#What Is Answer Engine Optimization?

[siteitnow]

Why 2025 is the year to prioritize Answer Engine Optimization. Stay ahead with expert insights about AEO and unlock growth opportunities.

[yan-lorkai]

Hello! :) I just really love all of your works for Hellsing and an idea popped into my mind. Could you write an Alucard x darling!Reader where Integra sends them on a mission to Brazil in disguise as a newlyweds on their honeymoon? I'm just sooo obsessed with his Riocard look, I thought it would be so fun to imagine! <3

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: To be honest I get you anon. He is so handsome in his RioCard form, with his little glass full of blood and wearing that suit 🤭💕💕. @marieisaghost

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, reader is unsettled by Alucard but both of them keep flirting with one another lol, mention of killing, gn!reader

"Lulu, you travel a lot, don't you?" You turn your face to stare at him, gorgeous smile already on his lips as soon as that little nickname left you. "What is it like in Brazil? How are the people?"

He thought about. Ancient as he was, Alucard was present to see or hear about all major events from humanity. And later on, to visit those same countries, as you two are doing now - hunting for a potentially dangerous vampire who climbed the stairs to the success, he was so important now, so powerful but Integra had her way of getting you and Alucard into one of his big parties.

After a few seconds pondering, Alucard glanced at his glass full of blood, long, dark hair hiding his eyes from you as he chuckled.

"The air smells like golden hour and the birds sing so loud, as if they wish for you to sing among them. The Brazilians are like fairies, if you will, as they can't lie but contour whatever promise they made with polite words and jokes. And the common folk are very affectionate." He sipped from his glass, little trinket of blood running down his lower lip before he could lick it. You laughed at that. "And their words sounds like a gentle song, so familiar yet so distante you can't quite remember where you have heard it."

The gentle hum of the plane's engines filled the cabin, the dim lighting casting soft shadows against the sleek leather seats. You sat beside Alucard, watching the clouds drift by through the small window. A moment goes by before you answer him.

"Quiet poetical, don't you think?" You mused, imagining the country based on his description. "Well, I'm looking forward to see it. We will be able to sightsee after the mission is done, right?"

Alucard turned his head slowly, he was still sipping from his glass, sometimes just shaking it to see the red liquid sway gently. His crimson eyes glimmered with amusement, lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. He always found your mortal, innocent optimism endearing — if not a bit naive. But he never discouraged it outright. No, he enjoyed watching you dangle the idea of freedom, without realizing he was the one holding the string.

He was the one who chose you for this role. So beautiful and all his, pretending to be his cute little spouse.

“Sightseeing?” Alucard repeated, his voice low, filled with the silky cadence you knew too well. He leaned back further into his seat, fingers steepled together as if considering your words. “That all depends. If the mission goes well and... if you behave, darling.”

You shifted uncomfortably, pretending to be preoccupied with the view outside. Sometimes Alucard took his jokes too far, the line between truth and joke unclear.

“Well, I just thought… if we’re pretending to be newlyweds, we might as well enjoy the facade a little more!” You explained your point of view, trying to sound casual. “A little sightseeing wouldn’t hurt. Husband.”

Alucard’s chuckle was soft but dark, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a beautiful sound yet terrifying in other circumstances. “Oh, you’ve been enjoying this facade more than you admit, darling” He teased, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Playing the role of my beloved spouse… It suits you.”

His words were laced with a possessiveness that you couldn’t ignore. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you tried to maintain composure under his piercing gaze. Alucard thrived on your uncertainty — on the way you balanced between curiosity and frustration in equal measures. He loved seeing you struggle. You knew that. He was an asshole like that sometimes.

“Maybe,” You replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper and your face heating up. Ultimately it was better to let him have this little win or he'll pout and throw a tantrum the entire time. “But it’s hard to keep up the act sometimes, you’re very convincing. I fear I won't be as convincing as you are.”

Alucard’s smile widened, a dark, predatory gleam flickering in his eyes. He leaned toward you, his cold fingers brushing against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with a delicate yet possessive touch. He seemed like he wanted to say something, a secret passing through his eyes, black long hair hiding his face like a curtain, and then he pulled back.

“Rest now, my love,” Alucard said, his voice softer as he reclined back in his seat but the command was clear. "We still have a few hours until we get there. And perhaps, I’ll indulge you with that sightseeing you’re so fond. There's so very interesting places that are open at night.”

You rolled your eyes. "Aye aye captain."

Yoou reached out, your hand sliding around his arm and tugging him toward you. His eyes widened slightly, not in surprise but in curiosity. You didn’t say a word, there was no need. All that mattered was the closeness, the warmth, even if it came from the cold embrace of a vampire. Without a word, you rested your head against his arm, and he allowed you to whatever you wanted, his lips curling into a soft smirk as he watched you for a few seconds.

/⁠～⁠♡

The private plane had landed hours ago, and the sun now hung low on the horizon, casting the hotel room in a warm, golden glow. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the fabric of your outfit, a carefully chosen disguise for the next phase of the mission. The luxurious suite you were in felt almost too extravagant, too different from what you were used but trying to argument with Alucard was near impossível. And he wanted to stay at the most expensive place just for the sake of it.

Greedy vampire, you thought, he wouldn't even be able to sleep. After all, he's used to sleep at morning and you, as a Hellsing soldier, is more than used to sleep in whatever you can lie on during night. Extravagance was not your style.

Behind you, Alucard moved with quiet grace, his eyes fixed on you in the mirror. He had already shed his coat, his shirt untucked slightly, looking every bit the devilish rogue he was. He stepped closer, slipping a gloved hand around your waist, guiding you as you fumbled with the buttons on your collar.

"Let me," He asked, his voice low and smooth, as he brushed your hands away and began fastening the buttons for you. His fingers worked skillfully, but his touch lingered a bit too long. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips.

"You know, I can dress myself," You teased him, raising an eyebrow at him through the mirror.

"Of course you can," Alucard replied with a smirk, not missing a beat. "But why would I miss the chance to enjoy this view?" His hands slid up to adjust the collar, his eyes flickering with amusement.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

Alucard chuckled softly, his breath warm against your neck as he leaned in just a bit closer. "I’m many things, love. Impossible is only one of them." He finished with the last button, his hands lingering on your shoulders, fingers tracing the fabric as though he couldn’t help but touch you. You turned slightly to face him, a playful glint in your eyes.

"So husband, what's the plan?" You teased him, emphasizing the word, adjusting your sleeves as he watched you with that ever-present intensity. "Or you're just want to take care of everything alone while I stay helpless by your side, like a damsel?."

Alucard raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. "Playing the damsel role certainly is fun but not safe. Besides it's counterproductive. I'II catch our target while you search his office for those documents."

You nodded, trying to think of ways to enter the target's office, but the warmth in Alucard's eyes made it impossible. His thumb traced small circles against your waist, and though you hated to admit it, his presence was comforting in moments like these, when the mission loomed large and the stakes were high. He knew how you soothe your worries and fears with just a few gestures.

"Focus, Alucard," You said, but your voice lacked any real conviction.

"I am focused," He replied smoothly, his lips dangerously close to yours. "Just… not on the mission right now."

You felt your heartbeat quicken, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him just a little, your fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt. "You’re incorrigible."

His eyes gleamed as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low, teasing purr. "And you love it."

You laughed softly, shaking your head again as you turned back toward the mirror. "You’re lucky you’re helping with this mission. Otherwise, I’d leave you to flirt with yourself.

Alucard chuckled, stepping back slightly, though his hand never left your waist. "Oh, I can flirt with myself just fine. But it’s much more fun with you."

You met his gaze in the mirror, your reflection showing the playful tension between you two. Despite everything, the danger, the complexity of your relationship, moments like this felt oddly natural. Easy, even.

"Fine," you said, adjusting the last piece of your outfit and putting your weapons in their proper places. "After this mission and you taking me to sightsee, you should really take me on a date, Alucard. I wouldn't say no."

Alucard’s smirk softened into a more genuine smile as he pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand squeezing your waist lightly. "Whatever you want, darling. But until then…" His eyes sparkled mischievously. "We make quite the team, don’t we?"

You couldn’t argue with that. Despite the chaos, despite the danger, there was something undeniably magnetic about being at his side. Even if he drove you crazy half the time and acted strange sometimes.

"Yeah," You said with a sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. "We do."

The night air was crisp as you stepped out of the grand hotel, the city’s lights reflecting off the polished black limousine waiting at the curb. The distant hum of life in the city created a soft backdrop of noise, but here, in front of the sleek vehicle, everything felt quieter, more intimate. Alucard, as always, had his hand lightly resting on your lower back as he guided you toward the car.

“After you, love,” He said smoothly, his voice laced with amusement as he opened the door for you. His crimson eyes gleamed under the streetlights, and even in the dim evening, he looked effortlessly sharp in his tailored suit, dark and dangerously handsome.

You gave him a playful smirk before slipping into the limousine’s spacious interior. The leather seats were cool against your skin as you settled in, and a faint, luxurious scent lingered in the air. Alucard followed, closing the door behind him as he took the seat beside you.

As the driver began pulling away from the curb, the city lights blurred past the tinted windows, creating a dreamlike atmosphere. Alucard stretched his arm along the back of the seat, his fingers lightly brushing against your shoulder in a way that felt casual yet intentional.

“Excited?” hHe asked, his voice low and teasing as his eyes flickered to yours. “Or is it nerves I sense?”

You glanced at him, rolling your eyes slightly. “Excited isn’t the word I’d use. This is a mission, remember? Focus, Alucard.”

He chuckled, his hand sliding down to lightly squeeze your shoulder. “I’m always focused. It’s you who seems to be on edge, dragul meu.” His voice was a playful murmur, but there was that undercurrent of seriousness you knew all too well. He thrived in these high-stakes situations, while you, well, you preferred a little less danger and a little more simplicity.

You preferred a better plan, you preferred having more allies. Yet, you had to make it do with just Alucard by your side. Either way, you knew he wouldn't let you hurt yourself.

“I’m not on edge,” You retorted lightly, turning to face him fully. “I’m just thinking about the plan. We’re supposed to be subtle, blend in, gather intel. You remember the whole ‘don’t draw attention to ourselves’ part, right?”

Alucard’s lips curled into that familiar, devilish smirk. “Subtlety isn’t always the most fun, but I suppose I can behave for one night.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Of course, if things get boring, I might have to… stir the pot a little.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I prefer the term ‘charming,’” He corrected you, eyes gleaming mischievously.

The limousine cruised through the city, the lights outside glowing brighter as you approached the heart of the bustling nightlife. The party you were heading to was in one of the city’s most elite venues — a towering glass building that loomed in the distance, sparkling against the night sky. The event was exclusive, crawling with high-society types, all hiding secrets beneath their polished exteriors. You and Alucard were here to uncover one of those secrets.

As the limousine neared the grand entrance, you adjusted your clothes, making sure everything was in place. Alucard watched you with an almost predatory gleam in his eyes, though there was a softness in the way his gaze lingered.

“You look stunning,” He murmured, his voice softer now, devoid of the usual teasing edge. “They won’t know what hit them.”

You met his eyes, feeling a flutter in your chest despite yourself. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smirked, leaning in just a bit closer. “Just ‘not so bad?’ I think I deserve more credit than that.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Let’s just get through this without any chaos, alright? Then I’ll give you all the credit you want.”

The limousine came to a smooth stop in front of the towering venue, the driver stepping out to open the door for you both. Alucard was out first, offering his hand to help you out, his grip firm but gentle. As you stepped out onto the red carpet, the flashes of cameras and the murmurs of the crowd were already starting.

He pulled you close, his arm slipping around your waist as you both made your way toward the entrance. You could feel the weight of his presence beside you, commanding and magnetic.

“We’ll be the perfect couple tonight,” Alucard whispered into your ear as you ascended the stairs, his breath warm against your skin. “Just follow my lead.”

You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a small smile. “I’m used to that by now.”

With that, you both stepped through the grand doors into the glittering party, where the real game was about to begin.

[alohajun]

hey so. idk if asks are still open but. you can’t end racer mingyu like that i need more please 🤗

♡ LUCKY CHARM: THE WINNING FORMULA — KIM MINGYU

f1 racer!mingyu x race engineer!fem!reader | wc : 0.8k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, f1 au, coworkers to lovers, fluff, swearing, mentions of skinship | loki's lines : y’all just enabling my f1xkpop addiction atp, now i have smth to do during the off-season until f1 starts again

“go on a date with me, lucky charm.”

your eyes widened at his confession, not having expected those exact words to leave his lips — let alone hear him say them so publicly for everyone to hear.

the pit crew exchanged knowing glances, having known it was only going to be a matter of time until mingyu had finally realized his feelings for you and asked you out.

because even they knew that there was no way he’d be so smitten with you just because of some superstitious helmet knock.

“gyu, are you being for real right now?” you uttered, still processing everything in shock. “you just got pole on one of the toughest tracks and you want to—”

“there’s no better time than the present.” mingyu cut you off, his cheesy grin widening when he saw the flabbergasted look on your face. “so, what say, lucky charm?”

the ferrari paddock burst into laughter at his optimism, knowing exactly how stubborn mingyu could get when he made a decision. they also knew how he never gave up and always got what he wanted.

“kim mingyu.” you exasperatedly sighed, shaking your head in disbelief as you pulled yourself away from his embrace. “just focus on your race tomorrow. we’ll talk after that.”

mingyu opened his mouth to argue but only grinned as he heard the rest of your words. “that’s not a no. i’ll take it as a win.” he chuckled victoriously to himself.

“how about you get us an actual win while you are at it?” you quipped teasingly, the rest of the garage laughing at the playful banter you two had.

oh, and kim mingyu definitely took those words of yours as a challenge.

as soon as the race started, mingyu took off with the perfect start, defending his position from wonwoo as they drove side by side on the first corner.

you stood by the pit wall, practically glaring holes onto the monitors as you analyzed the data coming in from mingyu’s car. “good start, gyu. let’s go on offense once you get the tires warmed up.” you spoke over the radio, keeping calm.

your heart was practically at your throat as the race neared its end. come on, gyu. don’t fuck up. you got this. you didn’t even dare to blink as you focused on mingyu’s car on the screen.

“oi, don’t worry.” mingyu’s deep voice came through the radio, almost as if he were sensing your nerves. “i got this, lucky charm. and after this, i will cash in on that date; thank you very much.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his confidence, rolling your eyes playfully. “yeah, whatever you say, gyu. get that win first.” you quipped teasingly.

and getting the win he did.

the garage erupted into celebrations as soon as mingyu’s car made it past the checkered flag. you let out a sigh of relief as you fell back in your seat, a soft smile on your face as you shook your head to yourself.

it wasn’t long before you saw mingyu making his way towards you, completely covered in sweat and champagne from his podium celebration. you held up a hand, stopping him from approaching you, wincing slightly as you took him in.

mingyu, however, remained unfazed. “so? that date, lucky charm?” he asked, tilting his head as an amused smirk made its way to his face.

“you are really serious about this, aren’t you?” you asked, biting back a smile as you observed the way he looked. goodness, had he always been this good-looking?

mingyu only scoffed in disbelief, as if the answer to your question was a no-brainer. “with you? i’m always serious.” he slowly took a step closer.

your cheeks flushed as you averted your gaze momentarily. “yeah, we can go on that date.” you mumbled, clearing your throat as you shook your head in mock defeat.

a surprised squeal left your lips when you felt mingyu pull you into a spontaneous hug, shuddering slightly as you made contact with his champagne-soaked race suit — which only made him hug you tighter.

your breath hitched as you looked up at him, the garage’s laughter and applause fading into silence as you looked into his eyes.

it was just like the movies, with everything fading into the background as you two just stared at each other.

“i’m not just messing around, yeah?” he spoke up, his voice low and serious, just audible enough for you to hear. “i hope you know that, y/n.”

you nodded slowly, understanding how genuine he was being. “i … i know, gyu.” you reassured him just as quietly.

mingyu’s eyes crinkled as he smiled softly, feeling as if an immense burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

“you are a damn good lucky charm, you know? i won a race, and now i won you over too.”

taglist : @kflixnet @mirxzii @woooooooosh8 @i05wook @gyuguys (to be added, please send an ask or dm!)

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[stickytrigger69]

Hi there! Could I please request something with a sparkling!reader? Like Ratchet was busy configuring stuff on their base's computer then in Op requesting medical assistance. At first Ratchet got his hackles raised because he assumed someone got injured by doing something stupid but then saw that Op was holding a very injured sparkling in his arms. Ratchet short circuits for a bit before coming to his senses and fixing them up. Eventually the whole team comes along. I'll leave it up to you on how a sparkling made its way to earth. Something angst to fluff maybe? Set in tfp (just recently started binging the series and I'm obsessing over the team 😆)

TFP Team Prime x Sparkling Reader

Reader is gender neutral

Reader is a sparkling, thus, their frame and paint job have yet to be revealed.

Angst to fluff

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

*brrrrrb! brrrrrb! brrrrrb!*

A red alarm shines on Ratchets tired face as he stares into the holo screen, not even reading the warning but looking through it. How many times must his equations be declined? Where is he going wrong? The small alarm rings emptilly around his helm.

Through the light buzz, he hears a comm switch. "Ratchet, prepare the medical bay! It's an emergency!" Optimus roars.

"Copy." Ratchet rushes to get the table and machines up and running, checking if they are in optimal conditions. Who got themselves hurt this time? He grits his denta. Who was careless this time. His pumps flood his fuel lines with fearful energon. He soon hears the teams engines roaring through the tunnel as he turns around they all transform quickly, being careful not to hurt the humans and race to Ratchet at the table. He scans them all as they move but doesn't see anything, "so? Who's hurt? Don't tell me I got set up for nothing but a scratch Optimus." With a frown, Optimus sets something small onto the table.

"No, Ratchet, it's something worse, more frightening." The red bot looks down to see a small, frail, damaged frame. His spark skips a pulse or two, and he immediately starts moving. The sparkling is slowly greying and is leaking energon rapidly.

"You couldn't have been more specific over the comms, Primus Optimus! Why didn't you say anything about this, I wasn't prepared for this!" Ratchet panics.

Sparks and engines rumble and shake, and the panic in the room overwhelms the medic, but he can't afford to make a single mistake. 'Primus help me', he prays repeatedly in his helm. He can hear the children's hearts pounding. He seals cuts and scrapes and cuts fuel lines to reconnect them, too short. They will be stunted, they will be deformed; the thought alone makes his optics well up with coolant. Where did they even come from, how were they created, and why? Who would create a sparkling at a time like this?

"The decepticons wanted them so badly." Optimus says lowly as he takes the sparkling servo in between his digits. "So badly." He clenches his empty servo into a fist. After what seems like ages, Ratchet finishes, and the sparkling is stable. The ugly grey has stopped spreading and is now receding at a pace that makes Ratchet uneasy. Bee and Bulkhead spend time with their humans in base before taking them home at the same time they always do, but Arcee couldn't handle the situation and took Jack home so she could go for a drive.

Optimus hasn't left the sparklings side in hours, and Miko won't stop asking if it's okay. Ratchets servos haven't stopped trembling, mind racing. He looks over at Optimus and weighs if he should ask questions now or later.

"Their carrier?" Optimus looks over his shoulder to see his friend. He looks him up and down, then turns back to look at the sparkling.

"Gone. They were abandoned, left alone in an escape shuttle. Primus only knows where they are or if they're even alive." He says hopelessly.

"The escape pod may have some answers-"

"The decepticons have destroyed it in our battle for the sparkling. And nearly destroyed them with it." He grumbles, nearly growling with scornful distaste. With a hum, Ratchet turns back around and decides he is going to go have a look anyway.

"Bulkhead, Bee, what were the coordinates of the shuttle that had the sparkling." He demands rather than asks. The pair look at each other, then back at Ratchet. His engine roars as he speeds to the location. It was somewhere in a secluded and abandoned camping area. When he arrives, there are dying fires and scorch marks everywhere. Tree debris litters the area. A large mound is towards the east side of the camp site, Ratchet looks up in the opposite direction of where it landed. He stalks closer to the pile of rubble and twisted metal and scans it for any reserve electricity and finds only a small pocket. "Let's hope it's enough." He says to himself as he pulls a small patch connected to the inside of his chassis by a thin cord.

When Ratchet gets back to the base, everything is dim and quiet. The others must be recharging after such a frightening afternoon. The sparklings vitals have all returned completely to normal. Such a fast recovery for one so small, on Cybertron, it would have probably taken several solar cycles for a sparkling this young to even be stable. He examines your tiny frame thoroughly, three digits, one thumb, and two others. The size of your pedes and curvature of your small frame indicate the type of bot you'll be; not only that but also the types of bots your carrier and / or sire were. Not only will you be stunted and deformed from the damage sustained, but your small build indicates you will stay small; you're a minibot.

Ratchet starts examining the fluid samples he's taken. How have you recovered so fast, and why? There are so many questions with little to no answers. Hopefully, some will shine through for your sake.

Optimus' internal clock wakes him up, 6 a.m. human time. He feels for the sparkling, optics still closed but finds nothing, not even warmth from where you were. He stands up so fast that the exhaustion left in his frame makes him slightly dizzy. He looks on to see Ratchet bouncing his left leg, sparkling held softly to his chest as they bounce up and down rapidly. A small energon cube in tiny servos. "How?"

"No idea. But I'm looking." Ratchet muses as he stares at the energon flowing on screen. "Such rapid recovery should be impossible for how small they are, not to mention the lack of nutrition. I'm going to guess that they must have been in stasis somehow. I also tried my best to get readings from the shuttle, but nothing came of it." The doctor rubs his faceplate thoroughly. "Oh, and as a matter of fact, I have been able to use my optics to find out the type of frame they have. They're a minibot Optimus, that's why they're smaller than normal. One or both of their bearers were one. Maybe even both of them were."

The prime nods his head, finally having one piece of the puzzle that's been racking his processor. "I see they are in good spirits." Optimus smiles softly.

"Yes, but they're also terribly clingy. Try it." Ratchet faces Optimus to give him access to the sparkling. Before the prime's hands can even come close, the sparkling lets out a small, high-pitched warble. "Arcee tried it earlier this morning after dropping Jack off at school. I'm surprised it hadn't woken you up." He chuckles softly.

"They've bonded to you, Ratchet. They're not ever going to want to leave your side." Optimus smiles and looks his friend in the optics. "Happy?"

Ratchet shivers and makes a disgusted sound, "Of course not, I'm tired of it, and it's only been a few hours. But, I suppose that means I'll have someone around who actually listens to me." He takes a glance at you, at the same time you look up at him, the back of your helm hitting his chassis, a small clang coming from it. Large optics glow brightly on his face, derma open on an edge of the cube, glossa licking and lapping at the energon coming from the cube. Ratchet shines a smile on you, "I know, you're the only who will listen, right?" You giggle then start wiggling from his arm. He plops you on the floor, and you take off running. Small pedes clacking with each step.

"Fast." Optimus chuckles. The two watch as you explore. After a while, only Optimus watches, Ratchet exploring your blood for more answers. He watches as you run and jump and climb, trying not to interfere too much as it could ruin your curiosity and hunger for answers. A trip here, stumble there, you've yet to scrape anything. You climb onto a large box and start relaxing until you eventually fall into a soft recharge still in your sitting position. Prime decides to leave you there to look for your small cube that you discarded carelessly.

Engines thrum through the tunnel; the children are free from "prison," as they like to call it. The roar of engines and cries of happiness are like the sound of a flash-bang going off, but you don't stir, don't even twitch. Immediately, the children jump away from their companions, "Where are they!?" Miko shouts excitedly, looking around for a sign of the sparkling.

"Are they doing any better? Arcee said they were moving around this morning." Jack points back at Arcee with his thumb as she stands with her arms crossed.

"Yeah, are they okay, Ratchet? Bee told me about how important it is, that they're probably the very last sparkling alive?" Rafael pushes up his glasses, staring holes into the doctor for answers.

"Yes, they're probably the very last one. And they're fine, just fine. They're a little tired, though." Ratchets servo points in the direction of the small one without looking at them. The children and bots all turn their heads in unison to see the little one recharging on a box of supplies. With a gasp Miko coos at the sight, Bulkhead follows her lead and coos, too.

"How cute." The group of onlookers say in a chorus.

"You let them take the sparkling!?" Megatron swings a fist at Starscream, who dodges the blow just in time. The large grey mech is angered beyond belief. They had one shot, one, and Starscream and his dearest doctor blew it. Speaking of the good doctor, he points at him accusing, "And you;" the red mech flinches and stiffens up, standing tall, "you could have snatched them up and gotten out of there faster than any of them could blink, but instead you wanted to dig yourself a pity hole and lay there leaking like a fool!"

"Well, lord Megatron, I-" Knockout stutters.

"Quiet!" Megatrong trembles with frustration, "I don't care what you were or were going to do about it, you've failed. Both of you." He growls. "Soundwave! Do you have any information from that escape pod?" The tall, lanky black figure of his most trusted nods in confirmation. "Perfect." He turns around to stare out the large window, clouds roll beneath the ship.

"What are we going to do with them when we catch them, my lord?" Starscream asks fearfully, unfurling to stand tall.

"That's need to know information, Starscream. I can't risk you exploiting my plans any longer. Your folly has disrupted my trust in you." He turns to look down on his seeker, arms folded behind his back, "When the time comes, I will ask you for your presence, but for now, I want you out of my sight." He warns with a hiss.

Soundwave slowly approaches Megatron, bumping Starscreams shoulder, making the shorter mech frown and make a disgruntled noise. On the blank, smooth surface of Soundwaves faceplate an image of a small bot, their identity, and background information displayed neatly. Megatron stares and thinks, claws scratching at the palms of his servos. "Hmmm, are they alive? Did you find anything else?" Soundwave doesn't move, but the images on his display flash and warble. A devilish smile crawls onto Megatrons faceplate, "Hmmm, too bad, I suppose."

You woke up half an hour ago and started hanging out with the children. You want to stay as close to Ratchet as possible, so that means that's where everyone else has to be. You sit right next to the mechs pedes as he works on the base systems and getting test results from your energon. On occasion, you touch his pede, making sure he hasn't moved from his spot. When you reach up for him this time, though, you pull yourself from the floor, using the red mech as leverage. You stand somewhere around Miko or Rafael's height, too small to have a frame like Bee or Arcee.

"So they're a minibot?" Miko asks for the hundredth time.

"Yes, Miko." Ratchet says plainly.

"And they aren't going to get very big?" She follows up as she takes you servo in her hand and you coo.

"No, Miko. They'll be half of Arcee's height at the most." Ratchet nearly mumbles as he looks at a petri dish.

"Cool. What's their car mode?"

"They don't have one-"

"What?! How come? Is it cause they're too small, or are they deformed? Do they have shaking baby syndrome?"

"Ugh, you have to be around 50 to a hundred years old for your frame to be at least mostly formed. They are only 35 years old, and they still don't have much color other than a midnight blue tint that I'm assuming is from a carrier or sire. But even that is changing. You see the cloudy white and pale blue mixing together, they are changing, still forming, it'll take years for them to develop the part in us that even scans vehicles. They might not even choose a vehicle mode. They are called alt-modes for a reason, Miko, not every bot turns into a vehicle." Ratchet explains forcefully, and for just a moment, it's quiet before Jack pipes in.

"Wait, you guys can turn into other stuff?" He asks.

"Not us. We're too big to pose as something smaller than a vehicle. I mean, there is mass displacement, but it's not very comfortable, not to mention extremely dangerous." Arcee explains kindly to the young man.

"It's a method of transformation that has been abandoned for centuries, too many health issues." Ratchet adds. "Smaller bots like them," He points at you, "though, can. It doesn't cause any problems for minibots surprisingly."

"Mass displacement? Like, using a built-in shrink ray?" Rafael takes a turn asking questions.

"Yes, but it's a faulty organ that we have since evolved without, like how you evolved to the point you no longer have gills." Ratchet chuckles, making Raf shiver. You shiver, too, but it turns into trembling, shaking, and joints locking up. You make an unhappy and uncomfortable noise. Your grip on Miko's hand makes her whine and pull it from you.

"Ow, what's the matter?" She cries.

You race to Ratchets' side and beg for help with your little optics. Your feelings are so loud, you're scared, but why? "What's the matter?" He asks highly concerned as he pulls you up. You just whine and wiggle. Your frame, "Why are you so cold? What's the matter with you?" He starts trying to frantically diagnose you and your symptoms. Cold temperature, shaking, stiffness, and discomfort these are all signs of a growthspurt. He smiles and shushes you calmly.

"Stand up." He puts you down, still holding your servos, "it's okay, stand up." He supports and comforts you. "I know it's painful. Your frame is changing, but you'll be okay."

"Gonna shoot up, huh?" Arcee places a servo on her hip and watches you with a smile.

"Yes," Ratchet grins, "It's about time anyways. They're a bit of a runt, but that's not their fault. Mini's have always been small, and some even smaller than each other. This little one, unfortunately." You stretch and stand on the tips of your pedes as your limbs slowly extend. Your frame grows a bit larger every couple of seconds. "Is definitely smaller than the average minibot."

"Even a midget to their own kind, huh?" Jack asks, getting a couple of confused looks from some of the bots and the other humans.

"Midget?" Ratchets optics narrow.

"Yeah, like a dwarf, I should have said that, actually." He rubs the back of his neck.

"Dwarf?" Bulkhead says the word slowly as if it's uncomfortable to say.

"Yeah, like Raf." Miko points at the smaller teen who shyly waves.

"Oh, well, then yes." Ratchet says, still somewhat confused by what the children are talking about. "They'll be like Rafael." He looks to his screen then back at you, "I have a strong feeling that this is one of their last growth spurts. It's terribly late, but under the circumstances, it is to be expected. Besides, they're old enough." Old enough indeed. Ratchet is excited to see where this little one is going. Hopefully, you can bring the start of a new cybertron when you all get there.

[probablyasocialecologist]

This week, a 2,500-page leak, first reported by Search Engine Optimization (SEO) veteran Rand Fishkin, gave the world an insight into the 26-year-old mystery of Google Search. “I think the biggest takeaway is that what Google’s public representatives say and what Google search engine does are two different things,” Fishkin said in an emailed statement to Gizmodo.

[...]

King notes that one ranking feature “homepagePagerankNs” suggests the notoriety of a website’s homepage could prop up everything it publishes. Fishkin writes the leak references a system called NavBoost—first referenced by Google’s VP of Search, Pandu Nayak, in his Department of Justice testimony—which purportedly measures clicks to boost rankings on Google Search. Many in the SEO industry are taking these documents as confirmation of what the industry has long suspected: A website deemed popular by Google may receive a higher Search ranking for a query even though a lesser-known site may have better information.

[...]

In a video from 2016, a Google Search representative declared, “We don’t have a website authority score.” In an interview from 2015, another Googler said, “Using clicks directly in ranking would be a mistake.” It’s hard to make sense of these comments now in light of the leaked documents and Google’s response. “This response is a perfect example of why people don’t like or trust Google,” Fishkin said. “It’s a non-statement that doesn’t address the leak, provides no value, and might well have been written by an AI trained on the past decade’s most soulless corporate messaging.” In the era of AI answers, Ruby notes that the way Google ranks web pages is more important than ever. Instead of a series of links to various perspectives, you might just get one straight answer thanks to Google’s new AI Overviews. However, we’ve seen 10-year-old Reddit posts get strange amounts of authority, telling some users to put glue in their pizza. How Google chooses authority is increasingly important, since the top result may be the only one with a voice now.

30 May 2024

[askagamedev]

Doing this on anon for obvious reasons but is there any chance of getting hired as an entry level game dev in 2025? I've been unemployed for nearly two years since graduating from uni and I'm just getting rejection after rejection from game companies. All the posts are looking for senior devs, team leads, or managers. I have friends who've given up on the industry entirely. Is there any hope? Or am I fighting a losing battle here...

In times of economic difficulty or uncertainty, the number of overall jobs decreases because the number of cancellations rises. New studios do start up, but entry level positions are rare since most of the new studios are looking for funding and they need the core senior dev team to build enough of a prototype to sell the idea to the money people. Were I in your place, I would do two things - I would first widen my search to look for work in adjacent fields where I could train my primary skills, and I would secondly do amateur game dev in my spare time to use as experience as I apply for new jobs.

The first approach is to get a game dev adjacent job. If you're an artist, this could mean illustration, commissions, contract work, or whatever else. Engineering could mean working in simulation software, B2B stuff, graphics, user interface, server engineering, and so on. Producers should focus project management positions and the like. Designers are probably the hardest to find something nearby, a UX designer position or maybe working in training/simulation software or casino games would be a decent fit. Regardless what it is you find, find something to earn some money while you try to get the real job you want.

Secondly, work on your own game dev project in your spare time. Create art assets, build gameplay systems, create game content, do stuff to level up and grow your skills. The self-driven project experience will be noticed on your resume when you apply to positions. We hiring managers want to see that kind of stuff on resumes, especially if you can't find a job in the field. We know that finding a job is hard, we won't hold it against you when we're hiring at entry level.

It's important to remember that entry level work has lots of applicants. Luck plays as large a part in the hiring process as the resume and skills. This could mean that the hiring manager has already selected a candidate or has a candidate further along in the interview process than you at the time of application, or that we already have an offer out for someone, or that the project has changed and the position is a ghost job that the recruiters haven't taken down yet. As such, it's a numbers game - the more shots you take, the more likely you'll get a response (especially if you take the time to [optimize your chances]). If you really want to work professionally as a game dev, you need determination to keep going. Find something to pay the bills, keep doing it in your spare time, and update your resume before firing off a fresh round of applications every six months or so.

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Frequent Questions: The FAQ

[endgamelukola]

do you believe everything the media and photographs tell you to believe?

if so, this is a post that isn't for you.

[also, I went with the autocomplete in the image, which is why Nicola's name is spelled incorrectly in the search, jsyk]

I wanted to call out that the first three top stories links on Google have Nicola Coughlan linked to Jake Dunn. Each link is to a news source that has no credible source to rely on. Terms such as "rumored"; "seem to confirm" and "believed to be" are used. One of the stories claims to have reached out to Nicola's and Jake's teams for comment, but there's no mention of any responses.

I think it's interesting to note that while the first paragraph or so of each of these articles summarize what's been photographed of Jake and Nicola – which I would argue are moments between friends, much like her interactions with Luke Thompson, Jack Rooke, and Mark Peacock – but aren't able to state anything more in the articles. The articles then diverge into information and previously quoted material from Coughlan about her relationship with who? Luke Newton. Because that's the only relationship she's ever openly spoken about to media sources.

We can continue to split microscopic hairs, but Nicola has never directly answered the question of whether she's solely friends with Luke Newton. She cleverly walks around the question, in the hopes that many will just assume she's friends and nothing more. Which is what a lot of people are doing. And that's their prerogative to do so.

In doing further reading about PR practices, I ran across a post from The Chi Group that discussed a couple of ways that public figures work to combat misinformation about them without making explicit statements:

"Pinning Corrective Posts: Pinning a correction or accurate update to the top of a social media profile can ensure that followers see the correct information first."

Okay, so what does Nicola have pinned to her Instagram post? Her own achievements in the media spheres as of late, where she noticeably mentions Luke Newton, even when it isn't within an ideal context to do so. And as always, the Bridgerton Season 3 promo post. Nothing about relationships or anything hinting to a connection with Jake Dunn.

"Search engine optimization (SEO) is a powerful tool in ensuring that accurate information surfaces in search results, rather than misleading or false content. PR professionals can optimize their content by:

Using Relevant Keywords: Including keywords that users might search when looking for information on a topic can help ensure that accurate content appears in search results.

Publishing on Authoritative Websites: Contributing articles or guest blogs to reputable sites can boost the visibility and credibility of the accurate narrative.

Regularly Updating Content: Keeping web pages updated with the latest information ensures that search engines recognize the content as current and relevant, helping it rank higher."

So the SEO is pushing Jake and Nicola together here in regards to relationship searching, and where Luke Newton has scrubbed SEO information linking him to Antonia, Nicola hasn't done that. I don't think she feels the need when, as stated above, the articles can't seem to gather much about her and Jake Dunn in the first place and revert back to talking about her 'gorgeous' relationship with Luke Newton.

Re: publishing on authoratative websites. The first three sources are from People Magazine, Yahoo reposting an article from Glamour, and The Sun. I certainly don't turn to these outlets for authoritative news, and I hope you don't either.

Re: regularly updating content. Can you point me in the direction of any content published by Nicola Coughlan's social media accounts that provides the latest information about her and Jake Dunn?

I rest my case.

[sybbi]

The thing I really don't understand about AI in response to search results is what exactly services gain from it. I know just about every tech service is now dipping their hands into training AI programs with the hopes of monetizing it somehow someday, but in the meantime, isn't it like shooting themselves in the foot? The value of search engines isn't just that an answer is put in front of you, it's that people can look through sources themselves and find the information they need or evaluate the veracity of the sources themselves. For websites, it's supposed to be that if you've optimized yourself enough, you'll appear higher in the search results, thus more traffic and potential ad revenue. But if people were to just take the AI results at their word and not click through to anything else, doesn't that tank the value of search engine optimization in the first place? If you're not driving traffic and ad revenue for certain sites, and you're promoting potential garbage to your non-business users, what is the value of your engine? Aren't the people who were paying to have their links placed higher on Google's results pages pissed that, not only are they potentially not getting the traffic they may once have been getting, but the thing they were paying for -- to be at the top of the page, no scrolling necessary -- isn't what they're getting? You have to scroll past all that AI shit, and while you're at it you might as well scroll past all the links marked as ads to the stuff that is there on merit, right? How does any of this make sense?

[collapsedsquid]

In an environment like Medicare, where the systems and controls have been standardized and industrialized, this allows the fraudster to use a technique that the management professor and Medicare historian Malcolm Sparrow christened “shotgun, then rifle.” You first create a panoply of fake transactions, claims, or orders, and see which ones get rejected. Then, having used the “shotgun” phase to gather information about the checking process, you move to the “rifle,” and fire off as many duplicates or slight variations as you can of the ones that worked. The government is often a victim of this sort of tactic, because it has some unusual characteristics as a victim (it is large, and has problems turning customers away: see Chapter 11). Many defense procurement frauds work in a similar way. But large private-sector entities are also vulnerable to shotgun/rifle approaches—something like this tactic is usually at the heart of organized insurance fraud, as well as some credit-card and mortgage frauds. Usually at the heart of a shotgun/rifle disaster, you will find a system that somebody has painstakingly engineered to optimize for the average unit cost. This is of course the right thing to do for most industrial processes, but you need to be careful that the thing you’re working on is an industrial process and not a decision-making process. Optimizing for the common case is not the same thing as trying to get the right answer, and a single medium-sized fraud can blow away all the costs saved by shaving a cent off a hundred thousand “normal” transactions.

DOGE might be able to find fraud in medicare, but they would probably be recapitulating or just taking credit for the already existing efforts that continue to search for medicare fraud and whose employees might have been already fired. You can see the problems with "efficiency" here, it was the search for efficiency in claims processing that gets us here. But you can also see the "one-and-done" approach is precisely what's not going to solve the problem, you need continual effort as scammers change their methods as well, Permanent Revolution you could call it.

[inkstainederudite]

Chapter 1 — Knowledge Is Not Power

(Word Count: 2,146)

Eric x Reader (Eventually)

There is a certain kind of silence in Erudite that no other faction has.

It is not the silence of peace. Not the hush of comfort or the absence of noise. It is the quiet hum of judgment. The sterile stillness of people who listen before they speak, observe before they act. Every movement, every breath is calculated. Controlled.

(Y/N) wakes to this silence, as always.

Her room is exact—just like everything else in her life. Walls painted a cold, functional shade of pale gray. A steel-framed bed, the sheets tucked tight at ninety-degree corners. A single bookshelf. Two tablets stacked neatly on her desk, charged overnight. Everything in its place. Nothing out of order.

She sits up slowly, blinking away the remnants of an uneasy dream. One she can’t quite remember, only that it left her jaw clenched and her chest heavy. The kind of dream she would never admit to anyone. Not here. Not even to herself, if she could help it.

Her bare feet touch the cold floor. A shiver climbs up her spine.

The Erudite compound is always too cold. They say it keeps the mind sharp. Logical. Undistracted. (Y/N) isn’t sure if that’s true, but she’s long since stopped questioning it out loud.

She dresses in silence: soft blue blouse, dark slacks, a sleek, dark gray sweater that hugs her arms like armor. Not a single wrinkle. She checks the mirror—not for vanity, but for precision. Her hair is braided and pinned in a style approved by her mother. Her expression is unreadable, her eyes steady.

That’s what people see when they look at her: steady. Composed. Just like Jeanine.

But they don’t see the thoughts constantly turning just behind her eyes.

They don’t see the weight.

The halls of the compound are already alive by the time she steps out of her room.

Not loud—never loud—but full of motion. Glass doors slide open on whispered tracks. Screens flicker on as people pass. A group of analysts cluster around a table in one of the common rooms, debating something about resource allocations for the Factionless districts. Their voices are low, clipped, precise.

(Y/N) doesn’t stop. She walks past them, silent as a shadow. No one greets her.

Not because they don’t know her.

Because they do.

She is Jeanine Matthews’ daughter.

And that means she is watched.

Not spoken to. Not trusted. Watched.

She’s learned to move quietly. To answer questions before they’re asked. To never show hesitation—even when it burns in her throat like acid. The wrong tone, the wrong look, the wrong question could be the beginning of the end. Not because she’d be exiled. No. That would be too kind.

Because her mother would notice.

The dining area is bright with artificial sunlight.

Erudite engineers designed it to mimic natural circadian rhythms, though (Y/N) doubts they’ve ever bothered to test its actual effectiveness. She steps through the glass doorway and immediately sees her mother, seated alone at the long central table.

Jeanine Matthews is already reading, a tablet in one hand, tea in the other. Her posture is perfect. Not a strand of hair out of place. Her white coat is crisp, the Erudite insignia gleaming on the lapel. She looks like a statue carved from ice—flawless, cold, and utterly unyielding.

(Y/N) approaches quietly and takes the seat across from her. Her breakfast is already there—protein-enhanced toast, a single boiled egg, half a grapefruit. Calorically optimized. Precisely portioned. No room for preference.

Jeanine doesn’t look up from her tablet.

“Your aptitude test is today,” she says, her voice as calm and impersonal as a data report.

“I know,” (Y/N) replies, keeping her tone equally flat.

Jeanine finally lifts her gaze, eyes scanning (Y/N)’s face with surgical precision. “You’ve always scored well on assessments. I expect this will be no different.”

There is no warmth in her voice. No pride. Only expectation.

(Y/N) picks up her fork. “Of course.”

A pause. A sip of tea.

Then Jeanine sets the tablet down, folding her hands over it. “Remember what I’ve taught you. Logic is not just the foundation of Erudite—it is the foundation of civilization. Emotion obscures truth. And truth, above all else, is what sustains order.”

“I understand,” (Y/N) murmurs, slicing a neat section of grapefruit.

“Good.” Jeanine’s eyes narrow slightly. “Because deviation from one’s designated faction, particularly when one is well-suited, reflects not just personal failure—but ideological dissonance.”

(Y/N) doesn't flinch, but she feels it. That subtle pressure. The weight beneath the words.

“I have no intention of failing,” she says.

Jeanine leans back. “No one intends to. But some… are born divided.”

And there it is. The warning. The test before the test.

(Y/N) lowers her gaze to her plate. Her hands are steady. Her voice is smooth. “I am not divided.”

Jeanine says nothing. Just studies her for a beat too long, then returns to her tablet like the conversation never happened.

But (Y/N) can still feel the silence between them. Heavy. Chilling.

Like a knife pressed to glass.

The glass walls of the Erudite compound reflect a world made of angles and edges. There is no softness here—no unnecessary texture or color. Everything exists because it is useful. Everything functions because it must.

(Y/N) walks the corridors with practiced efficiency, her bag slung over one shoulder. The materials inside—notes she doesn’t need, schedules she already memorized—are symbolic more than practical. Carrying them gives people a reason not to question her. And in Erudite, appearances are often more important than truth.

Not that anyone would dare question Jeanine Matthews’ daughter. Not out loud.

The halls are populated with scholars, analysts, and researchers already hard at work. Some peer into microscopes, others into screens filled with cascading data. Conversations float through the air like low-level static—dense with terminology, stripped of anything resembling emotion.

Her footsteps make no sound on the polished floor.

As she passes, a few heads turn—but they don’t acknowledge her. They assess. Her existence registers as a variable to be noted, not a person to be spoken to.

She doesn’t mind. Not really. This is how it’s always been.

A group of newer Erudite  slightly older than her gathers outside one of the lower labs, tablets in hand. She recognizes most of them. Nolan is among them—tall, sharp-cheeked, always too quick to smirk at someone else’s expense. He leans against the glass wall, glancing up just in time to see her approach.

“Well, if it isn’t Erudite royalty,” he says, voice pitched low but clear. Just loud enough to make sure others hear.

(Y/N) doesn’t slow down.

“Off to your aptitude test?” Nolan continues. “Or did your mother already rig it for you?”

She pauses—not because the words sting, but because they’re so predictable. She turns her head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.

“I suppose we will be finding out soon, won’t we?”

A few of the others exchange looks.

(Y/N) turns away, already moving.

She doesn’t get satisfaction from the exchange. That would imply she cares what he thinks. She doesn’t. She just understands the value of silence—and when to break it.

Outside, the courtyard is bathed in morning light. Artificial, of course—the compound is surrounded by mirrored barriers and holographic sky panels to mimic natural weather cycles. Still, the sunlight feels real enough on her skin. Almost warm.

She pauses near the central garden—an ornamental space filled with symmetrical rows of trimmed hedges and genetically optimized plants. Everything about it is designed for efficiency. Even the flowers bloom on schedule.

A small child, no more than five, stumbles past her, chasing a rolling toy. A woman—likely a researcher—swoops in seconds later to retrieve him, offering a hushed apology before guiding the boy away. The moment is brief. Gentle.

(Y/N) lingers longer than she should, watching them.

Jeanine would call it a waste of time. Unnecessary sentiment. But something about it—something about the soft curve of the boy’s smile, the way the woman’s hand rested on his back—sticks in her mind.

She tucks it away. A mental snapshot. Something to revisit later.

Then she hears it.

A distant thunder. Not weather. Not in Erudite.

The Dauntless train.

She moves toward the edge of the courtyard, where the glass arches give a sweeping view of the city below. Her breath catches—not visibly, of course—but enough that she feels it in her ribs.

The train barrels across its elevated tracks, metal screaming, smoke trailing like a banner behind it. It doesn’t slow. It never does. And from its sides—leaping like sparks from a fire—are the Dauntless.

They jump.

From a moving train. From impossible heights. They roll, land, laugh like gravity is a suggestion.

She watches in stillness, the scene unfolding like something out of a simulation—too chaotic to be real, too vivid to ignore. They move with such wild, unfiltered energy. She can practically hear it echoing through the compound’s reinforced walls.

And then—

She sees him.

Not the first to jump. Not the last. He doesn’t throw himself from the train like the others—he descends from it, brutal and clean, landing hard and rising harder. His coat flares behind him like the wing of a dark bird. His eyes are sharp, cutting across the courtyard, and for a fraction of a second—

He looks up.

Right at her.

Their eyes meet.

The breath she didn’t know she was holding stills. It’s not attraction. Not yet. It’s something stranger. Something older. Like the moment her simulation results flicker on screen—like seeing a new variable in an equation that once made sense.

Unaccounted for. Unbalanced.

He looks away.

She doesn’t.

The walk to the testing chamber is long.

Not in distance—Erudite buildings are designed with ruthless efficiency—but in weight. Each step is measured. She isn’t being watched, not obviously, but the eyes of the faction are always present. Data logs. Surveillance nodes. Performance analytics. Even here.

Especially here.

(Y/N) keeps her posture flawless. Her expression neutral. She has practiced this version of herself for as long as she’s been able to walk—the daughter of Jeanine Matthews must never betray uncertainty.

But inside, her thoughts crackle. Not with fear. With momentum.

The train is still echoing in her mind—the blur of movement, the way the Dauntless flew through the air as if daring the world to break them. And him. The one who didn’t leap so much as descend. Eric. His face has been stamped into her memory before she even made the conscious decision to store it.

She remembers him now. Not from files, exactly, but from fragments. A name that floated through old documents and departmental murmurs. The Erudite prodigy who defected to Dauntless and rose too quickly through the ranks. Ruthless. Efficient. Intellectually gifted but temperamentally flawed.

She never paid much attention to the gossip.

But now she wonders.

What made him leave?

What made her stay?

She arrives at the testing room on schedule—precisely one minute early. Not enough to seem eager. Just enough to be noted.

The door slides open with a soft hiss. The room inside is sterile and dimly lit. White walls, metal exam chair, a terminal glowing pale blue. A woman waits, dressed in regulation Erudite uniform—hair tightly coiled, face drawn and professional.

“(Y/N) Matthews,” the woman says, more a confirmation than a greeting.

(Y/N) nods. “Yes.”

“I’m Tessa. I’ll be administering your simulation.” Her voice is pleasant in a way that’s clearly rehearsed. “Sit down. We’ll begin shortly.”

(Y/N) crosses the room and lowers herself into the chair. The synthetic material is cold against her skin. She places her hands on the armrests, fingers relaxed. She does not fidget. She does not ask questions. She knows better than to break protocol in front of Erudite personnel—especially with her mother’s name attached to hers.

Tessa adjusts the interface at the terminal, then turns to her with a small, clinical smile.

“Just a serum injection. It will induce a controlled hallucination. Your responses will be monitored.”

(Y/N) nods again. She’s read the files. Studied the process. It should feel familiar.

But it doesn’t.

Tessa rolls over a tray. The needle is long, gleaming silver. The vial at its base glows faintly violet—biochemical compounds suspended in memory-enhancing nanofluid.

(Y/N) watches without blinking.

“This may sting,” Tessa says, more out of formality than concern.

(Y/N) doesn’t flinch as the needle pierces her skin.

The moment the liquid enters her bloodstream, the world tilts.

Not violently.

Just… away.

The last thing she sees before her vision dissolves is the soft blue glow of the terminal.

And the faint reflection of her own eyes—still open, still focused—as the simulation takes hold.

[rue-t]

Bonding

It started as a joke.

Well, at least, that’s what you thought when Lando Norris suggested a full-grid team-building retreat during the off-season.

“Imagine,” Lando had said, grinning, “all twenty of us, stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. No media, no engineers, no race strategists… just us.”

“Absolutely not,” Max Verstappen had declared immediately.

“Sounds fun,” Daniel Ricciardo had said at the exact same time.

You had laughed at the idea then, thinking it would never happen. But here you were—a literal month later—standing outside a massive cabin deep in the Swiss Alps, surrounded by snow, mountains, and (as George Russell had enthusiastically pointed out) “optimal conditions for bonding.”

“This is already a disaster,” Yuki Tsunoda muttered beside you, shivering under about ten layers of clothing.

“I give it three hours before someone tries to fight someone,” you replied, watching as Carlos Sainz and Charles Leclerc immediately got lost trying to find the front door.

“I give it two,” Yuki snorted.

⸻

Day One: Chaos Ensues

The moment the group stepped inside, the battle for bedrooms began.

“You don’t even need space!” Lando argued as he and Oscar Piastri fought over the biggest room. “You’re compact!”

“That’s not how this works,” Oscar deadpanned.

Meanwhile, Charles and Carlos were still nowhere to be found.

“There’s literally a map,” Lewis Hamilton pointed out, unimpressed, as he found them in what appeared to be a broom closet.

“I don’t trust maps,” Charles muttered, looking betrayed.

Deciding you wanted no part in the bedroom battles, you claimed a cozy room near the fireplace before anyone else could argue. It had a perfect view of the mountains, and, most importantly, it was far away from whatever chaos was unfolding in the kitchen.

Speaking of the kitchen—Pierre Gasly and Esteban Ocon had already been banned from working together after they nearly started an actual food fight while arguing over how to season the pasta.

“They’re going to kill each other before the weekend is over,” you whispered to Nico Hülkenberg as you watched them from a safe distance.

“Should we stop them?” Nico whispered back.

“No,” Kevin Magnussen answered for both of you. “This is the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all year.”

Dinner that night was somehow edible, despite the fact that Logan Sargeant had nearly set the oven on fire. Afterward, you all sat around the massive living room, a fire crackling in the background.

“I think we should do a trust exercise,” George announced.

A collective groan rippled through the group.

“Russell, this isn’t a corporate retreat,” Max grumbled.

“I don’t trust any of you anyway,” Yuki added.

“Fine,” George sighed. “No trust falls. But we should at least try some team bonding exercises.”

“Like what?” you asked, slightly suspicious.

Lando’s eyes gleamed. “Truth or dare.”

⸻

Day One: Truth or Dare Disaster

At first, it was tame.

Lewis was dared to drink an entire bottle of hot sauce (which he did with zero reaction, much to everyone’s disappointment). Checo admitted he once accidentally called Christian Horner “dad.” You got asked about your most embarrassing moment—which, considering you were stuck with twenty drivers who loved to tease, was not ideal.

And then… things escalated.

“I dare you to prank call Toto,” Lando told George.

“I value my life,” George replied.

“You have to do it,” Daniel chimed in, grinning.

With a dramatic sigh, George picked up his phone and dialed. The whole room fell silent as Toto Wolff answered on speakerphone.

“George.”

“Hi, Toto,” George said, doing an absolutely terrible job of keeping a straight voice. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to switch to Red Bull next season.”

Silence.

Then—

“You must be joking.”

The entire group collapsed into muffled laughter.

“I—uh—yeah. Just kidding,” George said quickly.

Toto sighed, deeply. “You’re with Lando, aren’t you?”

George gulped. “…Maybe.”

“Tell him he’s a bad influence.”

Toto hung up.

The room erupted.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen,” you gasped between laughs.

“Lando, you are a bad influence,” Max pointed out, shaking his head.

“Proud of it,” Lando grinned.

⸻

Day Two: The Great Snow War

You woke up to an eerie silence. Which, considering you were trapped in a house with nineteen professional drivers, could only mean one thing: something bad was about to happen.

You cautiously made your way downstairs and were immediately hit with a snowball.

“AMBUSH!” Alex Albon yelled, sprinting past you as Lando and Yuki launched another round of snowballs from behind the couch.

“What the hell—” you sputtered, shaking snow out of your hair.

Before you could fully process what was happening, you were yanked behind a makeshift snow fort—made entirely out of couch cushions and an overturned coffee table. Charles was crouched beside you, looking completely serious as he handed you a snowball.

“You’re on our team now,” he said.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” you replied.

“You have no choice,” Carlos added, peeking over the fort before ducking as Max sniped a perfect shot at his head.

Across the room, Logan and George had somehow managed to construct an actual barricade, while Fernando Alonso—of all people—was treating the entire thing like a military operation.

“FLANK THEM FROM THE LEFT!” he commanded, dodging an incoming snowball with reflexes that shouldn’t be that good off-track.

Lewis, refusing to participate in the madness, was calmly sipping tea on the sidelines with Daniel Ricciardo, who was filming the whole thing with tears of laughter in his eyes.

And you? Well, you had accepted your fate.

Grabbing a handful of snow from the windowsill, you turned to Charles with a grin.

“Let’s do this.”

And with that, you launched yourself into battle.

⸻

Day Three: Maybe This Was a Good Idea After All

By the time the last day rolled around, everyone was exhausted—but in the best way. The snow war had ended in a dramatic truce, the kitchen had (somehow) survived Esteban and Pierre’s constant bickering, and miraculously, no one had actually fought anyone.

You sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching as the rest of the grid lazily sprawled around the cabin. Max had (reluctantly) joined a Mario Kart tournament with Lando and Checo, while Lewis and Logan attempted to teach Yuki how to make hot chocolate without burning anything.

“I hate to say it,” you admitted, glancing at George, who looked smug, “but maybe this was actually a good idea.”

George beamed. “Team bonding always is.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you knew he was right.

Because for all the chaos, all the ridiculousness, and all the unexpected snowball fights—there was something nice about being here, away from the pressure of racing, just existing with the people who understood this crazy world the best.

And maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t mind doing it all again next year.

[boxboxblog]

Race Management

Hello, this post is a response to an ask about team orders and lift off. I thought it would be best to answer that by making a full post on race management and include those things. I will be discussing a lot of technical stuff, so if you have not already I would recommend reading my How Do F1 Cars Work? series. Enjoy!

So, when I say race management, I am describing the ways teams and drivers manage their cars and themselves in order tor each maximum potential. This is a very complex variety of procedures, and also allows drivers to conserve resources throughout the race and adapt to changing conditions. Here are the key aspects involved in race management.

Tire Management

So I have an in depth post about tire management here and a post about tire strategy here, but just to summarize tire management is a way of driving that puts less pressure and heat on the Pirelli tires, so they degrade slower. They do this by doing smoother drives, going into corners a bit slower, varying their driving line, or in general not pushing as much as they can.

Brake Temp Management

So, due to the nature of the carbon-carbon brakes, the drivers must within an optimal temperature in order to get the highest amount of performance. If they get too hot, they can get something called 'brake fade' which reduces braking efficiency. If they get too cold, they can simply stop working. They mange this temperature by altering their braking techniques throughout the race, adjusting cooling ducts to channel air to or away from the brakes, etc. They can also do something called lift-off, where the driver eases off of the throttle and shifts weight to the front when they corner. While this is for more than just brake temp management, it does help with that.

Lift-Off

I explained lift off a little bit up there but other than for brakes, why would drivers do this? Well, the way that this technique moves the weight to the front actually can help with cornering speed, if the driver performs it correctly they get better better grip in the front, which allows them to have better rotation through the turn. This does require precise control to avoid a full loss of rear traction, and so only the most experienced drivers tend to use it. If they don't perform it properly, it can lead them to spin out their back tires. For the managing side, I would say this is a way of managing speed more then anything and also ties in to brake temp management.

Gears

So throughout races, drivers constantly shift gears. In F1 they have eight forward gears and one reverse gear, and they change gear depending on a variety of factors. Track layout, conditions, corner styles, length of straights, necessary tire management, necessary fuel management, etc. Certain gears get the best performance around certain areas, and while this process is semi-automatic, drivers still have to think on their feet a lot of the time. I will say, they learn this stuff from a young age so most of it is instinct and muscle memory more than anything. If they manage their gear shifts properly, it is just a general more efficient drive and puts less wear on the car.

Engine Modes

So, watching race you might hear them discussing what engine mode to go into, or complaining that a certain mode has no power. When they are discussing this they are talking about. Well to put in simply engine modes are the ways of adjusting the power and performance of the ICE and the flow of electricity throughout the hybrid unit. Some modes use a very high power, often for attacks or qualifying, but drain the fuel faster and stress out the engine. Other modes use a lower amount of power, but keep everything calm, and are used usually mid race when consistency is key. Using the correct engine modes at the correct times helps manage the car better and keep race pace where it should be.

ERS Management

So, the ERS system provides additional power recovered from energy from heat and kinetics (usually braking). This power is used during overtakes or defending, so when you see that little battery that says they are charging on screen, they are using energy from their ERS. This is another crucial aspect of racing, and so drivers must be smart about when they use this power during their race. If they use it too early, they might have difficulty fighting people off late or overtaking. If they refrain from using it until too late, it's just a waste of power. When driver manage their ERS deployment or charging efficiently it can provide massive strategic boosts to the car.

Fuel Management

So, as I am sure most people know, refueling is banned during F1 races. This is mostly due to the dangers involved (shout out to the time Jos Verstappen got fully covered in fuel and set on fire, a big part of why it was banned). So nowadays, drivers start with all the fuel they need to run the whole race, as long as they manage their fuel use well. The teams want to have as little fuel as possible because more fuel = more weight, so being able to operate on this low amount of fuel is a fantastic skill to have. There are a variety of methods used to save fuel mid-race, like using lower engine modes, smooth throttle application, and LICO. LICO stands for Lift and Coast, and is where the drivers lift off the throttle earlier and coast into braking zones. The danger of this method is that it lowers lap time exponentially and can lead to tires becoming too cooled, thus loosing grip. A great example of this is what happened to Charles Leclerc at the 2024 Mexico GP. He was told to LICO for a majority of the race, lost a lot of time to the car behind, and also lost grip, almost sending it into the walls. In order to avoid instances like that and perform this properly, teams and drivers must make sure they are not sacrificing too much speed or loosing their tire temp through the other types of management.

Team Orders

Perhaps the most controversial side of race management. Team orders are strategic instructions from the team to the drivers with the goal of maximizing points, avoiding incidents on track between teammates, and other such things. For example, drivers may be ordered to let their teammate pass if the car behind has a faster pace or is fighting for the WDC. Drivers can also be told to hold position and not try to overtake on their teammate if the team is happy with both of their position and does not want any possible contact or to lose time fighting. The bottom line is that while this may seem unfair to the outside eye, teams are doing what they do to get the best results for themselves and are using their every tool, including the fact that they have two drivers. Teams who use team orders effectively and strongly tend to be the most championship winning teams, like Mercedes (Valterri Bottas yielded to Lewis Hamilton a lot) and Red Bull (Sergio Perez yields to Max Verstappen a lot). Teams who don't have strong orders often shoot themselves in the foot. For example, McLaren did not have strong team orders until recently, and in Monza one of there drivers performed an overtake, which he was allowed to do and did so cleanly, that meant their championship fighting driver ended up lower in the points. All in all, whether you hate them or love them, team orders are a massive part of how races eventually finish and how teams win.

Communication

Throughout all of this, drivers are in constant communication with the pit wall. They make all of their decisions for these varying types of management based on the information that is passed along to them. This is why making sure that communication channel remains open, clear, and healthy is so important. A driver who curses or gets angry at every word their engineer says will not be using them to the best of their ability. Likewise, a team that does not take the driver's experience and advice into consideration when making decisions will usually make mistakes. For example, we have seen driver lose their temper over the radio and mess up shortly after. We have also seen teams ignore a drivers request and then you find out the driver was right, and the pit wall screwed up an entire race. All in all, strong communication allows everyone to make the best decisions, respond to issues, and maximize performance.

Alright, so that is an overview of what teams and drivers manage during races. A lot of stuff, right? Racing is a lot more than just driving the car, and the different ways teams try and manage things can sometimes seem a little pointless. It usually isn't, as long as they do it properly and as long as they manage all of these things in harmony.

I hope I answered any questions.

Cheers,

-B

[drcyrusbortel]

The Assistant

It's not an interrogation. They just want to properly debrief you.

That was what Rex had said, and Hunter had nodded along. And Omega trusted both with her life.

Unfortunately, it seemed that nobody had told the intelligence officer in the nondescript - Alderaanian? - uniform, or the designers of the dimly lit durasteel cubicle that he had chosen as a venue for his... debriefing.

The spook fired up his holorecorder and set it on the table, bathing them in an eerie blue glow.

"Let's start from the beginning, shall we? What's the first thing you remember?"

=/=

…a beige-and-red helmet filling her mind with ideas and attitudes, facts and figures, instincts and reflexes, pouring composite memories and unlived experience and rote understanding into a meticulously engineered personality imprint stamped upon optimized wetware… 

The words came to her, unbidden, as she looked around the flash-training center. Walls of pure white adorned with a magnificent ultraviolet mosaic of Academian Vor Nui’s Great Lecture, as vivid as day in her mind’s eye, stared back at her. The other rigs were empty, odd considering the high facility overhead…

The door dilated, and a pair of tall, slender Kaminoans - adorned with the insignia of very senior scientific officers - glided into the room.  

She snapped to attention, rattled off her serial number, and reported herself fit for service to the scientists towering over her.

The younger Kaminoan was first to speak. 

“I am Doctor Nala Se. This is Chief Scientist Ko Sai. We are part of the senior scientific staff providing support to Kaminoan Industries’ flagship Republic Military Project. Can you describe your training?”

She blinked. Medicine. Genetics. Bioengineering. 

And much, much, more. 

A vague disquiet stirred in her chest, as she looked down at herself. Biologically five standard. Small batch production. Nonstandard flash training. Modified mass production clone, alternative template, or composite?

“Modified mass production product.” Nala Se noted. “Please proceed.”  

She almost felt dizzy, but complied with the directive, describing her scientific background even as a small part of her seemed to yearn for service of the Galactic Republic, its Constitution, and its elected officials. 

Ko Sai smiled as she completed her report. “Excellent. You will be a most useful addition to Nala Se and her team.”

“Indeed.” Nala Se said. “As you know, Kaminoan Industries, in concert with the Government of Kamino, has embarked on the greatest industrial undertaking in Kaminoan history - the creation of a military force for the Galactic Republic.”

Ko Sai continued. “In essence, we have been tasked with converting a considerable infusion of financial capital into material capital, and in particular, human capital.”

“The economy of Kamino is to be totally remade in service of this goal. Extremely large investments into plant, machinery, and associated support and defense infrastructure are ongoing across Kamino and Her Colonies.” Nala Se bent down, bringing herself eye to eye with the human. “Commensurate investments are being made into new creche production - Kaminoan and human - to provide the necessary labor. You, and others like you, are part of this human capital accumulation.”

She nodded, understanding. 

“You will be working under Nala Se in support of our contracts for Clone Army research, development, production, and sustainment. You answer to her, and ultimately to me. You are property of Kaminoan Industries.” Ko Sai looked thoughtful. “You are not property of the Galactic Republic.”

Nala Se gestured to the door. “Please follow me. We must vacate the room for the next cohort. You are the last one.”

She obeyed, and followed Nala Se out the room. 

=/=

[askagamedev]

Recently, Jason Schreier revealed some bts talks with Blizzard devs who told him that they were trying for an RTS for years but were denied by execs. I understand that execs weigh risk/reward in terms of profitability but from the consumer side, these sorts of reveals makes it seem like innovation is being stifled and shifted to the indie scene like the nothing but superhero movies. What's it look like from the dev and creative side?

Creatives want to be creative, so they pitch creative stuff. Executives care about the bottom line and return on investment. Unfortunately, the real story in the AAA space is that experimental and niche games like RTS games don't have as much of a potential market anymore. The biggest RTS in the world was Starcraft 2, and [Starcraft 2: Wings of Liberty didn't earn as much as the glowy mount in World of Warcraft] at the time.

"But why not just form smaller teams?" you might ask. The problem here is that the game development specialties don't typically lend themselves to being evenly distributed between smaller projects and larger ones - every project needs at least a tech artist, an engine programmer, a strong generalist programmer, etc. just to get off the ground. These kind of roles are rare and highly sought-after in the industry, while the others - character modelers, environment artists, level designers, gameplay programmers, AI programmers, texture artists, UI artists (and so on) aren't needed in the same numbers on small or big projects. If the studio doesn't have a good distribution of work for these devs to do, that inevitably leads to layoffs.

We want to make these games, but the feasibility of such at a studio with a large headcount of varying discipline distribution is a numbers balancing optimization game. The incentives and needs are more than just "we want to do this" - the biggest question is "Can we make this game idea work financially within the studio constraints?". Some studios have tried to make it work - Double Fine focused their development on smaller titles, Crystal Dynamics tried some smaller Tomb Raider titles, my own studio is currently trying to get approval for a new game, and so on, but it is a much more complex problem than "we want to do it but the executives don't want to".

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Got a burning question you want answered?

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Frequent Questions: The FAQ

[things-about-cars-in-posts]

OMG I'm such a dumbass I knew you did one on the GR Yaris before too, and I love her ALSO, but I actually meant the GR Supra 😳🫣 (slip of the tongue)

Gotcha.

Since I managed to take some two weeks to answer this (got distracted both by real life obligations and other posts that were meant to be very quick to make. Meant to.) y'all may have forgotten, but our dear friend of the blog had asked for opinions on the GR Yaris, hinting to its controversial status. Turns out the GR Supra is what that request, and thus that hint, was actually about - so let's talk about the car and the controversy that engulfs it.

In 1993, Toyota launched the fourth generation of its rear wheel drive sportscar (well, arguably a bit of a Grand Tourer, i.e. something more oriented to cruising than a sportscar) the Supra - which was born a quarter century earlier as a more upmarket, six cylinder version of the Celica, graduating from Celica Supra to its own dignified name with the third generation I talked about that one time I forgot to check what blog I was reblogging with.

But this time, things would be different. Most notably because the inline six the Mk4 Supra came out with was an absolute MONSTER.

Remember how I talked about the GT-R's RB26 engine being one of the greatest, most coveted production engines to ever come out of Japan? Well, the 2JZ-GTE is the other.

It was larger at 3 liters, no less powerful, and to reduce turbocharger lag it used two of them sequentially: first air goes in the smaller, more responsive turbo, then gradually some of it gets sent to the bigger turbo to make it start spinning, then when it gets going the two are finally used in conjunction. (Imagine the big turbo as a hung husband that takes a while to get it up and the small turbo as an eager stepson ready to take over until the hung one can join in for a spitroast. Or something. I don't watch porn with real people, but from what I gather the plots seem to resemble how sequential turbos work.) It even at one point got Variable Valve Timing, i.e. the ability to vary the time in which the valves open depending on engine speed, which allows to optimize tuning for performance and efficiency! (Cool thing to go over in detail if y'all want me to.) And also, the kind of things that engine is able to take make me wish I hadn't used up my porn analogy quota.

See, to chop off eons of nuance, an engine is just a big block of metal with a lot of bits attached, and the two main measures of an engine's potential are the slope of the line in the Bits Fiddled With / Power Output graph and how far up (It's up, right? The second axis you specify is the vertical one, right?) you can take it before the block becomes the weakest link - with another important point being when you need to start messing with internals, i.e. the components inside the engine, e.g. pistons (the things the boom pushes down), camshaft (the thing the pistons spin) and connecting rods (you can guess).

So for instance, just to make the point that an engine can be beloved without having much overall tuning potential, in one of Toyota's most beloved engines, the 4A-GE four cylinder illustrated above (yes, the one from that white and black car in all the eurobeat videos), some pin the block's limit as low as 250hp. The 2JZ, tho? It can take 800hp without even messing with the internals, and once you get your grubby hands on those you can keep pushing the line to some 2000hp. That is two Bugattis. That is 40 times my car. That is well above the power level where "tires that will at any point grip" and "tires that are in any way road legal" stop intersecting.

I am not in the slightest exaggerating when I say that this and the Skyline GT-R are widely regarded as the top of Japan's 20th century automotive production. The Messi & Ronaldo of the Japanese Domestic Market. It is absolutely no coincidence this was the hero car in The Fast And The Furious.

And then in 2002, as all things, its production ended, and given the abysmal sales and catastrophic recession, Toyota decided that would be that.

And then, years later, The Teasening began.

I want to stress, almost half of my conscious life (I choose to believe the stretch from birth to kindergarten is just run-up) the world was in some state of getting teased with talk of a new Supra. The trademark on the name was renewed in 2010. In 2014 they dropped the FT-1 concept, and of course that became speculation about what the production version would look like.

Because come the fuck on, it's not gonna look like that.

Or was it?

Only five entire years and much more teasing later would we officially get an answer, when after seventeen years, the Toyota GR Supra (and for those wondering what GR means, y'all should've clicked the Yaris link >:C) hit the streets.

You know what, good enough.

Good enough to earn itself a sea of words of praise, Jason Cammisa's "The most punch-above-its-weight sportscar ever made" just some among them.

It did have its share of problems at the start, like its power being 335hp and not 382, a lack of manual transmission, and the inability to spec it with a less powerful 4 cylinder engine - well, I don't know who considered that last one a problem, but Toyota's updates solved that one too.

The Supra has a much bigger problem than those though, one no little update can solve. That red car in the background.

See, the new Supra is actually a joint venture with BMW, who made a new model of its Z4 roadster out of the platform. And unlike with the other joint-venture sportscar Toyota sells, people are big mad about that. Why?

See, the interior is engulfed in BMW switchgear and the drivetrain is all BMW (the manual gearbox took until this year to come out because BMW did not have one for that engine so Toyota had to modify another BMW transmission to fit), giving people the impression that this was less of a joint venture and more of a BMW project that Toyota tacked its design on top of, which is a problem whether true or not.

See, a range-topping sportscar is supposed to represent what the brand is capable of - having it done by someone else (or so the criticism goes) is a bit like performing Hallelujah in playback.

Actually, a better musical analogy: You know "I'm back bitch" singles? When a humongous artist drops a new record with a humongous lead single about absolutely nothing but reaffirming they're the biggest fucking deal in the universe? Without Me, Bad, Gimme More, so on. Well, think of SexyBack - one of the most monumental phenomenons of its decade, most incontrovertibly proving Justin Timberlake sat atop the goddamn world. Now, imagine if, after all the years that went by between that record and the next, when he finally came out with Suit And Tie all the verses were Jay-Z. Going from a humongous statement about having the power to reach the top of the game and stay there to having to get absolutely carried by what in this logic is essentially a competitor. Basically, that's the critics' complaint: the supra went from 2JZ to too much Jay-Z.

And therein lies the other problem of the Supra: the Supra.

See, any time you evaluate something, you do so relative to its context - and when you give it a nameplate, you make that context include where else that nameplate has been. An undeserved name may not just be stupid, but even outright kill the car in some's eyes, see the case of the Dodge Dart, or get me to talk about the Ford Capri prototype recently spotted if you want to find out what I'm like when I lose my cool. (I'd liken this phenomenon to undeserved Grammies but I already used my music analogy quota too.) So the Toyota Supra does not just need to be good, it needs to deserve the name. And some argue it doesn't. But why? This thing is no less powerful, no slower, hell it's not even any bigger or heavier and we've gone over how rare that is these days! So is it the lack of backseats and a targa version? No, no one gives a crap about those. It's something deeper.

Sometimes, the problem with a revival is people base their expectation not on what the original was like in the context of its time but what it's like in the context of today (for example, I've heard people call the latest GT-R "too computerized, too assisted, far from the pure driving experience of its predecessors", when its predecessors had some of the most technologically advanced driving assists of their time and could only be called "pure" and "analog" by comparison with cars decades newer). But of course, that'll only be some people - so if what the original car looks like to modern eyes and what the original car represented at its time are two different enough concepts, any revival will receive some criticism for not being one of the two.

But for the Supra, this compounds with another problem: the original Supra (as in the previous generation, since no one gives a crap about the first three), to modern eyes, looks like a thousand-horsepower flame-spitting beast, because that's what all Supras have been turned into, and that's why you know of Supras in the first place (it sure isn't because people bought it!), and that, consciously or not, exacerbates the problem of misplaced expectations to a level akin to hearing an NBA player is about to have a brother and expecting the baby to be a 6'4" three-shooter.

But I wasn't asked about the controversies, I was asked about my take. And my take is: no realistic expectation of what a Supra would look like today was disappointed - at least not by where the car stands today. Well, unless the expectation involved backseats.

"But it was made by BMW" and so? This is a new Supra, and a good one - what does it matter how it got here? Especially when this is an upgrade over the Z4 in every way - looks way better, drives better, and now has a manual that the Z4 doesn't.

Okay, almost every way: the Supra's roof won't get out of the way. If only though, if only. Could you imagine a Toyota product that looks this good, sounds this good, goes this fast, and has a drop top? ...and maybe backseats?

Well, I can.

Yes, the badge and core concept may have some people consider it from midlife crisis mobile to old man's car. (though we know it's not a car bought by old men because if that was the case someone would be buying these). But just try to imagine sitting in this thing.

Take a couple of seconds to take in that picture and truly immerse yourself. You're in a Lexus LC500 Convertible, with a V8 at your right foot's command, its spectacular sound ready to battle the perfect sound system serenading you with your fanciest CD, because of course Lexuses still come with CD players.

Are you immersed? Okay: Someone just called your Lexus a midlife crisis car. See? You don't give a shit either, do ya.

Automatic only though. The pain. Oh, and it kind of costs as much as two Supras. But, you know, neither of those Supras will be convertibles!

Links in blue are posts of mine about the topic in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!

[ladylucksrogue]

Whumpuary Day Five

Prompt: Chills (Bly)

Also found here

Mention of illness, sepsis.

Bly wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. Actually, he was relatively certain he knew, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Not now. The evacuation window was narrow, and every second counted.

“Get those crates stacked and ready for the next LAAT! Move, now!” he barked at a nearby group of troopers, his voice sharp even through the tightness in his throat and the waves of dizziness threatening to topple him. His hands shook, barely noticeable through the armor, but he could feel it. His body shivered, chills racking him despite the heat and humidity.

It made no sense. The planet’s climate was a furnace, and his cooling systems were functioning to maintain optimal temperature. He glared at the readouts in his HUD, confirming what he already knew, everything should be fine. But it wasn’t.

His side throbbed.  The sharp ache that was spreading up his ribs with every move.  He ignored it as he adjusted the climate controls manually, overriding the system’s warnings. The relief was only temporary, but it was enough to unclench his jaw and keep him moving.

Grabbing a datapad, Bly worked through the logistics, shifting items in the timetable and squinting to clear his vision. He blinked hard, fighting the fog in his head. Once everyone was out, once they were clear, he could rest. He’d be fine.

Except it didn’t get better. The chills worsened.  His head pounded behind his eyes. He was nauseous and his side burned with every step, but he pushed through it. He had no choice. Delays weren’t an option.

The last LAAT landed, its engines kicking up dust. Bly shouted for the final squad to board.  Something moved in his ever fading peripheral vision and he turned to see Aayla moving toward him.

“All set, General,” he managed.

Aayla’s sharp gaze lingered on him, but she simply nodded and motioned for the troopers to load up. She climbed on board.  Bly followed, pausing for one last look, last boots on the ground, before signaling the pilot to lift off.

#^#^#^#

Aayla watched as Bly boarded the LAAT with far less grace than she was used to seeing. Something was wrong.

In the Force, Bly usually felt steady, calm, like a warm sunlit morning. Now, he felt dimmed, flickering, like static. He moved unsteadily, gripping the handles inside the LAAT, before settling heavily beside her. When he pulled off his helmet, her concern only spiked.

He was pale, his skin slick with sweat, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused.

“Bly…” she said softly.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Just tired…”

Before she could respond, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed. Aayla caught him before he hit the floor, her hand against his forehead. His skin was cold and clammy, though his body radiated heat. He was burning up.

“Medic!” she barked, her voice sharp. One of the troopers with a medical insignia hurried over, crouching beside her. She met his gaze over Bly’s prone form, and the tight line of his mouth told her everything she needed to know.

It wasn’t good.

#^#^#^#^#

Something was beeping. Bly furrowed his brow, struggling to place the sound. Was it his comm? Aayla’s? Why wasn’t anyone answering?

A cold, wet cloth touched his face, and he shivered, trying to pull away. His eyelids felt weighted, but he forced them open. The world was too bright, his vision fuzzy, but as it cleared, Aayla’s face came into focus.

Her concern was obvious in the tight lines of her face, but she managed a small smile. He tried to return it, but his lips barely moved.

The beeping grew louder. He turned his head and saw the machine beside him, the screen blinking with his vital signs. The pinch in his arm was an IV. His brow furrowed.

“Where am I?” he rasped.

“Medbay,” Aayla answered.

“I know that…” He gritted his teeth.

“On the ship,” she clarified.

“I feel… weird,” he muttered.

“That’s what happens when you run a high fever and nearly die of sepsis,” Aayla said bluntly. “Were you planning on telling anyone you’d been shot?”

Bly winced. “I was going to take care of it. As soon as we evacuated…”

“Bly, that wound was days old,” she interrupted. “With the humidity and your armor… you could have died. Why didn’t you tell a medic?”

“Because we were short on supplies, and we don’t get sick,” he said weakly. Even to his own ears, it sounded pathetic.

“You may not get sick easily, but you’re not immune to infection. You know better than this.” she chided, as she squeezed his hand. “You scared me.”

He sighed. “Sorry I worried you,” he said.

Her grip on his hand tightened. “Don’t do it again.”

Kriff, he felt like hell. Even moving hurt, but he managed a smile for her sake. “Yes, ma’am.”