern themselves. And they don’t ask permission to be however they want to be. And they travel and get to know other lands. And they work and earn their pay without a ‘tienda de raya’. And they do not have them in concentration camps, like in Gaza, so that they do not pick up “Sinaloa” ideas, that is, foreign ones – because the mayo-yoreme in Sinaloa, are all about narcocorridos, my man –. Because of Zapatismo, we anthropologists will no longer have any jobs. What a shame. And all because they did not follow the revolutionary vanguard of the proletariat or MORENA, same thing. A serious mistake of Zapatismo not to obey us. Because today, the indigenous people no longer look down when you bump into them. They look at you with irreverence, with defiance, with rage, as if we were the intruders and not them, as if we were the criminals and not them. Before, only the Zapatistas did that, now any ‘Chamulita’ stands up to you. And, as Marxism-Leninism-Stalinism-Maoism-Trotskyism-all-isms say, any indigenous person who is not like the anthropology manual says is a narco.”

We know for sure that, later, when the full meaning of this stage is known, they will have the minimum of honesty to say and publish: “We do not have the slightest idea of what they did, what they do or what they will do. The best thing would have been to ask the Zapatistas and not the anti-Zapatistas.” Or are they not honest?

Tell those “journalists” that it is always better, although more uncomfortable and not profitable, to interview the actors, not the spectators, ‘villa melones’ and lazy paramilitaries. Investigative journalism is a professional job that often requires risks and discomfort. But, don’t worry, we understand that everyone looks for a living the best way they can.

So, as a greeting to the “zapatologists”, we continue with these P.S. made with love:

P.S. OF THE CAPTAINTY OF PUERTO DE MONTAÑA. – We had prepared a series of clever phrases to make fun of the political class as a whole (government and opposition), but now we think that there is no point, since each flock has its shepherd or each shepherd has its flock. Or does someone naively believe that the matter is between two shepherdesses?

Our silence in these years was not, nor is, a sign of respect or endorsement of anything, but rather that we strive to see further and seek what everyone, men, women and ‘otroas’, is looking for: a way out of the nightmare. While you learn, from subsequent writings, what we have been doing, perhaps you will understand that our attention has been elsewhere.

But we understand that more than one suffers from what we Zapatistas call a “theoretical torticollis” which is caused by looking up, too much, and affects good judgment, common sense, decency and honesty – in addition to being addictive and creating chronic dependency. We understand the limitations of your horizons of analysis. One thing is the desk, the academy, the journalistic column, the commissioned report, the government position, the revolutionary coffee gossip or social networks, and another thing is reality.

The latter not only does not pay, but it also charges very expensively. Shakira has already said it: ‘la realidad factura’ (reality costs), and it does not include VAT. Sorry.

We will not make firewood out of the fallen trees up there. Reality, that implacable fool, will do its thing and the last splinters will be those that organized crime takes from the “cobro de piso” in the proposals of each of them.

Some masturbate with the ‘mañanera’ (morning presidential conference). Others with destruction, deaths, murders, rapes, disappearances, hunger, war, diseases, pain and sorrow. None of them have a viable and serious political proposal, they just entertain… until they don’t anymore.

And, since we are talking about autoeroticism: given the choice between Bertha and Claudia, well, Wendy.

-*-

Okay, cheers and now what am I going to do with my costume to dance corridos tumbados? “Compa, que le parece esa gorra?”… What? That’s not the way it goes? Don’t I tell you? It is the loss of indigenous identity. I hope anthropologists arrive soon to save us.

From the mountains of the mexican southeast.

The Captain

(Looking very handsome with his cowboy hat, not for bragging. Ajúa my people!)

Mexico 40, 30, 20, 10 years after

P.S. «CONTEXTUAL». – Televisa being Televisa and anthropologists being anthropologists:

https://www.nmas.com.mx/noticieros/programas/en-punto/videos/ezln-cierra-caracoles-avance-crimen-organizado/

[mikefaistinfo]

Interview: Mike Faist Pulls Back the Curtain

By AnOther Magazine

A decade on Broadway, a critically acclaimed turn in Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story, a role in Challengers alongside Zendaya – but who is Mike Faist? The Ohioan actor has remained an enigma, until now

One evening in 2016, the curtains fell on a normal weeknight performance of Dear Evan Hansen at the Music Box Theatre at 239 West 45th Street in Midtown Manhattan. Mike Faist quit the stage with the rest of the cast and was met with a guest, who had come backstage to see him. “I love a ghost story,” said the guest. It was Steven Spielberg.

Spielberg told Mike that he was working on a new film adaptation of West Side Story and that he wanted him to audition for it, breaking from a long tradition of Hollywood directors taking inspiration from Broadway but casting Hollywood actors in the roles. Mike had never thought he’d be in movies but loved the idea of being able to say he’d once auditioned for Spielberg. So, he put a tape together for the role of Tony, but Spielberg ended up giving him the role of Riff, the leader of the Jets – which he was thrilled about, having loved Russ Tamblyn in the original. Plus, “Everyone wants to be Mercutio,” he says.

Mike was lauded for his performance, which earned him a Bafta nomination, though Quentin Tarantino said he should have got an Oscar – something Mike hadn’t heard about before I told him when we met; he expressed a certain bemusement at the news. His portrayal of Riff represented a departure from previous interpretations of the character; instead of a corn-fed all-American type, Mike’s Riff is wild and waifish – he lost weight for the role and pored over Bruce Davidson’s seminal 1998 photography book Brooklyn Gang. “That’s where I found Riff,” he says. “They always cast jocks, muscular guys, obviously alpha guys. But that’s not who these guys were, they’re drunk, broke, heroin addicts, starving … ”

Now, the 32-year-old Ohio native is poised to star in two films: Challengers, the new romantic (read: love triangle) drama from Call Me By Your Name director Luca Guadagnino, starring Zendaya and Josh O’Connor; and The Bikeriders, Jeff Nichols’ new feature inspired by Danny Lyon’s 1967 photography book of the same name, featuring Austin Butler, Jodie Comer and Tom Hardy, which follows the rise of a Midwestern motorcycle club, the Vandals.

The Midwest is where I’m heading to meet Mike – Columbus, Ohio, specifically, which lies an hour and a half up the highway from Cincinnati (presumably a route once traversed by the Vandals), where The Bikeriders was filmed. It’s here, in a suburb to the north-east of the city called Gahanna, that Mike was born and spent his formative years, and it’s here that he returned to in February 2021 when his father got sick, to be closer to his family.

Mike pulls up to my hotel in a silver-grey Ram pickup (huge for British standards, modest for American ones). I jump in and he greets me warmly – though not as warmly as his rescue dog, Austin, a pitbull cross, who leaps onto my lap and tries, persistently, to lick my face. Mike wears a scruffy brown shirt and muddy workman boots; a baseball cap crowns his tousled, mouse-brown hair and a beige bandana circles his neck – until he pulls it over his mouth, which happens periodically, when he laughs or, as I later interpret, when he is feeling shy. Confronted with this vision of Americana, it’s hard not to be reminded of Mike’s role as the cowboy Jack Twist (played by Jake Gyllenhaal in the film) in the 2023 West End production of Brokeback Mountain.

I’d been expecting just to go for lunch at a nearby restaurant, but Mike explains that we’re heading out to Woodville, a small town two hours outside of Columbus where his father grew up and his Aunt Christy and Uncle Bernie still live. We drive out of the city and onto the highway, which is roaring with trucks that dwarf Mike’s own. Strip malls, gas stations and chain restaurants flash by and soon give way to farmland – wide-open fields of corn (at this time of year, just a sea of dead, damp stalks) that stretch out like an endless brown carpet laid beneath a grey, wintry sky.

Speaking with a barely detectable Midwestern twang, Mike opens up about the past couple of months: on December 12, his father, Kurt, died of a blood clot, following a three-year battle with pulmonary fibrosis. A month later, his grandfather, known to him as Papa, died too. Death has long weighed heavily on Mike’s mind – in a way that now feels pre-emptive. Despite moving to New York when he was 17 and spending the majority of his twenties there, building his career as a theatre – then film – actor, he moved back to Ohio when his dad fell ill. He sold his flat in Brooklyn and bought a house in Columbus’s German Village, which he has since renovated almost entirely by himself. It now appears that Mike is a quadruple threat: he can sing, dance, act and flip houses. (He can also fly small planes, but that’s possibly less relevant.)

“There’s something very humbling about coming back to Ohio,” he says, “about going off and working with Steven Spielberg, and then coming back here.”

“My friends are super supportive and they’re super proud, but at the end of the day, I’m still just Mike to them, which is great.”

“Have you ever seen Fargo?” he continues, after a brief pause. “Well, in Fargo, they have this amazing Midwestern accent. My family speaks a bit like that.”

After a two-hour drive, we arrive in Woodville, a small, blue-collar town home to just 2,000 people, a lime plant and the oldest Lutheran church in the US, which is where Mike’s father’s funeral took place a few months prior. The church is a stone’s throw from Mike’s aunt and uncle’s house, a typical, clapboard dwelling just off the main street.

When we step through the front door, it appears that we’ve entered an Easter grotto – Mike’s Aunt Cheri takes decorating very seriously, completely transforming her home for every holiday imaginable: not just Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas, but Halloween, Fourth of July and St Paddy’s Day, too – despite not having any discernible Irish heritage. Easter bunnies, chickens and eggs cover every conceivable space – from the table in the kitchen to the towels in the bathroom.

I’m quite taken aback by Mike’s vulnerability here, bringing me to an intimate Faist family gathering so soon after meeting. He’s opening up in a very real way – inviting me into the home his father grew up in and where he spent all his holidays as a kid. It’s a reflection of ‘Midwestern nice’ (the famously friendly disposition of the people who inhabit the region), but also his desire to be authentic – to show himself, his roots and his real life instead of just a manicured version of it. Instead, I meet Aunt Cheri, Aunt Christy, Uncle Bernie and Cousin John, who have all come over to meet me and, as Mike predicted in the car on the way over, Cheri and Christy have gone all out, putting on a lavish spread of cheese, crackers and ham-and-cheese rolls.

Cheri and Christy talk like Fargo, yes, but also like Jodie Comer in The Bikeriders; in fact, Mike found Jodie’s portrayal almost disconcertingly accurate. “I remember shooting a scene in a kitchen,” he says. “And there’s cigarette stains on the walls and ceiling and she’s just gabbing away in this thick Midwestern accent. I was like, oh my God, you’re my aunt.”

“[Jodie’s] incredible. I have a couple of scouse friends, and when I drove to Liverpool on a road trip [while living in the UK for Brokeback Mountain], I saw a lot of similarities with Ohio. A kind of blue-collar mentality.”

The conversation quickly turns to Mike’s father, Kurt. Cheri and Christy talk fondly of their brother’s sense of humour and practical jokes, including one called ‘the Witch’s Zebra’, which I couldn’t quite follow. “Kurt had the best laugh. He did. No matter what he went through,” says Cheri. “That guy could laugh and make us laugh when we came down to see him after the surgeries. A couple of times we were crying because he would get us laughing so hard about old memories.”

Cousin John, it turns out, was in an alternative rock band called Introspect that once opened for Bon Jovi (the Faist men are musically talented according to Cheri, who admits that the women of the family aren’t gifted in this respect). I ask him what Mike was like as a kid. “He was a quiet young man. And he’s always been very committed to his family. He’s been through a lot of stuff … ” he trails off. “I’m proud of him.”

When he was 17 years old, in 2009, Mike graduated from high school early and, like so many before him, left his hometown for New York. His father drove him there and, after a ten-hour journey, dropped him off at a halfway- house dorm room in the middle of Manhattan. “I was terrified,” he remembers. “So was my dad. But I knew I wanted to do this more than anything in the world.” Still, there was a romance to it all: like a scene out of Patti Smith’s Just Kids, he recalls sitting on his fire escape that first night, drinking a coffee, smoking a cigarette and feeling like he’d arrived.

Still, those first few years were tough: he was poor and often hungry. While Jimmy Stewart and Henry Fonda had once lived in his building, and James Dean had lived down the street, his accommodation (then a flat on 64th Street) was pretty basic: his sink was a hole in the floor and his kitchen was a microwave, also on the floor. There were times when he was on food stamps and others when he’d carry around a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter because that was the only food he could afford. He worked a variety of jobs: selling tickets for Off-Broadway shows to tourists in Times Square; working as a bar host and runner at Harry’s Burritos; and even, briefly, collecting signatures campaigning for same-sex marriage (he remembers panicking because he only got nine, but when he returned they told him that was amazing and that he’d only been beaten by one person who’d got 13). It was hard, attending theatre school (the American Musical Dramatic Academy) while working hard to make ends meet; many of his contemporaries came from wealthier backgrounds and didn’t need to work while studying. He remembers bumping into the actor (and Dear Evan Hansen co-star) Ben Platt when he was on a job for Postmates (a food delivery service) and feeling so ashamed that he pretended he was doing something else.

After appearing in several Off-Broadway productions, most notably Newsies, he landed a role in Dear Evan Hansen, which made it to Broadway in 2016. Initially, he felt as though he was floundering in the role – “It was a new show,” he remembers, “and it was a character that is more or less a ghost or ethereal, ambiguous creature.” He decided to do some research into suicide survivors online and came across the website LiveThroughThis.org, which tells the stories of people who have survived their attempts to end their own lives. He spoke to Dese’Rae Stage who founded the initiative, and it allowed him a way into the character, lending him understanding and empathy about the experience. “It really grounded me with what I wanted to do with the role. Since then, research has been my way to feel more secure, to feel like I am prepared. Even if you have to throw it all away in the end.”

Then of course came West Side Story, which remains the project he is most proud of and a convergence of everything he wanted to achieve. Working with Steven Spielberg and screenwriter Tony Kushner, he says he found pieces of himself he never knew existed and let go of his inhibition. “It felt transcendental,” he says. “It felt like: I’m not me right now, I’m being used to tell the story in the best way possible. I don’t know how to explain it, it was like I had no control over the situation. It was like being used as a vessel, and that was the best feeling ever.”

After wrapping up lunch, we head back to Columbus, driving back through the Ohioan countryside, with Sufjan Stevens playing on the speakers. This feels appropriate for several reasons: not only is Stevens a fellow Midwesterner (the singer-songwriter hails from Detroit, Michigan), but he shares a similar sensibility to Mike: he too is thoughtful, poetic, and committed to his art. As with Stevens, fame and celebrity feel like an accidental or even unfortunate side-effect of doing what Mike loves. “I don’t want to do this as a job,” Mike says at one point, staring ahead at the road before him. “For me, it’s deeper than that.”

I thought this might be the end of our interview, but we arrive back at Mike’s house in the German Village and he beckons me in, introducing me to his roommate Dan, who has known Mike since he was 16 – the pair met acting in plays at high school. What was Mike like back then? “A loose cannon,” Dan says with a wry smile. “Eccentric,” Mike corrects. “Floaty and an idiot.” He was going through a rebellious stage in this period of his life, and, while this didn’t mean anything too nefarious (he was mainly just smoking and selling a bit of pot), he wasn’t heading down a good path and was bored stiff. It was theatre that saved him: he was keen to take part in the various productions his high school theatre club was putting on, but his teacher, Miss Macioce, disallowed him because of his behaviour, which is when he decided to make a change.

Mike shows me around the house he did up with some help from his dad before he died. It’s handsomely but humbly decorated, with a fair amount of older or thrifted furniture and a picture of his dog Austin (drawn by a young neighbour from Gahanna) hanging in the downstairs loo. His bedroom is painted dark green and books line the walls; it looks like a normal thirtysomething’s bedroom, except for the flash of gold on the bookshelf – the Grammy he and his castmates won for Dear Evan Hansen. (They were also nominated for a Tony for this.)

We head out to take Austin for a walk through German Village, the oldest and most affluent part of Columbus populated with lawyers and doctors who work at the local children’s hospital, one of the largest in the US. Real gas lamps flicker in the porches of smart, red-brick Victorian houses built by German settlers who arrived here in the early-to-mid-19th century; front gardens are lined with coiffed box hedges, while Ukrainian flags fly alongside the regular Star-Spangled Banner, indicating the liberal values and Democratic leanings of the neighbourhood. Two kids come up to say hi to Austin and Mike chats amiably with them, producing some dog treats for them to feed him (Austin appears to be more famous here than Mike).

An hour or so later, we’re still hanging out and sitting at the bar of a nearby restaurant called Cobra, which was set up by Alex, another high-school friend of Mike’s. It’s been an unmitigated success – the place is packed. We’re having a fairly furious debate over which superpower would be preferable: the ability to fly or be invisible. Mike wants to be invisible which I think is ridiculous, because what – besides things that are a) creepy or b) illegal – is being invisible good for? Doing random acts of kindness, like watering an old lady’s garden, says Mike. I laugh. Dan and two more high-school friends, Garet and Kaine, join us and quickly the debate resurfaces. Obviously, everyone agrees with me, but Mike isn’t backing down.

I suspect that the real reason is Mike’s discomfort with the public position his job is putting him in. He’s dreading the Challengers press tour and admits he was even dreading this interview a bit. It’s part of the reason he enjoys Ohio; no one knows who he is or treats him any differently. The gift of invisibility – or anonymity – is attractive to him.

On set for Challengers, Mike says he felt a natural synergy with O’Connor who “just wants to make pottery and be in his garden” in the Cotswolds. “I think he’s a bit more accepting of it all than me. Because he’s always had to do a lot more of it [press tours, et cetera], so I think he’s at least mentally prepared. And I’m like, coming around slowly. But luckily, Z [Zendaya] is a pro.”

“But she grew up with it, you know, kid actor and Disney Channel … It’s a different world … I think it really got crazy for her while we were shooting actually, when she fully acknowledged the scope of her fame. Because we were in Boston and she had an apartment and she just couldn’t walk outside. I would take Austin to the park, have a cup of coffee and walk around, and she just couldn’t do that.”

Mike doesn’t have this problem yet. Here in Ohio, his friends don’t treat him differently. To them, he’s the same guy they befriended at theatre club all those years ago. They’ve all rallied around him in the wake of his father and grandfather’s deaths and their support, as he says on multiple occasions, means a great deal to him.

These friends soon decide that I need to experience a proper American dive bar, which is where we head next: a crowded, noisy and sweaty place crammed with locals. There is sport on the TV and darts are being played in the corner. I’m soon plied with Busch – a classic Ohioan beer – as a couple more of Mike’s high-school friends join us: Julia and Garet’s wife Aileen. The gift of flight or invisibility debate soon rears its head again, but Mike is still unable to find a majority.

It’s the next day and Mike and I are discussing Challengers and the preparation he had to undergo to play a professional tennis player. He’d suggested meeting again and had picked me up from my hotel early in the morning to drive me to a Waffle House, where we’re now eating a classic syrup-laden American breakfast.

Breakfast, in fact, was a key part of his preparation for the film: he had to eat eight scrambled eggs every morning to help build up his physique, and work out for four hours a day for 12 weeks – he put on 20lbs of muscle.

“I enjoyed working out, but I think it made me feel like I lost some brain cells,” he says, laughing. “I enjoyed the challenge, I enjoyed the ritual of it, but I don’t know if I need to be eating a cake every morning. I was eating like every two hours.”

Tennis, of course, formed a big part of his preparation too; he was trained by Brad Gilbert, a former player who has won 20 pro singles tournaments and coached Andre Agassi and Andy Murray, among others. “Brad was really insistent that my character, Art, played with a one-handed backhand and his reasoning was that there was this big rivalry between Andre and Pete Sampras. Andre was more like the wild child, like Josh [O’Connor]’s character, and Pete was the more ritualistic, professional, disciplined one. Brad got really interested in that dynamic, so he was like, ‘You’re gonna play with the one-handed backhand.’”

The build-up for the film had challenges that went beyond the physical, too. Mike admits he had some hang-ups about taking on the role – insecurities that sometimes flare up about his being a small-town boy from Ohio working alongside major-league actors and directors. But as his performance in the film shows, he not only holds his own alongside Zendaya and Josh O’Connor (no mean feat) – he shines. His role is the more challenging; while Josh’s character, Patrick, is the slightly more cocksure bad boy, Art is a more internal, introverted character which Mike plays deftly – it’s more than skin-deep; he inhabits the role totally.

One line from Challengers that stuck with me occurs when Art is contemplating giving up his career in tennis. “I’m tired,” he sighs, in a way that expresses a weariness that is deeper than physical exhaustion. It’s the weariness of having pursued your dreams for ten years and being worn down to a point of real, inescapable fatigue. I ask him if he relates to this at all.

“What drove me to understand this character – why I liked and was interested in the character – was this idea. In Andre Agassi’s memoir, he talks about why he hates tennis throughout the entire book. And I understand,” he says, as we continue to eat breakfast. “The reason I moved to New York was to become an actor – like, I had no choice. And yeah, when you’re in your twenties, you’re just trying to get your foot in the door and make it happen by any means necessary; you’re gonna show up and you’re gonna hustle.”

“I enjoyed playing Art because I have a strange relationship to acting: I really love it, but at the same time I get so exhausted by it. And I fall in and out of love with it on a pretty regular basis. It’s just the truth of the matter. So I think I really understood Andre, and Art, when they talk about this idea of falling out of love with your craft.”

He felt another synergy with O’Connor in this respect: “Josh is always torn too. Honestly, he’s more Art than me … He’s like, ‘I’m tired.’”

It was on the set of Challengers where Mike first met Jonathan Anderson, who worked as the costume designer on the film. The pair quickly struck up a friendship – Mike says he appreciated Anderson’s sarcastic sense of humour. The designer later asked Mike to appear in a Loewe campaign (for the SS24 pre-collection) and while Mike was initially reticent, it was soon apparent that Jonathan wasn’t going to take no for an answer. On set, Mike had his initiation into the world of fashion and particularly took to photographer Juergen Teller, who shot the campaign and entertained Mike with the story behind his famous photo of OJ Simpson. “I love Jonathan no matter what,” he says. “He’s a great guy and a great friend.”

Later, we drive over to Gahanna, where Mike grew up. The houses are bigger and more spread out here, and it’s a lot leafier; there are bigger yards, lots of trees, with the odd lake or oversized pond. He drives me past his high school, which is currently getting an extension and vast new football stadium (a lot of pressure on the football team, the Lions, he says), and past his mum’s office, out of which she’s practised law for the past 40 years, only retiring last year. We keep driving on, past his friends’ houses – where Kaine, a friend we’d met last night, used to live; where a former girlfriend used to live; where other people he’d spent his teens mucking about with used to live. Many of them have stuck around; others flew off like Mike did, only to circle back home in their late twenties and early thirties.

Finally, we arrive at a classic American suburban home, with an open garage and stuff teeming out of it. We enter the house through a door at the back of the garage, Austin in tow, and hear the yapping of dogs. Two King Charles Spaniel-Shih-Tzus race out to meet us, a flurry of white fur and shining brown eyes the size of saucers. Charlie and Huck (named after Huckleberry Finn, of course) are followed by Mike’s mum, Julie, who sits down with us in the living room, where family photos sit framed on shelves and two sofas face a large TV (Julie loves home makeover shows).

“At two years old,” she says, “Mike became obsessed with dancing.” His grandmother, who had been living with them at the time and was suffering from dementia, loved old movies and would watch them on repeat. Mike, therefore, spent his first few years on Earth soaking up Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire like a sponge. “I’m going to be Gene Kelly one day,” he told his mum, before asking if he could go to dance class. Julie did her best, but couldn’t find a dance class that accepted infants, so Mike had to wait until he was five before finally enrolling in one. “He was born an adult,” says Julie. “At six, he told me he wanted to start saving for college. At six!” He asked her to write to the Barney show and see if he could go on it, but that didn’t work out, and Mike got his first taste of the cruel world of showbiz. He continued guzzling down Gene Kelly movies – On the Town, An American in Paris and, most importantly, Singin’ in the Rain, which he still ranks as one of his favourite films of all time.

According to Julie, Mike thought Gene was “the perfect man” – “he could do everything and would always get the girl. That was important: he always got the girl.” He started to wear suits to pre-school – a school photo on the shelf shows Mike in a pinstriped suit, smiling ear to ear – and even, on occasion, took to wearing a top hat. Julie encouraged Mike to try his hand at everything – from baseball to basketball and tennis, which has now – thanks to The Challengers – come in handy. He even had a brief but successful stint as the school mascot, donning an enormous lion costume to football games. This was largely an excuse to hang out with the cheerleaders, but when I ask if he had any luck in that department, he laughs. “No, I was definitely not cool enough for that. I think I sold them some pot though.”

It was at dance class where he really shone; Julie said he was always leading the other guys – at nine, he was helping dancers eight years his senior learn the choreography. One time, when they went to a Broadway show, Mike came home and wrote down the entire choreography – literally typed it up – and then taught it to his classmates, which they then performed (or rather, plagiarised, says Julie).

He didn’t do many school plays but there was an alternative theatre arts school in Columbus, and he decided to go there. His first production was an American play called Life With Father, in which he played one of the sons. And then he took part in a production of Grease – playing Danny Zuko, naturally.

Mike, Austin and I go out for a walk, through the wide streets and large front yards, down into the woods that back onto the suburbs. Here, Mike, spent his youth, messing around, collecting frogspawn and later smoking et cetera. The weather is unseasonably warm as we walk down by the creek, through the woods and onto a football field, where kids are warming up for sports to the sound of Soulja Boy. It’s a supremely American scene.

Mike suggests that we go to the cemetery where his grandfather has just been laid to rest. No one from the family has been there yet, and again I’m taken aback. His sister, Krista, calls on the way down, and Mike explains where we’re going. We’re not entirely sure where – in the sea of stone plaques, metal vases and artificial flowers that stretches out before us – his Papa has been laid to rest, and we search for half an hour in the fiery glow of the Ohioan sunset before calling it quits. We head to a brewery a half-hour drive away to catch the last embers of sun sinking down over Columbus and discuss The Bikeriders.

In preparation for the film, Mike spent two days in Maine with Danny Lyon, who he plays and who gave him some photography lessons. He takes out his Fuji camera and flicks through the photographs that he took on set, some of which represent restagings of Lyon’s original photographs, which will be compiled into a photo book. “It’s a small part but I just wanted to watch these great actors – Austin, Jodie, Tom. I wanted to be a fly on the wall and just be there. I was learning photography at the time and it was a great opportunity to get paid to photograph some of your idols. And it was in Cincinnati, so close to dad, and around the holidays.”

Once we’re back on the road, we decide to stop off at Massey’s – a local roadside pizza joint about 15 minutes away. His father loved this place and Mike says he would have found it hilarious that we’d come here. The air is thick with the smell of oil and cheese, and the interiors look like they haven’t been touched since the 70s: neon lights in the window; a swirly, navy-blue carpet; sticky, plastic tables; no music, just the sound of chatter from the few other diners. Julie joins us and we discuss family; how her grandparents had arrived in America, how her parents came up from the Dust Bowl during the Great Depression, and lived that Grapes of Wrath life. “That’s the Midwest,” says Mike. “Everyone has the mentality of work, work your ass off.”

“That’s the unfortunate thing about America. That’s something that physically hurts me,” he continues, his voice cracking and his eyes suddenly smarting with tears. “Because I’ve been so fortunate in my life to have crazy adventures and pursue my dreams. And my mom and my dad … They just worked so hard to make sure I was able to do what I do. And I don’t know, the cost of that, on their health and whatnot … ”

To date, Mike has made interesting choices in projects he’s decided to take on, which reflect his instincts and interests as an artist. And while he loves acting, he doesn’t love everything that comes with it. In many ways, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mike did a few more roles, had a five-year break – during which he flips houses for a living and enjoys a more regular existence in Ohio – and then comes back and does another role that lands him an Oscar. “I had this conversation a lot with [The Bikeriders director] Jeff Nichols, saying that I only really want to do pieces that come from a place of love,” he’d said earlier on in the day. “Like, it’s coming from me. Like not necessarily for love, but from love. It may not be good [laughs] but it’s coming from that place of ‘I’m free, I’m liberated, I’m the most authentic I can be.’”

After dinner, Mike makes me drive his truck part of the way home (despite my lack of pretty much any driving experience or, more crucially, a driver’s licence – we both fear for our lives), concluding not just a whirlwind journey through Ohio, but through Mike’s life. As we part ways, I wonder where his journey will take him next, and how these two major films will affect its course.

Hair: Tsuki at Streeters. Make-up: Kiki Gifford at Streeters. Talent: Mike Faist. Lighting: Eduardo Silva. Photographic assistant: Nathaniel Jerome. Styling assistants: Bella Kavanagh, Alexander Bainbridge, Umi Jiang and Alexa Levine. Production: Second Name

This story features in the Summer/Autumn issue of Another Man, which is on sale internationally from April 25, 2024. 

You can find this interview here: https://www.anothermag.com/another-man/15568/mike-faist-challengers-the-bikeriders-interview-profile

[pabtsblueliving]

Never Changed

Another song-spo fic. Been feeling Knoxville heavy these past few days. Saw an edit by someone of tik tok of him during the Gumball Rally with this song…brain rot occurred. 

WC 1.2K

Warnings: angst, flirting, semi-established on and off relationship, smoking, drinking, making out, groping etc. 18+

Song: Change (In the House of Flies) by the Deftones

I tried my best making the reader as body neutral as possible, still working on improving!

pabtsblueliving © 2023

You and Knox had been on and off for years. 

It was cat and mouse for as long as you could remember. 

You were a well known model, walking for Versace, Gucci, and Mugler since 2004. You somehow got roped into the Jackass crew when you had went to the first premier of the movie which was a backyard BBQ with celebrities left and right, playboy models and hustler girls walking around everywhere you looked.

Youd shown up with friends, Knoxville stealing you to say hi right after youd grabbed a drink.

“Big fan” He smiled, god that smile

“Likewise” you spoke, shaking his hand.

I watched you change, into a fly

I looked away, you were on fire.

It was breaking up and making up, every few months. Youd fuck, youd fight, youd see him in the tabloids with a new blonde the next day. Then after your declaration of finally being “done with him”...He’d show up backstage of your latest runway show.

I watched a change in you, It's like you never had wings

Now, you feel so alive, I've watched you change

Bam Margera had invited your best friend to come to the bar the Jackass Crew and himself were at in New York City. You knew he would be there, and you told yourself no…don't feel into his ego…don't show him, he still had you wrapped around his finger.

“Come on, Y/N, seriously…for me? You know ive been into Bam lately…And you know all those guys anyways! Who cares if Johnny will be there” Your friend, Melissa, had a big grin, batting her lashes at you.

You looked at her and let your head fall back as you sighed, 

“Fine…Mel, alright I'll come. For. An. Hour” You pointed in her face, walking to your suitcase to pick out something to wear.

She landed a big kiss on your cheek, and you laughed. 

“Y/N, holy shit I love you, I will totally owe you a drink at the bar!” She gleaned, running to put her shoes on. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, fluffing your hair. You'd thrown on your outfit Finishing the look with your harness motorcycle boots, and that one final…accessory.

His belt

God, you'd stolen that belt from him two years ago and he hasn't asked about it back since. The jewelry around your neckline and wrists clanged together as you reached for it. 

It was black, some studs, and his old red Waylon Jennings belt buckle on it. You were wearing it, you had to. Mess with him a little, tease a little, maybe piss him off…who knows what wearing this belt would do to you. 

I took you home, Set you on the glass

I pulled off your wings, Then I laughed

You and Melissa walked into the dive bar in Brooklyn. You had looked around, spotting Wee-man hand standing on the bar while also funneling a beer. 

You and Melissa couldn't help but to groan while laughing, what the hell did we get ourselves into.

“Well, well, I knew you’d be here.” You hear a familiar, Pennsylvanian accent slur.

Melissa turned around, and smiled, giving him a hug. You still had no idea if he had said that to you, or his date who’d finally arrived.

Bam smiled and hugged Melissa, then looked up at you in their embrace, and spoke

“Yeah, I'm talking to you.” He laughed, and Melissa pulled away. “Good luck” He said, accent prominent, and pulling Melissa on his arm towards the other guys.

Melissa looked back and cringed, mouthing ‘Sorry’ as she continued to walk with Bam. A few minutes later, youre standing at the end of the bar, chin in your hand, waiting for your much needed gin and tonic. 

“...So that’s where my belt has been, huh.” You heard that voice, his voice, shit, compose yourself a bit, dont turn around yet.

You kept yourself facing the bartender, feeling Johnny’s looming figure just inches behind you.

“Yeah, well…” You turned around, straw in your lips.

“I always thought it looked better on me, no?” You tossed your hair over your shoulder, taking another sip.

I watched a change in you, It's like you never had wings

Now, you feel so alive, I've watched you change

He looked down at you, and tilted his sunglasses down.

“I take it back…you look quite lovely tonight, Rabbit.” He said softly, taking off his sunglasses fully.

That nickname, he's playing a dangerous game, but he's playing it just right

“Starting already, Knox?” You couldn't help but to smile, you two were like magnets whenever you were five feet within the same space together. 

“Whaaat, Y/N…you’re being mean tonight…are you breaking up with me?” He joked, smiling after his last few words. 

“Don’t you wanna catch up?” His arms slapped against his thighs, grabbing his beer from the bar and taking a sip.

“What to hear about the next blonde youre seeing?” You rolled your eyes, “Dont think im too interested, Knox. 

I look at the cross, then I look away

“Hey…come on now, that's over with…” He stepped closer, you're now trapped between him and the bar. “Come have a smoke with me…” He grinned, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. 

I'm in for it, and now I'm crossing a path that's near impossible to turn around on.

He lit your stick, then his. You had your back against the brick wall, him leaning on the wall on his side, on arm holding him up above his head. 

You both took a drag, making eye contact, not breaking with the other. He exhaled his smoke, stepping closer, his hand with the cigarette stroking the side of your face, thumb going over your lip. 

“I always forget how gorgeous you are, rabbit…” he pulled up your chin as you took another drag

“How do we,” You exhaled the smoke, “always end up like this, huh, John?” 

Your mind was fuzzy, you had a buzz, desire.

“Maybe this is just…meant to be.” He took your cigarette and put it out, grabbing your waist and pulling you in for a smoldering kiss.

You gasped, usually you're able to fend him off for at least another hour. But, the inevitable is going to happen. 

You pulled him in by his belt buckle, whining into the kiss. The feeling of his tongue shooting straight to your core. He tasted like beer and cigarettes, your favorite. 

Give you the gun Blow me away

I watched a change in you It's like you never had wings

His right hand sneaked down, and grabbed a handful of your ass slowly, and he groaned. You took this opportunity to stick your tongue between his lips and grab a handful of his hair.

“PJ” You whined…taking a breath

“Baby, come on, baby, if you call me that you know this will be a long night…” He grabbed you by the chin.

You held his belt buckle, teasing the trail of hair leading down under his dickies.

“So let be long, Knox…” You smiled.

[daily-rayless]

l'impératrice

It's time for another character appreciation post. Today let's discuss Mitsuru Kirijo from Persona III.

Right from when I first played P3 in 2008, I was drawn to Mitsuru's exceptionally elegant design.

June 2008

As far as I can remember, this was the first Mitsuru art I ever did. Immediate pluses in her favor: nice boots and a sword.

September 2009

Mitsuru's design is extremely sophisticated, but it's also grounded in reality.

December 2009

Yeah, she's a wish-fulfillment character with her beauty and universal school popularity and fencing skills and motorcycle and effortless confidence and family wealth and Français impeccable.

January 2010

But in terms of character design, she's fairly downplayed. There's no copious jewels, intricate hair, elaborate makeup, frills. There's actually very little visual ostentation.

April 2010

Instead, artist Shigenori Soejima conveyed her sophistication through her long wavy hair, her stiletto boots, her cravat, and her longer-than-average skirt.

December 2010

It conveys “fancy”, but not “excessive” – “impractical” – or even “fictional character”.

Well, maybe running through the halls of Tartarus in stilettos is a little impractical.

December 2012

But it conveys more than “fancy”. The tall black boots give her a military air. The longer hem hints towards her being aloof, removed, more adult. The hair conceals.

July 2013

The deep red color of her hair suggests rubies, merlot, velvet. But it also alludes to passion, courage – even eventual outrage.

March 2014

Which leads me to my next point. Mitsuru's backstory may make her unrelatable to the average gamer. At least, the broad strokes of her history are beyond most of us.

April 2015

But I think she's a very well written character. We might not be in her exact family circumstances, but we can still relate to her loyalty and anger.

December 2015

Like most of Persona 3's cast, she has some serious moral failings. She's secretive, high-handed, and myopic in how she deals with grief as well as in how she lends her loyalty to others. Both during the game and in FES' The Answer -- the original game hasn't neatly corrected all of her faults.

March 2020

For all her confidence, her Social Link reveals there are times when she can be utterly passive, playing into expected roles because of family loyalty and a reluctance to see herself as an individual.

September 2020

But at her best, she's fierce, brilliant, and even endearingly awkward.

November 2021

I love the combination of her refined design and cool (but secretly smoldering) personality.

April 2023

Why would I ever stop drawing her?