#coefficient of drag

[positivelybeastly]

Mara had made it a habit to keep Hank company (Annoy him) in one of his labs whenever she wanted away from her family. Or was bored. Or wanted to do some sort of science. Ever since she was a child, Hank had been her favorite of the old generation. He helped her when she was a child to control her mutation and with the pain and how it ripped her body apart.

She carried in a full bag of textbooks that should have been well beyond her years. She might not have been quite the genius that Hank was, but her mind was that close to a speedster's (thanks, Dad).

She dropped her bag by the door as she walked over to Hank, taking his glasses off his face and putting them on herself, "What are we looking at today, Dr. McCoy?" She tried her best to sound professional and essential, even if she was only 12 years old.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favourite lab assistant." Even as the overstuffed bag of textbooks hit the floor by the door, Hank was already turning around in his chair and sipping at his oversized mug of coffee, knowing the routine so very well by now. He didn't even question it when she reached up to slide his glasses off his face and place them on herself, the oversized wire rim frames barely fitting on her, but such a thing wouldn't stop Mara McKay.

The completely clear glass (Hank hadn't needed actual corrective lenses for close to 30 years now) only served to accentuate her wide, curious eyes, and Hank couldn't help but smile at her as he reached over and handed her a specially fitted lab coat that he'd invested in once it was clear she wasn't going to be leaving him alone any time soon. "Today, Dr. McKay, we're going to be looking at aerodynamics. A field of physics I'm sure you're very well acquainted with."

Bringing his ring finger and pink back against his palm, he gestured into the ether of his lab, the holographic emitters springing into life in an instant and displaying a diagram of an SR-77 Blackbird in flight.

"If the SR-77 Blackbird is travelling at a velocity of Mach 3.2 - which, I shouldn't need to tell you is 2,190 miles per hour - and operating, we'll assume for the sake of a simplified calculation, without a measurable tailwind or headwind, then what would be the expected wind resistance? Please show your working."

[meteortrails]

nothing more frustrating than listening to murph have a mechanics argument where they’ve all made a physics mistake. like buddy it’s just acceleration due to gravity that’s universal and constant! terminal velocity is a fuck ugly equation that depends on your projected area and how much air resistance you accumulate and how much mass you have!! so like if you drop two things with roughly the same amount of air resistance and mass in the same order of magnitude, they’ll max out at about the same speed, but if you drop say. a dolphin and a dude in plate mail. well that’s gonna be a different fucking story my dude.

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

You were intentionally trying to make me hard.

Didn't take long

I lost I guess. Iust have said water on nickelodeon

99 Woodstock

Burn them all dead

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Rumpler Tropfenwagen, 1921. An early experiment in automotive aerodynamics, Austrian engineer Edmund Rumpler had designed aircraft but showed the teardrop-shaped Tropfenwagen at the Berlin car show. It was the first series production car to employ curved glass and had a drag coefficient of only 0.28, still competitive 100 years later. It had a 2.6 litre W6 engine with 3 banks of 2 cylinders working from a common crankshaft that produced 36hp but propelled the car to 70mph, a remarkable figure for the period. Sales were slow, some were adapted as taxis because the driver sat in the middle at the front, ahead of the 4 other seats. Only around 100 had been made when production ended 100 years ago in 1924, and just 2 are known to still exist.

[redsnowdrop]

Ferrari - La Ferrari

F1 (and cars) MASTERLIST

Italians just do it better…

The car is equipped with a version of the F140 engine, a 65° V12 Otto cycle, direct injection and atmospheric fuel, mounted in a central position, of 6262 cm³ delivering 800 HP at 9000 rpm, 700 N m of torque at 6750 rpm, with compression ratio of 13.5:1; in addition, the HY-KERS energy recovery system, with the additional 163 HP developed by the relevant electric engine, brings the combined power and torque values ​​to, respectively, 963 HP and over 900 N·m. Thanks to the hybrid scheme, combined fuel consumption is 14.2 l/100 km (7.2 km/l), also managing to limit CO2 emissions to 330 g/km.

The chassis and bodywork, with a dry weight of 1255 kg, are entirely made of four different types of carbon fiber and Kevlar, differentiating themselves in the various areas, adapting to the specific rigidity and shock absorption needs of each. The aerodynamic drag coefficient (Cx) is 0.299 in the minimum drag configuration; but it can vary, increasing, depending on the configuration assumed by the active aerodynamics with which the car is equipped. The suspensions are overlapping wishbones at the front and multilink at the rear. The brakes are made of carbon-ceramic composite material by Brembo, and power to the rear wheels is managed through a 7-speed dual-clutch F1 gearbox.

The data that the company provides regarding acceleration are the following: 0-100 km/h in less than 3 seconds, 0-200 km/h in less than 7 seconds and 0-300 km/h in 15 seconds; the maximum speed indicated is over 350 km/h. This made it the most high-performance and fastest road Ferrari ever produced up to that point.

[ips-northstar-official]

Can Lancaster survive atmospheric reentry?

time sensitive question

Hello!

We certainly hope so! Our intern hasn’t gotten to testing that one, though.

Be sure to point the front down for the lowest drag coefficient and tell us how it goes!

[despazito]

The Nenetskaya Laika or Nenets herding laika is a landrace reindeer herder from northern Russia kept by several indigenous peoples. In the 1890s the Norwegian Fram expedition to the antarctic purchased 33 nenets dogs for their journey, and the white surviving dogs became the foundation stock for the modern Samoyed breed.

Many dog breeds have a breed mythos that is varying degrees of truths and some almost completely fictitious to explain where the breed came from, what it does, and why they look the way they do. I think it flatters some people’s egos to imagine they own a piece of history. For instance I think the Shih Tzu or Pekingese becomes more appealing once you explain that they were bred by imperial royalty. Particularly egregious examples are the myths like bloodhounds and bassets having long dragging ears to "pick up" a scent, or that excessive 20th century wrinkling on the bulldog was somehow useful in bull baiting.

The Samoyed story is mostly true, the Nenets and Samoyed people do rely on these dogs for herding and companionship, but if you're imagining the large plush white dogs you see in the suburbs you're being a bit misled. This disconnect wouldn't matter if it weren't for the breeders espousing the breed myth as sacred text to justify purity above all else for breed preservation. But the dogs they are preserving are so often completely different from the dogs written about in the origin stories! It's the Nenets people of the 21st century who are more closely preserving the true spirit and image of the historic Samoyed dog.

So many breeds in their current state were invented by the kennel clubs then retroactively labeled as unchanged for hundreds of years. The Saint Bernard as we know it now is another good example of a kennel club fabrication.

After a century of pedigree breeding with a small founder population the Samoyed has an inbreeding coefficient nearing 30% (Dreger et al 2016) despite the UK KC listing 8.5% (because they measure COI by reading registered pedigree ancestry instead of genetic testing). 12% of tested dogs were heterozygous for the mutation linked to enamel hypoplasia. They're still pretty healthy dogs, but again it could be better.

Similar dogs from the same family and region get repeatedly subdivided up into separate, smaller groups who are then banned from mixing outside their small gene pool. Compound it with bottlenecks, overrepresented sires, and the sterilization of most offspring, and you're left with a gradual loss of diversity and an accumulation of deleterious mutations. This is why even purebred dogs who don't have exaggerated physical deformities still have higher rates of many hereditary disorders.

Selective breeding can be very useful and you can selectively breed for healthier dogs, but the overwhelming majority of dog breeders put more weight on either breeding for looks or obeying artificial parameters set on gene pools than breeding for welfare and long-term breed health.

  -The Invention of the Modern Dog: Breed and Blood in Victorian Britain

[akaiitori]

Reven [2024]

As loud as their feathers are bright, Reven has learned to bite and never let go. They are outspoken and passionate, willing to go to the ends of the world in pursuit of freedom for their species.

Updated design for Rev! >:) Some trivia below

Genderqueer, uses any pronoun except 'it'

A passionate artist, they focus on street art and tattoo designs. Also a decent drummer.

Well-connected, they probably know a guy for anything you need.

Blueberries are their favourite food.

Showy and loud, they are terrible at anything stealth-based.

Really good at flight, but their skill is entirely empirical. Words like 'angle of attack’ or 'drag coefficient’ are gibberish to them.

Wings are broad and short, with gentle slotting. It allows for good maneuvering while still getting to soar, though not as effectively as a vulture.

Very, very good memory!

Stands at 160cm (of pure SWAG)

Loves wearing jewelry, in particular chain necklaces, bracelets and rings. They like anything that sparkles, but know better than to wear anything actually luxurious as it's likely he'll lose a few mid-flight

[charlesabramsscarminetits]

I think Pale is like...okay. So the first couple arcs I think are quite uncontroversially good, they're a look at the setting of Pact from a perspective not quite so colored by being a walking pvp flag. As with Pact, the theme of carving out an existence in a hostile world is explored. The characters are charming and fun.

At a point somewhere between arcs 3 and 8, depending on the reader, the opinion is likely to start to shift- generally I think this shift is represented by a complex function with its coefficient approximately inversely linked to how much one liked Pact. That is, a strong fondness for Pact will result in a quick dropoff in fondness for Pale, while dislike of Pact, not having read it, or a generally neutral feeling towards Pact will mitigate this shift. This effect gets more pronounced after arc 13 and again in arc 17. This is due to, as @v1leblood mentioned in their excellent post, an increasing schism between the story that Pact wants to tell and the story that Pale wants to tell- comparing the two is very likely to make one fall short.

A second contributing factor is that Pale's plot drags in the stretches from arc 8-12, 16, 18-19, and 22-23. This isn't an addition of badness, mind you, it's solely a subtraction of goodness.

The additions of badness come at different points- namely the end of arcs 17 and 19 and most of arcs 21 and 22. These are places where, rather than jarring with elements of Pact, Pale jars with elements of itself, as well as just doing things that are frankly kind of dumb.

Anyway, reading Pale is like pencil-diving into a pitcher plant. It starts sweet, it ends agonizing, and in the meantime it's fucking boring.

[diabolus1exmachina]

SSC Tuatara (1 of 100). 

The jet fighter inspired teardrop canopy, which is suspended within the dynamic fuselage body, is complemented by vertical stabilizing fins at the rear, revealing the cars stunning speed capabilities. The streamlined design has been tuned to produce a near perfect front to rear aero balance, incredible thermal efficiency to ensure stability at all speeds up to its terminal ground velocity along with unrivaled high speed acceleration. The design of the Tuatara goes further than visual appearance. The intentional design of the body was meticulously crafted to carry the car through the air with unprecedented ease. Boasting an industry leading coefficient of drag of 0.279, the Tuatara is well balanced between unmatched aerodynamics and precision downforce at top speed.Rear static winglets, side mounted buttresses, forward static wing, and a rear active wing manipulate the smooth flowing air to distribute precision down force on the wheels. Air is also diverted to intakes that efficiently cool the powerful drive train, then expelled through perforations in the body to sustain the deliberate airflow. Downforce is systematically applied across the hypercar, providing perfect balance at all speeds.The heart of the Tuatara is an engineering masterpiece in and of itself. Years of meticulous design and engineering at SSC North America culminated into unadulterated power generated from an engine built from the ground up exclusively for the Tuatara. The smooth, balanced power produced offers both incredible performance and a unique hypercar experience. To ensure the engine met the standards of quality, performance, and durability that the hypercar market demands, SSC North America partnered with Nelson Racing Engines to fabricate and manufacture the V8 engine that powers this next generation hypercar.The Tuatara’s unprecedented power is transferred to a CIMA 7 speed transmission, integrated with a state-of-the-art Automac AMT system that operates the engagement and selection of movement in the gearbox. The system includes hydraulic driven components and sensors to produce high force engagement, position accuracy, and load control within milliseconds. The clutch and gear selection actuation are electrically operated, providing high precision and strategic operation. The core of the system is powered by a powerful automotive microprocessor, ensuring exceptional safety and performance.

[formlab]

The Pininfarina CNR concept, 1978 It won the Compasso d’Oro Award 1979 for its Ideal Aerodynamic Shape, outcome of a theoretical experimental research project promoted by the National Research Italian Council. The outstanding drag coefficient (CD=0,20) allowed Pininfarina to achieve a substantial reduction in fuel consumption.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

3. "Try not to shit yourself Gary. It's just an open door."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "What could it be about?" He frets to himself, not taking your advice. "I probably talked too loud. In the Whirling. About some theories I had. Whatever it is, I'm done with it."

"I won't do it again." He looks around nervously. "If there's anything I can do to assist you -- or the Union -- just ask, okay? I'll try to help if I can."

+5 XP

HALF LIGHT [Easy: Success] - This scared him proper. He's positively *melting* from fear. Has to prop himself up with a lot of anger to keep it together.

KIM KITSURAGI - "The weather vane has turned," the lieutenant remarks with a smirk. "He cannot be un-turned."

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] - He clearly liked his squirming. He may even have changed his mind about the whole door-opening operation.

+1 Reputation

4. "Thank you for your cooperation." [Leave.]

We're going to look for Morell's traps while we keep exploring the coastal area.

🎵 Disco Elysium

No boat in the boat house today.

Snow's really starting to pick up.

OVERSIZED SUPERSTAR SUNGLASSES

+1 Savoir Faire: Dazzling reflexes -1 Visual Calculus: The mirror lies

Is your own stardom too dazzling for your eyes? Can't bear to look at your own fabulous reflection in the mirror? Then these classic oversized sunglasses are for you.

TRAP: BOATHOUSES - There's a trap in the reeds at your feet. Looks like the same one you saw Morell set before -- same mesh, same wiring.

Look around.

Reach for the trap.

[Leave.]

TRAP: BOATHOUSES - Behind you, the ruins of a residential building loom over the reeds. They whisper amongst themselves confidentially. Snowflakes cling to their shivering stems.

SHIVERS [Medium: Success] - When this district was booming, the reeds were kept at bay. Nothing obscured the freshly painted façades, nowhere for drunks and adventurous teenagers to hide. Now only the wind blows...

2. Reach for the trap.

TRAP: BOATHOUSES - Locusts are crawling around in the trap, confused but uneaten. You see no carnivorous *reed-phasmid* gorging on them.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Big surprise." The lieutenant grins mirthlessly. "Anyway -- one down, three to go."

"Damn, I was hoping it would be in the *first* one."

"No need to grin. I'm not *expecting* to find anything. I'm helping some citizens and getting some fresh air."

"It'll be in the next one. *Surely*."

Say nothing, just put the trap down.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Surely," he repeats and looks at the sea, then at you putting the trap back on the ground. "Anyway, the air is nice and fresh here..."

2. [Leave.]

The boathouse is shoddily constructed. A strong breeze might blow it over.

Ancient paint is peeling off the roof of this shaded bench, covered in rust.

The sign says: "Entrée interdite".

An old ticket-taker booth. No longer in operation.

People paid money to park here? No one would pay now...

The door is not only barred shut -- it is inaccessible.

FALN "PIPO" PIPO

+2 Logic: Ultimate peak focus -1 Perception: Eyes on the road

The small wire framing inside this futuristic-looking FALN pipo-hat gives it the aerodynamic shape of a swoop-skiers helmet, but none of its protective qualities. Covers the wearer's ears and eyebrows to bring down the drag coefficient.

🎵 Martinaise, Terminal B (muted)

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - A scattering of bullet holes is spread across the cracked wall, reaching from one corner to the other.

"Look, Kim. Even more bullet holes. Something's definitely gone down here."

[Visual Calculus - Heroic 15] Why this many bullet holes?

Walk away. [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Hmm, correct." The lieutenant examines the wall closely. "The density of the bullet holes is unusual, even in a general *average bullet hole frequency in Martinaise* sense. Grim affairs."

"Meaning, this is *a lot* of bullet holes." He brushes the wall with his hand. "Looks like fully-automatic rifle fire. Something you don't see these days..."

"Why not?"

Say nothing, just nod.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant also nods. It is quite a scene -- the two of you standing next to the broken wall of an abandoned building... nodding. Nodding along.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Medium: Success] - Two officers of the law against the world. Nodding in unison. It is your source of power. The bond of camaraderie between you... is palpable...

Nod even more.

Shake your head.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant is nodding so hard it looks like his head is about to snap off his neck.

Don't stop nodding.

Stop nodding.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant matches your nodding pace. He's a true professional at this.

ENDURANCE [Easy: Success] - The nodding's reaching critical mass! You can't take this much longer, captain!

Keep nodding, goddamn it! Stay the course!

Stop nodding.

KIM KITSURAGI - A small bead of sweat runs down the side of the lieutenant's face as he maintains his nodding...

Just one more nod.

Stop nodding.

KIM KITSURAGI - As the lieutenant takes out a handkerchief and softly taps the sweat off his temple... a faint crack echoes through the coast...

ENDURANCE - Abort! Abort! No... shit, it's too late!

-1 Health

"OH SHIT FUCK HELL!"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Busted the neck, did you?" He cranes his neck left and right, stretching. "Glad I stopped when I did... my neck was really starting to hurt. Don't worry, it'll mend... now, we should get going."

Hold on...

2. [Visual Calculus - Heroic 15] Why this many bullet holes?

+1 Bullet holes on the plaza. +1 Bullet holes in the back yard. +1 Know about the revolution. +1 Know about Feld Electrical.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Heroic: Success] - A row of ghostly shades stand facing the wall. There are many of them, a dozen at least, their heads lowered and eyes blindfolded. It's quiet. No sound, no movement.

Ten metres away -- other shades are lined up in an orderly manner, automatic rifles primed. A gust of wind blows by -- the coats of the firing squad flap slowly in the breeze. A single person stands on the side.

The morning sun rises beyond the horizon, radiating the first light of the day. The order was carried out at dawn.

A long time has passed since the moment of this fusillading. Rain and brine have since washed all the blood away. Not a trace remains.

What *is* this...

VISUAL CALCULUS - The abundance of bullet holes leads to two options: either an inordinate amount of executions were performed here, or they did not use a *conscience round* -- where only one soldier has the loaded rifle. Looks like this was a mass execution with everyone fully armed.

+5 XP

Look at the people against the wall.

Look at the line of soldiers.

Look at the person standing on the side.

"Kim, who was who in this execution?"

Good bye. [Leave.]

VISUAL CALCULUS - A host of men, probably in everyday clothes -- ragged from the conflict and covered in dust. They were not sitting (a common practice for executions in some nations), as demonstrated by the height level of the bullet holes.

They stand, facing the wall... It's impossible to discern any details about their personality or background.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - Ordinary people -- familiar, each and every one of them.

Who were they?

ESPRIT DE CORPS - Comrades. The forsaken, the wretched, who tried to rise against the horrors of the world.

2. Look at the line of soldiers.

VISUAL CALCULUS - Seven men in combat uniforms and dark coats, holding automatic rifles aimed at the people. Soldiers from some side... but from which one?

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] - Men of duty. Dark duty.

Who were they?

AUTHORITY - Murderers. Twisted by orders. Young boys forced into killing.

3. Look at the person standing on the side.

VISUAL CALCULUS - The commandant -- the one who gives the order. Machine gun fire crackling through the air, the lights of the muzzle flashes dancing on his face...

4. "Kim, who was who in this execution?"

KIM KITSURAGI - At first the lieutenant doesn't say a word... he just stares at the wall. "I don't know," he says finally. "I don't know who died here, lined up beside that horrible wall. It could have been any of the parties involved in the Revolution."

"Perhaps the ones executed here were the loyalist-conservatives -- killed by the communists at the start of the civil war. Or it could have been the communists, put to death during the last stretch of the conflict by the Coalition forces."

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - Remember what Trant Heidelstam said about Feld.

"What if it was the Feld personnel when their assets were being seized by the revolutionaries?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Another likely scenario." The lieutenant nods.

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - Or maybe...

"What about people from the Coalition? The so-called moralists?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yeah... it's very unlikely the Coalition forces were the ones who died here. They were always the *last* ones against the wall."

"To be honest, if a Coalition member was anyone in this situation -- it was the commandant. The superior giving the orders."

+5 XP

5. Good bye. [Leave.]

VISUAL CALCULUS - A cold sea wind blows away the figures.

🎵 Disco Elysium

This section of the coast hasn't been used in decades.

We've been looking at that wall long enough for Gary and Morell to have left.

TRAP: MORELL - This is the trap Morell just set. Checking it over, he said, is just a *technicality*, but...

Look around.

Reach for the trap.

[Leave.]

TRAP: MORELL - The reeds by the abandoned camp site hiss and shake.

SHIVERS [Easy: Success] - The later it gets, the colder. Remnants of the camp can still be seen in the sand, the fire that's gone out... you feel strange, somehow.

2. Reach for the trap.

TRAP: MORELL - This trap is also full of panicked locusts. No sign of any cryptozoological beast inside.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Another empty trap," the lieutenant takes a note -- more out of habit than duty.

"Let's keep going. The next one is the *lucky* one."

"How are you enjoying the cardio, lieutenant? I'm quite enjoying it myself."

"I want to make it clear that I don't *actually* believe the phasmid exists, okay?"

Say nothing, just put the trap down.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Always up for a good jog -- otherwise, would I still be *on* this case with *you*?" He smiles and raises his collar. It's windy.

2. [Leave.]

We're going to double back now, starting to head northeast along the boardwalk - past where Trant and his son are.

Someone must have worked hard to smash the plastic dome.

Buzz. Hum. The electricity flows through the wires with audible power.

RAILING - Someone has left an unidentifiable article of clothing on this railing. It smells really bad.

Touch it.

Take a closer look.

Maybe later. [Leave.]

RAILING - The cloth, if you can still call it that, makes a soft crunching sound as you thrust your finger into it.

2. Take a closer look.

RAILING - It's streaked with dried seagull shit and tangled with pieces of seaweed. A dangling arm suggests that there might be a jacket beneath the crust of filth.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - It seems likely that it was left in the surf until someone laid it out on this fence to dry out. Unfortunately that just seems to have stiffened it into a shapeless mass.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Please tell me you're not taking that with you."

"I think this is the jacket the Idiot Doom Spiral Guy wanted me to find."

"Why not?"

"It might be a clue."

KIM KITSURAGI - "A clue? You think our suspect is a seagull who's been defecating on unsuspecting jackets?"

"No."

"Yes."

"It could have been multiple seagulls."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant sighs.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - A poet could write a dozen verses and still not begin to capture the profound vexation in that sigh.

INTERFACING [Trivial: Success] - You should still take it. It's probably Doom Spiral's.

A makeshift roof. Vagrants have tried to make the boardwalk habitable.

That tarp will keep out neither rain, nor snow, nor wind.

A coin operated weighing machine. Hasn't been used for a decade.

MEGA-BINO'S PRESCRIPTION LENSES

+2 Encyclopedia: Discover your inner bino -1 Perception: Nausea inducing hell-glasses

Whose idiotic idea were square and beige plastic frames anyway? Beige is a colour that does not look good on *anyone*. Not to mention that seeing the world through these exceedingly thick lenses feels almost nauseating...

FILTHY JACKET

This filthy rag has been at the mercy of the elements for quite some time. It's streaked with seagull shit and abnormally stiff from god-knows-what natural processes. You can't even tell what brand it is.

>INTERACT

FILTHY JACKET- As you hold it in your hands, it makes an uncomfortable crunching sound...

Man, how did this jacket get so disgusting?

Let's not think about that right now. [Put the filthy jacket away.]

FILTHY JACKET- It's a sordid, filthy tale, not for the weak. Are you sure you can stomach it?

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - Some secrets are better left uncovered. Don't even try, seriously.

But the *content*!

Think about it.

Don't think about it.

FILTHY JACKET- It occurs to you that you're not even *holding* the jacket itself, but rather the thick crust of jetsam and seagull shit that ensconces it.

PERCEPTION (SMELL) [Medium: Success] - It smells like a dead sea creature, tangled in grey strands of seaweed. It must have spent quite some time in the water before the tide deposited it ashore...

Gross.

Okay, but what's the crust *made* of?

FILTHY JACKET- Somehow it was carried or dragged to the boardwalk, if not by human hands than perhaps the feral dogs that prowl the beaches at night...

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] - The faint impressions of many footprints are also present, though it's impossible to tell what kind or how many. Suffice to say, the jacket spent some time on the ground before someone draped it over the railing...

Okay, that's pretty disgusting. I've had enough.

What happened once someone put it on the railing?

FILTHY JACKET- The crust is hard. This jacket spent at least a day baking in the sun. Who knows what happened to it then?

SHIVERS [Medium: Success] - Somewhere, high above the city, a pair of seagulls trace loops through the air...

They are like the bombardiers of the aerostatic brigades, gliding above a *target-rich environment*...

All of a sudden, the bomb bay doors open, and their white glittering payload rushes to the ground...

*SPLAT*. An explosion of white on a man's shoe. A curse goes up, but the birds do not hear.

Why did I just spend all this time thinking about seagull shit?

I feel like I really understand this jacket now. [Put the jacket away.]

COMPOSURE - It's too late! You've already thought about it. And now your hands are covered in muck!

Ew, ew, ew! (Flick your hands.)

Maybe if I wipe my hands on my pants?

COMPOSURE - Now you're just flicking that shit everywhere! This is a disaster. You'll never get the smell out.

-1 Morale

Vagrants have recently painted the tarp red. Water drips from it.

POSTCARD "COURON '33"

This one has 'HELL' written on its back. It could not be further from the truth. It's the boom years, and Couron, the nicest district in Revachol West, is enjoying a sun drenched day. Tall and handsome buildings rise from the riverside: steel, iron and yellow limestone, with cloud shadows sliding on the facades.

A big wine canister -- it's open and empty.

Hm, I've hit image limit. I think I'll close this post here and continue in a new one.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Alfa Romeo B.A.T. 7, 1954, by Bertone. One of a series of Berlina Aerodinamica Tecnica concepts designed by Franco Scaglione. Nuccio Bertone also added ideas from his experience working on wing profiles in the aeronautical industry resulting in the shape of the large, curved tail fins. The car's drag coefficient was 0.19, still impressively low, for the time, revolutionary.

[dark-ambition]

@mothvalentino continued from X.

Pentious, for the most part, was doing his best to keep his eyes off of the direction of the sex toys that cluttered one side of Valentino’s closet, in favor of looking over the rest, his eyes flicking across the various assortment of guns that the other held, taking note of the heavy modifications that the seemed to hold (as well as a few that seemed to be covered in bedazzled gems for some reason.)

He narrows his eyes a touch at the sight of “Moneyshot” in question, leaning in just a bit more to properly examine it. “…I see you’ve modified the bullet chamber in the shape of a heart…Does that mean you dessssigned special heart shaped bulletsss to use for that specific weapon? If so, how did you determine they still hold proper ballissstic coefficient to make sure that wind drag doesn’t cause the bulletssss to fall to the ground before they reach their target?”

[orpheusredux]

The First Time - Part 2

Fic Summary: Four first times for Eddie Munson: angst, redemption, romance, and true love.

Fic Rating: 18+ only

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader, Eddie Munson x OFC

Warnings:  A description of underage sex, non-con, statutory rape of a minor, period homophobia in part one only, future parts will be more uplifting and fulfilling. 

The First Time Masterlist - Masterlist

“Your girl coming over tonight,” Wayne asked as he emptied his thermos into the sink, and started rinsing it out.

It was their little ritual when Wayne came in from the night shift: Wayne would clean his dinner pail and thermos and ask Eddie how he’d slept and what his plans were, while Eddie ate breakfast and asked him about his shift.

“She’s not my girl,” Eddie replied, alternating between shoveling eggs into his mouth and taking mouthfuls of coffee. He had a copy of a batteries science text book in one hand, and his attention flicked between the page, the plate and his cup. “But, yes, she is. She’s got some big bio test and wants me to do some flash card thing. I don’t know.”

Wayne had nodded and hummed, noncommittally. He didn’t believe Eddie’s bullshit. Not for one second.

*

Eddie tries not to have impure thoughts about you, but he is only one man, and between the shorts skirts, and the way literally everything you own ends up in your mouth at some point is almost more than he can take.

The thing is, you’re only 17. You’re also his friend and - surprise! - he doesn’t have enough real friends to blow one on sex.

Everything will change if he fucks you, he knows it. But Jesus Christ, he really wants to.

Like last weekend, you’d come over to watch Back To The Future and fallen asleep on the sofa with your sock-clad feet in his lap.

Eddie had turned to say something incredibly witty and scathing about Marty Mcfly - you’d let slip you thought he was kind of cute, so now Eddie hated him on principle - but instead of your cute little face, he’d been confronted by the sweet curve of your ass in those pink and white floral panties. The hem of that godforsaken little skirt you always seemed to be wearing these days flipped up almost to your waist.

For a second he’d been transfixed; the idea of just reaching out and touching the faint pink line where the elastic had bitten into your skin, meandered we into his head nonchalantly, sat down and kicked up it’s feet. He pictured squeezing your thick flesh, kneading it, pushing the hem out your panties higher and slipping his thumb inside, touching the tiny, dark pink, puckered rosebud he imagined you were hiding between those luscious cheeks.

Then you’d snuffled a little, wiggling your hips deeper into the sofa cushions, and spread your thighs a tiny bit more. God help him, he’d wanted to touch so much his hand itched.

Thank God, his better nature had appeared out of nowhere and smacked his hormonal desire to do a goddamned sex crime on you in the head. He’d dragged the afghan off the back of the sofa over you instead.

Later, after he’d driven you home, he pulled the van haphazardly off the road half way onto the kerb in his rush to get his pants open, and just about broke his wrist beating off to the memory of those panties.

God knows what he’d have said if one of the deputies had spotted him, parked like a crazy person, and decided to check it out.

“Can you tell me why Eddie The Freak Munson’s shaggin’ wagon is parked up in well-heeled Clerville Heights, Son?”

“Why yes officer, I was bearing off to the thought of molesting a minor!”

He’d have been caught, jizz-handed, and immediately put on some sort of register or watch list and, fuck’s sake, he’d have deserved it.

*

You arrived at the trailer after dinner, a walking pile of books, papers and energy, ditching your bike in the yard and talking a mile a minute before you were even half way through the door.

“...And then he says, ‘no! No, it’s the coefficient’. The coefficient! Like, has ever even read a book?”

“Reeves giving you grief again?” Eddie said from the kitchen where he was upending a bag of chips into a bowl.

Reeves is your lab partner. Eddie cannot believe that the douche gets to spend three periods a week sitting next to you for an hour, and yet has somehow managed to fuck up that sweet deal completely. Eddie loathes the guy almost as much as you do. “Want me to rough him up for you?”

“I want to put a hit out on him. You know people, right? People who will accept cash money to - to ace Hawkins High’s stupidest senior?”

Eddie grins, slightly tickled that despite being a two time senior himself, you don’t think of him as stupid, never have.

“I think you mean ‘ice’ Hawkins High’s stupidest senior, and I choose not to be offended that you only want me for my criminal connections,” he jokes.

“Oh I want you for way more than that Munson,” you reply.

You both go stock still.

“Wow,” Eddie says, managing to deftly disguise the fact he’s just about choked to death on his own tongue.

“I mean the flash cards!”

He just chuckles and give you one of those “sure, sure” looks, so you throw your book bag at him and it devolves into slapping, pinching and tickling as he ducks your half assed attempt to beat him up, giggling like a pair of middle schoolers all hopped up on red sodas.

“Ow! Ow! Help, I’m being assaulted by a nerd! Ow!”

“Gah!” You yell, finally, stomping into the living room to collapse onto the sofa. “You spent 12 hours writing a campaign for five 9th graders and Gareth last weekend, but I’m the nerd?”

“Excuse you, Missy. I’m a goddamned craftsman,” Eddie follows you with the chips and a couple of sodas. He puts them down on the coffee table.

“OK, give me these fuckin’ flash cards,” he says, making grabby hands and throwing himself onto the sofa next you.

The way you kick off your shoes and clamber up on the couch, crossing your legs under you, the way you seem so at home, it does something melty to Eddies’ insides.

And then the melty feeling has to go and ruin things by shooting straight to his dick when you lean over the side of the couch to pull some papers out of your bag, and that God-damned, tiny, little bastard skirt flips up again.

Eddie is a good man, but he isn’t a particularly strong one when it comes to self control, he certainly isn’t strong enough to stop himself from staring at your lap; at the pink and white floral panties barely covering your mound; at the little crease where your sex is defined by the taut cotton. Like a slack jawed don’t, he stared at your pussy way, way longer than is really acceptable considering you are a minor.

The word 'minor' goes off like a siren in his head. He jerks his eyes up to see you staring back at him eyes like saucers.

Without breaking eye contact, you tug your skirt back down.

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, I’m sorry. That was - I don’t know why I did that.”

You just stare at him, unblinking, breathing hard.

“Please say something,” he says, feeling like the worst kind of asshole.

“Was that - did you - Eddie, have you heard about the Juliette clause?”

That’s not at all what he was expecting you to say. In fact, it was not what he was expecting you to say so much he had no immediate response. Then his brain comes back online with a whoosh.

“Sweetheart, are you fucking serious right now? We’re not discussing English class. We can’t just pretend I didn’t just perv - I just want you to know that despite what I just did, I respect you so much. I lo - I care about you. You’re practically my best friend.”

You take a deep breath and hold your hand up. Your eyelids flutter, not in the come hither way but it the “does not compute” way, like you’re trying to process a bunch of stuff you don’t quite know what to do with.

Eddie’s seen this before at the All State Interscholastic Quiz Bowl last year, when you were the only Junior on a team up of Hawkins High’s biggest brainiacs. There were ten points and two questions between Hawkins and Kenney High. You looked just like this.

(You also got both questions right, and won the All State Interscholastic Quiz Bowl cup.)

Finally, you look up and pin him with your stare.

“I have given you every imaginable opportunity to jump me, Eddie. Every time, every time, you do nothing.”

You hold up one hand and start counting ‘every time’ off: “There was that time in your van, I was wearing a thong, and you didn’t even seem to notice.”

Oh, he’d noticed. His poor abused dick had noticed too.

“And the time at Gareth's pool party, when I wore that yellow bikini…”

He hadn’t even been able to talk to her the entire party, and every time someone male that wasn’t him had gone anywhere near her he'd thought he was going to have an aneurysm. He’d ended up leaving the party early.

“Then there was the time we watched Back To The Future, I thought - I thought if I just… showed you my ass, maybe you’d cop a feel, but no! You covered me up so fast I thought, well. I felt like I was grossing you out. Like I was some kind of freaking sex pest,” you said, looking stricken. “Oh my God, Eddie am I a sex pest?

Eddie realizes his chin is just about on the floor. He thinks about all the times he’s sweet talked women and girls; all the flirting and saying things he thought they wanted to hear. He thinks about how you’ve been his friend first, through thick and thin, and how much he doesn’t just want to bone you, but how much he really likes you, too.

He realizes that for the first time in his young romantic life, he doesn’t want to play any of the cutsie-pie games he’s played in the past. He wants to be real with you because, well, he loves you - the big L and the little l versions.

“Honey,” he says gently, reaching out to take a hold of your hand - you’ve been twisting them together in your lap.

“If your a sex pest, then I am one too, because if knew the sorts of things I’ve been thinking about you, you’d call the fucking cops on me.”

He just about swoons when he sees the heat flood your face and you cheeks go almost scarlet.

“But then, why won’t you - Am I not… I mean, I know I’m not ‘hot’...“

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, stop,” Eddie says, squeezing your hand. “You are absolutely hot in all the ways that matter to me.”

He could tell you were really struggling with something, but he didn’t want to push you, he’d be honest with you about how he felt, but he wasn’t going to push anything.

Your brow crumpled so adorably, as you processed this new bit of information.

“But Tommy said there was only one reason someone like you would want to hang out with someone like me. That if I wanted you to like me - like me - I’d have to, you know, do…that.”

Eddie tamped down a spike of rage at the thought of your meathead jock brother saying something like that to you. He thought about his first time, about how he couldn’t see clearly after that, what he really wanted from a girlfriend, how he’d always played this kind of dirtbag casanova part because he thought that’s what dudes did. Yeah, he’d been one giant desperate hormone at 17, but no one had ever just… held his hand and kissed him and let him enjoy the longing, the build up, the anticipation.

“You don’t - Sweetheart, I love spending time with you, you don’t need to - to put out for me to like you - to l-love you. I always want you around.”

“Oh Eddie,” you said, covering her face with her hands. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was exactly the right thing to do, but he slid closer, and slipped his arm around your shoulders.

“I’m only a couple of years older than you, but trust me, those couple of years are going to feel like a couple of decades. You don’t have to rush any of this. You don’t have to do one single goddamned thing that you are not ready for.”

And then because he was only one man, he asked, as gently as he could: “Do you, um, do you want - like, are you - do you feel, like, ready?”

You squeeze his hand and giggle.

“No,” you said after a minute or two. “I don’t think so. I mean… all I know is that I kind of think of you as more than a friend. But Tommy says….”

“No offense, Sweetheart,” Eddie interjects, shifting back a little so he can see your face. “But your brother Tommy is a fucking idiot, who once fucked a football for a dare in front of our entire male half of our gym class, junior year.”

“Ewwww,” you wail, pushing him away. Eddie doesn’t let you get too far though.

“Oh my God, my fucking brother? Jesus Eddie.”

“I know… I know, it was fucking gross.”

“Ew!”

Your disgust makes him all but cackle.

“Look, I’m just saying that he’s not someone you should be taking romantic advice from. His idea of romance is when you finally have sex sober, you’re engaged.”

“Oh God.. no, please stop talking!” you put your hands over your ears and scrunch up your eyes and Eddie doesn’t really believe in much, but he believes he loves you.

“For the record, I don’t think we’re just friends either,” Eddie says, when he stops laughing. “I don’t think we’ve been just friends for a while.”

He looks down at your tiny hand in his, you’re pink nails, the way the skin is so thin and fine between your fingers it’s practically blue.

“Wayne calls you my girl, asks ‘is your girl coming over?’ And I always say, ‘she’s not my girl’, but… you know what? I never have to ask him who he means. Because there isn’t anyone else it could be. You are my girl… or maybe, I’m your boy, man… whatever, you know what I mean. I’m yours, if you’ll have me. No strings attached.”

You lean your head on his shoulder and he rests his cheek against the crown of your head.

“For a couple of smart people we really are dumbasses,” you say.

“Damned straight,” Eddie says. He shifts back again.

“OK, listen. Sweetpea, I would love to touch you one day. I would love to - Jesus - to do everything we could want and more, one day. Like I will… lick, suck bite every goddamned last inch of your body…”

“Eddie,” you sigh and shiver a little. Eddie shakes his head a little to clear it himself.

“But! I am not going to do any of that until you are fucking begging me for it. Ask that feminist pamphlet woman, she calls it ‘enthusiastic consent’ and it sounds fucking hot.”

You scramble up onto your knees and throw your arms around him.

“Oh my God, Eddie! You read it?"

“Course!” He says, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “You asked me to.”

You kneel up, till you’re looking down on his upturned face. You cup his jaw between your palms, and stroke your thumbs across his cheeks.

“I don’t think it’ll be long,” you say, so softly. “I mean, you - we - won’t have to wait long.”

Eddie has a bit of a lump in his throat when you say it. Everything will change if he fucks you, if you fuck him. But that doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. Not it you’re in it together.

“But I’ll tell you one thing, Eddie Munson. I’ve never been kissed, and you have my enthusiastic consent to be the first to -”

He doesn’t let you finish asking. He’s dreamed about this, about the feel of you, slight and tender in his arms, about your mouth, soft and open under his.

He cups your head and tilts you slightly, deepening the kiss, dipping his tongue gently into your mouth, trying to show you, in the only way he can, how good he wants to make it for you, giving you everything he has to give.

Your hands gripping his tee shirt, anchor him, ground him, but inside he is flying. He’s kissed… been kissed by women he regretted, but this - this kiss at once so innocent and chaste, yet filled with a very carnal kind of promise - this feels like the first kiss he’s ever had.

When you lean back, he chases your lips for a single, smacking peck that makes you both grin.

“Mmm,” you hum, melting back into the sofa.

“Ok, for a first kiss?” He asks, “I pass muster?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, lifting your arms over your head to stretch languidly. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ll be waiting long at all.”

Part 3 Coming Soon!

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Dodge M4S Turbo Interceptor

One of four ever manufactured

The Dodge M4S is an American high performance prototype sports coupe originally engineered, designed, and built by Dodge in 1981 as a technology demonstrator vehicle. It was designed by then chief designer of Dodge, Bob Ackerman. The designation M4S denotes "Midengine, 4 cylinder, Sport“. From its conception, the car was intended to be built as a fully engineered running prototype rather than as a display piece. Because it was intended to be used as a pace car, it was designed to reach a top speed of 200 mph (322 km/h).

Chrysler designed the body and conducted extensive wind tunnel testing to achieve a drag coefficient of .236. Although the car was designed by Chrysler, actual construction of the vehicle was handled by subcontractors. The semi monocoque race car chassis was ordered from Huffaker of California. 3-D Industries of Madison Heights, Michigan modeled the body and created molds. Special Projects, Inc. of Plymouth, Michigan cast the body panels, assembled the body and interior, and gave the car its signature “root beer brown” paint color by painting layers of pearl over a black base coat. Specialized Vehicles, Inc., of Troy, Michigan handled fabrication, final assembly, and maintenance of the completed car.

The car was made famous by its appearance in The Wraith, a 1986 supernatural film. The mid-engined car had a tested and confirmed top speed of 194.8 mph (313.5 km/h)[1] and could go from 0 to 60 mph (97 km/h) in 4.1 seconds, with more than 440 hp (328 kW) under the hood coming from its relatively small displacement of 2.2L 4 cylinder forced induction engine.

The car has since gained an enthusiast cult following, prompted by the fame it gained from appearing in The Wraith.

The Wraith

In the town of Brooks, Arizona, Packard Walsh, the leader of a gang of car thieves, coerces people with fast cars into racing with the winner of the race taking ownership of the loser's car. Packard controls everyone through intimidation including Keri Johnson, whom he views as his property. Keri's boyfriend, Jamie Hankins, was the victim of an unsolved murder and Keri, who was with him, has no memory of the traumatic event.

Jake Kesey arrives in Brooks riding a dirt bike. He befriends Billy Hankins (Jamie's brother) and Keri. While swimming at a river, Jake is shown to have knife scars on his neck and back.

Packard's control of the illegal races comes to an end when an all-black Dodge M4S Turbo Interceptor supercar appears with a driver covered head-to-toe in black body armor and helmet, and metal braces resembling those worn by victims of physical trauma. The driver challenges Packard's gang to a race, ending in high-speed, explosive crashes in which two gang members are both killed. Their bodies appear unharmed afterwards except for burned-out eye sockets. The Turbo Interceptor then reconstructs itself and eludes the pursuing Sheriff Loomis in a cloud of glowing light.

Two more gang members, Skank and Gutterboy, are killed when the Turbo Interceptor races through the gang's warehouse, causing an explosion. With Packard's gang mostly gone, Rughead, the gang's tech-geek, figures out why the gang had been targeted. When Loomis arrives at the scene of the destruction, Rughead tells him Packard and his gang had murdered Jamie Hankins.

After Packard witnesses Keri kissing Jake, he kidnaps her and beats up Billy when he tries to intervene. When Packard tries driving to California, Keri resists. As he exits the car and pulls a knife on her, the Turbo Interceptor arrives and challenges Packard to a race. Packard accepts and is then killed in an explosive head-on collision with the Turbo Interceptor, like the rest of his gang were. Loomis calls off the hunt for the mysterious driver, believing it to be futile.

As Keri arrives home that night, the Turbo Interceptor pulls up and Jake emerges. Keri realizes that Jake is a revived form of her dead boyfriend Jamie, who had returned for a chance to rekindle their past relationship. He then asks her to wait for him because he has one last thing to do. Jake then gives his car to Billy. When Billy asks who he is Jake says that Billy already knows and as he rides off on his dirt bike, Billy realizes Jake is Jamie. Jake picks up Keri, whom Loomis is watching from a distance. Together they ride off along the desert highway into the moonlight.

The Walter Chrysler Museum's Amazing Cars Collection