#Auto Start Front Panel

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 58 Welp Posting

Hello kind void. Short (for me) yap this time... it's mostly just pain this chapter, after all. So much pain.

Very rough TL of the editor's notes:

First page: ���羽の命滅契約は一体…? [Uruha no meimetsu keiyaku ha ittai...?!, What in the world happened to Uruha's lifelong contract...!?] Last page: 信念のもと漆羽を殺めた座村を前に… [Shinen no moto Uruha wo ayameta Samura wo maeni..., Standing in front of Samura, who killed Uruha due to his conviction...] Google Translate or DeepL can probably do better than me on this one, so go ahead and copy/paste that text into one of those instead for a better idea. Just note that 漆羽 (Uruha) usually gets auto-translated to "Urushiba" and 座村 (Samura) to "Zamura".

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Pregame Mini Meta Rant: If I hear a SINGLE complaint about how many panels were reused this chapter Imma get heated. Yeah, there's been a lot of copy-crop-paste stuff going on in the past two weeks. This chapter alone re-used Hakuri's exhausted seal pose four times. But the major scenes still hit hard as fuck and the new art is holding up. Let the author do what it takes to avoid burnout and health issues just as his series is getting the major promotion treatment, okay? Dude's had to do a lot of extra work recently with the cover and colour pages in addition to the usual volume redraws and accompanying filler sketches/doodles.

These chapters were probably being written and drawn about the same time as the extra materials. It's not like the author starts drawing on Monday and sends the chapter out by Friday so it can be published Sunday- they're finished weeks in advance before they're released. I recommend checking out a short manga called The Right Way to Make JUMP! by Takeshi Sakurai if the practical details of getting manga out to thousands of readers in both print & digital simultaneously every week seem interesting!

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Uruha vs. Samura

I interrupt this ramble before it even begins to do a little celebratory dance. I got most of what I yapped about last chapter right for once! Yay! ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪ I won't have to recap the Samura motivation/mindset yap with the new information! (This will probably never happen again.)

Anyway...

Let's start with this because fuck it was so cool and sad.

I love how every character in this manga holds fast to their convictions, man. But I didn't expect Samura to be so cold about killing his former apprentice y'know?! Not even a hint of remorse from this guy. Between this and the subdued greeting Uruha gave him, the lack of warmth in their dialogue together... I wonder if they had a positive relationship. Uruha certainly respected Samura's skills but the contrast between how he thinks about Kunishige and the man who presumably taught him everything he knows about fighting is striking, isn't it? He was pretty unemotional about having to duel his master to the death despite being such an emotive guy. Yet now we'll probably never know... (sigh).

Here's something I missed on my first read: Samura didn't use Tobimune to face Uruha; he was just the quicker draw with a regular katana.

His sword is closer to being sheathed, while Uruha's sword is still farther out.

In case anyone still wants to believe that Uruha is alive or can come back somehow after this... more power to you. The Sojo copers can probably give you some tips if you need them. But there is one small smidgen of comfort to be had, if one wants to interpret it as such.

Not using Tobimune can be read as respecting Uruha's determination and facing him on equal footing. I know he unnecessarily double-tapped Uruha when he was laying on the ground- he didn't need to slash the guy again with Tobimune to make the kill. I get it, the Enchanted Blades are tools of death. Just let me have this. I need it.

Uruha deserved better. He deserve to live, dammit. I didn't get nearly enough of him. But what a way to go. Standing up for what you believe, your dead (boy)friend's last words telling you to live no matter what running through your head. Fighting for your life to honor his wish even though it's a completely lost cause... fuck what a tragic character. He was such a passionate guy despite the losses he suffered. Uruha, man... I really wanted to spend more time with him, but I guess all we'll get of him are flashbacks about him from other people or during scenes recounting what happened in the war.

The worst part of saying goodbye is that it felt like we had so much more to see and learn about him. His story's incomplete but it's over all the same. That's what hurts most when authors kill these characters- the sense of real loss because of all the loose ends. Anything we learn about him will be retroactive for context. No more growth, no more silly faces... damn you Samura...! Fuck this author makes good villains in a short span of time.

Whatever incident was covered up 18 years ago has to be incredibly awful to drive Samura to become an avenger for the truth. I'm talking "establishing a whole fucking international court system to process it for over a decade" levels of bad. Which it may well be, if this flashback from Sojo's PoV in chapter 8 remains unchanged when we revisit it for context:

Hello, probable war crimes.

Yeah I'm banking on that mystery kid being Magatsumi's current wielder. Whether he was a child soldier or picked up the sword by accident somehow, this might be the clue to The Incident that turned Samura against his allies. The point about how anyone can use the Enchanted Blades is made repeatedly during and after the Sojo arc- why not a child? Covering up a massacre like that would be in a lot of people's interests.

Unfounded spitball theories aside, now that Hakuri and Chihiro are both clued in that some real bad shit went down, we can expect to learn more about it. Hopefully sooner rather than later because I'll definitely be judging the shit outta Samura based on how awful it is. I'm very interested in his moral dilemma but I've got unreasonably high standards as to what kind of event could drive someone to do something so awful (in fiction, at least). IRL people are messy, but fiction demands justification. And the way this incident is being hyped up makes me believe it's different from the other horrors of war sinking in and slowly driving someone to resent everything they did for the cause. Whatever the Bearers and the Kamunabi covered up is going to cast them all -Kunishige included- in an extremely unflattering light.

Burnout

He just looks so cute being carried like that even though he's so exhausted and roughed up…

... Yeah. Poor Hakuri.

I won't take up as much space here as I want to yapping about him because most of it's just retreads of things I've been saying for weeks already. But man. Man.

This guy awoke to his powers, killed his dad and brothers, put an end to his family's cruelty, saved a bunch of lives at great risk to himself, passed out, and woke up to try and do this crazy mission with Chihiro all in just over 24 hours. He's so fried he fell asleep while being carried piggy-back and can't even move any more! But he's still kicking himself for not summoning Kumeyuri for Uruha when he had enough adrenaline to sort of stand up on his own. Never mind the brain haemorrhage- he's got lives to save. Ms. Makizumi's words about pushing himself too hard being dangerous just go in one ear and out the other. These people want him to care about himself for the mission and because he deserves it but he just refuses to take it to heart...

Then the person he promised to protect is killed in front of him right after he made it his life's mission to prevent exactly this sort of scenario.

Fuck.

Can't even turn this into a ship moment I'm so bent out of shape. Someone strip me of my fudanshi creds.

It looks like Hakuri did summon Chihiro in a panic after all- he couldn't even call out to Uruha so reaching for Chihiro instead was his first instinct. He just wasn't fast enough because his body and mind are on the brink of totally shutting down. If he's truly unable to use sorcery again after finally gaining his own strength at long last... oh, that will hurt so bad. I'm not ready for how hard Hakuri's going to be on himself when he eventually wakes up despite doing his very best.

Hakuri's gonna be out of commission for sure after this event.

I'm close to 100% positive he'll temporarily lose his powers now. If it comes to be, then Kagurabachi will have passed my bullshit "don't say they'll die if the consequences don't match up to the risk" test. Being paralyzed and powerless for a while is good enough to convince me that death really was a possible outcome. See, it's really that easy. Totally not unfair and arbitrary.

Regardless, there's a lot of suffering ahead for Chihiro and Hakuri. Not only did all of this shit go down the day right after the Rakuzaichi, but there's still whatever the blood test will reveal hanging out there... the political and practical price of this failure with the Kamunabi... processing the guilt of not being able to save a life... coming to terms with how much they don't know... so much has happened to them in a short 24-ish hours, huh? And neither of them have anything good to look forward to in the short-term.

I gotta wonder what Hakuri will do this arc if he's literally unable to move for a while. His PoV gave us the info that there was a specific incident that was covered up, but that doesn't mean he'll be involved in that plot line. But let's save that stress for another time- gotta see how badly he fucked himself up and how things shake out between Chihiro and Samura first.

Chihiro vs. Samura

(Ch. 50) A long-awaited reunion.

What will go down next week? I'm sure as hell not gonna try to guess. Could be anything from casual conversation to an actual skirmish. At least one thing will definitely not happen though.

Neither Chihiro nor Samura are dying here. Chihiro cannot die until the last fight in the series is finished, so that's out (boo joyless nerd take no fun booooooo). Samura's simply too strong to go down to an exhausted Chihiro and we still have to learn the history behind his motives. So he's gonna stick around for a bit longer to cause trouble. Wouldn't be surprised if he's the arc boss! Hiruhiko's got his own training arc ahead of him and all (and some arms to reattach), so he'll be more of a recurring villain than someone to defeat as a character growth moment for now. It's looking like Samura vs. Chihiro for the foreseeable future IMO.

If I can reveal a selfish hope, I want Samura facepalming Chihiro and feeling the scar to be the means of getting insight on how he feels about Chihiro's situation. Samura's probably the one who tipped off the Hishaku about Kunishige's location thanks to accidentally finding out when Momma Shiba took Chihiro to the local festival. Oh boy, if Chihiro learns that Samura was the one that sold him and his dad out... that would be some incredibly potent angst. His hero, a monster? Say it ain't so. Would have told you sooner if I could, Chihiro.

Hm, Kunishige and the Bearers who were entrusted with his vision...

(Chapter 1)

(Chapter 9)

(Chapter 58)

I feel confident in thinking that Samura is basically Bad End Chihiro now. He's been tormented by guilt for nearly two decades and has decided to do everything himself. He'll kill his former comrades and the Hishaku or go down swinging- and kill himself if he actually succeeds. He's on a doomed mission to scorch the earth and take out as much evil as he can. All scum go to hell! Including the guy who's so mired in grief that he does a lot of murder to cope. Those scars of his don't look like tear tracks in some shots for nothin'. (Wait, wasn't I talking about Chihiro for a bit there?)

Chihiro's well on his way to following Samura's path already... he's not the type to kill his comrades, but he's definitely got the "guilty sinning avenger" thing going on strong. So if Samura is Chihiro's "Bad End", what will he force Chihiro to realize? Every major foe reflects a part of Chihiro back at himself and forces him to answer difficult questions, after all. Sojo- forced him to accept that there are multiple ways to interpret and use his dad's legacy

Kyora- forced him to look at his own devotion to his dad's legacy and admit he doesn't know as much as he needs to

Hiruhiko (round 1)- forced him to admit that he thinks of himself as a monster for the lengths he's willing to go to

As for Samura, I think it'll be along the lines of "is it necessary or justifiable to sin and/or commit oneself hell for the sake of a cause?". Maybe "can I be redeemed at all?" (or if redemption is even necessary in the first place). Legitimately can't wait to see what goes down between them next week to get more clues! God I love this manga so much. I haven't been so consistently engaged week to week like this in ages.

...One last thought. This is probably looking too far ahead as an angst merchant and I was rightly rebuked for mentioning it. I should know better than to share the worthless depressing bullshit that goes on in my head. But these posts are supposed to just be some yaps into an ambivalent abyss so... sorry, kind internet void, but you get some of my depresso espresso.

"The least I can do is refrain from causing harm to others and take you Hishaku bastards to hell with me." - Chihiro (ch. 53)

With all the deliberate parallels drawn between Samura->Chihiro and Uruha->Hakuri, I wouldn't be surprised if our favourite protagonist/deuteragonist pair has the same exchange later down the line. Definitely not under similar circumstances! I can imagine scenarios where Chihiro is trying to kill Hakuri but they're so far removed from canon that they make absolutely zero sense.

But there could well be a time where Chihiro decides to leave because he really does need to bear this burden alone and Hakuri tries to call him out on the ridiculousness of that mindset. I think it would be a happier result for Chihiro and Hakuri compared to Samura and Uruha if only because Chihiro isn't as far gone as the blind traitor rat is. But yeah I'm just sticking that in my back pocket to see if it manifests in the future.

Time to write some hurt/comfort and hope canon eases up on the pain soon. It's either that or setting up a bingo sheet with all the angst scenarios I've got written down in my drafts and notes... I choose the one that I can create my own happy ending for. Until next time, dear void.

[milorp]

Auto smut Hc’s!

Ah yes, w h e e l

-Number one thing is that he gets so excited when you touch his little handle thingys. You’ll be cleaning him, and then when you get to his handles and start scrubbing, istg the whole time he is just giving you a horny ass stare.

-He likes to fuck you from behind, BUT, he’ll move himself in front of you, and watch your face finding pleasure in your reactions.

-When you’re in your private quarters doing whatever, he’ll spy on you through the cameras and touch himself. And if he’s really needy that day, he’ll summon you to the captains quarters and fuck you senselessly.

-He’s not great at aftercare, but he will summon a helper bot to come and get you some water, food, towels, whatever you need he’ll make sure you get it.

Here’s a little oneshot :3

You decided to stay in your quarters today, you heard that there was some new tv series that recently came out and having really nothing to do you decided to check it out.

(Auto’s POV)

Auto, was watching you through the hidden camera in your quarters, rubbing his fake, metallic dick. He would occasionally look back to make sure none of the bots, or the captain himself was in the room after that, he would continue watching you.

(Y/n’s POV)

You were about halfway into the second episode when you heard from the comms that you were needed in the captain’s quarters, sighing and knowing why, you got up and dressed in casual clothing. Once you made it to the lobby, the receptionist robot looked up at you, and then looked back at its control panel the elevator doors opening.

The captain’s quarters were quiet, save for the robotic hum of machinery, specially Auto. You cleared your throat and he immediately spun around pushing you forward with those fancy hidden robot hands he has in the walls. His face got close to yours, his glowing red eye blinding you for a moment. You rolled your eyes and leaned in to kiss his non-existent mouth, his hands rested on your waist, making it feel like there was someone behind you.

Auto’s robotic hands slipped underneath the waistband of your shorts before pulling them down slowly, making you whimper at the feeling of cold air hitting your ass. You two kissed for about two more minutes, feeling his cold hands grope your ass.

He then spun behind you and pushed you down onto the control panel, you blushed hard feeling his robotic dick come out of nowhere and poke at you. “So fucking hot.” His deep monotone voice echoed ever so slightly making you just a tiny bit worried that someone would hear him…but he was in control of this whole ship, he probably restricted access to anyone who tried to enter the room right now.

Eventually after teasing and poking at your ass with his dick he entered you, making your face scrunch up and getting a sigh out of you. He set a nice pace, thrusting in and out of your hole with ease…when he got the signs you were enjoying it, he spun over to the front of you and pushed you up slightly so he could stare at you. “So sensitive…so…Reactive.” He purred, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. He picked up the pace of his thrusting and made it go deeper, causing you to become a moaning mess.

And, when it became too much you came, Auto following shortly afterwards. His warm cum or…whatever substance he used filled you, making you hum in approval. He pulled out and let you regain your composure before handing you your shorts and underwear. “Is there anything you desire?” He asked, his red eye watching you sit down.

“Water, please.” You sighed softly letting your head rest on the table in front of you as Auto commanded a helper bot to fetch you some water.

that’s all folks!

[whatsnewalycat]

Passenger / Chapter 5

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Chapter Five: Wyoming (Part Two)

[ Previous Chapter ][ Series Masterlist ][ Next Chapter ]

Chapter Summary: Charlie and Din test the waters.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.8k+

Content / Warnings: yearning, horny thoughts, anger problems, crying, food mention, handcuffs, hi yes the only one bed trope is alive and well, unlike the Titanic (it's relevant I promise), small town, lying, fictional town, sorry to Wyoming-ites if I got WY all wrong, (Bernie Sanders voice) I am once again talking about The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Notes: Howdy, howdy. We are balls deep in the yearning with this one, folks. Thank you @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the literal best, I appreciate you endlessly.

Just like Paul promised, The Jackalope Motel is conveniently located straight across the county road from Giddyup Auto. 

The single-story, L-shaped motel, whose faded roadside sign advertises low weekly rates and color TV, shares a gravel parking lot with a two-pump gas station. Its brick exterior is painted a pallid shade of yellow, all ten room doors varnished with this glossy teal finish. 

Nestled into the elbow of the building sits a white screen door with the words MOTEL OFFICE printed on the front. 

Din departs from your side to hold the door open, an action you assure yourself is rooted less in chivalry than it is him not wanting to turn his back to you. A loud creak sounds from the battered door and announces your arrival. The dog charges through the threshold, pulling his leash taut in your grip as you step inside the cramped, wood-paneled office. 

An elderly woman perks up on her barstool behind the front desk. She stubs out her lit cigarette in a nearby ashtray and calls in a husky voice, “Howdy, howdy.”

“Hi there,” you smile, glancing back at Din to determine who will take the lead in this interaction.

He does, taking three wide strides past you to the counter. As he moves through the room, a thick sea of smoke parts for him, churning and dancing in his wake.

“We need a room. Two nights for now.” 

The gray-haired woman pulls the glasses hanging on a chain around her neck onto the bridge of her nose, “Let me see here…”

At your feet, the dog sniffs his surroundings. He follows an invisible trail to a tattered plaid couch. You follow, listening to Din and the motel manager discuss lodging arrangements. 

“I got a couple two three rooms open, I can stick you in one away from the rabble rousers. Somethin’ more private,” she winks at him. 

His back straightens and he holds up a hand, “Do you have anything with two beds?”

The mischievous look on her face flattens and she raises her eyebrows, looking down at her books with a frown, “‘Fraid I don’t.” 

Din looks over at you, his face blank, eyes inscrutable behind his aviators, then turns back to the woman and gives her a nod, “Anything you have is fine, then.”

He takes out his wallet as she starts getting paperwork together. You gravitate towards a wall of faded, dusty brochures that advertise Western Wyoming’s finest tourist traps, including, but not limited to: a cowboy-themed amusement park, guided tours of mountain ranges and caves, horseback riding expeditions, and hot springs. 

“What brings y’all to town?” 

When you turn to Din, he gives you a mild, one-shouldered shrug, so you tell her, “His rig broke down about an hour from here. Paul—do you know Paul?”

She chuckles and nods, “I’ve known Paul since he was in diapers. Used to watch him for his momma while she was at work.” 

“No kidding?” you approach the tall front desk, propping your elbows up on the counter, “He’s fixing the truck. Really nice guy, referred us to this place ‘cuz we don’t know how long it’ll take.” 

“Can I get your ID, hun?” she asks Din, who complies without comment, then she glances up at you while jotting down your companion’s information, “He’ll get y’all fixed up good. We got a few things to do ‘round here if you get tireda bein’ holed up here. A few parks, some trails. There’s a fella that has a ranch just on the outskirts of town, he does horseback riding, if that squeezes your lemon. Downtown, we got some bars, coupla places to eat ‘n’ all that,” she hands the ID back to Din, sighing, “Nothin’ fancy, but better ‘n nothin’ at all.” 

“We don’t need fancy,” you grin at Din, who does not return the sentiment, then ask the motel manager, “What’s your name?” 

“Annie.”

“I love that name,” you smile, “Annie Get Your Gun.”

She smiles, too, toothy and wide, revealing her too-perfect teeth–obviously dentures–and says, “You know, I was actually named after her. Annie Oakley.” 

“That’s awesome. A fantastic namesake, she was a true badass.” 

“She sure was,” Annie nods and takes the glasses off her face, letting them drop around her neck from the glasses chain, “Well, the room comes to $59 per night, plus taxes and fees, ends up runnin’ closerta $75. Do you wanna settle the tab for two nights now, or see if you needta tack on more and take care of it at checkout?” 

You look over at Din, who answers, “We can settle at checkout.” 

“Fine with me,” she swivels on her little stool and stands to grab a key off the wall behind her, “We got an ice maker and vending machine outside the door here, don’t be too loud, and pick up after yer dog. Any questions?” 

She slides a key across the counter, whose big turquoise keychain reads 10 in metallic gold, and glances between you and Din. He grabs it, and you respond, “No ma’am.”

“Alright, well, let me know if y’all need anything.” 

“Will do, thank you, Annie,” you give her a polite wave before following Din outside, pulling the dog along behind you. 

The room smells of bleach and water damage. 

Much like the office, its walls are all wood-paneled with a dull oak finish. A framed painting of a bunny with deer antlers hangs above the queen sized bed. As you try to untangle the leash from your guitar and backpack, you nod at the painting and chuckle, “A jackalope.” 

Din grunts in response. He tosses his backpack on the bed, then turns to the dog, crouching down to unclip his leash from the collar. The dog reacts like he’s hit with a cattle-prod and goes zooming around the motel room in a lop-sided oval. 

You start giggling as he tears over the bed, to the bathroom door where he makes a U-turn and speeds past the dresser, then your feet, then Din’s, then does it again, around and around until he runs out of steam. He comes to rest on the fireproof, floral bedspread, circa 1984, and leans back on his haunches, panting and out of breath, tongue hanging out of his jowls, glancing between you and his person. 

“Feel better?” Din asks him, and he sneezes. 

You go to the window, pulling the top pane down to let crisp October air spill into the room, carrying with it the earthy scent of organic decay. When you close your eyes and inhale, you see piles of raked-up maple leaves, those big mosaics of orange and red and yellow and brown, hiding rot underneath. It reminds you of home. 

You turn to your captor, who seems to be inspecting the bathroom. He flicks the bathroom light on and peeks inside while you release an exaggerated sigh, “So, Din.”

He brings his attention to you and leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms, raising his eyebrows in question.  

“That is your name, right?”

“It is.” 

A smile spreads across your face. 

The fact that you’re able to put a name to this man, brings you a surprising amount of joy. He seems less like a force now, and more like a person. Which, you suppose, is probably why he didn’t formally introduce himself before shoving your face into a trailer door and abducting you. 

“Great, well—Din, it’s nice to actually meet you,” you cross the room and extend your hand to him. All he does for a moment is stare at it, until you tease, “Aw, come on. I don’t bite.” 

“Maybe I do.” 

Your lips part and you blink at him. When the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk, your face transforms into a heater. This whole situation would be a lot easier if he wasn’t so handsome. 

RULE #3: Keep your wits about you. 

“Funny guy,” you snort, rolling your eyes in feigned annoyance, but continue to hold your hand out to him. 

He takes it and gives it a firm shake. His palm is warm and calloused and his grip seems to swallow yours. Even though he’s wearing those stupid sunglasses, you can tell when his eyes meet yours because a jolt shoots through the middle of you. Your throat tightens and your cheeks get even hotter. 

Before he can tell how flustered you are, you take your hand back and retreat to the bed, plopping down to scratch the dog as you ask, “What now? Do you wanna go explore this podunk town?” 

“No. We’re staying here. The less we’re seen, the better.” 

You groan and throw yourself back onto the bed. There’s a yellow-tinged water stain on the ceiling that almost looks like a face if you squint and tilt your head a little. It brings to mind this short story of a woman slowly losing her sanity while on “rest cure” to treat her depression. She’s forced to do absolutely nothing, and starts to see figures in the yellow wallpaper of her bedroom. 

Granted, your situation is much different than the one Charlotte Perkins Gilman penned, but you still feel a sense of solidarity with her protagonist’s captivity. You feel antsy. Cooped up. The thick layer of grime on your skin becomes hard to ignore, and you remember it’s been a week since you last bathed. 

“Can I at least shower?” 

When he hesitates to respond, you can’t stop yourself from sitting up and scowling at him, “Seriously?” 

“There’s a window in the bathroom.” 

You stare at him blankly, “So, what, you think I’m going to—”

“Yes.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you get to your feet and stomp past him into the very retro, very pink bathroom, yanking the shower curtain open to inspect the window. 

In all fairness, you could climb out of it if you really wanted to, but you still roll your eyes and tell him, “Probably can’t even fit through there.” 

He just stares at you, unmoved. 

Frustration simmers in your stomach. All that’s standing between you and the sweet relief of a shower is his lack of trust. There has to be a middle ground. 

“What if—” your mouth clamps shut. You shift your weight from one leg, to the other, then shrug, “Would it make you feel better if you were in here while I showered?” 

Din’s lips part, stunned for a moment before he carefully says, “Better isn’t the right word—”

“Ok, well, feel free to substitute ‘better’ with ‘more secure,’ or ‘reassured,’ or whatever. You know what I mean.” 

He studies the window for a moment, the muscles in his jaw wiggling as he considers the compromise, then looks back at you and nods, “Sure.”

“How long will this take?” 

From behind him, Din hears you wrestle clothing off your body into a pile on the floor as you say, “Five minutes, tops.” 

The faucet squeaks, then the water comes to life with a stuttering hiss. Twin metallic swooshes signal the shower curtain being pulled open, then shut, then you moan, “Fuuuuck that’s so good.” 

His imagination bucks out of his control, and for a moment the only image in his mind can conjure is his body pressed up against yours, skin on skin. How soft and warm you must be. How those words would taste on your lips. All the ways he could make you utter them again and again. 

He thinks of your stubbornness, your defiance, and wonders what it would be like to break you. Would you like it? 

I am not a good man. 

Din squeezes his eyes shut and tries to flush out the deviant thoughts, reminding himself of the handsome bounty he’ll collect when he turns you over. The peace that financial security will bring him. He won’t have to live job-to-job with a white-knuckle grip on existence. He’ll have room to breathe. Maybe he’ll even be able to live a little. 

Your honeyed voice pulls him out of his tail-spin. 

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly…”

Din opens his eyes and stares at the bathroom door, shaking his head in amusement, thinking, Of course you sing in the shower.

It’s sort of nice, though. He doesn’t mind it. In fact, he kind of likes it. 

Grogu, obviously feeling left out, scratches at the other side of the door, then lets out a disgruntled whine.  

You stop singing and ask, “Is that the pup?” 

“Yeah.” 

The shower curtain rings squeak, then your voice is right next to him, “Let him in.” 

Without thinking, he turns to you and scoffs, “No.” 

Water drips off the ends of your sudsy white-blonde hair onto his boot. Your features pinch into a scowl, dark eyes searching his face, “What, why not?” 

His gaze flicks to the blur of skin barely concealed behind the shower curtain, then to the pink tiled floor as heat rises to his face, “He’s just gonna jump in there and get wet.” 

“So?” 

“He’ll stink up the room.”

You snort, “You’re already doing that.“

Din goes to glare at you, but corrects himself and glares at the ceiling instead, “Sure that’s not you?” 

You let out an exaggerated gasp that quickly dissolves into laughter, “You asshole.”

He looks down at the doorknob and shakes his head, stifling a chuckle. 

“So rude,” you tease as you slide the curtain closed and step back into the steaming shower stream, “Come on, big guy, let the pup come in. He can’t possibly stink more than I did.” 

Grogu scratches at the door again, this time letting out a sharp bark instead of a whine. 

“Awww, listen to him,” you say, the pout evident in your voice, “So lonely, he just wants to be with us.” 

Din rolls his eyes and twists the doorknob to let him in. The dog barrels into the room, skittering across the shiny, bubblegum pink ceramic into the empty garbage can. It goes toppling over, and he uses it like a bumper to correct his course towards the tub. He stands on his hind legs and peaks behind the shower curtain, then woofs for your attention. 

“Hello handsome boy!” 

Grogu starts panting with excitement, his nails clacking on the floor and the porcelain tub. 

“Oh my goodness, do you want to come in here with me?” 

He barks. 

Din protests, “Don’t—”

“Ok, ready, here we go.” 

Both you and the dog groan a little when you lift him, then Din hears clattering and splashing as he lands in the tub and starts flailing around in the water. A sharp giggle pierces his eardrums, making him wince, but there’s such an abundance of joy in your laughter and the dog’s playful growls, Din catches it secondhand and ends up smiling like an idiot. 

“Look at you, happy pup! You love the water, don’t you?!” 

Grogu lets out a low bow-wow and sneezes, which you respond to with a squeal of delight. Something tender and warm blooms in Din’s chest. Just as soon as he realizes its fragility, he stomps it out, snipping over his shoulder, “Are you almost done?” 

The water shuts off with a loud clunk from the faucet and you respond, “Yep.” 

Din ends up trying to dry off the wet, rowdy dog while you dig through your backpack. 

“Do you think there’s a laundromat here?” 

He glances up at you, eyes briefly trailing along the outline of your body beneath the fluffy white towel before he clears his throat, then says, “I don’t know.” 

You sniff one of the sweatshirts from your backpack, shrug, and toss it onto the dresser. 

“We should check. Everything in here is fucking rank,” you mutter while inspecting a pair of dark pants.

The dog zooms past, drawing Din’s attention, and he manages to scoop him up into a towel, “Gotcha!” 

Whining and throwing his weight around like a fish out of water, Grogu tries to escape as Din dries him off. You turn and snort at the dog, “Good luck, I’ve been trying to do that for days,” then pad across the faded, low-rise carpet to the bathroom. 

Din glances up at the oval-shaped mirror mounted to the wall, catching a glimpse of your reflection as you drop your towel. Stunned, he fumbles the task at hand and the dog flies from his grip like a bat out of hell. 

“Shit,” he mutters, propping his hands on his hips, watching the little white dog torpedo from one end of the room to the other. 

“This probably feels like wide open spaces to him after being cooped up in the truck, huh?” you chuckle from the bathroom. 

His eyes betray him, flicking to your reflection again. At least you have pants on this time, the waistband of tight black leggings nestled into the dip of your waist. He studies the curve of your spine up to a compass tattooed between your shoulder blades. You pull a baggy maroon sweater over your head and spin around before he can look away. Shame creeps hot up his neck and makes him drop his gaze. 

If you caught him staring, it doesn’t show. You just trot past him and throw yourself onto the old, squeaky mattress, stacking one foot atop the other as you stretch out. 

Grogu breaks out of his orbit to hop up onto the bed and climb in your lap, tongue hanging from one side of his mouth. A giggle chirps up your throat, and you scratch between his ears, “Do you two have a home base, or just the truck?” 

“Just the truck,” Din answers, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. 

“Oooh a coupla rubber tramps,” you grin, “It’s fun, right? Nomad life?”

He tilts his head at you. 

Is that why you do this? Because you think living on the road is fun?

His lack of response tugs at the arch of your brow. You look around the room, releasing a sigh through slack lips, making a pfpfpfpf sound, then ask, “Well, whaddya wanna do?” 

Din pushes off the wall and starts towards an armoire that looks heirloom or at least second-hand, swinging open its solid oak doors to reveal an old tube TV. A shelf at the top of the cabinet stores a VCR and a few tapes. 

“Finding anything fun?” 

He reads movie titles off the faded VHS sleeves, “The Wedding Singer, Titanic, Pocahontas, Men in Black.”

“Anything you like?” 

“I’m not much of a movie person,” he admits in a murmur, and casts a glance over his shoulder, “Do you have a preference?”

“Not really,” you shrug, “I’m not much of a movie person, either. You pick.” 

Din swings his gaze back to the armoire, wrinkling his nose at the options, then pulls out the double-barreled VHS of Titanic and pops in the first tape. 

After feeding the movie into the VCR, your captor goes to the little two-person dining room table in the corner of the room and grabs one of the chairs, carrying it over to the opposite side of the bed. You watch him the whole way, eyebrows raised, blinking with annoyance when he sits in the chair and kicks his feet up onto the bed. 

“You’re really gonna watch a movie like that?”

He glances over at you, crossing his arms over his chest, “Like what?” 

“With your whole,” you circle your wrist around your ear, “Incognito thing. Plus, boots? You can like… be comfortable, did you know that?” 

His mouth flattens into a line. A few awkward seconds go by before it clicks and you nod in understanding, “But you can’t be comfortable around me, can you?” 

He doesn’t answer. Not that you expect him to. 

You grab the remote control off the nightstand and turn up the volume. With previews still running on the TV, you sigh and pull a pillow out from the cheap bedspread, plumping it up and adjusting yourself into a more relaxing position. 

“I get it,” you mumble at the screen, “You think that in order for you to maintain this power dynamic, you can’t show belly.”

“Is that what I think?” 

When you look over at him, he seems to be studying you through the tint of his aviators. You ask, “Isn’t it?” 

He doesn’t answer. Probably because he doesn’t want to admit you’re right. Better than him giving you some bullshit contrarian retort, you suppose, but his silence still burrows gritty between the layers of your skin. 

“Whatever, man,” you scoff and roll your eyes, “If you wanna sit way over there in your stupid getup, that’s your decision, but it seems pretty fucking miserable for no good reason.” 

His jaw gnashes back and forth a bit before he sits up and takes off his hat, tossing it onto the nightstand, then his sunglasses. His dark eyes meet yours, “Better?” 

You look at his black leather boots. 

He sighs and drops his feet to the ground, bending over to remove the boots one at a time. When he returns to his previous position, arms crossed over his broad chest, socked feet propped up on the bed, you suppress a grin and turn back to the movie.

"I believe you may get your headlines, Mr. Ismay." 

Beneath the thick, curved glass of the TV, the first VHS runs out of tape. Out of the corner of his eye, Din sees you sit up and throw your legs off the bed. Grogu croaks out a sleepy sound from beside you, rolling onto his back. You rise to your feet, asking, “Can we get something to eat before starting the second tape?”

Din glances down at his watch. 4:30. His stomach rumbles. Given the unpredictable twist this day has taken, food has largely remained at the back of his mind until now. 

“We could walk further into town and see what we find. I bet the pup has to go potty, anyway. We could take him with us. Maybe Annie can give us a recommendation—”

He looks over at you to respond, but finds himself momentarily tongue-tied. You stretch your clasped hands skyward, pulling the hem of your sweater up to expose a generous slice of your midriff. You’re still distracted as rambling he stares, unable to stop his thoughts from returning to how soft and warm you must be. 

His hungry skin aches, deep and throbbing, down to the marrow.  An infection festering for years. Or longer. Decades, really. 

He tries to recall how long it’s been since he felt the heat of another person. It was snowing, he remembers that much. She was one of those women that made her way around truck stops selling pleasure to lonely guys like him. Lot lizards, some of the truckers called them. 

Was he in Colorado? Or was it Ohio? 

He remembers the excruciating quiet as she stripped off her snow-clotted outer layers, revealing a petite brunette with wary eyes and a businesslike attitude. Not that he holds those things against her. It’s understandable. Advisable, even, given her line of work and clientele. 

Her company didn’t do much to quell his hollow yearning for intimacy, but it was a release nonetheless. 

“—So, what do you think?”

Din snaps out of the trance and meets your eyes, all warm and hopeful. 

Goddamnit. 

“You stay right next to me the whole time.” 

“Do I get a treat if I’m good?” you smirk, one eyebrow raising in challenge. 

The question bubbles hot at the base of his spine. He tries to keep his countenance neutral when he says, “We’ll see how you do.” 

Grogu waddles over to the side of the bed closest to him and yowls for attention. Thankful for the diversion, Din reaches over and scratches the dog between his big ears, “Both of you.” 

The dog sniffs the sidewalk a few feet ahead of you and Din, tethered to his owner by a leash. He zig-zags back and forth, completely engulfed in the sights and smells of this brand new world. 

You find yourself in a similar state of awe and appreciation. Tilting your face up to the big cotton candy sky, you inhale two lungfuls of the most refreshingly crisp air you may have ever been blessed to receive. Yellow Seed was built in a valley, and it seems like everywhere you look there are mountains in the distance, dark and evergreen and ominous. A stark contrast to whatever magic is happening in the atmosphere. 

The world feels so infinite and beautiful that if you let yourself, you could cry about it. 

Too caught up in the moment to pay attention to your gait, you knock hands with Din. The impact makes your heart jump. You hear yourself stammer out an overreaction, “Oh shit—sorry, I um, didn’t mean to—”

“Might help if you stop daydreaming.” 

“What’re you, my mother?” you scoff under your breath, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“What’s that?” 

You glance over at him. 

His smug smirk draws your attention briefly before you shake your head and change the subject, “Have you seen Titanic before?” 

“Can’t say I have.” 

“What made you pick it?”

He shrugs, “Long run time.” 

“Shut up, that’s not the only reason, is it?” you laugh, “It’s not because you get to see Kate Winslet’s tits or anything, right?” 

His head jerks back a little and his ears turn all red, “What? No—”

“I’m just giving you shit,” you snort. 

He exhales an airy chuckle, and a few seconds go by before he asks, “What about you? Have you watched it before?” 

His cadence is halting and rusty. Out of practice. You can tell he doesn’t make conversation often, but he’s trying and that’s… sort of sweet, actually. 

“I have, but it’s been years. I think I was a kid, maybe six or seven, when I watched it with my grandma at her house,” you smile fondly at the memory, kicking a rock along the sidewalk, “She made me cover my eyes during the nudity and sex and stuff, but I totally peeked.” 

“So you’ve always been a troublemaker.”

“I guess so, huh?” you chuckle. 

The conversation dies a natural death, and for a while, the two of you just walk alongside each other, following the sidewalk further into Yellow Seed. 

The houses you pass, like motel, auto shop, and gas station, all seem to have been built in the 1950’s with few updates since the 1990’s. Mid-century ramblers outfitted in white trim and chipped pastel paint—so much canary yellow. Neat lawns and landscaping and tattered American flags flapping in the wind. As the sidewalk brings you closer to the heart of the town, structures get older, more homes with front porches and earth-toned exteriors.

Downtown Yellow Seed barely occupies two city blocks. The businesses stand shoulder-to-shoulder, all of them constructed of brick or lumber, none of them within the last century. When you turn down the main drag, you squint and blur your vision so that the pickup trucks look like buggies, and you can picture exactly what it looked like when the roads were dirt paths carved out by wagon wheels and horse hooves. 

“Outlaw Saloon,” you nod to the sign on an upcoming building and grin at Din, “Sounds like the place for us.” 

“Speak for yourself,” he mutters, stepping up onto the sagging floorboards of the porch and starting towards the door. 

The dog follows his suggestion, suddenly very interested in this change of direction, his ears perking up into high-alert. Din plucks him off the ground, then pulls the squeaky door open for you to enter, releasing a cacophony of noise: country music and clinking glass and the low murmur of conversation. 

As you walk past him into the establishment, you tell Din, “That’s your problem, big guy, you know that? You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re not.” 

All you hear in response is a grumble, then the jarring crack of the spring-loaded door slamming shut behind him. When he saddles up to your side, you feel his hand press into the small of your back. 

It surprises you a little. Both the action itself, and the way your pulse jumps in response. 

You don’t move, but look over at him and find you’re close enough to see his eyes behind his aviators. They flick around the bar as if searching for potential danger in the two dozen locals occupying the saloon. He holds the dog firm and close to his chest and he doesn’t move his hand and you realize that he is protecting you both. Subconsciously, probably, but he’s doing it nonetheless. 

Something happens inside you. 

A brief but sudden free-fall that flips your stomach and gelatinizes the cartilage in your joints. Your throat struggles to swallow around your thudding heart. 

RULE #9: Do not get attached. 

Ignoring the warning, you bring yourself closer to him. Just an inch or so, intending to be subtle, so that maybe he won’t notice. You don’t want him to think you like or need his protection, because you don’t. 

Need it, that is. 

Liking it, however…

If you can glean anything from the steady thrum of heat between your thighs, it’s that you do like it. That is, unfortunately, too blunt a force for you to ignore. 

An unamused looking waitress approaches your little trio, grinding a wad of gum between her molars, “No dogs.”

“Oh—he’s an emotional support dog,” you tell her, softening your features into a non-threatening, winsome expression. You put your hand on Din’s arm and explain, “My friend has horrible agoraphobia. The only way I can get him to go out is if we have the dog with us.” 

Her eyebrow raises and she blinks at Din, “That true?”

He nods once, “It is.” 

She glances between the two of you for a moment, eyes flicking in time with the smack smack smack of her chewing gum, then shrugs, “Alright, come with me.” 

As you follow the waitress, he stays by your side, with his warm, wide palm held flush to your spine. 

He’s just making sure you don’t bolt. It doesn’t mean anything. 

This little voice inside your head makes you feel so foolish, your cheeks start to flush. She’s right, though. You’re making something out of nothing. 

But then his thumb moves. Only slightly, and just once, this gentle wiper blade motion—a fucking caress if you’ve ever felt it. 

Your face heats even more. 

The waitress stops at a wooden, high-back booth and pulls two menus from her apron, placing one on each side of the table. Only when you slide into the booth does his hand depart your body. He sits across from you, placing the dog down beside him. 

“Can I get y’all somethin’ to drink?” 

“Could I get a water, please?” you ask, flashing her a polite smile. 

She nods, then looks at Din. 

“I’ll have the same.” 

“Two waters, anything else?”

You glance up at Din, trying hard not to drop your gaze when you feel his eyes meet yours. He shakes his head slightly, and you tell her, “No, I think that’s good for now, thank you.” 

“Be right back.”

Once she’s out of earshot, Din asks, “Agoraphobia?” 

“Pretty slick, huh?” you grin. 

He smirks and shakes his head, looking down at the menu. The dog wriggles his way under his owner’s arm. Din allows it, absentmindedly petting him while evaluating food options. 

Letting out a sigh, you turn your attention to the menu, too. Burgers, chicken, basic sandwiches, fried food. Standard bar fare. It doesn’t take you long to decide on a grilled cheese, leaving you to study the innards of the Outlaw Saloon. 

The place is cavernous. Tin ceiling tiles two stories above the ground stretch much further back than you expected. Everything else, from the walls to the furniture to the floors, all appears to be made from the same dark, lacquered wood. 

Predictably, the décor is an homage to cowboy lore. Taxidermized livestock, paintings of horses, and antique farm equipment have been mounted on the walls. Among them hang wanted posters of infamous Wild West gunslingers, such as Wyatt Earp and Billy the Kid. Sort of camp, but in an endearing way. 

The bar bustles with activity, much busier than you thought it would be. In a small town like this, you weren’t expecting to see more than a handful of regulars out on a Wednesday evening, but there are at least 20, maybe 30, other patrons scattered about the venue. 

As you look around at the strangers, you think to yourself, “Not one of these people would look out of place at a rodeo,” which is to say that the crowd looks to be a mix of ranchers and other working class folks. At least half are strapped with a handgun, which isn’t particularly alarming, especially in a rural Western town like this, but always good to note. Occasionally, people mutter to each other while shooting dirty looks at your table. Probably because you’re out-of-towners who had the audacity to bring a dog into their beloved saloon. 

“Damn, if we were carrying, I bet we’d fit in a little better,” you comment mildly. 

“Who says I’m not?” 

You look over at him and tilt your head, “Are you?” 

“I am.” 

This interests you. You fold your legs up into a pretzel and lean your elbows onto the table, “Whaddya have?”

With his expressive eyes concealed, it’s hard to read what his silence means, but you guess trying to determine your question’s intent. 

Before either of you can say anything else, the waitress approaches your table carrying two glasses of water. As she slides one in front of you, then the other in front of Din, you ask her, “Do you guys ever have live music here?” 

“Sure,” she shrugs and plants one hand on her hip, “Nothing this weekend, though.” 

You glance over at Din, who’s shaking his head slowly, as if to say, “Don’t you fucking dare,” but ignore it and ask, “Do you want live music this weekend?” 

“I take it I do not get a treat?” 

Din clenches his jaw, glaring up at you from his crouched position as he unhooks Grogu’s leash. He hasn’t said anything to you since you coaxed your way into a gig at the Outlaw Saloon, blatantly disregarding his wishes to lay low in this town.

If he wasn’t so goddamn hungry, and if it wouldn’t have roused the attention of the already suspicious locals, he would have hauled you out of the restaurant the second you inquired with the waitress about live music. 

You must have felt the anger radiating off him in waves, because your attempts at conversation since have been few and far in between. 

For that, he’s grateful. 

The red glowering beneath his skin feels unpredictable. That familiar loathsome beast. Something he believed extinct inside him, eradicated through years of training, now awake and growling. 

He rises to a standing position and starts pacing, trying to keep calm. 

Meanwhile, you take your doodle-ridden acoustic guitar, plop down on the bed, and start strumming a tune. 

Heat wells up in his chest. 

“It’ll be fun, you’ll see. Gives us something to do,” you tell him, watching your own fingertips move skillfully along the neck of the instrument, “Plus, I could rake in a decent amount of money, which could help us—”

“Stop it.”

The music cuts immediately. 

He takes off his hat and sunglasses, tossing them onto the chest of drawers, then turns to face you, meeting your doe-eyed gaze with too much vitriol. 

“There is not an us. This is not a team. I do not want or need your help.” 

Your shoulders sag. You furrow your brow, searching his face, and your lips part to protest, but he cuts you off hard. 

“You are nothing to me but a payload. An annoying, entitled payload. Do you understand?” 

You react as if he slapped you across the face. Your head jerks back and you drop your gaze to the floor, face getting all red.

He stares at you, awaiting your counterattack, but all you do is let out a choked sob. 

The sharp tip of this noise pierces the over-inflated balloon of his anger, bursting it instantly. In its sudden absence, an ache starts in his chest. He looks back at the situation from this calmer state of mind, cleared of red haze, and feels ashamed of himself.

Grogu jumps onto the bed to sit at your side, and whines up at you. Inhaling a wobbly breath, you reach out and scratch his head, then mumble a damp, “It’s ok, pup.” 

Some time goes by with only your quiet sniffles to break the silence, then you ask, “Where am I sleeping?” 

As soon as the mention of sleep hits him, his bones turn to lead, heavy with exhaustion. How long has it been since he’s slept? It feels like days. Nothing last night, barely a few hours the night before that. 

“You have options,” he responds. At this, you let out a sad, soft chuckle that he ignores, continuing, “There’s the bathroom, your sleeping bag, or the bed.” 

“I assume I would be restrained in each of these scenarios?” 

He folds his arms over his chest and nods, “In the bathroom, I would cuff you to the toilet. The other two, I…” he grimaces, “It would be to me.” 

“Wow, ok,” you take the guitar out of your lap and prop it up on the nightstand, “A toilet or the man who thinks I’m a piece of shit.” 

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to.” 

He meets your gaze, holding it steady for a few seconds before saying, “Charlie, I…”

The apology gets all tangled in his throat. You wait a while for him to finish the thought. When he doesn’t, you move past it, your voice void of emotion. 

“Do you have a preference?”

“No.” 

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to sleep in the bed.” 

Din nods in acknowledgment. He glances down at his watch, finds it’s barely past 6, and asks, “Are you tired now?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

As if to confirm, you suck in a shaky breath and yawn, stretching your hands above your head. It spreads to him. 

“Give me a few minutes,” he tells you.

In response, you tug at the bedspread and wriggle your way between the sheets. Grogu grumbles for a moment at the adjustment, then turns in a few circles and plops down beside you with a hmph.

You’re probably exhausted, too, given the ups and downs of this week. Being taken captive. Sleeping in the same room as Din when you cannot trust him. Spending all your time with someone whose explicit intent is to turn you in for a pretty penny.

It must take an emotional toll, even if you don’t let it show most of the time. Even if you have that rule to… how did you put it? 

Live in the now. 

To your credit, you have been trying your damnedest to follow that rule. By getting to know people whose paths cross yours, bonding with Grogu, writing and drawing in your notebook, playing music, suggesting ways to squeeze as much experience as possible out of what little time you have left. 

Din likes that about you. Your relentless optimism. It’s admirable. 

He likes a lot of things about you, he realizes. Your cunning, and your curiosity, and your ferocity. Your gap-toothed smile. The skillful way you play the guitar. How you curled into him ever-so-slightly when he placed his hand on your back earlier. 

It occurs to him then that you may feel it, too. That gooey electric current when he touches you, or when his eyes meet yours for longer than a second. 

His own words echo back to him: “You are nothing to me but a payload.” 

He wants to take it back. 

It’s not even true, he just wishes it was. He wishes he looked at you and saw a bad person who’s going to get what she deserves. The truth couldn’t be more contrary. 

While your captor goes about his nighttime routine, you sulk. 

It’s all you can do, really, since he’s made it abundantly clear your presence is a nuisance. Worse than that, even. You are nothing but an asset to him. 

Ironically, it makes you feel worthless. 

You think about how pathetic your burgeoning crush on him is. Were you imagining the chemistry between you? 

Of course you were. 

You were making things up—“Living in LaLa Land,” as your mother used to say. 

Din pulls back the covers on the opposite side of the bed. The mattress shifts under his weight, and he groans as he stretches out. Every nerve ending in your body lights up when you feel the heat of him. The distance between you is exactly the width of a French Bulldog. 

“Hey, kid,” he murmurs. 

His voice is low and syrupy. Warm. 

Your throat works in a slow bob before you roll on your back to look at him. Your eyes meet his, and your stomach flips. When whoever said that thing about the eyes being the window to the soul, they must have been talking about him. You can see it all right there, written in bold print: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. 

Or maybe that’s just what you want to see. Fuck, but why? Why do you even care? 

You should fucking know better.

This is only temporary. Din. His dog. The truck. This room. Tonight. Life, really, if you wanted to get existential about it. 

“Do you want to watch the rest of that movie?” 

You frown as you consider this for a moment, then nod. 

He gets out of bed and walks over to the big armoire. As he pops in the second Titanic VHS tape, you study the broad span of his shoulders and biceps stretching his t-shirt taut. 

God, he looks solid and strong and just so fucking good.  

This guy robbed you of your dignity and all you can think about right now is what his lips would feel like on yours. If he would be a greedy lover, or a generous one, or both. Would he be intuitive or clumsy with your body? Would he be rough? 

He would be with me.

Heat blossoms on your cheeks and deep in your center. You don’t know how you know, but you do. He just seems… pressurized. Combustible. Especially towards you. 

On his way back to bed, while the tape rewinds, Din rummages through his backpack and piles some of its contents into one arm. He sits down at the edge of the mattress and hands you a bottle of water, then holds out two candy bars and says, “Pick one.” 

“Is this an apology?” 

“No, it’s chocolate.” 

You blink at him and cross your arms. 

His features soften. He shakes his head, “What I said was not kind. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t,” you agree, keeping your gaze stern, “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I understand. I’m sorry.” 

You search his face. There’s such earnestness there, you believe him. 

A mechanical click sounds from the VCR, then the TV lights up as Titanic starts where it left off. 

Your gaze drops to the candy bars, and you pluck one from his hand. The one that advertises a peanut-buttery crunch. Peeling off its yellow wrapper, you smirk, “Apology accepted.” 

Din climbs all the way into bed, stuffing the flat hotel pillows behind his back, then opens the shiny silver wrapper of his candy bar. For a while, it’s quiet except for the warbled audio from the TV and the crunch of your chewing. 

You get that feeling again like sunshine on your skin or God or whatever, and you laugh out loud. 

“What?” Din asks.

“It’s probably really weird that I’m happy right now, right?” 

“Are you?” 

You peek over at him and chuckle, “Yeah, I mean… I’m eating my favorite candy and watching a good movie. Laying in a bed with a cute dog and…yeah,” you shrug, turning back to the TV, “I don’t know. I like it.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then asks, “Do you have your knife?” 

“Why, you gonna take it from me so I don’t kill you in your sleep?” You let the question hang in the air for one whole second before continuing, “I’ll be real up close and personal, wouldn’t even have to sneak, just,” you drag your thumb across your throat, “Blech, dead.” 

“I’m not taking it from you,” he tells you, pulling out his handcuffs, “But if you want to get it or use the bathroom, now’s your chance.” 

You take the opportunity to relieve your bladder and change into your comfiest (and least offensive smelling) clothes. 

Before tucking your pocket knife into your sleeve, you stare at it for a minute and consider actually using it to get the fuck out of here. Something you’ve considered dozens of times, if you’re being honest, but this time the idea weighs a million pounds. 

When you open the bathroom door and step into the motel room, Din looks up at you from the bed. His gaze wanders briefly down your body as you climb into bed, then correct its course back to your eyes, “All set?”

You nod and hold your right arm out to him. 

His touch is gentle when he closes the cuff around your wrist. Clicks sound from the apparatus until it’s clear your hand won’t be capable of wiggling free. 

He secures the other cuff around his left wrist, settles his arm next to yours, and asks, “How is that?”

“It’s fine,” you nod, your voice too high, then swallow hard and chuckle, “Well, I guess as fine as being handcuffed in a bed can be. Probably not the best it could be, but not the worst, um, either.”  

You wince at yourself and look at the TV, where Rose is wading through thigh-high water, carrying an ax. Thankfully, he doesn’t respond, but turns off the light on his nightstand. You do the same with yours. Aside from the TV, only a faint glow comes in through the window. Daylight’s last gasping breath. 

You close your eyes and fondle the cool metal of your pocket knife in your left hand. 

RULE #8: Take care of yourself.

Din shifts a little, and the back of his hand butts up against yours. Neither of you go to move. Warmth branches out from the spot, expanding and taking root deep in your belly. 

RULE #2: Listen to your gut. 

With this, you tuck the pocket knife under your pillow and roll onto your side facing him. You think about how nice it would be to rest your head on him, but resist the urge. The edges of consciousness start to fold in on themselves, and you murmur, “Sweet dreams, big guy.”

“Goodnight.” 

[fictionalafvsmybeloved]

Imperator Bavarium Tank from Just Cause 3 (if you haven't done it already)?

WOOO! My first ask!

Behold the Imperator Bavarium Tank! Built to serve in the military of Medici, a fictional mediterranean island nation ruled over by the dictator Sebastiano Di Ravello.

It's a wheeled fighting vehicle based on the Italian B1 Centauro, So its already off to a good start.

The 8x8 wheeled chassis is a good pick for the mountainous terrain of Medici and its (assumedly) light-weight gives it a decently high speed and good logistical mobility.

Being a medium weight wheeled vehicle means its armor is somewhat lackluster, failing against sustained small arms fire (like most video game tanks do). But this is completely made up for by-

THE BAVARIUM SHIELD! When activated it makes the vehicle invulnerable to small arms and almost all heavy weapons for four seconds with a four-and-a-half second recharge time. Now that's a good APS! Still has to be manually activated though.

It's armed with a twin barrel cannon, and while that's cool it's more practical to have just a single cannon fed by an auto-loader. The main guns fire the standard "Video Game Tank Bullet" which is probably some sort of HEAT or MPAT round in reality. It does have a coaxial MG, always a plus.

It's optics art apparently included in the glowing red angry eyes on the turret front and the driver's position in the hull, so most likely digital/video. No visible backups, unless the sights are mirrored on each side of the turret, but even so there should still be a set of analogs.

Often crewed by one person (video game standard again), but at-least there are hatches in the turret AND the hull.

Plenty of miscellaneous greebles like headlights, tow hooks, and maintenance panels.

It also comes in Rebel Blue!

FINAL SCORES

Credibility: 7/10 - Ready For The A1 Model

Coolness: 8/10 - Anime Opening

[redsnowdrop]

Porsche Panamera

The presentation of the first generation (code name 970), which took place in April 2009 in China, revealed only part of the model range (3 versions), later expanded to 9 (including a diesel and a hybrid). Furthermore, there is a version with a 15cm longer wheelbase, called Executive.

In April 2013, a restyling was presented which, in addition to modifications to the headlights and bumpers, introduced some new engine features.

The 400 HP 4.8 V8 was replaced by the more powerful and high-performance 420 HP 3.0 V6 biturbo for the S version.

Car body

edit

The Panamera is a 4-door coupé approximately 5 meters long, with top speeds ranging between 259 km/h for the Diesel version and 310 km/h for the Turbo S version. The four seats consist of single seats; the external style deliberately recalls that of the Porsche 911, especially at the front, so as to make the Panamera immediately recognizable as a Porsche.

Production takes place in the Leipzig plant, the same one where the Porsche Cayenne is assembled, demonstrating the presence of many points in common between the two models (starting from the engines and the integral transmission on the 4S and Turbo models).

The markets for which the model is intended are, in addition to Europe and the USA, above all the emerging markets (Russia, China, Middle East): for this reason the presentation took place at the Chinese show in Shanghai.

In April 2013, the restyled version of the Panamera was announced, which then made its debut at the Shanghai Auto Show. The plug-in hybrid version, called Panamera S E-Hybrid, was introduced on the US market in November 2013.

The second generation Panamera was unveiled on 28 June 2016 at an event held in Berlin. The code name is Type 971; the car, built on the VW Group's new Porsche MSB (Modular Standard Drive) platform, is 35 millimeters longer and 5 mm wider than the first generation, with 30 millimeters more wheelbase. The interior features a redesigned dashboard, with center console instrumentation made up of touch-sensitive surfaces replacing the previous generation with physical buttons. The tachometer, the only analogue instrument, is mounted centrally on the instrument panel and recalls that of the 1955 Porsche 356 A. The new car is equipped with two seven-inch displays instead of the classic pointer dials in the dashboard, with another screen 12.3-inch touchscreen that also acts as a satellite navigator with Apple CarPlay integration present in the center console. The new instrumentation is called Advanced Cockpit. Under the bonnet is a new range of engines, with only the Panamera 4S, 4S Diesel and Turbo versions available at launch.

In March 2017 Porsche presented the Panamera Turbo S E-Hybrid, a plug-in hybrid car. The Turbo S E-Hybrid features the 4.0-liter V8 engine from the Panamera Turbo, but it comes paired with an electric motor. The total system output is 680 hp, making it the second most powerful production Porsche ever built, after the 918 Spyder.

In this new model the torque of the overall system rises to 850 Nm, reaching the torque level of the Diesel version. Performance also increases, 0-100 is covered in 3.4 and 0-200 in 8.2 seconds.

The new Panamera aesthetically no longer features the rounded tailgate that had divided automotive critics of the previous series, but now the tail with a more tapered and squared style recalls that of the 991 through the headlights and the longitudinal rear LED strip. This improvement in design helped clarify the model's identity as a touring-oriented sports car.

In March 2017 at the Geneva Motor Show, a shooting brake version of the Panamera II series built on the same base, called Panamera Sport Turismo, was presented.

The restyling of the second generation Panamera was presented on August 26, 2020.

[lookismaddict]

Lookism Chapter 439 Memes/Thoughts I Have:

(SPOILERS !!! I don’t own any of the Lookism panels and the translations. Only the memes that I made.)

God, I was looking forward to doing this chapter review today but then my day really started off not as good as I hope for. But it’s ok. I just hope that this review will be uplifting for me while it’s being made. Anyways, CH. 439 EVERYBODY!! WOOOOOOOO!!! I LOVED READING THIS CHAPTER. SO, LET’S GET INTO IT.

Um... Jichang? Try him. 😀

UMMM... SORRY JICHANG, WHAT WAS THAT? CAN'T HEAR YOU FROM THE SOUNDS OF GETTING YOUR ASS BEAT... 🙄

Wow. So it really has come to this, huh? I didn't wanna do a Master vs. Student comparison because Daniel was trained by Gun, not James. Although James didn't personally train him, Daniel did get some of his moves from him so he's clearly a beast... Damn.

Daniel Park, a model? 👀 I can't believe I made a clothing brand flyer out of these panels. 💀💀💀

Tbh the Allied shirt that Daniel is wearing looks so fucking dope. 🔥 If PTJ ever drops the actual merch for Allied, I really wanna purchase one so badly. The design is so sick, and you already know Imma stunt on them hoes if I ever get my hands on a shirt. 🤪

He's really just playing around with them, huh? Especially Daniel. 😭

I swear, Hudson and Jay are only in this chapter to provide reactions to the fight. They really do be representing the crowd. 🔥 THE CROWD SAYS :O

This shot of Jichang is so cool ngl... and hot. 💀💀

Bruh he really do be thinking this.

JESUS CHRIST- DANIEL IS GETTING SLICED AND DICED LIKE HE'S A STALK OF VEGETABLES. PEPPERS? OK! ONIONS? YOU GOT IT! GARLIC? I GOT YA COVERED!!! 😜🌶🧄🧅

Jichang looking all sinister, like he about to end Daniel with the most deadliest Karate chop of the century. BUT OH GOD, DANIEL NOOOOOOOOO!!! 😭😭😭😭

*inhales* Bro... you guys had no idea how much I was jumping at that first panel right here. Jumping and running around and shit. My reaction was literally, "No... Noooo wayyyy... Nooooo FUCKING WAAAAYYYYYYYYY... PTJ, YOU'RE LYING!!!!!! IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING????? OH MY FUCKING GOD!!! LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! UI DANIEL IS BAAAAAACCCCCKKKKKK!!!!!!!" 😤😤😤😤😤😤😤

And not me anticipating a Gun Park memory because it always happens whenever Daniel is in UI... (or at least, Gun is mentioned whenever he's in the zone... Auto Zone. 😩 If you get the reference, ily.)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH IT'S GUNNNNNNN!!!! I KNEW IT, WE'RE GONNA GET ANOTHER SCENE WITH THIS HOT ASS MESS OF A MAN. 😩😩🔥🔥🔥🔥 UGGGHHHH IMMA CREAM ON HIM I SWEEEAAAARRRRRRRRR. HE CAN EAT ME UPPPPP AND BEAT THIS COOCH UP ANYDAY. GOT ME QUIVERING SHIIIIIII 😩😩😩💢💢💢💢💢 Also, is he NAKED??? 😳 Bruh. He's naked around Daniel, but he isn't naked around his previous successors. Hmmm... do I sense... favoritism? And why is Daniel kneeling down in front of him. Don't tell me they "fought". 👁👁 Or he gave Gun a good suck. Pero come on Daniel, tell us that his dick is huge. GINORMOUS. MASSIVE. LENGTHY. THICK. HEAVY??? LMFAAAOOOOOOOO OK, I'LL STOP.

Hehehe, if you aren't familiar with this by now-

*N S F W M E M E W A R N I N G*

(If you're not comfortable with inappropriate memes, then just scroll past them.)

This really is my mind 24/7. You should know me by now and how I want this man soooooooo badlyyyyyy. God, I want this man to ram me so goddamn good. Legs shaking, loud moaning, ass smacking, hair pulling, back blowing... AEUUUUGGGGHHHHH. 😩😩😩💗💗💗💗 I just wanna keep it real. I'm not ashamed or sorry. 🤷🏽‍♀️ If you don't want me to simp so badly, then you shouldn't have followed a Gun simp in the first place. 😤

OH MY GOD- OF COURSE HE'S INTO CHOKING. 😩😩 PTJ, YOU'RE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE. MAKING ME EVEN MORE NEEDY FOR HIM, FUUUUUCCCCKKKKK.

"Leave your body to Lady Death." God, that gave me chills. 🥴HNNNNNNGGGGHHHH EVEN THAT SMIRK TOO. GOD, I'M GOING FERALLLLLLLL. HE'S SO SEXY!!! CHOKE ME, DADDY GUN. 😭😭😭 HE REALLY GOT ME IN A MENTAL CHOKEHOLD, I'M JUST SAYINGGGGGG.

CALL ME DELUSIONAL. IDC AND IDGAF. I WANT GUN TO CHOKE ME. 🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️

Ok I'm done. *sighs*

*E N D O F N S F W M E M E S*

Man... I love psychotic men. Men who go crazy insane with power. Men who are overpowered. Men who can silence anyone. Men who can dominate others. Men who can beat the shit out of anything and anyone. MEN WHO CAN RUIN OTHER PEOPLE'S SELF-ESTEEM. MEN WHO CAN TAKE AWAY THEIR WILL TO FIGHT. MEN WHO CAN SLAUGHTER ALL OF THEIR ENEMIES ONE BY ONE WITHOUT CARING. MEN WHO- ok I'll shut up about my taste in men.

Oh my lord, look at UI Daniel fight so diligently and so swiftly too. AND DAAAANNNGGG DUDE, LOOK AT THE IMPACT HE HAD ON JICHANG'S BACK!!! He for sure is a menace, no doubt about it.

I love how hyped their fight was. LOOK AT JICHANG'S FACIAL EXPRESSION TOO!! HE REMINDS ME OF SAMUEL IN SOME OF HIS FIGHTS HAHAHAHAHAHA INSAAAAAAANE

BRUH, ISN'T THAT THE OLD MAN ON THAT TRACTOR??? 👀

I KNEW ITTTTT BRO. IT'S THE SEOUL GRANDPA. Also, I'd like to point out how interesting it is that UI Daniel suddenly faded away as if he doesn't exist anymore, when Daniel suddenly retreated from subconsciousness. I almost forgot that it took UI Daniel a while to cease due to the drugs that Daniel's other body was on in that room full of shrooms, back in that arc with Vivi's Club.

YEAH BRO, YOU BETTER RESPECT DANIEL NOW. And how did Jichang not notice that he looked like Jinyoung Park? Like... everybody did except for him. Come on sir, get with the program. 🧍🏽‍♀️

OMG...??? GAPRYONG KIM'S DRIVER??? 🤭🤭🤭 DAMN, EVERYONE WHO WAS A PART OF GAPRYONG'S FIST CAN BEAT ANYONE UP. EVEN HIS DRIVER CAN KICK ASS. 😧 Also... bro. Wtf. Does that mean that they fought for no reason? They got THEIR ASSES BEAT FOR NO REASON??? MAAAAAANNNN WHAT DID I FUCKIN TELL YOU, JICHANG AND DANIEL??? IN THE PREV REVIEW, I SAID THAT YOU COULD'VE SETTLED THIS THE CIVILIZED WAY, BUT WHAT DID Y'ALL DO? Y'ALL THREW HANDS. And poor Jay and Hudson. They fought their asses off against some people of Chungcheong and FOR WHAT??? 😭😭😭 WELL, I GET IT. IT'S FOR DANIEL. BUT COME ON MAN, THEY BEEN THROUGH SOME TRASH-TALKING AND SOME INJURIES FOR NOTHINGGGGG. Idk, that just pissed me off. But, the purpose of those fights was to show how much they improved. I admit though, they did improve A LOT and I'm proud of the both of them. Even Daniel too, who just fought with a First Generation King to the point that Jichang had to get into serious FIGHTING MODE. Here kings, your crowns. 👑👑👑 I keep saying this repeatedly, but we better get the full explanation of Jinyoung's backstory or else. Imma go over to PTJ, grab him by the collar, and- 😤😤👊🏽👊🏽👊🏽👊🏽 /j

Not kidding. Oops-

[swervesbootycall]

Swerve x human

Pregnancy kink

“Swerve?”

“Yeah?”

“I want a baby.”

You’d been sleepily cuddling in Swerve’s lap for hours, drifting in and out of sleep. The warmth under his plating and softness of your blanket nest combined to create the perfect perch for cozy reflection. You found you meant the words that just spilled out of your mouth. Only a little surprising, really.

Your entire body vibrated with the sudden jump in Swerve’s systems.

“You, aha, you’re not. Are you serious?”

“Yup.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re um… going to apply to. Wheeljack’s program for ummm,” Swerve practically squeaked.

His frame was getting closer to boiling.

“Biosparking?”

You blinked at him.

“I completely forgot that was a thing. I was just going to steal one.”

It took a while to get him to believe you were joking on that front but serious on the other. Yes, you really were ready for a baby, and yes you want to do your part to try and save a dying species, and-- hardest to convince of all—YES, SWERVE, YOURS.

When it finally sunk in, Swerve smiled at you, asked if he could have a moment, and left the room. You didn’t even get to three on your count before the muffled screaming started.

As quickly as he left, Swerve bolted back into the room and slammed the auto door shut.

“Magnus was in the hallway.”

He glowed bright pink, near painfully.

“I’ve told you to look both ways.”

“Yeah you have uh, yeah.”

He wasn’t meeting your eyes and began pacing.

“Hey, it was just a thought,” you say gently, “if you’re not ready or comfor—“

“NoOnONoNO I AM vErY COMFORtaBLE WiTH THE IDEA ACTUALLY!”

Swerve’s modulator had flown completely out of whack. You grinned. You’d been with Swerve for a long while now, so this did Not surprise you.

“I’ll make an appointment then. Meanwhileee…” you gestured to his modesty panels, “wanna cum between my thighs about it?”

You didn’t have to ask twice.

[toyotaofnorthcharlotte]

The 2024 Toyota GR86 TRUENO Edition is Here

Toyota has announced the 2024 Toyota GR lineup – and we’re so excited to show you one of our favorites on the lineup. The 2024 Toyota GR86 TRUENO Edition is all the buzz in the sportscar community, and one of the main reasons is that it commemorates the Toyota AE86’s 40th anniversary. Since this N Charlotte Toyota sportscar has so many cool features, we will make it simple for you.

2024 Toyota GR86 Trueno Edition Performance

The 2024 Toyota GR86 TRUENO Edition comes with an upgraded performance package – that comes in both manual and automatic transmissions. You’ll be able to add this performance package to your 2023/2022 Toyota GR86, so don’t worry if you’re not able to get your hands on this particular N Charlotte Toyota. Let’s get into it.

There will be ZF SACHS Dampers and Brembo brakes that come standard on all models.

These features will enhance the consistency of handling, ride comfort, and brake system.

Automatic and, now, manual transmission models are equipped with Active Safety Suite. The system has features like Pre-Collision Braking and Adaptive Cruise Control.

Plus, this Toyota is super light at 2,811 pounds with the aluminum hood, front fenders, and roof panel – making it one of the lightest sports cars on the market.

The naturally aspirated 2.4-liter FA-24 engine has 228 horsepower and 184 lb.-ft. of torque. This makes this N Charlotte Toyota go from 0-60 in just 6.1 seconds for the 6-speed manual transmission and 6.6 seconds for the six-speed electronically controlled automatic transmission. 

Finally, you can go into track mode with the push of a button and switch off vehicle stability control.

What does the 2024 Toyota GR86 TRUENO Edition interior and exterior look like?

As mentioned earlier, this N Charlotte Toyota sportscar is an homage to the Toyota AE86, which is very popular in the anime and manga community because of the anime ‘Initial D’. If you don’t know – although you should – Initial D is about a character named Takumi Fujiwara and his rise to being a downhill racing hero in his Toyota AE86. Since the anime is so well known, the Toyota AE86 has been coined the ‘initial D car’. Now, let’s get into what the modern initial D car will look like when you first take a look:

To start with a bang, it will come with a number plate that marks the 2024 Toyota GR86 TRUENO Edition.

It comes with a black-wrapped hood, black TRUENO Edition side panels, and a black duckbill spoiler. 

As a tribute to the 1980s model, this N Charlotte Toyota sports car will have a ‘TRUENO Edition’ badge on the front bumper lip and rear decklid.

Also, other accents this ride will have are black metallic 18-inch, 10-spoke aluminum alloy wheels with black door handles and mirror caps.

This is what you’ll step into:

Ultrasuede sport seats that are trimmed with red leather, a red-stitched shift boot, and a leather-wrapped steering wheel.

‘TRUENO Edition’ shift knob and all-weather floor mats.

Finally, an 8-inch touchscreen has Apple CarPlay and Android Auto. Those features are complemented with 8 premium speakers to rock out to on your drive.

2024 Toyota GR86 Trueno Edition Price 

We don’t have the exact MSRP of the 2024 Toyota GR68 TRUENO Edition, but we can guesstimate that it will be around $35k-40k because the 2023 Toyota GR86’s starting price is $28,400. And with all the special features and it being limited, there will be an obvious bump in the price.

Stop by Toyota of N Charlotte 

If you want to get behind the wheel of this sports car, then stop by Toyota of N Charlotte! Also, stay posted on our social media for any updates about this ride. We’re located at 13429 Statesville Road. Take exit 23 off I-77 in Huntersville.

[heaven-s-black-box]

Math- Wrecker, Echo & Omega

Return to File- Event Masterlist

Recovery date: July 14th, 2022

Description: N/a

Notes: An entry from my 2022 research project into the universe of Star Wars. You can find the next entry here.

Word count: 236

Back to directory

“I don’t get it,” Omega frowned.

She was sitting in the co-pilot seat of the Marauder, knees tucked in, with Wrecker hanging over her shoulder. Echo was piloting, and glanced over at them from the corner of his eye before rolling them and looking back out front. 

Omega had been doing some basic math problems, courtesy of Tech, when Wrecker came up behind her and started laughing.

“Well, you see-”

“She’s probably never seen one like that before, Wrecker. Kamino’s windows are just giant sheets of glass.”

“There are windows that look like math equations?”

Echo sighed, looking like he wanted to bang his head on the panel in front of him, while Wrecker burst out laughing. Omega tried to laugh along, starting to feel embarrassed at not understanding, until Echo turned on auto pilot and leaned over.

“Here.”

He took the pen and holopad from her, and drew something out before handing it back.

“On some planets, windows are broken up into four smaller panels and framed like that, and on some they’re empty spaces divided up into four sections so it’s not just a big hole in the wall that something could jump through.”

“Oh, I think I get it now. But then, shouldn't it be one plus one equals equals window?”

Echo shrugged, while Wrecker stared at her for a moment before clutching his head.

“... Equals equals… gah, your hurtin’ my brain kid!”

[optimabatteries]

Comprehensive restoration completed in 2022

Designed by Mercury and Constructed in Italy by Ghia in 1955 utilizing a 1954 Ford F250 chassis

Finished in 1956 factory color Persimmon with Pearlescent topcoat

Double fin coves that wrap around the taillights are painted Pearl White over brushed chrome

The car toured the country in a custom trailer with a turntable and glass paneling

Shown at the 1956 Cleveland auto show followed by the Detroit, Chicago and New York auto shows

Used as the pace car at the Daytona Beach Grand National Race on February 17, 1957

After it was shown the car was parked outside Ford and passed through several owners falling into disrepair before being acquired and restored by the seller from 2017 to 2022

Transparent butterfly roof panels that open and close automatically with the doors

Unique exhaust ports on lower rear quarter panels

Stoplights mounted under the rear roof corners

Front turn signals mounted behind the grille under the headlights

Unique 'Big-M' hood ornament

Concealed outside door handles

Split front bumper with twin jet pods

Leather interior including headliner and dash

Four individual bucket seats with seatbelts and dual center consoles

Space age instrument cluster with tachometer

Power windows, as this was a concept vehicle the unique design of the windows do not seal weather-tight

Unique Turnpike Cruiser valve covers

Power brakes and steering

Estimated 6,000 hours invested in restoration back to original condition

1956 Mercury XM Turnpike Cruiser concept car at the Mecum Auction in Kissimmee 2023

[freewayinsurance]

Keeping Your Car Interior Clean with Messy Kids

You probably want the relationship between messy kids and your clean car to be better… luckily it can be! We know how it starts though: after that first half-eaten raisin bounces from their mouths to the cup holders to the dirt on your floor mats, things start to get unclean pretty fast. Before you know it, there’s water sloshing around the center console and sticky-fingered children spinning around in their seats to make handprints no DIY or professional wash can resolve.

We’re here to tell you that there are ways to keep the interior fresh, safe (even safer when you have car insurance) and clutter-free. The trick is this: you have to be prepared by organizing, stocking cleaning resources, and even to go so far as creating a “clean culture” (more on this later!) to give your vehicle the best chance of surviving the trail young people can leave behind.

You and your fellow auto owners can be ready to change the clean-car-meets-messy-kids dynamic. The following tips range from spills to empathy as you preserve the interior of your car.

Have a Place for Everything

As a parent, you likely spend a lot of time trying to get your kids to not do something poorly… did you know you can re-route that behavior by empowering them to do something else well?

Giving items you are packing – such as travel games, wet wipes, tools, and snacks – a place or box to live in can encourage children to put them back where they belong. For instance, according to The American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, research suggests including chores in a child’s routine as early as age three can be beneficial.

Now, let’s explore exactly what goes where!

1. Car Organizers

Organizers are  containers, compartments, or dividers that separate the inside of your automobile into more manageable sections. For example, use storage bags to hang behind your seats.  You can organize items such as snacks, books, and toys (plus, they are easy to reach when kids are buckled up in the back). Keeping your kids entertained by having their favorite items accessible.  

You can keep the vehicle’s interior clean simply by having a  plastic bag for trash and a cloth bag for dirty shoes.  By having organizers on hand, you’ll have more control over keeping your car – and kids! – tidy.

2. Keep Loose Change Organized

Loose change is just one of many things that can create a chaotic look in your automobile. Depending on your child’s age, it can also be a choking hazard. Keep coins  in a central location such as  a little purse or a box with a latch inside your glove compartment. That way, all your money can stay in one spot and is reachable when you pass through tolls or a drive-thru  (no more searching around the door panels and in the front seats for that extra 25 cents).

3. Keep Food Sealed

First, it is important to mention that food can easily go bad when exposed to hot temperatures. That said, with kids you may opt for more enduring snack options, such as crackers, which need to be sealed. You can seal food with Tupperware, beeswax food wraps, or even in their original packaging with little clasps to close it.

Sealing food keeps treats fresh and it also sends the message to your children that there is a time and place to eat. If food is left out in the open, kids are more likely to just keep eating it as well as not notice if a particular food has gone stale. Don’t let old food become part of the clutter but do make room for healthy, properly sealed snacks.

If you decide to keep food in your ride, we also recommend having water bottles to stay hydrated, too. And, to avoid the losing battle of snack crumbs gone wrong, go ahead and keep paper towels and a mini vacuum cleaner nearby as well.

Things You Must Have in Your Car

At this point, we’ve walked you through things you could have, but now we’re getting to the really good part of things you must have. These must-haves are for any parent of messy kids who are ready to end their dirty streak once and for all.

·         Trash Can

When you don’t have a designated trash can, your entire vehicle becomes one big receptacle. It may start out as dust, but your misplaced trash collection will soon include an old toothbrush, old sock, and used baby wipes without a trash can in sight. That said, our favorite vehicle-friendly trash cans have lids. Another way to really boost the success of trash cans is to empty them after each ride… yes, we do mean every single time. Trash has no place in your beautiful, clean car and by maintaining a trash can you also let your children know that this is a trash-free zone.

·         Silicone Cupcake Liners

Silicone cupcake liners work best when you use them to line your cup holders. Instead of allowing liquid and small things you drop to be forever lost in the area your cup should be, place the silicone cupcake liners there as both a protective barrier and a glove mitt. Silicone cupcake liners also come in wonderful colors that you can match to other major colors in your automobile.

·         Handheld Vacuum

Nowadays they make small-but-mighty handheld vacuums specifically designed for your car! Not only do they have various attachments to reach tough areas, they also have their own little USB charging cords that fit right into the charging ports of your vehicle. The only thing handheld vacuums can’t really solve are stains, pet hair, and mold, but we have ideas for those too, such as cleaning supplies and a lint roller.

·         Glove Compartment Essentials

Speaking of getting things cleaner and cleaner while teaching your children to stay organized at the same time, dedicating the glove compartment to special cleaning items is a win-win for both parties. Here are the essentials we know you’ll be thankful to have year-round:

Stash of napkins or rags

Antibacterial wipes or other cleaning products

Hand sanitizer

Swiffer duster

A mini expanding file to sort papers

Create a Routine

Now that you have all you and your children need to keep the interior clean and organized, incorporating positive routines is the best way to reinforce the idea that your automobile isn’t a place for big messes. While you may not become detailers in one day, these new habits will keep your vehicle in good condition.

·         Clean Messes up Right Away

As soon as a mess of any kind happens – if you can find a safe place to pull over – you can use clean water, a foam brush or sponge, and a microfiber towel to help clean up. Making a habit of cleaning messes immediately can also help to discourage behavior that leads to making messes because your kids will see how much time and effort then goes into the removing of debris and grime.

·         Whatever You Bring In, You Must Also Bring Out

You may have heard the phrase “leave no trace” and it applies here as well: either take out the same items you bring into the vehicle and/or take out as many items as you bring in. Either way – create an even exchange of objects so that your auto doesn’t carry too many. The best part about bringing out whatever you bring in is that you can continue to empower your kids by kindly asking them to help you. Before long, don’t be surprised if you hear one of them say, “Is there anything I can bring home from the car today?”

·         Clean Your Shoes Before Stepping in the Car

Nothing can undo an expensive interior cleaning job like dirty shoes. With children especially, you may find shoe prints anywhere from formerly clean seats to hard surfaces! Take a few moments before entering the automobile to wipe down shoes (or remove child shoes entirely and place them into a simple plastic bag during the drive).

·         Shake Out Floor Mats Often

As an extra special tip, try shaking out your floor mats every time you exit your ride. With kids, it may be a bit difficult to do this in the back of the car or back seat each time, but at the very least, the front is possible.

·         Set Reminders to Maintain Your System

We know that being a busy parent can turn a well-intentioned cleaning routine into more stress, and that is why you should set reminders to maintain your system so that – over time – the new system becomes as natural as breathing. As your kids continue to witness your attempts at cleanliness, they will inherit those habits as well. In no time at all, you will be an entire family devoted to less messes and more fun drives.

Model It

There are many ways to show others – especially children – how to keep things neat in the car, but nothing compares to actually showing them!

Stop Using Your Car as Storage

We’ve helped bring to light a lot about tough stains, trash, organizing, and so on, but what we really want to add is this: stop storing bigger items in your ride! Bigger items can add weight, which will translate into using more gas. Beyond that, bigger items can get in the way of the space necessary to keep your kids safe inside. The easiest way to stop using your ride as storage is to create a separate storage space where anything you need to store can reside.

Encourage Positive Communication

At the end of the day, your car will be at its cleanest – yes, even with kids! – when you encourage positive communication about what it means to be clean, how to do it, and why it matters. For instance, educate your children on the concept that cleanliness means no food or trash thrown about, achieving that by using the trash bin and storing their snacks the right way, and that it matters because less time cleaning means more time having fun. You can even offer examples of having more fun in the automobile, such as listening to their favorite songs!

Offer choices

If you’re still having trouble keeping your automobile clean with messy kids, remember that empowerment will always prevail over punishment. Giving your child the choice to lint roll the seats or wipe the dashboard once per week is an easier way to get them to do at least one of those tasks willingly. If there is a certain messy behavior you wish to curb, take a moment to think about how you can frame it as a choice for your child.

Empathize

Finally, always keep in mind it can be really hard – even for adults – to keep things clean. There is always a chance that dirt and other things will be left behind after a drive, especially if you use it a lot and traverse different terrains. Practicing empathy and a level of grace when it comes to keeping your vehicle neat and tidy with messy kids will keep a positive energy around the act of cleaning, encouraging more and more of it over time.

Get Affordable Insurance Online for Your Clean Car and Less Messy Kids

Now that you’re feeling inspired to keep it clean with kids, be sure to secure affordable insurance from Freeway Insurance today. Get a fast and free quote online, give us a call at (800) 777-5620 or stop by one of our convenient locations.

[stupid-elf]

My cousin literally works for a wind farm as a turbine overseer as an environmental impact manager. A major part of his job is just... Watching the field with a big panel in front of him full of auto-stop buttons. If a large flock or an endangered individual gets too close, the blades slow down and start flashing (I think? It has been two Thanksgivings since he explained how it works).

"Renewables kill jobs!" not if you do it right "Renewables kill birds!" not if you do it right

as a huge lover of birds, 90% of the concern against wind turbines being used for energy is literally just pro fossil fuel propaganda. birds ARE at a risk however there is a lot of strategies even as simple as painting one of the blades that reduces a lot of accidental deaths. additionally renewable energy sources will do more in favor of the environment that would positively impact birds (and all of us). one study found over one million bird deaths from wind turbines. while that is a shockingly high number and we should work to drastically shrink it, at least 1.3 billion birds die to outdoor cats on a yearly basis. it was never about caring about birds

[atplblog]

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[candy-floss-crazy]

Fire Truck Food Truck

We have spent the last 12 months or so working on converting our US Spartan firetruck into a street food unit. We are getting near to launch date and hope to have some exciting news shortly. We like to thoroughly go through anything we acquire, and this has been no different. Having refurbed it mechanically, cleaned, polished and painted the engine, had a full service and added multiple food unit systems, we finally turned our attention to the cab area. As this is where i will be spending a large amount of time during the transport phase (we are driving it to events rather than trailering it), I decided that I would like it to be a little less utilitarian, and have some comforts such as cooling fans, good music, nicer upholstery etc. Oh and some drivers aid system wouldn't go amiss such as help reversing etc. Our fire truck food truck is going to be one fabulous piece of kit. Nicer Upholstery I've always liked the diamond style stitching found on certain high end automobiles. To this end we had the roof and drivers seat recovered in black with red piping and red stitched diamonds. The dash and door panels have also been re trimmed but without the padded diamonds. High End Music And Navigation We started off with the installation of an Alpine Halo 11 inch media receiver. This takes care of the music playing, and adds Android auto to allow for satellite navigation. It also has the added bonus of connecting to our Amazon fire stuck, allowing movies to be played to ease our way through those long waits for site access etc. Audison Audio tweeters mounted in the A pillars, and 4 Audison full range speakers mounted in the roof corners added a fabulous sound. Backed up by a large subwoofer mounted under the dash in a custom built diamond plate covered enclosure. Overall the cab is a much more pleasant environment with good music. Drivers Aids Being as big as it is, with poor visibility, left hand drive and a long front overhang, it was felt that anything to assist the driver was a worthwhile endeavour. The first option we added was a 360 degree camera system. This filmed all around the truck, recording to an SSD. The system is quite clever in that putting the gearbox into reverse switches to an enlarged rear view. Similarly indicating either side switches to a side view. The Alpine music system is also connected to a low level reversing camera with a hitch guide, this similarly switches to a rear display on reverse. A radar operated blind spot system was added that flashes a small but highly visible light in the A pillars when anything is overtaking either side. If you indicate to swap lanes and something is detected in overtaking it also pulses an alarm. A Tyre Pal TPMS system takes care of tyre pressures and temps, handy considering fire trucks don't come equipped with spare wheel carriers. If we can find a reversing sensor system that integrates with the Alpine screen (they usually need CAN Bus systems which 1992 motors tend not to have), then we will look at adding that. A pair of front mounted bumper poles help judge where the huge front bumper is sticking out to, and electronic tannoys that announce "This vehicle is reversing/Turning Left/ Turning Right" complete our current safety systems. The updated London regs require a front moving off alarm, so we might look at adding that at some point, even though we are exempt from the London regs. As well as our fire truck food truck we have a range of classic and quirky vehicles for hire, from a Del Boy Trotter 3 wheel van coffee service to a classic Citroen HY churros unit. Read the full article

[belledxct]

[ID: Four digitally drawn comics of Superman.

Comic 1: Clark Kent looking distressed at a computer. He says, "Lois, there's so many typos in this article! Do you just ignore auto-correct?" Off-screen, Lois shouts back in a semi-spiky bubble, "Auto-correct can't control me, Clark!" Panel 2 says "At the Watchtower" and shows Superman raising an eyebrow. Behind him are the sounds of typing and the words "Meatropolis", "Gootham City", "Legs Loothur", "Team Titans", "Wonders Women", and "Martin Manhunter", all with squiggly lines underneath to indicate they are spelled wrong. Panel 3 zooms out to show the Flash at a futuristic computer typing very fast. Superman puts his hands together and says "Wally, please type slower."

Comic 2 starts with Mera introducing Hila (both Atlanteans) to Superman; Hila and Superman are shaking hands. Mera says, "This is Hila, leader of Xebel while I'm with the League." Superman says, "A pleasure to finally meet Mera's twin brother!" Panel 2 is a close-up of Hila, looking embarrassed. She says, "Oh. I'm Mera's twin sister." (sister is underlined) Panel 3 is a close-up of Superman blushing with an ellipses over his head. Panel 4, he sweats and shouts "Oh gosh I'm so sorry!" while Mera says "It's okay, Clark..." and Hila looks pleased and says "Your new friends are funny, Mera."

Comic 3 starts with Clark holding a mixing bowl and Kara looking distressed with ingredients strewn in front of them. Kara says, "I'm sorry Kal, I can't re-create Kryptonian food! I wish we had a family recipe or something." Clark says, "I have an idea." Panel 2 is an exterior shot of the Fortress of Solitude, labelled "The Fortress of Solitude". An unseen voice says "Greetings Kara Zor-El and Kal-El." Panel 3 shows Lana(?) continuing to speak. "What wisdom do you require from the Kryptonian Archives?" Panel 4 shows Supergirl and Superman standing nervously, Supergirl shouts, "Actually!" and Superman says, "Do you know any Kryptonian family recipes?" Panel 5: Lana doesn't say anything and looks put-off. Panel 6: Lana holds the same pose as Jor-El pops in, holding a recipe book and looking overjoyed, and says "Finally!"

Comic 4: Batman sits at a table looking serious while Superman stands next to him. Superman says, "You seem more chipper, Bruce. What's new?" Panel 2: Batman picks up his coffee in an alien mug and says "My talks with J'onn have been helping a lot." Panel 3: Batman holds his coffee closer and stares intently. "It's like therapy. Really. Good. Therapy." Panel 4: Superman looks surprised and nervous with a bead of sweat. Panel 5: Batman takes a long sip of his coffee and Superman, more alarmed, with more sweat, thinks "Is that a threat???" with three question marks.

End ID]

I heard it's Superman's (and Lois'!) anniversary! Here's all my Superman goofs to celebrate~

[someonestole15]

You've reached the [REDACTED], Please hold.

Wrong number.

This number is currently out of service followed by three short beeps and the line falling silent, I lowered the phone from my ear and placed it back onto the hook with a faint ding. Dust flooding through my filters only to be caught in them, I adjusted my mask and took in the walls covered in old posters and stickers peeling away to reveal the old paper beneath, I dusted off my gloves and headed over to the station wagon parked to side of the road.

“Anything?” Valkyrie asked from the passenger side of the car, resting her arm on the doorframe.

“Nada, number out of service.” Early morning still, sun was just coming up and the morning traffic had started to pile up on the highways leading into the colony itself, starting our trek from the outer edge of the colonized area seems fitting, lowly as we are right now, work comes to those who seek it.

“Just like they said.” Call over the comms late last night, show up here and call this number, you will not get a response, just wait around for a moment, payment provided for completion.

“Yeah, now it is just the waiting game.” I responded and leaned on the front fender, crossing my hands to ward off the cold from the wind. Surrounded by an empty desert of gravel and sand, the cold autumn months have arrived, and with them, the freezing winds dropping the temperatures even lower than they already are.

A moment of shivering and scanning the radio frequencies for anything that was not playing advertisements, a high end SUV turned the corner and parked up next to our car. Fancy ornament on the grill and armored throughout with heavily tinted windows, there was something blocking my scanners from seeing inside, errors piling up on my console, I stood myself up as a man dressed in a grey suit exited the vehicle and glanced at Valkyrie before turning his attention to me.

No matches on any database, the man spoke into his earpiece for a word or two, too faint for my sensors to catch with the SUV engine idling. A few seconds later, he nodded to the driver and walked over to the front of the SUV. Clean shaven, a few scars on the sides of his head and lines marking possible combat implants.

“You’re through the first hurdle, glad to see you can follow instructions. We’re down two of our regulars for this op and from the sounds of it, you fit the bill.”

“All we had was this location and the phone number, rest of it is still in the wind.”

“Consider it out of the wind. There is a convoy coming in and we do not want it falling to the wrong hands, so you will be part of the security team riding along. Any questions?”

“None.”

“Good, there is one more thing before we can get to it. Boss wants to meet you face to face, make sure you’re fit for it. Take what you need and leave the car.”

Sounds simple, but no plan survives first contact and the trunk of the station wagon works wonders as a mobile armory, I grabbed a bullpup assault rifle from the trunk and secured it onto my sling. Forty two rounds sitting neatly behind the trigger, they used to mount optics on the carrying handle until they realized they could just build in a sight with a folding mechanism that hides it when not in use, the whole thing splits from the middle of the receiver like a bear trap.

Graphene and Kevlar composite plates inside the carriers, Valkyrie grabbed a compact DMR with a lightweight tech scope, fit for longer ranges with its magnification and for closer encounters when dialed in. Semiautomatic, medium caliber and good ergonomics, it even has a full auto sear... Off-white and with a watermark printed to the side of the receiver, a pair of pistols and the revolver neatly packed in as well for the final touch, we climbed inside the SUV with tension building within my internals.

Sleek black leather and dark wood covering bulletproof panels, the pressure dialing in as the doors sealed in, the man in grey got in from the passenger side and took his place up front with the driver. HUD commands on his shades, as he turned around a bit to talk to us.

“Right, this car is isolated from any comms networks other than our own, here’s the frequency. Memorize it, if things go wrong, you can contact us on there. Grey is my handle.”

“Fitting. Are we expecting company?”

“Likely so, we’ve been keeping an eye on chatter, so far it has been calm.”

“There are always the few bold ones who try.”

“Good mentality.” Grey said while I connected to the radio frequency, allowing my comlink to take care of organizing things in the background. Moment of static filtered to a

“Car 2, what’s the hold up? You’re out of sync.” Administrative tone, demanding and lacking in personality, clearly somewhat with authority.

“Car 2 is ten mikes out, traffic is being a pain.” The driver said, turning to a side road and speeding up with a low growl “Make that five, taking a shortcut.”

“Just get here with the car intact, Red out.”

Many colors out here today, I wonder if we can go through a full RGB line up or if this ever goes to print, CMYK... Right, enough about the random printing instruction manual. White noise filtered through my audio systems, the five minutes passed by quietly as we drove through an empty industrial plot and a gravel field before arriving at a small refilling station near the edge of the colony. City towering on the horizon, we dismounted from the vehicle and followed Grey to an ominous looking limousine parked across the yard while our driver stuck with the vehicle.

Scanner signature deflected, an outline formed from the static as the module attempted to make sense of things, widened my scan range to relief the headache it was giving me as Grey spoke a few words to his radio. Tension building, another SUV pulled up to the refilling station, I slowly placed my hand on the rifle grip and pulled it up to my side, then I heard Grey speak out.

“You’re up. Boss is waiting.”

Breathe, stabilize the senses and secure the rifle back onto its sling. Few steps from the vehicle, I stood by the door. It swung open with a faint electric whirr from the locks and a voice inside asked me to enter. Fight or flight kicking up a storm on the console across my HUD, I took a breath and entered the vehicle. Pulling my rifle onto my lap. Rear seats facing another row, with two more men sitting opposite me.

 “It is nice to finally meet you face to face, Mr. Cipher.”

“Just Cipher is fine.”

“Very well.” The man said, lowering his shades and opening a panel to his side, displaying a pair of crystal champagne flutes. “Anything to drink?”

“No thanks.”

“We have reached out to our contacts to see if they know anything about you and I’m surprised that everything they have on you and your comrade is classified, how many times has it been now?.”

“Not sure who you are talking about.”

“This car is fully isolated from any listening devices and even your trusted comlink will be offline while you are in here, Phoenix... you’ve been busy.”

“So you know me, but I don’t know you. Why organize a meeting like this?”

“Patience my friend, I am merely interested in your services. Does the name Echelon ring any bells?” The man lowered his glasses and grabbed one of the flutes from the compartment, gently swirling the liquid around within.

“Echelon...” Rings many bells, but with the vehicle blocking my access to the databases, it is more of a buzz from a muted phone; I did what I could with the limited information. Family well known for operating the numerous ports around the system, under different names of course. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“Indeed we haven’t, I am Severin, the current head of the Echelon Company.”

“Nice meeting you, if you don’t mind, I’d rather keep the Cipher act up for now.”

“Understandable. There is a sizable bounty on your head.”

“I can think of a few annoyed parties... who placed it?”

“Someone on the Black Ocean payroll, but place bounties on their own janitors if they don’t clean the office to their standards...”

“So you’re not thinking of turning me over for a profit?”

“It wouldn’t much of a profit, you are dangerous enough to fight back and that kind of mess is not good for business. Rather, I would like to see you at work. This convoy is highly coveted by few groups that would rather see it being used for their own gain while my use case would aid the colony as a whole.”

“What’s the cargo?”

“Let’s just say it is valuable and the trucks are required to move it. I won’t have a team transporting my cigar shipments; you can trust me on that.”

“So heavy and worth the money, I can work with that.”

“The tales I’ve heard about you... they are quite tall at times, I await to see if they hold up.”

“We’ll get it done.”

“Good... good.” Severin placed the shades back on his face and opened my door. “Grey has the details for the operation, good luck.” He finished off with a toast of his drink as I climbed outside and pushed the door shut with a gentle thud as it closed.

Quiet whirring from the electric engine as the car slowly crawled through the parking lot and entered the main road; I turned away and walked back over to Grey. Stress, it has been a while since I have felt like a rat in a cage...

Despite all my rage, back to the matter at hand. The connection to the database recovered, I archived some of the data I could from the meeting, drawing questions and potential answers to them. Speculation can lead to issues; I filed my doubts under pending for now as I grouped up with Grey and Valkyrie.

“What now?”

“We wait.”

A moment of silence before a notification arrived to Grey’s phone.

“You’re in.”

“Alright.”

“Everyone gather up, I’d rather not repeat myself so listen...”

Gathering everyone around, Grey ran through the operation details.

Two armored SUVs, cars 1 and 2, 4 operatives in each car, Valkyrie and I divided between the two. Using the name Freya, we also had a UAV flying overhead to prevent blind spots. Limited in its weaponry, having an aerial scan of the surroundings certainly does give an advantage.

Few minutes of checks and running the simulations on my systems, the radio beeped as a message from the drone operator came through. The convoy had arrived within the colony limits a few minutes from our location. Scattering to the two SUVs, the bustling filling station was emptied in mere seconds as we took off on the main road. Sitting in the rear behind the driver, the SUV was fitted with reinforced doors and a roof hatch, the back of the driver’s seat was mounted with a screen displaying the positions of our vehicles and the convoy along with the drone’s flight path.

Faint artifacting on the screen, we are close enough to the wilderness for it to take effect on my systems, I felt it in my lungs. Harder to breathe, the air density is different here; the soldier next to me spoke up after seemingly noticing my situation.

“First time near the border? I get the choking feeling at times still, even after being here multiple times.”

“Does it get easier to tolerate?” I looked at my gloves to see the static fuzzing around my sleeves and fingers like TV static.

“Somewhat yeah.” Rough face, seen its fair share of battles, his smile felt genuine as he offered me his hand to shake, the uneasy feeling somewhat settling as I focused on the conversation. “Name’s Rust, sometimes with and sometimes without the Y.”

“Cipher.” I took the offer and shook Rust’s hand, the augments beneath the skin listing on my HUD like a catalogue, everything from mechanical stabilizers to tactical thinking CPUs mounted somewhere in the skull.

“What you break codes or something? You hear this Proxy?” He laughed, tapping the seat in front of him with some force.

“Hard not to, I see you trying to tone out the white noise, give it a break, there is not much you can do on the software side.” Cold tone, the man sitting in the passenger seat turned around a bit, his eyes covered by a set of shades displaying a terminal field displaying many of the same errors my own system was listing, the rest of his face hidden behind a mask similar to mine.

“Relax Prox; he ain’t here to steal your seat. Try to get along.”

 “That’s Hush and this ray of sunshine is Proxy.” Rust pointed to the two, allowing me to mark a

“How ya doing?” Balaclava covering his head along with a headset and medium armor from what I could tell from where I was sitting, he raised one hand from the steering wheel as a greeting before placing his hands back on the wheel.

 “That is... a lot of redacted... it does say you did a lot of different ops, but none here?” Proxy said, scanning through the list on his tablet.

“None, we arrived a few weeks ago and when this job came up, it seemed fitting to get into the game here.”

“Your file mentions combat records but no actual titles, any of it true?”

“I can hold my own, decent in medical skills as well although I am a bit rusty.”

“Understandable if you’ve been sitting for the few weeks. Keep your head on a swivel and fingers off the triggers till the call comes through, if it ever does.”

“Roger that.”

Smaller service road next to the highway, we soon spotted the pair of trucks driving down it. Grabbing a hold of the handle dangling from the ceiling, I braced as Hush picked up speed, taking us across the narrow patch of dirt separating the two roads.

What a lovely day. Sun coming over the horizon and the scent of cordite in the air... One cannot help but smile.

It takes me a while now to get through these, the meds are the reason me thinks. Not in a bad way, altough I really need to start shortening these out a bit, 6 pages in word is a bit much when I can't do a final check through it in one go.

How does it feel to you, the reader? I'm always looking for feedback and would be happy to talk about these things more, I think using the AMA section for that too should do the work just fine.

Halloween coming up, it seems to be that places mix it and Christmas together a bit, stocking both holidays at once.

Stay safe, drink and remember to wear your reflectors if you go out in the dark.

Cheers. Fifteenth_