I’ve been working on getting my army painted for a while and been trying to hire local people but I always end up with someone who starts, stalls out, and then hands me back a partially painted army and says they’re getting out of the business. I also reached out to the guy who does the Craftworld Eldar channel on YT but he hasn’t responded yet. I’m looking for a person or studio who can do some top-tier painting for the characters in my army and I’d like to have it done in time for the summer tournament season. Any recommended and reputable studios that can jump on this pretty quickly that have pictures of work they’ve completed and is willing to do some custom work. Thank you all in advance!

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I painted all my doors and after i rehung them I have two doors that close on their own. No matter what they close slowly. I’ve Googled it and watched videos on how to fix it and the hinge trick didn’t work.
What else can I do?

i updated ibis paint cuz i needed to import a brush but it wouldnt let me without the update so i updated it and now its almost 8 GB... what???? like before the update it was 2.7 gb and i dont even think the update has major changes

Hey y’all, I’m looking to chat at work with someone interesting and who can keep a convo going!!! No NSFW please..
A bit about me is that I enjoy painting and singing. Also enjoy cooking and baking. And I’m interested in animals and psychology.
Shoot me a message, let’s see if we vibe. I do prefer older folks but let’s keep it 21+. Please. 😊❤️

In a new build above the windows there is the strip of wood above attached to the stud style walls not solid brick like the older houses. All my curtain rails are screws and raw plugs the screws are longer in depth than the wood is it ok to just drill them fully through or should I get some shorter ones? They are just standard raw plugs for reference.
I assume I just need a tool to check for water pipes behind there?
They also state the walls shouldn't be painted or drilled for pictures for 6 to 12 months to dry out and prevent cracks, would 3M command strips be ok to hang pictures on the walls? I use them in our current home but they are brick walls just concious of not damaging the new walls.

Another aspect of the Grand Theft Auto series that fans are hoping to see in GTA 6 is the ability to customize vehicles. In previous games, players could modify cars with new paint jobs, wheels, and performance upgrades. Some rumors have suggested that players will be able to fully customize planes and boats as well in the upcoming game. This would add a whole new layer of depth to the game and allow players to create truly unique vehicles.
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"I can't get it out of my head. I don't know what to do. Mark said you might be able to help me, but I don't know how."
I was sitting by the fountain in the outdoor garden, which most people used as a smoking area. The angel statue held a jug that constantly burbled out water, and I found the patter soothing. I came here to think sometimes, to collect my thoughts, and it was a great comfort to me since the incident with the elevator. I found myself here more and more often these days. Writing this book about the things I've seen and heard in Cashmere Hospital is taking a toll on me, and I think it's impossible to not wonder why I stay in the belly of the beast as I write more and more about the things that go on here.
I was asleep when Mark called me today, dragging myself from the depths to ask what he wanted?
My plans had been to sleep till noon, so I could get up and write a little before going back to sleep tonight. It was my day off, and I wanted to catch up on some sleep so I could spend all day tomorrow writing before going back to work on Wednesday. Instead, I listened to what Mark had to say and got up to make myself a coffee, so I'd be in the right mind to listen to this fellas story.
"He wants to know if you'll meet him at eleven. He sounds pretty bad, and I'm afraid he might not be in the right place to tell you this story for much longer."
The guy's name was Jerry, a "sitter" who'd struck up a friendship with Mark a few months ago.
Sitters are what we call them, but their title is "non-medical caregivers." They sit with patients for six to eight hours daily, and the work is voluntary. Sitters usually hang out with coma patients, patients suffering from catatonia, dementia patients, and most patients who just need someone to sit and talk with them. That was where Jerry came in. Jerry lived primarily off a trust fund, but as he grew older, he wanted to do something with his time besides sit around. So, he committed himself to sit with patients a few times a week, leading him to where he was now.
"They keep calling me to see if I want to sit with another patient, but I can't think of anything besides what he said to me."
I looked up owlishly at him, taking a sip of the coffee I'd bought in the cafeteria before telling him to go on.
"It all started with Mr. Vogner."
* * * * *
Jerry looked at the starring old man without much interest. He was sitting in a bed on the second floor, the long-term stay unit, and staring at the same long crack in the plain white paint that covered a ceiling that had likely not been painted since Reagan was in office.
"This is Mr. Vogner. He's in a coma, but we think he might feel a little better if he just had someone to talk to."
Jerry nodded, "Well, let's get acquainted then,"
After several hours of having a one-sided conversation with the man in the bed, Jerry sighed. He didn't know what he was expecting. Most of the patients in a coma or in a state of catatonia were like this. It was like talking to a brick wall, but you ultimately did it for them. You gave them a voice they could latch onto, a lifeline that might pull them back from whatever sea they are stranded in.
Just because it was dull didn't mean it wasn't noble work.
Jerry had been doing this sort of thing for about a year, and he had never seen anything described by some of the guys in his group. There was a collection of guys in the Sitter program who sometimes got together for drinks and talked about their experiences. Some of the guys talked about watching patients slowly come out of their silent state. Some talked about hearing a patient speak for the first time in years. Some talked about the tear-spotted letters they got from their families or the happy embraces from family members who hadn't seen them move or speak in years. Jerry didn't have anything like this. They told him it would happen, that he would get his own story to tell one day.
He doubted any of them could have known that this dried-up husk of a man would be his one and only story.
Jerry tried another conversational gambit, asking Mr. Vogner who he thought would win the Super Bowl this year?
Mr. Vognar just kept staring at that crack in the ceiling.
Jerry reached for the remote then, thinking some Tv might loosen his tongue. Flipping through the channels, he finally settled on an episode of Pawn Stars and started watching the adventures of Rick and his son, Big Haus. Jerry asked Vogner if he liked Pawn Stars, but he got no answer. Whether he approved or disapproved, Jerry never knew. He turned back to the show, commenting on some of the things they were showing, and the two let the show play out.
They were halfway through the episode, Rick's father talking to a man about silver coins, when Jerry heard the mumbling. He turned the volume down, thinking it might be part of the show, and realized it was coming from the man in the bed. Mr. Vogner was mumbling to the crack in the ceiling, and Jerry turned off the tv as he slid his chair a little closer. The man's chapped lips were mumbling the same thing repeatedly, and as Jerry got closer, he realized it was the same five words.
"He came through the crack."
"Are you okay, Mr. Vogner?" Jerry asked, looking at the door as he thought about calling a nurse.
"He came through the crack."
"Do you need some water?" Jerry asked, hoping for more than muttering.
"He came through the crack."
"Who came through the crack?" Jerry asked on a whim, wondering if it was something more than a random phrase.
When the old man turned his sunken face towards him, his chapped lips flaking as he made the words of an answer, Jerry wished he hadn't asked.
"The man made of stars."
Jerry wanted to pull away but leaned in closer, curious to hear the man's words.
"Tell me about him."
It all began when things started going missing.
It was little things. My paper weight, the pen the college gave me after teaching for twenty years, the pendent from LSU that hung on the wall of my own dorm, and I was becoming angry. I blamed my kids, and I blamed my wife, but they all claimed they had nothing to do with it. I was working on a manuscript and complained that all of this was cutting into my time, but still, things continued to go missing.
When my manuscript started going missing, I fell into a rage.
I changed the locks on my office. I forbade people to go in there, even when I was there. I spent more time in my office, typing and typing and typing away, and barely saw the people who mattered the most to me. I would slink out to get food in the dead of night when everyone was asleep, and even then, I would lock the door and get back to work as quickly as possible.
I was typing one night between midnight and dawn when I discovered what had been stealing from me.
The old man wet his lips again, his head shifting slowly as he looked back at the crack in the ceiling. His voice sounded like a rusty hinge in a haunted house, and Jerry wondered how long it had been since he had spoken? Jerry wanted to get him some water, but he was pulled in by the weird story and the sound of his haggard voice.
"Have you ever considered what we would look like to a two-dimensional creature?"
Jerry was surprised, shook his head, shocked into a response by the strangeness of the question.
"Few do. A three-dimensional creature could reach right into a safe that a two-dimensional creature had secured and take anything they wanted. The two-dimensional creature would have no idea how its valuables had been stolen, and it might not even be able to conceive of a three-dimensional creature."
"Pretty heavy stuff," Jerry said, chuckling weakly.
"Indeed," said Mr. Vognar, "Especially when it's exactly what's happening to you."
I was sitting at my computer, banging away at my missing pages as I tried to recreate them when something caught my eye. It began as a sparkling, like a gem that caught the light, and I turned to look at the crack that had appeared on my wall. It was nothing special, just a normal crack, but there was something trying to push its way through. I… can't…have you ever looked up at the stars on a clear night? Have you ever looked at the constellations and seen the shapes? That one bear, that one a dipper, that one a huntsman? Well, I saw a man made of stars! That's as close as I can describe him, but it looked like a constellation had stepped out of my wall.
I was speechless. Was this the thing that was stealing from me? I was like a statue as it moved across the room. It's hard to describe how it moved. It almost seemed to vanish and reappear with each "step." It was, then it wasn't, then it was again. Watching it move gave me the worst feeling of nausea, and I felt the air hang in my lungs as it came right up to the desk. It stood not five feet from me, and the air hummed with power. I spent a summer working for the power company before college, hanging power lines and helping plant telephone poles. When the wires were live, they felt just like that, and I was afraid that if it touched me, I'd be burnt to a crisp.
I must have made a sound when he picked up the picture on my desk because it turned and looked at me. I say turned, but I'm not quite sure what it did. It folded itself in my direction, and when its shining visage fell on me, it sounded like animals being cooked alive. It sounded like the loudest speaker reverb you've ever heard mixed with a pig being butchered. It made my ears bleed, and I felt blood oozing from my nose and eyes as I stared at it. I watched it lean in closer and closer as the noise fell on me like a heavy weight, and at some point, my mind just couldn't take it anymore.
When I returned to myself, I was here, and I've been here ever since, thinking about the nature of that creature that came through my wall as if it was no more a barrier than the door over there.
Jerry leaned away from the man slowly, the oldster still staring at that crack that stretched across the flat plane of his ceiling.
"Have you seen him since?" Jerry asked, not wanting to know but needing to.
Mr. Vognar never looked away from the crack, but Jerry felt sure that he could see him peeking out of her peripherals.
"Sometimes, late at night, I see colors from that crack up there. I know he's watching. I think he enjoys seeing me suffer. And now you know, too. And now it will eat away at you as well."
He started to laugh, a deep and hateful sound, and it took all of Jerry's strength to fumble out of the chair and run from that room. It wasn't just his fun house laughter or the corpse that was creating it. The idea of some creature that could move freely through his world, seeing it as little more than a game board or a picture made of rice and glue, terrified him the farther it wormed into his brain. They called his name at the nurse's station when he passed, but he kept running. He didn't stop running until he was in his car in the parking lot, but that was when it all truly started.
He saw a crack in the windshield, a simple star made by a stray rock.
He had thought he might be done shaking, but it seemed he had a little more in him as he fell out of the car and scrambled through the parking lot, leaving his vehicle open and abandoned in the parking spot.
* * * * *
"I haven't gone back to check on it since. I assume security has either towed it or secured it for me. I spent the last two weeks spackling every crack in my house. I never realized there were so many until I started. Then I looked at the corners, wondering if they could get in there. Who's to say what a door is to them? They could come anywhere and at any time."
"What will you do?" I asked, unsure how to help this man.
It was hard having knowledge that you didn't ask for.
"I don't know, but every day I think about it, I'm pretty sure I'm one step closer to losing my mind. I wonder now if that's what happened to Mr. Vognar. Did he lose his mind after seeing that thing, or because the thought of things coming in drove him crazy?"
He left soon after that, and I never heard from him again.
I did look up Mr. Vognar when I got to work the next day and discovered he had passed the day after Jerry's visit. The report said he had a heart attack, but they also reported strange burns on his chest during the autopsy. It was written off as an allergic reaction or some odd occurrence, but I can't help but wonder if the strange creature he spoke of finally came back to get him?
Cashmere just gets weirder and weirder the longer I look into these things.
I hardly need an otherworldly being to make me feel like I might be losing it the longer I remain in this Bermuda triangle of strangeness.

I was wondering if anyone could cast their eye over my opening and give me feedback? I've reworked it so many times now that I've gone a bit word blind, and can't tell if it even works anymore. I wanted to explore having a main character with ADHD, but I'm wondering if having the reader chase the character's internal thoughts all over the place is exhausting.
(Way back when I wrote a few children's books, so this is outside my genre. Also I'm dyslexic, so if you enter this trying to fix my grammapunctuation you might feel like the person trying to pick all the seeds out of a gooseberry pie. I wouldn't do that to you! Just if you could let me know if it's engaging, if it flows, where it needs more or less etc..)

Chapter 1: The Stories We Tell
Strangeness had taken root in the Enchanted Forest. Here the magic was heavy and wild, lingering in the air and soaking deep into the soil. There had always been stories that began in the forest, traditional fare for bedtimes and firesides, but recently all too many had ended there too.
Those were the stories Flynch knew off by heart.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to shift the invisible weight that seemed to hang off them, and stared at the treeline before her. After the last incident, the woods had been ordered off limits, and the police tape was - miraculously - still in place. It ran as far as the eye could see in both directions, fluttering ineffectually, tugging at the knots that bound it in place. I don’t blame you, thought Flynch. I don’t want to be here either.
It looked like someone from the council had ventured out this way too, judging by the signs that dotted the perimeter. Laminated, and printed with a suitably serious looking font, they bore a warning:
“Wild Magic Activity Reported. Entry Prohibited.”
What a waste of ink. “Wild magic activity” made it sound so bloody… whimsical. People will read that, and picture a wall that has started asking riddles. A river flowing backwards. A warning like that only kept sensible people out, which made it about as useful as a paper lock on a treasure chest. Worse, even. Now every fool within a ten mile radius will feel drawn to the irresistibly off-limits forest. They might as well have painted a big arrow to the treeline, declaring “Dangerous and intriguing activity inside. Scare a date! Impress your friends!”.
Infuriating, was what it was. Perhaps if they let her hang crime scene photos around the perimeter, like she’d suggested, they’d have more impact. There were enough on her desk. Gods know she could spare a few. She could have an arts and crafts day. Make a collage.
If she was lucky, it might even count as her monthly mandated therapy.
A smile crept across her face at the thought of gathering up all that gore and grief and misery and transforming it. A poster for the woods. Paper chains for the more compliant arrests. Autopsy origami. The concerned glances her colleagues shared as she sat there, paint brushes in her hair, scissors in her hand, and laughed and laughed and -
…Eight bodies scattered in the clearing, froth spilling from their mouths, faces locked in a final look of desperation. They rested unnaturally on the ground, like statues that had been toppled: rigid, twisted, their backs arched, their teeth bared, limbs contorting around the air like ivy around old bricks…
-The smile faded.
..travelling salesman found just yards from the path, clothes intact, not a mark on their skin, and yet all their bones were missing…
Even if she did cut them into pieces, it was too late. The contents had already escaped the reports and skittered after her, details Flynch would turn over and over in her head like sharpened worry beads. Whenever a conversation lulled, or a daydream approached anything near pleasant, there they were. Fragments of exquisite awful that her memory would bring to her like a toddler stumbling out of tall grass, joy on its face, snake thrashing furiously in its hands:
Look what I found
Look what I found
...discovered crawling along the path, weeping, sores all over her body that erupted at pace, breaking open to reveal unblinking eyes…
Look.
Look.
..missing teenager who wandered into the woods, and only their shadow returned…
No wonder she ground her teeth in her sleep.
In days of old, they’d have thrown adventurers at the problem. Rummaged up a few heroic volunteers by rebranding the “horrific and mysterious deaths” as a “questing opportunity”. Things worked differently now. Over time the reward pot had dwindled, throttled by years and years of austerity, and as it did the calibre of hero it attracted had declined in proportion. After a summer that saw a record number of unqualified, destitute people march to their deaths in pursuit of a miserable amount of coin, there had been a period of outrage, then a period of hand wringing, flower laying and memorial making. Finally the whole concept of locally sourced heroes had been scrapped. Although there were some who protested bitterly, sad to see the tradition go, Flynch had been glad. As a child, she remembered the excitement of a quest being announced, remembered feeling the energy in the city as they marched on their way; vibrant characters, big smiles, strong jaws, armour that caught the sunlight, golden quest rosettes pinned to their chest. Fifteen years later she’d seen her old school teacher wearing that same rosette, tugging at armour that didn’t fit him properly, rattling around inside it like a wet cough. Poor sod didn’t stand a chance, and everyone knew it. He left at sunset through quiet streets lined with people who couldn’t bring themselves to look him in the eye.
So for the past decade all odd portents, weird sightings, and mysterious deaths had been swept up and dumped into the seemingly bottomless bucket of Police responsibility. Reports were typed, analysed, sightings broken down, necrologies performed, dusty tomes consulted, intelligence briefings given, before it was fed higher up the chain, way, way above Flynch’s desk, and dealt with according to a delicate balance of risk assessments, staffing levels, and budget constraints.
Which meant, on this occasion, sealing off the area with police tape, and dusting off the laminator.
Flynch stared back at the path that carved through the trees, and began a well rehearsed routine. First step. She rummaged through the pockets in her baggy yellow trousers, producing a hair tie on the third attempt (crumpled receipt on the first, hag stone attached to something worryingly sticky on the second) and swept her purple hair up in a bun. Second. She crouched down, and double knotted the laces in her scuffed, burgundy boots. Third. Standing again, she unclipped and clipped the shillelagh that hung on her belt, feeling the reassuring weight of the twisted blackthorn wood. Fourth. Usually the last step was to smooth down her dad’s old blue trenchcoat, taking a moment, deep breath, focus, fingers reverently skimming over years of repairs.
Today there was one further action to take.
Fifth. She took her ID, and pinned it onto her collar.
If you were a by-the-book type, which she wasn’t, your ID should always be on display. Whenever she was called up on it she pretended it was an oversight, made some big theatre of searching her pockets to find it, but the truth was she just hated the thing. Hated the overfamiliarity it granted. The way some people would make a show of studying it, leaning forward, all nostrils and scrunched eyes, so close you could smell their breath. They way they’d roll her name around their wet mouths, using it over and over like punctuation. Hated most of all the glances at the picture, then back at her face, to and fro, to and fro, mentally circling the changes.
Although, even she had to admit that the comparison could be jarring. The image on it was old, capturing the moment when she first got out of uniform. Photo Flynch had a slimmer face. Brighter eyes. An awkward, optimistic smile played across lips that weren’t yet rudely interrupted with a scar. In the years between that version of her and now, time had begun to weave mousey brown strands through her purple hair, and notch lines around her eyes, like a prisoner tracking days on a wall. Many changes. Not bad, not really. Just broken in. Like well worn boots.
The name remained the same though.
“Flynch Coppard.” It read. “Detective”
She looked back to the forest, and scowled, mentally steeling herself. Wearing the badge today was a professional courtesy. Just-in-case.
Every copper knows it’s just old fashioned manners to leave an obvious clue on an unrecognisable corpse.
Sixth step. Go.
The scowl was still there as she ducked beneath the tape.

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CCUed SHIPS with Life Time Insurance

Title	My Price	Type	Insurance
Polaris	$550.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
A2 Hercules	$550.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Hammerhead	$525.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Nautilus	$575.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
Odyssey	$550.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
Perseus	$510.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
Merchantman	$499.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
Carrack	$499.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Carrack BIS	$550.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Orion	$530.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
Liberator	$530.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
M2 Hercules	$460.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
600i Explorer	$420.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Hull D	$420.00	Concept	Lifeti
Galaxy	$380.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Prowler	$390.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
600i Touring	$400.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Reclaimer	$399.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Genesis	$400.00	Production	Lifetime [LTI]
C2 Hercules	$350.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Valkyrie	$360.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Hull C	$330.00	Production	Lifetime [LTI]
Endeavor	$330.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
Crucible	$330.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
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Caterpillar	$300.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
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MOLE	$290.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
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Starfarer	$280.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Eclipse	$280.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
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400i	$253.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
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Cutlass Steel	$257.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
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Defender	$258.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
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Corsair	$253.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Vulcan	$240.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
Hurricane	$240.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
F7C-M Super Hornet Heartseeker	$240.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Constellation Taurus	$240.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Sabre Comet	$220.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
F7C-M Super Hornet	$210.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Freelancer MIS	$220.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Cutlass Blue	$220.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
F7C Hornet Wildfire	$220.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Khartu-Al	$200.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Sabre	$200.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Gladiator	$220.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
A1 Spirit	$205.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
E1 Spirit	$190.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
C1 Spirit	$160.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Prospector	$183.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Razor EX	$183.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Freelancer MAX	$178.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Retaliator	$178.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
Razor LX	$178.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
SRV	$178.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
Mantis	$178.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Expanse	$178.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
Razor	$186.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
F7C-R Hornet Tracker	$183.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Hull B	$183.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
Vulture	$218.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Ballista	$183.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Freelancer DUR	$173.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Cutlass Red	$173.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
350r	$163.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
F7C-S Hornet Ghost	$163.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
RAFT	$163.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Nova	$154.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Legionnaire	$154.00	Concept	Lifetime [LTI]
Talon	$146.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Talon Shrike	$147.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
F7C Hornet	$143.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Freelancer	$143.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Buccaneer	$143.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Gladius Valiant	$143.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Centurion	$143.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
M50	$147.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Cutlass Black	$147.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Hawk	$147.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Reliant Mako	$143.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]
Gladius	$133.00	Flyable	Lifetime [LTI]

Send me PM

SHIP PACKS

Insurance	Pledge	Title	Ships Included
LTI	$649.00 / 5	Package - Entrepreneur Pack
6	$498.00 / 5	Packs - Ground Militia Pack	Spartan, Ballista, Nova, 2 x Cyclons Standalone ships
12	$464.00 / 3	Packs - CDF Rally in Stanton Pack	Arrow, Hurricane, Sabre Standalone ships
120	$399.00 / 2	Packs - Dual Enforcers Pack	Scorpius + Mantis Standalone ships
120	$499.00 / 2	Packs - Swords of Fortitude - IAE	Ares Ion + Ares Inferno Standalone ships
12	$749.00 / 3	Packs - CDF Call to Arms Pack	Eclipse, Gladiator, Retaliator Bomber Standalone ships
120	$769.00 / 3	Packs - Ground Assault Pack	M2 Hercules + 2 x Nova Tanks Standalone

UPGRADES

Type	From	To	Insurance	My Price
Upgrade	Nox	100i		$10.00
Upgrade	Avenger Titan	125a		$10.00
Upgrade	300i	135c		$10.00
Upgrade	HoverQuad	300i		$60.00
Upgrade	X1 Force	300i		$20.00
Upgrade	Avenger Titan	300i		$10.00
Upgrade	Avenger Titan	315p		$10.00
Upgrade	315p	325a		$10.00
Upgrade	Nova	350r		$10.00
Upgrade	Railen	400i	120	$25.00
Upgrade	Railen	400i		$50.00
Upgrade	Prowler	600i Explorer	120	$35.00
Upgrade	600i Touring	600i Explorer		$80.00
Upgrade	Cyclone MT	600i Explorer		$450.00
Upgrade	C2 Hercules	600i Touring		$70.00
Upgrade	Khartu-Al	A1 Spirit		$10.00
Upgrade	Carrack Expedition w/C8X	A2 Hercules		$125.00
Upgrade	Hammerhead	A2 Hercules		$50.00
Upgrade	Nautilus	A2 Hercules		$50.00
Upgrade	Perseus	A2 Hercules		$150.00
Upgrade	Mercury	Apollo Medivac		$30.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Warden	Apollo Medivac		$30.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Steel	Apollo Triage		$30.00
Upgrade	Constellation Andromeda	Apollo Triage		$20.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Hoplite	Apollo Triage		$30.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Steel	Ares Inferno		$30.00
Upgrade	Constellation Taurus	Ares Inferno		$80.00
Upgrade	Constellation Andromeda	Ares Inferno		$20.00
Upgrade	Scorpius	Ares Inferno		$20.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Steel	Ares Ion		$30.00
Upgrade	Constellation Andromeda	Ares Ion		$20.00
Upgrade	Scorpius	Ares Ion		$20.00
Upgrade	Avenger Titan	Avenger Stalker		$10.00
Upgrade	325a	Avenger Titan Renegade		$10.00
Upgrade	Nomad	Avenger Warlock		$10.00
Upgrade	Freelancer DUR	Ballista		$10.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Red	Ballista		$10.00
Upgrade	RAFT	Ballista		$30.00
Upgrade	Mercury	Blade		$30.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Warden	Blade		$30.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Black	Buccaneer		$20.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Black	C1 Spirit		$20.00
Upgrade	Hull C	C2 Hercules	120	$50.00
Upgrade	Starfarer Gemini	C2 Hercules		$80.00
Upgrade	Redeemer	C2 Hercules		$150.00
Upgrade	Valkyrie	C2 Hercules		$50.00
Upgrade	Mustang Gamma	C8R Pisces	120	$10.00
Upgrade	Avenger Titan	C8R Pisces	120	$10.00
Upgrade	Aurora LX	C8X Pisces Expedition	120	$10.00
Upgrade	M2 Hercules	Carrack	120	$80.00
Upgrade	M2 Hercules	Carrack		$100.00
Upgrade	Orion	Carrack		$50.00
Upgrade	Eclipse	Caterpillar	120	$30.00
Upgrade	Mercury	Caterpillar	120	$70.00
Upgrade	Redeemer	Caterpillar		$10.00
Upgrade	Mercury	Caterpillar		$99.00
Upgrade	400i	Caterpillar		$160.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Warden	Caterpillar		$140.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Harbinger	Caterpillar		$80.00
Upgrade	Gladius	Centurion		$20.00
Upgrade	Prospector	Constellation Andromeda		$100.00
Upgrade	Cyclone MT	Constellation Andromeda		$330.00
Upgrade	Nomad	Constellation Andromeda		$320.00
Upgrade	Gladiator	Constellation Taurus		$50.00
Upgrade	Gladius	Constellation Taurus		$200.00
Upgrade	Cyclone MT	Constellation Taurus		$230.00
Upgrade	Terrapin	Corsair	120	$30.00
Upgrade	Defender	Corsair	120	$30.00
Upgrade	Vulcan	Corsair		$30.00
Upgrade	Redeemer	Crucible		$50.00
Upgrade	Starfarer Gemini	Crucible		$20.00
Upgrade	Spartan	Cutlass Black		$40.00
Upgrade	Cyclone MT	Cutlass Black		$50.00
Upgrade	Nomad	Cutlass Black		$40.00
Upgrade	Khartu-Al	Cutlass Blue		$10.00
Upgrade	Sabre	Cutlass Blue		$10.00
Upgrade	Gladius	Cutlass Red		$90.00
Upgrade	Cyclone MT	Cutlass Red		$120.00
Upgrade	Vulcan	Cutlass Steel		$35.00
Upgrade	Arrow	Cyclone AA		$10.00
Upgrade	125a	Cyclone MT	120	$15.00
Upgrade	325a	Cyclone MT		$10.00
Upgrade	Dragonfly Black	Cyclone MT		$70.00
Upgrade	300i	Cyclone RC		$10.00
Upgrade	300i	Cyclone RN		$10.00
Upgrade	300i	Cyclone TR		$10.00
Upgrade	Hurricane	Defender		$25.00
Upgrade	F7C-M Super Hornet Heartseeker	Defender		$25.00
Upgrade	MPUV C	Dragonfly Black		$10.00
Upgrade	Razor	E1 Spirit		$10.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Sentinel	Eclipse	120	$25.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Harbinger	Eclipse		$20.00
Upgrade	Caterpillar	Endeavor		$40.00
Upgrade	Starfarer Gemini	Endeavor		$20.00
Upgrade	Razor	Expanse		$10.00
Upgrade	F7C-R Hornet Tracker	Expanse		$20.00
Upgrade	Cyclone MT	F7C Hornet		$70.00
Upgrade	Khartu-Al	F7C Hornet Wildfire		$10.00
Upgrade	Prospector	F7C-M Super Hornet	120	$25.00
Upgrade	A1 Spirit	F7C-M Super Hornet		$10.00
Upgrade	Freelancer MIS	F7C-M Super Hornet		$10.00
Upgrade	F7C-M Super Hornet	F7C-M Super Hornet Heartseeker	$30.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Red	F7C-R Hornet Tracker		$10.00
Upgrade	Nova	F7C-S Hornet Ghost		$10.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Black	Freelancer		$20.00
Upgrade	Nomad	Freelancer		$60.00
Upgrade	F7C-S Hornet Ghost	Freelancer DUR		$20.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Red	Freelancer MAX	120	$15.00
Upgrade	Razor	Freelancer MAX		$10.00
Upgrade	Khartu-Al	Freelancer MIS		$10.00
Upgrade	ROC	G12		$10.00
Upgrade	300i	G12a		$10.00
Upgrade	ROC	G12r		$10.00
Upgrade	Valkyrie	Genesis		$25.00
Upgrade	Prospector	Gladiator		$20.00
Upgrade	Cyclone MT	Gladius		$30.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Black	Gladius Valiant		$20.00
Upgrade	Merchantman	Hammerhead	120	$99.00
Upgrade	Odyssey	Hammerhead		$50.00
Upgrade	Reliant Mako	Hawk		$10.00
Upgrade	Gladius	Hawk		$20.00
Upgrade	Nomad	Herald		$10.00
Upgrade	300i	Hull A		$60.00
Upgrade	Arrow	Hull A		$30.00
Upgrade	RAFT	Hull B		$30.00
Upgrade	Freelancer DUR	Hull B		$10.00
Upgrade	Starfarer Gemini	Hull C		$20.00
Upgrade	C2 Hercules	Hull D		$100.00
Upgrade	Prowler	Hull D		$20.00
Upgrade	F7C-M Super Hornet	Hurricane		$30.00
Upgrade	Constellation Taurus	Hurricane		$10.00
Upgrade	Sabre Comet	Hurricane		$20.00
Upgrade	Prospector	Khartu-Al		$30.00
Upgrade	Gladiator	Khartu-Al		$10.00
Upgrade	Talon	Legionnaire		$10.00
Upgrade	M2 Hercules	Liberator		$110.00
Upgrade	600i Explorer	M2 Hercules		$65.00
Upgrade	Gladius	M50		$20.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Red	Mantis	120	$15.00
Upgrade	M2 Hercules	Merchantman		$130.00
Upgrade	600i Explorer	Merchantman		$350.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Steel	Mercury	120	$25.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Hoplite	Mercury	120	$25.00
Upgrade	Corsair	Mercury		$20.00
Upgrade	Constellation Andromeda	Mercury		$40.00
Upgrade	Apollo Triage	Mercury		$20.00
Upgrade	Cyclone MT	Mercury		$210.00
Upgrade	Nomad	Mercury		$360.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Harbinger	MOLE	120	$25.00
Upgrade	300i	Mustang Delta		$10.00
Upgrade	Perseus	Nautilus		$100.00
Upgrade	Cutlass Black	Nova		$35.00
Upgrade	Talon	Nova		$10.00
Upgrade	Talon Shrike	Nova		$10.00
Upgrade	M50	Nova		$40.00
Upgrade	Ranger TR	Nox		$10.00
Upgrade	Aurora LN	Nox		$10.00
Upgrade	Dragonfly Black	Nox		$10.00
Upgrade	Carrack	Odyssey		$200.00
Upgrade	Perseus	Odyssey		$50.00
Upgrade	M2 Hercules	Orion		$110.00
Upgrade	Merchantman	Perseus		$50.00
Upgrade	Carrack	Perseus		$150.00
Upgrade	Carrack w/C8X	Perseus		$110.00
Upgrade	Hammerhead	Polaris		$50.00
Upgrade	Perseus	Polaris		$95.00
Upgrade	Ballista	Prospector	120	$15.00
Upgrade	Cyclone MT	Prospector		$160.00
Upgrade	C2 Hercules	Prowler		$40.00
Upgrade	Reclaimer	Prowler		$80.00
Upgrade	600i Touring	Prowler		$10.00
Upgrade	F7C Hornet	RAFT		$30.00
Upgrade	Defender	Railen		$10.00
Upgrade	Terrapin	Railen		$10.00
Upgrade	San'tok.yДЃi	Railen		$10.00
Upgrade	Aurora MR	Ranger CV		$10.00
Upgrade	Aurora MR	Ranger RC		$10.00
Upgrade	Aurora LX	Ranger TR		$10.00
Upgrade	MPUV C	Ranger TR		$10.00
Upgrade	Ballista	Razor		$10.00
Upgrade	Freelancer MAX	Razor EX		$10.00
Upgrade	Razor	Razor LX		$10.00
Upgrade	Valkyrie	Reclaimer		$50.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Hoplite	Redeemer		$180.00
Upgrade	Avenger Titan	Reliant Kore		$20.00
Upgrade	Gladius	Reliant Mako		$10.00
Upgrade	Nomad	Reliant Sen		$10.00
Upgrade	325a	Reliant Tana		$10.00
Upgrade	Razor	Retaliator		$10.00
Upgrade	F7C-R Hornet Tracker	Retaliator		$20.00
Upgrade	400i	Retaliator Bomber	120	$25.00
Upgrade	Mercury	Retaliator Bomber		$30.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Warden	Retaliator Bomber		$30.00
Upgrade	325a	ROC-DS		$10.00
Upgrade	Gladiator	Sabre		$10.00
Upgrade	F7C-M Super Hornet	Sabre Comet		$10.00
Upgrade	A1 Spirit	Sabre Comet		$20.00
Upgrade	Hurricane	San'tok.yДЃi		$50.00
Upgrade	Vulcan	San'tok.yДЃi		$40.00
Upgrade	Vulcan	Scorpius		$80.00
Upgrade	Freelancer	Scorpius		$260.00
Upgrade	Arrow	Spartan		$10.00
Upgrade	F7C-R Hornet Tracker	SRV		$20.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Harbinger	Starfarer		$20.00
Upgrade	MOLE	Starfarer Gemini	120	$50.00
Upgrade	Buccaneer	Talon		$10.00
Upgrade	F7C Hornet	Talon		$10.00
Upgrade	Freelancer	Talon Shrike		$10.00
Upgrade	F7C Hornet	Talon Shrike		$10.00
Upgrade	Vulcan	Terrapin		$40.00
Upgrade	Starfarer Gemini	Valkyrie	120	$35.00
Upgrade	Crucible	Valkyrie		$50.00
Upgrade	MOLE	Valkyrie		$120.00
Upgrade	Mercury	Vanguard Harbinger		$30.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Warden	Vanguard Harbinger		$30.00
Upgrade	Mercury	Vanguard Harbinger		$50.00
Upgrade	Railen	Vanguard Hoplite		$20.00
Upgrade	400i	Vanguard Sentinel	120	$25.00
Upgrade	Apollo Triage	Vanguard Sentinel	120	$25.00
Upgrade	Vanguard Warden	Vanguard Sentinel		$30.00
Upgrade	Corsair	Vanguard Warden		$20.00
Upgrade	Ares Inferno	Vanguard Warden		$20.00
Upgrade	400i	Vanguard Warden		$20.00
Upgrade	Apollo Triage	Vanguard Warden		$20.00
Upgrade	F7C-M Super Hornet	Vulcan		$40.00
Upgrade	Constellation Taurus	Vulcan		$20.00
Upgrade	Sabre Comet	Vulcan		$30.00
Upgrade	Aurora LX	X1		$10.00
Upgrade	Dragonfly Black	X1 Force		$10.00
Upgrade	Nox	X1 Force		$10.00
Upgrade	Aurora LN	X1 Velocity		$10.00

Send me PM

STANDALONE SHIP

Type	Item	Insurance	Price
Standalone ship	A2 Hercules	120	$ 799,00
Standalone ship	Aurora LN	120	$ 55,00
Standalone ship	C2 Hercules	120	$ 450,00
Standalone ship	Carrack	120	$ 650,00
Standalone ship	M2 Hercules	120	$ 570,00
Standalone ship	M2 Hercules + 2 Nova tanks	120	$ 770,00
Standalone ship	MPUV C	120	$ 50,00
Standalone ship	Mustang Alpha	120	$ 55,00
Standalone ship	Nova	120	$ 150,00
Standalone ship	Nox	120	$ 55,00
Standalone ship	Scorpius	120	$ 260,00
Standalone ship	Scorpius + Mantis	120	$ 400,00
Standalone ship	600i Explorer	24	$ 500,00
Standalone ship	C2 Hercules	24	$ 420,00
Standalone ship	Carrack	24	$ 620,00
Standalone ship	Caterpillar	24	$ 320,00
Standalone ship	Cutlass Black	24	$ 110,00
Standalone ship	Defender	24	$ 250,00
Standalone ship	Freelancer MAX	24	$ 170,00
Standalone ship	Gladius	24	$ 110,00
Standalone ship	Mercury	24	$ 280,00
Standalone ship	MOLE	24	$ 325,00
Standalone ship	Razor	24	$ 165,00
Standalone ship	Reclaimer	24	$ 420,00
Standalone ship	Retaliator Bomber	24	$ 299,00
Standalone ship	Sabre	24	$ 190,00
Standalone ship	Carrack	12	$ 650,00
Standalone ship	Cutlass Red	12	$ 155,00
Standalone ship	Freelancer	12	$ 120,00
Standalone ship	Freelancer DUR	12	$ 155,00
Standalone ship	Freelancer MIS	12	$ 195,00
Standalone ship	Razor	12	$ 165,00
Standalone ship	Razor EX	12	$ 175,00
Standalone ship	Razor LX	12	$ 170,00
Standalone ship	Talon Shrike	12	$ 125,00

Send me PM

SUBSCRIBERS EXCLUSIVE

Type	From	My price, $
Subscribers Exclusive	"Caudillo" Helmets Pack #1 by CC's Conversions	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	"Caudillo" Helmets Pack #2 by CC's Conversions	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	"Caudillo" Helmets Pack #3 by CC's Conversions	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Adventurer Collection by Element Authority	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Atzkav 'Deadeye' Sniper Rifle	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	Atzkav 'Igniter' Sniper Rifle	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	Atzkav 'Venom' Sniper Rifle	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	Aztalan Galena Armor	$14,70
Subscribers Exclusive	Aztalan Tamarack Armor	$14,70
Subscribers Exclusive	Brands of the 'Verse Pack #1	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	Brands of the 'Verse Pack #2	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	Cold Front Collection	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	GP-33 MOD 'Ashfall' Grenade Launcher	$9,45
Subscribers Exclusive	GP-33 MOD 'Copperhead' Grenade Launcher	$9,45
Subscribers Exclusive	GP-33 MOD 'Thunderclap' Grenade Launcher	$9,45
Subscribers Exclusive	'Igniter' Lightning Bolt Co. Weapons Pack	$13,65
Subscribers Exclusive	Life in the 'Verse Shirts Pack #1	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	Life in the 'Verse Shirts Pack #2	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	Mandible Firestrike Helmet	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Mandible Sandcrawler Helmet	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Mandible Snowfly Helmet	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Neoni "Jami" Helmet	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Neoni "Onna" Helmet	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Neoni "Tengubi" Helmet	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Overlord "Dust Storm" Armor Set	$11,03
Subscribers Exclusive	Overlord "Predator" Armor Set	$11,03
Subscribers Exclusive	Overlord "Riptide" Armor Set	$11,03
Subscribers Exclusive	Overlord "Stinger" Armor Set	$11,03
Subscribers Exclusive	Overlord "Supernova" Armor Set	$11,03
Subscribers Exclusive	Overlord "Switchback" Armor Set	$11,03
Subscribers Exclusive	Overlord Helmets "Double Trouble" Pack	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	Overlord Helmets "Forces of Nature" Pack	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	Overlord Helmets "Silent Strike" Pack	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	Parasite Replica Helmet (Original)	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Polar Vortex Collection	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Pyro RYT 'Bloodline' Multi-Tool	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Pyro RYT 'Ghost' Multi-Tool	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Pyro RYT 'Mirage' Multi-Tool	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	QuikFlarePro Pack	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	QuikFlarePro Pack Deluxe	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	RSI Venture Pathfinder Arm Armor	$5,25
Subscribers Exclusive	RSI Venture Pathfinder Helmet	$5,25
Subscribers Exclusive	RSI Venture Pathfinder Leg Armor	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	RSI Venture Pathfinder Torso Armor	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	RSI Venture Pathfinder Undersuit	$4,20
Subscribers Exclusive	RSI Venture Rust Society Helmet	$5,25
Subscribers Exclusive	RSI Venture Voyager Arm Armor	$5,25
Subscribers Exclusive	RSI Venture Voyager Leg Armor	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	RSI Venture Voyager Torso Armor	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	RSI Venture Voyager Undersuit	$4,20
Subscribers Exclusive	Savior Collection 'Iceborn' Paladin Helmet	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Savior Collection 'Nightfire' Paladin Helmet	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Savior Collection 'Singularity' Paladin Helmet	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	Sawtooth "Bloodstone" Combat Knife	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	Sawtooth "Sirocco" Combat Knife	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	Sawtooth "Squall" Combat Knife	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	Star Kitten 'Damon' Helmet and Armor Set	$14,70
Subscribers Exclusive	Star Kitten Helmet and Armor Set	$14,70
Subscribers Exclusive	Star Kitten 'Sally' Helmet and Armor Set	$14,70
Subscribers Exclusive	Stegman's Cordimon "Voyager" Complete Outfit	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	Stegman's IndVest “Pathfinder” Complete Outfit	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	UltiFlex FSK-8 "Bloodline" Combat Knife	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	UltiFlex FSK-8 "Ghost" Combat Knife	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	UltiFlex FSK-8 "Mirage" Combat Knife	$6,30
Subscribers Exclusive	Urban Collection by Element Authority	$7,35
Subscribers Exclusive	'Venom' Lightning Bolt Co. Weapons Pack	$13,65
Subscribers Exclusive	WowBlast 'Blue' Desperado Toy Pistol	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	WowBlast 'Orange' Desperado Toy Pistol	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	WowBlast 'Red' Desperado Toy Pistol	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	WowBlast 'Teal' Desperado Toy Pistol	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	Yubarev 'Deadeye' Pistol	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	Yubarev 'Igniter' Pistol	$8,40
Subscribers Exclusive	Yubarev 'Venom' Pistol	$8,40

Send me PM

OTHER STUFF

Type	Name	My price, $
Gear	Greycat Quicksilver Paint and Armor Kit	$18,90
Gear	Greycat Harvester Paint and Armor Kit	$18,90
Gear	Greycat Black Cherry Paint and Armor Kit	$18,90
Package	Hornet F7C, 6 Month Insurance	$131,25
Package	Avenger Titan Starter Pack, 3 Month Insurance	$73,50
Package	Anvil Arrow Starter Pack, 3 Month Insurance	$94,50
Packs	Ground Assault Pack M2 Hercules + 2 Nova Tanks	$770,00
Packs	Greycat Miner’s Megapack Standard Edition	$119,70
Paints	100 series - Blue Ametrine Paint	$6,50
Paints	100 series - Flame Paint	$6,50
Paints	100 Series - Frostbite Paint	$6,50
Paints	100 Series - ILW 2951 Paint Pack	$16,90
Paints	100 Series - Invictus Blue and Gold Paint	$6,50
Paints	100 series - Slate Camo Paint	$6,50
Paints	400i - Afterglow Paint	$15
Paints	400i - Calacatta Paint	$15
Paints	400i - Stratus Paint	$15
Paints	Buccaneer - Ghoulish Green Paint	$9,10
Paints	Carrack - Polar Paint	$24,70
Paints	Carrack - Stormbringer Paint	$18,20
Paints	Caterpillar - Ghoulish Green Paint	$14,30
Paints	Caterpillar - Polar Paint	$14,30
Paints	Constellation - Black Heron Paint	$9,75
Paints	Constellation - Heron Paint Pack	$23,40
Paints	Constellation - Orange Heron Paint	$9,75
Paints	Constellation - White Heron Paint	$9,75
Paints	Cutlass - Coalfire Paint	$5,85
Paints	Cutlass - DefenseCon Paint Pack	$14,95
Paints	Cutlass - Ghoulish Green Paint	$6,50
Paints	Cyclone - ILW 2951 Paint Pack	$16,90
Paints	Defender - Polar Paint	$14,30
Paints	Defender - Stormbringer Paint	$9,75
Paints	Dragonfly - Coalfire Paint	$3,90
Paints	Dragonfly - DefenseCon Paint Pack	$10,40
Paints	Dragonfly - Ghoulish Green Paint	$6,50
Paints	Dragonfly - Mistwalker Paint	$6,50
Paints	Ghoulish Green 4 Paint Pack	$36,40
Paints	Gladius - Frostbite Paint	$9,10
Paints	Gladius - Timberline Paint	$5,85
Paints	Greycat Miner’s Paint Pack	$9,94
Paints	Hammerhead - Polar Paint	$24,70
Paints	Hammerhead - Stormbringer Paint	$18,20
Paints	Hercules Starlifter - 3 Paint Pack	$45,24
Paints	Hercules Starlifter - 4 Paint Pack	$52,52
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Send me PM

"I can't get it out of my head. I don't know what to do. Mark said you might be able to help me, but I don't know how."
I was sitting by the fountain in the outdoor garden, which most people used as a smoking area. The angel statue held a jug that constantly burbled out water, and I found the patter soothing. I came here to think sometimes, to collect my thoughts, and it was a great comfort to me since the incident with the elevator. I found myself here more and more often these days. Writing this book about the things I've seen and heard in Cashmere Hospital is taking a toll on me, and I think it's impossible to not wonder why I stay in the belly of the beast as I write more and more about the things that go on here.
I was asleep when Mark called me today, dragging myself from the depths to ask what he wanted?
My plans had been to sleep till noon, so I could get up and write a little before going back to sleep tonight. It was my day off, and I wanted to catch up on some sleep so I could spend all day tomorrow writing before going back to work on Wednesday. Instead, I listened to what Mark had to say and got up to make myself a coffee, so I'd be in the right mind to listen to this fellas story.
"He wants to know if you'll meet him at eleven. He sounds pretty bad, and I'm afraid he might not be in the right place to tell you this story for much longer."
The guy's name was Jerry, a "sitter" who'd struck up a friendship with Mark a few months ago.
Sitters are what we call them, but their title is "non-medical caregivers." They sit with patients for six to eight hours daily, and the work is voluntary. Sitters usually hang out with coma patients, patients suffering from catatonia, dementia patients, and most patients who just need someone to sit and talk with them. That was where Jerry came in. Jerry lived primarily off a trust fund, but as he grew older, he wanted to do something with his time besides sit around. So, he committed himself to sit with patients a few times a week, leading him to where he was now.
"They keep calling me to see if I want to sit with another patient, but I can't think of anything besides what he said to me."
I looked up owlishly at him, taking a sip of the coffee I'd bought in the cafeteria before telling him to go on.
"It all started with Mr. Vogner."
* * * * *
Jerry looked at the starring old man without much interest. He was sitting in a bed on the second floor, the long-term stay unit, and staring at the same long crack in the plain white paint that covered a ceiling that had likely not been painted since Reagan was in office.
"This is Mr. Vogner. He's in a coma, but we think he might feel a little better if he just had someone to talk to."
Jerry nodded, "Well, let's get acquainted then,"
After several hours of having a one-sided conversation with the man in the bed, Jerry sighed. He didn't know what he was expecting. Most of the patients in a coma or in a state of catatonia were like this. It was like talking to a brick wall, but you ultimately did it for them. You gave them a voice they could latch onto, a lifeline that might pull them back from whatever sea they are stranded in.
Just because it was dull didn't mean it wasn't noble work.
Jerry had been doing this sort of thing for about a year, and he had never seen anything described by some of the guys in his group. There was a collection of guys in the Sitter program who sometimes got together for drinks and talked about their experiences. Some of the guys talked about watching patients slowly come out of their silent state. Some talked about hearing a patient speak for the first time in years. Some talked about the tear-spotted letters they got from their families or the happy embraces from family members who hadn't seen them move or speak in years. Jerry didn't have anything like this. They told him it would happen, that he would get his own story to tell one day.
He doubted any of them could have known that this dried-up husk of a man would be his one and only story.
Jerry tried another conversational gambit, asking Mr. Vogner who he thought would win the Super Bowl this year?
Mr. Vognar just kept staring at that crack in the ceiling.
Jerry reached for the remote then, thinking some Tv might loosen his tongue. Flipping through the channels, he finally settled on an episode of Pawn Stars and started watching the adventures of Rick and his son, Big Haus. Jerry asked Vogner if he liked Pawn Stars, but he got no answer. Whether he approved or disapproved, Jerry never knew. He turned back to the show, commenting on some of the things they were showing, and the two let the show play out.
They were halfway through the episode, Rick's father talking to a man about silver coins, when Jerry heard the mumbling. He turned the volume down, thinking it might be part of the show, and realized it was coming from the man in the bed. Mr. Vogner was mumbling to the crack in the ceiling, and Jerry turned off the tv as he slid his chair a little closer. The man's chapped lips were mumbling the same thing repeatedly, and as Jerry got closer, he realized it was the same five words.
"He came through the crack."
"Are you okay, Mr. Vogner?" Jerry asked, looking at the door as he thought about calling a nurse.
"He came through the crack."
"Do you need some water?" Jerry asked, hoping for more than muttering.
"He came through the crack."
"Who came through the crack?" Jerry asked on a whim, wondering if it was something more than a random phrase.
When the old man turned his sunken face towards him, his chapped lips flaking as he made the words of an answer, Jerry wished he hadn't asked.
"The man made of stars."
Jerry wanted to pull away but leaned in closer, curious to hear the man's words.
"Tell me about him."
It all began when things started going missing.
It was little things. My paper weight, the pen the college gave me after teaching for twenty years, the pendent from LSU that hung on the wall of my own dorm, and I was becoming angry. I blamed my kids, and I blamed my wife, but they all claimed they had nothing to do with it. I was working on a manuscript and complained that all of this was cutting into my time, but still, things continued to go missing.
When my manuscript started going missing, I fell into a rage.
I changed the locks on my office. I forbade people to go in there, even when I was there. I spent more time in my office, typing and typing and typing away, and barely saw the people who mattered the most to me. I would slink out to get food in the dead of night when everyone was asleep, and even then, I would lock the door and get back to work as quickly as possible.
I was typing one night between midnight and dawn when I discovered what had been stealing from me.
The old man wet his lips again, his head shifting slowly as he looked back at the crack in the ceiling. His voice sounded like a rusty hinge in a haunted house, and Jerry wondered how long it had been since he had spoken? Jerry wanted to get him some water, but he was pulled in by the weird story and the sound of his haggard voice.
"Have you ever considered what we would look like to a two-dimensional creature?"
Jerry was surprised, shook his head, shocked into a response by the strangeness of the question.
"Few do. A three-dimensional creature could reach right into a safe that a two-dimensional creature had secured and take anything they wanted. The two-dimensional creature would have no idea how its valuables had been stolen, and it might not even be able to conceive of a three-dimensional creature."
"Pretty heavy stuff," Jerry said, chuckling weakly.
"Indeed," said Mr. Vognar, "Especially when it's exactly what's happening to you."
I was sitting at my computer, banging away at my missing pages as I tried to recreate them when something caught my eye. It began as a sparkling, like a gem that caught the light, and I turned to look at the crack that had appeared on my wall. It was nothing special, just a normal crack, but there was something trying to push its way through. I… can't…have you ever looked up at the stars on a clear night? Have you ever looked at the constellations and seen the shapes? That one bear, that one a dipper, that one a huntsman? Well, I saw a man made of stars! That's as close as I can describe him, but it looked like a constellation had stepped out of my wall.
I was speechless. Was this the thing that was stealing from me? I was like a statue as it moved across the room. It's hard to describe how it moved. It almost seemed to vanish and reappear with each "step." It was, then it wasn't, then it was again. Watching it move gave me the worst feeling of nausea, and I felt the air hang in my lungs as it came right up to the desk. It stood not five feet from me, and the air hummed with power. I spent a summer working for the power company before college, hanging power lines and helping plant telephone poles. When the wires were live, they felt just like that, and I was afraid that if it touched me, I'd be burnt to a crisp.
I must have made a sound when he picked up the picture on my desk because it turned and looked at me. I say turned, but I'm not quite sure what it did. It folded itself in my direction, and when its shining visage fell on me, it sounded like animals being cooked alive. It sounded like the loudest speaker reverb you've ever heard mixed with a pig being butchered. It made my ears bleed, and I felt blood oozing from my nose and eyes as I stared at it. I watched it lean in closer and closer as the noise fell on me like a heavy weight, and at some point, my mind just couldn't take it anymore.
When I returned to myself, I was here, and I've been here ever since, thinking about the nature of that creature that came through my wall as if it was no more a barrier than the door over there.
Jerry leaned away from the man slowly, the oldster still staring at that crack that stretched across the flat plane of his ceiling.
"Have you seen him since?" Jerry asked, not wanting to know but needing to.
Mr. Vognar never looked away from the crack, but Jerry felt sure that he could see him peeking out of her peripherals.
"Sometimes, late at night, I see colors from that crack up there. I know he's watching. I think he enjoys seeing me suffer. And now you know, too. And now it will eat away at you as well."
He started to laugh, a deep and hateful sound, and it took all of Jerry's strength to fumble out of the chair and run from that room. It wasn't just his fun house laughter or the corpse that was creating it. The idea of some creature that could move freely through his world, seeing it as little more than a game board or a picture made of rice and glue, terrified him the farther it wormed into his brain. They called his name at the nurse's station when he passed, but he kept running. He didn't stop running until he was in his car in the parking lot, but that was when it all truly started.
He saw a crack in the windshield, a simple star made by a stray rock.
He had thought he might be done shaking, but it seemed he had a little more in him as he fell out of the car and scrambled through the parking lot, leaving his vehicle open and abandoned in the parking spot.
* * * * *
"I haven't gone back to check on it since. I assume security has either towed it or secured it for me. I spent the last two weeks spackling every crack in my house. I never realized there were so many until I started. Then I looked at the corners, wondering if they could get in there. Who's to say what a door is to them? They could come anywhere and at any time."
"What will you do?" I asked, unsure how to help this man.
It was hard having knowledge that you didn't ask for.
"I don't know, but every day I think about it, I'm pretty sure I'm one step closer to losing my mind. I wonder now if that's what happened to Mr. Vognar. Did he lose his mind after seeing that thing, or because the thought of things coming in drove him crazy?"
He left soon after that, and I never heard from him again.
I did look up Mr. Vognar when I got to work the next day and discovered he had passed the day after Jerry's visit. The report said he had a heart attack, but they also reported strange burns on his chest during the autopsy. It was written off as an allergic reaction or some odd occurrence, but I can't help but wonder if the strange creature he spoke of finally came back to get him?
Cashmere just gets weirder and weirder the longer I look into these things.
I hardly need an otherworldly being to make me feel like I might be losing it the longer I remain in this Bermuda triangle of strangeness.

Hey everyone. Here are some things i've written. I'd like to preface by saying.... 1: I am genuinely not fond of my own work, I want to improve. 2: I have wrote for years, taking months long breaks. 3: These are random pieces I just grabbed out of my private discord server.
Nevertheless, her are some pieces I wrote. They're nothing good, at all. Throw some feedback at me reddit!
The mind will wonder I didn't wish to see you fall, this far. I swam in your eyes, stars were reborn in them. Thinking of you is a sin itself. Your subtleties, in all respects. Your hints, or lies. The only game I could ever play with you. The one i execute, oh so well. Forever untouched, beyond illicit. In another light, another life. I'd feel more than your subconscious .
Her last words Here it is, I stand. The world finally in flames, by my own hand. But I will not dance with these flames. The chaos I've inflicted, It's enough. Enough for every soul that ever passed through these walls. Yet, I am not engulfed by these sparks of ruin. In the end, In the now. As the plague carries me out. In my final guilty moments. I heard Heaven stir. I saw Stars fall. And the world went absolutely quiet.
Anarchs dissidence, anarchy we revolt against the knowledge of our time. we'll only consume poison fed to us by manic minds, alike. do your best to paint logic to it, its worth a shot you'll find yourself suspended, looking into newly moderned seas you'll scoff at it, as they do us glaring eyes of the more reformed cases so far deep, you already believe it as our anomaly cant agree with logic
Sandbox Love its been far too long sweetheart, since ive sat through your panic alas, we had to part afternoon air, claimed it as ours my memories, dying embers of a flame, of what our fire once was my vital piece, my beginner the insporation to start my tradgedy the dusty photos of us under your bed, look upon them, a teardrop or a laugh? may we never cross again, i wish you hell
Suspension through the body of life, you'd draw blood. i? i gashed it's wrists open. when, did it all pass? and i became numb suspended in the smoke-chalked sky it's quite simple, i am falling apart. consciousness can fix it right? wrong. everything is a lot, the rush of insanity. nothing more then a speck, in our chaos filled universe. the eternity i will have to endure, i've always loved to torture myself. for another laugh or cry, i'll make myself stay, unfortunately.
Purpose i float through my days, person to person, heart to heart it's my law, i dont tend to stick around. you have given me purpose something i'm not meant to have, i wanted to die to leave this sickly, unforgiving world. yet, how can i leave you here alone? we weren't meant to happen, i wasent meant to love you and maybe i dont, but theres something far, far worse. my illicit care for you, darling so while i indulge this cold pensivity know that whatever you mean to me, you're something special

"I can't get it out of my head. I don't know what to do. Mark said you might be able to help me, but I don't know how."
I was sitting by the fountain in the outdoor garden, which most people used as a smoking area. The angel statue held a jug that constantly burbled out water, and I found the patter soothing. I came here to think sometimes, to collect my thoughts, and it was a great comfort to me since the incident with the elevator. I found myself here more and more often these days. Writing this book about the things I've seen and heard in Cashmere Hospital is taking a toll on me, and I think it's impossible to not wonder why I stay in the belly of the beast as I write more and more about the things that go on here.
I was asleep when Mark called me today, dragging myself from the depths to ask what he wanted?
My plans had been to sleep till noon, so I could get up and write a little before going back to sleep tonight. It was my day off, and I wanted to catch up on some sleep so I could spend all day tomorrow writing before going back to work on Wednesday. Instead, I listened to what Mark had to say and got up to make myself a coffee, so I'd be in the right mind to listen to this fellas story.
"He wants to know if you'll meet him at eleven. He sounds pretty bad, and I'm afraid he might not be in the right place to tell you this story for much longer."
The guy's name was Jerry, a "sitter" who'd struck up a friendship with Mark a few months ago.
Sitters are what we call them, but their title is "non-medical caregivers." They sit with patients for six to eight hours daily, and the work is voluntary. Sitters usually hang out with coma patients, patients suffering from catatonia, dementia patients, and most patients who just need someone to sit and talk with them. That was where Jerry came in. Jerry lived primarily off a trust fund, but as he grew older, he wanted to do something with his time besides sit around. So, he committed himself to sit with patients a few times a week, leading him to where he was now.
"They keep calling me to see if I want to sit with another patient, but I can't think of anything besides what he said to me."
I looked up owlishly at him, taking a sip of the coffee I'd bought in the cafeteria before telling him to go on.
"It all started with Mr. Vogner."
* * * * *
Jerry looked at the starring old man without much interest. He was sitting in a bed on the second floor, the long-term stay unit, and staring at the same long crack in the plain white paint that covered a ceiling that had likely not been painted since Reagan was in office.
"This is Mr. Vogner. He's in a coma, but we think he might feel a little better if he just had someone to talk to."
Jerry nodded, "Well, let's get acquainted then,"
After several hours of having a one-sided conversation with the man in the bed, Jerry sighed. He didn't know what he was expecting. Most of the patients in a coma or in a state of catatonia were like this. It was like talking to a brick wall, but you ultimately did it for them. You gave them a voice they could latch onto, a lifeline that might pull them back from whatever sea they are stranded in.
Just because it was dull didn't mean it wasn't noble work.
Jerry had been doing this sort of thing for about a year, and he had never seen anything described by some of the guys in his group. There was a collection of guys in the Sitter program who sometimes got together for drinks and talked about their experiences. Some of the guys talked about watching patients slowly come out of their silent state. Some talked about hearing a patient speak for the first time in years. Some talked about the tear-spotted letters they got from their families or the happy embraces from family members who hadn't seen them move or speak in years. Jerry didn't have anything like this. They told him it would happen, that he would get his own story to tell one day.
He doubted any of them could have known that this dried-up husk of a man would be his one and only story.
Jerry tried another conversational gambit, asking Mr. Vogner who he thought would win the Super Bowl this year?
Mr. Vognar just kept staring at that crack in the ceiling.
Jerry reached for the remote then, thinking some Tv might loosen his tongue. Flipping through the channels, he finally settled on an episode of Pawn Stars and started watching the adventures of Rick and his son, Big Haus. Jerry asked Vogner if he liked Pawn Stars, but he got no answer. Whether he approved or disapproved, Jerry never knew. He turned back to the show, commenting on some of the things they were showing, and the two let the show play out.
They were halfway through the episode, Rick's father talking to a man about silver coins, when Jerry heard the mumbling. He turned the volume down, thinking it might be part of the show, and realized it was coming from the man in the bed. Mr. Vogner was mumbling to the crack in the ceiling, and Jerry turned off the tv as he slid his chair a little closer. The man's chapped lips were mumbling the same thing repeatedly, and as Jerry got closer, he realized it was the same five words.
"He came through the crack."
"Are you okay, Mr. Vogner?" Jerry asked, looking at the door as he thought about calling a nurse.
"He came through the crack."
"Do you need some water?" Jerry asked, hoping for more than muttering.
"He came through the crack."
"Who came through the crack?" Jerry asked on a whim, wondering if it was something more than a random phrase.
When the old man turned his sunken face towards him, his chapped lips flaking as he made the words of an answer, Jerry wished he hadn't asked.
"The man made of stars."
Jerry wanted to pull away but leaned in closer, curious to hear the man's words.
"Tell me about him."
It all began when things started going missing.
It was little things. My paper weight, the pen the college gave me after teaching for twenty years, the pendent from LSU that hung on the wall of my own dorm, and I was becoming angry. I blamed my kids, and I blamed my wife, but they all claimed they had nothing to do with it. I was working on a manuscript and complained that all of this was cutting into my time, but still, things continued to go missing.
When my manuscript started going missing, I fell into a rage.
I changed the locks on my office. I forbade people to go in there, even when I was there. I spent more time in my office, typing and typing and typing away, and barely saw the people who mattered the most to me. I would slink out to get food in the dead of night when everyone was asleep, and even then, I would lock the door and get back to work as quickly as possible.
I was typing one night between midnight and dawn when I discovered what had been stealing from me.
The old man wet his lips again, his head shifting slowly as he looked back at the crack in the ceiling. His voice sounded like a rusty hinge in a haunted house, and Jerry wondered how long it had been since he had spoken? Jerry wanted to get him some water, but he was pulled in by the weird story and the sound of his haggard voice.
"Have you ever considered what we would look like to a two-dimensional creature?"
Jerry was surprised, shook his head, shocked into a response by the strangeness of the question.
"Few do. A three-dimensional creature could reach right into a safe that a two-dimensional creature had secured and take anything they wanted. The two-dimensional creature would have no idea how its valuables had been stolen, and it might not even be able to conceive of a three-dimensional creature."
"Pretty heavy stuff," Jerry said, chuckling weakly.
"Indeed," said Mr. Vognar, "Especially when it's exactly what's happening to you."
I was sitting at my computer, banging away at my missing pages as I tried to recreate them when something caught my eye. It began as a sparkling, like a gem that caught the light, and I turned to look at the crack that had appeared on my wall. It was nothing special, just a normal crack, but there was something trying to push its way through. I… can't…have you ever looked up at the stars on a clear night? Have you ever looked at the constellations and seen the shapes? That one bear, that one a dipper, that one a huntsman? Well, I saw a man made of stars! That's as close as I can describe him, but it looked like a constellation had stepped out of my wall.
I was speechless. Was this the thing that was stealing from me? I was like a statue as it moved across the room. It's hard to describe how it moved. It almost seemed to vanish and reappear with each "step." It was, then it wasn't, then it was again. Watching it move gave me the worst feeling of nausea, and I felt the air hang in my lungs as it came right up to the desk. It stood not five feet from me, and the air hummed with power. I spent a summer working for the power company before college, hanging power lines and helping plant telephone poles. When the wires were live, they felt just like that, and I was afraid that if it touched me, I'd be burnt to a crisp.
I must have made a sound when he picked up the picture on my desk because it turned and looked at me. I say turned, but I'm not quite sure what it did. It folded itself in my direction, and when its shining visage fell on me, it sounded like animals being cooked alive. It sounded like the loudest speaker reverb you've ever heard mixed with a pig being butchered. It made my ears bleed, and I felt blood oozing from my nose and eyes as I stared at it. I watched it lean in closer and closer as the noise fell on me like a heavy weight, and at some point, my mind just couldn't take it anymore.
When I returned to myself, I was here, and I've been here ever since, thinking about the nature of that creature that came through my wall as if it was no more a barrier than the door over there.
Jerry leaned away from the man slowly, the oldster still staring at that crack that stretched across the flat plane of his ceiling.
"Have you seen him since?" Jerry asked, not wanting to know but needing to.
Mr. Vognar never looked away from the crack, but Jerry felt sure that he could see him peeking out of her peripherals.
"Sometimes, late at night, I see colors from that crack up there. I know he's watching. I think he enjoys seeing me suffer. And now you know, too. And now it will eat away at you as well."
He started to laugh, a deep and hateful sound, and it took all of Jerry's strength to fumble out of the chair and run from that room. It wasn't just his fun house laughter or the corpse that was creating it. The idea of some creature that could move freely through his world, seeing it as little more than a game board or a picture made of rice and glue, terrified him the farther it wormed into his brain. They called his name at the nurse's station when he passed, but he kept running. He didn't stop running until he was in his car in the parking lot, but that was when it all truly started.
He saw a crack in the windshield, a simple star made by a stray rock.
He had thought he might be done shaking, but it seemed he had a little more in him as he fell out of the car and scrambled through the parking lot, leaving his vehicle open and abandoned in the parking spot.
* * * * *
"I haven't gone back to check on it since. I assume security has either towed it or secured it for me. I spent the last two weeks spackling every crack in my house. I never realized there were so many until I started. Then I looked at the corners, wondering if they could get in there. Who's to say what a door is to them? They could come anywhere and at any time."
"What will you do?" I asked, unsure how to help this man.
It was hard having knowledge that you didn't ask for.
"I don't know, but every day I think about it, I'm pretty sure I'm one step closer to losing my mind. I wonder now if that's what happened to Mr. Vognar. Did he lose his mind after seeing that thing, or because the thought of things coming in drove him crazy?"
He left soon after that, and I never heard from him again.
I did look up Mr. Vognar when I got to work the next day and discovered he had passed the day after Jerry's visit. The report said he had a heart attack, but they also reported strange burns on his chest during the autopsy. It was written off as an allergic reaction or some odd occurrence, but I can't help but wonder if the strange creature he spoke of finally came back to get him?
Cashmere just gets weirder and weirder the longer I look into these things.
I hardly need an otherworldly being to make me feel like I might be losing it the longer I remain in this Bermuda triangle of strangeness.

Hey there, mid-20s F hoping to find some creative and silly gals to hang out with. I live near downtown/hope college and I'd love to find some nearby friends because I love the freedom of being able to walk to hangout. Not having much luck on bumble bff!
About me: I love art, love painting, drawing and collaging and it would be awesome to do that stuff together. I love going on walks/adventures especially to get food. I love going to the beach, thrift shopping, listening to music, watching movies esp. independent and foreign (criterion channel), and watching funny shows. I also enjoy smoking weed, but I don't mind if you dont. I'm also religious, but I don't mind if youre not.
I live with my fiance so if you have a partner too we could potentially all be friends. Let me know if you think we could be pals!

The vehicles in the GTA franchise have always been a highlight for players, and it's safe to assume that GTA 6 will feature a wide variety of vehicles for players to drive.
While there has been no official confirmation about what vehicles will be available in GTA 6, there have been some rumors and speculations about what we could potentially see.
One popular theory is that the game could feature more electric and hybrid vehicles, reflecting the current trend towards environmentally friendly transportation. This could include electric cars, bikes, and even scooters.
Another theory is that the game could feature more customizable vehicles, allowing players to truly make their vehicles their own. This could include the ability to add custom paint jobs, body modifications, and even performance upgrades.
There have also been rumors that the game could feature vehicles from previous GTA games, such as the Dodo plane from GTA 3 or the Deluxo from GTA Vice City. While this is a possibility, it's important to keep in mind that these are just rumors and should be taken with a grain of salt.
Ultimately, the vehicles in GTA 6 are anyone's guess at this point. However, it's safe to assume that Rockstar Games will continue to create unique and exciting vehicles for players to drive.
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My son (20 months) has pretty severe eczema. Multiple times a day we put aquafor on him and with bad breakouts he has a steroid for his skin. I finally feel like we have it under control (for the most part). Obviously nothing has dyes or fragrances, we check type of clothes he has, etc etc. My mom recently bought him a huge bucket of "paint" for the bath tub. It is honestly something I think he would absolutely love, but I'm scared of it causing a breakout. Any eczema parents here have experience with this stuff? Am I just over thinking it or did your LO have a rough time with it afterwards? Thanks!

"I can't get it out of my head. I don't know what to do. Mark said you might be able to help me, but I don't know how."
I was sitting by the fountain in the outdoor garden, which most people used as a smoking area. The angel statue held a jug that constantly burbled out water, and I found the patter soothing. I came here to think sometimes, to collect my thoughts, and it was a great comfort to me since the incident with the elevator. I found myself here more and more often these days. Writing this book about the things I've seen and heard in Cashmere Hospital is taking a toll on me, and I think it's impossible to not wonder why I stay in the belly of the beast as I write more and more about the things that go on here.
I was asleep when Mark called me today, dragging myself from the depths to ask what he wanted?
My plans had been to sleep till noon, so I could get up and write a little before going back to sleep tonight. It was my day off, and I wanted to catch up on some sleep so I could spend all day tomorrow writing before going back to work on Wednesday. Instead, I listened to what Mark had to say and got up to make myself a coffee, so I'd be in the right mind to listen to this fellas story.
"He wants to know if you'll meet him at eleven. He sounds pretty bad, and I'm afraid he might not be in the right place to tell you this story for much longer."
The guy's name was Jerry, a "sitter" who'd struck up a friendship with Mark a few months ago.
Sitters are what we call them, but their title is "non-medical caregivers." They sit with patients for six to eight hours daily, and the work is voluntary. Sitters usually hang out with coma patients, patients suffering from catatonia, dementia patients, and most patients who just need someone to sit and talk with them. That was where Jerry came in. Jerry lived primarily off a trust fund, but as he grew older, he wanted to do something with his time besides sit around. So, he committed himself to sit with patients a few times a week, leading him to where he was now.
"They keep calling me to see if I want to sit with another patient, but I can't think of anything besides what he said to me."
I looked up owlishly at him, taking a sip of the coffee I'd bought in the cafeteria before telling him to go on.
"It all started with Mr. Vogner."
* * * * *
Jerry looked at the starring old man without much interest. He was sitting in a bed on the second floor, the long-term stay unit, and staring at the same long crack in the plain white paint that covered a ceiling that had likely not been painted since Reagan was in office.
"This is Mr. Vogner. He's in a coma, but we think he might feel a little better if he just had someone to talk to."
Jerry nodded, "Well, let's get acquainted then,"
After several hours of having a one-sided conversation with the man in the bed, Jerry sighed. He didn't know what he was expecting. Most of the patients in a coma or in a state of catatonia were like this. It was like talking to a brick wall, but you ultimately did it for them. You gave them a voice they could latch onto, a lifeline that might pull them back from whatever sea they are stranded in.
Just because it was dull didn't mean it wasn't noble work.
Jerry had been doing this sort of thing for about a year, and he had never seen anything described by some of the guys in his group. There was a collection of guys in the Sitter program who sometimes got together for drinks and talked about their experiences. Some of the guys talked about watching patients slowly come out of their silent state. Some talked about hearing a patient speak for the first time in years. Some talked about the tear-spotted letters they got from their families or the happy embraces from family members who hadn't seen them move or speak in years. Jerry didn't have anything like this. They told him it would happen, that he would get his own story to tell one day.
He doubted any of them could have known that this dried-up husk of a man would be his one and only story.
Jerry tried another conversational gambit, asking Mr. Vogner who he thought would win the Super Bowl this year?
Mr. Vognar just kept staring at that crack in the ceiling.
Jerry reached for the remote then, thinking some Tv might loosen his tongue. Flipping through the channels, he finally settled on an episode of Pawn Stars and started watching the adventures of Rick and his son, Big Haus. Jerry asked Vogner if he liked Pawn Stars, but he got no answer. Whether he approved or disapproved, Jerry never knew. He turned back to the show, commenting on some of the things they were showing, and the two let the show play out.
They were halfway through the episode, Rick's father talking to a man about silver coins, when Jerry heard the mumbling. He turned the volume down, thinking it might be part of the show, and realized it was coming from the man in the bed. Mr. Vogner was mumbling to the crack in the ceiling, and Jerry turned off the tv as he slid his chair a little closer. The man's chapped lips were mumbling the same thing repeatedly, and as Jerry got closer, he realized it was the same five words.
"He came through the crack."
"Are you okay, Mr. Vogner?" Jerry asked, looking at the door as he thought about calling a nurse.
"He came through the crack."
"Do you need some water?" Jerry asked, hoping for more than muttering.
"He came through the crack."
"Who came through the crack?" Jerry asked on a whim, wondering if it was something more than a random phrase.
When the old man turned his sunken face towards him, his chapped lips flaking as he made the words of an answer, Jerry wished he hadn't asked.
"The man made of stars."
Jerry wanted to pull away but leaned in closer, curious to hear the man's words.
"Tell me about him."
It all began when things started going missing.
It was little things. My paper weight, the pen the college gave me after teaching for twenty years, the pendent from LSU that hung on the wall of my own dorm, and I was becoming angry. I blamed my kids, and I blamed my wife, but they all claimed they had nothing to do with it. I was working on a manuscript and complained that all of this was cutting into my time, but still, things continued to go missing.
When my manuscript started going missing, I fell into a rage.
I changed the locks on my office. I forbade people to go in there, even when I was there. I spent more time in my office, typing and typing and typing away, and barely saw the people who mattered the most to me. I would slink out to get food in the dead of night when everyone was asleep, and even then, I would lock the door and get back to work as quickly as possible.
I was typing one night between midnight and dawn when I discovered what had been stealing from me.
The old man wet his lips again, his head shifting slowly as he looked back at the crack in the ceiling. His voice sounded like a rusty hinge in a haunted house, and Jerry wondered how long it had been since he had spoken? Jerry wanted to get him some water, but he was pulled in by the weird story and the sound of his haggard voice.
"Have you ever considered what we would look like to a two-dimensional creature?"
Jerry was surprised, shook his head, shocked into a response by the strangeness of the question.
"Few do. A three-dimensional creature could reach right into a safe that a two-dimensional creature had secured and take anything they wanted. The two-dimensional creature would have no idea how its valuables had been stolen, and it might not even be able to conceive of a three-dimensional creature."
"Pretty heavy stuff," Jerry said, chuckling weakly.
"Indeed," said Mr. Vognar, "Especially when it's exactly what's happening to you."
I was sitting at my computer, banging away at my missing pages as I tried to recreate them when something caught my eye. It began as a sparkling, like a gem that caught the light, and I turned to look at the crack that had appeared on my wall. It was nothing special, just a normal crack, but there was something trying to push its way through. I… can't…have you ever looked up at the stars on a clear night? Have you ever looked at the constellations and seen the shapes? That one bear, that one a dipper, that one a huntsman? Well, I saw a man made of stars! That's as close as I can describe him, but it looked like a constellation had stepped out of my wall.
I was speechless. Was this the thing that was stealing from me? I was like a statue as it moved across the room. It's hard to describe how it moved. It almost seemed to vanish and reappear with each "step." It was, then it wasn't, then it was again. Watching it move gave me the worst feeling of nausea, and I felt the air hang in my lungs as it came right up to the desk. It stood not five feet from me, and the air hummed with power. I spent a summer working for the power company before college, hanging power lines and helping plant telephone poles. When the wires were live, they felt just like that, and I was afraid that if it touched me, I'd be burnt to a crisp.
I must have made a sound when he picked up the picture on my desk because it turned and looked at me. I say turned, but I'm not quite sure what it did. It folded itself in my direction, and when its shining visage fell on me, it sounded like animals being cooked alive. It sounded like the loudest speaker reverb you've ever heard mixed with a pig being butchered. It made my ears bleed, and I felt blood oozing from my nose and eyes as I stared at it. I watched it lean in closer and closer as the noise fell on me like a heavy weight, and at some point, my mind just couldn't take it anymore.
When I returned to myself, I was here, and I've been here ever since, thinking about the nature of that creature that came through my wall as if it was no more a barrier than the door over there.
Jerry leaned away from the man slowly, the oldster still staring at that crack that stretched across the flat plane of his ceiling.
"Have you seen him since?" Jerry asked, not wanting to know but needing to.
Mr. Vognar never looked away from the crack, but Jerry felt sure that he could see him peeking out of her peripherals.
"Sometimes, late at night, I see colors from that crack up there. I know he's watching. I think he enjoys seeing me suffer. And now you know, too. And now it will eat away at you as well."
He started to laugh, a deep and hateful sound, and it took all of Jerry's strength to fumble out of the chair and run from that room. It wasn't just his fun house laughter or the corpse that was creating it. The idea of some creature that could move freely through his world, seeing it as little more than a game board or a picture made of rice and glue, terrified him the farther it wormed into his brain. They called his name at the nurse's station when he passed, but he kept running. He didn't stop running until he was in his car in the parking lot, but that was when it all truly started.
He saw a crack in the windshield, a simple star made by a stray rock.
He had thought he might be done shaking, but it seemed he had a little more in him as he fell out of the car and scrambled through the parking lot, leaving his vehicle open and abandoned in the parking spot.
* * * * *
"I haven't gone back to check on it since. I assume security has either towed it or secured it for me. I spent the last two weeks spackling every crack in my house. I never realized there were so many until I started. Then I looked at the corners, wondering if they could get in there. Who's to say what a door is to them? They could come anywhere and at any time."
"What will you do?" I asked, unsure how to help this man.
It was hard having knowledge that you didn't ask for.
"I don't know, but every day I think about it, I'm pretty sure I'm one step closer to losing my mind. I wonder now if that's what happened to Mr. Vognar. Did he lose his mind after seeing that thing, or because the thought of things coming in drove him crazy?"
He left soon after that, and I never heard from him again.
I did look up Mr. Vognar when I got to work the next day and discovered he had passed the day after Jerry's visit. The report said he had a heart attack, but they also reported strange burns on his chest during the autopsy. It was written off as an allergic reaction or some odd occurrence, but I can't help but wonder if the strange creature he spoke of finally came back to get him?
Cashmere just gets weirder and weirder the longer I look into these things.
I hardly need an otherworldly being to make me feel like I might be losing it the longer I remain in this Bermuda triangle of strangeness.

The train pulled out of the station and stopped. A storm had coated tree branches in a thick layer of glassy ice, twinkling and ringing in frigid gusts.
A young man whose path was blocked by the halted car brought the camera slung around his neck to his eye and pressed the shutter button. The train crawled forward.
On the exterior wall of a once beautiful art deco structure, chipped paint declares this the former home of a mailing tube manufacturer. Embedded in the brick is a basketball backboard, the hoop for which I assume must've been ripped up to make way for the rail line.
My landlord insists my place isn't haunted, but he's sure that there are many ghosts walking the streets of the glimmering cities lining America's third coast. He tells me that they waft in on breezes from the Great Lake, sailors and factory workers and soldiers and nurses.
Sometimes, in rusting signage and crumbling bricks, I tell myself I can see them too.
In another town at another time, I am 21. It is dusk in the midsummer and I swear to God the chorus of cicadas makes the temperature 10° hotter than the thermometer on my dashboard reads.
I must have been a sweaty mess, my bangs glued to my forehead and my thighs sticking to leather seats, but these are details I haven't bothered to remember.
I am dropping you off for the last time at the house that after tomorrow you will no longer call your home. For the last time, I ask you the same question I've been asking in jest for weeks: "is the last time I'll ever see you?" And for the first time, you answer yes.
I don't cry until you do. I don't think either of us mean to.
I left that city years after you did. Part of me hoped that The Things I Never Said would stay there with the lingering ghost of you.
But who's to say that the spirits of those who are carried in on the Great Lake have to have died?
Sometimes, as I move through this new old city, I imagine you beside me. I would point out the years stamped into the sidewalk slabs, and I would tell you that all of the best bars are in the basements of 150 year old houses.
Perhaps I would tell you how madly in love with you I was in another town at another time, but I didn't because I already knew how the whole thing would play out.
But in those final moments together, sweaty and crying with each of our hands grasping the other's face and foreheads pressed together, I told you that we'd meet again.
It was such a proud declaration that I struggle to this day to not believe it's true.
I have felt very confident at times that if your voice appeared on the other line of a call from an unknown number that I would hang up. I've clenched my teeth and held back tears late at night, thinking about what I should have done differently.
Regardless of what I've told myself, I find myself scanning the faces in crowds, hoping one day that one of them will be yours.
But I don't know that I would even recognize you anymore.

Hi, I have an innova crysta owned on Dec last year. The car is now covered with water spot and there are few minute scratch. Since it's black in colour these appear to be magnified and kind of sad being a new car . Its our family car and we don't travel much.
I want to know if any paint coating is worth it and if so which is best
I have enquired few paint detailing centres and most of the well known companies are charging too much for these coating. A local car wash and detailing centre - the owner is my friend - has agreed to do it at a much lower cost at around 17 k lesser than those quoted by ceramic pro and shimmer.
Also the graphene is but expensive than ceramic and recently I ve come to know there is some other new coating which is hydrophobic and price similar to graphene.
I want to know your opinion on choosing a coating and a good detailing centre (if you know somebody from Kerala)
The main objective for me is to remove the watermark and scratch and to ensure the car doesn't catch these after

"I can't get it out of my head. I don't know what to do. Mark said you might be able to help me, but I don't know how."
I was sitting by the fountain in the outdoor garden, which most people used as a smoking area. The angel statue held a jug that constantly burbled out water, and I found the patter soothing. I came here to think sometimes, to collect my thoughts, and it was a great comfort to me since the incident with the elevator. I found myself here more and more often these days. Writing this book about the things I've seen and heard in Cashmere Hospital is taking a toll on me, and I think it's impossible to not wonder why I stay in the belly of the beast as I write more and more about the things that go on here.
I was asleep when Mark called me today, dragging myself from the depths to ask what he wanted?
My plans had been to sleep till noon, so I could get up and write a little before going back to sleep tonight. It was my day off, and I wanted to catch up on some sleep so I could spend all day tomorrow writing before going back to work on Wednesday. Instead, I listened to what Mark had to say and got up to make myself a coffee, so I'd be in the right mind to listen to this fellas story.
"He wants to know if you'll meet him at eleven. He sounds pretty bad, and I'm afraid he might not be in the right place to tell you this story for much longer."
The guy's name was Jerry, a "sitter" who'd struck up a friendship with Mark a few months ago.
Sitters are what we call them, but their title is "non-medical caregivers." They sit with patients for six to eight hours daily, and the work is voluntary. Sitters usually hang out with coma patients, patients suffering from catatonia, dementia patients, and most patients who just need someone to sit and talk with them. That was where Jerry came in. Jerry lived primarily off a trust fund, but as he grew older, he wanted to do something with his time besides sit around. So, he committed himself to sit with patients a few times a week, leading him to where he was now.
"They keep calling me to see if I want to sit with another patient, but I can't think of anything besides what he said to me."
I looked up owlishly at him, taking a sip of the coffee I'd bought in the cafeteria before telling him to go on.
"It all started with Mr. Vogner."
* * * * *
Jerry looked at the starring old man without much interest. He was sitting in a bed on the second floor, the long-term stay unit, and staring at the same long crack in the plain white paint that covered a ceiling that had likely not been painted since Reagan was in office.
"This is Mr. Vogner. He's in a coma, but we think he might feel a little better if he just had someone to talk to."
Jerry nodded, "Well, let's get acquainted then,"
After several hours of having a one-sided conversation with the man in the bed, Jerry sighed. He didn't know what he was expecting. Most of the patients in a coma or in a state of catatonia were like this. It was like talking to a brick wall, but you ultimately did it for them. You gave them a voice they could latch onto, a lifeline that might pull them back from whatever sea they are stranded in.
Just because it was dull didn't mean it wasn't noble work.
Jerry had been doing this sort of thing for about a year, and he had never seen anything described by some of the guys in his group. There was a collection of guys in the Sitter program who sometimes got together for drinks and talked about their experiences. Some of the guys talked about watching patients slowly come out of their silent state. Some talked about hearing a patient speak for the first time in years. Some talked about the tear-spotted letters they got from their families or the happy embraces from family members who hadn't seen them move or speak in years. Jerry didn't have anything like this. They told him it would happen, that he would get his own story to tell one day.
He doubted any of them could have known that this dried-up husk of a man would be his one and only story.
Jerry tried another conversational gambit, asking Mr. Vogner who he thought would win the Super Bowl this year?
Mr. Vognar just kept staring at that crack in the ceiling.
Jerry reached for the remote then, thinking some Tv might loosen his tongue. Flipping through the channels, he finally settled on an episode of Pawn Stars and started watching the adventures of Rick and his son, Big Haus. Jerry asked Vogner if he liked Pawn Stars, but he got no answer. Whether he approved or disapproved, Jerry never knew. He turned back to the show, commenting on some of the things they were showing, and the two let the show play out.
They were halfway through the episode, Rick's father talking to a man about silver coins, when Jerry heard the mumbling. He turned the volume down, thinking it might be part of the show, and realized it was coming from the man in the bed. Mr. Vogner was mumbling to the crack in the ceiling, and Jerry turned off the tv as he slid his chair a little closer. The man's chapped lips were mumbling the same thing repeatedly, and as Jerry got closer, he realized it was the same five words.
"He came through the crack."
"Are you okay, Mr. Vogner?" Jerry asked, looking at the door as he thought about calling a nurse.
"He came through the crack."
"Do you need some water?" Jerry asked, hoping for more than muttering.
"He came through the crack."
"Who came through the crack?" Jerry asked on a whim, wondering if it was something more than a random phrase.
When the old man turned his sunken face towards him, his chapped lips flaking as he made the words of an answer, Jerry wished he hadn't asked.
"The man made of stars."
Jerry wanted to pull away but leaned in closer, curious to hear the man's words.
"Tell me about him."
It all began when things started going missing.
It was little things. My paper weight, the pen the college gave me after teaching for twenty years, the pendent from LSU that hung on the wall of my own dorm, and I was becoming angry. I blamed my kids, and I blamed my wife, but they all claimed they had nothing to do with it. I was working on a manuscript and complained that all of this was cutting into my time, but still, things continued to go missing.
When my manuscript started going missing, I fell into a rage.
I changed the locks on my office. I forbade people to go in there, even when I was there. I spent more time in my office, typing and typing and typing away, and barely saw the people who mattered the most to me. I would slink out to get food in the dead of night when everyone was asleep, and even then, I would lock the door and get back to work as quickly as possible.
I was typing one night between midnight and dawn when I discovered what had been stealing from me.
The old man wet his lips again, his head shifting slowly as he looked back at the crack in the ceiling. His voice sounded like a rusty hinge in a haunted house, and Jerry wondered how long it had been since he had spoken? Jerry wanted to get him some water, but he was pulled in by the weird story and the sound of his haggard voice.
"Have you ever considered what we would look like to a two-dimensional creature?"
Jerry was surprised, shook his head, shocked into a response by the strangeness of the question.
"Few do. A three-dimensional creature could reach right into a safe that a two-dimensional creature had secured and take anything they wanted. The two-dimensional creature would have no idea how its valuables had been stolen, and it might not even be able to conceive of a three-dimensional creature."
"Pretty heavy stuff," Jerry said, chuckling weakly.
"Indeed," said Mr. Vognar, "Especially when it's exactly what's happening to you."
I was sitting at my computer, banging away at my missing pages as I tried to recreate them when something caught my eye. It began as a sparkling, like a gem that caught the light, and I turned to look at the crack that had appeared on my wall. It was nothing special, just a normal crack, but there was something trying to push its way through. I… can't…have you ever looked up at the stars on a clear night? Have you ever looked at the constellations and seen the shapes? That one bear, that one a dipper, that one a huntsman? Well, I saw a man made of stars! That's as close as I can describe him, but it looked like a constellation had stepped out of my wall.
I was speechless. Was this the thing that was stealing from me? I was like a statue as it moved across the room. It's hard to describe how it moved. It almost seemed to vanish and reappear with each "step." It was, then it wasn't, then it was again. Watching it move gave me the worst feeling of nausea, and I felt the air hang in my lungs as it came right up to the desk. It stood not five feet from me, and the air hummed with power. I spent a summer working for the power company before college, hanging power lines and helping plant telephone poles. When the wires were live, they felt just like that, and I was afraid that if it touched me, I'd be burnt to a crisp.
I must have made a sound when he picked up the picture on my desk because it turned and looked at me. I say turned, but I'm not quite sure what it did. It folded itself in my direction, and when its shining visage fell on me, it sounded like animals being cooked alive. It sounded like the loudest speaker reverb you've ever heard mixed with a pig being butchered. It made my ears bleed, and I felt blood oozing from my nose and eyes as I stared at it. I watched it lean in closer and closer as the noise fell on me like a heavy weight, and at some point, my mind just couldn't take it anymore.
When I returned to myself, I was here, and I've been here ever since, thinking about the nature of that creature that came through my wall as if it was no more a barrier than the door over there.
Jerry leaned away from the man slowly, the oldster still staring at that crack that stretched across the flat plane of his ceiling.
"Have you seen him since?" Jerry asked, not wanting to know but needing to.
Mr. Vognar never looked away from the crack, but Jerry felt sure that he could see him peeking out of her peripherals.
"Sometimes, late at night, I see colors from that crack up there. I know he's watching. I think he enjoys seeing me suffer. And now you know, too. And now it will eat away at you as well."
He started to laugh, a deep and hateful sound, and it took all of Jerry's strength to fumble out of the chair and run from that room. It wasn't just his fun house laughter or the corpse that was creating it. The idea of some creature that could move freely through his world, seeing it as little more than a game board or a picture made of rice and glue, terrified him the farther it wormed into his brain. They called his name at the nurse's station when he passed, but he kept running. He didn't stop running until he was in his car in the parking lot, but that was when it all truly started.
He saw a crack in the windshield, a simple star made by a stray rock.
He had thought he might be done shaking, but it seemed he had a little more in him as he fell out of the car and scrambled through the parking lot, leaving his vehicle open and abandoned in the parking spot.
* * * * *
"I haven't gone back to check on it since. I assume security has either towed it or secured it for me. I spent the last two weeks spackling every crack in my house. I never realized there were so many until I started. Then I looked at the corners, wondering if they could get in there. Who's to say what a door is to them? They could come anywhere and at any time."
"What will you do?" I asked, unsure how to help this man.
It was hard having knowledge that you didn't ask for.
"I don't know, but every day I think about it, I'm pretty sure I'm one step closer to losing my mind. I wonder now if that's what happened to Mr. Vognar. Did he lose his mind after seeing that thing, or because the thought of things coming in drove him crazy?"
He left soon after that, and I never heard from him again.
I did look up Mr. Vognar when I got to work the next day and discovered he had passed the day after Jerry's visit. The report said he had a heart attack, but they also reported strange burns on his chest during the autopsy. It was written off as an allergic reaction or some odd occurrence, but I can't help but wonder if the strange creature he spoke of finally came back to get him?
Cashmere just gets weirder and weirder the longer I look into these things.
I hardly need an otherworldly being to make me feel like I might be losing it the longer I remain in this Bermuda triangle of strangeness.

Lucifer and lilith painting

Esoteric Satanism

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