#motorcycle boots for ladies

[leathercollectionus]

Yellow Motorcycle Boots Miguel Oliviera Winter Test 2022

Miguel Oliviera Yellow Motorcycle Boots are the replicas of those boots worn by him in the MotoGP 2022 Winter Test and have particular features concerning the rider’s foot safety.

Yellow Motorcycle Boots Miguel Oliviera Winter Test 2022

[sirfrogsworth]

sirfrogsworth please i am begging to know your boomer uncle’s thought process when he installed all those spam search bars what on earth was he TRUING to do

This was my Uncle Larry. He died in 2014 from a lifetime of smoking.

But while he was alive, he was what my grandma would refer to as "a character."

I feel like seeing his photo gives a partial explanation of the toolbar fiasco.

He was a man stuck in the 1960s but extremely curious about new things.

It was the early 2000s and I was trying to make some extra money. So when he was interested in getting a computer I offered to build him one from scratch.

What I didn't consider about this arrangement was that I was basically signing up to be my uncle's IT person. If something went wrong, it could possibly be due to a mistake I made.

He called me up complaining he couldn't see his websites and that the computer was running slower than normal.

I boot up his system and it takes 10 minutes to get to Windows. The desktop was filled with random programs he installed. And when I opened his web browser I was immediately greeted with a dozen pop up advertisements. Once I nuked them all, all of the different search toolbars were revealed. There was maybe a few inches of space for viewing websites and he had just been looking at photos a segment at a time for weeks before wondering if maybe it wasn't supposed to work like that.

I asked him why he installed all of this crap and he told me he didn't realize he had a choice. He just thought you had to say yes to everything that popped up on the screen. He also opened every spam email he received.

To make matters even worse, when he was searching for lewd pictures of Catherine Bell (aka the "JAG lady" with nice cans), he ended up on various softcore porn sites containing ever more dangerous pop up ads. And he clicked on all of those as well.

He loved the internet. It was a wonderland for such a curious person. He loved typing in random things and just reading and looking at pictures for hours. Aside from Maxim photos of TV celebrities, his searches were pretty innocent. He looked at old cars he used to own and lawnmowers he wanted to buy. He read old war stories and found websites helping him learn how to whittle walking sticks.

But he had no sense of danger. He had a Leroy Jenkins approach to life. He just sort of jumped into whatever without any fear or caution. Which is probably why my parents were so pissed at him when he offered 8 year-old me a ride on his new motorcycle. He immediately took me off-road and up a steep hill without a helmet or telling me to hold on. And it was a Harley, so not really meant for that terrain.

I tried a virus scan and it just said "You have every virus." So I had to nuke his Windows install from orbit. I then gave him computer lessons, which he paid me for, so that sort of worked out despite how frustrating it was to keep him from clicking on random things.

Uncle Larry taught me an important lesson.

Never tell your family you know about computers.

[drabblesandimagines]

Crash

Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship

The sidewalk feels cold beneath your thighs as you stare blankly into your lap, your breaths heavy, struggling through a tight chest. You’re sat cross-legged, like a child - the nice, elderly lady had encouraged you to sit down, said you were looking pale. She’d definitely meant for you to take a seat on the bench a few steps away, but you’d just dropped, seemingly forgetting how to get from standing to sitting in any sort of graceful manner.

She’d smiled sympathetically then, offered you some candy from the bottom of her purse – kept a stash in there for her grandchildren - said you needed sugar for the shock. But you’d shook your head, feeling sick at the notion of eating anything. She asked if there was anyone she could call whilst waiting for the first responders.

You’d put your hand in your jacket pocket for your phone at her question – relieved it’s in one piece, not smashed up like the hunk of metal just out of eyeshot. You don’t remember calling Leon’s number, but you must have because now your phone’s up against your ear.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He answers after only four rings, though his voice is hushed - maybe ducked out of the room to answer. “Can I call you back in 20? Just wrapping up something here.”

“I-crashed-the-car.” You blurt out, the words running into one another. It’s not technically true, you were crashed into but this seems easier for now.

“What?” His volume amps way up and your stomach twists with the change, unsure of the implications – is he mad? Upset?

You were borrowing his car. Yours was in the garage, the brake discs needed replaced and would take a couple of days to get the parts in. You’d planned to take city transport but Leon insisted you take his car - arguing it was winter, that it gets dark so early and the idea of you walking to and from the bus stop on your own isn’t one he wants to entertain. You don’t live in a terrible neighbourhood, but you don’t have to be for monsters to be roaming the streets, after all. Plus, it made sense for him to ride his bike to HQ whilst you borrowed his SUV and he wouldn’t have to worry, have one less thing on his plate… ..or so had been the idea. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m so sorry,” you don’t even take in his questions, really. “They came out of nowhere and…“ Your breath hitches in your throat, a sob building up and threatening to overflow.

“Baby,” his tone is firm, “are you hurt?”

You can hear his shoes slapping against the floor as he begins to run, though it sounds too hard a sole for his boots... No, that’s right, he went out in a suit this morning – leather jacket on top, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm, still made the whole ensemble look good albeit it being mismatched.

“No…” That’s not true - there’s blood, and it has to be yours, but you feel numb of any sort of pain. “I don’t know.“ Your voice cracks again. “That’s okay,” he soothes, barging through a door with his shoulder. “We’ll work it out.” Nearly takes a woman out the other side with how hard the door slams against the wall, mutters half an apology as he darts around her. “Are you still in the car?” You turn to look at Leon’s black SUV laying on its side, the under carriage on full display – not the way a car should be. The driver’s side is against the concrete. You’d climbed out the passenger side, somehow, having to fight gravity itself to get the door to open, clambered up and over the leather seats. Should you have done that, or should you have stayed put? You’d just wanted out from the metal box – the windscreen was a spiderweb of cracks, creaking like it would explode in shards at any moment. “N-no, I’m on the sidewalk.”

“Okay, good. Ambulance on its way?” He’s reached the elevator, mashes the down button like it will make it accelerate to his floor any faster than usual. He feels awful that he’s interrogating you, but his training has kicked in - gather as much intel as possible – and he needs the facts.

“Yeah. Police too.” A few cars had stopped after. Someone said they were calling 911, another saying they got some of the license plate, the old lady and her purse full of candy. The other car drove off, tyres burnt with how fast they fled the scene.

“Good. That’s good, sweetheart. You’re going to be okay. Can you tell me where you are? What street you’re on?”

“Erm…” You look round, but in the shock nothing looks familiar, though it must be a route you’d driven down hundreds of times before. “I was on the way home from work, so, I’m, erm…”

“That’s all right.” He can hear the tightness in your voice, knows you’re not thinking clearly and so he changes tact. “Is anyone nearby that you could ask?” He hits the elevator button again, swears it’s been on floor 12 for far longer than necessary. Come on.

The elderly lady comes back to mind – she must’ve stepped back to give you privacy when you’d pulled your phone out. “There’s someone.”

“Great. Can you ask them where you are?”

“Yeah…” You pull the phone down from your ear, looking around to find she’s not gone far at all, hovering a few metres away. “Excuse me, where are we? Sorry.” The apology slips out, feeling more of a nuisance to her than you’d already been.

“16th Street, dearie.” She smiles, keeps her tone gentle. “Just near Jack’s Groceries.”

The elevator finally arrives – empty - and Leon positions himself between the doors, aware that his reception might drop when he starts to head down to the garage and he can’t leave you on a dial tone.

“Thank you.” You force a smile in return, hold the phone back up to your ear. “16th Street, near the grocery store, Jack’s - it’s the one with those chips you like?”

He smiles at that – it’s not your usual place to shop, but you go there sometimes to pick them up for him ‘just cos’. “I’m on my way, sweetheart. Can you call or text me if you go anywhere else?”

“Y-yeah.” You take another shuddering breath, dig your nails into the palm of your hand. “Thank you. I’m so sorry.”

He steps into the elevator fully, double taps the button for the garage before assaulting another to close the doors. He hopes no-one tries to grab it on the way down, cos he won’t be able to hide his irritation.

“Nothing to apologize for. Everything’s going to be okay. I love you, baby.”

“Love you too.”

“See you soon.”

He hears the beep, signaling the call is cut off and takes a grounding breath, though his foot taps impatiently as the elevator continues to descend. He scrolls down his contacts, thumb poised to dial as soon as the doors open again.

“Leon,” Hunnigan sounds surprised to receive his call, probably cos he’s in the same building as her and usually swung by the office if he was after something. “To wha-“

“I need a car.” He cuts across her, heading over to where the company vehicles are kept. “Any car - I’m in the garage already.”

“Right. Why?” He feels a smidge of relief when he hears her begin to type.

“Please - just give me anything. I don’t care what, I just need to go.”

There’s the clunk of a lock down the line of vehicles, a black estate vehicle’s lights flashing. “Bay C3. Keys in the sun visor as usual. Tell me later.”

“I will. Thank you.”

 --

Leon drives a little faster than he should, but it still feels like hours until he reaches his destination. There’s a couple of cop cars blocking one of the lanes, red and blues flashing, an officer stood diverting traffic around the closure and another manning the perimeter. He pulls up behind the cars and hops out, scanning for you.

There’s an ambulance parked up in the lane and his heart skips a beat when he sees you sat on the steps, a cop on one side, a paramedic waiting behind in the wings. There’s one of those silver foil emergency blankets draped around your shoulders and you look so goddamn small.

He starts to jog over, intent on getting to your side as soon as possible, when the cop manning the perimeter sidesteps in front of him, holding his hands up to get him to stop.

“Sir, I need you to stay ba-“

Leon flashes his ID in his face – it’s not something he likes to do and so he rarely does it, but he doesn’t have time to put on the charm. “Agent Leon Kennedy. That’s my girlfriend over there – I need to get through.”

The cop steps back and Leon feels weirdly grateful for once for the DSO.

As he gets closer, his eyes narrow at the fact that they’re making you blow into a breathalyzer. He clenches his fist then - you’re bleeding and they’re accusing you of drink-driving?! He wants to give them what for, but then he sees the way you’re shaking and knows him storming into the scene ready to blow is not going to help, especially with how apologetic you’d been on the phone.

He forces himself to stop a moment and breathes deeply again. You’re shook up, but you’re in one piece, conscious and that’s the most important thing.

“Thank you, ma’am.” The officer nods, noting down the reading as Leon walks over, catching the tail-end of the conversation. “Nothing to worry about there. I’ll just go update the control room – it won’t be long.”

“Leon,” you stand abruptly at the sight of him as the cop steps off to the side and the foil blanket slips off your shoulders, gauze taped on multiple parts of your arms. You’re trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

“Come here,” Leon wraps his arms around you, coaxing you into his chest. He wants to squeeze tight, to confirm what he’s seen with his eyes, that you’re real and whole, but he doesn’t want to aggravate any injuries so he’s careful, pressing a kiss to your crown. “Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” You’re not, but maybe if you say it to Leon it’ll make it real. There’s a horrible burning sensation in your chest. You want to cry, but not here, not in front of everyone.

“Sorry, ma’am, can I get you to take a seat again?” The paramedic interrupts, emergency blanket back in hand. “I won’t be long, sir. I just need to check a couple more things.”

“No, of course.” He presses another kiss to your forehead and guides you back to the steps, encouraging you to sit and takes the blanket from the paramedic’s hand to drape back over you. “I’ll be right over there, okay? I’m just gonna go have a word with the officer.”

“Okay, yeah.”

He steps aside so the paramedic can move in and waits for the officer to come off the radio, approaching and offering his hand. “Leon Kennedy. I’m her boyfriend.”

“I gathered.” He shakes it. “Officer Jacobs. It was your car she was driving?”

“Mm-hm.” He keeps half an eye on you as he sees the paramedic shine a flashlight in your eyes, getting you to follow his finger. “What happened?”

The cop consults his notepad, flipping through his notes. “A witness stated another SUV-type vehicle went through the red light at some speed. Said it had been driving erratically for a while, so I’m figuring drunk-driver. T-boned, sent your SUV spinning and flipped onto its side after it collided with the lamp-post. The other vehicle stopped for five seconds or so, then gunned it. I’ve got dispatch sending a description out for the highway patrols. Partial registration but it’s gonna have damage, I’m sure, so should be easy to spot if it’s still in transit.”

Leon swallows, taking all the information in.

“How lucky do you think she was?”

“Truthfully,” the cop scratches his day-old stubble, looking between the SUV and you, “I think if she’d been in a different car than that, we’d be having a very different and difficult conversation right now.”

Leon’s fists clench. He’s encountered unspeakable horrors too often in his time, but the idea that some drunken jerk could just get behind the wheel and end your life is more terrifying than anything he’s ever faced. His thoughts swirl down a dangerous drain - wonders if Hunnigan can grab the partial registration from the cops, run it through her software and find the culprit, or trawl the CCTV cameras for a screengrab. He’d show up at their door, or maybe wait for them in the parking lot, revving his own engine, scare them the way they’ve traumatized you and-

“Sir?”

The thought extinguishes as he realizes the cop is offering him a slip of paper.

“Case number. We’ve got her details and we’ll be in touch if we hear anything, but just in case either of you want to follow anything up.”

“Got it.” He nods, taking it and popping it into his wallet. “Thanks.”

--

Leon wants to take you straight home – he’s got a substantial first aid kit there that’ll do the trick on the cuts that need stitching – but, honestly, you need a proper check-up and only the emergency room will do.

You’d required a few stitches from where you’d been caught by the glass from the driver’s window and bruises had started to develop, specially from where the seatbelt had jerked at the impact, but the overall prognosis was positive – you’d be sore for a few weeks, that was for sure, but armed with some painkillers and some rest, you’d be fine.

Leon doesn’t think he’s ever driven quite so carefully the way he drove to and from the emergency room. Not that will help against other assholes on the road, but he’ll be damned if he does anything that means he has to slam on the brakes and give you a fright. You’ve been silent most of the time – silent on the drive, silent in the waiting room, answering the doctor’s questions in a quiet, unsure voice, and then silent again on the drive home. He’d placed a cautious hand on your knee, squeezing it in reassurance, meaning to draw it away but you’d placed your hand on top of it, looping your fingers through his.

He pulls into the parking lot, gives your hand one last squeeze and hops out, dashing around so he can help you out the vehicle. Leon can read you like a book, he knows you’re holding it together until you get inside – you know you are too.

The elevator is mercifully sat on the ground floor when the two of you enter the lobby and Leon keeps you close as you ride up to the 12th floor and the safety of the apartment.

“Can we sit?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” He sits down on the sofa first and you drop yourself down onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s only a second before you burrow your head under his chin and, with a heaving breath, finally let out a proper sob - releasing everything you’ve held in for the last few hours. You feel stupid, annoyed, frightened, sore, relieved – too many emotions to keep track of.

He wraps his arms around you in turn, pressing a long kiss to your temple, tears burning at his own eyes.

In that moment, it hits Leon in the gut that he doesn’t know what he’d do without you, what he would have done if you hadn’t come home that night. If he’d have to come back to the apartment and not find your shoes kicked off at the door at the end of the long day, the glass with the lipstick smear on the rim near the sink from the water you’d gulp down greedily whilst making dinner.  It’s not like he takes you for granted by any means. He feels lucky every morning when he gets to wake up next to you in bed, and every night when he climbs back in, wrapping his arms around you. He’ll never let the two of you go to sleep or part ways if you’ve had harsh words or a full blown argument as all couples do, not with the risk his line of work brings, the threat that he could be called away in the middle of the night and have to bid goodbye to a turned back.

He rubs his hand gently up and down your back then, tears silently rolling down his face as he takes you all in, relishes your warmth as he cradles you in his lap.

“I’m so sorry.” You hiccup, your sobs eventually ceasing into sniffles, but still you kept your face pressed into his chest, seeking the comfort of his smell – the faint cologne and natural musk that was so uniquely Leon.

“You did nothing wrong, you hear me?” He mumbles into your crown. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Is the car a complete write-off?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” He gently lifts your left hand, presses a kiss across your knuckles. “I love you, baby. So much.”

“Love you too.”  

The day after the next – he negotiated a personal day to spend doting on you, breakfast in bed, cuddles on the sofa, takeaway for dinner – Leon goes out and buys a ring.

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[genderlessghoul]

I've been wanting to do this post for a while now so here is EVERYTHING I CAN TELL YOU ABOUT THE GHOULS' IMPERA COSTUMES.

Buckle up because I have a LOT to say about those, this is gonna be a very long one.

The costumes were designed by B Åkerlund, a Swedish costume designer who's worked with Ghost since at least Meliora (that's as far back as I was willing to scroll on her Instagram page lol). B Åkerlund has also worked for many other musical artists such as Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, Madonna, the Rolling Stones, Ozzy Osborne, Blink 182 and Hollywood Undead (information from her own website)

The masks were made by Bob Basset, a visual artists who works a lot with leather. I find his work fascinating, you can look him up on Instagram (nsfw warning, there's a few naked ladies).

Fun fact! The horns are real cow horns. That's the reason some of them have gold tips, to hide the imperfections that come with working with actual horns.

He does have a shop where he sells his items, there's a mask there very similar to the Impera ones. You can also buy Papa's batwings if you happen to have 2500$ lying around!

The jackets are made on the same model as one of Papa's. The back is decorated with a spine-like design made from leather and cording. It's adorned with a few of our classic Impera buttons. Some of the hems were left raw and some deliberate weathering was done to make it look old and worn.

Fun fact! The shoulder pieces are not sewn into the garment, I would assume for easier cleaning. I don't know if they're held by strong magnets or snap buttons.

The vest (my beloved 😩) is made from flocked velvet in a paisley pattern, the front hems embellished with satin piping. It closes in the front with custom metal clasps that are riveted into the garment. The D parts are attached with what seems to me like wide elastic, which would lessen the pression on the clasps when moving around a lot. The back is made from two different types of fabric, I'd have to touch it to be able to tell you what they are. I assume the panels closer to the sides have some mild stretch to them. The top of the shoulders are decorated with Impera grucifix patches.

The shirts were not custom made for the ghouls, altho they were altered. The original shirt in the vintage painter linen shirt from Punk Rave and it is still being sold. Some of the cuffs were altered, removing the ruffles for some of the ghouls, but not all. They were removed for Dew, Mountain and Phantom, Aether's didn't have them either. As far as I can tell, all the ghoulettes still have them.

An unfinished piece of linen serves as an ascot, that piece is decorated with a metal devil skull. The colour of the skull doesn't appear to be consistent between each ghoul, Dew's looks gold almost bronze while Phantom's is a silver-like colour.

Another modification is the buttons, a small portion of them were removed in favor of our Impera buttons. Some of the ghouls have more buttons replaced than others, which is still a mystery to me.

The pants are called Jodhpurs, they were invented in the 1800s as horse riding pants. The wide part at the hips and thighs allowing for better movement. The ones the ghouls wear don't reach all the way to their ankles, they stop a bit past the calf muscle, hidden by the boots. (Yes, the ghouls are effectively wearing capri pants)

The boots are motorcycle riding boots, decorated by a grucifix. Like the shirt, they can still be bought online through the All American Boots website, altho the price tag is... Headache inducing to say the least.

The cape is a piece of costume that was only briefly worn on stage by the ghouls, Aurora being the only one who still wears one. I would assume it gets in the way of playing very easily. The cape itself is made of two fabrics, a light blue satin and a dark grey suede. The two pieces are not sewn together at the bottom, they move freely from each other. The cape is attached on the left shoulder with a harness piece that has one strap across the chest, decorated with a metal buckle, and one under the armpit.

Aight that's it for me, have a nice day byyyyye!!

[melodiesz]

The Red Means I Love You ❤︎

Summary: Jason Todd x fem!Reader. You and Jason used to date before you left to stay with the Titans. You both miss each other more than you’d like to admit, but stay out of contact. Fast forward to after he died, you encounter Redhood. Old feeling stir, and before you know it you’re bent over the motorcycle of someone you swore you’d leave in the past.

Warnings: Angst -> smut, 18+, p in v, unprotected s$x, mentions of death & terrorism.

A/N: This takes place right after s3ep2, right after they find out Redhood’s identity :3

You didn’t fully know what was happening; just that there were too many hostages in the building—all who would be killed if not evacuated immediately. You were about to run and help the rest of the titans get everyone as far away as possible before Kory pulled you aside.

You went to protest before she quickly interrupted you, “Go search for Jason.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Uhm, what?”

“Look, I have a feeling he’ll listen to you better than anyone.” she said. “Jasons not someone who can be brought down by force. Shit, he came back from the fucking dead, you think he’s gonna let us beat this new…phase out of him?” 

You wanted to argue, but Kory wasn’t someone who was wrong often. She had a good point, and you knew you had to follow it.

“We’ve got this under control,” she assured, resting a reassuring but firm hand on your shoulder. “Go.”

You were skeptical, especially when you could see Gar in the distance shaking in his boots trying to convince an old lady to let him help her down the steps, and citizens clearly getting whiplash from Connor moving them to safety too fast. Your team was…definitely something, but with some hesitance you finally turned and ran in the direction of the one member you wanted to see.

…

“Jason!” You called out, your voice echoing through the barren alley. Gotham was creepy enough already without walking in some sketchy, busted up route in the pitch dark.

You kept calling but the only response you got was your own voice echoing back to you. You tried to scratch your mind for something to say that could persuade him, but you came up blank. Guilt ate at your conscience when you remembered that you hadn’t spoken to him for months before he died. 

To be honest, Jason never had anyone in his life to begin with. He told you that along with all his other secrets, and you still broke his heart. 

You stayed with the titans, thinking he was being naive for not wanting to. You didn’t think about the fact they never once tried to help him, or ever see him as more than an immature kid. They didn’t have the energy to help Jason through his issues so they just abandoned ship, sending him right back to Bruce and his horrible coping mechanisms.

As much as you wanted to be angry at Dick, or Kory or really anyone else for letting that happen, you had to face that you played your part.

Jason Todd died alone. He died feeling like no one would miss him, like he was a failure of a Robin and a failure of a titan. Because even after everything, all he wanted to do was prove himself.

So, yeah. Admittedly the first words you chose to say were not a good idea. Probably should’ve seen that one coming, but you never were too good at comforting him. was anyone?

“It didn’t have to be like this, you can still come back to the titans!” You tried to coax him, almost immediately regretting it. You quickly shut your mouth, tho the damage was already done. You just prayed he wasn’t here—he didn’t need to be provoked into blowing your brains out. 

Only when your muscles stopped tensing and you thought you got lucky, a voice you couldn’t even recognize rumbled above you. It shot ice up your veins and you would’ve frozen in place if you weren’t so adiment on seeing him again.

“Still taking about the titans? Why am I surprised.” He taunted, tilting his head in a gesture so familiar it made your heart ache. When you spun around you were met with someone you couldn’t believe was really Jason. He was standing on some rusted fire escape, a steel red mask boring right through you. 

You tensed, but not out of fear. No, you could never be scared of Jason, not the same nerd who woke up early to make you breakfast or who secretly wore reading glasses. 

You debated messaging him for months after your breakup, paragraphs on paragraphs you never sent. You had so much to say to him before, so why now did your mind go blank?

It was hard to see what he was feeling with the mask, but you could tell he was expecting a snarky remark back. When you just stood there dumbfounded, he sighed. “Look, I’m done trying to prove myself to them. To Bruce, to everyone! I don’t have to be some fucking nobody y/n, and neither do you.”

Now that made you snap out of whatever trance you were in. “‘and neither do you’? What are you trying to do, advertise me the life of crime?”

He groaned, “I don’t know why I ever tried with you. The titans are just a bunch of fucked up people acting like one big happy family, is that what you wanted? Are you happy you made that choice?” He sneered.

There was malice in his tone, but it wasn’t real. he didn’t feel angry anymore, just betrayed.

He would’ve splayed his heart out for you on a silver platter if you asked, just for you to turn your back on him. You followed him in his dreams, haunted him every time he smelt a familiar perfume, even appeared behind his shut eyelids while the life drained out of him. You were a part of him, and from what he knew you’d never looked back when you stormed out that day.

That’s why it shocked him when tears started to well in your eyes. God, your eyes—the ones he would subconsciously buy clothes of in the same colour. “You could’ve came with me,” you whispered. 

Your meek tone broke something in him. His shoulders relaxed and in a blink he leaped down, knees bending upon landing on the hard ground in front of you. Seeing him like this; the mask concealing his identity, various weapons strapped to his thighs and seemingly more toned than the last time you saw him—you could understand why everyone was on edge.

He stood there motionless, a silent and intimidating presence before you. You both stood there in unbearable silence until finally, he lifted his mask off.

His features were lit beautifully by the dim street light, eyes glinting ever so slightly. He looked exhausted—more troubled now, but you knew, despite everything, this was Jason. Your Jason, not who he was manipulated into.

“No, I couldn’t have.” he muttered begrudgingly, “they made that very clear.”

“So what, you just become a terrorist? Is that your idea of solving your problems?”

His fists clenched in barely concealed anger. “Bruce couldn’t save Gotham, so he abandoned it. I’ll be the one to fix it.” 

“By running around in a new suit and planting bombs everywhere? Real great strategy.” You rolled your eyes, but started to blush when you stared at him too long in the plated suit that fit him perfectly. You quickly caught yourself ogling and looked away, assuming he wouldn’t catch the red tinge on your face. 

You don’t know how you ever thought he wouldn’t notice. Of course he noticed, it’s Jason Todd.

For fucks sake, the guy noticed every detail about you. The way you’d avoid eye contact when nervous, the pace of your blinking quickening when you were lost in thought, the slight heighten of your voice when you were excited about something. All these tiny things and you thought he just wouldn’t notice the way you eyed him down all red in the face?

Come on, you were basically writing your true feelings out to him in big, bold… ..red letters…

and it’s not like Kory ever specified exactly what to do once you found him… .. .

So that’s how you ended up bent against his motorcycle in some busted up alleyway, pussy spread open on his dick.

You gasped and clawed pointlessly at his covered back; nails clinking uselessly against the metal armour of his suit. 

Your own suit was pulled off just enough to get access to your cunt, panties pulled to the side so he could plunge his thick cock into you.

He was groaning more than he used to, and you could swear you even heard him whine. His pace was ruthless, thrusts messy but coordinated. He kept trying to push further inside you, pressing his body as close to you as possible like you would vanish at any moment. 

“Fuckfuckfuck-“ he rambled. Death heightened all of his senses—made things have so much more of an impact on him. Maybe he just missed you too much, or maybe he let himself forget how good you feel.

To be fair, you were far worse off than him. You would’ve alerted everyone in Gotham if he wasn’t covering your mouth with a gloved hand, though it’s not like anyone here would bat an eye to screaming.

“My poor baby just been lonely, s’that it?”He teased, manhandling you by your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. 

“Nobody to fill up this pretty hole like I do, such a shame,” he pouted in faux sympathy, as if he wasn’t balls deep at the moment.

“I’m back now. Fuck the titans, I’ve always treated you better, haven’t I?” He’s fucking your ability to form coherent words right out of your throat, but he knows your answer when you squeeze around him.

“Jay!” you moaned into his palm. Your cunt was squelching embarrassingly loud with each thrust, thighs shaking so hard you for sure would’ve fallen over if he wasn’t holding you up. Every drag of his cock in you hit the perfect spots, just like he remembered you love.

“You don’t even care that I’m red hood, do you?” he asked, his tone full of confidence. “Nah, you don’t. So fucking wet, does my suit get you off princess?” 

He moved his hand to play with your clit, getting it soaked with your fluids. You were too cock-drunk to lie bite back, just nodding desperately and mewling out something akin to a yes.

He smirked. “Pussys sucking me in the same too, fuck- I missed this. I missed you.”

He acted cocky when he was fucking you like this because it’s the only way he was sure you even wanted to be around him. Not much to complain about when his big dick is ravaging you, no?

Deep down he always felt right at home with you. He wouldn’t admit it, but he would give up red hood for you. He’d give up anything for you, actually. Nothing mattered as long as you were with him. And he wasn’t letting you go this time.

With the ministrations on your clit and him pounding into you, it wasn’t a surprise when that knot in your stomach came undone quickly. Especially not with how many failed orgasms you had with your fingers, pretending it was him.

Ever attentive, he noticed immediately. “You gonna come, baby? Try not to get any on the new suit.” He winked, as if you were gonna squirt for him. (You have, many times.)

The cherry on top was when he unexpectedly flipped his mask back down and leaned in to whisper right into your ear with that deep voice, “come for me”

And you were gone. You came with a cry of his name, eyes rolling back and toes curling. Your pussy gushed all over his dick, forming a white ring around it that you could see every time he slammed his hips.

Seeing your pretty face so euphoric was what sent him over the edge, and grudgingly he pulled out, pearly white cum shooting all over your stomach.

You spent a minute regaining your breath while he pressed gentle kisses all over your throat. He only let up when you whined at the slight pain of the pressure on your newly forming hickeys. He tucked himself back into his pants and re-adjusted his belt. You were wondering if he planned on just leaving until he took his coat off and wrapped it around you.

He moved you so you were set down properly on the back of his motorcycle and then stepped on. You instinctively laid against his back, resting your head on his shoulder and he admired you with pure adoration.

“Wrap your arms around me babe,” he hummed, affectionately rubbing your thigh that was pressed to his.

When your brain finally caught up to what was happening you gave him a confused look.“Wha- wait! Where are we going?” 

He looked at you like you were crazy for even questioning it. “Home,” he laughed, “what? Did you think death was gonna do us part, baby?”

[artbyblastweave]

after reading Peter Clines Ex-Heroes pentalogy I can confidentiality say that Danielle Harris is one of the coolest heroes ever, what do you think of her?

^This lady So what I like about Danielle Morris/Cerberus is that she's a take on the Iron Man archetype in the context of an otherwise deliberately incredibly low-budget superhero universe, a setting where, with the exception of one millionaire, the superhero population consists almost entirely of working-class people in kludged-together wetsuits and motorcycle leathers who only get away with their low-rent costumes by virtue of the fact that they do, in fact, have incredibly potent superpowers. This is a hard circle to square, aesthetically, if you also want to introduce a hero who uses power armor, because that shit's expensive.

The solution? Cerberus doesn't debut after the other half of the book's elevator pitch, the zombie apocalypse, is already well under way. The fact that there's only one set of the armor despite the extensive documentation that must exist is due to the fact that the armor is a prototype, slated for eventual mass production but hastily deployed as a show of force by a rapidly disintegrating military that's at the point of just throwing whatever they've got at the wall to see what sticks. The typically-inadvisable trope of the suit's chief engineer also being the field pilot is initially justified by the fact that she's the only person left who knows how to operate it; and then by her reluctance to train a second person on how to operate it because she comes to be psychologically dependent on the physical protection it provides her. Protection that's at least somewhat illusory, to boot, because if you take a shot for every time the suit very realistically suffers a power failure or mechanical failure at a crucial juncture, you're going to lose your liver. The collapse of the logistics network impedes the armor's ability to work at full capacity almost from the start; those bracers on her arms in the above illustrations are for .50 Caliber machine guns that ran quickly out of ammo after her first skirmish and had to be mothballed. The series is very clear that Cerberus wouldn't be viable in the long run if she weren't on a team with several other superhumans, including an electrokinetic and a technopath, who can help cover the suit's weak points. Ironic, given the implication that the original point of Cerberus was so the army would have an answer to those same people. Overall, the armor is paradoxically portrayed as both viable and nonviable.

One of the really interesting things about Ex-Heroes's worldbuilding is that superheroes numbered in the dozens before the apocalypse, but supervillains only start to emerge in any real numbers after the apocalypse, when the prospect of being able to start a fiefdom or a cult of personality without someone noticing and coming to kick your shit are significantly greater; before that, criminals with powers mostly kept what they were capable of on the down low because there was no sane reason to adopt the kind of comic-book classic presentation that would call a superhero down on their heads. Thus the quiet thesis of the series is that quite a bit of classic superheroic nonsense would be actively facilitated by the end of the world and the collapse of society; the incentives and the restrictions would change, but heroism would remain pointedly necessary. Cerberus is also part of this quiet thesis. The perpetual tension of Tony Stark is that we know him to exist in a world full of cultural, legal and logistical restrictions, against which the specific fantasy of being Iron Man would inevitably run aground. Cerberus, as a superheroic identity, never existed alongside any of that. It's way easier to be a knight errant or a lone ranger if that's the only version of those things left that anyone can be.

[bellesdreamyprofile]

benny & y/n : the hospital (part 5)

previous part

Benny breathed in distress as he was pushed away by Cal. Comforting pats on the back to distract him from what he had done - to convince him not to continue on the already dead man’s body. He didn’t know if it was humanly possible to hold on to so much rage. Though that rage was mixed up with guilt and, despite him not knowing it yet, love.

He didn’t say a word to his friends and shrugged Cal’s arms off him. Reached for his pack of cigarettes and immediately lit one up. Smoke left his lips as his eyes caught sight of the mayhem before him. People running away and hopping on their motorcycle, moving away before the cops showed up.

Benny took his time as he let the past hour flash before his eyes. Your eyes, oh your beautiful eyes. The twinkle in them as he revealed his soft side to you. Your laugh at his lame, flirtatious pick up lines. The things he would do for an innocent kiss.

His feet carried him to the spot where Kathy’s truck was parked and looked around once he realized they had all left. He jogged to his motorcycle and hopped on, quickly kickstarting it. He didn’t know the destination, but he assumed that an anxious person like Kathy would immediately take her to the hospital.

Benny didn’t like hospitals. They simply asked too many questions - questions where the answer was too complicated.

He found a spot for his bike and ran to the hospital, ignoring the indecent looks people were giving him. The red and blue beatings you got from that piece of trash haunted him, making him an enemy to anybody who dared stay in his way.

Dirt leaving his boots, nurses throwing daggers at him. Breathless as he reached the reception. “Where’s Y/N Y/L/N ?”, the woman gave him an uninterested look and looked him up and down.

“What makes you think I will pass on sensitive information—“

Benny didn’t think. “I’m her husband.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Your name, sir?”

“Benjamin Cross.”, he said quickly and looked left and right for possible sights of you. “She wanted to keep her last name. Something about her daddy.”

The woman’s eyebrow reached her forehead once more, before she let out a tired sigh. “She’s in room 102.”

Benny tapped his hands on the counter and ran off after muttering a quick thank you.

Soon enough he was standing in front of the room and was met by the girls he had seen you so often with. All sitting on the three lined up chairs by the corridor. The chick he had seen make out with every other guy at the club, the chick who had a crush on him and Kathy.

“Any news?”, he asked out of breath.

Kathy snapped her head towards him and blinked her tears away, standing up.

“Any news?”, she repeated in an incredulous tone. “Go look for yourself you son of a bitch.”, venom tainted her words as she sat down again. Kathy wasn’t angry. She was furious. How could you have given a guy like him a chance to your beautiful heart?

Benny sighed and moved closer to the window separating the two of you. He didn’t really know what heartbreak was and there it lied. A beautiful angel with ugly marks on your face. He felt something twitch inside him, a sensation he wasn’t familiar with. He took a step back and let out a shaky breath.

“I, uh… I’ll be right back.”, unbeknownst to him, Kathy was burning holes on his back.

Tears. Burning, wet tears ran down his cheeks as soon as the bathroom door closed. Oh, you son of a bitch you caused this.

He looked in the mirror and fought the urge to punch it. But no, he couldn’t self sabotage right now - not when you were in the situation you were in. Splashing water on his face, haunting words echoed in his head. Be a man. Be the man she needs.

“I’m sorry, you have to be Miss Y/L/N’s family in order to—“

“Is there a problem here, doctor?”

The doctor looked at Benny and sighed.

“Like I was explaining to these ladies here, you need to be immediate family to—“

“Alright, so you can give the information to me.”

The girls looked at him, wondering what the hell he was on about now.

“Sir, and you would be?”

“I’m her husband.”, at his words, the doctor didn’t argue for much longer and let him in your room.

Felicia stared wide eyed at the scene before her eyes. Her Benny? Married? To you?

Kathy was too busy staring daggers at Benny and his privilege, but Martha recognized Felicia’s gaze in a blink.

“Fel? A word?”, her friend blinked quickly and reluctantly stood up, walking away.

Martha grasped her arm, making her yelp.

“Ow!”

“It was you wasn’t it? Your obsession with Benny Cross needs to stop right now!”, Felicia had never seen her friend look as mad as she had right now.

Felicia rolled her eyes and looked away. “What the hell are you on about?”

“You know very well what I’m on about. That drunk guy on Y/N tonight?”, Martha lowered her tone to a mere whisper. “She’s our friend. Our sister. Sisters before misters.”

“You honestly would think I would send her off—“

“The point is, Fel, that you don’t seem to care!”, she huffed loudly. “Kat, me, even Benny fucking Cross are worried! Why do you not care?”

“Because you’re right! Okay?! You’re right, I’m in love with him a-and it was my love for him that led me to this okay?! Alright?! It wasn’t me—“

Martha’s eyes widened at her state. “Holy shit, so you did do it… What the—“, Felicia took off before she could add another word.

“Hey, honeybee.”, Benny’s fingers grazed your cheek in a loving way. Angel eyes closed and pink lips pressed softly together.

“I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you, honey. I’m a coward. I don’t deserve any of your kindness… Or love.”, he murmured, not wanting to wake you up. Benny was afraid of your reaction to his actions - to his words, to his lies. Could you look at him in the same way again? Would he still be lucky and get a soft kiss in between giggles?

But you didn’t react and his monologue went on even when the doctor walked in again, saying he had to leave.

His lips touched your forehead. “I’ll be back for you, baby.”

“There ain’t no rules about me waiting outside my wife’s room, right?”, Benny asked the moment he stepped foot outside. The doctor looked at him and sighed, shaking his head.

“No, sir. Though I will have to ask you fill out some forms first.”

Benny shrugged. “Fine by me.”

The doctor nodded and left. “I’ll be right back.”

“Really? Your wife, Benny?”, Kathy said, making him look over his shoulder.

“If I wasn’t her husband I wouldn’t have been able to get in there.”, he pointed at your room. “Isn’t that better than being kicked out for not being her family?”, Benny said, shrugging and took a seat beside her.

“It’s better than lying.”, she muttered in defeat. “And to a doctor!”

Benny looked at her and held back the urge to smile. ��Who said we weren’t married?”, Kathy’s lips parted at his cocky question, but the doctor coming their way made Benny look away.

“Please fill out these forms, sir.”, he handed them to Benny. “And I will need one piece of identification.”, he hastily pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and handed the doctor his drivers license.

“I, uh, I need a pen?”, Benny looked up and the doctor froze for a moment before handing him his own from his front pocket. “Thanks.”

The man left once again and Benny positioned the papers on his thigh, filling out the document. “It’s like an exam. Except I know all the answers.”, he muttered under his breath. Kathy gave him an unimpressed look and rolled her eyes.

The afternoon passed and Kathy was forced to leave.

“You better call me if they got news on Y/N.”, she scolded him, making him tiredly nod.

“Yes ma’am.”, he replied and watched her go. Benny sighed and leaned his forearms on his knees, gaze down on his boots. Hours passed and his position changed to his back against the back of the chair and crossed arms to his chest.

A nurse walked by and tapped his shoulder repeatedly, making him lowly groan.

“Mr Cross? Your wife is awake.”, at her words, Benny’s eyes snapped open.

“Is she okay?”

The nurse smiled kindly and nodded. “She’s okay, sir. If you want, you may visit her.”, he stood up quickly and thanked her for the information.

Standing in front of your door, he sighed as a sudden anxiety overcame him. He knocked on the door and heard a faint come in.

Benny breathed out and opened the door.

“When they told me my husband was waiting for me, I thought I was hallucinating.”, you let out a little chuckle. Benny mimicked your action, relieved your first words to him weren’t hateful.

“It was the only way to stay here.”, he said softly and moved to sit on the chair beside your bed. “You feelin’ okay?”

You nodded and winced. “My head hurts a little, nothing else.”

An imaginary knife twisted in his heart. “I’m sorry to have put you in this position.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Benny gulped, looking down, unable to meet your gaze. “If I hadn’t called you… My friend… We wouldn’t be here talking about this.”

“You can’t be possibly blaming yourself for something you had no power over, Benny.”

“But it was in my power! If I had made it clear that you were mine, you—“

You shook your head at his words and interrupted him. “Putting a little label on me wouldn’t have changed anything. Please don’t think about what could’ve happened.”, your hand reached out to touch his. “It was meant to go like this, Benny.”

He was the one to disagree now. “That guy beat you red and blue. How can you say that.”, you dropped your hand to your stomach again and purposely turned your gaze in the other direction.

“Stop reminding me.”, you muttered.

“But it happened. And goddamn if I hadn’t—“

You slapped his arm at his raised tone and pointed a finger at him. “I dare you to say one more hateful thing about yourself.”

Benny’s eyes met your enraged ones, his lips let out a sigh he had been holding back for minutes. He reluctantly grabbed your hand again, a small smile now on your lips.

“I just… I’m sorry. But I made sure the guy got it worse.”

Your smile faded in a split second. “Oh Benny. What did you do?”

Benny simply shrugged and leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about nothing.”, you closed your eyes and smiled a little at his sweet gesture. “It’s all gonna be alright.”

A/N: part 6 anybody?

MASTERLIST PART 6

Taglist: @leonesimp @cwallace02sblog @alexa4040 @notaceventura @wonderland2425

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Fatal Obsessions teaser

Sihtric draped his leather jacket over your shoulders, and then covered your face with his spare helmet while you stared at his glossy black motorcycle right beside you. You glanced at his black leather boots as he zipped up his jacket on you, which was way too big for your figure, but he wasn't going to take any risks damaging your beautiful skin.

'Are you in a biker gang or something?' you asked, your voice slightly muffled by the helmet.

Sihtric laughed, then tilted your face up to his by tapping the chin of your helmet.

'No, angel,' he smiled, 'I'm not in a biker gang or something. Not everyone who owns a motorcycle is in a gang, you know?'

'Oh,' you breathed, and felt his warm fingers feather over your throat as he adjusted the chinstrap.

'Disappointed?' his lips tilted up as he raised a brow.

'Surprise is more like it,' you mumbled.

Sihtric chuckled and shook his head lightly before he closed the visor on your helmet. 'You ladies read too many books,' he said, and then swung one leg over his bike and pushed it off its standard. He cocked his head to the empty space behind him as he put on his own helmet. 'Get over here,' he said, and when you were seated he took your hands and placed them on his torso, 'hold on tight, yeah? And if you want me to slow down, give me a few taps.'

'Okay,' you agreed.

'I can't promise I'll slow down though,' Sihtric said as he looked back over his shoulder.

You couldn't see his face as his black helmet hid it from view, but you were sure he was smirking.

'Where are you taking me to?' you asked before he revved the engine so loudly you felt it vibrate through your whole body.

'I haven't decided yet, angel.

Full fic coming soon.

@mrsarnasdelicious @neonhairspray @sihtricsafin @errruvande @penumbrie @lexeirikrleif @diiickbrainn @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @bubblyabs @dixie-elocin @alexagirlie @stupiddarkkside @urmomsgirlfriend1 @gemini-mama @foxyanon @man-i-be-that-pretty-motherfuckr @thenameswinter99 @m-a-s-h-k-a @superblyzanynight @hernakedmuse @ewanmitchellfanatic @lady-targaryens-world @cosmosnkaz @stronger-than-steel @cheesesandwichsanto

[austinbsblog]

The Winner Takes It All

(Benny Cross x Fem!Vandal!Reader)

Warnings: Smoking, alcohol, language, mention of breasts, kissing

A/N: I loved this anon request! It was so fun to write and get to experiment with a confident character. If you wish to see the request scroll down on my page!

•

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•

As you and Benny made your way to the bar, the rumble of his motorcycle reverberated through your body, filling you with a sense of exhilaration. You held onto him tightly, feeling the rush of wind as your hair flowed behind you, the streets blurring into streaks of light and color. You nestled your chin on his shoulder, the curve of his leather jacket providing a sense of security as you leaned into the ride. The heady scent of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and his cologne mingled in the air, creating an intoxicating aroma that filled your senses. With each breath, the familiar yet thrilling scent enveloped you, triggering a rush of anticipation and comfort. It was a scent that belonged solely to Benny. The warmth of his body pressed against yours provided a stark contrast to the cool night air.

•

•

•

As you approached the bar, the lively sounds of the Vandals' loud laughter, clinking bottles, and soft rock music from the jukebox filled the air. Benny turned off the engine and steadied the bike with a kick of his boot, allowing you to dismount safely. "Thanks, Benny, I really appreciate it," you said, slipping off your leather jacket to reveal a black off-the-shoulder top. Leaning against the bike, Benny watched as you retrieved your lipstick tube and mirror from your pocket and applied a deep red color. "Of course, Baby," he teased, knowing well that you weren't a fan of the nickname. Being the youngest among the Vandals, you had unwittingly acquired the name "Baby" and it has stuck ever since. Benny often wished he could call you his, but his attempts to express his feelings were always met with your captivating gaze that left him feeling bashful. "Come on," you teased, impatiently tugging at his hand, "You're taking forever," as you playfully dragged him into the bar.

•

•

•

The dimly lit space is filled with a fog of smoke and Vandals taking over every inch. Johnny is the first to see the both of you and his eyes light up at the sight of your hands clasped with one another, “Baby!” Johnny announces and everyone’s eyes snap to the door. Your smile grows wide as everyone exclaims about your presence, gives you hugs, or kisses your cheeks. The pull of the crowd causes Benny to lose you in the crowd and watch you interact from afar. “Today the day kid?” Johnny asks as Benny slides into the seat at the table, Benny just smiles and stares at you with a look of tenderness while you nurse a drink and tell some story to a group gathered around you exuding confidence and boldness that captivated everyone's attention. "Listen, kid, I'm telling you if you don't gather up the nerve to ask her out soon, someone else is going to sweep her off her feet, and you'll regret it for the rest of your life," Johnny muttered, the end of his cigarette glowing softly. "Remember how quickly I married Betty? That's because I saw in her what you see in Baby," he added taking a drag. “You getting soft on me?” Benny questioned, and Johnny just gave him a look. “Fine…yeah yeah okay, I’ll do it,” Benny said getting up from the table. Johnny lifted his eyebrow and tapped his watch signaling to Benny that time was ticking and you weren’t going to wait very long. 

•

•

•

Benny's eyes studied the pool table and lined up his cue, taking the shot. Come on’s, damns, and shits were shouted from the surrounding players as they put their money on the table. Benny chuckled at the cries knowing that they lost. “My my boys, is that how you speak in front of a lady?” you ask from behind Benny, your heels clicking louder as you approach the table. Your hands leaned against the table allowing the men to get a view of your defined collarbones and top of your breasts. “Hm, I see Benny beat all you fools, well, let’s see if you can beat me,” you challenge, as you glance up at Benny, take the cigarette from his lips, and place them between yours. The men put their new bets on the table and chalk up the ends of their cues. '`You playin’?” you whispered to Benny, “No I’ll watch Baby,' ' he responded, “Alright,” you sighed. All of a sudden a 50 dollar bill gleamed on top of the pile, and everyone went silent. Your eyes followed the hand and leather-clad arm up to a handsome man you had never seen staring right at you. Two other men in leather jackets with a devil on the back were on each side of him with their cues, “Well hi there, I’m Baby” your voice is sultry as you greet them, “Hello… Baby,” the man responded with furrowed eyebrows, “I’m Michael, this is James and Christopher” he says pointing to the others. A moment passes before Michael says “Why don’t we make this a little more interesting gentlemen?” “What do you have in mind?” Danny says, cocking his head to the side, taking the cigarette, and blowing out the smoke, “Whoever wins, takes the money and her on a date,” Michael suggests with a smirk on his face tracing your body with his eyes. “She’s not an item to be bought…or sold” Benny argued while staring at Michael with cold eyes, “Okay, then just a date,” Michael countered and leaned in. All eyes were shifting between Benny who had a cool gaze and Michael who had a smirk plastered on his face. “And, if I win,” you paused, “I get the money,” you raised your eyebrow at the men having a staring contest. “Deal,” they said at the same time. 

•

•

•

It had been 30 minutes since the beginning of the game and 3 players were out. Benny and Michael were so concentrated on their scores and beating each other that they never realized you were winning significantly. Throughout the entirety of the game, Michael kept flirting with you to not only win you over but piss off Benny, and well, it worked. Benny was fuming like a bull. He couldn’t stand Michael treating you like an item, like some girl he could just fuck around with, you deserved better. When it was your turn, the balls were lined up perfectly for you to win. You smirk at the two men who were too busy giving each other death glares that when your stick hit the cue ball, you had won. The crowd’s roars and cheers for you caused Benny and Michael to snap their heads over to you. Your hand reached towards Danny who held the money, “Well Michael, tough game, better luck next time,” you snarkily said fanning yourself with the money, “He lost too,” Michael laughed as the crowd dispersed, “Did he though?” you smiled. Michael’s smile faltered at your question and Benny’s eyes widened as you walked over to his side. “He might have lost the game but, he sure as hell didn’t lose me, so thank you so much for your generous donation to our date,” you continued. You smile sweetly but with mischievous eyes as the trio walks away. “Come on, you gotta drive me home,” you say, taking Benny’s hand and once again dragging him out the front door. “Hold on, hold on,” Benny called out, “our date?” he said tugging at your hand so you were mere inches apart. “You think I wasn’t gonna go out on a date with you?” you gasped, “I didn’t… I… you like me?” Benny mumbled with a look of disbelief on his sculpted face. You put your hands on his face feeling the slight stubble and closed the gap between you. The kiss was passionate and made your stomach fill with butterflies as his hands enveloped your waist and rubbed the soft skin showing between your top and denim jeans. You broke the kiss when you heard muffled whistles and laughter. You both turned your heads to the bar and saw the Vandals pressed against the windows and door. You pressed your foreheads together and sighed,  “Does that answer your question?” you giggled. Benny broke out into a smile before planting a small kiss on your red lips.

~V

[marlequinncos]

Cosplay Build Guide: Marko's Jacket from The Lost Boys (1987)

I am a lover of the horror genre; horror movies, books, games, you name it! And one of my favorite horror movies is the 1987 classic “The Lost Boys”, which focuses on a gang of motorcycle-riding vampires in the fictional California town of Santa Carla. I'm also a big fan of thrifting and modifying items for cosplay. I decided to combine those two things and make a garment that has lived rent-free in my head since I first saw the film: the colorful patchwork jacket worn by the vampire Marko.

I'm going to walk you through how I made Marko's jacket, breaking down the different parts that comprise the garment.

Marko’s outfit is made up of several components: a white cropped tank top, light wash denim jeans, leather chaps, custom painted leather moto boots, fingerless motorcycle gloves, a black skull earring, and of course, that iconic and extremely loud jacket. 

All four titular vampires have a signature jacket they wear in the movie, and Marko’s is by far the most elaborate and distinctive. It consists of three main parts: the base jacket, the Italian tapestries, and the patches. Because of the nature of this build, I had to do a ton of intensive research to determine the individual and highly specific parts of the jacket. My main references were photos from movie memorabilia auction sites whenever one of the original jackets went up for sale, since they photograph the jacket from all angles.

Part 1: The Base Jacket

Marko’s base jacket is, according to my research, a men’s black Levi’s denim jacket in a size 40, which I believe translates to a medium. Now, I’m a petite woman (5’3”, athletic but slim), so I knew that the exact jacket would be too big for my frame. Instead, I found a men’s black denim jacket in an extra small; it's very similar in style to the original, but a little better proportioned for me. It's still very much oversized though. The first things I did were remove the buttons and pockets, and I cut off the hem of the jacket and the sleeve cuffs. Then I tossed the jacket in the washing machine to fray the edges. 

Part 2: The Tapestries

The hardest part of the jacket by far was finding the tapestries, for two reasons. The first is that the tapestries were all from the 1960’s and 1970’s, meaning I had to scour vintage stores and websites to find the right ones. The second is the variation. Six jackets were made for each Lost Boy in the movie; this is standard for a film, since some jackets would be used for closeups (the”hero” jackets) while others were used for stunts, and a few even have intentional holes in them for harness rigging. Because of that and the thrifted nature of the jacket, the Marko jackets for the film all differ slightly in the placement of the tapestries and patches.

There are five tapestries in total. Three are velvet: the matador, the peacock, and the leopard with the messed up face. These are impossible to dupe via Spoonflower or Contrado (custom fabric printing websites) due to the fact that these three are essentially small rugs. The other two, chariot lady and cat lady, are dupable via Spoonflower or Contrado printing since they aren’t the same fabric as the others.

The two pin-up tapestries are nearly impossible to find, more so than the velvet ones. In my months of searching, I never found either pin-up tapestry, so I had them printed by Contrado, along with the collar trim.

If you go searching for the velvet tapestries, you'll notice that there are several different versions of each one, with slight changes in color and placement of things in the art. How accurate you want to be is up to you. My peacock and matador are accurate to the tapestries on one of the stunt jackets, whereas my leopard is the correct color but wrong direction. That's doesn't bother me much, personally, especially since the leopard is the hardest of the velvet tapestries to find by far.

Once the tapestries were acquired, I measured different sections based on the dimensions of the jacket, mapped it out using washi tape on the tapestries, and then cut them all out. There was a decent amount of math involved here, specifically regarding scaling the sections of tapestry down by a few inches since my jacket is smaller than the original. I then arranged them all onto the denim jacket and pinned them in place before hand sewing them (yes, you read that right; I hand sewed this whole thing) on in the correct overlap. I also added the rhinestones to the cat lady.

I recommend using embroidery needles and upholstery thread to attach the tapestries to the jacket, due to the thickness and the weight. I also sewed along the designs in the tapestries themselves to better hide the stitching within the image.

Part 3: The Patches

Marko’s jacket has a total of 26 different patches on it, most of which are motorcycle or punk themed. For these, I found a seller on Etsy who makes 24 of them, and I used Contrado to print the remaining two (the anarchy symbol and the large skull) on canvas and added the stitching. You could thrift and find the patches as well, but here's the thing: while some of these patches are pretty easy to find, others seem to be nonexistent, to the point that I wonder if some were made exclusively for the movie. That's why I went and purchased my patches instead of hunting them down. My personal favorite is the “Screw U” one. One fun fact about the patches is that the large winged skull on the back is a leftover from the movie “The Warriors”.

I once again hand sewed these all on as per the references from the movie. You might think that ironing the patches on is an easier method, but there's a few reasons why that won't work: 1) the patches in the movie are sewn on; if you zoom in, you can see the stitching 2) I'm not sure the patches would even adhere to the velvet and velour of the tapestries and 3) if you decide you don't like the placement of a patch that you sewed on, you can just seam rip the stitching and adjust it, which you can't really do as cleanly with an ironed-on patch.

Part 4: The Tassels

The tassels on the jacket’s shoulder are not tassels at all; they’re squid skirts (a type of fishing lure), which is something I never knew existed until I started researching for this build. For these, I found a fishing tackle website that had the closest match to the colors I needed, a blue-grey/orange and a yellow/green. Both squids also have glitter and little eyes painted on.

Part 5: Weathering and Finishing Touches

Lastly, I weathered the jacket to give it that lived-in look. For the dirt/dust on the patches, I used powder eyeshadow. I also picked at the edges of the tapestries to fray them a bit. And to make the patches less stiff, I just broke the jacket in by wearing it around my house. The great thing about this jacket is that the more I wear it and the more it weathers, the better it'll look.

FAQ

How heavy and warm is the jacket?

The jacket is made of denim and rugs, so its pretty warm and heavy. It honestly feels like wearing a weighted blanket, which is a nice bonus if you're anxiety made flesh like I am. It makes a lot of sense for the jacket to be on the heavier side, because if you’ve been to Northern California, you know how cold it can get on the coast, especially at night (not sure if vampires can feel cold, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

How long did it take you to make the jacket?

I don’t time my cosplay builds, but I can guess based on the amount of TV/movies/podcasts/playlists consumed as I was working on it. I'm also pretty fast when it comes to hand sewing. By my estimation, the jacket took me about 45-50 hours of work, and that’s not counting the time I spent searching for the tapestries.

Can you make me one?

Sorry friend, I don't take commissions. Even if I did, there's no guarantee I could find the exact tapestries again. I appreciate the interest though!

One of the most useful resources for making this jacket is the Replica Prop Forum! There's a ton of information there, as well as discussions and troubleshooting about the construction of the jacket.

I hope you enjoyed this walkthrough of Marko's jacket! This was a fun build and I'm really proud of the finished product. I'm going to make the rest of Marko's outfit + wig to complete the cosplay, so stay tuned for that!

If you have any other questions, feel free to plop them in my inbox! In addition to tumblr, you can also find my cosplay work on instagram and bluesky @/marlequinncos

[rebelliousstories]

Resolutions

New Year/New Fics

Relationship: Eddie Brock/Venom x Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 1,182

Main Masterlist: Here

Marvel Masterlist: Here

Summary: A new year draws near, and thus the traditions of resolutions that they now have to explain the concept of to an alien.

Consider Donating: Here

“Eddie, what are we doing?” A growl voice interrupted the man who was currently searching for… something. Even the symbiote who was in his thoughts did not know.

“Tryin’ to find a notepad. I’ve gotta have one left over that I can use.” Eddie muttered, shuffling things around.

“Why do you need a notepad, Eddie? What do you need to write down that I can’t remember?” He asked, staying inside for right now.

“Makin’ New Year’s resolutions with the girl today. That’s what we wanted to do, is write them down together. Aha!” After what seemed like forever, Eddie grabbed a random writing pad that was buried under various articles and papers on his desk. Spending another minute, he also found a pen for himself, and set both objects on the coffee table to use later.

Brock busied himself for the next few minutes making sure the dinner he made was ready for when she got to his apartment. Just a simple dinner of a frozen pizza, some hard ciders since he knew she did not like drinking beer, and a chocolate cake from the diner down the block for dessert. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, but he was still getting the pizza out of the oven. However, that was unacceptable for the alien.

“Eddie!” Venom cheered, taking control to drag him to the door. In the process, he dropped the pan with the pizza on it, sending it plummeting to the floor. But inky black tendrils shot out from his back to save the delicious food before it could be ruined. “It’s not nice to keep the lady waiting.”

“Yeah, well, if you would have let me finish putting the pan on the counter, I’d be doing this myself,” Eddie snipped, not even fighting against it. Venom decided that he was going to open the door first, because another tendril zoomed forward to wrap around the knob.

How one could be so beautiful, Eddie would never understand. But the answer was right in front of him. She was just dressed in a simple t-shirt, with a leather motorcycle jacket, boots and jeans, but it was still the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. In her hands, her motorcycle helmet that was decked out in a stunning electric blue color scheme with an owl.

“Eds, hey baby.” Stepping into his apartment, she dumped her helmet on the floor near the door as she wrapped her arms around him. Sighing, the man pressed his cheek onto the top of her head before pressing a kiss there.

“Hey, gorgeous. Missed ya.” He whispered, pulling away just a bit. Being able to take in her features, he was absolutely floored that someone like her was with someone like him.

“Missed you too, Eddie. I-” a loud crash cut her off. The sound of a pan hitting the floor made both humans look at each other. One of them was trying not to laugh, the other was trying to control his annoyance.

“Is that-” she began to ask.

“Yep. You wanna come out buddy?” No sooner had he said that, the black symbiote appeared from his left shoulder.

“Hey, V.” She giggled, rubbing the top of his head like you would a dog.

“Hello, pretty lady. I am so glad that you are here. Eddie says that you are doing something for the new year tonight.” He stated in that gravely voice of his. Eddie chose that moment to usher her into the kitchen while he assessed the damage his friend left.

Thankfully it was not much, the pizza was cut questionably on the countertop, but it was all there. Only the pan and some crumbs were on the floor, to which he groaned as he bent over. Hearing his girlfriend giggle behind him, Brock shot her a playful glare as he stood back up.

“Don’t wanna hear it, doll.” Pressing a hand to his back, Eddie shook his head as he heard more giggles.

“Anyways, as I was saying, V. Yeah, we’re gonna have a quiet little date night in and write down our New Year’s resolutions while we’re at it.” She continued, leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“And what do you do with these resolutions?” Venom questioned, still starring at her.

“Well, you try to keep to them for the coming year. Usually it’s things like losing weight, reading a certain number of books, or even picking up a new hobby.”

Plating their food, Eddie put his left hand on her back as the right held the tray. Making it over to the couch, he sunk down into the cushions, set the food on the table, and grabbed his girlfriend’s hips. In an instant, she was yanked down onto his own lap, as Eddie finally got the chance to hold her properly. Nuzzling his face into her neck, he was delighted to hear her giggles as his two day old scruff tickled her skin.

Sighing into his hair, she felt herself relax. “What do you want to do next year?”

“Already starting, huh?” He teased, pulling back just a bit to look at her soft features.

“Well, considering the big guy still over your shoulder… yes.” With a groan, Eddie looked at his alien friend, who was smiling widely with those insanely sharp teeth of his.

“I would like to make my own resolutions, Eddie.” He growled, grabbing for the pen and paper blindly. After he got it, he was scribbling something down, and then passing it to the woman. Honestly, the fact that it was even legible was impressive.

“‘Eat more bad guy brains.’ V, these are supposed to be things that better you.”

“It does. Makes me calmer and nicer. Plus, less bad guys to do bad guy things.” Venom tried to justify it, smiling with all those teeth.

Rolling her eyes, she smirked as she wrapped her arms around Eddie’s neck, carefully avoiding where Venom connected to the man. “What about you, Eds? You never answered me.”

He thought for a minute, truly wondering what he wanted to do to better himself in the coming year. “Maybe start that series that I wanted to. Something we could do together? What about you?”

“I’d like to get back into painting. That was always something that relaxed me. I miss it a lot.” She shrugged casually.

“I remember seeing those works from when you were a teenager. You should definitely do that.” Eddie kissed her nose.

“Anything else,” came her ask as she pressed her face into his neck.

“No. We can’t write these down later. Let’s just enjoy ourselves for a minute.” Eddie sighed, starting up a movie for them.

“Okay. Tuck inside, V. You can come back out later.” Her words made the symbiote disappear, thankfully, without a fight.

As they sat there on the couch, Eddie realized that he was going to have to be a bit sneaky with one of his resolutions. The ring box that it went along with was being hidden; so why should not the resolution be?

[yo-ri-su-ki]

meow okay so HEAR ME OUT idk if you’ve ever read attack on titan college au fics but if u have ive been thinking about that but w dmc and like dante would be a frat boy, vergil would be a philosophy major you’d meet in the library, lady would the roomate and her gf trish visits sometimes and nero is the childhood best friend DYKWIM??? ok sorry this is what floats thru my mind rn 😊😊

College Can't be THIS Chaotic (it is sadly)

An: HNNNNGGGHHH I LOVE TRISH OUT THE WAY LADY MY TURN

The upper floor of the university library was sacred ground. It wasn’t labeled as such, but everyone who studied there knew. No food, no noise, no freshmen.

And no one—no one—sat in the leather armchair by the southeast window on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 4 PM. That was Vergil’s seat.

He arrived exactly on time, a black turtleneck layered under a long grey coat, two books in one hand and a black coffee in the other. Being and Time and Aesthetics of Violence this week. Light reading.

Except today… someone was already there.

It was a student, legs crossed, earbuds in, laptop open and glowing with a blinking cursor. They looked too comfortable.

Vergil stood still for a full ten seconds. Calculating. Judging. Internally debating whether murder was, philosophically, a valid course of action.

“…You’re in my seat,” he said finally.

No response. The earbuds stayed in. A spoon tapped against a half-melted iced latte.

Vergil’s jaw flexed. He considered leaving. Considered sitting somewhere else. And then, with the stiff grace of someone who’d rather be impaled than inconvenienced, he lowered himself into the seat directly across from them.

Two minutes later, the student noticed. They blinked. Vergil did not look up from his book.

“…Do you always sit here?”

“Every Tuesday. Four PM.”

They eyed him. “You’re weird.”

“Correct.”

Later that evening, Vergil’s phone buzzed violently in his coat pocket. He let it ring twice before reluctantly checking the screen.

Dante 🍕: bro get ur pretentious ass to Trish's foam party

Dante 🍕: also, don’t wear a turtleneck this time. u looked like a sweaty priest last time

Dante 🍕: also your library girlfriend stole your seat LOL

Vergil scowled. He hadn’t told Dante anything. The fact that his brother knew was—unsettling.

Down the hall in the girls’ dorm, Trish popped her head into Lady’s room, sunglasses on at 10 PM, rhinestones on everything.

“She’s coming,” she said.

Lady, in a black tank top and biker boots, didn’t look up from sharpening her eyeliner. “Who?”

“The Seat Thief. The one who survived Vergil.”

“…Oh?”

“Yeah,” Trish grinned. “I like her already.”

Meanwhile, Nero was texting in all caps.

Nero 🐐: STOP LETTING DANTE GET INVOLVED IN THINGS

Nero 🐐: FOAM PARTY?? DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME??

Nero 🐐: he tried to cook steak in a toaster. a TOASTER

By next Tuesday at 4 PM, the student was already waiting in Vergil’s seat.

There were two coffees on the table. One was black.

Vergil said nothing. But he sat down.

And stayed there until closing.

The dorms of Floor 3B were not technically condemned, but they were on a watchlist.

There were weekly fire drills. Questionable stains on the ceiling. A vending machine that sometimes gave you two snacks instead of one, but only if you smacked it hard enough. Some called it cursed. Dante called it “his girlfriend.”

Room 302 housed Dante Sparda, the bane of the R.A.’s existence. He’d somehow convinced the school that blasting rock music at 2 a.m. “helped his cognitive recall” and once brought a motorcycle into the building for “a psych project.” (There was no psych project.)

Room 303 was a warzone. That’s where Vergil lived.

Vergil had tried—really tried—to keep things civilized. But unfortunately, his room shared a wall with Dante’s. And Dante liked to wrestle drunk frat bros on the floor at ungodly hours. Last week, he’d slammed someone into the wall so hard Vergil’s shelf collapsed.

Tonight, however, it wasn’t wrestling. It was karaoke.

Vergil was trying to meditate, legs crossed, candle lit.

“🎶 WAKE ME UP—”

THUD.

“🎶 WAKE ME UP INSIDE—”

CRASH.

“🎶 SAVE MEEEEE—”

A second crash. Then Dante’s voice yelling, “DUDE, THAT’S NOT EVEN THE RIGHT NOTE—”

Vergil stood up. Blew out the candle. Took a deep, soul-deep breath.

He opened the door.

And there stood Lady, in a bathrobe, holding an empty mug labeled Feral But Make It Sexy. She didn’t look amused.

“They’re singing Evanescence again,” she said flatly.

“I noticed.”

From down the hall, Trish leaned out of Room 309, wearing LED sunglasses and sipping a bright red Capri Sun. “I asked for 'Bring Me to Life.' Be grateful. Last week it was Pitbull.”

Lady nodded solemnly. “It always escalates to Pitbull.”

In Room 302, Dante was standing on his desk, shirtless, holding a broken coat hanger like a mic.

Some poor, terrified engineering major stood beside him holding a tambourine.

“Welcome to the annual Floor 3B Dorm Idol,” Dante declared, slurring slightly. “Today I perform not just for you… but for the ghosts in the walls.”

Vergil walked in. “You will be silent.”

Dante turned slowly, dramatically. “Oh no… It’s the Fun Police.”

“I will set fire to your collection of leather pants.”

Trish poked her head in. “Do it. I want to see if they melt like fruit roll-ups.”

Down the hall, Nero—who did not live in this dorm but showed up way too often—was hiding in the laundry room, texting frantically.

> Nero 🐐: they’re doing karaoke again

Nero 🐐: I just saw a guy pass out inside a dryer

Nero 🐐: how is this a top 10 school

---

By 3 a.m., the floor was quiet.

Lady was back in her room, reading a true crime novel with a face mask on. Trish was asleep on the futon with her legs over a lava lamp. Dante was passed out on top of his desk, muttering lyrics in his sleep.

Vergil returned to his room, stepped over a discarded wig, and finally sat down.

Peace at last.

Until he opened his mini fridge.

Inside: nothing but a single Monster Energy, a Nerf dart, and a cold slice of pepperoni pizza… shaped like a heart.

He sighed. Deeply.

You were just trying to get your charger.

That’s all. A simple charger retrieval. No chaos. No drama. You’d left it in your dorm earlier that morning in a rush to get to class. You were running on 8% battery and 200% social burnout.

You opened the door without knocking.

Which, in hindsight, was your first mistake.

Because there, in the soft warm glow of fairy lights and the faint sound of 2000s R&B playing from Lady’s speaker, were Trish and Lady—half tangled on the couch, definitely mid-makeout, definitely not expecting an audience.

Trish had her hand in Lady’s hair. Lady had a thigh over Trish’s hip. They both looked up at the exact same time.

You froze like a Sims character. “I—I—uhhh—”

Lady’s eyes narrowed. “Charger?”

“…Yeah.”

Trish, casually like this was nothing, reached for the remote and paused the music. “It’s on your desk, babe.”

You shuffled past them without making eye contact, grabbed the charger, and backed out like a cartoon burglar leaving a diamond vault.

“Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry—!”

You closed the door behind you, stared down the hall for a solid five seconds, and then turned around.

“…I’m not emotionally equipped for this today.”

Which is how you ended up at Nero’s dorm, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to his bed while he tried not to laugh so hard he spilled soda on his calculus homework.

“You walked in on them AGAIN?”

“I didn’t mean to!” you groaned, burying your face in your hoodie. “I just—I didn’t knock! I never knock! Because usually it’s just Lady and her knife collection in there!”

Nero snorted. “You act like they don’t own the chaos. This is like… fourth time this month.”

“You don’t understand,” you mumbled. “Lady glared at me. Mid-makeout. Like I was the problem. Like I intruded on a sacred ritual.”

“She probably saw you as a threat to the mood.”

You threw a mini marshmallow at him. “Don’t make it worse.”

He caught it in his mouth like a smug golden retriever. “Okay, okay. Want a juice pouch?”

“...Yeah.”

Nero passed you a Capri Sun from the mini fridge and then joined you on the floor, shoulder to shoulder.

“You know,” he said, “my first week here? I opened the community fridge and found three raw steaks labeled ‘Dante’s Emergency Snacks.’ Things could be worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I walked in on Dante shaving his chest with an electric turkey carver.”

“…Okay that does.”

By the time your phone hit 80% and your internal social embarrassment dialed down to manageable levels, you felt almost human again.

You stood, stretched, and nodded toward the door.

“I should go back. Trish is probably building a pillow fort to taunt me.”

Nero smirked. “Want me to walk you there?”

You shook your head. “Nah. If I get caught again, I’m changing majors and transferring schools.”

As you opened the door, Nero called out after you: “Hey—next time you walk in on something, knock first. Or at least bring popcorn!”

You flipped him off over your shoulder.

When you returned to your dorm, Lady was sharpening one of her knives on the desk. Trish was doing her nails and humming.

Neither of them said a word.

But your charger had a sticky note on it.

"Try knocking next time, sugar 💋 —Trish"

You died a little inside.

Made by @yo-ri-su-ki, do not copy or translate my work! Reposts and likes appreciated!! Also if you like this post and want to see more like this, consider following!!

An: "WE LOVE YOU FRAT BOY DANTE" we all say in unison also, I'm sorry if this isn't what you asked for I've seen some of the aot college aus and I loved them😔😔 just tell me if ya want somethin new! THAT IS ALL, LOVE YOU, BYE MWAH

[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.

[maebelmelee]

*request fulfilled* This post has material not suitable for those under 18! Minors DNI!!!

Javier Escuella Modern AU Headcanons

General Lifestyle:

• Lives in a small but stylish apartment in a city with a heavy Latino influence, like Los Angeles, Austin, or Miami. Keeps a few houseplants alive but forgets to water them sometimes.

• Works as a musician, likely playing guitar in bars or as part of a mariachi band. He occasionally busks on the street because he loves the raw connection of music and people dropping cash into his case.

• Has a side hustle fixing cars or motorcycles. He’s surprisingly good with his hands and enjoys working on old, beat-up machines.

• Owns a classic lowrider or motorcycle—something sleek, well-maintained, and stylish.

• Still has that rebel streak, likely being involved in social activism, especially concerning immigration rights and workers’ unions.

Personality & Habits:

• Still charming and flirtatious, always carrying himself with confidence. He’s the type to flash a grin and make even a mundane conversation feel like a flirtation.

• Hangs out at local coffee shops or dive bars, where he enjoys live music, especially Latin jazz and flamenco.

• Can hold his liquor well but prefers tequila or mezcal over beer.

• Despite being a ladies' man, he’s actually quite romantic when he falls for someone. Writes songs about them, leaves little notes, and takes them on motorcycle rides.

• Very loyal to his friends. If you're in his circle, he'll always have your back, no matter what.

• Absolutely hates corporate jobs and refuses to wear a suit unless it's for a funeral.

Fashion:

• Sticks to leather jackets, button-downs (sometimes left open halfway), and cowboy boots. Loves accessorizing with rings and silver jewelry.

• Often wears bandanas or hats, especially on sunny days.

• Has a tattoo sleeve that likely includes a guitar, a rosary, and something representing his Mexican heritage.

Technology & Social Media:

• Definitely has Instagram, where he posts pictures of his guitar, city views, and the occasional thirst trap.

• Terrible at texting back—you’ll see him online, but he won’t reply for hours.

• Prefers old-school methods like writing in a leather journal over typing on his phone.

• Uses Spotify religiously and has killer playlists full of Spanish rock, outlaw country, and flamenco.

Daily Life:

• Starts his morning with strong black coffee or café de olla.

• Spends his afternoons either practicing music, fixing up an old car, or going on long drives with no destination.

• If he’s not performing at night, he’s chilling with friends, drinking at a rooftop bar, or playing dominos at a local park.

• Loves the night sky—if he’s feeling emotional, he’ll drive to a quiet place and just sit under the stars, playing his guitar.

NSFW Headcanons Below (18+/MdNi!!)

Sexuality & Preferences:

• Lover, not just a fighter—Javier is deeply passionate in bed. He loves taking his time, making sure his partner feels adored, worshiped, and completely satisfied before he even thinks about himself.

• Dirty talk comes naturally—his voice is smooth, deep, and laced with his accent, making every whispered word sound intoxicatingly sinful.

• Loves teasing—he’s patient and will drag out foreplay, whether it’s slow, lingering kisses, feather-light touches, or whispering all the dirty things he’s going to do before finally giving in.

• Absolutely has a thing for control, but in a seductive, slow-burning way—he enjoys pinning wrists down, guiding your hips, and making you beg for him.

• Loves watching—whether it’s seeing the way you react to his touch, catching a glimpse of your reflection in a mirror, or just laying back and watching you pleasure yourself for him.

• Skilled with his hands and mouth—years of playing guitar have given him incredible dexterity, and he knows exactly how to use it between the sheets.

Kinks & Preferences:

• Praise kink—he loves telling you how beautiful, sexy, and perfect you are while wrecking you.

• Oral fixation—he’ll take his time going down, making sure you’re completely overstimulated before he’s satisfied.

• Loves marking you—hickeys, scratches, bites, all of it. He enjoys seeing proof of the night before the next morning.

• Public teasing—whether it’s a hand on your thigh under the table, a whisper in your ear in a crowded bar, or a knowing smirk from across the room, he gets off on the idea of getting you worked up where others could see.

• Rough, but sensual—Javier can be fast and desperate when the mood calls for it, but he never forgets to make you feel good. It’s not just about the physical; he wants to see you completely undone beneath him.

• Aftercare king—whether it’s cuddling you close, stroking your hair, or murmuring in Spanish as he kisses your shoulders, he’s never the type to just roll over and sleep afterward.

Spicy Scenarios:

• Backseat rendezvous—Javier’s got an old car or motorcycle, and sometimes things get too heated to wait until you’re home.

• Hotel rooms after gigs—if you watch him perform, expect him to be extra riled up after. There’s something about having an audience that makes him crave you more.

• Late-night balcony sex—he likes the risk, especially if it’s overlooking a city skyline with the warm air and dim lights surrounding you.

• Tension-filled arguments that turn into something else—he can be hot-headed, and sometimes fighting leads to rough, desperate make-ups against the nearest wall.

[littleeyesofpallas]

So I've mentioned before that Hisagi Shuuhei's given name Shuuhei[修兵]: "disciplined soldier" is a homonym with shuuhei[州兵]: lit. "state+soldier" but refers to both the organization and individuals of a "National Guard" and contextually the US National Guard specifically. And I've mentioned how it kinda plays into his characterization in relation to his zanpakutou. But something that maybe isn't as apparent is how he shares a very loose theme with Kensei.

Kensei's got a weird mix of things going on and it always felt to me like part of it kind of pivoted half way thru the series, and really the Visored in general, where he started with a sort of US military theme but got shifted into being more of a Japanese style biker gang leader instead(and how that plays into Mashiro's toku hero gimmick)

Among other things he's got the retroactively named move, BakudanTsuki[爆弾突き]: "bomb thrust" that has a subtle militaristic connotation to it. But then in context it's the same root word for "bomb" used in Bambietta's Schrift The Explode[爆撃]: "bombing(raid)" like in an aerial bombing from a plane.

(The other attack there is just SANDBAG BEAT[サンドバッグ・ビート] which doesn't feel especially thematic, but I guess does kind of evoke him being in something like a more western boxing gym, rather than any kind of japanese or samurai specific aesthetics like you'd expect from Soul Society. And his given name is written as "West(ern) Fist")

And then his zanpakutou, Tachikaze appears to be, at least in my mind, evocative of the Tachikaze class destroyer ship. Although I admit that's largely on the back of my own kind of wild/broad speculation about the Visored more as a group than anything supported by just him specifically.

Shuuhei ga tsuyosou na namae janee ka! Nakuna![修兵が強そうな名前じゃねえか! 泣くな!]: "Shuuhei is a strong looking name isn't it? Don't cry!"

It feels too obvious to need spelling out, but he's not just giving the generic pep talk, he's very specifically pointing out the Shuuhei's name means "Disciplined Soldier" so he should act like one.

I wish I could find it again but I swear there was some transcript of an interview where Kubo more or less reiterated stuff he'd been asked in other similar Q&A but mentioned that he doesn't really design characters with a background in mind, he just draws what feels cool and comes up with a story and personality to match the look. And mroe over that he similarly doesn't design characters with their relationships in mind, he just takes the characters he's already made and imagines which ones look like they'd get along in some way or another. (Among other things this explains why the same women keep showing up in 8th division, not because Nanao and Risa, or even Risa and Kyoraku were ever meant to be meaningfully related but because Kubo just keeps making these women who look the same and ends up pigeonholing them into the same basic network of characters.) Again i can't seem to find this specific Q&A though so take that "factoid" with a grain of salt.

Still it's with that in mind that it feels like Shuuhei and Kensei ended up together. Not because Kensei was ever actually meant to be Shuuhei's childhood hero but because they both had a soldier gimmick and so Kubo's brain filed them into the same general corner together. And it's from that link that he specifically made their meeting in the TBtP arc punctuated with this line about Shuuhei's name.

Also Shuuhei's got his whole motorcycle thing which is weirdly never actually brought up in the context of Kensei's biker thing and his hollow form made to look like car parts; although it's Shuuhei who's only briefly nodded to as the orbital factoid around Jackie's whole gay leather biker daddy themed Dirty Boots. (Very funny that between that and Mashiro's Kamen Rider homage that we have two implicitly motorcycle riding kicky ladies in Bleach. "...two nickles..." and all that...)