#Best Rebuilt Engines

[a111autoparts]

How to Evaluate the Best Rebuilt Engines for Maximum Vehicle Performance? - A111 Auto Parts

Searching for the perfect rebuilt engine for your car? This guide explains how to evaluate engine quality, efficiency, and compatibility for optimal performance. Learn tips to identify reliable rebuilt engines and ensure your vehicle runs smoothly and efficiently.

[bsautosuppliess]

Rebuilt Engine for Ford Mustang GT 1969 Near Me - BS Auto Supplies

[robertreich]

Boeing Is Everything Wrong With American Capitalism

Excuse my language, but why is Boeing such a shitty corporation?

Their planes are literally falling apart in the sky.

At least six Boeing planes have had parts fall off this year — including an exit door in mid-flight. A whistle-blower has accused Boeing of a “criminal cover-up” of its safety failures.

But beyond this one company, Boeing’s descent is a case study in how American capitalism has become so rotten. Let me explain.

I’m old enough to remember when people used to say “If it’s not Boeing, I’m not going.”

But in 1997, everything changed when Boeing merged with McDonnell Douglas and became the only major maker of commercial aircraft in America. With no domestic rivals, it no longer needed to stay on the cutting edge of innovation.

Executives at Boeing who once specialized in engineering were replaced with Wall Street types who looked down on the engineers. One money-hungry CEO described those who cared too much about the integrity of Boeing’s planes, and not enough about its stock price, as “phenomenally talented assholes.”

To keep Wall Street happy, Boeing began spending billions on stock buybacks that pumped up the value of shares — money that could have been spent on safety and innovation.

It doled out hundreds of millions on campaign contributions and lobbying to lower safety standards, rake in massive government contracts, and boost its bottom line.

To cut costs, Boeing outsourced roughly 70% of its design, engineering, and manufacturing rather than rely on its experienced union workforce.

To further undercut its union, Boeing opened an assembly plant in South Carolina, a notorious anti-union state. Executives reportedly told managers not to move any unionized employees there.

This quest for profit resulted in massive quality control problems that were reported by engineers and machinists, but allegedly ignored by management. All of this inevitably led to the deadly safety issues Boeing faces today.

And because of Boeing’s monopoly-like power, it has been largely immune from any repercussions for its poor performance.

Boeing made it seem like it was punishing executives who led it astray by firing them, but still rewarded them with “golden parachutes” on the way out.

Folks, Boeing’s troubles should serve as a cautionary tale. It’s reflective of broader trends in our economy over the past forty years. Monopolization. Wealth siphoned off to rich shareholders at the expense of everyone else. Cutting corners on safety to save a dime. Bashing unions. All while spending big money lobbying the government.

Boeing may have become a shitty company, but that doesn’t mean we have to put up with it.

The government has the power to increase antitrust enforcement to bust up big companies — something that we are already starting to see in other industries.

It should also attach strings to government contracts and subsidies to ensure that private corporations are working in the best interest of the country, and not just their bottom lines.

It should ban stock buybacks, which were illegal before the Reagan administration, so profits are put back into improving the company, including the safety of products, rather than solely padding investors’ wallets.

Union power should be rebuilt, so that workers can once again act as a countervailing force to Wall Street.

And we should continue the fight to get Big Money out of politics.

It’s not too late to reverse course and chart a new flight path.

[gunsandspaceships]

Tony Stark’s achievements

Childhood:

��Brilliant and unique mind”

At age 4 built his first circuit board

At age 6 built his first engine

Cracked the Pentagon’s firewall in high school on a dare

Went to college at 14

Built cool smart robots (Dum-E and U) when he was a teen

At 17 graduated summa cum laude from MIT

Polyglot

Before Afghanistan:

“Da Vinci of our time”

Became an owner and CEO of Stark Industries at 21

Successfully ran the company for decades

Advanced the world of technology, not only in weaponry and robotics but also:

created advanced AI J.A.R.V.I.S.

created holographic interface technology

created repulsor technology

Participated in charity

In and after Afghanistan:

“I’m sorry, I’m not Tony Stark”

Survived an open-heart surgery in a cave, without general anesthesia

Lived with, in fact, a debilitating wound, shrapnel, and a huge and dangerous technological device in his body for years and was willing and capable of doing not only his usual work but also being a superhero and doing all these next things...

Did not give up under torture and fought with his captors

Invented and built a miniaturized Arc Reactor, in a cave, with a box of scraps

Invented and built Iron Man armor, in the same cave, with the same box of scraps

Escaped from captivity by himself (with help from Yinsen, but without any armed assistance)

Became an expert in piloting and driving

Saved people in Gulmira

Saved a USAF pilot

Probably the best hacker in the world, was able to easily hack networks of the Pentagon, US government, AIM, and SHIELD

Fought with Iron Monger after nearly died. Defeated him and saved many lives. Was ready to die for that

Built many more different Iron Man armors

Fought terrorists between IM and IM2 (IM2 tie-in comics)

Saved a submarine crew (IM2 - newspapers in Vanko’s home)

Saved a woman from a fire (IM2 - newspapers in Vanko’s home)

“Stabilized East-West relations” (IM2 - newspapers in Vanko’s home), so the world was “enjoying its longest period of uninterrupted peace in years”

Organized Stark Expo

Was able to keep Iron Man armor in his safe hands despite the government’s and HYDRA’s attempts to take it for themselves

Defeated Ivan Vanko in Monaco

(Re)Discovered a new element

 Synthesized it, by building a particle accelerator, at home

Revolutionized energy industry and science. Gave clean energy to the world

Defeated Vanko in New York with Rhodey, Natasha, and Pepper and saved many lives again

Saved Peter Parker (IM2)

Made it so that the Abomination would not leave prison and join the Avengers

Built Stark/Avengers Tower powered by Arc Reactor technology

Saved Steve Rogers and many civilians in Germany from Loki

Was able to fight with Thor on equal terms

Biggest brain on Earth, arguably - in the Universe:

best scientist on the team, in SHIELD, on Earth, in the Universe

expert in nuclear, particle, and quantum physics

was able to learn very quickly – became an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics in one night

Successfully tracked Tesseract by its gamma radiation with Bruce

Saved Helicarrier with the Avengers and SHIELD agents on board, almost died

Saved Rogers from a merc right after that

Fought with Chitauri, killed many of them, saved a lot of people

Was able to blow up a Leviathan by himself

Saved New York City by redirecting a nuke to the wormhole

Saved the world by destroying Thanos’ Chitauri army, almost died again

Founded The United States Department of Damage Control to clean up after battles

Rebuilt Stark Tower into Avengers Tower and gave each team member their own quarters

One of the best biologists and biomedical engineers on Earth, even if it’s not his main area of expertise:

helped Maya with Extremis back in 1999, because knew more in her own field, and even didn’t remember that

was head hunted by Aldrich Killian to work on Extremis with/instead of Maya, who was the leading expert in tissue regeneration

improved and stabilized Extremis, so it became safe regenerative technology, and with it…

cured Pepper

healed extensive injuries in his chest

invented and implanted devices for remote control of his suits (into his forearm in IM3, and most probably into his brain for Mark L armor in Infinity War)

invented build-in diagnostic system in his suits

Invented many devices for protection purposes (ex. bomb disposal)

A capable detective. Figured out the cause of explosions in IM3 on his own

Saved Pepper instead of himself by putting Mark 42 on her during the attack on his Malibu mansion

Survived the attack with a barely working prototype suit. Shot down a helicopter with a piano

Was able to fight with enhanced fire-breathing regenerating terrorists without armor and weapons in Rose Hill. In handcuffs

Knowledgeable and skilled in medicine:

saved a kid with his arc reactor in a deleted scene from IM3, selflessly pulling it out of his chest and performing defibrillation under electric shocks

knew how to recognize hyperglycemia when Harley was eating 3rd bawl of candies

closed his wound in Infinity War with nanoparticles

performed first-aid on Bruce after his snap

Built a lot of stuff from random things he bought in a store for the assault on the Mandarin's mansion. In a motel

Successfully stormed the Mandarin's mansion full of armed and huge security guys with dogs. Alone. Without his armor

Successfully escaped captivity in the Mandarin's mansion with just a few pieces of armor on

Saved all the people who fell from the Air Force One

Stormed Roxxon Norco ship with Rhodey, without a suit. With one handgun

Saved the US president

Defeated Killian and his Extremis-enhanced terrorists, saved many lives

Built quinjets

Created Iron Legion

Became the benefactor of the Avengers, provided them with everything, was a combatant, and also the team’s pilot, hacker, engineer, medic, and scientist

As an Avenger saved many lives on missions, including destroying the rest of HYDRA in AoU

With Bruce’s help created Veronica and Hulkbuster suit

Defeated a rogue Iron Legionnaire with a fork

In contrast to other team members was able to function after Wanda played with his mind

Defeated mad Hulk. Saved a lot of lives in Johannesburg

Easily hacked nuclear codes in Nexus and found J.A.R.V.I.S. “in the world’s biggest haystack”

Created advanced AI F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Many advanced AIs

Created Vision

With the Avengers defeated Ultron and his army

Evacuated people who were left in Sokovia

Saved a falling evacuation shuttle with people on it

Together with Thor saved Earth by destroying the falling Sokovia

Rebuilt Stark Compound into Avengers Compound for the team in Upstate New York

Invented several medical devices, including leg braces, blood toxicity detector

Sponsored the development of technology for psychotherapy (B.A.R.F.). Prevented it from being used for harm

Funded all the students’ projects at MIT

Did everything possible to legally, politically, and physically protect the team before, during, and after the Civil War

Was able to disarm Winter Soldier without a suit, with only one armored glove

Figured out Spider-Man’s identity

Created Spider-Man’s suits

Mentored, sponsored, and looked after Peter Parker

Saved Peter Parker (SMH). Twice

Saved the ferry from sinking

Invented nanoparticles

 “Earth’s best defender”

Went to space to save Peter, Strange and bring back Time Stone

Saved Peter Parker (IW)

Saved Strange on the Donut spaceship. Killed Ebony Maw

Cloak of Levitation chose him as his second favorite (deleted scene with Tony wearing Levi and Strange in Mark L)

Was respected by Thanos himself

Withstood when Thanos hit him with a moon

Fought Thanos, made him bleed, kept fighting even without armor

Survived a severe injury thanks to his own invention

Was able to function, tried to fix Benatar, and return home while injured and ill with an infected wound

Built a lab for Bruce and helped him to become one with Hulk (combine the best of both worlds)

Became an amazing dad

Became an expert in time travel physics

Discovered/invented (controlled) Time travel

Built a time machine

Went on Time Heist and stole Tesseract from a guarded military base

Created his own Infinity Gauntlet

Thus brought half of the universe back to existence (Bruce snapped and partially sacrificed his health, but nothing would be possible without Tony)

Saved Bruce’s arm by providing emergency medical care

Fought with Thanos again and…

Saved the whole Universe

[paxarsenal]

One Last Wish

Another wavewave fanfic by the one and only PaxArsenal! This is just the headcanon I have for TFP, and I apologize for the inconsistent storytelling if it isn't up to canon Transformers lore. I digress, enjoy this fanfic!

Conjunx Ritus...

1. The Act of Intimacy

This depends heavily on the couple.  The couple performs an intimate act such as holding hands, possibly a sensual massage, or cleaning one another, the options are endless.

2. Act of Disclosure

This can be a story about anything, so long as it tells your partner what makes you–you.  For some it’s the story of their birth, for others, it might be how they became the leader of their faction by getting into a bar fight, for some it might be revealing just how guilty they feel for joining their faction in the first place.

3. Act of Profference

This is a gift. The ritual’s instigator gives the other a gift, usually catered to the potential Conjunx. 

4. Act of Devotion

The entire ceremony is an act of devotion for the one who started the ritual: it is the other's turn to perform an action that shows he too loves his potential Conjunx.

Once the 4 acts of kindness have been performed and accepted the pair are officially bonded as Conjunx Endura.

~~~

One Final Wish

The war was over. 

For the past million years, the Great War waged and never shuttered. In a time like this, it’s limited. Both Autobots and Decepticons saw it all; Megatron finally sacrificed his crown to Optimus Prime, who bowed with respect and pity for the Kaon gladiator. While both leaders recoiled their woes and sorrows at the losses, Shockwave could only turn to Soundwave. His sleek HUD stood cracked among fellow Decepticons, his frame barely breathing. Transformers need no concept of oxygen to respire, yet Soundwave struggled to get his engines running. It was the end. The Decepticons surrendered; they had surrendered. He was exhausted; everyone was exhausted. Still, Soundwave held high; his back straightened like a regal to an audience, his slender arms relaxed and helm in a proper position. In Shockwave’s eye, Soundwave always knew how to present himself. That’s what a former senator does best. 

Back at their home, the Autobots paraded all over Cybertron. Their smiles and laughs reciprocated towards the crowd as mechs and femmes cheered for their victory. Little by little, the planet rebuilt itself, and more Cybertronians returned to their home; buildings resurrected, and bots buried their dead. What was a celebration meant an embarrassment to the Decepticons. Each officer sat in their cells with Energon-charged cuffs. Inadequate Energon supplied, and occasionally, the guards failed to deliver sustenance. Only Optimus Prime was allowed as a visitor, sharing nostalgic moments with Megatron about days gone by. Starscream paced back and forth as he muttered words of self-encouragement and spite towards his leaders, much to a nervous wreck like himself. Megatron sat on the rusting berth with his red optics closed, Optimus talking about who knows what. However, Shockwave paid no attention to his former leader. Another mech in mind, his gun arm tapped his right wall. How unfortunate for his cell to be facing Megatron and Starscream. A quiet knock on the other wall told him Soundwave was still responsive. 

“Are you perhaps still on lord Megatron’s vow of silence?” Shockwave asked.

“... Negative: He isn’t our lord anymore,” Soundwave answered, his voice laced with a silver tongue, “So why call him that moniker.”  

Unknowingly, Shockwave grew facilitated by Soundwave’s authentic voice. Not the recordings of Optimus Prime’s interrogations, not Megatron's constant harangues and meeting audios, just his voice. Something Shockwave looked forward to for centuries. “Maybe I have gotten acquainted with it. With millions of cycles gone and past, it’s logical reasoning.” He finally articulated to his comrade. Soft lulls tickled Shockwave’s fins; Lazorbeak had awoken. 

“Is that minibot alright?” Shockwave questioned again, hoping to continue the conversation. He leaned on the enclosed walls, rusting and dull from improper hygiene and neglect. Space was tight, yet the scientist made do.

Soundwave replied bluntly, “He’s alright.” Silence caved into the pair. Lazorbeak’s inconsistent squeaks and wings clicking suited as tools to smother the pain-staking rings of tension and animosity. The minibot recoiled within Soundwave’s frame, his thin digits trying to calm it down. 

“You know you can stop that,” The ex-communications officer directly stated, “There’s no use in small talk. We are all going to be offline.”

Shockwave couldn’t come up with another word. He knew Soundwave was right. Instead, he slowly slid to the dusty ground and sighed, “... Is that so?” 

Within a few minutes, Soundwave knocked again, but this time, he commed Shockwave through his visor: At least I can be offlined with you.

~~~

Reconciliation wasn’t an option for the losers. All former Decepticon officers knelt before the renewed High Council. With tight cuffs around their servos and high security, nothing could go wrong. They made sure of that. The judge was an elderly Transformer with millennia ahead of him. He struck on the metal gavel once the mass settled down. As he cleared his voicebox, his olden optics scanned through the digital tablet, “By decree, former warlord Megatron shall stand conducted via public execution for his crimes against Cybertron. That goes for his associates, former senator Soundwave, ex-High Council scientist Shockwave, and Decepticon captain Starscream. Except for ex-Deception Medic Knockout, he will receive punishment by another method.” Every Cybertronian darted to Knockout, who nervously ducked under the podium seat.

Starscream twitched yet kept silent after Elite Guards repositioned their guns to his shaking helm. As if it wasn’t vibrating enough, it could have removed some bolts by now. Soundwave and Megatron said nothing. They knelt before the jury and accepted their fate. The judge continued, “For better or worse, all charges remain true. Our Autobot representative wishes to speak.”

Optimus Prime uncovered from the shadows and strode towards his podium. Each stride was bold and confident, something Shockwave had seen Megatron do. It was remarkable what chiefs could be and influence. Orion Pax to Optimus Prime, and Megatrous to Megatron. The Empurata con’s spark yanked and jerked; it felt familiar yet so ancient. By the Allspark, Primus did grant individuals as saints while traitors martyrs. 

Optimus’s voice boomed throughout the courtroom. “Mechs and Femmes, as we gather here to address the Decepticon problem, I want to make some adjustments. These are criminals, yes. But I wish to give them a last desire before they part.” Some bots booed and argued against his idea, yet he held on. “It’s only befitting since we aren’t like them.” His blue optics stared into Megatron as the ex-warlord shifted away disgusted.

Still, Megatron wished for a better system; Starscream’s request was immediately rejected. Soundwave stood muted amidst the proceeding. The purple bot didn’t ask for anything. Coincidentally, it gave Shockwave a chance to speak. 

“May I ask for one proposal?” Shockwave confidently asked. Prime let him continue. 

“I would like to perform a Conjunx Ritus.” The jury gasped. What did that Empurata freak say? A Conjunx Ritus? With who? Soundwave’s helm immediately whipped toward Shockwave as Starscream barely caught his laugh between his servo. Megatron darted bullets at him, red optics narrowing with a snarl, “What are you doing?” He hissed. The Prime’s mouth fell agape at the unusual request, and they could hear that cranky medic shout profanities against Primus's vain. Shockwave didn’t look at him, and his audibles fell into deaf tones, instead finding his gaze on Optimus Prime. “Please, Prime, it’s one final wish.” 

Gesturing to Soundwave, he knelt on one knee before Soundwave as he held up his cuffed arms. “Soundwave… With our sparks still alight…Would you be my Conjunx Endura…?”

Soundwave sat there, emotionless and conflicted–dumbfounded. His still cracked HUD mask reflected onto Shockwave’s crimson one. With one shaky outstretched limb, he held onto Shockwave’s, never letting go of those same sharp servos that once carried him during a stressful night on the Nemesis. Those same servos that caressed his crown when they interfaced. The same ones that he loved so much, belonging to that societal outcast hailed from Kalis. As unstable as his voice, Soundwave’s helm titled down as a gleam flashed away from his blurry visor screen. 

“Proposal: Accepted.”

“Let our damnation be our union.”

~~~

Soundwave and Shockwave requested to be executed first. They wanted Megatron and Starscream to observe their coalition for the final time. The Conjunx Ritus traditions remain the same; four acts of kindness shall be performed and accepted before the pair are officially bonded mates. Such acts include the act of intimacy, disclosure, profference, and devotion. 

If the violet mech could frown, he would’ve frowned the deepest, even more profound than Megatron’s awful organic-piranha scowl. The thought of being intimate in a public space felt unnecessary–illogical in his own words. Nonetheless, the ceremony must persist in the optics of the populace. 

Soundwave sneakily unlocked his compartment as purple tentacles laced Shockwave’s gun arm like ribbons. 

Oh. Intimacy completed.

In the second part of the ritual, the act of disclosure, Soundwave told Shockwave of his journey to become a senator (both were senators at some vorns ago), his obstacles and achievements, his wins and losses, and his eventual downfall. Once it was Shockwave’s turn, he immediately tapped his digits impatiently. 

Shockwave laid his fins low, “The story… of my Empurata…” 

“Are you ashamed?” Soundwave whispered. 

He chuckled, “No, if not, I wouldn’t have met you.”

The third part of the ceremony is an act of Profference. A predacon optic laid within Shockwave’s palm. Soundwave titled his helm amusingly. “As much as I dedicated my time to Project Predacon, I’d have wished to dedicate mine to you.” How fitting it was. Shockwave panicked last minute on that gift. There was absolutely nothing on this wasteland to behold a mech so close to regality or godhood, by Shockwave’s logic. Still, Soundwave accepted and caressed it gently between his fingers. Shockwave’s fins fluttered satisfied.

Fourth and last was the act of Devotion. Shockwave grew curious on this part. What did Soundwave have in mind for his contribution? Applying logic wouldn’t wither the mystery of surprises. The audience held their breath as Soundwave stood in silence. At last, the bot retrieved something that even his partner would dilate and dim his optic on. 

“Lazorbeak…” Shockwave gasped, feathery claw reaching for the minibot to find it limp and unresponsive, devoid of a spark. 

“We… talked about it,” Soundwave slowly explained. “He would rather stay loyal than live without my protection and company.” He paused. “You always had a nick for exotic inventions and experiments. May we see that… another time. Lazorbeak wants to see.”

The Empurata had no words. “Do you perhaps believe in the afterlife or some kind of reincarnation those organics revere?”

“Negative: I suppose so. No logic in Cybertron would decode that unless we try to see it.”

Shockwave chuckled, a mere light in his red optic when his future sparkmate used his infamous line, “Then let’s see to that… that one last experimentation.”

The bronze bells hammered in the background. No spectator to cheer, no energon to toast high in the air, no ‘congratulations’ or ‘well done’. Just a clearing over the destruction of their planet to unify their eternal coalition. What seemed to be seconds or minutes before the officiant cleared his throat.

“I pronounce you to you today as Sparkmates…” 

Once the Conjunx Ritus was over, Soundwave rested his crown on Shockwave’s optic as he sighed. His comrade… No, Conjunx Endura held his helm to look at him with the exact gaze he had given all those years ago. The other returned the gesture and stared lovely into his one optic, his servos hovering on Shockwave’s spark chamber. The spark hammered and didn’t stop. He couldn’t feel it, yet he understood he would’ve called it love.

“I love you, Shockwave.”

“I love you too, my Soundwave.”

“... Affirmative: See you on the other side.” 

The Elite Guards released their ammunition as Soundwave and Shockwave’s frames fell onto the ground, lifeless as energon poured out of their wounds. Together, their sparks diminished at the same time. On the outskirts of the city, they laid their bodies side by side as Cybertron’s dust buried them. Although their carcasses may fade away, their consciousness and spark are still ablaze by their one final wish.

[galoogamelady]

What’s Fallout like? Like I know I can google what kind of game it is but more than that what games would you compare it to? and is it more story-based or gameplay-based?

That's a difficult one to answer and I'm not sure I have the authority to do it lol

But I'll try!

The Fallout fandom is fairly complicated due to the IP being passed around and the lore/values of its storytelling being muddied over the years. That being said I think both old-school and new fans would still agree that the story is the most important element, as they're meant to be role playing games where you make decisions on often heavy matters (especially in the games of the original devs).

Fallout 1 and 2 are turn-based isometric rpg-s from the late 90s. If you like that type of gameplay, they're fantastic games and cult classics. They don't shy away from heavy themes.

Then the IP got sold to Bethesda and their version of Fallout is a FPS/TPS action experience, as seen in Fallout 3 and 4. The combat is fun but even the newest game is shit by shooter standards. If you played an Elder Scrolls game (like Skyrim), they're like that but set in a retro futuristic post apocalypse. A large slice of the fandom has only played these ones and skipped the original turn-based games.

Fallout New Vegas was made by the original team but using Bethesda's engine. Many fans would tell you that out of the modern titles, that's the one with the best writing.

Fallout 4 was a very popular title due to the scrap and build system. As you adventure, you can scavenge all sorts of trash and then build your own little settlements in the wasteland and populate them with settlers. Add mods to that, and the community really did some magic. It made people connect with the world of Fallout on a personal level.

The story in a nutshell: in an alternate timeline, survivors of a devastating nuclear war are trying to rebuild and make the irradiated wasteland of the United States liveable again but every group and faction has a different take on how society should be rebuilt. When the writing is done well, your choices have weight and it's impossible to be fair and please everyone. You get to discover a variety of different factors that lead to the Great War and you have to wager whether humanity is doomed to make the same mistakes all over again. Is there a way to avoid them? What kind of sacrifices does that require? Etc.

A lot of it is supposed to be a critical look at war, 50s Americana and the dangers of nationalism, rampant consumerism, xenophobia, etc.

Hope this helped a little! It's difficult to find two Fallout fans who are on the exact same opinion of all the games. I personally think, the fun part of the games is when you get to carve a little slice out of the wasteland for yourself and your community and the stimulating part is the overarching story and lore.

It's no wonder the original writers made The Outer Worlds too, which I don't consider a legendary game but the similarities are obvious in the themes.

[soulofapatrick]

Everything to me - Stiles Stilinski x Female Reader 

Summary: You return to Beacon Hills after being away for a year

Words 2.1K

Warnings: none 

Y/N's POV

As I drive up the narrow, winding trail to the newly rebuilt Hale House, my heart pounds in my chest with a force that feels almost supernatural in its intensity. The familiar landscape of Beacon Hills blurs past the windows, and each turn of the wheel brings me closer to a confrontation I've been dreading for the past year. The supernatural world that once fascinated me had become a nightmare, and the war with the hunters left scars deeper than any physical wound. The most significant of those scars is the bite I received, a mark of the werecoyote now a part of me. The fear of rejection, of being an outcast in the pack I once called family, gnaws at me relentlessly.

Leaving without a word, without a goodbye, was the hardest decision I've ever made. I remember the night vividly, the moon high in the sky, casting eerie shadows as I slipped away. I couldn’t bear to see the confusion, the hurt, in their eyes. I didn’t want to face their questions or their possible rejection. So, I ran. Chicago became my refuge, its bustling streets and unfamiliar faces a strange comfort. An old family friend helped me regain control over my new werecoyote side, teaching me to harness my abilities and temper the beast within. But no amount of control can temper the anxiety coursing through me now as I approach the Hale House.

The mansion looms ahead, a testament to the resilience of my friends. Its imposing structure is both a symbol of strength and a reminder of everything I left behind. As I park the car and cut the engine, the silence is deafening. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white with tension. I sit there for a moment, trying to steady my breathing, but the mix of anticipation and fear swirls within me like a storm.

What if they don’t want me back? The question haunts me, each scenario playing out in my mind. I picture Lydia’s disappointment, Scott’s silent judgment, the pack turning their backs on me. What if I’ve been replaced, my absence a void too painful to fill? What if they see me as a traitor, someone who abandoned them in their time of need? The thought is almost too much to bear, and for a moment, I consider turning the car around and fleeing once more. But I can’t. I need to face them, to face the consequences of my actions.

I barely have time to unbuckle my seatbelt before a high-pitched squeal pierces the air. Lydia’s voice. I turn just in time to see her racing towards me, her red hair a bright streak against the backdrop of the mansion. The next moment, I’m nearly knocked off my feet as she collides with me, her arms wrapping around me in a hug that’s as fierce as it is unexpected. My arms come up automatically, hugging her back, and a wave of relief washes over me. Oh god, I’ve missed my best friend.

Over Lydia’s shoulder, I see the others emerging from the house, their faces a mix of shock, curiosity, and wariness. I know what they must be thinking. I left without a word, disappearing into the night like a ghost. I see the questions in their eyes, the unspoken accusations. But there’s something else too—a glimmer of hope, of welcome. Maybe, just maybe, I haven’t lost them entirely.

A sharp sting on my cheek snaps me back to the present, and I wince as Lydia pulls back, her glare intense enough to make me squirm. “What the hell were you thinking? Leaving like that!” Her voice is a mix of anger and relief, and I can’t blame her for either emotion.

“I—” I start to explain, but the words catch in my throat. How do I explain the fear, the desperation that drove me away? Before I can find the words, Scott steps forward, sweeping me into a hug. His embrace is strong and comforting, a silent promise that he’s still here for me. He murmurs something into my hair, but I can’t make out the words. It doesn’t matter. The fact that he’s holding me, accepting me, is enough.

Scott finally releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and my gaze shifts to the figure standing on the porch steps. Stiles. The one person who knew where I was, who called me every night to make sure I was okay. Those calls were my lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. We shared secrets, fears, and feelings we never dared to voice before. His sleep-filled voice was my anchor, and now, seeing him in person, my heart aches with the need to close the distance between us.

Scott finally releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and my gaze shifts to the figure standing on the porch steps. Stiles. The one person who knew where I was, who called me every night to make sure I was okay. Those calls were my lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. Every night, no matter what, we would talk. It didn’t matter if it was a late-night shift for him or a sleepless night for me. We never missed a call.

Each full moon was a torment. The change would ripple through me, and the urge to succumb to the primal urges of the werecoyote was overwhelming. But Stiles was always there. On those nights, he would stay on the line for hours, his voice a soothing presence. He’d tell me about everything happening in Beacon Hills—the latest supernatural drama, mundane school gossip, even funny anecdotes about his day. He had a way of making me feel like I was still a part of their world, even from hundreds of miles away.

“I wish you were here,” I would whisper into the phone, my voice trembling as the moon’s influence grew stronger.

“I know,” he’d reply softly, his voice laced with the same longing I felt. “Just hang on, okay? We’ll get through this together.”

His words were like a balm, easing the pain and fear that came with each transformation. Stiles kept me anchored, his presence—albeit virtual—a lifeline I clung to desperately. He’d talk me through the worst of it, his voice a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone, that someone cared deeply for me.

But talking on the phone is one thing; seeing him in person now, standing just a few feet away, is another entirely. My heart races as I take a step closer, memories of our late-night conversations flooding my mind. The anxiety that had been a constant companion for the past year now mingles with a different kind of nervousness—the fear that the connection we shared over the phone might not translate to reality.

“Excuse me, Scotty,” I mutter, gently wriggling out of Scott’s grip. I take a cautious step towards Stiles, my heart pounding even harder. He stands there, fidgeting nervously, his eyes darting away when they meet mine. His uncertainty mirrors my own, but beneath it, I see the same longing, the same hope that kept us connected all those nights.

“Stiles,” I whisper his name as I stop in front of him, my voice trembling. He looks up, his eyes searching mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. I see the worry, the fear of rejection, mirrored in his gaze, but also the unwavering affection that has always been there.

“Hi,” he says softly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I’ve come to recognise. The sight makes my heart swell with affection, and I can’t hold back any longer. I reach out, my hands gently cupping his face, forcing him to look at me.

Scott finally releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and my gaze shifts to the figure standing on the porch steps. Stiles. The one person who knew where I was, who called me every night to make sure I was okay. Those calls were my lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. Every night, no matter what, we would talk. It didn’t matter if it was a late-night shift for him or a sleepless night for me. We never missed a call.

Each full moon was a torment. The change would ripple through me, and the urge to succumb to the primal urges of the werecoyote was overwhelming. But Stiles was always there. On those nights, he would stay on the line for hours, his voice a soothing presence. He’d tell me about everything happening in Beacon Hills—the latest supernatural drama, mundane school gossip, even funny anecdotes about his day. He had a way of making me feel like I was still a part of their world, even from hundreds of miles away.

“I wish you were here,” I would whisper into the phone, my voice trembling as the moon’s influence grew stronger.

“I know,” he’d reply softly, his voice laced with the same longing I felt. “Just hang on, okay? We’ll get through this together.”

His words were like a balm, easing the pain and fear that came with each transformation. Stiles kept me anchored, his presence—albeit virtual—a lifeline I clung to desperately. He’d talk me through the worst of it, his voice a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone, that someone cared deeply for me.

But talking on the phone is one thing; seeing him in person now, standing just a few feet away, is another entirely. My heart races as I take a step closer, memories of our late-night conversations flooding my mind. The anxiety that had been a constant companion for the past year now mingles with a different kind of nervousness—the fear that the connection we shared over the phone might not translate to reality.

“Excuse me, Scotty,” I mutter, gently wriggling out of Scott’s grip. I take a cautious step towards Stiles, my heightened senses picking up every detail. The scent of his anxiety is sharp, mingling with the familiar notes of his cologne and the underlying scent that is uniquely his. But there’s something else, something deeper—an intoxicating mix of love and need that almost makes me dizzy.

“Stiles,” I whisper his name as I stop in front of him, my voice trembling. He looks up, his eyes searching mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. I can practically taste the tension in the air, feel the electric pull between us. His eyes, a rich cognac colour, are filled with a mixture of fear and hope, mirroring my own emotions.

“Hi,” he says softly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I’ve come to recognise. The sight makes my heart swell with affection, and I can’t hold back any longer. I reach out, my hands gently cupping his face, forcing him to look at me. His skin is warm under my touch, a comforting reminder that this is real.

“I meant everything I said,” I tell him, my voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes widen, and before I can say anything else, he’s moving. His hands grip my shirt, pulling me towards him, and then his lips are on mine.

The kiss is desperate, needy, but it’s perfect. It’s everything I’ve been longing for. His lips are soft yet insistent, moving against mine with a fervour that sends shivers down my spine. I can taste the salt of his tears mingling with our kiss, and it breaks something open inside me. My heightened senses pick up every nuance—the rapid beat of his heart, the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of mint on his lips. It’s overwhelming and beautiful, a sensory overload that drowns out everything else.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he responds in kind, his hands tangling in my hair, holding me as if afraid I might disappear again. The world fades away, and all that exists is the two of us, locked in this embrace, sharing a kiss that speaks of everything we’ve been through and everything we hope for.

“I love you,” he breathes against my lips, his voice raw with emotion. Tears blur my vision, but I smile, whispering the words back to him. “I love you too.” 

In this moment, with Stiles in my arms and the pack around us, I know I’m finally home. Werecoyote or not, nothing will ever tear us apart again.

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@alexxavicry @guacam011y @fandom-princess-forevermore

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Phoenix Hawk IIC

Though in many ways it resembles the combat prowess of the Inner Sphere's Charger, the Phoenix Hawk IIC is a fixture of many second-line Clan Clusters and front-line Successor State regiments during the Word of Blake Jihad.

During the reign of the lackluster Khan Jacob Masters, Clan Steel Viper entered a period of stagnation in all areas, including technological development. In a rare fit of innovation at the time, though one many observers considered oddball at best, the Steel Viper Scientist Caste decided to base a new assault BattleMech on the venerable 45-ton Phoenix Hawk chassis. At 80-tons, the resulting design was almost twice as heavy as the original, though it is severely undergunned for an assault 'Mech due its incredible speed for a 'Mech its size. Following the introduction of the OmniMech by Clan Coyote just three years later however, the Phoenix Hawk IIC largely saw itself relegated to second-line status.

Built around the Type 79 400 XL engine mounted on an Endo Steel skeleton fitted with five Jump Jets, the Phoenix Hawk IIC features as close as possible ground speed and agility to the original Phoenix Hawk as can be reasonably achieved on an 80-ton assault 'Mech, making it an effective fast interdiction unit. Ten and half tons of ferro-fibrous armor provide eighty-one percent of the maximum possible protection at its weight class, while ten Double Heat Sinks are sufficient for the weapons array.

The main armament of the Phoenix Hawk IIC is the paired Ultra Autocannon/10s, each of which has a three-ton ammunition bin it can draw on. The cannons are mounted in twin pods on either side of torso to the rear, a feature allowing technicians easy access to the weapons and reducing maintenance time both at base or in the field. A pair of Machine Guns provide extra firepower that is most useful against unarmored infantry. Despite the Clans' disdain for it, the 'Mech's weaponless arms are almost ideal for physical combat.

The Phoenix Hawk IIC would gain a new vitality following Clan Jade Falcon's ejection of the Steel Vipers from the Inner Sphere in 3061. Seeking to rapidly rebuild their weakened touman, Khan Perigard Zalman approached Clan Diamond Shark offering captured Heavy Laser technology and the plans for the ancient design in return for the production of a new variant for the Steel Viper's second-line clusters. Initially observers were curious why the Sharks dealt so fairly with such a weakened "customer", but the rapid development of even more deadly variations not included in the deal agreed with the Vipers provided some explanation, with production of the visually reworked chassis initiated at both Auxiliary Production Site #5 on Babylon and the rebuilt Trellshire Heavy Industries of Twycross.

By 3078 six variations of the Phoenix Hawk IIC were walking off Trellshire's production lines for the garrison forces of Diamond Shark as well as for sale to both Clan and Inner Sphere buyers. While some among the Clans opposed such sales to Spheroids, the focus on designs like the Phoenix Hawk IIC that are considered mediocre by Clan warrior but are still outstanding by Inner Sphere standards appears to be a conscious choice by the Sharks. Many of the variants also utilize ammunition-hungry weapons, a decision Clan observers wryly note ensures Inner Sphere buyers either make steady munitions purchases or are forced to more frequently buy replacement parts from the accelerated wear caused by using inferior Spheroid ordnance, both ensuring frequent repeat business for the Diamond Sharks.

[konnosaurus]

traintober day two: first light!

featuring my version of 2999 lady of legend- i have shown them before, but now there is some Background Information hehe. i will put it behind a cut, as there is a little bit of rambling :3

so!!! legend!!!! actually, the beginning: maindy. maindy hall was purchased from barry scrapyard directly with the intent to rebuild her into a saint class. she never had the thought or idea that she would ever be preserved, ever be saved. maindy was the 51st engine saved from barry scrapyard- significantly before the engine that had become her best friend, closest sister and lifeline- pitch. (this isn't really relevant but i just wanted to mention it hehe).

to the other engines, this was just vile. like yes, sometimes an engine would be rebuilt into another, and some classes were completely gone and wouldn't it be nice if they could come back?? but the idea of planning another engines death from the beginning was just,, they gave her hope, for a minute, when they bought her. there were a few days where she thought she would be fine. and then they said she wouldn't be, that she was going to be used for something else. for someone else. and she can't do anything about it, and neither can any other engine.

eventually, they start building legend. maindy is long gone by this point- as far as everyone is aware. there was barely anything of her left, and she was gone just as many other engines destined for scrap would be gone. it just took her longer. but there is something funny about building legend- it seems to run a little too smoothly at points, a little too quickly. a little like there is a helping hand buffer in the room. maindy always found it hard to hold a grudge, and this is no different- she knows that it isn't legends fault that they get to live while she has to die. it wasn't up to them. and, to be honest, this is something that most of the engines understand. this is on the humans, not on legend. they didn't deserve this as their creation. it wasn't their fault.

and when legend breathes their first breathe, feels their fire for the first time- maindy has done her job. she has protected an engine in the way that she was not herself protected. she wanted to live, wanted it so badly, but if she can't have life, then she might as well be utilised to give someone else their life.

[superarti]

Piper Pitt the Diesel Mechanic!

More info 👇

She was born and raised in Virginia around an old railway, and raised by a family of engineers of some sort.

Her mother loved to tinker and make toys for her kids and that meant a bit of electrician and gear work.

Her father worked on a railway fixing the steam engines.

And her uncle who worked on the same line was a generalist mechanic fixing busted generators or motor engines in the summer and in the winter was a plumber and automotive mechanic as a hobby.

She built a small motor vehicle at the age of 13 and rebuilt a classic car at 16. Nothing in that household was ever broken because it was either rebuilt to last a direct nuclear blast or to outlive humanity now.

If you could take a look in Piper’s mind you’d see gears.

Anyway when she turned 18 she headed off to London for a special engineering school. She fought hard to be top of her class however finding work was still a struggle despite being very talented in her field.

She did find work at a motor factory, but as a receptionist and not a mechanic.

That was not until she met a Sir Topham Hatt on the side of the road with his car busted and she lent a hand. Surprisingly she got it running again with her carry along toolbox.

And she was offered a job on the island she couldn’t refuse.

~~~~

Personality wise Piper is an absolute delight to be around, she can ramble a bit, but her kindness knows no bounds.

the type to lend the shirt off her back if it’ll help.

A problem solver at heart there isn’t a job she won’t refuse without at least giving her best effort first.

Piper can often be very hard on herself however if she can’t find a solution to a problem and might even have the tendency to obsess over it. At the best of times she can be very passionate but at the worst times she’ll fly too close to the sun.

Though she’s not known to give up.

She also totes around a comically large wrench. (Not my image just something random off google)

When she eventually gets settled on Sodor and begins work at the Diesel Works, she gets trained later on to also drive Diesel 10 himself. More on their dynamic soon! So stay tuned.

[mystic-writings]

walk the line | one

SUMMARY — you crash land on d’qar and meet poe dameron. he makes a promise you know he won't be able to keep.

WORD COUNT — 2,735

WARNINGS — swearing, slight angst, mentions of panic, grief, & trauma

NOTES — it finally made it out of the drafts!!! fuck yeah concrete

m. masterlist | series masterlist

Kriff, your head hurts. Groaning, you did your best to orient yourself and quell the queasy feeling gripping at your stomach. Reaching up, you attempted to press your palm to the side of your head, only to find a strong grip restricting your movements. 

Your eyes flew open, pupils wide as they met dark, brooding ones. “Who the hell are you?”

“Who the hell are you?” He spat back, brows knit tight. Behind him, a fire blazed, roaring and rolling waves of heat right at you.

Craning your neck from where you were — on the ground, only previously held in a sitting position because of the person gripping both of your arms — you strained over his shoulder to find your TIE fighter in smouldering ruins, a rush of breath leaving your lips. 

“Oh, come on! That thing took me forever to build!” You groaned, lip pulling between your teeth as you continued to take in the damage. “What the hell am I gonna do now?”

The man’s grip loosened on your arms, eyes widening as his eyebrows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Wait. You built that thing?”

“Yeah, I did.” You glared at him. “It got me off Tatooine. I can’t believe the entire engine just decided to quit on me! Useless piece of Old Empire junk,”  

The man before you stuttered over his words, letting go of you entirely. Beside you, another man stood, worry painting his features. “Poe, are you sure you wanna do that—” 

“It’s fine, Snap. She’s a civilian.” The man, Poe, glanced back at you. “You are a civilian, right?”

You scoffed, laughing humorlessly as Poe stood, allowing you the room to copy his actions. “Like I would tell you if I was First Order. I mean, really, what kind of idiot do you take me for?”

“One smart enough to rebuild an Old Republic TIE fighter.”  

“From scratch,” you smiled wide. “On Tatooine. With very little resources. And lots of jerry-rigging.” 

“Maybe that’s why the engine gave out,” Poe remarked sarcastically, scoffing as you rolled your eyes. 

“I made sure the engine was genuine, dumbass.” You scoffed, side-stepping him. “I’ve rebuilt tons of podracers from nothing. This thing’s just a piece of junk.” 

Poe didn’t speak, and neither did his weary partner. You eyed them briefly before turning back to the wreckage. Reaching up, you grasped at the chain at your neck, breathing a relieved sigh when your fingers grazed at the small locket resting upon it. Then, as discreetly as you were able, you took a breath and reached into the inner pocket of your jacket, cool metal meeting your fingers with a relieved sigh. Still safe. 

You heard the underbrush rustle, warmth pulling at every fibre of your body, shocking you back to life. Twisting on your heel, your wide eyes met Poe’s, watching as his eyebrows furrowed again, seemingly confused at your every move. 

“Come on,” he said, dragging the sentence out, clearly still inspecting you. “We’re about a mile out from the base. If we haul ass, we can make it in time for dinner.” 

“Base?” It was your turn to furrow your eyebrows, letting go of your locket as you desperately pushed that warmth deep down, trying with everything you had to stamp it out. 

Poe, who’d already started walking away from the wreckage with Snap, turned back. “Yeah, base. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To join up.”

“Sorry, join up for what exactly?”

Poe’s lips split into a cocky smirk, hands falling to his hips as he nodded once. “The Resistance.”

———

The walk to the base was the closest you’d gotten to pure agony in a long while. 

With Poe in the lead and Snap taking up the rear, you could swear that you were stuck between the most talkative pair of people in the entire galaxy. They prattled on about dinner, presumably trying to sway you on whether or not you would actually join their cause. 

Once upon a time, you would’ve. The younger you would’ve jumped at the opportunity to fight for something as big as this, in the same way she jumped between the trees behind her childhood home. 

But that was a long time ago. Before everything you knew was nothing more than dust in the wind and you were sneaking onto passenger ships without papers, heading wherever was most convenient for you. And that was just who you were now. A woman with nowhere to go, with nothing ahead of her except for a little revenge and a triumphant return to her former career. 

“You’re gonna love what we’ve got to eat tonight, I promise,” Snap assured from behind you, and the eagerness in his voice made you want to break something. Whether it was just you being irritated, or the sudden inability to push that pesky feeling deep within you away, you weren’t really sure. All you wanted was for the both of them to shut up. 

Poe glanced back at Snap. “Well, you’re gonna have to save us a few plates, Snap. General Organa’s gonna want to speak to her,”

“I’m sorry, General Organa?” You baulked, nearly tripping over yourself. “As in—”

“Yep. Leia Organa wants to speak to you herself.” Poe smirked, glancing over his shoulder to meet your eyes. “What’d you say your name was, anyway?”

The cogs turned in your head as you searched desperately for an alias. For something fake. Something to keep you safe until you could get back to… wherever you could get to. Tanadoka, maybe? If Maz would even let you near the planet. 

But you couldn’t think of one. Suddenly, your mind was drawing nothing but blanks, that little pull growing stronger, sucking you in, consuming everything within you. You couldn’t get away from it. You couldn’t identify it, either. It’d been too long since you’d done anything like that, the signals mixing in your brain, drawing you back to one single answer. 

“You okay?” Poe’s voice rang clear as a bell through your mind, and it was only then that you realised the rest of the world had fallen away. The greenery, the crunch of the underbrush beneath your feet. Blinking, all of it rushed back, finding that Poe had stopped walking to face you, that same weary look on his face. 

“Uh—” you nodded, clearing your throat, cheeks burning as your eyes darted to the trees nearby before landing back on Poe. “Yeah. I’m fine. And my name’s Y/n. Y/n Dhara.”

———

“Dhara, you said?” Leia asked, eyes carefully examining your features. 

You nodded, muscles tense as you shrunk into yourself. The last thing you needed was an interrogation from Leia Organa. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know someone by the name of Lyxi Dhara, would you?” Her voice was gentle, as calm as you remembered it being described to you. 

Your heart stuttered for a moment, feeling as though the locket resting on your chest would burn right through the skin. 

“No, ma’am. She, uh… she died before I was born.” Not a complete lie, but the rest of it was true. You never got to know Lyxi Dhara. 

Leia’s eyes remained on you, her gaze piercing as yours fell to the floor. Beside you stood Poe, entirely confused at the interaction unfolding before him. “Poe, you’re dismissed. Go fix up a room for her, will you?”

Poe nodded briefly, turning to whisper to you before he left the bridge. “Come find me in the cantina afterward. I’ll help you settle in.” 

His voice was warm, soft and oddly comforting. You wondered, for a moment, what it would be like to hear him whisper to you more often. Quickly, you shook the thought from your head. You stopped being able to afford thinking like that a long time ago, and you’d been able to avoid it for almost a decade by now. What kind of man was Poe Dameron to break your resolve without even knowing who you were?

“Y/n,” Leia brought your attention back to her, watching her carefully as she stepped closer to you, nearly toe to toe. It was here that you saw the emotions swimming in her eyes, expertly held back tears making her eyes nearly bloodshot. “Are you lying to me?”

“I don’t think so, ma’am. I never knew Lyxi Dhara.” 

“General is just fine, Y/n.” She smiled, warm and comforting. “And I only ask because I knew her. Lyxi was… she was one of my best friends. Do you know anything about her sister? Ryara?”

You nodded, teeth gnawing on the inside of your cheek as you struggled to keep your composure. “She’s dead, ma’am— General. For over a decade now.” 

“Where?”

“On Yavin-4,” you said, forcing the image of her from your mind. 

“And Lyxi?”

“On Naboo, I think.” 

Leia inhaled, a humourless laugh falling from her lips as she nodded gently. “Of course. All she wanted was to go home, that one. Always begging my— her husband.” 

“If you don’t mind my asking, General, but who was her husband?” You couldn’t stop the words from leaving you, that burning curiosity from your childhood clawing at your chest, eating away at your brain. “I— I never knew her, so…” 

“Ryara never told you?”

You kept your lips sealed tight, hoping that nothing stupid would fall from your lips if you didn’t open them. Instead, you diverted your gaze back to the ground, shaking your head slowly. Maybe now was when you would finally get some answers. Maybe now, you could finally know a little bit about your mother. About the person who died for you without ever really knowing you. 

“How about this,” Leia proposed, checking something on a nearby datapad. “I want you to give this a real shot. In a few days, if you’re serious about this, and you really want it, I’ll tell you whatever it is you want to know. And hopefully, you can answer some of my questions, too. If you don’t, I’ll arrange transport for wherever you want to go. Does that sound like a plan?”

“I—” if there was one thing you didn’t want to do, it was join the resistance. There was too much loss here, too much to lose. Even if you didn’t have anything yet, getting close to people was an inevitability here. You knew it all too well. And it would kill you to go through it again. But that childish craving within you was too deep to ignore. “Sure, General. I’ll see you then.”

Leia’s lips split into a wide, graceful smile. “Perfect. I’ll see you then, Miss Dhara.”

———

Trying to find Poe Dameron in the Resistance was like finding a needle in a haystack. Sure, he’d found you when you didn’t need him, shown up out of nowhere like a rock in your shoe. Now that it was you trying to find him, though, it was like he was a freaking ghost. 

Not knowing the layout of the base didn’t help much, either. 

Inevitably, you had to stop many people to ask if they knew where he was, only to be given several different answers. It confused you all the more, only for you to end up wandering the hangar, marvelling at the different fighter jets. They were marvellous, to say the least. And there were so many of them. It was every mechanic’s dream, seeing all of these top of the range jets in one place. It was every scrapper’s dream, too. 

As you admired an X-Wing, examining all its dings and scratches, running a hand over the cool, black metal, a voice rang from behind you. “Like what you see?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, fingers twitching as you instinctively reached for the weapon in your jacket pocket, before remembering that you didn’t need to use it. Especially around people who didn’t need to know you had it. 

Spinning on your heel, you found a smug-looking Poe standing behind you, leaning on the wing, arms crossed as he observed you patiently. “What the hell is wrong with you? I could’ve killed you just now.” 

“But you didn’t,” Poe smiled, pushing off the wing to stand beside you, looking up at the jet. “And you didn’t answer my question.” 

“Like it?” You huffed, glaring at him before looking back up at it. “It’s… I do. I like it. Is it custom? The paint job, I mean.”

Poe nodded. “It is. Perks of being Commander, I guess. And I’m glad you like it, otherwise my ego would be severely bruised right now.” 

“It seems like you could stand to have a bruised ego once in a while,” you smiled, light and small. When your gaze returned to him, his eyes were already on you, soft and shimmering in the hangar’s harsh artificial lights. “I’ve never seen anything like these before. They’re all so…”

“Big?” Poe guessed. 

“I was gonna say ‘new’,” you said. “Where I was, back on Tatooine, I never got to fly anything except podracers. Fixed up plenty of old jets, but nothing as good or as new as these. And if anyone did have a brand new jet, I was never anywhere near it.” 

Poe was silent for a moment, his hands linked behind his back. “Is that where you’re from? Tatooine?”

“No,” you shook your head, almost laughing at the thought. “Maker, no. I was just… stuck there for a while. Lost my way. I was born on Naboo.” 

“Never been,” Poe commented, his voice quiet. “What’s it like?”

You remained silent this time, head dipping for a moment as you said, “I don’t remember. My… I left when I was a baby. Spent half my life on Yavin-4. Left again. Travelled for a while, got stuck, ended up here.” 

Poe hummed, and you met his gaze, finding that familiar warmth infiltrating you again. Your breath shuddered, panic filling you for a moment as you tried to push it away, trying to pull yourself away from it, back to the familiar feeling of neutrality. Of the brink of emptiness. 

“Where did you grow up?” Poe asked. “On Yavin-4, I mean.”

“By— by that Jedi temple. Our house was pretty secluded.” 

“So did I.” Poe smiled wide, excited to have met someone who grew up in the same place as him. “In the village nearby.” 

“I used to visit there when I was young,” you smiled. “We— my aunt and I, we would go to the market and get our food there. There was this little stall at the very end, with these little cakes, and I always used to beg my aunt to get one,”

If it was even possible, Poe’s smile brightened. “The one with the little old lady, yeah,” he said, “I remember. My dad would buy one for me every once in a while.” 

Flooded with emotion, your mind turned into a battleground in moments. Hurt at the idea of reliving moments you swore you’d never look back on, but relieved that, for once, you weren’t looking back with sadness, but with a sense of nostalgia as you shared a piece of yourself with someone else. You were good enough at keeping tears at bay that Poe didn’t see any of the conflict within you, the sharp sting of the reminder of your aunt. 

“Is your family still there?” Poe asked, and your smile faltered. 

Beneath your ribs, your heart began to race. The turmoil within you increased, the warmth in Poe’s voice mixing with the one you were trying desperately to push away. You twisted your lips, teeth tugging them into your mouth before you let go with a sigh. “We don’t have to do this, you know.” 

“Do what?” 

“Get to know each other, be… friends.” You gestured vaguely to the small gap between you both. “I mean, thank you for the rescue, but… I’m not someone you want to be friends with, Poe.” 

Poe scoffed, turning to face you fully. “What makes you think you get to decide that, hmm?”

“Because I’m not friend material,” your half-hearted response only made Poe scoff again. “I’m serious, Poe. I’m not good at relationships of any kind. I tend to abandon people, or they tend to abandon me. Not exactly a healthy pattern, is it?”

“I don’t,” Poe said, way too confident in himself. “Just give it time, okay? I’m gonna change your mind, I promise.”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “No, you won’t.”

Poe smirked. “I can try, though.” 

———

masterlist | next chapter

series taglist: @whisperofthewild @violinbetty @lxntsxv (open!) [taglist form]

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 26 - Music:

The Gramophone:

Sir Charles Topham Hatt loves his railway. The North Western Railway had flourished under his tenure, with the Knapford Harbour being rebuilt and the Arlesburgh branch being reopened. His father’s legacy was secured, the railway was insulated from British Railways and its baying diesels. All in all, a grand career.

But Sir Charles hadn’t always worked on the North Western.

One early morning, The Fat Controller arrived at his office in Tidmouth to find something new sitting atop his filing cabinet. It was an old-fashioned gramophone, the kind that had been popular three decades ago. It still had the great big old brass horn that had been superseded by more dynamic sound output systems in the ‘60s, making it seem far bulkier than it really was. Sir Charles walked over, and checked it for a note, or a message, or anything! But there was no hint of who had left it.

A quick check with the station staff revealed that none of them had put it in his office either – though that left all of them with no real explanation as to how exactly the weird old thing ended up in Sir Charles’ office.

“Perhaps it’s a gift from your wife,” offered the stationmaster eventually. “Your sixtieth is coming up soon, sir.” Sir Charles considered. He supposed it was something his wife would do – she’d surprised him with a holiday to Spain for his fiftieth, and he had been collecting a few records in his office recently. She must’ve seen them during their last lunch date. “It must be,” he agreed. “And the note must’ve fallen off somewhere.”

With that, Sir Charles settled in to start his day’s paperwork. He paused in front of his record collection, and selected the most recent Elton John album, popping it on the old gramophone and setting everything up right. To his amazement, the record fitted perfectly on the turntable. That seemed a bit odd – most old record players weren’t built for the size of modern vinyls. But it fit, and when Sir Charles placed the needle down, the record began to play with no complaints at all. The Fat Controller smiled fondly, and sat back down to work.

All through the day, Sir Charles played music while he worked, flipping out recent records he’d bought on a whim for older classical pieces that reminded him of his youth and the songs his father would play for him while they sat at home. The music flittered out of the office, filling the station concourse and intriguing even the engines.

At the end of the day, Sir Charles placed all his records back, turned off the gramophone, and caught the Edward’s train bound for Wellsworth.

The next morning, Sir Charles arrived at the Big Station to find Henry waiting nervously on the goods line. He seemed very startled. “What’s the matter?” asked Sir Charles. Henry’s eyes darted around, and then he let off steam. “I heard… I heard something weird last night. When I came through with the Kipper. It sounded like… like me, from when Sir Topham… when he…” Henry broke off, not wanting to finish his sentence. Sir Charles frowned, not sure what to say. “You heard father? When he… bricked you up?” Henry sighed. “Yes. It was awful! I could hear his voice, but it was twisted… he was threatening me, telling me horrible things… I thought it was imagination at first, but it was definitely here.”

Sir Charles nodded grimly. “Thank you for telling me, I will look into it. For now, I’ll ask the signalman to reroute you around the station. It’ll mean you can’t get up to speed as quick, but it may be for the best until we can get to the bottom of the noise.” Henry agreed, and steamed away to start his day. Sir Charles made his way to his office, and paused.

There was a record on the gramophone. It was one of his oldest, a recording of an opera from back in the 20s. Sir Charles gently put it away, confused. His office had been locked, and the stationmaster knew better than to enter without permission. No one else had a key, and nothing else was out of place.

“Did I… leave it there?” asked Sir Charles aloud, not sure what else to think. Sir Charles swapped it out for a Supremes record, and began his day. He tried to investigate the odd, terrible noises that had haunted Henry – but he couldn’t find anything that might’ve caused it.

“Maybe some children…?” pondered Sir Charles, before shaking his head. No, children wouldn’t know what his father had sounded like. With no idea what had caused the weird noises, Sir Charles decided to simply reroute Henry around the station and shelve it until he could find some more evidence.

At the end of the day, he once again packed up his records, locked his office, and headed home.

It was a shaken and pale Bear that met him at the Big Station the next morning, looking very ill. “What’s the matter?” asked Sir Charles, immediately worried for his engine. “I – sir it was terrible! I was coming through with the midnight goods, when… when… I heard Swindon!” Sir Charles waited patiently for Bear to elaborate, now worried and confused.

“It was when I was being built – they were scrapping steam engines there too, and I heard them. I could hear their screams, and their pleas, and their hatred of me… I had to get out. I don’t want to pull the midnight goods again, sir.”

Sir Charles was now very worried – Bear was not one to try and ask for changes, he loved all work he got. Something very serious was going on, and Sir Charles needed to figure it out. First Henry, then Bear – who would be next?

Not even playing music on his gramophone could came Sir Charles down; he was trying his best to figure out what had caused such horrible noises and scenes to ring out across the station – but nothing could have done it!

Sir Charles was so preoccupied that he completely missed the fact that one of his old Bobby Lewis records had already been sat on the turntable when he entered his office. He spent all day working, balancing his usual work with his investigation, even as interrogating the station staff revealed that only the night guard had even been on the property, making his rounds.

An old, half-buried memory bubbled up – his time in the Middle East after the war had left him with many stories, including one of people’s tortured pasts manifesting into demons… or was it something else. Could such tales be a reality?

Sir Charles scoffed, and brushed it off. Such fantasies were for bedtime stories and frightening tourists – they were not real, and they could not help.

And then James came to him the next day, refusing to even steam under the canopy of the Big Station. “Sir! Your station’s haunted!” snapped James crossly. “It was… it was… it was a recording of my accident, playing all through the station! My accident on my first day, with all the screaming from my brakes and trucks and my crew trying to stop me…” Sir Charles rearranged the schedule to shift James away from the Big Station immediately, and retreated back to his office, mindlessly placing the needle on the record on his gramophone before pausing as an old jazz record played.

“Isn’t this from 1925…?” mused Sir Charles under his breath, before shaking his head and knuckling down to work. He’d been so worried about his engines that several important missives had gone unanswered, and they took even longer as his mind just kept drifting back to his engines and the frightening incidents that they been forced to relive.

The day ticked by, and then dusk came and went. Sir Charles stayed in his office, unable to head home without finishing the stack of reports that had been due the day before but were really needed the next day.

Bit by bit, the station went silent. The last of the passengers boarded their trains, the station staff clocked off one by one. The night guard arrived, greeting Sir Charles and headed off to start making his rounds.

Sir Charles switched out the record on his player mindlessly, not checking what he put on the turntable.

“We'll meet again Don't know where Don't know when But I know we'll meet again some sunny day Keep smiling through Just like you always do 'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

So will you please say hello To the folks that I know Tell them I won't be long They'll be happy to know That as you saw me go I was singing this song

We'll meet again—”

The song suddenly jumped, the nostalgic record going silent for a beat. Then, a scream filled the office. Sir Charles jumped, his eyes wide. The roar of gunfire filled the room, the rumble of tanks and the thunderous commands of his superior officers. The screams of the men as they were shot and left to die of their injuries, the nurses unable to get onto the field. The whine of shells as they pierced through the air, falling indiscriminately on the men as they tried to evacuate. “CHARLIE! GET BACK!” Sir Charles clamped his eyes shut, holding his hands over his ears. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” he begged, but the record didn’t stop. The sounds grew ever louder, the fighting getting closer and closer to the Royal Engineers as they tried desperately to evacuate the soldiers and get them to the beaches. The thump of boots of cobblestone, the whistling of flung grenades, the harsh snarl of German commands as the enemy closed in – it was all too much.

Sir Charles blindly lunged for the gramophone, grabbing at it and sprinting at the door. He kicked at it, the old door groaning at the force before Sir Charles managed to force it open and fling the gramophone away from himself. His ears were ringing, the bullets whizzing past him with bare inches to spare.

The gramophone smashed against the platform and shattered, the pieces flying in all directions. The night guard came running, his truncheon out and his eyes searching for the source of the smash.

He found Sir Charles curled up on the floor, rocking back and forwards while holding his arms over his head, covering his ears.

“Sir? Sir!” “Make it stop!” bellowed Sir Charles. “Has it stopped?!” The night guard looked around, perplexed. He couldn’t hear or see anything wrong, apart from Sir Charles and his destroyed gramophone.

“It’s stopped,” assured the night guard, waiting patiently until Sir Charles uncoiled and looked around, eyes wide and face pale.

The pair looked down at the gramophone, and then Sir Charles took a deep breath.

“We’re breaking this apart more and tossing it in the nearest dumpster,” he ordered. “I will not have such malevolent disturbances on my railway.” The night guard nodded slowly, and offered up his truncheon. Sir Charles brought it down on the old gramophone again and again and again until it was in splinters, before helping to quietly sweep it all up and toss it out.

Sir Charles Hatt hadn’t always worked on the North Western Railway. During the Second World War, he had been part of the Royal Engineers, working near the front lines to keep the troops moving. It had been on the 30th of May, 1940. Charles had been with his unit when the Germans had launched a surprise attack – the lines had broken, fallen back; Charles was the only man of his unit who survived. He never liked to remember the horrors of that day, the entire thing too gruesome to bear. He never spoke about it to anyone either, even as he made it home to Sodor and quietly married.

Sir Charles hadn’t always worked on the North Western Railway; once upon a time, he’d been a young man who’d been sent to war.

Back to the Master Post

[of-a-chaotic-mind]

Glue (Part 1)

Summary: JJ is living a nightmare when his best friend, Reader, is kidnapped and held for ransom by his father.

TW/CW: Routledge!Reader x JJ Maybank, Angst

Requested?: No

Word Count: 1,822

A/N: omg this took so long to write... Requests are Open! Much love to all!

    That’s (Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/M/N) Routledge. My sister is a jack of all trades. Surfing, mischief, singing, boating, fishing, you name it, she’s probably good at it. Her favorite place to be is on the waves. She’s a feisty little firecracker and I often find myself dragging her out of a sticky situation. Love her to death. She’s a hoot.  

--- Your POV --- 

    “(Y/N)!” my best friend yells.   

    I throw my arm over my eyes and yell back, “What JJ? What could you possibly be yelling about this early in the morning?”  

    No response. I throw my arm down and poke my head up over the side of the hammock. Looking around I see no one and assume he’s just screwing with me. I close my eyes and throw my arm back over them. “(Y/N)!” This time I shoot up glaring around. Finally, I see the hood of the HMS Pogue up. Grumbling, I stumble out of my comfy spot and shuffle toward the dock. I can’t stop a large yawn as I spot JJ with his head buried under the hood.   

    I sigh rubbing the bridge of my nose, “What the fuck are you doin’, JJ?”  

    “Damn engine is clankin’ again,” comes his muffled reply as he fidgets with the engine.   

    I grab the back of his shirt and tug, “Get out of there, will ya? Before you screw something up.”  

    “I’m not gonna fuck it up. Hand me that wrench?” He responds pointing with his free hand. I roll my eyes and pick up the wrench, handing it to him before plopping down on the side of the boat. He fiddles around inside the engine compartment for a few moments before asking, “Where’s John B?”  

    “How should I know? I just woke up,” I answer, annoyance evident in my tone.  

    “Chill Princess. Was just askin’” he laughs.  

    A few moments go by of silence aside from the bumps and knocks of JJ’s tools and the soft splashing of the waves. Suddenly JJ yells, yanking his hand out of the boat’s insides and looking at it in frustration. “What’d you do?” I ask.  

    “Uhhhh,” he quickly hides his hand in his shirt, “Nothing just banged my hand.”  

    I get up from my seat and shuffle toward him. I gently tug his hand into view and spot a large gash across the back of his hand. He hisses as I wipe the blood away with my shirt. “I’ll go get the first aid kit.”  

    I clamber off the boat and make my way to the rebuilt Chateau. The first thing my brother did after the whole gold mess died down was rebuild our childhood home. Making my way to the bathroom I fish the first aid kit out of the cabinet and grab a towel from the hook. As I exit the bathroom, I bump into someone, “You’re usually not too eager to get bandaged up,” I comment, assuming it’s just JJ. The person places a gun to my stomach and puts their other hand over my mouth. I drop the supplies as I realize who it is.   

    “Make a single sound and I’ll shoot you,” Luke growls and I can’t help the wave of fear that rolls through me. “You’re coming with me, darlin’,” my stomach rolls. I debate my options mentally. I could try to fight him, but I have no real chance considering he’ll put a bullet in me before I can make it out the door. Before I can come up with any kind of exit strategy, he drags me out of the house and to a truck parked a good distance away from the dock. He shoves me in the passenger seat and takes off, keeping the gun trained on me the entire time. It’s not long before we pull into a marina and he’s yanking me around again. He drags me inside a houseboat and shoves me into a small room, tying my hands before leaving.  

--- JJ’s POV --- 

    I pause my one-handed work and drop the wrench to wipe blood away from my cut again. I look toward the house and see no sign of (Y/N). I check my phone and realize she’s been gone for a good fifteen minutes. She should’ve been back by now. I hear a truck rumble in the distance but think nothing of it as I make my way inside. “(Y/N)?” I walk through the house and finally see the first aid kit and a towel on the floor outside the bathroom, “(Y/N)!?” I yell, starting to panic. Ripping my phone out of my pocket I run outside as I dial John B’s number. It rings and rings and finally goes to voicemail. I dial again, still searching everywhere for any sign of (Y/N).   

    Finally, he picks up, “Yo, what’s up? Got that rust bucket running yet?”  

    “(Y/N)’s gone,” I say, too worried to beat around the bush.  

    “What? What do you mean she’s gone?”  

    “I mean she’s gone, man. She went inside to get the first aid kit because I cut my hand up and when she didn’t come back, I went looking for her,” my voice shakes as I hurriedly explain, “I found the first aid kit and a towel on the floor but no (Y/N).”  

    “We’re on our way now. Sit tight, don’t do anything stupid,” John B answers, sounding panicked himself, as the line clicks dead. I throw my phone at the ground and my fist at a tree. I was right outside. What the hell happened? I should’ve gone in with her. I throw another punch at the tree as countless similar thoughts run through my head.  

    By the time the Twinkie turns into the driveway, I’ve beat my knuckles bloody and am sitting on the porch steps with my head in my hands. After coming to a screeching halt, John B and Sarah jump out of the van. Sarah runs over to me, checking me over and taking note of my destroyed knuckles. John B on the other hand rushes inside and starts yelling for his sister. When he emerges from the Chateau, he’s frantic. Sarah stands and places her hand on his shoulder, “Just sit down and call Shoop.” She walks inside and returns soon after with the first aid kit.   

    “I need to file a missing person’s report,” John B states as Sarah takes a seat beside me and holds her hand out to me, expecting me to give her mine. “(Y/N) Routledge. She was last seen wearing,” he pauses and looks at me as he whispers, “What was she wearing?” I don’t have time to answer, “She was last seen like thirty minutes ago.” Having cleaned them of blood, Sarah wraps my hands in gauze as John B stands abruptly, “What do you mean I can’t file yet? She’s my sister!” He listens for a second as Sarah finishes with my bandages. “I don’t give a damn if it hasn’t been twenty-four hours. You know what? Put Shoop on. Let me talk to Shoop.” He removes his phone from his ear and glares at it, “They hung up.” His phone joins mine in the grass as he plops down beside me, dropping his head into his hands.  

    “You both just need to breathe for a sec, okay? We’ll find her. We’ll round everyone up and we’ll get her back,” Sarah states trying to calm us down. She pulls out her phone and types out a short message before returning her attention to us, “It’s gonna be okay.”  

    Feeling defeated I mumble, “‘Preciate the positivity but we don’t even know who took her.”  

    “We can’t just sit here,” John B firmly states, standing to return inside, probably in search of clues.  

    I drop my head back into my hands, yanking on my hair, “Fuck!” Sarah places her hand on my shoulder. “If I had gone inside with her instead of being focused on that damn boat- “   

    Sarah doesn’t let me finish, “Don’t you dare. Don’t start blaming yourself. You had no idea.”  

    John B returns, plopping back into his seat and assuming a position that copies mine. The three of us sit in silence for a while. Kie, Pope, and Cleo arrive and make their way to us. “What’s going on? Where’s (Y/N)?” Pope asks.  

    John B and I don’t bother to look up, so Sarah responds, “She’s missing.” Pope throws his hands up to his head and takes a few steps back   

    “Are you sure; sure she’s not just out doing (Y/N) stuff?” Cleo questions, fiddling with her knife.  

    “We’re sure. She went inside to get a first aid kit for JJ and didn’t come back out,” Sarah answers.  

    “Did you call the police?” Kie inquires, taking a seat beside Sarah.  

    “Of course, I called the cops Kie. They said we can’t file a report until she’s been missing 24 hours and wouldn’t let me talk to Shoop,” John B shoots back, sounding a bit harsh.  

    Before anyone else can say a word, my phone starts ringing from the weeds. I jump up and run over, “It could be her.” I pick it up and my hope falters. An unknown number is there where it should say Pogue Princess. I answer it anyway, “He-hello?”  

    “I want $100,000 in cash or you’ll never see your little girlfriend again,” comes a voice I hoped to never hear again, Luke.  

    I quickly run back over to the others and put my phone on speaker, “If you hurt her, I swear-”  

    Sarah pulls her phone out to record as soon as he starts to respond, “You swear? Swear what? What are you gonna do boy?” Shock plasters everyone’s features but he’s not done, “$100k in cash for your girl. You know what? Tell that Routledge boy he owes $100k too. And don’t even think about running to Shoop, soon as I catch wind of him, I’m putting a bullet between her pretty little eyes.” As he hangs up, Sarah ends the video and starts toward the van.  

    “Where’re you going?” John B inquires as I stand there frozen in shock and fear.  

    “We can take this video to Shoop and then he has no choice than to help us find her,” she answers.  

    This shakes me back to reality, “No! He’ll kill her.”  

    “He won’t if he has no clue. The police are trained for this sort of thing.”  

    “Sarah, we’ll find her and then send Shoop after him. I’m not risking my sister’s life,” John B interjects.  

    Sarah looks at us, silently begging us to do what she thinks is the right thing. Having no such luck, she looks to the other three hoping for backup.  

    Cleo nods her head as Pope speaks up, “I’m kind of with Sarah here.”  

    Kie shrugs, “She’s right They’re trained for this. We’re not.” John B and I look at each other knowing we’re outnumbered and we all head for the Twinkie. 

Part 2 Here

Masterlist

More JJ Maybank Imagines

[c-billbaby]

Low Stakes; Low G

The Silver Hammer hangs drifting through space, engines quiet and navigation systems on minimal power. The near century old Lung Wang class carrier has been modified, refitted, rebuilt and even scrapped at least once before making its way into the ownership of The Bloody Gash.

It was christened as the Sanxing in 3060, then subsequently destroyed during the combat of the FedCom Civil War in 6066. Salvaged by House Davion, the ship was rebuilt into a 'Mech carrier and served with distinction before being captured by Kuritan forces during the Jihad in 3076, then crippled by Word of Blake forces in 3079. It was salvaged and repaired once again by the merchant shipping company Dolphin, inc, then captured by pirates in 3122, won as isorla by Clan Wolf upon the destruction of those pirates and finally traded to one Gemma Orlais, in addition to ten BattleMechs and a squad of battle armor, in exchange for the planet Kitzingen in 3141.

Why it drifts almost dead towards an unassuming planet far far away is a matter best taken up with her captain, but she is busy at the moment.

Gemma drifted through the near zero G mechbay up near what would normally be called the ceiling, but which was, thanks to the lack of gravity, just another wall. She floats by the head of a Grasshopper, and the only sound of her passing is a slow exhalation of breath and she pulls the trigger on a pistol. There is no recoil or sound as it fires, just the progress of the projectile across the full length of the mechbay, astonishingly accurate.

The water from the squirt gun hits Analise in the back of the head and Gemma hollers from far away, "Woooo! That's gotta be forty meters! New record!"

@lifebythemechahorns

[d-issent]

Botched. (Dissent AU.)

Peter Sam encounters Proteus. Having had the Sad Story of Smudger in the back of his mind for decades, he wishes on a whim for Smudger to be restored. Months later, after a remarkable discovery at the Mid Sodor, rebuild!Smudger is indeed - well, rebuilt - but has seemingly lost all of his memories in “exchange.” He loses his personality, his quirks, everything, he’s completely reset.  Peter Sam doesn't do well with guilt. This is part of the Dissent AU! So these guys are all robotisized - robofied? Robotified. Hell if I know. I could've written this with them as their normal engine selves that you see in the show but uhhh I didn't want to! Enjoy!

After days and days of a stalemate, on a hazy, muggy summer evening, Peter Sam finally spoke up, with no one around to hear him but the root cause of his grievances.

“I just feel so guilty,” he blurted out to his shed-mate, “I feel responsible. I feel like I’m the only one at fault for the state you’re in, and I can’t speak about how I feel without someone dismissing everything as ‘just an old fairytale.’ I can’t get closure like that.”

Silence followed his words, at least at first, but soon enough a gentle, almost melodic, metallic ticking of well-oiled parts began to sound, as the second occupant of the shed slowly stretched his arms up to the ceiling. As he moved, the cylinders in his shoulders and elbow joints clunked, releasing a few short, sharp jets of steam, and with it, the tension of the day’s work judging by the sigh of relief that also left him.

“Dunno how I feel about that wording of yours, Peter.” He finally replied, blinking rapidly as the fading daylight from outside prompted the automatic lights in his eyes to flicker on, bathing the shed’s dull, wooden ceiling beams in soft, golden light. Even on their lowest setting, they still illuminated the dust, the cracks and the spider webs stretched across the wood.

Another pause, then his voice sounded again, a twang of something that almost resembled humour mixed into his usual monotone.

“I like to think that I’m in a far better state than some of them poor bastards in the scrapyard at least.”

“That’s setting the bar pretty low if you ask me.” Peter Sam mumbled, his eyebrows pinching together in distress, a crease forming in the soft silicone of his face. “Anyway. My wording’s the least of my worries, God’s sake, Smudger, I’m pouring my heart out to you here, mate.”

“I know, I know. Sorry, I’ll try to be a little more compassionate.”

With another muffled cacophony of clicking and ticking, Smudger hauled himself up into a sitting position, more steam hissed, warming the already humid air.

“I don’t wanna sound like everyone else when I say this, I really don’t,” he began, “but aren’t I enough closure for you? I’m back up and running again, right?”

“Not all of you.” Peter Sam retorted, his voice deepening into an almost pouty, sulking tone. It was a wonder he hadn’t stuck out his bottom lip. “Sure you’re working, Percival even said he’s never seen a re-hauled engine operate so smoothly, but that’s all there is. So what if you’re a ‘miracle of engineering’? You’re not you, Granpuff said so.”

“Duke hasn’t made you feel like this, has he?” Smudger asked. “Because from what I’ve been told, he’s never had the best opinion of me.”

“He hasn’t done anything like that. He never wants to talk about the Mid Sodor anymore.” Peter Sam said defensively, proverbial hackles immediately raising at the thought of the tension between Smudger and his mentor. His hands twitched and twisted in front of him anxiously, wearing down the already peeling, plush grey silicone a little further down his fingertips, revealing the smooth metal beneath. 

Smudger eventually spoke up again, his shoulders pulled up around his head in a tiny shrug. 

“Eh. That’s his cross to bear, I guess. Anyway, even if I’m not all there as you said, I’m not sure if I even wanna be the ‘me’ I was back then if just the thought of that ‘me’ gives our fellow engines a headache, Peter.” 

The older engine tilted his head, eyebrows raising, bringing a little bit of life into his usual plain, weary expression.

“Leave your dang fingers alone. You know it’s not easy for management to get hold of that material. You wanna look like the Terminator?”

“Ugh…”

Peter Sam threw his mauled hands down with a groan of frustration, but the itch to do something with his hands just wouldn’t leave him, and soon enough he was back, almost stealthily picking at the peeling silicone, hoping against hope that Smudger wouldn’t notice.

Silence fell between the two of them, in which the air around them hung heavily with troubles yet to be spoken about, grievances yet to be aired. Peter Sam really couldn’t stand it, he knew that the night was drawing in, and with it the other engines, all groaning and complaining half-heartedly about the day’s work, yet all of them still content and chatting away, filling the shed with noise and stripping away all privacy. He wasn’t sure if he could go another day without getting this off of his chest, he feared his boiler might explode.

“Look. I know how silly this sounds, I know it’s nonsense!” He blurted out, voice high and wavering with misery. “But I know what I saw and I know what I did. I wanted you to be found, I wished for it, I asked Proteus to save you and he said, consider it done! Should’ve known that it would’ve been too good to be true; that it was a botched deal; look at what he’s done to you!”

He turned in his seat, gesturing wildly towards his bemused friend.

“You’re a total blank slate! I know everyone is all cock-a-hoop about your re-haul, everyone’s always talking about how good a job they did and everybody’s always saying how well you run and how bright and glossy your livery is, but what does it matter? You get up; you do your work; you come back here and that’s it! You hardly talk to anyone, you barely react to anything, it’s like you’re sleepwalking through life. Is that really what you want?”

“Sleepwalking through work doesn’t sound so bad.” Smudger quipped.

“God above, Smudger…”

Peter Sam ran his patchy hands down his face, the last remnants of steam leaking out from his ears, covering his face in a misty halo, obscuring his expression for a moment. 

He continued on.

“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for you to be so apathetic about everything, I asked for you to be given a second chance, but what does that matter if he didn’t bring you back? You’re completely rebuilt, you don’t have a single original part left, save for your chip, and even that got completely overwritten! It’s like you’re still lost under the Mid Sodor. You don’t remember what happened, you don’t remember who you were, you couldn’t even remember your name when you first came here, for goodness’ sake, and it’s my fault!” 

He exhaled sharply, leaning forward with a creak of metal, his head in his hands, shoulders hunched, a truly pitiful sight to behold.

“I hate sitting on all of this, and I hate that no one believes me.” He grumbled. 

Outside, the muggy, sticky heat was finally given a period of reprieve. From the murky sky, raindrops began to fall, thick and fast, peppering the ground and the buildings of the Skarloey Estate with much needed water, a roll of thunder sounded in the distance, deep yet muffled, a promise of a stormy night yet to come.

From the gaps between his fingers, Peter Sam saw Smudger tilt his head towards the sound inquisitively, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the older engine’s first storm since his retrieval from the Mid Sodor, and his suspicions were confirmed as he spoke;

“Man. It ain’t just you. Dang sky’s yelling at me and all now.” He muttered, his voice almost lost in the white noise of the rain.

Peter Sam grimaced.

“… I’m sorry,” he sighed, finally lifting his head out of his hands, an uncharacteristically haggard expression on his face, it made him look far older than he was, “didn’t mean to shout, really.”

“S’fine. Feels good to yell sometimes. You’re just lucky Handel ain’t around to make a fuss about the noise.”

Another lapse, and outside the rainfall turned into a deluge, pouring from the sky in a great sheet. The temperature steadily dropped, and the scent of petrichor lingered in the air; the sight and the smell normally would’ve brought some sense of comfort to Peter Sam, but tonight the gloomy weather just made him feel boxed in. He gazed reproachfully up into the dark hills that surrounded the estate, eyes narrowing.

Was Proteus up there right now? Skulking around, refusing to interact with anyone, human or engine, loyal to no railway, answering to no man; spreading his spoiled wishes across the island, duping silly little engines like him into thinking they could make a difference.

Oh. If he found him again… 

“Think you’re beating yourself up about this for nothing, y’know.” Smudger said, bright eyes watching the rain, blinking slowly, lazily. “All that spiel that came outta your mouth was great and all. But you didn’t actually stop to ask me how I feel about all of this, the uh… So-called victim of the hillbilly and his faulty lamp.”

Peter Sam drew his knees up to his chest, his face pulled into a sullen, moody arrangement, feeling for all the world like a student being reprimanded by his teacher. It was a weirdly familiar sensation, one that he really didn’t care to look into at the moment.

“Alrighty. Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, doing his best to lighten his tone.

“I ain’t that cheap, sorry,” Smudger sighed, barely disguising a yawn, it was clear that the older engine’s lack of steam was winding him down for the night, but still, he spoke, “look, I just reckon you’re thinking about all of this the wrong way. Sure, I don’t remember anything about Duke, or the Mid Sodor, but from what I’ve been told, I’m not sure I want to.”

“I can understand that.” Peter Sam nodded, though an awful, sour feeling now sat resolutely in his throat, a need to tell Smudger that he should at least be a little curious as to his origins, but he stayed silent, letting the older engine speak on.

“Even if I could remember all of my misfortune, all of my spills, all those decades spent as a generator, I’d probably wanna forget all that crap anyway.” Smudger said simply. “Wouldn’t you? Growing and healing from horrible stuff that’s happened to you is cool when it’s a plot for some cheesy novel, but it sucks in the real world. Would you wanna do it if you didn’t have to? I wouldn’t.”

“Depends on the engine.” Peter Sam pointed out. “Some of my friends wouldn’t be who they are today if they hadn’t gone through the hardships of life.”

“Guess you could argue that, yeah. But I’m not interested in working through everything that’s happened to me,” Smudger replied, “if I was given the choice, and I have been; I’m fine with not knowing. That’s good enough for me, and that should be good enough for you too, right?”

Peter Sam didn’t reply, but it was clear that Smudger’s words hadn’t sat well with him. He was frowning mightily, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and when he finally spoke again, that sulky edge was present once more, rough and grating.

“Being told about who you were and what happened to you isn’t the same as remembering it.” He grumbled. “It’s hard to think about the past, of course it is, but how are we supposed to grow if we don’t? We need that experience and those life lessons, otherwise we never learn anything, we end up doomed to repeat the same things over and over again.”

“Peter, I’m not stuck in a loop, you know.” Smudger said sharply. “I’m not an idiot, man. I’m not doomed to make mistakes and then immediately forget why and how I made them.”

The older engine sighed, a short and sharp exhalation of breath, a frustrated sound.

“Maybe I haven’t started growing yet,” he went on, “maybe you, and Duke have just gotta give me a chance to figure some stuff out first. Maybe this right here is gonna lead me to become whoever I am in the future. ‘Cept this time the world’s a kinder place, this time I’ve got a bit more sense and this time, I’ve got a couple hints as to what I shouldn’t do under my belt. How about that?”

“What happened to you on the Mid Sodor wasn’t right.” Peter Sam said doggedly, and in his anxious fidgeting, an entire strip of silicone was peeled away from his thumb, earning a grimace form him. “Fiddlesticks. You shouldn’t have been put away like that because of a bad track record, no engine who was treated like some object with no sentience did. What humans did to some of us back then was draconian, you know that, right?”

“That’s not what I’m getting at,” Smudger replied with a shake of his head, “I don’t wanna be a victim. I’m tryna reassure you that this is a far, far better start in life for an engine like me, and knowing what little I know about who I was back then is enough to make me wanna be better. Useful, if you want, that sounds like a second chance. Sounds like you got your wish to me.”

“But…”

Peter Sam struggled to think of another point to make, another angle at which he could approach this, all of what Smudger said made sense, but it still did nothing to appease the squirming, nauseating feeling of guilt inside of his stomach.

“Think what this all boils down to is you worrying that after all of that effort to restore me, I’ve ended up as some miserable prick. A bit like Duke,” Smudger snorted, casting a glance at the deluge outside, “contrary to what you think, I’m pretty happy right now. I’m not out in that mess at least. That’s a cause for celebration if you want my opinion.”

Peter Sam finally found himself cracking something like a smile, a wobbly expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and from across the shed, Smudger appeared to notice this, as with a groan of metal, he sat up a little straighter, fixing the younger engine with those intense, yet warm eyes.

“Peter Sam.”

“Smudger?”

“You did a good thing, alright? It’s fine.”

Peter Sam swallowed a retort, a retort that he wasn’t even sure he wanted to make. Something about the way Smudger spoke worked to calm the storm howling away inside of his head, after such a hard conversation, it was strange how just that simple sentence was enough to quell the unease plaguing him.

It’s fine.

Directly above Smudger’s head, the lamp hanging from the wooden ceiling beam suddenly fizzled, the lightbulb buzzing and dimming almost to the point of popping, before it flashed back up again, bright and warm as if nothing had happened.

Smudger glanced up, an eyebrow cocked.

Peter Sam held his breath, hoping against hope that nothing would come of it, hoping that it was just a faulty lightbulb, hoping…

“Someone’s gotta check out the wiring in this shed tomorrow.” Smudger commented, his eyes sliding closed. “Reckon I might know a thing or two about that.”

[joseline-woodhouse]

So, as a Nevermore fan and chess nerd I have rebuilt the position of Annabel Lee's game against unsuccessful suitor.

The position is consistent, no pieces move, appear or disappear between the shots. So that's great already.

However I couldn't find this mate in five that Annabel was talking about, so I let an engine have a look at it and as I suspected there is no forced checkmate in this position nor the next position we see.

This is the starting position and we have an early endgame. The well established chess engine Stockfish considers this position winning for white, seeing a 2.6 imbalance (in a low level chess game this might still turn, in a high level chess game it's just lost/won) in Annabel's favour, but no forced checkmate.

Black now plays the best possible move a2, advancing the pawn with the attempt to make a second queen. Sacrificing her rook is not yet forced to prevent that as far as I can tell, but it is smart to not lay it off any longer. As you will see soon if you don't already.

Now after Rxa2 and Bxa2 black is just winning material after Ng6, forking the king and the rook, hitting both at the same time.

And after Kg8, Nxf8 and Kxf8 black is losing another important piece with Qb8, forcing the king to either f7 or e7. In both cases Annabel's Queen will go to a7, forking the king and the defenceless Bishop.

In this position Annabel is very obviously winning, but there is still no forced checkmate and we already played more than 5 moves, so I don't know what she was talking about there earlier. Maybe a mistake by the authors, maybe she's just going for psychological warfare though a high level opponent would probably see the lack of forced check mate.

Anyway from here on Annabel will take the defenceless bishop, and than make dead sure to protect her pawn on the d file with her queen at all cost. This is a passed pawn, meaning that no other pawn can stop it from moving to the other end of the board. Black can only stop this with a queen sacrifice which means Annabel will be up a Queen in the future.

I let the engine continue the position until it found a forced checkmate and it was a mate in 16, which it found 74 moves after the position in which Annabel called "mate in 5"

Anyway, wanted to share this.