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isaacapatow · 1 year ago

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i know how to handle a big rig with a stick. i know my way around you, don't i?

Ike, through the fence already and waiting for Nicki to join him, leaned back at the hips, crowing with laughter at her smirky little sexy joke. He smiled fondly at her as she slipped on through with no effort, lithe as a leopard, and reached out to give her upper arm a quick, rough squeeze before they got headed towards the main building. Persephone was on her mind the moment she saw those cars and Ike answered her question with a hum, saying, "I didn't check. But we can grab some jerry cans and hop on out here last thing before we leave, when we've got everything else loaded up in the truck. I promise."

Gasoline was a premium score, and they were always greedy for it, but ... they were this far into the world being zombieland. And even stabilized gas rotted. In Ike's mind, they might as well use it when they found it and bank on diesel being their fuel for future endeavours, so he didn't see any problem with Nicki blowing a few gallons on taking Persephone for a twirl.

Once Nicki heard what they were doing here, though, she had some ... objections, and Ike reached out to gather her up and keep them moving to the glass door of the sandwich shop appended to the hardware. "Bees are important!" he said. "If we're gonna keep our farming and gardening up to snuff for all the new people who show up, we need them for pollinating. But no, I wouldn't have come all the way out here just for a bee house."

They got to the door and Ike took off his leather jacket, wrapping it around his bat before he knocked in the weakened glass near the handle of the door, breaking out the sharp shards so Nicki could reach in and crank it open. "The whole place is sealed up but there's nobody going in or out," he said as they stepped inside. The place reeked horribly; it was an old stink, the food that had gone over having done it years ago, but the stench lingered. "Either someone did that on purpose to maintain whatever's still in here, or they were using it as a base and wanted to keep it secure."

He moved towards the door that adjoined into the hardware itself, pausing to shake out and sling on his jacket again. "So either we're gonna find what we're looking for and then some, or we're gonna run into a buncha walkers who've been penned up inside here for a while."

Ike grinned, wide and wolfish, his bat firm in his hand with the other one on the door handle. "Don't I know how to show you a good time, Wildfire?"

Another day, another raid. Ike had gone on about some important thing they needed to do and Nicki hadn't asked any questions. She figured if they were out there, it was for a good reason. When had Isaac ever steered her wrong? Well, besides that one time when way back when he was sure the store had the good stuff and then there were scavengers on their ass....oh, and that time in Rhode Island....

Okay, so he might have steered her wrong a few times, but most of the time, Isaac's plans worked out well. And when they didn't, she got to cave in some skulls. So it really was a win-win. And as they grew closer to the home depot, Nicki didn't really see how this could be a bad thing. Maybe she could pick up some tools and such to take back as well. Her lips pulled into her foxy smirk as she hummed in amusement. "Relax, Papi, I know how to handle a big rig with a stick. I know my way around you, don't I?"

Nicki waited for Isaac to slip through the fence before following him. She noticed the cars and a small pain ran through her as she thought about her Persephone. "Did you check any of these cars to see if they had any gas?" If there was good fuel she could fill up her baby and take her for a little spin. Just one to get her tires going and parts working.

While Ike had his bat, Nicki had her machete and a crowbar. The blade was swinging on her hip in the make-shift sleeve she had fastened for it and the crowbar was secured to her back with the old quiver she "borrowed" from a scavenger a while back. While on the one hand she didn't want to have to pull them out, but if the time came, she was not going to hesitate on using them. And the AZs over in the old garden center reminded her that she needed to be ready for either scenario. Her weapons bounced against her as she followed Isaac's path. Although she about came to a stop when he finally explained why they were there. "Wait, we came all the way out here to get stuff to make a fucking bee house?" she asked, keeping her voice to a low hiss so as to not attract the AZs....or anyone else that might be lurking about.

#with: nicki #p: nic002

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fanfic-archive · 3 years ago

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Meeting the Baron (1/7)

Chapter 1. Berlin, Germany

Summary: A call from your friends, Sam and Bucky, has you packing a bag and flying to Berlin. Maybe they should have mentioned something about the criminal that Bucky broke out of prison, the same man who was locked up after breaking up the Avengers. Maybe they should have mentioned what you were getting yourself into.

Word Count: 2172

The coffee you sipped at was bitter but if you weren’t going to get any sleep, you might as well fuel up on caffeine for the day. At least you got a few hours of sleep under your belt, and that was all you could ask for these days. You were just about to cross from your kitchenette to the couch until you heard your phone ringing.

With a sigh, you picked your phone up from the kitchen counter, becoming curious when you saw Sam’s name on the caller ID.

“Hey, what’s up?” you answered the call, heading for your couch.

“Hey, did I wake you?” Sam asked, pretty sure it was the early hours of the morning where you were.

“Nope” you sighed.

“I’m with Bucky-” he informed you, being interrupted by the other man.

“Hey, Y/n” Bucky’s voice was able to be heard in the background, making you chuckle a little.

“What trouble have you two started now?” you asked, knowing this call couldn’t be because of anything good.

“Nothing…well, we didn’t start it. We could use some help, another pair of hands and all that, do you think you could meet us?” Sam asked, but you could hear that he felt a little bad about it.

“Yeah, of course. Where?” you were always happy to help your two friends, even though the tasks were rarely easy.

“Berlin” Sam stated, making your eyes widen.

“What the hell are you doing in Berlin?” you asked, raising your voice slightly.

“It’s a long story, do you think you can meet us?” he asked again, clearly this was something that he had to explain to you in person.

“Sure, I’ll get there as soon as I can. I’ll let you know when I’ve landed” you shook your head at him, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Thank you.”

“No problem” you hung up the phone and looked around your dimly lit apartment. Should you pack a bag? Because it looked like you were heading for Germany.

After arriving in Berlin, Bucky sent you the location where you were supposed to be meeting them and you headed straight there. You met the two men in some form of garage, greeting them both with a friendly hug, before they filled you in on everything they had been up to. Which was much more than you had been expecting.

“…and you went in there alone?” you asked in disbelief. Sam and Bucky had just finished filling you in on their visit to Zemo and explaining exactly who Zemo was, it was a lot of information to process in one go. And after all of that, you couldn’t believe that Bucky went to speak with him alone.

“I was fine” Bucky assured you.

“And he wants to break him out” Sam added, bewildering you even more.

“After all of that, you, of all people, want to break him out of prison?” you asked Bucky, eyes wide. When you got a call from Sam, you knew it couldn’t be good, but this was beyond bad.

“Let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?” Bucky asked.

“What did you do?” Sam asked accusingly.

“I didn’t do anything” Bucky defended himself but neither of you were buying it.

“Go on then, hypothetically?” you sighed, letting him continue.

“The weakest point in any system isn’t the software, the hardware, it’s the meatware. The human element. Now, in this lock up, it’s nine to one, prisoners to guards. And if two prisoners start fighting, then the protocol says four guards have to respond” Bucky informed you both.

“So why would two prisoners randomly start fighting at that moment?” Sam asked, squinting at him.

“Who knows? There could be many reasons…but the point is, these things escalate. Lockdown procedures would have to be initiated, and with all those bodies flying around left and right, wouldn’t be hard to slip down a hallway or two. And if the fire alarm got tripped while the prisoners were being separated, someone could use the chaos to their advantage” Bucky finished, not liking the look on your or Sam’s face.

“I don’t know the guy but I’m guessing all that would be bad” you looked to Sam.

“Oh, it would be bad” Sam nodded.

“In that case, I don’t like how detailed this hypothetical is…” you turned back to Bucky, just wanting him to tell you that all of that truly was a hypothetical.

“Yeah, I don’t like how casual you’re being about this. This is unnatural. Are you…and where are we man?” Sam cut himself off to ask the question that both of you had been wondering. Why were you here and what was going on?

As if on cue, the sound of a door opening and closing got your attention, making you all turn in time to see a man approaching. He was wearing a prison guard uniform, which seemed suspicious after Bucky’s little speech.

“Bucky…?” you asked without talking your eyes off of the man, wanting him to explain what was going on.

But Sam seemed to recognise the man from the way he reaction, Bucky had to get in front of him and stop him from approaching the man. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t let this happen” Bucky explained to him.

They quickly made it known to you that this was the Zemo they had been telling you about and, after a little bit of convincing, you and Sam agreed to trust Bucky on this. If he could deal with working with him, so could you.

“So, who is your friend?” Zemo asked, looking to you expectantly.

“Y/n” you told him simply.

“Baron Helmut Zemo” he introduced himself as he held his hand out for you to shake.

You were unsure at first but decided to just step forward and go to shake his hand, but Sam was quick to intervene. “Ah, none of that” he pushed your arm down and pulled you back to his side, shooting a glare at the criminal.

“Apologies” Zemo nodded, seemingly unphased by Sam’s reaction.

Zemo led you all through into another room and pulled a switch, the lights flickering on overhead to reveal a warehouse filled with vintage cars, all of which you were sure were expensive.

“So, our first move is grand theft auto?” Sam asked sarcastically, seemingly unimpressed.

“These are mine. Collected by family over the generations” Zemo informed the three of you.

“Oh, so you’re like…rich-rich” you commented without thinking, more to yourself than anything. But the three men had heard and looked at you, Sam and Bucky seeming unimpressed but Zemo had the smallest of amused smiles on his face. “What?” you asked when you noticed the men looking at you.

“Yes, I supposed you could say that I’m…’rich-rich’” Zemo nodded, using your own term, and you just nodded in response. “I’m a Baron. My family was royalty until the Avengers destroyed my country” he explained as he opened the door of one of the cars and started grabbing his belongings.

“Royalty? So, he really is like…proper rich-rich” you murmured to Sam, they failed to inform you of these details.

“Will you stop?” Sam looked down at you.

“I just wasn’t expecting it” you defended yourself with a small shrug, making him chuckle a little.

More importantly, you also hadn’t expected the criminal to be so…attractive, especially after just getting out of prison. That was another thing that took you by surprise, a part of you hoped that he would turn out to be annoying or rude, otherwise you could see yourself liking this guy.

The next thing you knew, you were on Zemo’s private jet being filled in on the details of Madripoor and the person you were supposed to be meeting there. Zemo had also informed you that he had arranged a place to spend the night, in order to prepare for the meeting tomorrow evening.

It was a small safe house by the looks of it, located in the backstreets of a rouge city, you couldn’t imagine Zemo ever staying here for long, but it would do for now. The four of you were in the main room, a lounge and a kitchenette, talking about the plan.

“Right so, you’re going in as you, Sam as this Smiling Tiger guy, and Bucky as…as the Winter Solider. Where does that leave me?” you asked, cringing a little at the thought of Bucky having to pretend to be that, it can’t be easy for him.

“Unfortunately, I do not have an identity for you to steal but it will be easy to make one for you” Zemo assured you but the three of you were still wondering what he had planned.

“I have a fake ID guy if you need him” you joked, earning a slight glance from Sam before he looked back at Zemo.

“Not necessary. You will pose as my date” the Baron informed you.

“No” all three of you responded at the same time.

“It is the only unsuspicious way to get you into the meeting without having an important name” Zemo sighed, trying to convince the three of you.

“…fine” you gave in after a moment of consideration. How awful could that actually be? And if he tried anything, you would break his hand. You would be fine.

“You don’t have too; we can just meet up with you after” Sam assured you.

“There is no way I’m going to sit around while you two go in there. It’ll be fine, what’s the worst that could happen?” you insisted. You did not fly out to Germany and then to Madripoor just to sit around and wait for them to come back.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to say that” Bucky commented.

“…oops?” you responded, making Bucky laugh a little to himself.

At some point, you all had decided to get some rest, though you doubted it would come easily. The meeting was important and you all had to be ready, and that meant being well-rested, no matter how unlikely it was to happen.

Unsurprisingly, you found yourself wandering back to the main room when you couldn’t get to sleep. A little more surprisingly, you found Zemo sitting on the couch but neither of your friends, you assumed that they were still somewhere else in the safe house getting some rest.

You ignored the man, heading straight for the kitchenette to get yourself a glass of water, but he wasn’t as dedicated to ignoring you. “Sleeping problems?” Zemo asked from the couch, watching you get a drink.

“Just jet lag” you lied without looking over at him.

“You were not an avenger” Zemo observed as he stood from the couch, walking over to you.

“No, I wasn’t” you nodded.

“So, forgive me for not being familiar with you” he hummed.

“You’re forgiven. I’d rather you not know my name than know everything about me like you do the others” you confessed, finally turning to him, glass in hand.

“I never said that I don’t know anything, I’m a quick learner” he informed you, sounding sure of himself.

“Sure, whatever that means” you mumbled, taking a sip of water.

“So, how do you know Sam and James?” he asked.

“I was just friends with them” you answered honestly. You weren’t an Avenger, you weren’t a superhero, but you were a capable friend that they trusted.

“Just a friend who would risk going against the US government because of a phone call” Zemo hummed, acknowledging that you were doing a big favour for your two friends.

“Eh, what has the US government ever done for me?” you joked dismissively. This time Zemo didn’t respond, he just looked at you, tilting his head to the side slightly. “What are you doing?” you questioned, feeling like he was analysing you.

“Learning” he answered quietly, with a small shrug.

“Look, my friends called me for help, people are dying, and John Walker is Captain America. I’m just trying to help out before things get any weirder” you told him, placing the glass down and planning to leave.

“How heroic” Zemo sarcastically commented.

“I’m no hero, I know how you feel about them” you folded your arms over your chest, you weren’t in the mood to have this discussion.

“Ah, so, you do know me” he smirked a little, having assumed that you didn’t really know who he was.

“Sam and Bucky filled me in. I don’t care, as long as you’re helpful” you shrugged.

“I am” he promised with a nod.

“Good” you nodded back.

“Goodnight, Y/n” Zemo gave you a small smile before turning and leaving the room.

You couldn’t decide what to think about the Baron. You didn’t have the history with him that the others had but you hated what he put them through, but something about him just seemed…oddly likable. The sooner this whole thing was over and things went back to normal, the better.

#Helmut Zemo x reader #Zemo x reader #Baron Zemo x reader #helmut zemo #zemo #baron zemo #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws

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ohgodmyeyes · 4 years ago

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It’s A Trap!

Anakin gets rid of the cockroaches in your apartment.

...

Anakin x gender-neutral Reader

1k words

Modern AU

...

They were tiny, they were disgusting, and they were everywhere.

They popped up in the bathroom at all hours of the night and day, crawled across the kitchen countertop with abandon, and ruined any food you left out if you dared to turn your back from it for even a minute. You hated them, and they were making you miserable.

“Fuck, Anakin! I hate this place!” You were standing in the kitchen, feeling distinctly fed up.

“What? What’s the problem?” He sat down at the table, lit a cigarette, and looked at you as though you were crazy.

“It’s the goddamn cockroaches! They’re all over the fucking place!”

“Huh? They’re just little bugs.” Anakin had been relatively nonchalant about the problem since its commencement; you, however, wanted the little intruders purged from your life.

“They’re awful, and they need to die!” You spotted one crawling across the floor right then; stomped on it. “I’m going out to buy poison.”

“Aw, babe, you know I don’t like that shit,” protested Anakin, with a long and very ironic drag off his smoke.

“What the fuck do you want me to do, then? These little assholes are ruining my life!” They were. You hadn’t made a sandwich without fear in weeks. You’d found, in fact, that both you and the roaches shared an affinity for sliced, raw onions.

“‘Ruining your life’? They’re just trying to live their lives, you know.” He blew a few hazy rings into the air, and waved his hand at you dismissively.

“Fucking hell Ani, I don’t care what they’re trying to do! They don’t pay rent here, and they’re not going to ‘live their lives’ at my expense!” You threw your own arms up in the air. “If you can’t come up with a better idea by the end of the day, I’m going to the hardware store and coming back with enough toxic shit to turn this place into a fucking gas chamber!”

You didn’t wait for him to answer; you simply stormed out, prepared to pull out your credit card later on that evening for the express purpose of filling your home with a vile concoction of deadly chemicals.

...

Did you take care of it, or do I need to make a stop on my way home?

You texted Anakin this from your car, in anticipation of having to stop for poison. You were quite confident that there was nothing he could have done in the past few hours to even begin to rid your home of those cockroaches.

Come right back, my love— they’re nearly all gone.

You were highly skeptical, but you did trust Anakin. He’d scarcely ever let you down before, in fact. After eyeing your phone indecisively for a few moments, you opted to put your wallet away, and drive on home. You were just about always willing to give Ani a chance.

When you opened the front door, the apartment was relatively quiet... and you detected the distinct odour of raw onions permeating the air. Anakin must have known what they liked best; had he designed some sort of trap? He’d always been good at building things, after all.

“Ani?” You looked around the living room; peered down the hallway in the direction of the bathroom, too. All of the lights were on, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Anakin!” Had the roaches eaten him, and all of your onions?

You walked into the kitchen last, positive that you would find him there.

“Anakin, wh—”

From behind the very end of the counter, a hand shot up to silence you— it was his. All you could see of him was the arm he’d raised; whatever he was doing, he was doing it very quietly.

You went quiet for him, too, but continued on into the room. As you approached the end of the surface on which you prepared all of your meals, you realized that Ani had, in fact, set a trap... however, this was no ordinary trap.

It was so out-of-the-ordinary that you found yourself unable to maintain your silence, except to clamp both of your hands tightly over your mouth. You wanted to scream.

On the floor at the very end of the kitchen, Anakin was kneeling. His mouth, exactly level with the countertop, was wide open. There was a little pile of chopped onions sitting atop his tongue... and a long, winding line of cockroaches eagerly marching right toward it.

Some of the bugs were still on the counter, but the inside of his mouth was almost entirely black with them. They crawled atop the onions, around his teeth, and over each other. His beautiful blue eyes were fixed sharply on those of them which had not yet entered his ‘trap’; you could tell that he was waiting patiently for them to join their brethren in vying for a taste of those irresistibly tangy veggies he’d laid out just for their pleasure.

You watched in abject horror until the last of the sickening little insects had been lured into Anakin’s mouth; once he was sure they were all gone from the counter, he stood up, and pursed his lips.

Perhaps the only thing worse than watching him trap them was listening to the sound they made between his teeth as he began to chew.

Finally, you weren’t afraid to scare them off; shouted, “What the fuck, Anakin?!”

He swallowed; held up his hand once more to indicate that you should wait while he went to the refrigerator, retrieved a carton of orange juice, and took a huge gulp of it straight from the spout.

You would remember to throw that container into the trash later.

Finally— incredulously— he asked you much the same as he had in the morning, ”What?”

You could hardly string two words together. “You— you just— did you— is this what you’ve been doing all day, Anakin?” You should never have left him alone in the house; you suspected you might never leave him unmonitored again.

Not after this.

He merely shrugged, and lit one of his cigarettes— presumably to remove from his mouth the taste of the cockroach purée he’d just generated with his teeth. You usually didn’t appreciate his smoking, but this time?

This time, you truly couldn’t blame him.

“Fucking hell, Ani, I thought you said they were just trying to live their lives!”

“They were— but you said they were bothering you. So, I found a way to get rid of them naturally.” With a grin and a drag of his smoke, “I’d feel like a piece of shit for poisoning them, but this way, they at least get put to use.”

“‘To use’?”

“Sure— do you have any idea how many of them there were? I’ll barely need to eat dinner tonight. Those little guys are fuel, now!” He looked quite proud of himself; perhaps he didn’t recognize the persistent look of disgust on your face.

He must not have.

“Anakin,” you started, but he didn’t let you finish— instead, he stepped forward and wrapped you up in his arms; thrust his tongue into your gaping mouth as he kissed you deeply. He tasted like smoke and orange juice; coupled with an earthy, metallic note unlike anything you’d ever experienced before.

When he pulled away, the look in his eyes was one of utmost love and affection— he really had done this just for you. He was beautiful, and you knew that you were lucky to have such a well-intentioned partner with whom to share your life.

In spite of this, you turned immediately away from him. With tears stinging the corners of your eyes, you leaned over the sink and vomited; let loose the entire contents of your stomach directly down the drain.

You hoped that Anakin, in his infinite kindness, would understand.

#anakin x reader #Anakin Skywalker #star wars #fanfic #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin eats live bugs

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deviliciousdev · 4 years ago

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MBTI✨⛄️The Great Christmas Debacle🎄pt.4

entp (the debater)

intp (the logician)

best friends

(entp x infp relationship & intp x entj relationship)

-------------------------------------------

[at a christmas tree lot, early afternoon, the day before christmas eve]

lot worker: how bout this one? [using one had to carry three foot tall skimpy tree with droopy branches]

entp: ugh what the hell is that?

intp: 😳

entp: is this really the ONLY tree you have left?

lot worker: oh no i just showed you the worst one first. it's the day before christmas eve buddy.

intp: *snickers*

entp: 🙄 i get that, man, but still like there's NOTHING else?

intp: normally they wouldn't be pushy to a probably under paid seasonal worker, but we are kinda desperate.

lot worker: buy your tree earlier?

entp: LOOK i know, ok. I KNOW it's the day before christmas eve and we're looking for a fucking tree. BUT IF WE COULD TONE DOWN THE TUDE AND JUST FIGURE THIS OUT, would be cool ok?

intp: yeah they burned down their significant other's christmas tree and we really need a new one. actually i've been ordered to get a "bigger, better tree"

intp: [talking more to themselves than to the worker, while entp stares at the worker wide eyed like a crazy person] though now i'm thinking about it, i can't remember what the old one looked like so this might be an impossible task...

lot worker: 🤨... rough go, kids, but like i said we're fresh out of a "bigger better" redemption trees. [starts to walk off]

entp: [panic yelling] THIS IS THE THRID LOT WE'VE BEEN TO! WHAT DO WE DO NOW?!

lot worker: maybe get an axe there fire started [laughing as he walks off]

intp: ahahaha

entp: I WILL! ILL DIG ONE OUT WITH MY BARE HANDS IF I HAVE TOO PAL!

intp: [still snickering] fire starter

entp: THATS IT LETS GO!

intp: go where?

entp: [stomping to their jeep] THE FOREST!☝️

intp: we live in the city?? what forest??

entp: WE LIVE IN SEATTLE!! THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST! THE FOREST IS OUT THERE INTP! YONDER THE PINES GROW! LOOK TO THE HORIZON FOR GODSAKE! WE'LL FIND IT!

intp: [looks around] all i see is buildings and a homeless man squatting in that alley... oh god he's not squatting, HE'S NOT SQUATTING. [jumping into jeep as fast as possible]

[after a good two hours of getting lost and having to stop at a hardware store to buy a chainsaw, the xntp twins of chaos find themselves "in the forest"]

intp: are you sure this is far enough from the road? because i can definitely still hear cars also i can kinda see em.

entp: it's fine just help me put the fuel mixture in the chainsaw.

[goes over to hold chainsaw]

intp: oh! ahhh! damn it entp! you're getting gas all over man!

entp: [still pouring] well hold it up more!

[gas mixture going everywhere]

entp: damn it! it's empty! ok it's fine i'm pretty sure i got enough in there for one stupid tree.

intp: ok now, which one...?? i mean these are definitely all bigger and better. they're like 10ft tall. wait we can't do this, it's against the law.

entp: 😐

both: burst out in laughter.😂🤣

entp: ahhh that's a good one intp. ok i say we chop that bad boy down. yeah... he's a looker.

intp: ok so i think we just pull the lil cord thing to start it up, and by we i mean you. [hands entp chainsaw]

entp: i know this is like a super desperate ordeal that's going on, but can i just say i'm so excited to use a chainsaw.

intp: it's like practice for the apocalypse... eek! 😆👐

entp: RIGHT! ok let's start this bad boy up. [pulls cord half way then slips out of hand] damn it, ok i'll try again, it slipped. [does it again, slips again] DAMN IT! MY STUPID HAND'S ALL MOIST FROM THE GAS!

intp: ew.

entp: [wipes hand on pants like a crazy person] ok i dried it. i hope. ok let's get it! [does it again, finally gets it started] YES! LETS SAVE CHRISTMAS!!

intp: [pulging ears] AHHH ITS SO COOL! BUT ALSO SO LOUD!! LIKE REALLY LOUD!

[entp starts in on the base of the trunk, yelling like a mad person as sawdust starts to fly]

[several hours later, now dark out just after the sunset🌅🌃]

intp: [using chainsaw on tree which is still completely upright] ahh! cramp!! cramp!! cramp in arm!!

entp: [holding iphone light on tree] WHAT?! YOU'VE BEEN DOING IT FOR LIKE TWO SECONDS!

intp: ITS BEEN LIKE AN HOUR!!

[neither were correct as it had only been twenty minutes]

intp: ahhh! just take your turn!! my hand is now cramping!

entp: ugh!! fine you big baby, give it to me! just hold the light. [trades intp and starts for actually two seconds and stops, and screams to the heavens] ugh! this is so exhausting! i hate chainsaws! i hate myself! and i hate christmas AND CHRIS ANGEL YOU SWINDLING SON OF BITCH AND YOUR DEFECTIVE MAGIC KITS!!

intp: i wanna go hommmme. chainsaws are not as much fun as i thought, they're loud and heavy and difficult to wield and fuel, also it's dark, i'm cold and i want snack. and nature is gross i mean we should obviously save it and recycle but I HATE BUGS and i just saw a centipede ewww.

entp: I KNOW THAT INTP! but i think the tree is about ready to come down! [counties to chainsaw tree trunk]

intp: [leans against different tree, holding phone light in limp hand. sees something out of the corner of their eye] 😳 um entp...

entp: [can't hear because they're chainsawing and yell ranting] ugh! i will get infp a new tree if it kills me!! ahhh!!

intp: [seeing red and blue flashing lights through trees, coming up path] ummmmm, entp!!

entp: i almost got ittttt!! [chainsaw stutters and stops] NOOOOOO! ITS OUT FUCKING FUEL OHHHH MYYYY GODDDD! CAN THIS CHRISTMAS GET ANY WORSE!!

intp: ENTP!

entp: WHAT?!

[turns to see what intp is looking at, sees cop car pulling up and hears a quick whoop whoop 🚔🚨]

entp: son of bitch.

[cop gets out of car]

cop: you two wouldn't be trying to cut down a tree out here would ya?

entp: [throws chainsaw to their left]

intp: *nervous laugh* ahaha nooo officer, definitely not because- because that would be um- illegal. and- and- and we're good law abiding tax paying... um Seahawks fans. go boys in blue huh..?

entp: 😬

cop: 😐 mmmhmm. because it looks like it's got some chainsaw gashes, also i saw your friend there throw a chainsaw over there... also i can see the chainsaw... they're not very good at throwing huh?

entp: ok, you try and throw that thing it's really heavy.

cop: right well since the tree is still up i'm gonna let you two off with a hefty fine... each. [starts to write on pad]

intp: wooo ok, thank you officer.🙏

entp: [whispers to intp] phew, good thing the chainsaw ran out gas, i was just about to timber that mother fucker, *snicker*

intp: [whispers back] aha, ugh i know right, [weird voice] that coulda been badddd *snickers*

[hear wood creaking. tree timber's behind them]

cop: [looks up slowly] 🤨

entp: 😐

intp: is there... any chance you... didn't see that? 🤔

cop: 😠

intp: 🤓

entp: fuck. me.

to be continued...

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coffeesuperhero · 4 years ago

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fic: you can’t go home again

2900 words, somewhere on a continuum between Gen and pre-OT3, rating: Mature. Eliot-POV, set immediately after Low Low Price, but like, in the correct universe, where Low Low Price Job came before the Rundown Job instead of after.

I wrote this because it bugs the heck out of me that afaik there’s no in-canon answer to why Eliot cut his hair, so I wrote 2900 words of post-Low Low Price blathering to explain it to myself...and actually addressed that in like one sentence, lol. I am who I am.

It's an hour from the house that used to be Eliot's home back to Oklahoma City, or at least, it's an hour if you care about speed limits. On this particular occasion, Eliot makes it in a little more than half that. He spends the time he made up driving aimlessly around, looking at all the shit that's here now that wasn't here when he left. What his hometown lost, this place has found. He doesn't really know how to feel about that. Good? Bad? Vindicated? He left home behind the first time for a long list of reasons, but one at the top of the list was that he didn't see a future where he was, not for himself, not for anybody else, and what do you fucking know. He wasn't wrong.

Even so, maybe he could have called at least once in the last decade. For all the good it would have done. At least he could say he tried. But he didn't, and now there's so much water under the bridge there's an ocean where there used to be a river.

There's a parking garage entrance on his right, one of the ones downtown connected to one of the big old hotels, and he pulls into it and just sits there for a bit. Looks at the empty space on the passenger seat where the six pack of beer was sitting. Looks at the signs on the wall of the garage directing him to the hotel's entrance. Thinks about staying the night. Thinks about how he's supposed to be back in Portland in a couple of days, because he asked that nice lady from the last job on a date, a real one, because he was suffering under some kind of delusion that he could be a normal guy instead of a miserable fucking bastard whose longest relationship to date is, ha, probably the one he doesn't actually have with Parker and Hardison.

"Fuck," he says, staring at himself in the rearview mirror.

Whatever he decides to do tonight, he's pretty sure at this moment that all attempts at normalcy are a no-go, so he pulls out his phone, finds Tabitha's number, and cancels all of that bullshit with what he hopes is an appropriately apologetic note. He doesn't type You reminded me of home and that was nice but you know what, I tried and it turns out they're right, and you can't go home again, and trust me on this one, you're better off without me, because he may be miserable but he knows full well that misery doesn't actually love company, misery doesn't love anything, and he's not passing that on to a nice lady who's just trying to run her business and go about her day.

He hits send, and then he turns off his phone and leans against the headrest.

"Fuck," he says again. Now what?

He assesses the situation. Plays out his options. So, this fucking hurts, first of all. But that's fine. Eliot's no stranger to injuries. Getting them, fighting through them, healing up after. First rule of injuries: don't fucking lie to yourself about how bad it is. Well, the first rule is probably, get yourself the hell away from whoever did that shit to you, but the second one is definitely some variation on be honest about how much it sucks. And this shit may be an emotional fucking injury but that doesn't mean it doesn't fucking suck. Hell, it's his own goddamn dad, and that bridge isn't just burned, it's in little pieces floating downriver. It'll keep hurting tomorrow, regardless of what he does tonight. It'll probably hurt for a while.

How do you treat any of that? If this was just a broken bone or a concussion or some shit he'd know what to do, but he's kind of at a loss, right now. After all, the last time he went through this particular kind of injury the way he treated it was to fuck off and join the army, and none of that is an option anymore for any number of reasons.

He looks at the hotel sign again. What the fuck is he gonna do here tonight, anyway? He's close enough to Bricktown, which has really fucking taken off since he left here, so he could probably wander into some bar, pick somebody up, bring them back to a hotel room-- and then what? Fuck them and hope in the morning it doesn't sting as much?

Maybe it wouldn't be the worst way to spend an evening but it also just doesn't hit right, tonight. He's not good company right now. Doesn't want to fake being charming or happy or whatever for somebody for a night so he can feel just a little less miserable for a few hours before he leaves this place and never comes back. He came all the way out here for a real conversation that he's never really going to have, and now he has a very real ache in his chest from years and years of regret, and whatever he does after this he just wants it to be real, too, even if it's just wallowing in real misery for a while.

That does sound more like what Nate would do, though, and that isn't particularly interesting to him. He knows where that road goes and it's not anyplace he wants to be, because if it was Nate in this situation there's a good chance he'd crawl right into a bottle and never come out. And there's Sophie, who would paint on a convincing smile while she quietly bottled up all the pain and the hurt to use later for motivation, like it was some magic potion she could drink later to fuel a con, and who knows, maybe she could, but he doesn't think he can. And what would Hardison do? Eliot snorts. Like he even has to ask. Stay, definitely. Drive back down there right now and try again. And again, and again, patiently offering his heart to people whether they deserve it or not. That's Hardison all over. And Parker-- Parker would cut and run and you'd never know she'd been there.

Except no, that's not right. That's Eliot's play, or it used to be. Parker would never have come back in the first fucking place. Parker would have known better.

If he had known better, he'd still be in Portland, probably cooking the two of them dinner, because that's how he spends more evenings than he'd like to admit, lately. That, or re-planning the menu for the brewpub, because someone has to, and it looks like that someone has to be him, because if he leaves it up to Hardison the pizza will have anchovies and pineapple and the beer really will live up to Parker's promise of mouth crimes. They need him. And-- well-- okay, he needs them, too, probably. If he wants something real, they are definitely that. Sometimes they're just real weird, but even on their worst days hanging out with them is better than sitting here alone. They're his; he’s theirs. They're family. The only one he's got.

So he starts the truck and drives straight to the airport and asks the ticket agent if there's any way in hell he can get back to Portland tonight.

But there's nothing direct from here to Portland left going out today on any airline, and no matter how much he sweet talks the nice lady behind the counter, that ain't changing. She kinda reminds of his grandmother, which honestly is just not helping his emotional state, and is probably the reason why, when he opens his mouth to plead his case to this lady what comes out is, "I just really need to be with my family," instead of literally anything else.

"Bless your heart," she says, reaching across the counter to gently pat his hand, and fuck, isn't that just the worst thing she could've said. People from other places tend to assume that phrase only means one thing, but the actual truth is that it can mean anything from boy, are you a dumbass to I see your pain and I want you to know that you are not alone in this cold dark world and I don't rightly know how but trust me, it is going to be okay, and this is the latter one, for sure. And he has held up under torture, under hours and hours and days and days of physical pain, without cracking, but this sweet lady and her voice and her eyes that crinkle up like his grandma's and her bless your heart kindness are going to be the death of him, probably. He gives her a very watery smile in response, and she pats his hand again and says, "Let's find you a flight."

It takes four connections and an overnight flight to do it, but eventually, Eliot and his newfound best friend, Miss Roxanna, queen of the American check-in counter at the Will Rogers World Airport, work this shit out.

"Listen, honey," she says, as she hands him his tickets, "I don't know what you've got going on and I don't need to, but it's gonna be all right."

"Thank you, ma'am," he manages to say, and he's glad he has to run to make it through security and find his gate because he can't stand here and do this shit much longer without spilling his guts to a total stranger.

He doesn't sleep on the plane to L.A.. He does try, he just can't get there. Every time he closes his eyes he just sees his dad's stupid hardware store. So he stays awake. He even does the crossword, or most of it. He eats the plane snacks when the flight attendant comes around with the basket of slightly fancier shit that they serve in first-class. Maybe he flirts with her a little, but only out of habit. Mostly he just stares out the window and wonders what Parker and Hardison are doing right now and why he thought he needed to leave in the first place, and then he thinks about that last job and that old guy, Martin, and realizes that he was always going to try to go home again, so maybe he can at least stop beating himself up for that.

He cuts his hair in the bathroom of the American Airlines Admirals Club Lounge in terminal four of LAX at one in the goddamn morning, because he's tired and plane-sweaty and even though they have showers here his hair just won't stop sticking to his damn neck and he's got two more flights before he's back in Oregon and he's about over it. So he palms some scissors from the lady at the lounge desk when she's not looking, hits the bathroom, and hacks it all off. It ain't clean or neat and honestly he doesn't give a fuck. It suits his mood. And when he looks at his reflection and feels a little pang that it's gone, that's even better. What does it matter? It's just hair. He's not Samson; his hometown wasn't Delilah. He doesn't get his power from it or some bullshit like that.

Because airlines are bullshit, from L.A. he actually has to go all the way back to Dallas before he can get to Seattle and his last flight, but at least after all of that the flight from SeaTac to Portland is over almost before it starts, and he shuffles off the plane and out of the airport like a zombie coming back to life. Eliot never thought he could be so goddamn grateful for Portland, so different from the home he left behind and still carries around in his heart. Portland, with all its rain and tall cedars and the looming specter of Mount Hood in the distance, is nothing like the place he left, but god, he could almost fall to his knees at the sight of all of it now.

What he means to do, when he gets in his car, is go to his place and pass out for a few hours before he inevitably finds his way to the brewpub. The drive is so easy and there's so little traffic this early that he just sort of autopilots himself around, and he doesn't even register that he's not at his own place until he's putting in the alarm code on Parker and Hardison's apartment door, muscle memory piloting his fingers through the sequence when his tired brain can't be bothered with the recall. The code's keyed specifically to him, he knows, so if anyone up there is awake and cares to see it, they'll know he's here and probably go right back to sleep, because it is early the fuck o'clock and he knows it.

He's exhausted and he feels like he's been on twice as many planes as it took him to get here, but he walks in, closes the door quietly behind him, and tosses his keys on the table by the door where he always leaves them when he's here. And it's just right. This, right here, this specific place, is just where he needed to be. He sinks onto the couch in the living room, too tired to haul himself any further, to the spare room that stays spare, just in case. Just in case of Eliot. He knows that. They've never told him it's his space. They also never told him he couldn't leave his shit there. So he's got clothes in the closet and maybe a few other things besides, a little home away from home, for the nights when he's here too late or has an extra beer or just plain does not want to go home to an empty apartment when his heart is here.

He's trying to will himself to get up when he hears the door to their bedroom open, catches a few lines of whispered conversation, first Hardison, then Parker. There's noise in the kitchen-- the soft beeps of the coffee pot, the click-hiss of the gas stove, the sizzle of bacon-- and then there they both are, right beside him.

Nobody looks at him funny. Nobody even says a word. Hardison sets a steaming cup of coffee on the coffee table in front of him; Parker follows it up with a plate of toast and bacon and eggs. A few minutes later they curl up, one of them on either side of him, holding their own plates, and nobody tells him to eat or drink, they just leave him be. But that midnight meal in the American lounge was hours ago, now, and he should eat before he passes out, probably, so he reaches for his plate and digs in, grateful that someone around here who isn't him has apparently figured out that you can have something besides hot pockets or cereal for breakfast.

The silence is comforting for a while, until it isn't, with neither of them saying a damn word, and what are they waiting for, anyway? He's never here this early unless it's for a reason, even if the reason is just that there wasn't anyplace else he wanted to be.

"Don't you want to know what I'm doing here?" he asks finally, when it seems like they're just going to keep on waiting until he says something.

"Why would you need a reason to be here?" Parker asks, and Hardison just looks up from his phone and says, "Yeah man, you're home," and shrugs, like of course there's nowhere else he would be, and god, if he's home, then no, there really isn't anywhere else. It’s funny, because up until this moment, at least in his head, home has still been a tiny town two-thousand miles east of here, but that’s not right, not anymore, and now he knows it, for sure. Looks like the lady at the ticket counter was right after all. It was gonna be okay.

"Yeah," he says, with a grateful smile. "Yeah, okay. I'm home."

He's so tired he can't even clock who moves first, maybe Hardison, maybe Parker, hell, maybe it was him or even all of them together, but the end result is, there are two sets of arms wrapped around him and two sleep-warm people pressed against his ribs on both sides. And it's been a long day and a long year and a long life, to be honest, and he may be tired but he's not alone and he's home, so he just lets them hold onto him for a while, and he holds on right back. Maybe you can't go home again, but you sure as hell can make a new one. This one, at least, he is going to do his goddamn best not to burn to the ground.

#eliot spencer #leverage #fic #my fic #me posting fic on tumblr in the year of our lord 2020: more likely than you might think!

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route22ny · 5 years ago

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New York Unmasked

by Harry Siegel

Imagining our city, for worse and for better, after the coronavirus pandemic

The city that never sleeps is taking a nap now, and it’s going to be a very different place when it finally wakes up.

Not long after the World Trade Center was destroyed on Sept. 11, 2001, and again after Lehman Brothers collapsed on Sept. 15, 2008, there was a lot of talk about how New York wouldn’t be the same. Both times, reports of our collective demise proved to be greatly exaggerated as the city quickly recovered, economically speaking, and resumed the upward path — ever more prosperous, populated and pricey — it’s remained on for at least the last quarter-century.

This time is different.

Any remaining vision of the city somehow picking up more or less where things had been left off went away with the decision to start shutting down the trains for four hours each night. That’s a huge though supposedly temporary shift for a system that’s run 24 hours a day for over a century with only the briefest of interruptions — until now the only one in the country that doesn’t turn off, as I’ve been shocked to re-learn every time I make the mistake of visiting another city. As with many of the decisions New York and the nation have made in this plague year, it will be much more difficult to turn things back on than it was to turn them off.

Already, the devastation is staggering. In less than eight weeks, the 13,168 (as of Friday night) confirmed coronavirus deaths here have exceeded the total number of murder victims, 12,509, over the past two decades — and that’s counting the 2,977 victims of 9/11.

New York managed to keep the death count down to 13,168 at the cost of putting the city and its economy in the equivalent of a medically induced coma, and with no assurances at all that a second wave of infections won’t be coming despite that.

While putting New York under helped keep the first wave from completely overwhelming the medical system here, as happened in Italy, “the point where we can really start at reopening…obviously is a few months away at minimum,” Mayor de Blasio said Friday.

Even at that point, whenever we finally get there, it’s hard to see everyone just getting back on the train for a crushed morning commute to the office, or servers returning to packed restaurants and bars and theaters and nightspots. Forget about tourists flying in to burn dollars; it’s an open question how many of the generally better-off New Yorkers who’ve left in the course of this will return here, or how many families will borrow or pay now so students can have the city as their campus — or if there will be a campus at all this fall.

This is all surreal. While some people talk about how the virus ravaging New York compares to 9/11, Donald Trump — who claims he lost hundreds of friends on 9/11, though he’s never named a single one of them — dispatches fighter planes to fly low over the city as a tribute to first responders.

While we still don’t know why New York was hit so hard by the virus, it’s clear that density — in places from the Meatpacking District here to the meatpacking plants in the Midwest — plays a big role in spreading it. And this is a place built on density, by far the densest big city in America as well as the biggest.

So this witchy hour we’re in is looking less like a PAUSE than a painful and fundamental shift in how the city functions and what it means to be a New Yorker.

To get through it, many people need to keep looking ahead and, I hope, looking at what New Yorkers can do in their own lives and demand from their politicians to see the city finally emerge as a fairer and more resilient one . I was born in New York City just ahead of the blackout babies, in November of 1977 — the month that Ed Koch was elected mayor and started to set the city on the path it’s mostly remained on until the virus — and I’ve remained here pretty much since. My dad grew up here, and his dad , and me and my brother are both raising our daughters here now, walking distance from each other and Rosie and Zadie.

I’m committed to the city for a lot of reasons, in addition to my family here: I own a house (or at least the bank lets me live in it), and one that’s bizarrely worth much more than I bought it for, at least if I was to sell it. My kids have a couple hundred square feet of their own outside as we shelter in place. And I know a bit and write a lot about New York, which really isn’t a skill set that travels.

But the truth is that the city of the past two decades has felt less and less like home, and more and more like the parts of Manhattan I try to avoid. I’ve spent too much of my adult life railing against the hipsters, gentrifiers, trustafarians and yuppies who didn’t have the good taste to spend their money here and then leave but instead “discovered” neighborhoods and remade them in their images, often to be priced out in time by new “discoverers.” I saved a bit of spleen for the people who rail against those people, rather than do something more productive with their time.

New York has become a city of increasingly sterile retail, one where internet listings have made real estate a more transparent and internationally accessible marketplace for foreign capital to reshape neighborhoods that preserve less and less of their old characters — for better and for worse.

It’s a corporate town, full of semi-interesting hustlers and characters along with its steady share of the depraved, the doomed, the damned and the dull. I’ve seen enough and read enough to know that none of that is new. But it’s metastasized over decades of financialized and increasingly monopolized and VC-fueled growth to swallow other values and ways of life. It’s hard to swim against a tide of money, and it takes a certain mania to even try.

Some of this is selfish, for sure. I preferred the waterfront of my youth, when the piers were barren and all but off-limits but for the bold and the desperate. No one with means would walk there, let alone live there, since it still had the taint of not so long ago shipping and industry and the rougher trades that lived by the waterfront, when the High Line was just a long-abandoned elevated track west of the projects that you could break into and walk on.

That all became part of the steel-and-glass luxury city that Mike Bloomberg described, one here for companies that can afford the best and priciest, and the people who draw incomes from those companies, directly or by providing services for their FIRE (that’s finance, insurance and real estate) workers who live in The City while firefighters commute in from Westchester and Long Island, or by constructing the buildings these people live in, or from the bloated government that services the “other” people who need help to stay here at all. A city that’s priced hospital beds out of big swathes of Manhattan and Brooklyn to clear space for luxury housing.

For years, I’ve been anticipating a reset as office space declines in importance with the rise of remote work, and that in turn brings down commercial and residential prices; hoping for a different, sturdier and livelier New York that exists for and better reflects the people who live here rather than serving as a clearinghouse for the world’s money. Over my adult life I’ve read endless warnings — including in this paper — about the return of the “bad old days” that are long gone for most New Yorkers, if they were here for those days at all. Now, we’re about to get a real taste of what a sharp downturn, along with a hostile federal government, feels like: “Drop Dead.” Now they’re looming as trading floors are vacant along with everything else that isn’t actually essential, and much of what’s abruptly left won’t soon return or the money that they brought in and splashed around.

This will be painful, but New York has always found ways to make new uses of what’s here. The same way that small and sturdy Brooklyn rowhouses built for the burgeoning middle class woke up one day as $2 million “townhouses,” and Single Residence Occupancies that single men depended on to maintain lives here, such as those were, become mansions with enough money and time, office spaces can become creative spaces like warehouses became artist’s lofts. Finally, housing prices, and everything else, should relate to the incomes of the bulk of the people working here. Right now, they relate to the vagaries of the global markets.

I’ll repeat that: The size of our economy, and real estate prices, should relate to the value of the goods and services people here actually produce. That will hurt a lot of New Yorkers who’ve invested in the city, including me, as property values and rents flatten or even go down, but some of that pain is needed. A city that’s too expensive for gas stations or grocery stores — looking at you, Manhattan — is too expensive for most people.

I hope we’re becoming a city that gives a proper Bronx cheer to Airbnb and Seamless and Uber and WeWork and all the venture capital-funded wannabe monopoly “tech” companies looking to “disrupt” fundamental aspects of our life by losing money for long enough to drive their competitors out of business altogether. That resists the convenience of Amazon and its ilk to support our local grocery and book and hardware stores, so that those are still there when we really need them.

A city that knows better than to cut off its nose to spite its face, now that we know better than to touch our faces. If New York has to sleep now to survive, it’s the perfect time to dream.

[email protected]

***

This essay appeared in the New York Daily News, May 3, 2020.

Photo via ShutterStock

#NYC #Covid19 #pandemic recovery #a city's identity #Harry Siegel

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eat-the-richard · 4 years ago

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Sonic’s 30th: What it could be and what it won’t be

Well folks, it's about that time again. Our beloved Sonic thee Hedgehog is turning the big three-oh this year.

I say that time “again” because, y’know, it seems like we just went through this. The last mainline Sonic releases, Sonic Mania and Sonic Forces, were both revealed as part of Sonic’s 25th anniversary. In a sense, that’s all us fans really have to look forward to anymore. Waiting for about five-or-so rotations around the sun to pass until SEGA can slap that big number next to Sonic’s mug to usher out as much celebratory marketing material as they can, all for the chance to get a smidgen of new video games to get our hands on.

This anniversary feels... different, though. Last anniversary SEGA had an absolute winner on their hands in Sonic Mania. There was no way the team behind that one could possibly mess up. And even if Sonic Forces turned out like... that, it at least made sense from SEGA’s perspective to greenlight a game like it during that time. But the five years since those games were announced have done little to assuage my worries about what exactly is planned for this year’s big game.

You see, Sonic has kind of vanished. He’s lost. M.I.A.. Which feels strange. Even during the supposed “dark age” of Sonic, he never really went anywhere. New games were still being produced like clockwork for a whole host of gaming systems. From mainline titles to spinoffs, dedicated Sonic fans had a lot to sink their teeth into back then. Since the release of Forces, all we really have to show for ourselves is a (personally) insignificant expansion to Sonic Mania and a new racing title which, frankly, didn’t set the world on fire when it was released. I suppose there’s a whole host of mobile titles that I didn’t mention but it’s difficult to get excited over yet another Sonic auto-runner. Perhaps most bafflingly, there haven’t even been many ports of older Sonic titles to modern hardware. If the mid-2000s were the dark ages of Sonic, perhaps right now we’re living in the “silent age,” where basically nothing is even happening and the franchise is at an eternal standstill.

The sole exception to this self-titled silent era was the Sonic movie, which I don’t think anyone anticipated being as big of a success as it was. Including the studio behind it. And especially including SEGA. It was utterly baffling to me that, upon the film’s release, there was nothing in the way of a tie-in game. Nothing directly associated with the movie. Nothing separate to release alongside the movie. Nothing. Some have speculated that SEGA was supremely unconfident in the film and it's hard to argue otherwise. It seems that, in a sense, the movie was a success in spite of the company the IP is linked with.

That’s why this anniversary feels more peculiar than the last one. At least Sonic was doing something in the early 2010s. Perhaps nothing groundbreaking, but he was at least around. If it hadn’t been for the movie, how in the world would the series be attracting new fans? This anniversary needs to be big. It needs to be the explosive re-emergence of Sonic to not only please the jaded oldies but the next generation of kids. And… I just don’t anticipate anything of the sort.

To me, Sonic Team has about four directions they could take the 30th anniversary game. Here they are, listed in descending order of likelihood.

4. A new “boost” game. Sonic Team ain’t opening that can of worms again.

3. A new “classic Sonic” game. While Christian Whitehead’s new studio has been deafeningly silent since forming, I believe that we’d have a bit more information about a Sonic Mania sequel by now if that was indeed in development.

2. Something entirely different.

1. Sonic Adventure 3 (or comparable analog).

Now, your reaction to that list may differ depending on your preferences and the year you were born. To me, something evoking nostalgia to the two Sonic Adventures is the safest and most likely choice for SEGA and Sonic Team. Just as classic nostalgia permeated through the 2010s, Adventure nostalgia will trailblaze full force through the 2020s. There are a lot of people whose only exposure to Sonic at all is playing Sonic Adventure 2 Battle on their GameCube. And the only way those people could potentially get funneled back into the series is through a proper Sonic Adventure 3, or at least something like it.

This, of course, says nothing about the overall quality of what this new Adventure title would be. And really, this is my main concern with the 30th anniversary. Can I even trust Sonic Team anymore to put out a good game?

Regardless of style, I’m unconfident to say the least. The staff that worked on the Adventure titles are not at SEGA anymore. The staff that spearheaded the “boost trilogy” of Unleashed, Colors, and Generations are not at SEGA anymore. And modern-day Sonic Team’s idea of something entirely different is, well, unappealing. Sonic Lost World proved that trying to change the core of the series for its own sake leads to a bland and uninspiring experience. And Forces? Oh… Forces.

Really, Forces is the main reason why I’m so disillusioned. Maybe it was that I was excited for the grand return of the boost. Maybe it was that I loved Generations so much that a proper sequel to it couldn’t possibly be bad. Instead of being a sequel to Generations, though, it tries to be everything at once. A game to appeal to the classic fans, the Adventure fans, the boost fans, those whole love complicated narratives, those who love the many characters this series has, and, obviously, the Original Character Artists™. Jack of all trades, master of nothing. A directionless, soulless game that in some instances is seemingly artificially-generated.

If this spectacular 30th anniversary Sonic game is something entirely different, it had to break an astounding amount of new ground. It had to rethink and reshape the series so drastically that, honestly, I don’t think it's very likely. I don’t think Sonic Team has even the slightest clue about what makes their flagship IP so appealing to so many people. If the nostalgia-fueled 2010s are any indication, SEGA only understands what makes Sonic so popular on a superficial level.

They know we liked the 2D games, so now EVERY game has 2D in it! Oh, they didn’t like that Sonic has green eyes. Well, let’s bring back the CLASSIC version of Sonic. Let’s actually make him his own character who will also appear in every game!

New zone ideas? LMAO how about we reuse the same set of classic levels over and over! Green Hill? YES! Chemical Plant? Of course! Let’s make an entire game that has both Sonics running around in a bunch of old zones. Wait, didn’t we just do that idea last year for Sonic 4 Episode 1? And aren’t we going to do that idea NEXT year for Sonic 4 Episode 2? WAIT DID SOMEONE SAY CHECKERBOARD PATTERNS IN WINDY HILL ZONE!???!!!!

Oh wait, Christian Whitehead just pitched to us a brand new 2D Sonic game with classic physics and new levels? We’ll let him do it, but ONLY if it is ANOTHER nostalgia game that reuses old zones!

Let’s inundate our fans with the same images of their childhood to activate their dopamine receptors!

I can hardly wait for what this team’s idea of Sonic Adventure nostalgia looks like. Hope you really like City Escape.

Really, while such appeals to nostalgia are welcome the first few times, after a while it starts to get grating. Sonic Team leaning so hard into it during the 2010s reeks to me of desperation. As if the constant callbacks are the only thing the team knows how to do to link new games with the rest of the series.

In actuality, fans don’t like Sonic because of the classic design or 2D-platforming or Green Hill Zone. They may like those things, but it isn’t why they continue to support the series. Fans love Sonic so fervently because, when he hits on all cylinders, he really hits. His games play in a supremely rewarding way where skill mastery is key. The better you are at Sonic, the better you feel while playing it. The personalities and designs of all of the different characters, from Sonic to Tails to Vector the freakin’ Crocodile, are not only distinct from each other but bleed through into gameplay in the way that they control and in how they are animated. Sonic’s best stories are ones that people can really relate to, dealing with a whole host of themes such as environmentalism, resisting fascism, surpassing expectations, and even the concept of free will among nonhuman entities. Not especially deep, but certainly thought provoking, especially for kids. All tied together with top notch visual and audio design that will stand the test of time. I’d posit that, while people like Sonic for a whole host of reasons, their starting point lies somewhere in the above explanation.

Hopefully, Sonic Team has realized by now that nostalgia will only get them so far. While a Sonic Adventure 3 would turn heads, it wouldn’t push the series forward. While a proper sequel to Sonic Mania would be a critical darling, it would continue to keep Sonic’s feet firmly planted in 1991. Sonic needs to evolve. He needs to change. And it seems like a change is happening. Roger Craig Smith, the voice of Sonic for the last 10 years, is no longer working with the series. The new TV series, Sonic Prime, is set to take place in a “strange new multiverse.” Even the Sonic movie refuses to lean on nostalgia too hard.

So maybe the future will be set in unfamiliar waters. But if this is the case, I don’t want SEGA to half ass it. I want them to boldly step into that abyss with a vision of Sonic that appeals to the heart of the fandom. Because, even if it's been down recently, that heart is still beating, and after the abuse it's already taken, it’s going to take a hell of a lot to get it to stop. And if SEGA can get this heart pumping to its full extreme as it had in years past, we may have something legendary to look forward to.

They could also just release a bunch of old Sonic games on Switch. I’d like that too.

#sonic #sonic 30th #essay #sonic team

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purkinje-effect · 4 years ago

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 67: Albatross

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 34. Go to previous. Go to next. TWs: Digestion issues, manipulative behavior. Strokes of luck.

______________________________________

“I still don’t get why you had to bring the leftover Flamer fuel.” Melancholy squirmed in the bed roll Sticks had wrapped him in to sling on his back. His stomach had churned for hours. “Are you expecting to find a replacement flamethrower?”

“Things have purposes.”

“I’m keen to overlook Mister Hawthorne bringing something frivolous, when he brought so much silt bean flour! I just might get three meals a day into you yet.”

“Getting it into me, and keeping it in me, present two different challenges.”

“You really are struggling with that Radscorpion omelette, huh.”

“I tell you, it’s not your cooking that’s got me.” ‘Choly stifled a whine and did his best to offset the rocking of Sticks’s gait. They’d cut down the Lowell Connector to follow Route 3 South, while avoiding the RobCo Towers property. “I’m sure I’d be much worse for wear if you hadn’t forced breakfast into me before we left.”

“We still have several bottles of your Melancholia, Sir, whenever you’re next in a patch you can manage to eat something.” Vigilant albeit loaded down with cargo, Angel alternated between taking the lead and taking the rear. “Sir... are you certain you’re fit to make this trip? I’m sure there’s all manner of places we could settle down. You know I do not mind looking after you, and--”

“--I’m fine.” He snorted, sinking back deeper into the ushanka to keep his eyes shut. “I just have business first.”

“Need I remind you, Mister Carey. You requested an excursion to retrieve medical grade equipment. If you’re frail enough to be on par with someone fresh off the operating table, you must be ever respectful of your limitations.”

‘Choly could feel Sticks’s shoulders bristle.

“This is a team effort, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Wouldn’t you gentlemen rather try other nearby hospital facilities?”

“Just about every hospital I can think of has got Supers moved in, or worse. If we need this shit in tact, our best luck is probably a warehouse. I trust ‘Choly’s judgment here. He’s known about these things for months.”

Rather than question what Sticks had meant by ‘supers,’ ‘Choly leapt on the chance to reaffirm confidence in the plan.

“I worked for Walden for a year. Even though I may not have worked directly with shipping, I still handled their inbound shipments. I know how to read their directory and catalogue.”

“Exactly. I trust you to have ruled out places that wouldn’t have it.”

“Sorry it’s the location furthest out...”

“Hey, you didn’t build it there.”

‘Choly murmured, then decided to turn on his Pip-Boy radio, and it substituted for further conversation for the next half hour to Billerica.

“All right, buddy. End of the line.”

Sticks unloaded ‘Choly and helped him back to his feet, then rolled the bedding back up. The chemist smoothed at his Vault suit and coat with slow, deliberate strokes. Staring down the green, ‘Choly squared up to tug down some slack in the Vault suit, where his ammo harness had ridden it up. He continued smoothing.

“You know, I used to come here at least once weekly. Sometimes twice, after a hard day at the pharmacy. It was pretty much daily, when I was still at Chelmsford military housing. Remember how we met? In Concord?”

“Yeah, Concord...”

When Sticks ambled on to the clubhouse without another word, ‘Choly followed, still prinking all the while. Angel had zoomed on ahead, already on the porch by that time.

“I was at the malt shop. On lunch break.” He smiled to himself, straining without his cane to match Sticks’s pace. A lyric laced his voice as he somehow kept trying not to laugh. “The one next door to the Hardware Town. You sat down at my booth, and questioned how you hadn’t seen me until recently. I’d only been working at Walden for about a month by then. You asked me, what my name was. What it really was. I don’t remember people pinpointing that I’m Russian, even back then, and there you were, able to guess I’d anglicized my name. --But it was a point of fascination for you, not paranoia. The whole Mindy thing goes back to day one. You told me it’s a nickname for an American name very close to it. You remember?”

He puffed up his chest a bit, in an attempt to match his memory of Sticks’s human voice.

“‘Mindy,’ you said, ‘Mindy, I sure could use a roommate, and it sure seems like you stand to nip a lengthy daily commute. With our combined salaries, we could afford a plush new house in the suburbs. And you look like the sensible sort of fellow that wouldn’t just help with rent. You and I, we could broker a beautiful partnership.’”

“You’re a sentimental sap,” Sticks ribbed, spotting him as he took the clubhouse steps.

“So what if I am! I was a little obtuse to recognize our chemistry for what it was. Hm.” He stopped at the front door. “I suppose, in a way, meeting you is the reason I stopped coming here every single day after work.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

‘Choly looked to him at length, and smiled broadly.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The ghoul grabbed him around the shoulder and shook him for emphasis, then held the door for him.

By the time they’d entered, Angel had already located Bogey and coaxed it from its hiding spot. The brass Handy sped up to them with a canister of water in two tendrils.

“Gentlemen! I won’t allow a single word of news until you’ve hydrated from your long trip. Come! Sit!”

The pair followed it into the dining area, where they took to a table near the center. The Handy used its pincer as a can opener for the two of them, and they accepted their water graciously. Sticks chugged the entire tin while ‘Choly sipped at his own.

“You sound like you’re feeling better, at any rate.” Sticks slouched back in the chair.

“It’s not every day I can remember anything with clarity. To remember something fondly, with that clarity... It’s good medicine, is all.”

“You, eh, seemed a bit under the weather last you came by,” Bogey agreed. “Are things all right?”

“Don’t worry about me. We’ve come back down for you. I’ll tell you, my original plan was to take you to Lowell once I could, but... --Yes, the Devils were taken care of, but robots with as good a nature as yours... Well, they just have no place there.”

Relief rippled from Bogey, and it circled them eagerly as though enthusiastic waitstaff anticipating orders.

“Oh, that is the best news I’ve heard in ages! My servos can breathe. Do go on.”

“Like I said, my plan was to take you to Lowell. There’s a settlement of folks in the Concord suburbs, Sanctuary Hills. I’m confident it’s a perfect fit, for you and them both. There’s a mechanic who can do maintenance on you. And Garvey, he’s incredibly protective of the group. The married couple, they take some getting used to, but I know you’ll warm up to each other. And Mama. Mama Murphy’s the whole reason I came out this way to begin with.”

“Concord is something of a transit from here. The thought that I could be around humans again after all this time, however. It simply has me sparking with delight.”

“We came from Lowell on foot,” Sticks reminded, using a third chair to kick up his feet as he leaned back on his arms behind his head. “We can make it to Sanctuary easy. Especially now that you and we makes four.”

“What kind of timetable do you suppose we’re on, Mister Carey?” Angel asked. It had returned to the main room after unloading the biggest cargo in the locker rooms. “It’s already noon.”

“Forgive my manners. Sticks, Bogey. Bogey, Sticks. Well,” ‘Choly thought, “we should assess what we can afford to bring along with us. It would be a shame to leave anything valuable behind, if there’s not going to be anybody here to make use of it.”

“Surely you don’t mean that you intend to loot the clubhouse,” Bogey sputtered, shrinking back.

‘Choly straightened up in his seat and made himself take another drink of water. The ghoul frowned at him.

“What he means to say is, we’re relocating the amenities--and you. Once we spruce up you n’ Angel, we can best determine who carries what. You’re still going where the things are going. That’s not a problem, is it?”

“I, I suppose not." The brass Handy stuttered. "I do apologize for the scarcity of my pantry. You wouldn’t like more peanuts, would you, Mister Carey?”

“I appreciate it, but if Sticks wants any, he can have mine, too.”

“I’m good. But." The ghoul grunted as he kicked forward to lean on the table, about to get up. "If I could use your kitchen to whip something up, we haven’t eaten since around eight, and I’ve worked up an appetite." He made his way that direction, turning a moment to finger-gun Bogey with a guttural click. "Promise not to make a mess.”

“Would you happen to like a Melancholia before we get started to the robotics shed, Sir?”

He gestured for his cane, which Angel produced.

“Let’s focus on you two first.”

The two Handies escorted him to the robotics shed adjacent to the clubhouse, where he got to working on Angel. Loaded upon the curved forks of the hydraulic robotics lift, the Handy received a fresh tank of fuel. Until that time, ‘Choly hadn’t got a genuine look at the broken metal and melted wiring up close. No wonder Angel had been weaving the whole way to Billerica. Plugging into the workbench with his Pip-Boy to run diagnostics only confirmed the repairs would prove more complicated than he’d thought. His lip soured as he let Angel loose and slouched back to sit on the stool. Angel awaited elucidation.

“Bogey, would I be able to bother you to do something somewhat gruesome for me?" When it watched him, he looked up to it. "Mister Handy ocular lens wiring functions with a certain amount of, how to put it. Each position, it bears a load. Missing one causes circuitry misfires in the others. I can’t just rewire the ocular socket to bypass the missing lens hardware, like I thought I would. I know there were still some parts leftover from when your coworkers, erm. I hate to ask, but would you two go find an in tact ocular lens on the green that I could use to repair Angel?”

“Is that entirely--”

“--Something of a transplant, then! Ha-ha!" Angel encouraged Bogey to come with it on the chore. "Humans have to do this all the time, chap. Don’t you rattle your nuts and bolts over it!”

“I suppose, if it helps.”

‘Choly worked at finishing off his water, and watched the clubhouse out the open roll-up door.

Sure would’ve been nice if Jacob had come out here to help. Things would go much more quickly. But I guess he deserves a break after carrying me all this way. Hopefully he won’t have to carry me home. He bit his lip. "...Or to Nashua.”

“Here we are, then, Sir!”

‘Choly jerked out of his daze, presented a full brass Handy ocular lens.

“Thank you, Bogey," he thanked.

Angel loaded itself back into the robotics bench, while its friend held the component.

“Angel calmed me over the whole notion. It’s still a piece from General Atomics, and a piece from a Mister Handy, at that. And I trust you’ll be delicate with my friend.”

“I’ll port all four colorations, after this repair takes," Angel beamed. "To think--I’ll even be part brass! Bogey, I’m most confident in Mister Carey’s capabilities.”

“I’ll do my best. Just having the part makes me much more likely to succeed.”

“I hope Mister Sticks doesn’t take exception to how long we’ve left him alone in the clubhouse," Bogey fretted. "Should I go to check on him, do you think?”

“I’m sure he’s fine. I’d rather you stayed here. I have to power Angel off to work on it, so it won’t be able to assist me." This didn’t entirely reassure the brass Handy, so he added, "Once I’ve got the firmware repair sequence initiated, you can go check on him.”

Bogey liked that much better.

“Before we start on anything, though. Angel, could I bum a Berry?”

Fueled by the nootropic, the chemist worked on his robot, with his robot’s friend fetching tools and holding up the component to latch into the bench’s series of hydraulic pulleys. The moment the Pip-Boy had executed the bench’s scan, Bogey zipped off like its vitality depended on it.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think Bogey’s more worried about the clubhouse than Sticks.”

The remark soaked in a ways, and he petrified in guilt. Of course Bogey was preoccupied with tending its clubhouse. For the past year, the Billerica Golf Course had been its sole responsibility once the Devils had felled all its fellow robots.

He checked the time and wiped at his face.

Five already. We burned the whole day just getting here and managing this one task. Even if we could head out right now, the sun would set on us before we got to Sanctuary. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and Jacob’s been taking inventory of the clubhouse while I was repairing Angel.

Once Angel came back online, he ran a second series of diagnostics to guarantee the optical lens had installed correctly. The two took a skimming survey of the repair shed, making note of the various tools and materials not too large or heavy to transport, before returning inside.

On the way up the back steps, ‘Choly recalled that Olivia had forbidden the Deenwood robots to let Sticks go unchaperoned. Between that and remembering how the ghoul had rummaged his own secretary the night before, uncertain queasiness overtook him. Angel held the door open for him, and he swallowed in anticipation of something unbecoming.

The door shut behind him, and he found that Sticks had in fact put his time to use. Rather than laze about like he probably would have wished to, on the bar and tables he’d organized the cookware and serveware from the kitchen, the toiletries and clothing from the locker rooms, and even the cleaning supplies from the utility closet. The ghoul sat back at a table, tapping the end of a golf pencil at a clipboard.

“Oh, good. Maybe Bogey can help you two." He snorted hollowly. "Everything go well?”

“It will be some time before I’m sure of my sensors," Angel said, "but I’m certainly in one piece again, thank you.”

“Did you need any tune-ups?" ‘Choly asked Bogey. "I think it’s too late to expect to leave out tonight, but I could take a look at you tomorrow before we leave.”

“I’m right as rain, after all you did for me last week, Sir.”

“Bogey says it’s pretty sure it can carry about 150 pounds," Sticks remarked coolly, looking over everything he’d written down. "Now that it’s been serviced, Angel can take about 200. And I can carry about 100, 125. So uh. About 400 between us? But, gotta to take ‘Choly into consideration... Anything he carries will count toward Angel’s limit... Help me out here.”

“Let’s just call me 125, if that’s what you’re asking. So... what, 325, split between us? What all do you think we need to take to Sanctuary? The Quincy survivors don’t have much beyond what’s been left there.”

Sticks stared at his paper with a difficult brow.

“You rattled off five people earlier, so at least one good set of pans. I’d say at least one good cup, bowl, and plate for each of ’em, too. The clothes shouldn’t weigh too much. Anything they don’t wear, they can scrap for fabric. Bogey wasn’t kidding, either. All I found in the way of food was eleven Nuka-Colas and about ten pounds of expired peanuts.”

“Oh dear, they’re expired!" Bogey fretted. "Are the pops all right?”

“Oh I had a Nuka-Cola, and a bag of peanuts, and was fine," ‘Choly reassured. He refused to let Sticks slight Bogey’s hospitality over things it couldn’t help.

“I do agree that we should take our time being picky here." Sticks set down the clipboard. "If we rush, we might miss something useful.”

“I don’t see any golfing paraphernalia," ‘Choly observed, finally sitting, one table over. "I’d at least like to comb the green for a replacement bag, even if I don’t find more clubs.”

“I didn’t have a chance yet, to scout the sports stock. I can’t expect too much, considering the Devils hit it. I mean, they left next to nothing. I’m surprised you managed to pull together a playable set of clubs, really. They mowed down so many robots. There’s probably not even a full golf cart’s worth of parts left. I mean no disrespect to you, Bogey, or your buddies, but I legit had not directly witnessed what the Devils were capable of until walking up to this clubhouse today.”

“Mm!" Angel snipped in indignation. "Yes, and aren’t you glad they’re GONE now! An absolute scourge!”

‘Choly caught himself almost gawking at Sticks, and he slouched in grief.

“So we’re in agreement that we’re not going to try to rush out of here tonight?”

“We’re here for the night, Mindy.”

“Oh, do let me help inventory it all," Bogey insisted. "They are, in a way, my things, after all.”

“Of course, pal." Sticks shot it a grin. "Don’t sweat a thing.”

By nightfall, they had everything prepared to pack up. Sticks made himself a reconstituted cream stew for dinner while ‘Choly finally relented to a Melancholia for himself. They made use of the locker room to wash their faces and brush their teeth. ‘Choly stripped down to just his Vault suit, and Sticks took off everything but his jeans and tee.

“Are you sure you’re all right with me sleeping on the couch?”

‘Choly could hear Sticks fidgeting in his bedroll in the floor next to him. He made a face in the dark.

“I’d be more all right if you’d get down here with me, if we’re honest.”

“Are you just being like that because you’d rather have the couch?”

“It’s just, we can’t both fit on the couch.”

“I’m not up here because I think I deserve it more or anything.”

“That’s not what this is." Sticks huffed. "You’ve got me liking having a warm body next to me.”

“Would you sleep better if I got down there?”

“Won’t you?”

‘Choly stifled the reflex to object to sleeping in the floor, but he remembered aching all the same waking from the couch last week.

He shoved the bedding off onto Sticks, who sputtered into a chuckle, and got up to help push the bedrolls together. Once they had amassed their pile, Sticks spooned him. They lay there comfortably for some time, but ‘Choly remained awake.

“Could I ask you something, Jacob?”

“Mhh.”

“It’s just, I’m still having trouble with the whole Magnetizer double-dose mess. Everything about that felt... I don’t know. It felt off." He pulled Sticks’s hand around him tighter. "You got something out of that, didn’t you?”

Sticks ran his hand along ‘Choly’s thigh.

“I got you. I guess I can be candid with you, since you’re clearly on board even without me relying on a chem boost. You asked me why I didn’t bank on the effect of Magnetizer with the Gen or the Furriers. I needed to bank on it with you. I couldn’t risk you turning down my proposition. Not until you had a chance to really warm up to the whole idea. You have warmed up to me, haven’t you? Warmed up to us actually giving this ’us’ thing a shot?”

The inside of ‘Choly’s face burned.

“...And the sex before the Unfolding?”

“Icing on the cake.”

“Everything’s a transaction with you. You certainly bought me.”

Sticks pulled him closer, to sleepily nuzzle in the crook of his neck.

“For you, no price is too high.”

Go to Next »»»

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #sole survivor #the anatomy of melancholy #melancholy #sticks #ghoul oc #angel #bogey #mister handy

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resurrectedhippo · 4 years ago

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post-endgame stevetony fic: down in lonesome town

Summary: After the universe is restored, Steve finds himself at a loss without any direction. Retiring from the Avengers, he moves across the country and ends up building a house by a lake. Across the misty blue lake is Tony Stark’s new workshop.

Tags: Tony Stark Lives, Pining Steve, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lake Tahoe, Post-Endgame fix-it, Angst with a Happy Ending

Chapters: 3/8

Read Part 1 here.

Read Part 2 here.

Chapter 3:

Steve arrives at Lake Tahoe sometime in the late afternoon. The drive into town was quiet with only a cassette tape to accompany him when the radio was out of range.

The cabin is located on the edge of town called Lover’s Lane. Natasha’s property, according to her will, is three acres of barren land. Tony used to go on and on about global warming, making the joke that Steve was only found because all the ice has melted in the Arctic.

Natasha wasn’t exaggerating when she mentioned the house as just a step above a set of wood mashed together. The safehouse is a derelict cabin that faces a clear blue lake. It’s still and calm, reminding Steve that he’s here all alone. There isn’t a house for another ten mile radius. Well, other than what lies across the lake. There’s a humble sized rustic home with its porch facing the lake. Sadly, it doesn’t look to be occupied, so Steve can’t play the role of a friendly neighbor.

The irony is that in Steve’s trek for peace and connection, he’s isolated himself from the world.

Perhaps, this was needed though. It’s the only thing that feels right.

Steve enters the cabin to an open-space studio. It’s empty of any furnishing other than a dust-covered bed and a small, round table and a single chair by the window-still. The light filters through the giant kitchen windows. Steve, with his enhanced eyesight, catches specks of dust floating through the house.

There’s a set of books on the kitchen counter of varying themes, from Russian literature to German philosophy to a romance novel. Steve picks them up, examines them closely, flips the pages with special attention to Natasha’s notes neatly scrawled in the margins. He smiles at her careful handwriting. She was always meticulous to the point of irritation and her cautiousness reminds Steve of his own recklessness. Maybe if he was more thoughtful like her, well, he wouldn’t be here, alone.

There’s a set of dried dishes in the rack, a chipped teacup, and a stack of beans along with expired canned goods in the pantry. They were nine years off the expiry date, meaning it’s been a long while since Natasha last occupied the space. The rest of the house is spartan with the bathroom reeking of mildew, the ceilings a constellation of green-gray mold.

He sighs, oddly finding the whole thing comforting. Natasha didn’t have it all together, she let the little cabin grow musty, allowing the dust to settle.

Then again, this wasn’t her home. Just a pit stop.

Back in the living space, Steve collapses on the rickety mattress. He was too tall to fully fit. Legs dangling off the bed, he examines the ceiling once more.

“Well, I’m here.” He says to no one in particular. “Alone with my thoughts. What the fuck am I supposed to do here?” He rubs a hand across his face, then over his hair in frustration. Steve drifts in and out of sleep until late in the evening. He always has trouble falling asleep in a new environment.

Since it’s nearly midnight when he rises, he decides to shower, unsurprised when the water is lukewarm. He digs a towel from his suitcase and changes into a set of worn sweatpants.

Here’s the thing with Steve: he’s always much more functional with a set goal planned. He pulls out a notebook, a pen, and begins his list. Groceries. A tent. Sleeping bag. A shovel. Wood. Plans, he needs plans for the house. Some sort of feeling takes over as Steve begins to sketch a house, imagining something comfortable, cozy, big enough for a nuclear family. Steve realizes he’s excited and not just waiting to die.

As per Natasha’s suggestion, he begins with the sun room to overlook the lake.

He has no goddamn idea how to build a house, but he’s armed with a rough sketch, every bit of stubbornness known to man, and the plan for a deep, hot rod colored door and blue shutters. One step at a time, he breathes, allowing inspiration to lead his design.

By early morning, Steve has a plan side porch and a small office on the left side of the house. It’s an idea for now, but it’s on paper, so Steve has to do it for his own piece of mind. Hungry, he takes the truck to the nearest town with a diner, orders a large breakfast, and mentally prepares himself for the day.

Steve begins with a simple task: go to the hardware store and pick up the most essential tools. He chats up the owner, Augusto, a foreman who relays his experience in constructing homes.

“It’s gruesome labor to try to build a home all by yourself, mate.” The older man shakes his head at Steve wistfully.

“All I’ve got is time.” Steve tells him the truth. “Besides, an old friend says I need a hobby. Figured building something for once would do me some good.”

Steve leaves the shop with three books on the basics of home building, notes, and the man’s phone number. He isn’t recognized as Captain America, just a man hoping to make something for himself. Steve spends the following days reading up on construction and sketching his designs. He’s only got a graphite pencil and a battered sketchbook, but it’s fine. It’s all fine and dandy. He sleeps for over eight hours and lies in bed with his thoughts for hours in the morning, mind drifting to the battle, to Vormir, to Tony’s hospital room.

He feels like shit and most days, he doesn’t want to get up. Sometimes he just wants to wither away, but then, he looks at Natasha’s chipped teacup and feels guilty. He made a promise. Isolation isn’t doing Steve any good, but he forces himself to have lunch at the diner, Mango House, and makes friends with the waitress. She serves him black coffee which Steve adds two sugars to and savors. He stays in the diner for hours, ordering tea and pastries, sketching and writing in a journal.

Sam’s been sending him articles on PTSD, pestering Steve to come back to the East Coast for a visit, despite that it’s only been weeks since Steve left the city. But taking Sam’s advice, Steve’s compelling himself to write whatever thoughts he has in the journal. He writes about his vague dreams, Natasha in Vormir, flashes of red that he sees throughout his days, a ghost figure following him in the lake.

He sketches Tony, mostly. From memory, he traces the lines on Tony’s face after the wormhole, after not seeing Tony for five regretful years, and then the moment when Tony showed up at the Compound. Tony is flying in battle with Rescue on his tail. Of Tony in the hospital room, asleep, looking like a million miles from Steve.

Without guilt, Steve imagines Tony in the lake house, in its ramshackle glory, to how Steve pictures it to be: a garden of lilies out in the back and a canoe in the docks. The lilies would grow wildly on the side of the house and serve as a path to the lake. It would dovetail with the properties leading to the beach in the northside shore.

Steve goes upon his day, reading, writing, planning. It’s enough.

But here’s the thing, he’s yearning in the meantime.

Read the rest on AO3.

I’d appreciate if you liked and reblogged! Comments and kudos are fuel for more writing.<3

#stevetony #stony #stevetony fic rec #stevetony fic #stony fic #stony fic rec #steve rogers #tony stark #post-endgame #post-endgame fix it #marvel #mcu stony

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dipulb3 · 4 years ago

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2021 Ford Ranger Tremor is ready for your overlanding expedition

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/2021-ford-ranger-tremor-is-ready-for-your-overlanding-expedition/

2021 Ford Ranger Tremor is ready for your overlanding expedition

In recent years, not only have sales of pickup trucks increased, interest in overlanding — the phenomenon of off-grid adventure travel to remote destinations in specially prepared vehicles — has skyrocketed. This off-road pastime’s dramatic rise in popularity predates COVID-19, but today’s pandemic somehow makes the idea of zombie-apocalypse-ready 4×4 ownership suddenly seem like a sensible investment.

Beefier suspension and tires add capability

Torquey engine = good tow/payload ratings

Class-leading ground-clearance

Visual tweaks look sharp

Don’t Like

Dated interior

No front locking differential

Significant fuel economy penalty

MSRP is competitive but costs as much as an F-150

In any case, the Blue Oval’s product planners didn’t necessarily have Armageddon in mind when they came up with the 2021 Ford Ranger Tremor, but that doesn’t mean this pickup wouldn’t make for a good truck upon which to build out an end times overlanding rig. Even if you’re not a prepper, as far as social-distancing machines go, Ford’s go-farther 4×4 is better suited than most.

After a long hiatus, the Ranger reentered the North American market in 2019 and its popularity has been gaining steadily. Last year, despite the coronavirus hamstringing new-car sales, Ranger sales actually increased, with the model claiming the midsize pickup segment’s second-place sales slot behind Toyota’s Tacoma. There’s still a lot of daylight between the Ranger and Tacoma on the sales charts, however, and Ford figures much of the hill it has to climb is with the type of buyers who gravitate toward the Taco’s many TRD off-road models.

2021 Ford Ranger Tremor is ready for your overlanding gear

See all photos

Now, the Tremor isn’t a standalone model, it’s actually a $4,290 package that can be added atop the truck’s mid-grade XLT and range-topping Lariat trims. The Tremor starts by incorporating most of the performance and aesthetic hardware from today’s existing FX4 off-road package and adding Ranger’s Sport Appearance trimmings. Combined, those two option groups normally total about $2,000, so after spending a couple of weeks with this model both on and off-road, the nearly $2,300 cost premium for all of the Tremor’s additional gear feels like a pretty solid value.

Like other Rangers, the Tremor uses the same 2.3-liter EcoBoost turbo I4 mated to a 10-speed automatic transmission. Good for 270 horsepower and 310 pound-feet of torque, this is still one of the torquiest and most modern drivetrains available in a midsize truck. The engine has more than enough oomph to tote this 4,571-pound pickup around and the stop/start tech is well behaved to boot.

The Tremor package is available exclusively on four-wheel-drive SuperCrew models with a five-foot bed.

Nick Miotke/Roadshow

Foxy suspension and a geometry lesson

The Tremor’s main upgrades are centered around the Ranger’s suspension, with the headliner being a set of expensive Fox 2.0 shocks, including more sophisticated remote-reservoir units on the rear axle which pair with Tremor-specific leaf springs. The front end gets new springs, too, along with different control arms and a thinner anti-roll bar for better off-road articulation. The steering system is tweaked, too, with unique knuckles to help accommodate the demands of the Tremor’s larger 32-inch General Grabber off-road tires which wrap a set of Magnetic-painted 17-inch wheels.

All of this new hardware yields a modest 0.8 inches of additional ground clearance for a total of 9.7 — slightly better than a Tacoma TRD Pro. Most of that increase is due to the larger tires, which also lend this truck a slightly more planted, 1-inch-wider stance. So equipped, the Tremor’s approach angle is 30.9 degrees, departure is set at 27.1 degrees and breakover angle is 24.2. Those are improvements of 2.2 degrees, 1.7 degrees and 2.7 degrees, respectively.

Spendy Fox 2.0 monotube dampers feature remote reservoirs for better thermal management on the rear axle.

Ford

On-road manners and visual tweaks

While these modifications are designed for off-road use, most of these trucks will still live on pavement for the vast majority of their days, so it’s good to know that this isn’t such an extreme setup that the Ranger’s on-road demeanor has been ruined. The ride is a skosh softer, and there’s a bit more body roll when attacking corners on dry pavement, but the difference is neither alarming nor offputting. If anything, the ride quality is actually more agreeable than the last Ranger I remember driving. Better still, the truck’s all-terrain rubber doesn’t drone on the freeway the way a lot of big-lug off-road tires can. The Tremor may be an off-road-focused package, but over the course of several weeks, I found it more than livable as a daily driver.

I even dig the subtle Tremor-specific visual tweaks. There’s a unique grille with red-outlined nostrils and the blacked-out bumpers and wider wheel lips give a bit more stance and presence. Look a little closer, and you’ll probably note the front steel skid plate, the pair of rear tow hooks and the running boards. The latter sit higher and tighter than the optional side steps you can get on other Rangers, but don’t worry, you can still unbolt ’em for better off-road clearance. There’s also a splashy, retro-look graphics package available, if that’s your jam.

The Ford Ranger’s interior is no great shakes, even with some Tremor-specific touches.

Ford

Dated cabin with a few extras

Inside, the Ranger’s cabin is largely the same as ever, which is to say, not very impressive. Yes, there are modest Tremor-specific touches like the script logos and suede-like panels in the seatbacks, plus a useful set of rubber floor liners and black dashboard trim. I also appreciate the six-pack of auxiliary power switches designed to easily accommodate extra lights, an air compressor or myriad other useful accessories. But otherwise, the interior feels pretty dated. Believe it or not, this XLT actually still has a switchblade ignition key (fortunately, Lariat trims get pushbutton start).

Even though Ford invested a bunch of money in Ranger when it returned to the US in 2019, it wasn’t a brand-new truck upon arrival, as the same basic generation had been selling overseas for years. Despite a bunch of upgrades meant to bring the truck in-line with the heightened refinement expectations of US consumers, the Ranger’s interior is the easiest way to date this truck. Its plastics are almost universally hard, its infotainment lives on a small-ish touchscreen that isn’t flush mounted and isn’t running the latest version of Sync. Even the last-generation F-150 feels far, far more advanced and substantial, let alone the freshly redesigned 2021 blockbuster now wheeling out of dealers.

To be fair, the cabins of midsize pickups are all quite disappointing these days, whether you’re talking Ford, Toyota or General Motors. Jeep’s Gladiator is somewhat better in terms of tech, but it’s very expensive. In fact, only the Honda Ridgeline really feels up to snuff all the way around, but because it’s a unibody, many buyers won’t even look at one. This Ranger’s cabin remains in the hunt, but interior niceness is a prime reason for potential buyers to consider stretching to even a lower-end F-150.

Lackluster fuel economy

If you’re thinking fuel efficiency is a good reason to go with this smaller truck, you’re going to want to think again. Partly because of its larger tires and blockier profile, the Ranger Tremor only manages a straight 19 miles per gallon across the board (city, highway and combined) according to EPA estimates. That’s a surprisingly stiff comedown from the standard Ranger 4×4 XLT’s 20 mpg city, 24 mpg highway and 22 mpg combined.

Incidentally, that’s also the same combined-cycle rating as a 5.0-liter V8-powered F-150 4×4, which gets 16 mpg city and 22 highway (let alone more efficient F-150 options like the 2.7-liter EcoBoost, diesel or PowerBoost hybrid). Again, these numbers are competitive within this segment, but not unlike the interior accommodations mentioned earlier, the Tremor’s efficiency comes across as disappointingly yester-tech.

The 2.3-liter EcoBoost isn’t much to look at, but with 270 horses and 310 pound-feet of torque, it doesn’t need to be.

Nick Miotke/Josh Krzywonos/Roadshow

Off-road performance and towing/payload

I spent a wintry day at Holly Oaks, a newly opened quarry-turned-off-road playland in metro Detroit to test the Tremor’s mettle. With a mix of hard-packed frozen ground and mud-and-snow slurry, this ORV park was a suitably tough test for this pickup. Better still, I enjoyed practically free run of the place, as it was closed to the public, enabling me to go back and try the same trails and obstacles in different drive modes while taking different lines to assess the truck’s full capabilities.

Like the FX4, the Tremor features Ford’s Terrain Management System, so you can poke a button and optimize the vehicle’s various drive and brake systems for whatever surface you’re about to roll over (it’s kind of like the dial-a-nap controller on your vacuum). Ford says it recalibrated the Tremor’s traction control for this model’s larger, knobbier tires for better traction on gravel and I found the system worked equally well in the slushy stuff as it did on the hardpack.

One thing that’s nice is you can cycle through TMS’ modes on the fly. I primarily relied on Grass/Gravel/Snow for hills, but when I was just having fun intentionally sliding around at speed on the flat stuff, I chose Sand mode (and occasionally Mud and Ruts) to allow for more wheelspin to indulge my adolescent need for rooster tails.

Like the FX4, the Tremor also features Trail Control, which is Ford’s low-speed, off-road cruise control for both ascending and descending hills at preset speeds from 1 to 20 mph. It’s really, really useful and confidence-inspiring tech, as it allows you to focus on steering the vehicle without having to worry about modulating the pedals. Combined with the Ranger’s other electronic aids and the Tremor’s upgraded hardware, the entire package is so capable that these assists ultimately remove some of the sense of challenge and accomplishment of off-roading. It’s nice to know it’s there, but sometimes, it’s just more fun to go manual and do it yourself.

At moments like this, a forward-facing spotter’s camera would’ve been really convenient.

Nick Miotke/Josh Krzywonos/Roadshow

That said, there are a couple of hardware tricks that I wouldn’t mind seeing on the Tremor’s spec sheet, including a front locking differential. A rear e-locker comes standard, but there’s no front-axle equivalent like a Chevy Colorado ZR2 or a Jeep Gladiator Rubicon, so you’re ultimately going to give up some ability when rock climbing. Fortunately, the vast majority of the time, you’ll never know it’s missing.

On the other hand, there’s one thing you will definitely miss while off-roading: a forward-facing camera. I didn’t have a pal to stand outside in the blustery cold to help guide me over and around obstacles, and when on steep ascents and descents, you can’t see over the hood to know what you’re about to crawl over. While it’s understandable that an older and more-affordable midsizer like the Tremor might not yet be offered with 360-degree camera coverage, a low-mounted front-facing camera would be mighty welcome and would provide a further point of differentiation from lesser Ranger models.

As it is, the Ranger’s tidier dimensions are inherently easier to manage off-road than a full-size truck. There’s less chance of scraping your fancy Cactus Gray paint in narrow forest passages and tight turns are easier to negotiate than they’d be in an F-Series, as well.

Off-road, you really appreciate that this turbo four has so much low-end torque and it’s great that the transmission has so many gears to choose from; you never feel like the EcoBoost is straining to get you through, even if it does sound flaccid compared to competitors’ V6 engines. All that torque helps on-road, too, delivering a best-in-class 7,500-pound tow rating or 1,430 pounds of payload in its 5-foot bed. Those numbers are right at the head of the class, and they’re important metrics when building an overlanding rig laden with lots of heavy gear.

Pricing and final judgment

So, the Ranger Tremor isn’t a high-speed off-roader like a Ford F-150 Raptor (or even the overseas-only Ranger Raptor), nor is it a hardcore rock crawler. This truck feels like it’s been designed to sit right in the middle capability-wise, which could have resulted in a vehicle that feels muddled and indecisive, like one that can’t figure out what it’s designed for. Instead, the Tremor seems like it’s found a capability sweet spot. It’s quite good at a variety of off-road disciplines and that makes it a better baseline platform for customizing if you haven’t decided what kind of off-roading you really want to commit to, be it desert bombing, overlanding or forested mountain ascents.

If you’re someone who off-roads a lot, the 2021 Ranger Tremor is big fun, but it isn’t cheap. Whereas a non-Tremor XLT SuperCrew 4×4 starts at $35,940 (including $1,195 destination), an XLT Tremor will run you $41,900 delivered — without extras. An option-free, top-trim Lariat runs $46,275 in your driveway, but it includes niceties like a B&O audio system, leather seats, navigation, remote start and adaptive cruise control. With options including the Technology Package ($995 for adaptive cruise, navigation, etc.), spray-in bed liner ($495), remote start ($195) and SecuriCode keyless-entry pad ($95), my XLT tester rings up at $43,680 delivered.

Overall, the Tremor is competitively priced within its segment (a Tacoma TRD Pro starts at over $45,000), but this Ford’s base MSRP is also really close to that of the new F-150 XLT 4×4 with a 5.0-liter V8. The F-Series is a much, much more advanced machine with similar efficiency.

Of course, not everyone wants or needs a full-size pickup and the number of buyers splurging on smaller, costlier, factory-backed hardcore off-road specials like this 2021 Ranger Tremor appears to be growing every day. In order to stay competitive, it’s important that Ford play in this space. And you know what? Despite this truck’s shortcomings, I still kinda dig it.

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nattikay · 5 years ago

Text

So I don’t typically like making personal posts of this type, as I generally come here to escape all that and relax, but at this point I’m just not really sure where else to go with it, all things considered.

Anyways...I’ve been...stressed lately. No, coronavirus isn’t the root cause of it, but it certainly ain’t helping (as I will explain later).

So the first thing I guess...is my younger sister’s wedding tomorrow. To explain why this is a stressor I first have to reveal a bit about myself, a little deeper than I am usually comfortable doing on the internet, and I know it’s ultimately gonna make me sound like...kinda a selfish butthole.

So...I’ve always greatly valued the concept of marriage and family. It’s a value I hold very dear, I always have, and I’ve always wanted to one day get married and have kids of my own. However, I’ve also always struggled hugely with social anxiety, for pretty much as long as I can remember, and needless to say dating does not come easily to me.

For a while, that was ok because I had other goals to work towards in the meantime...getting into my college of choice...getting into their animation program...doing well in my classes...graduating...getting a job...but now I’ve done all those things, and getting married would be the natural next step in life.

...if I could actually fall in love with someone.

So I’m stuck. I feel like I’m just treading water, or running in circles. I feel like I can’t progress and it’s scary. But progressing itself, going out and meeting people, opening myself up like that--is also scary. It’s like I'm caught between a rock and a hard place. A lose-lose situation.

I did have a sort-of boyfriend towards the end of college, but then I graduated and moved away and, well...things are a bit complicated. I still chat with him online now and then, but we only see each other in-person maybe once or twice a year for conventions. And even though we’re still on good terms in a friendly sorta way, given the time and distance I’m not sure whether or not he’s still interested in pursuing that type of relationship with me, nor am I sure how to bring it up without making him feel awkward.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe I should’ve stayed in Utah after I graduated, found a job there and been able to spend more time with him...but I didn’t...and now a part of me feels like...I dunno....like I missed my chance?

But...all of that’s a tangent...it’s not the only issue...

So anyways...like I said...this is my younger sister’s wedding. For those who don’t know, I’m the oldest sibling in my family. Maybe I wouldn’t feel as stressed if my sister were older than me. But as it is...this is the first time in my life that I haven’t been first to a major life event. And yes, I know, I know it’s not a race, it’s not a competition, etc. etc. etc....I know. But...it’s a reminder.

I’m stuck, and now I’m being “surpassed” and I’m constantly being reminded.

And things seemed to work out so easily for her too. She met this guy less than a year ago and they’re absolutely head-over-heels obsessed with each other.

and I don’t

understand

that?

I mean, her fiancé’s a good guy don’t get me wrong, and they’re really happy together and I’m glad of that, but at the same time...watching how they are with each other, how they interact...I don’t...know that I’ve ever felt that? And in my head, I wish I could, it seems like it’d be so nice but...

guys, sometimes I feel like I’m broken.

I feel like I don’t have that capacity to get so excited over a real person the way my sister and her fiancé are about each other.

Not romantically. Not even platonically.

Except...not quite. I do have some capacity to be all giddy. But...it only ever seems to happen with fictional characters, animals, or plushies.

Never real people. Never real relationships.

and I don’t

understand

why

And quite frankly, I’m terrified, absolutely terrified that that’ll lead me to being forever alone

And yes, I know that some people are perfectly content to live their lives single, and that’s fine and you do you and I’m not gonna judge you or say you’re invalid or whatever; I don’t believe that. But...I don’t think I’m one of those people. Marriage and family is something I hold too dear to my heart to just give up on the idea of having my own.

But...like I said...reminders.

Reminders, reminders, and reminders of one of my weaknesses, one of my struggles, of a concept that utterly frightens me and I have to be around it constantly right now. And when I’m with other people, I have to do it with a smile.

I love my sister, don’t get me wrong. And like I said, her fiancé’s a good guy. I’m glad they’re happy. I don’t want to ruin that for them with my selfish struggles. Just because I’m unhappy right now doesn’t mean I have to drag them down with me. They deserve to have a good time.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not struggling.

So...there. That’s why my sister’s wedding is a stressor for me.

On top of all that...the wedding was supposed to be in April, in Utah. But because of the coronavirus shutdowns, we’ve had to to some last-minute rearrangements, and now it’s tomorrow here in Alabama. This has been extremely stressful on my mom, who really put a lot of dedication into the wedding planning and is bummed that it didn’t work out. She’s been particularly frazzled this past week, constantly scrambling to get all the rearrangements taken care of and terrified that more shutdowns with mess it all up again.

This is why I’m making this post here. Usually I would talk to my mom, or my therapist...but I don’t have another therapy appointment for a few weeks (if it hasn’t been cancelled for the virus) and my mom, well...she has enough of her own problems to deal with right now. I don’t want to burden her with mine.

And then there’s the situation at work. With the whole social distancing thing going on they’re trying to get as many people set up to work remotely as possible. Unfortunately, because of what I do and the way our network works, this entails bringing home my entire computer setup, which is a hassle in itself on merely a physical level. I stuck it out coming into the office longer than most of my coworkers, but my mom texted me today saying that they’re now talking about shutting down all “non-essential” businesses so if I wanted to work at all over the next little bit and not eat up vacation hours I should just bite the bullet and move my setup home. So I did.

But now there’s another potential problem. I’ve got all the hardware and it should work just fine...but I also need internet connectivity in order to access our pipeline. As we were packing up my stuff, my coworker mentioned that he wasn’t actually sure if the computers had wifi capabilities and that I might have to plug it in directly...which could be a problem, because the internet connection is on the other side of the house from where I’d be working, and even if I moved my setup to that room I’m pretty sure I’d have to unplug the router in order to plug in this computer and then everyone else would lose their wifi...which would really suck with all of us being stuck at home right now, and would be especially detrimental to my dad who is also working from home right now and needs the wifi.

Granted, I haven’t actually tried to hook it up just yet, so who knows, I might just get lucky and it’ll have wifi capabilities after all...but I don’t know for sure yet.

I mentioned this issue to my mom when I got home today, mostly just to warn her that I might have to make some weird arrangements like a long extensions cord or something (if it doesn’t in fact have wifi). Alas, that turned out to be a mistake...like I said, my mom’s already really stressed with the wedding stuff and a potential work computer problem just added fuel to the fire and then she started stressing about that too even though it’s not really a thing she needs to be worrying about, it’s my problem to figure out...but nonetheless I felt pretty guilty for making her feel even more stressed that she already was.

I don’t know what I’m going to do if I can’t get my work computer connected at home. I guess just bring it back to the office...but that’s assuming people with still be allowed in the building at all come next week. I just...I dunno man. I don’t know.

All this mess has led to me starting to experience certain anxiety symptoms that I haven’t really dealt with since I first went on my medication a few years ago, which means the stress is getting bad enough to...override the meds a bit. I guess. idk, the symptoms haven’t been too severe but the fact that they’re there at all...hng.

If you made it through this whole mess, congrats, I’m impressed

tl;dr

everything’s a mess, everyone’s stressed, I have anxiety and I don’t know who to talk to

not really looking for advice so much as just somewhere to vent and maybe some comfort, idk

Thanks for your time

-NattiKay

#just a really big vent #if you actually get through the whole thing...I'm impressed #but don't feel obligated to #just trying to get some things off my chest I guess #idk #just don't really know where to turn right now #:/

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justjibberjabber · 5 years ago

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To Phyllis

Phyllis had never been to the zoo.

Her mother had been an alcoholic, and though her father had once been a kind man, he had become bitter with years of Vera’s drinking and handling the busy hardware store on his own. Nobody had time or interest in taking her to the zoo. There was a period of Phyllis’s childhood, from about the ages of seven to ten, that she spent summers with an aunt and uncle at their cabin outside the city.

Every morning, she woke to the smell of bacon and eggs cooking on her aunt’s electric skillet. Her aunt Edna would brown a piece of toast, slather it in butter and jelly, and cut it in half – diagonally, the way Phyllis liked. Then she’d make a smiley face on Phyllis’s plate – the triangles of toast for eyes, an egg for the nose, and a greasy bacon smile.

After breakfast, her uncle Tom would take her out fishing on the lake in the jon boat, or maybe they’d pick up sticks for firewood. Some mornings they’d drive to the filling station in town for fuel and the newspaper, and uncle Tom would give her a nickel for the gumball machine. Phyllis remembered many evenings spent around the fire listening to the crickets and frogs in the woods, counting the stars that peaked through the canopy of trees, and roasting marshmallows. Sometimes Phyllis liked to catch the marshmallows on fire, let the outside burn to a black crisp, and then peel the burnt shell off to enjoy the warm gooey marshmallow within. Other times, she would hold them high above the flames so that they wouldn’t brown but would be hot on the outside while still cool on the inside.

During the final weeks of summer as Labor Day approached heralding the return to school – and to life with her parents – Phyllis’s despair would mount with each passing day. It was March of 4th grade, just as the crocuses were in bloom and the trees were starting to green and the days beginning to warm, that the news came of her aunt and uncle’s death in a tragic accident. The local fire chief suspected that a windy March night had blown embers in through the open kitchen window, setting their home aflame.

As Phyllis grieved that summer for the loss of her aunt and uncle, she did her best to stay out of her father’s way and to avoid her mother’s drunken fits. She tried making bacon and eggs with butter jelly toast the way her aunt Edna had, but the eggs were runny, the bacon burned, and her father never bought any jelly.

When she was seventeen, a young man named Jack started delivering supplies to her father’s hardware store. At the behest of her father’s constant prodding and persuasion, Phyllis and Jack were married shortly thereafter. She didn’t realize it at the time, but her father had been eager to have someone else “take care of” Phyllis – her mother had passed when she was 15 from cirrhosis of the liver, and the hospital bills and funeral costs had nearly drained the family of any savings. Marrying her off had allowed her father to sell the house and save himself from complete financial ruin; for a few years after, he used the back office of the store as his lodgings and ate one meal a day from the diner down the street.

Phyllis and Jack’s marriage was happy enough – they took the car for rides on Sundays, and would sometimes go see a picture together. Jack would say things that made Phyllis laugh, and somehow, against all odds, Phyllis became quite a good cook for Jack. Phyllis had decided there wasn’t much passion or romantic love in their relationship, but more of a friendship – a partner, someone to work through the hardships of life together, to keep one another’s company and stave off the loneliness, and that was enough for her. They both took it pretty hard when they were unable to conceive after years of trying, hoping, but resolved to live out their days together in the good way that they got along, regardless of the unusual circumstances of their coming together.

When Jack passed unexpectedly of an early morning heart attack at the age of 73, Phyllis struggled at first with living alone. She realized she had never actually been alone in all her life, even if, at times, those that kept her company were disinterested in her and aloof. She eventually fell into a new swing of things, though, and did her best to keep busy. She got a kitten the following spring from a neighbor whose cat had born a litter – a pretty little calico with fluffy cheeks and a bushy tail. “Kitten” was her name, even as she became a full-grown cat, and Kitten would keep Phyllis company while she tended her garden until her knees and back became too bad to bear the work anymore. The arthritis in her hands eventually made her put down her knitting needles, and when she fell in the bathroom, she finally conceded to herself that maybe it was time to sell the house and move into “an old people’s home.”

Phyllis told me all of this after shuffling over to the bench to sit next to me in front of the lions at the Bronx Zoo. She had quite a stooping posture, but with the help of her walker, she seemed to be fairly steady on her feet. She told me that her assisted living home had planned an outing to the zoo that day, and she was not going to miss it for anything. She had just left the area where they kept the hippos, and was surprised to find out that hippo teeth don’t look like marshmallows after all, like they always did in the cartoons she watched as a kid. That was okay though, she’d told me – she really just wanted to see a great big lion open its great big mouth in a great big yawn, and she’d be happy. They held a yoga class once a week at her home, and she’d learned the “lion’s breath” technique. “How neat it’d be to do a lion’s breath with a real lion,” she had said.

I found out that Phyllis’s home was not far from the pastry shop where I worked, so I’d stop in to visit her once a week and bring her a baked treat. I never said much during our visits – Phyllis did most of the talking – but I was okay with that. I got the feeling that Phyllis hadn’t talked much during her life and maybe needed to get some things out.

Eventually, I started to notice that Phyllis didn’t seem to be doing as well as when I had met her, and I feared she was truly going downhill. I stopped in one day, and Phyllis was lying in bed. She told me she didn’t feel like getting up that day, and she’d never spent a single day of her life relaxing in bed before, so by god she was going to do it today. She lay on her side with the pillow crammed between her arm and her head. She turned her eyes to me, and I swear she looked straight into my soul with those dark brown eyes when she said, “Life is strange. You gotta make the best of it. And that means different things to different people.” I gave her hand a gentle squeeze, smiled, and said, “That’s really nice, Phyllis. Thank you.”

We had been sitting quietly for a while when Phyllis finally spoke. “Get in my desk over there for me. In the top drawer on the right. There’s something in there I want you to have.” I opened the drawer, and there, on top of a stack of old postcards, lay a Christmas ornament. She had bought it from the gift shop at the zoo the day of the zoo outing. It was a ceramic purple hippo wearing a Santa hat, mouth wide open revealing the perfect dentition within – perfectly white, perfectly round, perfectly marshmallow-shaped teeth.

She passed away eight days later. The nurses told me she suffered very little, which I was thankful for. More than all, I was thankful that Phyllis chose to sit at the bench outside the lion den, thankful that I was sitting at that very same bench at that very same moment, thankful to have made her acquaintance and have her friendship. Because of her and the life wisdom she imparted upon me, I took a chance on myself and auditioned for a part in a Broadway play. I got the part. My acting career blossomed from there, and I quit my job at the pastry shop. Phyllis’s purple hippo hangs from the rearview mirror in my car, and I think of her every day when I look in my mirror at the mother behind me screaming at her kids in the backseat, or the construction worker munching on a sandwich on his way back to the job site – all just everyday people making the best of their lives in the whatever way means the most to them.

My nephew Ben visits me for a couple weeks every summer. I make him bacon and eggs and butter jelly toast, except he likes the toast cut horizontally into two rectangles. Every night, we cook a few marshmallows on the stove – some of them we burn to a crisp, and some of them we hold high up over the flames so they’re hot on the outside and cool on the inside. We clink our marshmallows together in a toast to Phyllis. Although Ben was confused at first and didn’t know who Phyllis was, he now joins in wholeheartedly as we pay nightly homage to the woman who helped me become who I am.

“To Phyllis!” he says.

I smile and say, “Yes. To Phyllis.”

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smokeybrandreviews · 5 years ago

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Jill Sandwich

So Resident Evil 3 Remake is out in the wild and i can finally talk about this thing in detail. I have an interesting relationship with the RE franchise. It’s kind of a love/hate situation. I love the first three titles and Veronica. I kind of hate everything that came after. IV through VI are just plain awful, particularly VI. Cats fight me about IV but i don’t care for it. Capcom stopped doing what they do best, desperate survival horror, and started emulating those action films starring Leeloo Dallas. That’s find but, i mean, watching Chris Redfield, jacked up on the super roids, punch out a whole ass boulder, while fighting a chimera virus infected Wesker, in the heart of a goddamn volcano, was way too much. And there was another entire game after that one with this campy, wacky, bullsh*t. I hated it. All of it. Then Resident Evil VII dropped and everything changed.

Revelations hinted at a return to form but it was REVII that showed the world what Resident Evil was really about. My goodness was that game good. I was on the edge of my seat playing through that coil of stress, atmosphere, and insidious violence. It was beautiful. That game was beautiful. I found my self longing for that engine, driving my favorite title of the entire franchise, Resident Evil II. To my surprise i got exactly what i wanted. Holy sh*t, when Resident Evils II Remake dropped, i sh*t myself. This was the Resident Evil game i always wanted. This is what survival horror should have been the entire time. Remake hit every note of nostalgia while building a brand new experience. Not only were the graphics updated, bu the entire story was streamline and, thanks to some excellent voice work, it was rather enthralling this go around. REII was already one of my favorite games but Remake found a spit right next to it on my all-time list. When i finished that motherf*cker for the first time, after experiencing that horror on two legs called Mr. X, i thought about how dope Nemesis would be in this engine. To my surprise, i wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.

First and foremost, R3make is goddamn gorgeous. It’s absolutely beautiful. Capcom’s RE Engine pulls all of it’s weight on this one. The lighting and particle effects are spectacular. I thought Remake II looked great but this game really stand out. There are a few little concessions made to push the hardware but that’s to be forgiven. I can deal with an exploding limb or disappearing body if it means i can get the detail and literally horde levels of zombies on my ass at all times. It’s insane just how many of theses things are packed on screen, in that level detail, while Nemesis is launching f*cking rockets at you.

I have to absolutely gush about the writing for a minute here. I remember the old REIII being kind of hokey, kind of campy. I chocked it up to the limitations of the OG PlayStation. Not this one. The PS4 gives the script writers a level of power to get really creative. The dialogue Jill has with everyone feels real, It feels organic. She acts like a person with training in the middle of a crisis and i adore every second of it. I mean, her banter with Carlos is more than enough for the price of admission.

Also, Jill is just a regular badass. It’s dope seeing her getting her proper due in this game. The last time we saw her, outside of one of those Revelation games, she was a muppet for Wesker. Bullsh*t, son! Not here. Here, she is in all her bad ass. Umbrella busting, glory and i love it. I also love her redesign. Function over fashion, ya dig?

The remix of levels caught me off guard at first. They took out a lot of set pieces i remember like the park and Jill’s run through the RPD. These aspects of her original playthrough make an appearance, just in completely different ways. Also worth mentioning, there are like, no puzzled in this game. I remember the original being very, frustratingly, puzzle heavy way back when. This game is not that. It is a narrative focused, action driven, murder fest. I am more than okay with that particular alteration.

The redesigned enemies in this game are spectacular. I kind of expected a few changed, mostly based on the Ivy from Remake II, but Capcom really found a way to be creative with these new enemies. There’s, like, Las Plagas zombies in this thing. You blow of their heads and a parasite pops out. It’s insane. I always though Nemesis was infected with a Plagas and this game kind of confirms that. I love the new take on the Hunters. The Alphas have kind of a predator face now but the Gammas? The Gammas have this massive parasite that pops out of their gaping maws. It looks just like the Gravedigger and since there isn’t really a park level to this game, imagine they serve the same purpose. Or, repurpose in this case. There’s even a couple of surprises in store for those who know their lore. Their horrifying Resident Evil lore.

F*cking Nemesis, man. Nemesis is nightmare fuel incarnate. Dude is outright horrifying, the entire time you play this game. He’s fast, agile, and f*cking terrifying. I had problems with Mr. X but this asshole? Dude literally sprints after you when you run away. I kind of hate it but, at the same time, i f*cking need it! Good ol’ Nemi’s redesign is amazing. I was a little iffy at first, but seeing it in action sold me. And then his second form happened. Bro. What? And then that third. Okay, Capcom, come on? Y’all were just showing off with that one.

The only thing holding this game back, in my opinion, is that it can get a little REVI at times. I mean that the action becomes just a hair too over-the-top. That entire end sequence with final form Nemesis was absolutely ridiculous. I mean, i loved it, don’t get me wrong, but, f*ck, coming off Remake II and several parts of this one, it just felt a little out of place. There’s a few times where this issue creeps up but, like i said, it’s more of a nitpick than anything. The grounded nature and character driven narrative distract from the more... zealous aspects of this game.

As far as gameplay, if you played Remake II or any of the RE titles after IV, you know what to expect. Over the shoulder, third person, all day! I hate shooters but i can play the f*ck out of these types. Tank controls have gone the way of the dodo it seems but i ‘m not bad with their replacement. This game feels right with this camera set up. Shooting feels right. Dodging feels rewarding. This game feels real good to play.

There aren’t anymore of those quick decision deals like in the original but that’s not a problem. They would have interfered with the narrative driven aspects of this game. You can still, you know, shoot Nemi in the face for dope sh*t but i wouldn’t. F*ck all of that. Maybe after a third of fourth playthrough. Maybe. There’s no Mercenaries mode or multiple endings but you can play a good portion as Carlos and there’s a brand new multiplayer component with it’s own narrative called Resident Evil Resistance so, i guess that’s dope? I dunno. I f*cks with that single player campaign all day, tho.

R3make is f*cking outstanding. I love this game. Absolutely adore the f*ck out of it. I still like Remake II better but that’s more because i just adore II overall. That said, R3make is the f*cking tits. This sh*t is fast paced, adrenaline pumping, stress inducing, action packed, zombie killing. It does justice to Jill, makes me care about Carlos, and even does some interesting things with Nemesis. I was thoroughly surprised by some narrative choices taken but they dded to the overall plot,giving life to a game that sorely needed it, while not compromising once on gameplay. While there are certain design aspects i would have liked seen skew closer to the earlier titles in the franchise rather than the later ones, that is a small gripe. Even in all of it’s Bayhem glory, and there is a lot of that toward th end, this game never loses the spirit of who it is. Resident Evil III Remake is a f*cking masterpiece and you should get into it the second this quarantine lifts if you haven’t already had an opportunity to grab a copy.

#Resident Evil 3 #Resident Evil #Biohazard #Biohazard 3 #Jill Valentine #Nemesis #Resident Evil 3 Nemesis

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motorizedbicy · 4 years ago

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Best Electric Bikes for Every Kind of Ride

Around the country, bars, dining establishments, and also various other public spaces are shut or have actually restricted solution. Public transportation is becoming an extra iffy proposition, and cities are closing roads to provide pedestrians more room to move near their houses.

Go into: the electric bike. You do not require to be healthy to ride one. It gets you outside, lowers fossil fuels, decreases congestion, and also it's enjoyable. Over the past few years, we have actually attempted practically every type of ebike there is, from sturdy cargo bikes to premium mountain bicycle. Whether you're tooling around your neighborhood purchasing wood chips from the hardware shop or trying to trim a couple of miles off the trip for a socially distanced see, we have the very best ebike for you.

We will certainly be remaining to test and trip bikes throughout the summertime, so if you do not see one you like now, be sure to inspect back later. Once you get one, take a look at our favored biking accessories, too.

Have inquiries concerning electric bikes? Sign up with the conversation in the comments section below.

Updated for June 2020: We got rid of a number of older choices as well as included new ones, like the Propella 7-Speed.

The Very Best Bike

Specialized Turbo Vado SL Equipped

When I needed to return this electric bike (9/10, WIRED Recommends), I practically cried. The small, yet effective, customized motor as well as slim battery are integrated into the structure, so it doesn't even look like an ebike. The XS frame evaluates 33 extra pounds, just a couple of more than a normal steel bike. It has a hybrid structure with flat handlebars that make it simple to steer on a selection of surfaces, whether you're scooting along at 28 miles per hr or bumping through trees at your neighborhood park.

Specialized's Smart Control system suggests you don't need to readjust aid while you're riding, or bother with having sufficient battery to get house. A surprise shock in the head tube paddings the blow from any unforeseen fractures. Also the accessories are first-class, like long, adaptable custom-made fenders that sluice water down and also far from you in the rain. I place 40 miles on it in three days. It was so fun that it was hard to jump off.

The Very Best Affordable Bike

Propella 7-Speed (V3.4).

Who am I kidding? Unless you're already an ebike fanatic, you possibly desire one that's as close to $1,000 as feasible. That's a tough proposal if you want a dependable electric motor and also a frame that won't bend at 15 miles per hour. Propella's direct-to-consumer 7-speed (8/10, WIRED Recommends) is the very best low-cost bike we have actually located. Reviewer Parker Hall noted that it has trustworthy elements like a Samsung battery as well as Shimano disc brakes, and cool accessories like a trendy suspension seat. At 39 pounds, it's likewise pretty light for an ebike! It ships straight to you, too, which comes in handy if you would love to stay clear of a bike shop now.

Best Utility Bike.

Rad Power Bikes RadRunner.

Regardless of which bike I recommend, many people I recognize directly buy this one. It has an apparently magic mix of affordability and also effectiveness. Seattle-based Rad Power Bikes ships its bikes direct-to-consumer, and also rather than working solely with business like Bosch and Shimano, it likewise establishes its own custom hub-motor drivetrains with a variety of different suppliers. Additionals like light weight aluminum pedals and added equipments are stripped off in favor of a big 120-pound back rack as well as huge, steady, custom-made Kenda tires.

Nearly any person can utilize the RadRunner (7/10, WIRED Review)-- whether you want a comfortable cruiser for coastline rides, a steady seat for your 4-year-old, or you simply want to ditch your gas-powered Vespa. If you have actually never gotten on a bike before, the Elby S1 additionally has a very easy step-through frame as well as costs trimmings, like Tektro hydraulic brakes. It's much more expensive, though.

Best Freight Bike (and My Fave).

Tern GSD.

The Tern GSD S10 (9/10, WIRED Recommends) is my favored freight bike (of those I have actually examined), as well as it's the one I would purchase if I had the ka-ching. Tern utilized a number of creative design tweaks to make the bike easy to ride-- for example, tiny 20-inch and fat motorcross tires assist maintain the bike's length equal to an average roadway bike. The rear rack is likewise reduced for much better stability, as well as the battery and motor are under the shelf, instead of placed on the downtube.

You can likewise keep it standing up on its end. That remains in enhancement to an adjustable Bosch electric motor, which you can update to a double-battery system. My regional bike shops have trouble keeping it in stock. If you do not require such a long tail, Tern likewise released a much shorter HSD that can suit one child seat.

A Light, Budget Friendly Cargo Bike.

Bike Friday Haul-A-Day.

Bike Friday's Haul-A-Day isn't for every person. The majority of parents that desire a longtail cargo bike will certainly choose something heavier as well as more secure, like a RadWagon or a Yuba Boda Boda. As a brief moms and dad that has to deliver 2 kids, this is the bike I in fact have. It has a special telescoping tube that can shorten the bike to fit riders as short as 4' 6", and also it considers 44 extra pounds-- practically 15 pounds less than the Tern. It's also much more inexpensive, though this is understood by replacing a reputable, effective Bosch drivetrain with a Tongsheng one.

Ideal Minivan Alternative.

Riese & Müller Lots 60.

A year after checking it, my spouse and I still wistfully talk about how much far better our lives would be if we had our very own R&M Load 60 (8/10, WIRED Recommends). The full-suspension, double-battery Tons makes use of a Bosch system to power its bakfiets-style freight box around community.

You can customize the freight box with low sidewalls, harnesses, and a rainfall cover, or you can remove whatever off as well as get devices at the hardware store. It additionally comes with valuable additionals, like Tektro hydraulic disc brakes, an easily flexible seat, and also an integrated wheel lock that lets you lock the bike up while it's free-standing.

A Lot Of Versatile Bike.

Yamaha Wabash E-Bike.

A gravel bike is a functional choice for whatever from daily commuting to mild weekend bikepacking journeys. The Yamaha Wabash (7/10, WIRED Evaluation) is more budget friendly than the Turbo Vado SL, as well as I used it for every little thing from heading to my regional cafe to striking (some) routes on the weekends. Yamaha's custom motor and also absolutely no cadence trigger are effective enough to let me start up in the middle of extremely steep hillsides. It also has back shelf installs, an LED headlight, and a little bell. I did find its slim wheels as well as lack of shock absorption rather disconcerting on rougher roadways. Specialized additionally has an extremely wonderful gravel-ready electric bike.

Finest Electric Mountain Bike.

Specialized Males's Turbo Levo Comp.

While several communities have limitations on whether electrical bikes are also allowed on single-track (thin) tracks, reviewer Stephanie Pearson had a blast on Specialized's initial pedal-assisted mtb (8/10, WIRED Recommends). It has a rigid, crooked structure that's longer in the front to make pounding the downhills feel smooth and safe, along with a 500-watt electric motor with Smart Control, which means you don't need to adjust aid when riding. It really feels equally as enjoyable as a nonelectric bike.

Best Folding Ebike.

Gocycle GX.

Gocycle was founded by Mclaren Automotive designer Richard Thorpe, and also the GX (7/10, WIRED Testimonial) is its fast-folding bike. The streamlined light weight aluminum structure conceals a 300-Wh lithium-ion battery inside. As opposed to simply switching over from 4 fixed aid settings, Gocycle's application allows you play on a gliding range to call in various quantities useful in correlation with various degrees of pressure on the pedals, that makes it a dream to ride. You can rubber-band your phone to the handlebars to function as your console. It likewise has only 2 joints, that makes folding and unfolding very easy, as well as can be kept standing with the kickstand prolonged.

An Inexpensive Foldable Ebike.

Jetson City Foldable Electric Bike.

Ebikes are expensive, as well as we did review the Jetson City (6/10, WIRED Testimonial), which rings in at under a grand. It has most of the bells and also whistles that you need for a commuter ebike, like a 250-watt electric motor hidden in the crossbar, around 40 miles of variety, 3 levels of pedal help, a throttle, and also a horn. Nonetheless, in just a week of testing, I chipped off a part of the clamp that hooks the bike with each other, which doesn't bode well for the bike's long life over the long run.

Guidance to Bear In Mind.

Recognizing Electric Bike Specs.

Similar to any kind of bike, electrical bikes featured a ton of different technical specifications that you might or might not appreciate. Much more economical ebikes use hub motor drives, where the electric motor is in the center of the bike's wheel. A lot more costly mid-drive motors, like Bosch or Shimano systems, remain in the facility of the bike as well as transfer the power to the wheel by means of the chain. Mid-drive electric motors allow you move equipments and stabilize the bike's weight much better.

If you stay in an area that's wet or uneven, it's worth shelling out for an extra powerful 500-W or 750-W electric motor as well as a few extras, like hydraulic or mechanical disc brakes, which will help stop you as well as your freight from skidding right into website traffic. If you have a longer commute, you may also wish to search for a double-battery system, as the range on many ebike batteries is within 30 to 50 miles.

Ebike Classifications and Policies.

Examine Your Neighborhood Regulations.

Prior to you buy your electric bike, make sure you can really utilize it! Many cities as well as states have local laws managing when as well as where you can use an ebike. At least 22 states currently make use of the three-class system, and also may restrict when and also where different courses of ebikes might be made use of, depending upon if they have a throttle or can assist over 20 miles per hour. Cities might additionally have regulations about whether hill ebikes are enabled on single-track tracks. If your state identifies ebikes under the exact same regulations regulating motorbikes as well as mopeds, you might require a certificate to ride one. As well as regardless of what, always use a helmet.

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