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annwrites · 4 months

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hey, sweetheart, need a ride?

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: billy drives you home one day & asks you on a date. you have a few interactions at school

— tags: billy being a dick after getting rejected. billy pulling out all the stop to impress you in his car. billy doing his utmost to make you jealous

— tw: misogyny

— word count: 2,586

— a/n: i am aware the backseat of his camaro would not have enough room for 2 people to screw, but we're going to pretend otherwise. and, while second generation camaros had the option of an automatic transmission, we're giving billy's car a manual (it's been a min since i watched the show & have 0 idea which his particular car had. the gif i chose makes it look like he's downshfiting, so i assume manual.), bc watching men shift gears is sexy as hell.

i know their english teacher was a man, but as the show never gave him a name, i came up with one on my own.

the name of the ice-cream place is a chain that's in fl that i found while googling, but we're going to pretend they're elsewhere too lol.

"Hey, sweetheart, need a ride?"

You stop in your tracks—currently headed in the direction of the school bus which will take you home—and see Billy Hargrove, reaching across the interior of his Camaro, popping open the passenger side door with a wide smile on his face as he looks at you. He even winks.

You glance to the bus, then back to him.

"Sure my car is a lot more comfortable than the bus," he calls to you.

You take a step toward his car, then another, then lower yourself inside, shutting the door, unsure what you're doing. Or, rather, why. He'd not been at Hawkins High long—a couple of months—but he'd already gotten just a tad on your bad side.

He sat behind you in English, and more than once your ponytail had been gently tugged at or yanked. And every time you'd turned around—telling yourself you were going to finally have it out with him over it—he'd flashed you a dazzling smile and said "sorry" or "my mistake". A few times, he'd feigned complete ignorance when you looked back, a blank look on his face, a brow raised, him asking "somethin' you need darlin'?".

You always turned back around, mouth shut, and sometimes heard him then snicker. You just rolled your eyes and sat forward, closer to your desk.

Once you were buckled, you looked to Billy, and watched as his eyes trailed along your bare legs, up to the hem of your sundress which stopped at your mid-thighs, then up your chest, until finally settling on your eyes. "Where to, doll?"

You feel half-tempted to get back out.

You don't, however.

"Just home. Do you know where Poplar Tree Road is?"

His eyes continue to stare into your own, left arm propped against his open window, right gripping the wheel. "Mhm."

Finally, he readjusts, placing his left hand against the wheel, right atop the shifter, and he peels out of the school parking lot.

It's not but maybe a couple minutes later that he grabs a cassette out of the glovebox, slipping it into the player in the dash, and turning the volume up to blast Metal Health by Quiet Riot.

You wince at the sound of the overtly loud music, but say nothing—not that he’d hear you if you did, anyway.

He shifts gears, making the car jerk and the hem of your sundress flutters, briefly flashing your light pink panties underneath and you panic, shoving it back down, holding it in-place, and when you look at Billy—cheeks burning—he’s already looking at you with a satisfied, toothy grin, chewing gum in the corner of his mouth. He shifts gears again, causing you to lurch forward and he looks back to the road.

You settle back against the seat, trying to catch your bearings, until he shifts gears yet again, speeding up—the engine revving.

You glance over to the speedometer, knowing the speed limit through this particular part of town is, at most, forty, and see he’s now going well over fifty-five. You want to tell him to please slow down, but know it’d do absolutely no good. You know that he’s well-aware of what he’s doing.

He’s trying to show-off, hoping to impress you.

The music, the shifting gears and speeding, and flashing you smiles and winks. Instead, all he’s managing to do is scare the living daylights out of you, and make you think of him as utterly reckless. You decide to never catch a ride with him again. How long has he been behind the wheel, anyway? A year, a few months? You worry—or, rather, hope, for the safety of others—that maybe he’ll get his license revoked for such idiotic actions.

Once he’s climbed to sixty, you decide to finally speak up, heart now pounding as you whiz past residential homes and people walking their pets on the sidewalk.

“Could you please slow down?” You yell at him over the radio.

He glances to you, brows furrowed. “Sorry, you say somethin’, baby? I can’t hear you over the stereo!”

He shifts gears again and you lean back, holding onto your seatbelt for dear life as he hangs a right turn.

You notice that you’re on your street and you finally reach forward, turning the music down to a comfortable level. “I live just up here.”

Once Billy has parked on the curb, just in front of your house, you unbuckle yourself with slightly-shaking hands. You grab your backpack from between your feet and look at him. “Thanks for the ride.”

He has his arm propped against the open window again, his fingers drumming lightly against the top of the car. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

You turn to get out of the car, but he speaks. “So, listen, I was thinking.”

You turn back to him.

“Friday Night at the drive-in theater they’re having a showing of Nightmare on Elm Street. I was wondering if you’d want to go with me? Don’t worry, if you get scared, I’ll hold your hand.” He gives you a flirtatious smirk.

You lean back in your seat, clutching your backpack to the front of you. You know what he’s really after, and it isn’t sharing the love of cinema.

You glance out the windshield, then look back to him and sigh. “So, is that was this was, then? I thought you were doing this to be nice. To maybe make up for all the times you’ve yanked on my hair in class and picked on me. Instead, it’s to try and make another notch in your belt. Right?”

He stays quiet, staring you down, all humor now gone from his expression, fingers stilled.

You go to get out of the car and he throws at you, “I was willing to pay for your ticket and everything. Guess I can just save my money for something worth my time now.”

You get out, shutting the door behind you. You lean down, refusing to take the bait as you give him a kind smile. “Thanks again for the ride.”

He turns the car over, revving the engine. “Don’t get used to it—it won’t be happening again. Stuck-up bitch.”

He roars away with that, leaving you standing there, fuming.

When you enter English class the next day, you glance up, noting Billy is already present and seated. You desperately wish the teacher had put you anywhere but in front of him. But, as the class was full, asking to move seats would require switching with someone else, and you were sure such a sudden change in seating arrangements would then generate talk—rumors—among your peers.

So, you decide to continue suffering through it instead.

You walk over to your desk, pulling out your textbook, binder, and other materials, and Billy glances to you, then to Angela Cammers, who sits to your right.

“Hey, Angie?”

She immediately turns back to him with a wide smile, elated he’s finally talking to her after two months of being at school. “Yeah, Billy?” She asks sweetly.

He leans forward, hands folded atop his desk. “You want to go to the drive-in theater with me tomorrow night to see Elm Street?” He gives her a handsome smile.

Her heart jumps at the invitation.

“I’ll even buy your ticket. We can go in my Camaro.”

He glances to you, and your expression remains passive, as if you’d not even heard him, as you choose a pencil for class today. He then looks back to Angela.

She nods excitedly. “Sure, yeah, okay.”

He gives her a wink. “It’s a date, then.”

Finally, you sit without even a minuscule reaction toward him.

He grinds his jaw, burning a hole in the back of your head. Then, he reaches forward, yanking roughly against your ponytail. Hard enough to rip out a couple long hairs.

You immediately reach up, cupping the back of your head, and turn abruptly back toward him. “Ow! That hurt, Billy!”

Angela’s head snaps back in your two’s direction, but Billy pays her no mind as he leans back, crossing his muscled arms and shrugging. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

You continue to glare at him and his lip twitches, which only serves to deepen your hatred.

Neither of you bother breaking eye-contact until, finally, the teacher speaks. “Mister Hargrove, Miss Y/N, is something the matter?”

You slowly turn back around, a pleasant smile now on your face. “No, Mister Barnes, I was just answering a question Billy had about last night’s homework.”

He nods, turning back to the blackboard to begin writing today’s lesson.

And then you hear from behind you, “Bitch.”

You fold your hands tightly together, fighting against finally exploding and letting him have it after weeks of picking on you—it’d started damn-near day one with him—and instead just turn your head infinitesimally to the left and mutter “asshole”, before turning your eyes back to the teacher at the front of the room.

His nostrils flare, muscles flexing as he squeezes his hands into fists. He then slams his boots down on the metal basket under your chair and you bounce lightly in your seat.

The two of you remain silent for the rest of class, both quietly seething.

The next day is finally Friday, meaning you’ll soon have two days away from Billy’s irritating presence.

Same as always, you’re standing before your desk, readying your materials for class, when Steve Harrington walks past you, greeting you kindly.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says with a smile.

You return the gesture. Finally, someone pleasant to talk to. “Hey, Steve,” you reply warmly.

Billy briefly considers giving the “Prince-of-the-School” one hell of an after-school special of an ass-whooping behind the bleachers once the day is through. In the meantime, however, he simply glares at him, which Steve takes note of, but doesn’t let get to him. It’s not as if he likes the guy much in return.

Steve then takes his seat to the right of your desk and he speaks to you again. “Hey, a few of us are planning on going to Twistee Treat after school, you want to come?”

You smile, feeling happy that someone at school was finally asking to involve you in something. You mostly kept to yourself, but Steve had always been nice to you. Nancy, too, in the few times you’d spoken to her. But you weren’t entirely sure what, exactly, was going on with the pair of them at the moment.

“Sure,” you say happily.

Billy’s rage is near-palpable at this point. And he of course injects himself into the conversation. He looks to Steve. “Don’t waste your time, man. She’s a fuckin’ prude.”

You blanch, then fill with anger. You speak before Steve can try to come to your rescue. “No, I just didn’t want to go to the movies with you, Billy. If I’d agreed, and given you what you’re obviously after, I’d end up being called a slut instead. Can’t win either way with guys like you, huh?”

He leans forward, the look on his face now irate. He doesn’t notice Angela now looking at him with a hurt expression. He points his index finger at you. “Listen here, you cun-”

“Alright, class, let’s take our seats,” the teacher calls from the front of the classroom.

You swiftly seat yourself, crossing your legs, expression now serene.

Meanwhile, your body is practically vibrating with anger.

On Monday when you enter class, you keep your eyes focused on your desk as you make your way to it, refusing to look at Billy’s smug face.

But, ever the chatterbox, he of course speaks to you, not just letting things go.

“Hey, Y/N, you have a nice weekend?” He asks with obviously-feigned interest.

You shrug. “It was okay. I had a nice time Friday night. You?”

His jaw flexes. He still has half-a-mind to kick Harrington’s ass. He’d driven by Twistee Treat before going to pick up Angela, and had seen you and Harrington sitting side-by-side, laughing, eating ice-cream, surrounded by his friends. He’d never seen you so damn happy, and wanted nothing more than to ruin the moment, but knew with all Steve’s little buddies with him, he’d be outnumbered. So, he’d instead driven away, his mood soured.

He smirks, leaning back, folding his hands behind his head. “Oh, I had a great fuckin’ time.”

You smile warmly. “That’s good.”

He nods. “Mhm.” He leans forward, closer toward you and whispers, “Even got lucky in the backseat of my car,” he says with a wink.

You give him an impressed look. “Wow, go Angie.”

You then go back to organizing your things on your desk.

That’s all the fucking reaction he was going to get? That was it?

You sit, and he watches as Steve smiles the minute he lays eyes on you.

He snaps his pencil in two.

After class, Angela meets Billy at his locker, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, books hugged against her chest. “Hi, Billy,” she says adoringly.

He glances to her with a raised brow, expression bored. “Hey.”

She barely notices his poor reaction to her sudden presence. “Would you want to come over to my house after school to study? And then, maybe after, we could go get ice-cream at this place nearby?”

He shoves a book onto the top shelf of his locker, now irritated. She wanted to go to the same damn place Harrington had taken you on, what he assumed was, your first date? No way in hell.

“Why would I want to do that?” He asks, tone flat.

Her face falls. “Oh. I just… I guess because Friday night we…y’know.”

He slams his locker closed. “I already got what I wanted. I’m not interested in anything else from you.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “But-”

He steps past her and she watches as he strides down the hall, then reaches out toward you—who is currently occupied talking to Steve Harrington—and yanks on your ponytail. You quickly swing around, yelling at him, meanwhile he sticks his tongue out in an open-mouthed smile, walking backward for a moment, then turning to continue heading to his next class.

She grows even more upset and makes her way to you, reaching you just as Steve steps away.

“Is something going on between you and Billy?”

You look at her, taken aback at being asked such a thing.

“Like what?” You ask, confused.

“Like…do you have a thing?”

Your brows raise in incredulity. Is…is he spreading rumors that you do? “Why would you think that?” You ask, now panicked.

“I saw him. He does it all the time: pulling your hair. Like little boys do when they like a girl. And I heard you say Friday that he asked you to the movies first. Which he told me was bullshit when he came to get me for our date, by the way. He said you were making things up because you were jealous.”

You let out a laugh, which hadn’t been intended. You quickly compose yourself. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you. Just at the notion of me being jealous of someone going on a date with him.” You close your locker then. “I can’t stand him, Angela. Believe me when I say you’re welcome to him, even if I think you—anyone, really—deserves far better.”

You head to fifth period then, leaving her standing there.

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader)#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x fem!oc #billy hargrove x female reader

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carsthatnevermadeitetc · 7 months

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Auburn 866 Speedster, 1976. Glenn Pray was a passionate Auburn-Cord-Duesenberg enthusiast and also foremost dealer in Auburn and Cord parts. In the 1970s Pray developed a “continuation” series of Boattail Speedsters with precision fibreglass bodies and contemporary Ford 429ci V8 engines, along with coil-sprung independent front suspension, front disc brakes and automatic transmission.

#Auburn #Auburn 866 Speedster #Boattail Speedster #1930s style #continuation series #replica #fibreglass #Ford 429ci V8 #Ford V8 #Glenn Pray #1976

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 2 months

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1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge: Unleashing the Power of Muscle

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

In 1962, a new era of muscle cars emerged, radiating brilliance and power. Chrysler led the way with their groundbreaking Max Wedge lineup, introducing the world to the fusion of unitized-body construction and the high-performance ram-tuned dual-carbureted 413 CI engine. Among these legends was the Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge, a remarkable vehicle that holds a significant place in automotive history.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

The First Super Stock Max Wedge with Manual Transmission According to the esteemed Chrysler Registry and the meticulous documentation by Darrell Davis, this specific Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge holds a groundbreaking distinction—it was the first Super Stock model equipped with a manual transmission. The car’s odometer displays a mere 6,593 miles and has undergone a meticulous restoration process to return it to its original specifications. Notably, the engine has been upgraded, boasting a dyno-proven power output exceeding 500 HP.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Unleashing the Power of the 413 CI V-8 Engine The 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge was powered by the formidable 413 CI V-8 engine. This was the first iteration of Chrysler’s renowned ram induction system, featuring a cross-ram intake manifold meticulously designed to optimize engine efficiency. The engine’s performance was further enhanced by the utilization of cast-iron header-style manifolds, which were rarely preserved but featured in this exceptional vehicle. Dale Reed of California refreshed the engine around 300 miles ago, ensuring its optimal performance. The correct Carter AFB carburetors reside beneath dual black air cleaners, accentuated by carefully placed decals.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

A Unique Manual Transmission Experience One of the distinctive aspects of this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge is its manual transmission. Unlike its automatic counterparts, this car delivers a unique driving experience through its floor-mounted shifter, allowing the driver to truly feel the power at their fingertips. Paired with a full aftermarket exhaust equipped with cutouts and the robust 8 ¾ Chrysler differential, this Max Wedge offers an exhilarating ride for those who crave the thrill of the open road.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Captivating Style and Authenticity The exterior of this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge embodies the spirit of the era. Finished in captivating light blue paint, it exudes a timeless charm. The interior features a complementary blue cloth-and-vinyl combination, while the white-and-blue two-tone trim adds an elegant touch. The front and rear bench seats provide comfort, and the radio delete plate pays homage to the car’s performance-focused nature. Notably, it features a knee-knocker S-W column-mounted tachometer and a beautifully presented trio of rubber pedals. The car’s attention to detail is evident throughout, with the inclusion of circa-1962 chrome fonts, single-lens tail lamps, and OEM steel wheels adorned with poverty-type hubcaps.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Provenance and Documentation Accompanying this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge is a wealth of provenance and documentation that adds to its allure. It includes the original OEM IBM punch card and build sheet, which serve as a testament to its authenticity. Additionally, the window sticker provides insight into its original specifications, while the dyno sheet confirms its impressive horsepower rating. Vintage photos capture the car’s early years when it was part of a famous drag car collection, showcasing its illustrious past.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Conclusion The 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge stands as a testament to the golden age of muscle cars. With its groundbreaking manual transmission configuration, powerful 413 CI V-8 engine, and captivating style, it represents the pinnacle of Mopar’s storied performance heritage. Meticulously restored to its original glory, this Max Wedge allows enthusiasts to experience a bygone era’s raw power and timeless charm.

FAQs: How many miles does the 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge have? The odometer of the 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge reads 6,593 miles. Who documented the Chrysler Registry for this particular car? The meticulous documentation of the Chrysler Registry for this car was done by Darrell Davis. Has the engine of the 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge been upgraded? Yes, the engine of this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge has been upgraded to a dyno-proven 500-plus HP. What is the significance of the 413 CI V-8 engine in this car? The 413 CI V-8 engine in this car was the first to receive Chrysler’s shortened version of ram induction, known as the cross-ram intake. It maximizes engine efficiency and pairs it with rarely preserved cast-iron header-style manifolds. What documentation and provenance come with this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge? This Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge comes with various documentation, including the OEM IBM punch card, build sheet, window sticker, dyno sheet confirming horsepower rating, and vintage photos of its early years as part of a famous drag car collection.

#Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge #Plymouth Savoy #plymouth #Max Wedge #car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #mopar #moparperformance #moparnation #moparworld

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seat-safety-switch · 2 months

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"Oh cripes, it's the painters," yelps my humble assistant before she dives for cover and starts frantically texting for backup.

It's too late. The boys from the bodyshop up the street have already appeared in the junkyard. Their keen eyes are meticulously scrutinizing the Pick-N-Pull's extremely limited quantity of intact Hyundai Scoupe bumpers. They are looking for a donor that is good enough to clean up, spray in their fancy "spray booth" while wearing their "respiratory protection," and sell to some poor bastard working without rest for the faceless void of rage that is the Uber Eats algorithm.

Why is this bad for the rest of us, especially myself, who owns exclusively cars before the Hyundai Motor Corporation was even brought into existence by the marriage between the Goddess Sonata and the Ancient Emperor, 1985 Pony CXL? Mostly because the painters are kind of obnoxious about the whole thing. Like many other individuals who spend their working hours sitting in an enclosed room and huffing paint all day, they consider themselves to be artists. Also, we have somewhat of a personal rivalry. Let me explain.

Now, as we all know, painters and bodywork techs drive very ugly cars. You likely can guess why. After a hard day of work putting shiny things on dull things, making the shiny things dull again, and putting more shiny things on the previously shiny things (that are now dull,) there's absolutely no way that they want to spend a few more hours making their shit-box daily driver pretty. They've seen how cars get wrecked by the flippant outside world. It would destroy them emotionally. Rather than love and lose, they choose to harden their hearts, like resin baking off on a freshly fogged panel under a heat lamp.

Of course, painters are also not mechanics, and they're certainly not shitbag mechanics like myself. Their grungy, shitty cars often fall apart from some trivial mechanical failure that I would jump over, Super Mario-like, without even noticing. Many of the painters, such as Shaky Tim, have seen me in even worse cars that run flawlessly.

Due to my profligate junk-dealing and scam-pedalling all over town, they have had many opportunities to watch me barrel over a centre median, drive the wrong way into traffic, blow a band out of an automatic transmission – and be back on the road in a few minutes thanks to my magical connection to the shitbox vibe. This causes envy on the part of the painters, especially when I refuse to fix their cars or even stop to lend a reassuring word. And I certainly don't give them money to paint my car: all that beautiful new colour would get wrecked the next time a brake line ruptures at highway speeds. Last a week, tops.

"Oh look, it's him," the head painter sneers, with an affect that I still think is approximating a fake French accent. They must have put some new cartoons on at the jobber shop. "Do you even know what to do with those body panels?"

"I know what not to do. I'm not gonna pay for 'em," I bark, and go back to yeeting an entire '67 Imperial passenger-side over the fence out back because it won't fit in my pocket. The gaggle of squirty-boys grimace in pain as the door bounces off the barbed-wire on top, and falls into the ditch behind the junkyard with some grotesque scratches across the paint.

With all the money I'm saving, I suggest to the aggrieved painters, I can probably even afford a can of new Tremclad.

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fluentmoviequoter · 6 months

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Driver’s Seat

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!reader

Summary: At a classic car show, you meet the only gentleman in attendance and bond over a mutual love for cars.

Warnings: fluff! 1.2k+ words

A/N: This is completely self-indulgent (it’s about me and my car) but I figured I could share it anyway. Happy daydreaming about Luca!😊

“Nice car.”

You bristle, prepared for some variant of nicer driver or bet you look good in it.

“What year? ‘76 or ‘77?”

At the continued discussion of the car, you turn. You’ve seen Dom Luca around car shows before, but haven’t had the chance or a reason to talk to him yet. His kind smile helps you relax and you offer a smile in return. Being a woman at a car show is like travelling back in time to when the cars were new; you’re treated differently here than anywhere else.

“1977,” you answer. “Good eye. You’re Dom Luca, right? You brought a gorgeous 1956 Buick Special a few months ago.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s me. Friends just call me Luca. I’m stuck with a ‘68 Charger this month. But your car is a beauty.”

“Thanks! I still have a ton of work to do before she’s finished, but I’m proud of everything I’ve managed to do.”

“You should be. Sorry, I didn’t ask your name.”

You smile as you extend your hand and say your name. Luca’s handshake is firm, and you appreciate the respect he shows you. It’s refreshing, and you’re glad your mental image of him from past shows holds up. He’s a gentlemen in a world where there aren’t many left.

“Any chance you have before pictures? I haven’t gotten my hands on a Nova yet but I know good work when I see it. Do it all yourself?”

You pull your phone from your pocket and navigate to your photo albums as you nod. “I did as much as I could. Had a lot of amazing people to help too.”

As you turn your phone to scroll through the before pictures, Luca moves to stand closer. His shoulder presses against yours, and you freeze momentarily before swiping to the next picture.

“Is that you?” Luca asks excitedly.

The picture of you smiling in the driver’s seat after the first test drive is one of your favorites. It was such a special moment, and having it immortalized in a photo is priceless. Luca’s attention, however, makes you a bit shy and you nod before swiping away quickly.

“There’s no shame in being excited. First drives are a special kind of rush,” he assures. “It’s a good picture, too.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Everything original?”

You appreciate the change of subject, happier to focus on the car rather than its owner.

“Yeah, it is. Straight 6, automatic transmission, even the color is the same.”

“Now that takes real talent. Anyone can cover a classic in aftermarket parts, but original? That’s impressive.”

As you turn to face Luca, you realize how close he’s standing. Face-to-face, eye-to-eye, lip-to-lip… you know you should step back but you don’t want to. Luca smiles like he feels the same before his eyes drop to your phone.

“Care for another picture?” he asks. “It’s your first entry into a car show right?”

Someone whistles behind you and shatters the moment. Luca looks over your shoulder as he steps back. You can tell he wants to say something, but you shake your head. It’s always like this, you communicate with a shrug.

“Can I see the Charger you’re stuck with? Though I’d love to get my hands on a ‘69, so I don’t see it as the unfortunate situation you do,” you say with a smile.

Luca’s shoulders drop as he relaxes and steps to the side. He leads you down the row and around a booth at the end. The black Charger is beautiful, and your eyes widen as you walk the length of it.

“Luca,” you murmur. “It’s perfect.”

Luca presses his lips together to hide his smile. He said his friends call him Luca, and it sounds right coming from your lips. After thanking you, Luca pops the trunk open and points to a nearly invisible metallic L welded to the side.

“For Luca?” you ask, once again standing directly at Luca’s side.

“My brother and I work on these cars together. We, uh, didn’t talk for a while, so now that we’re close again, we like putting something in every car.”

“That’s amazing. I- do you have one more minute to spare?”

“If you compliment the car again, maybe I’ll give you two.”

“The body work on this is impeccable. Better than original. Like always,” you compliment.

“Lead the way.”

You unlock the passenger door and open the glovebox of your car. A laminated piece of paper and a photo are in your hands, and you pass them to Luca.

“1987,” he reads. “You have an old title registration for this car? Do you know how rare that is? Was it in the car?”

“Look at the picture,” you answer.

“I take it back. The first drive photo isn’t your best.”

You chuckle at the idea that the photo he’s holding is your best. In it, you’re less than 10 years old, sitting in the driver’s seat like you belong, and it’s proof that you’ve loved this car for nearly your entire life.

“Took me a while to get started on it, but it was worth the wait,” you muse. “Most good things are.”

“So, when you came to shows before, were you looking for inspiration or people to hire?” Luca asks as he passes the papers back.

With the memories of your family’s history with the car secure in the glovebox, you return your attention to Luca.

“You’re different than I thought you’d be,” you say. His face drops, and you add, “I knew you’d be a gentleman, but I didn’t think you’d let me talk to your ear off about my car. And yours.”

“You’d be surprised how long I’d listen to you.”

You playfully roll your eyes before someone yells Luca’s name.

“What are you planning to do next?” Luca asks, pointing to your car.

“Dom!” the man repeats, louder.

“Do you need to go?” you ask.

“My brother,” Luca says. “He can wait. Tell me what’s next. Finish this one and call it good, or are you going to be around with more cars?”

“I’d love to restore another car. Actually, a truck. An old boxy one that needs the love, or a Harvester.”

“1950s Harvester is my dream project,” Luca agrees.

“Finding one that isn’t in a scrap heap seems…”

“Impossible,” you and Luca say together.

“If you ever get your hands on one, send me lots of pictures?” you request as Luca’s brother approaches.

“What if I ask for your help instead?” Luca suggests.

“Why me?”

Luca smiles like he knows something you don’t. He introduces you to his brother, Terry, and shakes your hand again before leaving to talk to a salesman. A paper is transferred to your palm during the shake, and when he’s gone, you look at it. Luca’s phone number accompanies a short message, and your smile grows until your cheeks hurt.

Talk my ear off before the next show? I’d love to learn more about the girl in the car.

When he had time to write this, you don’t know. But you do know your answer. You text Luca that you’d love that, and he turns to wink at you before asking the men around him if anyone knows of a Harvester still on the market.

#dominique luca x reader #hanna writes✯#dominique luca #luca x reader #swat x reader #swat cbs #fem!reader

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its-short-for-jackalope · 13 days

Text

THE SEARCHER IN THE SHADOWS

☆ Thoughts On Part One ☆

I have many thoughts and feelings and I am definitely not gonna be able to wrangle every last one in here, but I can do my darnedest to hit most of the big ones!

Dropped From The Clouds

The contrast of this first song compared to the start of TGOA makes me a little insane. Both songs are full of questions and uncertainty and take place after the characters have been teleported to another time and place, but When Are We? has the comfort and assurance of being with friends while Dropped From The Clouds has Rose isolated and alone without any familiar faces, and the parallel just reminds me of how much has changed and how quickly things are continuing to change. When are we going to slow down? Not now, it seems.

Dakkar's introduction, oh my god — "I'm nobody." [mildly threatening Radiance noises] "Give me the orrery." — and then he immediately goes into science mode. I need to draw him so bad. Also, side note, I already adore Jesse Bhamrah's voice.

He was/is a Traveler and a Searcher? so it seems the titles aren't mutually exclusive, then. I wonder if his unclear status as a Traveler has anything to do with whatever he's got going on that we heard in Transmission 14.

Fast Friends

CAPTAIN ADDISON ARVAD!!!!!! THE SCREAM I WANTED TO SCRUMPT!!! (also Natalie Masini sounds amazing)

"Lower your weapon, for God's sake." "The gun was your idea." I love them, your honor

So Dakkar and Addison were absolutely taking precautions in case Kal had possessed Rose, right? That's the vibe I get, anyway. Maybe they know he's capable of doing that sort of thing (maybe Sia has seen it happen? or, y'know, ✨️seen✨️ it) and that's why they wanted to check if she knew the GAD's publication date—Kal doesn't seem to automatically gain his host's knowledge, like when he didn't seem to know Morgan had already been sent away, so if he was possessing Rose then he probably wouldn't have known the date.

...Actually wait, you know what? Maybe it was Itzal they were worried about. We don't really know anything about what magic he could have at his disposal—maybe he can also possess people or change his form. and since he's a bigger, badder threat, I think it could make more sense for them to avoid saying his name rather than Kal's. 🤔

ADDISON IS A ROSE FAN???? ROSE IS PRETTY FAMOUS ON THEIR ISLAND??!? THEY HAVE A BRICK FROM TOWNSHIP NUMBER 9??!!?! Rose deserves the hype 100% of course but I have so many questions

okay I didn't expect Rose to meet Addison the very hour she arrived 2 weeks in the past, so I did not consider the fact that she and the crew would be here and they wouldn't have disappeared yet. I am now deeply afraid, because I know something happens to her. I have been so afraid of how the time travel will hurt me irt the twins that I didn't think about how many OTHER ways the time travel could hurt me.....

AND ROSE CAN'T WARN HER!!! So she just has to keep her mouth shut and let it happen and Addison must know that something happens, she and Dakkar didn't seem surprised that Rose didn't know who she was, but she's gonna go in blind anyway... 😭😭😭 okay wait, what if Addison and Sia's plan was for them to leave the Antikythera drifting for the others to find, but instead of returning to Lincoln Island Addison and her crew disappeared??

Destiny Strange and Sublime

...well now I just feel silly for not even considering that Dakkar would be the Searcher in the shadows 😂

I can't quite tell if the people he mentions he'd been unable to save is like... a personal thing, as in he actively failed to save them because of his own mistakes, or if it's more of a shared grief for the Blazing World and all its inhabitants. the first interpretation is definitely more angsty, lol.

I wish I had more coherent thoughts on this one but at this current time it mostly boils down to ohh pretty music, Dakkar is cool, Jesse Bhamrah is awesome, et cetera.

Arrival, part 1

HELLO PART 1 SONG!!!! I am excited to see how parts 2 and 3 may emotionally devastate me in the coming week!

so many people from the Blazing World! pleasantly surprised my island of refugees theory was correct. then again, I've spouted off enough theories that odds are at least some of them gotta be right, lol

Ahlaam my beloved!!! Virginia's voice is gorgeous, omfg.

The different creatures and plants from all over the world.... have the Searchers been looking for things that remind them of the Blazing World and bringing them back to the island to make it feel more like home? Crafting a facsimile of the Blazing World from pieces of Earth? (aough, and I thought "Ipomoea, just like home!" couldn't hurt any more than it already did...)

the phrasing of "OUR planet's biggest ocean" is interesting to me. Is the Blazing World connected to Earth somehow, thereby making it the same planet in some way, or is it just that this island has been home long enough for Ahlaam to feel attached? Or. Or. If the Blazing World is on the moon, then it would make sense for Ahlaam to refer to the Earth as her planet because the moon revolves around it and it's the moon's planet. (yes, hi, hello, it's a new pulp episode, we are once again in the Overthink Everything And Fire Off A Bazillion Theories era <3 )

They've been waiting for Rose for YEARS? ...would that be since 1835, or 1829? and we know they've been waiting for Margaret because, well, duh, but have they been waiting for Samuel and John, too? or are they all just Rose stans?

the crew of the Antikythera....... 😭😭😭

I love that a good portion of this song is basically just Ahlaam going "check out our sweet digs" lmao

The nights have been dark but this is the spark that will set the whole lighthouse ablaze — YELLING RIGHT NOW, oh my god. lighthouses are guides through darkness and stormy weather and they also cut through fog, I want to bite something (/pos)

this has got to be both very nice and very overwhelming for Rose, lol.

Addison & Dakkar and Ahlaam & Dakkar are both very fun dynamics

A Spell Is Just A Rule Made With Magic

THE FOG IS FROM A SPELL!!! ITZAL CAST A SPELL AND CORRUPTED HIS PEOPLE! "It saturates the heart with darkness 'till you forget life before the blight" oh my god, he convinced all of them that the fog is how they always were & were meant to be? No wonder Kal considers Sia and Margaret traitors. So when Kal says "soon the Blazing World will meet its end" he might not be talking about an actual place—in his mind he's probably talking about the traitors' movement & the ridiculous, dangerous ideas they have about replacing Itzal's world with one of light...

"A spell is just a rule made with magic, and any rule can be broken" AOUGH. CHILLS.

ooh they believe Rose is the key? aw man this adds more weight to "I was a hero and the heroes win — don't they?" in Vanishing...

"Capital." oh my god Mr. Dahan you can't do this to me. The similarities between Dakkar and AJ have to be intentional, right?? ...oh god, is Dakkar gonna make a bad deal to save lives? Is he gonna sacrifice himself in some way to save his people?

Two Weeks

I love this montage, it's such a nice way to go through this part. also I just really like how this whole first part is structured, having this entire part dedicated to Rose in this time is a great way to handle the time travel without being confusing by jumping back and forth, AND it gives us time to get to know the new characters a little bit! It's also a bit of a breather after how hectic the end of TGOA was. (I feel like part 2 is going to get super intense super quickly, lol.)

So they start with science and testing her mind, giving Rose access to all their research to see if she figures out anything there. And then they go to the volcano and scan her, starting to test her body for evidence that she might be able to help them in some magical way. (They're probably still going over the research too, ofc. Those were a lot of books, Dakkar.)

Day 9!!! Sia is here!!! I desperately want to know exactly what she and Addison were talking about. I think it might be a plan to abandon the Antikythera for Margaret and the others to find in a few days, but that's mostly speculation.

also Sia seems so much more relaxed and at ease here. maybe it's because she's at home with her people and she can be less secretive than she was on the satellite? (and because she isn't in a literal magic battle, lmao.)

Dakkar mentions phase three and they go to the lake to try doing stuff with illusion magic—do they want to try using magic on Rose to see if they can get her to activate whatever magic she may have? Or maybe how Rose reacts to the illusion magic could reveal something...?

Rose not wanting to go in the water, aoughhh 😭 and Sia helping her when she's scared 😭😭😭

Dakkar's Grotto / Mobilis In Mobili

when I saw this scene during the premiere I said "holy sci fi" and I stand by that. this environment is so cool. I wonder why the rest of the island isn't like this when they're clearly people with a lot of knowledge and technology... it's probably a matter of supplies. They fled to this island from Itzal and his spell, so they wouldn't have had time to pack a lot of stuff. I imagine whatever they did manage to bring and/or build is all dedicated to their efforts to find a cure and protect everyone.

we know they haven't found anything yet because they're still testing Rose's blood. man, that's gotta be stressful for her. (And the Radiance folks, yeah, but c'mon. so much pressure on Rose right now and she's brand new to all this. 🥺)

The Nautilus is here!!! and it's a spaceship!!! AHHHH!!! 🤩

SHIT IS GOING DOWNNNNNNN! Margaret is radiating and I am going to be Thinking about what it means that Sia can sense it—is it a part of her precognitive abilities? is it part of whatever bond they have that allows them to combine their power?

Rose blurting out a warning about the fog and Ahlaam and Sia immediately getting more concerned.... I hope that maybe since she waited until right before Sia left it won't influence anything negatively, if at all—it's only a very small part of the present that will be influenced and it's not like they totally altered their actions across two weeks to accommodate for that information so I'm sure it's fine. hopefully.

Rose is worried about Samuel almost drowning like she did (and is/will be)... she is not going to like hearing about the dangers he's actually facing. well, if anything is gonna wake up potential magic in her, learning that one of the bad guys attacked & has been harassing her baby brother will probably a good contenderrrrroh fuck I had a thought. uh, stay tuned, we'll get there.

oh god the Ellen Austin will be arriving soon and Samuel and Rose will reunite (they BETTER REUNITE ASAP) and Rose is going to be two weeks older and I am going to perish

not the little reprise of The stars appeared... that made me so sad last time.... 😭 I love how this version of it is positive. the parallels,,,,,,

Rose and the Stars

IT'S HERE AT LAST!!!!

The past stays soaked into our skin 😭

we are lit by suns that shatter through the dark.....

WE TRAVEL WITH THE SPIRITS THAT WE KEEP — ough, makes me think of the ghost of all my yesterdays in Behind Me. also the change from "Don't spend a second looking back" in ep 1 to "only looking back to see how much we've grown" has me feeling things idk how to describe rn, lol

THE CONSTELLATIONS TURN INTO A CROWN!!!!!! 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

Rose will shine again 🥺😭❤

A Few More Thoughts

Is the day Sia arrives also the day Addison and her crew left the island? we don't hear from her after this, and her disappearance isn't mentioned in the rest of part one but Sia knows that something happened to the crew when she confronts Kal on the Ellen Austin. If they had a plan for the Searcher crew to return to Lincoln Island and leave the ship for the others to find & investigate to kickstart Margaret's memories, but then the crew just didn't show up, I would think it would be mentioned? Unless they didn't want to overwhelm Rose and distract her from her work, or maybe they avoided discussing Addison & the Antikythera with her because of time travel rules...

oh and it is gonna take me a bit to grasp the time travel rules, lol. (sorry Matt, I haven't seen any Back To The Future since I was a kid.) I am going to be pondering the timeline for a while, particularly where Sia is involved. I feel like they probably want to avoid going back into the past as much as possible just based on how they are with Rose and how they put a lot of effort into not altering the present with her information about the future, but I don't think Sia would have gone from 1835 and skipped right ahead 39 years and stayed there? Like she has people to take care of and plans to make, she probably wouldn't just disappear on them for such a long time? maybe the Travelers who are experienced in abiding by Time Travel Rules are able to navigate backwards in time with more freedom because they know what they're doing. idk, like I said it's gonna take me a bit to wrap my head around this. maybe parts 2 & 3 will make it a little clearer.

OKAY, CONTINUING MY SAMUEL THOUGHT FROM EARLIER: Sia and her bunch believe Rose is the key. What if Itzal and Kal think Samuel is the key? What if that is why Kal was interested in Samuel on the Ellen Austin and why he seemed to really delight in antagonizing him? If Kal was hanging around long enough beforehand to see how close Margaret and Samuel are, then that could have convinced him that Samuel is Important™ to the Blazing World and that Margaret knows he is important to them. And maybe both sides are only halfway there, maybe it's both twins, together, who are the key, and that's why they haven't made progress towards the cure with Rose over their 2 weeks.

okay there are probably plenty of things that I'm missing and more that i could come up with and tack on, but I've been working on this post since last night and i want to finish it and get to other things so I am calling it here, lol.

...that is a horribly long sentence but I am not editing it. hope you enjoyed. <3

#so many thoughts they keep ricocheting off each other and getting lost #jack jabbers #pulp musicals #pulp musicals 4 #pulp 4 spoilers #the searcher in the shadows #the searcher in the shadows spoilers #tsits #tsits spoilers #pulp musicals theories #tsits part 1

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shroudandsands · 22 days

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Prompt #1: Steer

Tires thudded over the curb. The engine backfired. Bullets clanked against the frame. And Dugald was driving like his life depended on it.

He had never expected to be put behind the wheel, honestly. At least- Not in the first few days of knowing the driver. Or the car. It felt impersonal, you know? You didn’t drive someone else’s car until they trusted you with it or they were dead. And neither were particularly applicable right now- But he supposed the latter might happen if he didn’t make the next turn. The Thorton skipped over another curb, the side scraped against a wall, the owner hollered her complaint over the sound of returning gunfire. He white knuckled the steering wheel. Another bullet ricocheted off the frame. Another was sent in return. He looked in the rearview mirror. Scavs. It had to be scavs. One clear memory in his head- of a few, at least- and it was in a high speed chase that he could remember how he felt about scavs. Probably not an uncommon feeling towards them. I mean, who could like butchers who’d sell you for every bit of metal you have in you- right down to the fillings in your teeth? He thumped over another curb as he swung the truck around into an alleyway. Honestly it wasn’t surprising that his only memories of them were negative. The sound of the mirrors scraping against brick and metal was just as evocative of their chop shops as the actual sound of them screaming behind them. How much was he worth? Hell, how much was this gal worth? Between the two of them they probably had a pretty decent score. At least he had a feeling the car wasn’t what they were after.

The car groaned, same as him, as he swung it wide around the corner and back onto the road. Potholes thumped the suspension as he pointed the nose towards the distant promise of an easier time, an easier escape- The only highway ramp not currently blocked by NCPD or some Maelstrom popup… Gathering. Gathering was the best way to put it, he thought. Really the only problem with all the thoughts before, of course, as he stomped on the pedal and listened to the automatic transmission whine in horror at what he was making it do- Well. This thing wasn’t exactly going to go zero to sixty fast enough to escape the scavs’ slipshod dragsters. Whether from shitty parts, old age, or factory limiters- “WALKER-” She dropped back down into the passenger seat as a grenade soared past the car and landed in a heap of garbage. It exploded as he swerved around it- much to her and the car’s complaint- and he felt another backfire take them down a gear. The look she gave him was wild, frenzied even, and frankly he didn’t appreciate the unspoken complaints about his driving. Not his fault he wasn’t carrying any guns at the moment. Not his fault that the car couldn’t go above sixty and take corners without screaming in agony. What had she been doing to this thing? Or, rather, hadn’t been doing? It’s not his fault that he couldn’t make it go faster. Not…

He looked in the rear view. They were getting closer. The Thorton was blowing smoke. Slowing down. If he could get on the highway it still wouldn’t be fast enough in the straightaways to get out of their territory. He was pretty sure they were about to blow a tire, too, to make it all that much more palatable. They’d be able to catch them in a heartbeat. It’s a Thorton. He stared in the rearview.

Chop shops. Metal. Chrome. Thortons. He looked down at the steering wheel. It was a Thorton. Scavs weren’t after the car- In a fit of memory-induced insanity-

Dugald gripped the console with both hands, his fingers slipping into grooves meant for technician tools. Augmented hands and arms would have to do for the moment as he groaned… and tore the module right off and into his lap. Within the same second, in a memory as rote as blood flowing from a wound, his arm slipped open in all but the same way to expose a monofilament blade that sprung cleanly from his forearm and out under his palm. And then he jammed it straight into the ECU plug. Sparks flew. Chop shop. Metal. Chrome. It was a Thorton. The only difference between any damned model of the thing was the limiter the factory put on it and the armor the customer slapped on it. Limiters could be removed. Engines could be tuned. Not in real time, no, never in real time. Not for anyone sane at least. Not for anyone who wasn’t currently being shot at and thoroughly invested in staying as alive as possible for the next 30 minutes- give or take a few. Oh but that’s what he remembered. The Scavs. The chop shops. Oh he remembered it all.

It was right as they hit the ramp that the Thorton screamed- no, roared- to life like a truck of its caliber likely never had before. The volume of if deafening, the rattling of it frightening, the speed of it exhilarating; and all the while Dugald stared dead at the the road while his arms twitched in time with the engine’s pistons. From zero to sixty. Sixty to one hundred. One hundred to one hundred twenty. Pretty sure they just put some sports cars to shame. Jerking the car between what few other drivers were still out on this side of the city. It was easy enough to tell when they weren’t being followed anymore. The fireball of a collision not even a quarter mile behind them. But he kept it going. Taking highway turns like they were hairpins, taking ramps like they were jumps, throwing the Thorton down the highway like a rocket that might just explode if he stopped it. He didn’t check on the state of his passenger. The speed would shut her up for now. His driving would shut her up for the next hour after that.

It wasn’t until they were out of the city lights that he finally let it slow back down to a crawl. Or, rather, that the car finally gave up. No amount of coaxing- no amount of manual control, really- could get it back to speed. She was tired. So was he. …Aaand he was being yelled at.

He leaned back in the seat as he retracted the blade back into his arm. He didn’t bother listening.

#FFxivwrite2024 #/AU/Cyberpunk #/Memories/The Worn Edge #it's not a free day but it IS a sunday #so starting off this year with an AU #dug driving like a maniac

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avteclimited · 3 months

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Structural and Functional Aspects of Selecting Power Shift Transmissions

If you are using modern time vehicles, then you are already aware of the Power-Shift Transmission. These are very much similar to the manual type of transmission, but with a minor shift. One major benefit is that they offer safe powershift.

This ensures that it gets better power from the engine drive. During a power shift, the driver have to use the accelerator pedal for generating more power.

When using Powershift and automatic transmission the driver will also have to engage the clutch pedal so more power can be generated for the vehicle

It eliminates the chance of damaging the engine and the vehicle.

This type of power shift is more reliable, especially when driving on uneven terrains.

Distinct gear ratio

One major advantage of using Powershift and automatic transmission is that a very distinct gear ratio can be expected. The transmission is used for directly connecting the drive shaft with the vehicle engine. This simple task will offer the driver to make use of the gear ratio factor when powering.

Consistent power

The moment you are making use of power shifts, it is certain that your vehicle gets a consistent supply of power. This ensures that you can expect high power output even at varying driving speeds. This, in turn, allows the wheels to relax, even on uneven terrains

The benefit of twin camshafts

The traditional type of transmissions made use of a single camshaft. But the moment you are using Powershift and automatic transmission you can ensure that the vehicle is provided with twin camshafts. This is one of the features that prove beneficial for offering the vehicle with much better control.

Offers better uplift

As the vehicles are provided with twin camshafts, so it means that while driving, the vehicles are offered with a high uplift factor. So the moment you are driving on uneven terrains, it is certain that you may not have to worry about shifting gears very often.

In modern time vehicles, powershift type of transmission is always considered as more beneficial.

#auto components manufacturers in india #automatic transmissions #transmission components #transmission parts manufacturer #powershift transmissions #transmission gears and shafts #powertrain manufacturer in india #powertrain components

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heliopauseentertainments · 9 days

Text

The Conduit

Requested by @jariktig

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: General

Relationships: Megatron/Trypticon

Characters: Megatron & Trypticon

Warnings: Canon Blending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Pre-Relationship, One-Sided Relationships, Vignette, Migraines

Summary: In which Trypticon and Megatron both seek to use the other to their own ends.

Notes: Canon compliant with Course of Treatment, but not explicitly canonical. May contain spoilers.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

In this shape, the stars drifting lazily around him, he might as well have been asleep as they orbited a small, unremarkable, rocky world. Navigation, propulsion, and weaponry all functioned without his need to get involved, unless he decided to.

The door for one of his shuttle bays opened automatically when a ping came in from a returning shuttle. Perhaps it bore resources extracted from the gray surface below. That didn’t matter to him.

The shuttle bore something all the more precious to him personally. He refused to leave his post without its contents. He had even shut down his engines, on the off chance the crew tried to move him before the shuttle returned.

Some of his kind might have gotten bored with the passive role of vessel.

Trypticon would have disagreed with them… were any of them yet around to disagree with. It had been so long since he had seen one of them; perhaps he was the last. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

Since he had been dug out of his stone blanket, his coffin where his more diminutively-sized kin had forgotten him… Trypticon had taken a new approach, observing and learning the alien universe he had awoken into. Until such a time as he could use that knowledge for his own benefit and take his rightful place as a warlord of their people, poised to conquer the stars.

The vastness of space was cold, punctuated by small points of heat scurrying around inside his metal frame. Crew. Residents. Only marginally his responsibility, yet each of which he recognized by weight and gait alone. The one he was interested in was missing. All of the others remaining were pointless.

The shuttle flew close, ready to cross the threshold into the bay.

He had no sensation from the inside of the shuttles when they were outside of his frame. They weren’t part of his body, accessories at most. Yet crossing the atmospheric retention forcefield of the shuttle bay provided more of a connection.

As the approaching shuttle pushed through, Trypticon’s sensors found the heat signature he had been missing, that he had been waiting for. The most precious cargo of all.

He had never had a cityspeaker. They had been in short supply in his relative youth. And with the changes in language since he had gone to sleep under the rock, he understood only some of the speech of his new crew. Even if his long-corroded vocalizer still functioned, they wouldn’t understand each other.

Perhaps he could… coax one into taking up the role somehow. He didn’t quite understand how it worked, but if he wanted to eventually accomplish anything from his long-term goals of conquest to even short-term needs like intimacy, he would need a functional link to the ant-like mechs who dwellt within his hull.

And he knew just the one. The one whose hand had first touched his hull, gracing it with the first warmth he had known ever since he had sunk into what had seemed like an endless slumber.

The familiar point of heat returned, a heavy and sure gait as the crew’s commander stepped off the shuttle.

Trypticon bombarded him with radio transmissions, demanding his attention. A flood of fervent, urgent signals.

The commander shouted, perhaps at Trypticon, perhaps at the crew. It was difficult to tell. The words were meaningless to him, ghosts of familiar sound shapes that didn’t quite match to anything he knew.

It hadn’t worked. Again. For whatever reason.

He would have to keep trying. He had all the time in the world.

As soon as he was alone in his quarters, Megatron turned the lights off and removed his helmet. The removal of a few sensations only marginally relieved the pounding in his processor. It did little for the nausea writhing in his fuel tank, but a small improvement was still an improvement.

Shuttering his optics against the pain, he eased himself to the floor where he sprawled out, supine on the cold metal.

He had only just returned to the ship.

The uninhabited world below the Nemesis had yielded some energon deposits, along with minerals that could be refined into energon. His shuttle had just brought back some samples for analysis, yet as soon as he had stepped off the vessel, his processor had decided to implode into yet another migraine.

The medics aboard, the hacks that they tended to be, had yet to find a cause for these recurring episodes of pain. Megatron had refused medication. He would not be weakened by something as petty and banal as physical pain.

He had experienced pain in some capacity his entire life; pain meant he was still alive. Pain meant he could still fight.

This pain—that came on occasionally in the past few thousand years—was just newer; that was all.

It meant nothing; it was nothing.

Rather than considering lying on the floor to be succumbing to the pain, Megatron had determined the most appropriate description was that he was taking the opportunity to consider available strategies from a novel position. He was using this posture to isolate his thoughts and consider new possibilities, yes.

This was not weakness. He was not weak.

The ache pulsed through his circuits in waves like the pain itself was somehow echoing off the inside of his cranium.

At least this raggedy vessel, a comatose titan they had serendipitously happened across, had the space to allow him a measure of privacy to sort through these sensations. It was far more difficult to bear when forced to sit on the bridge with Starscream complaining in one ear and Soundwave attempting to propose reasonable alternatives in the other.

He cast his arm over his face, a further barrier in the dark.

The wall next to him shuddered, an aggravating habit resulting from this ship’s construction.

Tremors and trembling appearing suddenly where there oughtn’t have been any movement were common enough. Perhaps stemming from the titan’s dreams. Nightmares, maybe. If the distinction even mattered.

Megatron reached out with his unoccupied arm and smacked his fist against the vibrating wall, not hard enough to dent.

“Stop.” The trembling remained, amplifying the ache in his head. He wondered at times why they didn’t just scrap the old titan for parts and leave what they couldn’t use then buried as a resource cache for later. “That’s enough!”

He smacked the wall again, the juddering halting abruptly.

The pressure in his head grew, like tiny hammers pounding against each nanometer of delicate wiring with the ire of a scorned a lover seeking to exact as much suffering as possible.

With the increased pain, his thoughts became a haze. The sensation of pain itself blurred and blossomed out into a fuzzy halo, distant and separate from his body. Almost bearable. As though he had accumulated enough agony to enter some sort of trance.

A voice he didn’t recognize whispered incoherently, words he didn’t understand.

Megatron must have been imagining it, a hallucination brought forth by his failure to ignore the ache.

The voice, deep and old, continued to murmur in a language he didn’t recognize. Occasionally what almost sounded like a familiar word cropped up.

And the cloud of pain collapsed, crushing the whispers, and ringing his processor like a temple’s bell once more. The ringing summoned a rising wave of nausea that he only just barely managed to suppress.

The wall shook again, the floor underneath his back joining in. The jostling only made him feel like his internal components were rattling around inside his frame.

Would not one thing aboard this ship obey him? He smacked the floor with his palm, once more demanding stillness from the Nemesis.

The metal beneath him ceased trembling but seemed to begin to warm, soothing the pain, a strange comfort.

Megatron must have been imagining it.

It, like everything else, was all in his head.

#fic #one shot #fic cot #maccadam #idw1 #megatron #trypticon #megatryp

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