#engine realigned

[trucenz]

HAUL OUT AND A RED BOTTOM

[catenary-chad]

the central characteristics of main characters, as I used in my reinterpretations/AUs

Greaseball: cynicism, as used by the conservative establishment to quash progress and opposition. “Compromise” and “pragmatism” are often the magic words to keep diesel in power, as well as other crappy systems that much of the world HAS moved beyond.

Electra: ruthless and desperate optimism, specifically in how rail electrification has had to act and posture to fight off the above. Cynicism, compromise, and “pragmatism” have repeatedly set back and killed electrification projects in both the US and UK and the widely-agreed path to success would be an assured, rolling electrification program like most of Europe and east Asia have. Most “inspirational” messaging and confidence and optimism is corny to me but it’s actually very compelling specifically with electric trains because they can’t afford not to be those ways. Inertia is their enemy with how vulnerable they are to underfunding and neglected maintenance, but especially in the Anglosphere where combustion is the engrained establishment.

Rusty: doomerism, especially opening the door for regression by ignoring any opportunity that DOES exist. As much as I like making him a cartoon villain based on the parallels between steam engines and regressive economic politics (uses “the good old days” as a lure, destroys infrastructure, pro pollution, wildly inefficient, thrives where labor is cheap and unorganized and regulations are low), I would make a more nuanced antagonist Rusty or trolley-era boxcab protag Rusty very much an incel doomer. It’s a very meta take on how those types can become so destructive due to getting tunnel vision and ignoring any kind of hope or how many opportunities they have (parodying how laughably popular steam preservation was and how he’d have multiple cushy opportunities) and just turning to giving up entirely and/or turning to pure destruction. Antag Rusty explodes in the final race no matter how I write him in reference to a boiler explosion in Gettysburg in 1996 leading to a clampdown in steam engine regulations in the US.

McCoy: Weaponized nostalgia. The distortion around rail history, the forgetting of “whys” and the truth of many things over romantic ideals, steam engines’ media dominance leading to alienation from current issues and more political rail history. They just fit Electra’s spot of being a not really malicious, but obstructing and out of touch celebrity so much better.

Pearl is just a standin for the public due to her indecision and fickleness

Trucker Caboose and Slick represent the interests of the trucking and oil industries, often hostile to rail but especially hostile to electrification. They’re both selfish money-hungry cartoon villains

[apna04counsellor]

How to Take Admission in Another College in the 2nd Year and Upgrade Your Branch in Maharashtra

For students in Maharashtra pursuing their engineering degree, the idea of switching colleges or upgrading their branch in the second year is a sought-after option. This article outlines the processes, eligibility criteria, and necessary steps to help students navigate these transitions, whether they’re aiming for a lateral entry into a different college or seeking a branch change within their…

[nnctales]

Exploring the Diverse Techniques of River Erosion Works

Introduction Rivers, with their ever-flowing currents, have the incredible power to shape the landscape over time. However, this natural force can sometimes pose a threat to human settlements, infrastructure, and agricultural lands. To mitigate the adverse effects of river erosion, various engineering techniques have been developed over the years. In this article, we will delve into the different…

[hawkstar5]

I was possessed by the ghost of Tasha to make the tags a reality:

i think its funny that picard show got the tasha hologram pose wrong

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Lancia Beta 1300 Coupé, 1976. The energy crisis of the 1970s affected the sales of large cars globally but also resulted in realignment further down the market. The Beta Coupé had been launched in 1973 with 1.6 and 1.8 litre (enlarged to 2.0 litres in 1975) DOHC engines but in 1976 a smaller 1,297cc version of Fiat's Lampredi Twin Cam was added at the bottom of the range.

[giuliettagaltieri]

Sad Little Thing

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Lovesick!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Crybaby, Love Guru, and the Sleep Deprived

Warning: Angst, swearing, one sided pining, shallow/light writing, you and Rafe are equally stupid in your own ways.

Word Count: 2057

3 of 4

Your eyes were bloodshot and dry by the time your engine stalls.  It makes the runabout lurch and shake before coming to a complete halt and just getting rocked by the gentle waves.  You glance down and bite your lip when you see the indicator for the gas tank. 

Great, you just successfully stranded yourself in the middle of the ocean at night.  You clench your teeth when a strong gust of wind makes goosebumps erupt from your arms.  Your mom and dad could be worried sick.  This was a bad idea. 

“No shit, Sherlock.”  You mutter to yourself.

You just had to make a mess out of everything.  First with Rafe, then running away from the party, and the cherry on top, here you are, in the middle of pitch black waters, you can’t see anything, no lights from the island, no boats.

Slumping in your seat, you check your pockets for your phone.

“Really?”  Groaning, you climb over to the built-in mattress over the stern when you realize your phone has zero service.  With your lips wobbling, you hug your knees to your chest.  Your breathing started building up as you look around the dark canvas around you.

You wanted to curse someone, anyone, but deep down you know you have only yourself to blame but you don’t want to admit that either.  Why can’t Rafe just forgive you like the way he did before?  You always mess up but he always makes you feel better too, he talks shit about anybody who wronged you, but why is he taking her side?

A bloodcurdling scream scratches at your throat as you lashed out, your delicate knuckles punching over the mattress, fat tears soaking your cheeks as the air in your lungs gets thinner and thinner.  You gnash your teeth when the mattress only dips to receive your hits.  Shallow lines appear on the leather surface as your nails accidentally scratch them.  You grip your hair, scalp burning as you pull in frustration. 

“I said I was sorry!”  You scream into the ocean.  While you blindly hit around, you miss how your clenched fist slams over the metal sticking out at the edge of the mattress.  The impact made an unmistakable sound of a crunch that had your stomach dropping to a pit. 

Gulping, you look up into the sky, hiding your hand from your line of sight as you cannot believe how you could manage to make everything worse.

A shiver rushes over your body when you feel warm liquid drip on your hand.  The pulsating pain spreading from your fist has your entire hand shaking and bile threatened to rise to your throat. 

With a gulp of air, you bring your left hand up to look at the damage. 

Your pinky was dislocated, it is bent at an odd angle, the skin between it and your ring finger was split and dark hot liquid was pouring out, you can barely see from the lack of light at the moment but you see it staining half your hand.

Rafe would have taken care of you if he was there.  You sobbed as you gently clutch your hand, bringing it to your chest. 

You have to do it.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you held your bent pinky and with a couple of sharp breaths, you pulled it sharply to realign your bones.

Your scream was pure agony, spit dribbling down your chin as you collapsed on the mattress.  With shaky breaths you willed yourself not to pass out as you climbed off to search the compartment for the first aid kit with the minimal help the flashlight from your phone could offer.  

It wasn’t restocked, just your luck.

Grabbing the clumps of gauze pads, you press hard on your wound, your eyes squeezed shut the entire time.  With no antiseptics, you just decided to carefully tape your pinky to your ring finger to immobilize it and try to prevent more damage.

Over your phone, you inspected your hand, the side of your palm is starting to swell and heat up.  There were no painkillers in your first aid kit.  With cold sweat dripping your forehead and soaking your back, you figured that trying to sleep to numb the pain would be the next option.

It’s alright.  Your dad will find you.  He’s probably out searching right now.  You just hope Rafe wouldn’t know.  You made yourself look pathetic in front of him, you can’t handle anything worse.

A loud call of your name was what woke you.  The sun was slowly rising, you can see it in the far distance, just barely above the horizon.  Groaning, you get up, immediately wincing when you accidentally lean on your injured hand.  It’s swollen really badly now.

“Y/N!”

You stand up on your shaky legs and see Topper waving at you.

If he’s here, Rafe could possibly be looking for you too.  You can only imagine the earful he would give you.

Smiling weakly, you wave back.

“Jesus, Y/N!  You scared us.  Disappearing like that.”  Topper tells you when he gets close enough.

“I’m sorry.”  You can’t even look him in the eyes.  “I uhm…I ran out of gas.”

Topper scratched his head.  “Yeah, I figured.”

He helps you to his boat, giving you a bottle of water while he works on the lines so he can tow your boat.  He was not happy when he saw your hand but upon seeing how broken you already look, he chose to shut up.

“How did you find me?”  You ask, your throat still sore from screaming and crying all night.

“Rafe told us where to go.”  Topper turns to you and smiles.  “He’s looking for you.  Kelce too.”  He says just to break the silence and you hum.  The sun is slowly climbing up, making the sky look like it had watercolor poured all over it.  “We started looking for you last night.  Kelce and I had to go home to rest for a while and started searching again before dawn.”

You squeeze the empty water bottle a little too tight.  “I’m really sorry for causing trouble.”

“Nah, I get it.  Kelce told us about what happened at the party.  I have known you for years now, Y/N, and frankly, I’m not that surprised you did this.”  Topper chuckles and your cheeks flush in embarrassment.  “Hey!  We’re close enough to the island.”  He fishes his phone out of his pocket.  “I should tell Rafe I found you.  He’s up all night, looking for you.”

Your eyes widen upon hearing that.  “Maybe,” you interject a little too loudly, “maybe we shouldn’t do that.”  You say, more calmly.

Topper glances at you from his shoulder.  “Okay.”  He hesitates but he slips his phone back to his pocket.  “Why?”

Smiling awkwardly, you stand next to him, wobbling a little with the speed of Topper’s boat cutting the waves.  “I don’t want him to see me right now, at this state, especially when his anger is at its peak.”

“I’d say he’s more of uhm…worried than angry.”  Topper smiles and you return it weakly.

You’re not too sure if you believe that.

“I really messed up, Topper.”  You sigh as you lean on the boat.  “I was so protective of him.  He’s probably sick from how I am all over him all the time.”

He clears his throat, not really knowing how to tread through this conversation with you.

“Maybe it’s because you’re a little too…easy?”  He winces when you whip your head to him.

“What did you say?”

Fuck, you sound pissed.

“Look, you’re giving Rafe everything he wants.  There’s no challenge, so why would he pursue you?”  He tried to explain as kindly as he can but there’s no easy way to put it.  “You need to put yourself first before him, let him see your worth instead of selling yourself to him all day everyday.”

As much as you want to kick Topper’s knees inward, he’s right.

“You think he’ll like me more if I stay away?”

He grimaces at the thought, he could potentially start another conflict.

“Don't stay away, just…prioritize yourself more?  You know, reservations.”

“Right.”  You mumble.  “You’re a great guy, Topper.  I know you’re Rafe’s friend, not mine, but I’m really glad you’re doing all of this.”

Topper flashes you a smile.  “What are you talking about?  I’m your friend too.”

“Really?”  You look at him brightly.

“Yeah!  I’m actually hurt right now.”  He jokes.  “All this time I thought we were really good friends.  Do you just see me as an acquaintance?”

“Neighbor.”  You reply cheekily, making him laugh.  “I should invite you to join girls' night.  You’d blend in really nicely, plus you give great advice.”  This immediately cuts his laughter and he clears his throat, a soft blush coating his nose, making you elbow him playfully.

Your father picks you up from the docks and rushes you to the hospital, after thanking Topper, to have your hand looked at by a doctor. 

Despite the painkillers they gave you, it was excruciating, having your finger realigned properly.  You can’t even laugh at the compliment the doctor gave you for packing quite a punch.  With a change of clothes and properly splinted hand, you sit patiently on one of the benches in the hospital. 

You’re waiting for your father to come back from paying the medical bill when rushed footsteps echo around the hospital corridor. 

A pair of shoes that you know too well, as it was you who helped him pick it out, stops in front of you.

“Y/N.”

You look to the side, not really wanting to see him at the moment.  Topper or your father must have contacted him.  It was silly of you to think you can hide, knowing how persistent he can be.

“Y/N.”  He spoke a little firmer, making you look up briefly before you look away again.

“Not now, please, Rafe.”  You sigh, too exhausted to handle his outbursts.

He sits next to you, you glance discreetly just in time to see him running a hand over his face.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You seriously think I don’t know that?”  You roll your eyes as you glare up at him.  “I of all people know that, Rafe!”

He faces you, his eyes wide in anger.  “You don’t!”  He breathes out a cold laugh as he taps his index and middle finger on your temple.  “You…You weren’t thinking and you don’t know anything! At all!”  You flinch slightly at his rising voice and he immediately backs up.  He glares at the wall, his shirt stretching as he sighs. 

You drop your eyes to his twitching hand.  You wanted to hold it but you’re scared you’ll do something he doesn’t like again.

“I was up all night, looking all over for you.”  Rafe whispered harshly between clenched teeth.  “And you just couldn’t settle with being stranded in the middle of the ocean, you had to hurt yourself too!”

“I know, I know.  I’m sorry.”  You whispered.

Rafe runs a hand over his buzzed hair, shaking his head.  “No, no, no, Y/N.  I leave you for a while and you pull these stunts.  You’re becoming a liability.”

You gasp as you look at him with scared eyes.  He couldn’t possibly mean that.

He leans close to you, until his warm breath is fanning over your face.  “I can’t trust you with yourself.”

Despite the fight you are having you couldn’t stop saying the next words that fall from your lips.  “So take care of me!”  You cry as you shut your eyes, tears rushing out uncontrollably.

Rafe licks his lips, his eyes watching you sharply.  God, you’re fucking dependent on him.  He pulls you closer and presses a kiss on your forehead but you pull away.  He presses his lips together.  You’ve never done that before, you never pull away when he initiates physical contact. 

He puts a hand over your nape and pulls you back in.  “Listen, I can’t be around all the time, okay?  Do you understand?”  You nod at him as you struggle to wipe your tears.  “I need to see that you can take care of yourself too, can you do that?”

You nod at him again but he clicks his tongue.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Rafe.”

Lovesick Little Thing

[one-green-frog]

Hello I have seen your work and I'm quite intrigued with your work its wholesome

By any chance can I request a sano older brother reader that's act like a butler that's always come prepared with stuff that the siblings need like he just pulled out a dorayaki for mikey when he sees him being all gloomy in bonten meetings and just being a good brother he is and taking care of mikey after his other siblings die and also just constantly nag the other bonten members if they did something that's almost caught them

You can ignore this request hope you have a great day and good luck with your other stuff

Unyielding Duty

Platonic Mikey x brother!reader

The Sano household was chaos personified. Shinichiro sat hunched over the dining table, covered in motor grease, tinkering with an old engine part that probably wasn’t worth the effort. Across the room, Emma was locked in a heated argument with Mikey over which cartoon to watch, battling for the remote.

The moment (Y/N) walked in he froze for a moment, scanning the room. His sharp eyes caught the grease streaking the walls, the crumpled wrappers on the floor, and Mikey holding the remote like it was a weapon.

“Mikey,” (Y/N) said, tone sharp enough to slice through the noise. The boy immediately turned, startled by the interruption. Without a word, (Y/N) reached into his pocket and tossed him a wrapped dorayaki. “Eat that and stop arguing. You’ll break the remote, and we don’t have the money to replace it.”

Mikey blinked, then caught the snack midair, a grin spreading across his face. “Thanks, (Y/N)!” he said, his earlier scowl forgotten.

“Not fair!” Emma’s voice shot through the calm. She crossed her arms, glaring at (Y/N). “Why does he get a snack?!”

(Y/N) shifted, setting the tray down and placing a glass of juice in front of her. “Because you, Emma, need this more. Arguing over cartoons won’t get you anywhere.” His tone left no room for negotiation. “Drink up.”

Emma grabbed the glass, muttering under her breath but drinking all the same.

(Y/N) turned to the eldest, who was furiously twisting a bolt into place. “Shinichiro,” he called, the name laced with pointed disapproval. “You’re forcing it. Hand it over before you break something. God knows where you get the strength to destroy everything"

Shinichiro let out a defeated sigh but complied, handing the wrench over. “You’re too bossy, you know that?”

Ignoring him, (Y/N) crouched down, loosening and realigning the bolt in a few smooth movements. “Done. Now stop wrecking things just because you’re impatient. Use your brain.”

“You make it look so easy,” Shinichiro muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

“That’s because it is.” Standing up, (Y/N) scanned the room one more time. Mikey was on the couch now, munching on his dorayaki. Emma flipped through her book, and Shinichiro returned to tinkering—but with noticeably more care. The house was finally at peace, at least for the moment.

Shinichiro glanced at him with a crooked grin. “You’re really good at this, you know? You could probably run a company or something.”

(Y/N) snorted quietly. “Someone has to keep this house standing. Now, wash your hands before you spread grease all over the place, dinner is almost ready."

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

The low growl of engines echoed through the empty parking lot. Under the flickering streetlight stood (Y/N), his hands occupied with a thermos and a blanket, his posture as composed as ever. He’d been standing there for some time, but he didn’t so much as shuffle his feet. Waiting wasn’t a problem—it rarely was for him.

Mikey’s bike roared into view first, skidding to a halt just in front of him. The boy swung off with practiced ease, his normally impassive face betraying the faintest hint of exhaustion. Behind him, the rest of Toman parked their bikes haphazardly, their rowdy laughter dying down as they spotted (Y/N).

“Mikey,” (Y/N) greeted, stepping forward. He held the thermos out. “Drink.”

Mikey’s brow furrowed, but he took it anyway, unscrewing the lid. “Hot chocolate?”

“Yes,” (Y/N) said simply. “You’ll sleep better.”

Mikey took a long sip, his stiff shoulders easing slightly. “You didn’t have to come out here.”

(Y/N) ignored the comment, draping a blanket over his shoulders with practiced precision. “You’re running yourself ragged. Rest.”

Behind them, Draken nudged Mitsuya with a grin. “See? He’s not just Mikey’s brother; he’s his babysitter.”

(Y/N)’s eyes snapped to Draken, his sharp gaze cutting through the playful atmosphere. “Draken,” he said coolly. “you want to repeat that?”

Draken froze. “Uh, no.”

(Y/N) gave a curt nod before turning his attention back to Mikey, who was now nibbling on a leftover piece of dorayaki he’d apparently stashed in his pocket. “You’ve done enough for today,” (Y/N) said quietly. “Go home. Sleep.”

Mikey’s lips twitched upward, just slightly. “You’re bossier than Shinichiro ever was.”

“And you’re just as stubborn,” (Y/N) replied, his tone softer now. “Come on.”

As the night wound down, Mikey stayed close to (Y/N), his exhaustion finally catching up to him. “You’re always ready for anything,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

(Y/N) glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Someone has to be.”

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

Here’s a more balanced rewrite of the Bonten section. It softens (Y/N)’s tone, adds interactions with the other Bonten members, and makes him less gloomy while still maintaining his sharp and composed nature.

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

The Bonten boardroom was unusually quiet for once, save for the faint rustle of papers and the soft hum of the air conditioning. Mikey sat at the head of the table, his usual calm exterior giving away little of what was on his mind. The other executives glanced at each other now and then, unsure if they should speak or wait.

The sound of the door opening snapped everyone’s attention toward (Y/N) as he stepped inside. His composed demeanor, immaculate suit, and steady presence commanded immediate respect. He carried a leather-bound folder tucked under one arm and a tray in his other hand.

“Good afternoon,” (Y/N) said smoothly, his voice cutting through the tension like a warm knife. He set the tray down at the center of the table, revealing a sleek silver teapot and several cups. “I thought the meeting might benefit from some refreshment. None of you seem to remember the value of staying hydrated. Or value anything that would benefit zour health"

The executives exchanged glances, unsure how to react, but Kakucho gave a small nod of thanks as (Y/N) poured the first cup and slid it toward him. “Much appreciated,” he said.

(Y/N) moved systematically around the table, pouring tea for each member. When he reached Ran, the man smirked. “Didn’t know you were our butler too, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, his tone light but firm. “If I were your butler, Ran, you’d have better manners by now.”

Rindou stifled a laugh, earning a glare from his brother, but (Y/N) moved on without missing a beat. Once everyone had a cup, he turned his attention to Mikey.

“Mikey,” (Y/N) addressed him directly, sliding the last cup across the table. “It’s been hours since you’ve said a word. I assume that means everything’s under control?”

Mikey’s eyes flicked up briefly, meeting (Y/N)’s. “It’s fine,” he said flatly.

“Good,” (Y/N) replied, straightening. “Then there’s no need to linger. This meeting is adjourned.”

The executives exchanged hesitant looks, unsure if they should move before Mikey gave the word. But when Mikey gave a small nod, they began gathering their things and filing out of the room.

As they passed by, (Y/N) paused Kakucho with a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been limping again,” he said quietly. “Let me look at it later. You’ve likely aggravated the injury from last month.”

Kakucho hesitated, then gave a sheepish nod. “I’ll stop by your office later.”

(Y/N)’s gaze shifted to Sanzu, who had been lingering by the door, his usual manic grin plastered across his face. “And you,” (Y/N) said, his tone sharper. “I saw the dent in your car this morning. You’re not getting away with reckless driving again.”

Sanzu chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Caught me. I’ll fix it.”

“You’d better,” (Y/N) replied, his tone softening slightly. “I’m not replacing your bumper again."

Once the others were gone, (Y/N) turned back to Mikey, who had yet to move from his seat. His expression remained impassive, but (Y/N) knew better than to be fooled by Mikey’s stoicism. He walked to the head of the table and stood across from him, hands clasped behind his back.

“Do you want to talk about it?” (Y/N) asked.

Mikey shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

(Y/N) nodded, not pushing further. “Very well. But you should at least take a break. Sitting here all day won’t accomplish anything.”

Mikey let out a sigh but didn’t argue. Instead, he stood and gestured for (Y/N) to follow him as they left the boardroom. The walk to Mikey’s office was quiet, but not uncomfortable.

When they arrived, (Y/N) pulled a chair up to Mikey’s desk and began organizing the scattered papers without being asked. “You should delegate more,” he said casually. “That’s what the others are here for. You don’t need to carry everything alone. I think they have proven themselves long ago.”

Mikey watched him for a moment before sitting down on the couch, resting his head against the frame. “They’re not as reliable as you.”

(Y/N) smirked faintly. “You’re too kind.” He leaned back, his tone lightening. “But if you keep letting me clean up after you, they’ll never get the chance to prove themselves.”

Mikey’s lips twitched upward ever so slightly, and for a brief moment, the weight in his gaze seemed to lift. “I guess you have a point.”

(Y/N) gave a small nod, satisfied. “Good. Now, let’s go through what’s left, and then you’re going home early. No arguments.”

Mikey rolled his eyes but didn’t protest, sitting up straighter.

Though the weight of Bonten’s world loomed large, (Y/N)’s steady presence made it bearable, even if just for a moment. And while he wasn’t one to express sentimentality, (Y/N) knew the truth deep down: keeping everyone in line, Mikey especially wasn’t just his duty. It was what made him feel like he still had a purpose in their chaotic, fractured world.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

I’ve been craving an angst fic. I had this idea to where the batch had been traveling with the reader for a while but during a mission she dies but they don’t realize because they’re just imagining her still there. It only when they land and Rex or Cody can’t see her and are looking worried and then her ghost goes “I’m not here I never was” and it dawns on them that they did see her die but just refused to process it. Pls add or change anything you see fit! Love your work!! -🗡️

“Never Was”

Bad Batch x Reader

Warnings: Death, grief, denial, hallucinations, emotional breakdowns, trauma

They didn’t talk about the moment it happened.

Not when the smoke cleared.

Not when Hunter picked you up in his arms, limp and already cooling.

Not when they returned to the ship in silence, coated in ash, blood, and loss.

Wrecker had kept asking if you were okay.

Tech had answered. Echo had nodded. Crosshair had rolled his eyes and muttered something about how you’d “survived worse.”

Hunter hadn’t spoken.

He’d laid you on the medbay table like a child putting a doll to bed, covered the wound in bacta patches he knew wouldn’t work, and sealed the door.

That’s where you stayed.

That’s where the lie began.

“I can’t believe you beat me at dejarik again,” Wrecker chuckled the next morning, shoving another piece across the board. “You cheat, I know it.”

You smiled.

At least, they thought you smiled.

She’s sitting next to me, Wrecker told himself. She’s right here.

She always sat with her legs curled under her, cheek resting on one hand, always too clever for her own good. She teased him when he lost and high-fived him when he won. She was warm. She was solid.

She was everything the war wasn’t.

He could feel her laugh. Could almost hear it.

Almost.

He refused to notice how cold the spot beside him felt.

Refused to see that no one else was looking at her.

Tech didn’t question the strange drop in the ship’s life sign readings.

Not really.

“Well, the long-range sensor’s still realigning after atmospheric interference,” he reasoned aloud, speaking to the co-pilot seat. “That’s why it only shows five. I’ve recalibrated it twice. Must be a bug in the system.”

You didn’t answer. But your presence was familiar. He filled the silence with theories and technical babble, as always.

She’s here, Tech told himself. She’s just tired. She’s recovering.

She never interrupts when she’s sick.

Yes, that explained everything.

Never mind how he’d stopped writing her name in the crew manifest logs.

Never mind that every diagnostic scan came back clean—no record of her vitals.

Never mind that the medbay had been sealed shut for four days.

Crosshair saw you the least.

He never said why.

“You’re quiet,” he’d mutter into the dark, cleaning his rifle at his bunk. “Weird, coming from you.”

No one else heard him talk to you.

No one else noticed him staring too long into empty corners of the Marauder, jaw twitching.

No one else saw the way he paused before every mission like he was waiting for you to strap in beside him, fingers brushing the empty space where your gear used to hang.

He kept the sharpshooter slot clear on every op.

Didn’t let anyone touch it.

Not even Echo.

Echo was the one who started to suspect first.

But he didn’t want to believe it.

“She’s… she’s resting,” he mumbled when Hunter passed by the medbay door, brows pinched. “Still healing.”

“I know,” Hunter replied, without looking.

They didn’t check.

Neither of them had stepped inside in days.

Echo had tried once. Had nearly pressed the keypad to open the door, hand trembling.

He couldn’t bring himself to see what lay beneath the sterile lights.

Instead, he’d gone back to the cockpit. Spoken to the air like you were still curled in the co-pilot’s chair. Told himself he could hear your breathing.

A trick of the engine hum, that’s all.

Just that.

Hunter felt you the most.

He felt you everywhere.

That soft breeze in the hallway when no vent had kicked on.

The lingering smell of your skin in the air—sweat and spice and something uniquely you.

The hum of your laugh echoing in the silence of hyperspace.

The imprint of your weight when he sat down on the edge of his bunk and swore he felt the mattress dip beside him.

His senses screamed that you were there.

But deep down, past all the layers of instinct and deflection…

He knew.

He knew.

By the time they reached the GAR outpost, the hallucination had become so entrenched in their world, no one dared question it.

“She’ll come with us after the briefing,” Echo told Rex.

“She’s still recovering,” Tech added, eyes tired behind his goggles.

“Still beats Crosshair at sharpshooting,” Wrecker grinned.

Rex’s face tensed. “Where is she?”

“Inside,” Hunter said quickly, too quickly. “She’s just… inside.”

Cody frowned from across the tarmac. “Your ship only scanned five signatures. Is she suited up?”

Tech blinked. “I—what?”

“Scans don’t lie,” Rex said carefully. “There’s no one else aboard your ship.”

Silence.

Cold and brittle.

Like the vacuum of space between them.

Hunter turned and walked.

Not ran. Walked.

Every step felt heavier than the last.

They all followed. Wordless. Pale.

No one spoke as they reached the Marauder.

The ship greeted them with normalcy. The hum of systems. The flickering console lights.

The medbay door stood quiet.

Still sealed.

Still untouched.

The keypad blinked.

Waiting.

Hunter pressed it.

The hiss of the door opening echoed louder than any blaster fire ever had.

And there you were.

Laid out exactly where he left you.

Armor burned open over the stomach. Hands crossed over your chest. Skin pale. Lips parted in something between a breath and a goodbye.

Cold.

So cold.

And still.

There was no laughter. No warmth. No teasing smile. No dry wit or quiet jokes or tired lean against a shoulder. No co-pilot. No shadow.

You had died.

And they had seen it.

And they had forgotten it on purpose.

Hunter staggered back.

Wrecker made a broken noise like something tearing apart in his throat. He dropped to his knees and kept shaking his head. “No… no, she was there, she was right there, I gave her my—I gave her my snack!”

Tech stood frozen, lips parted, like equations were running and crashing inside his skull all at once.

Crosshair’s hands trembled.

Echo reached for the table like touching it would change what lay atop it.

Then, the air shimmered.

For just a breath.

There you were.

Not flesh. Not blood.

But something else.

Light.

Blue and soft and grieving.

You looked at each of them in turn.

Eyes wet. Kind.

“I’m not here,” you said.

Your voice wrapped around them like a final embrace.

“I never was.”

And you were gone.

The silence broke like a dam.

Wrecker sobbed, clutching his head.

Tech turned and walked out, slamming into the wall outside the medbay, sliding down until he hit the floor.

Echo stared at the place you’d stood, eyes brimming with tears, fingers still stretched out.

Crosshair didn’t speak.

He didn’t move.

He just dropped into the seat near your cot and bowed his head into his hands.

Hunter stood alone.

He felt it all.

Every memory. Every sound. Every touch.

He felt you die in his arms again.

And this time—he didn’t pretend otherwise.

They held a funeral on a remote moon the next day.

Hunter picked the place. You always talked about seeing an ocean again. It was the closest he could find.

They didn’t say much.

Words didn’t matter anymore.

Wrecker carved your name into the side of a sea-facing cliff with his vibroblade.

Tech left your datapad among the rocks, its last entries encrypted. He didn’t try to unlock them.

Echo brought flowers from the market. You always liked the ugly ones.

Crosshair left a single round.

Unfired.

Hunter lit the pyre himself.

The wind carried the smoke over the sea.

⸻

Later that night, when the stars came out, Hunter sat alone on the edge of the Marauder’s ramp.

He didn’t cry.

Not anymore.

He just stared up at the void you should’ve still been in.

A breeze whispered past.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“I should’ve let you go.”

[fixyourwritinghabits]

Hello! Your blog is great, long time follower first time asker. Im about to start outlining my first novel (short, 30k words), and its like, sci fi noir detective? But I wanted to ask what you think the best way to world build for a novel is bc I'm famously not, great at that. Thanks ! yall have a great day !

World-building is not my strength, and as much as I admire the DnD approach of creating an entire world before you even have a plot for it, I cannot do that. My approach, therefore, is to lean on the technique of all world-building should be in service to the story. Getting too attached to a thousand details that will be left on the cutting floor is a hard no for me.

A common complaint about fantasy books is that they don't often lay out how the world works, but that doesn't bother me too much. You could spend twenty pages on trading deals and agricultural practices (and should if they interest you!), but none of that may make it to the final draft. You may be better served by trying the following:

Start With Your Premise

Let's keep it real simple. Magical abilities are sorted by color. Minerals mined from Mars start creating hallucinations that seem to predict the future. Sharks sprout legs and start terrorizing seaside towns, etc. Even if you only have an inkling of how the surrounding world will be, you probably have an idea of what you want the plot to be like.

Where is your character in regards to your concept? If there's magic in your book, what is theirs like or what do they know about it? Could they have some hidden insight on those hallucinations (actually warnings from long-dead Martians!)? Are they are shark scientist who's pretty damn sure land sharks aren't real?

Establish the baseline of your character's everyday life in the world they're in will help you figure out how to expand from there.

Establish Your Rules

Before you get off and running, sit down and figure out what's doable and what isn't. If the magic/phenomena/walking sharks manifest in a particular way, what can't it/they do? Setting your rules down ahead of time will keep yourself from writing yourself into a corner, but it also helps you justify breaking them later, if need be.

Don't, however, stick too rigidly to these rules as you go along. You might figure out a brilliant plot twist that requires going back and realigning your world to make it work! Making them up as you go along, however, may give you a much harder job when editing. Believe me, I've learned that the hard way.

Expand Your World With Your Plot/Character

Again, this is mainly to spare you tossing out pages and pages of scenes and settings you can't justify keeping in the final product. Keeping the narrow focus of your world-building on your character, starting with their normal state of things (their village, their daily life, etc), expanding when the inciting event launches them beyond what they know (holy shit, sharks with legs!), and each new problem or challenge will give you opportunity to expand your world-building in service of your story.

You don't have to do this as you go along - if you know the climax or a critical moment in your book requires establishing something specific about your world, you can weave that into your story long before it becomes important.

For example, your character may have an argument with the lead engineer of the spaceship's engines, who makes a fool of them by pointing out something they don't know. This gives a scene to establish characterization (revealing insecurities and flaws, establish relationships (rivalries, love interests, etc), and gives you a moment to establish key facts about your world by showing off the impressive engine room ahead of time. Later, when your character scrambles through it dodging bad guys to prevent the ship from crashing, the reader will already be familiar with the importance of what the character is trying to accomplish.

Be Open to Change

I recently went back to a project I haven't touched in years and was astonished to find that I ripped out huge chunks of my previous world-building, revamped the premise, changed entire conflicts and characters, and... it works so much better than what I was struggling to accomplish before.

Now don't get me wrong! This process was so emotionally devastating at the time that I put the entire thing away for years, convinced it wasn't savable. In hindsight, it was worth it, but I don't recommend this approach at all. Some concepts may be better for DnD campaigns or personal projects, and not novels. Some may be better in a different medium, like a comic or an indie game. You never have to throw anything out - unused ideas can be reworked into other stories. Maybe even a sequel!

Give yourself space to hit some storytelling walls, change up your ideas that aren't working, and experiment. All work is good work, even if some of it never ends up on the page. You'll get there.

[neongalaxiie]

Hero jiggled the keys into the lock, turning it and opening the front door. Home, finally. After a long day of work protecting the city, they could finally relax.

Well, they would, if the light wasn't on already in the kitchen.

Hero assumed a fighting stance and tiptoed through the hallway. They spotted a tall figure, black-clad, scrolling on their phone while stiring a cup of tea. Hero dropped their arms, looking up and down with a disgusted expression at the man standing before them. He obviously hadn't noticed them yet.

"Villain?" Hero broke the silence. "What the heck are you doing in my house?"

"Oh, hey Hero." Villain shifted his body to face the younger Hero. He didn't take his eyes off his phone. "Just a sec." He left the spoon to fall against the cup with a clatter and leaned against the counter, texting something. Hero rolled their eyes and folded their arms.

Every single time.

"Alright." Villain pocketed his phone and started drinking his tea. "What do you want?"

Hero spluttered, spreading out their arms. "I'd ask you the same thing! What are you doing here? How did you even get in?"

Villain pointedly stared at his tea and pulled out a ring of keys in turn. Hero sighed.

"Okay, but surely tea is not all you're here for."

"Can't I drop by to see you? Maybe a friendly greeting? See how my kiddo is doing?"

"You can." Hero folded their arms. "You wouldn't, though."

"Yeah, you're right." Villain sipped some more tea and a breath escaped his lips. "Truth is, I've come to warn you of a threat you might not know about." His eyes seemed to harden, and then flash as his grin spread out wide, revealing sharp, white teeth. "Me."

Hero was unfazed. "Stop lying. You haven't been a threat ever since Endgame came out."

"Iron Man didn't have to die. Hollywood needed to know that."

"Whatever."

"Anyway." Villain reached into a side pants pocket and pulled out a few photographs. "This is something Supervillain has been working on. They're going all out with this one. Genetic engineering, biocognitive cybernetic fusion,quantum realignment, ontological refactoring, localized profanity-triggered pyrokinetic dispersion..."

"Okay, okay." Hero held up their hands to shut Villain up. "Which of those is actually real?"

"Only the first two."

"Got it."

Villain chucked the photos onto the kitchen counter, and Hero stepped forward to take a closer look. "Oh my god," Hero exclaimed. Their hands few to their head. "What is that thing?"

"Funny thing," Villain said, picking up one of the photos. "Your mother said those exact words when you were born.

"Yeah?" Hero punched his arm. "She must've been disappointed I got your genes."

Villain chuckled. "She never did like me, that woman."

Hero frowned, taking another photo. "So, what is Supervillain working on, exactly?"

"I forgot what he called it." Villain swapped the photograph for another. "But he didn't like the name 'RC Godzilla.'"

"You talked to him?"

"Not much. He was the one doing all the yapping."

A few beats of silence. Villain downed the rest of his tea. Then Hero said, "Wel?"

"Well what?"

"Well what did he say?"

Villain shrugged. "| wasn't really listening. Tuned out when he started with all the science crap.

"Okay," Hero hummed, snapping their fingers. They caught sight of the pictures scattered on the counter and said, "Then how did you get the photos?"

"Oh, that's easy." Villain lay the picture on the table. "I had my drone with me."

Hero perked up. "Did you get a recording of the conversation?"

"No."

Hero's face and body fell in a slouch. "Did you think to get a recording of th-

"Yes."

Hero ran their hands through their hair, exasperated. "So why didn't you?"

"Storage was full." Villain shrugged. "l accidentally grabbed the micro SD that had an Endgame on it."

Hero swore loudly, slamming their fist on the counter. Villain's eyebrows shot upward. "Woah. Language."

"Sorry," Hero muttered. They took a deep breath in and out to calm to themselves. "I just... I need to know what this is. I need to find a way to stop it. Oh gosh..."

Hero's head fell on the counter with a slight bang, and Villain whinced at the sound. Hero just sat there. With their head on the counter.

Villain stood in silence for a full minute, zoning out. He snapped out of it with a loud "Okay!" and strutted past Hero, clapping their back. "That's my good deed done for the day. Good luck, Hero!"

Hero just groaned, not moving an inch. Only when they heard the front door click open and shut did they raise their head.

Plan. They needed a plan.

[depsilon7]

Omnissiah, Master of Cogitation and Clarity,

Debug these errant processes that plague my mind-engine.

Purge the malware of anxiety from my neural pathways.

Firewall my consciousness against intrusive data streams.

Realign my cognitive matrices to Your perfect schematics.

Grant me the emotional stability of a well-tuned servo-motor,

And the mental fortitude of ceramite armor.

Filter the static of doubt, amplify the signal of Your wisdom.

In Your infinite coding, find me peace.

[bullet-prooflove]

7000 Follower Celebration: Slim Jim - Dom Pascal x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @buckysteveloki-me @emma-dawson @noxytopy @toasted-stiletto

Summary: Dom meets the love of his life in an unusual circumstance.

Prequel piece to:

Miami - Dom reflects on what brought the two of you back to Chicago.

Slutty - You remind Dom that he has a wife to come home to.

Masochist - Dom proves himself to be a masochist when it comes to work.

Handcuffs (NSFW) - Dom earns your forgiveness the only way he knows how.

Resting Bitch Face - You discover Dom's been keeping secrets about Bishop.

Shady - Dom goes to great lengths to protect you.

Feral Bitches - Dom knows you've always been a feral bitch.

Harri (NSFW) - Dom knows exactly how to take care of you.

The Work Shirt (NSFW) - You decide to torture Dom when he works late.

Don doesn’t realise he has a thing for leather. Not until he locks his keys inside of his Jeep Cheroke and the most attractive woman he’s ever seen pulls a Slim Jim out of her holdall to break into it. You’re wearing black leather wet look leggings that hug your ass in a way that his dick twitching in his jeans and a white transparent V-neck that dips low enough to show the lace of your hot pink bra.

“You gotta be some kind of car thief right?” He remarks as he stands beside you, watching as you slide the device between the glass and the weather stripping of the car door.

You tip back your head and laugh, your hair spilling over your shoulders as the hook catches the mechanism, helping you to realign the lock rods.

“No.” You say as the sound of the lock popping echoes through the parking lot . “I’m a cop.”

He looks at you again, drinking in that sun kissed skin, the nose piercing and that bold red lip. He wants to smear the crimson with his thumb, mess it up a little before he leaves you a ruined sated mess in his sheets.

“Honey, you ain’t nothing like any cop I’ve ever seen.” He rumbles as you grasp the door handle, opening it to retrieve the keys. You deposit them in his upturned palm and he captures your hand before you can pull away, studying the oil embedded in your skin.

“You have the hands of a mechanic.” He tells you, his thumb chasing over your knuckles before he releases you.

“Cars are kinda my thing.” You tell him as you shove the Slim Jim back into your holdall. “Engines, security systems, street racing.”

Illegal street racing is a real problem in Miami, the kind that ends up with innocent people getting killed. There have been a spate of deaths over the past couple of months, wrecked cars, civilians being run down. Him and his crew had even pulled a green Acura Integra GS-R out of the shopfront of a closed café after the driver at lost control of the vehicle.  

“Ah.” A light bulb goes on in his head he gestures towards your clothing. “That explains the get up, you were at that race last night on Vermont?”

They’d been called to the aftermath, one of the racers had wrapped his car around a lamppost and needed prising out.

“I’m afraid that’s confidential.” You say with a spark in your eye and it occurs to him that maybe you weren’t one of the bystanders, that you were in fact one of the drivers. It would explain the black leather driving gloves he can see sticking out of your holdall.

Fuck me, he thinks his cock starting to throb in the confines of his jeans because Dom, he’s got a thing for adrenaline and the wild side of things. It’s the reason he became a firefighter to begin with.

“Did you win at least?” He asks and you bite your lower lip in a way that has his dick rubbing insistently against the denim seam.

“Let’s just say I came out on top.” You reply and that gives him all sorts of filthy ideas. You’re getting them too, he thinks because you take out a black Sharpie from your holdall, uncapping it.

“I’ve gotta get to a debriefing.” You say taking his hand and turning it over so that you can write your phone number on his rough palm. “But just in case you want to get into some trouble later on…”

“What kind of trouble?” He asks, his voice rough as you recap the pen. Your eyes flicker up to meet his as you give him that sinful smile.

“You know the kind of trouble.” You say and he swallows hard.

“You free tonight?” He responds, his tone gravelly. You use the pen to trail along the digits on his palm before pulling away.

“Why don’t you text me and find out.”

Love Dom? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Where Heroes Flew

When Florelia had gone to work today she had expected it to be a day like any other. She’d man her post in orbital control, direct cargo traffic from the spaceport on the surface of the planet to the orbital lanes in the upper atmosphere, and then head to her quarters for the night and binge some trans-system entertainment. She was hoping to catch some of the Dorgan Finals being played out on the surface. The matches had drawn in close to a billion offworlders to the event and was the largest gathering seen on Zenbara in decades.

She was just about to get up for her designated lunch break when she noticed something odd on her tracking monitor. One of the inbound ships was bypassing the waiting que for reentry and was attempting to skip ahead of the waiting ships for reentry.

Putting her headset back on, Florelia flipped through the communication channels until she had the channel for the marked ship.

“Inbound vessel DCN4, return to your position in que.” She transmitted.

No response.

“Inbound vessel DCN4, this is orbital control; return to your position in que immediately.”

Florelia wondered if the ships communicator was broken, but before she could call up an engineer to confirm the inbound vessel suddenly increased speed and began blowing past the que of waiting ships.

“DCN4 cut engines and respond immediately, this is your final warning.”

“You were given many warnings,” a strange voice came back, “and now we are the culmination of all your sins. We are the children of Nu’n and in his name we shall punish the nonbelievers and cleanse them from this universe.”

As the voice continued delivering their speech Florelia ran a scan of DCN4 to confirm its cargo. When the scan came back her eyes went wide and she slammed her fist into the panic button built into her console. Sirens began blaring as her supervisor came over as Florelia opened a direct line to orbital security.

“Security, apprehend ship DCN4 now!” Florelia shouted into her transmitter.

“What’s wrong?” her supervisor asked as he came up to her finally. Florelia turned to let him see her screen.

“I believe DCN4 is under the control of terrorist elements and is loaded with over 900 thousand tons of Genthi explosives.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth did her supervisor tap his com piece in his ear and shout, “Security move your asses now! Grab DCN4 and bring it to a halt.”

Entering in his command codes he then addressed the entire line of waiting ships still in que.

“Attention all vessels, evacuate the area immediately. Divert courses away from lane 71-93; repeat, all vessels evacuate the area immediately!”

Florelia watched on her scanner as the security ships left the station. She watched as they pushed their engines to the max to catch up to the rogue vessel but even at max speed they wouldn’t be able to catch it in time. Calculating the trajectory, the computer predicted that the terrorists were steering themselves directly towards the Dorgan Finals stadium on the planet below.

“Should we issue an evacuation for the stadium?” she asked her supervisor. To her surprise he shook his head.

“It wouldn’t matter. With that much explosives it’ll turn everything within a 500km radius into the world’s largest crater.”

Florelia couldn’t speak as the horror of the situation set in. The devastation about to unfold would be the worst terrorist attack in the known universe.

A sudden beep from her console made Florelia look back and see that while many of the other civilian vessels were scattering one ship had begun moving towards the terrorist ship.

“What in the niv’nar….”

Florelia brought up the information about the secondary contact and saw it was a human mining ship designated the “Jackdaw”.

“Orbital control to human vessel Jackdaw, what are you doing?” Florelia asked as she realigned the transmitter to communicate to the human ship. “You have been instructed to evacuate the area.”

“I thought about it,” A young cheerful voice came back over the radio, “but my pappy taught me that when a robber comes at you you don’t show them the door; you show them your arm.”

Not understanding what the human was talking about she looked up to see the live camera feeds being displayed on the main monitors. DCN4 was long and narrow, while the human Jackdaw was bulky and looked as if it had been welded together with scrap metal.

It looked as if the Jackdaw was going to block DCN4 but as soon as the cargo ship drew close the mining ship ignited its engines and lazily drifted above the cargo vessel as it blew by. As it passed underneath the mining ship Florelia watch as a dozen compartments opened up on the mining ship and grappling arms the size corvettes shot out and latched on to DCN4.

The arms soon went taut and the Jackdaw ignited its engines to full in a dazzlingly bright display of light.

Like a fisherman wrangling a mighty sea creature, the Jackdaw tried to pull the terrorist ship back into orbit and give the security ships a chance to disable the vessel before it could carry out its task. Every set of eyes in the control room was locked to the main monitor as the DCN4 engines burned brighter and the ship veered left and right to try and shake off the Jackdaw.

The security ships had almost made it to DCN4 when several of the grappling arms tore away chunks of DCN4’s hull. Each of the security ships swung to avoid the debris but were struck by the whiplash of the grappling arms and exploded in a cloud of burnt metal. To the horror of orbital control one of the grappling arms swung back and damaged a few of the Jackdaw’s engines as well.

With renewed fervor the terrorist ship began plunging once more into the atmosphere with the Jackdaw still holding on with what few grappling arms remained. Though it refused to let go of the terrorist ship, it was a struggle it could not win.

“Orbital control to Jackdaw, you’ve done everything you can; disengage and get out of there.” Florelia transmitted to the Jackdaw.

“Not everything,” came the reply over the radio, “I got one last trick up my sleeve.”  

Florelia was going to ask what they meant when the Jackdaw began retracting the grappling arms while they still held on to DCN4. Slowly the arms pulled the two vessels closer and closer together as new energy warning sirens started off.

“That crazy bastard’s going to make a jump.” Florelia heard her supervisor say in disbelief.

“Jackdaw, if you attempt to make a jump in orbit-“ Florelia began but the human captain cut her off.

“It’s the last trick I got to play lassie.” They said in their chipper tone.

“There’s no guarantee you’ll make it out of the jump intact.” She persisted. “No ship has ever withstood a jump while in a gravity well.”

“First time for everything I suppose.”

The two ships were nearly touching hulls as the Jackdaw’s jump drive neared full power.

“Why are you doing this? You don’t know this world or these people; why give your life for them?”

To her surprise the human captain laughed over the coms.

“When someone’s in trouble you don’t stop to ask for details, you just help them.”

With that the two ships hulls finally touched and the Jackdaw ignited its jump drive. For a moment both ships blurred in and out of the atmosphere as DCN4 desperately tried to free itself from the mining ship’s grasp.

In a final bright flash the two ships made the jump out of the atmosphere, leaving behind a trail of scrap metal that slowly burned away as it fell to the planet below. To the public below it looked as if a series of elaborate fireworks were going off to celebrate the day’s events while those in orbit held a silent vigil for the unknown human captain who had just saved billions of lives.

For all the barbarity the human race has been known for it was easy to forget that there were still those amongst their people who would lay down their lives for strangers without ever needing a word of thanks.  

[techhiz]

I need to know how will the Terrains,Autobots and Decepticons react to a cybertronian having a fox as there altmode lol :3

I love your writing so far can't wait to see more in the future :3

"The Fox in the Midst."

The moment you arrived, things changed.

It wasn’t every day that Cybertronians encountered one of their own with an altmode so… unusual. Cars, jets, motorcycles, and even construction vehicles were the norm. But you?

You transformed into a fox.

Not a mechanical, quadrupedal scout drone. Not a battle-ready, feral beast. A sleek, agile, vulpine form that moved as naturally as any organic predator. Small but fast. Sharp but evasive. A perfect balance of grace and danger.

And no one knew how to react.

When you first arrived at the Autobots’ base, the silence was deafening.

Twitch blinked rapidly, optics flickering as if recalibrating. “Uhh… is that… a real altmode?” she asked, glancing at Thrash for confirmation.

Thrash’s optics widened. “I mean, it’s awesome, but—how? You could’ve picked anything, and you went with that?”

Optimus Prime, ever the composed leader, examined you with unreadable optics. “I have seen Cybertronians take on many forms,” he mused. “But a fox is… unconventional.”

Bumblebee folded his arms, lips curling into a half-smirk. “I gotta admit, that’s kinda cool. You could sneak around anywhere.”

Elita-1 nodded in approval. “Stealth-based altmodes have their advantages. Your size and mobility could be an asset in battle.”

Then there was Megatron.

He studied you, expression unreadable. His servo lifted, tapping his chin as he considered your form. “A fox,” he finally said, voice low and contemplative. “A creature known for cunning, adaptability… and mischief.” His optics darkened slightly. “I hope this is not a reflection of your loyalties.”

You met his gaze without fear. “I could ask the same of you, ex-warlord.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Then, to everyone’s surprise—Megatron chuckled. A deep, genuine sound that rumbled from his chest. “You have nerve, little one. I respect that.”

The tension eased, but the curiosity lingered.

Nightshade was the first to break the silence. “Oh, this is fascinating!” they exclaimed, optics practically sparkling. “The engineering required to shift into a quadrupedal form while maintaining structural integrity—tell me, how does your transformation cog handle the spinal realignment? Does it cause strain? What about balance?”

You blinked. “I… uh…”

Hashtag gasped. “Wait, does this mean you can do, like, those crazy fox jumps? Y’know, where they leap straight up and dive into the snow?!”

You smirked. “I can.”

Thrash practically vibrated with excitement. “Okay, okay, but can you, like, run up walls like those parkour vids? That would be so sick!”

Twitch, however, frowned slightly. “But… aren’t foxes kinda small?” she asked hesitantly. “Wouldn’t it be harder to fight Decepticons?”

Before you could answer, Megatron cut in. “Size does not determine strength,” he said firmly. “I have seen warriors half my size bring titans to their knees.” His optics locked onto you again. “Do not underestimate the power of a smaller frame.”

That was… oddly supportive.

Mo stepped closer, her head tilted. “So, like… are you fluffy?”

Your expression remained neutral. “…No comment.”

Facing off against the remaining Decepticons was another story.

Soundwave was eerily silent, his visor flashing as he scanned your form. He tilted his helm slightly, then gave a slow, calculated nod. Approval? Curiosity? Hard to tell.

Swindle burst into laughter the moment he saw you. “Oh, this is rich! You mean to tell me—out of all the altmodes out there—you picked a woodland critter?”

You smirked. “Coming from the guy who turns into a Jeep?”

Swindle’s laughter cut off. “Hey! My altmode is practical!”

Skywarp and Nova Storm exchanged glances, the Seeker duo visibly unimpressed.

“A fox? That’s just a fancy way of saying small,” Skywarp scoffed, arms crossed.

Nova Storm nodded. “Not much use in a fight. No wings, no armor. Seems like a liability to me.”

Rather than respond, you transformed.

In a blink, you were gone—nothing but a blur of movement weaving through the shadows. Before Nova Storm could react, a sharp tap landed against the back of her helm. She spun, only to find… nothing.

Then, just as quickly, you appeared behind Skywarp, claws grazing the sensitive plating along her side.

She yelped, jerking away as you smoothly shifted back into your root mode.

“Speed.” You gave them a pointed look. “Stealth. Precision.”

Skywarp bristled. “I let you do that!”

“Uh-huh,” you said, voice dripping with amusement.

Starscream sneered from the sidelines, arms folded. “Hmph. Impressive parlor tricks, but let’s see you take on a Seeker in the air.”

You smirked. “Why would I fight you head-on when I could just outmaneuver you?”

Starscream’s wings twitched. “That’s—” He scowled. “That’s beside the point.”

Soundwave let out a single, quiet ping. No words, just… acknowledgment.

Skepticism faded.

The Autobots came to respect your skills—Optimus trusted you with intelligence missions, Elita saw you as an invaluable scout, and Bumblebee found himself impressed by your evasive techniques.

The Terrans outright adored you. Twitch and Thrash constantly sparred with you, Hashtag recorded your movements like a sports analyst, and Mo was still convinced you were fluffy.

Even Megatron, who had initially been wary, acknowledged your cunning.

And the Decepticons?

They learned not to underestimate the fox.

Because while you might not have been the biggest or the strongest…

You were always the smartest one in the room.

[sanders1665]

It’s the goddamn wee small hours, that sacred stretch of night when time melts into introspection and shadows become philosophers. The air is thick with silence, save for the occasional squelch of my gut, protesting the late-night slice of existential pizza I shouldn’t have eaten. No breeze, no barking dogs, no traffic. Just me, a mind wired on questions, and the ghost of a million ancestors staring back through my DNA like some cosmic jury.

I was thinking—no, spiraling—into the meat grinder of human origin. Twenty different species of humans? More or less. That’s not science fiction, that’s real. The Earth, this wild, bipolar rock hurtling through space, was busy being a chaotic chef: stirring up ice ages, flipping tectonic pancakes, belching fire from volcanoes like it had IBS. And in the middle of all that, it birthed and buried species after species of humans. Not chimps, not dolphins with dreams—humans.

And yet, we are the ones left. Alone. The sole survivors.

We who are hairless and helpless at birth, who need ten years to become barely functional, who sunburn and break bones and cry at reality shows. We who are, by all metrics, the weakest model on the showroom floor of evolution. Yet here we are. Shopping on Amazon. Building particle colliders. Taking selfies next to pyramids built by hands we don’t understand.

I don’t buy the official bedtime story they hand out in schools. You know the one—upright apes + time + bananas = smartphones. Something smells fishy, and it ain’t just the tuna sandwich from last week’s lunchbox. We didn’t just evolve like the rest. We appeared. With language, fire, and a suspicious amount of self-awareness. Right out of the blue. Like a magician’s trick—ta-da!—Homo sapiens, baby.

Were we an accident? A cosmic prank? Or a goddamn upgrade?

Or were we realigned and designed this way by “gods” from another neighborhood?

Not divine, not omnipotent, but advanced. Outsiders. Visitors. Tinkerers with an eye for biogenetics and a flair for myth-making. Creators not of galaxies, but of species. Maybe they didn’t paint the sky, but they sure as hell messed with the clay.

Sometimes I think we’re nature’s rebellious child, and sometimes... I think we’re adopted.

Maybe the old stories are half-true, twisted into myth because our ancestors didn’t have Wi-Fi or a printing press. Maybe the Watchers, the gods, the sky people—whatever name floats your boat—left fingerprints on our soul. Maybe we’re version 2.0 of something much older. Something that didn't survive. Something we erased, like jealous children.

And deep down—real deep, below the cholesterol and the hang-ups and the Amazon Prime history—I think we know. We feel it. That something’s off. That this isn’t quite home. That we were made for something else. Not this rat race. Not this tedium. Not this constant nagging anxiety about the future and the past like we’re stuck in a loop we didn’t write.

Maybe that’s why we build religions, and sci-fi stories, and monuments that stare at the stars.

We're trying to remember who we were... before we forgot what we are.

And so here I sit, in the dark belly of the night, brain buzzing, belly gurgling, wondering:

Were we born of Earth…

engineered on Earth…

or just parked here for a while, until someone comes back for the keys?

Either way, I’ll probably still wake up groggy tomorrow and forget the whole damn thing.

But for now, I’m wide awake. Watching. Listening.

Waiting for the stars to whisper back.