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terrestrialnoob · 2 years

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Long Lost

Danny Phantom x Batman Crossover. Damien and Danny Twins AU.

A humanoid creature covered in toxic green fur, with blood red eyes, and pitch black medieval armor was tearing Gotham to the ground. Weapons were ineffective against it, either going straight through the creature’s body or barely doing enough damage to warrant the creature’s attention. Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Spoiler, Signal, Black Bat, and Batwoman were trying to either evacuate the citizens or coral the creature to a less populace area, but the thing seemed to feed of the fear it was causing the citizens of Gotham, growing in size every time it shattered a building and screams filled the air.

Batman had wanted the Justice League, but only John Constantine had the proper abilities to answer this call. He informed them that the creature was Tyranys, an ancient spirit of terror and destruction, a ghostly being of pure fear and rage that had to be defeated by The Ghost King Pariah Dark. Constantine suggested summoning this Ghost King, and while no one liked the idea of unleashing him into the living world that could easily spell Armageddon for everyone, Tyranys was too far above Constantine’s punching weight and no one else had the right kind of power to defeat him.

So, Batman and Robin stood by as back-up and protection while the magic user put together a ritual to summon The Ghost King. A massive circle of symbols Batman recognized as ancient Greek with candles and items of power Constantine seemed to more hope than know would work to summon their target. Changing filled the room and the electric lights flickered and shattered, sending the entire building into darkness save for the candles and eventually, the small green flames that spontaneously burst into being and floated around the room. In the center of a diagram, a large green flame irrupted casting the entire warehouse in ghostly green light.

When the flames lowered, there stood in the center of the room a teenage boy who looked eerily similar to Robin. The same height and build, though maybe Robin had a little more muscle. Same face shape with the same amount of baby fat. The same lips turned in a annoyed sneer. The same nose scrunching as it examined Constantine. It didn’t change its color or clothes though. Maybe it couldn’t.

His hair was white and the green of his eyes glowed in the darkness of the warehouse. He wore scattered pieces of white-silver armor, clawed gauntlets and pointed shin guards, half a tasset hung from a silver belt with an empty sword’s sheath on one side and a strange cylinder on the other, all over pitch black clothing. Except there was a white symbol on his chest, where heroes wore their identifying marks, that was halfway between a flaming D and an frosted over P. A white fur mantle circled behind his neck and out of which flowed a cape. The fascinating cloth slowly flowed like it was caught in a light breeze. It was midnight blue on the outer side with frost laced around the bottom edge but the inside was a scape of stars and galaxies the clarity of which could only compare to the view from the Watchtower above Earth’s atmosphere. Above his head a black crown of sharp spiked metal hovered gently in a could of mist that shimmered like the Aurora Borealis.

Constantine stopped his face from contorting in disgust, how dare this creature copy the form of Robin, a kid? Likely to gain their sympathy and lower their guards, to make them think it was weaker and less disgusting than it truly was.

Batman was internally screaming. He knew there were beings of dark magic that could change their forms, but this thing looking like Robin but not quite. Just a little too thin, a little too angular, a little too emotional and expressive. It didn’t feel like something copying what it saw, it didn’t even seem to be aware of Batman or Robin, unless it somehow copied Robin without looking… He glanced at Robin who stood with his mouth hanging open for a moment before composing himself.

Constantine stepped forward and said with command, “Ghost King Pariah Dark, I bind you to my will.”

The being in the center of the room let out a light laugh, truly amused. “Do I look like Pariah Dark to you?”

Constantine glared, “I don’t care what form you take, you will do as I command.”

“I’m sorry, man, but Pariah Dark hasn’t been Ghost King for a little while now.”

“Oh? Then care to tell us what your name it?”

“And give you that control over me? No.”

“I know what your name is,” Robin said, and the Ghost King turned to him, clear animated surprise covering his face. “Daniel Al-Ghoul.”

Batman’s eyes widened, even through his mask. He kept his eyes locked on the Ghost King, Daniel Al-Ghoul. Another son of Talia? Another son of Batman? If he was a ghost that meant he was dead. If Batman had another son who…

He glanced between the living and the dead. The Ghost King looked furious, and let out a harsh laugh. “You really think I’m still an Al-Ghoul? After you killed me? After our ‘mother’ refused to revive me? Both because our ‘grandfather’ thought I was too weak? You think I’m still one of you?”

The words bit deep into everyone present, Constantine looked ready to bolt at the awkward situation, but knew he was the only one with the training to even begin to deal with this if it got out of hand.

Batman internally flinched at the confirmation, almost too in character for the Demon’s Head and his daughter. An older brother, unless ghosts age? What had Batman been doing when this child died? He knew of the vague tortures Damien had gone through with his other family. It was a hard hit to now understand just how lucky Damien had been.

He looked to Damien who was probably more carefully controlled than anyone could be expected from the situation. Damien spoke in short sentences, straining to control his tone and inflection, “There is an ancient spirit of destruction destroying Gotham City. Our weapons are ineffective against it. We wanted to summon the Ghost King to stop it.”

Daniel glared at Damien, “All dressed up and playing hero, with our father no less, and you summon me to ask for help?”

Damien nodded, Bruce could see the emotions trying to breach the edges of Damien’s carefully constructed mask. Bruce himself was pushing his emptions to the side, and stepped forward to say, “If you have the power to stop Tyranys, then yes, we are. Daniel, please help.”

Daniel looked up at Batman with a glare so sharp it felt like it was cutting through Bruce’s soul. Another son. Another Dead Son. One he hadn’t known about. One he hadn’t saved. One he hadn’t even known needed saving. He had so many questions. But there was, in this moment, a monster tearing through Gotham City. The Mission comes first.

Daniel let out a laugh so cold and hollow Batman felt the temperature drop, and then, the Ghost King vanished.

There was a sharp sigh and Constantine said, “I think that’s a no-go on getting the Ghost King to defeat Tyranys for us.”

“Any other plans?” Batman asked, getting back on task and ignoring the aching chill that ran through him. He got empty looks in response. He let off a grappling hook towards a skylight, “I’m going to check on the situation outside.”

He heard Robin follow up after him, and once on the roof, stood frozen in shock again. There in the distance, he could see Tyranys chasing after Daniel. The Ghost King flew around it and shot blasts of green energy that caused actual harm to Tyranys. He drew its attention away from the rest of the city and it followed Daniel as he led towards the docks. He drew it into the Gotham River, where it stood only half submerged in the grimy waters where the two were locked in battle. Daniel flew around masterfully avoiding being hit by the creature and summon shields of green energy for defense. He shot more powerful looking green blasts and ice shards, not worrying about collateral damage anymore. He even duplicated himself to attack it from three sides. There was even some kind of sonic attack that shook the warehouse despite how far away they were and sent a shiver of fear through Batman’s spine.

It almost felt like this was some kind of show Daniel was putting on specifically for them. Like he was shouting at them, “Look at how not weak I am!”

There were several minutes where Tyranys just seemed to grow larger and more powerful and Daniel upped his attacks to match. Then, all of the sudden, Daniel stopped attacking Tyranys and it started to shrink. It turned towards the city it had just been lead out of, but Daniel flew between it and fired off another blast, obviously not at full strength any more. But Tyranys continued to shrink. Then Daniel pulled something out from under his cape and a bright white light enveloped Tyranys, and left nothing behind.

The Ghost King hovered over the waters of the river as it flowed into the space left by the massive creature. An army of bats were powerless against the threat Tyranys posed, and a dead teenager stopped it in minutes. And then he turned and flew away from Gotham with the monster he’d trapped.

Batman turned to Robin who was still in a state of trained control. “I have questions.”

Robin was quiet for a moment then said, “Me too.”

#danny phantom #batman #dp x dc #crossover #twins au #bruce wayne #damien wayne #danny fenton #john constantine #dc #ghost king danny

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lateraniansweets · 1 year

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Your forehead thing with vash blew me away cause im so in love with this man

So here are some thoughts for u :

Imagine vash and reader having a crush on each other but not saying a word. They've been traveling together for some time now,even before the gang was formed so reader knows Vash's secrets.

Think about when vash is down after some incident,and reader puts his forehead against HIS cause it always calms them down!!!

Imagine Vash's shock and then happiness about how his crush loves that part of him that's plant as well 😭😭😭

YOU!! THIS!! AA!!!!

JUST SDNFJASJFD DSAF i couldn't get to this ask now cause of school but aaaaa this is so <333333 DRIVING ME INSANE I SWEAR wrote this instead of my policy paper asefihfhi hifiihf

anyways i kinda just wnet wild with this cause ahdbfhasdbf VASH <333

You've known Vash for some time now—two or three years give or take, and travel side by side with him for almost as long as you've known him.

He's tried to get you to leave his side multiple times. Vash feared you getting hurt or worse because of him but you won't let him. Vash is stuck with you whether he likes it or not.

With the time you've spent travelling with him you've come to realise how little you actually knew about Vash. Sure you knew his favorite type of pizza, favorite color, all that stuff—all surface level stuff. Vash tended to avoid questions about his scars, how he knew so much about lost technology and how he could basically shrug off wounds that would have the average human bedridden for days.

But over time you've come to know his secrets, the mysteries of Vash the Stampede unravelling themselves to you.

Vash wasn't human but an independent Plant and he had a brother, a twin.

"I have a brother, " there's pain and guilt in his eyes, " his name's Nai—" He stops, cutting himself off, "Millions Knives, " He corrects, fingers gripping the threadbare blanket.

The inn you two were staying at was more than a little run-down but it would do. It was better than staying out in the cold desert barrens.

Finally, he turns to you, lips pressed into a thin line, "He looks a lot like me..." he pauses, lips quirking downwards, "He's the one who's been stealing Plants."

Vash left it at that. Guilt and hesitance in his eyes as he forced a smile on his face as he waves you goodnight.

The conversation regarding his brother ends right then and there. Whatever questions you have for him dies in your throat at the glimpse of his eyes.

The topic isn't brought up again until you met the man himself.

It was brief, brutal and followed by pure devastation.

Millions Knives—Nai, as Vash called him looked so much like Vash. This man looked so much like Vash—your Vash, sweet, caring Vash who could never bring himself to harm anyone, glared at you with pure unadulterated hatred.

Horror rushes through you and you find yourself stuck in your place like a deer in headlights. A chain of knives rushes out for you, with full intent to kill but you make no move to dodge.

You would've died if it weren't for Vash managing to shove you out of the way and carry you to safety like a sack of potatoes.

You didn't even realise he'd done so until Vash puts you down, telling you to stay where you are as he plastered on a reassuring smile. It looked more like he was reassuring himself than reassuring you.

The near-death experience with Vash's body-suit-wearing evil twin doesn't fully settle in until the thick blast doors shut close behind you.

The room Vash had left you in is dark, cool and cramped. A room for cleaning supplies judging by the shadowy outline of a broom.

BANG!

You jolt, curling up against the metal door and covering your ears.

There are shouts, both from Vash and Knives.

BANG!

Another gunshot.

Then another and another and another and another.

You count eight in total.

Vash emptied out an entire cylinder.

The most you've ever heard him fire.

Shouts, screams and cries from both parties but mostly Vash.

Metal twisting and bullets ricocheting.

It's gut-wrenching to hear it all.

All you could do is bite your lip and hold back tears. Opening the door and going out there would be a death sentence for you. Knives moved with inhuman speed and agility. His weapons, those knives weren't weapons made from lost tech, they moved too fluidly for that.

There's a crash outside.

"You'd..."

BANG!!

"...your....ther.... for-"

The metal dome of the Plant facility creaks and twists as if something is cutting the ceiling open.

"...ese... ILTHY HUMANS!"

Another set of gunshots.

"NAI!"

The metal beams of the facility creak, twist and snap. The entire room shakes as the roof of the facility is lifted by those limb-like chains of knives.

You curl into yourself further, dust and debris falling down on you.

With terror in your veins, you will yourself to look up.

Your eyes widen and your heart drops.

Vash cries out for his brother to stop but it's too late.

The facility's roof is tossed down to where the town is and the bulbed Plant is gently lifted out and stolen away.

You shut your eyes close as the giant hunk of metal lands on the town. It shakes the ground with a mighty crash.

Then...

Silence.

Your heartbeat rings in your ears as you stand with shaky legs, blood running down from a long cut on your forearm. You force open the closet door, and you're met with an empty and destroyed Plant chamber.

There are bullet casings scattered on the ground and metal beams jutting out everywhere.

You find Vash at the centre of it all, standing shellshocked where the Plant and its bulb were once kept.

"Vash...?" You call out, a hand reaching out for him.

He doesn't answer.

You call out his name again, concern and fear lacing your voice.

"Mayfly?" Vash turns around and your heart breaks.

A lone tear slides down his cheek, his eyes hidden in the orange tint of his sunglasses.

You close the gap between you and him, pulling him into your arms.

Cupping his face, you gently lift the sunglasses to unveil his blue eyes holding back tears. He breathes out your name in a sob and your heart shatters further. "Oh, Vash..."

Another tear escapes from his eyes. Gently and lovingly you wipe it with your thumb.

"I...I..."

You know what he'll say all too well.

You meet his eyes, "You deserve to cry, Vash."

"No no, I don't..." his voice quivers, "I-This is my fau-"

"It's not your fault Vash."

"You don't understand, ____. Because of me Nai-" he chokes out a strangled sob, croaking out words of self-blame. Vash's breathing quickens and his body shakes in your hold.

You call out his name again and again but he doesn't respond, spiralling down the rabbit hole of self-blame and self-immolation.

"Vash," you whisper, pulling him down so his forehead is pressing against yours.

"Vash," you can only pray that this would work.

This was something he did to you when you were sick or upset. You figured it was a Plant thing seeing as he does something similar when he heals his sisters.

"____"

Vash utters your name, and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Vash."

He leans forward, pressing your foreheads closer. You could see the faint blue glow of the Plant markings on his eyes.

"I love you," The three words come out as easily as breathing. "I love you so much," you press a kiss, soft and chaste on his lips.

"It wasn't your fault, Vash," you repeat and the damn inside him breaks. He sobs silently, tears flowing, his gun dropping to his side with a metallic clack. "None of this was."

You hold him close for who knows how long, holding him as he sobbed and let his tears flow.

When Vash wipes away his snot and tears, it's well into the night. He separates himself from you, the light on his markings fading away. He opens his mouth, an apology ready to be released but you cut him off before he could.

Once again you press your forehead against his, standing on your tippy toes, "I love you, Vash. All of you."

I love you, all that you are and all the burdens you carry, I love you.

THIS MAN MAKES ME

I LOVE HIM SM AAAA

okay this concept with Nai tho

#trigun stampede x reader #trigun x reader #^asks #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #tristamp x reader #i want him to hold me gently and I want to hold him gently

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darkdemeter · 4 months

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— PREVIEW — THE CONVICT WOLF

Material is featured as a preview/loose prelude for the upcoming project and is subject to potential alterations for narrative purposes.

A/N: just as a word of warning (this will be mentioned in the reader discretion as well) that this series as a whole is intended for 18+ readers due to very strong and sensitive content that will be featured in it, as it takes a more gritty, angsty and darker approach. This preview serves a little more as an introduction to reader and a little bit of a loose prelude before the actual first and “official” column of the series.

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

— READER DISCRETION —

Depictions of death and gore/violence (description of consumption of human flesh by werewolf) — depictions of graveyard/deceased desecration (grave digging) — dark!reader — strong narrative (adult) language — overall this preview and the series as a whole is intended for 18+ readers!

Enjoy the preview!

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟖𝟖𝟖 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤

Muddy cobbles slosh beneath the heel of your boots, scuffed from their long and working age. New York, the prize-to-be-metropolis, was no better than Boston - in your professionally critical opinion. For talk of progressive schemes, New York remained the shithole it had always been. The only thing they did only pissed you off: more law.

But muddy puddles and a law infested nest of humans were the least of your troubles.

Silently, amidst the shroud of fog, you slide one last bullet into the cylinder of your revolver. The fog parts as you step through it to continue tailing your target. The barking of stray dogs fills the dark and empty streets of New York, a fine indicator that you may have a moment of peace in your hunt. If there was something on this green earth to top the greater nuisance than civilian intervention whilst you worked, you were unconvinced of its existence to prove you wrong.

Nothing made your fuse burn out faster than folk who didn’t know to not scramble into the way of your path.

Your eyes take in the shadowed alley you pass through, a hidden filter for scum to flush out into the streets and become inconspicuous with the crowd. That was during the day, however, not at night. That trick of aversion may have worked with petty criminals and the law, but not with you.

With you, nothing got away.

Something clatters in the distance up ahead and you turn your sights to it. Your bounty was sloppy, not very good at covering his tracks to ensure his survival. It took you no longer than three days to track him down. Of course, your handler had a knack for picking up leads fairly quickly, resources and old debts of favours went a long way when in your time of need.

You pick up your pace, your bounty well aware they were being followed, your jacket kicked up when a winter breeze breathed down the throat of the dimly lit street.

The bottom of your long, dark coat kicks up as you surge forward with purpose, hand bearing one of your firearms as the other pulls the second twin from its holster. You have him cornered now.

You come to slow down at the end of the short strip next to the occupying building. Some wealthy man’s brick estate no doubt. Sheets of white obscure most of the way, hanging from the wash lines above, but you could make out his silhouette. A large, towering and muscular physique covered in coarse fur. His tail sits in the mud to only further his savage and beastly appearance, ears folded back as his maw ripped into whatever meal he found. A maid.

Blood covered her from chin to chest. Her throat torn out but she remains on the cusp of life with shredded vocal cords whimpering in her demise.

She is beyond saving. You’d learnt that much long ago.

Through her lidded eyes she sees you and her blood covered hand stretches out. Your eyes move down the wet crimson fingers to her pleading, fading eyes in the dark before they land on the beast engrossed in his meal to know the danger behind him. At first.

With a final plea for help, she tries to scream for you until she grows quiet completely in his arms. He becomes still and the fur along his back and shoulders bristle, ears perked up in awareness. Now he knows. Slowly he turns his large head to stare at you with blaring, amber eyes that intend to scorn you for your intrusion. You match his stare with as much disdain as he.

“I smell your past sins, vânător de rude.” He points at you with an accusing, claw tipped finger. “You have no jurisdiction to judge me.”

Your shoulders move up in a shrugging motion. “If only those words actually meant something to me.”

Your arms swiftly have risen up as the hammers flick to unlock the safe fire. The barrels of your twin revolvers blink white as you take the shot. The cracking of bullets meeting muscle and flesh is enough evidence to prove you hit him, blood splatters bleeding into the murky puddles and onto the street.

With a grunt you push yourself up from the dirt and pursue him over steel enforced fences and more white sheets left to air out. They only serve as canvases to a blood smeared trail of your quarry.

New York had made its progression into the modern world. From landscape and brick buildings, the city excelled more than a few schematics; onward and upward they always say. To this day that same nuisance stuck with you. Civilians and a plethora of them swarmed the streets alongside the line up of traffic. Busy.

New York is constantly busy. And it tends to make your work harder to conceal when your targets flee into the open. Finding them within the crowd is never really the problem, but it’s the excessive bodies that don’t know to stay out of your way.

Your bounty is simple, dare you say it, cliché it feels. You’ve played this narrative time and time again. This dance of execution one they try to escape by treading on your toes and running only to have you loop them back into the waltz of the hunt.

Countless times you’ve seen the eyes of your prey widen when they realise there is no escape.

You don’t get yourselves involved in the sob stories of the client or intended quarry, you were after the money that keeps you in that safe spot. All you dug up on your target is that they’re an ex-Hydra agent gone down the path of righteousness and betterment. Someone who finds peace in the work they’re involved in, cares for the people around them. A real advocate for being a humble hero.

‘Alright.’

They venture down the stairs into the subways below. Oh, this is going to be a treat, you’re sure of it. A tight spot. Many witnesses. Hands clenching at your sides as you swagger after them, people knew to avoid bumping into you. Hidden beneath the thick layer of your coat, the one you’ve worn all this time, were your holstered twins. New York is unaware for the time being.

Give it time, they would know. Your eyes of scarlet red would be plastered all over and your visage identified as the nightmare parchment and ink always captured you to be. Give it some time and it would be all over the news: The Convict Wolf strikes again.

“Six bodies,” you grunt with a heave of the shovel. Your handler is quick to duck out of the way, a gas lantern in her grasp illuminating you several feet in the resting place of a half eaten merchant. Not even three days cold in his grave and the fiend had taken to him like flies on shit.

Your handler’s other hand presses a clean, bright yellow handkerchief to her nose. But the smell filtered through given the glassy fog in her eyes. The smell of death rendered her weak in the gut and in constant battle with the bile that climbed her throat for release.

“Wh-what does th-this mean?” She coughs into her handkerchief, bile and spittle at the edge of her tongue, you were sure of it. You shake your head rigorously akin to a dog shaking off water. Dirt falls from your hair in small forms of clouds. Your eyes find your handler’s uncertain gaze as she stares down at you; unnerved by the calmness you exude whilst standing in a grave.

Any passers-by would suspect nefarious acts against the dead. Grave robbers and worse.

“It means, my dear handler, that he is probably desperate for food and is too shy to make a move on living humans.” You hoist yourself up with a deep grunt, your handler bows down to loop a hand around the crook in your arm to pull. “Will he…”

You hear your handler gulp the remainder of her sentence. You raise your brows in a knowing fashion. “It’s only a matter of time. Dead flesh doesn’t satisfy the shy for long.”

“Then we must hurry,” she says with great urgency to rid the city of this parasite. You pull something from a pouch on your belt. You hold the small box up in offering to your handler who only shakes her head fervently in horror. You shrug with a huff. “Suit yourself.”

You and your handler glance down at the corpse as you raise the flame-tipped match to burn the end of your cigarette. A father of two and husband to a meek, gentle tailor. The same one who’d fixed up the patches in your coat just a day ago.

If only he could have afforded to be buried in the mausoleum.

The lighting is shoddy at best down below in the subway, the mechanic hissing and howl of the train fast approaching indicates that you have maybe a minute at most to locate them. With a shallow breath you inhale their scent.

Kin.

It seems your nature as a hunter of your own never outgrew you.

‘Is this a nasty habit?’

You don’t let it eat away at your conscience. You have a job to do and a client to satisfy. They’re waiting on the platform, hands tucked into the pockets of their jacket and chin forced down. You knew that scent that rolled along the back of your tongue with another inhale.

Fear.

Their heart rate picks up as you make to move after them just as the train rolls to a stop and the doors open. Your shoulders move in tandem with the power of your strut. Focus on your target leaves little regard to the rest of the world around you. Oftentimes you have shoved others aside, stopped traffic to downright mauling interlopers who had no right to involve themselves in your affairs; but thought themselves the hero.

How well that turned out for them, their next of kin and nosey investigators could ask the medical records or the tombstones.

They board the train in a hurry with the crowd around them. They won’t lose you that quickly. As you head for one of the doors down the train cart to avoid giving away your position, you bump into something.

“Watch it,” you growl lowly as your arm sweeps around her waist to catch her against you before she is knocked off balance.

She’s smaller than you. Dressed in a baggy, tan coloured zip up jacket and dark blue skinny jeans. Her hair is brushed back and her eyes take a moment to look at you from under the black cap.

“Sorry, I–” You’ve already let her go. You don’t give her the chance to memorise your features to use as a testimony against you when your next killing goes public. You dare to peek over your shoulder at her, catching her eyes as she stares at you. The doors close behind you just in time as you board the train.

With a roll of your eyes, you discard the clumsy girl to the back of your mind. Your eyes wander down the narrow path of the train cart. There they were. Your target. Another wolf. You always charge extra for these bounties.

Their nervous eyes meet yours and the corner of your lips quirk up. The scent of their fear pollutes the train, it masks over the humans. Unaware, unsuspecting humans. You reach a hand to unholster one of your revolvers, thumb caressing the hammer as you calculate the right moment.

Mother Nature had always been just as cruel as she was kind. Even to her finest killers. It was the beauty of her, really.

In the world your kind lives in, a chain of command exists. Even if it will further taint your already sullied name, all will know it. That clumsy girl with the bright green eyes whose smaller body you held pinned against your solid front. She will know your sullied name.

The Convict Wolf strikes again.

You think about that girl again and you see eyes once filled with fear turn to anger. They glow a bright scarlet, just as yours do. As they always do. There was no use hiding what you really were.

Because in the world werewolves live in, there is a hierarchy; and you’ve always preferred to be on top.

(◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST —

@alexawynters

#wanda x werewolf! reader series #wanda x werewolf! reader #female reader #gn reader #male reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #werewolf reader #marvel #werewolves #werewolf #dark!reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff #wanda #treehouse taglist #dem’s updates

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carsthatnevermadeitetc · 7 months

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Autobianchi Bianchina Furgoncino 320/2, 1967. A small van based on the Autobianchi Bianchina which was itself based on the Fiat 500. The van remained in production after other versions of the Bianchina had been discontinued

#Autobianchi #Autobianchi Bianchina Furgoncino #Autobianchi Furgoncino #van #small van #rear engine #twin cylinder #1967 #1960s #high roof #dead brands

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martinroyhall · 2 years

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Honda CB500X: Wellness in an unusual world.

There has been much talk over the last couple of years regarding peoples wellness with respect to their mental health and subsequent quality of life, particularly as local and national lockdowns have affected where we can go, who we can see and where we can stay. For myself and many other fans of two wheels rather than four, there has been an interesting debate taking place recently over the…

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#Adventure #Adventure bike #CB500X #fylingdales #Honda #Honda CB500X #Honda twin #Honda UK #Mental health #parallel twin #Scarborough #Twin Cylinder #wellness #Whitby

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prettyuglybfore · 8 months

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laura palmer as the mountain goats lyrics

// twin peaks - fire walk with me, the young thousands - the mountain goats, twin peaks season 1, yoga - the mountain goats, moon over goldsboro - the mountain goats, world cylinder - the mountain goats, harlem roulette - the mountain goats

#laura palmer #tmg #the mountain goats #twin peaks #i think john darnielle would love her #i love comparing things to the mountain goats lyrics i will never stop this

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 3 months

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1963 AC SHELBY COBRA

1963 AC SHELBY COBRA 4.7-LITRE MARK II ROADSTER REGISTRATION NO. OYM 28A CHASSIS NO. CSK2116 ENGINE NO. CSX2116

Footnotes

Rightly regarded as one of the all-time great classic sports cars, the muscular, fire-breathing Cobra succeeded in capturing the hearts of enthusiasts like few of its contemporaries. Only 1,000-or-so Cobras of all types were built between 1962 and 1967, but such was the model's enduring popularity that production was resumed in 1982 under the auspices of Brooklands-based Autokraft.

Convinced that a market existed for an inexpensive sports car combining European chassis engineering and American V8 power, Le Mans-winning Texan racing driver Carroll Shelby concocted an unlikely alliance between AC Cars and the Ford Motor Company. The former's Ace provided the simple twin-tube chassis frame - designed by John Tojeiro - into which was persuaded one of Ford's lightweight, small-block V8s. It was discovered that the latter was lighter than the six-cylinder Ford Zephyr unit that AC was using, yet with vastly greater potential. To cope with the projected power increase, the Ace chassis was strengthened with heavier gauge tubing and supplied fitted with four-wheel disc brakes. Weighing a mere 1.5cwt more than a Bristol-engined Ace yet endowed with double the power and torque, the Cobra turned in a breathtaking performance, racing to 60mph in 4.4 seconds and reaching the 'ton' in under 12, exceptional figures by early 1960s standards and none too shabby even today.

The 260ci (4.2-litre) prototype first ran in January 1962, with production commencing later that year. Exclusively for the USA initially, Cobras - minus engines - were sent from England to be finished off by Shelby in California, and it was not until late in 1963 that AC Cars in Thames Ditton got around to building the first fully finished cars to European specification.

After 75 Cobras had been built with the 260ci engine, the more powerful 289ci (4.7-litre) unit was standardised in 1963. Rack-and-pinion steering was the major MkII up-date; then in 1965 a new, stronger, coil-suspended MkIII chassis was introduced to accommodate Ford's 427ci (7.0-litre) V8, an engine that in race trim was capable of producing well in excess of 400bhp. Wider bodywork, extended wheelarch flares and a bigger radiator intake combined to create the definitive - and much copied - Cobra MkIII look. Keeping ahead of the competition on the racetrack had been the spur behind Shelby's adoption of the 427 engine, but some MkIIIs to 'street' specification came with Ford's less powerful 428ci hydraulic-lifter V8.

But for Brian Angliss, the Cobra story would have ended in 1967. The Autokraft boss had built up a business restoring Cobras and supplying parts, and in the early 1980s acquired the rights to the AC name plus a quantity of jigs and tooling from the old Thames Ditton factory. Keeping the overall style of the MkIII, Autokraft produced the MkIV, which was appropriately updated to meet current legislation and powered by a 'Federalised' Ford 5.0-litre V8 engine. Around 480 were built.

Chassis number 'CSX2116' was invoiced to Shelby American on 16th April 1963 and shipped to Los Angeles three days later aboard the 'SS Loch Gowan'. Invoiced on 18th June 1963 to Burton Motors of Sacramento, California, the Cobra was sold new to a local doctor who used it for a few years before giving it to his daughter. She used the car as daily transport for several years before the clutch failed, at which time it was sold to Steve Dangremond of Santa Rosa, California. The Cobra was advertised for sale by Mr Dangremond in late 1977 and bought by Dr Grant Hill of Chotoka, Alberta. Dr Hill fitted Weber carburettors and raced 'CSX2116', eventually trading it to Fred Yule in Portland, Oregon. At that time, the car was still finished in its original colour scheme of dark blue and retained its original black leather interior.

'CSX2116' returned to the UK in the late 1980s and was advertised through Hampson's Ltd, by which time it had been refinished in red and fitted with a full-width roll bar. Subsequent owners in England were Dr Carlos Barbot, Trojan boss Peter Agg and Formula 1 racing driver Rupert Keegan. 'CSX2116' was last restored in 1988, records on file indicating that an extensive mechanical restoration was undertaken at this time. The car still retains its original black leather interior though the Weber carburettors have gone, replaced by an easier to maintain four-barrel Holley. There is considerable additional accompanying documentation including correspondence between previous owners, a copy of the original bill of sale, Shelby American Automobile Club letter of authentication, FIA papers and Swansea V5 registration document. The car has belonged to the current owner since 2006. Early Cobras are offered for sale only rarely and this example represents a wonderful opportunity to acquire a fine example of this classic of Anglo-American sports car design.

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