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[quickautoparts]

Diesel Particulate Filter - Quick Auto Parts

Apart from this, we also serve safari snorkels, manual transmission Toyota, front and rear shock absorbers, free wheel hubs, manual gearbox, timing belt kits and water pumps.

[taevisionceo]

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[farfromstrange]

Thumb v Printer | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: Your clumsiness keeps Matt on edge at all times. Like when you cut your thumb on a printer.

Warnings: None. (Maybe slight description of injury for those of you who are squeamish). Tooth-rotting fluff.

Word Count: ~1k

A/n: This did happen to me. It's healed now, but a piece of my thumb was missing for like a week and it wasn't fun. All because I had to print my sources for an essay and the paper got stuck. Smh.

Read Me On AO3!

If a stranger came up to you and told you, “I smell blood,” it would be more than enough to make you run for the hills. Sharing a home with Matt Murdock though, you have heard stranger things. 

You turn from your spot on the sofa, putting your laptop aside for a moment to greet him. “Hello to you too,” you answer casually.

He tilts his head in your direction. His nostrils flare. You know better than to question it. He’s wearing the same suit he left your shared apartment with this morning, his tie only loosened slightly to allow him some air to breathe. The last streaks of sunlight filter through the window, enveloping him in an ethereal glow. He’s so beautiful, but he doesn’t allow you much time to admire him as he stands in the hallway, his hands propped up on his hips as though he is about to lecture you on criminal law before the Civil War.

“You opened the first-aid kit,” he states. “What happened?” 

It’s an astute observation, you have to give him that. “Oh. Yeah.” You chuckle. “I just cut my finger on the printer, that’s all.”

He stutters for a moment, almost like an old engine. “You… I’m sorry, what?”

His worried expression fades into something else entirely. You know that look all too well; he’s confused—so confused, in fact, that he forgets how concerned he was a minute ago.

“I cut my finger on the printer,” you repeat, shrugging. “Happens.”

“I’m gonna regret asking you this, but…how?”

“Well, I was printing some documents earlier, and the paper got stuck, so, I had to lift the top and get in there, right?”

He nods. “Right.” 

So far, it sounds plausible, but he knows you. Matt is well aware that your clumsiness manages to exceed his in many ways, and you have gotten yourself into predicaments in the past that he still hasn’t wrapped his head around. Sometimes, shit happens to and around you, and he has to accept that. He never fails to try though, which is kind of endearing, in a way. It’s something you have gotten used to over the years; he has to ensure you’re okay or he can’t find a moment to rest.

“I wasn’t wearing my glasses,” you confess, “so I had to put my face as close as possible to see what I was doing. Anyway, the paper ripped and since my position didn’t allow for any traction, I accidentally got my thumb caught on a sharp edge because if I’d pulled my hand out I would’ve hit myself in the face.”

A moment of silence passes. The wheels in Matt’s head visibly turn. He fidgets with the waistband of his pants, still processing. Eventually, he asks, “What?”

You sigh. “I’m sorry for not cleaning up. I was busy trying to fix my thumb and the printer.”

“I’m not… sweetheart, I’m not worried about the mess. I’m worried about you.” Matt slips the glasses off his nose and places them aside. 

“I’m okay,” you tell him. But are you, really?

“You sure?” He bridges the gap between you, tugging at your hand to run his fingers over the bandage; the cut underneath screams in protest. “Let me check.” His hazel eyes focus blankly at the space where your nose is, but it feels as though he is staring into your soul. 

“Matt…” You try to stop him, but he swiftly unpacks the injury. 

He sucks in a sharp breath when the scent hits him. You wonder what it smells like; blood, definitely, and maybe some of the ink you accidentally got into the wound before disinfecting it. His thumb gently inspects the area around it, trying not to hurt you. Matt can’t help but shake his head again; it doesn’t take much for him to realize that it isn’t just a tiny cut. 

“Jesus,” he curses under his breath. “Feels like you’re missing some skin there.”

You try to make light of the situation. “Maybe we’ll find it the next time one of us prints something.”

His jaw clenches. You’re not in pain anymore, and your fight with the printer did not lead to a life-threatening injury, but he can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, not even for a second. 

“I love you,” he says, “but you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.” It’s not as endearing as it usually sounds.

“Huh.” You huff. “That’s saying a lot, considering you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m blind,” he retorts, eyebrows raised to his hairline. He’s standing there, expression suggesting he thinks you have officially lost your mind, and it rubs you the wrong way.

You retract your hand, glaring at him with all you’ve got. “And I’m extremely short-sighted!” You don’t have to yell for him to feel the intended sting of your tone. 

His hands find their way back to his hips like a condescending mother. “Why weren’t you wearing your glasses?”

“Because,” you say, “I accidentally got coffee on them this morning and forgot to put them back on.” Your confidence falters halfway through though, realizing it doesn’t work well in your defense. Especially not in an argument with a skilled lawyer such as your boyfriend.

You love his caring nature more than life, but sometimes he treats you like a child who needs saving. Your heart is racing in your chest, and perhaps that is why he stops before you can make an argument out of a simple cut on your finger. It’s not worth it.

“I… you know what,” Matt caves, and his biceps relax, “I’m not even going to ask.”

You nod, albeit not triumphantly. You didn’t exactly win this battle of wits. “Yeah. Probably for the better,” you answer, chin held high, but it’s of no use.

You got defeated. By a printer. 

His lips curve into a soft smile. “C’mere.” He leans in, his nose brushing against yours. He smells of his cologne, paper, and coffee—like home. And he probably tastes like what he had for lunch or maybe the water he gozzled before heading home, but there is always a slight tinge of something indescribable when he kisses you. 

Before your lips can finally touch though, he halts. Matt sniffs, licking his lips and tasting the air. “You smell like ink,” he says. 

Your eyes narrow. Asshole. “Thank you. That’s…should I pour bleach into my mouth to accommodate you, Murdock?” you snap, pushing away from him.

Instead of begging on his knees for forgiveness—a dramatic notion you would not be opposed to—he laughs. Matt Murdock has the audacity to laugh. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out between giggles. “I’m sorry. Hey!” He tugs at your arm once more. “At least let me hug you. Please.”

You pout. “I’ll bite you.”

“Please don’t.”

“I might.”

He brings you into his arms with little resistance from your end, guiding your head just above his heart. So you can hear him. Feel him. Smell him. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your hair. 

You bury your face in his chest. It’s unfair how comfortable he is. “Hm. You’re lucky you’re irreplaceable,” you say, but it lacks conviction.

Matt clicks his tongue. “You’re so nice to me.” 

“You started it.”

“That’s fair.” Grabbing your chin, he tilts your head back up. “I still love you.”

You can’t bite back a smile this time, purring, “Oh, I know.” 

That’s never going to change, you know. And you love him. All of him, all the time, and unconditionally. 

Tag List: @littlenerdyravenclaw @yarrystyleeza @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @thatonegamefish @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattkinsella @itwasthereaminuteago @linamarr @gpenguin666 @acharliecoxedfan @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart

[egrets-not-regrets]

My silly thoughts on Guesthouse of the (Lost) Astartes Series

Tagging: @kit-williams, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog,

@bispecsual, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts

Here are some of my own thoughts/headcanons/comments while writing this story:

Erriox loves Lenora very very much, and Lenora feels the same. Though it took them longer before their bond truly became a mate bond. Whereas Alcyon and Malaran has an intense bond with Amelia and Ben respectively, resulting in Malaran considering Ben, his child, and Alcyon considers Amelia his mate/wife within a very short period of time. It wasn't exactly difficult for Alcyon to take the role that Amelia's ex left behind, to be honest.

Potential number of Ben’s dads = - 1 + 2. Problem here would be that Malaran and Alcyon might start butting heads if Ben starts calling either of them 'dad'. Especially if Ben starts calling Alcyon 'dad'. As chaos space marines are rather possessive of their bonded humans.

The deeply religious consider chaos space marines as demons and of the devil. Any one who is bonded to one are either ousted or must be 'saved'. Since Ben is the firstborn (only) son, they were trying to 'save' him from Malaran's 'influence'. His mother (Amelia) already 'fell' (bonded with a chaos Iron Warrior), but since she's the wife and not truly family, ousting her was not a big issue. They can raise Ben themselves to make sure he walks the right path in life.

Erriox just wants to mack on Lenora. Malaran's a prick for calling him out.

Alcyon, despite being a chaos space marine, has some degree of propriety. Put it this way: say he has it in his head of wanting to bend Amelia over the admin desk of the medical wing and take her right there, he'll think it, but he ain't gonna say it out loud or at least not until when they're in private. Malaran doesn't have as much of a filter.

Lenora prefers that Amelia remember her as a responsible adult, and not take children for high-speed joyrides chases on winter roads. She is a decent driver, but even that was pushing her skills to the limit and she heavily relied on luck to get them through okay.

Erriox has seen Lenora drive, but never like the Tokyo Drift stunt she pulled. Poor man darn near had a heart attack. That was the first time he had to confront the fact that Lenora could've gotten seriously hurt or killed before his eyes and there was very little he could do to stop it as he was also dealing with the Black Templar at the time.

When Erriox and Malaran took a long time to get back to the base, that was the first time Lenora got scared that Erriox was going to die or was dead. To say the least, both of them had some reservations of this whole plan at some point, despite only outright saying so at the end.

Don’t leave a mess in Apothecary Osteron’s medbay. Medics are scary when angry. I picture him as a mix of Ratchet from Transformers and Unohana from Bleach. He has health and safety standards and it is important to keep his medbay clean. His poor staff JUST cleaned it, he's not about to make them do it again. Might as well get the three knuckleheads to do it since they were the ones who made the mess.

Alcyon once made children cry when he went to the medical ward to pick up Amelia, because he was so intimidating.

Also, Alcyon can’t purr like Malaran or Erriox. Man’s still learning. Amelia finds his attempts to purr cute and endearing despite sounding like something between a broken engine, snarl, and the lowing of needy tiger (or a lowing cow).

Warmaster be like “This bunch of chucklefucks just haaaaad to start shit with the goddamn Black Templar.” Now he has to do PR and negotiations to avoid too much bad blood with the Imperial Fists in the city. All he wanted was just one week without drama. His dang fault though. This wouldn't have happened if Amelia wasn't banned from contacting her son.

Amelia knows some Gothic. She knows enough, but not a lot. That's why she was blushing when Malaran made that comment.

Does she know that Alcyon pretty much considers her his mate/ wife? Yes, from his actions, but Alcyon had never outright told her. Sometimes he would call her by those names in Gothic as a term of endearment, but never told her what they mean. However, like she mentioned in the chapter, the wounds left by previous relationship is still pretty fresh. While she loves Alcyon deeply and returns his affections, at that point, Amelia's still pretty hesitant about calling Alcyon her lover.

Malaran can and will start shit, especially if it has anything to do with Ben. Also, he can be a little shit sometimes.

Meaning in floriography of the little bouquet of yarrow (Achillea millefolium) and dandelion on Alcyon’s desk. Dandelions symbolize hope, strength, resilience, and renewal. Yarrow has the double meaning of love and healing, and can also mean “I love you in spite of everything” or everlasting love. Like dandelions, it is also considered a tough hardy weed, which is representative of Alcyon’s physical character and th resilience of the bond itself.

Alcyon gifted the flowers to her as part of his apology for the fallout from his fight with the Black Templar at Ben's school. That was a massive fuck up on his part and he knew it. At first Alcyon didn't think much of it and thought that was in his right to challenge the Black Templar, with the intention of winning back Ben for Amelia, only to realize that it cost her the last chance to see her son. With Amelia not wanting to be near him nor see him for an extended period of time, and the bond backlashing onto him, it was causing Alcyon to start to lose his mind. Luckily, Osteron intervened and managed to convince Amelia to at least meet with him again. From there, Alcyon slowly made amends for his mistake. He fell hard for this woman and formed such an intense bond, so it was something he couldn't easily give up. His brothers advised him that human women loved flowers, so he ended up picking a bunch that was available at the time and gifting it to Amelia. It wasn't much and the way he presented them to her was kind of awkward and intimidating, but it was a start and his apology was genuine, and Amelia was touched by the gesture. To say the least, they spent that night making up for lost time in his room. She decided to the flowers left behind on his desk, to add "a pop of colour" to the grey utilitarian style of the room. Alcyon couldn't help but indulge her request. He later learned about the symbolic meanings of the flowers that he gave Amelia, and found it amusing and ironically fitting for what he was trying to say when he gifted them to her.

I think that bonds can be negatively affected and broken not just by death and distance, but also by major emotional trauma. Intense bonds, like between Alcyon and Amelia, are affected by the consequences of emotional trauma more harshly than normal bonds. How it could be saved just depends on how resilient the relationship is between the two parties and/or if they are lucky enough to have someone to intervene before that bond is broken. On the other hand, it is entirely possible that the affected space marine will hunt down his bonded human in an attempt to either save the bond from being broken or quell the psychic backlash. (Possibly becoming yandere in the process)

Love to know your thoughts as well!

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 41

Oilstripe and Weedfoot have whitecough. Oilstripe lets Fennelspot share his troubles with her, hoping he’ll feel better afterward.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Oilstripe talk while Weedfoot rests behind them. Under both Weedfoot and Oilstripe, it says + CONDITION: WHITECOUGH. Under Fennelspot, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: THE STORM PROPHECY.]

Whitecough was never fun, but under a skilled paw like Fennelspot’s, it was easy enough to manage. Having both the deputy and one of the Clan’s few historians sick would cause some issues in routine, but Rustshade silently stepped up to fill Weedfoot’s paws as she rested, so the Clan wouldn’t fall apart. Despite the ample resources available to care for Weedfoot and Oilstripe, Fennelspot still had a few worries pulling on his pelt. 

One of the main complications was the half-conscious loner sleeping in the back of the den. Ever since Shadowdrop and Burdockcreek brought her to camp, she had been in and out while Fennelspot assessed her injuries. The horse had broken her back, Fennelspot could feel it, but when he nipped at the loner’s tail and back feet, she flinched. There was hope for the stranger, she just needed to wake up.

The other issue, however…

Fennelspot focused on preparing black cherry bark tea for Weedfoot and Oilstripe. He watched as the water in his small pot boiled and the bark danced inside. He had a leather wrap in his mouth and a leather apron wrapped around his neck and covering his chest; Rattlepelt had managed to reverse engineer SlugClan’s mouth covers many moons prior, bringing an end to pot burns and all the other issues that plagued caretakers and clerics at the oven just two years prior. 

As the tea reached its peak flavor, Fennelspot grabbed the pot’s tall handle and lifted it off the grillstone. The hot flat side of the pot rested against his apron. He carefully poured the hot tea over his special medicinal filter and into a fresh bowl. He put away the apron and cover and picked up the tea bowl. Walking slowly but surely, Fennelspot headed for the quarantine den.

RippleClan had Palepaw to thank for discovering the quarantine den. She had been going about her business in the dirt place when she saw a slim opening in the back of the shipwreck. That opening led into a part of the ship that Fennelspot and Downstar thought was forever locked to the Clan. Perhaps it opened due to the passage of time, or perhaps it had always gone unnoticed with its proximity to the dirt place. Regardless, Fennelspot and RippleClan’s future clerics could safely care for their contagious patients without infecting anyone else.

Weedfoot and Oilstripe slept on soft nests surrounded by the softest pelts Rattlepelt could craft. Both mollies wheezed slightly as they slept. As the steam of the black cherry tea filled the den, Oilstripe stirred from her dreams, sniffling.

“More tea?” she sighed.

“Drink as much as you can,” Fennelspot said, placing the pot between her and Weedfoot.

“Are you sure it’s working?” Oilstripe groaned, throwing a paw over her muzzle. “My throat’s on fire.”

“You’re just sensitive to the symptoms,” Fennelspot said. “They’ll be better once you drink this.”

“Where’s Troutkit? We were comparing our claws…”

“She helped put the bark in the tea. She wanted to make sure her mother was alright.”

“She’s a good kit…”

“That she is.” Fennelspot ran his tail over Oilstripe’s shoulder. With the tea ready for the sick mollies, he turned to leave.

“Wait.” Oilstripe sat up, clearing her throat. “Something’s wrong with you.”

“What do you mean?” Fennelspot asked, trying to keep his pelt relaxed.

“Duskkit was in here,” Oilstripe chuckled awkwardly. “Not in a ‘guide us to StarClan’ way, she was just wandering. She said my whitecough was ‘making it hard for Fennelspot to think’. Think about what?”

“You shouldn’t worry about it,” Fennelspot sighed, shaking his head. “It’s cleric’s business.”

“I have an ear to that world,” Oilstripe reminded him. “I don’t have anything else to do right now. If you need to work through it, I can offer some advice.” Fennelspot hesitated. Was it appropriate to discuss what he knew with a historian? He supposed Duskkit wouldn’t have said anything if he wasn’t meant to discuss it.

“I went to the half-moon meeting last night,” Fennelspot said, sitting with his back to the exit, “and Locustseeker spoke to me. They gave me a prophecy.” Oilstripe’s eyes sparkled. “A storm within a storm gives the dark a chance to shine. Look to the sky for the call to action. I can’t tell if the dark is good or bad.”

“This is the first prophecy you’ve gotten since we founded RippleClan, isn’t it?” Oilstripe muttered. “Whatever it means, it sounds important. You told me that prophecies come from the All-Seeing, right? So any of the StarClan cats I see around camp likely won’t know too much.”

“Keep an eye on strange weather patterns,” Fennelspot said. “If we see something in the clouds, that likely means this ‘storm within a storm’ is happening.”

“One of the storms is likely not a real storm,” Oilstripe said. “It could be emotional? I don’t know who would lose it in a thunderstorm, but the details of prophecies are historically blurry until they unfold. Did that help?”

“It did,” Fennelspot sighed. He placed his paw over Oilstripe’s. “Thank you, Oilstripe. I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”

“I feel the same,” Oilstripe promised him. “Now let’s see whether you’re poisoning me with this tea.” Fennelspot couldn’t help but laugh as Oilstripe trudged to the tea bowl and drank her medicine.

(Fennelspot: 98, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Oilstripe: 45, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Fennelspot doesn’t notice the injured loner waking up.

[Image ID: Fennelspot faces away from the brown molly. Underneath the brown molly, it says LEVEL UP! ??? -> SPIKE.]

---

Fennelspot returned to the medicine den once Weedfoot woke up and drank some of the tea. Both she and Oilstripe would recover quickly, although neither could hunt until their whitecough was all gone. Fennelspot wasn’t the sort to feel confident in his skills, but he trusted that those two would be fine.

The stranger was still asleep when Fennelspot got back. A fresh basket of late autumn herbs sat in the middle of the den. Clammask must have collected some medicine for Fennelspot while he was caring for his patients! That would save him some time. 

He dragged the basket to his stores and began to sort. It was good to have someone else pondering the prophecy with him. Hopefully one of the kits in the nursery would want to be a cleric when they reached apprenticeship. Troutkit seemed interested in herbs. Perhaps—

A sharp growl rippled through the den. Fennelspot jumped, knocking over his basket. The stranger was awake! Fennelspot had placed her in a simple brace to keep her spine straight, but the loner shifted and groaned under the uncomfortable pressure of the stick on her back.

“You need to stay still,” Fennelspot stammered. He snatched a bundle of pain-killing herbs and set them at the stranger’s side. “My name is Fennelspot. You’re in RippleClan’s camp. You were trampled by a horse, do you remember?”

“It hurts,” the stranger whined.

“I’m sure it does,” Fennelspot said. “The horse broke your back. Our Clanmates brought you here. These herbs should help with the pain.”

“My back?” the stranger groaned.

“Yes, your back. Can you feel your tail? Your back legs?”

“That’s all I feel!”

“Please, eat this. I’m here to help you. You can trust me.” Fennelspot nudged the painkillers closer. The stranger moaned, but licked the plants up. “Don’t sit up. I’ve positioned you in a way that should ease pressure off your back and help your spine heal. You should be able to walk again, but it will be a while.” 

The stranger took deep, shaky breaths. She turned her head away from Fennelspot. The ginger cleric carefully scanned the stranger’s brace. He adjusted the soft leather straps keeping the stick in place.

“I’m sure this is a lot to take in, and I want to give you time to get balanced,” Fennelspot eventually said, “but it would be good to know your name.”

“Spike,” the stranger muttered. 

“Spike,” Fennelspot sighed. “It’s a good name. Let me know if your pain doesn’t settle. There’s a lot I can do to help you. And when you want to learn more about this place…” When Fennelspot looked back down, Spike’s eyes were shut. It wasn’t clear if the molly had actually fallen asleep again or if she was trying to ignore Fennelspot. He understood either way. 

“Rest well,” he sighed. With his patient settled, Fennelspot ran off to inform his leader of the newcomer’s name.

(Fennelspot: 98, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Spike: 16, female, loner, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

[bellygunnr]

Trueno Twitterpation

A commission piece for @lyndexv of their OC Geoff reviving a sentient AE86! It was an absolute blast to write.

----

The AE86 was a cowering, sorry mess when he first discovered her, wheels stuck fast in dry-wet-dry again mud ruts and strapped down by voracious forest overgrowth. How she got there evades Geoff still, as her previous handler had long since passed and the one before him just wanted her gone. He'd all too eagerly dragged her out of her mire and onto a tow truck. The sunlight'd been good for her on that trip, though. Under the muck, her paint had taken on a faint glow, which he kept an eye on until she was practically a fireball trailing him home.

Now she's clean. Physically, at least. Her tires are new and so is her paint. And she stares at him plaintively from his driveway, headlights popped up, drawing his full attention repeatedly until he can do nothing but give in to her call. It's nice outside, at least. A pleasant day with a breeze. His skin itches, like he imagines the Trueno's does, a restless buzzing that urges him to unlock her driver's door and drop inside, stretching out to fill the cabin with all the languidness of a cat in a sunbeam.

He runs his hands along the hard edge of her utilitarian dashboard, key pinned against his palm with his thumb. Dust floats up in fits and bursts as he does so, becoming a thin veneer that the low outside sun diffuses in. The restlessness becomes electric, then, and he hurries to turn the key in the ignition over.

The dashboard lights gradually warm to life. The engine, not so much. The AE86 trembles under his hands, her anxiety as acute as a storm's ozone, her shame a pulsing heat between his eyes, like tears. 

"Hey, hey," he says gently. "Don't be upset. I know it's hard. It's not your fault."

The Trueno's frame judders hard with the force of the engine cranking. Fuel sparks, but it's both too much and not enough, and he sees smoke filter pitifully from her backend through the rear view mirror while the engine sputters back out. He pats the top of her dash consolingly.

It's terrible. She's willing, he can feel it, but there's-- problems. Barriers. Age. Disuse. Abuse. And it's killing her.

"I'll be right back. Alright? I've got a couple ideas."

He runs his hand across her dash one more time. Heat bleeds between them, lingering all the way to the hardware store, which he bikes to. When he comes back, he's significantly poorer and weighed down by car parts.

But it's a nice day. They've got time to burn. He has the tools.

And she's willing.

--

Geoff pulls out spark plugs that are black and burnt. He swaps them out for new iridium-tipped ones. Then he pulls the air filter and the carburetor and that's a new round of problems-- running is to survival as driving is to living, can't have one if you're the other, so he's glad he bought a rebuild kit for the carb. 

"Guess we'll have to go for that drive tomorrow. Sorry, girl," he sighs. "But this won't take long. I'll get you put back together."

The wind blows. One of the headlights abruptly droops, as if the '86 is winking in acknowledgement. Geoff carefully lowers the hood down and clamps it shut.

"Just sit tight."

He ducks into his garage.

---

The carb body has to soak and dry, and be brushed through. He sits at his workshop bench with the flood light on and goes through the floater, the jet screws, all of it, until it is whole and hale. His back burns with the full attention of the AE86 (or maybe he's just imagining it). (It's getting hard to tell).

It's dark out by the time he's done and that's okay. He drags his light source out with him, making multiple runs for the tools, until the AE86 is open and waiting. She's cool to the touch now that the sun's gone. She patiently abides Geoff's fumbling around in her engine bay.

"That should help with some of it. New air filter. Rebuilt carburetor-- I changed the settings, too, just to keep up with things. That'll feel good in the morning."

He's numb with cold by the time he's done. She bounces on her suspension when he closes her hood one more time, finished for the night. His hands linger on the panel of her closed headlamp.

"Good night," Geoff says.

---

He ends up sleeping in too late the next day. The shrill beep of a horn-- not French, he thinks bizarrely-- wakes him up with a shout. He's halfway out the door in just a t-shirt and boxers before his brain catches up with his body and he stares hard at his driveway, confused.

Clouds skate across the sky. A bird lingers atop his mailbox.

The AE86 has not moved an inch. But--

"I'm gonna go get dressed," he tells her. 

And he does, in record time. The Trueno's key bites into his palm with a sort of nervous energy. He's still not fully awake, but he's jittery in a suppressed adrenaline, pre-interview, post-accident kind of way. It's usually not a good start to a day. But this feels alright.

The driver's door is ajar before he even pulls the handle. He pauses, but shrugs and slides into the seat, letting muscle memory guide him until the engine is cranking.

It hangs.

"Come on, girl," he urges quietly. 

He twists the key again.

With a pop, the four cylinders start to go, and everything buzzes to life.

"Brilliant!" Geoff cries. "I knew it! I hope that feels good!"

His face twinges from smiling so broadly. Experimentally, he revs the engine, watching the needle smoothly sail from idle to 2000, 3000, and drop back down. There's some rough bubbling-- but she's not quitting. Good. Fantastic, even.

He drops into first gear. Very gently, they work together, easing out of the driveway and onto the gravel road beyond. She snarls a little passing into second into third, but stays true.

Excitement suffuses him. He can't tell if it's all his emotions or something else. But it doesn't matter. Geoff cranks the windows down, waves at a passing motorist. They don't understand.

That's okay.

They end up driving to the coast. After some time, he feels the urge to pull off onto the side of the road, where a breeze has picked up and drags in the scent of the sea, mixing in with the tang of grass. It's picturesque. His heart is still beating fast.

The Trueno idles along. Geoff tenses suddenly.

Thank you, he hears.

"What?" He blurts out.

Thank you, is repeated. For saving me as you did.

The voice is entirely in his head. Yet he can hear it. Hear her. And he knows in his bones that he's hearing Her, the '86, her chassis trembling with the raucous motion of her engine. This adrenaline. This joy. His, but not his alone. Hers, too.

"I'd do it again," he says stiltedly. "And I'll keep fixing you up until there's nothing wrong with you."

He hears her wheels crunch in the gravel. The blunt curve of a fender presses up against his legs.

Of course. I have full faith in you.

Geoff scrubs at his face, trying to hide a rapidly rising blush. She can't just SAY that! He turns around, only to find the Trueno shaking on her rear-suspension, in a rather identifiable pattern. Of course. 

"The feeling's mutual," he gets out.

They're both glad it's such a nice day out.

[hirocimacruiser]

FD3S

Armed with combat aero, a beautiful form reminiscent of a shop demo car

Cowboy Wholesale Center 2-25-7 Nakakasai, Edogawa-ku, Tokyo 134 03-5658-5555

Sharp nose and wedge shape

Shaped body line. The domestic product

with elegant styling that stands out from the car.

Although the FD3S RX-7 is very popular, the price of used cars has become much more affordable due to the increase in the number of cars and the impact of new car pricing. There is also a wide selection of tuned used cars, many of which have been finished with aero parts to give them a more aggressive look, and are very popular.

The same goes for the FD introduced here. From the flashy, wide-open front bumper to the huge rear wing and wheels, everything is made of Veilside, and the hood also features a VeilSide decal. The finish is perfectly reminiscent of a shop's demo car. That's no wonder; in fact, the previous owner of this FD was a staff member from Veilside. It's a Veilside Special that can almost be called a demo car.

The engine is stock, with only the intake and exhaust system tuned and fuel control using the F-con V, but the exhaust system has been replaced, from the front pipe to the muffler, so it runs smoothly. The power at high revolutions is also increased. In addition, not only the parts themselves, but also the installation and finishing are done with great attention to detail and are of high quality.

The light-tuned specs tend to be considered unappealing in terms of driving performance when compared to more aggressively modified cars, but the completeness of the car, including the exterior, is such that it is truly a professionally finished car. . Although it is a tuned used car, it is one that you can buy with confidence.

PIC CAPTIONS

●The seat is a 4-point Recaro SP-G+ Willans made of fiberglass. Like the exterior, the interior is of high quality, and it is a machine with high cost performance.

●The suspension is equipped with Bilstein-based coilovers. The wide and low form created by the drastically lowered vehicle height and veil side aero is truly impressive.

●The engine is basically normal. Air cleaner + intercooler pipe kit, front pipe + muffler, intake and exhaust system, and F-con V light tune specification.

INFO BOX

Infini RX-7 Type R

1995 model inspected April 2010

Mileage 19,000km 2,980,000 yen

Tune data: HKS Super Filter

HKS Racing Plug

HKS Front Pipe

Knight Sports Catalyst Straight Pipe

HKS Inter Cooler PipingKit

VeilSide Sports Muffler

HKS/F ConV

Bilstein Vehicle Adjustment

VeilSide Full Aero

Veilside Andrews wheels

Recaro SP-G Seat

[of-a-chaotic-mind]

Glue (Part 2)

Summary: The Pogues go to the police for help getting (Y/N) back but JJ and John B end up taking matters into their own hands.

TW/CW: Routledge!Reader x JJ Maybank, More mentions of a gun and Reader being kidnapped, more JJ angst.

Requested?: No

Word Count: 1,053

A/N: Part 1 Here || Aww my poor baby... Requests are Open! Much love to all!

JJ's POV

A quick drive later, we’re pulling up at the Sheriff’s office, storming inside and demanding to speak to Shoop. Having created a commotion, Shoop exits his office to investigate, “What on earth is going on here?” Sarah places her phone on the counter and hits play. Luke’s voice once again permeates my senses as Shoop looks down at her phone and watches the entire video, “Get me anything you can on that number,” he commands to his officer before turning his attention back to us, “Last seen? What was she wearing?” 

John B nudges my side and I whip my head up to look at Shoop, “Bout 8:30. Grey muscle tank, denim shorts, and flip flops.” 

Shoop nods and motions to another officer, “Put out an amber. Make sure you make it sound like a runaway young teen. Throw him off as much as possible.” 

The officer nods and hurries off as John B glares at Shoop, “He said not to get the cops involved. If my sister dies- “ 

Shoop throws his hand out, “He’s gonna make sure it’s vague enough. Calm down and have a seat. JJ, my office.” I begrudgingly follow Shoop to his office and once inside he shuts the door and motions to a chair on the opposite side of his desk from the seat he takes. I take my offered seat and he says, “I need to know as much as possible. I don’t care how unrelated you think the detail is, I need it.” 

I nod, “We were outside working on the boat,” I show him the back of my hand, “I sliced my hand on the inside of the engine bay, so she went inside to get the first aid kit.” I pause trying to remember as much as possible. “She was in there about fifteen minutes, so I went in to check on her. All I found was the first aid kit on the floor. She was gone.” 

Shoop nods, taking notes, “Anything else? Any small detail. Anything you dismissed at the time?” 

Searching my memory, I realize and get flashed back to the many nights that I laid on the floor beaten and bruised, listening to his truck rumble out of the driveway and leave before calling (Y/N) to pick me up. “A truck. I heard a truck off in the distance, but I didn’t think anything of it. It had to have been his truck I swear, Shoop.” He nods and adds this to his notes. “Shoop, you gotta find her man. I- we can’t lose her. She’s our glue.” 

Shoop nods, “We will JJ. Just hang in there.” He motions for me to leave so I make my way to join the others. We’re waiting amongst chaos as the entire sheriff’s office hustles to filter through amber alert tips. Finally, my phone ringing breaks through the noise. I whip it out and recognize the number.  

I rush to Shoop’s office and put my phone on speaker, “Hello?” 

“Duckette’s Warf, midnight tonight. Don’t forget $200k, don’t call the cops,” Luke’s voice flows through the speaker. Shoop writes a note and shows it to me. I nod, “I-I need to know she’s alive. I don’t trust your ass.” 

Sounding braver than I feel, Luke chuckles, “We’ll you sure grew some balls. Here sweetheart, talk to your little boyfriend.” 

Her voice is steady and stern, “JJ… please…” 

Luke takes back over, “There. Now bring me my money boy.” He hangs up. 

I can’t do anything but worry over my best friend. I can’t lose her. She’s my best friend and now the worst person possible has her. And it’s all my fault. Shoop speaks before I can spiral down that path, “You kids just settle back in, in the waiting room. We’ll let you know when we need something.” 

“No, I want to know what you’re gonna do to save my sister,” John B demands. “I need to know that this is in good hands or I’m gonna go get her myself.” 

Shoop sighs, “You two will do the drop off with false bills. We’ll have a team nearby to take him down after you make the switch.” 

John B’s jaw clenches, “You swear to me that you won’t let her get hurt.” 

Before Shoop can promise, I speak up, “He won’t bring her to the drop. He’ll keep her somewhere and give us her location only after he gets the cash.” I pause as everyone looks at me, “I know how he thinks. He’s gonna use her as a distraction for his getaway.” 

Shoop sighs, “Plum!” Plum pokes her head in the office allowing Shoop to give his instructions, “Filter the amber tips for spottings near Duckette’s Warf.” She nods and leaves to do so. Shoop returns to us, “We’ll look for locations he may be hiding out. If we can get to her before the drop, we can save the hassle of a drop off.” 

We all nod as Shoop motions us back to more waiting. Finally, after hours of worrying myself shitless, Plum heads to Shoop’s office. We all jump up and race to the door, hoping to hear what she has to say. “There was a tip about a guy fitting Luke’s description at a marina right next door to Duckette’s. I checked and there was a houseboat rented a few weeks back under the name Mason Bank.” 

Shoop nods, “The oldest alias he has. Get some under covers out there to scope the area.” 

John B and I look at each other as Plum rushes off. A silent look passes between us.  

After a narrow escape from Sarah, Kie, Pope, and Cleo, John B and I sneak away to take matters into our own hands. We make our way to the marina, beating the under covers there. We’re scoping the boats docked when I see it. A houseboat sits at the very back of the marina. I drag John B with me, and we sneak around the side of the boat, peaking into windows and keeping an eye out for Luke. Finally, I spot her in a dark room on the other side of a small window. Luke is in the room with his back to the window. We watch as she struggles against the zips around her wrists. 

Part 3 Here

Masterlist

More JJ Maybank Imagines

[blubushie]

List of shit done to my 1968 Ford F250 Camper Special Custom Cab

17/8/23

She went to a mechanic and was worked on extensively and was there for nearly a year. Work done/replaced parts included:

Carb kit

Engine rebuilt by Jasper — insured to 100,000mi

Gasket set

Exhaust flange gasket

Hi-temp paint

Spark plugs

Air filter

Engine oil

Oil filter

Thermostat

Radiator + cap + upper & lower radiator hoses

Heater hoses

Water pump

Coolant

38" battery cable ground (negative)

Front wheel seals

Front left & right brake wheel cylinders

Radius arm bushings

King pin set front suspensions

Front & rear shock absorbers

Transmission pan gasket

Lever shaft seal

Steering coupler

Transmission mount

"Repaired" horn wiring

When prev owner picked her up he noted that the rear indicators were no longer operational and that the horn no longer worked, when previously they had done so. Additionally the steering coupler was installed incorrectly and resulted in the steering wheel having much more play than it did before. Furthermore when the steering was altered, the wheel was seated improperly, resulting in a wheel that now sits sideways instead of right-side up.

For unknown reasons prev owner never had these issues fixed, likely because he didn't trust the previous mechanic do the work...

[retropopcult]

"I Think I'm Paranoid" is a song written and performed by American rock band Garbage, which they released as a single from their album Version 2.0 in 1998. It climbed to #9 in the UK and hit #6 on Billboard's Modern Rock chart in the US.

The band wanted the album, their second, to have a “post grunge industrial sound” and “Paranoid” was one of the first songs they worked on. Duke Erikson created the opening guitar riff and arranged the backing chords and Shirley Manson wrote most of the lyrics.  When laying down the track, her vocals were manipulated in various parts of the song by running the feed to the mixing console through a filter or a stomp box to provide distortion and by using Pro Tools to time-stretch the vocal take. Meanwhile, much of the percussion was recorded separately in an abandoned candy factory located in Madison, Wisconsin; Butch Vig, Steve Marker and sound engineer Billy Bush set up a drum kit within the empty building and recorded various fills, using the unique acoustics favorably. Forced to stop after local police responded to complaints about the noise, some of the percussion was later incorporated into other songs on the album. Finally, Garbage employed touring bassist Daniel Shulman to perform electric bass on the song, while Vig approached a DJ he met, Todd Malcolm Michelles, to provide a record scratching effect under the chorus.

The music video was directed by Matthew Rolston at Occidental Studios in Los Angeles.  The concept behind it was “simplicity”, contrasting with the band's  effects-heavy video for their previous single, "Push It".  Consequently, it was shot in black and white in order to appear "almost photographic". Rolston used mylar to create effects on-screen, and shot the band in close up, inspired by the cover of The Beatles' album With the Beatles.

[quickautoparts]

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[minitruckgarage]

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[republicsecurity]

Starter Kit

As the hum of the truck's engine reverberates through the metal frame, the seasoned tactical paramedic turns to the recruit, a glint of experience in his eyes. The visor, that ever-present companion, becomes the topic of their conversation in the confined space of the vehicle hurtling through the controlled expanse of the dystopian city.

"You see, kid," the seasoned paramedic begins, his voice carrying the weight of years spent navigating the intricacies of the paramedic force. "The visor is more than just a tool. It's a leash, a leash that keeps you tethered to the directives of the Corps. But don't mistake it for mere restraint; it's your shield against the unwanted distractions of the world."

He gestures toward the window, where the cityscape unfolds.

"Look outside, and you'll see the chaos—the billboards screaming for attention, the faces of the populace, each one a potential source of distraction. Now, activate your visor."

The recruit complies, and as the visor descends, the world outside undergoes a transformation. The billboards, once glaring symbols of consumerism, dim into obscurity. Passersby are marked with health information, subtle markers of their well-being. A guide to their destination materializes in front of them, an augmented reality overlaying the tangible world.

"There you go," the seasoned paramedic continues, his tone filled with a blend of pride and caution. "The visor doesn't just keep out the noise; it shapes your perception of reality. It filters out the unnecessary, leaving only what's crucial for your mission."

In this controlled reality, the visor doesn't just obscure; it reveals. It transforms the mundane into the essential, sculpting a world where the paramedic's expertise is heightened, and distractions are filtered out like irrelevant static.

Activating the visor's analysis mode, the recruit directs their attention toward the paramedic. Digital overlays materialize, offering insights that transcend the exterior facade. Vital signs pulse subtly above the paramedic's head, a rhythmic dance of biometric data. Medical history unfolds in a cascade of digital glyphs, outlining past injuries, vaccinations, and augmentations.

The seasoned paramedic's dossier takes form, revealing a tapestry of experiences etched into the fabric of their existence. Training records, mission logs, and commendations flicker before the recruit's eyes, a testament to a journey marked by discipline and dedication.

In response to the recruit's exploration, the seasoned paramedic, without uttering a word, activates their own visor's analysis mode. Digital overlays unfold, mirroring the recruit's vital signs, training records, and mission logs. The visor becomes a conduit for the seasoned paramedic to glean insights into the recruit's journey within the paramedic force.

Yet, as the seasoned paramedic delves into the recruit's data, a seasoned wisdom guides their perception.

"Kid," the seasoned paramedic begins, their voice carrying the weight of experience, "what you just did, it goes both ways. In this Corps, we have access to each other's data—part of maintaining a cohesive and efficient force. It's a tool for understanding, for collaboration, and for ensuring everyone's on the same page."

Leaning in, the seasoned paramedic's tone takes on a more serious note. "The Corps controls this flow of information. It's a two-way street, and the AI, the same entity that shapes our training, also oversees this network. It's a balance, you see. We access each other, but we're also under the watchful eye of the system."

The seasoned paramedic gazes out at the cityscape beyond the truck's window, the controlled expanse that echoes the structure of their own existence. "The AI, it shapes us, guides us. It ensures conformity, adherence to the Corps' principles."

The seasoned paramedic's words echo in the augmented reality space—the interconnectedness, the balance of power, and the role of the AI as both guardian and manipulator within the paramedic corps.

"Getting inked with an alphanumeric serial on the chest," the seasoned paramedic's voice echoes, carrying a tinge of wry amusement, "is a conscript's equivalent of a birthday party. Except the cake is a chastity cage, and the presents come in the form of VR-based neuro conditioning."

The recruits, each adorned with their own unique alphanumeric markers on their chests, listen to the seasoned paramedic's commentary, their expressions hidden behind the opaque visors of their helmets. The dark humor permeates the atmosphere, a coping mechanism in a world where the unconventional has become the norm.

The reference to a birthday party, typically a celebration of life and individuality, takes a dystopian twist as it intertwines with the conscripts' initiation into the paramedic corps. The symbolism of the chastity cage, a stark reminder of control and conformity, adds a layer of irony to the metaphorical "cake" of conscript life.

"And here you are, conscripts," the seasoned paramedic continues, their tone a blend of camaraderie and somber reality. "Marked, conditioned, and ready to serve. The alphanumeric ink on your chest, a badge of initiation into a world where the boundaries between celebration and indoctrination blur."

The seasoned paramedic's voice carries through the encrypted audio link, unveiling the origins of the alphanumeric serial that now adorns the chests of conscripts.

"You know how the alphanumeric serial came about?" the seasoned paramedic begins, the tone reflective. "It used to be that paramedics used their names. Simple, right? But then the Trade Union and the Conscripts Rights Organization had their say. 'Security purposes,' they argued. 'We need designators, not names.'"

The narrative unfolds, revealing the bureaucratic dance that led to the transformation of personal identity into a string of letters and numbers. The recruits, perhaps contemplating their own alphanumeric markings, absorb the historical shift from individual names to standardized designators.

"The Corps," the seasoned paramedic continues, a hint of irony in their voice, "turned 'allowed' into 'have to.' Security, they said. Uniformity, control. Your name, your individuality, stripped away for the sake of the collective. Now, each of you bears a code—a designation, not a name."

The demand for security, the erosion of personal identity, and the relentless pursuit of uniformity become threads woven into the fabric of conscript life.

[kybercrystals94]

The Common Cold

By KyberCrystals94

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2023|Day 13|Prompt 13: “I don’t feel so good.”

Rating: G

Words: 451

Summary: Tech catches the common cold.

The common cold should not - in theory – affect clones whose DNA has been specifically engineered to withstand against a multitude of hardships that would be of detriment to the average human; however, perhaps the demands of war and the need for new soldiers has had an impact on the Kaminoan’s quality control.

Which may explain why Tech wakes up in the middle of his sleep cycle with his throat raw and his head stuffed to the point he worries his skull might combust. His bones and joints ache beneath sore muscles and sensitive skin. Miserable feels too mild a term.

It takes some mental preparation, but he manages to roll out of his bunk to stagger over to the med kit and search for anti-inflammatory and decongestant.

Hunter catches him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, “Are you injured?”

“No. I don’t feel so good. I’m sick,” Tech bites out, voice nasally and hoarse.

“Sick,” Hunter echoes, deadpan, as though the word has never been introduced to his vocabulary until this very moment.

“It’s just a minor cold,” Tech clarifies. He rattles off his symptoms, “Aches, congestion, sore throat…”

Hunter takes a measured step back. “Why don’t you go back to bed, and I’ll bring you whatever medications you’re looking for.”

“I am perfectly capable...”

Hunter gives him a look that borders on concern and disgust. “It’s not about capability, Tech. It’s about you touching our medical supplies with your infected hands.”

While the words themselves feel a little...dramatic, the man has a point.

“Fine,” Tech relents, holding up his infected hands in surrender. “I just need an anti-inflammatory and decongestant.”

Hunter nods. “And where’s the disinfectant spray?”

Tech rolls his eyes, but he’s too tired and sore to think of a snarky remark. “You’ll find the cleaning supplies in the bottom drawer of the supply closet.”

Crosshair chooses this exact moment to make an appearance, catching Tech’s words with absolutely no context. “What sort of mess did you make, Hunter? Playing with the armor paint again?”

“It’s not for me. Tech is sick.”

The sniper casts Tech a dirty look. As if Tech chose to get sick. As if this were his idea of a good time. Tech tries his best to match the disdainful expression before announcing, “I’m going back to bed. You had better hope that the air filters are in working order. I would hate for anyone else to fall ill.” He makes sure to force every ounce of sarcasm he possesses into his tone.

Maybe his brothers would finally start to replace simple filters like he asked countless times.

And if they do get sick, maybe they will discover that a little sympathy goes a long way.

END

Author’s Note: I wrote the draft to this story way back when the prompts were released…then today came, and I am down for the count with a stomach bug. What are the odds?? 🥲

So here we are, a story based on true events with my own siblings growing up. I got you, Tech! 😂

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista

✨Let me know if you’d like to join my tag list✨

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

At long last, my Our Lady of the Passion cosplay is ready for cons!

Based on this picture from Pinterest (google is finding fuck all elsewhere, but if someone knows the source I'll add it.)

The tank top is from Lockedtombmemes' Redbubble store.

The jacket is here, though I've painted the back with some fabric paint. I used the non-heat treating kind and just sort of sketched out the letters with a dark pencil to make sure the placement wasn't too awful.

The dog tags I'm not quite satisfied with because I put too little information on them, and an updated one is still waiting in the mail (I wanted to put the Wing and Cell on it, and had to reread some chapters to verify) There's loads of places to get them, but I used these.

The machetes I don't have many pictures of (I don't have a full length mirror to show them properly strapped to the legs.), but I went a little overbudget to the point it would probably have been cheaper to buy real machetes (but not as welcomed at conventions!) Still, they were from here, in case anyone wants some big ol' 27 inch props instead of the dinky ones from Spirit Halloween.

Gloves were these ones, and they fit my big ol' butch hands just fine. Nothing special there.

For my TACTICAL BLOOD OF EDEN FANNY PACK (which I already wear all the time, but changed colors to match the costume anyways) is this.

The boots are fairly ubiquitous and seem to come from various online sellers, sometimes in men's sizes, sometimes in women's, but this store has them up to a women's size 12, which I needed because I'm lorge.

Now, the mask I'm most proud of! I don't have any experience making costume bits, but I found this one meant for airsoft, which has TWO FUCKING FANS?!?! hidden in the filters to cool my face in the sweltering 80 degree Texas winters.

But! You'll notice the goggles aren't tinted, so I had to figure out how to do them myself to hide my glasses, for REASONS, but this little kit was pretty simple. There's a gluey side, so you just spray the goggles with some water, then slap them down and spend like... a fucking hour or two squeezing out the air bubbles, but aside from a single wrinkle, I think they turned out great! The red also provides some good contrast.

Now, the pants were pretty simple. These come with knee pads, and the black camo looks really nice with the gray coat and black shirt. It did take two attempts to get some that fit (One seller had the XL listed as having a 44 inch waist, equivalent to a women's 18, but labeled elsewhere with the true size of 36 inches, the bastards.), but where I got silly was the straps.

I got this tactical belt, which seems to have tipped the number of tactical things I can search for before search engines decide you're a bootlicker, and intended to use a single bike strap on each leg to hold the other end, which, well... two problems.

The blades were now being bent by my massive fucking quads because I've been doing a shitload of exercise to get fit, because apparently all I needed to get into the gym five times a week was wanting to look like my specialist book blorbo.

I couldn't bend my fucking hips.

So! I ended up ordering a total of SIX STRAPS for my legs, pairing two up high to fit the wider part of my leg, and a single one down near the knee. The upper ones I later looped through the belt to hold them up, which also doubles for making the trousers into a fucking cod piece, which, hey, some people like that. The lower ones were led up by the knee pad, so I had a somewhat stable set of six straps and one belt, which is dangerously close to becoming a Nomura-era Final Fantasy character, but hey, I gave myself carpal tunnel marathoning all the Kingdom Hearts games last year, so that's not a problem.

All in all, it probably cost me... well, more money than it should have, but it's all pretty quality stuff that I'm sure will be very toasty if we ever happen to have another winter down south.

Also, last note... boots of any kind are so much more comfortable with insoles. They don't have to be expensive, but your feet and knees will thank you at conventions when they have a good cushion under your heels.

That's about all I've learned putting this together! I'm 5'9 and around 250 pounds, give or take, so most of this is men's garments, which means the pockets are DEEP AS FUCK. Perfect for collecting small rocks.

Just something to keep in mind.

(See y'all at the conventions. I promise my Yorkshire accent will be less goofy by then, but I can't promise I'll be as nasally as the audiobook.)

[inbalanceofpower]

tay's garage.

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

cadillac ct4 sedan —

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

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

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

land rover x-dynamic hse defender 90 —

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

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

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

mini cooper s convertible —

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

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

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

harley davidson softail standard —

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

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

+ scorpion exo 520 evo air —

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

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