#radiator engine coolant

[asapsemiconduct]

What Is an Aircraft Engine Cooling System?

In the technologically advanced world we now find ourselves in, it has become crucial that aircraft are able to provide reliable performance for long periods. Aircraft engines in particular generate an immense amount of heat during operation, and managing this is crucial to ensuring performance, efficiency, and safety.

[chemtexspecialityltd]

Propylene Glycol Antifreeze Chemicals are Manufactured by Chemtex Speciality Limited

Discover the Future of Versatile Solutions with Chemtex's Propylene Glycol – a Partner for Innovation, Quality, and Reliability

[engineoilcompany]

Discover how operating conditions like temperature, contamination, and maintenance affect the lifespan of the coolants and best practices to optimize your system's performance.

[huronautomotive]

Comprehensive Guide to Servicing Your Car's Cooling System: Maintenance and Repair Tips

The cooling system in your car is crucial for maintaining engine temperature, preventing overheating, and ensuring optimal performance. A well-maintained cooling system helps extend the life of your engine and reduces the risk of expensive repairs. This guide will cover essential tips on how to service your car's cooling system, identify common issues, and take preventative steps to avoid breakdowns.

Understanding Your Car’s Cooling System

The primary function of your car’s cooling system is to regulate the temperature of the engine by dissipating excess heat. Overheating can cause severe engine damage, so it's important to keep the system in good working order. The main components of the cooling system include:

    Radiator: Transfers heat from the engine coolant to the air.

    Thermostat: Regulates the flow of coolant to maintain the engine at an optimal temperature.

    Water Pump: Circulates coolant throughout the engine and radiator.

    Coolant Reservoir: Stores excess coolant.

    Hoses and Belts: Carry coolant between components.

    Cooling Fans: Help to lower the temperature of the coolant when the vehicle is idling or moving slowly.

Regular Maintenance for Your Car’s Cooling System

Proper maintenance of the cooling system can prevent many common issues. Follow these simple steps to keep your car's cooling system in top condition:

    Check Coolant Levels

        How to Do It: Check your coolant levels regularly, ideally when the engine is cold. Most vehicles have a coolant reservoir with minimum and maximum level indicators. If the level is low, top it up with the recommended coolant (either pre-mixed or concentrated).

        Why It’s Important: Low coolant levels can cause the engine to overheat, which may lead to costly damage.

    Inspect for Leaks

        How to Do It: Look for puddles or stains underneath your vehicle, particularly after driving. Inspect hoses, the radiator, and the coolant reservoir for visible cracks, tears, or corrosion.

        Why It’s Important: Leaks reduce the coolant level and may indicate a failure in the system that could lead to overheating.

    Flush and Replace Coolant

        How to Do It: The coolant should be flushed and replaced every 2 to 5 years, depending on the vehicle’s make and model. Flushing removes rust, scale, and other debris that may have built up over time. Always use the manufacturer-recommended coolant type.

        Why It’s Important: Old or contaminated coolant loses its ability to dissipate heat effectively and may cause damage to the engine components.

    Inspect Radiator and Fans

        How to Do It: Regularly check the radiator fins for debris and clean them carefully with a soft brush. Also, ensure that the radiator fans are working properly. Turn on the car and let it reach operating temperature; the fans should activate when the temperature rises.

        Why It’s Important: A clogged or damaged radiator can impede airflow, while malfunctioning fans may cause the engine to overheat.

    Examine Hoses and Belts

        How to Do It: Look for any signs of wear, such as cracks, soft spots, or leaks on hoses. Check the belts for tension and any signs of damage. Replace worn or frayed hoses and belts immediately.

        Why It’s Important: Deteriorated hoses or belts can cause a loss of coolant, resulting in engine overheating and potential engine failure.

    Test the Thermostat

        How to Do It: If the engine temperature gauge is fluctuating or the car is overheating, the thermostat may be faulty. A mechanic can test the thermostat by submerging it in hot water to see if it opens at the correct temperature.

        Why It’s Important: A stuck thermostat can cause the engine to overheat by preventing coolant from circulating properly.

Common Cooling System Issues and How to Fix Them

    Overheating

        Causes: Insufficient coolant, a broken water pump, a faulty thermostat, or a clogged radiator.

        Solution: Check the coolant level and refill if necessary. Inspect the water pump, thermostat, and radiator for faults. If the issue persists, take the car to a professional mechanic for a thorough diagnostic.

    Leaking Coolant

        Causes: Cracked hoses, damaged radiator, or a leaking water pump.

        Solution: Look for leaks and repair or replace damaged hoses and parts. If coolant continues to leak, have a technician examine the radiator and other components for more significant damage.

    Coolant Discoloration

        Causes: Contaminants in the coolant, such as rust or oil, can cause discoloration.

        Solution: Flush the cooling system and replace the coolant. If the problem persists, have the radiator or engine block checked for corrosion or internal damage.

    Noisy Cooling System

        Causes: A malfunctioning water pump, damaged fan, or air trapped in the cooling system.

        Solution: Check the water pump for wear and tear. If the fan is making noise, it may need lubrication or replacement. Bleed the cooling system to remove trapped air.

When to Seek Professional Help

While many aspects of cooling system maintenance can be handled by car owners, some issues require the expertise of a professional mechanic. If you notice persistent overheating, unexplained coolant loss, or if you suspect a more complex problem like a blown head gasket, it's time to consult a professional.

Additionally, if you’re unsure about how to properly flush the cooling system or replace a component, a qualified technician can help ensure the job is done correctly and prevent further damage.

Preventative Measures for Your Car’s Cooling System

To prevent cooling system issues from arising, take these precautions:

    Use the Right Coolant: Always use the type of coolant specified in your car’s manual. Some coolants are designed for specific engine materials and temperatures.

    Drive with Care: Avoid frequent heavy acceleration, especially in hot weather, as this can place additional stress on the cooling system.

    Stay on Top of Maintenance: Regular service intervals help to catch problems before they escalate. Keeping an eye on your vehicle’s performance and addressing cooling system issues early can save you time and money in the long run.

Conclusion

Servicing your car’s cooling system is essential for maintaining engine performance and preventing costly breakdowns. Regular checks of coolant levels, leaks, hoses, and radiator condition are key to avoiding common issues. By performing regular maintenance and addressing problems promptly, you can keep your car running smoothly and efficiently. If you encounter any major issues or suspect a serious fault in the system, it’s always best to consult a professional mechanic to ensure your vehicle stays in top condition.

[densoaustralia]

Mastering Engine Cooling Efficiency: A Denso Guide to Keeping Your Vehicle Running Smoothly

Is your vehicle's engine running hotter than usual? Are you experiencing concerns about engine cooling efficiency? Look no further, because Denso has you covered. Engine cooling is crucial for optimal vehicle performance and longevity, and Denso is here to provide expert guidance on how to ensure your engine stays cool and runs smoothly.

Understanding the importance of engine cooling is the first step towards maintaining your vehicle's health. Your engine generates a significant amount of heat during operation, and without proper cooling, it can lead to overheating and potential damage. Denso's comprehensive guide will walk you through the essential components of engine cooling and how to keep them functioning at their best.

The Role of the Radiator: The radiator plays a vital role in dissipating heat from the engine. Denso radiators are designed with precision engineering to efficiently transfer heat away from the engine, preventing overheating and ensuring optimal performance.

Coolant: The Lifeline of Your Engine: Coolant, also known as antifreeze, is essential for regulating engine temperature. Denso offers high-quality coolant that provides superior heat transfer properties and corrosion protection, ensuring your engine stays cool under all conditions.

Thermostat Management: The thermostat regulates the flow of coolant through the engine, maintaining the optimal operating temperature. Denso thermostats are engineered for reliability and precision, ensuring consistent cooling performance in any driving conditions.

Fans and Fan Clutches: Auxiliary cooling fans and fan clutches help enhance airflow through the radiator, especially during low-speed or stationary operation. Denso's advanced fan systems are designed to maximize cooling efficiency while minimizing noise and energy consumption.

Regular Maintenance: Routine maintenance is key to keeping your engine cooling system in top condition. Denso recommends inspecting coolant levels, checking for leaks, and replacing worn-out components regularly to prevent costly repairs and ensure long-term reliability.

By following these tips and utilizing Denso's high-quality products, you can master engine cooling efficiency and keep your vehicle running smoothly for years to come. Don't let overheating issues derail your driving experience – trust Denso to keep your engine cool and your journey worry-free. For More Information Visit

Website : https://www.denso.com.au/engine-cooling

Email ID : info@denso.com.au

Phone Number : 03 8761 1100

[sw5w]

Sebulba's Plug-F Mammoth

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace - Deleted Scene: Extended Podrace Lap Two 00:20

[dragonkid11]

Mech should have radiators not because it makes engineering sense but because a mech fuming smoking hot coolant from its vents and its white-hot radiator struggling to keep the internal temperature down after firing off high intensity beam weapon or activating highly advanced systems is fucking hot.

[jesuistrestriste]

but android!art wireplay hhnnnnggg im shortcircuiting

cw (18+) : android!art, wireplay, implied corruption, first orgasm/simulated release

android!art asking you for help when his daily diagnostic tests sense that one of his wires has disconnected inside of his chest, opening up his chassis for you to dig your fingers inside and hopefully fix the issue.

and he’s fine with it all; no pain, no discomfort, no intense sensation linked to your touch there—at first.

but then your fingernail catches on the outside of a thick, blue wire close to his thirium pump, and suddenly his back is arching and his eyes are rolling under his lids and he’s gasping raggedly. he grabs onto your wrist, panting and writhing while his LED flickers from blue to red. he looks like a scared puppy, and you immediately notice that his pupils are unusually large beneath his fluttering lashes.

“i.. i’m sorry, i—.. that’s never happened before, i think my systems are just overworked and malfunctioning.. please, continue..”

so you do. you search through the colorful mess of his innards, your fingertips grazing each electrical tendril as you pass them by. it takes several long moments before you find the problem wire, and you’re just about to tell art the good news, but when you look up you find your breath catching in your throat.

he’s artificially flushed all over his face, his hands are gripping the edge of the sofa with white knuckles, and his head is lolling back lazily like he’s lost control of his expertly-engineered musculature.

“art?” you hum, “are you okay?”

he begins to quake, moaning lowly, and you can feel the scorching waves of heat radiating off of him.

he releases his grip on the couch only to readjust it and squeeze harder. you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows around a barely-contained whine.

“please, just— just plug it in, i can’t—“ he mewls.

you’ve never heard him sound so out-of-control before, but you want nothing more than to help him feel better. you line up the yellow wire with its designated socket, making note of the way his body jolts when you pinch it between the pads of your digits, and push it forward to click it back into place.

as soon as the connection is restored, art’s eyes are flying open—wide and wild—and then he’s wailing. his hips rush upward and knock your elbow in the process, his legs kicking out and convulsing as he curls in on himself. your own stomach swirls and flips as you take in the sight of his abdomen repeatedly tensing and relaxing in a vicious cycle of what appears to be.. hmm..

it takes a hand on his shoulder and your whispered reassurance for his cognitive capabilities to come back to him, but he can’t resist leaning forward to bury his face in your neck. his hands clutch your back, his breathing heavy and exhausted. his vision flares with pop-ups. “warning: systems overheating��� and “warning: coolant levels low”.

“some.. something just happened.. i.. i’m embarrassed, i’m so sorry—please, will you exclude that from your memory? i’m.. i’m so hot inside.. i’m.. i don’t know wh—aah..”

he nuzzles the bridge of his nose into your skin, still holding you tight like he’s afraid you’ll go. you realize that he’s become an entirely different android in the last few minutes. some part of him has sprung loose.

you have to let him cool down for the entire rest of the evening before he’s back to normal, at which point you assume all is well again—only for him to pad sheepishly over to you the next afternoon to announce that another one of his wires has mysteriously slipped out of its port..

what a coincidence.

[woradat]

SCENARIO: FIELD BUTCHER

PAIRING – first aid, ratchet, ambulon x reader

NOTE – literally just medbot-in-order. There's no Pharma because he's gone crazy. He's not a good-old-doc to be around here. So if I decide to do a Decepticon version, we might find him there instead

and none of them like mc at first I'm telling you

F I R S T – A I D

The lights in the Lost Light’s medbay were harsh in that painfully clean way—white, clinical, and far too bright for someone used to working in the shadowy wreckage of battlefields and abandoned storage bays

You stood still, bathed in sterile light, as if the room was trying to disinfect you through sheer judgment

The walls gleamed. The floor was spotless. Instruments were arranged in neat, alphabetized rows along the wall-mounted tool racks. You were fairly certain someone had even polished the oxygen scrubbers

You, in contrast, looked like a walking oil stain

Your plating still bore the smudges of a recent field repair —one that had involved a bent servo, a crowbar, and a lot of screaming (some of it yours). There was a rag tied around your wrist for no apparent reason. A wire hung from your hip. The tray you’d brought with you—holding a screwdriver, a rusted clamp, and something that may have once been a tooth—ticked every few seconds from residual static

Across the room, First-Aid stood frozen

Not from fear. Not quite. More like the horrified tension of a bot watching someone carve up a first-aid manual page by page to use as coasters

His servo clutched a datapad so tightly that the metal casing creaked faintly under the pressure. His optics darted back and forth over the text like he was searching for some line—any line—that would explain what you were and why the hell Rodimus had let you on board

And you?

You waited

Waited exactly two minutes and seventeen seconds—yes, you were counting—before breaking the silence with your usual charm

“So” you said, rocking back on your feet

“do I pass the inspection, or do I need to fail harder to really make an impression?”

Your voice echoed slightly in the too-quiet room. The medbay didn’t know how to handle that tone—wry, reckless, thick with the kind of confidence only the truly unhinged could wield comfortably. First-Aid blinked, his optics snapping up. He looked at you like you’d just walked in wearing a cape made of patient charts

“This says” he began, voice tight and rising slightly “you performed open spark surgery using engine coolant as a sterilizer—”

“I asked him if he wanted anesthetic”

you cut in smoothly “and he said no. Or, well, he passed out, which is close enough”

He stared. You smiled

“Besides” you added with a flick of your fingers “if your patient doesn’t scream at least once, how do you know the nerves are still working?”

He made a noise—choked, strangled, high in pitch. His hand dropped to his side, the datapad hanging limp now, like the weight of your words had physically knocked the strength out of him

“That is not how we—how anyone practices medicine!”

Your stride was unhurried, yet somehow radiated the same menace as a pressure gauge ticking toward red. Not loud, but felt. Like the moment before a sneeze, or the exact instant someone realizes they’ve left the surgical clamp inside the patient

“And yet” you said, almost to yourself, as your optics skimmed across a chart still glowing faintly on the screen “they survive”

There was no real context. Which made it worse

First-Aid startled like you’d slapped him with a used energon rag. He backed into the diagnostics table so fast he nearly knocked over a sterilization wand. One hand grabbed the edge like it might anchor him to reality. The other hovered mid-air like it couldn’t decide whether to call security or the clergy

“Rodimus… let you on board”

His voice had that brittle quality of someone trying to convince himself the building wasn’t on fire, despite the visible smoke — You turned toward him with a grin like a cracked energon cube—shiny, unstable, possibly lethal “He said I’ve got potential”

you chirped, cheerfully oblivious to the rising alarm in his optics “Also mentioned something about overflow triage, vent maintenance, and ‘creative solutions to personnel shortages’ I was flattered” You mimed placing a hand over your spark. It was unclear if you were pledging allegiance or checking for a heartbeat

“You’re a hazard!”

“A licensed hazard” replied proudly

“Well, semi-licensed. Regionally certified. Technically. Look, I passed a test. Might’ve been psychological. Or about my psychology” You said it like it was a party anecdote. Something between “I once dated a Decepticon” and “I ate a medgel cube on a dare”

He blinked at you

You blinked back—twice as fast, like a corrupted interface just to mess with him

Then you laughed — Oh, Primus, that laugh – It ricocheted around the medbay like someone had set off a proximity mine made of bad decisions and surgical anecdotes. Loud. Inappropriate. Joyous in a way that only made sense to people who’d once stitched a spark casing back together with their teeth

First-Aid realized it in the exact moment your smile caught the edge of his attention—lopsided, easy, and radiating a kind of mischief that had no place in the tightly regulated sterility of the Lost Light’s medbay. It didn’t match the gleaming metal surfaces or the scent of disinfectant that clung to everything like expectation. It didn’t belong. You didn’t belong

Everything about you—your stance, your grin, the way your optics flicked around like you were casing the place for fun—declared you as someone utterly outside of protocol.

You stood like a joke in a surgical ward. Like entropy had decided to walk upright and wear a field medic’s badge as a joke. To First-Aid, you weren’t just unqualified. You were an infection with vocal cords. A walking contradiction wrapped in self-confidence and duct tape

“You’re not touching any patients without strict supervision” he snapped, recovering his dignity like a dropped datapad—hastily, but with determination

“Perfect! I love being supervised. Makes everything feel so... official. Adds flair. Drama. Mystery” You leaned in just a inch, enough to trigger personal space alarms “You supervise. I improvise. You keep people alive. I keep things exciting. It’ll be like a buddy cop show, except with more bleeding"

He looked like he aged three upgrades just from that sentence. You tilted your helm, expression softening into something that looked, horrifyingly, like sincerity “Unless, of course… you’re scared?”

He straightened. Field tightening. Optics narrowing. Classic reflex. You knew the symptoms “I’m not afraid”

“Excellent” you whispered “Because I absolutely am. Isn’t that thrilling?” You stepped back just enough to give him room to ventilate again—bless his overworked filters—and smiled like you’d just named a scalpel after him

He stood frozen, halfway between protocol and panic, like someone trying to treat a patient who was also on fire and beneath it all, you saw it: that tiny, involuntary twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile but a crack — first one

And you were already getting out your chisel

“They’ll get someone killed one day. But they’ll probably save two more first"

"If I keep standing close enough.. I might learn how"

He don't like you. Not in any textbook sense of the term. He disliked your methods. Your hygiene was borderline offensive. You called him "Textbook" like it was both insult and compliment, and your favorite surgical instrument appeared to be a pair of rusted pliers you refused to throw away. There was, by every metric he knew, nothing about you that should have drawn his attention so strongly and yet

He found himself noting how you adapted under pressure. How quickly you moved—not recklessly, but responsively, like someone who’d memorized chaos. He found himself listening for your voice in the medbay. Not because it soothed him—but because it kept him sharp. Awake. Alive

There was something about you that defied logic in the same breath that it completed it

He saw hands—your hands—moving with terrifying steadiness in the center of madness. He saw logic surrender to instinct, and instinct thrive. He saw you rewire a collapsed spark chamber with copper wire and what could only be described as sheer nerve

He saw you whisper something ridiculous to a bot mid-panic— “If your coolant line bursts, I’ll tie it off with tubing. You won’t die. Probably” and watched the patient laugh through the terror

He saw you fail, once

And sit beside the body for two hours afterward. Not a word. Not a joke. Not even that crooked grin. Just your hands folded in your lap, and your optics dim with something First Aid didn’t expect you were capable of: stillness

That was the day something shifted in him—too quiet to name, but too loud to ignore

R A T C H E T

The medbay, for all its polished surfaces and antiseptic precision, felt unusually tense today—as though the very air was bracing for impact. Bright overhead fluorescents beat down on sterile countertops, illuminating every instrument laid out in methodical rows, each with its own assigned place, its own specific function, its own carefully maintained integrit and then… there was you — Standing like a conceptual glitch in the otherwise orderly space, elbow-deep in a patient’s chestplate and humming to yourself like someone rearranging furniture instead of vital systems

The patient—a junior security officer from Deck Seven—looked moments away from cardiac arrest. His field fluttered in anxious pulses. You, meanwhile, appeared serene. Playful, even. Your servo hovered over a critical energon valve with a laser probe gripped like a stylus

“I’m just saying-” you said conversationally, tilting your helm slightly “if I aim just right, the whole line depressurizes at once. Instant results. High drama. Very efficient”

You shifted your grip to emphasize the stab part of the process

It was at that exact moment that Ratchet—who had up until now been engaged across the room rechecking supply records—snapped.

“stop. Stop—Primus help me—STOP!”

The bark of his voice cracked across the medbay like a circuit surge. Several instruments rattled from their trays. Somewhere in the hall, someone dropped a datapad. He crossed the space in three thunderous strides, snatched the probe out of your hand with a snarl that suggested divine intervention, and inserted it himself with precise, scathing control—clicking the pressure seals into place as if punishing the procedure itself

He didn’t look at you

He didn’t have to.

“Sit and watch, don’t touch anything unless I hand it to you” There was a silence, then the dramatic creak of a stool as you flopped onto it with the practiced flair of someone deeply accustomed to being scolded. You sprawled like a guilty schoolbot in detention—arms crossed, legs swinging, dignity entirely unbothered.

“You’re no fun” you muttered, loud enough to be heard

“No flair. No edge. Where’s the danger?”

“This is not a carnival” Ratchet snapped, still working with ruthless efficiency “You don’t get extra points for flair. You get extra lawsuits”

The words were muttered through clenched dental plates as he handed you a sterilized injector. His tone remained clipped, professional, but his optics—those infamous optics—were starting to twitch “Now. Take this. Line it up with the main coolant artery. Slowly. Deliberately. Like someone who isn’t trying to impress a Wrecker with a death wish”

You took the injector with mock reverence, pinching it between two fingers like it was forged from myth. Your optics narrowed with exaggerated concentration. One might have thought you were defusing a bomb rather than delivering medication. Then—without hesitation—stab. Click. Inject.

Dead center

Ratchet froze mid-motion. His optics flicked to the readout. Then to the injection site. Then, slowly, to you “…Huh”

You turned your helm toward him with deliberate, theatrical slowness—like a drama-bot preparing for their final monologue—one optic ridge raised in exaggerated pride. The smug curl at the corner of your mouth was pure mischief, unconcerned, untouched by caution

“Impressed?”

Ratchet didn’t miss a beat

“No” he said flatly “Alarmed”

You handed the injector back with the kind of smug grace that bordered on performance art, your smirk still annoyingly intact. “What? I can follow instructions.”

He gave you a look

“So you choose not to. 99% of the time?”

“Obviously” you said with a shrug, as if the logic was self-evident “Where’s the drama in doing everything the safe way?”

Ratchet groaned then—low, guttural, and thoroughly exhausted—the kind of sound that belonged not to a medic, but to a war veteran on his eighth recitation of “Why are you like this?”

His servo came up, pinching the bridge of his nasal ridge in a gesture that seemed less about managing his temper and more about holding his spark together with willpower alone

“You’re going to give me a stress reboot..”

You beamed, utterly unfazed “Aw, come on. Admit it. You love this. It’s like babysitting a grenade. A very enthusiastic grenade"

Every fiber of his deeply overworked frame screamed that you were a liability. A threat. A disgrace. You’d read no formal medical doctrine. You quoted battlefield myths like gospel. You told a patient—his patient—that if they died, you could “recycle the good parts" And yet. You saved them. Not with finesse. Not with dignity. Not with anything he would ever sign off on. But they lived. Their spark stabilized. Their pulse calmed. They breathed

He hated it — He hated how you looked at the result, not the method. He hated how you grinned afterward, like it wasn’t a miracle but a game. He hated how he couldn’t stop watching you work, because somehow, somehow, you understood something that textbooks didn’t teach. Worse still?

He hated how you reminded him of himself—before he got old and tired and afraid of trying things that weren’t already proven

He looked at you like one looks at a half-defused explosive with a smug attitude—and yet, he didn’t argue. Not really. Instead, with a resigned grunt and the heavy grace of someone who had long since accepted their fate, he passed you the dermal sealer. No lecture. No muttering. No carefully worded disclaimer about liability — Just a tool. And a sliver of trust—quiet, grudging, and far more meaningful than anything he’d said out loud

You accepted it with uncharacteristic silence. No sarcasm. No dramatics

Just the work

You sealed the incision with smooth, steady lines, each motion executed with a clarity that had nothing to do with instinct and everything to do with experience. The edges came together cleanly. The weld held. The patient’s vitals stabilized. Textbook

When you returned the sealer to his waiting servo, Ratchet didn’t speak right away. He examined your work with the same scrutiny he gave to battlefield casualties and self-diagnosed captains—careful, thorough, unwilling to be impressed without reason

But then, after a moment…

"That’s… good work” he said at last. His voice was quieter than usual, and it carried the faintest edge of something approaching reluctant approval

You responded with a theatrical bow—an unnecessary flourish, complete with optic twinkle “I learned from the best"

“You’ve never trained under me”

“Not formally” you said, lips quirking into a grin “But I’ve read your case files. Watched all your lectures. Stole a shrine someone made of you and rewired the lights. Y’know. The usual academic stalking"

He stared

You held his gaze like you were daring him to ask which shrine, or how recently

“You’re a legend, Ratchet” you added, tone somehow both sincere and wicked “I just prefer being a cautionary tale. The punchlines are better”

There was a long exhale through his vents—rougher this time, full-bodied with fatigue and disbelief. A snort followed, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, as though his processor had tried both reactions and settled for the only one that wouldn’t kill him

“Primus help me… I’m going to miss you when you’re dead”

“Aww. You do like me”

“No, I just like knowing where the trouble is”

You winked. And that, more than anything, seemed to unnerve him. But he didn’t take the sealer back. Didn’t snap at you. Didn’t say what was obvious in the silence between his words: That somehow, against all logic and regulation, you had earned your place here and he was starting to suspect—against all odds—that the medbay might just survive you

Maybe

“They’re everything I hate and somehow, they make me wonder if I’ve spent all these cycles doing it the wrong way" "..Maybe I’ll let them stay. Just long enough to prove them wrong”

He didn’t like you – Not in the way people liked each other. But sometimes, when he saw you work—with your smudged fingers, and your muttered jokes, and your solutions that made no sense but somehow stopped the bleeding— He didn’t stop you.. instead sometimes, he took note

You were worse than the stories. You walked into medbay like you belonged there, with grease on your fingers and a grin that screamed liability You waved off his stare, offered him a bent spanner like it was a gift, and asked if his cortical relays had “always looked this grumpy”

He’d threatened to throw you out. You’d laughed and asked if he needed help with the overflow. He should’ve said no. He didn’t

He’d tried to report you, once or twice.. or six times

Ultra Magnus said you weren’t technically violating any protocols. Drift said he liked your “energy” Even Rodimus, whose opinion mattered the least, somehow mattered more when he said: “They saved someone with cable ties and chewing gum. That’s genius, Ratch. You can’t train that”

Ratchet disagreed

Loudly

With charts and yet

He saw the way you looked at broken things. The way your optics narrowed in focus—not cold, not analytical—but alive. Invested. You did see patients as puzzles that you wanted to put back together. Even if you used the wrong tools. Even if your hands were too fast, your grin too wide, your ethics questionable at best

You cared

Primus help him again, you actually cared. And it wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t orderly. It wasn’t the kind of “caring” you could measure in paperwork. But it was real

A M B U L O N

It happened mid-cycle, during what should have been a routine diagnostic on the starboard maintenance corridors. One moment, there was peace—a checklist, a loose panel, the quiet hum of the ship’s gravity stabilizers – The next, a shriek of metal. A pressure wave. A storm of sparks. Ambulon hit the floor as the emergency bulkhead slammed down behind him, cutting the corridor in two like a guillotine. He staggered upright, sensors ringing—and saw you

You were already on your knees beside the injured miner, whose leg had been crushed beneath a collapsed junction panel. Energon pooled beneath him in thick, syrupy waves, bright and bubbling. His ventilations came in erratic gasps, static-laced and shallow. His optics darted in panic

Ambulon froze

Not out of fear. Not exactly. Out of memory

The panel. The screaming. The way no one had moved for him. The way no one had thought to. He stood motionless as echoes of that past clawed up through his spark

And you— didn’t hesitate

You were already elbow-deep in the panel’s edge, stripping wiring with your teeth when your cutters couldn’t reach. Your voice cut through the din like a plasma torch “Hold him still or he’s gonna bleed out through ports he didn’t know he had, and I am not losing another leg-case today, I swear by Primus’ recycled panties— MOVE”

Your tone was wild. Sharp. Irrefutably commanding

He moved

His hands found the bot’s shoulders, pressed down. He murmured stabilizers, tried to regulate field output—anything to help. Anything to ground himself. Anything to distract from the fact that you were doing everything wrong

Unsterile tools. Unorthodox technique. No scanner, no chart

And still— The bot’s vitals leveled

The bleeding slowed

You rerouted two energon feeds using leftover wire from the collapsed panel and some insulation from your own armor. Your servos never shook. Your focus never wavered and when it was over—when the miner’s spark stabilized and his frame stopped twitching in pain—you sat back on your heels, fuel-streaked and grinning like you'd just cheated death at cards

“There. Still twitching. That means I did good, right?”

Ambulon couldn’t speak

He just stared at you—at your filth-smeared plating, your scorched fingers, the mess you’d made of the scene—and realized something deeply uncomfortable: That this wasn’t carelessness. It wasn’t showmanship. It was confidence. The kind forged in fire, in loss, in the terrible intimacy of holding someone’s spark between your hands and deciding, again and again, to try..

In his experience, the phrase “Just make do” translated with chilling consistency into “This is going to get someone killed". He’d seen it. He’d lived it. He was it—once. He still remembered the wrench.

when he heard there was a new medic aboard the Lost Light—a rogue practitioner with no license, no formal training, and apparently no discernible regard for sterile procedure– for two first weeks since you arrived, he didn’t so much as glance at you in the corridors. He refused to take joint rotations, changed schedules to avoid shifts with you, and logged three formal complaints that Rodimus may or may not have used as coasters

He’d vented to Ratchet. To First Aid. To anyone who’d listen “It’s reckless” he had hissed, servo trembling around a scalpel “It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. It’s a sparkline drawn in graffiti"

You were elbow-deep in a dying technician’s chestplate when Ambulon entered—his silhouette framed in the medbay doorway like a portrait of disapproval wrought in steel. The light behind him cast a stark outline, and for a moment, he looked more like a statue of order than a living medic. Unmoving. Unyielding

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t need to. The air shifted the moment he arrived—cooling under the weight of his expectations

You didn’t look up. Your hands were too busy, navigating the chaotic ruins of another bot’s insides with the kind of manic grace that only came from far too many near-deaths and not nearly enough sleep. A half-sterilized patch cable coiled in your fingers like a snake you meant to charm

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” he said at last, his voice flat—sharp as a sterilized scalpel, but with none of the warmth of intent behind it

You snorted—unapologetic, unbothered

“Neither is most of his internal plating” you replied. “We’re all trespassers today"

Ambulon stepped further in, hands clasped tightly behind his back in a gesture so stiff it looked painful. Like every fiber of his being wanted to intervene, to stop you—but protocol had trapped him in silence. He watched as you worked: the way your fingers moved like they’d never been trained, only tempered; the way you anchored the junction in place with a firm tap of your knuckle

The mech on the table twitched. A spasm. A flicker. The faintest betrayal of life. You beamed like you'd just pulled a rabbit out of a collapsed spark chamber “See? That’s the twitch of life. Textbook success"

“That’s the twitch of residual nerve current from a poorly rerouted interface—”

“Semantics”

Ambulon exhaled through his vents—sharp, audible, like a hiss from a sealed valve being opened just a little too fast “You didn’t sanitize your tools properly. You didn’t even scan him before cutting him open—"

That made you pause. Not in guilt, but in irritation. You turned to face him, optics steady, voice edged with defiance that had been honed by far worse than judgment

“He didn’t have time for a scan” you said “He had five minutes before the energon starvation reached his neural bridge. I gave him six. That’s a net win where I’m from"

Ambulon’s jaw clenched—not visibly, but you could see it in the shift of his plating, the microadjustments of someone trained to hold still even when every part of them wanted to move

He approached slowly, optics darting between your hands, your instruments, the readouts flickering behind you—as though he could still catch the error that would make it all make sense

“Do you even remember his name?”

You blinked “Nope”

You wiped your digiy down your thigh plating, smearing a dark trail of fuel across the silver as casually as a chalkboard scribble “But I remember the position of his spark post-blast, and the way it started to slip into cascade. I remember exactly how to cradle it so it wouldn’t rupture the surrounding. That count for something?”

Ambulon hesitated, lips parted—searching for a definition, a category, a box to put you in “That’s not medicine” he said, voice low, almost lost beneath the hum of the medbay’s ambient monitors “That’s—”

He faltered

Because whatever he wanted to call it, it wasn’t wrong. You tilted your helm, a crooked smile playing faintly across your face “Field instinct. Improvisation. Controlled madness. Take your pick"

There was silence again—dense and hot between you. The only sound was the quiet tick, tick, tick of the life monitor behind you

Still alive

Still working

Ambulon’s shoulders lowered—not in defeat, but in something subtler. Something more human. The drop was minimal, almost imperceptible, yet it was there: a soft, unconscious collapse of posture that spoke of tension long held finally beginning to ebb

“I don’t understand how you do it” he murmured. The sharpness in his voice, once honed like a scalpel, had dulled—not into resignation, but into confusion, like someone standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure if what lay before them was the drop or the sky

“You ignore every established procedure. You tear up the blueprint and redraw it mid-operation. You never—never—repeat a process the same way twice"

He wasn’t accusing anymore

He was asking

You took a single step toward him. Measured. Gentle. Not to challenge. Not to provoke. But to meet him halfway. To bridge. Your voice, when it came, was quiet. Not diminished, but deliberate—as though shaped carefully around a truth you’d carried too long to let it shatter now

“Because every bot breaks differently” you said “They fracture in different places. At different angles. For different reasons. And if you treat them all the same—if you paste the same solution over every bleeding wound—you miss the thing that makes them salvageable"

You watched his optics flicker—register, resist “You think healing is math” you continued, your tone somewhere between a confession and a creed “But it’s not. It’s jazz"

Your lips curved faintly—not in mockery, but in reverence “It’s dirty, violent, brilliant jazz. You improvise. You listen. You adapt. You hit the wrong notes and find beauty in the discord. You keep going even when the rhythm fails"

He held your gaze now, steady as iron

“And yet” he said—this time louder, sharper, more certain, as if the weight of his argument was all that kept him grounded— “you treat them like scrap. Like spare parts you glue together with hope and hazard tape. You gamble with lives as if they’re puzzles to be solved, not sparks to be protected"

The words landed heavy in the air. You didn’t react. Not outwardly. You let them settle—allowed the silence to breathe around them

Then you inhaled. Long. Slow. Controlled

“No” you said at last

“I treat them like machines that deserve to keep running. Even when their frames are twisted. Even when their cores are cracked. Even when the files say they’re not worth" Your voice was soft, but it hit like gravity. Steady. Inarguable “Even when every protocol tells me to walk away… I don’t"

The room fell silent, thick with unsaid things. The soft electronic click of the life monitor behind you pulsed like a metronome for a song neither of you were quite ready to finish. You met his optics again—this time without posture, without pretense. There was no fire in your words. No sarcasm. No armor of wit — Only belief

Naked. Raw. Unshakable “Maybe it’s ugly. Maybe it’s not precise. Maybe it’s not what the manuals say it should be"

You glanced at the technician still breathing behind you “But it keeps them alive”

Ambulon didn’t respond immediately

His optics stayed fixed on yours, unblinking—like a mech trying to see through the dark and not entirely sure whether he wanted to find what waited there and then you saw it. The thing he didn’t mean to show – Not anger. Not rejection but fear. The quiet, aching kind that came from understanding—finally understanding—what you were, and what that meant for both of you

“…You scare me” he said at last

The words were barely above a whisper. But in their smallness, they struck with the clarity of truth. You didn’t laugh, didn’t smirk. You only smiled—a small, still thing, steeped in something older than pride and softer than defiance. A smile that didn’t reach your optics, because it came from somewhere far deeper. Somewhere that remembered every loss, every line you’d crossed to keep someone else breathing

“Good” you said quietly “That’s how you know I’m doing it right”

“I still don’t trust you. I still think you’re dangerous.. but maybe, just maybe… you're the first one who’d know how to fix someone like me”

It had been jammed into his frame during a particularly violent triage attempt, back when he was less of a medic and more of a shape that could carry equipment. The others hadn’t known his name. Just his alternate mode. Just what he could turn into. That was all that mattered. Not who he was, not how he processed fear

They’d needed parts? He was spare

Ambulon had never liked improvisation. Improvisation meant danger. It meant desperation. It meant something had already gone terribly wrong and someone, somewhere, was about to pay for it in energon and trauma. Improvisation was not a skill—it was a symptom. A last resort wrapped in false confidence

That night, long after the alarms had quieted and the medbay returned to its usual order, Ambulon found himself standing outside its entrance — The lights in the corridor had dimmed into their late-cycle glow, casting soft amber reflections across the polished floor. Shift change had come and gone. No footsteps echoed through the hall now—only the quiet, ever-present thrum of the Lost Light’s engines, pulsing like a distant heartbeat against the walls

Ambulon stood perfectly still, his posture rigid, his arms tucked behind his back as though formality might hold back the tide of thought rising slowly inside him. He wasn't sure how long he’d been there. Minutes. Cycles. Time felt suspended—like the ship had graciously decided to grant him a pause in motion, in momentum

He stared at the floor

Thinking

He thought of how many times he had been overlooked. How often his worth had been calculated by usefulness—by utility. He thought of the term "spare part”—how it had followed him like a shadow

For all your mess—your irreverence, your recklessness, your maddening improvisations—you treated everything you touched as if it were reclaimable. As if being broken wasn’t a sentence – as if the fragments still meant something

You never said it outright. Never declared it but Ambulon had seen it. In the way you held your hands steady even as your mouth ran wild. In the way you muttered to the dying like they could hear you. In the way you never looked away from the aftermath — not even once — You believed, somehow, in rebuilding. Not because it was efficient. Not because it was clean. But because it was possible and in your eyes, even the worst-off patients weren’t salvage. They were worth it

Every single time

You treated every part—every bot—like they could be rebuilt. Even the broken ones. Even the one that others had left behind

Even him

[chemtexspecialityltd]

What's New in Chemtex's Engine Coolant Additive Technology? Which gives more efficiency to the performance.

Chemtex's cutting-edge technologies in coolant additives include proprietary corrosion inhibitors, scale inhibitors, and antifoaming agents. These corrosion inhibitors are designed to protect engine components from the corrosive effects of ethylene glycol and other coolant ingredients. Meanwhile, our scale inhibitors prevent the formation of mineral deposits that can clog the cooling system, ensuring clean and efficient coolant circulation.

Furthermore, our antifoaming agents help maintain the efficiency of the cooling system by preventing the formation of foam, which can impair the flow and heat transfer efficiency of the coolant. This is particularly important in high-performance engines where optimal heat dissipation is crucial.

Chemtex's coolant additives are utilized in a diverse range of sectors, including automotive, manufacturing, and heavy industry. Each product is customized to meet specific industry requirements, ensuring optimal performance and efficiency.

[safetyimpexin]

Maximize Your Scooter’s Performance with Premium Scooter Engine Oil from ROWE

Your scooter is more than just a mode of transportation—it’s a trusted companion for your daily commutes and weekend adventures. To keep it running smoothly and efficiently, one of the most critical components to focus on is the scooter engine oil. The right engine oil for scooter ensures optimal performance, extends engine life, and enhances fuel efficiency. In this comprehensive guide, we’ll explore the importance of scooter engine oil, the benefits of using ROWE products, and why Safety Impexin, the authorized dealer of ROWE in India, is your ultimate partner for premium automotive solutions.

What is Scooter Engine Oil? Scooter engine oil is a specialized lubricant designed to reduce friction between the moving parts of your scooter’s engine. It also helps in cooling the engine, preventing corrosion, and keeping the engine clean by removing sludge and deposits. Using the right engine oil for scooter is essential for maintaining performance, efficiency, and longevity.

ROWE’s scooter engine oil is formulated with advanced additives to provide superior protection, enhance performance, and extend the life of your engine. Whether you ride in the bustling streets of a city or on long highways, ROWE’s scooter oil ensures your ride remains smooth and reliable.

Why is Scooter Engine Oil Important?

Reduces Friction and Wear The engine consists of numerous moving parts that generate friction. High-quality scooter engine oil reduces this friction, minimizing wear and tear and extending the engine’s lifespan.

Prevents Overheating The engine generates immense heat while running. Scooter engine oil absorbs this heat and dissipates it, preventing overheating and potential damage.

Keeps the Engine Clean Over time, sludge and deposits can accumulate in the engine. ROWE’s engine oil for scooter contains detergents that clean the engine and prevent the buildup of harmful deposits.

Improves Fuel Efficiency Using the right scooter oil ensures smooth engine operation, leading to better fuel combustion and improved mileage.

Protects Against Corrosion The additives in scooter engine oil protect the engine’s metal components from rust and corrosion, ensuring long-lasting performance.

Types of Scooter Engine Oil ROWE offers a range of scooter engine oils tailored to meet the needs of different riders and driving conditions. Here are the main types:

Mineral Oil Best For: Older scooters or those with simpler engine designs.

Benefits: Affordable and provides basic lubrication.

Semi-Synthetic Oil Best For: Scooters used in moderate driving conditions.

Benefits: Offers better protection and performance than mineral oil.

Fully Synthetic Oil Best For: High-performance scooters or those used in extreme conditions.

Benefits: Provides superior protection, performance, and longevity.

Why Choose ROWE Scooter Engine Oil? ROWE is a globally recognized brand known for its high-quality automotive fluids. Here’s why ROWE’s scooter engine oil stands out:

Advanced Formulations ROWE’s engine oil for scooter is engineered with cutting-edge technology to provide superior lubrication, heat dissipation, and engine protection.

Enhanced Performance Whether you’re riding in stop-and-go traffic or cruising on the highway, ROWE’s scooter oil ensures smooth and reliable performance.

Extended Engine Life By reducing friction and preventing corrosion, ROWE’s scooter engine oil helps extend the life of your engine.

Eco-Friendly Options ROWE is committed to sustainability and offers eco-friendly scooter engine oils that minimize environmental impact.

Safety Impexin: Your Trusted Partner for ROWE Products in India When it comes to purchasing ROWE scooter engine oil in India, Safety Impexin is your go-to partner. As the authorized dealer of ROWE, Safety Impexin offers a wide range of high-quality engine oil for scooter tailored to meet the needs of Indian riders.

Why Choose Safety Impexin? Genuine Products: Safety Impexin ensures that you get 100% genuine ROWE products.

Expert Guidance: Their team of experts can help you choose the right scooter engine oil for your vehicle.

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Visit https://safetyimpexin.com/ to explore their range of ROWE scooter engine oils and give your scooter the care it deserves.

How to Choose the Right Scooter Engine Oil

Check Your Scooter’s Manual The manufacturer’s recommendations will guide you on the type of engine oil for scooter suitable for your vehicle.

Consider Your Riding Conditions If you ride in extreme temperatures or harsh conditions, choose a scooter oil designed for such environments.

Opt for Quality Always choose high-quality scooter engine oil like ROWE to ensure optimal performance and protection.

How to Change Scooter Engine Oil Park on a Level Surface: Ensure your scooter is on a flat surface and the engine is cool.

Locate the Drain Plug: Place a container underneath to collect the old oil.

Drain Old Oil: Remove the drain plug and let the old oil drain completely.

Replace the Oil Filter: If your scooter has an oil filter, replace it during the oil change.

Add New Oil: Pour the recommended amount of ROWE scooter engine oil into the engine.

Check Levels: Ensure the oil level is between the minimum and maximum marks on the dipstick.

Signs Your Scooter Engine Oil Needs Replacement Dark and Dirty Oil: Fresh scooter engine oil is amber-colored. If it appears dark and dirty, it’s time for a change.

Engine Noise: Increased engine noise can indicate insufficient lubrication.

Oil Warning Light: If the oil warning light on your dashboard turns on, check the oil level immediately.

Poor Performance: Reduced acceleration or fuel efficiency can be a sign of old or degraded oil.

Conclusion Scooter engine oil is the lifeline of your scooter’s engine, ensuring smooth performance, extended engine life, and improved fuel efficiency. By choosing high-quality engine oil for scooter like those from ROWE, you can protect your engine and enjoy a hassle-free riding experience.

With Safety Impexin as your trusted partner, you can access genuine ROWE products and expert guidance to keep your scooter in top condition. Visit https://safetyimpexin.com/ today to explore their range of scooter engine oils and give your scooter the care it deserves.

Choose ROWE, choose Safety Impexin, and experience the difference today!

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1968 AMC AMX

408-Powered 1968 AMC AMX 4-Speed

1968 AMC AMX

This 1968 AMC AMX was modified under previous ownership during a refurbishment that is said to have been conducted over the course of 10 years and was completed in 2013. Refinished in black over red vinyl upholstery, the car is powered by a 408ci V8 paired with a four-speed manual transmission. Refurbishment work reportedly involved resurfacing the cylinder heads as well as installing an Edelbrock intake manifold, a performance camshaft, Hooker long-tube exhaust headers, billet pulleys, an aluminum radiator, cross-drilled front brake rotors, and lowering springs. Additional equipment includes 15″ Vision wheels, aftermarket headlights, chrome bumpers, a Hurst shifter, tilt steering, and a push-button AM radio. The seller acquired the vehicle in 2015. This modified AMX is now offered with a service manual, books, a model kit, unused Go Package–style stripe decals, spare and removed parts, and a Nevada title in the seller’s name.

1968 AMC AMX

The car was refinished in black as part of the aforementioned refurbishment. Additional work is said to have included repainting the wheel wells and the floors along with replacing the bumpers, door handles, grille, mirrors, headlights, weatherstripping, and bright trim on the window and headlight surrounds. The “AMX” badging on the exterior features red letter Xs.

1968 AMC AMX

Aftermarket 15″ Vision wheels are mounted with 215/60 front and 265/50 rear Cooper Cobra Radial G/T tires. A space-saver spare is located in the trunk. The car is equipped with lowering springs, and braking is provided by cross-drilled front discs and rear drums.

1968 AMC AMX

The split front bench seat is trimmed in red vinyl upholstery complemented by a color-coordinated dashboard, door panels, and carpeting. Other features include crank windows, a fold-down armrest, a Hurst shifter, tilt steering, and an American Motors–branded push-button AM radio. The headliner, carpets, and sill plates were replaced under previous ownership.

1968 AMC AMX

The three-spoke steering wheel fronts a 120-mph speedometer, a tachometer, and a combination gauge for fuel level and coolant temperature. An AutoMeter tachometer is mounted to the steering column, and a trio of smaller AutoMeter gauges affixed beneath the dashboard monitors oil temperature, coolant temperature, and oil pressure. The five-digit odometer shows 13k miles, less than 500 of which have been added by the seller; true mileage is unknown. The seller notes that the clock and the factory tachometer do not work.

1968 AMC AMX

The engine is said to be an AMC 390ci V8 that was bored and stroked to displace 408ci. Additional work during the refurbishment included resurfacing the cylinder heads as well as installing forged engine internals, an Edelbrock intake manifold, a performance camshaft, ceramic-coated Hooker long-tube exhaust headers, billet pulleys, an aluminum radiator with electric fans, and an aftermarket exhaust system. An oil change and coolant flush were performed in preparation for the sale. The car’s chassis number indicates that it was originally equipped with a 360ci V8 topped by a two-barrel carburetor.

1968 AMC AMX

Power is sent to the rear wheels through a four-speed manual transmission and a Twin-Grip rear axle with 3.55:1 gearing. An Ace Racing Powerforce clutch was fitted during the refurbishment.

1968 AMC AMX

A 1968 AMC service manual, books and magazines, an AMT model kit, unused Go Package–style red stripe decals, and spare and removed parts will accompany the vehicle.

The Nevada title notes the odometer brand “Exempt.”

[glitchyrobo]

Ceres-class Missile Battleship

spaceship =>

(description & fiction under the break!)

Video Description

Several views of a large, long, and slightly bulky Terran warship in space. The ship has repeating triangle motifs in with various paneled textures throughout. Near the pointed front the nameplate of the ship is visible, reading 'CNS Temeraire'. The long front hull has a flat section on the top, covered in massive missile launch bays. Amidships, several armor plates, painted bright red with the Jovian Eagle in gold, protect the armored hab rings and a series of tubes. Aft, the radiators glow brightly as the engine burns hot. Embedded heat pipes run from the tip of the engine to the radiators

The first view is of the ship from above and in front, showing a dramatic angle. Several 'running lights' blink down the length as navigation lights flash

The second view is located to the side, looking forward, again showing the various lights

The third view is focused on the engine, showing it powering on to 100% thrust, then beyond. As it powers on the heat pipes glow in sequence

The fourth and final view repeats the engine power on sequence but from further, allowing the viewer to also see the coolant vents venting coolant

Excerpt from History of Pre-Domestication Terran Warships (3rd Revision), §685.8: Late Terran Accord & Pacification Program Era Battleships (Guided Projectile), Eltrin Yne, Forty-Seventh Bloom, xe/xem, Elly Yne, Twenty-Sixth Floret, et al.

Designed in 2521 CE (33 BT) by a consortium of Jovian shipbuilding corporations and first commissioned in 2526, the Ceres-class missile battleship was envisioned as a platform to launch massed missile strikes against enemy fleets while providing enhanced point defense and electronic warfare. At 750 meters in length and nearly 100 meters at its widest extent, this class represented one of the largest mass-produced spaceframes fielded by the Cosmic Navy.

Over the course of its service history, the class had numerous revisions. Most notably, the type-3 revision in 2539 (2521-CERES-III) which added coolant vents ahead of the hab rings, reducing their size in the process. The vents were positioned forward of the hab rings to expel hot coolant from over-driven point defense domes and electronic warfare equipment rather than the main engines, though they had a limited ability to expel engine coolant in extreme emergencies. These coolant vents essentially functioned as expendable liquid droplet radiators, which may have led to the development of more practical liquid radiators, had domestication been delayed. (See also §359, Speculation on Terran Shipcraft Development)

While there were no major engagements which featured a Ceres functioning in this intended role, classified TCN documents obtained after the fall of Terra stated that one of the primary goals of the class was to counter contemporary corporate navies, which largely consisted of small anti-piracy vessels, should a coalition of corporations ever come into direct conflict with the Accord.

However, the most significant hostile force that the Accord encountered prior to pacification were various pirate flotillas, which would generally consist of smaller, older, and less militarized vessels. While in a direct engagement a Ceres-class or other contemporary Accord capital ships would easily destroy such vessels, smaller ships were quite capable of outmaneuvering and escaping their would-be-predators.

At the start of the Terran Pacification program, there were 157 Ceres-class vessels active. After the signing of the treaty, only a handful of these ships refused armistice, as the amount of logistical support that the Ceres required to function effectively and the implausibility of that support without the Terran core sectors dissuaded overt feralism. Several dozen of the surviving vessels now serve as museum ships across Terran Protectorate space.

[madelynraemunson]

NEED…MORE…EX-HUSBAND!EDDIE…I AM FERAL AND FOAMING AT THE MOUTH PLEASE BLESS US MORE I’M BEGGING

IT’S ANGST O’CLOCK!!!

𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐬𝐨 𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠)

ex husband! eddie x fem!reader

“all that still matters is ‘love ever after’ — after the life we’ve been through” — life after you // daughtry

WC: ~950 words

3AM. The witching hour.

The air smells of twilight musk and marinating dew. It's pitch black all around you, the nearest gas station being an agonizing 1.3 miles away. You're also 10 miles from Hawkins, pulled over in nothing but platform heels, a black mini dress, and expired pepper spray in your purse. To make matters worse, the only friends up who seem to be up at this hour are hungry bears and obnoxious, chirping crickets. And skinwalkers if you're where you think you are.

A horrible ending to a girls night out. Just what you needed.

Alone and afraid, you decide to call the number one person on speed dial, whose gradual distaste towards you renders itself very evident from the moment he answers the phone.

"What?! I'm trying to sleep."

"Eds." you whimper into the phone. "I need you."

There's a long pause in response to your petrified sobs, followed by the clicking noise of a phone keyboard before you hear cursing and the frantic ruffling of sheets.

"I’ll be there."

"Well?"

You watch as Eddie crinkles his forehead in concentration, examining your car while his soot-tainted hands explore every crevice of your hood. Routine maintenance has never been as issue because you've always had a personal mechanic at your feet. But since the divorce, you've gotten pretty bad about it. Otherwise, the you and Eddie wouldn't be stuck in this situation. Obviously.

"Weeelp." Eddie sighs, stretching out every bit of the syllable. He slams the hood shut. "She's just about blown out. You're lucky that thing didn't overheat too much with you in it."

You've prided yourself in not needing a man to change your tires, wiper fluid, OR oil nowadays. But in the midst of your journey towards self love and independence, you somehow forgot that your car could also overheat.

"Oh..”

You try not to watch intently as Eddie cleans his hands off with his hanky, the one he keeps neatly tucked into the back pocket of his flattering dark, denim jeans. Your eyes then trail towards his leather jacket, which housed his broad shoulders and delicious waist so nicely, you would've thought it had been tailored just for him. And you could just about fall right into him when he angles his torso towards you, his sculpted jawline glistening in the moonlight — but nearly not as glistening as those gorgeous chocolate eyes, the ones he used to his advantage during your marriage to get you to forgive him for whatever mistake he seemed to make that week. Before you could fawn any further, Eddie snaps you back to reality.

"When was the last time you put some coolant in this thing?"

"Some what?"

"You keep Prestone at the house?" Eddie pesters. "Antifreeze? Peak?"

Cheeks reddening, you shake your head. "No.”

"You get this thing examined often?"

“Not unless you do it," is what you shamefully admit. “For the most part…”

Eddie's face scrunches out of frustration. He knew this would happen.

"God, I hate when you do shit like this," he snaps. "For all I know your engine light could've been on for weeks."

"But it wasn't." you mutter softly. You're already scared. This is the last thing you need.

"You know your car in particular needs to be serviced every half year?" Eddie mutters. "Oil changes, tire rotations. Your break pads have also seen better days. Which is concerning."

"Ok.”

"And how many times do I have to say you gotta pay attention to this fucking radiator?!" Eddie hisses, slapping at the hood again with his open palm. You shudder at the loud *THUNK* noise that echoes across the woods. "We wouldn't be out here in 3AM if you had just taken proactive measures.”

"Stop YELLING at me!" you whine, a piece of your inner child spewing outwards to combat Eddie's belligerent word vomit.

"I'm not yelling." Eddie firmly insists.

He turns his back to you and starts towards your car again.

"Yes, you are, you always do." you croak miserably, balling your fists up in frustration. “You always do Eddie, and I'm sick of it! You always want to be right, and you always kick me when I'm already down to-"

“Okay, okay, okay." Eddie hushes you. He runs a frantic hand through his hair. "Agh, fuck, okay — I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with guilty, glimmering eyes as you shift your body away from him. Guarded, tense. Closing up all access of you towards him because he lost those rights a long time ago. Muttering to himself now, Eddie scrapes at the pebbles beneath his feet, fiddling with the chain of his wallet before he dares to speak to you again.

"I just worry about you a lot."

You peer back over at him. "Deadass?"

He snorts. "Well yeah."

With your permission Eddie stalks closer to you.

"I don't want to wake up to a phone call talking about my wife's car bursting into flames — with her inside." He rolls his eyes. “All because she hasn't been maintaining her shit.”

"I have been," you fib just a bit, though most of it rings true. just forgot to iron out some little details."

Eddie relaxes his shoulders.

"I know," he surrenders. “I guess there's a part of me that secretly hopes you'll still need me somehow. Some way, or another."

"I'll always need your presence," you reassure him.

Your ex husband softens up. He always thought that during your separation you had found another Superman to save the day. Some other handsome devil to fix your car and maintain all the leaky faucets inside your once shared home. But as you've always insisted, nobody has your back like Eddie. Your very own George Reeves. At your disposal for you and you only.

He suddenly wraps his arms around you, and as you predicted you ease right into him, the comfort and familiarity of Eddie melting away any ounce of hostility you guys have ever harbored against each other. You both have your days, but the love you two have for each other has always remained the same. Just changed form, is all.

"I'm glad you're okay," is all he says.

'I'm glad you're here," you sniff. "Always playing hero, per usual..."

"Well for you, always."

He plants a gentle kiss on top of your forehead as you two sway around in unison. You hum to showcase your endearment.

And he'd do it again.

———

🏷️ tagging peeps who seemed interested in this lil universe 🫶🏼✨ thank you guys for reading :)

@highinmiamiii @potatobeans99 @mediocredreams @joshlmbrt @eddiesxangel @enam3l @mmunson86 @davidblowies-blog @thatissonnina @oskea93 @aurora-austen @lesservillain @madeofmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @eddiesghxst @munsonssweets @nailbatanddungeon @swiss-mrs @winchester-angel @belokhvostikova @curlyjoequinn @strangereads @marrowfrog00 @shadyunknowncreation @tuolcaniacoc @catherinnn @prestinalove @pleuviors @cinemabean @calumfmu @littlexdeaths

[marsbutterfly]

MECHANIC BADDIE HANJI WHO FIXES UP READERS CAR. SHES ALL LIKE I CAN TAKE CARE OF IT DARLING. YOU JUST SIT THERE AND LOOK PRETTY. (IDK SHIT ABOUT CARS) JUST NEED AN ACTS OF SERVICE HANJI

I'll Fix It All

a/n: omg happy new year!! this turned out way longer than I originally intended for it to be. i was hoping to post it before the year turned but i'll also accept the first day of the year lol. enjoy.

warnings: fem!reader (she/her), nb! hanji zoe (they/them), modern au, anxiety, panic attacks, kissing, fluff, comfort. also like, i don't know much about cars or car repair so pls bear with me. tagging: @wizzy21 wc: 2.5k | wattpad! | ao3!

"No, no, no, no, NO!" You cry out as your car slowly begins to lose speed. This isn't the first time this week, nor the second, nor the third. You couldn't even count on one hand the amount of times the engine had been making that weird noise and the light had been blinking at you like a malevolent eye.

But you thought you could put it off, that you could easily ignore it, and that it would fix itself like it had many times before. Maybe you just needed to check the coolant or add some more water to the radiator, except you continuously forgot to do so. And it finally came back to bite you in the ass.

As the smoke comes out of the hood, you grip the steering wheel tightly, a loud grunt escaping your lips as your forehead presses against the horn, the loud noise filling the air all around you. Still, you are lucky enough to be in a somewhat empty area so the least amount of people will be disturbed.

Your first instinct is to panic. You can feel the blood rushing through your body, your face getting warmer as a few tears begin to prickle in your eyes. You let out a shaky exhale, cursing yourself for allowing this situation to happen in the first place. Before you can even begin to cry, you feel your phone vibrating in the cup holder next to you, the caller's name showing up on the screen attached to the dashboard. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‎‎‎"Sunshine ☼"

With a sniffle, you wipe the tears before they even have the chance to roll down your cheeks and pick up your phone, pressing the green button on the screen as you try your best to sound like you are composed and not entirely freaking out at the moment.

"Hello, my most beloved," you say, trying your best to sound like your playful self. Though it has no sound, you can almost hear the smile dropping off Hanji's face. It was not out of the ordinary for them to quickly pick up on the slightest change in your tone of voice.

"What happened?" They ask without missing a beat, the tone of their voice filled with love and concern, almost as if they were already expecting you to be in some sort of distress. "I was doing the dishes and accidentally broke a glass because I got such a bad feeling that my hand started shaking."

You sniffle but a small giggle exits your chest, the idea that the two of you are so intertwined that they can even sense when you are in some sort of distress, "Yeah, I'm fine… My car just finally gave out on me and I'm in the middle of a random neighborhood because I decided today, out of all days, to take a random shortcut!"

"Send me your location, and I'll get my tools and meet you over there," they say and you can already hear them moving around on the other end of the line. You wish you could protest but, the more you look at your car, the more panic fills your body. So you simply let out a quiet "okay" before hanging up.

Though your hands nervously shake, you can open your text messages and send Hanji a pin of your exact location. It isn't too far from your house, maybe five minutes if you speed up, and that knowledge only adds more fuel to your frustration. "Why now? I could have easily pulled into my driveway before you gave out!" You can't help the angry grunt that leaves your throat as you slam your hand against the steering wheel.

The waiting time seems like an eternity, an eerie feeling in the back of your mind like you are being watched. Your eyes dart to your phone, half convinced that maybe you should just call a toll truck when you see the headlights of Hanji's motorcycle as they speed down the road.

The light from the post shines above them and you can barely distinguish if they are an angel or a real person. As soon as their bike is parked behind your car, you exit the vehicle, running towards their embrace.

Their hair is still messy from having a helmet on and they hold a small toolbox with their left hand, but that does not stop them from hugging you as tightly as they possibly can. Their lips press against your head as the two of you remain like that for a while.

"Shhh, it's ok, my love," you can feel the smile in their voice, a gentleness like nothing you have ever experienced before, "Hanji is here to fix your problems."

"I truly appreciate you coming this fast," you whisper against their chest, "I genuinely thought my car would be able to handle the journey today but… I guess I was wrong."

"Did you have any trouble starting it this morning?" They pull back, their arm still wrapped around your frame. You think for a second, having trouble focusing on anything other than this panicky feeling in your chest.

Slowly, you begin to remember your day: you left work and the car started. You left for lunch and the car started. Clearly, it had started when you left home that morning… Didn't it?

"Oh shit…" You whisper while an embarrassed expression takes over your features. Your eyes shift towards the ground as you pull slightly further away to create a bigger distance between your bodies, too self-conscious to even look at them. "I couldn't get the engine to turn this morning. I had to start it, put it in neutral, and then start it again."

They nod, kissing your forehead once more as they stand in front of the hood of your car. You are still too embarrassed to look but you can hear the moment their toolbox touches the ground and as their hands pop it open. A few seconds go by as they begin tinkering with the metal inside, though your knowledge of cars isn't deep enough for you to fully understand what is going on.

You cross one arm against your chest while the other rests above your hand, your index finger tapping on your cheek while you can't help but take small nibbles on your thumb's nail. The anxiety inside of your chest never dissipates, nor the shame.

The morning had been nothing but a blur. You woke up late for work, forgot to eat or even bring anything to snack on until you had time to go to lunch, spilled water all over your car, and, to top it all off, it was raining in the morning. The engine not starting was just one of the many, many things that had gone wrong. You meant to text Hanji about it so they could meet you during your work hours and fix it but, of course, you forgot to charge your phone the night before.

You close your eyes and exhale, leaning against the car. Before you can get yourself into a frenzy, you hear Hanji's gentle voice pulling you out of the dark spiral you were about to send yourself into, "Okay, good news and bad news."

"Please explain it to me like I'm five," you say, shooting them an exhausted look and it causes them to chuckle quietly. "Bad news first."

"The alternator, or thing that charges your car battery, isn't properly working for some reason. Maybe because it's old, maybe it's faulty, but it for sure will not start working again, like, that thing is dead."

You nod, surprisingly following along with what they are telling you. You realize that all this knowledge comes from the previous times they have come to your aid or maybe from all the times they would check under the hood of your car before you left their house while the two of you still lived in separate households. Regardless, you turn your attention to them once more.

"I checked the fluid and the coolant and everything seems to be full and working ok. I ran some codes and nothing out of the ordinary popped up and lastly, I checked your oil." They say, wiping the grime out of their hands with a bleached towel, their face slightly sweaty, especially around the area where their glasses sit on their nose.

"Fuck… And the good news?" You ask, biting your nails even more, almost to the point of blood. With a gentle and concerned expression, Hanji takes a few steps forward, wrapping their dirty digits around your trembling palms, and only then do you notice just how short your nails have become.

"I can easily fix it. The last one we bought still has a warranty, so I can just change them." They whisper, placing a kiss against your fingers. A sense of despair fills your body again as tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, your lip trembling as you speak in a quiet yet pathetic voice.

"Please, don't leave me alone."

They sigh, running their hand over their messy hair. They look over to the open hood of your car and around the neighborhood, trying to think about what the best choice would be in this situation.

"The store is fifteen minutes away, on my bike, I'll be back in - "

"Please, don't leave me alone!!" You beg desperately, whatever is left of your fingernails now digging into the skin of their biceps, your eyes are wide open as tears stream down. You weren't that upset about the car breaking down, but just the intensity of all the feelings you had been holding back finally caught up to you the moment you realized you would have to be without them for even a second.

Hanji is taken aback by how sudden your response is, and how desolate you sound. They can see the anxiety written all over your features and it causes their heart to ache in their chest. That's the moment in which they realize just how many feelings you have been bottling, just how bad your week has been, and just how you have refused to talk to them about it.

Almost like they gain consciousness, their arms wrap around your frame, pulling you closer to their body. In exchange, you bury your head on their chest, not carrying that their shirt is now covered in grime and sweat, even if it is chilly outside. "Is there anything you want to talk about?" They whisper, their lips pressed against the top of your head.

You want to shake your head, to put your walls up once more and brush it off as "just a bad day", but it was more than that. It had been a bad week, a bad month, and you had gone through it all by yourself, in silence. Crying in the shower but still putting on a smile when around them, your appetite barely exists but you still eat all of their cooking. But before you can deny anything, the tears begin pouring down your face once more, you cling to them like they are the last life vest on a sinking ship.

“I d-don’t know what is going on with me…” You gasp, hiding your face in a mixture of shame and search for comfort. “I just… I just want to be close to you at all times, I just never want to be alone and I just… Everything is too much and not enough, everything is going wrong. I…”

“My love,” they whisper, holding you slightly tighter with one arm. With their free hand, they prop up your chin, a gentle and warm smile taking over their lips once your eyes meet. “You don’t have to suffer alone, ok? I am here for you, no matter what, when, or where. I will always be by your side.”

“Good and bad?” You sniffle and they chuckle softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes as they lean down so their forehead is touching yours. They nod.

“Good and bad, my angel…” They whisper, their eyes closing as your noses brush together. You lean closer, your lips brushing against theirs so lightly that it nearly feels like a paint-filled brush against a canvas, working its way through a halfway-painted masterpiece.

Hanji gently presses your body against the car door, their grip on your waist is tight as they make sure to keep you safely in place. Your lips are half-open, temptingly wet in the dim light of the street pole, your face is stained with silent tears and the only thought going through their head? “I really need to kiss her.”

And so they do. They lean forward ever so slightly until there is no more room between the two of you. When your lips collide, you can’t help the quiet gasp that exists in your body, your hand gently resting on their cheek while your thumb brushes against the softness of their skin. 

You get lost in the warmth of their body, in how comforting it feels to have them pressed against you like this. Your nose brushes against theirs as your head tilts slightly to the side, the faint smell of coffee and menthol cigarettes still lingering on their breath as it mixes with the scent of the gum you had in your mouth earlier.

They nibble on your tongue gently, sometimes brushing the tip of their own against it and it’s enough to cause you to nearly melt in their arms. If it wasn’t for their strong arms holding you in place, you would have fallen to the ground into a puddle underneath their feet.

Neither of you wants to pull away, but the need to breathe is becoming stronger by the second. When you separate, your forehead rests against theirs, and your eyes remain closed as you enjoy the smell of their skin. Even if it isn’t a pleasant smell, it brings you too much comfort in this moment for you to care.

“I’ll call Moblit and he can come to help, ok?” They whisper, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You nod, lacing your fingers with the ones on their left hand while they pull their phone out of their pocket with the other. "I'll send him to the store and I will stay with you. You won't be alone, I promise."

As they speak to the man on the other end of the line, you can’t help but allow a small smile to form on your lips as you think about how lucky you are to have someone like them in your life. Someone willing to stop everything at the drop of a hat to come to rescue you when you need them most. 

As they blow you a kiss, you find yourself thinking about that one specific sentence once more, realizing that no truer words had ever been spoken:

“Hanji is here to fix all your problems.”