HECK NO, TECHNO!

hawkeblock:

 I need that.

The jacket, propped up in the window of a chique Coruscant boutique, is indeed the pinnacle of beauty, of greatness, perhaps an exquisite incarnation of the divine heavens themselves. If Roy were a poet, he would write that glorious outfit a sonnet right on the spot.

Tuffs of royal white fur, beautiful leather, a propped up collar – oh god, there are even matching goggles.

I need that jacket, Roy’s jaw drops open as pushes the store’s door open with such haste that he nearly knocks a woman over, I swear that jacket is gonna be mine if it’s the last damn thing I do.

He clutches the jacket, eyes widening as he holds it in his hands, this garment of unbridled perfection. He runs a hand over it – it’s so smooth, so flashy, so absolutely incredible that it makes Roy want to grab the shopkeeper and kiss him on the mouth (although, in all honesty, he’d do that anyways).

He buys the jacket and throws it on the moment he can – it’s like being caressed by clouds of pure style and flare.