#master decal

[squishkitt]

jesus fucking christ this thing is big

[asolitaryraven]

With Lucifer's permission, MC puts a picture on the wall that says "Live Love Laugh." A year passes. MC switches the picture with one that says "Love Laugh Lucifer" and waits.

Lucifer looks at this picture every day. How long does it take for him to notice the swap?

[artemschannel]

Recently finished my MG Unicorn Gundam (OVA ver.).

Tried to make it look as realistic as possible and applied soooo many decals (took me several days only applying the waterslides)

Hope y'all like this kit of mine)

[bublinko]

New Depeche Mode stickers in our shop!

Available here

[blazingstar24]

Thranto PacRim AU Notes #4: The Force, Third Sight, and Drifting

Wanted to drop a bit of lore and world building before the next arc! I’ve talked about the role of the sky-walkers before but it’s time to go into more detail. However, first I gotta explain how the Unknown Regions and Lesser Space differ.

Canonically and in this AU, sky-walkers help navigate. But now also they are the Ascendancy’s equivalent of Breach calculators. The key difference of Lesser Space and the Unknown Regions is the frequency of kaiju attacks and appearances. For some yet unknown reason, the amount of kaiju sightings and attacks happen the further out into the Unknown Regions one goes. While it ranges in severity of kaiju, it makes space travel increasing dangerous. Thus, a navigator must drift with a preserved Kaiju brain to connect to the hive mind and anticipate hot zones, and potential appearances. (The brains are kept in the stasis pods (look an explanation for why they have them on the ships!) and also get harvested from any recent kaiju run ins)

Normally drifting is a two way street. However, the force protects the individual during a drift, the individual can choose to let the other in or block one out entirely. But sky-walkers eventually lose their third sight and this makes them vulnerable to losing themselves to the kaiju’s control. When a navigator starts losing third sight, they slowly get phased out of patrols and moved to more safer travel routes until eventually they fully lose their abilities. Sky-walkers are not allowed to become Jaeger pilots after their navigator career. They’ve seen too much and there is fear they could “contaminate” their co-pilot’s mind.

Truthfully, it is because drifting could reverse the fading process. There’s more to it but that’s for later plot beats, but I’ll let y’all know, oh yeah Borika’s working on something big (u bet ur ass them Kivu siblings r rulebreakers and she fucking became a Jaeger pilot)

Now that I’ve dropped the lore, here’s some fun tidbits on how Thrawn interacts with navigators (mainly Che’ri)

Same as canon, Thrawn is very kind towards the navigators. Che’ri often got nightmares from what she saw in the drifts and sometimes when she was too scared to bother Thalias, she would find Thrawn (insomniac) on the bridge. The only other people who could understand what she goes through is a Jaeger pilot but most don’t want to talk to the navigators. But Thrawn would sit with Che’ri and let her talk if she wanted to or just sit and stare into the stars. Che’ri also liked to draw out her feelings sometimes so Thrawn carried a marker and a slip of paper on him at all times for her.

He’s totally snuck Che’ri into the cockpit of his and Samakro’s Jaeger. (Very off-limits) She designed a small decal for it and Thrawn got it put on without Samakro knowing, but when he found out, he totally didn’t cry about it. The decal? (Idk yet but I’ll take suggestions!)

Off-screen stuff in the Ascendancy happening during Thrawn’s exile: Che’ri will eventually lose her third sight and in what was meant to be her final navigation, usually a well charted chill route, a kaiju attack happened. Everyone thought she would lose control of the drift but she didn’t, in fact her warning of the impending attack, FIVE MINUTES before it came, saved her whole ship. Everyone called it a miracle, one final burst of her powers. Che’ri attributed it to the man who taught her how to fly. In the drift with a kaiju, it is vital to remember who you are. She did almost surrender to it. But then she remembered she was more than just a navigator. She was Che’ri, soon to be Sacher, daughter of Ufsa’mak’ro and Mitth’ali’astov. She was Che’ri, the girl who was going to become an ace pilot.

[lizardsarecute]

cleaning up/organizing my noodly mess

[punkr0ckkid]

Traditional Bedroom - Wallpaper Inspiration for a huge timeless master medium tone wood floor, brown floor, tray ceiling and wallpaper bedroom remodel with gray walls

[victoriacadisch]

Traditional Bedroom - Wallpaper

[pricegouge]

Haul

Part One MDNI

Master list | on ao3

slasher!trucker!141 x reader

series cw: dark fic. major character deaths, rape/noncon

chapter cw: alcohol/drugs mentioned, though reader doesn't partake. up to you if that's for sobriety purposes or not, though most of this chapter takes place in a bar. public nudity. brief, non descriptive mention of animal harm. Let me know if I missed anything!

Like most terrible things in your life, it starts off with a dare. You're on the I-40 somewhere around Seligmen when Ash's fingers drum on the steering wheel of her busted old beater and you know she's got an evil little scheme brewing by the erratic, staccato beat. She turns to you and grins, hair whipping about her in the wind tunnel created by the open windows. "I dare you," she drawls in the same conversational tone she'd used a few states back to initiate a game of I Spy, back when there were colors other than tan and brown, and the occasional smudge of green shrubbery, to spy. "To flash this trucker when we pass him."

Like most terrible things in your life, it starts off with a dare.

You're on the I-40 somewhere around Seligmen when Ash's fingers drum on the steering wheel of her busted old beater and you know she's got an evil little scheme brewing by the erratic, staccato beat. She turns to you and grins, hair whipping about her in the wind tunnel created by the open windows. "I dare you," she drawls in the same conversational tone she'd used a few states back to initiate a game of I Spy, back when there were colors other than tan and brown, and the occasional smudge of green shrubbery, to spy. "To flash this trucker when we pass him."

Bored off your ass after days in the car with not much to do other than reconnect with your old friend and listen to the same band over and over (Ash was… over excited to be on the way to see them), you briefly consider it before taking in the tacky mud flaps - sexy lady silhouette that's been a staple of trashy truckers since before you were born, here X-rayed so you could see her sexy little skeleton as well. 

"No way," you scoff.

"Oh, c'mon," she nods at the same decals you'd already noticed. "Bet he'd enjoy the show."

"Yeah, bet he'd enjoy turning me into a skeleton, too."

"Well, he'd have to catch you first, and I'm an excellent, speedy little driver."

She was, that being the only reason you'd agreed to her hairbrained idea to drive half across the US. When she'd asked if you'd wanted to join her in seeing your favorite band from high school play their farewell tour out in California, you'd envisioned long nights, heart to hearts, deep conversation under starry desert skies, and a great pay off at the end in the form of one last, cathartic hurrah before a quiet, tired drive home. But you hadn't calculated on Ash still being in her party girl phase.

Perhaps you should have known. One of the main reasons you'd fallen off with her post-graduation was because the crowd she'd been migrating towards was only escalating. You were by no means a square, but between landing a nine-to-five and having bills to pay, your rough edges had slowly been whittling away over the years while, it seemed, Ash had remained the exact same Ash she'd always been. You didn't begrudge her that, but neither did you relish pit stops at dive bars every night, nor juvenile dares in broad daylight. Mind, when you were supposed to be sleeping because you'd driven all night after a stop in west Texas had left Ash incapacitated no less. 

Still, the boredom of not having much to talk about with your only companion, and the monotony of the same albums you've been listening to since middle school being played over and over was wearing on you, and despite your exhaustion, a sense of restlessness had crept in somewhere around Flagstaff and wasn't leaving you be. 

"Fine, but you're buying me a drink tonight."

"Are you drinking!?" she hoots, somewhere between excited you're no longer being 'a stick in the mud,' and apprehensive that she wouldn't have a driver lined up at closing time.

"No, but when I inevitably offer to buy someone else one, you're covering it."

Ash scoffs loudly enough to be heard over both the music and the wind, an impressive feat. "Deal, but once he gets a load of them titties, I'm fairly sure Mr. Kenworth here is gonna be dominating your time tonight."

"That's why you're driving quick enough he can't catch us, remember?" you laugh, already reaching up under your shirt to remove your bra.

The car accelerates, the long black trailer stretching past your passenger window as Ash pulls up alongside it. She whoops happily when you unbuckle your belt, blaring the music and hollering along to get your nerves up. There's a pit in your belly, the kind that forms right at the top of a rollercoaster. Your nerves alight, as if in preparation for a fight, skin drawing tight and pebbling into goosebumps. You spare a thought for how hard your nipples are gonna be and laugh perhaps a bit maniacally. Ash turns your nerves to excitement with a rousing set of slaps to your thick thighs. You take a deep breath, release it with a high, distressed whine. Still, you get a leg under you and contort yourself half out the port, Ash's excited shrieking following you out, though soon ripped away by the rushing of the wind around you. Your shirt whips up. Instinctively, you try to shove it down and then nearly roll your eyes at yourself when you realize what you're about to do. The white nose of the truck looms closer, side view mirror reflecting nothing back at you but a darkened cab. It strikes you as odd, what with the sun beating down on you both, hot and undisturbed by cloud nor foliage. It's blazing on your skin despite the wind, scent of the baked tarmac below heavy in your sinuses. Sand pecks against your flesh, abrasive. You hope a big beetle doesn't come smashing into your teeth before all this is done.

You don't have much time to think about it. Ash swats you on your ass and you pull your shirt up, screaming all the while as the tension in your body boils over like a tea kettle. Eyes squeezed shut, you don't notice at first how the truck carries on straight as an arrow. Unaffected. You expect an air horn or something, get none. When you peek, the tint of the truck's window glares apathetically back at you, a dark shroud through which you have no ability to gauge the driver's reaction.

It's Ash who honks first, the tired sounding beeps jolting you back to reality. You feel let down, disappointed. Self-conscious, stupidly. You shrink back on yourself a bit, shirt hiding the bottom half of your face as you slump back toward your seat. Your chest is still exposed, something you only register when - finally - the airhorn knocks you fully on your ass, hand scrambling to cover yourself in front of your friend. 

Completely ignorant of your emotional turmoil, Ash slaps the steering wheel animatedly, cackling and whooping like she's driving a getaway car after a successful heist. The airhorn sounds again and you glance up at the blank window, embarrassment and shame creeping up your throat. You've no clue why it's worse that you can't see the driver; even less of an idea as to why you were kind of hoping for their approval. Especially considering you have it, you think, another short blast of the horn attesting to the driver's pleasure. You force a grin, give a stupid little wave that you instantly regret. You roll up the window despite Ash's old beater having no AC, desperate for some kind of space between you and the truck. 

Brain skipping, trying to keep busy so you don't have to assess the weird pit of disappointment you'd felt, you reach into the footwell in search of your bra, but stop short when you see it dangling from a strap off Ash's finger. "Thanks," you mumble, and then glare daggers at her when she yanks it away quicker than you can grab. She's got that face on again, the mischief making one.

"Don't you dare," you hiss, but she just cackles and sends it flying out the open sunroof. "Ash!" you cry, twisting in your seat so see the lacy little number get caught up in the slipstream of the semi behind you, skirting up over the hood and plastering itself to the window where, quick as a flash, a thick, tattooed arm reaches out the driver's side window to slap the wiper down over it, snaring it against the glass.

The stone in your stomach hardens, sinks lower. Where before you'd felt oddly bereft without the driver's approval, this feels far too intimate, and you urge Ash quicker, turning back forward to watch the miles of open road pass, checking at each mile marker to see how the space between your car and his has grown. His grill glints chrome under the blaring sun, visible for miles. Combined with the tinted windshield, they turn the white cab into a skull, teeth bared and all.

***

The bar Ash chooses sits back from the road down a small slope, as if nestled by the dusty landscape - a hidden chest of glittering incandescent and neon bulbs, oil slick from the assembled nearby trucks painting what remains of the crumbling tarmac aurora. They line the lot on either side, backed up until their trailers overhang the paved lot itself, carving footprints into the hard earth. Between the two lines, the valley of the lot funnels you toward the boisterous building, music and laughter spilling out its seams. 

You'd rolled up the windows when the sun set so you're not quite prepared for the chill that greets you as you step out of the car. Still braless, you check to be sure the dark material of your shirt covers your nipples, but hug your flannel closer to yourself anyway, making a slow turn as you assess the assembled cars. You've been to enough dive bars to know the real warning signs; the get-the-fuck-out-of-dodge-before-you-decide-to-tryand-fight-a-blooded-Nazi kind of signs. Thankfully you don't see much here beyond the standard watch-your-drink-and-don't-let-your-bare-ass-touch-the-toilet-seat kind of vibes so you resign yourself to a night of babysitting, coming around the nose of the car as you bring a cigarette to your lips. 

Ash is giddy with excitement, dragging you along with her hands tucked through your elbow as she whispers excitedly about all the possibilities a dive bar off a forgotten county road in nowhere Arizona might offer. She'd said just a few drinks when she'd suggested going out again tonight, but you already know how that's going to shake out.

"Yeah? You gonna do some blow off the shuffleboard table by the end of the night?" You joke.

"And get sand in my nose? Please," Ash scoffs. "I'll do it off the sink like a normal person." 

You grin, holding the door open for her. "Go ahead and find us a spot, I'm gonna do my dirty deed," you wag the cigarette at her illustratively. 

"Yeah, yeah. Don't take too long or else all the lonely rednecks'll think I'm looking for company." 

You don't remind her she doesn't need to be here if she doesn't want to be. "If you ask pretty they'll take you to the bathroom," you wink instead, flicking your nose. Ash just laughs as she steps through the door. You let it drop behind her, fishing your lighter from your pocket as you step toward the edge of the porch. There's a loud group on your left, smoking more than just tobacco by the smell of it. You don't mind, but neither do you want to partake, so you stay a good distance away, listening in as the loudest of the group tells an animated story about the time he hit a deer and it ran off with his headlight cover. He's not a great story teller, but the assembled group laughs loud enough to drown him out half the time so maybe your perception is skewed.

Beyond them, inside, you can hear the clatter of billiards, and the general din of loosened lips, but outside, it is a cool and still night. You've never been to this part of the country, and you can't help but reflect on how nice it is in these quiet moments without Ash's chatter, or her constant performative nature. It's not that you dislike her, but days of such close proximity after years of barely any contact had certainly been a decision, and you're really started to regret it. Still, it's good to travel, and it's been so long since you've bothered with a bar that you nearly forget how to react when a man sidles up beside you and asks for a light. 

Stocky, handsome, you stammer over some words and extend your lighter, cursing when you realize you should have held the open flame out for him to light his cigarette over. He gives you a grin like he knows what you're thinking, and then exhales his smoke right into your face, destroying any attraction you'd felt for him before he'd even said a word.

You spare him a tight grin and hold your hand out for your lighter back. He holds it out, but gives it a playful little tug when you try to take it from him. "Alright," you gripe at the same moment he relinquishes his grasp, sending your hand dropping aggressively down with the slight force you'd been using. You nod while he just keeps grinning at you and snub out what remains of your cigarette. "Have a good one," you mumble, sliding past him and into the bar.

Ash perches at a small two-top, long neck dangling from her fingers prettily. You slide in across from her and she offers you the second bottle she'd snagged, though accepts easily enough when you shake your head. She's angled toward the room, that demure, but still inviting pose she'd perfected long ago on full display. As predicted, a string of men approach her, though she shoots them all down, giving you commentary on what she's thought of them all when she sends them packing. 

"Too scrawny."

"Smelled like Funyuns."

"I've seen more hair in my shower drain."

You giggle, content to watch her pick on sleazy men all night. Unfortunately her tune changes when return from the restroom a while later to find her flirting with a tall, broad man in a gaiter. She notices you as you draw close and beams at you, waving you closer in a way that suggests 'check this one out'. 

"Who's your friend?" you ask hesitantly, eyeing the big guy all over. He's dressed nice enough for a place like this, work boots and well-fitting jeans that hug his hammies sinfully. He's got on a canvas jacket over a tight thermal, some ink on his left hand you can't quite catch the shape of. The gaiter rubs you wrong, despite its innocuous dark material. Just this side of too sketchy in a place already bordering on it, you imagine there's no good reason a man would hide the bottom half of his face when he's presumably there to imbibe alcohol with his mouth all night. 

"Simon," the man rumbles, voice dark and accented. He extends his right hand to you and you take it, fingers engulfed by his broad, rough palm. In his left he holds a brown bottle, label obscured by his wide grip.

"Simon, this is my friend, Betty," Ash introduces you before you even have a chance. You shoot her a look, obvious enough that even the newcomer catches it.

"Betty?" he asks, eyes darting between the two of you.

"Not my name," you assert, but Ash speaks over you.

"Because she's so delightfully pretty, but so devastatingly boring," she pouts at you. To Simon she says, "Go on, ask her if she wants a drink."

"Can I get you a -?"

"No."

"See? Boring."

You roll your eyes, but don't offer any sort of retaliation besides. You're used to this, and generally unbothered by it. That doesn't mean it's not a pleasant surprise when Simon comes to your defense. "Nothing wrong with being responsible." His eyes are heavy on you, trailing in a way you're not necessarily comfortable with. That doesn't stop you from thanking him.

"Responsible," Ash scoffs. "One beer is still totally legal to drive."

"Quit complaining. Just means you get to have all the fun," you remind her.

"Mm, true," Ash sings. She tilts her bottle against Simon's, but you can't help noticing he gets distracted before the bottle makes it to his lips.

"You guys from around here?"

"Is anyone from here?" you quip, eyeing the assembled lot. They match their trucks outside: heavy, built for long hauls and quick stops at watering holes. 

"Suppose not," Simon admits, his own accent played up for effect. "Where you lot headed, then?"

"L.A.," Ash gushes.

When she doesn't elaborate, you tack on, "Ash's got a modeling gig."

"Really?" Ash smacks Simon playfully on the arm over his offended tone. 

"No," she laughs, "seeing a show. You ever been to L.A.?"

"Been everywhere," Simon shrugs, cryptic.

"You a trucker too, I take it?"

"Don't I look like one?" His accent thickens with every word until even your unlearned ear believes you could pinpoint his exact birthplace - distinctly un-American.

"You ever consider a mullet?" Ash giggles.

Simon looks about to snark something back when the lighter-less man from outside stumbles into his space.

"Hi," he tells the group in general, eyes unfocused before they slide to you. "Wanted to apologize. Think we got off on the wrong foot out there."

You can practically feel Ash brimming with excitement, the fact that both of you are now talking to men not going unnoticed by either of you. Not wanting to find yourself in some cheap motel Fargo sex with her, you make your lack of attraction obvious immediately, voice stern. "All good, man."

"Right," he balks. "Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?"

"Nope."

"Oh. Uh… you driving tonight or something?"

"Just not thirsty."

Across from you, Ash mouths the word 'Betty' at a stone faced Simon.

"Then why are you in a bar?" Lighter-less demands, belligerent. 

"Good question," you turn on Ash, but before she can answer, Simon speaks up.

"Piss off, mate."

"Fuck you," the guy snaps, turning to face the other man. You realize he must not have gotten a good look at him before approaching the group because you see his eyes go wide when he takes in Simon's sheer size.

"Nah, fuck you actually. Piss off."

He doesn't need telling a third time. Lighter-less gives you and Ash a nod and scurries off while Ash rounds on you. 

"And what was wrong with him?"

"Fuckin' rude."

"Are we ever gonna get you laid?"

You've only been on the road with her for two days and have not been actively looking, but you don't bother telling her that. "Only when you finally give in, baby," you croon instead and Ash snorts, already moving on.

"Simon, you any good at darts?"

"No."

"Great! Go bully us into a board using that broad frame of yours and let me win, would ya?"

Something dark passes over Simon's eyes, so quickly you think you might have imagined it when he immediately changes gears, giving Ash a brief nod before skulking away.

"Isn't he fuckin' cute?" Ash hisses at you after he's gone.

"Wouldn't know," you deadpan, covering the bottom half of your face with your hand.

She swats at you. "Oh, come off it. I'm gonna climb him like a tree by the end of the night." You curse to yourself when she sways her hips after him because the worst part is, you don't doubt her.

Simon's at least considerate enough to scrounge up a table by the boards for you, so you have front row seats to the flirt fest the other two partake in. True to his word, Simon lets Ash win three games in a row, each time being rewarded with a slightly more intoxicated girl hanging from his neck. Ash gets touchier the more she drinks, and Simon doesn't seem to mind. Though you find it odd how he rarely reciprocates, content just to let her feel up his considerable pecs and grin down at her like she's being silly. You briefly wonder if he's even into her, until you catch him giving her a congratulatory smack on the ass a little too enthusiastically after her fourth win. He says he's going out for a smoke after that and you leap at the opportunity, grabbing your jacket from the booth and following him out.

"Guess I'll keep our booth occupied," Ash pouts.

"Better, had to scare off a racoon for that thing," you hear Simon rumbling as you lead the way back out onto the porch.

The night's only gotten colder since you've been inside and you're reminded yet again that you're not wearing a bra when you feel the cotton of your shirt chafe against your tight skin. You duck your head in embarrassment as you pull your flannel tighter around yourself, too distracted to notice Simon offering you a cigarette from his pack as you try to remember if you'd been egregiously nipple flaunting back inside. 

"You okay?" Simon grunts as he lights his own smoke and you jolt back to reality, find him with his mask lowered.

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Just chillier than I expected." 

When he pockets his lighter, Simon keeps his cigarette tucked between his lips. Hands freed, he pulls his jacket off and offers it to you before you can get a protest out. His voice is gravelly when he insists you take it and you do, reveling in the body heat still trapped within. It smells vaguely musty, almost like a garage, but you figure that tracks and it's not unpleasant. 

You eye him over as you light your cigarette, not bothering to be all that subtle when you find him watching you just as closely. He's handsome, though you wonder if he keeps his face covered because of the cleft lip or the thick scar that crosses the bridge of his nose, a missing notch giving the slope of it a double ridge. Beneath his coat, he's just as muscled as you'd imagined, heavy texture of his thermal falling into the valley of his pecs nicely. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing more of the ink you'd spotted on his hand - a detailed skull crowned in heavy black swirls which follow the musculature of his forearm nicely. 

"None too pretty, eh?"

You let your eyes slide back up to his face, willfully overlook the ruin of his nose. "Wouldn't say that."

He narrows his eyes at you, as if searching for a lie. You know he won't find one, though, and weather it unflinchingly. Eventually he grunts in acceptance, or maybe approval. He doesn't say much after that, though you're content to enjoy the relative silence. The rowdy group from earlier have moved along, and the only other company you have out here is a couple quietly bickering down in the parking lot. Combined with the volume of the bar, it's level of noise you would have found annoying even just two days ago, but after so many hours stuck in the car with Ash's constant chatter, you revel in the lack of conversation, enjoy the minute twinge you get when you stretch your knees damn near hyperextension.

"Your friend's a bit more talkative than you," Simon eventually observes, voice neutral as to whether or not he likes that about you.

"My friend is quite social," you hedge, and laugh when Simon looks like he has something to say about that.

"Your friend has an agenda."

"That obvious?"

"Less obvious: is it a good idea?"

"Well why would you ask me that, when I have a vested interest in keeping the two of you apart tonight so I don't have to stand around awkwardly while the cab is a'rocking, you know what I mean?"

Simon smiles, first time all night. It does nothing to reduce his severity. "Well, you're welcome to join instead."

You can't help but scoff at him, though your laugh turns more nervous when he gives no indication of joking. "About the only thing worse than listening to Ash scream like a banshee from outside the truck, would be listening to her scream like a banshee from inside the truck. Thanks though."

He returns your grin, but it seems a bit tight. You squint at him, trying to get a feel for how insulted he actually is, but he's unflinching, unbothered. Simon's silence unnerves you, and you work to fill the void despite your earlier easiness within it. "Which, uh… Which one's yours?" You nod at the line of trucks on your left and his dark eyes follow the movement. 

Shaking his head, Simon steps into your space and angles you toward the other side of the lot. Leaning across your back, his big hand floats into your peripheral where he points at a bland, gleaming shape parked within the shadow of the building. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the low lot light in the corner, more a single porch light than anything. For a moment, it looks like any other of the million big white cabs you've seen crawling all over god's green earth, but then Simon clicks his fob behind you, and the lights flash, the dome light within turning on just long enough for you to catch a lacey little number hanging from his rear-view through the dark tinted glass, and then you notice the distinctly teeth-shaped grill you'd memorized in your passenger mirror earlier today. Your blood runs cold despite the heat of Simon behind you, you're tense, ready to flee even without your friend in tow. Your muscles don't listen, however, locked in place like a spring trap with no quarry. And then the crack of a breakshot from within the bar racks your nerves, has you spinning around to find Simon staring back down at you intensely, eyes dark enough to rival his truck's.

"You want that back? Kinda cold out here." His eyes dart down to your chest, as if he can see through the layers you've covered yourself with.

Part of you wants to yell at him, demand answers. A younger, squirrelier version of you probably would've slapped him. Instead, you slip past him wordlessly and make a beeline for your friend. "Ash," you hiss when you spot her, still at the booth where you left her. "Ash, we have to go -."

"Is that Simon's jacket?" She looks offended. You would roll your eyes at her if you had time to argue.

"Yes. Not important. Look," you take the jacket in question off, spare a brief thought for the base instinct telling you to rifle through his pockets. "Simon is the trucker I flashed. I think he followed us here."

"Oh, Jesus, Betty. That guy's probably already forgotten about you. You know how many people flash truckers every day?"

"In what world -? Is this National Lampoon's?" You huff, calm yourself. "Ash, I saw his truck, it's him, and I wanna go."

"You saw a white truck with a black cab, you mean? Spooky," she deadpans.

"He had my fucking bra hanging from his rearview -."

"You went in his cab?"

"No, fucking -."

"Did she go in your cab?"

You still, drawing yourself back to your full height from where you'd wound up leaning over your friend. Behind you, Simon steps close enough you can feel his heat again, smell that stale garage scent. "No," he shrugs and Ash eyes you both suspiciously.

"Here." You shove Simon's coat back into his chest, disappointed when you don't manage to move him an inch. Turning back to your friend, you dangle Ash's keys in her face. "I'm leaving. I encourage you to join."

"I can't even finish my beer?"

You don't bother to answer, storming back toward the door with enough confidence to have her scrambling after you.

"Jesus, what is your problem?" She hisses once the bar door slams shut after her. 

You point at Simon's truck, distinct chrome grill giving Ash pause for all of two seconds. "Could be anyone's."

"He asked me if I wanted my bra back, Ash."

Behind her, the bar door opens again. Simon's wide frame fills it for a moment, before stepping out onto the porch, casual as can be. He lights up another cigarette, eyes heavy on you all the while. He doesn't seem to notice when Ash waves at him. This time when you walk away, the crunching of gravel under foot is the only indication you get that your friend is following. She's silent for once as she climbs into the passenger's seat. You don't bother adjusting anything, tearing out of the driveway with a spray of dirt and debris that would probably ruin some paint jobs. Behind you, a truck follows you out of the lot, but the twenty foot shipping container it has loaded reassures you that it isn't Simon on your tail.

Ash remains silent for a long while, though you can tell she hasn't fallen asleep yet by the quality of her breathing. When she does speak, her voice is thin and reedy. "I didn't think he'd follow us."

"I know." For your part, you wish you could muster much beyond a general grumble of annoyance. She was just being silly when she made her little dare; it's not her fault the guy had been a creep. Thankfully, it seems he'd been content to just scare you a bit, the rearview faithfully returning only one set of headlights in your wake every time you check. 

"Go to bed, Ash. If he keeps following I'll wake you."

To your immense relief, she listens, her soft breaths relaxing the tension in your shoulders. After another glance in the side view to reassure yourself you're still safe, you take some soothing breaths of your own and run through what remains of your trip's itinerary, taking comfort in how little actually remained. Nearly half way over, and after tonight you don't think it'll be too hard to talk Ash out of any more unplanned stops at local dives just to check out the native wildlife. You're pretty sure you've both seen enough, the dejected way she'd looked after Simon's ulterior motive had been revealed playing again in your mind. Poor Ash, honestly, but you suppose it works out in your favor if it means getting home sooner and with fewer scrapes.

Feeling better, you turn the radio on, low enough it won't disturb your passenger. It takes some scanning through static to find anything, and when you do you're a bit annoyed that it's country gold of all things, but you can't deny how well it fits the landscape through which you drive, the low horizon backlit by the sunset's distant memory. It's nice, for a time. Nice enough you aren't really paying attention when DJ starts spouting local headlines, the news of a young woman's body being found recently only about an hour's ride north of here going in one ear and right out the other.

next>>

[syninplays]

PARIS set - ts3 version

Okay so in addition to >this< set and since I actually just reached 1k followers, here's a little collab with @deniisu-sims ♥ We cried about it a wee bit but it's done and we're proud! Also please don't judge my french-style building skills I was just trying to showcase everything :p

>+20 items from Felixandre's Paris Set Part 1 found >here< (we converted everything but the shop windows because I don't like them :p) + Collection File!

>Everything is recolorable + some items include the original swatches!

>Polycount info can be found below the cut as always or on my patreon post (;

>Side note: the doors were resized to fit default-height walls, but they still show a little bit through the wall/floor as I didn't want to heavily transform or deform the mesh. // All files that say "master" are linked to those that say "linked" therefore you need both files so everything shows up properly (;

>DOWNLOAD< (always free on patreon)

BUILD MODE

Window Door 1 - 4,1k poly

Window Door 1 Interior - 4k poly

Window Door 1 Interior Arch - 3,1k poly

Window Door 2 - 2,7k poly

Window Door 2 Interior - 2,6k poly

Window Door 2 Interior Arch - 2,6k poly

Round Window - 2k poly

Window 3 Short - 1,4k poly

Window 3 Med - 1,6k poly

Window Door 3 (it's a window, not a door) - 1,8k poly

Window Door 3 Open (also a window) - 1,9k poly

BUY MODE

Balcony Left / Center / Right - 1,1k / 160 / 808 poly

Balcony Long - 404 poly

Balcony Short - 332 poly

Cartouche Large - 721 poly

Cartouche Small - 466 poly

Corbel - 154 poly

Keystone - 40 poly

Stone Block - 182 poly

Street Plaque - 2 poly (lol)

Swag - 200 poly

Awning Closed Long - 201 poly (open versions can be found on my post linked above)

Awning Closed Short - 279 poly

Window Decal - 2 poly

Stone Wall - no polycount because it's a wall (;

[ninjigma]

Jedi June 2024 Week 3 - Art/Music Master Pia’itzi

It’s important for Pia’itzi to trace his history upon himself, the same way his people displayed their strength and honor through their art, weaponry, scars, and decals. As a Jedi he dedicated his a bit differently, keeping the style of his people’s art while displaying his loyalty. The only scar he has ever donned upon himself though? An honor scar for Master Lex, who now remains with him only through the Force and the teachings he uses every day.

Closer/clear view of the honor scar and tattoo under the cut.

Enjoy!

@jedijune

[billie-black]

Thread of odd connections between Ikora, Elsie and Eris

I was scrolling through concept art when I noticed that, despite not being so in-game, The Stranger's rifle is Branded as a Cassoid weapon. This wouldn't mean much, bungie tends to use decals at random, except-

The curse of osiris variant, The Machina Dei 4, is also branded with a slightly altered version of the Cassoid logo, which I think proves that it has been upgraded with components from the foundry.

But let's put a pin on that and talk about another Cassoid weapon, The Invective shotgun, Ikora's signature weapon. The Invective has an ornament called Iconoclast, a word which here means "Destroyer of images used in religious worship." This nomenclature is very similar to-

The Vex Mythoclast, a weapon which, thanks to its sister weapon, The Worldline Zero (which coincidentally also has a prophecy variant), we know to be made by Elsie Bray. Canonically, we earn the Mythoclast as part of-

the "Not forged in light" quest, which ends with Elsie gifting us the No time to explain. A weapon which eventually ends back up in her hands and she gifts to us again earlier in the timeline as-

The stranger's rifle, which hangs around until it becomes the Machina Dei 4 (later Adhortative). And the prophecy attached to the Machina Dei 4 desribes Eris Morn and the events of Shadowkeep, when Eris discovers stasis and starts using the darkness.

A charnel but effulgent orb.

beacon in a loathsome dark.

Fêted, fetid corpses rise.

a too-long-absent gibbous spark.

Now, it's generally accepted that No time to explain (and all it's variants by proxy) was created at some future point in a distant timeline, this is incorrect. Ghost specifically points out that "parts" of it shouldn't exist, because the rifle itself is a common suros frame.

Going back to The Invective, you're probably more familiar with its legendary sister, The Comedian, and its D2 counterpart, Deadpan Delivery. The Comedian's flavor text reads "A. A ha. A ha ha ha. A ha ha ha ha ha ha ha" In D1 the joke wasn't really clear, but with the addition of a lore tab in D2, the joke has become the vanguard's falling victim to a hive god's deceit. Now, let's take a little trip to The dark future.

In The dark future, Beyond light never happened, Eramis was allowed to grow her armies and master stasis, which led to a massive attack on the city by Cabal remnants, Savathûn, and the glorious House Salvation, all masterminded by Eris Morn, who up to that point was believed to be an ally, but had been corrupted by stasis and the darkness.

Coming back to our timeline, let's look at differences between our case exotics and their variants. Elsie's rifle has undergone many more modifications than Invective. Matter of fact, Invective has barely undergone any changes from its default. It's painted red, AND It has tape wrapped the handle and the grip, just like No time to explain. (I know I'm talking about grip tape right now but please don't go, it gets better, I promise)

It's a weak link, many weapons have grip tape, but I think many of these small details add up and point to The Iconoclast being one of Elsie's gifts. Let's review the similarities between Iconoclast and other gifts from Elsie.

>It's sourced from one of the city foundries and later received Cassoid upgrades (Invective and it's variants are nadir products)

>It has grip tape where the original does not.

>Mythoclast and Iconoclast are very similar terms and could point to a connection.

>It has a perpetual ammo function, like No time to explain and The Mythoclast.

But we should also look at Iconoclast within it's own context. Invective being her weapon, what does it mean for Ikora? She's never been been known to combat or really oppose any sort of religion, at least that I can find. And let's make it clear, the gun is not the Iconoclast. Just like the Mythoclast is not The Mythoclast. The weapons, in this case, are named for the wielder. You kill Atheon and so you become the Mythoclast, the gun is more of symbol. So, what religious figure is Ikora supposed to kill in order to become the Iconoclast?

Well, just this season, the hive have come out with a brand spanking new god, one very close to Ikora. Now I don't think Ikora is going to kill Eris. Eris would need to do something completely heinous for her to even consider that. Like, idk, bombarding the last city with House Salvation and the shadow legion... i. e., what happens in the dark timeline.

Look, I really don't believe Eris is going to turn evil all the sudden, that would be character assasination of the highest magnitude. But from Ikora's point of view? She has a supposed time traveller yelling at her that she's letting everything go sideways.

So my theory is that Elsie took Ikora's Invective from some other failed timeline (possibly the one where they smooch) and gave it to Ikora as the Iconoclast, along with the idea that alternate Ikora ruined everything because she failed to act and put Eris down when she could.

And this is where Deadpan Delivery comes in. You see, Ikora doesn't use invective anymore, and she doesn't use the Comedian. She exclusively wields Deadpan Delivery. Now, I know this was probably just the animators being faithful to her character, seeing how she prefers shotguns-

But the retroactive additions to the Comedian's lore, outside my crazed theories, implies a statement from Ikora. The Comedian's joke is the vanguard falling victim to a hive god's deceit, and in the dark timeline that god, the Savathûn figure, is Eris morn. And so-

By maining Deadpan delivery Ikora is subtextually saying "It's not funny. I'm not laughing. I don't subscribe to the narrative put forward by the comedian or Elsie. I trust Eris". And by rejecting the Comedian she's additionally disavowing it's older sister, The Invective, which is a symbol of the gung ho attitude which defined her in her youth. And wether my Iconoclast theory is correct or not, we can definitively say: Ikora is against what it represents , she is a guardian, and she will make a new fate no matter what.

[gerogerigaogaigar]

Master Grade Polypodball

I love Ball. He's so cute 🥰

Really nice build but the decals were a pain to get on all those rounded parts.

[yodawgiheardyoulikemecha]

This is the 1/35 scale resin kit  “PINKMAN” resume, short story behind the evolution of the design and the sculpture of the master. From initial sketch to painted model, just in a four months! This was the fastest Kallamity production EVER. Since Pinkman is in Weingart’s opposite party (see Abakan 2288), i just wanted it kinda different, so i looked for a more round and essential design for this mass-production mech. This kit allows to build in several version, since it has two options for three arms each and he’s able to extend his legs and body to reach an extended version. It’s massive model, 600g for 70 parts circa, clear lens, cables, decals and color printed instructions. The master (prototype) is made it out from PVC/styrene sheets, AVES Epoxy Sculpt, spare parts and lots of MIG Colle21 super-glue. The entire work for finishing the master has taken around 2 months

[hirocimacruiser]

Tommykaira Tuned Legacy M20tb.

TUNED LEGACY M20tb

The challenge from GT to racing sports, the fastest wagon

Tommy Kaira's pedigree on the wagon. TUNED LEGACY M20tb, the flag bearer of the wagon era

A high level of perfection that can only be achieved by Tommy Kaira's complete car, which pursues total balance. Thorough pursuit of the well-established BOXER-4. The 297 horsepower produced by its reliability and high level of perfection gives it the edge of a sports car, and even though it is a wagon, it is enough to stimulate the true sports car mindset.

The torquey power that rises smoothly from the low rotation range brings you a world of endless possibilities.

It makes wagonists forget about the body and truly invites them into the world of sports cars.

The suspension tune is also the traditional Tommy Kaira tune, and its biggest appeal is the unique flavor that pursues the fun of sports driving while taking advantage of the appeal of 4WD.

The M20tb will demonstrate its true worth in all environments and conditions, including winding roads, highways, and if you're looking for a full-fledged circuit.That's the true joy of driving with the M20tb.

Powerful form

The front bumper spoiler, rear bumper spoiler, and roof end spoiler are Tommy Kaira Aero originals, and 17-inch wheels and tires are standard on the suspension. Completely tuned car, Tommykaira's status is modeled. It can be said that it is an object that harmonizes with any world in which wagonists drive.

SPECIFICATIONS

Max Output: 297ps/6600rpm

Max Torque: 35.3kgm/5800rpm (GT-8:5MT)

Max Output: 278ps/6600rpm

Max Torque: 33.3kgm/5800rpm (GT-8: AT)

Max Output: 270ps/6400rpm

Max Torque: 32.8kgm/5300rpm(GT: 5MT.AT)

BODY Length: 1680mm Width: 1695mm Height: 1490mm Wheelbase: 2630mm Tread: Front 1470mm Rear 1460mm.

■ENGINE

BOXER MASTER-4, DOHC 4cam 16Valve Twin Turbo with Multi-cup Intercooler Bore x Stroke: 92.0mm×75.0mm Piston Displacement: 1994cc

LAYOUT 4Wheels Drive 5-Speed Manual/E-4AT

Brakes: 2Piston Type Caliper+Ventilated Disk

Wheels: 7.0Jx17(Front & Rear)

Tire: 215/45ZR (Front & Rear)

Suspension: Strength Sports Spring

Steering: Rack&Pinion

●Interior

A comfortable design that lets you enjoy sports driving.

It features a shift knob made of aluminum, a 20-meter console that stands out in Tommy Kaira red, and an original meter made of three-dimensional carbon.

●Engine

Tommykara

The 297 hp power effortlessly guides the driver into the experience zone from the moment the car starts. Easy-to-handle engine characteristics are the hallmark of Tommykans.

●Front view

The originally designed spoiler with large openings above and below the bumper line maximizes cooling effectiveness. Together with the large integrated sub-light, it creates an impressive front view.

●Rear view

The fiberglass sports stabilizer and spoiler create a dynamic range that improves stability through downforce at high speeds.

●Fender decal/side decal

Flowing Tommykara, the confidence of a tuned car.

[lilliancdoodles]

Human 'pups' from @tastytoastz's Fitpac Merfolk AU Life is like the Ocean it goes up and down!

Click for better quality, design notes below the cut!

Master post of all designs for this fic

Richas: - I had to change his pose, it was killing me seeing such an active kid standing like a toy solider. - Hat and boots based on his mooshroom hat. I went into detail about my ideas on how Richas got the boots in an ask to Toast, but tldr: He would just refuse to wear shoes, until either Felps or Pac found the mooshroom boots and now they have trouble getting him to take them off. - Shirt is a swim shirt, it's a little bit big, but Richas despised the one that was a tight fit so they got him one a size bigger. - His shorts are swim trunks, they just have pockets and I have no idea what he uses them for but I assume it's just anything he can get his hands on an will fit in the pockets. 9/10 he forgets to empty his pockets before going swimming. Em: - Cat boots at Toasts suggestion - I found this adorable swim suit and I thought it was perfect. I made it tan to match her signs and pink accents. - Pancake decal on the suit, i mean I feel like it's self explanatory. - The rest of her is based off of my own design of her, fluffy twin tails with white/pink bangs to match with Bagi and Niki (and Mouse if shes one of her moms in this fic) Em suit inspo: