#anyway dorito engine

[luc3ks]

gooby and his friend goobert

[fizz-pop-thwip]

Oh Steve and Bucky's physicality? Why yes, I will deep dive into that, only if you insist 🙂‍↕️

The serums lead them to where they are now obviously, and the serums are DIFFERENT. Steve's was refined, the og. Its not just a biological feat beyond most people's understanding but what Erskine created was an ART. Utterly refined, working and 'super soldier-ing' in the most efficient and effective ways possible. Steve obviously had the MOST physical change, something Hydras serum wouldn't have achieved even if Bucky was Steve's original size when he got it.

Steve is lean (Not truely lean but leanER then Bucky.) his serum had the power and engineering to rely on the SUPER half for most of his strength. Does he have the correct muscle mass to be able to lift a bus? No. But does he have the super strength to make up for that? Yes. If we can take ANYTHING away from this over a decade old fandom, Steve is shaped like a Dorito, broad shoulders and smaller waist and lean, powerful muscle.

Bucky on the other hand, his serum wasn't so well crafted. To catch up with Captain Americas strength, hydra had to rely more on muscle mass and real strength. Bucky is bigger, wider, more raw muscle, obviously still with super strength but just less, not as much to make up for less muscle. Bucky's more rectangular, he's less then half an inch shorter then Steve, if that, but everything else culminates and makes you THINK he would be taller, you know?

I believe in general Bucky's weight fluctuates much more than Steve's ever would, (With Steve's serum being how it was, I doubt MUCH change is happening to his body, point blank period.) maybe Bucky's skinner when he's first starting to heal. He has muscles, there's no changing that any time soon with the serum in him but hes not really eating properly and hes been so sick. He's just paler and feeling weaker overall. And later when he's more healed, less nightmares, less stress, he puts on a bit of weight. With him not being as active as an assassin might be and adopting better eating habits, he gets some tummy on him.

Steve ADORES it, goes crazy for it but he goes crazy for Bucky always so maybe that doesn't say much. He just loves how healthy it makes him look, how it represents his progress in a way.

I think Steve also just naturally forgets he's technically the taller one. They're practically the same height really anyway but Steve carries himself differently around Bucky, not to mention their history. The natural feeling is just that he's smaller and that results in a lot of accidental knocking heads.

Anyway this is my copium for the evening, goodnight😴

[kelcemenow]

Drive Me Crazy - Chapter 3.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1481

Warnings Some strong language and a bit of fluff!

Huge thank you to the Anon who sent this in! They had such amazing words to say about my writing which I massively appreciate and then to top it off, had an incredible request for me! I only have experience with mechanics in the UK, so I've tried my best with this one! "I just recently got interested in Travis K. X reader stories and wanted to let you know, I read all of yours as quickly as I could. They are so well done and I couldn’t help but laugh/giggle and feel through each word you typed out. You’re doing amazing and I’m so glad to have stumbled onto your page. If you have any space for a request, I’d be curious about what Trav would think about having a military (like fighter pilot) or engineer or mechanic girlfriend. I see a lot of stories with him paired with models/singers/social media individuals (which are phenomenal!) but just wondering how he would be with a more tomboy like girlfriend!"

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

You grabbed a couple of bags of Dorito's and sauntered to the cashier's desk to pay for your fuel and snacks. The harsh lighting in the 7-Eleven ached your eyes after another night of working late in the shop. You wiped your brow with the back of your hand and smiled as you handed over your money.

Your boots clunked against the linoleum flooring as you walked towards the exit, your arms full of chips. You held your hand out to push the door open at the same time as someone else on the other side pulled it hard. A bag of Funions escaped your grip and you rolled your eyes in tired frustration, struggling to pick them back up.

"Here, let me help." The stranger said.

You balanced the rest of the snack between your knee and chest as you lowered yourself to the ground, "No, it's fine."

"You helped me, it's only fair that I help you."

You looked up in confusion to see the face that belonged to the voice, his eyebrows raised high.

You breathed a small laugh, "Travis. Hi!"

He rubbed his palms together, "I'm surprised you've remembered me. You know, since you ghosted me."

You piled the runaway snacks on top of the rest, replacing your arms underneath to steady them, "Ghosted? I wouldn't say that. I just didn't take you up on your offer. It was cute though."

Travis grinned, his eyes sparkling, "Anyway, what are you doing here?" He leaned in closer to you, "Are you following me?"

"Don't flatter yourself." You snorted a laugh, "Besides, I was technically here first."

You pointed to your haul, "Big night planned?"

"Oh yeah, action movie marathon and my body weight in chips."

"How about that drink instead?"

You tilted your head to the side, "Travis."

"What? Give me one good reason why you shouldn't."

You suddenly felt vulnerable with the cashier staring intensely at you, presumably a Chiefs fan. You glanced in her direction and smiled politely, before ushering Travis outside into the small parking lot.

"You don't know me."

"And who's fault is that?" He joked.

You sighed and shrugged your shoulders, still trying to stop yourself from dropping anything, "I...I can't. I'm not dressed to go out."

Travis shook his head and looked at the floor, the corners of his mouth rising into a smile, "That excuse again. I don't care what you look like!" He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing in thought, "Wait there. I'll be 2 minutes."

You watched as he retreated into the store, disappearing behind the high shelves and racks of food. In an attempt to see what he was doing, you lifted yourself up onto your tiptoes, managing to drop the bag of Funions again. You groaned to yourself, picking them up before dumping the whole lot onto the hood of your car. As you turned back he was emerging from the store, the bright lights spilling out onto the dark tarmac. He happily held up two Slupees, one vivid red and the other neon green.

You squinted your eyes at him, a smirk creeping onto your lips. "What's this?"

"We're going to have a drink. Just one drink...and if you're not interested, I'll drop it."

You pressed your lips together, wondering whether to listen to your head or your heart. Your head was telling that this was a stupid idea, completely unprofessional and you should just go home. But your heart was completely intrigued by the tall, handsome football player. He wasn't a customer anymore and there was no harm in one Slurpee in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven.

"Okay, fine."

______________________________________________________________

"You've seriously never seen a football game?"

You grabbed another handful of chips, shovelling them into your mouth, "Nope. I mean, I've been in the room when there was a game on...but I didn't exactly watch it."

"I'm sorry, I just find it hard to believe. Especially when your Dad is my number one fan." One of his piercing eyes winked at you.

You nudged him with your elbow, "Well, believe it or not...for some people, football isn't everything."

"What is?"

You took a sip of your Slurpee before you turned your head to face Travis, the streetlight highlighting the contours of his face, "What is what?"

"What is everything to you?"

You held his warming gaze for a moment before looking back to your feet, your legs outstretched on the pavement, "I don't know. I guess I never had a 'thing'. I got really good at fixing things...so that's what I do."

Travis leaned back slightly, his palms against the cool concrete, "I think that's cool though. It's different."

"Oh, it's different alright. I've had to deal with a lot of shit. You wouldn't believe how many men don't want their car's fixed by a woman."

You saw Travis shaking his head in your peripheral vision, "Man. That sort of shit makes me fucking angry."

"What's the point in getting angry though?" You asked, "You can't change the minds of ignorant people. They'll always be fucking ignorant."

A slight chill caught you and as you rubbed your upper arms with your hands, Travis quickly stood up, removing his jacket.

"You're freezing, take this."

You smiled, "I'm okay, really. But thank you." You lifted yourself up from the ground, a sudden sting of pain shooting across your muscles, "God, my ass is killing me!"

Travis laughed, wiping down a spot on the hood of his car, "Here, save your ass."

You turned yourself around and rested on Travis' GMC as Travis draped his jacket around your shoulders. Your knees suddenly weakened as he was closer to you than ever before, his dreamy eyes focused on making sure you were suitably covered.

"Thank you." You whispered, your fingers clinging to the collar as his woodsy cologne filled your nostrils.

He stayed close to you for a few seconds, his eyes flickering across your face. You looked up at him, your heartbeat speeding up and your stomach knotting tightly. You could feel his light touch on your elbow, a burning sensation building up in your chest as his bottom lip became clamped in his teeth.

He took a few breaths before his mouth curved into a smile, "Is it bad that I wanna kiss you?"

Your eyes widened, "You wanna...really?"

He nodded slowly, his eyes glittering, "Yeah." His voice was low, almost a groan.

You clenched your thighs together, shuffling slightly against his car, unsure of what to say.

Travis noticed your silence, searching your expression for information, "Is that okay?"

"Yeah." You breathed out your response, trying to hide your grin.

Travis' face beamed and he quickly looked down at the ground. His hand moved from your elbow, sliding down to take your hand in his, a gentle squeeze once his skin made contact with yours. Butterflies rushed to your stomach as Travis licked his lips slowly. You could swear you could feel the tightness move down to your core, but you took a deep breath and focused on the man in front of you.

He took a step forward and you parted your legs slightly so he could rest between them, his eye contact never breaking. The longer he waited, the more intense the atmosphere was becoming. A gentle gust of wind blew across the parking lot and Travis responded by wrapping his arms around you, protecting you from the cold with his large frame. His body was warm and safe, solid and comforting.

"You're really beautiful, you know that?"

You suddenly felt unguarded, exposed even, as Travis looked deeply into your eyes. No one had ever called you beautiful before, aside from your parents. You didn't think of yourself as feminine, delicate or beautiful, those qualities didn't seem to interest you. But hearing it being said out loud, and sounding so genuine, you weren't sure how to react.

Suddenly, your internal overthinking was interrupted by Travis' soft lips pressing onto yours. You inhaled deeply as you held you closely and your eyelids fluttered closed. Your senses were stimulated, his slightly rough facial hair against your face, his hands clinging to your back and his thumbs stroking the fabric of his jacket back and forth. You melted into his hold as you allowed the kiss to happen, your skin tingling with every movement he made.

After a few seconds you pulled away. You stood up from the car and paced a couple of steps forward, Travis' jacket still hanging loosely over your shoulders. You could feel a smile tugging on your lips but you took a deep breath and turned back towards Travis.

His eyebrows were narrowed, "Everything okay?"

You cleared your throat quietly, your fingers fidgeting, "Yeah...I uhhh just needed a second."

He took his hand and gently cradled the side of your face, "Take all of the time you need."

______________________________________________________________

I honestly didn't intend for this to be a slow burner at all! I may get some more angsty moments in the next chapter if people want that. Feel free to send any thoughts or ideas you have on this concept, I'm always open to suggestions! As always, let me know if you want to be included in the Taglist for my fics, more will be coming!

Taglist @rd14 @dandelionwrites8 @keiva1000 @fantasywritersstuff @caelipartem @anacarangel @she-lives-in-her-dreams @kkrenae @kristencochefski1125 @countrygirl120983 @charmed2000 @nouis-bum @cixrosie @delicateearthquakellama @wordsaresimple-imnot @amylouwho9 @queenisa17 @talicat713 @luvvtrent @purecinnamonextract @savaneafricaine @caelipartem @beyxgrande @caitdaniels @ezgirl1108 @vir-tual @lightsoutstyles @macey234 @s294749w @kelcemesoftly @calirindo @livinginmyfantasies @bernelflo @secretmywritingfictionlawyer @killatravtramp @there-goes-thefighter @unicornblueberry @calirindo @tjkelce87 @kristinamae093 @kmc1989 @ajbird18 @triski73 @ctn26 @kgcaputo07 @abby-splace @bobthe-turmpetman29 @cedricbitch @abby-splace @jmamas92 @bellstwd @killatravsworld @marchmaiden @chimchimmarie @blackstabbath6 @fanficfanatic15 @jessiemariebarnes @mmb219 @vanwritesfan-fiction @futebollover @ks-dreams-fantasies @laurenmcucm @blackstabbath6

[potatoqueensays]

May I humbly request you elaboraremos om the Bill = Ford in your reverse falls? I am deeply interested 👀

WOHOHOHOH YES!!!! YOU SHALL!!

Thank you for your interest!!!

This makes me super excited to talk about, tbh he deserves his own post anyway!! Cause hoo boy there's a lot to unpack!! Forgive me for all the words, takes a lot to get to the main stuff.

Also thank you to @danklemckspankle for helping with a lot of the details. It's a collaborative project 💪

Let's get into it, shall we??

So! Ford in this au didn't get his science fair project wrecked by Stanley. Now Stan did drop it, but funny enough, to Stan's hopes it did work. Now that might sound like a copout, but it actually is a very damning event for Ford.

Ford gets the scholarship, and goes to West Coast Tech. He thrives, but amongst all these other geniuses he's just another face in the crowd. Now he's busy at school, but he doesn't get the research grant for Gravity Falls because he's just another smart guy.

He returns home after college and his father is expecting him to have millions and already have a job and a bunch of money. But Ford tells him that he's looking into it and doesn't have anything yet. He needs to stay at home until he can get an opportunity, but his father doesn't take too kindly to that. He kicks Ford out. Unknown to Ford, Stan isn't waiting at home due to also being kicked out. So Ford thinks his whole family abandoned him. He thinks Stan is out adventuring the world. So he's all alone without a place to stay.

Ford has already heard of Gravity Falls, even going as far to write a thesis on the weirdness of the town. But it wasn't what the college wanted, and they even went as far as to reject the thesis and the request for a research grant. So now Ford is stuck.

He does odd jobs around the states and winds up in Gravity Falls. One of those jobs landed him a place in the town. Now he hasn't commissioned Boyish (not yet Manly) Dan to make the shack yet, so he couch surfs. He does research on the side for Gravity Falls, eventually finding a cave painting of a weird zodiac and a triangle.

He summons Bill, and they make a deal for Ford to make a portal for him. Ford requests that he has a partner in knowledge and power in return. They shake on it. You need to understand that Bill isn't yet all sad boy in this as he is in the original au, cause it'd be a bit hard to change an integral part of him. Just bear with me for now!

Now Ford isn't well acquainted on the engineering side of things, so he's in a bit of a pickle.

But!! Lucky for Ford, there's a southern hick a couple states away that matches his smarts! A scientist named Fiddleford McGucket made a personal computer that while expensive, Ford managed to get his hands on! This guy seems promising, so Ford reaches out to him with a request and shares his thesis on Gravity Falls to hopefully drag him in.

McGucket loves it! So they agree to work in Gravity Falls together and they build the portal.

On the side however, Ford is talking with Bill. He fills his head with dreams and visions of acknowledgement. It's everything he's needed and more. It kinda goes to his head as he ignores personal needs like eating in return for the dreams. The dapper dorito eats up the seeming gullibility of the scientist. Inflating his ego to the damn heavens at this point.

Ford and McGucket have been arguing on the side as the research gets back seated. After a test with the portal, McGucket falls in and sees what's on the other side. He tells Ford something is wrong with the project and goes radio silent for a couple weeks before returning back in hopes of convincing Ford the dangers and hoping to see it through.

At this point it's important to note the Gremloblin incident didn't happen so the memory gun has not been made. Despite McGucket's hopes the portal is almost finished at this point and it seems like it's all Ford cares about.

Eventually an altercation arises as McGucket realizes Ford is not stopping. He tries to tell Ford of the danger and what he saw. He says he misses time with his family and wants to go home. Nothing is right anymore and he's being plagued daily with nightmares and declining mental health.

Ford is fed up at this point. He comes to a realization, that everyone has only ever told him what he can and can't do. This is his one shot, a chance to make everyone see. Everyone see him.

He pushes McGucket into the portal.

Oopsies. That's a problem!! Welp. He has no assistant now. Now granted, Bill is real happy for interruption being gone, but good ol' Sixer doesn't work with engineering. Someone else has to step in!

So Bill gets on his case now. Even tho McGucket has been dealt with, the portal isn't finished! So he threatens him, simple threats really. Stealing eyes, puncturing holes in a lung, just basic stuff.

Suffice to say Ford isn't happy about this. He's being rushed, and he already had a hell of a reawakening. So he starts to get back at Bill for his harping. Using his power to harness the portal. Experiments to see how he interacts with the world, testing the limits of Bill's body. All under the guise of research. On a...base level of course! All research is important, but Bill has become an obstacle on his own.

Bill was never his muse, just....a means to an end.

So Ford calls Stanley. Of course he doesn't forgive him for not asking about him, but that doesn't matter now. There's more important things to tend to. His brother has actually ended up making money, if the number of commercials he's seen on the television says anything.

He keeps Stanley at arms length, never actually letting him see the portal. Vague explanations of an important project, he just needs Stan's funding and some parts, he can handle the heavy lifting. Lest someone meddle into his work again

He has another side project on his mind, a little bunker somewhere in the woods of the town. In case of a cataclysmic event, or man eating creatures. Do he gets Stanley to help build it for him. Floor planning, parts, doors, tech and all that.

The interactions between them are kept to a minimum, to keep from bothersome questions and meddling. Eventually Stan has enough from the cold treatment and backs out, saying he's got better things to tend to. (In a future post I'll probably elaborate more on Stan :] )

So Stanley leaves. Keep in mind it's the 90s now, and even if technology improves, this isn't a one man job. No matter how much Bill likes to say he's support. You could say Ford is more focused on the portal than Bill, who had the idea in the first place! But whatever, it'll all be worth it once it's done.

He figures maybe he could do this alone, the last two people turned out to be hindrances, so maybe for a year or two he could try his luck.

Of course he gets side tracked with messing with Bill, with his harping on the portal growing less and less. He even....starts to slowly change color? Growing less yellow and more dull. That's something to research more! His research is definitely not humane, but Bill isn't human! He's a triangle! So what does it matter? This won't have repercussions!!

When Bill possesses his body from time to time, he tries to mess with him, but it weirdly doesn't deter Ford, only spurs him forward. Anything to test the limits of Bill. For science!

The couple years of working alone don't prove at all very helpful. Unfortunately, it looks to be like he needs a new assistant and he needs to get back on track. That bunker won't make itself!

So he calls someone new. The last two people proved to only be hindrances, and he actually went easy on Stanley all things considered. But he needs to be more hands on!

So he calls a lady who just moved to Gravity Falls with her husband, someone unaccustomed and unbiased. A one, Mrs. Gleeful.

She is decent enough as an assistant, proving actual decent company. Being that she doesn't question the work or interrupt. She does what is asked, serving coffee if needed, or getting spare parts.

It lasts up until late 2003, where she reveals she's having a child with her husband. She needs maternity leave, but she claims it won't interfere! So long as she swears.

She has her child the next year, but something changes. A couple months after, she makes the same claims of her family needing her. Claiming they're more important than the project.

This doesn't go on well. A spark goes off in Ford's brain. The last time this was brought up it didn't go well. So he digs up old blueprints, something he was working on when McGucket was around.

He erases parts of her memory when he calls her back. Her thoughts of her family are gone, they don't exist in her brain anymore. He tells her they're roommates working on a project, and convinces her to stay.

If she questions him or asks about her family he erases her memories again, and again, and again.

This goes on for a year, and eventually her mind turns to mush. Leaving her a crazed shaky husk of a sensible woman. She is too crazed to work with anymore, so he kind of sets her free like an animal. Throwing her into the woods for whatever creature out there.

Word reaches round of a missing woman relating to a researcher. This naturally reaches Stanley's ears for his penchant for gossip. He tries not to assume the worst and visits Ford.

Ford is so sucked into his work, solidifying his previous belief of doing work on his own. The portal is just one move away from opening, Bill has shut up, and no one is in his way.

Until Stanley. He visits, and sees the man Ford has turned into, and all hope he ever had is gone. He decides to needs to do something about this, stop whatever his twin is up to.

He leads him to the bunker to talk. But when his fears are confirmed true, he punches him. Brass knuckles reluctantly worn. The altercation results in cracked glasses and shards of glass cutting an eye, Ford goes blind in his left eye.

With the man injured, Stanley leaves the bunker and closes it, locking his brother in. No amount of begging or yelling will get Stan to open the door.

During the time he was alone, Ford had a creature in the bunker to study. It was thought to be too dangerous, but that same claim doesn't hold up anymore.

He still has the contract with Bill. So the two are trapped with Ford. The only ones to talk to for 7-8 years. He pushes his anger onto Bill, and talks to the Shapeshifter in spare time. The only beings to talk to for so long does things to your brain. Not good.

So when eventually two young kids open the bunker, he has some plans to set in motion, particularly considering a certain triangle.

So!!! That's the overall idea, ofc to elaborate on more when I talk about the mystery twins and Stan since that could tie more things in. And also weirdmageddon (normageddon? Fordmageddon?) would have to be it's own thing.

But uhhh, art!!

This was a little idea of what Ford would look like post bunker, or after getting out. (Ignore the lack of sideburns this is all I have rn)

Bill changes his name shortly before the mystery twins summon him, cause like. Oof. Separate himself from the guy that outcrazied him!!

Probably a future post about Bill would be better, cause like the physical, emotional, and mental torture he went through is kinda glossed through in this. It's mostly Ford heavy and on his side of things.

But!!! I had fun establishing all this, again my friend is to thank for a lot of this stuff. I recommend following or sending an ask to get his side of this!!

Also apologies for the wall of text, this man is a loaded gun.

Oh also he couldn't have gotten out of the bunker since it remained semi unfinished, since Ford focused more on the portal. So he's trapped until into the bunker 🤷‍♀️

Thank to again for the ask, this was probably a doozy to get through lmao 🫶

[arrow-gt-ace]

What are some of time traveler Jack’s favorite things he’s learned about modern times? Could be facts or objects or customs

he's constantly fascinated by modern day technology... you're telling him that the tiny people have wireless communication in common use, they've engineered multiple new methods of flight travel, have an intangible endless database at their fingertips, and have gone to space? he's not sure how it all works... but it's fascinating !! truly it's like something out of the novels Jack reads. another thing is how different the people dress. in Jack's time period, everyone wears a hat, many men wear suits, and ladies wear skirts.. but in modern times it seems the small folk dont care as much about those customs. in fact, it seems like the small folk are less concerned when it comes to social expectations in general, more carefree.. some people back in Jack's time period could afford to take a page or two out of their book. also... the food. you'd have to get him a ridiculous (for a human) amount of it for him to be able to actually enjoy it fully, but give him doritos or cosmic brownies and he'd lose his mind. the variety of sweets and snacks that the modern day has is something Jack loves.

it's also not uncommon to see him at restaurants (the ones that are accessible to a giant, anyway. mostly the outdoor dining ones and food trucks/stalls and such) to sample the food either... and for him it really is sample-size, since he couldn't impose on some poor restaurant staff for more than that asdfghjk

Jack probably keeps a diary (a repurposed notepad that he usually carries with him for work) to record all these new experiences. some examples of entries are things like "Tried 'pizza' for the first time (it was good)" and "People dressed in all black and heavy makeup, call themselves 'goths'?" and they're all written with great excitement and curiosity.

[halimede-tours]

My favorite place on the internet might be the eBay motors “oddball” page. Sometimes when I’m sad, I go there and then I feel better. Don’t believe me? Here’s an example:

This decidedly dorito-like car is a 1974 Sebring-Vanguard Citicar Electric. Its windows are made of fabric. It currently has no batteries because the ones what were in it when it arrived at the dealership were form the 1980s. It is the Perfect Automobile. And rest assured, it’s perfectly safe.

Who needs doors anyway?

I don’t know what miscarriage of engineering brought this thing into the world, but I’m glad it happened. Here’s the link. I hope one of you buys it.

[941injapan]

June 14th-- Fushimi Inari Shrine

Counting down the days in the program, its been a ride so far. Tokyo felt like yesterday, yet so far away. I'm getting used to being here in Japan, so much that I find it hard to accept that I have 1 more year of hard work in Gainesville. No doubt I'll need to return to Japan, especially with an international driver's license. Today's activity was the Fushimi Inari shrine and the surrounding mountains. This shrine is the one you see all over Instagram and travel blogs when you mention Japan. A long winding stone path covered with torii gate after torii gate. While I did find it quite interesting to see the sheer amount of these structures, I couldn't help but get that feeling of tourism again like I was at Disney. Many people are from many walks of life, and instead of exploring, it's like walking in a line with random people before and in front of you. When I initially was coming to Japan, I felt so special. Nobody in my family line has ever been here, and if they were, it was for war, not studying, vacation, or anything in between. Nevertheless, my parents and grandparents don't have passports, and my brother has one but has yet to go overseas. I felt like the chosen one. My family, peers, and friends all thought as if I'd taken this big leap to venture into the unknown and undiscovered. I arrive and it's like I'm one of many many foreigners who just need to see a shrine I saw online like a drone. Maybe I'm overthinking it, but I get my money here in Japan by going and visiting restaurants, talking to people, and buying rare merchandise to set myself apart and have a unique abroad experience. Anyway, I went up a good chunk of the mountain and decided to follow the water back down and was rewarded well. I was met with a calm and relaxing stream trail and lush forest. Near the bottom, there was bamboo and a sports car! I saw a Mazda rx8 tucked away in the forest next to some motorcycles and a shed. It was in great condition, someone must have driven it up there to work that same day. Despite having awesome styling, 50/50 weight distribution, and superior handling, what makes the rx8 so special is that it's the last of the rotary engine production cars made by Mazda. The Renesis engine is very unique, as it uses rotors instead of pistons like normal gas cars. These Dorito-shaped rotors spin around the crankcase, creating the necessary compression of the different gaps between the triangle and wall. These engines could easily rev to over 9000 rpm, compared to most regular cars revving to about 6500 rpm, more or less. This allows the rotary engine to access much more power in each gear, so this particular rx8 I saw today paired with a 6-speed manual transmission could prove to be a menace on the mountain roads. Car babbling aside, I walked through a neighborhood, saw kids leaving high school, and made my way to the hotel to take a nice nap. Osaka had me beat, so hopefully we can get out there tomorrow and make the most of the trip.

In the readings, the Inari is both a Buddhist and Shinto figure. A god that comes in many forms, yet foxes are seen often at inari shrines. Foxes are Inari's messengers, and they love jewels and rice. It is said that Inari prayed for a good harvest. As agriculture phased out of the main occupational activity in the modern era, Inari has now taken shape as an aid in business success rather than crop yield. My favorite part of the reading was when one of the priests said that their congregation may actually be one of the lost 12 tribes of Judah. I found this very intriguing, and have heard similar theories for other world religions. Makes me wonder if at the end of the day, we may all be talking about the same God.

I hate to say this, but today I forgot to charge my gopro, so I have no pictures for you, but I promise tomorrow will be different. Please forgive me.

[cybernomads]

anyway i managed to slim down his body a bit! yay me. his chest being wider than the grand canyon was killing me. at least now he can pose with his arms up without turning into a dorito.

(excuse the lighting on this sometimes when i hit render in pm it breaks my lighting setup)

i was just dicking around because i didn't want to seriously slip into another modding hyperfixation considering my last project is already taking up a lot of time and i barely have any left to spare, but cp2077 is ridiculously easy to mod in comparison to anything on todd's nefarious creation engine and i can't stop poking around in the game's files and following tutorials to get a bit of a flow and familiarity going. anyway 🤡

meddling around with the base masc body is doing me way more favors than trying to get the flat chest stuff working does. kudos to everyone involved in those mods but the dysphoria i get while working with its files is through the ROOF and i can't get to changing the next part before it overwhelms me. (although his height would probably be more accurate if he was on the other base body)

next weekend i think i'll poke around his textures a bit and also fire up blender to get his chest fixed. a while ago i started painting him in preparation for veilguard (which i unfortunately didn't end up liking as much as i hoped i would), but i'll use it as a reference for what i'm trying to achieve.

(here he is in elder scrolls btw, CAN I HEAR A HELL YEAH FOR THE BOSMER (unfortunately i couldn't paint him the way i wanted back then so he's a bit healthier looking than i'd like him to))

also yeah he's all over the place, he started out in fallout and vtm and then followed me along any other game or ttrpg i picked up.

i swear my experience with figuring out how to mod cp2077 so far is trying something new for half a day, succeeding, and then going "i can't believe that fucking worked on the first try and what do you mean it's not buggy as all shit straight away???"

whereas modding todd's games needs at least two goat sacrifices for it to remotely work out the way i want it to and then i'll spend half a week bug hunting and i better don't miss one coz it's gonna break something else in the future and there's no easy way of patching it when it does

[wumblr]

the dorito chip fandom is insane. you'll be watching a 40min video about the new limited edition natural corn flavor and then two thirds of the way through it will become clear when the youtube dorito collector googles it that they have never in their life known when corn season is. and it's like man i get it it took decades and billions of dollars of venture capital funding to engineer a corn waste product that delicious but like... plowless behavior. you really never met the thing in the cornfield? i LITERALLY can't relate. anyway i made this all up to trick you, the post is actually a metaphor about bourgeoise affectations. such as, for instance, television

[mommavanillabear]

Sniper and Scout grocery shopping

Sniper: *in the chip aisle* Hey, roo, you want me to get you Doritos?

Scout: *next aisle getting soda* I'M A SLUT FOR DORITOS!

Back at base:

Sniper: Anyways we gotta find a new grocery store, we got banned.

Engineer: why are you dating him?

Sniper: he makes me laugh.

[plokoonsdisapprovingeyebrows]

Part 2 of the frametypes headcanon ramble.

Under a cut this time bc it’s l o n g.

↠ PART ONE : read first otherwise this prob wont make sense lol 

Notes on Groundframes

↠   Light standards are like your basic sedan, they're fuckin everywhere and most people can't tell the subtypes apart. They make up just under 20% of the population on their own, and tend to be thought of as the ‘average Cybertronian’, for better or worse. There are nine subtypes based on location of origin:

Iaconic — tallish, slim, kinda plain otherwise. Very common.

Meridian — tend to be dorito-shaped, with big spoilers or vents. The most common of the subtypes, theyre fuckin everywhere.

Tagani — smaller than the others, compact and flexible design specs, have a reputation for being the 'sportsmecha' of the frametype due to being made for getting around in big honkin mountains. Fairly rare outside of the Tagan rus.

Kaoni — big and stronk for an average sedan, curvy design aesthetic. Common in the southern hemisphere, less so in the north bc having ‘Kaon’ attached to ur name is an instant popularity nerf.

Tarnais — big and often kinda boxy, probably turns into a small ute. Also common in the south and less so in the north.

Praxian — average in every way except for the doorwings. Not actually that common anymore. The 'doorwing' aesthetic originally comes from Praxus but at this point it's present in most of the northern subtypes because Fashion. 

Polyhexi — the northern equivalent of the Kaoni type, generally kinda short and stocky. Super common.

Tyresti — tends to be tall and slim. Design aesthetic leans toward big audial fins, spoilers, generally more flourishes than strictly necessary. Not super common outside of Tyrest.

Tyger Paxi — smallish, often Round. Most notable trait is three-fingered hands, also tend to be enframed with a colorful paintjob. Not common outside of Tyger Pax.

Despite the subtype names being based on locale of origin, they can generally be found all over the planet. There are more of the Polyhexi light standard subtype in Helex than in Polyhex, for example.

Average heights tend to range between 16′ to 20′ or so. Modding for occupation, hobbies, or just plain fashion is very very common and there are a load of different frame blueprints anyway, which makes identifying who’s got what frametype even more difficult. (Functionists hate this.)

↠   Heavy standards are also super common and can be hard to tell apart, though less so because there’s only six subtypes. The Towers subtype is particularly difficult to identify unless you have experience; they can potentially be shorter and weigh less than those aforementioned really large light standards. Heavy standards tend to be more heavyset than light standards, but aside from being slightly larger the main difference between the frametypes is in armor and engine grade  — heavies have heavier armor and more powerful engines; they're made to carry a bigger load.

Hesperidus class — more or less the 'ancestral' type. They tend to be leggier and a bit slimmer than other heavies. Spot a hesperidus mech by the deep chests and the big feet.

Equatorial, Boreal, and Austral types were the result of semi-deliberate selection for large long-distance haulers, in the ages before throttles and dexters. They tend to be boxy, heavyset, probably have a van alt.

Towers class —  was developed much later than the rest, to fit the Second Generation nobility's aesthetic ideals because what's the point of having a capable servant if they don't look good? (Second Generation noble culture, incidentally, is where the seeds of Functionism came from.)

They also tend to be found in lower-ranked castes than the light standards (with two exceptions being the priestly castes and medics, the former because size is a useful visual shorthand for authority and the latter because working on bigger patients is easier if u are also Big). You'll occasionally see them with offroad tyres and utility altmodes, whereas that's very much Frowned Upon for light standards under a Functionist viewpoint.

↠   Throttles came from the same semideliberate selection process as the bigger heavy standard classes. Cybertronian society in the rebuilding years of the First Generation was mostly made up of small frametypes (because the small frametypes were those who found it easiest to hide underground from the Cataclysm!), and so once they emerged from the cavernous underworld, they found they had a great need for larger, stronger mecha capable of going long distances without the need for refueling. (This is also the same process that gave rise to the durus and efficiens system configurations.) Throttles were the largest and heaviest of these mecha, and for a long time they were actively prized - up until supply outstripped demand and they became associated so strongly with the labor castes that as the social value of the labor castes decreased, so did the status of the throttles.

There are two subtypes:

Southern — developed in the First Generation settlement of the Austral rus. They’re Extremely Common in the labor castes due to their size, strength, and physical endurance. Their armor pattern is usually kinda blocky and/or pointy because that was the height of Fashion for ages and ages. Probably turns into a small truck or some other specialised work vehicle.

Northern — developed about the same time in the settlement of the Tagan rus. Much less common as a result, because the Tagan Heights turned out to be a huge pain in the ass to colonise. They’re often Extremely Round and very well-reinforced, could probably fall off a mountain and their reaction would be like “oops my bad.” 

↠   Minibots are the one frametype to have thrived in the Cataclysm. Cybertron's underworld is full of cramped and narrow spaces, so smaller mecha were able to take shelter much deeper and in many more places than larger mecha. The original minibots tended to look like a standard, simply scaled down. Modern frametype subdivisions occurred once Cybertronian society moved out of the underworld into the wide open plains and proto-cities of the First Generation, and suddenly being small in a world of increasingly large mecha was a scarier prospect. 

Compact minibots — selected for resilience and the ability to take a pounding and bounce back as quickly as possible. They’re flexible, with simple internal system design and often end up looking a lot like one another, aside from paintjobs and other personal decorations.

Articulates — selected for agility and the ability to get into spaces other mecha can’t. Often built with non-standard proportions, long limbs and occasionally extra limbs and tails. 

Sylph minibots — selected for speed and the ability to avoid getting hit in the first place. Common as a frametype, especially where space or other resources are at a premium.

It's culturally quite common and accepted for the articulate and sylph types to physically climb all over their larger brethren (provided they have the appropriate relative ranks/social status). This serves the dual purpose of putting the minibot on more or less the same level as their interlocutor, and making sure the minibot is out of the way of getting stepped on or whatever.

↠   Dexters were one result of a deliberate bioengineering project during the Quintesson Wars, at a time when Cybertron was losing the fight and thus was getting desperate enough to throw whatever the heck they could come up with at the invaders. Researchers took code inheritances from heavy standards, throttles, and heavy warbuilds to create a new type of mech, one with the inherent combat capabilities of the warbuilds and the size, strength, and most importantly the endurance and resilience of the large groundframes, which could serve as an all-rounder both in combat and in supply chains and behind-the-lines defense. Unlike some previous attempts at bioengineering, this was a roaring success.

Dexters are also quite common among Towersmecha despite their size and the perception of them as being suited best to labor, hauling and fighting. The Towersmecha are deliberately invoking an older perception of dexters: this is the shit that won us the Quintesson Wars, so put up or shut up.

Aegis dexters — often interestingly lanky in appearance - think TFP Optimus and pre-war Soundwave - and heavily-armored enough that the warbuild inheritance is visible. They are the most common subtype; you'll find them most often in the military and ground freight castes.

Eurus dexters — some of the biggest groundframes, often outstripping the largest heavy warbuilds and coming second only to their dexter cousins, the rayets. They are much more heavyset than the aegis subtype, though again visibly well-armored. They tend to have something of an hourglass shape, and altmodes are basically limited to large haulers, tanks, and guncars.

Rayet dexters — the largest groundbound transforming mecha bar none. They are often tall and leggy, though not to the same extent as aegis dexters, and the vast majority take on rail altmodes and work in rail-based castes. The largest can have difficulty finding accommodation and furniture that's rated for their size. Some absolute madman once had the idea of creating a combiner entirely out of rayet dexters and these guys are now basically the biggest celebrities on Velocitron. (Literally.) 

Notes on Flightframes

↠   Light jets are most of what came through the Cataclysm unharmed; jets have always tended larger than groundbound frames because of their engines (both physical size and the size of the tanks needed to hold enough fuel to keep them going) and also their wings. The frametype subdivisions among light jets are divided by engine grade and how far a jet can fly without needing to be refueled, and therefore size.

Flightframes in general can be easily modded for aquatic altmodes, but it is most common among light jets. This is a fairly comprehensive mod, involving most bodily systems, but it's not considered a reformat because it's not really changing any of the frame's basic architecture (although wing area is usually significantly reduced). By contrast, modding a warframe or a groundframe for a fully-aquatic altmode requires a full reformat.

Super-light jets — the jet equivalent of minibots, fairly common and especially well-suited to city life. Often small and agile enough to fly indoors, and like groundbound minibots are prone to climbing their larger brethren. Flightframes tend to dislike this more than groundframes do, so this subtype has a reputation for being particularly scatterbrained and tactile.

Aurora-class — a little larger, match well to the light and heavy standards in size class. Usually leggy with wide shoulders and dorito torsos, engines often slung on the back between flexible wing-joints. Accounts for probably like 25% of all flightframes because they strike a handy balance of ‘can fly’ with ‘relatively cheap to build’ and ‘won’t drink you out of house and home.’

Comet-class — larger again, roughly dexter-sized. Cuts a striking figure with long wings and legs, but aren’t particularly economic either in enframing costs or fuel intake. Mostly they turn up in rich clades, which then gives them a secondary reputation for being Pretty.

↠   Heavy jets diverged from light jets twice - once during the Dynasty of Primes, and once again after the Cataclysm. The largest Dynastic flightframes were simply too large to take shelter underground as the meteorites began to hit. As such, while light jets are one of the five most common frametypes, heavy jets are much rarer, and tend to be limited in the jobs they do and the castes they occupy. Socially, they’re also limited by their sheer size - a common refrain among the larger flightframes.

Like light jets, the subtypes are divided by engine grade and range, and overall size:

Notos-class — the smallest, but only relative to the other classes. Usually identifiable by not having delta-wings, and a relatively slim v-shaped frame. 

Lipara-class — delta-winged and often built like a flying brick. You can tell they were built for cargo, although these days they’re somewhat outdated. 

Erebus-class — delta-winged, extreme long-distance fliers built for speed and coverage. Often mistaken for smaller shuttles, but generally not capable of spaceflight.

↠   Shuttles diverged from heavy jets relatively late; during the Quintesson Wars, as a product of the increased need for rapid long-distance transport. The smallest shuttles usually look very similar in root-mode to the Erebus-class heavy jets (and even their frame blueprints and code inheritance is extremely similar at a glance), but where heavy jets are limited to atmospheric flight, the shuttles are capable of spaceflight. Consequently the heavy jet >> shuttle reformat is one of the easiest to do.

Delta-class — the vanguard of Cybertron’s moon colonies, designed for local space exploration. Tend to have the classic flightframe dorito shape with large delta wings.

Iota-class — capable of longer-range spaceflight, generally built to be extremely self-sufficient. Usually not an atmospheric flier; wings are small if present at all and tend to get tacked onto unusual places in root mode.

Omega-class — these guys are the biggest transforming Cybertronians, period. Extremely rare, extremely valuable; all those in existence were created by cold-construction in several waves during the Imperial expansion period, explicitly to augment imperial Cybertron's colonial forces. Can be very expensive to maintain, don’t tend to be economically independent in their own right.*

↠   Satellites diverged from heavy jets during the Second Generation, in an experiment which took the lonely high-altitude communications relay hubs and stationed them on the edge of space, orbiting Cybertron like the moons. These first satellites were heavy jets which underwent a fairly simple reformat to make them spaceworthy and give them powerful inbuilt communications hardware. In the early years, these mecha underwent many more mods to make them more efficient at their jobs, and new satellites were designed according to a particular psychological profile - many of those early recruits were simply too social to tolerate extended periods of solitude. Quickly, a new frametype emerged.

Perseid & Lyrid — very similar subtypes originating from Praxus and Tarn respectively. These are common in public, private, and military enterprises alike, and are capable of limited atmospheric flight. They tend to be lanky and full of interesting cables.

Eridanid — rarer, larger, and less maneuverable in atmospheric flight. Most satellites are faceless because why bother? but eridanids take this to an extreme and sometimes lack normal arms or heads entirely. 

Tryptid — the largest, are not capable of atmospheric flight at all beyond what is necessary to reach orbital altitude. Like eridanids, they can be identified by fuckin weird body plans.

Satellites and shuttles both contain base coding that prepares them for long periods of solitude. Satellites especially spend most of their time hooked into various planetary networks and often have lively online presences, but depending on their jobs they may go entire vorn without being in the physical presence of another mech. They have a reputation for being very self-sufficient as a result, and often experience culture shock upon returning to their planetary bases.

↠   Rotaries were created in the same no-holds-barred frenzy of military experimentation that created dexters. These are the odd ducks of the flightframe family, inherently flight-capable but sharing more of their code blueprint with groundframes than with flightframes. Cybertronian rotaries are augmented with adjustable jet engines, increasing their load capabilities and range to an extent. Their specialty is in slow flight and hovering; they were designed essentially as aerial assault platforms. They are heavily-armored, usually have two or three different engine systems, often bristling with gun placements, and most of them are rather large. 

Zephyr-class — smallish, usually angular and winged. Historically less common than their larger counterparts because of their smaller size, but also an unfortunate tendency to be aggressive little fraggers.

Bolide-class — bigger, more common, best defenses of any of the flightframes, primarily because they’re easy targets. Tend to be built like bricks, with about that much subtlety too.

Notes on Warframes

↠   Light warbuilds and heavy warbuilds are primarily distinguished from each other by armor grade and intended combat role, with heavy warbuilds taking on direct combat roles and light warbuilds primarily intended for ancillary roles (though they are perfectly capable of combat if required and do share the combat optimization of the warframe class as a whole). Light warbuilds have a lighter armor grade, and do not get quite as large as heavy warbuilds, but otherwise they can be very hard to tell apart.

Skirmisher class — optimized for ranged combat and awkward terrain. Light and agile with a lot of gun emplacements and highly developed sensory processing with built-in targeting software. Often mistaken for ur average sedan.

Scout class —  optimized for information gathering and being very sneaky. Look like minibots, usually.

Ranger class — combine the two previous types with a focus on long-term missions and endurance. Also tend to look like nothing in particular.

Executive class — are the rarest subtype, with a focus on large-scale data analysis, communications and command. Lots of variation in body type and armor pattern; the internal stuff is what’s characteristic of the subtype.

Heavy warbuilds are divided into three subclasses based on size, armor grade, and intended combat role:

Chevalier class — optimized mainly for speed in close quarters combat. They range across four size classes and account for the largest percentage of the warbuild population. Could be mistaken for an average sedan, but the armor grade tends to be a giveaway.

Reinforcement class — optimized for holding a defensive line; they have the heaviest armor and generally the biggest weapons. Brick-shaped, sometimes wider than they are tall.

Frontliner class — optimized for breaking the other side's defensive line; they have the second biggest weapons and are generally the biggest scariest mecha on the field. Tend to be what others think of when they hear the word 'warframe', despite being relatively uncommon.

↠   Flighted Warbuilds are often called Seekers, a reference to their tendency for target fixation. The nickname caught on in common parlance for being less of a mouthful than the original term. Seekers originated from the same source as dexters and rotaries; their initial code blueprint was a blend of flightframe physical capabilities with warframe armor, weapons systems, and skeletal architecture. Despite having inherent flight capabilities, Seekers are counted among the warframes because they possess all the extra bits that make warframes what they are. They are by far and away the most successful of the warborn frametypes, with a population nine times larger as the dexters and nearly thirty times larger than the rotaries.

Seekers are divided into three subtypes by size, intended combat role, and range. 

Skirmisher class — the smallest, agile in the air and best against aerial opponents, but also have the smallest range. Tend to be slim and leggy in root mode.

Bomber class — the largest, with the longest range, the highest top speed and the biggest guns, but also the least maneuverable. Tend to be solid and heavy-limbed in root mode.

Multirole class — strike an elegant balance between skirmisher and bomber, and are generally considered the archetypal Seeker. Classic long-legged dorito shape in root mode.

↠   Triplechangers also originate from the wartime developmental period, but remain exponentially rarer than the other three warborn frametypes, primarily because of the truly ludicrous cost associated with building a triplechanger frame. If you see a triplechanger, chances are they’re either high-ranking military or out of the Towers.

They are divided into two subtypes by size and potential altmode groups: 

Ouranos class — generally take one large grounded altmode such as a freight hauler and one small jet or aquatic altmode. Roughly brick-shaped.

Atlas class — generally take one very large grounded altmode such as a locomotive or a tank, and one large jet or aquatic altmode. Roughly house-shaped.

Notes on Monophase Frames

↠   The defining characteristic of monophase frames is that they do not transform. They are a product of the Golden Age colonial push, built to sacrifice transformation ability for defensive size and self-sufficiency. The latter means that they are their own transport, accommodation, and energy-production facility. They do require an intermediary to act for them in the physical world of Cybertron, due to being too large to participate in most real-world social environments, but otherwise are entirely independent. This intermediary is called a keynote, drawing from the much older practice of symbiosis between Cybertronians and minicons, wherein the Cybertronian 'host' is referred to as a keynote. (Similarly, the heart of a gestalt network is also referred to as a keynote.)

↠   Sparked ships came first; the logical conclusion of the Omega class shuttle program. The enormous spark of a sparked ship, created by energy drawn from the Well of All Sparks over a full day, allows such ships to support bodies and systems exponentially larger than an Omega class shuttle - large enough that transformation became impossible, and even larger; enough that the loss of transformation capability was worth it. Sparked ships could carry propulsion systems capable of reaching far-flung corners of the galaxy; necessary in the years before the space bridge network, and could monitor and control their own life-support systems, making decisions in extremis and allowing mecha on board to be placed in suspended animation for the length of the journey to ensure that the ship reached its destination with plenty of resources with which to build a colony.

↠   Sparked cities followed soon after, as an extension of the same program. The first sparked city, named Boreas, was placed on Cybertron, becoming a satellite city of Protihex. 

The advantage of sparked cities over traditional cities was that they could be built with extremely limited mobility. Place a sparked city by a rich mineral vein as a convenient residence for all your workers and smelters/refineries, and once the vein runs dry in the future, the city can, over several months, recycle or cast off much of its mass, allowing for efficient transport to the new location and in the process reducing itself to its most fundamental skeleton, at which point it it can simply pick itself up and walk to the next location.

Notes on Unclassified Frames

This is where the mad science happens. :D

↠   Unclassified frames are built from scratch. They might start off from the skeleton of a recognised frametype (most do because it's slightly cheaper) but then be modified past the point of recognition for some reason - usually, to fulfil a task that requires unusual specs. It takes a lot to make such a frame 'unclassified' - you have to change multiple systems in a pervasive manner. One example are the handful of 'living gun emplacements' that were created during Nova Prime's colonial wars, mecha whose entire frames were built around an enormous plasma gun. These mecha did not live long or comfortable lives; the stresses of firing that gun ultimately proved too much and the design was shelved indefinitely.

Red Alert is the only unclassified frame I've thought much about; he has most of the outward features of a standard Cybertronian (he looks like a particularly tall heavy standard) but his 'alt mode' is basically him wiring himself into a very special supercomputer, one of three that monitor the Grid at all times. He's stuffed full of interesting nanocircuits that don't look like anything much until he's in that alt mode form, at which they reveal themselves to be thousands of very small processors geared toward a single purpose - data monitoring. (If you're doing stuff on the Grid, you've got a one in three chance of Red Alert being your own personal FBI agent meme.)

Notes on Other Shit

↠   Economic independence (or lack thereof) is an unfortunate Golden Age construction related to the buying and selling of debts, and the economic exploitation of those subject to said debts. Larger shuttles and satellites, triplechangers, and especially monophase mecha tend to end up in contracts where their entire lives are controlled by whoever’s paying for their basic upkeep. The individual mech cannot be bought and sold - but their creation debt and upkeep costs can be.

As u can imagine, this went down the plughole with Optimus Prime’s accession to the Primacy; he narrowly escaped a similar fate mainly bc the Hall of Records head honchos had slightly too many Morals. Unfortunately, by then the Great War was well underway.

[epicstuckyficrecs]

2020 Half-year fic rec for Steve Rogers’ birthday!

I made a poll on Twitter to know if people would be interested in me doing a half-year “best of” fic rec like I did last year , and the response was overwhelmingly positive, so here it is! 😊 These are my favorite fics of the year so far! (in no particular order)

Complete

Two Colors, White and Gold by Carelica (Canon-Divergent | 36K | Explicit): He’s here, he’s alive. His hand is on a tree.

Deep Sea Diving by AidaRonan/ @bisexualstarbucky​ (Shrunkyclunks | 5,4K | Explicit): Steve’s wallowing in heat-related misery under a shade tree in Central Park when a man walks by in bright red booty shorts and a crop top. RIP Steve Rogers. It was nice knowing you.

Some things you do for money by pushdragon (BDSM AU | 72K | Explicit): Steve’s wholesome take on domination has suddenly become the hottest thing in the business. He should be cashing in on his newfound celebrity, but instead he’s distracted by the guy who works odd shifts in the club’s bar, fresh out of prison and damaged in ways that don’t show.

the hand you want to hold is a weapon (and you’re nothing but skin) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid​ (Post-WS, Sex Pollen | 13K | Explicit): Steve gets sex-pollened. He handles it just fine, and then Bucky shows up.

Dear Mr. Postman by odetteandodile (Modern AU | 52K | Teen): “I’m um—your mailman,” Bucky says, lamely. Or—Steve and Bucky revive an old friendship, get married (but totally just as friends, for reasons), and navigate a few of the many trials of the heart that come with falling in love with your best friend. 

good on my own (needed me) by mcwho (Modern AU | 12K | Explicit): There are some mistakes that could be made by anybody. Anybody. Bucky taught high school pretty much his whole life, and that was fine, those were kids, and he knew all of them anyway, which meant there was very little chance of him accidentally fucking any of his students during an impulsive post-marital-breakdown Grindr hook-up. Which is exactly what he had done with Steve.or: bucky has not let steve rogers fuck him since his sophomore year (Part 1 of himbo-verse)

Latte Art and Slow Dancing in the Dark by deadonarrival (Modern AU with powers, Daddy kink | 89K | Explicit): Bucky is a somewhat well-adjusted former army sniper that got his shoulder blown out. He took his discharge and went home to finish school. His best friends and roommates (Nat & Clint) are CIA agents and tip him off that their local Sbux is hiring. He gets a job there and meets none other than the hottest guy on earth. So how does one get a date in the most top secret government location in the US? What happens when that guy is more than just a hot dorito and wants to give Bucky everything he wants? 

That Boy Is a Problem by 2bestfriends  (Modern AU | 10K | Explicit): In which a twinky little goth punk named Bucky puts a leash around Steve’s dick and he’s really into it. (The leash is a metaphor. For now.)

bullet in a gun (but in the end, my time will come) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid​ (Post-Endgame, Canon-divergent | 25K | Explicit): Post-Thanos, Bucky Barnes has happily settled into a life of peace and pining. That’s when alternate versions of the best friend he’s secretly in love with start showing up.

Like it’s the Only Thing I’ll Ever Do by howdoyousleep/ @howdoyousleep3​ (ABO AU | 39K | Explicit): When Steve opens the door, Bucky feels like he’s been living in clouds for the past few days, maybe even his entire life. Steve is life, Steve is happiness, Steve is the sun. He has such a visceral reaction to seeing the Alpha that he feels his knees go weak, feels his body draw tight towards the other man, pulled in. Or big Alpha Steve moves into sweet little Omega Bucky’s apartment building and a roller-coaster build of a romance ensues.

A Company Man by mambo/ @whtaft (Modern AU | 75K | Explicit): No matter what it is, the truth is the same: Steve Rogers is in love with Bucky Barnes, a married man.

How to Fuck With (and Feed) Your Soulmate by BlueSimplicity/ @bluesimplicity73​ (Soulmate AU, Shrunkyclunks | 114K | Explicit): It’s called the Grey Space; a patch of skin marking you as blessed and the first sign you have a soulmate. Steve Rogers didn’t have one when he crashed into the ice. But he did when he woke up in the future. The second sign is the Sense, a sharing of one the senses to help soulmates find each other. Steve’s Sense, taste, is rare, but he loves a challenge and a soulmate is a gift from the Fates. Except instead of a blessing, it’s a curse, since his soulmate is a dick. Bucky Barnes loves food and a homecooked meal is something he cherishes. When his Grey Space starts to itch, Bucky can’t help his excitement, since the Sense he and his soulmate share is taste. But not for long. Whoever he’s bound to has the blandest diet in the world, ignoring all Bucky’s messages. After weeks of putting up with tasteless food, Bucky decides to strike back.

Strangers in the Street by crinklefries/ @spacerenegades (Canon divergent | 15K | Teen): Every five years, Bucky meets the same tall, blond stranger.

Departure by Nejinee/ @nejineeee (Arrival AU | 80K | Mature): Captain America is recruited by the U.S. government to assist a linguist and her team of scientists in communicating with aliens after twelve mysterious space ships appear across the globe overnight.

Compatible - A Romantic Science Fiction Thriller in Four Parts by the1918/ @the1918​ (Shrunkyclunks, ABO AU | 33K | Explicit): When young nanotech engineer Bucky Barnes finds himself falling head first in love with none other than Steve Rogers, he ends up getting a lot more of the Alpha than he– or science– could ever have imagined possible.

WIP

four dreams in a row where you were burned by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (canon divergent, post-Endgame, 1945 alternate timeline | 10/? | 58K | Mature): When Steve uses the last of his Pym Particles to travel to 1944 and save his best friend, he doesn’t have a plan beyond leaving behind the battlefield and living his life alongside the people he loves. But the life that finds him is not the one he expects.

A Matter of Trust by chicklette/ @chicklette​ (Singer Bucky, Fake relationship | 7/13 | 26K | Explicit): At 43, James Barnes is a washed up old man. He’s got a dozen Grammys in the hall closet, an agent that can’t get him a deal, a decade-old case of writer’s block, a moody teen-aged daughter, and the gorgeous actress Natasha Romanova for an ex-wife. Enter Steven Grant Rogers, struggling twenty-something, orphan, and someone who has no idea who Barnes is. The two men meet by accident, doing nothing more than passing the time in a quiet bar. But when a pap gets a shot of the two men embracing, Bucky takes it as a chance to finally come out as bisexual, and his agent makes him a proposition: Ten new songs and one very sweet boyfriend will get him a new record deal that will maybe, just maybe put him back on top. Now all he has to do is write the songs, convince the kid, and not fall in love. Should be easy, right?

Bespoke by the1918/ @the1918​ (Shrunkyclunks, ABO AU | 6/10 | 61K | Explicit): “I love you, too. So fucking much,” Steve answered. His voice sounded cracked and exhausted, an exposed nerve ending in the shape of a man. “Some days I still don’t believe you’re real. Feels— feels like somehow, I’ve always loved you. Even when I didn’t know you.” Bucky smiled softly at that and felt his heart threaten to explode. Still straddling his lap, he reached a hand up to cup Steve’s cheek. “You’ve always known me,” he stated, simply. “I was made for you, remember?” (Part 2 of Compatible)

Series

couldn't get the boy to kill me by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (Shrunkyclunks, SHIELD Agent Bucky | 12 works, complete | 74K | Explicit): Captain America and the Winter Soldier are a terrifying duo on the field, working together with a well-oiled precision that tears through their enemies. Captain Rogers and Agent Barnes are distant coworkers, all polite nods and mission briefings. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are fire and gasoline; it never ends well.

the hero's shoulders by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (Shrunkyclunks, Post-CW, canon divergent | 3 works, not complete | 32K | Explicit): Sequel series to couldn't get the boy to kill me

~

Honorable mention for Where The Interstate Ends by paperstorm/ @paper-storm​ because it was posted last year but I only read it recently!

[madsthewordclown]

Four Walls | Sokka

warning: just lots of fluff because I wanted to

pairing: sokka x reader, modern au

summary: Quarantine is stressful, but Sokka’s a pretty great roommate to be stuck with. 

Y’all, this is my first fic I’ve ever written and I apologize in advance, and thank you for bearing with me. 

          “Traditionally, you’re meant to cook the noodles.” Sokka pretends not to hear you. Or maybe he really can’t hear you over the loud crunching of uncooked penne. There’s an empty jar of sauce on the table across from where he sits, crunching down dry noodles like its chips. You walk over to get a bottle of water from the fridge and notice two of your reusable milkshake straws sitting in the sink. Looking back the jar of sauce, you shudder.

           “Traditionally, the noodles aren’t meant to be whole-grain,” Sokka answers finally, as if the situation he is in is completely normal. The box of pasta now sits empty on the table, and he’s grinning from ear to ear. “How was work?”

         “Fine,” you answer. “Can I ask why you didn’t just boil the noodles? Weren’t they awful?” You know you’re deflecting about work, but it’s not a big deal. The restaurant had only just started to reopen, and you only got one or two shifts a week, but dealing with customers felt more grueling than ever. You knew Sokka missed having something to do, so you couldn’t complain too much.

           “Cooking them is too much work, Y/N,” Sokka replies matter-of-factly, “and they were awful, but I had to finish what I started.”

           Quarantine is not treating either of you well. For you, the strain manifests itself much more quietly; you haven’t been sleeping very well, and you get headaches more frequently than normal. For Sokka, it’s this. You don’t know how much orange juice he’s consumed straight from the carton, but it can’t be good for his teeth. Drinking tomato sauce can’t be too good, either, although he somehow manages to maintain his good looks nonetheless.

           “Katara called while you were gone,” Sokka mentions as you plunk yourself down in the chair across from him.

           “She did?” You frown. You and Sokka didn’t get too many calls from his sister or any of your other friends anymore. When quarantine started, you had frequent group calls and virtual game nights, but over time, they kind of fizzled out. You missed seeing everyone’s faces. While Sokka was a great friend and a great roommate, you couldn’t help but wish you were all under the same roof.

           “Yeah,” Sokka continues, standing up and picking up the empty pasta box and jar. He’s wearing khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt; it may be fit for a Midwestern dad, but at least he put on a full outfit today. Quarantine hasn’t exactly required it. “She’s scheduling a movie night for this Saturday. You’re off work, right? I tried to see if you sent me your schedule, I wanted to make sure you didn’t miss it.”

           “Yeah, I only worked today and then Friday this week,” you say excitedly. “Is everyone joining?”

           “Suki can’t make it,” Sokka shrugged, walking across the kitchen to rinse out the jar, “but Zuko and Toph will be there. And Katara and Aang, obviously.”

           You kick your shoes off under the table and feel the tension in your feet ease slightly as Sokka turns on the faucet. Your shift was busy, considering the circumstances. You yawn. “What movie are we watching?”

           “I don’t know, some indie film she and Aang found,” Sokka says, turning off the water and bending down to put the jar and box in the hot pink recycling tub you keep under the sink. Katara had brought it in one day after learning that Sokka didn’t recycle. You could still hear her telling him off about plastics in the ocean. She had been very pleased when she saw your small collection of reusable grocery bags. Good guys recycle, Sokka. Right, Y/N?

           “What’s with the outfit?” You can’t help but say. You notice that Sokka is wearing tennis shoes without socks along with his vacation ensemble. He grins at you again, blue eyes sparkling as he begins walking toward the door to his room.

           “Setting trends, Y/N/,” he laughs, “get with the program.”

           You wake up at four in the morning, again. You know before you’ve even opened your eyes that you are awake way too early; it’s happened at least three times in the last two weeks. You slowly peek your eyes open and pick up your phone, flinching as the bright light hits your face. 4:08. You sigh.

           You slowly pull yourself out of bed and easily leave your room without needing the lights, but the main room is more difficult. You have no clue what you and Sokka have left out on the floor in the last few days. You put one arm straight out in front of you to detect obstacles, and curse to yourself about leaving your phone on the nightstand.

           You carefully walk by what you think is the couch and swing your arm none too gently to find it. To your surprise, you hit something that definitely isn’t the couch.

           “Ow!” a voice cries out. You let out a scream, and jump back, falling on the carpeted floor with a thump. “Whoa,” Sokka says, and you feel relief flood over you. It’s just Sokka. You try to let your heartbeat slow down. “Are you okay?”

           Sokka must have gotten up and found the light switch. You see him in the corner of the room, his hair pulled up, and wearing his same Hawaiian shirt, but with basketball shorts. An even more atrocious outfit. You laugh to yourself as you continue to get your bearings. Sokka makes his way over to where you sit behind the couch and offers a hand to help you up. You take it.

           “You scared the shit out of me,” you say shakily as he helps you to your feet.

           “I’m sorry,” Sokka says sincerely. “I didn’t think you’d be up. Could you not sleep?”

           You shake your head. Sokka doesn’t press; just nods. “What were you doing in here?” You ask.

           “Same thing, but it’s probably because I drank too much coffee after dinner.”

           “How much coffee is too much?” Sokka just shakes his head slowly.

           “Too much, Y/N.” He looks at the ground for a moment. “Want to watch a show or something?”

           It becomes a routine for the next few days; watching shitty cartoons and soap operas with Sokka whenever you wake up in the night. He’s somehow awake every time, and you try not to dwell on it. You’re not one to talk. It’s nice, sitting with him and watching something that lets you not think for a while. That’s your problem; overthinking about anything and everything. You get to forget about work, where a customer coughing sends you into such a spiral that you have to spend ten minutes in the back room to calm down. You’re looking forward to it when you get home from your Friday shift.

           Sokka is in his room when you arrive, close to 11, even though your shift was meant to end at 10. You pull your shoes off as soon as you’re in the door and drop your purse on the floor, not even bothering to get to the kitchen table or couch before you’re lying on the carpet and staring at the ceiling. You don’t even hear it when Sokka comes out of his room and stands over you.

           “That bad, huh?” He says simply. You try not to notice the sympathy in his eyes, or the way his brow softens when he looks at you. You just nod your head and try to block out the echoing yells of an angry mom that you served earlier, and the mere $25_ _you brought home for tips after hours on your feet, working in a pandemic hellscape.

           Instead of trying to coax you up off the ground, Sokka disappears into the kitchen, the counter obscuring your view. You can hear him open and close a cupboard before he reappears, a bag of Doritos in hand.

           You can’t stop the shocked look on your face as Sokka slowly sits down next to you and then leans back on the floor. The bag of chips crinkles as he opens it and sets it on the floor between you. You wordlessly take out a few chips and start snacking. Even though Sokka has only been your roommate for a few months, you’re still impressed by how perceptive he is. He always seems to know what to do to make you feel better. You feel bad that you can’t do the same for him.

           Sokka talks about his latest project for his online summer class. It’s something to do with engineering, and you try to listen, but he gets to talking so fast and excitedly that you can’t keep up. You don’t understand most of what he’s saying anyway, but you like listening to him talk. Katara says he can’t shut up, and most of the time she’s right, but you like his passion.

           Between the two of you, you manage to finish the whole bag of Doritos. You can tell your air conditioning has shut off again when the blistering July heat begins to creep in, and that’s when you make the executive decision that it’s time to get off the floor. You turn to your side and are surprised to discover that Sokka is looking at you, and he’s not talking. You don’t know when he stopped, but you already miss it.

           “Are you sure you’re okay?” Sokka whispers, so quietly that you almost wonder if he said it at all, but he’s looking at you for an answer, his blue eyes boring into you.

           “Yeah,” you answer equally as quietly, your voice hoarse after lying silent for so long. You bite your lip and let your hand fall between you and Sokka. You ask something you should’ve asked a while ago. “What about you?”

           Sokka glances away for a moment and sighs. “I just miss people, you know?” You nod. He continues. “We haven’t seen Katara in, I don’t know, two months? I know we don’t always get along, but I miss her, and I know that she has to be careful, we all have to be careful, but that doesn’t make it less hard, y’know?

           “And it’s not just our friends, or even my dad or anything. Just people. I miss being around people, and not having any sort of outlet, you know? Just four walls.”

           “And little-old-me,” you add jokingly. Sokka rolls his eyes.

           “Four walls and you,” he amends. You try to ignore the rush you feel when he lets his hand brush against your own.

           “Want to watch a show or something?”

           Saturday night can’t come soon enough, and when you come out of your room after your shower, you’re surprised and excited to see that Sokka has gone all out with the movie night. The movie has to be streamed on the computer, so Sokka has his laptop set up on the coffee table, ready to go. You smell the popcorn he has popping in the microwave.

           “Ready for the best quarantine movie ever?” He greets, then jumps as the popcorn begins to pop almost aggressively in the microwave.

           “Of course,” you reply, hopping yourself over the back of the couch and pulling the throw blanket there over yourself. “I can’t wait to see everybody. It’s been too long.”

           Sokka is careful not to burn the popcorn and even goes as far as to dump it out of the bag and into an actual bowl for the two of you. He comes over and takes a seat next to you; you’ve both opted for sweatpants, as you both tend to do even though it’s the middle of summer. It’s not like you’re leaving the house, although Sokka still complains about the heat sometimes.

           You hop onto the voice call with the others at exactly 8 o’clock. Zuko is already there, of course, as well as Katara and Aang. It only takes Toph a few seconds to join after you.

           “Hi, guys!” Katara exclaims, waving at her camera. She’s already pressed up against Aang’s side on the sofa in their apartment, and he’s leaning his head on her shoulder. Their huge white dog, Appa, can just barely be seen at the bottom of the screen, laying across their laps.

           “Hey, Katara!” You respond excitedly, leaning in closer to the camera. “I miss you guys so much!”

           “Hey, Sokka, how’s your class going?” Zuko asks. Immediately, Sokka begins a tangent about whatever his latest project is. Zuko matches his enthusiasm with talk about his screenwriting class.

           “Nerds,” Toph mutters, crossing her arms. You laugh.

           “You guys ready to start the movie?” Zuko says. Aang gives a thumbs up into the webcam.

           “Flameo, hotman.”

           The movie is, of course, frequently interrupted by you and your friends’ commentary. Sokka has had to shush you multiple times, as you keep leaning over and whispering dumb observations and jokes in his ear. You aren’t one to take any movie too seriously, and this indie film is no exception. But you don’t think Aang would appreciate your comments, since he looks like he’s about to tear up as he leans into Katara before the movie is even halfway through.

           “Sokka, you look pretty cozy,” Katara giggles suddenly. You didn’t realize it, but now that you were paying attention, you could feel Sokka’s side pressed up against you as you both leaned in to better see the laptop screen. You can see now that his arm is draped over the couch behind you.

           “What? What’s happening?” Toph asks, and Zuko starts to laugh a little bit. To your surprise, Sokka doesn’t pull away.

           “I am, thanks,” he says, trying to be nonchalant, but still letting a sheepish smile sneak past his lips.

           “Okay, then,” Katara smiles, refocusing on the movie. Your heart flutters a bit as you remember where you are. With Sokka. Your roommate. Who you don’t need to have feelings for, but you think you might be doing it anyway.

           You feel your eyes getting droopier as the movie goes on, and you don’t really pay attention anymore. Before you know it, you can’t seem to get your eyes open anymore, and the sounds of the movie and your friends’ laughter fades away.

           You wake up to the sound of laughter. The movie is gone, and the screen is entirely taken up by your friends’ faces.

           “Oh, look,” Zuko says, “sleepy head’s finally awake.”

           “Shut up,” you groan. You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until the moment, and you hadn’t realized that you had fallen asleep… on Sokka. Your head rested on his shoulder, and his right arm was around you. One of your hands was resting on his lap. Your friends started laughing again, and you jerked your hand away, but didn’t quite sit up. You still felt too tired for that.

           “Well, we should probably go,” Katara said finally, although Aang was already definitely half asleep on her shoulder. Zuko and Toph muttered something similar, and everyone said their goodbyes. Sokka reached with his left arm to exit the call but left the laptop on.

           You feel Sokka gently grab your hand as your eyes start to drift shut once again, sleep too tempting to refuse. You feel him lean down and whisper in your ear, always careful, “Is this okay?”

           You nod into his shoulder, and you feel him breathe a sigh of relief as he rests his head on yours. It would always be okay. And you didn’t need to talk about it yet, although you’d have to eventually. For tonight, though, while the world raged on, it was just you and him, and the four walls of your apartment. And while the months of quarantine seemed to stretch on forever, you knew you had someone to hold on to.

[ghostbustershq]

Ghostbusters: Afterlife - Trailer 2 Full Breakdown

This is it, this is definitely it!

A meaty and goosebump-evoking trailer just dropped today for Ghostbusters: Afterlife.

Much like the first trailer, the main focus of this is the family - forced to move to Oklahoma after falling on tough times. Janine, Terror Dogs, Mini Pufts, and Ghostbusting in motion as Jason Reitman has referred to it are all here. There’s a whole lot here to unpack, plus a whole lot that I’m sure we still haven’t seen. In fact, I would argue that we now have a pretty complete picture of what’s in store come November and are being shown just enough to tide us over until the fall.

This was a solid trailer. It hit all of the right notes. It invoked goosebumps on several occasions. And oh boy, does it demonstrate that Jason Reitman wasn’t kidding when he told us hardcore nerds that if we loved easter eggs, we were in for a treat.

Let’s break it down, shall we?

A GREAT MOM

The trailer begins with a very quiet and intimate bit of dialogue between Paul Rudd’s Mr. Grooberson and Carrie Coon’s Callie.

The two sit at a table, and while the trailer frames it to appear to be Spinners, a quick glimpse at the wall next to the two in a later shot shows they’re actually in a Chinese restaurant. In fact, I love that Grooberson has what looks to be one of the deluxe Benihana cocktails in a ceramic glass in front of him. Grooberson tells Callie that she’s a great mom, but she’s not so sure. Callie feels like she’s been a great mother to her oldest, Trevor (Finn Wolfhard). But feels like her introverted daughter Phoebe (McKenna Grace) keeps her at a distance. There’s a sense that Callie and Phoebe can’t find much common ground, and for this her mother is struggling.

I really love how the trailer gently brings us into the world, helps set the stage, and gives us several glimpses of some of the incredible cinematography in store from Eric Steelberg.

AN AWKWARD, NERDY KID

Grooberson’s dialogue reassures Callie that what Phoebe is going through is normal. He calls her an “awkward, nerdy kid” to imagery of her at school being teased. Ghostbusters: The Video Game fans concerned about if the story and events from the game will somehow be referenced or acknowledged in some way will probably quickly notice the Doritos product placement. Hours of gameplay has trained them well.

Anyway, not only is Phoebe failing to connect with her mother on a deeper level, but it appears that she’s an outsider at school as well. It makes the friendship we know she’s to have with Podcast (Logan Kim) that much sweeter. And you feel for her right out of the gate here, hoping that she’ll find that friend as soon as possible.

Callie and Grooberson’s conversation comes to a conclusion with Phoebe’s mother just wishing, “she’d get into some trouble.” As her mother laments about her daughter needing to be bold and a little more adventurous, we see a continuation of the scene from the first trailer in which Phoebe solves a puzzle built into the floor of the farmhouse in order to find a hidden ghost trap. Perhaps Ghostbusting is exactly the trouble the young and brainy kid needs?

As we, the audience, see the familiar ghost trap, there’s quite literally a drum roll added to the music scoring of the trailer. Perhaps Ghostbusting is exactly the trouble we need too.

JANINE, YOU HAVEN’T CHANGED

The trailer continues with the Trevor dialogue we heard in the first trailer as he explains to Lucky (Celeste O’Connor) that they’re broke and the only thing they have is a “creepy old farmhouse” left to them by their grandfather. But that is the lead in to our first major surprise of the trailer: a glimpse of Annie Potts’ return as Janine Melnitz!

Janine jokes to Callie that her father wasn’t much of a homemaker. “He could hardly keep the power on,” Janine says with a chuckle. If there was any question of the family lineage, this trailer solidifies that Callie and her family are Spengler through-and-through.

It should be noted at this point that the quiet music that accompanied the beginning of the trailer suddenly has these eerie choral notes added to it. Adding a little bit of that paranormal/otherworldly feeling but keeping the trailer light and playful. I’m not sure if this is Rob Simonsen’s score, but if I had to guess given the way the music builds and shifts, this is an original music bed for the trailer only.

It’s also interesting to see how we’ll be able to revisit the past in the film by use of footage from the original (as seen in the YouTube videos playing on various computers) but also the use of one of my favorite set photography moments framed and displayed in the farmhouse presented as a personal photograph. I know, given how some people reacted to seeing a headshot of Sean Connery used in an Indiana Jones film, these types of touches can take people out of a film. But I think the trailer gives us a great idea of how these moments will be integrated and I love it.

The trailer takes a hard turn with a great back and forth between Callie and Janine. Callie tells Janine that it sounds like her father has left her nothing. Janine playfully retorts, “Well, I wouldn’t say nothing.” This line is masterfully juxtaposed with Trevor opening the barn doors to find the Ectomobile housed under a tarp. The music comes to a crescendo as Trevor lifts the tarp and reveals the Ghostbusters Mooglie logo.

Let’s call this goosebumps moment number one.

THE ONLY ONE WITH AN ENGINE

It’s this part of the trailer where it does something that’s a rarity these days, and that I appreciate so much: the music takes a breath and completely drops off to give us a small vignette of a scene from the film. Phoebe enters the barn to find Trevor working on the Ecto. She ribs him that, of all the broken down cars on the farm, he’s chosen “the station wagon.” Trevor responds that his vehicle of choice was the only one with an engine.

The music and percussion come back in full force to score Trevor on a joy ride through the wheat fields of the farm. He seems to be having a good time.

So am I… this was definitely goosebumps moment number two.

A STORM COMING

Act Two of the trailer starts with a dark and ominous storm coming into Sumerville. There’s trouble in small town Oklahoma. Grooberson reiterates his line about a town with no faultlines shaking on a daily basis to Trevor and Phoebe. Only this time, he receives a response: “Maybe it’s the apocalypse.” Phoebe delivers the line to Grooberson with such amazing deadpan earnestness that you can tell she and grandpa might have a whole lot in common. Including their sense of humor.

The line gives us a good chuckle to break the tension but also sets the stage for what’s to come in the trailer: exactly what Phoebe has predicted.

EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON

As Phoebe tells us that “Egon came here for a reason,” an archival piece of footage and dialogue from the first film plays on her laptop: the commercial playing on Dana Barrett’s television at 55 CPW. As the original Ghostbusters give you their sales pitch, this is where the trailer really kicks into modern trailer overdrive.

Flashes of imagery including the PKE meter, Mini Puft mayhem at Wal-Mart, and more quickly breathe in and out. In fact, if this trailer is our Christmas present in July, this is where we’re unwrapping and unpacking what’s inside the box.

But we also get glimpses of a creepy underground temple with some pretty intense architecture and even creepier statue work. Terror dog/human hybrid statues flanking what looks to be a pharaoh with wings. And gaunt peasants all reaching out to it all. Did Sumerians have pharaohs? Or is this something else? Certainly seems like if there were Gozer worshippers out there, this might be a stone tribute to them.

The kids discover the terrifying temple and Trevor gives us an “oh my god” to punctuate as they see what we see.

NICE DOGGY, CUTE LITTLE POOCH

Right about this part of the trailer is where my brain explodes and I’m not sure where to start. Imagery is rapid fire as the shit hits the fan.

Phoebe looks into a cauldron in the temple (where there’s numbers behind her that we’ll have to analyze further at some point). And the cork pops on the bottle. As she does so, there’s a terrifying growl in the background foreshadowing some familiar imagery we’re about to see.

But before we get to that, two incredible things are seen as well: familiar purple PKE trails that look a whole lot like those that explode from the firehouse and converge at Spook Central. And, as Grooberson’s line about New York City looking like “The Walking Dead” is repurposed to sound like he’s talking about Sumerville, there’s an incredible physical creature design sitting at a lunch counter. A half-decomposed cabbie maybe? Wearing a 1970’s collar and neckerchief. To my eye, I’d be willing to bet that’s the work of Arjen Tuiten and his team of creature designers. And it’d make Steve Johnson proud.

Plus it’s such a funny image of this corpse sitting at a lunch counter, and the waiter is pour him coffee like it ain’t no thing. I love it.

Back to man’s worst friend: the terror dogs make several appearances in the trailer. First as a cool half-manifested entity above Groobersen and again chasing the poor guy out of a Wal-Mart. Is Groobersen haunted by these things like Louis Tully? Or is something else going on here?

IN A SPIRITUAL SENSE, OF COURSE

If there was a moment that I expected Ray Parker Jr.’s iconic theme song to kick into full gear, this would have been it. The icing on the cake of the trailer, after we see the dead rising from the grave and all hell breaking loose, is Trevor, Phoebe and Podcast all in the Ecto chasing after what we now know is Muncher. The editorial of this is insanely cool. And we get to see the Remote Trap Vehicle (RTV) deployed from the Ecto and how it’s used in the pursuit of Muncher. We’ve seen the gunner seat, but the beats that this moment in the trailer hit, well…

Goosebumps moment number three.

VENKMAN, WE’RE NOT HOME

After all the debate among friends if there would be a “Chewie, We’re Home” moment in this trailer - where we’d see one of the original Ghostbusters live and in the flesh, we got the perfect tease. As Grooberson, Phoebe and Podcast watch the conclusion of the original 1984 ad, the trailer closes with a phone ringing inside a very familiar looking Occult Book shop.

Tattooed arms (I’ve tried with everything I can to see what the tattoo says) pick up the phone and the familiar voice of Dr. Ray Stantz (Dan Aykroyd) curtly tells whomever is on the other end of that phone that, “We’re closed.” A perfect little tease if you ask me. Let’s save seeing Peter, Ray and Winston on-screen to the main event.

[pascal-istheway]

Deep Water - Chapter 1

Read it here on ao3!

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Warnings: Some Violence - Implied Non-Con

Relationships: Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Reader, Santiago "Pope" Garcia/Reader

Characters: Francisco “Catfish” Morales, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Triple Frontier Ensemble

Tags: Slow Burn, Smut, Fluff, Angst, We are basically torturing Frankie for this, I’m apologizing in advance

Word Count: 3130

MASTERLIST

Two Years Ago - Columbia

The last call anyone had heard from you was four days ago. You’d been in Columbia on a humanitarian mission with a local group, something about teaching today’s youth or whatever, Santiago hadn’t really listened to much if he’d been really honest. He just wanted to make sure his baby sister was safe and with people that could look out for her.

You had assured him on the call that you were fine, you’d brought the knife you were allowed to carry with you, but had to leave the gun he insisted he buy for you back in the states to which he explained how that defeated the purpose of owning the gun. You just rolled your eyes at him, knowing how overprotective your brother was. Santi was always on you for being safe, regardless if it was in Columbia or back home in your apartment in a somewhat sketchy neighborhood.

But as you bounced in the back of a windowless van, hands bound and eyes covered, no clue where you or your crew were being taken, you suddenly wished very much that you’d had that gun.

Five years ago - You

“Load up! Let’s go!” Santi smacked the side of the truck as he yelled out to the apartment for you, boards and cooler loaded up. “Come on! We’re wasting daylight here and the guys are already out there!” he waited a few more seconds before hollering your name again.

“I’m coming! Jesus, hold your fuckin horses, I was trying to find my hat…” you ran out to the truck, opening the old creaky door to his rusted ford and sliding in next to your brother on the bench seat. You casually toss your hat in the back seat before buckling your seatbelt. The beauty of living in California was all the access the best surfing the states had to offer. Your brother and his best friends from his unit were all meeting up for an early morning at the local spot and you decided to tag along, hoping to see the boys again.

You’d known some of these guys your whole life, thankful that they all got to serve together. Santiago would’ve been ok on his own, but he and Frankie had been close since they were kids. Knowing that they were out there in the shit together gave you the comfort that they were having their backs covered.

Santiago drives into the public parking lot, all of the guys already there except for one, Tom, who you had yet to meet. You hop out, saying your good mornings to most of them while keeping your eyes out for Frankie. You knew he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be here but yet, you didn’t see him amongst the guys.

Not wanting to seem desperate, you just helped unload, carrying things to the spot on the beach for the guys to start getting their gear on and ready. The sun had barely started to come up, making the sky a brilliant color of orange and pink. The most beautiful view in California.

“Oh shit! I forgot my hat in the truck! I’ll be right back,” you run back to the truck, feet struggling in the sand.

When you reach the truck, you fling the door open and bend over, searching for your hat that’s fallen on the floor in the back seat.

“Careful, you don’t want to get stuck like that…” you hear him behind you, teasing you as you snatch your hat and spring back up.

“Frankie! You made it!” you squeal, throwing your arms around him. He pulls you in, arms snaking around your back as he tucks his nose into your hair.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says softly into your ear before pulling away, “last real surf of the year” he smiles, the corners of his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

There’s a sadness in his voice, one anyone else would miss if they didn’t know him. But you do know Frankie. You know him better than almost anyone. You know what his voice sounds like during all the highs and lows, what it sounds like when he cried after his mom died, what it sounds like when he told you he got accepted into pilots training, and what it sounded like when he was drunk and whispered he loved you at 3 am.

“What’s wrong?” you pull back, holding yourself at arm’s length from him.

His mouth opens, the words right at the edge of his lips, but then they close again before he shakes his head, “nothing… let’s just enjoy this. Ok?”

So you do… you surf and swim and enjoy the morning with the guys. The warmth of the sun caresses your skin, soaking into your bones to warm you from the ocean. There’s a moment when you’re out on the water, the waves reflecting like glass and you let yourself enjoy the way it casts its light off Frankie’s long hair, bringing out the specks of gold and grey in his messy sea-soaked hair.

You love this - being out here with all of them. Your brother is the only real family either of you have. Your parents died when you were younger and when you were old enough to take care of yourself, Santiago enlisted and gained a new family. Brothers in arms.

You try not to think about the worry in his voice from that morning, doubt creeping in as the day went on. This was a rare occasion that all the guys could get together like this and usually when they did, it was before a big mission out of the country. Your heart sinks, realizing what this could possibly mean. Santi wouldn’t have told you, knowing that he wouldn’t have wanted to ruin the day. But Frankie? He told you everything. What held him back from telling you something as important as this?

“Here, you look like you could use this,” Frankie dumps himself down beside you in the sand, handing you a cold beer. You glance up at him, grateful for the drink, and bring the cold bottle to your lips, taking a long pull before swallowing.

“Thanks, it’s perfect,” you smile, leaning back on one hand and bracing the bottle on your thigh.

“Did you have fun today?” Frankie asked, taking a drink from his own bottle.

“Yeah, it really was the perfect day. Perfect weather too. Got some great waves out there,” you looked out to the water crashing up on the shore and watched as the sun splattered a watercolor of incredible colors throughout the sky.

“I think Santi is setting up the bonfire if you’re planning on stickin’ around,” he nudged your shoulder with his own.

“Yeah of course… he was my ride anyways,” you take another sip, enjoying the familiar feeling the hops gave you on an empty stomach. Knowing where that leads though, you look at Frankie and tell him “we should probably get some food in us soon.”

“I had a feeling you’d be hungry,” he reached behind him into a small cooler and pulled out two sandwiches. Chicken for himself and peanut butter and jelly with a side of Doritos, just like you liked. “Made ‘em special, just for us,” he joked.

A smile crept over your lips as you grabbed the sandwich baggie, pushing your beer in the sand as you ripped the bags open. He watched in disgust as you opened your sandwich and plop the Doritos on the PB&J, closing it and taking a massive bite.

“Dmon’t knmock mit ummil yoo twy it” you say around your food, knowing damn well he didn’t understand a single thing you said.

“Sure thing sweetheart,” he nodded, brows furrowed with amusement as he took his own bite.

You guys laugh and talk around your food and drinks, the effects of everything making you warm and at peace. Frankie is one of those people that you feel so at home with, not that your brother isn’t one of those, but Santi isn’t someone that you’d call at 2 am to come and get you when you’ve had too much to drink. He would just scold you the whole way home while Frankie - well Frankie would let you rest your head in his lap and would rub your head the entire way home, soft fingers tucking your hair behind your ear as you drift off to sleep from the lull of the engine.

And the only reason you know this is because he’s done it on several occasions for you. In college, shit even in high school. He protected you from Santiago when he found out you had your first boyfriend, although he did give you an interrogation of his own privately afterward. He was there for you through your first heartbreak. He taught you how to shoot your first gun… and your second.

When he turned to you, the haze of the drunkenness between the two of you, and blurted out that they were leaving again, despite being under the impression that they wouldn’t ever have to go again being so close to the end of their contracts, you were of course heartbroken. This was someone that was so much more to you than your brother’s best friend. He had become such a pertinent part of your life. You hadn’t mentally prepared yourself for that news.

You looked back over your shoulder at Santiago, Will, Ben, and Tom, laughing and talking around the fire while you and Frankie sat off to the side. The casualness between them all as they joked between each other, not fearing one last deployment. Your heart squeezed for them. They had each other, bound together by something so strong, something you’d never fully understand.

“Take a walk with me?” his voice pulled you from your thoughts and you see Frankie next to you, hand stretched down to help you up.

“Sure,” you take it, dusting the sand off yourself and grabbing another beer for the walk.

You walk until you can barely see the fire in the distance, the night becoming so dark all you can see is each other at your sides under the blanket of stars.

He whispers your name, taking your hand and pulling you to a stop, “I can’t leave this time without saying anything… I have to…” his words get caught in his throat.

You know what he wants to say, the words he needs to say because you’ve been feeling them for as long as you can remember, “Frankie…” his name comes out as a whisper.

You’re inches from each other, breath mingling together between you as he leans in, his eyes searching for the permission that he didn’t need to ask for. He already owned you, heart and soul, he just didn’t know it yet. This man would always own you, no matter what he did, no matter where he went.

You close the space, your lips gently brushing against his. Softly at first, but as his hands come up to frame your face, the passion that ignites behind him explodes. His mouth parts, yours following his lead as you allow him to explore your mouth. God this man knows how to kiss. It’s incredible, unlike anything you could’ve ever dreamt. Your hands move to his neck, pulling him in closer as his tangle in your hair.

“God, you’re so perfect…” he whispers against your lips. His mouth moves down your jaw, kissing and nipping its way down your throat. Your fingers find their way in his hair, playing with the soft curls at the base of his neck. A moan escapes your lips as his teeth graze your skin softly.

“Wait,” he pulls back, attempting to catch his breath, “I want to do this right. Not on the beach like some cheap date,” he half laughs, looking down at his tented pants and groaning, clearly regretting stopping.

“We don’t have to stop…” you suggest.

“No, I don’t want it to be like this for our first…” he pauses, “I want it to be,” his cheeks almost, blush? “I want it to be right… to be perfect.”

The sincerity in his voice carries to his eyes and you can tell he means it. He wants to love you right, the way you deserve. Not in the dirt or in the sand, but in a soft bed with fresh sheets and plush pillows. He wants to be able to wrap you in blankets after and hold you until the morning sun comes through the curtains and shines down on your freshly fucked skin. He wants to wake up next to you and see your hair splayed against his pillows.

The thought makes you smile, and you nod, knowing this is the start of something absolutely incredible. Something you never thought possible…

Columbia - Frankie

“God I fucking hate the goddamn jungle,” Benny slapped a mosquito on his neck, wiping away the blood on his hand on his shirt, “Fuckin’ gross.”

“Would you shut the fuck up Benny and keep your eye on your spot?” Ironhead said over his com, “this is supposed to be recon, not a fuckin’ vacation.”

Pope rolled his eyes at them, anxious to get eyes on Lorea, but more importantly, anxious to get eyes on you. He had told the guys exactly what they needed them to know, which was almost nothing about why they were actually in Colombia. Specifically leaving out the very important detail that you were the reason why he had gathered up the troops, paid them each $17,000 out of his own personal checking account, and practically begged them to come down under false pretenses of the Agency needing them for a recce mission on Lorea.

He didn’t even need to beg them, they all had packed their bags willingly and flown over the border into Columbia to gather intel on Lorea. Pope had shown them around the area and talked up a big game about how the narcos were causing all these problems and Lorea needed to be dealt with.

Technically, the recon wasn’t a complete lie. He had been down here for over three years, running himself in circles around the cops and narcos on Lorea’s payroll trying to find a bullshit way to get to him. He’d tried everything and at the end of the day, everything isn’t enough when it comes to this guy. He had his hand in every single nook of this god-forsaken country.

He had a girl on the inside, someone who ran money for Lorea and had offered to give up the location in exchange for her brother’s safe return from jail. Admittedly, she may not have given him this information if he had not been sleeping with Pope, but no one could blame her. He’d had it with this fucking country and at this point, there were no more rules to break. Sleeping with an informant was the least of his worries, especially now that he knew that you were somewhere in the house he was staking out.

Tom turned to Pope, “so you sleeping with her?” He took a piece of gum and shoved it in his mouth, offering one to Pope.

Santiago turned to him and scoffed, “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he grabbed the gum and unwrapped it, shoving it in his mouth, “ew man, what the fuck is this shit?”

Tom laughed, “Cola flavored.”

“You owe me a piece of Hubba Bubba dude,” he said, spitting the gum out along with a huge wad of spit. He took his canteen and swished his mouth out as Tom laughed at him.

Back in the day on missions, they had this unspoken rule, someone always has to bring gum. It was like a good luck charm. And Tom, being the leader, always brought the flavor he wanted, never the one that everyone else liked. Fucking asshole. You don’t fuck with tradition…

“I’m at the gate,” Benny’s voice cuts through their ears.

“How’s it looking over there,” Pope responds, holding his binoculars up to take a look from his vantage point.

“Well, looks like things were done about 82% right… They got all the toys out here but these cameras aren’t even aimed at the weakest breach point…” Benny reports.

“Your girlfriend making her normal money drop?” Tom asks

Santiago glares at him, “she ain’t my girlfriend.”

“Informant, whatever…”

“Yeah, she said she’s prepared to record the inside of the house. We need proof of Lorea and the money,” Pope sighs.

Frankie’s voice cuts in, “Hey, uh Pope, I got kids over here. Does he have kids living in here with him? Because that is not what I signed up for.”

“The family is not the problem fish, they are the answer,” Pope says. “Lorea’s very devout… sends his entire crew with his family every Sunday morning. Leaves him, and three guards home alone… every. Sunday.”

Miller pipes up, “why would he do that?”

“Well, he’s worried about someone taking his kids. That and he never leaves his money. Also I don’t think he believes anyone actually has the balls to come out here in the middle of the fuckin’ jungle and rob him,” to this, everyone laughs.

“Look alive guys, we got incoming,” Miller said over the comlink as a van approached.

“Shit Pope, you didn’t tell me your girlfriend was beautiful,” Benny says over the com.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Tom turns to Pope and shakes his head.

“Fuck off.”

They watch her pull through the front gate, van bouncing through the mud and muck. Gunshots echo out in the distance and Ironhead comes over the com, “I got an execution going down over here guys.”

“Courtyard?” Pope asked.

“Yep… looks like mostly men and two women judging on the builds, can’t see any faces though,” Ironhead responds.

“Fuck…” Pope whispers, “uh, yeah that’s his spot,” his voice tightened.

Screams echoed throughout the coms from Ironhead’s mic, “shit guys, he’s taking some girl into the house… I -” his voice cuts out, clearly unable to watch anymore.

The screams could be heard even without the coms, Pope knowing exactly who it belonged to. He’d heard every sound you could make, screams, crying, laughter. He was your brother and helped raise you, he may have needed confirmation you were in there but in his gut, he already knew.

No one else would be able to see the way his heart rate had quickened, hoping that you weren’t in that group of people, now lying dead on the court. As the last gunshots echoed out throughout the jungle, and your screaming stopped, Pope did something he hadn’t done in a very long time… he prayed.

[nomadicsurvivor]

The Meaning of a Date

Day 3 - Dates Just Limit Your Options

I never got the hype of a birthday – what is a date anyway?  It’s a man-made concept of time placed into a man-made structure of months, weeks, days, years.  The construct is to help humans notate the passing of important moments.  The day we were found on the side of the road was named as our “birth date”.  Not that it held much meaning to me.  Even after I returned to Roswell and was reunited with Max and Isobel, our birthday didn’t really hold any special meaning to me.  The three of us would do something together on that day, acknowledge it, but all three of us knew it wasn’t something significant the way it was to other kids, to human kids.  And while the Evans would throw Max and Izzy a party, no one really ever acknowledged mine – I never got a party or a card or anything.  It wasn’t even until I got back to Roswell that I found out that I was missing out on something.

But my 18th birthday, that changed.  Alex had packed a picnic and got me to drive him way out into the desert. It had been a couple months since that day – the tool shed, his dad, Rosa…  We had seen very little of each other since then.  He had seen me protecting a broken hand at school as we entered finals season.  I had seen him protecting his ribs – I could only imagine what colors were under his clothing.  We avoided each other for the most part, but would occasionally run into each other at classroom doors, in the hallways, going in or out of Crashdown.  So imagine my surprise when, those couple months later, he somehow found where my truck was parked behind the grocery store and dropped a backpack and basket in the back of the truck, climbed into the passenger side, and told me to drive – no hello, nothing – just invited himself into my truck and said “drive.”  Which of course I did.

I took up into the back part of the Foster Ranch, occasionally brave enough to glance over at him to watch him look out the passenger window, a small grin on his face as he felt the wind through his hair from the open window.  I’d always keep looking at him when he’d glance back, catching his eyes for that split second before I’d force myself to slowly, casually, look back to the space in front of the truck.  His make-up was gone, as were the piercings.  But he was still exactly how I remembered seeing him over the years, and especially those times recently as we grew closer.  I felt a calm come over me when I was with him – something I can’t say I felt too often growing up around humans.

I drove us to where the rocky outcrops come up out of the ground, and stopped the truck in a small patch of shade.  As the engine ticked down as it cooled, we both just sat in silence for a couple minutes.

“How have you been?  How is your hand?”

“It is what it is I guess.”

He glanced at it, a deep crease of concern across his forehead before looking back out the window.

“Did you go to the doctor?  It doesn’t look good.”

I scoffed. “Alex, I am a runaway from CPS.  Aside from not having insurance or money, I can’t exactly walk into a hospital and not get reported.”

He looked hurt by that, although I don’t know if it was the slightly patronizing tone I took, or the grim reality of my life and what that meant to something like my hand.

“Where have you been staying?  I know you haven’t been back to the tool shed, not that I can blame you.  I don’t honestly know what would happ…….”

I took a deep breath.  “I’ve been staying around.  Crashed a couple nights with Max, otherwise wherever I can park my truck and not be bothered.  Out here quite a bit actually.  It’s warm at night now that it’s summer.”

He nodded.

“But you’re free now, right?”

I looked over at him confused, “What?”

He smirked and instead of answering, opened the door and climbed out of the truck. He grabbed his stuff from the back of the truck and headed towards the rocks, farther into the shade.  I opened my door but didn’t get out of my truck, waiting to see what he was up to.

Alex pulled a blanket out of his backpack and spread it out on the ground, then set the basket down, opened it up and pulled out a bag with the Crashdown logo on it. He then reached back in and pulled out two milkshakes that looked more melted shake than frozen.  Then out came a bag of doritos, followed by a bag of peanut butter M&Ms.  I chuckled and climbed out, sitting down next to him, looking at him questioningly.

Alex looked a bit embarrassed and chuckled, “OK I had to improvise, and had whatever the 7-11 had to select from with a limited budget.”

I laughed, “Alex, I will NOT be complaining about your food selection.”  I didn’t want to admit that I hadn’t really had much more to eat than a snickers in the last day or so. “I guess I’m more confused as to what all this is actually about.  But again, not complaining!”

Alex pulled cheeseburgers and fries from the Crashdown bag.  He pushed one of the burgers towards me.

“When you ran away from home, how long did you have til you turned 18?”

I wasn’t sure where that question was going, and didn’t want to correct him as I so automatically did with Max and Izzy when they’d call a foster placement my home, or say my dad when I’d cut them off with ‘foster father’ or something. Instead, I answered without even thinking about it.

“One year, seven months, sixteen days.  Why?”

Alex’s eyes got big as he quickly did math and realised how long I had been living in my truck before he found me behind the bleachers at school that fateful day.

“Wait, you’ve lived out of your truck for over a year and a half?!”

I shrugged, not sure what to say to that.  He seemed to collect himself quickly, like he was determined to get himself back on whatever track he had been on before my answer threw him off.

“So now you’re free, right?”  He asked this as he pulled a small, thin candle out of the front of the backpack and pushed it into the hamburger bun sitting in front of me.  He then pulled out a lighter and lit the candle.

“Happy 18th Michael.  Make a wish.”

I immediately felt that sting in my eyes and tickle in my nose, but pushed it down, refusing to even let a tear start to form in the corner of an eye.  Leave it to Alex Manes to know what this day was to me. It was the first birthday to me that held any significance to me, yet like all the others, went ignored by the rest of the world.  Max and Isobel had wished me a happy birthday that morning, but they didn’t say anything about what this day meant to my life.  Age eighteen.  No longer a ward of the state.  CPS no longer had to keep tabs on me, wouldn’t put me in another shit placement where I could be abused, neglected, anything.  Completely on my own.  Alone.

Leave it to Alex to instead see it as my liberation, my independence day.

I watched the flame for a moment.

“I think, sitting here, I already got my wish.  I am getting a meal, and I have you.  What else could I ask for?”

Alex blushed and looked down.  “Guerin, you’re not supposed to say what your wish is out loud. Now blow the candle out before it ruins your bun and you can’t eat around the wax.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d eat the wax and all if it meant food.  I just blew it out.  He then reached for a fry and threw it at me.  I tried to catch it in my mouth but it bounced off my nose and landed in the sand next to the blanket.  I grabbed it, blew the sand off, and tossed it into my mouth.

“Michael that still had sand on it!”

“Hey, waste not, want not.”

He shook his head and passed me a melted milkshake.  I paced myself as I ate the burger and fries, trying to play it cool and not give away how hungry I was.  In that year and a half, and long before to be honest, I had learned to pace eating. Make it look like you’re not hungry, that it doesn’t matter.  It kept adults from looking at you with pity, or with anger.  It kept Max and Iz from looking at me like a charity case.  But I could see in Alex’s eyes – he saw through it all.  He knew. It’s probably why he got all the other snacks.

We ate in silence, both afraid to say something to mess the moment up.  Once the slurping sound of straws sucking empty milkshake cups filled the space, we both laughed and stood up.  Alex slowly approached me, looking hesitantly at me before raising his arms to take me into an embrace.  I returned the gesture quickly, pulling him for a hug, taking comfort in the feeling of him around me again, the smell of his hair, his body wash.  I didn’t want to think about what he was smelling from me.  But he didn’t seem to care.

Alex looked into my eyes and went in for a kiss, gentle and a bit tentative.  The last time we did this, it did not end well for either of us.  But we were in my desert, not his tool shed, and his dad was nowhere to be found, so I pushed into his mouth, deepening the kiss.  We stumbled back and fell onto the blanket, laughing as we pushed the empty food wrappers out of the way.  Hands fumbling, groping, running up and down bodies.  Mouths on each other, on necks.  Hands in hair, grabbing the back of necks.  After a few frantic minutes of us reuniting with the electric emotions of two who had been apart too long, we settled into a more caring pace, frantic touches becoming more caressing, more reverent with each other.

Eventually we pulled apart, both panting, trying to catch our breaths.

Alex looked around, “It’s starting to get dark.  We should move to the back of your truck and off the ground.”

I nodded, “Yeah, I don’t think I need to have any scorpions or other critters join us.”

I grabbed the blanket while Alex grabbed the backpack and basket, putting the rest of the snacks back inside.  He tossed them into the cab of the truck while I spread my sleeping bag and blanket out, adding his to the back of the truck.  He came around to the tail gate where I was sitting, my legs swinging back and forth off the back end.  He stilled the movement of my legs and slid between them, leaning forward to capture me in another kiss.

I broke the kiss and started to slide back into the truck, laying down on the blankets, Alex climbing into the truck and following.  Lazy kisses turned into a passionate make out session.  At some point, shirts came off, as did jeans.  In the growing darkness, we jerked each other off, coming together and locking together in a tight embrace.  After several minutes of catching our breaths and slowing our heart rates, we cleaned up and put our jeans back on, leaned back against the cab of the truck, Alex leaning against my chest.  We sat there for who knows how long, fingers touching each other across our chests, up and down his back or my arms.  The stars came out in full force, and soon the glow of the cloud that makes up the Milky Way stood out above us.  Who knows how long we sat there.

Maybe some dates mean something more than others.  Up to today, they limited my options, kept me at the mercy of whatever control CPS put around my life.  But today, this day?

Alex looked up at me before tucking his head back under my chin, leaning against my chest.

“Happy 18th Michael.”