#this applies to loud engines and stuff too

[shailion]

I swear the jackass who inspired this post was using the shit that caused havana syndrome to play his music

[rulerofstars]

off track, on you

oneshot: you’ve always known your dad’s best friend was into extreme sports—but not that extreme. not the kind that made your knees weak and your brain short-circuit the second you saw him ride.

pairing: dbf! rider! bucky barnes x reader

wc: 2.3k words. fluff.

you were bored out of your mind.

with your dad away on another extended work trip, you’d exhausted all your usual entertainment options. streaming services had nothing new, your friends were busy with their own lives, and scrolling through social media had lost its appeal hours ago.

that’s when you remembered your dad’s best friend, bucky barnes. your relationship with him had always been… complicated. he’d been in your life for years, always hovering somewhere between annoying guardian and endearing friend—and lately, those lines had started to blur in ways that made your heart race.

without overthinking it, you grabbed your phone and scrolled to his contact. your thumb hovered over his name for a second too long before you finally tapped it. the line started ringing, and you instantly regretted your decision.

he answered on the third ring, his voice low and a little amused like he’d half-expected you. “hey.”

there was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough to be awkward. you swallowed. “what are you doing today?”

“not much. just heading out to meet some guys.”

your brows knit together. “guys?”

“bike guys,” he said, the way someone might casually say mailmen or golfers. “motocross stuff. nothing big.”

that made you sit up straighter. motocross? he never told you about that.

“you do motocross?” you asked, unable to hide the surprise in your voice.

“i dabble,” he said, as if the word dabble could ever apply to something that involved literal dirt tracks and flying motorcycles.

there was something smug in his tone, and it annoyed you. “i want to come.”

he went quiet for a beat, as though weighing the idea. “you sure?”

“yes,” you replied, maybe too fast. then, to cover it up, you added, “why? don’t want me there?”

“i didn’t say that.” you could practically hear the smirk through the phone. “alright, i’ll come pick you up.”

you hung up before you could overthink the way your pulse quickened at that.

fifteen minutes later, the low rumble of his car echoed outside your apartment, and you caught sight of him leaning against the door, looking unbothered in that infuriatingly effortless way of his. no honk. no knock. just a single text: outside.

you rolled your eyes and grabbed your jacket, muttering under your breath as you locked the door behind you. “so dramatic.”

the second you got into the passenger seat, you shot him a glare. “you could’ve told me to bring a jacket. or warned me if this was a dusty-freaking-arena situation.”

“you asked to come,” he said, not even bothering to hide his grin. “you don’t get to be mad now.”

“i’m not mad,” you muttered, crossing your arms as the engine roared to life. “i just have expectations.”

“uh huh.” he spared you a quick glance. “you’re frowning.”

“this is just my face.”

he laughed softly and shifted gears, the car pulling away from the curb. the drive was longer than you expected, back roads that coiled past empty fields, stretches of gravel, and rows of warehouses you hadn’t even known existed. you stayed quiet most of the way, trying not to look too eager every time he adjusted the rearview mirror or shifted in his seat. eventually, the landscape opened into a clearing of packed dirt, aluminum bleachers, fluttering red flags, and the low growl of engines filling the air.

you blinked. “this is… loud.”

bucky didn’t say anything, just parked the car and walked around to open your door. you stepped out before he could fully reach it, brushing past him with a frown that deepened the moment the dusty air hit your face.

he fell into step beside you, hand briefly grazing your lower back to guide you through the thickening crowd. it was subtle, but you felt it anyway. warm, grounding, annoying in the way it made your chest tighten just a little.

when you reached the metal stands, he left you alone for a few minutes, only to return balancing two drinks, a salted pretzel, and a tray of hot dogs like some casually gifted street magician.

“i didn’t ask for all this,” you said, looking down at the mess of food he shoved into your arms.

“i didn’t want you passing out mid-eye-roll,” he said, settling beside you. “consider it survival rations.”

you shot him another glare, but it didn’t land quite the way you intended. he was already backing away, pulling off his hoodie and slinging it over his shoulder. “enjoy the show, princess.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but he was gone—already jogging down toward the track area where a cluster of guys were lining up bikes and pulling on gear.

you didn’t expect much. honestly, you thought he’d just hang out, maybe talk to people and watch a few races. you figured it would be loud and dirty and maybe boring. what you didn’t expect was for bucky to slide on a helmet, kick up a leg, and mount a bike like he’d been born on one.

“what the hell,” you whispered, sitting up straighter in your seat.

it happened fast. one moment, the bikes were circling the track in practiced formation, weaving around mounds and ramps. the next, one of them peeled away from the group and launched off a jump, flipping through the air before landing in a blur of dirt and smoke. the crowd erupted in cheers.

your jaw dropped as the rider sped through the track, pulling trick after trick, every turn sharper, more impossible. you squinted through the dust, heart pounding, and that’s when you saw it—that unmistakable red stripe on the back of the shirt.

“no. way.”

it was bucky.

bucky, who never told you this was his thing. bucky, who just dabbled. bucky, who was currently flipping through the air like gravity owed him money.

you sat there, stunned, pretzel in one hand, drink forgotten in the other. every time he jumped, your stomach lurched. every time he landed, you barely breathed. and when he did a midair twist off the biggest ramp on the track, you felt actual rage bubbling in your throat.

he was grinning when he returned, helmet under his arm, sweat on his brow, hair sticking to the sides of his face. he looked too good for someone who just disrespected physics.

“well?” he asked, catching the look on your face.

you didn’t answer. just stared at him with wide eyes and a scowl that could peel paint.

“you didn’t like it?”

“you never said you’d be flying through the air,” you snapped. “you said motocross, not death wish. you also told me you just dabble!”

he blinked, then broke into a full grin. “you’re mad.”

“i’m not mad.”

“you’re frowning.”

“i’m always frowning.”

he dropped down beside you, thigh brushing yours. “it’s cute.”

you shot him a glare sharp enough to kill a man. “it’s reckless. and unnecessary. and you’re… you’re insane.”

bucky reached over, plucked a piece of your pretzel, and popped it into his mouth like he hadn’t just been scolded. “you should’ve seen your face.”

you wanted to smack the smirk off him, and maybe also kiss it, but mostly smack.

before you could snarl something else, he stood and held out a hand. “come meet my crew.”

you hesitated, then took it.

the group of guys waiting by the fence were all rough voices, sunburnt arms, and grease-stained jeans. they took one look at you and immediately turned to bucky with raised brows.

“this her?” one of them asked, looking you over with an amused grin.

“yup,” bucky said, pulling you slightly behind him.

“she looks pissed,” another said.

“i am not pissed,” you snapped.

they laughed.

“she’s cute when she’s mad,” someone said.

“she’s always mad,” bucky added, glancing at you. “that’s her thing.”

you glared at him. “it’s not my thing.”

he leaned in just a little closer. “it is now.”

you didn’t say goodbye to his friends. you didn’t even wait for bucky to follow. you turned on your heel with a dramatic scoff and stormed off toward the car like you were about to sue gravity itself.

dust kicked up around your boots with every step, sun hot on your skin, but nothing burned hotter than the fury curling in your chest. the kind that made your hands ball into fists and your mouth twist into something dangerously close to a pout. he could’ve told you. hell, he should have told you.

motorcycles. tricks. midair flips. like he was invincible.

you reached the car, yanked the passenger door open, and slumped into the seat with your arms crossed tight over your chest. you didn’t look at him. not when you heard his boots approaching. not when he opened the driver’s side door and leaned against it instead of getting in.

he let out a low chuckle. “so that’s how it’s gonna be?”

you didn’t answer. you stared straight ahead through the windshield, jaw set, like ignoring him might buy you back a shred of dignity.

the silence stretched. then you heard him move, footsteps crunching against the gravel, and the next second, the driver’s side door shut. he didn’t start the car. didn’t touch the wheel. instead, he turned to face you fully, elbow propped against the console, eyes fixed on your profile like he was trying to memorize it.

“c’mon,” he said softly, voice rough in that way that always made your stomach flutter whether you wanted it to or not. “talk to me.”

still, you didn’t move.

he leaned in a little closer. “what’s wrong, baby?”

your head whipped toward him, eyes sharp. “don’t call me that.”

his mouth twitched, but he didn’t back off. if anything, he got bolder, voice dipping lower, tone all velvet and coaxing.

“tell me what upset you,” he murmured, like he wasn’t trying to win a fight, he was trying to win you. “you looked so worried when i was out there. can’t get that look outta my head.”

you hated that your pulse betrayed you. you hated that his voice could get under your skin like that.

“i wasn’t worried,” you muttered, face turned away again. “i was annoyed.”

“oh?” he drew the word out, slow and smug. “annoyed by me flipping midair like a goddamn legend?”

you glared at him.

he raised both hands in mock surrender but kept smiling. “okay, okay. no jokes.”

you looked away, biting your cheek. “i didn’t know you did THAT kind of thing. that you… you’re just so damn reckless. you didn’t even warn me.”

a pause. then a quieter, more honest reply.

“you’re right. i should’ve told you.” he leaned in just a little closer, his knee brushing yours. “i didn’t think it’d matter. didn’t think i’d matter that much to you.”

your eyes met his then fully, finally. and it was infuriating how sincere he looked.

“of course it matters,” you said, voice breaking around the edges. “of course you matter.”

bucky went still, just for a second.

like your words landed somewhere deeper than either of you expected. his gaze flicked to your mouth, then back to your eyes. and when he spoke, it was quieter than before, almost unsure, which was rare for him.

“you mean that?”

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you turned to face him fully, both knees tucked under you on the passenger seat now, hands folded in your lap so you wouldn’t do something stupid… like reach for his.

“i didn’t come here just to be entertained, bucky. i came because i… i like being around you. even when you’re an idiot on a motorcycle.”

he exhaled something like a laugh. soft. nervous.

“i didn’t know you felt that way.”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, well, i didn’t either. not really. not until you started launching yourself into the sky like a dumbass.”

“and that’s what did it for you?” he teased. “the danger?”

“no,” you snapped, heat rising to your cheeks. “what did it for me was realizing how scared i was. how mad i was at the thought of you getting hurt. because it wouldn’t just be some guy wiping out on a track. it’d be you.”

a pause stretched long and heavy between you.

then his voice, low and steady.

“you were scared for me.”

“yes,” you muttered. “obviously.”

he reached over, hand curling lightly around your wrist. not pulling, not grabbing. just holding.

“‘m sorry, doll, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “i just—i wanted to show off a little, i guess.”

you squinted at him. “for me?”

he grinned sheepishly. “yeah. is that pathetic?”

you blinked. “a little.”

his grin widened. “thought so.”

you sat there in the hush of the cooling car, engines revving distantly outside, the soft buzz of wind against the windows. his fingers hadn’t left your wrist. and slowly, it turned into your hand. into your fingers slipping between his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

he looked down at it. then at you.

“if i kissed you right now,” he said carefully, “would you punch me?”

“depends how good the kiss is,” you replied, brows raised.

he smirked. “so i’ve got one shot?”

“mm-hmm.”

and then he kissed you.

slow at first—like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to. then deeper, more certain, like he’d been holding it in for years and didn’t plan to stop now. his hand slid behind your neck, thumb brushing your jaw. you made a quiet sound, one he swallowed up like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

when you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you were the first to speak.

“okay,” you whispered. “you get one more.”

he didn’t even wait a beat.

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[kaunis-sielu]

Small Town, Big City

You can hear the engine before you can see it, but just by sound you know that it’s a motorcycle. Great. The last thing you need is some biker dude rolling by, seeing you and your piece of shit car and coming back to hit on you. You keep your focus on your car, you’ve already burned yourself once you don’t need to twice, as the bike roars by.

“Please keep going. Please keep going. Please keep going.” You mutter under your breath but luck has abandoned you as the motorcycle turns around and comes back your way.

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Are you alright?” He calls, him calling you ma’am throws you off a bit.

“I’m fine thanks.” You yell back, still not turning around.

“Ma’am. Can you please turn around? My name is Sheriff Rogers I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Sheriff? You turn then, water bottle in one hand, flashlight in the other and are somehow still surprised to see a sheriff standing in front of you.

“Oh, sorry I just assumed that you were a biker and really didn’t wanna deal with that.” He’s tugged off the helmet, his hair smooshed down from it and he gives you a small nod and a smile.

“Understandable. But you’re okay?”

“I mean, mentally yea, physically I burned my arm pretty good with some steam. Emotionally? I’m gonna be honest with you. Pretty shitty.”

“Well, I can help with the burn for sure. I’ve got a kit on my bike but the emotional stuff I don’t know. I’m a good listener at least.” He offers with a small smile, one you can’t help but return. You turn back to your car and pour some water into the radiator.

“Alright ma’am. Can I see your arm?”

“Oh, oh my god you scared me. You move quietly.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You turn and give him your arm and he lets out a low whistle.

“You said it was steam?”

“Yea I opened the radiator too soon, shot some steam out at me.”

“Ouch, it doesn’t look too bad though. I’m going to put some burn ointment on there then wrap it to keep it clean okay?”

“Sounds good.” He gets to work, his large hands much more gentle than you’d have expected them to be. You chat as he tends to your battle wound.

“So, you mentioned emotionally not good.” He says not looking at you, “Wanna talk about it?” You sigh heavily, watching as he gently applies the burn ointment.

“I’m from Chicago, had a job, a nice apartment. Family nearby. But my boyfriend, sorry, my ex-boyfriend got a job down in New Mexico.” You wince as he hits a tender spot.

“Sorry.”

“No it’s okay. Anyway, Brock asked me to move with him. We’d been together almost two years so I figured why not. He left a week before me, mailed me a key to our new place. I packed up this piece of shit and drove all the way out here. Walked in on him having sex with another guy, which honestly is fine just maybe break up with me first. Ya know?”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” He says softly wrapping the gauze around your arm. “So are you heading home?”

“Yea, gonna stay with a friend until I find a place. Luckily, I can kind of work anywhere there are animals so a job isn’t an issue.”

“You work with animals?”

“I’m a veterinarian.”

“That’s cool. You wanna try your car again?”

“Yea.” You round the car and try to start the engine when a loud bang sounds and Steve ducks. “Are you okay?” You call over your open door.

“I’m fine. But your serpentine belt isn’t.”

“My what?”

“The belt that goes around the engine. One of my best friends owns a car shop and some of the guys and I hang out there on the weekends. We’re working on an old ‘67 mustang right now. Let me give them a call and we’ll get you a tow.”

“Oh god. This is the last thing I need.” You groan dropping your forehead onto the top of the steering wheel. You can hear Sheriff Rogers talking to someone through his walkie and you check again for a signal on your phone. You’re disappointed but not surprised when there’s still no service. You grab your purse off of the seat of the car then throw your keys into it.

“So they’ll be here soon. Can I see your ID really quick? I should run it through the system, make sure you’re not wanted or anything.”

“Oh, right.” You pull your wallet out and pass him your ID. He calls it in and when you come back clear he gives it back.

“Sorry about that.”

“No reason to be, you’re just doing your job.” He nods then glances over his shoulder, you follow his gaze and see a dark spot on the horizon.

“That your friend?”

“Probably. She drives too fast, especially when she knows where we all are.” He says shaking his head with a small smile on his face.

Sure enough that dark spot on the horizon becomes a bright red tow truck.

“Hey Steve.” A small, slender woman calls as she drops out of the truck. “You said something about the serpentine belt?”

“Yea, when it was started it snapped.”

“When was the last time this bad boy got serviced?” The woman asks looking over at you.

“Uh, my brother usually just does it so, by a professional, maybe 4 years?”

“Oh dear god.” She mutters before laying down on the ground and attaching the large metal hook to the front of your car. She moves quickly and before you know it your car is hooked up and ready to go.

“Come on, you can ride with me.” She says with a grin at you, “Don’t worry Steve I’ll go the speed limit.”

“Just cuz you’re married to a deputy doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.” He huffs in a poor attempt to look irritated.

“Okay.”

“Natasha.” He warns his voice low, “don’t make me call Clint.”

“You know he’ll just fold.” She says with a laugh and he rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.

“At least let me give you an escort.” Sheriff Rogers says making his way back to his motorcycle.

“Score.” Natasha says with a laugh, “that’s what I was hoping he’d do.” She tells you with a wink causing you to laugh.

Tag list:

@foxyjwls007 @andahugaroundtheneck @also-fangirlinsweden @pagina16ps @princesssterek @valsworldofcreativity @dumblani @inkedaztec @loving-life-my-way @animegirlgeeky @shinycupcakebaker @eralen @sophham @gh0stgurl @wonderlandfandomkingdom @patzammit @abschaffer2 @capsiclesdoll @killcomet @sass-masterkittenmama

[chu16a-blog]

Montgomery Scott x Reader - A kiss for a kiss

First fanfic. Resume: A fiery rivalry between Scotty and a new engineer hides feelings neither will admit — until a near-tragedy, a drunken confession, and one kiss change everything.

A kiss for a kiss:

The first time you walked into Engineering aboard the Enterprise, all heads turned.

It wasn’t just your looks, though, frankly, that played a part — it was the energy you carried. Like a star imploding and creating something entirely new. Confident stride. No-nonsense tone. You were assigned straight into the engineering department.dw

You glanced around, noting the wide eyes of most of the men in the room. A few offered nods, one even winked. But you weren’t here to flirt. You were here to work.

On your first day, scotty watched you stalk up to the diagnostics terminal, drop your toolkit with a loud clang, and immediately start poking through the ship’s energy redistribution logs without so much as a “good morning.”

You didn’t even introduce yourself. Just started rewiring like you’d built the ship yourself.

He narrowed his eyes. “She’s gonna be a nightmare.”

And you were.

Every day, it was something new. You bypassed protocol. Refused gloves. Crawled into ducts without a spotter. You fixed things fast, maybe too fast, and left him trailing behind with paperwork and complaints.

After your third incident, where you nearly overloaded a relay by jamming two incompatible coils together (“It worked, didn’t it?”) — Scotty exploded.

“If I wanted a demolition crew, I’d have called one! Ye can’t just jam stuff until it sticks, lass!”

“I didn’t jam anything. I applied pressure physics and ran a manual override. You should try reading the schematics sometime, Chief.”

“Den’t test me, I’ll reassign ye to cleanin' the warp nacelles with a toothbrush!”

“You’ll have to catch me first, Grandpa.”

He stared at you.

When Scotty’s frustration started bubbling over into grumpier-than-usual tirades, Kirk and Bones decided it was time for a drink and invited him to the captain’s quarters.

“She desn’t even label her tools!” he muttered to Kirk over drinks. “Jus' yanks things 'part like she’s in a bloody scrapyard.”

Kirk grinned behind his glass of Saurian brandy. “You don’t like her because she rewired that stabilizer in half the time it would take you.”

“I den’t like her becaus' she’s reckless,” Scotty snapped. “Fixes things with spit and instinct. The lass is goin' to get herself killed.”

Bones, who’d been silently sipping, raised an eyebrow. “Funny, sounds like someone I know…”

You and Scotty spent the next few weeks locked in a steady rhythm of arguments and stubborn standoffs, the friction between you practically a part of the ship’s daily routine.

You were elbow-deep in the side panel of the power transfer grid when Scotty came storming over.

“What 'n the name of sanity are ye doin'? Ye’r rerouting a main power conduit without ae safety brace!”

You barely looked up. “Don’t need it. I’ve done this plenty of times.”

“And if the system kicks in while ye hand’s 'n there, we’ll be scraping ye off the wall!”

You rolled your eyes. “Then shut down the system. Simple fix.”

Scotty’s jaw clenched. “Ye’ll follow protocol on me deck, lass.”

“I’ll follow whatever gets the job done fastest and safest — and newsflash — I am being safe.”

The tension was magnetic. And maddening. You drove each other up the wall. But that didn’t stop you from looking when he passed by. Or him from watching you when he thought you weren’t noticing.

He started complaining more to Bones and Kirk, his grumbling less furious, more… tortured.

“She struts around like she invente' the warp core. Always has thae grease smear on he' cheek. Why is that attractive?!” Scotty groaned.

“She’s got you twisted,” Bones laughed. “Might want to untangle yourself before it gets worse.”

“You know, if you keep complaining about her every day, people might start thinking you're obsessed.”

“Obsessed with no' dying, maybe,” Scotty grumbled. “She hotwires power converters like she’s trying te trigger a core meltdown.”

“She’s efficient,” Bones offered.

“She’s reckless.”

“You also said she solved the capacitor issue in under five minutes,” Kirk pointed out.

“Aye,” Scotty muttered.

Kirk exchanged a knowing glance with Bones.

A few days later, the perfect opportunity for mischief presented itself.

Kirk, being Kirk, decided a little tight space would “build camaraderie.”

“Two of my best engineers,” he said innocently, “I need you both in the auxiliary core junction. Crawling space only. You’ll need to work together.”

Scotty glared at him. “Th' is about yoe' amusement, isn’t it?”

“No,” Kirk said, utterly unconvincing. “Definitely not.”

So, that’s how you ended up shoulder-to-shoulder with Montgomery Scott under a massive tangle of Enterprise machinery, both of you flat on your backs, shoulders pressed together, tools in hand, faces barely inches apart.

The air was thick with the hum of energy conduits and barely-contained irritation.

“I told ye we should’ve rerouted the EPS flow from th' secondary regulator,” he muttered.

“And I told you,” you said, squinting up at the wiring, “that doing it your way would’ve overloaded the entire subsystem.”

“I’ve bee' running thes' systems since befor' ye got your first toolkit,” he grumbled.

You gave a lopsided smile. “Right, because time automatically makes someone right.”

He grunted in response, reaching overhead to adjust a coupling, his elbow brushed your ribs. You flinched. “Watch it.”

“Maybe if ye didn’t take up half the damn crawlspace—”

“Oh please, I’m not the one with the overgrown toolbelt and a tendency to manspread under warp coils.”

He paused. “Tha's no' even a real word.”

“It is.”

You both glared at each other in the dim lighting, chests rising and falling with the heat of the argument, and something else. The tension buzzed louder than the plasma regulators above your heads.

Every time your hand brushed his while reaching for a spanner, every grunt or shift of his leg that nudged yours. It was like static electricity building up with nowhere to discharge. You tried to ignore it. You focused on the panel, the wires, anything but the warmth of his body or the faint scent of engine grease and cologne.

He spoke again, quieter this time. “I just... don’t like the way ye throw yerself into thes' systems. Ye’r reckless.”

You paused. “I get the job done.”

He turned his head to look at you. “Aye, ye do. But at what cost?”

You met his eyes, startled by the sudden shift in tone.

“Is that... concern?” you teased, unsure whether to mock or thank him.

He looked away quickly, cheeks slightly flushed. “Just trying to make sure I den’t have to fish ye out of the power grid one day.”

The silence after that was thick. Heavy.

You stared back at the wires, your heart beating just a little faster. His arm brushed yours again—not an accident this time—and neither of you moved away.

That night, Scotty couldn’t stop thinking about the way your smirk lingered, or the brief hitch in your breath when your knees had touched. He told himself it meant nothing. Just proximity. Just stress.

But something had shifted. Unwillingly. Uncomfortably. Irrevocably.

He started noticing more: the way you argued, sure, but also how you worked late. The way you tied your hair back when you were about to get under a console. How your lips pressed together when you were deep in thought. Caught himself looking at the back of your neck in the lift the next day. Wondering if you always twirled that same wrench when you were thinking.

And how often other men in Engineering looked at you. Talked to you. Laughed.

He hated it. Because he was older, not as polished, and damn it, he shouldn’t feel this way.

He tried to hide it. Try to work the opposite shift from yours. Avoiding was his best strategy right now, "It's just a phase, simple crush. It will go away soon,". It didn't.

You, for your part, were in full denial.

“He’s infuriating,” you told your friend over drinks in the rec lounge. “I mean it. He talks like I’m a hazard.”

“You are a hazard,” she said, sipping her drink. “But he clearly wants to disassemble more than your circuits.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t have time for this.”

“You don’t want to have time.”

“That too.”

“Still... you’re not not into him.”

You didn’t respond.

But your silence said enough.

A week later, you were back on mission, repairing a planetary outpost. Something went wrong. You didn’t see the panel sparking until it was too late. A sharp pulse, then pain. You went down hard.

The explosion rang in his ears long after the dust had settled.

He didn’t remember running. He didn’t remember the weight of the toolkit he tossed aside or the terrain tearing at his knees when he dropped beside you. All he remembered was your face — blood at your temple, eyes half-closed, your body frighteningly still beneath the crumpled debris.

“Y/N—no, no, no—com' on, stey with me,” he’d said, voice shaking as he cupped your cheek with one trembling hand, the other checking your pulse like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

He remembered the heat of you bleeding against him. He remembered shouting into his comm, barking at the Enterprise to beam you both up now, not giving a damn if the signal was unstable or protocol was being ignored.

And when the blue light took hold and you vanished with him back to safety, something else disappeared too, any illusion that he could keep pretending.

He loved you.

He loved you, and the thought of losing you had cracked something deep inside him. Something old and quiet and buried under years of routine and stubbornness and excuses.

He sat beside your biobed in Medbay while Bones patched you up, his jaw clenched and hands fidgeting restlessly in his lap. When the med team cleared out and you were resting, he just... stayed. Watching the rise and fall of your chest like it was the most precious, terrifying thing in the universe.

That was when it hit him.

This wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t annoyance mistaken for attraction. It wasn’t proximity or adrenaline or the thrill of having someone challenge him every damn day.

It was you.

It was the way you fought him on every repair because you wanted the best result, even if it meant bruised egos. The way you laughed when the warp core shuddered like a dying beast and you called it “character.” The way you called him out, stood toe-to-toe with him, refused to let him brood in silence when something was wrong.

You were everything he wasn’t, and everything he wanted to be near.

And for a second, seeing you limp in his arms, he'd thought he'd never get the chance to say it.

Now?

Now, he couldn't keep it inside anymore.

So when he left Medbay that night, he didn’t go to his quarters. He went to a secret stash. Pulled out the bottle of whisky. He needed to think — no, he needed to feel — and for once in his life, he wasn’t going to fix the damn feeling. He was going to follow it.

Just as Scotty raised his hand to knock, bottle clutched tightly at his side, he heard voices coming from inside your office.

Kirk’s voice, light but insistent: “You’ve got to tell him someday, you know. He’s not a mind reader.”

Scotty froze mid-motion, breath caught in his throat.

Tell who? he thought, heart suddenly hammering harder.

Then your voice came: “I don’t have time for this right now, Jim.”

You sounded... distant. Guarded.

Something inside him twisted.

His thoughts spiraled faster than he could stop them. Who was Kirk talking about? Some young officer? One of the blokes always orbiting you in the mess hall? Someone who wouldn’t leave grease on everything or lecture you about plasma conduits.

Not him.

And the way you said it — clipped, tired — like you were brushing the whole thing off. Like it wasn’t even worth your energy.

The bottle in his hand suddenly felt ridiculous. Heavy with hope he shouldn’t have had.

His arm fell to his side.

He stood there for a moment, silent in the hallway, the cool metal wall against his back as the voices inside faded into a low murmur.

Then he turned and walked away. Slowly. Quietly.

Whatever he'd been about to say, it stayed unspoken.

The bottle hit the workbench with a dull thunk, his fingers clumsy on the glass.

Engineering was empty. Dim. Quiet. The kind of quiet that let thoughts grow too loud.

He didn’t bother with a glass — just twisted the cap off and drank straight from the bottle, the burn a poor match for what churned in his chest.

He could still hear it — Kirk’s voice through your office door: “You’ve got to tell him someday…”

And your voice. Your voice. That pause. That distance.

The whisky hit hard, fiery down his throat, and he welcomed it. Welcomed the burn. It distracted him from the sharper pain sitting like a rock in his chest.

You had feelings for someone.

Just… not him.

Not the grease-stained, too-old, too-tired engineer who spent more time talking to warp cores than people. No. It was probably someone else. One of the young officers you laughed with in the mess. Someone with charm and bright eyes and smooth lines.

Someone who didn’t grumble every time you walked into the engine room.

Scotty let out a bitter chuckle, dragging a hand down his face.

“Aye,” he muttered to the empty room, accent curling heavier, rougher. “What the hell were ye thinkin’, Montgomery? That she'd ever look twice at ye?”

He glanced down at himself, stained uniform, scraped knuckles, hands that only ever fixed things, never held anything gently.

“She’s got feelings, alright,” he murmured. “Just not for the man who yelled at her for bypassing the safety relays.”

Another drink. His lips pressed tight to the glass like he could seal the words inside — or drown them.

The alcohol made it easier. And harder. It dulled the ache but made the truth louder.

He wasn’t what you needed.

Wasn’t what you wanted.

Probably never had been.

He set the bottle down, stared at it for a long time.

But the thought of doing nothing — of going back to pretending he didn’t care, didn’t feel anything — that was worse.

He couldn’t sit in the dark with that weight. Not tonight.

So he stood. A little too fast. The room tilted slightly, and he caught himself on the edge of the console.

Then he grabbed the bottle and made his way down the corridor, each step heavier than the last.

Maybe he was being foolish. Maybe he’d wake up regretting it all.

But if he didn’t tell you tonight — if he didn’t at least try — he’d never forgive himself.

And even if your heart belonged to someone else…

You deserved to know who’d given you his.

You opened the door and found Scotty, flushed, wide-eyed, holding a bottle of whiskey.

His accent was thick, words slightly slurred.

“Ye—ye look... radiant,” he said.

You blinked. “Are you drunk?”

“I’m... no’ not drunk.”

You stepped aside. He entered.

The scent hit you first: whisky, engine grease, and nerves.

He paced, agitated. “I had this whole plan, ye know? Thought I’d tell ye calmly. Classy. Maybe with tea. But now I’ve gone and bollocksed it up with whisky and rambling and—”

“Scott—”

“I know you don’t like me,” he blurted. “Ye roll your eyes, and ye argue, and ye’ve got these bloody perfect hands always fixing things faster than me, and everyone stares at ye like ye’re a bloody goddess and I’m just the crusty engineer who talks te warp cores like they’re alive—”

“Scotty—”

“—and I know I’m older and stubborn and no' remotely as good-looking as half the' men who trip over' themselves trying te flirt with ye, but I swear to every star in the quadrant that when I see ye, it’s like—like—gravity, and I’m too bloody tired to fight it anymore—”

And before you could say another word, he kissed you.

Not soft. Not gentle. Harsh.

Just heat, and regret, and everything he hadn’t said.

Then he pulled back, stared at you in horror, and fled the room.

You stood in the doorway, fingers to your lips, heart pounding.

The next day, scotty woke with a pounding headache and the vague, creeping sense that he'd done something very, very stupid.

He groaned, sitting up on his bunk, rubbing his face. There was a taste of whisky still lingering on his tongue and a patchy recollection of going to your quarters. Talking too much. Saying too much. Kissing—

“Oh, no.”

He buried his face in his hands. He didn’t even remember if you slapped him. Or screamed. Or threw him out. All he remembered was your eyes, wide in the low light of your quarters, and the electric jolt of your lips beneath his.

He dressed slowly, carefully, every movement tender. When he finally staggered into Engineering, he spotted you immediately across the room — working at a diagnostic station like nothing had happened.

Maybe it hadn’t.

Maybe it was all in his head.

Maybe—

You turned. Your eyes met. You didn’t look furious. But you didn’t look pleased either. Just... unreadable. Neutral.

That was worse.

He nodded stiffly. You nodded back.

No words.

Just silence.

The day dragged like a broken impulse drive. Scotty fumbled his tasks. He dropped a tool, barked at an ensign, rewired a panel backward. Keenser stared at him in concern, but said nothing.

By the time the shift ended, he felt hollowed out and stupid.

He didn’t even go to the messhall. He just wandered the corridor aimlessly, steps slow, thoughts heavy.

He turned a corner — and stopped short.

You were there. Sitting alone on the floor, back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of you, a cup of something warm in your hands.

You looked up at him.

“I figured you’d be avoiding me.”

He swallowed. “I... thought you might hate me.”

You gave a small, unreadable smile. “A little.”

He nodded, miserable. “Right.”

“I’ve been thinking about slapping you,” you said casually. “But then I figured... maybe I’ll just talk to you instead.”

He exhaled — unsure if it was relief or dread.

You patted the floor beside you. “Sit, Scotty.”

He did. Hesitantly. Close, but not too close.

There was a long silence.

“I didn’t know,” you finally said. “How you felt. I mean, I suspected. But you’re not exactly... emotionally transparent.”

“Aye,” he murmured. “I’ve always been better with engines than feelings.”

You glanced at him. “You were an idiot last night.”

“I am an idiot.”

“But... you were honest.”

Another silence. But this one felt different.

You leaned your head against the wall and sighed.

“I’ve been avoiding it too. What I feel. Figured it was just... tension. Frustration. Too much time in crawlspaces.”

Scotty laughed, low and rough. “And now?”

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

And then, soft as a whisper: “Now I think I’d like you to kiss me again. This time when you’re not drunk and panicking.”

His breath caught. “Are ye sure?”

You reached over, took his hand — the one that always held tools too tightly — and laced your fingers with his.

“I’m sure.”

He leaned in, slower this time, more careful. And when his lips met yours, it wasn’t rushed or wild — it was real. Steady. Earned.

When you pulled back, you didn’t let go of his hand.

He rested his head lightly against yours, smiling for the first time all day.

“Well,” he murmured, “I guess Kirk was right.”

You smirked. “About what?”

“Fighting is foreplay.”

You snorted. “Don’t make me slap you now.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to end a shift.”

You laughed, and it echoed down the corridor like something new beginning.

Something is finally just right.

[catenary-chad]

Thoughts on old Electra (circa the present day)

This specific photo is always kind of my starting point, it’s kind of hard to describe but the vibe is just right. The Bochum footage of Mykal is my main inspiration for how I write older Electra in general, he’s a lot more restrained than other Electras of the time and really shows his age on a stage that big, but it’s also kind of a fascinating extension on the character. I’ve always loved that Gordon in the Railway Series had a decades-long arc weirdly tied to actual developments in rail and I’ve always loved applying that approach to Electra

-Electra lives and works in a mildly to wildly fantasy version of The Northeast Megalopolis, usually based on NYC and Philadelphia. Basically imagine The Wiz (1978) in terms of being gritty and stuck in the 70s-80s aesthetically yet whimsical and surreal and weirdly optimistic. Because that’s probably the best summary of how electric trains and their fans in the US actually are.

-We’ll start with the simpler stuff. Electra looks jarringly young face-wise because *gestures at half the actors decades later* but gets misty-eyed (foggy windows are a thing) and harder of hearing (happens to drivers due to horns/other noise) and generally just kind of worn out and tired. Doesn’t move more than needed or overexert himself because it hurts, but very efficient and practiced vs “lazy”. Slower to speed up and react but a lot more gentle and stable vs erratic. -old man yaoi with Poppa makes me laugh because I just imagine them at a pro-nuclear protest after Electra convinces him this is a better way to convert everyone to steam

-Stress related health issues no matter how human or train. Tummy hurty, high blood pressure, sore/painful components that have run too hard and hot for years. Trouble regulating temperature and overheats more easily. Heat is bad for electronics in general and damage related to it due to overwork in trains is a big cause of early aging. It’s a major part of why he makes active efforts to calm down. VERY cuddly as an emotional regulation and physical comfort thing. Electra is almost never not cuddly in my mind and endlessly craves physical touch.

-Will casually peer pressure you taking care of yourself by calling for random stretch breaks or communal apple snacktime. This sounds absurd but is a running theme with older railroaders I’ve encountered

-Thicker and stronger from moving into freight service years post-canon, puts on a fair amount of weight in general because making freight engines physically heavier with concrete/extra metal is a thing irl. Stocky and cute with a barrel tummy and big butt. Can feel conflicted about it but generally comes to accept the physical change and being a bit soft and saggy (which happens to trains too, see the DB Class 150).

-Same color scheme, just maybe with more grey/silver. Even new electric trains in the US tend to look like 70s-80s timewarps (or even 50s with the gallery car EMUs made a decadeish ago). Bright obnoxious colors are still the norm for trains, seriously, the public actively likes them being loud and color coded, they don’t follow car aesthetics with all the grey.

-No seriously, a lot of the really dated 70s-early 80s pop culture stuff in the show is still popular with urbanites in the electrified areas of the northeast US. Philadelphia still claims the Rocky series and disco and funk are notably popular. The music in Stex is not far off what you’d hear at a roller rink (which often embrace the roller disco era lol). Electra being a dated old train is VERY locally endearing and would be seen as a cool uncle figure

-hangs around with a wide variety of electric trains (and some diesels running under wire) somewhere on a commuter line. There are an indefinite number of subway cars that are just the Rockies (they’re EXTREMELY NYC or SEPTA subway coded in canon imo). They wouldn’t interact much irl since they’re usually on different stations and platforms but we’ll swing things for versatility because electric train solidarity is thematically important to me. The subways trains are even weirder age-wise because they perpetually act like everyone’s annoying but loving younger sibling while often being 50+ years old, because dear god subways last a long time. 2018 Electra is a standin for the newer ACS-64 engines and Toothpaste Electra’s sort of protegé (largely looks like Lashane, hyperactive memer who is somewhere between an ascended Rocky and stereotypical modern elevator/transit fan). Based on vibes along, I feel like Deenah is his niece somehow and they ARE physically related, she comes over to visit sometimes and he keeps telling her to deal with her engine problems by just becoming an EMU. And other similarly weird advice.

-weirdly connects well across generations due to fondness for perennially popular things like surreal memes and foreign folk music you’ve never heard of. Doesn’t always get present day trends but weirdly good at connecting them to older things

-Electra is an absolutely fascinating character in the context of actual train politics and history in the US and is by far the one I ground most in reality. So 80s Toothpaste Electra absolutely ages (and eventually dies). 40 is old by train standards, intended lifespan is usually given as 20 but lasting 40 years is pretty common and electric trains last 50+ even more often because there’s fewer moving parts to wear out and they’re so efficient to begin with that it’s often more expensive to replace old ones with somewhat more efficient newer models. They just get bumped down to freight or commuter services, sometimes even maintenance trains. I want to give him some wacky maintenance train Components but the only one I’ve decided on is “leaf-obliterating laser train” because it just feels right. Maintenance trains kind of have Zamboni Guy appeal to a surprisingly wide audience because they’re weird, rare seen machinery (very Component-coded)

-Much, much calmer than canon. Over time Electra becomes more passive aggressive and snarky in middle age, and finally just really chill and bafflingly weird at 60+. Years of directly confronting a world that’s hostile and dismissive towards him made him… become more of an Oogway figure than anything, taking “resistance is pointless” in a very different direction and becoming far more jokey vs confrontational. “When will you troglodytes stop gobbling up this stupid contextless propaganda about early 20th century rail and worshipping cars and join civilized society by electrifying your damn rail lines” vs “hehehe wouldn’t it be funny if we just electrified everything. rugged mountain passes. heavy freight. siberia. isn’t that silly and absurd? don’t you want to be an extra edgy nerd and one up the “bring back steam engines” crowd with something even more implausible?” (All of these things exist and the US government has blown hundreds of billions on far stupider things)

-Direct confrontation vs working with the system is probably one of the overarching themes of Electra’s life post-canon. It’s such a Prince vs MJ conflict and present in transit advocates’ messaging. It’s hard for Electra not to want to lash out and be the squeaky wheel when electric trains and transit have been screwed for decades and are taken for granted and nearly invisible to much of the public. But it’s also not the most effective direction to sway many vs being weird and whimsical and less confrontational.

-Talks extensively in electrical metaphors (especially the water ones) in very animist ways because the broader electrical system is such an important thing for electric trains. I have extensive Electric Train Religion lore as a long-term project that is way too detailed and unfinished to fully explain. It vaguely parallels Buddhism (tons of regional variants, cycle of rebirth, avoidance of suffering (heat and inefficiency), and very elaborate levels and systems of divine beings and hell dimensions) and Taoism (balance, SO many water metaphors) more than anything and is very culturally alien to combustion trains, especially in the West. He looks like a nutjob to most outsiders but is very observant and often has surprisingly accurate insight on things because he’s been around so long and done/seen so much.

-Never grows out of his perceived “arrogance” because those traits have a VERY different meaning in the context of transit and electrification politics. The aggressive optimism is just kind of a thing because political will towards transit spending fluctuates so badly you have to be persistent to keep that rolling progress (ala France) or things will stagnate and die like in the US. The fixation on expansion and pushing for more is pretty sad because it’s done due to projects getting cut back so much and politicians undervaluing transit and electrification. The overly assertive “I am electric” identity politics are kind of akin to LGBT Pride in the US (and to a lesswr degree UK) because electric trains are SO misunderstood and unrecognized in terms of their merits and real problems. Electric trains are genuinely OP in general and it’s hard to oversell their advantages vs the combustion ones the media overromanticizes at every turn (while just ignoring electric ones).

-I’m inconsistent on how exactly Electra dies (depends on how sci fi vs tragically realistic things are) but gravitate towarda glam rock swan songs like Blackstar and The Show Must Go On thematically. There’s definitely notable physical decline at the very end as motors get derated. Not sure on mental decline, I think it’s genuinely hard to tell since Electra is so weird (yet present and rational) to begin with. I keep imagining them going out with a dramatic transformer/other electrical failure mid-run like the last GG1. His ghost definitely lingers and haunts things (cue Ouija board and pendulum scenes and “can still feel his presence” memes)

[sonardisc]

>>>>>>𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞<<<<<<<

༻𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬༺

𓆩Main operation𓆪

*The Relationship between the engine and human works as a symbiotic relationship with people, thus making them tame, but still act on instinct because they're still wild at the end of the day*

Engine Keeper

*Provides daily care to the institution's animals, including diet preparation, cleaning, general exhibit maintenance, and record keeping.*

Train conductors/drivers

*Responsible for the safety of the engines/passenger also directing the engines to its destination and communicating to the engines and other operators on the railway*

Locomotive Director/Manager

*Responsible for the daily operation of the institution's physical plant and equipment.*

Curator of railways and berths/horticulture

*Creates railways and assists in the design of graphics and

Responsible for the botanical collection and its application to the animal collection, as well as daily maintenance of the institution's grounds.*

Curator of Education/public affairs manager

*Plans and implements the institution's education programs.

Promotes the institution, its mission, and its programs to the public via the media.*

Train technicians

*Responsible for the healthcare program for the engine collection and the maintenance of health records.*

Engine Chief coordinator

*Responsible for preparing different meals for the monsters and monitoring how much nutrient intake are giving to each engine.*

Qualifications

*25 or older to apply and a bachelor degree in railway engineering and zoology*

𓆩Secondary operations𓆪

Accommodations

Residents

*For many of the locals on the island they're neighborhoods place far away from the island sanctuaries to insure Comfortablity and function of the local communities.*

Transportation

*Monster Engines are the primary source of transport on the railway not just passengers but other important goods as well since there no rails they travel by regular dirt or stone roads through the island.*

Food

*The majority of the island's vegetation and meat is harvested at local farms, while other essential goods are imported from the harbors or the mainland. There are also dedicated farms specifically designed for both monster engines and humans. These specialized farms cater to the unique dietary needs of each group, helping to ensure a consistent and sufficient food supply for all inhabitants.*

Sodor operations

Are in charge of the islands affairs and legal agreements/debuts and other important stuff they're kind of similar to the government making sure everything is orderly on the island

Security

*For the residents on the island, electric-gated fences are installed around each neighborhood to prevent wandering engines from accidentally crossing into the sanctuary. The engines are equipped with tracking devices beneath their cabs and are continuously monitored to ensure they aren’t involved in any illegal activity. Additionally, troublesome trucks constantly patrol the railways to maintain security across the island. The island also enforces strict laws and penalties: anyone caught harming an engine could face a $5,000 fine or up to two years in jail.*

Vest Depots

A large building with giant harness guns attached each side of the inner walls when the engine steps into the harness sensors in the harness then activate the guns and in half of a second the buckles are shot then snapped around the engine now they are ready to be coupled up too heavy coaches but I imagine because loud sudden noise from the machine they're probably going to be scared of it if they weren't desensitize to it early on and probably running in every direction to get said harness off them when they freak out

Editor note

(would like to extend my sincere gratitude to my friend Asterion for their valuable suggestions, which greatly contributed to the creation of this)

╞═════𖠁🚂🚋🚃🚋🚃🚋🚃🚃🚋🚃𖠁═════╡

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[11-eyed-rook]

Accessible doesn't mean "for lazy people".

I can't express how frustrating it is that, so many times on so many platforms I've seen various posts, especially videos, which showcase an item that makes a random task easier (or possible at all) to do (such as onion/garlic dicers of all sorts, or items that can be used with one hand, or even the tools that make it easier to put socks on), and every time the comments section is filled with angry boomers (mostly boomers), who don't see past the concept of "if only people stopped being lazy" or "this is useless, we already have [less accessible tool/item], who needs this?!".

Just because something isn't needed/useful to you, doesn't mean somebody else doesn't benefit from the accessibility (or even just the convenience itself).

To give a few examples of what I mean:

The sock tools can help a lot of people with mobility limitations, and that can also include anybody going through pregnancy as well, to put on socks AT ALL. You don't even "need to be disabled" to benefit from stuff like this, ffs.

Onion/garlic dicers make it possible to quickly cut up food items that otherwise may be difficult (or even impossible) for people with certain disabilities or other difficulties (I've always found it a bit hard to dice/cut certain food items (ESPECIALLY smaller ones), so tools like this are very helpful and achieve a consistent result).

Noise-cancelling headphones help me, by blocking out the noise of traffic, which is very overwhelming to me, not just because I experience sensory overloads, but because I have tinnitus and extremely loud noises are very overwhelming to me. Regular headphones don't accomplish the same thing for me, not to the level my noise-cancelling ones do anyway, and I can still listen to music along the way (my headphones also have a mode that allow for me to still hear peoples' voices relatively well, whilst muffling traffic, engine noises, etc.).

I wear a backpack instead of using a pretty shoulder bag for carrying heavier items, because one of my shoulders is slightly deformed since birth, and because both my shoulders get some of the worst of my joint pain (whenever it does happen, which is often enough), whereas the backpack I have, is nicely padded and easy to organize too. I've seen people online mock adults using backpacks, I still don't understand why though??? I didn't even know people made fun of adults who use backpacks. I still want to hope those weren't meant to be real takes...

I may not look like I "need one", but I do sometimes use a cane to help myself move up/down stairs especially, since I have issues with joint pain, and especially since my foot injury from earlier this year (the pain of which still pops up now and then, and it's not great). People look at me weird when I randomly take out my foldable cane and then put it away after a while. My joint pain comes and goes, and when I don't need my cane, I don't use it. My own father keeps commenting on how I'm "too young to be using a cane". I'm 28, I've been using it for a handful of years now, disability doesn't know age.

Let me repeat myself. DISABILITY DOES NOT KNOW AGE.

Just because you might not use a wheelchair-accessible ramp, doesn't mean it's not needed/useful for anybody without a wheelchair. Even people with bicycles/scooters/baby strollers etc. can benefit from them, and for me, it's easier to walk up the ramps rather than using stairs, as using stairs tends to put additional stress on my already-injured foot, whereas a ramp doesn't require me to put that stress on my foot, so walking is easier for me, even if it is just those 'few handfuls of steps" or whatever.

In a separate post, I touched upon the kind of ableism I've witnessed in certain crafting communities, and how gatekeeping can very quickly become synonymous with ableism, and how that can affect something like a hobby. Everything I said there, applies to this post, too. If you're interested, feel free to read. If not - it's much of what I said here, but specifically regarding crafting communities and how ignorant/ableist people can be at times, and how that can affect people.

So many tools exist to help with certain tasks, to make some stuff doable at all, to add accessibility to an otherwise difficult task for any particular person, and so much of it is just seen as "useless" or "for the lazy people", or there's some aspect of aggressive gatekeeping fueled with "if you don't do it THIS way only, then you're not doing it at all/it's not valid enough" attitudes. If anything, people with disabilities often have to put in EXTRA effort to do what able-bodied people can do effortlessly, even WITH the extra accessibility whenever it IS available (and by available I also mean affordable, because not everything IS, and not all options are available for everybody; price/cost accessibility is something many people don't even consider in some cases!!!). Not all of it is because of difficulty, necessarily, but it's a fact of reality.

Accessibility isn't laziness. For the able-bodied, it can be convenience. For the disabled, it's a matter of getting that extra helpful boost, or the ability to do a task at all, without having to find somebody to do it for you (if that's even an option to begin with).

I know I really can't speak for most groups directly, nor can I relay the experience of every kind of disability besides my own experiences over the years, but I'm genuinely troubled by the "trend" of people STILL (even increasingly) dismissing accessibility tools, disabled people themselves, and anything that makes it easier to do something, to function, especially since there's absolutely nothing that could ever excuse such awful behavior towards people who deal with enough shit as is.

I don't just think of myself when I bring up accessibility and its benefits.

Because the fact of the matter is - even those who have no disabilities could benefit from the accessibility options for those that do, even if it is simply a convenience for most. It takes effort to make something inaccessible, and it would take so little to make a big difference even for some.

And on that note.

It's not laziness. It never was.

[cheswirls]

time travel pv!!!!! :) this pass is super messy but i like it so far so here here, take it

-

From Stanley’s perspective, this particular visit with Xeno happens to be the climax of a tragicomedy of sorts.

It’s January for him. Deep into winter, and with the clothing to prove it. He’s got thick, bulky layers pulled on over his thermal suit. One of them had a hood attached that fit nicely over his head, offering ample protection from the cold for his skull and ears while still being easy to slide off should he need to. His gloves had been modified to be lined with wool along the cuffs, which insulates some of the heat while leaving his finger dexterity intact. Or, it was supposed to. Considering he’s just slipped his very-sharp weapon out of his grasp and opened a slit along his inner wrist when the blade sliced clean through both the down fur and sturdier fabric of the glove’s cuff, he’s starting to question if his dexterity has declined.

When he looks down, the last thing he sees from 5741 is the heavy handle of his combat knife sinking deep into the snow drift. He slaps a hand over the leaking wound and his lips form around a curse that only turns into a string of muttered expletives when his vision dims and he’s very suddenly looking down at the hardwood floor under his snow shoes. 

Great. That combat knife had been high grade (or, the closest they had to it, in the stone world) and now he’ll be luckier than a rabbit’s foot if he manages to dig it up upon returning. He sighs and stops compressing the wound to bring his snow goggles down to hang around his neck so he can see clearly again. Unfortunately, the blood flow has not been staunched, something he realizes when he flippantly brings his injured hand up to push his hood out of the way and scatters blood with the motion. Instead of clinging to his shirt sleeve, it drips down to splatter along the floor underfoot, settling in deep drops that leave his brow pinched in irritation. Ignoring the mess, Stanley once again applies pressure to keep himself from (apparently!) bleeding out.

The loss of his good knife pales in comparison to the potential (and who is he kidding, it’s probable at this point) loss of his fresh kill. He’d been sent out in the wee hours of the morning to deal with a rather foolhardy bear that had woken early from hibernation and decided to make a mess of their mid-winter storage prep. Fifteen hours later, he’s just released his tight hold on the bear’s limp body to rest for a minute before making the final stretch back to home base with his kill in tow. Cue knife incident. Cue unprompted time travel.

It had actively been snowing, and even in the air-conditioned environment, he’s already dripping water from his outerwear. Who knows if the bear will be buried under all the snow by the time he gets back. What a fucking mess. 

A loud scream assaults his ears, making him look up properly for the first time since arriving and quickly assessing where he’s ended up this time.

The sight of Xeno, albeit pale and downright terrified, works wonders to settle Stan’s bad mood. He clears the scowl from his face to settle for a more perplexed expression, trying and failing not to smile in the slightest, his lips curving up at the edges in a truly disappointing performance. 

He can’t recall the last time he’d seen Xeno so young. There are only a few things serving as a time marker. The thin headband that keeps his unruly bangs out of his face as he works, for one. The long, white cardigan he’d taken to wearing in place of a real lab coat (until he discovered how impractical loose clothing was and promptly outlawed the stuff up to the point where he accepts the genuine labcoat granted to him upon entry into his master’s program) with the too-big sleeves rolled back and pinned above his knobby elbows, for another. And, lastly, the utter lack of UT Engineering paraphernalia, signifying that he at least hasn’t been accepted into an early degree program and gone on the department tour that would sentence his room to four years of burnt-orange-and-white hell.

“Hi, Xe,” Stanley can’t resist saying, at the same time that the boy recoils in his seat and accuses him of being both a murderer and a home invader.

—

Xeno Houston Wingfield is an avid fan of the science fiction genre – but only of ones that are theoretically possible. If he has to suspend his disbelief to enjoy a futuristic concept, then it is no longer enjoyable. Everything scientific is rooted in logic and reasoning. This is simply cold, hard fact that he’s not willing to give on.

So when he’s introduced to the newly-relocated Snyder family’s child and promptly told said child experienced inexplicable time jumps due to a rare genetic disorder, of course he took offense and denied the whole thing. Seriously. Everyone must have been playing the world’s biggest practical joke on him. Time travel not through a machine or scientifically-proven apparatus, but through a genetic mutation that the affected had zero control of? What kind of fool did they think he was?

That being said, despite the odd quirk and the rather awkward conclusion to their first meeting, Xeno does get along with Stanley Snyder. The boy is only a month older than he (and doesn’t let Xeno forget it) and they’re the two sole children residing in their neighborhood’s block. Not getting along would be a social death sentence, largely in part due to the fact that the two are the full extent of each other’s social circle.

Xeno is seldom afraid of anything, though he does admit that he is a bit of a trouble magnet. That’s why Stanley’s company is beneficial to him. If Xeno is a magnet for dangerous situations, then Stanley himself is a radar for such. He keeps Xeno out of harm’s way, whether that be from an impending explosion due to a failed experiment, or from idiots twice their age who see Xeno as an easy target with a big mouth, or even keeping the distracted boy from tripping over his own two feet. It’s like he had a sixth sense for when Xeno was about to be in danger. And, fortunately for Xeno, Stanley used this superpower for good.

He wishes Stanley was by his side now. 

It’s perhaps too late in the evening for him to be fiddling with the faulty wiring of his latest project, but Xeno cannot blame an electric shock or stark exhaustion on the tall, stout figure at the far end of his room that he spies from the corner of his eye. 

Xeno’s head snaps up, heart in his throat, able to do nothing but watch as the rather menacing presence drips various fluids all over his bedroom floor! Mistakenly, perhaps due to the abundance of fear-driven adrenaline now coursing through his veins, Xeno identifies the blood as coating the figure’s hands like they’ve just finished gutting a man and are now working the strain from his – or her? It’s hard to tell with all the layers disguising their form – wrists. 

Oh, okay, that’s a man. Xeno gulps when the fur-lined hood is removed and he’s able to read the facial bone structure enough to deduce their gender. The man’s burnished, blonde locks are swept back away from his forehead save for a single stubborn strand that lingers between the crease of his brow. He has strange markings – a diagonal line running from the corner of each eye down to his ears, and a thick line that curves over the bridge of his nose and outlines the underside of both eyes in black. It makes him look dangerous. Well – more dangerous than he already appeared to be.

His parents are still out on their date, leaving Xeno with the house to himself. This is something he’ll have to work around, and something he cannot let the intruder discover for himself. He curses his lack of preparedness and the noticeable absence of one very critical Stanley Snyder. If he makes it out alive, Xeno is definitely going to convince the boy to invest in handheld radios with him. They would be perfect to have in emergency scenarios – just like this one.

Xeno screams and immediately finds a shocking hue of green eyes pinning him in place. His hands come up and in his moment of distraction he forgets if it was to hide his face or to defend himself should he be charged at (which is wishful thinking at best – Stan is the fighter, not him).

The stranger’s expression twists to betray his confusion, and then morphs again into something misplaced – something softer, with a barely-there smile and a fondness that reveals deep familiarity. He opens his mouth but Xeno yells before he can get a word out.

“Murderer!” he squeals, eyes drawn once again to the stranger’s bloody hands. He leans back in his desk chair, causing the hinges to squeak, the wheels to roll him back just a smidge in solidarity with the pounding of his fear-stricken heart. “Trespasser! How did you even get in here?!”

The stranger raises his hands in the universal surrender gesture, but this has the opposite effect with Xeno, only leading him to rear back even more. With his hands slightly lowered now, he tries a different approach – talking rapidly before Xeno can get another scream in.

“Woah, woah, calm down! Xeno, it’s just me. I didn’t come through anything, I just– Appeared. It’s like I teleported. You believe in that?”

Xeno’s lips tremble, but he still stumbles over an answer the best he’s able to at the moment, out of indignance if anything else. “Spontaneous teleportation without a platform to facilitate light-speed travel in two directions is theoretically implausible!”

“Alright.” The stranger takes the reply rather well, considering the situation. “Then what about Chrono-Impairment? Ever heard of that?”

Xeno opens his mouth but nothing comes out. They’re both left hovering in a stalemate for a tense few seconds. “That’s not a real thing,” Xeno finally decides to say, voice a lot quieter and more controlled than before. “Do you tell all the people you rob that you’re a wayward time traveler? A clever excuse, I’ll give you that, but it’s not going to work this time.” He swallows, rough, and plays his bluff. “If I scream again, my parents will come in here.”

The stranger’s eyebrows have risen so high on his face that they threaten to take flight. His mouth opens and closes several times without noise, uncannily resembling a fish out of water. But only for a moment, and then he recovers remarkably quickly, expression twisting until he’s fixed Xeno with a contender for the world’s most smug smirk. “Yeah? Then bring them here. They’ll be able to explain in a way that maybe you’ll actually listen to.”

Xeno squeaks, hands falling to squeeze at either arm of his rolling desk chair and inadvertently shaking the platform beneath him. His eyes dart to the door, then to the window – assessing his distance and means of escape before promptly ruling that he can’t make a break for either without the stranger immediately snatching him up. “Okay, I lied, they’re not home right now! You can take whatever you want, just please don’t hurt me!”

Once again, the stranger falters, losing the smugness for something resembling concern. “Xeno, I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise I’m not here because I wanna be. It’s–” He sighs, drops his head so his chin is buried in his neck, and cocks his hip to the side, the body displacement evident even under all the thick clothing. “Fuck it all,” he mumbles, then looks up to once again pierce Xeno’s soul with that striking green gaze.

“I’m Stanley Snyder,” the stranger declares. “You’ve– Wait. Please tell me you’ve met Stanley by now. He moved in down the street? Only other kid on the block? You’re friends, yes? Please say yes.”

“Of course I know who Stanley Snyder is!” Xeno says rather indignantly. “And he’s eight, just like me, so there’s no–” 

Xeno loses all train of thought as he processes how eerily similar the stranger’s (the “self-proclaimed” Stanley Snyder’s) eyes are to his best friend’s. “No way,” he tries, even as he stumbles and trails off voluntarily, giving up on completing the sentence after failing the second time around.

“I’ll prove it,” Not-Stanley says, tone oddly insistent. 

“How?” Xeno asks, croaking even on the one word, his voice failing him at the most critical of times.

“However you want. You decide.” He smiles, grin pulling wide across his face. “And when your own set of rules proves what your mind still refuses to comprehend, then you’ll be forced to recognize it.”

Damn. He’s drawn Xeno into a metaphorical corner. That’s exactly in line with his way of thinking. At the very least, Not-Stanley has done his research (which would also explain why he knows Xeno’s name). 

Xeno gathers his courage and swings his body so he’s facing forward in his seat, legs once again dangling over the edge instead of drawn tightly to his chest. In an act to appear confident, he crosses one leg over the other, then crosses his arms and sits up straighter, looking at the stranger in disdain with his chin high in the air. “What did Stanley eat for lunch today?”

Not-Stanley’s expression falters. “Dude, no, that’s not what I meant. I’ve already said that I’m Stanley Snyder. If you don’t believe me, that’s a ‘you’ problem. I want to prove to you that I’m a time traveler. Then, regardless of if you believe in my identity, you’ll have to take your dear friend Stanley’s CI seriously. Which is what we’re starting with, I guess.” His eyes leave Xeno’s, flicking to the side as he mutters “Definitely didn’t expect to end up here of all times, but it had to happen eventually.”

Following this, Not-Stanley straightens his posture, then drops all semblance of dignity and pops a squat on Xeno’s hard wooden floors in the middle of all the mess he’s made over the past several minutes. His legs criss-cross with minor difficulty and his arms settle behind his frame to support his weight while keeping his hands out of Xeno’s line of sight. “There. Now I’m on your level. Not so scary, huh? C’mere, Xeno, come get a closer look at me. I know you want to. I promise I won’t lift a finger.”

[writesick-lover]

Strawberry Milkshake

Spiderman x fem!reader part 2

part 1

Summary: In a world where nobody remembers who Peter Parker is, the poor boy is slowly building his life again, especially when it comes to MJ. He hopes to gradually restore their lost relationship when he meets another girl, a new contact he didn't know he needed.

Warning: This is part 2 of the story New Contacts

♦️ ♦️ ♦️ ♦️

Two weeks flew by quicker than you thought and what was originally supposed to be one-time tutoring for Peter Parker turned out to be a whole set of study sessions for your exams and projects, flavoured by the constant help from Peter. You found yourself wandering how did this guy not attend MIT with you, or maybe even Harvard, when he was so effortlessly grasping topics that took you weeks to figure out.

"I hate this professor," you mumbled once, sitting on his couch as he sat on a pillow on the other side of the table, tugging on your physics book. "Why?" he chuckled, pulling it out completely and opening it on a random page, breezing through the tiny printed words. "He made me do this absolutely impossible project because I was ten minutes late. Ten minutes! And he knows how much I suck at physics, so he's basically giving me hell like every lesson!" you threw your arms into the air in frustration, letting them fall down with a loud thud against the couch.

"Why do you take his subject then, if you don't like it that much?" you met Peter's dark chocolate eyes staring at you from behind the book. "My parents want me to be an engineer," you sighed. "Said I needed a proper job instead of-"

"A waitress," he cut you off, earning a pillow flying above the table, aimed for his head. 

"No," you chuckled, looking away from his sweet smile that always managed to capture you too much. "No, I was thinking of making it to Brodway one day. I used to write small plays for my elementary school and highschool, thinking that maybe one day they could be plastered on the bilboards of New York City,"

Peter watched your eyes get lost in the view of his window, the roofs of millions of buildings in Queens visible from where you were sitting. "Who says they couldn't be? One day?" your were brought back by his soft voice, making you smile sadly. "My parents," you commented, leaving him with nothing to say as he knew that fear of disappointing his loved ones. Yet, he still knew he had to choose his heart. And he thought that you should know it too.

"You should follow your heart," he broke the silence between the two of you, his words creating another smile on your lips, this time a rather sarcastic one. "Okay, Disney princess," you joked, getting the lost pillow thrown back at you. "I might, once you tell me why didn't you follow your heart to MIT. You're obviouly a nerd and you know your way around this... stuff," you gestured at the opened books in front of you, mere look on them making you shiver in disgust. "I'm not a nerd," Peter immediately shook his head. 

"Really? Tell me the name of a certain math term defined as 'a rectangular array or table of numbers, symbols, or expressions, arranged in rows and columns'," you lifted your eyebrow. "Matrix," Peter said without missing a beat. "And what planet is Chewbacca from?"

"Kashyyyk," you nodded, Peter's immediate responses only proving your point as a victorious grin spread across your face. "Bingo," Peter scrunched his nose as you moved your body in a small victory dance, taking a sip from one of the two glasses full of strawberry milkshake on the table. 

"So now, spill the beans, why aren't you studying at MIT?" you watched as Peter's posture slumped just like the first time you met him in the cafeteria, his eyes suddenly thousand miles away, lost in his complicated mind. "I almost was," he spoke up after a while, his voice quiet. "I applied and I got in... They just lost me," he breathed out a heavy breath that seemed to be stuck in him this whole time. He technically didn't lie, they did lose him, as in any information about him, just like everyone on this world. And despite the weight it has put on his shoulders, he seemed to breathe a bit lighter once it was out. 

"I'm so sorry," you muttered, feeling bad for pushing a topic that was clearly sensitive for him. "Are you thinking of applying again?"

"Only if you submit one of your plays to Broadway," he grinned. "Maybe a smaller theater for the starter?" you smiled back helplessly, sighing in relief as he nodded, and stuck out your pinky. "Promise," he tied your pinky with his, sending warmth from his skin to your whole body. "Deal,"

"How was the vacation?" you asked, turning your head a bit to see MJ on the other side of the cafeteria. "It was good, had a lot of fun with everyone, until our car broke down," she shrugged, unphased by your shocked expression. "And I suppose everything ended well, since you're here safe and healthy, or am I talking to a ghost?" you joked, earning a small chuckle from your colleague. "Ned's grandma alarmed their neighbour to come and pick us up," MJ shrugged, joining you at the mixer. 

"Why two glasses? Thought you were doing a milkshake for yourself?" she shouted through the mixer you manged to turn on with a pink mess turning inside. "For Peter," you yelled back, the bell at the door jingling as soon as you turned the gadget off, the mentioned brown haired boy skipping inside.

"Guess who applied!" he put his phone in front of you, barely registering MJ standing next to you, watching him in surprise. You gasped as you read that his application was sent successfully, pushing yourself over the counter with one hand to hug him with the other, Peter reciprocating the hug tightly. "Now, where's the play?" he smirked, making you shake your head. "That will come after the physics project. Can you imagine what he told me? That apparently my, well, your idea wasn't enough and I should use real physics as a base for this project," you groaned, remembering the talk from your physics teacher that kept bothering you the whole day. "He's such a jerk, but we'll figure something out! If he wants real physics we better give him one," he winked, making a small giggle escape your lips.

"I didn't know you two are friends," MJ's voice made both of you turn to her, meeting her confused eyes jumping from him to you. "MJ," Peter breathed out a bit of air, the rest getting stuck in his throat as he didn't know what to say. You looked at him, a bit confused what to do before MJ opened her mouth again. 

"Chocolate moccha for you as usual, Peter?" she watched as Peter's eyes fell on the two glasses of strawberry milkshake you were holding, the drink now becoming a tradition after two weeks of drinking it with you. "I'll have it later, thank you," he nodded back at MJ politely, taking a glass from you. 

You watched in shock as MJ turned away immediately, Peter's lips parting to release the rest of the breath he was holding. "Peter," you spoke up, feeling there was something between them you might have interrupted when an interruption of your worried thoughts came in a form Peter's gentle smile. "I will talk to her later, for now I have you and your strawberry milkshake,"

♦️ ♦️ ♦️ ♦️

Thank you for reading :D

Let me know how you like this story!

⤞ My masterlist ⤝

[audio-luddite]

More Stuff from around the internoise.

I was doing my usual crawl around YouTube and found a couple things.

One is a Brit who talks about sound. His site is called "audio masterclass". He is apparently an audio engineer and does mixes in his home office and that type of thing.

Judging by the background in his videos he must do pretty well in the day job. I find him a bit too cynical occasionally. He uses a few AI animations of "people" to tease and abuse people who call themselves audiophiles. He prefers the term Hi-Fi enthusiasts. He says the "A" word with a wee bit of a sneer. Though in this particular video I agree with everything he says.

And yes I can easily hear differences in amplifiers, preamps, and many other bits. I do not have perfect pitch. I will not spend stupid money on wires, I can do the math.

I check him out occasionally but warily. I watched a thing he did on a cheap class D amp that he found sounded fine, but was claimed to have far more power than it really had. (A FOSI V3) If I was rich enough I would like to try it as I think it would be fun. I also think I would find it less than great. Why is a FN essay worth of words, but I do not have the bucks to risk proof.

Another place I found was Darko Audio where I watched a video where he went on a rather long explanation of why Vinyl may sound better than many CDs and streams.

I guess he goes on for a bit as he needs to give background on background. If you watched it you know what he says. If you skipped it a summary is that in the old vinyl days there was less compression and forcing the loudness up as in CDs so vinyl was less processed. (If only that were more true!)

(His turntable is a nice Thorens with a Thorens pickup.)

I think his comments apply mostly to pop music as serious Classical and Jazz never played the LOUDNESS game. Those genres tried to get as good a sonic image as they could. (mostly) Overall I think he does not get it.

If you have read my stuff you know I try to get good sounding recordings of music I like. And of course my vinyl front end has been far more of an investment than my CD and my iphone streaming side. That forces me into the LP market. If there is a gourmet issue of one of my old disks I pay attention but I rarely buy it. (like once)

Of course I am picking and choosing things I like.

One thing that is clear is there is too much information good and bad for a new member of the audio hobby to digest. I feel sorry for newbies. Where the hell do you start?

Golden ear reviews never say bad things outright. They often contradict each other and themselves. The things they tend to review are expensive. The choices are limited until you can afford to pay more for your system than a good car. For normal people that is far too much.

Of course that is why I play in old equipment. It once was very expensive and now is relatively affordable IF you know what to look for. There is old good stuff and old bad stuff, and stuff in the middle. That is the one advantage of age and experience.

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[dimonds456]

Hi!

Do you have any advice for someone looking to get into video editing or just try and figure it out? It’s always seemed kinda fun to me, and I want to know if there’s any beginners resources you have :3

Heya!

In terms of beginner's software, I'm not sure what's out there now. I got my start on Windows Movie Maker, which is now, unfortunately, discontinued, with a much shittier version available to Windows users.

I do know there are a lot of free apps on Mobile, and a quick YouTube or engine search (Google or Firefox) for free software should get you some options.

From there, clear editing advice is all gonna come down to which software you choose to go with, but I do have a few pointers that apply to most, if not all editing to get you started!

1) Audio levels, if you can view them, should stay in the green and yellow zones. Not all software has this option, but some will show you how loud a particular bit of audio is at any given time, represented with several green rectangles, one or two yellow, and a red. If the audio is in the red, that means it's "peaking" and will be too loud.

The reason you wanna look at the visual rather than listen by ear is so that it sounds the same on any device. If you set it depending on how loud you laptop/phone is, then it might be too loud or too soft when you export the final video.

2) If you can, use multiple tracks to edit! Tracks are the lines you drag and drop videos/pictures and audio in. Unless the software only supports one track for each (or even a combined track for both), you can stack clips on top of each other to make timing cuts easier, help with synchronizing with audio, and so much more.

3) If you have the audio and the visuals separated onto two tracks, see if you can't find some kind of tell to make sure they are synced. In films, this is what the clapper is for, the clapper being the board with the striped design on top that they let fall, which makes that loud SMACK! sound before the action starts. It's to help with editing! 🎬

You don't necessarily need a clapper, as something like a snap of the fingers, clap, hit, ect, ANYTHING that makes a loud, definitive noise will suit this purpose. As long as the noise lines up with the frame where contact is made, it'll be synced.

4) Have all your shots laid out in front of you. This is for films moreso than YouTube videos, but if you need to cut between multiple shots, knowing what each of them are beforehand (and which takes you're keeping) is essential to making editing go a lot smoother. I've seen editors who will print out each scene and each shot WITHIN that scene, paste that on their wall, and reference that while editing. That was back in the '70s though, so you may not need to go THAT far, but it never hurts either.

5) If you can, have someone taking notes as you film. This is especially useful for filmmaking. For each shot, have someone sit with the director and write down how each take went-what lines got fumbled, when cut was called early, when takes are good, ECT. This helps GREATLY in editing and will make life SO much easier.

6) Just edit, edit, edit. Doing lots of projects is the one sure-fire way to get good at it. Any software will work to start, but once you know you wanna take it up a notch, already having prior experience will help you get settled in with all the new, flashy features a lot easier.

7) DONT USE ADOBE PRODUCTS. I DONT CARE IF THEYRE "INDUSTRY STANDARD," THEYRE EXPENSIVE AND BAD AND NOT WORTH IT. I personally use Filmora 9, but I've also used Sony Vegas, which is also good. There are other options, don't be fooled.

It's 3:30 AM so I'm sure there's more I could say but my brain is an egg at the moment, lol. But if you have any specific questions, feel free to DM me or comment or something. I love talking about this stuff, as filmmaking is one of my passions.

Good luck to you, and happy editing!

[saltycrestsatyr]

Strategies for Interview Success: Landing Your Dream Mechanical Engineering Job

So, you’ve done the hard part—sent resumes, applied on portals, maybe even followed up. And now, finally… you’ve landed the interview.

Pause. Breathe that in.

Feels good, doesn’t it?

Now, here's the next challenge: turning that “You’re shortlisted” into “You’re hired.”

And believe me, this is where most freshers (and even experienced pros) stumble—not because they don’t know enough, but because they go in unprepared for how interviews really work.

But you won’t make that mistake. Because you're about to get real-world, no-fluff strategies that mechanical engineers like you can use to walk into that interview room prepared—and walk out with an offer letter.

Let’s break it down step-by-step.

 1. Know the Company Like It’s Your Final Year Project

Let me tell you a secret. The one question that silently screams “unprepared” is when the interviewer asks:

“So, what do you know about our company?” And the candidate says: “Umm… you’re an MNC, right?”

Game over.

Before you walk into that interview, act like you're joining their design team next week.

What does the company build or manufacture?

What design tools do they use?

Any recent launches or awards?

What kind of engineers do they typically hire?

Showing you’ve done your homework proves you're not just job hunting—you’re applying with intention.

 Pro Tip: Mention a project or product they’ve worked on and say why it excites you.

 2. Brush Up on Your Core Subjects — But Don’t Just “Mug” Them

We get it—you’ve studied thermodynamics and fluid mechanics more times than you’ve checked your Instagram.

But here’s the catch: In interviews, it’s not about remembering equations. It’s about applying them.

Can you explain why a material failed in your project? Or how you’d optimize a heat exchanger in a real-world plant? That’s what they want to hear.

Even if you're a fresher, show them your brain works like an engineer—not just a student.

Tip: Revisit your major projects and internships. Be ready to explain what you did, why you did it, and what you learned.

3. Be a Problem Solver, Not Just a Bookworm

Here’s something many engineers don’t realize: Companies don’t hire you just for your knowledge. They hire you for your ability to solve problems.

So when they ask you a technical question or a case scenario, don’t panic.

Instead, walk them through how you think.

“First, I’d identify the failure mode… then consider material properties… then analyze it using FEA…”

Even if your final answer isn’t perfect, your thinking process is what they’re judging.

Think out loud. Engineers respect logic more than luck.

4. Engineers Work in Teams — Show You Can Too

If you think engineering is all about sitting alone with a laptop or a machine, think again.

You’ll be working with:

Designers

Purchase teams

Production engineers

Sometimes even marketing and clients

That’s why communication matters.

Have stories ready from college or work where:

You worked in a group project

Solved a conflict

Explained technical stuff to someone non-technical

“I was working with the electrical guys, and they didn’t understand our CAD drawings—so I simplified it with 3D visuals.” Boom. That’s teamwork + communication + initiative—all in one example.

5. Master the Behavioral Questions (This Is Where Many Candidates Go Silent)

You’ll probably get questions like:

“Tell me about a time you failed.”

“How do you handle deadlines?”

“Describe a time you showed leadership.”

These aren’t trick questions. They’re chances to show who you are beyond the resume.

The best way to answer? Use the STAR method: Situation – Task – Action – Result

Example:

“In my final year, we were behind on our mini project due to material delays. As the team lead, I proposed splitting tasks and using 3D printing to build a quick prototype. We finished early and even won Best Design.”

Storytelling > Buzzwords.

6. Ask Your Questions Too — Interviews Go Both Ways

When they say, “Do you have any questions for us?” — don’t say “Nope, all good.”

This is your chance to flip the script.

Ask about:

The learning curve for new hires

Projects you might be involved in

Training or mentorship opportunities

Not only does it show interest, but it also makes you look like someone who’s planning to stay and grow.

7. Practice Like You’re Training for a Match

Would you walk into a cricket tournament without a single net session?

Nope. Then don’t walk into an interview without mock interviews.

Ask a friend to role-play interviewer

Record yourself answering questions

Time your responses

Watch how you sit, speak, smile

You'll fix so many small issues before the real day.

Confidence doesn’t just come from talent—it comes from practice.

 Final Thoughts: It’s More Than Just a Job—It’s Your Launchpad

Let’s be real. An interview is scary. There’s pressure. There’s self-doubt. There’s that annoying voice that says, “What if I mess up?”

But here’s the truth: If you’ve made it this far, you already have something. Now it’s just about owning it—with preparation, presence, and purpose.

Walk in not just as a job-seeker. Walk in as a future engineer who’s ready to build, design, innovate, and solve real-world problems.

And hey—no matter what happens, every interview is progress. Every single one makes you sharper. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be prepared.

You got this. 🚀

If you want help with mock interviews, resume polishing, or technical guidance before your next big interview — just say the word. We’re here to make sure your dream job doesn’t stay a dream.

Shall we build your future together?

[forbiddenfragmentgypsy]

Strategies for Interview Success: Landing Your Dream Mechanical Engineering Job

(A Real Talk Guide for Mechanical Engineers Who Want More Than Just a Job)

(A Real Talk Guide for Mechanical Engineers Who Want More Than Just a Job)

So, you’ve done the hard part—sent resumes, applied on portals, maybe even followed up. And now, finally… you’ve landed the interview.

Pause. Breathe that in.

Feels good, doesn’t it?

Now, here's the next challenge: turning that “You’re shortlisted” into “You’re hired.”

And believe me, this is where most freshers (and even experienced pros) stumble—not because they don’t know enough, but because they go in unprepared for how interviews really work.

But you won’t make that mistake. Because you're about to get real-world, no-fluff strategies that mechanical engineers like you can use to walk into that interview room prepared—and walk out with an offer letter.

Let’s break it down step-by-step.

 1. Know the Company Like It’s Your Final Year Project

Let me tell you a secret. The one question that silently screams “unprepared” is when the interviewer asks:

“So, what do you know about our company?” And the candidate says: “Umm… you’re an MNC, right?”

Game over.

Before you walk into that interview, act like you're joining their design team next week.

What does the company build or manufacture?

What design tools do they use?

Any recent launches or awards?

What kind of engineers do they typically hire?

Showing you’ve done your homework proves you're not just job hunting—you’re applying with intention.

 Pro Tip: Mention a project or product they’ve worked on and say why it excites you.

 2. Brush Up on Your Core Subjects — But Don’t Just “Mug” Them

We get it—you’ve studied thermodynamics and fluid mechanics more times than you’ve checked your Instagram.

But here’s the catch: In interviews, it’s not about remembering equations. It’s about applying them.

Can you explain why a material failed in your project? Or how you’d optimize a heat exchanger in a real-world plant? That’s what they want to hear.

Even if you're a fresher, show them your brain works like an engineer—not just a student.

Tip: Revisit your major projects and internships. Be ready to explain what you did, why you did it, and what you learned.

3. Be a Problem Solver, Not Just a Bookworm

Here’s something many engineers don’t realize: Companies don’t hire you just for your knowledge. They hire you for your ability to solve problems.

So when they ask you a technical question or a case scenario, don’t panic.

Instead, walk them through how you think.

“First, I’d identify the failure mode… then consider material properties… then analyze it using FEA…”

Even if your final answer isn’t perfect, your thinking process is what they’re judging.

Think out loud. Engineers respect logic more than luck.

4. Engineers Work in Teams — Show You Can Too

If you think engineering is all about sitting alone with a laptop or a machine, think again.

You’ll be working with:

Designers

Purchase teams

Production engineers

Sometimes even marketing and clients

That’s why communication matters.

Have stories ready from college or work where:

You worked in a group project

Solved a conflict

Explained technical stuff to someone non-technical

“I was working with the electrical guys, and they didn’t understand our CAD drawings—so I simplified it with 3D visuals.” Boom. That’s teamwork + communication + initiative—all in one example.

5. Master the Behavioral Questions (This Is Where Many Candidates Go Silent)

You’ll probably get questions like:

“Tell me about a time you failed.”

“How do you handle deadlines?”

“Describe a time you showed leadership.”

These aren’t trick questions. They’re chances to show who you are beyond the resume.

The best way to answer? Use the STAR method: Situation – Task – Action – Result

Example:

“In my final year, we were behind on our mini project due to material delays. As the team lead, I proposed splitting tasks and using 3D printing to build a quick prototype. We finished early and even won Best Design.”

Storytelling > Buzzwords.

6. Ask Your Questions Too — Interviews Go Both Ways

When they say, “Do you have any questions for us?” — don’t say “Nope, all good.”

This is your chance to flip the script.

Ask about:

The learning curve for new hires

Projects you might be involved in

Training or mentorship opportunities

Not only does it show interest, but it also makes you look like someone who’s planning to stay and grow.

7. Practice Like You’re Training for a Match

Would you walk into a cricket tournament without a single net session?

Nope. Then don’t walk into an interview without mock interviews.

Ask a friend to role-play interviewer

Record yourself answering questions

Time your responses

Watch how you sit, speak, smile

You'll fix so many small issues before the real day.

Confidence doesn’t just come from talent—it comes from practice.

 Final Thoughts: It’s More Than Just a Job—It’s Your Launchpad

Let’s be real. An interview is scary. There’s pressure. There’s self-doubt. There’s that annoying voice that says, “What if I mess up?”

But here’s the truth: If you’ve made it this far, you already have something. Now it’s just about owning it—with preparation, presence, and purpose.

Walk in not just as a job-seeker. Walk in as a future engineer who’s ready to build, design, innovate, and solve real-world problems.

And hey—no matter what happens, every interview is progress. Every single one makes you sharper. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be prepared.

You got this. 🚀

If you want help with mock interviews, resume polishing, or technical guidance before your next big interview — just say the word. We’re here to make sure your dream job doesn’t stay a dream.

Shall we build your future together?

[wildmtthyme]

Chapter 4: The Judge

Warnings: Mentions of the draft, obvious hints of war and death (minor).

Chapter Note: This is just kind of a little drabble. From the car's perspective. No, there's no supernatural stuff going on, just a kind of "what if" with a little ground work happening at the end.

Chapter Characters: The Judge (1969 GTO Judge), Morgan "Indiana" Turner, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Random OCs for the sake of the story, John "Bravo 6" Price

Story Synopsis: Ghost and Indiana have been best mates for years, partners on and off the field. And she's loved him for just as long. But she's never let on that she's felt anything more than friendly towards him. That all starts to change when Simon starts seeing someone for longer than a single night. Indie decides she's going to try and get over this annoying crush once and for all. Simon realizes that maybe he's been feeling more for his partner than he thought. Maybe a lot more. Partners to lovers with a sprinkling of smut, some fun and humor, a team that won't leave them alone, and a car that seems to weave it all together.

<- Chapter 3.5 - Chapter 5 ->

Series Masterlist

He was built in 1969 in a factory in Fremont, California… a man named Luis was the one to apply the decal that would mark him as special amongst the other GTO’s that came off the line. His shiny black paint that wasn’t just black caught the eye of many envious onlookers when he was unloaded at the small car lot in Sacramento, especially when he took pride of place in their showroom. But it was a young kid who saved all summer who finally came in and laid down his purchase price that rolled him out onto the free streets of his early years. The kid’s name was Tim, Timmy to his friends and Timothy to his father. He had just graduated high school and had a pension for going a little too fast, learning quickly that his ram air cooled engine was not to be taken lightly. But he never mistreated him and Judge knew right away that he had been this kid’s dream car. They spent three amazing years together, cruising the scenic highways and byways, enjoying the amazing California sun, sand, and surf. He didn’t even mind the temporary rack the kid put on his roof to hold his surfboard. That all changed when they called out those numbers during the last draft lottery in 1972. His father drove him back from the bus station and parked him in the garage, throwing a brand-new tarp over him once his engine had cooled down. He never saw Tim again.

Fifteen years later, the sun was brighter than he remembered it being. The auctioneer was loud and talked way too fast. The people that poked around under his hood, jabbed fingers into his seats to test their springiness, and checked to make sure he still had all his original parts were confusing. He was bought for half his original purchase price and loaded into a shipping container. He’d never see American soil again. Being exported to the United Kingdom was an adventure he hadn’t considered but one he was being sent on anyway. He couldn’t help but wonder if Tim had been this nervous when he went away. He was unloaded straight into a small, almost too tiny glass fronted metal building with other American imports. He wasn’t there long before a middle-aged man bought him for thrice what the importer paid for him. The man couldn’t stop yacking about how cool it was going to be to have a muscle car. But it wasn’t cool. He got a scratch on his fender the first day. Turns out… he was just too big for this country. Too big for the roads… too wide for the towns… and too loud for the villages. And too expensive to keep fueled. Within a year, the man parked him under a lean-to shed beside an old stone building. The man didn’t want to get rid of him but couldn’t afford to drive him either. The roof leaked and the wind blew the rain in sideways anyway. The mice from the fields made a home in his backseat cushions with the rubber from the wires they chewed through. What was once sparkly black pain turned dull and what was once beauty turned just as gray and drab as the country he found himself in.

With the new millennia, the Judge felt a small hand force the handle on his driver’s side door open, jarring him back to a certain kind of consciousness. The woman was slight but confident, had an air of knowledge when she popped his hood. She muttered under her breath, cursed the state he was in and by the end of the day, he was being loaded onto the flat bed of one of those strange flat nosed trucks. She called herself Indiana. It took her years to restore him. She took her time and did it right… sometimes it’d be weeks where he would see nothing but the closed door of her garage, nothing but a motorcycle for company. Then, she’d be back and it was like she never left. When she had to wait for parts, she’d just move on to fixing something else. It took her two years before she was turning her garage into a paint booth. He was nervous then… would she paint him some obnoxious color? Like neon green?! Or that gaudy orange?! But he needn’t have worried. She’d sent away for the special black. And finally, the last thing she did before applying a sturdy clear coat was apply his decal. If he could have purred, he would have. She brought him back. Decades of being left to rot, forgotten and neglected… and she made it all go away. The first time she took him out… the world had changed so much but she treated him right. She knew where she could take him and where she couldn’t. And though his anxiety spiked when she pulled him back into the garage… he quickly got over that. He became her daily driver. He wasn’t some fancy thing to keep locked up. He was a car. Her car. He’d hear people at her work ask to drive him and she’d shut them down right quick and in a hurry. Because he was her car. And that’s how it stayed. For a long time. He grew comfortable in that one, undeniable fact.

Until a fucking redwood slid behind the wheel. He called himself Simon. He didn’t care if he called himself the fucking Pope. If he could have not started, he would have done that. But he wasn’t going to embarrass all of her hard work. Simon was nervous… as he should have been, Judge had thought. But… eventually, he came to accept that sometimes this giant of a man would drive him. He only accepted it because he always came back to her. And for years, that’s how it stayed.

But then something changed. He wasn’t sure what exactly. But someone new climbed behind the wheel. Another man. An older man. He was respectful and reverent, not nervous. He seemed almost… giddy, in a certain sense. He didn’t go too slow but he didn’t see what he could do, either. He drove him like she did. Like he was just a regular car. It left him… wanting the man to test him out… let him show him what he had under the hood. Let him blow someone’s doors clean off. But he didn’t test him. He knew things were changing, things he didn’t understand. When they arrived at base that morning… and Simon was standing there, looking like someone had stolen something from him. Judge didn’t care what was going on with the men, as long as one of them made sure the keys found their way back to her hand at the end of the day.

Because he was her car… and always would be.

<- Chapter 3.5 - Chapter 5 ->

Series Masterlist

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[the-firebird69]

Who would ride this?

There's a couple things you have to do you need brakes on the front and rear and signals are easy to do the seat has to be a little higher which is not hard and you need suspension on the front at least and I looked at this and I said I wonder how big it really is and he looks kind of small on it and there's a lot of people who fit on it and you start out with a 50cc but with a lawn mower engine a 50cc is like seven or eight horsepower it would have no gears and this one has no gears but if you do the sprockets right you get 60 miles an hour on it and it's a basic scooter and it would work in China for ours and it worked really well. I can make a improvise Springer front ends and it would be less expensive than regular forks and the rear is not hard to put shocks on and I can do that later he says that cuz it sells like this really quick and I can sell this for like $500 assembled. Maybe about 700. And people buy it like madness and he says to leave the pull start. No at 130 lb you're going to go about 65 mph with the sprockets and he would go about 45 and he says it's not bad and he's been looking for it and I'll tell you what you can do a test ride and with someone with like 220 and it's showing moving along this is a great idea and I almost feel like paying bja but now he just does nothing with his stuff and the 49cc rule applies and John Cena did it too and did nothing and their guys are struggling all the time to get any kind of transportation and they be zooming all over the place and really they look kind of normal on this it's really weird at that price almost anybody could buy them and I can get them in Walmart and then be street legal as a motorcycle or scooter and he says in Florida it's a scooter in California it's a scooter Massachusetts it's a scooter and it's 49cc so and they're saying it's true most of the loss of the states are the same and you just need a driver's license and he would probably do that cuz it's a pain in the ass but he could ride this to Harley once John Riva Lord is out and get his driver's license motorcycle license that sounds like a great idea and people can go by that in some places you have to have your own bike and it would work

Chao phat

Wow this is really weird all sorts of people could ride and this would be a nice bike and BJ did a great job. All he has to do is buy parts and sell them sell a real big job and I could do it and I think I might as only a couple modifications in the Springer you can get and I can get it street legal the tires are decent and rims and I need the frame and I can find that I know that they have them and for crying out loud this is fast is the right sprockets and I play with that and then I get the kit and I put it together and really you just have a warehouse and you put in these bins and you pick from the band and you put it into the packaging and and box it up I mean really this is not a hard thing to do it's a small box and it might even be accepted by ups and they'll go everywhere I'm going to check into it and I might work until I work at deal with chow fat

Jenna

Ah hah good

Chao phat

It says it means good and it does I didn't have to try to do this cuz what we need these things and that's fast enough when we're lighter and we'll probably go 75 he says and a normal weight and it's it won't sound too funny but you look kind of cool it is a scooter and you're going to have fun on it and we can make up a new name and it be for us

Jenna

I have a few name ideas he went through a few name ideas but mine is pretty good

Chao phat

No it's not hard times Charlie thanks

..

Olympus

[vyl3tpwny]

A thought about the Music Process®

Prophet V Synthesizer, one of my favourite synthesizers ever. Ironically, this isn't about synthesizers, though. You'll see

—

I'm not actually sure what the most in depth way of saying any of this is. So I'd just like to consider it from my limited lexicon (pun intended, for my vintage reverb fans out there).

But the ways i think of it are like this:

Writing / Composition — The act of actually conceptualizing the music, composing it melodically, establishing parts for instruments, writing lyrics, etc.

Recording — Capturing any live performances such as guitars, vocals, drums, etc.

Sound Design — Depending on the genre, this may not be a thing. But for me, it's designing instruments from scratch, curating interesting instruments (possibly paired with some effect chains that sound cool), experimenting with sounds and musical phrases independently of a song's context, etc.

Production — Kind of a blend of the first three, but a sort of higher level of polish is involved and often involves taking each smaller idea and concept to a interesting and pristine level. Usually includes stuff like instrumentation as well.

Arranging — Deciding where all the elements go, when they come in, how they make their exit, etc.

Mixing — Using tools like EQ's, compressors, saturation, and other tools to make individual tracks/instruments/sounds work together in the context of a full song and establishing a distinct sonic style for the instruments and track as a whole.

Mastering — Taking a full mix of a song and doing similar things like with Mixing, except instead of applying these ideas to individual tracks, you're applying them to the song as a whole. Often this process involves trying to reach a target loudness for the song as well as make it as compatible as possible with other platforms, devices, and listening situations.

A lot of people think of these things as separate. In a lot of cases they are.

However. That is not how I do anything, actually. Most of these things, aside from mastering, sort of blend together for me. The writing process may yield sound design ideas, or vice versa. And I always find myself mixing while arranging and writing. And this sort of blending together of the parts of the "music process®" is common for independent musicians these days.

Traditionally, different roles are taken on by different people. Even one role can be taken up by multiple people; most bands do various parts of the writing and composition, while other engineers help with recording, production, mixing, mastering, etc.

Most independent musicians that find themselves taking on many or all of these roles usually admit to not enjoying most of the utilitarian, engineering aspects, and prefer to emphasize their passion for the abstractly creative part of the process (namely writing, recording, and sound design.)

I do every single aspect of my music, and I like it that way. I know that if something sucks, it's all on me and nobody else takes the fall. But if something is good... Well, that's all me too. And I'm super proud of that. But where a lot of people in my sort of position usually loathe half of the entire process, I shall confess—

—I really really really REALLY love the engineering part of everything. I love problem solving with my equipment and learning new things about it. I love trying to figure out how to make new musical ideas work cohesively with things. It's even harder for me than a lot of other people because I do as many genres as I can get my disgusting little hooves on. Engineering ideas and concepts shift depending on the genre, and so everytime I try something new, I also have to learn how to produce, arrange, mix, and master for it. AND I FUCKING LOVE IT.

Of all these things, though, the thing I really really adore the most is mixing. I usually don't do it as its own process; mixing usually is a part of the song creation process for me. It's like another aspect of sound design honestly. But I love fixing things in sound that doesn't work as it should properly. I love trying to figure out how to get all the tracks to fit together and feel coherent. AND I LOVE. THE TOOLS.

This is why I even wanted to discuss any of this. I love exploring and learning EQs and compressors and all sorts of things. I honestly want to talk more about it and use this space as a way to just ramble and maybe share my love for this stuff with people who have no idea what it is or no idea why to care or even find themselves intimidated at the thought of the engineering process.

I have a hyperfixation with audio dynamic compressors. I always warn people that if somehow the conversation we're having is steering towards engineering, specifically compressors, that they have to be super careful or else I won't shut the fuck up. I love them so much.

They all have so much personality and always have their own sound. That's the point.

API 2500 Stereo Bus Compressor

Manley VariMu Compressor/Limiter

Neve33609 Compressor/Limiter

HOW CAN YOU LOOK AT THESE AND NOT HAVE YOUR CURIOSITY PIQUED?? AUGH. I love the VU's (the meters with the needles) so much and they often are what define a compressor's visual vibe to me.

They all have software counterparts that I use (I can't ever afford a real physical hardware compressor lol they run in the thousands)

Universal Audio's API 2500 VST Plugin

Pulsar's MU VST Plugin

Arturia's Comp DIODE-609 VST Plugin

If you think about these tools like art tools, right. Different styles and brands of pens, pencils, markers, pastels, charcoals, clays, etc, all deal with the same basic concept and all attempt to fulfill a particular aspect of the process. But you also know that the differences between styles and brands are often huge. Despite all attempting to do the same thing, you know which ones will get you closest to the ideas in your head fastest depending on what the idea and situation is. Audio engineering tools are like that too, especially compressors.

Before computers, these were exclusively analog. Each compressor designed was uniquely flawed in it's own way. Once computers dominated the music making process, compressors went digital. For a while, people were excited to finally make digital compressors that were mathematically perfect. But we actually discovered that it killed the life of a lot of music as a result. The imperfections of analog compressors (and other audio equipment) is what made them unique.

Even if each one does the same thing, they all actually feel very different. And I just get so excited about it!

If you've come this far and actually don't know what an audio dynamics compressor is, that is impressive you stayed with me this long. A compressor in music is basically a device that allows you to manipulate the dynamic range of audio. That is a long winded way of saying you can take a sound and make the quieter parts louder, and the louder parts quieter. Or. You could do the inverse (called expansion). That, itself, is also a long winded way of saying: You can use compressors to make sounds punchier, or smoother, or more controlled, or more present, or more exciting, or beefier, or other descriptors in that vein. You can take a weak sounding kick drum and give it some actual punch and presence. You can take a vocal recording and squish it so that it's really up front and full of energy, helping it to rise above the other instruments without just turning the volume up.

Compressors are so important, that their use and application has — very early on — defined styles of music.

Here's an example where I create different dynamic feels for a drum track using Pulsar's 1178 VST Plugin. I won't describe how it sounds to me, I'm sure you can think in your own way about how the compressor is changing the sound!

I'd love to talk more about this stuff in the future.. let me know if you'd be interested in that. Because I can talk forever. Trust me.

I think I'll create a tag for any audio engineering nerd talk. I'll call it: #Vynamics

(Even if I'll talk about more than dynamics processing.. I think it works..)

Lmk what you think. Thanks <3 (Also I'm delegating #Vyop to be my personal post tag, so from now on you will be able to find all my own posts with that. I'll add this to my blog bio sometime.)