¡Girl, your tranny is busted!
¿Have you checked in on your best friend recently? ¿Have you noticed anything is off with her? Maybe she's become majorly depressed with the state of the world lately. After all, life can be difficult when you have a busted tranny. Perhaps you've noticed she's struggling to shift gears, caught in first, chugging up life's big mountain. She revvs her engine too soon and comes barreling in your driveway all too fast, caught on the thrill of her mountain escapade.
You've probably noticed she's not firing on all cylinders, saying the strangest things in the cold. You've noticed her haunting whispers in the dark, effervescent gasps clinging onto the edges of her smoke clouds. She shakes under your steady hand, struggling for air, her lungs and heart beating at different rhythms, kaleidoscoped uncertainty in her legs.
You turn her on outside the club, only to find yourselves pinned up against the wall of the parking lot, locked in an impossible fight for dominance: her, desperately fighting off your control of her shifter; you, clawing back, hoping for some semblance of stability. You feed her, sustain her, and attempt to ground her to a smoother rhythm, but she jerks inconsistently and uncontrollably in your grip.
You're pulling away from the grocery store, and she's moaning at you into the red zone. You just wanted some pecan pie, a simple treat after a long week of her guzzling your gas money. Now you're stuck squeezing your thighs down to your pinky toes trying to calm her. You pull over into the gas station as she begs to be filled up again. You happily oblige your time-travelling steampunk witch who wants to be your ride every day.
You two have seen the world. Travelled to the chillest piques and the navigated the hottest valets. She's your bestie. Your gal-pal. Your truest medium of travel to other dimensions. You're her anchor. Her rider. You are the one who pulls her out of the deepest caves after you both have seen the deep secrets of the butterfly universe. You've ridden on spotted wings through Helm's Deep and spit fire on orcs as they retreat past the fortified dyke. You've slept together on pillowy moss in verdant forests, exhausted from days upon days upon days of hard rides. You've killed the gods of Hier and Now and discovered they were gold-plated versions of older, more ancient deities.
It is you she yearns for in the early morning's sunrise, pink cheeks camouflaging into the horizon. Tranny busted, engine aflame, pistons pumping, you go for another ride.