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Ray
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How Far From The Tree - 1

H

How Far From The Tree - 1

Morgan Stark: How Far From The Tree September 10th, 2025 Stark Residence “Moooooooooooooooom, at this rate, I might as well do a baking soda volcano. Except that stinky Mikey Peterson is already doing one.” Morgan whined with all the sense of entitlement that an 8-year old could bring up. She had worked weeks on the project before school even started, aiming to prevent last year’s debacle that had gotten her expelled from her first school. The fire hadn’t even been that large, anyhow, and it wasn’t her fault that the classroom was right next to the library. “No, and that’s final. How did you even build yourself a set of power armour?” Virginia “Pepper” Potts-Stark stated and asked. The CEO of Stark Industries was rushing around and really didn’t need to be distracted by her daughter again, especially when a security team was busy boxing up the petite suit of armour the parent and child were arguing about. “I built it in Dad’s garage, from a box of scraps.” Morgan said
0Comments

Nonstop Hellride

N

Nonstop Hellride

I crawled forward, trying to walk as well as I could with my leg feeling busted up, vision going in and out from the pain. I could see another car, somehow pristine in this hellish landscape of fire, brimstone, and broken highway, but no, it isn’t pristine, the body is dented and scratched up like it had been used like a battering ram. The pitted chrome decal on the side advertised that the car was a Dodge Dart Demon, appropriate for where I currently was. The over-sized bumpers were not stock, nor was the external horn on the roof. Was this Hell’s idea of a police car or something? Horns, hooting, and hollering came from behind me, the chasers were getting closer, always on my back. I don’t hesitate, and throw open the driver’s side door, and a skeletonized body falls out, tattered rags that once were clothing caught in joints keeping him together, and a sawed-off shotgun in his hand. I pull him out of the car, climb in, and jerk the shotgun out of his blackened fingers
15Comments

Return of the Lone Wanderer - 19

R

Return of the Lone Wanderer - 19

 One must realize that the first thing about the Super Sledge is that it isn’t just “an engine block on a stick”, as I’ve heard it described time and again.  It has quite a number of kinetic enhancing features that allows it to dent in and wreck tank armour.  Those features were now working against each other.  Autumn's factory-fresh version with all of its components brand spanking new, or Fawke’s with its extensive customizations and jury-rigs.  Both heads met up, the shafts flexed and soon, soon, soon, I kept hoping that the explosive effect would be soon, but the shafts flexed impossibly, until we were helmet
2Comments

The Last Ride Of The Monster

T

The Last Ride Of The Monster

My eyes are closed as I dream.  I feel the vibration of The Monster’s heart, her wonderful engine.  The jolts in the steering wheel from the front wheels, and the shifter aching to go into the next gear.  As long as my eyes are closed, I’m just driving.  And what I experience is a dream. Reality crashes into me with the force of a pick-up truck going ninety.  My eyes open, looking over at the demon rednecks screaming, hooting, and hollering up a storm.  There has to be a dozen of them in the bed of the truck alone, and another group crammed into the cab, too many.  All screaming at me to join them.  I let go of the screaming skul
4Comments

The Monster

T

The Monster

The "woman" of my dreams (nightmares) is someone I can feel.  I know her inside and out.  Flathead V-8, Blower, Supercharger, Turbochargers, Custom Transmission.  Hydraulic Suspension.  Armstrong Steering.  Her tires are runflats, stolen from a jeep.  Trunk full of guns and a larger gas tank. I feel her interior, leather and bare steel, no fabric, no carpet.  Custom pedals.  Custom steering wheel.  Custom shifter.  Custom enough that the Ford plant would never recognize her. She ran rich, leaded petrol.  And she drank it more than a Canadian drank beer.  She loved the highway, hated the tight corners.  She wanted room and lots of it.  Compe
0Comments

Nightmare Chase

N

Nightmare Chase

The Monster I was in started out life as a 1949 Mercury Eight Coupe.  Two doors, hardtop, stretched nose, frenched lights, blower out the hood and insulated turbocharger powered by exhaust.  She ran rich, occasionally spouting out flaming bits of unburned fuel out of the pipes; she wasn’t dropped as the suspension clearance was needed for the streets that she took to.  The Ford factory would never have believed what had been done to the old flathead V-8 that was the car’s heart and soul.  Push button ignition and four-on-the-floor standard transmission was her mind.  Whitewalls were her feet.  A quarter-mile car, a highway star, n
8Comments
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How Far From The Tree - 1

H

How Far From The Tree - 1

Morgan Stark: How Far From The Tree September 10th, 2025 Stark Residence “Moooooooooooooooom, at this rate, I might as well do a baking soda volcano. Except that stinky Mikey Peterson is already doing one.” Morgan whined with all the sense of entitlement that an 8-year old could bring up. She had worked weeks on the project before school even started, aiming to prevent last year’s debacle that had gotten her expelled from her first school. The fire hadn’t even been that large, anyhow, and it wasn’t her fault that the classroom was right next to the library. “No, and that’s final. How did you even build yourself a set of power armour?” Virginia “Pepper” Potts-Stark stated and asked. The CEO of Stark Industries was rushing around and really didn’t need to be distracted by her daughter again, especially when a security team was busy boxing up the petite suit of armour the parent and child were arguing about. “I built it in Dad’s garage, from a box of scraps.” Morgan said
0Comments

Nonstop Hellride

N

Nonstop Hellride

I crawled forward, trying to walk as well as I could with my leg feeling busted up, vision going in and out from the pain. I could see another car, somehow pristine in this hellish landscape of fire, brimstone, and broken highway, but no, it isn’t pristine, the body is dented and scratched up like it had been used like a battering ram. The pitted chrome decal on the side advertised that the car was a Dodge Dart Demon, appropriate for where I currently was. The over-sized bumpers were not stock, nor was the external horn on the roof. Was this Hell’s idea of a police car or something? Horns, hooting, and hollering came from behind me, the chasers were getting closer, always on my back. I don’t hesitate, and throw open the driver’s side door, and a skeletonized body falls out, tattered rags that once were clothing caught in joints keeping him together, and a sawed-off shotgun in his hand. I pull him out of the car, climb in, and jerk the shotgun out of his blackened fingers
15Comments

Return of the Lone Wanderer - 19

R

Return of the Lone Wanderer - 19

 One must realize that the first thing about the Super Sledge is that it isn’t just “an engine block on a stick”, as I’ve heard it described time and again.  It has quite a number of kinetic enhancing features that allows it to dent in and wreck tank armour.  Those features were now working against each other.  Autumn's factory-fresh version with all of its components brand spanking new, or Fawke’s with its extensive customizations and jury-rigs.  Both heads met up, the shafts flexed and soon, soon, soon, I kept hoping that the explosive effect would be soon, but the shafts flexed impossibly, until we were helmet
2Comments

The Last Ride Of The Monster

T

The Last Ride Of The Monster

My eyes are closed as I dream.  I feel the vibration of The Monster’s heart, her wonderful engine.  The jolts in the steering wheel from the front wheels, and the shifter aching to go into the next gear.  As long as my eyes are closed, I’m just driving.  And what I experience is a dream. Reality crashes into me with the force of a pick-up truck going ninety.  My eyes open, looking over at the demon rednecks screaming, hooting, and hollering up a storm.  There has to be a dozen of them in the bed of the truck alone, and another group crammed into the cab, too many.  All screaming at me to join them.  I let go of the screaming skul
4Comments

The Monster

T

The Monster

The "woman" of my dreams (nightmares) is someone I can feel.  I know her inside and out.  Flathead V-8, Blower, Supercharger, Turbochargers, Custom Transmission.  Hydraulic Suspension.  Armstrong Steering.  Her tires are runflats, stolen from a jeep.  Trunk full of guns and a larger gas tank. I feel her interior, leather and bare steel, no fabric, no carpet.  Custom pedals.  Custom steering wheel.  Custom shifter.  Custom enough that the Ford plant would never recognize her. She ran rich, leaded petrol.  And she drank it more than a Canadian drank beer.  She loved the highway, hated the tight corners.  She wanted room and lots of it.  Compe
0Comments

Nightmare Chase

N

Nightmare Chase

The Monster I was in started out life as a 1949 Mercury Eight Coupe.  Two doors, hardtop, stretched nose, frenched lights, blower out the hood and insulated turbocharger powered by exhaust.  She ran rich, occasionally spouting out flaming bits of unburned fuel out of the pipes; she wasn’t dropped as the suspension clearance was needed for the streets that she took to.  The Ford factory would never have believed what had been done to the old flathead V-8 that was the car’s heart and soul.  Push button ignition and four-on-the-floor standard transmission was her mind.  Whitewalls were her feet.  A quarter-mile car, a highway star, n
8Comments
Artist // Professional // Literature
  • Aug 6
  • Canada
  • Deviant for 13 years
  • He / Him
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My Bio
Current Residence: Winnipeg
Favourite genre of music: Metal
Favourite style of art: Writing
Skin of choice: Birthday Suit
Personal Quote: Illegitimi non carborundum

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Ghostbusters
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Well, that was certainly the wrong thing to type

Well, that was certainly the wrong thing to type

Trying to show how I'm feeling, which is hard because, not being an artist, I can't draw it myself. So I try various searches at various times. The latest gave me a bunch of results that can be summed up as: "Kill Yourself, It'll Make The World Better". Not exactly something you should be telling a person with a few mental illnesses, even if you don't use those words exactly. So, yeah. Just, yeah. I know, no one cares. I'm just howling at the winds.
4Comments

OK, I have to ask...

OK, I have to ask...

Is anyone even here any longer, or has it been taken over by Russian Sex Bots trying to eat all of your private data on your computer? 'Cause it's feeling damned lonely here.
4Comments

Freddie Mercury

Freddie Mercury

https://youtu.be/t99KH0TR-J4 It's a weird thing, but, I picture him still living in Doctor Who timeline/universe, having taken over his Cyberman situation, mustache grown by sheer force of will, and travelling the cosmos... Singing to the stars themselves, and seducing the very galaxy one piece at a time. He is there at the end of all things, beaten, battered, rusted. With countless ageless stars following him beyond the next big bang, making his own universe, not in his image, but one that he would have agreed to at the very least.
0Comments

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DooMaxHobbyist Digital Artist

Merci pour le fave !

CanRayProfessional Writer

You're very welcome! :D

Thanks for the fave! :D

CanRayProfessional Writer

You're very welcome! :D

artfreakguyProfessional Digital Artist
Hey mate, thanks for the fave! :)
CanRayProfessional Writer

You're very welcome! :D

BlackDonnerHobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks a lot for faving, my friend.
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