#Where is that large automobile?

[komodocomics]

Meet R.A.D

Has no gender rn but they a absolute ass if anything happens

rad will leave you for dead for a single Cheetos

Full name/nickname is radhole haha

He has a dare backpack

I got bored ok

They are 7'2

She plays roblox game on twitch stream

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack And you may find yourself in another part of the world And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down Letting the days go by, water flowing underground Into the blue again, after the money's gone Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground

[tearlessrain]

me: [making cc for shotgun houses]

my brain which has only one association with shotgun houses:

YOU MAY FIND YOURSELF—

[clown-femme]

I am extremely annoying but also saying that I'm annoying is annoying in and of itself but if I try to embrace that as a personality trait people are like 'stop being annoying' so I'm playing a losing game

[noahsresources]

details about ocs!

send an emoji/description of emoji to learn more about a writer's oc! many of these are taken from my munday asks meme, because i thought it would be fun to make a version for characters too! the prompts are categorized by emoji type and given descriptions in case anyone can't see the symbols. can be used for roleplayers and any general writers alike! for roleplayers, these can also be used for your interpretations of canon characters if you so desire as well!

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒. 💭 THOUGHT BALLOON — what is your oc's MBTI, enneagram, and/or other personality aspects (if known/interested in)? 🚗 CAR — does your oc have a driver's license? can they drive/operate any automobiles/machinery besides cars? ✈️ AIRPLANE — does your oc like traveling, or do they consider themselves a more homey person? 🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies? 💍 RING — does your oc have any piercings? do they want any (more) piercings? 🖊️ BALLPOINT PEN — does your oc have any tattoos? do they want any (more) tattoos? 📚 BOOKS — what level of education has your oc most recently completed/is currently in (GED, undergraduate, grad school, phd, etc)? 🎻 VIOLIN — does your oc play any instruments? what is their skill level (beginner/intermediate/advanced/virtuoso/etc)? 🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities? 🩸 DROP OF BLOOD — what is your oc's blood type?

𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐒. 🎶 MUSICAL NOTES — what type of music does your oc like? do they listen to music very often? 💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know. 💤 SLEEPING SIGN — is your oc a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper? how are their sleeping habits? 🔱 TRIDENT EMBLEM — can your oc swim? do they enjoy swimming? 🔺 RED TRIANGLE POINTED UP — does your oc know how to use any weapons? 🔶 LARGE ORANGE DIAMOND — does your oc know cpr? do they have any other medical expertise? 🚫 PROHIBITED — does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄. 🌈 RAINBOW — what is your oc's sexual orientation/gender identity? what pronouns do they use? 🎄 CHRISTMAS TREE — what is your oc's favorite holiday? 🐶 DOG FACE — does your oc have any pets? 🐈 CAT — does your oc prefer a wide circle of friends or a few close friends? 🐷 PIG FACE — what is your oc's favorite animal? 🐉 DRAGON — what is your oc's favorite mythical creature? 🍃 LEAVES FLUTTERING IN WIND — what is/was your oc's favorite subject in school? 🌴 PALM TREE — does your oc have a green thumb? do they enjoy gardening? 🍎 RED APPLE — where was your oc born? do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? how do they feel about their birthplace?

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒. ❤️ RED HEART — what are three of your oc's positive traits? 🤍 WHITE HEART — what are three of your oc's neutral/questionable traits? 💔 BROKEN HEART — what are three of your oc's negative traits? 💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them? 🧡 ORANGE HEART — does your oc tend to prioritize family or friends? 💛 YELLOW HEART — how many languages does your oc speak? what language(s) are they learning, if any? 💚 GREEN HEART — does your oc prefer being inside or outside? 💙 BLUE HEART — does your oc have any cool/special powers and/or abilities? how are they with magic, if it exists in their world? 💜 PURPLE HEART — what is your oc's ancestry/genetic background? 🖤 BLACK HEART — has your oc killed or seriously wounded anyone before? have they broken someone's heart and/or broken someone's trust?

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒. 🎂 BIRTHDAY CAKE — when is your oc's birthday? how old are they? what are their sun, moon, & rising signs (if known)? what about their tarot card, ruling planet, & ruling number (if known)? do they fit the typical traits of these sun, moon, & rising signs? 🍝 SPAGHETTI — what is/are your oc's favorite food(s)? 🍰 SHORTCAKE — what is/are your oc's favorite sweet(s)/dessert(s)? 🍦 SOFT ICE CREAM — what is/are your oc's favorite ice cream flavor(s)? 🍔 HAMBURGER — is your oc good at cooking? are they good at baking? which one do they prefer? 🥯 BAGEL — what does your oc's typical breakfast look like? do they usually eat breakfast? 🥪 SANDWICH — what does your oc's typical lunch look like? do they usually eat lunch? 🍛 CURRY AND RICE — what does your oc's typical dinner look like? do they usually eat dinner? 🍸 COCKTAIL GLASS — what is your oc's favorite alcoholic drink, if they can drink? ☕️ HOT BEVERAGE — does your oc prefer coffee, tea, hot chocolate, milk, water, or some other drink? how do they like to take this drink (ex. coffee with milk, hot chocolate with whipped cream, a specific kind of tea, etc)?

𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄. 😊 SMILING FACE WITH SMILING EYES — what are your oc's career/general life desires? what do they want to get the most out of life? 😖 CONFOUNDED FACE — is your oc an introvert, an extrovert, or an ambivert? do they let people in easily, or are they more reserved? 🤔 THINKING FACE — what are some of your oc's quirks/mannerisms? 🧐 FACE WITH MONOCLE — is your oc more logical or emotional? 🤓 SMILING FACE WITH GLASSES — is your oc chatty or quiet? are they at ease in social situations, or are they more shy? 🤩 FACE WITH STARRY EYES — is your oc a planner, or are they more spontaneous in their actions? 😥 SAD BUT RELIEVED FACE — is your oc prone to getting stressed out, or is it easy for them to keep their cool? 😓 DOWNCAST FACE WITH SWEAT — is your oc open-minded or stubborn? are they inquisitive or do they prefer to keep to their bubble of knowledge? 😞 DISAPPOINTED FACE — does your oc attract others, or do they tend to be left alone? 🤒 FACE WITH THERMOMETER — does your oc get sick easily? 👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 FAMILY WITH MOTHER, FATHER, SON AND DAUGHTER — how many people are in your oc's immediate family? how many people are in your oc's extended family? do they have aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc? who in their family are they closest with? are they close with their birth family, or do they have a found family?

[bettyfrommars]

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

masterlist playlist

Part 2: The Hideout

You follow Robin over the resort property line to a place where guests are forbidden and get a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes.

word count: 3.6k

My blog is 18+ONLY, mature themes, violence, alcohol consumption, eventual smut, fighting, mention of blood, reader is called Bird as a nickname, reader plays the cello. Reader is 21, Eddie is late 20's.

Songs for this chapter: Animal (fuck like a beast)//W.A.S.P. No one like you//Scorpions Mental Health (bang your head)//Quiet Riot Wasted Years//Iron Maiden

a/n: it has been so much fun to pull this out of the rubble and jump back into this world for a rewrite, I hope you enjoy. To my I'm on Fire peeps, there will be a scene in this chapter that feels very similar to something that happened in IOF, and that's because I originally stole it from this fic, thinking I'd never post it, lmao. Thought about changing it, but it's just too perfect. Plus, there will always be a hint of biker Eddie in all of my Eddies.

Sticking close behind Robin, you crossed the arc of a walking bridge over a creek and disappeared on a worn path through the trees.  It was only then that you could finally make out the building where the loud music was coming from.  

It had corrugated metal sides and roof, like a structure you might see on a farm that housed large equipment.  There was a picnic table out front where a few people were seated, and the shell of a vintage automobile with bullet holes in it sat in the weeds.

A little more than a city block away was a modest cabin made from actual logs with an old truck, a van, and a motorcycle parked out front.

“Who lives there?” You nudged Robin.

She stopped to see where you were looking first, and then, “oh yeah, that’s Wayne’s place.  The head maintenance guy.  This is his too,” she gestured to the metal building where the music and shouts were coming from.  “Both him and his nephew Eddie.  Have you met Eddie?”

You absolutely knew who he was, but didn’t want to come off as a stalker, so you shook your head.  

The large sliding door entrance to the building was open about a foot, letting out wafts of smoke and a hazy, golden light.  From over Robin’s shoulder, you could see quite a few bodies moving around in there, and just then came the sound of a glass breaking.  

“Ready?” She smiled back at  you, struggling to hold everything in her arms as she reached for the handle to slide the door open the rest of the way.  

“Let me?” You lurched forward.

“I got it,” she insisted, fumbling one of the guitars before catching it again with a gasp of relief.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting to see when she eased the door open the rest of the way, but a topless woman dancing on a table top was not one of them. 

Her hair was bleached blonde, frizzy and teased around her face.  She was tan with a prominent bikini line over her pert breasts, and it looked like she’d just pulled the top of her leopard print spandex dress down to give a little show.  

The song Animal (Fuck like a beast) by W.A.S.P. was blaring and the guys around the table cheered while the woman flipped her hair and worked her hips in a circle.  You were sure you recognized her as one of the waitresses from earlier that night. 

Metalheads of all kinds were crowded together, mingling, and you feared that you stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Some were in leather; some wore jean vests with pins and patches all over them.  A handful had long hair that they must’ve tied back or wore under hats while they worked at the resort, but a few of them, like Steve, kept theirs short and tidy, for the most part.  Overhead string lights swayed from high wooden beams, and a chandelier that looked like it was made out of wrenches.  An old, pea green Kelvinator refrigerator and a small kitchenette was to your left, as if someone had lived there at one point, and two couches sat against the wall that were mismatched and worn.  

Most of the crowd of people seemed to be lingering together in the middle, standing there as if waiting for something.  Taking shots, smoking blunts, and making out with each other, blocking you from seeing beyond them.  

Robin signaled to follow her, and you were hesitant to start moving through the masses, holding the guitar case flush to your body, feeling like it was something to hide behind.  You noticed posters on the walls for bands like Judas Priest and Metallica, and on the concrete floor you saw smudges from white chalk markings, dark splotches the color of dried blood, but that was ridiculous.  

You pushed between a girl with a blue mohawk and a guy with a shaved head that was covered in tattoos in a hurry to keep up with your escort, and the two shot you a hard glare.  When you could finally see the far wall, there was an oval, threadbare carpet in the corner with a drum kit set up, three microphones, two amps, and some other equipment that suggested live music would soon be happening.  

“This is where they practice!” Robin shouted over the music, directing you where to put Eddie guitar down.  “We call it The Hideout.”

“'Where who practices?’ You set Eddie’s baby near the wall where she told you to.  

“Eddie and Chrissy’s band,” she motioned for you to stand over at the wall with her. 

“Oh,” you turned to look at the instruments again, heart flopping a little at the idea he would show up at any moment.  “They're playing tonight?”

There was a commotion up ahead and you both turned to look. "Later maybe! The fights are tonight,” again, yelling over the growl of the music.  Now the song was No One Like You by Scorpions, and it sounded like people were cheering at someone who’d just come through the door. 

“Fights?” You leaned in to get more information when everyone started pushing back to make room for whatever was about to happen.  You remembered that one of the guys on the porch earlier that day with Chrissy and Steve had a black eye, and you’d noticed another worker at the resort who had a busted lip, but you hadn’t paused to think that maybe they were somehow connected.

It was then that you saw Eddie appear from out of the sea of bodies, and took a sharp intake of breath, holding it in, afraid to let it out for fear you might whimper.  

He was so beautiful, it made you dizzy. You stood up straight, adjusting yourself, covertly checking to make sure you weren’t perspiring too badly.

He was wearing the tux he’d had on for the show earlier, but the tie and cummerbund were both gone, and his white shirt was unbuttoned almost to his stomach.  You caught a glimpse of tattoos on his chest, and a necklace of some sort. Someone handed him a beer and he threw back a generous gulp.  

“There’s going to be boxing? Here? Tonight?” You were trying to act casual and not stare at him the whole time, but it was hard to tear your attention away.  

“Nothing professional,” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest, putting her shoulder blades against the wall.  “Just your average bare knuckle street fighting, basically. The guys were doing it to blow off steam, but then some others got involved and people started placing bets, so a whole thing started.”

Eddie unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and took it off, passing it to someone in the crowd.  Your mouth went dry at the sight of his lean muscles under the scattered ink.  He kept his hair tied back and started wrapping white tape around one of his hands while Steve said something in his ear.  

“How do they choose who fights who?” You were invested now, wringing Robin out for any information she had.  

“I don’t know how they figure it out, but the new guys usually fight each other, and then a winner challenges Eddie or Steve or Alex,” she pushed off the wall to get a better look at the center of the room. “But it looks like Eddie is up first.” And then with a smirk she added, “all of the new hotshots at the resort think they can beat Eddie.”

“Can they?” Your voice cracked, eyes locked on the scene.  A guy shorter than Eddie but muscular in a football player type of way, was also shirtless in the circle now, with taped hands and wearing a pair of sweats with the name of a university down the leg. The guy was hopping from foot to foot to keep himself hyped up, punching the air in front of him.

“No one beats Eddie,” there was pride in her voice.  “Looks like the guy he’s fighting tonight is Lance, one of the new ski instructors.  Totally full of himself.”

Steve was wearing a white wife beater and jeans, and he raked a hand through his mop of hair just before pointing in your direction.  Eddie’s gaze followed the line of his finger directly to your stunned face, and then it lingered there.

He seemed to contemplate, wetting his lips, and then he nodded to Steve and was on his way over.

He didn’t have to push people out of the way because they were all quick to part to make room for him.  It wasn’t long before he was standing right in front of you.  You tried not to let your gaze linger on the full curve of his slightly chapped lips, or the way his wavy bangs framed his cherrywood eyes.  On closer inspection, you could see that the necklace he wore was a ball chain with a guitar pick hanging from it.  

Robin opened her mouth to say something, possibly introduce you, but Eddie cut her off.  

“What the hell are you doing here, Princess?” His voice was low with an edge of irritation.  He pulled the chunky metal rings off his fingers one by one as he spoke.

Robin cleared her throat, stepping forward. “She’s with me,” she stuttered a bit nervously, knowing full well she shouldn’t have brought you there.  “She came with me, she’s cool.”

Eddie collected all of the rings in his fist and kept staring at you as if he wanted to hear it from your mouth, not Robin’s.  

Your brain short-circuited for a second and you forgot how to form words when he was so close you could see the detail of the dragon tattoo on his chest.  But then, finally, it came to you:

“I-I carried your baby.”

The second it slipped out, you knew how stupid it sounded.

Unblinking, he gave his rings to Robin, and then he was gone.

You stared at the space where he no longer stood, flushed with embarrassment.  

“I carried your baby?” You repeated in a whisper, covering your face with your hands. 

Someone turned the music down so that Steve’s voice could be heard, and he waved his arms in the air to get everyone’s attention.  

“I don’t have to explain the rules to you, because there are none,” his announcement was met with screams and cheers.  Robin tugged at your arm, signaling for the two of you to get a bit closer to the action.  “First one to hit the ground for whatever reason is the loser.  Just fists, no blades or other stupid tricks.”

At one side of the circle of bodies, Lance the ski instructor was practicing some tight punches, and at the other end, Eddie rolled his neck while Chrissy finished taping the knuckles of his other hand.  It was then that the chalk and the stains on the concrete you saw earlier made sense.  

“You two ready?” Steve put his arm up between them, waiting for their nods, and then, at their signal, he chopped his hand down between them as if he were slicing the air.  

Lance was hopping from foot to foot, trying his best to look like some fancy footwork he saw in a Rocky movie, while Eddie walked casually, giving the guy a hooded, bored stare.  

Eddie could read Lance like a book.  A fight was a lot more than just a mindless throwing of hands, there was a mental prowess and skill needed that a lot of the punks busing in from suburbia did not have.  Street smarts was one thing, and Eddie surely had that, but he’d been fighting bullies off since he was a kid, and Wayne taught him to fight like it was a game of chess.

Eddie could tell where Lance was going to go a second before he made the move. He saw the guy was amped up, letting his emotions fight for him, and that was only one of his first mistakes.

Lance charged at him and swung, but Eddie was already steps away; relaxed and agile, holding his guard up. The ski instructor came at him aggressively, again and again, until Eddie pushed him, making his opponent stumble back. 

Keeping his form, Eddie caught you standing there out of the corner of his eye.

…what were you doing there at the Hideout?

He let himself ponder that question for too long and Lance was on him again, aiming a left jab to his ribs, and Eddie absorbed the blow with a grunt, arching to the side. 

You were not supposed to be there.  What was Robin thinking?

Mostly, Brenner and Joyce stayed out of their business, as long as whatever they did was off resort property, but if they found out one of the guests was somehow involved, there would be hell to pay.  

Lance charged again and Eddie dodged, angry at himself for not being able to focus .

“C’mon Lance, stomp that freak,” someone yelled from the crowd. 

And that was all it took

For Eddie to get tired of dragging it out for betting purposes.

Lance charged forward with a cry and Eddie socked an uppercut into his unsuspecting jaw.  

The surfer boy went down

Hard. 

Saliva and blood flew from his mouth as he flailed back, arms going ragdoll.

It felt like it happened in slow motion but soon enough, Lance was splayed out like a starfish on the concrete floor.

“Goodnight sweet prince,” Steve said sarcastically as he collected bets over the ski instructor’s limp body.

Robin cheered with her hands over her head, and you gave a few slow claps, your brain barely able to register where you were or what you were seeing.

“You want a beer?” She asked as you watched Lance numbly get to his feet with the help of two friends and attempt to shake it off.  

Robin motioned for you to follow her around to the refrigerator which was stocked from top to bottom with nothing but beer cans. She handed you one and then went to lean against the side of the appliance, cracking open the tab with a hiss.

With your back to the crowd, you prepared to follow suit, listening to Steve introduce two more fighters.

But then there was someone at your side,

“Not like that,” a voice said.

Eddie had come up behind you, wearing his white shirt unbuttoned, skin still glistening with sweat. Mental Health (Bang Your Head) by Quiet Riot came over the speakers, eliciting a wave of yelps and screams from the group.  

“Wait,” he put his hand on top of yours to keep you from opening your beer while he motioned for another guy to toss him one.  You turned to seek comfort or guidance from Robin, but she was absorbed in conversation with a girl in a platinum pixie cut who’d just walked up.  

“Like this,” he brushed his bangs to the side, and winked as he fished a ring of keys out of his pocket.  He used the serrated metal edge of one to punch a hole at the bottom of the can.  

It was the wink that made your skin flush hot, and then your jaw went slack as you watched him wrap his lips around the newly made hole in the can.  He made eye contact with you one more time before tipping his head back, and cracking the tab of the beer open with his thumb so that the liquid when squirting down his throat.  

The muscles in his throat jerked as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.  

It wasn’t three seconds before he lowered his head and crushed the can in his hand to show it was empty.  He let out a refreshing, “ahhhh,” and darted his tongue out to lick a droplet from his chin.  

You were still holding your unopened beer, waiting for him, mouth dry.  “I-I’m not sure I—”

Yes, you knew what shotgunning a beer was, you’d seen it done plenty of times at college parties and in movies, but had never been tempted to try it yourself.  

Ignoring your hesitation, Eddie motioned with the crook of his finger for you to come closer.  You shuffled to be within reach of him as if your knees were locked in place.  

With a gentle touch, fingers brushing yours, he took your beer from you, wiped it off with his shirt, and then proceeded to make the same hole with his key in the aluminum.  Some of the beer sprayed up and misted your face.

“Here we go,” he tipped your chin with his finger and butterflies swarmed in your stomach as his eyes searched yours. “Just let it shoot into the back of your throat.”

You swallowed nervously to make sure your throat was working, and then wrapped your lips around the can at his instruction.

“Easy, just like that, hold it there,” Eddie was so close now that your elbow was touching his bare chest.  He put a hand on the back of your head.  “When I say, tip your head back all the way, and I’ll flip the tab for you.”

You swiped your tongue over the hole in the can, thinking about how embarrassing it would be if you messed it up and beer went shooting out of your nose.  

Robin offered a few words of encouragement and you noticed a tendril of hair clinging to the sweat on Eddie’s neck, right over the heartbeat in his throat.  

“You ready?”

You weren’t but—-

“Okay, now.”

You closed your eyes, slammed your head back, and prayed, even though you weren’t at all religious.  Some lukewarm beer leaked onto your tongue, and then Eddie pulled the tab, keeping one hand over yours to hold the can steady.  

The gush of liquid hissed and exploded down your throat, and for a second you thought you would choke, but then your swallowing reflex bolted into action and it was over so fast.  

You gasped and swiped beer from your chin when you pulled away to look at the empty can, amazed. 

Eddie cupped his warm hand around the back of your neck, and you felt him shift closer until his mouth was at your ear.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

An actual chill ran down your spine.

Robin put up her hand and you gave you a high five.  “Not bad for a first timer,” she joked.  “Now crush it on your forehead and grunt.”

“Ha. Ha.” 

You turned to Eddie, “that was fun maybe he should—”

You were about to say the two of you should do another one, 

but he was gone.  

—----

The next night, Eddie couldn’t sleep, so he decided to head to the property to finish up some work at the pool house.   

The place he shared with Wayne was close enough to walk to the Hawkins Landing property, but that night, he drove.  He wanted to roll the window down on the van and blast Wasted Years by Iron Maiden and belt out the lyrics.  

He slipped into the parking lot for visitors and employees, turning the music down so that it wouldn’t be heard by any of the nearby cabins.  There were two street lamps on, but a third one he noticed was out, and made a mental note that he’d have to get Jamie to fix it tomorrow.  The sidewalks along the manicured lawn were also lined with lights that came out of the ground like little mushrooms, and the boat dock far off to his left was lit, but other than that, he was in the dark.  

Grabbing his red toolbox from the passenger seat, he put a flashlight in his tool belt holster, and the van door creaked on its hinges just before it banged shut.  His ribs still ached from the punch he took the night before, but he only allowed himself to cringe and curse in private. Luckily, his only companions at that moment were the crickets and the lapping of the water against the bank.

It wasn’t until he was a few yards down the sidewalk, head down, lost in thought, that the din of classical music made him halt in his tracks. 

It was definitely strings, possibly a violin? No, it was too deep.  

He looked up at the main house, but the sound was much too close to be coming from way up there.

He cut to the right and up the grass.

Then he saw the attic light on in cabin #11.

He told himself not to bother, but as the passion of the playing increased, curiosity got the better of him.  

He came right up to your driveway, staying half obscured by a tree trunk, and watched you.

The cello, of course that’s what you were playing.  He was no expert on the classics, but he’d always learned music by ear and had a unique sense for identifying instruments.  

You weren’t reading from sheet music, you were just playing while you stared out at the sky.

Playing something by heart, or making it up as you went along, he wasn’t sure.  

In his mind, you were so far out of league, it was criminal.

Your attention broke when a sudden movement down on the road startled you.  

The bow zipped clumsily across the strings one last time, and you stood up to get closer to the open window.

But, your eyes must’ve been playing tricks on you. 

There was no one there.    

-----

Hi hello! thank you so much for reading! For those wondering, this fic will still be centered around music, not boxing, but the little fight club they have has a lot to do with the spin of the plot soon.

thank you all so much for the suppport! we are getting to the juicy parts now! give me those hungry eyes. comments and reblogs are cherished!! like, I live for them.

-------

taglist: @tlclick73@micheledawn1975@kurdtbean@katethetank@elvendria@spookysqaush86@somethingvicked@stylesxmunson@laurenlokirby@sapphire4082 @kellsck @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @justdamnpeachy @dashingdeb16 @corrodedcoffincumslut @bexreadstoomuch

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback

1969 was, effectively, the final year for the Shelby Mustang. By now assembly had shifted in Michigan from California where it was contracted out to A.O. Smith Corporation. Smith, an established Motor City contractor, had brought a level of serious manufacturing skill, supplier management, procedure and standards never seen at Shelby’s facility where LAX met the vibrant (and sometimes extreme) subculture of Venice, California.

Now largely designed and specified by Ford staffers, the 1969 Shelby Mustang was drastically different visually from the standard Mustangs, with a completely different nose and grille, a wide rectangular opening with blacked out grille flanked by 7” headlights and with Shelby’s characteristic driving lights now smaller rectangular pieces below the attractive, but largely ineffective, bumper. The special Shelby hood had five ducts, three NACA-style surface ducts replaced the complicated but entertaining shaker hoods of years gone by to supply cold air directly to the engine air intake and two extractors at the back of the hood relieving underhood pressure and exhausting heated air in front of the windshield.

A surface duct behind the headlights and a scoop behind the door and in front of the rear wheel arch that was ducted to the rear brakes continued the performance theme. The rear panel was completely different from the Mustang, housing a set of 1965 Thunderbird sequential taillights with the rear license plate placed between them and including a small ducktail spoiler. The area under the bumper where standard Mustangs carried their license plate contained two rectangular outlets for the Shelby’s dual exhaust system. Standard wheels were unique 5-spoke Mag Stars with alloy centers and chrome steel rims.

Under the hood lay the 428 Cobra Jet which had powered the ’68 Shelby GT500KR. Both Ford and Shelby recognized the superiority of the high performance CJ and made it the standard engine for 1969’s Shelby Mustangs. 

At the end of the 1969 model year 789 Shelby Mustangs were in-process at A.O. Smith. They were visually updated with black hood stripes and a chin spoiler and given new VINs. Otherwise the 1970s were exactly the same as the ‘69s making these two years essentially identical examples of the end of the Shelby Mustang series which had begun only a scant six years before.

Avidly sought by collectors and obsessively documented by the Shelby American Automobile Club, most Shelby Mustangs are well known and have well known histories. Occasionally, however, a example appears which has been out of sight for years. Even more rarely it turns out to have been little used and continuously maintained by a thoughtful and caring single owner for nearly forty years.

The Black Jade 1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Sportsroof fastback offered here is one of those rare and highly desirable cars. It was delivered new to Ford’s dealer in Yokohama, Japan, Marubeni Motors K.K., and was sold thereafter to its first, and only, owner in Japan. It has been repainted in the original color once but is otherwise completely original, as delivered and has only 84,941km on its metric-calibrated export speedometer (52,779 miles.) Its sympathetic maintenance and care shows throughout in its clean, straight, rust-free condition.

Power of course comes from the 428 cubic inch Cobra Jet Ram Air V-8 engine which Ford and Shelby conservatively rated at 335 horsepower at 5,200rpm and a gut-wrenching 440 lb-ft torque at 3,400rpm. It puts the power through Ford’s highly regarded C-6 automatic transmission and Traction-Lok differential with high speed 3.00:1 gearing that takes full advantage of the CJ engine’s torque. In addition to the highly desirable drivetrain specification it is loaded with options including the Visibility Group, Goodyear white letter tires, Sport Deck folding rear seat, power front disc brakes, power steering, tilt steering column, Selectaire air conditioning, AM/8-track stereo radio, tinted glass, deluxe belts, tachometer and trip odometer.

It is finished in one of the Shelby Mustang’s most attractive colors, Black Jade. The interior and high back buckets seats are upholstered in black Clarion Knit/Corinthian vinyl that complements with Black Jade exterior.

It returned to the U.S. in 2006 but has never been titled by its current owner so it remains a one-owner car. Its absolutely clear history, one-owner provenance, highly original condition with known mileage and extensive options list are attributes shared by few Shelby Mustangs of this age. This is a rare opportunity for an astute collector to acquire a particularly significant, unmolested Shelby Mustang from the last, and most highly developed, series.

1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback

Powered by a 428ci V8 engine mated to a C6 automatic transmission, this beauty includes the original #Shelby owner card, a copy of the Shelby work order and Window Sticker.

1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback

1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Roadkill: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Someone is using their vehicle to run people over, but why? What compels someone to take another life?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

"I'm not sure about automobiles. With all their speed forward they may be a step backward in civilization." - Booth Tarkington

You have some time before the briefing to steal away for yourself, and you and Spencer are in the break room alone together. You're leaning against the counter and you pull Spencer in closer to you by his hands. You wrap your arms around his neck and look into his beautiful brown eyes.

"I got us a nice hotel room for the both of us this weekend. It has a fireplace and a really big bathtub that can fit two people. What do you say?" you grin.

"That sounds amazing. We could really use it to get away."

You pull him in closer and kiss him slowly with a hint of tongue. No one else is around to judge you, but that blissful peace doesn't last long. Derek walks into the break room just as you pull away from him.

"I'm telling you right now, we're not leaving the room," you chuckle.

"What are you two talking about?"

"How much hot sex we're going to have over the weekend."

Spencer blushes deep red and Derek laughs as he pours himself some coffee. He caps his cup and walks past Spencer but not before he pats his chest.

"Wrap it before you tap it," he winks.

"It's so easy to get you like this," you smirk and pull away from Spencer. "You're cute when you're flustered. If only they knew what you were like in the bedroom."

"Don't you dare tell them," Spencer gasps when you walk away.

"Yes, sir," you smirk and wink.

Everyone makes their way to the briefing room where JJ is getting set up. Once everyone is in, she puts up pictures of current victims and their crime scenes. This unsub is killing people with his car; that's new.

"An unsub that kills with his car? I haven't seen that before," Emily says.

"Neither have the police in Bend, Oregon which is why they need our help. There have been two victims in the last twelve days. The first victim is Maria Delgado, twenty-three. She was hit on a morning jog. The second victim is Shannon Makely, forty-three. She was stranded on the side of the road when her car broke down.

"What makes the locals think that they were connected?"

"For one thing, they were both backed over after the initial impact. This wasn't an accident. Plus, they matched treads in both scenes. They were large wheels for all terrain. Their wounds also indicated a raised bumper, so they're thinking a large SUV to a truck."

"Do they know the make or model?" you ask.

"No. The tires are made for multiple kinds of vehicles."

"I'll do what I can to see what kind of car it is."

"Were there any witnesses to either incident?"

"No, both victims were attacked in secluded areas."

"Two tons of metal make a hell of a weapon," Derek says.

"Serial killers have been known to become rather attached to their vehicles. Bittaker and Norris even gave theirs a nickname. Murder Mac," Spencer explains.

"Bittaker and Norris were sexual sadists. There's no sign of torture here. This sounds like thrill kills for easy targets randomly selected."

"We need to think about if they're not random. We need to see if there is a connection between the two victims."

"With this type of impact, the vehicle shouldn't be hard to pick out of a lineup. There should be significant front-end damage."

"Somehow I don't think it's gonna be that easy," Rossi shrugs.

"Well, I think it's safe to assume our unsub is male," you say.

"I agree with you, given what we know about aggressive driving and road rage."

"And the fact that men have an unnatural bond with their cars," Emily adds.

"That is true," JJ nods.

"Wait a minute, I don't know about unnatural," Derek says.

"I once dated a guy who washed his car more than he washed his hair," JJ says.

"A nice car needs love."

"A woman doesn't?" you ask Rossi.

"I'm not qualified to answer that."

"I'm just saying a big car is phallic like he's overcompensating for something. Maybe he's impotent. If the unsub sees himself as physically defective, the car not only gives him the power and control he otherwise lacks, but it also serves as a shield."

"Maybe a way to avoid physical contact?" Hotch asks.

"Now we're going in a different direction. Power, control, and female victims equal up to a rape profile."

"Rape and thrill kills are two very different profiles. What does victimology tell us?"

"Nothing, yet. Shannon Makely was a white, married, commodities trader. Maria Delgado was a Hispanic grad student and a competitive tri-athlete."

"So far, gender's our only link. Hopefully, the crime scenes will tell us more."

It takes eight hours to get to Bend, Oregon from where you are, and Detective Quinn is waiting for you, Derek, and Rossi when you arrive. The rest went back to the station to get set up. The crime scene is so new that the blood is still on the ground from where Shannon was hit. You're kind of floored by the energy she left behind, you have to take a moment to gather yourself.

Rossi and Derek immediately talk to the detective while you stay where you are. All the officers and police cars disappear until the only one that's left is Shannon's car. She is stuck on the side of the road after her car broke down, and she's holding her phone up to get a signal to call for help.

She gets out of her car and starts walking in hopes that she catches a connection. She doesn't get far when the unsub comes around the corner. He stops exactly where the tire tracks are found in real-time. Time slows down the second Shannon turns her head toward the unsub. He slams his foot on the gas and lurches forward, still in slow motion. He rams her at full speed, backs over her, hits her again, and speeds off down the road.

You walk closer to the spot where Shannon's car broke down and focus on the big lifted truck instead. You rewind the events until the truck is right beside you. Of course, you can't see anything inside the car. Either the windows are tinted or your abilities can't put together what the inside looks like. Still, even though you can't see inside, you feel the unsub looking at you.

There is no distinctive mark that tells you what make and model this is, but you do know a couple of things. This is a lifted truck that someone put time and effort into, it's black in color, and the taillights are rectangular and small. You replay the events five times before letting the unsub escape. You're not getting anything else off the truck, but you're glad you got this much.

"Tell us about what happened," Derek's words bring you back to reality.

"Shannon lived a little outside of town and was on her way home from work when she broke down."

"So, she breaks down and gets out to start walking. Why not call for help?" Rossi asks.

"There's no service," you say. You point to the tire tracks on the ground. "He made a complete stop here then hit the gas at full speed. He hit her twice and then sped off."

"Full stop in the middle of the road? I take it there's not a lot of traffic out here?"

"Not on this stretch," Detective Quinn says. "Not at that time of day, at least."

"She was done working by three in the afternoon? What did she do?"

"She was a broker that specialized in foreign markets. The time difference made for some odd hours."

"There's something not right," you say.

"What are you thinking about?"

"What are the odds that she breaks down right here? She can't use her phone, there's no traffic, no witnesses, and nowhere to run. It's the perfect place for an ambush."

In the case of Maria Delgado, she was hit while she was jogging. The area in which she was hit is a popular spot for joggers, and not many people can take the stress of that hill. Maria was a tri-athlete that was jogging up there from off the main road. The unsub drove in where he could and ran her down the hill.

That's theory one. Theory two is that he was already there lying in wait. A woman jogging alone would be aware if someone was tailing her. She was the reason he was up there lying in wait like he knew she would be there. These attacks aren't random; they all have some significance to the unsub, which means they can be connected.

Once finished at Shannon's crime scene, you headed back to the police station to talk with the other half of the team.

"The only thing I got from his car is that it's a lifted truck that someone put time and effort into, it's black in color, and the taillights are rectangular and small," you say after you explain what you saw. "I also think he may have targeted these women. They have to be connected."

"That takes thrill kill off the table."

"Why, because the murders were planned in advance?" Quinn asks.

"Yeah, this type of stalking behavior indicates a personal motive. There's a reason he chose these victims. He knows their work schedules, jogging routes, and drive patterns. That would explain how he knew where to strike."

"It explains Maria. She was on a run, but he couldn't have known Shannon's car was gonna break down out there."

"Did you look at her car?"

"The guys at the impound lot said the water pump blew. They said it's a common enough problem."

"We should look at it. I might be able to get something off it," you say.

"Why don't you and Rossi head over there, and let me know what you find out," Hotch says.

You and Rossi head over to the impound lot to see Shannon's car. There isn't a lot of damage to it externally since the unsub didn't hit it. However, the deeper they went, the more they found the problem of why it stopped. No one else can see this, but you see two legs sticking out from underneath the car. The legs have the same energy as the energy you saw at her crime scene.

The unsub tampered with her car which is why he knew it would stop in that location.

"Can you tell us what the problem is?" Rossi asks.

"We figured it was the water pump because it was pretty much melted, but we didn't prepare for this."

The mechanic shows that there is a clear cut in one of the tubes inside the engine.

"This car is pretty new. This wouldn't be normal wear and tear, right?"

"No. The rest of the line is in good condition. Someone punctured it. You can tell from the smooth edge."

"How did they do it?"

"Probably reached a blade right through the grille with a penknife or something like that."

"They wouldn't have even had to pop the hood. If she drove away without water in the radiator, it explains the overheating."

"Could somebody possibly gauge how far she could have traveled with the car in this condition?"

"Someone who knows cars could make an educated guess, sure."

"Thank you." You and Rossi walk away from the mechanic. "The unsub did this to her car. He screwed with it. I saw his legs from underneath his car. He must have gone from the bottom instead of through the grille."

"Sabotage. He's more focused than we thought. He's well-organized and highly motivated."

"By what, though? What do these women have in common? They're all of different ages, appearances, and social class. He's not hunting a specific type. Their only connection is the unsub. There has to have been contact before the attacks."

"We profiled a guy who's afraid of contact. The truck's a shield," Rossi says.

"Maybe the contact's incidental. There's something he perceives in their exchange, something about his perception triggers his fixation. It could be the way she looks at him, something she says, or even something as trivial as what she's wearing."

So far, the team has narrowed down the lifted truck to an older model that's American made. He must have removed all emblems from the car so it'd be harder to track the car to him. One way you can narrow down the list is to send what you have to the DMV, but you're going to waste a lot of paper that way. The truck is only going to get you so far, so you have to build on the profile if you want to catch him.

Some things you know about the unsub are that he's mechanically inclined since he certainly knows his way around an engine, and he's strong enough to pull out dents in his car from each accident if he's fixing the damage to his car. Both victims were killed during office hours, so he must have a flexible work schedule or none at all. If he's stalking someone and getting to know their schedule, he has to put aside a lot of time for that.

Why did he start doing this in the first place? If he doesn't have a job, then losing it could have been the stressor. Eight percent of this state is out of work recently. You need to look for men who are employed as mechanics, work in a body shop, and have criminal records for reckless driving and assault. Two murders in two weeks isn't much of a cooling-off period, so he's not going to wait for another opportunity to present itself.

He's gonna create one, and soon. You just didn't think it'd be this soon.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[wombywoo]

for your lovely ocs! 🚗🚫🐈🍎💜

thank youuuu <3

🚗 CAR — does your oc have a driver's license? can they drive/operate any automobiles/machinery besides cars?

Quinn--yes he's got his license! likes to think he can drive a tank but it's doubtful...

Vincent--yes as well. he has an extensive collection of vintage motorcycles 👌

🚫 PROHIBITED — does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?

Quinn--smoker and drinker (british innit) he smokes way more than he should and likes to drink when he goes out

Vincent--will smoke if the mood strikes, but doesn't often. has recently been enjoying some vampire-friendly cocktails

🐈 CAT — does your oc prefer a wide circle of friends or a few close friends?

Quinn--only close friends, which are very limited. gets along with most of the people he works with, but doesn't like large groups

Vincent--I think it depends. he has his select acquaintances that he prefers over others, but he doesn't mind being social with a variety of people

🍎 RED APPLE — where was your oc born? do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? how do they feel about their birthplace?

Quinn--born in Sheffield. grew up in a smaller town outside the area. he still has a flat in the city, but will live on base most of the time. he has...mixed feelings about his home city. he'll claim it's shite but there's still stuff he likes about it

Vincent--born in Hampstead London around the turn of the century. had a rather posh upbringing there. now he's got a flat on the outskirts of Oxford, but he still thinks fondly of his childhood home (now some overpriced airbnb undoubtedly..)

💜 PURPLE HEART — what is your oc's ancestry/genetic background?

Quinn--predominately English on his father's side, but his mother's side is Irish

Vincent--his father is caucasian English, and his mother was born in Jamaica, from a West African origin

[falcemartello]

Talking Heads - Once in a Lifetime

-----

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack

And you may find yourself in another part of the world

And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile

And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife

And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down

Letting the days go by, water flowing underground

Into the blue again, after the money's gone

Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground

And you may ask yourself, "How do I work this?"

And you may ask yourself, "Where is that large automobile?"

And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful house"

And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful wife"

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down

Letting the days go by, water flowing underground

Into the blue again, after the money's gone

Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground

Same as it ever was, same as it ever was

Same as it ever was, same as it ever was...

[nycbabyjoey]

The Shopping List (Patreon Preview)

NSFW 18+ Only

Contains ABDL Content

He shied away from all the glances he received while waddling back to the front of the store. He may have been able to avoid some attention in clothes, but now that he was very publicly diapered all attention was on him.

Bret's Mommy had sent him to the store to prove that he could do the shopping all by himself. So much for that.

As he saw the cart availability, he threw his head back and stomped his foot in a mild temper tantrum. All of the normal grocery carts were taken. The only remaining option was a cart with a large pretend car at the front of it, so that babies (like him) could pretend they were steering an automobile whilst their Mommies or Daddies pushed them around the supermarket. As he pushed the only remaining cart back to the cereal aisle, he was certain that Ms. Wentworth wouldn't have him walking at her side.

Sure enough, upon return, Bret crawled into the driver's seat at Ms. Wentworth's instruction and their drive began as she directed him towards the next item on the shopping list: mac and cheese.

Ms. Wentworth turned the cart into the dairy aisle where two university cheerleaders with short outfits that showed off their legs shopped for charcuterie boards. As Bret "drove" past them with his arms crossed over his bare chest, the cheerleaders turned and giggled to each other.

"Slow down, hotrod," one of them teased.

"Ugh," the other moaned. "I love a man with a sick ride."

The two burst into laughter. All Bret could do was hide his burning face behind the fake steering wheel as Ms. Wentworth peeked through the mac and cheese boxes, looking for the best option. There was the regular noodles, but of course, that wasn't babyish enough for little Bret. She shuffled through to find the most embarrassing option, past the SpongeBob and Scooby-Doo shaped ones.

Shopping List: -Diapers -Baby wipes -Patreon?

Looks like you need to finish your shopping! You can cross that last item off and read the rest of this story at the link here!

[pureamericanism]

Compared to ecologically and topographically similar regions of Europe or east Asia, the northeastern United States is unusually heavily forested. One might think "well, yeah, the U.S. hasn't been settled by agriculturalists for as long and is less densely populated, obviously there's going to be less percent land cleared for farms," but this is not so! Everywhere in the northeast, our forests rise from what were once old fields. In 1860, for instance, Maine was only 60% forested by land area. Today, that proportion is closer to 90%.

We owe our current landscape to two great waves (and several smaller ones) of farm abandonment. The first happened in the decades after the Civil War, when for various reasons* northeasterners (mostly from New England) packed up their pitchforks and decamped to the midwest. This had been going on before the war too, of course, but up until then it had not been in numbers enough that the northeastern farms stopped being worked. There was always a son or two left to till up more stones from the Vermont field. But that changed after the war, and the fields started to revert to oak and maple and pine. Indeed, much of the early formal scientific study of American forestry and ecology happened in these old Yankee fields and young Yankee forests, by outdoorsy young men from Harvard with names like a Lovecraft protagonist.

The second great wave was in the Great Depression and World War 2, when for various reasons** people from all the rougher sorts of terrain the east has to offer - from West Virginia to Indiana's Brown County to the Ozarks and back to the Catskills - left their farms to come down and seek work in the then-thriving industrial cities. Much of the hilly landscape of the east that had previously been dotted with small subsistence farms, full of exactly the barefoot gap-toothed hillbillies who captured the imagination of urban popular culture with their exotic poverty and folkways when they suddenly appeared in Cleveland, or wherever, in 1933.

These pulses of farm abandonment have left very specific patterns written in the ecologies of the northeast. For instance, the fact that the poor ridgetop farms that were once extremely common in Southern Ohio and Indiana were nearly all abandoned in the 1930s and '40s means that the forests that now grow there are uniformly approaching their first century (excepting, of course, where there's been logging in the meantime.) This is almost exactly long enough for the process of ecological succession to complete itself, and the forests to move into their mature phase.

And so you read books written in the '50s, '60s, or '70s about these areas, and you notice how common early successional species are, everywhere chokecherry and black birch. Whereas today the only evidence you may see of the forest's relative youthfulness is a few very large bigtooth aspens nearing the end of their lives, surrounded by tulip poplars and chestnut oaks that will endure for many years after all the aspens are dead.

*Young men returning from war with a restlessness and a desire to leave home again; those same young men posted far from home during the war and realizing just how awful the New England soil is, lmao; Republican government policy writtrn explicitly to favor small homesteaders heading west; the late 19thc. crash in agricultural prices (as, in a few short decades, the Great Plains, the Australian wheat belt, parts of the Kazakh and Siberian steppes, the plains of South Africa, and the Argentine pampas were all put under the plow for the first time, and during an era of global free trade) making many small farms entirely unsustainable.

**Years of erosion on fields carelessly laid out on steep terrain; the Great Depression making running a small farm, ah, difficult; economic modernisation making staying as a subsistence farmer a damn foolish thing to do; new roads and automobiles making fleeing to the city easier than ever; and the TVA and other federal land grabs displacing hundreds of thousands of people.

[kneexcutter]

(0)

"You're worthless, Y/N, nothing but a nuisance that Lord Megatron keeps around at his disposal," Starscream says to me with a nasty scowl and slight eregon emanating from his repulsive mouthplate .

"And yet our lord favors me over you," I sneered, shoving Starscream's faceplate away from mine.

"You're weak," growled Starscream while pushing back.

"And you're a pitiful excuse for a decepticon, I should've killed you while Megatron's back was turned you pathetic insect," I scoffed Starscream while smacking him on the side of his helm.

Starscream and I were standing on a tall building having our usual argument like we used to back home before the war. We both made our quick remarks, but this time Starscream seemed more tense.

Nevertheless, I don't blame him...

We had just landed on this planet known as Earth, where it seemed that Lord Megatron had failed to retrieve the All Spark that had been lost among the galaxy's stars.

The plan to recover Megatron and the All Spark was revealed to me by Starscream, but it is difficult now that there are living life forms on this planet, humans.

They are a repulsive, sensitive race that is nothing more than inferior beings to us. Why Earth, out of all the locations in the galaxy?

Starscream then transformed into what my scanners say is a F-22 Raptor fighter jet, one he claims to have scanned from a military base in the humans possession.

I jumped from the structure and landed in the dirt; this planet ought to be called the "dirt planet" given how much of it there is.

I must admit, if we're here, the Autobots aren't far behind, and I'm a bit concerned... things might not go as anticipated seeing as Starscream is in command.

I have more experience and skill than Starscream could ever have, I'm twice the cybertrion he is, and yet my league still chose him over me after all these ages of Megatron leaving him in command instead of me.

While Screamer was nowhere to be seen, I was fighting on the front lines of the war. I had no qualms about killing a multitude of Autobots, but maybe if I had confronted Optimus Prime, Megatron would have picked me?

I'd never seen or met Optimus Prime personally, but I have met his scout, Bumblebee. That Mech was the only one that moved my spark the way it did...

I'm not sure if he's still alive.

I doubt it. It'd be a shame if we crossed paths, I'd have to kill him.

He never did good in training, I'm not surprised if he died within seconds of the war breaking out. It's strange that he sided with the Autobots while our commander at the time was a Decepticon.

Com Link: Blackout reporting, knowledge of the All Spark successful

I was tasked to get into contact with a human, and stay with them until giving the next phase of the plan.

Starscream purposefully made me sit and wait while he completed the majority of the work. It's a nuisance, but I'll let him have it for the time being; acquiring the All Spark and Megatron is the priority.

I moved through the dirt, seeing a large road ahead of me, and scanning the vehicle closest to me. A Porsche Carrera GT. (Can be whatever color or design you want.) 

I sped farther into human civilization as I passed more humans; there are many of them and they are all distinctive and yet so vulnerable. There are humans who appear to be smaller than average-sized beings; they must be the same as sparklings.

Watch them grow up and then send them into the world to watch their dreams die as they fall into the guidelines of people who profess to be higher than oneself. I honestly feel sorry for these heinous creatures. I moved into an area with less individuals; it was an area where humans resided and interacted with one another; there were more buildings with vehicles in their residential streets. One of the cars was comparable to mine, so I approached it and parked behind it; the other automobile was a huge black truck.

The structure is formed like a squared S. To each side, the two extensions stretch into a garden path. The second level is the same size as the first, but it extends over the edge of the floor below, forming an overhang on one side and a balcony on the other. This floor is designed differently than the floor below.

Com Link: Y/N in position

I said through the com, before going into recharge.

...

3rd POV

"TRENT!" A man yelled, he was slightly toned, he had no hair on his head, and he was fairly tall.

"Yeah, Dad?" Trent, a guy with broad shoulders and washboard abs, went out the door while wearing a light-colored shirt.

"Who's car is this?" the man asked, tracing his finger over the sides of the passenger side door. Trent shrugged as he approached the car on the driver's side and opened the door, "I dunno, it wasn't here last night, but it's unlocked."

Trent's father chuckled, "This is strange, your mother and I were just talking about buying a new car, You had someone over here that I don't know about, son?"

Trent shook his head, "No sir."

Trent's father hummed as he opened the passenger door and climbed inside. He then cast a quick glance around the vehicle, his eyes settling on a symbol in the center of the steering wheel. Reaching over, he touched the button and asked, "Hey son, you kids into these designs lately?"

"Nah, that's not something I've seen before," Trent said, squinting at the symbol. "Do you think the car was brought from Japan or something?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, but I'll drive it around the neighborhood later to check if someone left it here by accident or something, and if no one claims it, I'm keeping it," Trent's father adds as he steps out of the car.

"Wait, don't do that because someone might lie and say it's theirs," Trent says.

"Got any better ideas?" Trent's father asked, raising his brow.

"Yeah," Trent said with a smile while biting his lower lip. "I know a little bunny who would love to ride this beauty." 

...

"Hey baby," Trent says as he pulls up to the side of the school, where a girl with slick brown hair and blue eyes turned around, arms crossed, and a piercing glare on her face.

Trent got out of the car, smiled at the girl, placed the keys in her hands, rested his forehead against hers, and placed his hand on her hip, "I got this beauty behind me for the most exquisite girl in the world."

"Your mother," the girl hums.

"Don't be like that Mikaela, you know I'm talking about you, right?" Trent kissed her forehead. Mikaela pursed her lips, "And you realize you learned a new word, right? Exquisite, did you look it up before coming here?"

"No, but thanks," shook Mikaela's head as she clung to the keys. While fiddling with the keys in her palm, Mikaela turned away from Trent and walked towards the school's entrance.

Trent grumbled and followed her, "Great..."

1st POV: Sometime later 

Mikaela, a human female, drove me back to her house among a bunch of other automobiles, which her father allegedly owned, however I've never seen him. The girl sat beside me merely ranting about the human male named Trent, I presume they were conjunx endurae but I was mistaken, she doesn't feel the same anymore as she once did.

Conjunx Endurae: Romantically involved/partner.

Mikaela continued to berate the male, "Why do guys always think that we are useless, I mean like seriously, they always think we can't handle anything like freaking were their little bunnies in a cage, God I hate it when he calls me his little bunny, Ugh, I'm done, I'm so done with him I swear!"

"And I'm just here like an idiot talking to a car, and I just-"

The girl leaned on me attempting to hold herself together before breaking down, and within a minute she did. Drops of liquid trickled from Mikaela's optics, and from what I can tell, our species isn't all that different anatomically.

Optics: Eyes 

I could just kill her and leave, but that would be a foolish course of action. A ringing sound caused the girl to stop weeping and sit up straight. It's kind of strange how I'm just sitting here letting this creature express feelings to me right now... 

Mikaela snickers, snuggling against me once more, "Tch, you'd never believe who just called me. He wants to talk things out... you know, whenever I go with him, it's like he never listens to me, but that's what I get for falling for guys with broad shoulders and tight stupid abs, all that muscle but no brain, such a cliché, right."

I have no understanding what she is explaining. I've never been romantically involved with someone; I've only ever observed it among my former peers. I do remember instances in which Bumblebee would glance at me during training sessions, but he never approached me unless it was truly unavoidable, when he did he'd always stay with me until training  was over.

An old colleague of mine always urged me to speak to Bumblebee outside of training.

 I wish I did. It's far to late for that now, I'm a decepticon. I fight for lord Megatron and for my home.

"I wish you could talk, so it doesn't seem like I'm losing my mind y'know..." Mikaela stood up stretching her frame and rubbed her optics, she looked at me still with a soft expression, "I'm gonna head inside, honk if you need anything haha." 

For now, this human is given a pass; she is fortunate.

Com Link: Barricade reporting, Ladiesman217, Samuel James Witwicky, he has seen our language, sending coordinates.

Within a few kilometers of here, the coordinates are nearby-Mikaela returned, wrapped in a cloth, opened my door, and sat down on the seat."I'm gonna sleep here if that's okay with you," she muttered as she settled in.

Of course she is...I can't even signal them without alarming the her.

Scarp. 

Mikaela went into recharge rather longer then excepted, the femme seems to have a lot on her mind if she's that anxious over a mech like Trent. He gets it from his sire for certain. 

Sire: Father/dad 

Two days later

It sickens me to say that I've grown fond of Mikaela.

It's been two days since Mikaela left to a lakeside party Trent kept pestering her to attend, so she caved and declared it was her last time ever speaking to him. I made me think a lot about Cybertron, and I stayed by Megatron's side and did everything he asked of me successfully. Mikaela's words from the night before made me question whether I was like a bunny to Lord Megatron. There are other femme deceptions. They aren't as skilled as I am, so that makes sense, but why not put me in command?

Com Link: Barricade requesting back up Y/N, located the boy. 

I started my engine and tailed it to Barricade's location. 

[beatricebidelaire]

When I even hear the word process, I can only think of a terrible afternoon I spent in a windowless room. After writing nine drafts of a screenplay for the Lemony Snicket movie, I’d been fired, and they’d filmed a script written largely by someone else. There were parts of it, after filming, with which the people making the movie were dissatisfied, and so they called me on the last day of a grueling book tour and asked me if, instead of flying home into the arms of my wife, I would fly to them and tell them what was wrong. I said no. They offered a pile of money and I called my wife and she said, darling, just go. I got on an airplane and then into an automobile, and as the automobile approached my ugly destination, my film agent called me and said that my financial offer had been reduced, while I was in the air, to the amount of zero dollars. I went into the building anyway, wondering what I was doing. Inside, the arguing commenced, interspersed by watching rough edits of scenes of the movie—the first I had seen of it—and one of the people in the room, sitting alone on a little sofa, asking if anyone else felt cold. Nobody did, so as we continued to argue, she took cushions off of the sofa, first the decorative ones, and then the structural ones—the ones you lean against, the ones you sit on—and piled them up on her lap and limbs, for presumptive warmth. Eventually only her head was visible on the top of the pile of cushions, the argument continuing all the while. Finally someone just up and told me that I didn’t know what I was talking about, and while I largely agreed with this—then as now, I had no idea how to edit or improve an already-filmed film—I asked why then they had flown me out here to sit in this room. The woman sighed on the sofa. She looked like an igloo, or maybe a ziggurat, with her face at the top where people get sacrificed in offensive adventure movies. I understood then that I was among raving lunatics. Previously I had considered these people innocent, and then maybe dumb, and then maybe a pack of vicious demons. I understood, too, that they were, at least obliquely, the reason I owned a house. But now I saw that to argue with them, to talk with them, to spend time with them, was to spend time with utter, gallivanting, wide-grinned, swerving lunatics, and I was a lunatic, too. It was my own lunatic story they had filmed wrong, and I had entered this windowless room, of my own free will and for no money, to listen to lunatics tell me I was wrong. “Daniel,” this lunatic said to me, head atop the cushions, “you have to trust our process.”

And Then? And Then? What Else?

[diabolus1exmachina]

Lincoln Indianapolis (one-off). 

With its sextet of faux, side-mounted exhaust pipes, proboscis-like front end and aircraft-style wraparound screens, the one-off design study looks eye-poppingly futuristic even today – so imagine how extreme it must have seemed when the wraps were first pulled off it at the Turin International Automobile Show in 1955.As is often the case with such ‘concepts’ the design was created in double-quick time, flowing from the pen of Gian Paolo Boano, the talented 20-something son of the celebrated coachbuilder and former Ghia boss Felice Mario Boano. Boano senior only founded Carrozzeria Boano in 1954, but Gian Paolo had an ex-Ford friend who suggested that, if the Boanos could create a dramatic and futuristic design based on FoMoCo underpinnings, it might serve as a starting point for establishing a potentially lucrative arrangement between the fledgling firm and the giant manufacturer.

Gian Paolo was thus handed a Lincoln chassis – Lincoln being Ford’s luxury marque – and set to work creating large-scale sketches that he and the carrozzeria’s skilled craftsman brought to life using a combination of steel tubing and sheet metal. The hugely exaggerated hood was flanked by suitably long wheel arches (or ‘fenders’ in U.S. speak) that each held twin stacked headlamps and culminated in shrouds from which those fake exhaust tips ostentatiously protruded.

The feature was balanced by forward-facing air vents set into door-mounted cowlings that flowed seamlessly into the rear wings which, in turn, book-ended a sloping tail that made the roof seem even more ‘canopy’ like to reinforce the design’s aviation influences.

The 2+2-seater ‘cockpit’ was trimmed, chequered flag-style in black and white and featured a wraparound dashboard and bucket seats separated by a prominent, stepped centre console. And, just to make sure Boano’s futuristic creation didn’t go un-noticed, its already dramatic bodywork was finished in a coat of flaming orange paint.

With Carrozzeria Boano being based just a few miles west of Turin, it was an easy job to get the freshly-finished, freshly-named ‘Indianapolis Exclusive Study’ to the 37th Salone dell'Automobile, where it wowed the crowds and provided visiting motoring journalists with ready copy. Auto Age magazine even made it the cover star of its November issue, teasing its readers with the tantalising caption: “Is this the next Lincoln?”

[californiagoddess]

Where IS that large automobile???