#Multi Purpose Vehicle

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Asia Neo Mattina Concept, 1995. A cross between an SUV and an Minivan (the press release refers to it as Multi Purpose Vehicle) designed by Lotus Engineering that was presented at the Soul Motor Show and never seen again.

[crnl-chicken-tots]

If Wade and Logan aren't driving a Honda Odyssey like soccer moms with Dogpool in the next movie then what even is the point

[lonestarflight]

"Technicians with Lockheed Martin prepare the Artemis II Orion spacecraft for the installation of three spacecraft adapter jettison fairings inside the Neil A. Armstrong Operations and Checkout Building at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida on Tuesday. The fairings encapsulate the service module and protect the solar array wings, shielding them from the heat, wind, and acoustics of launch and ascent, plus help redistribute the load between Orion and the massive thrust of the SLS (Space Launch System) rocket during liftoff and ascent. Once the spacecraft is above the atmosphere, the three fairing panels will separate from the service module reducing the mass of the spacecraft. "

Photo Credit: NASA/Allison Tankersley

Date: March 11, 2025

NASA ID: KSC-20250310-PH-APT01_0002

[jasonryudotnet]

#2025서울모빌리티쇼 #기아pv5 기아는 2025 서울모빌리티쇼에서 PV5를 국내에 처음 공개했습니다. 상용 및 다목적차를 위한 전기차 전용 E-GMP.S 플랫폼을 기반으로 한 첫 양산 모델로, 승객, 물류, 교통약자 이동을 위한 모델과 함께 LG전자와의 협업을 통해 활용 가능성을 보여주는 콘셉트 모델도 전시되었습니다.

[c0renswet]

scott x reader where they have insane sexual tension and everyone notices (and is fed up) but them so they keep forming elaborate plans to get them alone together

Next Time (scott miller x reader) part I - 18+ MDNI

warnings: sexual tension, swearing, scott being scott, not enemies but not friends to lovers, eventual kissing, eventual smut

a/n: i thought i’d put a twist on this request and make it a multi-part fic! i hope anon doesn’t mind that it’s not specifically the pov from the crew/other chasers but rather the tension filled journey between scott x reader :,)

my inbox is open for requests! rules for requests are on my pinned post :)

part two | part three

This wasn’t your first season chasing with Scott. You’d first met him at a little gas station in the middle Oklahoma. Scott’s rigid demeanor intimidated you, but your friend Javi had practically pushed you two together. Your first chase with Scott was tension filled and awkward, you could tell he didn’t exactly respect you.

That was 3 years ago, and now, you were more than used to Scott’s dull personality. The tension-filled relationship had only grown between the two of you, but neither of you cared to admit how you felt to each other.

“Which cell is it gonna be?”

You’re standing in a gas station parking lot, holding an iPad in front of Scott, a radar image pulled up on the screen. The rest of the Storm Par crew was dispersed around their vehicles and Javi was off somewhere, you assumed he’d gone to get snacks and drinks for the crew.

“You tell me.”

Scott’s answer was short and direct. You knew this game- he’d let you choose and then tell you that he thought otherwise.

“West.”

You inquired, your response just as short and direct as Scott’s.

“You sure? East looks better.”

Scott’s eyes met yours from under his sunglasses. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you knew they glistened with cockiness.

“I’m always sure.”

You rolled your eyes at him, putting the iPad at your side. Javi came running out of the gas station, plastic bags in his hands. He stopped to give bags to other members of the crew before making his way over to you and Scott.

“You guys want snacks?”

Javi held two bags in front of each of you.

You took a bag from him and peered inside— all of your favorites. You smiled.

“Thanks, Javi.”

Scott took the second bag and muttered something that sounded like a thank you before walking to your chase vehicle.

“Where are we headed?”

Javi asked, but you could tell he already knew the answer.

“West.”

You winked and smiled at him before turning and walking to the SUV.

—

“I’m tired of your little game, Scott.”

You broke the silence in the vehicle. It was a silence you’d gotten comfortable with, you knew Scott wasn’t one for small talk or casual conversations- especially with you.

“What game?”

Scott’s eyes were trained on the road in front of him, Javi’s truck not far in front of your SUV.

“The whole ‘East looks better’ bullshit.”

You adjusted in your seat. Typical of him to act like he didn’t know the way he treated you. You heard something that sounded like a scoff come from him.

You expected an arrogant response but it never came. You wondered if you’d caught him off guard with your declaration.

“It’s been 3 years, Scott. I can understand not liking me, but you should respect me. I think I’ve shown that I deserve that, at the very least.”

You knew you were venturing into dangerous territory by the way his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. But, you were almost eager to push his buttons- to tell him everything you’d bitten back for 3 years. You wanted to be mean to him, drill the words into him and break him down like the times he’d broken you down for making simple mistakes.

Again, no response. You wondered if he was doing this on purpose, making you sit in his silence while he plotted how he was going to pull you aside and belittle you after the chase.

“I don’t dislike you.”

After a few minutes, his words cut through the silence. Your mind did a full stop.

“What?”

“I don’t dislike you.”

Scott repeated. His eyes darted to you for a second before returning to the road. The words cut through you. Everything you’d ever assumed he thought about you had just been squashed.

The familiar silence returned. You weren’t sure what to say, or even what to think. You stared at the yellow lines that split the road into two lanes. It felt like they went on forever.

—

“Hey, good job today. Sorry we didn’t get anything.”

Javi handed you the key card to your room. The two of you stood in the parking lot of a cheap motel. The rest of Storm Par had either gone to their rooms or were dispersed throughout the lot, talking with other chasers or cleaning out their vehicles.

“Oh well. There’s always next time.”

You managed a half smile. Sure, you were disappointed, but you were tired and ready to be away from everyone.

“Yeah- well, goodnight. See you tomorrow.”

Javi smiled, patting your shoulder before walking off. You almost felt bad for keeping the conversation short but you were glad to be left alone. You started walking to your room, ready to be in the warmth of a bed.

“Hey.”

You heard a voice behind you. You swore you let out a curse under your breath before turning around. Scott was standing there, clipboard resting under his arm.

“What?”

The word came out harsher than you’d meant for it to but you didn’t care. This was supposed to be your time, you just wanted to be away from him.

“East looked better.”

You stood there. You bit your tongue, holding back the long line of curses that threatened to spill from your lips.

“You followed me over here to tell me that?”

You managed, turning to walk away from him. You wanted to be away from him.

“Not so fast.”

He caught your arm with his hand.

“You aren’t always sure.”

Asshole, you thought. You knew he was doing this on purpose, this was just another one of his ways of giving you shit, but you weren’t in the mood.

“Fuck off.”

You shrugged out of his grasp.

“Why? Is there somewhere you need to be?”

Scott tilted his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest, clipboard resting under them.

“Yeah, there is. Away from you.”

You spat, walking away from him again.

Scott watched you walk away for a moment before following you.

“I said I don’t dislike you. This is what I get for that?”

You scoffed.

“Then why do you treat me like shit?”

Scott shrugged.

“Because it’s fun.”

You stopped at the door to your room and turned towards him again. His arms were back to his sides. You were almost too tired to care about what he was saying.

“I see. Goodnight.”

Sarcasm dripped from your voice. You turned to put the key card in the lock. You opened the door and slammed it shut, leaving Scott standing outside like a dog on your doorstep.

You quickly changed clothes and climbed into bed. The softness of the sheets and warmth of the blankets instantly relaxed you. You closed your eyes, enjoying the peacefulness.

—

You didn’t know how long it had been before there was a knock at your door. You ignored it. There was another. You opened your eyes. Sighing, you turned on the bedside lamp and got up. You unlocked the door, not even bothering to see who was there before you did. Opening it, you felt every ounce of peace fade away.

Scott stood there in his black undershirt and a pair of sweatpants, a plastic bag in his hand. His curls hung in the low light of the hallway. It was rare you saw him in anything other than his white Storm Par button up and perfectly ironed pants. You hated to admit that he looked good.

“Wanted to give this to you.”

He extended the bag towards you. You blinked at him. Maybe if you blinked enough, he’d go away.

“Take it.”

Scott held up the bag. Wanting him to go away, you took it from him. You pushed the door shut when his hand stopped it, pushing it back open.

“Where’s my thank you?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Thanks.”

You rolled your eyes and shut the door.

You opened the bag. A few of your favorite snacks were inside, along with a note. Curious, you picked up the note.

There’s always next time.

- Scott

“Asshole.”

You said out loud, putting the note back in the bag and throwing the bag on the table by the door. You climbed back into bed and turned off the lamp. You closed your eyes again, sleep finding you not long after.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Why You Should Try Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy Part 8: Fun and Easy Character Creation

This is part 8 of a multi-part series of posts about the awesome features of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, in no particular order.

Find the earlier parts here:

Part 1 Link: We Worked Hard on It!

Part 2 Link: It's Easy to Learn!

Part 3 Link: It's Easy to GM!

Part 4 Link: It's Easy to GM and Supports Narrative and Roleplay!

Part 5 Link: It Revolutionizes Investigation and Mystery Solving in TTRPGs

Part 6 Link: PCs are Not Just Mystery Solving Automatons

Part 7 Link: Excellent Time-Keeping Mechanics Keep the Pressure On

I talked about Skills in previous parts, and here we will go more in-depth into them, as well as other awesome things that make up a Eureka character.

Skills

As mentioned before, Eureka characters have an all-purpose array of 21 Skills meant to cover just about anything they’re likely to encounter while trying to solve a mystery, with a rating that tells you how good or bad they are at each of these skills. You don’t roll for skill points, nor do you get a set amount of them to distribute. The only rules are that each skill must be set to a rating between -3 and +3, and at the end, they all have to add up to a net 0. This means that for every +3(making them an expert at that skill), they have to have a -3 somewhere else, or three -1s, etc. This can make character creation a little bit like a puzzle, where you slowly uncover just who your PC is as you move their skills around to add up to 0, while still giving you complete control over their strengths and weaknesses.

There are also additional “Write-In” skills, which are more specialized. You can also write in your own skills as Write-In skills if none of the official ones suit your PC. Any Write-In skill has to be set to +1 or higher, and counts for the total.

Traits

In addition to skills, Eureka characters are made up of Traits. These are literally personality traits that have a mechanical effect on that PC’s gameplay, further supporting roleplay. Each PC has 3 Traits by default, but additional Traits, up to 6 total, can be added at the cost of extending how many Investigation Points it costs them to get a Eureka! Point.

Traits can radically change how the PC plays, and of course help define their personality by encouraging and discouraging certain behaviors through bonuses and penalties. Many Traits also provide additional ways of spending Eureka! Points.

Here’s a few examples and a link to a big masterpost of Traits, though at the time of writing this there’s even more Traits than the masterpost shows. You’ll have to download the Eureka rulebook to see them all. (It's linked at the top of this post.)

Truth

A PC’s “Truth” is another mechanic that really fleshes them out in gameplay. It is one of more extra little elements of their personality. It could be a motto they live by, their short temper, their overly trusting nature, etc. The only rule is that it has to be something that would be likely to spur them to action or get them into trouble. Once per Scene, when they say or do something that is in line with their Truth, they gain a +1 bonus to their next 5 skill checks. This keeps your characters acting in-character, and rewards it.

Inventory and Wealth

You might have noticed that "Wealth" is a skill. In short, this skill is rolled when PCs buy something, or when they need to know something about high-society. (It can also be reversed when they need to know things about lower class environments.)

Another thing that Wealth governs is the PC’s inventory items.

Inventory items are determined on a per-scenario basis by rolling for how many Wealth Points can be spent on items before the scenario starts. You’ll get your investigator a house (or equivalent), a vehicle, and whatever else they can afford. Having the right item for the job can save lives, but powerful weapons, fast cars, comfortable homes, etc. can get expensive quick. Just like in real life, rich people generally have an easier time of things, but some of the best moments in our own campaigns have come from PCs struggling with money.

(You also fill out the PC’s Tiers of Fear in character creation but I already talked about that in Part 6.)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Survival Kit

Bug-out Bag - a survival kit you pack if you need to shelter in place or flee your home at a moment’s notice.

In a natural disaster, you might not have time to prepare a backpack stocked with food and provisions, so a bug-out bag acts as an emergency kit filled with survival gear and other essential items to help you through a sudden and dangerous event.

Because of its contents, a bug-out bag is also known as a 72-hour bag, a go bag, or an emergency-preparedness kit.

Bug-out bags vary among survivalists, but in general, bug-out bags will carry key essential items such as a first aid kit, chargers, a water bottle, and a survival knife for protection in a wide range of emergency scenarios.

Tips for Making a Bug-out Bag

Bugging out during a survival situation or natural disaster can be made easier with these considerations in mind:

Weight: It’s best to assume that while backpacking or bugging out you will be carrying your bug-out bag. Just because you have a vehicle does not mean it will be usable; in an emergency, roads may be closed, storms may come, and gas stations may be inaccessible. You’ll want to know how much you can feasibly carry for a prolonged period in case you are on your feet. Bug-out bags can be anywhere from ten to forty pounds; consider your body weight and how much you can carry.

Waterproofing: Natural disasters can bring a significant amount of precipitation, so it’s essential to have a waterproof bug-out bag containing waterproofed items. Waterproof containers can store essential items that shouldn’t get wet, such as matches, important documents, and foods. Pack a poncho—they’re lightweight, easy to fold up, and can help keep you dry.

Compartmentalize: Stay organized. The last thing you want to do in an emergency is rifle through your bag looking for an item. Compartmentalize your bag, pack like items together, and place heavier items on the bottom so as not to squish more delicate ones. In your free time, practice packing and unpacking your bug-out bag to better know where essential items are stored.

Essential Items

You can stock your DIY bug-out bag with easy-to-assemble prepping items you might have around the house. Preparedness means planning, so keep these essential items in mind when creating your bug-out bag:

First aid kit: A first aid kit should be at the top of any bug-out bag checklist. The size, complexity, and weight of a first aid kit will vary depending on how much room you have and how much you’re willing to carry, but a simple first aid kit with bandaids, cotton balls, hand sanitizer, a tourniquet, sunscreen, and petroleum jelly will all prove helpful while bugging out.

Water bottle and filtration: Hydration is vital in survival situations. Pack a pre-filled canteen and supplement your bug-out bag with water purification tablets or a water filter in case you run out of water and need to drink from rainfall or running streams.

Chargers: You’ll want to have chargers at the ready to keep your cell phone charged during less certain times. Rechargeable batteries, hand crank generators, and solar chargers can also be helpful.

Sleeping bag: A sleeping bag may take up the most space, so planning how to store and package it while bugging out will be worth the time and investment. If you can spare the room, a sleeping pad and hammock that’s easily collapsible can improve sleeping conditions.

Ready-to-eat food: Food that has a long shelf life will be more practical while bugging out. You’ll want to go for hearty food that can fuel you, like protein and breakfast bars, nuts, jerky, pemmican, and peanut butter packets. Canned goods will also have a longer shelf life; just be sure to pack a can opener and utensils (such as a multi-purpose spork).

Toiletries: Toiletries are bug-out bag essentials. Pack a spare toothbrush, a small toothpaste bottle, soap, and toilet paper.

Cutting tools: In emergency situations, you may need a survival knife. A hatchet or machete can be particularly helpful in the woods.

Important documents: After fleeing your home, you might not have access to essential documents. Make photocopies of your and your loved ones’ driver’s licenses and identifications for your go bag, so you have those prepared should you need them.

Firestarter: Knowing how to start a fire is among the most crucial survival skills. Some tinder (light, dry sticks, and paper) can be wise to pack to more easily start a fire. If you are in the woods, you may be able to find some on your own. Fires will be good for warmth and cooking, and tinder can expedite the fire-starting process. A fire will also help you see at night, as will flashlights, a headlamp, and glow sticks.

Clothing: Clothing with long sleeves will keep you warm and will protect you from the sun, bugs, and poisonous plants. Bandanas will keep sweat contained. You may also want to pack a small sewing kit in your survival bag to mend clothing.

Survival tools: The best bug-out bags will also have a variety of other survival tools. Prep your home bag with essential items like a signal mirror, duct tape, pliers or a multi-tool, zip ties, a fishing kit, a paracord, and pepper spray for self defense.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[letsdosciencetoit]

Snippet from the BuckTommy Season 1 Canon Divergent - Working title: I'm Where the Spiders Go

Another scene from my BuckTommy AU. I've picked a working title, and getting into some canon material now - Chim's rebar accident.

Reminder - Tommy never left the 118, so Buck was assigned to the 122 for his probationary year.

Likes, comments, speculation and engagement are love.

I'm Where the Spiders Go

Buck and the 122 arrive on scene for a motor vehicle accident.  Dispatch has advised them it’s a multi-vehicle collision, but two cars have the worst of the impact.  One of the drivers is on the line with dispatch, alert but pinned. They don’t have confirmation on the other driver. 

Captain Warren sends Buck and Oscar to take a look at the truck and check on the driver.  Front end is a crumpled, but the cab looks intact. the rebar is poking out of the sedan in front like a pin cushion.  It doesn’t look promising for the second car, but Buck pushes it from his mind and focuses his attention on the driver side door. 

The driver is slumped against the steering column, but there isn’t anything impeding access.  Oscar already has the Halligan ready to pry the door open.  Buck goes to grab the backboard and C-collar as Oscar gets the door blown wide.  He can hear Oscar telling the man, “Don’t move, let me check you over first,” meaning the man is starting to come to, but he’s hearing commotion from the other vehicle as well.

Warren is telling their paramedics, Serrano and Sutton, to back away, while a couple of guys from the 141 start to approach.  Warren waves them off as well.  For a moment Buck fears the worst about the second driver, but he sees Warren crouching next to the open driver’s side door, clearly talking to someone, and speaking into the radio.

Again, Buck puts it out of his mind, helping Oscar cut the belt and pull the man from the white truck.  They get him on the backboard, and Serrano and Sutton take over, loading him onto the bus and preparing him for transport. 

He’s itching to offer assistance with the second vehicle, but turns his head when he hears the sirens on another engine pulling him.  His heart lodges in his throat when he realizes it’s the 118.  Captain Warren leaves Sal with the driver, and approaches Captain Nash.  Buck can’t hear what’s being said, but he sees Nash gesture to Tommy and a black woman to wait where they are.  Warren and Nash return to the car, and Sal comes back, walking with purpose towards Tommy and the woman.

Buck steps closer to the trio, close enough to see Sal nod at the woman.  “Hen,” He says in greeting, but his voice is grave.  “Tommy… it’s Howie.  He’s refusing treatment from anyone outside the 118.”

He sees the woman, Hen, flinch.  Tommy stands a little straighter and asks  “What’s the damage?”

It isn’t evident in the way Tommy holds himself, or the tone of his voice, but Buck can tell Tommy is devastated.  He’s still projecting the capable confidence, but it’s like there’s an aura about him of stoic grief.  Buck knows Tommy doesn’t have a lot people he considers close friends, but he’s mentioned Howie more than once around him.

“He’s pinned by rebar,” Sal confirms while Buck is trying to figure out what he can do in this situation to help more than he is.  It looks like Sal is going to say more, but Nash returns.

“Wilson, Kinard – with me,” Nash orders. Tommy and Hen immediately move in step with him as he keeps speaking.  “Chimney’s been impaled by rebar, through his head.  He’s alert, talking, but doesn’t appear to be in any pain.” 

Buck moves to follow, but Sal grabs him by the shoulder and holds him back.

“Nothing you can do now, kid,” Sal says with a shake of his head.  “We need to focus on wrapping things up and clearing out.  Cap will keep us update if there’s any news about Howie or the 118.”

Buck watches Tommy and his crew walking towards the car, wishing he could somehow be useful behind the clean up.  He doesn’t see Tommy again before they’re back on the engine and pulling away.

*** 9-1-1 ***

They get Howie to the hospital, and into surgery, but the team still has a shift to finish out.  Nash goes to talk to Tatiana, but comes back to tell them she’s not going to the hospital. 

It strikes a cord with Tommy.  Howie cared about this woman enough to propose to her, and she can’t even be bothered to make sure he’s going to be okay.  Not because of any societal pressure, but because she doesn’t want the obligation.

Everything is at a boiling point when they’re called out regarding the abandoned container truck. He’s jealous that Hen is the one who takes down the driver.  He figures it would probably be for the best.  He’s not sure he would have stopped at just tackling the man. 

He’s got a text from Sal when they get off shift.  The man asks for an update on Howie and asks if the team needs anything in the interim. He thumbs back a quick response, that Chim’s out of surgery, but still unconscious.

He and Hen decide to split the visitation. He’s going after shift, while Hen is going to go home, see her wife and son, and come back one they’re settled for the night.  Tommy remembers Howie having parents, or parental figures, when he first started with the 118, but as for as he knows they were estranged after Kevin Lee’s death.  He contemplates asking Bobby to check Howie’s records to see if anyone has their contact information, but thinks better of it.  He wouldn’t want anyone contacting his parents in case of emergency.

He showers at the station and changes into is street clothes.  He grabs a protein bar out of his locker and eats it in his truck on the drive to the hospital.  He parks in the overpriced lot, and drags his feet to Howie’s room. There’s no one there when he arrives, so he stands in the doorway to take it in. 

Howie’s head is bandaged, and his skin is pale, but the steady beat of the monitor confirms he’s alive, and he isn’t intubated. Tommy thinks that’s a good sign.  He makes his way into the room and pulls one chair away from the wall so he can sit next to Howie’s bed.

He’s not going to do anything as dramatic as clutch Howie’s hand in his, but he remembers reading that coma patients benefit from people talking.  He feels a little foolish, but he just starts into it, a conscious stream of thought.  “I go to the movies by myself.  I used to go every Tuesday with my mom in the summers to see the big summer block busters.  We’d go to the drug store and pick up chocolate bars, two for a dollar and sneak them in my mom’s purse with a can of pop. 

“I still go every Tuesday we have off,” Tommy continues.  “I stopped for a while when I was engaged to Abby.  She didn’t like leaving the house all that much after her mom got sick, but our first date was to an old screening of Warm Bodies.  She was not impressed by the movie, but I must have done something right because she stuck around for a couple of years.”

Tommy swallows, realizing he’s telling Howie a lot of things he hasn’t opened up about.  “If you remember this when you wake up, you’d better keep it to yourself.

“Anyway, I started going to the movies again.  I don’t need to, but I still smuggle in a pack of Twizzlers to eat with the popcorn.  I don’t know what it is about the popcorn, but I cannot recreate it at home. I’ve tried the coconut oil trick, and the special seasonings, but it’s still missing something.

“And hey!  When you’re out of here and cleared to drink, you’re coming with me to see whatever shit block buster is playing at ArcLight.  The one in Pasadena is serving craft beer in all of their theaters.  I’ve started going there if the timing works out. I saw Molly’s Game last week. Idris Alba was exceptional.”

Tommy trails off, mind going back to a few weeks prior when he’d mentioned to Evan that he wanted to go see the movie. “Listen to this, Howie.  Probie at the 122 is completely uncultured.  This kid doesn’t get any of my movie references.  I mentioned Idris Elba and he asked if it was the guy who sang with Macklemore.  He would drive you nuts.”

Tommy trails off again, thinking a little more of Evan. He’d seen the 122 at the crash site, and clocked Evan the moment he’d hopped off the truck.    They don’t cross paths with the 122 often, so it’s the first time he’s seen Evan in his turnouts.  It was clear Evan didn’t know why the 118 had been called until Sal and then Nash explained the situation to them, but his presence was a comfort regardless.  Tommy knew if he’d made eye contact with Evan the other man would have approached.  Evan would have wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leaned in close, and Tommy would have leaned right back, no matter who was around. 

When Sal had first explained that Chimney was injured, it felt like someone had cut his strings.  The only thing keeping Tommy upright was sheer force of will.  Howie was one of his closet friends, and always bragged about not having any scars.  He’d carried Tommy from an exploding building, and Tommy still hadn’t repaid the debt from that. 

Tommy leans back in his chair and looks at Howie’s face again.  His eyes are still closed, and the monitor continues to beep.  Tommy’s eyes start to sting, he can feel the tears wanting to well.  He scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, and pinches the bridge of his nose to stem the flow, then leans back in his chair.

He huffs, and looks back at Howie. “You’d probably like him, actually.  He’s a cocky little shit, and has no filter, but he’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.” 

He looks down at his lap, leans forward and continues in a whisper.  “I probably like him more than I should. He makes me want to do things I’ve been avoiding my whole life.”

He huffs a little laugh this time, and almost says it out loud, this burning secret that’s been eating away at him, but he clocks movement at the door to the room.  Hen is leaning against the door frame, purse over her shoulder, and a book in the crook of her arm.  His stomach sinks, and he worries she’s heard his confession, but her face doesn’t offer any knowing glances.

“You’re spelling me off already?” Tommy asks, looking at his watch and realizing more time has passed than he expected.

Hen shrugs, and walks into the room.  She sets her bag on the empty chair, and nudges Tommy’s shoulder.  “Denny is in bed, and Karen has an early morning.  I’m not going to be missed, and I’ll have the chance to get some uninterrupted reading done.”

Hen holds up her copy of “The Girl on the Train.” The bookmark is halfway through, and Tommy recalls her reading it on shift for the last few weeks.

Tommy stands and moves to wrap her in a one-armed hug.  “I’ll leave you to it, then.  Message me if there are any changes.”

Hen hugs Tommy back, and promises she’ll pass any news along.

*** 9-1-1 ***

Tommy turns onto his street, is contemplating whether he’ll shower, sleep or eat first.  He’s coming off a 24 hour shift, and hasn’t shopped for groceries yet, so it’s unlikely there’s going to be anything edible in the home.   He showered when he came off shift, but something about sitting in the hospital makes him feel dirty.  He’s debating the merits of showering while he waits for a take out order, or just skipping the meal in favour of going to bed. 

His mind occupied, he doesn’t notice the Jeep parked on the street.  It’s not unusual for there to be vehicles parked on the road.  The driveways are short, and after the housing collapse in ’09 it’s been more common to see adult children sharing homes with their parents and needing the extra vehicles means they spill over onto the street.

Tommy pulls his truck into the driveway, grabs his go bag from the back, and is looking down at his keychain for the house key as he walks up towards the front steps.

He nearly trips over Evan, sitting on his front porch.  The kid is asleep with his head resting against the side of the house, a small cooler sitting beside him.  Tommy’s arrival startles him awake, and he shoots up immediately, brushing dirt from the back of his pants.

“Tommy!” Evan starts talking a mile a minute.  “I’m sorry for stopping by unannounced, but I figured you could probably use something to eat.  Not that you couldn’t get your own food, but I thought you might want something home cooked, or at least station cooked after the day you had. I probably should have texted you first.  I’m sorry!  I can just leave the food here for you and get out of your hair.  There’s reheating instructions on the tray when you want it…Mffm.”

Tommy stops his rambling by stepping into Evan’s space, wrapping one hand around the back of Evan’s neck, and slotting their lips together.  Evan hesitates for a split second before he’s melting into the kiss. He’s hands grab at Tommy’s shirt, and his chapped lips part under Tommy’s tongue. 

They’re secluded enough, and it’s dark out, so Tommy doesn’t worry about any of the neighbours seeing.  As he tightens his grip in Evan’s hair, holding Evan where he wants him, Tommy’s not sure he’d care if the neighbours saw.    

This is what he needed, he realizes.  Not food, or rest, just someone bright, and vibrant, and alive.

[sunsetlobster]

To Satiate a Hunger part 1

Authors: Myself and @sovietstrange45

Summary: Finding an appropriate stop on the brink of starvation, A Night lord War band ransacks Ghilana for every morsel of food and fuel they have. In the process, Ladomir an ex-terror squad member stumbles upon one thing they've been sorely needing.

Warnings: Self harm, horror themes, blood, implied violence, forced proximity, Ladomir has a blood kink, the writing structure is a raw cut from what was originally written so apologies for any weirdness there ><

Word Count: 2.1k

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Screams. Screams were the first noise that had become readily noticeable. Screams took varieties of forms, joy, shock, anger, pleasure, and fear. Some were distinctly clear from others, whereas the lines between few became muddled. Fear was unmistakeable. The natural primal terror of a human was something that could not be replicated, only induced. Yet, once one knew how to induce it, you could never fail to produce results.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Streets ran red with rivers of blood, a sanguine disaster as mortals scampered across roads, tumbling over each other, slipping from the biological oil spills. No rhyme nor reason, not a semblance of strategy within any of them. Only that primal urge to run, that diminished any logical chance at survival. The battle against the cacophony of terror, was met with the screech of chain blades. Punctuated occasionally by the throating thump of rocket propelled shells hitting home in fleshy targets, that had no hope of dulling the resulting explosions. As for those that had been, for all intents in purposes by complete and utter luck, not been chosen for death. They, were hauled to the behemoth lumbering over their sky like a dying god, raining down its unmerciful wrath, whilst giving its death rattles. Spouting fire with every cough from its prow batteries. Amidst this rapture of death, a door was viciously kicked from its hinges. Slamming into its opposite wall with the force and symphony of a crashing vehicle. Light pouring in from the bleeding horizon casting its harsh orange glow and silhouetting the figure in his self-made opening. Shadowed, and with a head that was bat winged in nature, with blood red eyes that burned like miniature suns, without any clear target to scorch in its rays.

The clear scent of bread, pies and all manner of baked goods was almost nauseating to a fiend who'd endured such hunger. Yet the one who presumably made this was nowhere to be found and there were no inklings of his brothers’ marks on any of the small store's interior. Nor its door that led to the back. It was a simple homely place, wooden trims and a chalk board with written pricing and meals, bread of all kinds lined the back cabinet and sandwiches laid behind the counter, the thin shield of glass being the only thing sheltering them from the beast who skulked about in search of the owner.

The figure made no noise, only the wrenching growl of his joints signalled his movement. Changing from a hunched figure, to startling tall and still figure, clad in thick plate Armor. Like a lightning flash, near white, blue suddenly filled the room. His armour flashing with the crackled of lightning that seemed to shift along the surface of his form. It lasted long enough to take in the most... pressing things, about his appearance. He seemed like one of the angels of death, the Emperor's angels. Clad in midnight blue and trimmed with a gold that held no luster or wealth. His helmet was the gnarled visage of a multi fanged skull with no lower jaw and burning red eyes. Bat winged, with blood red that ended halfway, and became a chipped and fragment ending to its form of different colours, on both sides. On his left it was a dull and dark green, and on the other it was a vibrant yellow. His left shoulder held the sculpture of a skull. Perhaps rather, the mangled and defiled idea of a skull. It's lower jaw touching on the lower rim, and extending all the way to the upper trim, before it finally rounded out into what somehow managed to be a distressed and sorrowed skeletal gaze. His chest piece had once held the imperial aquila, but the eagle had been carved and shaved away until it resembled a skull of its own, the wings left as a bastardization of the carrion Emperor's heraldry. Then, the light was gone, it's flickering haven vanishing within a moment, and replaced by the thudding of his boots. Steps that equalled a tank thudding across the shop's floor, all the way forward to the counter. Dropping the blood dripping, corroded chain glaive in his gauntleted hand, he suddenly shoved a fist through the display case, sending shards of glass flying, and the sound of its destruction resonating throughout the room.

Sneh flinched at the smash from the other room, but she dared not move, dared not breath even. She was only a middling woman and everyone she'd ever known now had just about been murdered or taken. The baker had no chance at going toe to toe with what laid out there waiting to snap her between its jaws. And yet she still clung to the massive sharp, serrated bread knife. It was the length of her entire forearm and her last line of defence as she sat hidden amid the flour sacks. Her deep red gown making her regret her choice in clothing that morning. If worse came to worse though, she could end it, quickly, without much suffering and it'd be her decision not that of a monster’s.

Then, the figure ripped his helmet from his form. Slamming it atop of the counter, he grasped one of the baked goods between his fingers. Nose twitching as the smells, true and infiltered by an old vox grill, hit his gene enhanced senses. With a grunt he scarfed the delicacy down. Practically one gulp, and it had disappeared. The beast even took the time to scarf down a few more like a feral beast, burdened by the need for sustenance. Something akin to a groan leaving his throat with each bite he took, leaving behind a sugars and powers on his lips with each parcel devoured. With a hiss, he licked his lips and rubbed the back of his gauntlet across his mouth, eyes the consistent blackness of absolute nothingness, flying to the door behind the counter. A wicked grin, splitting his lips once more as he approached. Taking a decidedly different approach, he softened his step, and gently grasped the doors handle, and gave it a soft shove. As to let it creak it's way open, and bleed light into the next room like blood from an artery.

Sneh listened, holding her breath as it approached, and she readied her weapon on herself. A violent fearful glare in her usually soft eyes. The teeth of the blade gently rested on her throat ready at any moment to sink in on her flesh and wrench forth the very thing that'd save her from worse pain. She'd heard only whispers of their kind, angels warped into demons by any matter of force. Creatures that now stalked the night and tormented the dreams of those unlucky enough to hear of them. Biting her tongue to remain focused, Sneh dared not watch with her naked eye but rather the mirrored reflection from the pans lining the sink.

The worst part was the silence of it all. How even the low growl of armour joints that shifted with his movements, sounded nondifferent than the low hum of any machinery or electronics one would find anywhere. Lowering himself low, to a crouch, he was still just as large and nearly as tall as a normal man. Then lowering himself to a stalking crawl, he looked like a great beast still. The smell of far, quite literal fear, and bakery goods mixing within his senses in a uniquely delightful combination, that Ladomir lamented he just might never experience again. So, he would savour this like a delicacy. The blue crackle of light flickered up again as he crawled, blending with the bleeding sun to blind the room of any obvious source, and only flickering to near death once again after he had stalked to the other side of the room, peering just around a cabinet's corner at the woman, with eyes and hair black as death's embrace, and skin as pale as a corpse lips.

She returned it, a show of no fear or at least the face of one who was more than willing to fight against the fear that tried to fester in her stomach. The blade kissed and gently tore into her throat with a hiss, the small stream of crimson rolling down her neck as she faintly winced at the minor pain. It was shallow, just enough to show she damn well meant it without saying as much as a word to it that which lurked in the dark.

The head bobbed, shocked, jittered like the wracking pains of a seizure. All in this utterly silent, staring contest. Then, he slipped back behind the cupboard, and a sound slowly filtered its way throughout the room. Like a low whine, until it grew louder, and it became clear that he had been laughing. Small chuckles that quacked his form, to near mad laughter that followed the beast's once more hidden form. Blue lightning crackling away once more, disappearing more quickly this time, near the door along with his laughter. Until the door slammed shut, the laughter stopped, all light was snuffed from the room, and even the growl of servo joints seemed gone entirely.

She didn’t waste time; he had the knife to her throat and was ready to cut once more. She goes out on her own terms not that of a beast who hid the dark. And yet her hand softly trembled, she chose a terrible blade for this. But she has no choice, it was this or a mind-numbing amount of suffering and she certainly didn’t want you consider the latter. So, pressing the teeth harsher to her jugular she took a lone shaken breath and went to strike the blade down over herself.

Just then, out of a seemingly improbable time to cover such a distance, the great terror was just behind her. The thud of his armour as he stomped into the floor the only indication before he grasps her by the wrist, yanking the hand back from her own throat before she could do any more harm. With none of the urgency he's just display, he slowly stepped around to the mortal woman's front, staring down at her with perfect dark vision. Lighting flared and crackled around his midnight armour in a silent vortex. Illuminating them both and finally revealing the creature who had been stalking her. His hair was long, pushed back over his head in a surprisingly graceful styling of hair, two streaks of grey dashing from the edge of his temples and all the way to the base of his neck with the rest, breaking up the raven black ocean. His irises were blindingly white, the only colour in his eyes. His nose was thin, pointed like a crow's beak. Dark stubble lining his squared jaw, and thin lips split by scars that ran to the edge of his jaw, another going all the way to his neck and disappearing under his body glove. "I admire your attempt." He remarked, voice booming with an odd accent that did not seem suited for any form of gothic.

A lone tear rolled down her cheek, it was enough of a chastise within itself over her cowardice. Now became of her moment of thought she’d be lain to the worst pain man could conjure now, wouldn’t she? After all the devil was always described to have a handsome face.

It seemed to move him none. He was everything that described the Emperor's angels, perverted into its most twisted and malformed version. "Tell me, did you bake the delicacies in this shop?" He spoke again, bringing her wrist closer to his face, and dragging his tongue across the knife. Lapping the blood, and uncaring for the way it split his tongue. For just as quickly as he bled, he clotted, and when it clotted, it began to seal. As if, it had never happened. The only emotion shown, being the soft hum, he let out, and the twitch of his nose.

Sneh nodded, not opening her mouth lest she have her neck snapped as he so brazenly lapped at her only way out as though it too should’ve been displayed under the now smashed counter. And yet even in the dark with little light to show, she never left his face, a burning resolve deep in those eyes.

He bore into them, unflinching, never blinking once. Silence filling in the fluttering and flickering of lightning on his armour. Perhaps he was searching for something there, deep within her soul. Perhaps, it meant absolutely nothing at all. Then he let out a laugh, something akin to elation lacing the noise. Booming from him like a drum as he grinned madly. "Forfallian dal sur shissis lalil na sha dareel!" The demon managed in between his joy, a tongue that might as well have been alien within comparison to Gothic. "Rejoice. Today, you fly far away from here, little bird."

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[sv3t1ana]

<< Master list ⋮ Next chapter >>

SYNOPSIS ᯓ A Bonnie and Clyde-esque, high-stakes, multi-chapter smut romance that follows a deadly criminal duo whose intense, chaotic love becomes as dangerous as the heists they pull off. Trust forged in blood, bonds built on risk.

PAIRING ᯓ Criminal! Sukuna x Criminal! Fem. Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ criminal activity, first heist, mentions of weapons, covert operations, moral ambiguity, tension heavy/high stress

WORD COUNT ᯓ 3.2k

Chapter 5.

You wake up in the dark, still wrestling with the sheets after yet another miserable night of sleep. The remnants of uneasy dreams cling to your skin even though you didn’t remember them. Your body, trained to precise awareness even in the throws of debilitating exhaustion, feels the shift before your eyes open fully.

There’s an unmarked box at the foot of the mattress, staring back at you in its simplicity.

You sit up, movements lagging through the fog of sleep, as you reach over, cardboard smooth under your fingertips.

Corporate attire. Everything sleek, polished. A black pencil skirt, crisp white button-up, a tailored blazer designed to fit you like a second skin. A pair of fake glasses rest neatly on top, complementing the deception. Beneath them, makeup carefully selected to highlight without exaggeration, heels engineered to click with confidence.

You run a hand over the fabric, it feels alien. You were far from the reckless girl who used to chase chaos without a second thought, dancing with the high of risk like it was a lover meant to be bitten. That girl was reckless, sloppy almost. She gambled for the sake of gambling, mistaking impulse for mastery.

Now you were someone precise. A partner in something grander than a mere stunt. No wasted movement or unnecessary risks. Everything was a calculation, a plan sharpened down to its finest edge.

Yesterday you spent hours dissecting the floor plan of the office building, memorizing its bones like an architect. Every security camera mapped, their blind spots marked and saved in the back of your mind. The fire exits cataloged, the elevators and stairwells traced over until they felt etched into the back of your skull.

A short window of time to exploit the security system, you pinpointed the lock needing to be picked, now slipping the necessary tools into the lace cup of your push-up bra with the kind of delicate care reserved for deadly things.

You always knew how to play with danger. Now you learned to control it.

You pull your hair into a tight bun, every stand secured, the tautness mirroring the cold focus settling over your body. Your reflection stares back at you, someone honed, disciplined, different.

Sukuna had taught you that, how to care for yourself like you were an instrument of purpose rather than a body merely surviving. He carved the recklessness out of you, piece by piece, leaving behind something sharper, something meant for the craft.

The woman in the mirror wasn’t the clean-cut professional she was dressed to be. But something better.

Devoted.

“Baby steps,” you murmur, words slipping like a promise. You push off the counter, leaving behind your reflection and stepping into the role waiting for you.

Sukuna is waiting in the living room. A bag slung over his muscular shoulders, filled with weapons you pray won’t need to see the light of day today. His presence alone commands the respect, an unspoken force as he leans against the wall, long fingers idly curled around one of the straps.

He doesn’t speak, just letting his eyes drag over you, reading every inch of preparation with the efficiency of a man who expects nothing less than perfection. There’s no smirk or teasing remark, just a brief nod, the weight of it heavy with understanding.

His white van is parked outside, delivered by the client this morning, sterile, nondescript, the kind of vehicle that no one gives a second glance. You slip into the passenger seat with Sukuna beside you, adjusting his sunglasses with an unreadable expression under the low brim of his hat. A high-visibility construction vest drapes over his broad frame, the bright color incongruous against the numerous tattoos on his face.

A mix of danger and anticipation hums between you, mirrored in the low purr of the engine as his hands steady on the wheel. His fingers tap idly, the motion betraying none of the lethal efficiency that simmers beneath his skin. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks.

“I trust you’ve done your homework.” His voice is low, reminding you of the trust he places in you. A warning not to fuck it up.

“I’ll get it done. Just stay out of the way and let me work.” Your response sharp, measured, but there’s a thrill underlining it. Something in you likes when he tests you, when you get to prove you belong in this world just as much as he does.

The drive is quiet but charged, the city swallowing you both whole, towering skyscrapers looming like glass monoliths. Your pulse quickens, the stakes feel higher and it’s not just the job itself, but doing it in front of him.

The office building appears ahead, an untouchable fortress of mirrored glass and steel. The kind of place that houses lousy businesses who believe themselves beyond consequence, their crimes hidden behind polished boardrooms and offshore accounts. Sukuna pulls the van into a narrow gap near the dumpsters, the white of the vehicle blending seamlessly with the others parked along the back.

The interior of the vehicle is already set up. Multiple monitors lining the empty back, their digital reflections across his face as he shuts the car off and climbs into the back. You unbuckle your seatbelt and reach for the binder, an empty prop meant to lend legitimacy to your intrusion. Your purse lands over your shoulder, the weight of hidden weapons pressing against your hip.

You smooth out your skirt as you stand, straightening the fabric with careful precision. Sukuna watches from the back, his arms resting lazily around the seats. He leans forward slightly, a smirk ghosting across his lips.

“Try not to make me regret bringing you in, yeah?”

You meet his gaze, giving a curt nod before turning on your heel. The door clicks shut behind you.

The company occupies the 21st through the 26th floors, its front a luxury real estate firm that sells illusions to the wealthy. Inside the polished veneer, something festers, illicit money funneled through a labyrinth of accounts, concealed in the folds of legitimate business. A third-party crime syndicate wants it exposed, so they hired Sukuna, who in turn, handed it to you.

The lobby of the building is designed to blend in, all clean lines and muted colors, the perfect environment engineered specifically for efficiency not comfort. Workers pass through in a steady stream, sharp suits and cold expressions. You cut through like a ghost, pressing the elevator button with steady fingers. The 25th floor, the financial department, the managers office, the heart of their deception.

As the elevator ascends, you keep your posture relaxed, binder tucked under your arm, the label, “Reports” a silent affirmation of your forged presence. Another worker steps in beside you, barely sparing you a glance. You return the favor, offering a polite smile before looking away. The key to invisibility is not to shrink, rather belong.

The doors glide and you step out without hesitation, hallway stretching before you, pristine and quiet. Here, people move with their heads down, eyes on screens, hands on sleek desks. The glass-walled offices to your left reveal employees hunched over their work, oblivious.

Your path is set, taking a right, then another right, then a left. At the end of the hall, nestled beyond a sea of empty cubicles, is the restricted section. The door is locked, as expected. No one is here, your timing perfect. Lunch break leaving the place abandoned, the absence of bodies making the air feel sterile. You set the security cameras to loop for the next hour, giving the monitors in Sukuna’s van the only real feed.

Then the rush hits, winding through your limbs making you feel weightless. You feel it in the quickening of your pulse, the anticipation a living thing, a beast stirring in your blood. You glance just once at the security camera mounted in the right corner. The barest flicker of movement, but just enough.

Sukuna sees it, and outside the world moves at his command.

Sirens wail in the distance, a fake diversion good enough to lure office guards away, lessening the obstacle between you and what you came for.

You reach into your bra, fingers brushing against the cold metal. The lock picks are like an extension of your body, their familiar weight grounding. Squatting low, you bring them to the lock, slipping the tension wrench into place before working the first pick inside.

Your breath slows, eyes narrow as you let your world shrink to the metal between your fingers, the invisible mechanics hidden within the door. One by one, you find the tumblers. Every shift, every slight movement sending a pulse of electricity down your spine.

Click.

The first pin falls.

Click.

The second, the third.

Sweat prickles at the nape of your neck. A slow exhale, hands steady despite the tremor rolling through your limbs. The familiar intoxication flooding through the neurons in your brain, the way you can feel the lock yielding to you, the way-

Something sticks.

Your stomach clenches. A fraction of pressure too much, and the lock seizes.

Then- footsteps.

They round the corner, shoes sharp against carpeted floors.

The world tilts, heartbeat hammering against your ribs, a steady mantra forming in your head, focus focus focus. In. Out. Breathe. The lock isn’t moving, footsteps getting closer.

You force a low exhale, fingers curling around the picks before you try again. Gentle. Precise. The pin shifts, treads near, closing in, the weight of time pressing down on you like a vice.

And then-

Click.

The lock gives in, door swinging open.

You scan the room, eyes locking onto the desk where an arrogant, gold-lettered plaque declared MANAGER. The title sits so smugly, its weightless authority carved in polished wood.

You cross the room, eyes flicking over the details that shape a life. Papers scattered across the surface, ink bleeding confessions of ledgers. Framed photos places with casual reverence, a family. A wife, three kids, a golden retriever, the kind of life that exists in Instagram posts and suburban streets. A weight curls in your stomach. You’re about to tear apart an entire world, unraveling the fabric of a man’s carefully constructed empire. But he’s a fucking scumbag, so you shake your head and lean over the desk.

The computer hums under your touch, the glow of the screen flickering awake. You dig in your purse, fingers closing around the payload USB, custom-built, ruthless in function. You jam it into the tower placed beneath the desk.

A command prompt window opens, black screen bleeding white text. Code scrolls in rapid succession, the silent symphony of intrusion. The script is hungry, searching, sniffing out stored passwords and exploiting security flaws left festering in the system. You glance over your shoulder, pressure in your chest tangible, pupils blown wide. The seconds stretch, each tick of the analog clock amplified by the war-drum tempo of your heartbeat.

Bingo.

You copy over the scrambled hash string in another command window.

hashcat -m 1000 -a hash.txt gotyou.txt

A beat, a pause as it unscrambles.

Got it.

“Dense bastard didn’t even use a special character,” you murmur, voice laced with breathless relief. Your fingers shake as you key it in.

Login successful.

The server unfolds before you, navigating it with efficiency, weaving through digital corridors until, there. Offshore accounts. Shell companies. Wire transfers. The entire framework laid bare.

Your hands move faster, dragging, dropping, copying. But you’re not just taking, because that would be too simple. You’re burning the whole damn thing down in real time.

A secure email client flares, one you prepared yesterday, bouncing through proxies like a ghost flickering through the ether. You type in the burner email.

whistleblowerforum@google.com

Subject: Smile for the Headlines!

You attach everything. Spreadsheets, transaction logs, confidential emails scraped from the desktop. Every dirty secret, every rotten thread pulled from the seams on this empire. And with a surgical cruelty, you widen the blast radius, adding the nark contacts you memorized.

High-profile investigative journalists. An anti-corruption bureau. Every department within the company itself, just to let them know. Let them all watch as the walls come down.

Your fingers hover over send.

A deep breath.

Click.

And it’s done.

Your eyes take in one last look before you depart. Quickly making your way down the hall, your pulse a war drum in your ears. Every breath tastes like static on your tongue, fluorescent lights above flickering with the erratic rhythm of your heart. Everything feels sharper, hyperreal. The click of your shoes barely registering to your ears as you enter the floor lobby, waiting for the elevator’s return. You smile as you step inside, stomach twisting with anticipation as you think about the employees, no, the entire company, as they receive the email. The chaos unfolding in real-time, the empire they built unraveling in their hands.

And as the elevator descends, you feel weightless. No longer walking, but floating, thrumming with an intoxicating, untouchable energy. You turn the corner of the building, pace quickening as you reach closer to the van. Your fingers curl around the handle of the passenger door-

The van jolts sharply from the back.

Before you can react, a rough hand seizes your wrist, yanking you inside. A gasp barely leaves your lips before your back his the cold metal floor, breath stolen, senses snapping.

And then- Sukuna’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is nothing short of hungry, consuming, bruising. His lips crash against yours with a force that sends shockwaves through your body. One hand wraps around the nape of your neck, the other pressing against the dip of your waist. The van door rattles as he kicks it shut, sealing you both in this feverish moment, where nothing exists but the heat between you. Your pulse pounds, adrenaline thick in your veins as you claw at his shirt, pulling him down, needing more.

You don’t care about the risk. Don’t care about the random sirens passing. Don’t care that you can barely catch your breath.

He pulls back, just enough for you to see his wide pupils, swallowing the red of his irises. His breath is ragged, and you’ve never seen him like this before.

“Fuck,” he rasps, thumb dragging along your jaw. “Fuckin’ knew you had it in you.”

Heat swarms your core at the way he says it, the weight behind his words, how they carry something so raw, so real. Before you can respond, he’s on you again, kissing more deliberately, as if he wants to taste every last drop of your adrenaline. When he finally tears away, his lips barely ghost over yours, a smirk twisting the corners of his mouth.

“Bet those fuckers are choking on their salads right now,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with amusement.

A breathy laugh escapes you, still drunk on the rush. “Hope they had dressing on it.”

That’s all it takes, just one insolent comment from you before he’s on you again.

He slots himself between your legs, teeth grazing over your lower lip. His hands travel, one cupping your breast over your shirt and squeezing, the other gripping your bare thigh where your skirt has ridden up. The van is stifling, suffocating, but you don’t care. Don’t care that you’re sitting ducks in the back of a getaway vehicle. Don’t care that every second wasted is a second closer to getting caught.

But then, reality shoves itself between you.

You tip your head back against the floor, panting. “We need to go.” Your voice is hoarse.

He huffs a laugh, thick fingers digging into your hip like he’s seconds away from ignoring you entirely. But after a beat, he pushes up, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he mutters, eyes burning as they rake over your now disheveled state. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

He drove for what felt like an hour outside the city until you reached a warehouse. It was a monolith of rust and forgotten industry. The air thick with the scent of old cardboard and motor oil. You were perched on a mismatched folding chair, one leg curled under you, the cool glass of the rum bottle rolling idly between your fingers. Across from you, Sukuna sat sprawled, legs stretched out, head tipped back as he took a lazy sip.

The hum of the city was long gone. Out here, there was only the faint chirring of distant insects and the occasional creak of the corrugated metal rook settling under the weight of the night. This place was so different yet so similar to the house you stayed with him last.

The door groaned open. The payment guy was here.

Fushiguro Toji, built like a predator, smirk on his scarred lips, a duffel bag in one hand. He stepped into the dim light, dark eyes sweeping over the both of you before tossing the bag toward Sukuna with an easy flick.

“You two sure know how to keep it casual, huh? Not the usual rush of a job well done.” His voice was deep, edged with amusement as he let his gaze linger on you.

Sukuna said nothing, already ripping open the bag and thumbing through the stacks of bills, counting with the methodical ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

Toji chuckled, shifting his weight. “I’d say the show’s worth the price of admission. Bet she’s as good with her hands as she is with computers.”

Sukuna stilled, just for a second. You caught it, the faintest shift in his posture, the tightening of his fingers around the band of cash. Your own breath stayed level, eyes flicking between them, watching the subtle tension coil between their frames like a wire ready to snap.

Sukuna didn’t look up, voice slow and deliberate. “Careful what ya’ say.”

Toji smirked, rolling his shoulders, feigning nonchalance. “Relax, man. Just sayin’ I bet she knows how to handle more than just tech.”

Sukuna stood, expression unreadable. He walked up to Toji, stopping just short of colliding, their heights nearly the same.

He tilted his head, “maybe I need a lil’ extra for the trouble, yeah?” Sukuna’s voice casual.

Toji scoffed, bravado barely masking the unease in his eyes. “Extra? For what, the girl?”

Sukuna’s lips pressed into a flat line, his eyes dark and unblinking. “Need me to break some fuckin’ teeth? Or are you gonna keep talkin’?”

Toji exhaled sharply through his nose, a muscle in his jaw ticking before rolling his eyes. “You’re a fucking dick, Sukuna.”

But he reached into his other bag anyway, pulling out another stack of $20,000 and tossing it to the floor like it was a scrap for a dog. “There. There’s your extra. 360 thousand total.”

Sukuna grinned, slow and knowing, bending down to pick up the loose cash before tossing it in your direction without a second glance. He pushed another pile of $170,000 your way, the majority your cut.

Your breath caught. The extra. He’d given you the extra.

You swallowed, fingers curling around the crisp bills. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Sukuna paused, eyes narrowing as he watched you. “It’s just business. Don’t get used to me being generous.”

It was as if the moment never happened. He turned, tossing bedrolls onto the cold warehouse floor, rolling out his own with the lazy carelessness of someone who had slept in far worse places.

But as you settled down for yet another night of terrible sleep, you hear it, almost too quiet to catch.

“But you did good.”

Something in your chest went tight. You exhaled, shutting your eyes.

The money felt heavier in your hands than it should have.

taglist: @cutesytwt, @tojis-ball-sack, @gojoscumslut, @sukubusss, @vicravluv, @newasskid, @grignardsreagent

[lonestarflight]

"Teams lifted NASA’s Orion spacecraft for the Artemis II test flight out of the Final Assembly and System Testing cell and moved it to the altitude chamber to complete further testing on Nov. 6 inside the Neil A. Armstrong Operations and Checkout building at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida.

Engineers returned the spacecraft to the altitude chamber, which simulates deep space vacuum conditions, to complete the remaining test requirements and provide additional data to augment data gained during testing earlier this summer.

The Artemis II test flight will be NASA’s first mission with crew under the Artemis campaign, sending NASA astronauts Victor Glover, Christina Koch, and Reid Wiseman, as well as CSA (Canadian Space Agency) astronaut Jeremy Hansen, on a 10-day journey around the Moon and back."

Image credit: Lockheed Martin/David Wellendorf

Date: November 7, 2024

NASA ID: link, SC-20241107-PH-DNW01_0001

[rushikesh-d]

Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market  To Witness the Highest Growth Globally in Coming Years

The report begins with an overview of the Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market 2025 Size and presents throughout its development. It provides a comprehensive analysis of all regional and key player segments providing closer insights into current market conditions and future market opportunities, along with drivers, trend segments, consumer behavior, price factors, and market performance and estimates. Forecast market information, SWOT analysis, Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market scenario, and feasibility study are the important aspects analyzed in this report.

The Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market is experiencing robust growth driven by the expanding globally. The Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market is poised for substantial growth as manufacturers across various industries embrace automation to enhance productivity, quality, and agility in their production processes. Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market leverage robotics, machine vision, and advanced control technologies to streamline assembly tasks, reduce labor costs, and minimize errors. With increasing demand for customized products, shorter product lifecycles, and labor shortages, there is a growing need for flexible and scalable automation solutions. As technology advances and automation becomes more accessible, the adoption of automated assembly systems is expected to accelerate, driving market growth and innovation in manufacturing.

A Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) refers to a type of automobile that is designed to be versatile and capable of serving various purposes. MPVs are also commonly known as minivans or people carriers. These vehicles are characterized by their spacious interiors, typically with multiple seating rows, making them suitable for transporting passengers and cargo.

Get Sample PDF Report: https://www.fortunebusinessinsights.com/enquiry/request-sample-pdf/109783

Key Strategies

Key strategies in the Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market revolve around optimizing production efficiency, quality, and flexibility. Integration of advanced robotics and machine vision technologies streamlines assembly processes, reducing cycle times and error rates. Customization options cater to diverse product requirements and manufacturing environments, ensuring solution scalability and adaptability. Collaboration with industry partners and automation experts fosters innovation and addresses evolving customer needs and market trends. Moreover, investment in employee training and skill development facilitates seamless integration and operation of Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market . By prioritizing these strategies, manufacturers can enhance competitiveness, accelerate time-to-market, and drive sustainable growth in the Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market .

Major Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market Manufacturers covered in the market report include:

The report includes the profiles of key players, such as Toyota Motor Corporation (Japan), Honda Motor Co., Ltd. (Japan), Volkswagen Group (Germany), Ford Motor Company (U.S.), General Motors (GM) (U.S.), Hyundai Motor Company (South Korea), Kia Corporation (South Korea), Nissan Motor Co., Ltd. (Japan), Renault Group (France), and Stellantis (Chrysler) (U.S.).

The automotive industry has seen a strong trend toward Sports Utility Vehicles (SUVs), which often fall under the broader category of multi-purpose vehicles. Consumers have shown a preference for SUVs due to their versatile design, higher driving position, and perceived safety benefits.

Trends Analysis

The Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market is experiencing rapid expansion fueled by the manufacturing industry's pursuit of efficiency and productivity gains. Key trends include the adoption of collaborative robotics and advanced automation technologies to streamline assembly processes and reduce labor costs. With the rise of Industry 4.0 initiatives, manufacturers are investing in flexible and scalable Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market capable of handling diverse product portfolios. Moreover, advancements in machine vision and AI-driven quality control are enhancing production throughput and ensuring product consistency. The emphasis on sustainability and lean manufacturing principles is driving innovation in energy-efficient and eco-friendly Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market Solutions.

Regions Included in this Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market Report are as follows:

North America [U.S., Canada, Mexico]

Europe [Germany, UK, France, Italy, Rest of Europe]

Asia-Pacific [China, India, Japan, South Korea, Southeast Asia, Australia, Rest of Asia Pacific]

South America [Brazil, Argentina, Rest of Latin America]

Middle East & Africa [GCC, North Africa, South Africa, Rest of the Middle East and Africa]

Significant Features that are under offering and key highlights of the reports:

- Detailed overview of the Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market .

- Changing the Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market dynamics of the industry.

- In-depth market segmentation by Type, Application, etc.

- Historical, current, and projected Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market size in terms of volume and value.

- Recent industry trends and developments.

- Competitive landscape of the Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market .

- Strategies of key players and product offerings.

- Potential and niche segments/regions exhibiting promising growth.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs):

► What is the current market scenario?

► What was the historical demand scenario, and forecast outlook from 2025 to 2032?

► What are the key market dynamics influencing growth in the Global Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market ?

► Who are the prominent players in the Global Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market ?

► What is the consumer perspective in the Global Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market ?

► What are the key demand-side and supply-side trends in the Global Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market ?

► What are the largest and the fastest-growing geographies?

► Which segment dominated and which segment is expected to grow fastest?

► What was the COVID-19 impact on the Global Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market ?

Table Of Contents:

1 Market Overview

1.1 Multi-Purpose Vehicle (MPV) Market Introduction

1.2 Market Analysis by Type

1.3 Market Analysis by Applications

1.4 Market Analysis by Regions

1.4.1 North America (United States, Canada and Mexico)

1.4.1.1 United States Market States and Outlook 

1.4.1.2 Canada Market States and Outlook 

1.4.1.3 Mexico Market States and Outlook 

1.4.2 Europe (Germany, France, UK, Russia and Italy)

1.4.2.1 Germany Market States and Outlook

1.4.2.2 France Market States and Outlook 

1.4.2.3 UK Market States and Outlook

1.4.2.4 Russia Market States and Outlook 

1.4.2.5 Italy Market States and Outlook 

1.4.3 Asia-Pacific (China, Japan, Korea, India and Southeast Asia)

1.4.3.1 China Market States and Outlook

1.4.3.2 Japan Market States and Outlook 

1.4.3.3 Korea Market States and Outlook 

1.4.3.4 India Market States and Outlook 

1.4.3.5 Southeast Asia Market States and Outlook 

1.4.4 South America, Middle East and Africa

1.4.4.1 Brazil Market States and Outlook

1.4.4.2 Egypt Market States and Outlook 

1.4.4.3 Saudi Arabia Market States and Outlook 

1.4.4.4 South Africa Market States and Outlook 

1.5 Market Dynamics

1.5.1 Market Opportunities

1.5.2 Market Risk

1.5.3 Market Driving Force

2 Manufacturers Profiles

Continued…

About Us:

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[jasonryudotnet]

[외부 디자인 공개] 확장성 고려한 기아 PBV 라인업 첫 타자, 더 기아 PV5

#기아pv5 기아가 다목적 전기차 PBV 라인업 첫 모델인 중형 모델 '더 기아 PV5'의 외부 디자인을 공개했습니다. 패신저와 카고, 맞춤형 컨버전 모델로 출시되고, 기능적이고 미래적인 스타일을 갖추고 있습니다. 기아는 PBV 전략과 PV5의 주요 특징에 관해 2월에 열릴 EV 데이에서 공개할 계획입니다.

기아가 브랜드 첫 전용 PBV(Platform Beyond Vehicle) ‘더 기아 PV5(The Kia PV5, 이하 PV5)’의 외부 디자인을 공개했습니다. 기아 PV5 패신저 기아는 2024년 1월에 미국 라스베이거스에서 열린 CES 2024에서 새로운 전기 다목적 차 라인업을 염두에 둔 PV 시리즈 콘셉트카 세 종류를 공개했는데요. 이 가운데 가장 폭넓은 용도로 활용할 수 있는 중형 모델인 PV5를 가장 먼저 양산 모델로 만들어 이번에 공개했습니다. PV5는 승용 성격의 패신저(Passenger)와 상용 성격의 카고(Cargo), 구매자의 용도에 맞춰 차체 뒤쪽을 맞춤 제작할 수 있는 컨버전(Conversion) 모델로 나오는데요. 이번에 공개된 것은 패신저와 카고 모델의 외부…

[cantsayidont]

August 1984. This won't change anyone's feelings about cult movie perennial THE ADVENTURES OF BUCKAROO BANZAI: ACROSS THE EIGHTH DIMENSION one way or the other, but if you're wondering what the hell the deal is supposed to be with Buckaroo Banzai and his team, the answer is, "It's an obvious pastiche of the pulp hero Doc Savage."

Launched in 1933, Doc Savage was one of the leading adventure heroes of the pulp magazines. Doc (whose full name was Clark Savage Jr.) was scientifically trained from childhood to the peak of human perfection, singularly adept in everything from mechanical engineering to medicine to martial arts. He had a secret headquarters called the Fortress of Solitude and a whole array of specially designed vehicles and equipment, but he was also a public figure, with offices in the Empire State Building. Doc had a team of eccentric, highly specialized aides — Monk Mayfair, Ham Brooks, Renny Renwick, Long Tom Roberts, and Johnny Littlejohn — who each had a particular skill and a couple of distinctive personality traits (for instance, Monk was a skilled industrial chemist, but also an "ape-like" brute with a ferocious temper). They were sometimes aided by Doc's cousin, Pat Savage, who was almost as capable as Doc, although he tried to keep her out of the fray because she was (gasp) a girl.

This was a fairly common pattern for pulp heroes. For instance, the pulp version of the Shadow (who was distinctly different from the radio incarnation) relied on a whole network of agents, some appearing only once or twice, some recurring across many of his published adventures. From a narrative standpoint, the agents and assistants had two principal purposes: The first was to offset the rather overpowered heroes — pulp heroes didn't necessarily have superhuman powers, but even those who didn't tended to be preternaturally skilled at nearly everything, so it was convenient to limit their direct involvement in an adventure to crucial moments, and let the assistants (who could be much more fallible) do much of the legwork. The second object was to beef up the characterization. Doc Savage was morally irreproachable as well as absurdly multi-talented, so there wasn't a lot to be done with him character-wise, while maintaining the mystique of a character like the Shadow required him to remain a fairly closed book.

Although the pulp heroes were a huge influence on early comic book superheroes like Superman and Batman, some of these conventions didn't translate well to other media: In a 13-page comic book story or half-hour radio episode, having too many characters was cumbersome (and expensive, where it meant hiring extra actors), and comic book readers normally expected to follow their four-color heroes quite closely, even before the breathless internal monologue became a genre staple. So, Superman inherited Doc Savage's Fortress of Solitude, but not his "Fabulous Five" assistants, while heroes like Batman and Captain America generally stuck with a single sidekick rather than a team of aides. Even the late Doc Savage pulp adventures (which ended in 1949) de-emphasized the assistants to keep the focus more on Doc himself. Ultimately, the pulp heroes didn't really have the right narrative center of gravity for visual media, which is why they've become relatively obscure, despite repeated revival attempts. The 1975 Doc Savage movie with Ron Ely, for instance, was a notorious commercial flop, and elements like Doc's childishly bickering assistants seemed odd and dated, even taking into account the film's nostalgia-bait '30s period setting.

What BUCKAROO BANZAI tried to do was to bring that old pulp hero formula into the modern era with a big infusion of '80s style and humor. Like Doc Savage, Buckaroo is a wildly gifted polymath (in the opening scenes, he rushes from performing brain surgery to test-driving his Jet Car through a mountain), so famous and important a personage that he puts the president of the United States on hold, and he surrounds himself with an array of brilliant, eccentric aides with silly nicknames who play in his rock band when they're not fighting crime or doing advanced scientific experiments.

Alas, judging by the poor box office returns, general audiences were no more amenable to the '80s version of this formula than they had been to DOC SAVAGE: MAN OF BRONZE nine years earlier, even with the 1984 film's extraordinary cast and memorably witty dialogue. Granted, even many of the movie's most diehard fans are baffled by the convoluted plot — a crucial expository scene where the leader of the Black Lectroids (Rosalind Cash) explains much of what's going on is nigh-incomprehensible without subtitles or closed captioning — but beyond that, THE ADVENTURES OF BUCKAROO BANZAI is essentially an extended riff on a particular slice of pop culture that had long since dropped out of the public consciousness, which is both part of its charm and also its commercial undoing, at least as mainstream entertainment.

(Also, if you're wondering, yes, the TOM STRONG series by Alan Moore and Chris Sprouse is also an obvious Doc Savage pastiche, although at least some of its plot and character concepts were probably retoolings of unused ideas from Moore's earlier Maximum Press/Awesome Comics SUPREME series, which was an extended pastiche of the pre-Crisis Superman.)

[max1461]

Your stance on Rotherham child sexual exploitation is the same as my stance on beating brown children to death with hammers: we are both capable of saying it’s bad.

Would you have supported any policies that would have prevented Rotherham before it happened? If you knew the future, would you support immigration restriction, or is Rotherham a fair price worth paying for unlimited immigration?

This is why I bring up Rotherham all the time: those who endorse mass immigration and the great replacement also implicitly endorse the Rotherham child sexual exploitation scandal. You can’t just support immigration but then say you think Rotherham is bad. The purpose of a system is what it does. The purpose of the western immigration system is to spread Rotherhams across the globe.

Ok, I'll bite.

On July 31st, 1982, 53 people were killed and many more were injured, including 46 children, in a multi-lane pile-up in Beaune, France. On December 11th, 1990, 12 people were killed and 42 were injured in a multi-lane pile-up on Interstate 75 in Calhoun, Tennessee due to fog coming from a nearby paper mill. On March 13th, 1991, a van driver fell asleep on the A4 Motorway near Hungerford, Berkshire in the UK, causing a crash that involved 51 vehicles, killed 10 people and injured 25 more.

These are the consequences of allowing people to drive. The purpose of a system is what it does. If you support the existence of cars, you implicitly support these awful accidents, and approve of these people's deaths. #racist anon endorsed. You endorse these people's deaths. I don't drive a car. I've never driven. I'm willing to bet you drive. That's because you don't care about the 46 children who died Beaune, France that fateful day.

How is it reasonable of you to supported driving? How is it reasonable of you to think that driving should be legal? The western car manufacturing system has the purpose of spreading Beaunes across the globe.

Would you have supported any policies that would have stopped Beaune before it happened? Would you have supported restrictions on the number of cars sold, or is Beaune a fair price to pay for unlimitted driving?

Western children will not be safe until driving is made illegal and all cars are melted down. You tell me, anon, if you can live with those 46 dead children on your conscience.

[earthstellar]

I think there's a really potentially dark kind of lonely desperation in the way Mirage kidnaps Noah

Like, Noah immediately starts to panic and yell to be let go, and Mirage's response to this is to lock the doors and go faster

It's fucking terrifying from Noah's point of view, he's confused and is in the process of committing a crime--

--He's not just worried about his own safety, he's suddenly been thrown into a high speed, high profile car chase with a multi-vehicle car pursuit and he's going to be unable to help his family if he ends up in prison

And these are city cops in 1994 and Noah is an adult cis male POC, he is absolutely beyond fucked if any of the cops manage to identify him even if they don't outright catch him

And then Mirage creates a copy of him that is sitting in the driver's seat and taunting the fucking cops, fuck fuck fuck

His fear and panic is overwhelming, he's being trapped and driven somewhere and he can't figure out by who or what or for what purpose, and the cops are after him, and if he's busted then what happens to his mother? What happens to his brother?

It's incredible he stays even somewhat calm.

Meanwhile Mirage is fully having a great time.

He finally found a human like Bumblebee did, the human actually found him! How convenient-- Some may even say it's destiny. Even if the human was trying to steal him. Rude!!!

Now he has someone he can play with, though. Optimus might not yell at him too much since it's not really his fault this human tried to steal him.

Stealing the human instead sounds fun to him, actually. Turnabout is fair play, and all that.

And I do believe that on some level, surely Mirage understands this is not great to do, really.

But Mirage also seems really terribly lonely amongst his team; It doesn't feel like he fits in with them quite as well, and we know all the bots miss Cybertron.

Mirage and Bee seem particularly socially oriented, and Mirage seems to be quite possibly even more outgoing than Bumblebee is, based on both of their portrayals in this and the prior film.

So Mirage might have pushed aside his better judgement in the name of companionship and having fun for once, perhaps for the first time in a very long time, fuck it, we ride.

As someone who can't go out and do things because I'm disabled and COVID will take me out, I truly understand the difficulty of forced isolation into perpetuity.

So I can really feel for Mirage -- He just hit his breaking point, and could not resist the joy of treating the highway like the Speedia 500 racetrack, of really letting his rubber burn and having a potential friend along for the ride.

Plus, he got Noah away from the cops, and that's good, right? It must be! I mean he got the attention of even more cops, but they're probably dead now. That was a pretty sturdy road barrier, after all.

But the fear Noah must have felt in that moment is genuinely upsetting.

His brother's life was on the line here, not his own, as far as he's concerned.

And of course, Mirage would not have known that right away, fair enough.

But even when being begged to stop, Mirage egged on more cops, drew more aggro from the authorities than was needed and did so at extreme risk to his passenger, and carried on. He had a good time.

And that's really fucking scary, that Mirage's loneliness and overall sense of isolation was so severe that in many ways it overrode his compassion to some degree.

When Noah is panicking, Mirage was physically feeling Noah's fear. Feet were digging into his interior, fists slapping against his windows, hands gripping him from the inside, tense with anxiety.

We know Mirage cares deeply about Noah, and later on, Kris as well.

But when they first meet, there's this somewhat blatant disregard for Noah's fear that he only sort of half-heartedly, somewhat jokingly even tries to address while he just keeps flooring it.

Sure, at that point, as far as Mirage knows, this dude was just trying to steal him. He doesn't have a feel for who Noah actually is yet. He doesn't know about Kris. He has a right to be a little suspicious, and it's reasonably understandable if he wants to fuck with someone he thinks is just a bog standard petty car thief for a minute.

But Mirage isn't all that suspicious; He knows the power balance is so wildly in his favour that it's sort of whatever, really. Why investigate when you can be driving?

He eventually "tests" Noah when he finally reveals his root mode to him.

And to be fair, he even acknowledges that this is probably a lot for Noah to deal with.

But then he responds to the equivalent of a Barbie doll shaking a twig at him by levelling a charged weapon directly at Noah's head and chest.

We know that Mirage isn't actually going to fire. Probably.

But Noah doesn't, and all he has is a pipe, after a joy ride from hell that scared the living shit out of him and put his entire family's wellbeing at extreme risk.

It's kind of fucked up; Of course it's understandable from both sides, knowing the perspective of both sides. Noah needs that stolen car money. Mirage was about to get stolen.

It's not the greatest situation for them to be meeting in.

But holy shit.

Mirage is a little... Excessive.

Which is consistent with the behaviour we see from him after he gets more familiar with Noah, and we know he's not going to hurt Noah or Kris, and he's just a very energetic type of bot. Okay.

But I wonder how Mirage behaved prior to meeting Noah. How much of his excitability and outgoing nature and willingness to do pretty much anything comes from the joy he gets from having his own human, getting to have a new friend, finally?

How depressed might he have been previously, given how abundantly happy he is, how quick he is to disregard almost anything else in favour of having a friend-- Even if he has to take a human temporarily captive in order to obtain that friendship?

We know his care for Noah ultimately overrides his sense of self-preservation as well.

But Mirage is extremely intense and high energy, and that's interesting, because you wouldn't necessarily think of a fairly isolated, lonely alien lost on a foreign world as being so upbeat and exuberant.

He wants to be happy. And he's very invested in the few people that can make him happy.

Mirage is the definition of ride or die, and that can actually be pretty scary.

He didn't give a second thought to causing at least one likely fatal car crash with his illusions, so that he and Noah could evade arrest.

We already know he's willing to take out humans if need be.

It's a good thing Noah's a good guy, because I can easily imagine Mirage as willing to do nearly anything to keep the new friend he found...

Anyway, my break's over now. lol