#Rugged Vehicle Design

[commercialvehicle1]

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[mensfactory]

1953 Siata 208S Spider

Siata is an acronym for Società Italiana Auto Trasformazione Accessori, the Turin-based firm founded in 1926 by Giorgio Ambrosini, and which ceased production in 1970. 

Much like Abarth, Siata developed its business by manufacturing performance parts for Fiat, gaining greater exposure after World War II as motorsport came back to the fore in Europe and the Americas. As 750 cc-powered race cars grew in displacement, Siata-modified vehicles gained prominence and the attention of stateside racers like Briggs Cunningham and Ernie McAfee. The latter was a Los Angeles–based importer who drove one of the first Siata-enhanced examples in the 1953 Carrera Panamericana race.

Fiat, meanwhile, had developed a 2.0-liter V-8 engine for its luxury sports car, the Otto Vu. While only 49 examples of that model were constructed, there remained additional Fiat V-8 engines that were acquired by Siata to power its new 208S Spider, unveiled in 1952. Only 33 examples were bodied by Carrozzeria Rocca Motta, of Turin, from 1953 to 1955. The car was not only powerful for its day, but supremely beautiful.

Designed by Giovanni Michelotti, these perfectly proportioned roadsters defined the iconic look of the era’s rugged sports cars. Equally stunning was the 208 CS, a coupe version of which only 18 were made, 11 bodied by Balbo and seven by Stabilimenti Farina. Topped with twin Weber carburetors and tuned by Siata, Fiat’s 2.0-liter OHV alloy V-8 engine develops more than 125 hp at 6,000 rpm, which is good enough to give the car a top speed of nearly 125 mph.

[starcheols]

the 1 — choi seungcheol

⭑ it is said that no one ever forgets their first love, nor their first heartbreak. truer words have never been spoken as you leave the glamourous cities of europe to return to your small hometown, for the first time in seven years.

don't you think it would have been sweet, if it could have been me pairing :: smalltown!seungcheol x fashion designer!reader (gender neutral) genre :: nostalgia, gentle angst

warnings :: nothing major! just heartbreak i guess? mentions a glass of wine and a kiss. word count :: 1.4k

author's note :: i've never written a fan-fiction before so i'm marking this monumentous occasion with a slightly mediocre piece of writing that was floating around in my head for a week :)

links :: masterlist / ask to be added to the taglist!

The old bus station, with its peeling red paint and rugged masts, greeted you like an old friend as you took a step off the weathered vehicle, with its tires sagging next to the cracked curb. It seemed that autumn’s breath was whispering in the air, carrying a chill that nipped at you, prompting you to tug your cashmere coat tighter around yourself.

As you stood there, under the canopy of the station, the rhythmic plod of the primordial-era bus faded into the distance, and a familiar nostalgia settled over you like the autumn mist.

Your hometown had remained frozen in time, a canvas of memories painted against the backdrop of quaint architecture and cobblestone streets that echoed under the sharp clack of your heeled boots. 

As you rounded the corner of the bus station, the remainder of the small town, with its quaint buildings and centrepiece fountain, unfolded before you like a familiar tapestry of memories. 

And there, standing beneath the flickering street lights of the early morning, a broad-shouldered man stood with his back turned, the sun’s first tentative rays finding a home in his honey-blonde hair. And for that fleeting moment, you could have sworn you felt time suspend, the world tilting its axis beneath you, for it had been so long.

But then, reality asserted itself, like a gentle hand grounding you in the here and now. The features, upon closer inspection, were not those you had once known. The stranger's eyes, the curve of his jaw, all different from the one etched into the canvas of your memories.

You certainly could not resist the wave of relief that washed over you, and that sneaking adrenaline that had coiled within your chest slowly released its grip, leaving the heartache to dissipate along the morning dew beneath the frail sunlight.

Seven years since you had left this town, teary-eyed and clutching your suitcase, chasing dreams that led you across the world, to the capitals of Europe to pursue your degree and future. 

Milan, where you honed your craft, your fingers becoming extensions of your artistic vision. Paris, where the world of haute couture embraced you, and your name adorned the lips of those who appreciated the elegance of your designs. The bustle of fashion weeks, the allure of glamorous shows — it was a life you had dreamed of, a life you had made your own.

Yet, amidst the glittering lights of success, the echoes of that tearful departure still reverberated, often coming back to you after a stranger’s kiss or a glass of red perched on your dining table, up in the penthouses of Paris.

You remembered that fateful day, seven years ago to the date today, when the bus station had rather been a stage for a heartbreaking farewell. Seungcheol, your best friend with golden hair and big eyes that once held a world of shared secrets, stood before you.

Back then, you were just eighteen, brimming with dreams and aspirations. You had poured your heart out to Seungcheol, confessing a love that had blossomed within the cocoon of friendship. But his response, or rather the lack thereof, had cast a shadow over the farewell, dragging you over the edge to embarrassed silence and quiet tears. His eyes, ringed with long lashes that you longed to once press a soft kiss to, reflected not reciprocation, but a profound sadness and pity.

The bus had become your vessel of escape, your tears mingling with the rumble of the engine, as the vehicle pulled away from the same curb that you stepped out on today. The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air — Choi Seungcheol, the person you had thought of when you tossed pennies into the fountain’s pool and the person you loved the most in the entire world, (and really, what was the world of one who had just turned eighteen?), did not share the same sentiments at all.

The bench under the gnarled oak tree offered a momentary respite, and you took a seat, your coat enveloping you like a cocoon against the autumn chill. As you waited for your parents, who had vowed to meet you for breakfast, you watched the leaves dance in the breeze, a kaleidoscope of reds and golds that mirrored the hues of memories embedded in this town.

The quiet peace of the surroundings enveloped you, and you closed your eyes, allowing the crisp air to wash over you. The distant hum of the town, the gentle rustling of leaves, and the distant echo of a church bell created a symphony that resonated with a serene melancholy. The town hadn't changed much, and neither had the comforting embrace of its quiet corners.

A voice, a familiar voice, and one that you knew only all too well, cut through the tranquil ambiance. Your eyes snapped open, and the world seemed to shift on its axis again. There, standing before you, was Seungcheol —no longer the silent boy you tearfully left behind but a man, his honey-blonde hair still curling around his ears. His gaze met yours, and the years seemed to melt away in that moment, and how you hated the leap of your heart and the shake of your hands.

And it seemed your traitorous heart, a tempest of conflicting emotions, of love and grief, ran cold and hot simultaneously. Seven years had sculpted the features of the boy who you had loved from your childhood into a refined allure, the lines of boyhood replaced by the contours of a man who had weathered time with grace.

"Hey," he greeted you, a warmth in his eyes that could have deceived you into forgetting silent tears, and his pitying gaze years ago. "I heard you were back in town. It's been forever!"

Your brightest smile, a mask that you could credit from having being forged from your years of navigating the high celebrity ends of the world, adorned your own face, as you accepted his open arms, pulling yourself into the scent of him.

The old familiarity threatened to unravel the carefully constructed walls around your heart. How was it that he seemed genuinely excited to see you, to reconnect after all these years.

Seungcheol's infectious laughter filled the air, a melody that echoed through the town square, and one that you would have spent summers listening to on repeat, your arms intertwined. "I can't believe it, you know? I always knew you had that amazing potential, but seeing your name everywhere, in magazines and tabloids, isn’t that so cool? You've made it so big!"

The genuine admiration in his eyes was both heartwarming and disconcerting, for you. You could only nod, expressing gratitude for his kind words while trying to suppress the turbulent emotions churning beneath the surface. The town's quiet corners, once a sanctuary, now felt like a stage, each word and glance an act in the intricate dance of reunion.

And you won't believe who's behind me," Seungcheol continued, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "My wife's a huge fan of your work. She practically dragged me here to meet you."

As your eyes shifted to the figure approaching behind him, your breath caught. A woman, stunning with dark red hair, walked with two small children by her side. The bitterness, like a dormant ember, flickered within you, threatening to consume the facade of happiness you had meticulously crafted.

"Hey, look who's here!" Seungcheol called out to his wife, his voice brimming with excitement.

She turned, and for a moment, your eyes locked. A fleeting connection passed between you, a recognition of shared spaces in a world divided by time and choices. Her smile was warm, genuine, and you tried to match it with your own, though it felt brittle, a fragile façade that hid the tempest within.

Seungcheol introduced you, praising your work with an enthusiasm that only friends from the past could muster. The children, curious and full of innocent wonder, regarded you with wide eyes. As the conversation flowed, you couldn't help but wonder what could have been if, in that moment seven years ago, the trajectory of your lives had diverged in a different direction.

Seungcheol had moved on, creating a family, a chosen one. The pang of longing lingered, but you swallowed it down, resisting the temptation to wonder about alternate realities.

But we were something don't you think so? Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool. And if my wishes came true, it would have been you.

[oshlet]

'Tresspasser' Gunship, workhorse of the System-11 rebels. A good deal smaller than the scorpion, but slower and less agile. These are old school rotary wings, dug out from colonial caches or sold on the cheap by spacer black marketeers. The designs predates ubiquitous pd lasers on vehicles, so the rebels had to jury rig a bulky unit on the right side, and an accompanying cooling system on the left. The modifications make handling awful, but it beats getting nailed by smart-munitions.

The 20mm cannon on the bottom is only really effective at shooting soft targets and unarmoured vehicles, which the laser can also pull double duty on. Later in the conflict, they ended up being filled with choke rounds instead to break up sightlines and blind targets in preperation for rocket strikes.

Although its not a great flyer, the excellent visibility afforded by the bubble canopy and roomy interior means that while its not a beloved machine by pilots, its certainly not hated. Mechanics love the thing, though - colonial equipment is famously rugged and easy to work on (although the laser mount is a bit more of a pain to fix).

[zvaigzdelasas]

Detailed tests on the damage capability of kinetic energy weapons against US military armour have found it could be possible to take out a tank in one shot – even if it does not look like any damage has occurred.

That was the conclusion of Chinese scientists who conducted the in-depth assessment of kinetic weapons through experiments and numerical simulations.

They found that a solid sphere, weighing 20kg (44lb) and hurtling towards its target at about four times the speed of sound, could spell disaster for advanced tanks manufactured to US military standards.

The kinetic energy carried by such a projectile would be around 25 megajoules. This value may seem large, but when converted into electrical energy it is less than 7 kilowatt-hours, scarcely more than the energy it takes to cook two turkeys for Christmas.[...]

it was found that bolts connecting important equipment to the inner cabin wall could fracture. Even if the crew survived the impact, they would be unable to return the tank to its normal combat state.[...]

“Under high-speed kinetic projectile impact, certain typical locations in the armoured target exhibit impact response spectrum lines with amplitudes at certain frequencies exceeding the safety limits recommended by the US military standard MIL-STD-810,” Huang’s team wrote.

“Components at these locations have a high probability of failure due to overload damage,” they said.[...]

high-speed kinetic projectiles have the potential to achieve lethal damage even upon grazing contact, and their launching methods can be diverse.

Chinese naval scientists recently claimed that they have installed an electromagnetic coil gun on to a land-based wheeled platform and conducted rapid consecutive firing tests. This coil gun has the ability to accelerate heavy spheres to incredible speeds in the blink of an eye. Photos of this new weapon circulated on Chinese social media, sparking much speculation and excitement.

While the mobile coil gun might have appeared primitive, just as the early tanks did, some military experts believed it to be a game-changer. If electricity replaces gunpowder as the driving force behind lethal weapons, the landscape of future warfare will never be the same.[...]

Tank crews often point the front of the vehicle towards the energy, as this section is designed to be the most rugged and able to withstand the most firepower. But a kinetic projectile hitting this section would send destructive stress into the tank’s interior, potentially causing catastrophic damage to its firepower capabilities.

“The grip of the tank gun stabiliser console can be shaken off, the wiring base of the console pulled out completely, all connections between the fire control computer and the turret severed, resulting in a substantial loss of firepower,” the researchers said.

1 Jan 24

[trulybetty]

13 x mountains - frankie morales x ofc

prompt: mountains pairing: frankie morales x clementine (ofc) word count: 697 notes: un-beta'd is the name of the game, alcohol, drunk frankie, unspoken feelings, responsible friends looking out of friends, always have a DD when drinking peeps or a plan to get home if you don't have a clementine. Also do not come for me on Tom. summary: not the valentine's clementine expected, playing designated driver

x. masterlist

Clementine killed the engine and stepped out of the car. A modest slick black SUV, one that Benny the week before had mocked her over as a true sign of a middle-aged emergency room Doctor. He'd winced when the needle in her hand slipped as she was stitching the cut above his eye, but it hadn't stopped him laughing at the disapproving scowl that crossed her face.

Truth was, she'd have much rather been driving something more her style, something a little more rugged. But given her career, she needed something reliable for those nights on call.

The air was cooler than expected when she stepped out of the car, and before she could reach back inside for her jacket Tom's voice boomed from the doorway of the bar she’d pulled up outside of, “Clementine!”

Closing the door she made the short walk over to where Tom stood tall framed by the doorway, clinging to his shoulder, Frankie. Who, just as described over the phone, looked worse for wear and one too many drinks into the night. 

“Clemmie!” Frankie murmured, though in his state she wasn't entirely confident that it was her name he'd said.

“So, alone on Valentine's Day?” Tom grinned as Clementine took Frankie's other arm over her shoulder.

“Out at the bar with the guys on Valentine's Day?” she retorted as the two made their way to her car with a stumbling Frankie between them.

Tom laughed, “Touche.”

“So why me?”

“Come on Clem, you know why.”

“What?”

“Jesus Clem,” he laughed, “we may have been divorced the last twelve years, but I still know when you're lying,” he pointed at her to emphasize his point.

Clementine chewed the inside of her cheek, determined to keep her emotions hidden. She also knew Tom too well. He had always been able to see through her facade, even after all these years. There was a reason why they'd worked so well together in the forces. 

Pulling her keys from her pocket, she unlocked the car and helped Frankie into the front seat. As she buckled Frankie in, his head lolled slightly to the side, mumbling something incoherent about a mission and needing to fly out at dawn. Clementine couldn't help but let a small smile creep onto her face, affection mixed with exasperation.

She straightened up, meeting Tom's gaze with a resigned sigh. “Don't read into it too much. Someone had to pick him up.”

Tom chuckled as he closed the car door, “Yeah, but you didn't hesitate. You came.”

Clementine shook her head, “Take care of yourself Tom, hey?”

“I will,” Tom promised, stepping back as Clementine moved to the driver's side of the vehicle. “And Clem?”

“Yeah?” She paused, hand on the door handle.

“Happy Valentine's Day,” he said, a hint of melancholy in his voice, recalling their own past Valentine's Days spent together, now a lifetime ago.

Clementine smiled, this time a bit more genuinely. “Happy Valentine's Day, Tom.”

With that, she slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, and glanced at Frankie, who mumbled something incoherent as he lolled his head back against the seat's headrest, his eyes heavy and already Clementine had heard soft snores from him more than once. 

“One day,” he turned his head to look at Clementine, a sweet smile on his lips at the sight of her profile, “I'm going to fly you over the mountains.”

“I think you forget you've done that already Captain, how many reccies and missions did we complete together?”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “I mean properly, like take you up north and see some real mountains.”

Clementine smiled softly, this was the alcohol talking and he wouldn't remember this conversation come morning. “I'd like that, Frankie. Real mountains sound nice.”

His gaze, though clouded with the haze of too much alcohol, held a depth of sincerity that caught her off guard.

Frankie's voice softened, “I mean it, Clem. You and me, up there where it's quiet—just us and the sky.”

“Sounds beautiful Frank.”

“It's a deal Clem,” he murmured, the words barely escaping his lips before he finally gave in, his breath evening out as sleep overtook him fully.

[usafphantom2]

Wind tunnel testing was so draining using so much electricity that it would deplete the electricity for an entire town .

This one-twelfth-scale Blackbird wind tunnel test article sits proudly on display at Blackbird Airpark in Palmdale, California. It was used for initial wind tunnel testing after the CIA awarded the A-12 contract to Lockheed on September 14, 1959. I would love to “borrow” this beautiful model and hang it in my home.

The model is constructed of a rugged, heavy stainless steel. To save money, the model was developed with three interchangeable forebody sections, representing the A-12, SR-71, and YF-17. The aft body of all the Blackbird aircraft are essentially the same. All you had to do was replace the nose and you would have a different air frame.

Reading in Ben Rich‘s book, the “Skunk Works” Rich logged hundreds of ($10,000 to $15,000 an hour) wind testing the Blackbird . Wind tunnel tests help inventors and manufacturers better understand the nature of the flow of air over and around a vehicle or object, as well as the effects it causes on that object, especially aerodynamic forces. Ben would travel north to Moffett Field and test at NASA Ames Research Center” We found that running Mach 3 pressures for several hours drains so much of the electricity that was needed by local industry that we were forced to test only late at night, working until dawn.’’ In other words, the local businesses and homes would not having enough electricity. It was that draining. Ben Rich, and his group would then travel back down to the Skunk Works in Southern California. Ben literally did not have time to sleep! His hard work paid off Ben was the designer of the engine's inlets that would move backwards up to three feet to position it’s shockwave to minimize drag. Ben later designed the F117. Check out this one minute video.

TAP ARROW BUTTON TO VIEW 👇

m.youtube.com/watch?si=3sOS7…

Written by Linda Sheffield

Source, the “Skunk Works”

Habu, by Curt Mason

@Habubrats71 via Twitter

[lonestarflight]

Comparison between the enlarged VentureStar and the X-33.

"This artist's rendering depicts the NASA/Lockheed Martin X-33 technology demonstrator alongside the Venturestar, a Single-Stage-To-Orbit (SSTO) Reusable Launch Vehicle (RLV). The X-33, a half-scale prototype for the Venturestar, is scheduled to be flight tested in 1999. NASA's Dryden Flight Research Center, Edwards, California, plays a key role in the development and flight testing of the X-33. The RLV technology program is a cooperative agreement between NASA and industry. The goal of the RLV technology program is to enable signifigant reductions in the cost of access to space, and to promote the creation and delivery of new space services and other activities that will improve U.S. economic competitiveness. NASA Headquarter's Office of Space Access and Technology is overseeing the RLV program, which is being managed by the RLV Office at NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center, located in Huntsville, Alabama. The X-33 was a wedged-shaped subscale technology demonstrator prototype of a potential future Reusable Launch Vehicle (RLV) that Lockheed Martin had dubbed VentureStar. The company had hoped to develop VentureStar early this century. Through demonstration flight and ground research, NASA's X-33 program was to provide the information needed for industry representatives such as Lockheed Martin to decide whether to proceed with the development of a full-scale, commercial RLV program. A full-scale, single-stage-to-orbit RLV was to dramatically increase reliability and lower costs of putting a pound of payload into space, from the current figure of $10,000 to $1,000. Reducing the cost associated with transporting payloads in Low Earth Orbit (LEO) by using a commercial RLV was to create new opportunities for space access and significantly improve U.S. economic competitiveness in the world-wide launch marketplace. NASA expected to be a customer, not the operator, of the commercial RLV. The X-33 design was based on a lifting body shape with two revolutionary 'linear aerospike' rocket engines and a rugged metallic thermal protection system. The vehicle also had lightweight components and fuel tanks built to conform to the vehicle's outer shape. Time between X-33 flights was normally to have been seven days, but the program had hoped to demonstrate a two-day turnaround between flights during the flight-test phase of the program. The X-33 was to have been an unpiloted vehicle that took off vertically like a rocket and landed horizontally like an airplane. It was to have reached altitudes of up to 50 miles and high hypersonic speeds. The X-33 program was managed by the Marshall Space Flight Center and was to have been launched at a special launch site on Edwards Air Force Base. Due to technical problems with the liquid hydrogen tank, and the resulting cost increase and time delay, the X-33 program was cancelled in February 2001."

Date: September 23, 1999

source

NASA Identifier: NIX-ED97-43929, ED97-43938-1

[artherzenswarme]

A Professional and Their Tools: Figure 1. - The Pyro wears what seems to be a variation on an Air-Force Captain's uniform. Their gas mask seems to be partially melted, and permanently fused to the face underneath. Figure 2. - The Pyro's External Compression Pack. It both cleans air for the Pyro to breath, but also charges compression blasts which can be dispersed through the Pyro's Flamethrower, or through the exhaust vents on the ECP itself, which provides a small amount of vertical thrust. Figure 3. - The Pyro's Flamethrower. Made to be reminiscent of an All Terrain Vehicle, or a Dirt Bike. Pyro's work often sees them working far off the grid, a durable and reliable flamethrower is key to success in these rugged environments. Figure 4. - The Flare Gun. Pyro's only real tool for long ranged engagements. Can be combined with his ECP blast for additional movement options. Figure 5. - Shotgun. Modeled to resemble a SPAS-12 style shotgun. My designs for the TF2 mercs are intended to be older, reflecting the amount of time that has passed for both the viewer and the characters. This style of shotgun began production in the early 80s, which is around the timeframe I place my mercs. Figure 6. - Pyro's Fire Axe. Made to more closely resemble the types of axes used in fighting forest fires and in controlled burnings, rather than axes used by domestic firefighters. I see Pyro as a somewhat reclusive character, and one who enjoys using the destructive power of fire to maintain and nurture. Figure 7. - Pyro's Medal of Courage. Technically, a Congressional Medal of Courage Displayed in the Face of Overwhelming Fire. Presented to the Pyro by President Jane Doe. Figure 8. - A Rubber Ducky. One of Pyro's prized posessions.

[sopestvr]

(BM) MATTHEW KIM.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“YOU’RE CUTE WHEN YOU BLUSH.”

𓈀﹟★̶̲ 𓍢 ⋆⠀somin brings you along to what she simply called a “car show”, yet you found yourself looking at much more than cars.

†⠀warnings y disclaimers — fem!reader. streetracer!au. fluff. teasing. poking fun at matthew for being a simp. the entirety of KARD doing likewise. swearing. sort of. no smut at all cause my step brothers name is mathew and ew gross no. wc : 1k

♱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀BLARING MUSIC was never really [Y/N]’s thing, not her forte. I’m lying, yes the fuck it was. Ear bleeding and boisterous songs were everything she ever loved. Whether she was at yet another rave party, or simply just folding laundry in her apartment with nothing but a robe and headphones on.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀So, when she waltzed into a car show party alongside her good friend Somin, the uproarious melodie’s that would burst a normal person’s eardrums were nothing to the lady. Quite frankly, she was pleased by them. Especially the bass, oh did the woman love her a good bass.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With her and Somin’s arms interlocked, the two young women made their way into the crowd that engulfed the duo like water to a puddle. Their matching heels clacked diligently against the rugged cement floor, [Y/N]’s eyes wandering about whilst she took in her surroundings that practically suffocated her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀There were bright lights that hung from above, speakers ricocheting off the building walls from within the trunk of cars, the intoxicating smell of alcohol burning through her nostrils. Everything that surrounded the woman brought nothing but joy to her, a lingering smile glistening all over her face as she allowed Somin to guide her through the horde.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“C’mon I have a friend that I want you to meet.” the woman winked in [Y/N]’s direction, ushering her roommate towards the grouping of cars that were aligned with one another up ahead.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Each one of them were plastered with a different car wrap design that prominently stood out from the rest. They were each unique to the varied men that stood confidently by their vehicles, women wrapped around them with fingers trailing all over their bodies. They were like two ends of a magnet pulling together, each of them all over one another.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Most of the men were far too mediocre for [Y/N]’s peculiar taste. They all had the same style, fake accent, fake chains, and even the same side swoop haircut. The woman thought it was undeniably tacky and boring. Practically none of them caught her eye.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Almost none expect for one.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He was a broad shouldered man who stood tall and loosely against his bright green 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T. The neon lights displayed saturated hues along his smooth skin, yet the man’s entire attention was only focused on his phone. He paid no mind to the assortment of beautiful women who surrounded him, attempting to grasp his attention.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A vague ‘hm’ tumbled from [Y/N]’s mouth as she observed the sight, realizing that Somin was bringing her towards the man all the while. He had matching green hair that was slicked back, a couple tiny strands curling against his forehead. If not for his car that the woman oh so admired, her eyes would’ve stuck to him like glue.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Yo, Matt! I got somethin’ for you!” Somin hollered mediocrely, her voice alone pulling the man from his device screen as he gazed up in her direction.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Once his chocolate colored eyes landed on Somin, a sly grin marred his previously grimaced face, nodding at the woman. He was about to return back to whatever activities he’d been doing on his phone when he made eye contact with [Y/N] for nothing more than a millisecond. The man was simply just trying to look at his device, yet the moment he realized there was someone walking alongside Somin, he snapped his head back up in an instant.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀His eyes resembled much of a puppy, the way he gazed at [Y/N] who’d been laughing with Somin whilst the pair neared Matthew. Once he took in her appearance, he couldn’t pull them away, scrambling to stand up straight. Only, when he did that, he realized just how tall the woman actually was.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It was evident she towered over Somin, yet the man hadn’t realized she did likewise to him as well. A hesitant gulp was pulled from deep within his throat, the air around him suddenly becoming a little warm.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Ay, eyes over here buddy.” Somin snapped at the man, pulling him from his trance as he shook his head ever so slightly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“N/N this is my good friend Matthew Kim. BM for short. And, Matt, this is my girl friend Y/N.” Somin introduced the two, both of their eyes already interlocked with one another.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[Y/N] displayed none other than a swift snarky grin, her top row of teeth briefly tugging in her bottom lip. However, Matthew on the other hand, couldn’t help himself but hold an admirable expression all over. It was almost as if he was at a loss for words, which [Y/N] thought was absolutely and undeniably adorable.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“And what does BM stand for?” [Y/N] inquired, her interest piquing at the mention of a particular nickname.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Big!” Matthew blurted out of random, earning an eyebrow raise from [Y/N] whilst her grin broadened.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Big Matthew. God this fuckin’ idiot…” Somin pressed her fingers against her middle of her eyebrows, an exasperated sigh falling from her lips at Matthew’s incompetence.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She knew he was dumb, just not that dumb.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[Y/N] couldn’t help but snicker to herself. Matthew all too entranced by the sounds. Never in his life would he have guessed he’d be so enthralled by a woman he’s barely even met. Yet, there was something about her that he couldn’t put his finger on. Not at the moment, at least.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Oh? Is it just ‘cause you’re tall, or.. is for something else?” The woman smoothed out her sly smirk, tilting her head at Matthew who was stunned by her statement, a light pink tint shading his face.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Somin laughed at the man’s expression, bending over a bit whilst she held her stomach. Soon enough others joined them and began poking fun at Matthew’s expression.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[Y/N] didn’t mean to cause such chaos but it sure was funny watching the man get made fun of by women that were half his size. The way the redness that conveyed across his cheeks only got worse the more they pushed him around was everything.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “You’re cute when you blush.” [Y/N] added to the fun, the rest laughing at how Matthew had to cover his face that time, turning around completely with his friend wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

© SOPESTVR — do not steal my works. all rights reserved.

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Executioner

Fast and powerful, the Executioner, code-named Gladiator in the Inner Sphere, is an assault OmniMech often deployed by Clan Ghost Bear. Though originally produced by Clan Ghost Bear, design schematics for the Executioner were actually acquired in a trial with Clan Burrock (sometime after the Ghost Bears began to acquire and develop Omni-technology in 2873).

The Executioner took time to develop from the schematics, however, as the Ghost Bears originally decided to splice the design with the Kodiak BattleMech (still in the planning stages), creating an Omni-Totem 'Mech. When the two designs were eventually deemed too incompatible in early prototypes, the projects were split again, quickly creating the Executioner and eventually creating the rugged second-line totem Kodiak BattleMech. The only other Clans who have had great success with producing configurations of the Executioner were the Smoke Jaguars and the Burrocks, who drew up the original blue prints.

Using a massive Heavy Force 380 XL engine, the Executioner has a top speed of 64.8 km/h. A MASC system enhances the top speed to 86.4 km/h (albeit only in short bursts), and four permanently mounted Pryzhok WM10 jump jets give the 'Mech the ability to propel itself 120 meters into the air. This unusual emphasis on speed gives the Executioner unmatched speed for its weight class, as it is often capable of keeping up with 'Mechs twenty or thirty tons lighter than itself. The Executioner also carries thirteen and a half tons of ferro-fibrous armor, which is below average for its weight class, but generally adequate. Sixteen double heat sinks are mounted to cool the 'Mech down.

Even though the design has not been used since the 3060s, the Home Clans withdrew it from use after the Wars of Reaving, possibly due to its reputation with the Spheroid Clans like Clan Ghost Bear.

The Executioner's primary configuration uses its mobility to keep enemies as far away as possible. A Gauss rifle is the 'Mech's primary weapon, backed up by dual ER Large Lasers, which give it excellent direct firepower. For use against soft targets and possibly any light vehicles that manage to close the ranges, the Executioner carries two Machine Guns. This makes the 'Mech very effective in an open battlefield, but makes it virtually useless should it encounter a faster enemy with enough firepower, or a physical barrier.

[haleyrude]

Scars

Title: Scars

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x fem!reader 

Disclaimer: It’s your first night at Leon’s house and you notice a scar and have some questions. Just some fluff! Enjoy!

Words: 1.5k

MASTERLIST

It was your first time staying at your boyfriend Leon’s house and you couldn’t be more ecstatic. It’s been 6 months since you’ve been in a relationship with him and he’d either come over to your apartment or he’d be out on a mission for a week or two. 

He kept promising that he’d get everything in order and you’d be able to stay with him as long as you wanted. The time has finally come as you double check your duffle bag before locking up and heading to your car. Leon’s place was about a 25 minute drive so you sent him a quick ‘OMW!’ Text before you plugged your phone in and headed off.

You were surprised to see that Leon, like you, lived in an apartment complex. This one looked more luxurious than the one you resided in currently. You went to the underground parking lot and headed toward guest parking. You immediately saw Leon jogging up to your car as soon as you parked. As you shut the engine off he opened your car door. “Hey sweetheart, how was the drive?” his smile was big as he was happy you got to him safely. “Not too bad, just listened to music on the way.” You grabbed your water cup and phone before pressing the button on your vehicle to open the trunk. Before you could say anything, Leon was already at the trunk getting your bag out. “You seem excited for me to be here” you shut your door walking over to Leon. “Of course, I’m excited for you to finally see the place” with that he shut the trunk, swung the duffel bag over his shoulder and took your free hand with his. 

He led you to an elevator, the doors closed and he clicked the top button. “The top floor!” Disbelief washed over you as you looked at his smirking face. “I was able to win the deal on this condo and had it renovated. It’s completely mine” he said matter of factly and your heart filled with pride “congratulations this must be so exciting for you!” He leaned on the back wall “yeah it’s nice to be able to settle down somewhere instead of constantly have to rent, moving from one place to another”

….

That’s how the both of you met. Leon had just moved into town and you were at the bakery you usually went to get donuts and coffee for your office. Turning around you bumped into Leon not paying attention while holding a newspaper. The donuts and coffee went everywhere but the spark between you too was there immediately and you both felt it. Laughing the incident off, you both helped clean up everything and the rest was history.

…..

He led you around the condo. It was very spacious. You took my shoes off at the front door placing them on the rack he had other shoes on. The floors were a dark oak color complimenting the beige walls. The first thing you saw walking through the short hallway was the living room, nicely furnished with a light gray wrap around couch with a dark brown coffee table and a TV mounted on the wall. A small balcony connected to the far wall. A simple table and two chairs to sit and look at the view. 

To the right there was a round dining table that was accompanied by 4 chairs over a rug. The table was plain beside a table cloth. The kitchen was attached to an open design with an island and granite counter top. To the left was a room that Leon had made his office and to the right of that was the master bedroom attached to a walk-in closet and a very decent sized bathroom. 

Leon placed your things on the bed as you  finished looking around. Not much personal decor around the house besides some small house plants and paintings but the whole condo screamed Leon. 

“I absolutely love it, this suits you” he chuckled, coming over to wrap his arms around you. You couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face as youI leaned up on your tiptoes to give him a sweet kiss. He hummed in approval. “Why don’t you get comfy and I’ll cook us something hmm” You nodded, turning around as he gave you a little spank before leaving the room. 

You entered his bathroom with your bag and pajamas. Changing into a pink romper with spaghetti straps you looked at your reflection in the mirror to make sure you looked decent. The pajama set was your go to as it was comfy with some lace detail. You brushed out your hair and put on a pair of fluffy socks before heading out to the kitchen. Leon was standing there now in just sweatpants and a tank top. The tank top outlining his gorgeous muscles. You couldn’t help but to lick your lips thinking about those muscles flexing on him. “I hope chicken teriyaki and rice is okay?” Leon broke you out of your daydream as you walked over and leaned on the counter. “That sounds amazing” the smell of the food made your stomach growl. The food didn’t take long to cook and it was absolutely delicious. 

Leon cooked at your place plenty of times but it was nice having a home cooked meal at his place finally.  

After cleaning up, you went back to the bathroom to brush your teeth and get ready to turn in for the night. Reentering the bedroom Leon has the tv on low as he laid in bed with an arm behind his head and the other sprawled out waiting for you. You cuddled against him and kissed his shoulder. Feeling him tense for a split second which was odd and then you saw something peeking out of the tank top. You moved the strap over and noticed a bullet wound scar. You held your gasp and gave it a kiss before placing the tank top sleeve back in place. 

As you thought about it, you can’t recall a time Leon ever took his shirt off in front of you. He’d always wear either a tank top with thick straps or a tight fitting T-shirt. Even when the two of you made love but you never questioned him before just wanting him to feel comfortable. You just thought Leon was self conscious of himself. 

“I’ve never seen that before'' He rolled on his side and looked into your eyes. “I hate remembering that time in my life. I didn’t want to scare you or have you look at me differently seeing how damaged I truly am” his eyes were sad but you hoped he could see the genuine love in yours. “Leon’ you were talking sternly but gently, ‘your past is your past, you can’t change that and I would never pry you to tell me anything you don’t want to but just know that I am here for you and will listen whenever you’re ready. But just because you have a few scars doesn’t mean you’re damaged. You’re just as sexy if not more than when I first laid my eyes on you” without taking a breath he kissed you hard. The arm that was under you was  now wrapped around you holding you close while his other hand held the back of your head to deepen the kiss. Both your  lips are moving in sync. His tongue dragging against the bottom of your lip made you whimper as you opened your mouth giving him access to whatever he wanted.  

He pulled back too soon and rolled on his back pulling you close. “During the apocalypse in raccoon city I was shot in the shoulder…” he told you everything. Showed you the tiny scars littering his body including the small barely noticeable scar on his cheek from getting slashed with a knife. By the end of his story your face was wet. He looked over at you and immediately sat up wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. “Sweetheart, there’s no need to cry. I’m okay” You shook your head and gently grabbed his wrist. Kissing his hand and trying to steady your voice “I’m so sorry you’ve been through all that, I can’t imagine the trauma or even the nightmares you experience and my chest hurts thinking about you in pain.” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly as he pulled you into his now unclothed chest, rubbing your back with one hand and stroking your hair with the other. “Baby, every night I spend with you my nightmares fade, it feels easier to breathe when I’m around you. God forbid anything happens again or I’m called for another mission. My soul purpose is to fight for you and make sure I come home for you. I love you” 

It was the first time you heard those three words leave his mouth. You leaned back looking up into his beautiful blue eyes seeing them shine just a hint with tears before you smashed your lips to his. 

No matter how many scars this man has you  will love him to the end of the world forever. 

[stevebattle]

Ranger (2009) by Nekton (Durham, NC) and iRobot (Bedford, MA). Ranger is a portable Unmanned Underwater Vehicle (UUV) that supports mine detection, harbour defence, and underwater surveillance, and is also well suited to oceanographic research and commercial surveying. Ranger's propeller is mounted on an articulated nozzle, providing vectored thrust. Designed for short range missions, Ranger can easily be launched and recovered by one person from a Rugged Hull Inflatable Boat (RHIB).

[tathrin]

Hey Tolkien fandom, anyone want to do some world-building? I’m thinking we should come up with some Modern AU Middle-earth Car Makes/Models and toss them out into the world for folks to use freely in their stories.

For instance, a rugged but light-weight off-road vehicle (a jeep, maybe, or something like a jeep?) called the Ranger.

Then there should be some kind of Hobbitish ATV/four-wheeler for trundling around the Shire, especially Tookland...maybe called something like a Smial Wheeler? Or a Tookland Rumbler? idk

Rohan should have something like that too. Maybe call it a Mark-wheeler? A UTV/SSV design might be better for Rohan actually, even more rugged. Heck, maybe even give them the occasional Unimog if you want.

And there definitely ought to be some kind of Haradrim Sandrail...

What about the Baggins Adventurevan, a Hobbit-sized campervan in which one can go on an adventure in proper comfort?

The Tunneler, a Landrover-type car made by (and sized for) Dwarves?

I’m sure folks who know more about cars than I do can come up with more and better ideas, so please don’t be shy!

[corner-stories]

when it's dark in a cold decembre (but i've got you to keep me warm)

Jean Kirschtein. Mikasa Ackerman. Kiyomi Azumabito. Holiday Visits. Awkward Family Dinners. Cuddles. Doggies. 4191 words. (ao3.)

Vancouver is a change of pace. Having grown so used to winters in Montreal — or even his hometown of Trois-Rivieres — arriving at YVR to rain instead of snow leaves him confused. 

At least Mikasa seems to find amusement in the poor Quebecer getting soaked in the drizzle. 

A rapid transit line takes them from the airport to downtown, then an Uber driver takes them the rest of the way. As the vehicle crosses the Lionsgate Bridge, Jean’s eyes are affixed to the window and towards the rainy city outside.

At this time of night, all he can see is artificial lights — buildings with glass exteriors standing amidst the ocean and coniferous trees. It’s just enough to let him see the outline of the mountains. Above it all are clouds in a dark sky. 

The car drives deeper into West Vancouver. The houses lining the roads are built with an emphasis on style and aesthetic, most of them looking to have been designed very recently with walls made of stone and glass. 

Mikasa had told him that her Auntie was wealthy, and as the car passes by a house with more driveways and outdoor entertaining space to do with, the sentiment rings true. 

Soon enough, the car arrives at the destination. 

The house Mikasa grew up in differs from the gray homes adorning the streets. When Jean sees it, his eyes go to the vinyl siding and the rugged roof tiles, attributes that make the craftsman home feel like an island in the ocean of stone and glass houses. 

Jean hoists his bags over his shoulder as the Uber driver takes off down the street. Mikasa walks from the street to the curb, comfortably taking her boyfriend’s hand as he looks at the house. 

“You like?” 

Jean nods, unable to take his eyes off the bulbs adorning the eaves. “I like the lights.” 

“Auntie likes them, too.” She then squeezes his hand and begins guiding him towards the house. 

Jean follows, keeping his eyes on the ground and watching her boots step into the puddles on the pathway. The rain is lighter here than it is at the airport, but it’s still enough for water droplets to collect in his hair. 

The two climb up the steps and Jean mentally goes over the backstory Mikasa had given him regarding her aunt. Kiyomi had grown up alongside Mikasa’s mother in Tokyo, and despite being cousins they acted a lot more like sisters. They even moved to Vancouver together to study. They had kept in touch even when Makoto married a local man while Kiyomi moved back to Japan.

It was no surprise that Kiyomi was the one who stepped up after Mikasa’s parents passed, gladly taking the nine-year-old in and giving her shelter in a time where she had none. She even decided to move back to Canada permanently to be near her niece. 

Despite coming from wealth, Kiyomi kept herself busy as a tenured professor at a local university. Giving lectures on international relations seemed to be her second priority on top of providing for Mikasa. Academia appeared to run in the Azumabito-Ackerman household. 

As Jean keeps reciting the lore in his head, he turns to Mikasa and asks a last-minute question.

“So… is there anything else I should know?” His voice is just slightly tinged with his signature wit. “You know, before the point of no return?” 

“Just be yourself,” Mikasa insists as her boots touch the top of the porch. “Besides, you both like sassing me and old school Celine Dion, in her mind you can do no wrong.” 

Jean makes a noise that’s in between an awkward laugh and a nervous chuckle. “That’s one way to look at things…” 

When the doorbell rings, what immediately follows is the sound of several dogs barking their heads off — one even sounds like a howl. Through the pane of glass in the door Jean can see two fluffy creatures with legs rushing to the door. After they yelp at the door for a few seconds, a person descends the stairs and gestures for said creatures to quiet down. 

Unsurprisingly, the act of wagging one’s finger at two rambunctious dogs does nothing to quell their screams. 

Nonetheless, the door opens and the pair of tired traveling grad students are greeted to the sight of Mikasa’s Aunt Kiyomi.

As to be expected, the older lady is smiling from ear to ear and immediately steps forward to embrace her niece. Mikasa herself gives a gentle grin as she hugs her Aunt back. 

“Mikasa!”

“Auntie.”

Jean gives them their space as they reunite. In the space between the doorframe and the door, he gets a better look into the house, taking note of the wooden floors, the warm lighting, the spotless walls. The whole place is impeccably clean, even with the two dogs running around.

Speaking of which, Jean also gets an eyeful of the canines standing behind Kiyomi — one is a samoyed with the doofiest grin he’s ever seen on a dog, and the other is husky with an abundance of fluffy fur. The husky in particular is letting out dramatic weeping noises as it looks at the visitors at the door. 

When aunt and niece separate, Kiyomi sets her eyes on Jean. 

“And is this the boyfriend I’ve heard so much about?” she asks. “Jean, right?”

Jean gives a nod and a polite smile. “That’s me.” He reaches out and shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss Azumabito.”

Kiyomi is a head shorter than both Jean and Mikasa. Like her niece, her hair is dark, but she keeps it neatly combed and tied into a proper bun. 

The only woman looks him up and down, seemingly content with finally meeting him in the flesh. She even seems flattered by his formality. “Please, call me Kiyomi. And come in, you two must be soaked.”

Jean and Mikasa enter the home, bringing their luggage with them. He’s only been in Vancouver for an hour and he’s already relieved to get out of the downpour. 

As Jean shakes the water out of his hair, Mikasa kneels down to the two dogs of the Azumabito household. She beams sweetly at both the husky and the samoyed, both of which are excited to see her return. The husky in particular is wagging its tail so hard that its rear end is shaking. 

Back at McGill, Mikasa had spoken at length about her dogs back at home. Back at their apartment, there’s a photo of both the husky and samoyed as puppies pinned to their refrigerator.

Seeing the dogs in the fluff is significantly more enjoyable than seeing them in photo form. The sweet look of heartfelt joy on Mikasa’s face is also a bonus. 

“Yes, yes, I missed you, too,” says Mikasa as the husky kisses her cheek. 

Kiyomi immediately proves to be a cordial host. She takes Jean’s jacket without being prompted, hanging it up on a nearby coat rack. She then reaches for the luggage and grabs the first two bags she can find. 

“It’s been raining all week,” the older lady says. She takes a pair of backpacks to a nearby closet. 

“Has it?” asks Mikasa. 

There is an irked, gravelly tone to Kiyomi’s voice as she replies. “Unfortunately.” 

Mikasa lets out a hum, which is her way of laughing. “That’s a Vancouver Christmas for you.” 

Jean chuckles as he rubs his freezing hands together. Now free from the constraints of his parka, he kneels down to get to Mikasa’s level and looks at the pair of dogs. 

“Hey, I’ve heard a lot about you two,” he says, petting the head of the cheery samoyed. “So… which one’s which again?”

Mikasa gestures to the husky lovingly licking her cheek. “This one’s Mochi…” She then points to the white fluff ball. “...and this one’s Miso.” 

Jean can’t help but chuckle, a throaty one that makes the corners of his mouth turn up. 

Somehow, he’s getting the feeling that he’ll enjoy the holidays here. 

…

…

…

Dinner is a simple affair, though Kiyomi uses it as an excuse to break out a bottle of red from the cellar. Christmas may be a few days away, but her beloved niece returning home is a good reason to celebrate. She serves dishes that Mikasa has had throughout her childhood, only occasionally having to scold the dogs for putting their paws on the table. Evidently, Mochi absolutely drools in the presence of Kiyomi’s katsudon. 

And true to Mikasa’s words, Kiyomi is a fan of old-school Dion, as the singer’s Christmas album proceeds to play on the house stereo. 

Jean sits at the table and listens to aunt and niece catching up, taking note of the way Mikasa’s eyes light up as she speaks. Sometimes they’ll slip into Japanese in the middle of the conversation, only exchanging a few brief sentences before returning to English. It happens so smoothly that Jean can tell it’s just one of those habits the two share. 

And suddenly, he now knows how Mikasa feels when he switches into French with other francophones in front of her. 

A part of him is hesitant to chime in, as the flow of the conversation feels so fast. He’s also worried that he might spoil the joy of the reunion. 

So he spends the time petting Miso under the table while Mochi tries to steal some bites of okonomiyaki. At least the samoyed has begun taking a liking to him. 

Mikasa recalls to her Aunt Kiyomi exactly how she and Jean met. The story involved a social gathering for McGill grad students, as well as alcohol and a karaoke machine. Sometimes Jean thinks about how different things would have been had Mikasa not spilled wine on his shirt at the start of the party — he would have probably spent the night drunk singing instead of watching her trying to fruitlessly clean his clothes in the bathroom. 

Considering how many of his colleagues at the School of Architecture were attending the party, Mikasa had most likely saved his reputation before he even had one to destroy. 

Mikasa is in the midst of explaining her thesis to Kiyomi, detailing how she made the choice to specialize in plant pathology. Recently, she’s been studying a virus that has only been affecting flowers that thrive in cold weather. 

Jean loves it when she gets like this, so wrapped up in explaining her work that she’s talking more than she usually does. Truth be told, he can’t comprehend enough botanical science to truly understand what she’s talking about, but the fact that she can talk about trees and flowers like an artist talks about the Sistine Chapel is enough for him. Seeing the way she lights up as she talks about what she’s dedicating her life to is all he’ll ever need. 

Plus, Mikasa always seems tuned in when he goes on and on about architecture mumbo jumbo, even the stuff that he knows for a fact will bore people to tears. (“No one cares about the history of the pillar,” Sasha’s voice echoes in his head.) The least he can do is be an attentive boyfriend. 

“It’s nice to know that all those years away from home have done you good,” Kiyomi says, pouring herself a little more wine. 

“It has,” Mikasa assures. She then looks down and sees Mochi resting his chin on her lap with a loving look in his eyes.“But I can never stay away for too long…” 

Kiyomi looks amused. “Have you ever considered getting a dog?” 

“We have,” Jean finally speaks up. It’s telling of him that the one topic he’s more comfortable chining in on is pets. “But it’d be a hassle while we’re both still in school.”

Nonetheless, Kiyomi looks interested and listens intently. 

“We did dogsit for our friend Historia once — she’s got a terrier mix, we watched it for about a week,” Jean continues, then lets out a chuckle. “The poor guy would weep every time we crated him for the night, wouldn’t sleep unless he was in the bed with us.” 

Mikasa lets out a polite hum, reliving the memories of the two stressed grad students trying to curb a terrier’s energy inside their apartment. At least the little one was calm once he was allowed to sleep in the realm of the humans. 

“And our bedroom still has some of Donut’s dog hair in it,” Mikasa adds. 

Kiyomi spends a moment politely laughing along.

“Oh, speaking of which,” the older lady starts, eyeing the man currently petting the samoyed under the table. “Jean, I prepared the guest bedroom for you.” 

It does not take long for both Jean and Mikasa to understand the implications. Jean is suddenly plunged into a mix of embarrassment and confusion, a sensation that makes him pick up the fidgety mannerisms of a twelve-year-old boy. 

“Ah… thank you?” is all he can muster. Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck. 

Meanwhile, Mikasa’s sweet smile disappears from her pretty face and in its place is a glare directed at the hostess. 

“Auntie, I was under the impression that my room would be available for us,” she asks in a tone that’s the slightest bit stilted, perhaps to cover up her clear agitation. 

“Oh, certainly, Dear, it’s available for you,” Kiyomi explains simply. The way she says ‘dear’ is both motherly and condescending. “I’ve cleaned it and everything.” 

Mikasa starts to look more and more frustrated with every passing second. “I meant for both of us.” 

“Not in my house.” Kiyomi then reaches for the bottle in the middle of the table like nothing is wrong. “More wine, anyone?” 

Then just like before, Mikasa and Kiyomi slip into a tongue that’s foreign to Jean's ears. This time, instead of speaking Japanese for a sentence or two, the two engage into what can respectfully be referred to as a “passive aggressive debate.” 

Jean hasn’t learned enough Japanese to discern exactly what the two are saying, but the subject matter is enough to bring a blush to his cheeks. He didn’t anticipate that the concept of he and Mikasa sharing a room — despite sharing so much more back in their apartment in Montreal — would be such a hot topic in the Azumabito household. Apparently, Kiyomi had put a lot of thought into making sure that her niece and her niece’s boyfriend didn’t get too close.

Mikasa’s tone is composed, focused, the one she uses when she has to babysit freshmen undergrads all day. Yet it is laced with just enough persistence to prove that she’s not backing down without a fight. On the other hand, Kiyomi remains placid as she explains her point, continuing to act like there’s nothing wrong with her silly little rule. 

Suddenly, Jean’s wondering why he passed up on his mother’s offer to spend the holidays with her in Montpellier. 

To quell the uncomfortable knot forming in his stomach, Jean begins petting another dog — Mochi this time — and reaches for the bottle of red. 

“Some wine sounds nice, actually.”

…

…

…

Once dinner and the debate is over, the two jet-lagged grad students decide to retire for the night. It’s only 9 o’clock but it feels so much later than that. 

The outcome of the conversation has caused Jean to unpack his luggage in the basement guest room, whereas Mikasa is forced to do the same on the top floor. 

The last time Mikasa had stayed in her childhood bedroom, she was taking a break before heading onto grad school. She can remember the months she spent preparing to move across the country for a second time — the tables she waited to earn extra cash, the lessons she spent with a tutor to get a better grasp on French. Montreal was going to be a whole new beast compared to Toronto — where she had completed her undergrad — and every reminder of that was a sign that she needed to prepare. 

That era of her life was roughly two years ago, yet Mikasa feels like it’s a millenia away. 

Despite Kiyomi’s rule regarding her niece and her niece’s significant other, at least the bedroom is clean and cozy. Although the pictures and art on the wall have been removed, the sheets are clean and the blankets are soft, more than enough to help Mikasa survive the night. 

So alone in her room, Mikasa lies on a bed and reads a book, her usual habit whenever she needs to fall asleep. With the sound of rain hitting the roof and the two dogs napping at the foot of her bed, she almost feels like she’s in high school again, preferring to spend hours in her room just snuggling with Mochi and Miso. 

As Mikasa turns the page, she hears a light knock. Mochi immediately lifts his head from the cushions and watches the door open. Jean peaks in with a playful, almost boyish look on his face, knowing well that what he’s doing is a little mischievous. 

He steps into the room calmly, having changed from his traveling clothes to something a lot more comfortable. He’s wearing a pair of pyjama pants that Mikasa bought for him on a whim, as well as a flannel shirt that he’s buttoned sparingly. His hair is damp from a shower, ashy brown locks draping messily over his face. The stubble on his jawline and chin looks a bit thicker, more like a short beard. 

Knowing Jean, Mikasa wonders if he’s trying to entice her, as he knows exactly what she thinks when she sees him looking so disheveled. 

“What are you reading?” he asks, stepping barefoot into her room. He sits on the edge of her bed and starts petting Miso, who predictably reacts with a doofy grin. 

Mikasa looks away from her book. “One of Sasha’s romance novels — she lent it to me.”

Jean catches sight of the muscular man on the cover and raises an eyebrow. “Sasha reads romance?” 

“When she can,” Mikasa answers. “Vet school’s been taking up a lot of her time.” 

There is a beat — Mikasa continues reading and Jean continues petting the dog on the bed. He then notices something that brings a smile to his face. 

“You’re wearing my shirt.” 

Mikasa is nonplussed as she turns a page. “I know.”

Nowadays, Jean’s green button-front shirt finds itself in Mikasa’s care more often than his. He doesn’t seem to mind though. 

Mikasa changes the subject with ease. She looks up and affixes her gaze to his. “How’s the guest room? Cozy?”

“It is.” He nods his head, then his voice goes warm. “Not as cozy as this though.” 

Mikasa is quick to close her book and give him a knowing look. “Don’t get any ideas. I wouldn’t want Kiyomi to toss you onto the street.” 

Jean puts his hands up in mock defeat. “Trust me, I wouldn’t want that either.” 

Putting her novel away, she straightens her back and sits up. “I’m sorry you had to see the argument.” 

“It’s fine,” Jean shrugs. At least he’s good at taking things in stride. “What’s the holidays without some family bickering, huh?”

Mikasa lets out a sigh and looks down. “Unfortunately.” 

In hindsight, attempting to argue with Kiyomi in Japanese was somewhat pointless, as Jean most likely knew that they were talking about thanks to their mannerisms. Some things in the world are just made to transcend language barriers.

“But hey, I don’t wanna rock the boat.” He’s trying to keep a positive undertone to his voice. “I just wanted to say goodnight.” 

He moves on the bed a bit to sit next to her, gently cupping her face with his hand and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Mikasa closes her eyes and lets the gesture send a warm sensation throughout her entire body. The unease she had dealt with at dinner starts to fade away. 

With his palms still touching her cheeks, Jean presses a kiss to her lips. It’s gentle, sweet, and makes her want him to stay.

She puts her hands on his as they remain on her face, gently deepening their kiss as her forehead brushes against his. He’s warm, so warm.

Mikasa’s hands trail down to Jean’s shoulders, then to his chest — her thumbs start hooking into the hems of his shirt. 

But before anything more can happen, Jean pulls away. She can see the flustered look on his face as his breathing goes unsteady.

“I should go,” he insists, quickly buttoning up his shirt. 

Sensing the urgency Mikasa nods along. She then remembers that Kiyomi is still awake and currently relaxing one floor beneath them. 

Also, if they are to engage in any intimacy during the stay, she would rather do it without the dogs in the room.

Jean takes her hand and kisses it, a last gesture before he leaves. 

“See you in the morning, mon amour.” 

And when everything said is done, he leaves. Standing from the bed, he gives the dogs some last pets before walking out of the bedroom. He makes sure to give Mikasa one last assuring look before he is truly gone. 

Once the door is closed, Mikasa takes in a breath and rubs her face. Her palms are sweating. When she opens her eyes she is greeted to the sight of Mochi and Miso staring at her with their unblinking gazes. 

Her first instinct is to glare back. “Don’t judge me, I’ve seen you two dig up a hornet’s nest.” 

…

…

…

It’s 5AM when Mikasa wakes. The room is warm and so is the bed, yet when she reaches to the other side to only feel nothing it might as well be cold as ice. 

After opening her eyes, she spends a few moments staring at the ceiling and thinking about how tired she is. She may be on vacation, but parts of her are still in grad student mode. Her body has yet to comprehend that she’s not going to spend the day TAing or going over research notes.  

When Mikasa gets up, she notices that the dogs are no longer sleeping at the foot of her bed. With the bedroom door ajar, she surmises that Mochi and Miso have transitioned to sleeping in Kiyomi’s bed, as per usual. 

Being jet-lagged, Mikasa feels awake, but the kind of awake where one can either function for the day or go for a few more hours of slumber. She contemplates going for an early morning run to ease her nerves, then looks to the window to find that last night’s downpour has intensified. 

Vancouver is always rainy, but the kind of rain that makes it impossible to go outside feels truly constricting. 

Then an idea pops into Mikasa’s head, one attached to consequences but possible enough to pull off. She has to be careful though, so as quietly as she can she slips out of bed and steps onto the floor. 

The carpets dampen the noise of her footfalls as she makes her way through the hallway. When she sees Kiyomi’s bedroom door slightly ajar, she takes in the sight of her Auntie sleeping in between the world’s fluffiest dogs. Smartly, she makes sure to close the door. 

Mikasa descends the stairs to the first floor, moving past the furniture and framed photographs before approaching the basement entrance. The lower portion of the house is as cozy as the rest and when she arrives at the bedroom at the end of the hall she slips in without any hesitation. She makes sure to lock the door behind her. 

The guest room is warm, Jean’s belongings are scattered about. On a nearby chair is the shirt he had been wearing in her room and on the desk is one of his sketchbooks — he’s quite fond of traveling with at least one. The open page is filled with doodles of Mochi and Miso.

Jean is fast asleep on the bed, bare-chested and breathing gently. His eyes are closed and his hair is strewn in every direction. 

Mikasa doesn’t waste any more time. She slips under the sheets, her body easily finding his, and begins peppering kisses against his shoulder. 

With the sweetest touch, she trails her lips up his neck and onto his jaw. His stubble is soft and tickles her face. He lets out a hum, as he’s used to being woken up like this. His eyes are still closed as he shifts slightly, letting Mikasa easily pry herself under his arm. Soon she rests her head on his chest, where she always likes to be. He’s warm, warmer than her room upstairs. 

With all his strength, Jean manages to open his eyes just enough to see his girlfriend snuggling against him. The room is dark, but she can still see the sleepy smile on his beautiful face. 

“Couldn’t stay away?” 

“Not a bit.” 

Mikasa relaxes into him, letting his heartbeat become a gentle lullaby. In the sheets his hand finds hers and holds it tight, one of her legs hooking around his. She is content to drift off to sleep just like this.  

She’ll deal with the consequences later. 

[sims4cars-breezemotors]

“Classic off-roader”

1970 International Scout 🇺🇸

International Harvester Scouts are known for being rugged, go-anywhere runabouts. The company’s tractor-building roots and proclivity for picking sturdy mechanical parts helped foster a reputation for long-lasting drivetrain durability even if its offerings, like plenty of other vehicles of the ’60s, were also known for suffering from body rust. Scouts were one the pioneers in the SUV marketplace, beating the Bronco to the punch by offering buyers a more practical alternative to Jeep’s CJ, with actual doors and a top to go with their nimble 4×4 chassis. All early Scouts have great proportions. Their design is simple, boxy, and a little chunky. With their short overhangs, they vaguely resemble a bulldog puppy—and who doesn’t love a puppy?

Available exclusively for “No Limits” and “All Inclusive” tiers.

Model with HQ interior, open/close doors, trunk, hard top and functional light.

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