#(tram isn’t here)

[anti-socialexperiment]

Me and the boys when we go through insane amounts of trauma and turn into what we were supposed to destroy

[clockwayswrites]

We Will Mend

*whistles innocently*

Part... 1?

Puck = Danny

CW: Under negotiated kink, mild choking

“What?” Jason asked, the question harsh through the modulation of the helmet.

Puck just tilted his head a little. The white hair was finally long enough to move slightly with the motion.

“I’m not a fucking piece of art, stop staring.”

Puck snorted and stepped in enough to close and lock the door. “You’re a masterpiece, Boss, don’t let them say otherwise.”

“Did you hit your head again?” Jason asked. He knew it was unkind to point out the scar that still showed fresh and pink through the covering of white hair, but he wasn’t feeling kind right then.

“Didn’t hit it the first time,” Puck said, apparently undeterred by Jason’s harsh tone.

He crossed the room, silent in his steps even though the floor was designed to make noise. Jason would have to do something better. For the moment though, he let Puck work to pull him and the heavy oak chair back from his desk.

Then he watched Puck make neat piles of the mess of papers and files and set them aside crossing each other off to the side. Puck turned and hopped up onto the desk, sitting where Jason’s pile of infuriating work had been. He had to get the rights for the new building transferred over properly and then get—

“Fuck me.”

Jason’s planning screeched to a halt like one of the trams derailing dramatically off an elevated T-line— fiery explosion of the cars below and all.

“What?”

“Fuck me,” Puck repeated like the request wasn’t completely insane. “You’re stressed, but you’re so stressed that you won’t fight someone because you’re afraid of going too far. So fuck me. Get it out of your system. I can take the bruises.”

“You can take the bruises,” Jason repeated incredulously.

“Yes. And I think you need to give them,” Puck said. “It’s why you don’t ever go to a prostitute, you’re worried about ruining your good reputation with them. You can’t have anyone at home either, there’s no way they would put up with the hours you work. But I’m already here and willing. You take care of me so let me take care of you.”

Jason was quite for a long moment, not sure of what to say. The best he could come up with is, “You’re insane.”

“Yeah, probably. It comes with the territory, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m offering,” Puck said with a little shrug. He braced his hands and leaned back, making his body one long line.

There was no denying that Puck was attractive. He was a slight thing, sure, but it was all muscles and scars. He didn’t try to hide the scars away either. His arms and half his sides were bare in the muscle tee that Puck wore. Scars of all sorts crossed his skin, telling a story that Jason tried not to read.

In one fluid motion, Jason shot up from his chair and leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of Puck’s thighs. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Puck met the dark lenses of the helmet without flinching. “I’m asking you to fuck me already. Mark me up. Make a mess of me. Use me. Just get the fuck on—”

The words cut off sharply as Jason wrapped a hand around Puck’s throat and squeezed just enough for it to be uncomfortable. Jason could feel Puck swallow, but didn’t have too much time to think on it with how Puck strained against the hand so that he could wrap his leg’s around Jason’s waist and pull.

“There,” Puck whispered throat bobbing against Jason’s fingers, “isn’t that better? Doesn’t it feel good to let loose?”

The worst of it was that it did feel better— that Puck was right. Something dangerous and hungry stirred low in Jason’s gut as he watched Puck arched like that under his hand.

“I can take the bruises.”

Jason hoped Puck was right.

[sporadicthingcollection]

Last Thoughts (Tech x F!Reader)

Summary: A man's last thoughts are of love.

Pairing: Tech x F!Reader

Rating: None.

Word Count: 739.

Warnings: Spoilers for TBB s2 finale. Character death, description of injuries.

Notes: Thought I'd break your hearts a little. Recommended listening is "Maggot Brain" by Funkadelic.

---

He was hoping the fall would kill him -- a quick, painless splat, to put it crudely. Or, if that didn’t work, the several tons of durasteel would crush his skull and it would be over just as fast.

But sheer dumb luck kicked in just a moment too late to actually save his life. The fall did not kill him. The tram did not crush him. So here he lies at the bottom of a gorge, waiting for death.

He can’t move his legs -- based on the angles, they’re shattered irreparably -- but he feels no pain, meaning his spinal column is partly severed.

He’ll either bleed out internally or his lungs will stop working. Or he’ll succumb to the elements. He’s heard hypothermia isn’t a terrible way to go, all things considered. Hallucinations and paradoxical undressing.

It’s only a matter of waiting.

Hunter and Echo will be fine. They’re well-adjusted soldiers, conditioned from birth to accept death whenever it may come. They will mourn, but it will pass.

It’s Wrecker he’s worried about. Soft-hearted Wrecker. This certainly won’t help his fear of heights.

And Omega. She’s a child. Children shouldn’t have to watch their loved ones die. He doesn’t regret his decision, but he wishes she hadn’t had to watch. You’ve said as much in the past--

His blood chills and his heart jumps into his throat.

You.

Ah, you.

How could he forget about you?

Intelligent, persistent, prescient, patient you?

First love. First kiss. First time.

Never again will he see the sparkle in your eyes as he explains something to you. Never again will he hear your laugh as he says something he didn’t realize would be amusing. Never again will he feel your soft lips against his own as you, in your words, “shut him up.”

He wants to slap himself. This was supposed to be quick, so he didn’t bother with a proper farewell. A brief message while you were asleep, telling you he’d see you in later.

It is now later, and he lies at the bottom of a gorge, waiting for death.

Idiot.

His arm is leaden, but he manages to lay it atop his wristcom. Moving his fingers stings, but he’s able to access his files with little trouble. Recordings, visual, cultural... there it is.

Peninsular Pantoran Wedding Song, dated two months ago.

He opens it. You appear, your hair up in a bonnet and clad in your lounging clothes. You look stunning.

"--you sure it's recording?" you're asking. "The light's not on."

"I am certain." He doesn't mind the sound of his own voice. He's heard it enough over the years.

You inhale, then pause. "Tech, I feel silly."

"Why? This is a document of your culture's traditional choral practices. It is an underrepresented--"

You frown. "My mom is the chantress. Why don't you get her to sing it?"

Here’s his favorite part. He still pats himself on the back for this response. “In addition to her not being here right now, I do not find your mother half as attractive as you.”

And the reason it’s his favorite part? Because your cheeks darken as your gaze turns upwards, and your lips curl into a bashful smile. Little dimples appear -- probably his favorite feature of yours.

And, with a deep breath, you begin to sing in your native tongue. Melodic and rhythmic, punctuated by pops and clicks you make with your tongue.

He doesn’t know the words. And, for the first and only time in his life, he is content to not know. He doesn’t need to know what it means. He just needs to see your beautiful lips move, your lovely eyes sparkle, your weight shifting from foot to foot as you suppress the urge to dance.

He plays the recording again. His fingers hurt.

Void nips at the edges of his mind. His thoughts loosen and crumble to pieces. His vision swirls, twisting and turning like Omega’s Serennan kaleidoscope.

He plays the recording again. Breathing is hard.

He sees you in wedding attire, veiled in a rainbow of beads, your face painted to highlight your eyes, your hair woven with gold threads. 

He plays the recording again. He can’t focus his eyes.

Tears appear. Rips in his vision and in time. Visions of what was and what will never be. Peace. War. Strife. Satisfaction. Love. Hate. Rage. Redemption.

He plays the recording again.

He slips slowly into a long, dreamless sleep.

---

⬅⬅⬅ | "Filled With Things to Say" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

[ellie-the-oracle]

Freefalling From Great Heights - A Discussion & Analysis

Hey guys. So, I lied about getting off socials LOL I really need to go full on film theory here and talk about the fall. I do want to preface though and say that I am not a woman of science (I’m an art girlie), therefore I won’t be able to make any sort of proper calculations. Without further ado, I’m going to break down the whole fall and discuss how Tech could’ve and probably did survive. 

First and foremost, I want to go back and take a look at the most clear shot given to viewers of the height between the tram system and the perceived ground level. In this picture, we get a brief glimpse from Wrecker’s POV of how far down it is from the trams. 

While it looks quite high, considering they are practically in the clouds, it is important to note the amount of foliage this planet has; a vast amount large trees, specifically tall pine trees.

These types of trees are not uncommon in biomes that include bodies of water. Consider the images below.

 While it is not definitive, it can be safe to assume that there could have been a stream or body of water below in that valley. However, even if this was not the case, the trees are large enough that they can dampen a fall, even if it is from a great height. This leads me to my next point: 

How high of a fall can humans survive?

An NCBI article covers the case of a rock climber who had fallen from a total of 300 feet and survived. Though she suffered many severe injuries, she was able to recover after extensive medical care. According to this article, the way in which a person falls is imperative to survival. In particular, if a person is falling vertically, they can survive an average fall height of 23 feet and 7 inches (7.2 meters) with minor to moderate injury. Survivable injuries have a threshold of around 20-25 feet. Yet the rock climber was able to survive at even greater heights. That being said, according to an article by Arnold & Atkin Trial Lawyers, 20 feet and below can still prove to be fatal. Moreover, fatal falls usually are between 21 and 40 feet. Considering all the information thus far, it would seem that Tech is exceptionally fucked. But stay with me folks, I’m not done cooking yet.

While it is not common, humans have, in fact, survived free falls at extreme heights. Take for example Vesna Vulović, a Serbian flight attendant who holds the Guinness world record for surviving the highest freefall without a parachute: 33,330 feet (10,160 meters). She was in a coma for days and spent several months hospitalized. She suffered a fractured skull, three broken vertebrae, broken legs, broken ribs, and a fractured pelvis, leaving her temporarily paralyzed from the waist down. Despite all of this, she made a nearly complete recovery, only continuing to walk with a limp. 

In another case, Nicholas Alkemade, a British tail gunner of the Royal Air Force during World War II, survived a freefall of 18,000 feet (5, 490 meters). His fall was broken by pine trees and a soft snow cover on the ground. 

While the first case can be safely considered as a miracle, it's the second case that is interesting. The pilot survived a freefall from a height he should’ve died from. Yet, due to the large trees and the snow on the floor, his fall was cushioned and allowed for him to survive. 

Now, taking what we discussed and applying it to the Star Wars universe, the chances of Tech surviving is definitely in our favour. Firstly, we know there is a lot of foliage (bushes, grass, etc.), and there are also massive trees. But we must remember that this isn’t just some random, unprepared person that is falling. This is Tech, a highly skilled, highly intelligent, and well equipped clone trooper. It is also important to mention that he is wearing a helmet and a chest plate, which provides protection to critical body parts. Knowing him, Tech could have very well put his gear to use and used a grappling hook to attach to a tree and create momentum from his fall to swing onto the ground. He could have also gotten into the falling tram and found a way to cushion his fall. But let’s say he does neither of these things (perhaps due to the speed at which he was falling), Tech can still survive if he falls vertically into the pine trees and foliage, which will cushion his fall, just like Nicholas Alkemade and the rock climber, respectively.

Furthermore, based on all that has been discussed and considered, the chances of survival of a freefall from that height, while seemingly impossible, is in fact, possible and likely. 

Sources:

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Our Angel of Brahma, pt. ix

Travelers. Friends. Mutuals. @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @ananxiousgenz @the-private-eye @demonic-panini @gwenlena

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING BEGINS. MOTHERLY VOICE: I finally got a moment to myself thanks to Eber and Camilla… Thank the Goddess… I don’t know what I would be doing without them. (THE PERSON SIGHS) Where do I begin? I guess… my name would be a good start.  (CLEARING THEIR THROAT) My name is Eevee Bell, and I am one of three to four dozen Dome Wardens on Brahma. Our duty is to perform routine maintenance on the planet’s Dome, track incoming and outgoing shuttles and ships, and monitor Brahma’s severe weather outside the Dome. I love my job. I think I do my job very well. From what I’ve heard about other planets, they have robotics and computers to do this job now. Artificial intelligence that the Solar Planets spent a fortune to perfect. Of course just like with everything else though, Brahma gets left behind in the dust. (EEVEE CHUCKLES UNDER HER BREATH) EEVEE: Goddess bless our savior New Kinshasa. (EEVEE LAUGHS A BIT HARSHER) EEVEE: What happened to us though has been brewing under their noses for some time now. I guess it was only a matter of time before… something was done.  To be honest I’m still not entirely sure what did happen. I know that our alarms went off when the Reactor Core was removed, and I know they stopped going off when the Core was put back. I know that the Chief Constable called all of our stations, and ordered us to go home. I know that we have not gone back to our stations for nearly ten days. I know that if we don’t accept any imports within the next seven days Brahma will begin to suffer. And if we fall, New Kinshasa falls with us.  Cyrus called me while I was rushing to get home to Baird. He asked me how much I knew and after I told him, I asked how much he knew. He said it would be better if he came to speak to me in person. He lives across town with Iris. I told him it wouldn’t be wise to meet up so late, especially with a curfew in place. He disagreed, but I talked enough sense into him that he waited until morning to catch a tram over here to the apartments.  Baird was not enthused to see him. He was rather… indifferent, actually. I know it hurt Cyrus’ feelings, I do plan on talking about it with Baird when I can, but it’s so hard to talk about anything seriously right now. I’d rather keep things as light-hearted as possible.  I sent Baird over to Camilla and Eber’s apartment while I had tea with Cyrus. He looked so worried. He asked me if I saw the Chief Constable’s broadcast about the Revolutionary, Peter Nureyev. I have. I watched it with Baird the night before after I got home from my post. Cyrus said that he doesn’t know of any Peter Nureyevs in any of his revolution circles.  He surprised me by asking me for my thoughts about the Constable they allegedly found murdered by the Revolutionary. I didn’t at the time, and I still don’t now. Cyrus said that he has reason to believe that part was a lie. He doesn’t believe the Revolutionary killed a Constable. He thinks it might be an elaborate lie or cover-up for some more vain truth. (EEVEE INHALES SHARPLY) The revolutionaries are holding a meeting tonight. Cyrus invited me to come. He wants me there. I don’t want to get in trouble, but… I need to keep Cyrus and Baird safe. And by extension, it’s my job to keep Brahma safe.  SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. NEW RECORDING BEGINS: EEVEE:  What the fuck! NEW VOICE:  What are you doing? EEVEE:  What am I doing I’m recording you idiot! Cyrus, don’t you see? If what was discussed tonight has any truth to it, New Kinshasa isn’t going to let any of this get out. More than– I bet you my next paycheck that Dark Matters is going to play a role in covering it all up! (CYRUS TRIES TO SHUSH EEVEE) CYRUS:  Alright, alright– you have a point. Keep your voice down alright the streets have ears… You really hope your little comms though is going to play a role in– This? EEVEE: Mark my word, I think my little comms will outlive both of us. If Baird’s lucky it will outlive them.  (CYRUS GROANS. EEVEE GIGGLES) Okay, okay… I attended the meeting– CYRUS: The book club. We went to a late-night book club meeting. What? Don’t give me that look. Plausible deniability, Eve. EEVEE:  Right. The Book Club. We attended Book Club and talked about the climax of a war story. In the story, the main character kills a man with radical ideas to overthrow their government. The man he killed was not popular amongst the rebels. In theory, they should have agreed with him. CYRUS: In practice, however, the rebels do not condone murdering hundreds of thousands of people. Thus the whole unpopular amongst the rebels.  EEVEE:  Of course, word got out about the man’s death, and to cover it up, the government claimed him as an Enforcer. And they were getting away with it because the last clothes the man was found in was a stolen Enforcer uniform.  I don’t know if I believe the rebel or the government’s of the story– CYRUS: Eve– EEVEE: But! But. But I do believe that it was the right call for the rebels to sit back and wait for information to trickle out to them slowly… I think I’ll need to attend the next meeting to really make sure I understand what I’m getting myself into. Oh– I’m so tired. Can we discuss all this in the morning? With hopefully less ears listening in? (CYRUS HUMS AFFIRMATIVELY) CYRUS: I’ll even let you sleep in if you let me crash on your couch.  EEVEE: Of course, I wouldn’t make you walk across town while already breaking our curfew.  CYRUS: Thanks, Eve.  (LONG PAUSE) Baird’s not going to be mad to see me, is he? EEVEE: This late at night? I doubt it. If anything he’s staying over at that Spade’s apartment probably fast asleep with Charlie. Oh, they’re so sweet together. I went to say good night to them one evening and I couldn’t kiss Baird’s head because Charlie had a death grip on his shoulders. He's always polite and entertains all of Baird’s whims… I wish you were around more to see it happen. CYRUS:  You and I both know why that can’t happen.  (BOTH OF THEM SIGH) EEVEE: You know he’s only so pouty around you because you and I split up, right? He just wants us all together again. Like a proper family. CYRUS: We are a proper family. Mom who works too hard, dad who left to get milk and never came back– see? Proper family. (EEVEE LAUGHS CAUSING CYRUS TO LAUGH) UNFAMILIAR VOICE: Hey, state your business and show your credentials. CYRUS: Shit, Constables. Run Eve! SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS. 

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. RECORDING BEGINS.  (EEVEE WHISPERS) EEVEE: Cyrus and I got away from the Constables last week perfectly fine. This week on Brahma: we went to another revolution meeting. A few old timers took roll call and one of them said he had reason to believe that the person the Angel of Brahma killed was one of theirs. A man who wasn’t the least bit popular in any particular revolutionary circle. Apparently, he wanted to drop New Kinshasa out of the sky and saw it perfectly fit to kill all of Brahma in the process.  (EEVEE SCOFFS) The nerve of some people. No one at the meeting could remember his name though, and no one still knows who Peter Nureyev is outside of the photos projected on every billboard on the planet now. He looks so young. Those dark and haunting eyes and sharp teeth. I find it hard to believe that he’s just a teenager. But– he is.  I’m trying to keep my voice down right now because Baird is asleep. The meeting was held before curfew this time so Cyrus went home to Iris and I walked alone back to the apartment. Eber was waiting for me just outside and before I could say hello he was dragging me down the halls to Hank’s apartment. His dog Missy was sprawled out on the sofa but Hank, Camilla, and Josie were all gathered around the dinner table. Mrs. Darius was upstairs with Talia, Charlie, and Baird. I sat down and told them everything I could.  The revolutionaries wouldn’t let me record anything with my comms during the meeting, but there wasn’t much that I think needed to be recorded. Just talk about who was storing what, who was leaving their doors open to help others. There was a lot of talk about going on strike. Either food or labor. They want to send a message to New Kinshasa. I don’t think I can afford to do much of anything. Me and the other Dome Wardens just went back to work two days ago, we are working through a backlog of off-planet imports and exports still. If I strike alone I’ll just be fired. If all the Wardens strike, then the Constables will take over and that will lead to certain catastrophe. And if I stop eating then Baird will stop eating and he’s already so… short.  Oh– I wish I got a chance to talk to Cyrus before we went our separate ways. He’d help me think of some way I can help. Better yet, he’d probably be able to give the others here at the apartments the answers they wanted from me. Hank didn’t say anything other than telling us to get out. Eber, Camilla, Josie, and I were silent on the walk upstairs. The kids were delighted to see us. Eber walked Talia back down to Hank, Josie was trying to fill in Mrs. Darius, and Camilla and I watched the boys play some sort of game where they kept pinching each other and trying to not shriek? I think that was the objective? Children’s games used to be much less violent when I was that age. I remember when– BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Memma? EEVEE: Bairdy! What are you doing awake? BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): I couldn’t sleep. You were being too loud.  (EEVEE TSKS) EEVEE: Then let’s put you back to bed alright baby? C’mon. I’ll even sing for you if you’d like.  SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. NEW RECORDING BEGINS. EEVEE: I have either made the best decision of the revolution that will turn the tides in favor of Brahma, or the worst mistake of my life.  I told the old-timers at this past meeting that I work as a Dome Warden, and that a few of my colleagues seemed interested in joining the rebellion but were uncertain on how to go about it. The old-timers were delighted for a number of reasons and had drawn the same conclusion that I had a few weeks ago when a labor strike was first brought up. They think it would be very good if I was able to get some of the other Wardens on board with the revolution.  Cyrus was very quiet during the meeting. I asked him before we left if he had any opinions he was holding back, and all he said was to trust my gut. So… I trusted my gut. I told the other Wardens at my post about the meetings. I told them about going on strike. A few seemed skeptical. Others wanted to know when the next meeting was. I’m going to contact Cyrus and get him to help me get the others to the next meeting.  I hope… this wasn’t a mistake. I guess time will only tell. SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. NEW RECORDING BEGINS. EEVEE: –you turned it on. Good job, baby. BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Mom, why are you showing me how to use your comms? Is something going to happen to us? Is something bad going to happen to you?  EEVEE: What? Oh no, baby. Nothing is going to happen to me. I just think you would find more use out of my comms than I would. Look, since you got it to record you can start recording all those little songs you like to sing. Or maybe you can get Charlie to record a story for you.  BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): But Mom, I like your singing and your stories more. Will you sing for me? And tell me a story tonight? EEVEE: Absolutely not. You get one or the other. Take your pick. And whatever you don’t choose, you have to give to me.  (BAIRD POUTS) BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Fine… I want a story from you, and then I’ll give you a song. EEVEE:  Good choice, Bairdy. What kind of story would you like? (BAIRD HUMS) BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): I want a story about Brahma.  EEVEE: A story about Brahma? Well… there once was a boy born on Brahma with nothing. Not even a name. He grew up just like everyone else, hungry for more. More food, more freedom, more time. The boy followed a man who dreamed of dropping the New Kinshasa on top of the planet.  The boy was very tired. Tired of being poor, tired of being hungry, tired of being alone. But he knew, that if he let that man drop New Kinshasa out of the sky, he would never be able to forgive himself. Brahma is his home. He looked down at Brahma from up high, and saw them: his people.  Starving young faces just like his looked up to the sky and stared back at the city as it trembled. The boy had the power at his fingertips to stop a tragedy.  This is it. The people thought. This is how we go out. Not with the big bang, but crushed under the heel of our jailor.  The boy heard their thoughts. He felt a rush of adrenaline and stopped the man from getting away. The city of New Kinshasa never fell out of the sky that day. The people were ordered to retreat to their homes. But that evening, everyone heard about the great threat against the Guardian Angel System. And everyone learned the name Peter Nureyev. And for the first time in the last half-century, hope bloomed on Brahma. The Boy, The Legend, The Angel of Brahma.  BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): That’s not a story Memma, that’s history.  EEVEE: And what is history but a story we have to learn from? Now, I believe you owe me a song. (BAIRD GROANS AND HUFFS) BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Fine… (BAIRD TAKES A DEEP BREATH AND HUMS. THE SOUND GETS CLEARER LIKE HE’S BROUGHT THE COMMS CLOSER) My angel, I must ask you keep singing for me.  How sweet your tune, like a songbird at noon.  What a lovely trill, it makes me feel ill. O’ My heart overflows, I could never let go.  Like chimes in the wind, it must be destined.  I’ll find my way home, with your voice I’ll never be alone. Happy? (EEVEE SNIFFLES) EEVEE: Very. Thank you, Baird. That was beautiful.  (FABRIC RUSTLES, BOTH BAIRD AND EEVEE HUM) Promise me you’ll never stop singing baby. BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Of course, Memma. I don’t think I could even if I tried.  EEVEE: Good. Now– (EEVEE PRESSES A KISS TO BAIRD’S HEAD) Get some sleep. Okay? We have a long day tomorrow. And Bairdy? BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Yes, Mom? EEVEE: You know that I love you, right? BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): To the moons and back, yeah… Mom you promised nothing bad was going to happen to you.  EEVEE:  And nothing will. Good night, Baird.  BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Night Mom.  SOUND: DOOR CLOSING. BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Which button was it to end the recording? Was it this o– SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS. 

- EEVEE BELL. BAIRD BELL. must contact Frannie’s friend about both of those names. - Dome Wardens are indeed an old, out of date job. Eve is right, they’ve been replaced with robots. It’s actually kinda scary how right she was about things. About that, about Dark Matters probably covering everything up with New Kinshasa. - Cyrus and Eve sound so fun together. I can see why they got married and had a kid together. - Bairdy and Memma… right up there with Charls and Dearest. - Oh Baird, he was 12 when these recordings were made. 12. Just almost a teenager, not quite. Almost too old to be called a baby. - Eve loved Baird so much. She reminds me of my mother a bit. And she knew exactly what she was doing tucking Baird into bed that final time. There’s no doubt in my mind this is the last recording with her in it. She was taken away after this and never came back. The Dome Wardens did go on strike at some point according to Baird in other recordings, so did someone snitch to a Constable? Did she the Constable that almost caught her and Cyrus track her down? - I think that’s the most frustrating part of my job. No matter how much I dig and research, there are some things that will be lost to me forever.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Two

It feels cliched, like something from a film about a character working in some business firm, but I’m getting coffee for everyone at Mezzotint, the print studio where I am doing my internship. The studio, located above a little craft shop, opens right out onto a quaint street in Stoneybatter. 

It’s up and coming around here, that’s what they call it when they don’t want to admit to its gentrification, and the café that the staff frequents is one of those hipster places where there isn’t any room to sit. The exotic hanging plants in the window form a lush curtain where you can peer inside and see the moustachioed barista at work underneath a wall of interesting looking coffee paraphernalia.

This café is so close to the Luas line that you can hear the ding ding and swish of the tram as it passes every two minutes or so; Tallaght to The Point, Saggart to Connolly Station, over and over and over again. Each day is accompanied by the music of the city. It seeps in through the windows of this café and of our little studio across the road from it in a way that makes me feel like this little street in North Dublin, and I by extension, are woven inextricably into the fabric of the city. 

Everyone likes to pretend that September is the autumn, and even though the leaves are a little bit rusty and the waters a little choppier, the temperature is still warm enough to walk around without a coat in the afternoons. This is something seasonless that can’t decide what it wants to be yet, caught between one moment and the next. A warm breeze licks across my arms as I cross over to Mezzotint with five complicated coffee orders and a paper bag of pastries, pausing to let a woman with flowers in the basket of her bicycle pass me by. 

I pass through the shop first, where Petra is placing a new batch of little ceramic bud vases on a shelf, and I give her her mocha and pan au chocolat. “I like those.” I tell her, and she nods, subtly rearranging the vases and confesses that she’s already bought one. She spends way too much of the money she earns from working at this shop buying things in it, but I get it. I’d be buying stuff too if they were paying me. I head up the stairs to the studio above.

“Aw, thanks chicken.” Izzy, one of the printmakers, takes a coffee out of the holder marked with the letters FWAL on the top. I have learned it stands for Flat White, Almond Milk. It’s only half nine in the morning, and she’s already stuck into her work, the tips of her fingers blackened like burned matches from the ink. She doesn’t eat anything in the mornings because it makes her feel sick, but she’ll have her slightly softened croissant at eleven, I leave it in the bag for her. 

I bring a vanilla soy latte and a maple pecan twist to Gabriel who peers up at me impishly over his small, round glasses. “You look very nice today.” He says, and I grin. “So do you, but you look nice every day.” 

“Stop.” He grins coquettishly and lifts the lid off his coffee to sniff it. “This is soy, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah of course.”

“Good.” He takes a cautionary sip. “Because I’ll know all about it in about fifteen minutes if it isn’t. You’ll all know about it too.” 

“Yeah we definitely will too.” Izzy groans. “Remember that time they gave you whole cows milk?”

“I will never forget.” He says solemnly. 

“Yeah, no, me neither.”

I go over to the back of the studio to give Simon his flat white with oat milk. He told me he was vegan within an hour of meeting me, and I told him I’d actually never met a real vegan before, so it was an honour. It was supposed to be funny but if he thought it was he didn’t show it. 

He’s sitting hunched over an angled desk with a blade, digging grooves into a block of wood. This is what he does, this old style wood block printing, but it’s always got a contemporary twist to it. Like today, he’s working on a scene in a dark lake, ripples swell behind a woman with long black hair who’s naked, submerged up to her waist and looking up at the full moon. 

“Do you like it?” He asks me as I leave his coffee on the table next to him.

 “Yeah it’s really cool.”

He leans back to look, and quickly blows some of the loose curls of shaven wood out of the carved areas. “I like it as well, I think. It has something.”

“Who is it?”

“My girlfriend. It’s always my girlfriend. She’s my muse.”

He’s a very particular type of artsy-intense like that, like he doesn’t think it’s weird to call someone your ‘muse’ in a non-ironic way. “Oh right.” I say. I start turning away to head towards a pile of paper and tools in Gabriel’s corner of the studio, the same ones I’ve been trying to organise all week, but he calls me back over to him. “Yeah, Simon?”

“I’m thinking we should get a start on Christmas cards for the shop.”

“But it’s September.”

“Yes but it takes ages to get everything sorted and printed. It’s best we start designing in the autumn.”

“Oh, alright.”

“So…” He sits up and twirls the blade around his fingers in way that makes me nervous for his precious hands. He doesn’t look at me that much, including now. He’s still examining his work. “You’re doing a degree in illustration.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Could you draw up some designs? I don’t have time.”

I start to get flustered. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t really know what kinds of things to do.”

“Well, we don’t usually go for traditional type things in the shop, so if you can think of something that’s Christmassy but also, like, bright and modern and fun, that’d be unreal.”

“Mhm.”

“Do you have a portfolio?”

“Not really, just sketchbooks.”

“You’ve not done any kind of client work or anything?”

“Only a shop window.” I clear my throat awkwardly, unsure if I even want to admit to the work I did in Tullamore. “I did some window typography for a cafe during the summer.”

“You like typography?”

“Yeah it’s cool.” I shrug. “But I’d say I’m not very good at it.”

Simon’s mouth twitches up into as much of a smile as he appears to be capable of. “Why don’t you give something a lash for me, just see if you can come up with some fun Christmas card ideas that might incorporate interesting lettering. I don’t know.” He hunches back over his work so I know we’re finished discussing this. “Anything you want, Evie. I’m giving you full creative control, as long as it has a vibe.”

Full creative control is as terrifying as a blank page. I give him an almost inaudible “Okay” and go over to an empty table with a stack of paper to start trying to figure something out. What does that mean, anyway? A ‘vibe’? I sigh and start scribbling something down. 

I work through the morning and halfway into lunch, only realising it is when I surface from the haze of my creative flow to find everybody else gone. I fish around in my bag for the sad sandwich I prepared that morning and then get right back to work. I like it. I have no idea what I’m doing but I like doing it anyway. Sometimes when I get like this I wish that I didn’t have to eat or sleep or use the bathroom, like, I wish my body was a machine that could keep on drawing infinitely, churning out more and more work without the interruptions of my body’s needs.

Eventually the others come back and the sounds of press cranking and plate carving resume, and I am engrossed in what I’m doing. Gabriel passes behind me at some point and gives a little ‘hm’ of approval. “I like your lettering.” He says. “Thanks.” I say. 

I only realise the whole day has passed me by when a soft voice from the corner of the room pipes up. “Pub?” Simon cranes his neck like a submarine periscope and glances around the room at us. Without looking up, Gabriel says “Pub.”

“Pub.” Izzy agrees. 

I glance at the clock. It’s five already, and I feel like I’ve only just got into the swing of my card design. It kind of pains me that I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get stuck back into it again. I haven’t even started thinking about colours yet. 

Izzy tosses a balled up piece of scrap paper onto my table. “Hey, Evie.” She says. “Tools down. Pub?”

“Oh.” I say. “I don’t know.”

“Come on. We’re just heading across into Smithfield for a pint or two. Look outside. The sun is absolutely belting down.”

“We won’t get many more evenings like this.” Simon adds. “It’d be a waste not to come.”

“I suppose I’m not doing anything anyway.” I’m never doing anything, ever. “I can come for a while.”

“Unreal.” Izzy says, and I reluctantly relinquish my coloured pencils and then within five minutes the studio is closed down and the lights are off. 

“I’ll join you in a while.” Petra says as we lock up the studio door. “I’ll just do the cash register and then pop down.” We tell her that we’ll see her there and head out onto the street.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Sunflower: Book 1, Chapter 4

Tom Hiddleston x OFC Series rated: M Chapter warnings: drinking AN: Bonus chapter- It's cold AF in most of the USA right now. We deserve a bonus posting this week. I know I do, my toes are still cold from changing the Bunny's water for the 3rd time today. Chapter 3, Masterlist, Chapter 5 ~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4

They walked as the city woke up slowly around them. Most of the buzz was from new arrivals, not yet having had the chance to drink too much or stay out too late. 

“There’s a shoe store,” Tom pointed to the shop up ahead. “Do you want to get some better shoes? I can’t imagine your feet are comfortable in those heels.”

He was right, the heels were far from comfortable. She had been trying not to show the discomfort though it seemed that she hadn’t been successful. “Oh no, it’s fine. The Tram isn’t far ahead and then it’ll be a little bit of a walk.” 

“Why are you lying to me?” The cheer that seemed to be near always present in his voice was gone. It seemed to disappear whenever the topics turned more serious. 

“I’m not?” It was useless to lie but she tried anyway. 

He grabbed her elbow and pulled her to the side of the walkway. His grip was strong but not so much so as to hurt her. Facing him, she felt ashamed for the lie.

His blue eyes were earnest and caring. Again and again he insisted he wanted nothing but to help her, to be there for her, to know her and yet she lied about her sore feet. 

“You’re limping.” 

“It’s fine-”

“Why do you not want to get some more comfortable shoes?” Why did he have to care so much about her? “If we’re going to do this we have to talk to each other. We have to be honest with each other.”

“I don’t need new shoes. I have shoes-”

“Talk to me.” He was pleading with her as his grip on her arm turned slack.

“Look, I just- It’s not in the budget.”

“I’ll get it.” Tom offered as if it was nothing. Hell, to him it probably was nothing. 

“I don’t want to take from you. I- everyone is going to think I married you for money or to use you or something. Fuck, for all I know I did but…” 

“But what? I’m offering. Your feet hurt. I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. You need shoes. I can afford shoes. Simple mathematics.

She felt terrible for allowing him to buy her new shoes on top of the clothes and breakfast. Whenever she had mentioned it, he would just remind her that he was her husband for now. He would say that it didn’t matter because of that but she wasn’t so sure about it.

“So, where do you live?” She knew he was British but there wasn’t a lot she knew otherwise about him. It seemed to her that British People tended to spread out and settle all over the world, making their accent and nationality little use in telling where someone actually lived. “You know I’m a local so I guess I should know that about you too.”

“London, England. I travel a lot for work though. I’ve spent most of the year in America for filming, going here and there as needed.” 

“When do you go back?” They walked by women wearing nothing but a thong and stickers on their nipples. The city was warming up and coming to life but the man walking beside her didn’t offer them so much as a glance. 

“I’ve got a ticket a week out to go back home.”

“What happens then?” She couldn’t make sense of how they were going to give this marriage a chance. Was there any point when they were strangers and he lived halfway around the world.

“We’ll figure that out when it comes. I can move the ticket or maybe you can come with me.”

“Maybe we’ll need a break from each other too.” Mia wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.

“Do you need to head home?” Tom asked, glancing at his watch. 

Mia sighed. Going home was something she did need to do but it wasn’t something she wanted to do. “Probably, yeah.” 

“Do you have a car?” He was well aware that it was the norm in America to have cars but with her hesitation to spend the money on shoes, he wasn’t sure if it was something he should assume.

“Yeah, the employee parking is just around here.” She gestured toward a large building tucked away behind the resort they had met in. “What will you do?”

“Would I be too forward if I asked to go with you?” 

“Oh,”

“I- we have so much to work out still but if we stay separate, especially this soon, I don’t it’ll help us get to know each other.”

“You want to stay with me?” Questions raced through her mind. Risks were calculated and weighed and she didn’t have enough time. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch if you’d rather and I can be out when you’ve got engagements to attend to.”

“Work- normal people call it work.” He chuckled and she hated how she liked the sound. 

“I can busy myself outside of your home while you’re working if you’d rather.”

There was no way he would want to stay in her apartment. It was small and cramped and he was a goddamn actor of enough note to have Ashley swearing. “We’ll see.” 

“I’ll take it.” Reaching out, he grabbed her hand in his and squeezed it softly. Her face grew warm at the small affection. Until now, they hadn’t touched each other since they woke up. “I’ll go get checked out and grab my bag. We’ll meet out front?”

“Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mia Maria!” Michelle called for her as soon as she stepped into the employee locker room. “You’re not supposed to be in today?”

“Thanks, I didn’t want to see you today either.” Mia teased. Michelle had long been a good friend and trusted coworker. “Stayed on the strip last night.” 

“AC not fixed still?”

“They said it’ll be fixed by noon.” Mia unlocked her small locker and grabbed her keys and purse. Tom had found her Driver’s License and debit card in his wallet but everything else she left safe in her locker. Of the things she wanted to experience in life, losing her purse on the Strip was not high on the list. It was better to have a few cards in her pocket and leave everything else locked up safe and sound. If only she knew where her clothes had ended up.

“Sal stay with Ashley last night?” 

“Yeah. They’re having a day together while I get my shit figured out.”

“Must be some shit- You look stressed.”

“You wouldn’t believe it.” Mia said as she closed her locker. “We’ll take later.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Was it silly to feel insecure about her car? It was nice enough for normal people but for him? Who knows. He didn’t appear to be stuck up or worried about appearances. On the other hand, he had designer suits in his closet for a casual trip to Las Vegas.

The ringing of the phone on the speakers cut off her thoughts as she answered. “I’m just walking out the doors.”

“I see you.” For better or worse. “I’m two cars back. Red SUV.”

Long legs made quick work of the distance. As soon as the door unlocked, he pulled open the hatchback. The suitcases were large but he didn’t have many. He was a light traveler which was good- there wasn’t a lot of space in her apartment. 

“Are you sure about this?” Mia asked as he slipped into the passenger seat.

“Sure, what better way to get to know you than to get to know your life?” He adjusted the seat back, making room for his legs. “How far is it?”

“About thirty minutes.” Mia sighed. “It’ll go fast, we just have to get off the strip first.” 

“You drive half an hour into work and back?” 

“Every day. Well, five days a week at least. I avoid the strip like the plague most of the time otherwise.” 

“Have you always lived here?” He was looking out the window, watching the heart of Las Vegas quickly give way to what could be mistaken as any other city. So many people never saw Las Vegas as anything more than the glittering lights and cacophony of noise in a handful of miles. 

“Yep, born and breed here. What about you?” She needed to get to know him. He seemed safe enough, kind but there was so much unknown about the man she was bringing into her home. Their home. 

“Spent most of my life around London when I’m not traveling.”

“You travel a lot?” The city gave way to highway traffic and wide open spaces. Neighborhoods and small town centers spread out around them, crashing into each other as she technically left Las Vegas without ever leaving a city.

“More than I’d like sometimes.” 

“I thought all actors thrived on travel.” A horn blared behind her as she changed lanes. They wouldn’t have gotten cut off if they were going the speed limit but who was she to tell someone how to drive.

“At times,” He admitted. “But I’ve always been a bit of a homebody. The stage is my passion though I enjoy film well enough. It’s nothing compared to a live show. Are you close to your family?” 

Silence ticked on for a few moments before she answered, “I don’t have much family. It’s just Ashley for the most part.” She needed to tell him. “You?”

“Fairly. I’ve got two sisters, nieces and nephews. I’m close with my parents, though they’ve divorced. They did their best to give us the best they could.”

“Must be nice.” She mumbled under her breath.

“I didn’t catch that, I’m sorry?” 

The exit was coming up quickly and she was running out of time. “Why are you single?” 

It was a dumb question. He wouldn’t just come out and say ‘well you see, I’m a terrible man’ or ‘I tend to be quick to anger’ or ‘I’m not safe’ or ‘I hate kids and pets’.

“I’m not anymore, technically.” he chuckled as she shot a annoyed glance his way. “I know, not what you mean. I’d been with a woman for a while but when my career shot forward; There was a lot of eyes on me, a lot of interest in me from fans. Many of them woman and she wasn’t comfortable with that. We’d gone our own ways a bit ago, some months now. She found someone else, they got married. Turns out I wasn’t so hard to move on from.”

“That sucks.” She wasn’t sure what to say. The idea of being the target of media or fans in a negative way hadn’t occurred to her but she was well versed in the sting that was somehow being easy to leave behind.

He cleared his throat, “What about you?” 

“I was with a guy for a while right out of school. Then he decided he liked a stripper better. Can’t blame him too much, she was pretty. But he left our whole life behind. I thought we were going to get married and be a family but, oh well.”

“It doesn't matter how pretty she was, he shouldn’t have gone around on you with another woman.” 

“If you say so.” She laughed, taking her hand from the wheel and pulling strands of hair behind her ear and out of her face. Before she had a chance to replace it, he enveloped it in his. 

“I swear to you, for so long as we are doing this together, I will be loyal to you. It doesn’t matter how pretty anyone else is, I will only have eyes for you.”

“You can’t promise that.” Do not get you hopes up, she told herself. He held her hand in his. His hand was large, much larger than hers, soft, warm and begging her to believe him.

It felt weird to be touched by him. It felt even weirder as he placed a soft chase kiss to the back of her hand. 

“I am.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They laughed as they exited the bar. It was a small but fancier than she had ever thought she would drink at. It hadn’t mattered, though; he had been buying her drinks.

“Oh, look!” She gushed as a mass of white caught her eyes. 

“What’s that?” He draped his arm around her shoulders and it felt warm. It felt comfortable.

“A wedding party.” The bride and groom were perfectly styled. The white dress was fairytale poofy and flowed as she moved down the steps. “I always love stumbling on a random wedding here.” 

“People really do just get married here?” Tom mused, his words slurring some.

“Yeah. The clerks office is open late and the paperwork is quick. You can rent dresses and shit.”

“Do you want to get married?” 

~~~~~<3

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[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2023: Day 28 - Which Way Now?

Lost in the Fog:

The Island of Sodor was hosting a visitor from the Other Railway. The visitor was a large, impressive tank engine who was helping out on Thomas’ branchline.

“I do love getting to pull trucks again,” the engine said cheerfully to Percy. “We don’t to pull trucks on my heritage railway.” “They might be fun, but you do have to be careful,” warned Percy. “Some trucks can be troublesome.” The engine chuckled. “Don’t worry about me, Percy – I’ll be fine!” Percy was doubtful. And yet, to his amazement, the visitor managed the trucks well. The trucks came along quietly, distracted from misbehaving by the songs the engine sang to them.

The visitor really did brighten up the yard every time they passed through. “Did you need a hand?” he offered to Toby as the old tram struggled with a long line of empty ballast trucks heading back for the Little Western. “That would be great,” grinned Toby. “Thank you.” With the visitor’s help, they managed the run in half the time it usually took – and better yet, his sing-a-longs kept the trucks from acting up.

“You really have a knack with the trucks,” mused Duck, watching in amazement as the big engine shunted them into their proper places. “I’m impressed.” “Thank you!” the visitor said. “That’s too kind!”

The visitor grew to be popular amongst all the engines. The speed and dedication they brought to every train won over even the gruffest of trucks and engines alike – not even James could think of a bad word!

Everyone was sad when it came time for the visiting engine to return back to their heritage railway. “Safe travels!” called Percy. “Don’t get lost!” warned Oliver. “Lost?” quizzed the engine. “That isn’t likely, is it?” “Well… no – but sometimes the signalman near Killdane nods off. Make sure you whistle to alert him to your presence.” The engine smiled. “Thanks for the advice, I’ll keep it in mind!” And with that, the engine set off into the setting sun.

Things went well at first – but then night fell. With it came the mist. The mist rose up out of every crevice, seemingly rising up out of the ground itself, swirling around and blanketing everything it touched in an impenetrable wall of grey.

The visitor peered into the darkness, trying to see which town they were passing through. The station signs were obscured – several station lamps flickered and died and a chill danced in the air, winding around the visitor and doing its best to freeze their boiler into ice. The visitor still battled onwards.

“We can’t stop here…” they said, narrowing their eyes to try and spot a familiar shape. “It’s the middle of the mainline. No trains can stop here.” “Then which way now?” asked the engine’s driver. The answer lay just up ahead, where a signal light shone green, piercing sharply through the mist to illuminate the world around it.

“Someone must be expecting us,” hummed the driver. “That’s good!” A station platform appeared on the engine’s left, and they slowed to a stop, waiting for some sort of instructions on where to go. The driver and fireman looked back, and then the driver groaned.

“That stupid signalman! Come on, you need to go remind him that he needs to drop the signal back to red.” “And you?” “I’ll go find us some hot coffee in the station house. This seems like a big station – there’s got to be someone around.” The two left their engine sizzling nicely under the station canopy, heading off to complete their respective tasks.

Normally, this would have been fine – and had the engine been anywhere else, this would have been a routine stop. But the name of the station illuminated by a flickering station lamp was Killdane. “Um… shouldn’t we whistle?” asked the engine. But his crew had already left.

The engine’s eyes darted around. Something felt off about this station. It wasn’t the electric wires running above the tracks, nor was it the eerily still lines of coaches and trucks in the sidings. No, there was something else. Maybe… the second set of points that felt like they shouldn’t be there?

“Oh, why hello there,” grinned a deep, almost gravelly voice from behind the engine. “Um… hello?” The visitor had never heard that voice before. There was no face to put to the sound – this voice was completely new, and it scared them slightly. “What’re you doing on our line?” “I’m waiting to continue on,” the engine replied firmly. “We’ll take you,” the voice replied. Before the engine could question that, they were buffered roughly from behind. There was the deep, almost howling honk of a diesel horn, and the engine was suddenly being shoved forwards, out of the station.

“Hey! You can’t do this! Stop! Stop! Driver!” The visiting engine’s driver sprinted onto the platform, just in time to see the shape of a long train of scrap leave the platform where their engine had previously stood.

The engine tried to apply their brakes – but they couldn’t. They tried to call out for help – but no one answered.

The diesel pushed the poor engine down a long, overgrown path that led down through a bricked path between rows of town houses. The mist was even thicker down here, engulfing the poor engine and making it almost impossible to see what was ahead.

At least, until the mist began to clear around a large industrial estate, littered with the rusting remains of engines. “Oi! You can’t do this!” shouted the engine. “I’m preserved! Preserved!” “No one will come looking here,” sneered the diesel, shunting the engine into a shed. “Your crew can’t save you now, steam kettle.”

The steam engine sat, cold and alone, in the shed. Ahead of them, a pair of massive sliding steel doors were clamped tightly shut. Suddenly, the engine felt a jolt. The scrap trucks had been shoved behind them.

Two identical diesels in grimy green paintwork with wasp stripes oiled up on either side of the visitor. “This time, there’s no escape,” one sneered. The other just shot the poor visitor an unidentifiable look.

The two rumbled backwards again – and then the engine felt another jolt, and they all began to roll forwards. The giant steel doors groaned open, revealing a room bathed in red. Molten slag bubbled on either side of the track, and a giant claw loomed overhead.

“This engine’s not for scrapping!” begged the engine. “I just want to go home!” The claw didn’t stop its descent, lowering down, down, down…

With a sickening crunch, it ripped into the visitor’s boiler, lifting the engine up into the air, and dragging it over to the molten slag.

“Just another poor soul, gone to meet its maker,” sneered Arry. Bert didn’t reply. He just silently rumbled away, a goal set in his mind.

This time, Arry wouldn’t get away.

Back to Master Post

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

id be so interested in learning abt ur hlvrai2 idea...

ough ok sorry i’m about to brain dump my unformulated unorganized ideas all over this post (tysm for the ask btw). i don’t expect anyone to read all this, but it’s nice to actually write all the ideas down. WARNING long ass post under cut 👇

so like as i rambled about in this post, essentially the science team is stuck in an endlessly looping simulation that was made as an early test of black mesa’s virtual reality/ai tech. it’s built a lot like a game because that format makes it easier to run tests over and over.

anyways, hlvrai happens, they beat benrey, they go to chuck e cheese. but the party is also a cover for gman to temporarily isolate the science team in a little mini pocket simulation as he tries to fix whatever-the-hell is wrong with the main test one. except he fails.

hlvrai2 starts with gordon waking up on the tram, playing this game to test this cool vr tech for black mesa. except gordon is not excited this time. in fact gordon is freaking out because he remembers everything from the previous loop and he is wondering WHY he’s back here. why isn’t the test over. also he only got to eat 1 slice of pizza at chuck e cheese before everything blacked out so that sucks too.

gordon’s not the only one who remembers the last loop. everyone else who aren’t just random npcs also remember. before it was just tommy, gman, sunkist, and benrey who retained memories of previous loops. tommy and gman because their job is to keep the simulation intact, sunkist because tommy made her like that, and benry because he’s an anomaly (human consciousness and alien program/virus thing melded into one). in benry’s case, the memories are more jumbled and muddled in his head. so things don’t make a lot of sense for them.

anyway my idea is that this new loop that they’re in is even more screwed up than the last one. like the seams are really breaking and shit’s getting through. enemies that never appeared in any iteration before are appearing now. sections of the map have either moved or are missing entirely. there are new places too that don’t exactly look like they belong (bubby opens a closet door to reveal a forest, “what the hell is this narnia shit”). it’s super obvious that their world isn’t “real” and coomer, bubby, and darnold have to come to terms with the fact that they’re ai. although maybe bubby not so much because honestly xe doesn’t really give a shit about having a crisis over it (“I’m already a test tube baby—what difference does it make”). but bubby, like the others, would like to escape these endless loops. so that becomes the team’s main goal: find a way out. oh, and find gman too because he’s been missing ever since the loop restarted and tommy doesn’t know where the hell he is and it’s kind of concerning.

darnold joins the science team because he also remembers the last loop and wow this whole situation is just really messed up i guess i HAVE to go on a epic quest now dang. she takes up the healer role with her potions (not a huge fan of the violence), plus he just tends to fret over others in general. benrey rejoins the science team, which of course leads to tension that has to be worked out. now that benry isn’t coded as the antagonist/final boss anymore, he doesn’t have malicious intentions, but they’re still a little shit. they feels bad about what they did but doesn’t really know how to express it other than riling up gordon. though things get better between gordon and benrey as the adventure progresses and they have to save each other’s asses multiple times. he even says sorry eventually.

sooo i don’t exactly know how they break out yet, but they will stop the loops and escape into the actual main simulation of reality, the one that irl black mesa made to preserve humanity. the science team’s simulation was one of the tests that helped black mesa build the main simulation except nobody thought to stop running that test program—hence why the team’s been looping all this time. but yeah i’m still thinking about how it all ends. and also what the heck i want to do with forzen. i think i want him to be similar to be an ai that a piece of alien virus/coding latched onto. i think the alien virus/code used to be bigger and more intact before irl black mesa began messing with the alien tech, then it got fractured off into pieces that eventually found things in the system to latch onto, which is why forzen’s like “we used to be best friends” to benry. because technically there’s a part of them that used to be part of a bigger thing. idk. i think i want forzen to play a bit of an antagonist role, but not as a really bad one or anything. he’s just misguided. and maybe confused. let’s be real he doesn’t really know what he’s doing.

gman is missing because he’s dealing with his “Employers.” aka the super advanced hivemind ai that helps keep everything running in the background. they think the test simulation isn’t worth having around anymore because it’s becoming more trouble than it’s worth and they think gman isn’t able to handle it, so they’re stepping in. they aren’t the reason the test simulation is breaking down—the deterioration just got their attention. gman’s trying to either convince them to NOT erase it all or just stall them long enough in hopes that the science team figure a way out before the hammer comes down.

i was thinking who the main antagonist WOULD be, but maybe there doesn’t actually need to be one. it’s mostly the science team vs the test simulation. i guess the Employers could be seen as the main antagonist, but they’re just doing what they think is best to keep everything running smoothly.

ok that’s it im going to stop i’ve drained my brain resources. if anyone’s actually read all the way through, wow. thanks for slogging through my ramblings. :’)

[thatdoganon]

Flower Quest: Godseeker

I did Oro, but I accidentally lost it. I’ll miss you, ‘room with way too many spiders’. For charms I’d recommend strength, either long nail or mark of pride, and dashmaster. I’m using quick slash instead of compass, but if you want compass or something else that’s fine too.

Room One: You know the drill. We are starting from the grave, and heading to Godseeker. Practice this room for a bit, to make sure you won’t make a silly mistake.

Room Two: Go down. Pretty simple.

Room Three: Dash right immediately to not fall. Be careful as you descend, perhaps killing them for some soul. When you go left, there will be a mantis who is fairly easy to dodge. Just jump over them and dash, unless they swipe upwards, which you can easily dodge as well.

THE Problem Room: Room Four: If you go left here, you can take the path to Oro that I had originally written, but for now, we go through the hardest room in this run. Head to the left, being very careful to take out the flying mantis before they swarm you. I like using the scream up spell, which immediately takes them down. They take a minute before they attack, so it shouldn’t be too tough. Just don’t slip into thorns.

Room Five: From now on, it’s relatively smooth sailing. A nice break from Deepnest, that’s for sure. Head right and up, then right and down. Just slide down walls, and you should be fine.

Room Six: Hop down the platforms, taking your time. No diving off randomly or you will likely get hit. Then head right.

Room Seven and Eight: Head right, being careful not to trip and fall into Deepnest. Then, head right through all the acid areas, which is a lot easier with the ability to swim in acid. Head up, but be careful…

Room Nine: Since there is a balloon who loves to destroy the flower. Perhaps take it out from afar with a spell. Then head right. When you drop down, there will be a bug that explodes.

Room Ten: You can technically head down here and cut through Mantis Village, but for this we are presuming you unlocked the shortcut in the Godseeker room and heading up. Be careful as you dash through the bombs, and the top floor has two mushrooms that can block the platform.

Room Eleven: Head right over the bridge to the city. This gate closes after you enter through, but you can unlock a passage way above it from the right side. Hopefully you have already done so… right before the statue, wall jump up the narrow tunnel and head right.

Room Twelve: Have you noticed this path actually coincides with the pathing to the original flower quest? Here is where it changes, as we dart past a exploding bat and keep going right instead of up with the room with many platforms. There is a guard, and another bat ahead.

Room Thirteen: There are a few guards on this route, so make sure to dodge them or take them out from afar. You should be in the area with Quirrel’s bench.

Room Fourteen: One more guard and an elevator to take, and we reach the bottom. We are now very close! Head left.

Room Fifteen: We are in the room where the Nailsmith typically resides. If you knock the flying bug out, you can cling to the wall then crystal dash left for an easy trip. Cancel it when above a nail imbedded into the ground, then take the hidden pathway below the steps.

Room Sixteen: Just. Be. Careful. There are many harmless balloons, but if you bump into them in the last room that poses any danger, there’s not much to do but restart. Wall slide down, but watch out for the balloons below you. Keep your hands on the keyboard. Swim to the right, fall, and go left as you enter:

Room Seventeen: You made it! All you have to do is head left and down, and pass Godseeker the flower. This was fun to write, so perhaps I’ll rewrite Oro’s again. Maybe not though, that one was rough. It’s basically down a bunch, and right until Oro by taking the tram to skip everything that isn’t Deenest and one or two rooms of Kingdom’s Edge.

I completed this literally months ago now, but never felt like posting it. So I’m just going to do so now to get it off of my notes list. Hope someone finds this useful!

[littlewestern]

On Hank

(This one goes out to the anon in my askbox who requested Hank for the bingo meme. I'll do you one better <3)

So to preface this I think some context is required. I’ll be brief.

When I started this train misadventure with @greatwesternway, I personally had no plans to watch beyond Season 6, which was the last season that I remembered watching as a child and so the last season I had any personal attachment to. Once that had been done, however, and I still wanted more trains, I skipped directly to season 17 (to see Duck) and then proceeded to watch the rest of the CGI (backtracking to season 13) and then all the movies and specials.

This watch order left a gap, Seasons 7-12. I was not looking forward to watching Seasons 7-12. I had no special memories associated with them, and knew from prior research that the characterization and writing was… shall we say, less than stellar. I also knew that these seasons added many one-off characters that the CGI would not end up carrying over, and which I had basically zero interest in. Who cares about Flora the steam tram? Not me, certainly.

Imagine my surprise, then, when Season 12 (of Steady Eddie infamy) delivered perhaps my favorite one-off character of the entire show, and a pretty good all-around episode in general.

Let’s talk about Hank and his episode, Heave Ho, Thomas.

Despite appearing in only one episode, we know a lot about Hank’s character. We know that he’s big, strong, gregarious, friendly, quick to compliment others, and– perhaps most importantly– American!

Yes, the engine whose color scheme is red, white, and blue and who has a Texan accent (which Michael Angelis is attempting so, so bravely) is American. Shocker!

I’m pointing this out primarily because it’s interesting on its own: the show never directly states that he is from America, but it’s made very clear to the audience that that is the case.

There are many American engines on Sodor (Rosie, Caitlin, Connor, Porter, Timothy, Victor) but Hank is the only one (aside from Victor, who I would consider a special case) who is shown to be Culturally American. Most of these other engines are given British (or in the case of Caitlin and Connor, Irish for some reason) accents and their status as transplants isn’t really commented on in the canon.

I’m not bringing this up in relation to Hank because I have a problem with this from a technical perspective, but because Hank being American is– I would argue– actually the crux of the whole episode and what makes it work.

(Hank actually gets a model face as opposed to a CGI one for this shot! This episode might have been planned for before the decision to switch to CGI faces had been finalized.)

The episode proper starts with Hank arriving on Sodor. Thomas and Percy are both excited to meet this new special and strong engine, but Thomas expresses some doubt that he could be stronger than any of the engines on Sodor. Already we’re seeing some hometown pride from Thomas, indicating both that Hank is an outsider and that wherever he’s from, Thomas thinks Sodor is better. Sir Topham Hatt gives Thomas his 3 strikes jobs for the day, which he instructs Thomas to do while showing Hank around the island.

Hank arrives and immediately sets Thomas off by calling him “one of the finest little engines [he’s] ever seen”. Thomas, being as he is, takes offense at being called “little”, disregarding of course that to Hank, the big fuckoff PRR K4 Pacific, every engine on Sodor is little. And of course, Hank doesn’t mean “little” as an insult either. He means… cute! But Thomas, being as he is, gets buttmad about it.

Hank sees the load of freight cars Thomas is set to haul to the factory and offers, quite magnanimously, to take them instead, setting Thomas off even more. And perhaps Hank is underestimating Thomas here, but on the other hand, to Hank it would be like offering to carry a child’s backpack. The narration even tells us that Hank is merely trying to be helpful. He’s got that Southern Hospitality thing goin’ on!

As these seasons adhere to a specific formula it doesn’t take a genius to see where this episode is going. Thomas doesn’t exchange his current train for the next as he was instructed and instead tries to do all of them together as Hank watches, offering each time to pull the train instead and getting turned down. Part of that aforementioned Southern Hospitality, though, is taking people at their word, and so Thomas struggles on in a valiant attempt to win the Cutting Off Your Nose To Spite Your Face Award.

(Thomas, all out of Puff and Pull.)

It’s here that he gets called "Handsome Hank" in the episode by the narrator in passing. This is fun, because I love when one of the stereotypes Americans are given outside this country is that they're attractive. I suspect this comes from our only cultural export being film for 100 years, and so the impression that people who don't live here got was that Americans all look like movie stars.

Hank being called this is interesting though, in that sense, it characterizes him as American again without outright stating the fact, but it's also interesting because 'handsome' is not an adjective that gets ascribed to engines in canon. For this reason, I suspect it is a title in the vein of "Duck The Great Western Engine" or "James the Red Engine". It's a name given by humans to the engines as a form of address.

Because if it isn't... Well, how-dy Hank! Thomas (or the Narrator at least) thinks you look handsome! Add that to the list of things Thomas just can't stand about this guy! He swanks in here, disrespects Thomas, belittles him, and has the gall to look good while doing it. What a Hospitable asshole!

(Handsome Hank! I absolutely love these pieces of concept art and I'm so glad we have them.)

Hank is so Hospitable in fact, that when Thomas is completely out of steam and can’t whistle at the stations because of the heavy train, Hank announces in front of God and everybody that because Thomas is out of puff: he, Hank, will whistle for him! To Hank, this is just common courtesy. If he can’t pull the train, the very least he can do is whistle for his new friend.

Of course, this is about the worst thing you could say in front of an engine like Thomas. Thomas, who thinks everything is a competition, every offhand comment a slight against him personally, and every action he can’t do a knock against his own Usefulness. It’s not his fault, really. When you come up on a British railway with engines like Gordon and James, you expect to be belittled and patronized. But Hank isn’t being passive-aggressive here, he’s just being American!

Well of course, as it goes with these seasons, Thomas cracks a cylinder and learns a lesson about asking for help or somesuch, Hank has a party thrown for him and is promptly forgotten about for the rest of time forever, The End. It’s not a very satisfying conclusion or a particularly good episode when taken at face value, but I think it works if you look at it as a Cultural Differences sort of episode, where the sensibilities of two different railways come into contact and are, at least initially, at odds with each other.

And actually, doing some research for this episode, I found out that Heave Ho, Thomas was never shown in Japan on tv or released for home media. Maybe they thought an episode like this wouldn’t translate well for a Japanese audience? Interesting, either way!

[k0k0-library]

Svarog had me thinking #1

Svarog, our sweet robot dad- wrong!

He is a fucking war machine. Do we, as the HSR fandom even realize what this means? The thing has bloody missiles coming out of his back like fireworks on an NYE! He is able to withstand great damage and time corrosion (as literally stated in the game... unless it's a team of wild teens and adults who were pissed on a bunch of metal-). He is built like a fucking tank.

First, his height is easily comparable to Lady Dimitrescu. I mean, have you seen the damn thing? It's massive not only by height, but his build is very, how we humans say, "muscly", but there is no muscle, only titanium alloy and bolts... and nuts... As we can see, Clara, who is aproximatively 1,63 meters (she's taller than me what the fuck-) barely reaches over his crotch, which gives us the idea Svarog is about double her height at least. Let's say 2,50 meters, because it seems most relevant. And quite logic. So buddy falls a little bit under Lady D’s height.

Anyway, as a dormant relic, he most likely was left in the underground mine by the Architects for the later humans to discover him and get use of then's thechnology. They thought that Belobog would actually get more technologized after their decline, oh how wrong they were. Now, don't get me wrong, after seeing how other places are on Jarilo VI, Belobog is one of the most advanced places with their trams and guns that they use, it's just not as much as the Architects expected of the place to become. And something tells me it has to do with the separation between the overworld and the underground. Maybe, just maybe, separating the main city from the mines which literally give you the materials ain't a good idea.

And Svarog knew that. He just wanted to perserve things as is, to not risk getting humanity to whipe itself out with some damned crazy inventions, as he saw in the past with the architects. He, even as a robot feels emotion, that much is known. (we can conclude this from what Clara says in her hangout "many vergants see them as pets, but i believe they have feelings like us to [...] like Mr. Svasrog here").

Speaking of emotions, the strongest he feels is about Clara and protecting her. As she was the one that found him in the snow and reactivated him, his internal processor viewed her as his creator, as the one that he should obey every command of. Clara, on the other hand just wanted a family, and so Svarog only listens to that command. He's not a mindless tool, but he prioritiseses this before anything else. Par example, if he had to choose between attending Clara’s first ballet class and saving the world, guess what he will do? Good answer: both. But he will first be close to his dancing baby girl.

Scaring us by no means a violent man, or machine, but when put face to face with the destruction of his home as he knows it, he will pick up a fight. His home is his most important mission, providing a family for Clara, so of course he will freak of and fight the Wild Fires. It’s normal if you think about it. What isn’t normal, however…. Is his boss fight in the Simulated Universe. But that one has its own place in another day’s discussion.

[khaarl-i]

I'm so glad I live in Prague. For a quite a while now, family members have been asking me if I want to get a driver’s license (you have to be 18+). The conclusion I came to was: I would like to in the future, but with my current state of mental health, it wouldn’t be safe for me to drive (my anxiety can spiral very quickly)

Fortunately for me Prague has great public transport so it isn’t a problem.

This is a map of PPT- the three thick lines are metro/subway, the thin ones are trams and the buses (the most common vehicles) are not even here (probably because it would be impossible to read)

Edit: also it’s cheap and I have been using it daily (on my own) since I was 9-10 years old and never had any issues

[breitzbachbea]

SicIre Drabble Be Upon You

Harry could not help himself, he couldn’t keep quiet when he saw Michele in his trench coat, hat and gloves, a leather suitcase on top of it all. He simply could not help it.

“Welcome back, Mister Collins! Say, are those flowers to celebrate freedom or to sweeten further slavery?”

He ignored all looks he got by passerby, of all the kinds they were, and also endured Michele’s raised eyebrow and bewildered stare while he adjusted his glove.

“I’m not sure I catch your drift here – “ he began.

“Not that important.”

“I got the flowers because I thought they’d look nice in the living room. Or … the bedroom windowsill.” He cleared his throat and looked Harry in the eyes. “I thought they might sweeten my lovers day.”

“Sure Darling, they’re lovely,” Harry said with a smile but did not expect receiving them. Not in public – the statement was bold enough for Michele. “Do you want me to carry your bag?”

“Oh sure, if you don’t mind.”

Harry could not take his eyes from him, how beautiful and stately he looked, if out of time. A little bit like a lost time traveller; a gentiluomo that skipped a hundred years since he packed his best clothes to emigrate from Sicily. Got lost on his way to America, but he’d have no problem catching another ship headed for it from this forsaken island.

“What do you think about catching the tram to Stephen’s Green, having a stroll and some lunch at KC Peaches?” Harry said. “After we’ve gone home and put the flowers away, I mean.”

“Oh, sure, that sounds lovely.”

“And maybe I’ll change into something fancier …” The glee at their oddity, Michele’s dress shoes and trench coat next to his Dubs tracksuit and runners, was accompanied in equal measures by embarrassment.

Michele laughed. “Something fancier? For KC Peaches?”

“Well, I’ll wear a jumper or something at least that doesn’t make us look like … lawyer and defendant. Although, to be fair, you look like you knew Edward Carson.”

Michele thought for a moment. “The Unionist?”

“And the defence lawyer that got Oscar Wilde in hot water.”

“Ah, I see. That rings a bell.” Michele chuckled quietly. A beautiful, low chuckle …

Harry opened the backdoor of his car once they’ve reached it, placed the suitcase behind the front seat and then opened the car door for Michele. “If I may.”

“My, aren’t you the charmer today?” Michele asked with a smirk and got inside.

“My, am I not always the charmer?” Harry said and for once bit back another comment about the anachronism of his outfit.

“Amuri, before you go, will you be so kind to put that in the back as well?” Michele held out the flowers to him. “I don’t want to throw them.”

“Sure.” He took the flowers, closed the door and did as he was asked to. Once he’d gotten into the car, he noticed that Michele had unbuttoned his coat. He wore a full three piece underneath it.

“I’ll probably change once we’re home,” he said and Harry looked to him before he looked to the road again.

“No, Darling, you look lovely, why would you change?”

“It’s a bit overblown, isn’t it? I brought it along for our dinner tomorrow, not really for today.”

Harry couldn’t help but snort, which grew into a cackle. “You brought this for our dinner with Gavin and Hannah?”

“Yes. It’s a business dinner, Harry.”

“It’s Gavin. And the rest.”

“This is not about them, this is about me. I want to make a good impression.”

“Alright, fair enough.” He simply could not keep his gob shut. “Are the twins also gonna dress like the FBI got ‘em for tax evasion?”

Michele pressed his lips together, but couldn’t help it. He erupted into laughter. He reigned himself in while Harry still beamed, pleased and cocksure. “They will wear something elegant and confident, I’m sure of it.”

“You’re gonna look like the goddamn Treaty Negotiation for the Independence of Sicily,” Harry said and giggled. Michele chuckled along, until a cog seemed to turn.

“Oh, was that what you were referencing earlier?”

“Aye.”

“ … I’ll admit, the look is a little bit ‘On the run from Cesare Mori.’” Now it was Harry’s turn to rack his brain for information he once learnt from or due to Michele. “The weather’s getting colder up here, though, so I thought I’d layer up.”

“And the hat?”

Harry noticed that Michele looked at him before he returned to looking at his gloves. “Every respectable gentleman wears a hat, do you expect me to arrive in New York without one? I’m a criminal, not scum.”

Harry laughed and Michele laughed with him.

“Will you lend me a jumper for our walk? I’ve got a pair of jeans and I think I left the boots I bought two weeks ago here.”

“Aye, you did. And … sure, if you want.”

“Thank you, caru, you’re a treasure.”

Harry stole glances at Michele in between trying to not run over anyone crossing the street. “Shame though, you do look lovely.”

He looked lovely and irresistibly attractive when he said, with a knowing tone and expression: “You’ll get to look at me for the whole evening and then take all the layers off in a Belfast hotel room at your leisure tomorrow.”

Harry bit his lip as the images that filled his mind in anticipation wrestled with his attention for the street. Michele hummed a tune.

“The boys are very excited for the Titanic experience, by the way,” Michele said.

“Oh, are they? Hope they’ll like it.” Harry still was distracted. One look over to his lover and the car would run over the next unfortunate shopper to come out of the Centra, because he was too busy mentally playing with Michele’s tie while he sighed in his steady hold.

“Yes, me too.” A pause. “I, for one, can’t wait to go down that night.”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Harry had a death grip on the frog’s wheel by now. “Uh-huh!”

Michele had the audacity to chuckle. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop. I stole that joke, anyways, from the boys. Marco said he can’t wait to do like the Titanic and Lorenzo finished with going down.” Harry chuckled a little. “Is that reminder of your best friend’s sex life any remedy for your ache?”

“Oh, now that you say that, it is, it is.” Indeed, Charlie’s love life was a great distraction from his own. “Charlie’s line was, fuck me if I know how we got to that topic, that it’s a pity about that sectarian discrimination at Harland & Wulff, because, quote, this ex-cath knows how to rivet. Bit clunky, it is.”

“I suppose, yes. I’m sure Marco will be riveted, nonetheless.”

“All the best for him.” Michele chuckled.

They were almost home. “Say, Harry, how hungry are you?”

“Oh not much, why?”

“Do you think our walk could wait another few minutes?” Michele put his hand on Harry’s thigh, slow and calculated and the warm, gentle touch might as well have been a grip that clutched at his bone.

“You undress, I undress … we change into something more appropriate.” He caressed his thigh.

“I assume that pause was deliberate.” Michele hummed in agreement. A training bottom was absolute shite at hiding the effect Michele had on him.

“Sure, sure, absolutely class idea.” Harry parked the car in front of the house. He looked up at Michele, into his beautiful golden eyes that looked at him so softly. “The pause’s for finding a feckin vase for the bastardin bouquet isn’t it.”

Michele closed his beautiful eyes and screwed his face up in concentration with a smile to not erupt in laughter. Harry picked up his hand. “Lovely, beautiful, bastardin bouquet, I’ll gladly blow you for it, Darling.” He kissed his hand and a desperate laugh that sounded like one of the Seagulls on St. Stephen’s Green escaped Michele’s throat. Harry erupted into a cackling fit.

“And they say, romance is dead,” Michele finally said after a minute of desperate laughter.

“They say that in 1923? God, what hope’s there for any of us now?”

“Alright, Dean Rock, get out of the damn car before I’ll think twice about sucking you off.”

Harry laughed, pressed one more kiss to Michele’s hand while holding eyecontact and opened the door.

[trainsinanime]

Motor Replacement

Time for another model railroad project! The victim this time is this little Kato N-gauge tram:

Kato just calls these DUEWAG tram and reissues them every now and then with different liveries (this one features Cologne). Technically, they’re Aufbau- or Verbandwagen, two types that were built by a number of companies in post-war Germany, sometimes on the basis of older vehicles, sometimes new. Kato’s model is relatively cheap and based around their two-axle chassis that is also used in their pocket line trains, and it’s okay at best. No flywheel, old motor, just two wheels for power pickup, you can’t really expect much here.

Recently, Kato introduced a completely redesigned version of this chassis, with a tiny coreless motor with a flywheel. The difference is night and day: These new trains run perfectly even at low speed and are incredibly quiet and smooth. Kato sells replacement chassis, and if you have any pocket line train from them, you should really consider buying it, even if DCC installation is a big hassle there.

Sadly they don’t sell a tram version of the replacement chassis yet (they do sell exactly one tram with the new chassis), and since all the plastic parts were completely redesigned, you can’t fit the new mechanics into the old chassis.

So I decided to convert this to a coreless motor myself. A coreless motor is a DC electric motor where the spinning part does not contain an iron core, which decreases weight and undesirable magnetic effects. They used to be very expensive to manufacture, and you could only find them in the most expensive model trains, or in super-expensive conversion kits. A motor by brands such as Faulhaber or Maxon can easily cost 50-100€.

But these days, you can also find really cheap tiny coreless motors for like 20€ or less. I’m certain they’re not as good as the brand name ones, but they’re much more attractive. I bought mine from micromotor.eu (via a big green retailer), but there are plenty of other sites available as well.

Here’s the old motor, surrounded by the new motor, shaft extension/adapter and worm gears:

There’s notably no flywheel here; the tiniest motor they sell with shafts on both end, like the original, is the 0816D, which stands for 8 mm diameter, 16 mm length (both approximately) and dual outputs, and that makes it as long as the original. There’s no space for a flywheel, sadly.

To fit the motor into the train, I designed an adapter that would give it the right size, and then 3D printed it (not myself, I use Shapeways for that).

I stole that idea from micromotor.eu, which sell kits with such adapters for many different types of trains, but sadly not this one (yet). The motor is glued into the adapter with superglue, through the hole in the adapter. It needs to be wired up manually, but since I’m running DCC, that’s literally no change; I just added some longer leads here.

And here it’s in the chassis:

So, how does it all work? Well, I’d show you, but apparently I can’t insert a video in the middle of a post and I’m not changing the post type now and loosing all formatting. What I can tell you is that it runs at all, which makes me happy.

The downside is that I don’t have the relative positioning between the cogs on the wheels and the worm gears perfect, so the result is that it can be loud at times (and that is after putting a lot of cardboard shims in there). Also, the lack of flywheel is really noticeable. Power pickup remains as poor as ever, and the tram remains very sensitive to dirt on the track.

Overall, the result is… pretty much useless, actually; it was a lot of effort to get back to about the same behaviour as before. On the other hand, I had fun and learned things, so it isn’t all bleak. But still, I cannot recommend you try this yourself.

[angelgendered]

I forgot to mention here btw but I get to test drive an electric wheelchair I’m hoping to lease on a government scheme soon! I have to try it first to make sure it suits me, but if it does I’m absolutely going to hire one!! If not then it’s back to trying others I guess. It’s not something I’ll be able to go out in if I have to go in the car, because our car is too small. Buuuut it’ll mean that I can actually go out alone and potter around town or the city and go to the local shops and stuff. I haven’t been out alone for about a year or more lol. It’s pretty shitty. But there’s hope and a light at the end of the tunnel.

For the nosy/my fellow wheelchair using friendos, it’s a Sunrise Quickie Q100R that I’m trying out. It’s also called the Salsa 100 I think? Anyway, it says it’s compact and good for public transport which is where I’ll mostly use it to travel places so… it doesn’t fold whereas another model does so I’m trying to figure out if I want the folding or not. It’d be handy but I can’t fold it alone AND while it’d fit in the car it’s got a way shorter range and isn’t gonna be as comfy for me cause the wheelchair is narrower. I need a 19-20 inch seat and that folding one has like an 16-17 inch seat so it’d be squishy lol

Anyway yeah. Light at the end of the tunnel. Independence to some degree may be coming my way and sooner than I thought it would. I can’t wait to get in the tram and go to Birmingham again and maybe actually make it to Digbeth or the Library before I’m exhausted and have to go home.