#Motorcycle Engine Kit

[propowermx]

[frequentlykit]

Helping Hand Pt2 - Bang Chan

Bang Chan x Reader

Warnings: Suggestive, fluff, some minor angst (let me know if I wasn't specific enough, I'm new at this)

WC: 1.4k

Summary: You get into some trouble and call the first person you think of.

A/N: hope you are happy with this sequel, i may or may not keep this going for a while. enjoy!

- kit <3

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

It had been two days since Chris gave you his number.

You wanted to use it… sort of. It felt weird to just text him. You hadn’t even splurged on his bubble and now you had his actual phone number. Why he trusted you enough to give it out was another question you had no answer to.

The work event had gone well the day before which you were thankful for, now you only have one more day before you fly back to Seoul. You were out late, grabbing a snack from the convenience store. You weren’t alone in the store, three men who seemed to be there together were also wandering the aisles. You didn’t think too much of it until after you checked out and they followed after you down the sidewalk. You didn’t want to jump to conclusions, until they called out to you.

“Hey sugar! Why don’t you come party with us?” One called as they caught up to you.

“I’m good, thank you.” You say, starting to walk faster.

Another one ran in front of you, “Come on, darling. Don’t be a spoiled sport. Where are you rushing off to?”

You could tell they were drunk, or at least tipsy, and again tried to move past them.

“Hey! Don’t be rude. We just walk to talk.”

The third one comes up behind you, placing a hand on your lip, “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

You whip around, stepping out of their range with your hands out in front of you, “I’m actually meeting my boyfriend here-”

“Oh please, no one has to know, baby. Come have fun with us.”

“No, really, I’m good-” You fumble with your phone, pressing the first number you saw. Chris.

“Hello?”

“Hey babe, you’re still coming to pick me up right?”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, you said you were on your way.”

“Do you need help?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay, I’m on my way. Send me your location.”

“Thank you, baby.”

You hang up, quickly sharing your location before putting your phone back in your pocket.

“How stupid do you think we are?”

“Come on, honey, just five minutes.”

You took another step back when you heard an engine revving and getting closer, you turn to see someone on a motorcycle. He stops in front of you, parking the bike and taking off his helmet.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He smiles broadly, as he walks over to you, “You ready?”

You nod, “Mhm.”

Chris wraps a comforting arm over your shoulder.

“Anything I can do for you, gentlemen?” He asks, looking at the three men who were now much less interested.

They grumble something under their breaths before wandering off. Once they are out of earshot Chris lets go, taking a step back to assess you.

“You okay?”

You nod, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I’m sorry for calling but- your number was the first one I saw and I figured you would be awake still. I’m sorry to bother-”

“Y/N, stop.” He laughs softly, “It’s okay, I’m glad you called.”

You sigh with relief.

“You want a ride back to your hotel?”

You nod, telling him the address. He walks back over to his bike, handing you the helmet he had been wearing.

“A bike?”

“More fun than renting a car, yeah?” He grins.

You shrug, you couldn’t argue, then put on the helmet. He helps you onto the bike and secures your arms around his waist.

“Hold on tight, okay?”

You squeeze tightly as a ‘yes,’ then he takes off. The cool air whips past you and you lean your head against his back. It’s a short ride but you can’t help but enjoy the feeling of leaning against him, your thundering heart beginning to calm.

You get to the hotel and Chris pulls into a motorcycle spot close to the entrance. He gets off before helping you and slowly taking the helmet off your head.

“You okay?” He asks with a kind smile.

You nod, giving him a short one in return.

“You sure?”

You start to nod, and then shake your head, “I think… I’m a little shaky. Will you… will you come up with me? Just for a bit.”

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

He takes your hand and squeezes it, letting you lead him inside and into the elevator. He doesn’t let go until you get to your room and let him inside. You both slip off your shoes before walking over to the bed, you sit and Chris stands, somewhat awkwardly, to the side.

“So…” You bite your lip, “I don’t know why I brought you up here.”

“I assumed you didn’t want to be alone.” He says, slowly sitting down next to you.

“I guess… it’s a little weird…”

“What is?”

“That it’s… you.” You look down at your hands resting in your lap. 

“That’s weird?”

“I mean, no, not really but… you know what I mean. You’re… Bang Chan of Stray Kids.”

“Well… right now…” he slowly reaches over to take your hands in his, “I’m just Chris.”

You look up at him, “Thank you…”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart. I’m happy to… be here.”

• • •

With the ice between you more thoroughly broken, Chris gets you to relax by putting on some old black and white movie and relaxing on the hotel bed. You talked more than watched, about your own dreams and ambitions as well as his, some of which surprised you.

“That’s your dream? To make out in the rain?” You giggle.

“Don’t judge me, I can be romantic when I want to.”

“I’ve seen your live’s Chris, I’m well aware.”

This time it was him who blushed, looking away, “Shut up…”

“What? Don’t get shy now, it’s fun to see you flirt with your phone.”

“Stop!” He turns away.

“Come on, Chris,” You lean over, poking him, “You can dish it out but you can’t take it!”

“Don’t!” He laughs, trying to move away.

You grab his shirt, pulling him back over, well aware he could escape easily if he wanted. 

You lean down, poking him in the chest, “Don’t be so shy.”

“I thought you said you’d seen my live’s, you are well aware-” He giggles before grabbing the hand poking him and flips you over. You squeal quietly as he pins your hands to the bed, hovering over you, both of you panting. You look up at him, glancing between his chocolate eyes and his plump lips. You wondered if they were as soft as they looked. Just then he ran his tongue across the lower one, looking between your eyes before they slid down to your lips.

“Chris…” You say, hardly a whisper.

“Hmm?” He mumbles, eyes never leaving your lips.”

“Kiss me.”

He looks back up at your eyes, a mix of panic and desire in his own before he leans down and connects your lips with his. It was better than you’d let yourself imagine. It wasn’t rushed, it was sweet and slow, comforting. He lets go of your hands and you move them around his neck, playing with the hairs there. He groans, deepening the kiss as he grips your hip with one hand.

Chris pulls back suddenly, “I’m sorry-” He moves away, sitting back on the bed.

You sit up, “Don’t be sorry, Chris. I asked you to.”

“I know but… this isn’t how… I just… I don’t want to take advantage.”

“Chris, you aren’t, I promise.” You move closer to him on the bed, placing a hand on his arm.

“Just… I feel like… I don’t know, like a power imbalance. I just want to… make sure you’re not doing this because of who I am…” He mutters.

“Chris,” You move your hand from his arm to his cheek, turning his head to look at you, “I might be a fan but after the time we’ve spent together I am getting to know the real you, not the one I’ve seen online. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’re sure?” He asks, genuine concern in his eyes.

“Who’s thinking too much now?” You tease with a smile, letting your hand fall away from his cheek.

He chuckles, shaking his head, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, your worry is very endearing. It means you care, Chris.”

You don’t kiss again but you do lay slightly closer together as you finish watching the movie, absentmindedly playing with each other's fingers.

• • •

You and Chris walk to your hotel door and he steps out into the hall.

“I’ll see you around, sweetheart.” He smiles.

“I hope so, let me know when you’ve got some freetime back in Korea.”

“I will.”

You move forword, kissing his cheek before stepping back. He squeezes your hand before waving and walking down to the elevator. You watch him till the doors close before slipping back into your hotel.

You slide down the inside of the door.

That just happened.

thank you for reading! please reblog and like <3

i may or may not fall off the face of the internet for the next two weeks (taking a trip to Japan lol) but we will see, feel free to give me some requests for when i get back ;)

[chaoticrockmusic]

Crash Course

Synopsis; A quick ride on Jason Todd’s motorcycle turns into a dumpster disaster. As he grumbles and patches you up, you catch glimpses of the care he hides behind his tough exterior—and learn just how much you mean to him.

Warnings; None! Hope you enjoy, kits!

Jason stood beside his motorcycle, arms crossed, the faint glow of a streetlamp reflecting off the red of his helmet tucked under his arm. "Let me make one thing clear," he said, voice firm and low. "You’re not touching my bike."

You raised an eyebrow, arms folded as you met his glare. "It’s just a ride around the block, Todd. Not like I’m planning to join a street race."

He scoffed, his lips pulling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "This isn’t one of your little toys. It’s a Ducati. Custom-built. Worth more than your apartment. You crash it, and you’ll be working for me until you’re sixty."

"Afraid I’ll ride it better than you?" you teased, your grin wide and shameless.

Jason’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening into something unreadable. After a beat, he shoved the helmet into your hands with a sharp glare. "Fine," he said curtly. "But if you lay it down, you’re paying for every scratch, dent, and bolt out of your own damn pocket."

"Deal," you said, practically bouncing as you straddled the sleek machine.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Throttle’s touchy. Lean into the turns. And for the love of God, don’t gun it."

You nodded, but you were already revving the engine, adrenaline buzzing in your veins. Before Jason could say another word, you were off, the roar of the bike echoing through the narrow alleyway.

The wind whipped against your face as the bike surged forward, the power of it sending a thrill down your spine. You couldn’t help but let out a victorious laugh. But as the first sharp turn approached, you realized—too late—that you’d underestimated just how sensitive the bike was.

The back wheel skidded. The world tilted. And before you knew it, you and the Ducati went crashing into a dumpster with an echoing clang.

"Shit," you groaned, sprawled on the ground as the bike settled on its side.

Jason’s footsteps were heavy, fast, and loud as he stormed over. He didn’t say anything at first, his jaw tight as he hauled the bike upright and inspected it for damage.

Then he turned to you, his eyes dark and his voice low. "What the hell were you thinking?"

You winced as you tried to sit up, your shoulder protesting with a sharp ache. "I think the bike hates me."

Jason let out a sharp, humorless laugh as he crouched beside you. "The bike doesn’t hate you. The bike doesn’t have a death wish. That’s all you." He grabbed your arm, his grip firm but careful, and helped you to your feet.

You winced again, and Jason’s frown deepened. He guided you to a nearby crate, practically shoving you onto it before crouching down in front of you. His hands were already pulling a small med kit from his jacket pocket.

"Sit still," he muttered, not looking at you as he snapped on a pair of gloves.

"I’m fine," you protested weakly.

"You’re bleeding," he shot back, grabbing an antiseptic wipe and dabbing at the scrape on your arm. "And you’re lucky it’s just scrapes. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "You’re reckless. Stupidly reckless."

You tilted your head, watching him work. His hands were steady, but his jaw was tight, his brows furrowed in that way they always did when he was more upset than he let on.

"You’re really worried about me," you said softly, trying for a teasing tone, but it came out quieter than you intended.

Jason froze for a moment, his hand hovering just above your arm. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he didn’t meet your eyes. "I’m worried about my bike," he said gruffly, resuming his work.

"Sure," you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He ignored you, focusing instead on wrapping your arm in clean gauze. His movements were precise, his touch gentle despite the grumbling under his breath. When he was done, he leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, finally looking at you.

"You’re banned," he said flatly.

"Jason—"

"Forever," he added, cutting you off.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. "I said I was sorry."

He shook his head, standing and reaching out a hand to help you up. "Sorry doesn’t fix a totaled bike or a broken neck. Next time," he said, his tone firm, "you ride with me."

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him. There was something unspoken in his gaze—something protective, almost desperate, that he tried to hide behind his usual gruff exterior.

"Got it," you said softly, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet.

Jason grunted, picking up the helmet and tossing it onto the bike. As you both turned toward the alleyway, you couldn’t help but notice the faint tremor in his hand as he ran it through his hair.

"Come on," he said over his shoulder. "Let’s get you cleaned up properly before you start smelling worse than that dumpster."

And as he walked ahead of you, muttering about reckless idiots and ruined leather, you couldn’t help but smile. Beneath all the grumbling, Jason cared more than he’d ever admit.

[seat-safety-switch]

Bicycles kick a lot of ass these days. When I was a kid, a bicycle would only go as fast as you could pedal. Maybe, if you were really a huge asshole, you could take the bus to the big city and buy one of those mini-moped kits from a motorcycle shop. Then you could break playground-zone speed limits with enough two-stroke burble and pop to arouse every police officer within thirty miles.

Nowadays, you can slap some Chinese-made wonder magic on your Norco and do three or four horsepower without even knowing how to solder. In fact, it's much better if you don't know anything about electronics, because that level of knowledge will prevent you from extracting the maximum value out of your investment of "some vape batteries" and "a motor I found on Amazon whose name YouTube can't consistently pronounce." Electrical engineers are just too damn afraid of fire to go really fast.

Sure, you have to show fealty to the all-knowing microcontroller inside the magic motor box. Pinky-swear to it that you live in the hypothetical lawless wonderland that would allow you to have this much wheel-bending, mind-melting torque on a public pedestrian pathway. Honestly, it's its own fault if it believes a shifty character such as yourself. Not that the local cops are going to pull over Bob Tongsheng on his way to deposit your money in his bank, either. It's this kind of primitive hot-rodding that once made this country great: neglecting the existence or worth of anyone and everything outside of your vehicle in lieu of Go Fast.

Sure, this sort of thing will only last for awhile. Pathways are already filling up with lots of zingy e-mopeds and e-deathscoots, ridden by perfectly normal people. Your 1500-watt stealth bomber build is going to get pulled on by a pensioner within a year or two, as the market begins to demand enough cargo room (and rollover protection!) to do a once-a-month Costco run with the entire fam in tow. Inevitably, the cops are going to have to crack down on the whole deal, too.

For a glorious, shining moment, you too can dig a rusty mountain bike out of a creek and have it doing 50 miles an hour by watching a YouTube video. That's something previous generations simply could not have imagined. Which is their loss, really. If they had gotten off their asses earlier and figured out the lithium-ion battery, we could all be driving $100 50-horsepower ebikes right now instead of having to pay Big Battery for the "latest and greatest" in burning your garage down.

[eeerrrrewsd]

Worth the Risk

Jason Todd x Reader – Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, a Little Cute

Jason Todd had learned to live with ghosts.

They followed him everywhere.

In the roar of his motorcycle’s engine.

In the smell of gunpowder clinging to his gloves.

In the cold weight of his helmet, pressing against his skull like a second skin.

They whispered to him in the silence.

In the alleyways.

In the spaces between shadows.

In the stillness of the nights where he sat alone, wondering why he even came back.

He had learned to live with them.

But then you came along.

And suddenly, Jason didn’t know how to live with you.

You weren’t supposed to stay.

Jason had made sure of that.

He had tried everything—brushing you off, keeping you at a distance, scowling at you until his face hurt. He even threw in a few “I’m no good for you” speeches, just to be safe.

But you didn’t care.

You stuck around.

You smiled at him like he wasn’t broken.

You laughed at his jokes like he was someone worth laughing with.

You treated him like he was Jason—not Red Hood, not Robin, not a cautionary tale—just him.

And Jason didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

So, he did what he always did.

He pushed you away.

And you, stubborn as ever, refused to go.

The first time Jason realized he couldn’t keep you at arm’s length forever was when you found him bleeding in his apartment.

He hadn’t meant for you to see him like that.

He had been careful.

The fight had been messy, but he had made it home, made it to his shitty excuse for a first-aid kit, and was fine.

Or, he would have been—if you hadn’t let yourself in with the spare key he forgot you had.

The moment your eyes landed on him—shirt torn, bruises darkening along his ribs, blood staining his gloves—you had frozen.

Then your expression shifted into something unreadable.

And Jason?

Jason panicked.

“Don’t,” he warned before you could say anything. “I’m fine.”

You didn’t listen.

You never listened.

“Fine?” you echoed, marching toward him. “Jason, you’re bleeding all over your couch.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Your glare could have set the whole damn apartment on fire. “You’re literally trying to hold yourself together with duct tape right now.”

“…It’s quality duct tape.”

Your hands landed on your hips. “Sit down.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “I don’t take orders.”

“Then sit down or I’ll make you.”

For a second, he considered arguing.

But you looked mad.

And Jason had taken on Gotham’s worst criminals, but even he knew better than to mess with you when you were pissed.

So, with a dramatic sigh, he sat.

You wordlessly grabbed the first-aid kit, crouching in front of him.

Jason tensed. He hated being this close, being seen like this. But your hands were careful, gentle as you reached for his injured arm.

And then, so softly he almost didn’t catch it—

“You scared me.”

Jason blinked.

Your voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it.

Like you weren’t just mad.

Like you were hurt.

And Jason—Jason hated that.

“…Didn’t mean to,” he mumbled.

You sighed, dabbing antiseptic over his wound. “Then stop trying to die every other night, and maybe we’ll be even.”

Jason swallowed.

He had no idea what to say to that.

So, he sat there, letting you clean his wounds, letting your touch ease some of the ache in his body.

Letting himself wonder—just for a moment—why the hell you were still here.

Jason wasn’t an idiot.

He knew who he was.

He knew what he had done.

And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wasn’t someone people stayed for.

But you did.

And it terrified him.

Another night.

Another fight.

Another set of bruises Jason didn’t have the energy to deal with.

He sat on the fire escape outside your apartment, the cool night air stinging against his busted lip.

He hadn’t meant to come here.

But somehow, he had.

Because after a night like this—after feeling like he had nothing left to give, after Gotham had chewed him up and spit him back out—he didn’t want to be alone.

And when he saw your light flicker on, when you stepped outside and spotted him sitting there like some stray cat, you didn’t even hesitate.

You just sighed, held out your hand, and said—

“Come inside, dumbass.”

Jason almost laughed.

Almost.

Instead, he let you pull him inside, let you fuss over him, let you care.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself stay.

Weeks passed.

Jason still didn’t get it.

Didn’t get you.

Didn’t get why you weren’t afraid of him, why you didn’t run the first time you saw how deep his scars really went.

He didn’t get why you smiled at him like he wasn’t some walking tragedy.

Didn’t get why, when he was with you, the ghosts in his head got quiet.

So, one night, after you had patched him up again, after you had fallen asleep with your head against his shoulder, he whispered—

“…Why me?”

You stirred but didn’t wake.

Jason exhaled, staring at the ceiling, at the way the city lights flickered through your window.

Of all people—why him?

Why would you care?

Why would you stay?

Then, as if you could hear his thoughts, you mumbled—

“Because you’re worth it.”

Jason went still.

His chest ached, something warm pressing behind his ribs, something he couldn’t name.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

He let himself believe it.

[kaunis-sielu]

Small Town, Big City

You can hear the engine before you can see it, but just by sound you know that it’s a motorcycle. Great. The last thing you need is some biker dude rolling by, seeing you and your piece of shit car and coming back to hit on you. You keep your focus on your car, you’ve already burned yourself once you don’t need to twice, as the bike roars by.

“Please keep going. Please keep going. Please keep going.” You mutter under your breath but luck has abandoned you as the motorcycle turns around and comes back your way.

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Are you alright?” He calls, him calling you ma’am throws you off a bit.

“I’m fine thanks.” You yell back, still not turning around.

“Ma’am. Can you please turn around? My name is Sheriff Rogers I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Sheriff? You turn then, water bottle in one hand, flashlight in the other and are somehow still surprised to see a sheriff standing in front of you.

“Oh, sorry I just assumed that you were a biker and really didn’t wanna deal with that.” He’s tugged off the helmet, his hair smooshed down from it and he gives you a small nod and a smile.

“Understandable. But you’re okay?”

“I mean, mentally yea, physically I burned my arm pretty good with some steam. Emotionally? I’m gonna be honest with you. Pretty shitty.”

“Well, I can help with the burn for sure. I’ve got a kit on my bike but the emotional stuff I don’t know. I’m a good listener at least.” He offers with a small smile, one you can’t help but return. You turn back to your car and pour some water into the radiator.

“Alright ma’am. Can I see your arm?”

“Oh, oh my god you scared me. You move quietly.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You turn and give him your arm and he lets out a low whistle.

“You said it was steam?”

“Yea I opened the radiator too soon, shot some steam out at me.”

“Ouch, it doesn’t look too bad though. I’m going to put some burn ointment on there then wrap it to keep it clean okay?”

“Sounds good.” He gets to work, his large hands much more gentle than you’d have expected them to be. You chat as he tends to your battle wound.

“So, you mentioned emotionally not good.” He says not looking at you, “Wanna talk about it?” You sigh heavily, watching as he gently applies the burn ointment.

“I’m from Chicago, had a job, a nice apartment. Family nearby. But my boyfriend, sorry, my ex-boyfriend got a job down in New Mexico.” You wince as he hits a tender spot.

“Sorry.”

“No it’s okay. Anyway, Brock asked me to move with him. We’d been together almost two years so I figured why not. He left a week before me, mailed me a key to our new place. I packed up this piece of shit and drove all the way out here. Walked in on him having sex with another guy, which honestly is fine just maybe break up with me first. Ya know?”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” He says softly wrapping the gauze around your arm. “So are you heading home?”

“Yea, gonna stay with a friend until I find a place. Luckily, I can kind of work anywhere there are animals so a job isn’t an issue.”

“You work with animals?”

“I’m a veterinarian.”

“That’s cool. You wanna try your car again?”

“Yea.” You round the car and try to start the engine when a loud bang sounds and Steve ducks. “Are you okay?” You call over your open door.

“I’m fine. But your serpentine belt isn’t.”

“My what?”

“The belt that goes around the engine. One of my best friends owns a car shop and some of the guys and I hang out there on the weekends. We’re working on an old ‘67 mustang right now. Let me give them a call and we’ll get you a tow.”

“Oh god. This is the last thing I need.” You groan dropping your forehead onto the top of the steering wheel. You can hear Sheriff Rogers talking to someone through his walkie and you check again for a signal on your phone. You’re disappointed but not surprised when there’s still no service. You grab your purse off of the seat of the car then throw your keys into it.

“So they’ll be here soon. Can I see your ID really quick? I should run it through the system, make sure you’re not wanted or anything.”

“Oh, right.” You pull your wallet out and pass him your ID. He calls it in and when you come back clear he gives it back.

“Sorry about that.”

“No reason to be, you’re just doing your job.” He nods then glances over his shoulder, you follow his gaze and see a dark spot on the horizon.

“That your friend?”

“Probably. She drives too fast, especially when she knows where we all are.” He says shaking his head with a small smile on his face.

Sure enough that dark spot on the horizon becomes a bright red tow truck.

“Hey Steve.” A small, slender woman calls as she drops out of the truck. “You said something about the serpentine belt?”

“Yea, when it was started it snapped.”

“When was the last time this bad boy got serviced?” The woman asks looking over at you.

“Uh, my brother usually just does it so, by a professional, maybe 4 years?”

“Oh dear god.” She mutters before laying down on the ground and attaching the large metal hook to the front of your car. She moves quickly and before you know it your car is hooked up and ready to go.

“Come on, you can ride with me.” She says with a grin at you, “Don’t worry Steve I’ll go the speed limit.”

“Just cuz you’re married to a deputy doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.” He huffs in a poor attempt to look irritated.

“Okay.”

“Natasha.” He warns his voice low, “don’t make me call Clint.”

“You know he’ll just fold.” She says with a laugh and he rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.

“At least let me give you an escort.” Sheriff Rogers says making his way back to his motorcycle.

“Score.” Natasha says with a laugh, “that’s what I was hoping he’d do.” She tells you with a wink causing you to laugh.

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[kwisatzworld]

Uccio Salucci: the good life

December 2008 by Mat Oxley

Uccio Salucci’s good life is living life with the world’s greatest motorcycle racer, handing him his helmet and gloves on the grid, topping up his energy drink in the pit, hanging out with him in Ibiza. In fact, everywhere Valentino Rossi goes, Uccio goes with him. It’s a bit like being God’s butler. There’s no doubt that Uccio lives the good life – travelling the world in first-class style with the hugely popular Rossi, who just happens to be his best mate as well as his employer. Uccio has been Rossi’s right-hand man since his earliest days on the GP trail, he’s like an extra pair of hands for the seven-time world champion. The old school friends have known each other most of their lives and are pretty much inseparable whether they’re in the paddock, partying in Ibiza or chilling out back home in Tavullia.

How old are you? I’m 29, same as Valentino.

How did you get here? We have been dear friends since we were four or five years old. We used to go to school together and after school we used to go minimoto racing together. Of course, Valentino was always faster. When he started travelling around and doing well in GPs he needed someone he could really trust to be with him, as all racers do. Valentino asked me to be his ‘main of faith’ and I said yes.

What do you do? My real job is to drive the motorhome to all the European races. I am also Valentino’s assistant, so he calls me bad names when things go badly and when things go well we share the happiness. I look after everything for him, all his kit, his leathers, helmets, gloves and boots, anything he hasn’t got time to do, I do.

What is the highlight of your job? Travelling, seeing new things, learning new cultures and, of course, being with an amazing character like Valentino. He’s a lot of fun to be with, in and out of the paddock. Of course, we do argue, we argue a lot, like women! The best moment of our time together was South Africa 2004, his first win with Yamaha.

What makes you tick? The engine of my job is wanting to win the race on Sunday, this is my main motivation, just like Valentino’s. You cannot do this job if you’re not hungry for victory.

Is it the easy life? It’s easy and it’s difficult. For sure it’s easier than a proper job, I don’t consider this to be a real job. It’s difficult to be with Valentino because he’s very famous, so he gets a lot of criticism, so you always have to stay calm about this kind of thing. But you get used to the lifestyle, it’s not a crazy life but an emotional life.

What’s your best-ever trip? I always enjoy driving the motorhome on long journeys, like to Jerez in southern Spain. The motorhome is always very crowded, there’s always four or five of us from Tavullia, with me doing all the driving.

What’s the best bike you’ve ever ridden? The Yamaha 990cc M1! I rode it twice in 2006, first at Monza, then at Valencia. Valentino let a few of us ride his bike. It was fantastic, the power and the braking were incredible, and the handling was so light and easy, like a bicycle. But I didn’t go very fast. For sure if I crash, I die!

What’s the secret of the good life? The secret of the good life in the paddock is to take everything lightly, not to take it too seriously. There’s a lot of pressures and if you focus too much on the pressures you don’t have a good time.

What would you swap about your good life? I don’t like it when Valentino gets criticised. The paddock is like a barber’s shop, everyone talks a lot, there’s a lot of bullshit, I don’t like that aspect of this world.

How often do you ride? I have an XT660 Supermotard, I go to the seaside from Tavullia. In the summer I never drive a car. Maybe I’m a little crazy on the street, especially on roundabouts: foot down, wheelies. But please don’t write that.

Who else has the good life? Rock stars!

You and Valentino like a party don’t you? Yes, of course, we love parties, but we’re getting older so we don’t party as much as we used to. We like to be with friends, eat a pizza…

So no more DC10? [A legendary Ibiza pill-popping club] We don’t like it anymore, the people are different now, Ibiza has changed.

What’s the best party you’ve been to? DC10 in 2000, before Vale bought a house in Ibiza. That was crazy!

What about girls? Some people think I’m a filter for Valentino’s girls but I’m not, maybe it would be nice. The problem of being with Valentino is that when a nice girl comes to meet us, she soon goes off with Valentino. He’s better looking, thinner, richer… and faster too.

Was the good life better in 1997 or is it better now? Those early days in GPs were unforgettable, the world championship was a dream come true for us but it was kind of like a game back then. We used to play, we were more natural in the way we carried on. Then we got older, racing got more serious and now it’s becoming more like a normal job.

What happens away from races? I’m with Valentino wherever he goes, like two normal friends, well, maybe not normal friends, but we are very good friends who get along well in all kind of circumstances.

And what good life after this good life? Recently I’ve started thinking about this but at the moment I have no idea. I will worry about this problem when I have to worry about it…

[matus1976]

From inspiration to real life! Building a full size fully functional high performance recumbent motorcycle designed from the ground up to take full advantage of the platform's potential Aesthetically inspired by Kaneda's ride from "Akira" Building jigs and fixtures along the way for volume production, in kit or complete form, supporting multiple engine platforms Follow the prototype build at youtube.com/matus1976 subscribe and share! thanks!

[jerkeline]

My youtube recommendations are tailored for a 60yo man. Military history, motorcycles, model kits, restoration, replication, woodworking, engine repair, fish, boats, handbags, wait how'd that last one get in there?

[fang-feraligatr-blog]

My new Toa Team at long last!

You've all waited so long for these so I'm just gonna jump into it!

First up, Pyrus. Toa Pohalan of Fire!

First and Foremost, I will explain Pohalan later. Pyrus like most of his current team is actually a toa from another group that was brought to the accursed lands of Bota Magna by the whims of fate, and his experience might not be as deep as the other toa, but his Elemental Powers rival that of even the Great Tahu! In fact due to an encounter with a rather aggressive nui-rama, Pyrus burnt out all the organic material in his right arm and now has what we would equate to an entire motorcycle for a right arm, engine and all. His golden blade was a gift given to him from an old friend before he left for Bara Magna, only for the fusion of Bara Magna and Aqua Magna to throw him off completely and land on Bota Magna instead.

His kit features the Mask of Time-stop, which allows him to literally stop everything around him for exactly 30 seconds. He can also focus this power to pause one specific object or individual for 15 seconds. It takes a lot of concentration, or in some cases desperation, to activate it so he's not prone to use it much. He's also got his replacement arm that sports it's own ventilation system so he never burns himself out again, and the gear system in his hand allows him to hold onto anything, and never let go. His Golden Sword of Fire is powered by a stone containing a blue flame that allows him to wield the sword even when exerting an extreme amount of power.

He leads his current team in hopes of finding a way back to his original destination, unaware of what fate has in store not just for him, but for all the universe.

Next up: Moku, Toa Pohalan of Air

Not usually one to be concerned with things like "emotional responses" and preferring to use his head rather than his heart to decide things, Moku is a calculating and ingenious Air Toa that prefers to work alone for the most part. So why he's willingly working with the others is a mystery, until you ask him and he says, "They're the best odds of survival I have". He seems cold, but in reality he only works with his logical side because emotions and feelings are confusing to him. That said, he's a mechanical genius who, using his own methods, basically turned himself into a toa and even augmented his armor into a fashion that he found both practical and stylish. His biggest drawback is that he's rather sarcastic and constantly butts heads with the Toa of Water because of it.

His kit includes the Mask of Mechanisms, which allows him to understand how to use any mechanical object simply by looking at it. This is incredibly useful to him as he likes to tinker from time to time, leading to him being the brains of the team. Despite being a Wind Toa, he's no gust of wind to ignore as his armor is EXTREMELY HEAVY! So heavy that he NEEDS that rocket engine on his back just to get off the ground. His flight is slow at first but it builds up speed fast and eventually gets powerful enough to break at least Mach 9, pushing on ten. This of course would make him hard to steer and slow down normally, but that's where his wind powers impress along with his shield (which he built himself of course). Placing his shield in front of him at top speed and utilizing his wind powers, he creates a massive sonic boom in front of him that stops his speed entirely, and obliterates pretty much anything in front of him, something that took several attempts and many broken armor pieces including his old mask to perfect. His weapon of choice is an energized Axe with a hilt guard and a flail attached. The flail is usually there for show, but if pressed he can use it along with more wind power to turn it into a deadly accurate weapon!

Now onto: Kanaka, Toa Pohalan of Stone

Before you ask, yes his right arm looks like a Visorak, but no it is not a Visorak, it is simply his right arm. And yes he does drag it behind him when tired. Kanaka is what we would know as a Wild Man, being one of two natural residents of Bota Magna, he and the Toa of Earth have been friends and survival partners for a long long time. Slow and lumbering, he makes up for it by practically being invulnerable to anything, unyielding and unstoppable. You really can't stop the rock when Kanaka is is your foe. Not one to say much, he really only speaks when he has something important to say, and even then in as few words as possible. Stalwart and strong as the mountains themselves, Kanaka is also a gentle giant, often listening to the others complaints and offering helpful opinions on the mater, and he absolutly loves rahi of any kind.

His kit includes his Mask of the Wild, granting him the various abilities of any rahi he knows of. This allows him to not only be one of the few toa's of stone that can swim, but possibly the only Toa of Stone that can fly. He can communicate with all rahi and is often seen as the king of the beasts. His weapon is the mighty Gaia Mallet, a hammer that's heavy enough that lifting it feels like moving a mountain, something that another mountain wouldn't have much trouble with so naturally he's the only one who can wield it. He also has a tail which never stops surprising his team, and his right arm has claws that tear through anything. Beyond all that, he does tend to get ferocious in battle and is often seen going into a frenzy against his enemies, not only making him stronger but faster than he should be able to move at all! If you're going to take him out, take him out FAST, otherwise he'll unleash his rage and smash you into oblivion.

Next: Taniwa, Toa Pohalan of Earth

Most people say that in order to be a toa you have to be a matoran first. This is not true, and Toa Taniwa is proof of this. A former Rahi that was imbued with the power of stone and the intelligence of a toa from an accidental interaction with a toa stone. Taniwa is in a constant struggle between his more intelligent Toa half, and his instinctual beastly half, but it's a struggle he's gotten used to now. Possessing the strength of a beast and the intellect of a Toa puts him on par with a Toa Hordika, and like any Toa, he's only as mean as he looks if you're a threat. Sharp claws, gnashing teeth, night vision and toa armor to boot, Taniwa is a monster in battle, but a loyal friend to those he trusts.

He's a good doggy.

The only other thing that really needs mentioning is that he CAN talk...but while his head does most of the head things you think it would do, his tail is how he talks. A small mouth can be found on the end of his tail that only exists to speak and nothing else. Any other mouth function you can think of happens in the mouth in his head, the tail only talks. What's weirdest abut it is that he can talk to someone without facing them thanks to this, but it never stops being weird. Stealthy for sure, but weird.

He is still a toa though, and despite having no mask to speak of, he still has amazing control over his element of Earth. Kanaka and Taniwa have been friends for about as long as they can remember now, and you cannot have one without the other.

Now for: Kali, Toa Pohalan of Water.

Armored in bullet proof metal, and armed to the gills, Kali is not your usual Toa of Water. She has a million ways to kill you, and no mater what she's always planning how she can end as many people in any given room at any given time and get away with it. She's cold, she's calculating, she's meticulous and skilled. She's so talented in fact that it seems like the only thing she doesn't have is a sense of humor or a tolerance for sarcasm. Never without a weapon of some kind, no one is ever quite sure if they're safe around her. Not much is known about her personal life, and that's just how she likes it. In the end though she is a Toa for a reason, and if there's one thing she hates more than anything else, it's Evil. Turns out that deep down she has a heart of solid gold and a will to defend others, but she hides it well.

She's armed with a sniper rifle that fires shots of hyper compressed water that she supplies herself that can penetrate a 10 inch thick steal SLAB and has the precision to snipe a sand scarab from the other side of the desert. A shoulder mounted zamor launcher that fires special zamor spheres that explode on impact and cause a torrent of water to slam opponents into walls, flat onto the ground, or up into the air only to come crashing down hard. She ripped the head off a Vahki unit at one point and now uses it as a special disk launcher. Incredibly accurate and fast, this is a close quarters firing weapon when her enemies are too close for the rifle. Her mask is the Mask of Focus, allowing her to lock on to her enemies both physically and mentally. At range it negates drop off for shots fired and makes those shots unaffected by wind as well, and close up it allows her to single out priority targets and take them out with precision. And you'd better pray she doesn't run out of bullets, or she'll show you her own version of CQC, CQK. Close Quarters Killing. She'll unholster her blades from her ankle sheathes, and then focus a blade of pure water down them to cut and slice her opponents to death.

Now for a shocker: Matoro, Toa Pohalan of Ice

Yes, THAT Matoro, and he's just as confused as you are. After the death of Makuta, Hali found herself lamenting that it almost felt like Matoro's death was for nothing, as the Matoran universe was now essentially gone. These thoughts found they're way into the Mask of life and by it's own will, it spent it's own life to revive Matoro with a few additional gifts. Upon his revival, Matoro discovered he was not on his home planet, and in fact had somehow ended up on Bota Magna. He also soon discovered that his time as a Toa Ignika and a Toa Mahri had somehow been connected through the use of his masks from both times. After an untimely surprise from a Dinosaur Rahi near a cliff face, Matoro fell to his death only to wake up a moment later. He soon discovered his mask powers from the masks on his shoulders and the one on his head came together and he can now revive from deaths like nothing ever happend. A now more skeletal like build and the fact that death itself meant nothing to him as the mask power activated automatically upon death, Matoro started feeling like he shouldn't exist really, and like his very existence was some sort of sin. This lead to giving him a more macabre outlook on things but all in all, he's the same duty bound toa he was before.

His kit includes an enhanced version of his Mask of Astral Projection as well as his mask of Necromancy, both of which get activated at once whenever he dies giving him a combined "Mask" of Immortality. His Ignika sword is now a little weightier than before and he's made use of a recently discovered staff that allows him to share his power of Immortality with others if he needs to. His now bone-like armor makes him very light, but also surprisingly durable. Most long range weapon shots just pass right by him or right through him without causing damage, and despite looking like mostly bones, his powers of ice will chill you directly to the bone before he shatters you like glass with his mace like staff. For now that's all, but there is one more. Another 7th toa to look forward to, but I am exhausted and SPENT. So for now I tease you with the 7th along with the whole Toa Pohalan Team! Bye for now!

But what is a Pohalan??

It's the Matoran word for revival. This is the team fate has decided is going to revive the universe from it's massive collapse and revive the Great Spirit himself. They will soon learn however, that Mata Nui cannot exist without his other half...

[gumnut-logic]

A Date with Monique

Okay, I'm blaming this squarely on @onereyofstarlight, @katblu42 and @gaviiadastra .

Have a little roadside assistance. Younger Earth and Sky and a lot of frustration for at least one of them :D

Hope it makes some kind of sense as I wrote most of it, ironically, on the side of a road :D It is possibly ridiculous.

-o-o-o-

“Aren’t you rich or something?”

Scott looked up at his date and mentally lowered the number on her scorecard for the night. “Yeah, so?”

She waved a hand in a random direction. “Can’t you call in a helicopter or something? I’m getting burrs in my stockings.”

That had him peering down the length of her long legs to the heels at their end. The legs were very nice indeed, even in the twilight darkness. But she was right. The grasses on the roadside verge had decided that she could transport their seeds quite well.

He wasn’t going to mention the bug on her shoe.

“No, we don’t do that.”

“Why not?” There was a whine to her voice that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps their unfortunate circumstances were a catalyst to revelations of her true nature.

“Help is on the way. He won’t be long.”

She slapped at her arm. “Ew, mosquito!”

Scott was leaning against his motorcycle. His motorcycle that was no longer motoring due to a busted spark plug. He had no spare, so that had necessitated a phone call.

That phone call was going to cost him because Virgil had been ranting at Scott for several weeks now that his bike needed a service.

He’d been busy.

Okay, he had forgotten.

And tonight was pleasantly unexpected. Well, it was pleasant until the bike stopped doing what he needed it to do.

“Who won’t be long? Did you call your father? I’d like to meet the famous Jeff Tracy.”

Oh, I bet you would. Her scorecard was dropping by the minute. Mentioning Jeff Tracy and his billions wasn’t the best way to get into favour with his eldest son. There were many opportunists out there…to use kind terms…apparently Grandma had at least a twenty-mile radius of influence when it came to language, even unspoken.

“Dad isn’t home.”

“Oh.” That deflated her.

Wonder what she will think of Virgil’s truck.

As if magicked into existence by the thought, a familiar rumble ramped up beyond the crest down the road. Moments later his brother’s old truck ambled over the top, its yellow headlamps lighting up the country road his bike had decided to die on.

“Here he is.”

“Thank god.”

Scott arched an eyebrow and wondered if his date would think the same once she was onboard.

Virgil’s truck was a workhorse. He kept her fully functional, but she did the hard yards for Virgil’s engineering and repair projects. The truck used to be Grandpa’s and, considering its age, was probably his grandfather’s before him.

Virgil adored her. But she was old and she showed it.

The truck creaked to a stop just in front of Scott’s bike, Virgil throwing open the driver’s side door and climbing out.

It was getting dark, but Scott didn’t need to see his brother’s face to know what expression was on it.

He cut him off before he could say a thing. “I know you told me, Virg.” He held up his hands. “I’m sorry.”

His brother snorted. “Live and learn.” He held up a spark plug. “This should do the trick.

Of course, being Virgil, he had brought his tool kit and sufficient lighting. A soft elbow to Scott’s arm and he was crouching down, pulling the guts out of Scott’s bike.

“Are you able to take me home in your truck?”

Both brothers looked up at his date.

Virgil answered first. “I guess I can, if you really want to.”

“It’s part of the service, isn’t it? Roadside assistance?”

“Um…”

“He’s my brother, Monique.”

“Your brother? Which one?” Yeah, there you go. She was showing much more interest in Virgil now.

Virgil, being Virgil, either that or just simply getting revenge on Scott for interrupting his piano practise, unfolded his legs and stood up, holding out a hand. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m Virgil Tracy.”

Scott bit the inside of his cheek as Monique took his brother’s hand and clasped it in both of hers. “Thank you so much for coming to our rescue.”

“Not the first time, ma’am, unlikely to be the last.”

Okay, his brother was dead for that line, no matter how true.

As Virgil extricated his hand from her clasp, Scott wondered if Monique would appreciate the grease his brother had probably shared with her.

Virgil was notorious for sporting a variety of grotty substances. And besides, his hands had been in the guts of his bike, for goodness’ sake.

Monique was making a point of leaning over said bike, despite her white dress, looking down at Virgil, and displaying her ample feminine attributes.

An hour ago, Scott had been admiring said attributes over dinner, all blonde curls, red lips, and alluring figure, but now he was no longer interested.

As for Virgil, his brother was clueless as usual, likely finding more interest in bike bits than the bits almost hanging in his face…oh, c’mon, now she was getting ridiculous.

Scott stepped around to her side. “Thank you for a lovely meal tonight, Monique. Apologies for the breakdown.”

She waved a hand in Scott’s direction. “It happens.” She didn’t even bother to look at him. “Virgil, dear, have you fixed the problem?”

Scott rolled his eyes.

Virgil was frowning at the bike’s engine, predictably oblivious. “Scott, when was the last time you had her serviced?”

Scott blinked away the non-sequitur. “Last May.”

“Where?”

“On base.”

Virgil grunted. “I’ll do it next time.” He stood up and chucked a tool into his kit. “You’re both riding with me tonight.”

“It’s not just the spark plug?”

“It’s not just the spark plug. I’ll overhaul her tomorrow. Tonight, it’s you me and Monique.”

Did she really have to suddenly look so eager?

Scott sighed and waved a hand. “Monique, meet Virgil Tracy and his truck…named Monique. Looks like she’s our ride tonight.”

“Oh.”

“Your name is Monique?” Virgil really could do the innocent and clueless so well sometimes.

Scott grabbed him by a shoulder and wrapped his arm around his brother. “Yes, little bro, I had a date with Monique tonight.”

That set Virgil grinning.

Oh yes, Scott was going to pay for this one. Possibly forever.

Monique, the one with two legs rather than four wheels, darted around Scott’s bike and looped her arm in one of Virgil’s. “Thank you again for saving us. Can you drive me home tonight?”

Unbelievable.

“Not a problem, Monique.”

Now he wasn’t sure which to strangle first.

“I’ll just load Scott’s bike into the back and we can get you home safe.” And yes, his little brother grabbed Scott’s motorcycle, rolled it over, and lifted it - by himself, with zero effort - into the back of his truck.

For a moment there he seriously thought Monique was going to swoon.

The thing was, Scott could call his brother an ass, but it was likely that Virgil had zero clue about the effect of his actions. He was known to lug stuff around the farm all the time, and this was probably just another case of getting the job done.

Virgil wandered back to them, wiping his dirty hands on an equally dirty rag. He looked up at Scott and frowned. “What?”

“Get in the car.”

“Truck.”

“Whatever.”

Of course, Monique made sure she was in the middle and virtually threw herself at his brother as they drove between the dark fields back to her apartment in town.

Scott might as well not have been there.

Probably just as well. Her motives were now clearly obvious and he had no interest in pursuing her further.

His main concern now was ungluing her from his lug of a brother. As they pulled up out the front of her block, Virgil was talking about the family history of his truck and how it had been handed down from Tracy to Tracy.

Monique was suspiciously interested. Earlier in the night she had claimed to hate listening to men talk about their cars. Scott had been glad he had his bike.

Apparently, it depended on which Tracy brother she was talking to.

What had he seen in her anyway?

“So, um, can I see you tomorrow?” She was practically pawing Virgil’s shirt.

“Um…”

Hmm, maybe his brother wasn’t as clueless as he appeared.

Scott interrupted. “I’m sorry, Monique, Virgil has to fly out for treatment tomorrow.”

“What?!”

Hmm, their voices did make an interesting harmony.

“Treatment?” Really? Now she was going to pull the ‘poor boy, I’ll look after you’ thing? So many doe eyes up at his brother.

“Okay, that’s it.” Scott shoved his door open and climbed out, attempting to urge her out after him. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience of the breakdown, Monique, but I need to get Virgil home.”

“What?” Well, he was going to pay for this forever, might as well make it worth it. Virgil was frowning up at him almost enough to break an eyebrow.

“Oh, okay.” She even managed to look put out. “I hope to see you soon, Virgil.”

“Uh, yeah.” Virgil’s hands actually squirmed on the steering wheel.

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” She fussed around in her purse. “I don’t have a pen, so I guess this will have to do.”

And the woman wrote her phone number in lipstick on Virgil’s forearm.

His brother seemed to be frozen.

To top it off, she then re-did her lips with a smile.

Scott hoped she was enjoying the engine grease that…no doubt…was the lipstick’s new flavour.

Finally, little miss Marilyn Monroe slipped out of the car and strode past Scott with a bounce in her step. She waved at Virgil over one shoulder with a smile before disappearing down the path to her apartment.

Both Tracy brothers just stared for a moment.

Scott was wondering what her reaction would be when she finally looked in the mirror. Even in the shadows of the street lamps he could see that her white dress was now streaked in anything but.

Might be a good time to make an exit.

He slid back into the truck beside Virgil who was staring at his lipstick vandalised arm.

“She’s interesting.”

“Not your type.” Not in a million years was she getting anywhere near his brother.

“So she’s yours then?” And yes, his brother was grinning fit to split something.

He glared at Virgil. “Just drive.”

-o-o-o-

[sunnynwanda]

The Darkside: Part 3

Part 1   Part 2   Part 4

Warning: mentions of physical torture and trauma, a somewhat graphic description of rape in the 2nd chapter, blood, broken bones, healing and aftercare for Villain cause I love them. 

The motorcycle comes to a halt in front of an abandoned cabin. There are no lights in the windows, as far as Hero can see, which makes it even more plausible that Villain is here. They turn the keys, stop the engine and take off their helmet as they walk to the door. They pin the lock and step into the silent darkness of the cabin. Hero stops, searching for signs of human presence, but senses nothing. They take a few hesitant steps, glancing into the kitchen, then moving toward what looks like the living room. They hear laboured breathing to their right and turn just in time to dodge the dagger aimed at their shoulder. 

“It’s me,“ they offer. A silhouette behind the sofa's back shifts to get a better look at them. “Villain, it’s me.”

“Why are you here?” Villain's voice is barely audible. Hero suspects they haven’t had time to treat any of their wounds. Villain brings another dagger up, pressing it to their own throat. “I’ll die but won’t be taken back, Hero.“ 

“I’ll die but won’t let them take you,” Hero claims, unwavering. They cannot blame Villain for not trusting them after what their mentor and colleagues had done. After everything that Villain had to endure because Hero was too slow. “I swear.” 

Villain does not reply, but they do drop the dagger down. With a relieved sigh, Hero crosses the room, walking around the sofa and dropping their bag to the floor. They crouch in front of the fireplace and light a fire, then scan the room, fetching a blanket upon locating it. 

“Shh, don’t move too much.” They place their palm on Villain’s chest, pushing them back on the sofa. “What do you need? Water?”

Villain nods, wordless from exhaustion and concern. “Why are you here?” They repeat after Hero returns with a large glass of water and a jar. “And what is that?”

“Honey,” Hero’s hands are shaky, they attempt to ignore it for now. “It’ll give you some strength before I can get some food in the morning.” 

Villain takes the spoon with their right hand, the left safely tucked away under the blanket. Hero shudders, remembering the state of it, what was done to it. They reach for their bag, pulling out their first aid kit. Something they learned to use to heal themselves while in training. Villain had no need of knowing that. 

Villain scoots away the moment they notice forceps. “No, no, no, please, no...” Hero looks up, not yet understanding what’s gotten into them. They stop Villain from jumping off the sofa and follow their frightened gaze, locked onto the instrument. 

“No, God! This is not... I want to treat your wounds, Vil.” They explain, putting everything aside and holding their hand in their own. “I would never hurt you.”

They can see the panic subsiding in Villain’s eyes, but the fear is still there, ever-present in the back of their mind. “I don’t have to use those, okay?” The enthusiasm with which Villain nods shatters Hero’s heart into the tiniest pieces. “Let me have a look at your hand first, alright?” 

They are still hesitant, eyeing the forceps with utmost hatred when Hero puts those away into the kit. “I can heal, remember?” Hero prompts, pulling their jacket off and discarding it onto the floor. They push the hem of their shirt aside. “I got this when you threw the giant doughnut at me.”

“You didn’t have it the next day,” Villain attempts to smile, opening the cut on their lip. “Shit.”

“Hey, stop with that!” They stop Villain’s sleeve mid-way to their face. With a sigh, Hero moves closer to them, taking Villain’s face into their hands. “Lean back and just trust me.” 

They allow their fingers to move gently over Villain’s lip, wiping the crusted blood and then using their power to heal the cut in mere minutes. Villain looks shocked but remains silent when Hero’s fingers move up to their cheekbones, then forehead, ghosting over every bruise on their face. Once they are done, Hero shifts, pulling the blanket off and revealing Villain’s mangled hand pressed to their stomach for protection. Hero shudders, sounds of flesh and bones crushing under repeated hammer strikes fill their ears.

“It’s...” Villain starts, but is unable to finish. They blink back tears that sting their eyes and take a sharp breath when Hero lifts their hand onto their lap. “Fuck.”

“Sorry, love,” Hero says as they attempt to straighten their crooked fingers. They disinfect the wound - the entire hand from the wrist down. Villain hisses, teeth digging into their lower lip. “Hey, I just healed that! Don’t you dare damage it again!” 

They chuckle at the stunned expression on Villain’s face, happy for the distraction as they snap their phalanges into place. It’s rough and painful, but they know it will heal right. There is no time for surgical precision. Villain inhales sharply but does not pull their hand back, watching Hero tear their hand apart and then work their magic to fix it.

Twenty minutes later, Hero looks up with a small smile. “Done.” They shake their head when Villain waves at them, delighted at their fingers moving freely. 

God, they are so cute, so pure. Hero cannot comprehend how deranged one must be to inflict such torment on them. Without a word, they hook their palm under Villain’s knee, bringing their leg up to examine the damaged foot. Villain shifts, leaning on the couch and watching Hero peel off their impromptu bandage. 

“A T-shirt?“ Villain shrugs. It’s not like they had a bunch of supplies at hand. Hero knows Villain spent whatever time they had in the city to go meet them. Warn them. It takes a moment to compose themselves and start talking because the fabric is stuck to their skin, and it’s about to get painful again. “That’s a pity. I liked that one on you.”

Villain chuckles at the attempt at distraction while Hero’s fingers gently soak the fabric before tugging at it. They bite the inside of their cheek to suppress an anguished moan. Their vision is blurring.

“I’m so sorry.” Hero’s expression is pained, and that provides comfort to Villain. They needed to know there was someone who didn’t take pleasure in their suffering. They tug again, finally ripping it off their skin. “Sorry. This was the last one, I promise.”

Villain nods, blinking to refocus their eyes. They notice their foot is bleeding when Hero starts breathing frantically. Their hands hover just above the wound, almost touching the skin to rush the process. They stop, from time to time, to fix the positions of some bones or make sure they don’t lose functionality. After what feels like an hour, Hero leans back with a satisfied groan. “Can you move your toes?” 

Villain wiggles their toes, and Hero can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of their mouth. This idiot.

“Good. Now take off your shirt.” Villain does not move for a good minute, staring at them with a mixture of emotions that range from surprise to something Hero is better off not discovering. “I need to check your shoulder.” 

“It’s not that bad,” they start, pulling the collar tight around their neck, but Hero’s gaze oozes determination. 

“One touch sent you flying across the street, Vil,“ Hero reasons. They can see the hesitation colouring Villain’s features but do not budge. “Let me take a look.“ 

This time, Hero asks gently, and that’s what breaks Villain. They exhale, looking away to hide the glint of tears in their eyes as they unbutton their shirt and pull it off one shoulder, revealing the bite wound. A large deep purple bruise surrounds the area, and the skin around the torn tissues is red and swollen. 

“Shit, it’s infected.” Hero knows there’s a tremble in their voice but cannot bring themselves to care about that right now. They are thankful Villain doesn’t question it. 

When Hero finishes treating Villain’s shoulder, the sky is dark grey on the horizon. Both are exhausted and sleepy, but a question keeps eating at Hero’s heart. They know Villain did not expect to see them again when they came to warn. They wouldn't allow Hero to see what was done to them otherwise. Yet, as much as they knew Villain hated the idea of them knowing, Hero had to ask. They had to, despite knowing very well the answer would be a resounding no. 

“Vil, can I...” Hero stops mid-sentence, looking down at their hands covered in Villain’s blood. They wish it was Superhero’s. Elbow deep. Villain shifts in the corner, using a pillow to prop themselves up. Hero takes a deep breath, then another, attempting to steady their heartbeat. “Can you allow me to...“ 

That is when it dawns on Villain what Hero’s question implies. What they are asking permission for. What remaining wound of theirs they are referring to.

“No!” Their voice sounds fragile. They sit up, using their legs to push themselves further away from where Hero is seated. They dreaded this moment, this topic from the second Hero walked in. “No fucking way. No.”

“Vil, you know I would never... I want to help.” It takes everything in Hero to keep a sob from escaping. Unable to handle the terror behind Villain’s eyes, they cover their face with trembling hands, dissociating from the horridness of the situation. 

“I know.” Villain is silent for a long moment, waiting for their words to sink in. I know you won’t hurt me. I know you would probably murder Superhero for this. But I can’t. “But no.”

Hero remains irresponsive, so they continue. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t need help.” They lean forward, placing a hand on Hero’s shoulder. Their muscles feel tense enough to crumble under Villain’s touch. “Trust me on this one.” 

Hero nods, still not taking their hands away from their face. It takes them several minutes to collect themselves, pulling the pieces of their broken self into a person-shaped pile. They look up, offering Villain a small smile, then drape the blanket over their nemesis. “Get some sleep. I’m gonna go grab some food.”

“You’ll come back?“ It sounds more like a request than a question. Villain’s eyes are closed when Hero reaches the door, their breathing uneven. 

“No matter what.” With the doors locked, Hero hops onto their motorcycle, pulls a black mask over their face and departs. Once again, they have three hours till the sun is up. Until then, they need to reach the city, complete their mission and return to Villain. No matter what. 

Part 1   Part 2   Part 4

Masterlist

[hirocimacruiser]

An old Suzuki Mightyboy turbo build article. Article is from a magazine from the early 90s.

The unique tuning is appealing

ALL THAT'S K

I won't lose to 660!

Mighty Boy TURBO by private tuning

550cc owners may be feeling a little sad with the arrival of the 660. But when it comes to tuning, the 550 is still very interesting. This time, we'll introduce you to the super energetic Mighty Boy, with its highly original tuning!

You can't judge people and cars by appearances...

At first glance, he looks like an ordinary guy, but when he gets behind the wheel on the circuit, he turns out to be a crazy fast racer... That's the kind of story you hear, you can't judge a person by their appearance. The same can be said about cars. This guy, MightyBoy, is a good example of that.

At first glance, it looks like a normal Mightyboy with a slightly large air intake.

When you drive it, full boost kicks in at 2000 rpm, and it accelerates with such force that you'll think, "Hey, wait a minute."

And it was no surprise. The engine in this car is an F5A with an intercooler and turbocharger. Moreover, the F5A has an increased displacement of 610cc, so it has a lot of torque even before the turbo kicks in. This engine hits full throttle at 2000rpm and keeps going all the way to 8000rpm, making it no ordinary engine.

my car. So tune it yourself

To explain in more detail about the tuning done by Mightyboy, the engine has been enlarged to 610cc by widening the bore to 65.5mm. A Tomei high compression piston is installed, and the compression ratio is about 9.0 with two Cook Sports(?) gaskets. The valve springs are normal.

The steering wheel is a Nismo Sunny wheel, and this is where you can really see the owner's personality.

The turbo system is equipped with a Mira TR-XX turbine and intercooler. The boost pressure is controlled by a homemade EVC at Lo (0.73kg/cm²) and Hi (1.2kg/cm²).

The levels can be switched by a switch on the shift lever. Other original features include a turbine cooling radiator and a fuel cooler mounted at the very back of the bonnet, making this an engine bay full of the owner's ideas.

Currently, the horsepower is kept at around 60hp, but this is set up with an emphasis on torque, considering that it will be used for daily commuting. This is still plenty fast, and it is apparently faster than the standard Works.

The suspension is in keeping with the power.

Naturally, the suspension has been strengthened to match the increased engine power, but this too has been tuned to the owner's own unique style, which is interesting.

The front shocks are standard, while the rear shocks are Kawasaki Z750FX (S&W) for motorcycles. The front springs are standard Grand Civic springs, while the rear springs are standard Alto springs. This suspension works really well, and it's great when cornering with the 13-inch Potenza.

It provides firm support with just the right amount of roll.

It's surprising that most of these tunings are done privately by the owners themselves. Tuning with a tuning kit specified by the manufacturer is easy and there's no such thing as a bad result. But a car that you build by trying out different things like Mightboy does is something you love like a part of yourself, and there's a joy in having a car that's unique and yours alone. I'd recommend this to anyone who's confident in their mechanics.

PIC CAPTIONS

▲The rear suspension fits the Z750 shock perfectly. The idea behind this is amazing.

▲This is the Lo/Hi switch for the homemade EVC. The main unit is located in the engine compartment.

▲▼The big air intake (for AE92) was not just for show. It covers the protrusion of the intercooler and also takes in a large amount of air to the intercooler.

[inbalanceofpower]

tay's garage.

very(!) important note: all vehicles include an emergency first aid kit, bottled water and all cars include blankets. lots of them (space dependent). but like, probably, at least two. maybe three (space dependent).

cadillac ct4 sedan —

standard features: all-wheel drive, 2l turbo engine, automatic transmission. glossy, summit white exterior, beige interluxe leatherette interior. led headlights. 19" all season tyres; alloy wheels with a contrasted dark, polished finish.

paid extras: all weather floor mats, powered sunroof, clear tail lamps, surround sound 14 speaker audio system. fitted with a (boot area) collapsible organiser and premium, dual pocket back seat organisers (magnetic close).

air freshener scent of choice is cherry vanilla, very sweet and obviously artificial. additionally, the back-middle seat is decorated with a plush, fluffy white pillow. tay's sedan is for everyday use, and naturally, is her most used.

land rover x-dynamic hse defender 90 —

standard features: all wheel drive, 3l engine, automatic transmission. glossy fuji white exterior with a black, contrast roof (and extended black exterior detailing); ebony leather interior. matrix led headlights. 20" all season tyres; diamond turned wheels in a contrasted, glossy dark grey.

paid extras: sliding panoramic roof and rear side glass, solar attenuating windscreen (filters sunlight to reduce heat), 14-way heated/cooling front seats, three-zone climate control (different front/backseat aircon/heating system), gloss black exterior gear carrier, front centre console refrigerator compartment, backseat plug socket.

air freshener scent is clean linen, much easier on the nose for the car's intended use — long drives for holiday destinations in america, and road trips. pillows are available for all passengers, and their drink of choice can be found in the land rover's fridge compartment.

mini cooper s convertible —

standard features: front wheel drive, 2l turbocharged engine, manual transmission. metallic white exterior with a black trim, soft-top roof; carbon black leatherette interior. 17" all season tyres; scissor spoke 2-tone wheels.

paid extras: heated steering wheel (keeps her hands from getting cold).

no air freshener, since it's rare she drives her convertible with the roof up. there is no real reason as to why she owns the car, beyond it being used for fun and girly days out (with rebekah). like the others, the middle backseat has the same style pillow as her sedan, and is there purely as decoration since it's unlikely she'd carry more than one or two passengers.

harley davidson softail standard —

standard features: milwaukee-eight 107 v-twin engine, motorcycle transmission. vivid black exterior, with silver detailing; premium black vinyl seating. led forward headlights. 19" dunlop harley-davidson series tyres, silver wheels. anti-lock braking system installed.

paid extras: enhanced grip on handlebars, and rider and passenger foot pegs. upright sissy bar, with a premium black vinyl backrest. single-sided swingarm bag (storage purposes).

+ scorpion exo 520 evo air —

standard features: gloss white. overall visor lock, for security with a retractable sun visor, anti-fog lens. anti-microbial fabric inner liner (to keep warm, or cool down). breath box. inflatable cheek pad system, for comfort. vent system, to boost breathability.

tay's bike is primarily for extracurricular use, and applies to her hybrid verse exclusively. the same style of helmet is available in black for passengers.