#happy contrails

[themissingmango]

[soup-mother]

for the last time they're not "government femtrails" coming off of planes, it's just regular condensation trails (you know, contrails?). you suddenly feeling like a girl is a you issue that I'm happy to help with, but you can't get into mass feminisation conspiracy theories because you're embarrassed about wanting to be a maid

[welldigger62]

Happy Tuesday tumblrs 😃

Somebody left a big ol’ contrail up in the sky this morning. Kind of a nice accent.

I need to get out in the yard and clean up the trimmings from yesterday. That involves a lot of snipping up the spikey chunks I cut off already. I need to start trimming that trailer full of pine branches too.

I got a nice day today so I might as well be productive.

Happy Tuesday 🌞

[squidsinashirt]

U must have some amazing stories about your dad u can share! 🤩

I’ve sat on this one for a bit, sorry Anon. Wasn’t intentional but I… just didn’t know how to answer it.

I mean, I get it. He’s Jeff Tracy, right? The Jeff Tracy. I can remember being just a little kid, and going to meet him off coming home from his latest mission. All these huge crowds cheering for him, those amazing rockets, and little me thinking all this, for my dad?

The thing is, everybody has their own stories about him. It’s fascinating, because you’ll hear all these other tales that exist only thanks to other people. Colonel Casey, Captain Taylor, heck even Kip Harris knew him. All these huge figures have got larger than life tales of the incredible things Jeff Tracy did, and was, and inspired. There’s statues and plaques to him, and you can take a tour at the space centre about his missions, and there’s books and movies and documentaries…

There are five incredible machines he dreamt up, standing by to help achieve this fantastical goal of his to help the world. I suppose in a way, you get to snatch a little glimpse of who Jeff Tracy was, and what he believed in, every time one of them appears to save the day. Every time some kid points an excited finger up at Thunderbird Two or squints after a contrail that was Thunderbird One, there he is. That magic, that excitement, that kind of imposing extraordinary that he did so well.

Anyway, to get back on track. People come bounding up to us, to me, and they ask this sort of question all the time, and that’s the thing about being JEFFTRACYSSON (said in one breath at rapid pace, because that’s the way people greet you). I get the curiosity, I really do. I don’t say it with any malice intended, and it’s comforting to know he still has that kind of impact. I’m always happy to talk about him, I promise!

It’s simple to be JEFFTRACYSSON when you pull on an International Rescue uniform. It took a little practice to ease into at first, but it’s perfected now. It’s really easy to talk about how we believe in his dream, how we’ve all taken on that duty in our individual and collective ways. In the importance of iR, in what it means to us as family. Shiny uniform, perfect hair, smile and wave and save some lives 💪🏻

Please don’t read into this in the wrong way - I’m very proud to be Jeff Tracy’s son. It’s actually quite difficult to really put across how strongly I feel about the weight of that title, because it’s pretty sacred (and also a little intimidating at times). Everywhere we go, it’s “oh, you must be Jeff’s boy” or “oh, you’re a Tracy”, and that means there’s instantly an expectation to live up to, both publicly and privately. It’s a privilege, it really is, and I think it’s a kind of sacrosanct commitment that has really been at the centre of my thinking as I’ve gotten older - how to try and be the sort of man that deserves that kind of birthright.

I don’t just mean the public side of being Jeff Tracy’s son. See, behind the scenes, to me, to us as a family, he was every bit human in a very ordinary way.

He made the best Sunday pancakes.

He cheered far too loudly at swim competitions (and teenage me was perpetually mortified by it) and was every bit as encouraging and supportive as you might guess.

He told these excellent, awful dad jokes, always at just the wrong (or right, I suppose) moments that made you groan.

He used to let me drive his old truck up the drive when he came home from a long mission, playing country songs with the window rolled down.

We loved pranking Mom together by hiding in the laundry bin and jumping out like idiots.

He told the most spectacular, far fetched bedtime stories he swore were real, and my brothers and I could never get enough of them.

He was also away for months on end in space, or training, or lost in his plans and ideas and dreams, and sometimes that meant he wasn’t really here with us, even if he was.

He couldn’t do laundry for shit, and he was absolutely useless at trying to run a house with five young sons on his own, and only a military background to lean on for ideas (thanks Grandma and Scott for saving that one).

Being Jeff Tracy’s son is a little more complex than just the uniform, I guess, and because of that I don’t always recognise the Jeff Tracy in the books and the movies, the one that people are so desperate to hear more about.

I think that’s why I find answering questions like this so difficult, and why maybe my answers never land particularly well with the people who ask this. Because the expectation for them is an entire reel of grand tales that haven’t been heard yet out of me. Some heroic, unbelievable stories that reads like the plaques - and then they are always a little disappointed that it turns out all I can say is that he was a real person. Somebody who was very human and very brilliant and very flawed, and who I loved very much. Because to me, he’s my dad.

And ultimately, nobody wants to hear about that. It doesn’t fit their two dimensional, mythical image of him, or my brothers and I for that matter. Us being a fairly regular family doesn’t really inspire the kind of tales that perhaps lend themselves to be told.

(This is the biggest reason I don’t do interviews, because I’d be like you wanna hear about the time he took us on a hiking trip, got us lost in a storm and Mom nearly divorced him because she thought we’d all been eaten by coyotes? No? It’s hilarious, honestly!)

That’s alright, though. Like I said, the movies and the books are there to tell those stories, and Lee Taylor will happily yap your ear off for an hour about their exploits if you want. Dad’s legacy, in that form, is more than secure.

They’re not going to ever be able to tell you about his favourite pancake toppings though, or his favourite song to dance to in the kitchen or his favourite swear word, and there’s the real privilege in getting to be Jeff Tracy’s son. In getting to carry him forward, not just the stories.

…

…

This got a lot deeper than I intended it to go. I’ve had a beer and I rambled. Sorry Anon.

Ahem. Good question! I guess I’m just not the best person to answer it, ironically enough ;)

I guess the best that I can offer is that if you are ever in trouble and call us, just know that there was a really great human being behind the face that made it all possible, who told the worst jokes, but who cared a whole f-ing lot.

*insert generic story here about Dad and a rocket*

[choconat67]

I wanted to do the city at night, but I decided on something different, we can see the RRBs in the background flying through the city and the girls being higher up in the sky.

-Ohh, there go the boys!- the bubuja's voice sounded happy while in the distance above the city lights the three trails of red, blue and green that flew over the sea of ​​lights. Buttercup had her arms crossed over her chest and laughed. "Don't shout or they'll know we're up here."

Her brother looked at her bewildered. "Why wouldn't they know?"

-Don't pay attention Bubbles- Blossom smiled at her sister -She just doesn't want to accept that she lost that food fight with Butch and the others- in a mocking tone of the redhead, it bothered her endangered sister a little, who acted "indignant."

-It's not true! - She looked away - That guy has the stomach of a hyena, if Brick didn't avoid it he would probably try to eat buildings or something stupid - Buttercup said looking at the clouds below them.

The laughter of her sisters, the space behind them and the clouds beneath them made the city look so small, but despite the bright city lights it was good to see the three contrails travel at night over Townsville, Blossom knew that they They deserved this, a chance at life, the chance to live and not just survive.

-Come on girls, remember that we have a meeting! - Blossom's leader's voice caught the attention of her sisters and they followed her back to her place.

Oh I like it and in my ppg universe the fact that the boys got stronger and are trying to live more normally and the girls at this point are already good friends with the boys in different ways, remember that the two AUs are related to each other, and I intend for them to coexist at some point or meet, this AU and the Fallen Heroes one:3

Queria hacer la ciudad de noche, pero me decidi por algo diferente, podemos ver a los RRB al fondo volando por la ciudad y laa chicas estando mas arriba en el cielo.

-Ohh alli van los chicos!- la voz de buebuja sonaba alegre  mientras a la distancia sobre las luces de la ciudad las tres estelas de color Rojo, azul y verde que volaban sobre el mar de luces. Buttercup tenía los brazos  cruzados sobre su pecho y soltó una risa -No grites o sabrán que estamos aquí arriba-

Su herman la miró desconcertada -Por qué no lo sabrían?-

-No hagas caso Bubbles- Blossom sonrió a su hermana -Solo no quiere aceptar que perdió esa guerra de comida con Butch y los demas- en tono burlon de la pelirroja molesto un poco a su hermana peligra quien actuó "indignada".

-No es cierto!- ella miró a otro lado- ese bastando tiene el estómago de una hiena, si brick no lo evitará probablemente trataría de comer edificios o alguna tonteria- dijo Buttercup mirando las nubes bajo ellas.

Las risas de sus hermanas, el espacio detrás de ellas y las nubes bajo ellas hacían ver la ciudad tan pequeña, pero a pesar de las brillantes luces de la ciudad era bueno ver las tres estelas viajar por la noche sobre Townsville, Blossom sabía que ellos merecían esto, una oportunidad de vida, la oportunidad de vivir y no sólo sobrevivir.

-Vamos chicas, recuerden que tenemos una reunion!- la voz de líder de Blossom capto la atención  de sus hermanas quieres la siguieron de regresó a su lugar.

Oh me gusta y en mi universo ppg el hecho que los chicos se reforzaron y están tratando de vivir más normalmente y las chicas a este punto ya son buenas amigas de los chicos en diferentes formas, recuerden que los dos AU están relacionados entre sí, y tengo la intención de que convivan en algún momento o se conozcan, este AU y el de Fallen Heroes:3

[stabbyfoxandrew]

My heart is screaming Demon Neil, but my brain keeps me loyal to Angel Neil. The wings, Aerie! The wings are out! Is he flying now? Who was the other angel he met? Kayleigh? (That's Kevin's mother name, right? The brain fog from being sick is killing me, I can't remember shit.) Although, it seems like Demon Neil hasn't been getting the love it deserves, so if you end up not getting any asks for it, I will take you up on it instead. Oohh the reaction demon Neil had about his father. Huuu, powerful. I'm giddy every time I read either of these works. I've also been rly enjoying Mer AU. Are they ever going to swim together? I'm ending my yapping, I hope you've been doing well <3 (And if it wasn't clear my request is Angel Neil, but I'll take Demon Neil if it doesn't get any asks. Or if Angel gets a lot of them, like 4+. Gotta balance the love each gets.)

WIP Wednesday (10/30) | Guardian Angel Neil AU (Part 250)

Andrew's barely finished his question when Neil gets a devious look on his face. Without warning, the angel scoots impossibly forward and crosses his arms in front of him. He kicks off against the side of the building and then he's falling. Andrew grabs for him but it’s too late. His stomach falls with Neil and Andrew scrambles back from the edge of the roof, his heart in his throat.

"NEIL?" Andrew shouts, on hands and knees. There's the sound of enormous wings flapping. Once, twice. Three times. And Neil is there, ten feet away with only his wings holding him up. Andrew's mouth falls open and he moves to sit normally, in awe of the image before him. Neil maintains his hover for a moment, then grins and shoots up into the sky.

A burst of air comes off his wings and flutters Andrew's hair, caresses his face. He watches, looking up, up, up, as Neil soars. He becomes impossibly small the higher he gets, until it seem he's about to disappear. But he doesn't. Andrew watches him make figure-8s up in the sky, leaving contrails in his wake. It's almost like skywriting.

Andrew almost shouts for him to draw something, but doesn't. Instead he just watches in amazement until Neil closes his wings and free-falls towards the parking lot before catching himself and lifting back up until he's able to step onto the roof again. As his feet hit the ground, Andrew's heart leaps. Neil is all smiles and ruddy cheeks and wings.

"That answer your question?" He asks, clearly winded.

Andrew nods, still mesmerized. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wants to bitch at Neil for scaring him like that, but before he can a ring of light appears over Neil's head. It's twice as bright as his wings and Andrew can't look away from it.

He stares up at the angel, completely mesmerized. A wave of happiness and calm rolls over him, unlike anything he's ever felt in his life. It's like being high, but a thousand times better. He feels a smile spread across his face and it's not prescription. It's a real smile.

Neil smiles back and the light gets ever brighter.

"You're so shiny," Andrew whispers, feeling tears prick the corners of his eyes. He blinks to let them fall and new ones take their place. He hardly notices. "So shiny and beautiful."

"Andrew?" The light says, sounding concerned. It shouldn't sound upset. Nothing's wrong. "Andrew, are you alright?"

"...Angel?" Andrew cocks his head to the side. But what's the angel's name? It was right on the tip of his tongue. He thinks.

Wait. What's his name? Does he have one? He thinks so. It's Andrew. That's what the angel called him. It must be right. The angel must be right.

"Andrew? Andrew, hey, snap out of it." The angel says, a panicked edge to his voice. Andrew barely hears him. There's a gasp and a curse and a 'stop!' then all the light disappears with a poof of feathers. At last, the spell breaks and Andrew blinks himself awake just as Neil drops to his knees in front of him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Andrew is suddenly disoriented. He feels like he's been yanked out of a dream. A horribly perfect nightmare. Something like adrenaline has his pulse kicking into overdrive and his chest aching like he just ran ten miles.

"Andrew, answer me. You have to answer me. Are you alright?"

Andrew manages a nod.

"With words, Andrew. Words." Neil says. And Andrew blinks hard, then rubs his eyes to find them embarrassingly wet. He roughly wipes his face with his sleeve and clears his throat until he feels confident his voice won't break.

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Fuck, you're not. Can you see?"

"I..." Andrew can't see. Not really. There's a vague outline that's probably Neil, but everything's too bright. Like he'd stared at the sun too long.

"Happy birthday, Andrew," Neil says in a panic. "Fuck. I have to go now. I hope you get that cake you wanted."

"No, don't," Andrew blinks hard and reaches for him. "Neil. Stay, I— Wait, pl—" The Neil-shape vanishes before he can start to beg and Andrew drops his head into his hands, eyes still burning.

[monarch-moon]

Contrails linger in the sky But mundane memories will remain long after they fade into the clouds. -- An infodumping Corn is a happy Corn, and Soda is always content to just listen c: I can't begin to describe how hard I ship these two.

Also Soda is a cat person you can't change my mind.

(disclaimer: given the ambiguity of JSRF's ages, I headcanon them as adults, jsyk)

[usafphantom2]

#TomcatTails

#TomcatTuesday

RED FLAG Shenanigans Part 1

RED FLAG is a two-week exercise held several times a year at Nellis Air Force Base several miles northeast of Las Vegas. It’s an advanced air-to-air combat training event that “aims to offer realistic air-combat training for military pilots and other flight crew members from the United States and allied countries.” Since my first squadron, the VF-24 Renegades, obviously qualified for the event, we volunteered to go……twice….in two years. Multiple DACT events?? VEGAS??? Sign us up!

The following five vignettes are offered to explain how these kinds of events went for an early 90’s Tomcat squadron. They’re pulled from both of our visits there in 94/95 and are representative of each of them. The first one in 1994 we all got to stay in a Howard Johnsons near the airport (decent breakfast!) and for the second one we got to stay in a “No-Tell Motel” across the street from the city jail (syringes and hookers!). Life was good, as we’d all fly once a day and have some of the best Liberty imaginable in Sin City, USA. I’ll use vignette #1 to illustrate how fun that nightlife was (names and callsigns changed to protect the innocent).

Who’s Got the Spike Watch?

As you may imagine, cutting 28 Fighter Pilots and RIOs loose in Loss Vegas can be rather…..interesting. Per usual, we’d tend to travel in large packs (10-12 wasn’t unusual) and we’d roam the streets going to various casinos (“always bet on Renegade Red!!”), consuming the local food and beverage (shrimp cocktails and bourbon), and communicating with the indigenous peoples (showgirls).

We had a RIO in the squadron (“Spike”) that was from North Carolina, complete with heavy accent, that would on occasion imbibe just enough bourbon to cease conscious brain function but not quite enough to make his legs stop working. One fine evening, Spike was right there with us and then all the sudden he was not. Shit. We searched a bit but no joy, so ended up going back to the hotel to get some shut eye.

Morning arrives and Spike had returned sometime late in the evening. We’d heard he’d banged on some of the Sailors room doors while in his underwear and they eventually steered him to one of the Officer’s rooms. We’re all downstairs for breakfast just waiting for Spike to tell us what the hell happened. He didn’t remember, naturally. But he DID say “I have a pocket full of receipts, ATM withdrawal slips, and I can’t find my wedding ring.”

Uh-oh. So we lay out all the paperwork in chronological order. Apparently, he’d hooked up with some honey (not physically, just out partying) and they: withdrew $500 in cash for gambling, had a $140 dinner at a steak restaurant, and spent $600 at a handbag store. Oh, and he gave the girl his wedding ring. Skipper hears about this and he appoints us all as having the “Spike Watch” for the rest of the detachment. Spike was not happy but managed to stay married because his wife is a Saint.

Beating Up on Eagles

Our primary role is (again) Red Air, the bad guys, with very limited A/A missile capability and our job was to suck up Eagle AMRAAM and then get to a merge and have some fun. My favorite engagement occurred mid exercise. We were set up in the west of the working area in the low 20,000’s and the Eagles were in the east way up in the ionosphere in the high 30s, probably 60 miles away. At the “fights on”, we push east and descend a bit to try and pull them out of the high block. They didn’t bite.

At about 40 miles we can see them waaaaaay up there; a wall of eight Eagles each with a contrail. Now normally, if you’re emitting contrails (“marking”) you want to get out of that block because the bad guys can see you. But a wall of EIGHT Eagles at 38K’ with 4+ AMRAAM each is pretty formidable so at that point, they have an “I don’t care if you can see me, you’re going to die” advantage. Sure enough, the whole wall of eight turns 45° to the south; they’d sorted and shot missiles at all of us hapless Red Air missile sponges. After 30 seconds or so, “Timeout kill; all Red Air is dead.”

With that part out of the way, the “continue” call comes and now we roll up our sleeves for some turning and burning. The Eagles know we’re not coming up there so they come down to meet us. Perfect. Their wing is optimized for the thin air; the Tomcat swing wing is optimized for the thicker air below 20K’. We’d all broken up and were now raging singes, and I get radar on an Eagle that’s headed right at me. We’re all the way north and clear of the rest of the jets, so it’s just me and him mano a mano.

We close, and then we’re visual, and it looks to be a left-to-left pass. I’m at my best corner speed (320 kts) because I know that down here our degrees of turn per second is pretty close but he has a slight advantage. I need to find a way to get some angles and I hit upon a pretty basic intimidation move as we’re about to merge. Normally at an ACM merge, you pass wingtip to wingtip at 500 feet separation and when you pass, you start your turn, either into him (2 circle) or away from him (1 circle). My plan is for a 2 circle fight to maximize my turn rate. But what I DON’T do is wait until our wingtips pass to start my turn.

I wait until we nearly merged, throw the stick hard left with some rudder while I’m at his left 11 o’clock and put a BIG OL’ TOMCAT right in his face, like I’m early turning him. All he sees is this aluminum overcast right in front of his jet, seeming to be digging for a turn before even passing. Our jets then actually pass and I snap on 6.5 Gs and max perform the Tomcat across his tails and nose low. And my gambit works. As I visually acquire him in a couple seconds, he hadn’t started turning….and THEN he snaps on his best turn. But it’s too late. I’ve already got 20° or more on him, I’m below the horizon, and in 2 circle flow it’s just a matter of time. I pull harder to to scoop the turn out across the circle and get into a firing position pretty quickly. Worked out real nice for me on that one. Naturally, there were other merges that didn’t. In the debrief we met up and chatted and he was a newer Eagle pilot and said “I’ve never seen a jet that big move like that.”

BUFF Too Tough

At one point, we had a B-52 show up. Affectionately known as the BUFF (Big Ugly Fat F**ker), she’s a remarkable platform and it was an honor to see one in flight. On one particular run, she was making her way across the area up in the ionosphere with the Eagles there to protect. We all REALLY wanted to bag a BUFF as it would be huge bragging rights. Our division of Red Air starts this particular run and with four Eagles/one Buff in the East, we turn in and head for ‘em. Our plan is to break up into four raging singles about 40 miles and dive for the deck and hope to ingress get under the Eagles and behind the BUFF and do our best to cornhole her from behind.

Things are working pretty good, but the Eagles have a GREAT system and they managed to bag 3 of us. But not me, luckily. I’m in the weeds in the high desert roving through a valley and my RIO is doing his best to get his radar up and on the BUFF. Sure enough, there she is at 4 miles in the medium 30’s. Now, remember I’ve related before that the F-14A with the TF-30s didn’t do so well above 30K’ (as in “could barely get there”), so I know we wouldn’t have much time for the shot, basically making a stern conversion in the vertical. So we light the cans, accelerate to ludicrous speed and start a climbing 50° nose up slight turn to the right.

Once we’re visual, it’s just a matter of timing your turn and climb to arrive in a firing solution at the BUFF’s 5 o’clock position and start blastin’ away. That’s the plan anyway. What ACTUALLY happens is this. We’re about 3 miles at her 5 o’clock, the heart of the envelope for the stern quarter Sparrow shot, and my RIO tries to get a radar lock. I see the diamond/symbology bounce around, feel the antenna thumping at my feet and SCHWACK the radar antenna hits the stops hard low and right. RIO tries again, same result. At this point, I figured out that a jet as big as the BUFF must have a jammer suite as big as a tractor trailer. Sure enough, no WAY we’re going to get a radar missile on her. Fair enough, switch Sidewinder (heat seeker). I didn’t know if I had enough ‘Winders to bring down a BUFF (two 20-pound warheads against a 200,000 pound jet), but I’d give it a try.

‘Winder up, good seeker symbology, try and maneuver to get the seeker on one of the motors…..and….remember when I said we didn’t do well up above 30K? Well, controls are getting mushy and if I put any kind of pull on the jet I’d probably stall one of the motors, and I’m getting slower a little at a time. I keep fishing for a bit but the seeker didn’t want to give me a good lock. A couple growls, but no tone. Dammit. No way guns were going to work in this scenario, so discretion being the better part of valor……let the nose drop, abandon my one shot at a BUFF, and on the descent shake my fist while screaming at the sky “Curses!! A curse on you, BUFF!!!!”

This is part one of "Red Flag Shenanigans". Tune in next week when we finish the series with "Mirage 2000, Dammit" and "Area 51 is Real."

@RSE_VB via X

[cutiequisitor]

Hi my name is Crimson 1 and I have an emblem that is a bunch of crimson spikes (that’s how I got my name) with crimson stars and triangles with white contrails that reach my radar warning antennas and blond hair and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like the best ace pilot in the world (AN: if u don’t know who that is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to the Dust Mother but I wish I was because she’s a major fucking hottie. I’m Cascadian but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I’m also a fighter pilot, and I fight for the Federation in Cascadia. I'm a Peacekeeper (in case you couldn’t tell) and I fly mostly Sk.37s and VX-23s. I love planes and I fly them all the time. For example today I was in my Sk.37 with crimson stripes on the fuselage and crimson stars on the fins. I was flying above Prospero. It was anomalously stormy, which I was very happy about. A lot of rebels stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

[catdotjpeg]

On Friday, 24 captives held in Gaza, including 10 Thai nationals, one Filipino and 13 Israeli women and children were released. In exchange, 24 Palestinian women — including two 18-year-olds — and 15 boys who were held as prisoners in Israel were released. The captives were transferred out of Gaza and handed over to Egyptian authorities at the Rafah border crossing, accompanied by eight staff members of the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) in a four-car convoy, the ICRC said.

The release of the Thais, who were all men, is believed to be unrelated to the truce negotiations and followed a separate track of talks with Hamas mediated by Egypt and Qatar.

According to Marwan Bishara, Al Jazeera’s senior political analyst, this could the beginning of something positive. “If the agreement works today, it means it could definitely work in the following few days,” Bishara said. “This is the other side to the darkness that has befallen Gaza and somewhat Israel over the past 50 days … so it’s important for us to look at this, regardless of how short and how complicated it is, and see it as what is possible and why ending this war is so important,” he added.

In Khan Younis town in southern Gaza, streets filled with people venturing out of home and shelters into a landscape of buildings flattened into heaps of rubble. Displaced families with small children carried belongings in plastic bags, hoping to return at least temporarily to homes they had abandoned earlier in the war. “I am now very happy, I feel at ease. I am going back to my home, our hearts are rested,” said Ahmad Wael, smiling as he walked carrying a mattress balanced on his head. “I am very tired of sitting without any food or water. There [at home] we can live, we drink tea, make bread.” In northern Gaza’s combat zone, viewed from across the fence in southern Israel, there was no sign of the warplanes that have thundered through the sky for weeks, explosions on the ground or the contrails of Hamas rocketfire. Just one plume of smoke was visible in the early afternoon. Columns of Israeli tanks rolled away from the Gaza Strip’s northern end in the morning, while aid trucks entered from Egypt at the southern end.

-- From "How day one unfolded" from Al Jazeera, 24 Nov 2023

[eldritchships]

50 for the kisses ask for whoever you’d like! —@celestialship

Another dollar in the jar for "[Almost] forgetting that TFA!Flatline doesn't turn into a helicopter" lol

50 - Under the stars

A bright blue racecar, parked beside an equally bright pink jet, was probably one of the most conspicuous things Blurr could think of. He was afraid that they’d be spotted by humans, even out here, beside a highway leaving Detroit. Sure, Autobots were generally accepted by the organic populace of this planet, but he couldn’t say the same for Decepticons - of which, the helicopter beside him was aligned with. One look at a purple faction badge and the humans would run screaming.

Once they’d been alone long enough to consider the coast clear, Blurr transformed, and Flatline followed suit. Blurr’s gaze softened as he watched Flatline tuck his wings against his back, shaking some of the dirt from the gaps in his pedes. The way that Blurr’s spark warmed in its chamber was mirrored by the faint yellow glow cast over the two of them, from the lamps dotting the roadside a short distance away.

“Alright, stop keeping secrets.” Flatline stepped over to Blurr and took his servos, tugging them forward in his building excitement. “Why did you want to meet here of all places? The suspense is killing me.” Blurr chuckled, a smug ‘heh heh heh’ that wrinkled the space where his nose would be as he pulled Flatline towards him. Flatline obliged, slotting into Blurr’s arms with familiar ease, despite the curiosity buzzing through his circuits.

“Well the meeting place doesn’t matter when you really think about it everything would still have gone as I planned if we’d met anywhere. No the only thing that does matter is that we were far far far away from the bright lights of the city.” As he spoke, Blurr moved, leading his partner into a gentle sway from side to side. He pet one corner of the blue chevron adorning Flatline’s helm between his digits, enjoying the way Flatline tilted his helm into the soft touch. “I think if you want an answer to your question and to satisfy that endless nosiness of yours then you should try looking up.” His servo moved from the blue chevron, cupping Flatline’s cheek and gently tilting his helm back. Flatline’s gaze turned upwards, and his lips parted in silent awe.

The night sky above them was a deep and dark shade of blue, dotted with brushstrokes of white stars. One trail of them tapered back towards the city, like a Seeker’s contrail vapour.

Flatline’s optics danced across the sight above their helms, and a soft sigh escaped his lips, a breathed ‘Wow’ as he took in Earth’s night sky. Blurr let out an amused, affectionate huff under his breath; His own optics were too fixed on Flatline to appreciate the view, even after all the time he’d spent scouting a good location to see it. The sway he’d led them in before had shrunk to a rhythmic leaning, his and Flatline’s minds thoroughly enraptured by other things.

“It’s beautiful.” Flatline smiled.

“So are you.” Blurr replied before he could stop himself. Flatline dragged his optics away and back down to Blurr. The blue optics sparkled with the same brightness as the stars above, happy, content, and amused by Blurr’s accidental blurting-out. Blurr huffed again and looked defensive, although it failed to stick when his mouth was curved upwards in a stifled smile. “Well it’s true that you are and especially right now and it’s not my fault that I’m hopelessly in love with you.” Flatline had opened his mouth to say something, before Blurr finished his sentence, but whatever it was vanished as a rush of warm energon rising to his faceplate caused Flatline’s cooling fans to click on. Blurr’s smile widened into a satisfied smirk; once upon a time, Flatline had always been the cocky, flirtatious one. But ever since they’d become something concrete, something real, Blurr was able to easily fluster the medic simply by being genuine.

And he was being genuine. Flatline looked beautiful like this, with faint lamplight shining on his frame. It reminded Blurr of when they’d first met (without faction boundaries between them), on a rooftop bench overlooking Cybertron’s night sky. Only this time, not a wire of apprehension could be found in his body.

“I love you too.” Pink arms squeezed around Blurr’s midsection as Flatline let his forehelm fall against Blurr’s, holding the speedster as close as he could. It wasn’t close enough for Blurr, and he surged forward, closing the distance and pressing his lips to Flatline’s. The soft kiss lasted a long, indulgent moment, but it was followed by another, then another. One was simply not enough to satisfy the flood of affection pouring from Blurr’s spark, and it pulsed from him so strongly he was sure Flatline would be able to feel it in his own.

If the servos rising to tenderly cradle Blurr’s jaw were any indication, Flatline did.

[sparkmender]

{ @best-head } "Matron," he calls softly, from out in the hallway. It has been a long time, since he has met with Rung. They are both busy, but Prowl has made the time to come out after Rung's call.

{ @best-head }

The last time he’d seen Prowl in person, the young mechling was being carried out of Nine of Twelve’s personal quarters in Skids’ arms, not even an adolescent but so quiet and serious among his rowdier siblings. As if Prowl had been the only one of Nine’s ‘irregulars’ that knew they would not be returning to the Cog, that night or ever again.

It had been the right call. Nine had seen the writing on the wall as Six passed restriction after restriction and the others pushed further and further into depravity, and his gaggle of adopted foundlings and requisitioned project assets were entrusted to Shockwave, who eventually scattered them to the winds for their own safety.

Rung had missed them dearly, his little firelights in the darkness; more than half of them were split from his own spark, conceived in the early experimental phase, but he’d been fiercely smitten with all of them regardless of their origins. It was that preferential treatment that eventually meant the critical gaze of the rest of the Council, the murmurs and whispers, so it had been for the best that they left, but—

But it had broken something in Rung to go without them, even if he only ever saw most of the brood in passing at meals and informal gatherings. It had been so much easier for Four of Twelve and Quark to take what they wanted from him afterwards.

And now Rung comes stumbling and laughing out from the hazy golden light of the garden courtyard near sunset, resplendent in his jubilation, the shawl he’d drawn about his shoulders flapping wildly behind him like a contrail of lace and seafoam as he runs down the stone pathway to throw his arms around Prowl.

“Prowl, mayn neschumeleh, my baby… not so much a baby now, ah! I’ve missed you, I’ve missed so much— oh, dear, I’m sorry, I’m just so happy to see you.”

[welldigger62]

Monday Plus One?

Yeah, Happy Tuesday 😂

I got all kinds of color in the morning sky for you guys today. I had taken another shot 9 minutes before this one and the jet contrails were not there yet.

Truck cleaning is almost done. Got the back half waxed yesterday. Gotta add rain-x to the windshield and then I’m done.

Stay out of trouble my tumblr buds 😃

[jongace]

contrail ending fairy ♡ music core 230617 + 230624 happy birthday yebin!

[ao3feed-sambucky]

pulling the pin

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/eWUJEQ5 by Sans Salt replaces air. Goddammit. Sam reads that last time, reads the blood and the contrails of flames. His name like a pin pulled from a grenade. Don't let it be him. or: Sam and Bucky try and fail to do the right thing for each other, the right thing just being two guys in love. Words: 6804, Chapters: 1/4, Language: English Fandoms: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Sam Wilson (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Sarah Wilson (Marvel), Isaiah Bradley, Helen Cho (Marvel), Minor Characters Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captain America Sam Wilson, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Divorce, Major Character Injury, plot averse, afropessimism if you look, Angst with a Sam Happy Ending read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/eWUJEQ5

[idonticanticant]

this might be insane but I think someone on the fortnite/epic team literally watches my account. not this account because that'd be fucked but I have an account that has been active since the game has been a thing and I know the moderators of the actual reddit so I FEEL like someone watches the things I say.

3/4ths of the shit I suggest gets fucking added, and ANY time I say ANYTHING controversial, within like 2-3 minutes it's gone. it's goneeeeeeee.

I cannot tell you the amount of times I have said to someone "There is NO way they'll do that. They just won't." and then like a week later they added it just to spite me. currently talking about the moments/jam track/contrail debacle

And I know they do this shit, because someone made a post that was like "why don't you fucking add Happy by Pharrell Williams at this point. You're trying to make me quit the game." and the next day it was in the fucking shop lol