#I UNDERSTAND ITS GOOD DATA BUT!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!

[asexualbookbird]

25 in 2025

Sigh. I've been bullied. I guess. I did a big swing and a miss on last years list, but I have a Plan this time. A Theme. A Goal. This will be mostly comprised of my Illumicrate books so I can decide if it is in fact worth it to keep my subscription going until the Alecto edition gets announced. If I don't actually enjoy the majority of the books in these boxes then what's the point, yknow?

So here's this years color key:

Green - Carry over from last year (not carrying over every missed book, which probably means I should just get rid of them huh)

Purple - Illumicrate books

Blue - I own these in physical form, but they're not from Illumicrate

Labyrinth's Heart by MA Carrick

The Faithless by CL Clark

The Art of Prophecy by Wesley Chu

The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri

City of Bones by Martha Wells

Witch King by Martha Wells

After the Forest by Kell Woods

Voyage of the Damned by Frances White

Of Jade and Dragons by Amber Chen

The Phoenix Keeper by SA Maclean

A Dark and Drowning Tide by Allison Saft

Until We Shatter by Kate Dylan

Mistress of Lies by KM Enright

Hammajang Luck by Makana Yamamoto

A Sorceress Comes to Call by T Kingfisher

The Bone Shard War by Andrea Stewart

The Last Hour Between Worlds by Melissa Caruso

The Spare Man by Mary Robinette Kowal

He Who Drowned the World by Shelley Parker Chan

All Those Explosions Were Someone Else's Fault by James Alan Gardner

The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett

The Spellshop by Sarah Beth Durst

Can't Spell Treason Without Tea by Rebecca Thorne

In the Ravenous Dark by AM Strickland

A Conjuring of Light by VE Schwab

PHEW. Okay. A fw things to note. A Dark and Drowning Tide is an Illumicrate book, but I didn't pay for it. A friend gave it to me after I skipped that month because she wasn't interested. I always look up book spoilers and skip if I'm not interested and if I'm uninterested in any of the stuff I'll skip even if the book seems neat. That month the box was full of fandoms I didn't care about, so my friends said "here, take my copy" and I said "yay! Free book!"

Cutting in during the month of April to say Until We Shatter was also probably given to me by a friend because it's NOT in my order history and I don't have the stuff in that box but it IS on my shelf?? Wild. Where'd it come from.

The Last Hour Between Worlds I think was also an Illumicrate book? They do fanart for it so I assume it was at some point. I did not get it. This is not the IC edition. I was not thrilled about The Tethered Mage so I was going to get this out of the library. Then my mom bought it for me for the holidays. So yay! Free book!

I think I would also like to keep track of books I purchase this year. I'd like to cut down on buying books that I won't love. So I'd like to utilise my library more. Win win, I think! And that seems easier than a full out ban since yeah sometimes I do enjoy little treats! Books purchased for other people do not count, obviously.

There are also some books I'd like to reread this year, mainly The Bone Maker because I've been saying that since I read it the first time. And honestly, I've been chasing the same vibes and haven't been able to match it (Godkiller got close!).

As usual, I reserve the right to pretend this post doesn't exist, but I think I've set myself up for success here :)

I don't know who hasn't done this by now @logarithmicpanda ? Have you?? Consider yourself tagged >:3c

oh right I was bullied tagged by @bigcats-birds-and-books

[thesixthstar]

I agree that tumblr should try to get growth from artists not just whomever wants to try the trendy things (aka users who will get an account, try for 5 mins, abandon when they realize it isn't like their preferred site) but literally. tumblr isn't looking for new users because more users is the end-goal. Tumblr. Does. Not. Make. Money. Tumblr spends a LOT of money hosting all our fuckin content, and running a website about it, and so far, thats been """subsidized""" by investors who sank money into a pit hoping that one day it would give something back to them. Tumblr TRIED monetizing the existing userbase, without being total sellouts. The reason none of your ads are relevant to you most of the time is bc they dont sell your data to advertisers for targeting. They tried blaze, and ad-free, and crabs, and a merch store, and check-marks. And those are all used by a *portion* of the userbase, but not a *large* one. So tumblr still doesn't break even. They need to find some way to make enough money that the website can keep going once the game of money-pit hot-potato comes to an end. One day, if tumblr continues to be a money pit, tumblr's current owners will have to make a choice. Sell it, or shut it down. Selling it would only be possible if someone is willing to pay for it. Someone would only pay for it if it seemed like it could make anyone any money, ever. So tumblr has to make money. Or at least convince someone that it COULD make money. And having users makes it easier to convince someone you can make money off those users.

i get the point of the polls informally showing that the vast majority of tumblr users have been here for years and barely anyone is new. the problem is that the suits don't look at that kind of data and go "ah, we understand. the majority of our users are oldheads who want things to stay the same. we misunderstood our audience." they absolutely have hard numbers on these things. they surely know most active users have been here forever. but they look at these stats and go "wow, our growth rate really IS shit. we're still relying on an ever-dwindling pool of users who have been here since they were teenagers in the early 2010s. we need to be working even harder to make this place appeal to new users"

the higher ups and investors on sites like this want infinite growth forever. this is why they keep changing the layout to make it look like other, more popular sites, even though we hate it. this is why they try out shit like tumblr live that doesn't appeal to the established core userbase in the slightest. it's not for us. it's also not for the ~5% of active users (if the poll going around is to be believed) who signed up within the last year. no, they're chasing after the hundreds of millions of people who use twitter and the BILLIONS of people who use tiktok, hoping to appeal to them and make tumblr more popular again

this is, of course, deeply stupid. nobody is leaving tiktok to hop on tumblr live. they already have tiktok. and we're on tumblr because we like tumblr, not because we want it to morph into something else. but i'm sure automattic's got venture capital investors breathing down their necks going "why isn't tumblr more like twitter or tiktok or facebook or instagram or" etc. etc., and so here we are

[luveline]

hi, i’m not sure if your requests are open, forgive me if not, but i’ve been thinking about bombshell!reader and spence lately. not sure if you’ve written this already or something similar, but how about them sharing a room on a case? similar to alaska.

fem, 1k

Spencer predicted the outcome of the roommate situation fairly quickly. Ignoring whatever data he might have in his head about the team, Spencer was always going to end up sharing with you tonight, because the universe hates him, and because you quite like him. 

It's nice to be someone first choice, if nothing else. “Me and Spencer will share, obviously,” you say, holding out your hand for a keycard. 

Hotch passes it over without complaint. He doesn't have to say keep it professional, you will (ish), and he doesn't have to ask Spencer if he's okay with this arrangement. Despite endless exhausting teasing, everyone knows that you and Spencer are actually friends. Or, he thinks you are. 

You certainly feel quite friendly as you hike your bag higher up your arm and sew the other arm through his. “Let's go. I'm so tired I might fall asleep on the way there.” 

You don't look tired. Spencer struggles to understand how every emotion you wear suits you. How every time he looks at you, you're prettier. He read a book recently on human attraction, and less factual but perhaps his most strongly believed takeaway from the book was that a person grows more attracted to the person they're attracted to, like a loop, or an ouroboros snake eating its own tail, forced over and over to make the same stupid mistake. What is he doing? Does he really think this is a good idea? Is he in love with you? How couldn't he be? You walk arm in arm to a room you're going to share and you don't care that he smells sickly of arnica and deodorant mixed together. You ignore the dark circles under his eyes, dark circles you never seem to have, always so perfect, always so you. 

“This one?” you ask, coming to a stop. “Room… 108?” He takes your bag and you smile gratefully, inserting the key, and legging open the door. “Tada. Home sweet home, Dr. Reid.” 

The hotel room is small and stale. Clean, sure, but questionably, with yellowing furnishings and sparse furniture. There's a double bed, two nightstands, a cubby bathroom close to the door, and a single chair near a small free standing countertop opposite of the bed, hosting a microwave and cups with hot chocolate sachets. 

“Wow,” you say, beaming, immediately breaking for the bed. 

“Wait, wait! We have to check for bed bugs.” 

You hold your hands up in surrender. 

Spencer peels the sheets back and uses the little torch on his keychain to investigate the mattress while you sit on the floor, one leg crossed beneath you and the other stretched in front of you as you sort through your clothes. You hum as you fold a shirt cleanly and make a pleased sound that may prove to give him indigestion as you unearth your pyjamas. 

“Spencer, can I shower first? Do you mind?” 

“I don't mind.” He turns off the torch, satisfied. “Thank you. For letting me check without being annoyed.”He says the second bit quieter than he means to. 

“Why would I be annoyed?” you ask, standing up in a whirlwind of pistachio perfume. Low notes of something sweet and caramelised haunt him as you drop your hand on his shoulder. “I'm gonna shower really fast, I swear. Should we get dinner? I bet we could order something to the front desk.” 

“I'll see if they have any menus.” 

Sitting in bed with you, later, showered and fed and drinking microwaved hot chocolate from paper cups together, Spencer has a strange flash of pleasure. Talking to you, seeing you with your hair in its protective style for the night, your skin shining with lotions and serums, and to have the revelation that you really do have dark circles under your makeup, it all feels private and special. Because you're still undeniably beautiful, and you act like he's worth sharing that with. 

He feels overwhelmed, in all honesty. 

You can sense it. You do your best to calm him down. 

“Finish your drink, babe,” you say, knocking him on the thigh with your knuckles. “It was a really long day.” 

“I'm fine.” 

“Yes, you are.” You giggle at yourself. “Sorry, I'm being serious tonight, I decided.” 

“Why?” he asks, puzzled. 

“I don't want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“You don't.” 

You put your hot chocolate on the nightstand and sink back into the pillows, looking every bit a movie star as usual despite your fresh face. It's your expression, the confidence behind them, that makes you so beautiful. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask. 

He looks down into his hot chocolate, swirling the drink around and around. “You're beautiful.” 

It catches you off guard. You're quiet for too long, panic festering in his chest. 

“You are too.” You put your hand on his thigh. When he brings his haze to your face, you've closed your eyes, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Wanna brush my teeth for me?” 

“No.” You both laugh. “Sorry if that was out of the blue, before.”

“I say worse to you,” you say. “Lay down with me. We can snuggle.” 

Spencer lays down. You don't snuggle, but your hand stays pressed to the side of his thigh, and the smell of your perfume lingers despite your shower. It must've been caught in your hair. 

“It's weird,” you say, facing the ceiling, “I'm not tired anymore.” 

“It's called learned arousal.” 

Your laugh is a shock. “Oh, is it now?” 

“Not like that. Are you thinking about work? If you think about certain things while you're in bed, it starts to make it so you think about those things on instinct. You've conditioned yourself.” 

“I don't think so,” you say. “Well, maybe. Mostly I just think about you, Spence. And not like that.” You laugh again, so much laughter Spencer could conjure the sound from memory alone. “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I promise I'm not trying to harass you.” 

He stares at the side of your face. “I know what you mean. I think about you too.” 

“Well, good to know I'm not in this torture alone,” you say softly. 

It is the worst night's sleep of Spencer's life, but he thinks he might want to do it again. 

[blood-orange-juice]

I swear, Dottore was written by a former STEM graduate. People don't normally write mad scientists this way.

Whenever I try to dig into deep lore, his research repeatedly turns out to be among the most useful data I have.

I know a good project when I see one. I've been on both sides of the academic hiring process, I've written grant proposals and I've reviewed them and I've seen better scientists than me discuss them, so please understand how much weight I put into this: these are very good projects.

(except for, you know, ethics)

His research topics seem random but he actually pokes at the most fundamental questions of Teyvat with each one.

His Eleazar studies dig at the relationship between forbidden knowledge and dead gods (surprise: these are different things. I might have lumped them together if not for his notes).

Cloning himself pokes at the difference between machine and man, and also it's the technology of Eclipse Dynasty, Teyvat's main historical enigma. Have you ever wondered whether all ruin guards were men once? Or why did Khaenri'ahns switch from alchemy to ruin machines so abruptly? Or why they were cursed.

(I have a suspicion it also pokes at the nature of time and stories, the way he talks about a need for an ideal observer, and also the way Khaenri'ahn history went)

Delusions answer the question of why does Teyvat need Archons for Visions to appear and for humans to be able to use elemental magic. We don't know the answer but Dottore does.

I'm eyeing his artificial god because I don't think that what we saw in Sumeru was the final project. He seemed so nonchalant when it failed.

This is theoretical science at its finest. As a cherry on top, every project also yields practically applicable results.

He's a dream of every grant commitee.

[mariacallous]

A short note here on what I’m covering and why. The political changes we’re seeing across the world are underpinned by technological ones that are now accelerating. For more than a decade, I’ve been trying to investigate and expose these forces. Since 2016 that’s included following a thread that led from Brexit to Trump via a shady data company called Cambridge Analytica and the revelation of a profound threat exploit at the heart of our democracies. But what’s happening now in the US is a paradigm shift: this is Broligarchy, a concept I coined last summer when I warned that what we were seeing was the proposed merger of Silicon Valley with state power. That has now happened. Writing about this from the UK, it’s clear we have a choice: we help lead the fight back against it. Or it comes for us next. Please share this with family and friends if you feel it’s of value. Thank you, as ever, Carole

Let me say this more clearly: what is happening right now, in America, in real time, is a coup.

This is an information war and this is what a coup now looks like.

Musk didn’t need a tank, guns, soldiers. He had a small crack cyber unit that he sent into the Treasury department last weekend. He now has unknown quantities of the entire US nation’s most sensitive data and potential backdoors into the system going forward. Treasury officials denied that he had access but it then turned out that he did. If it ended there, it would be catastrophic. But that unit - whose personnel include a 19-year-old called “Big Balls” - is now raiding and scorching the federal government, department by department, scraping its digital assets, stealing its data, taking control of the code and blowing up its administrative apparatus as it goes.

This is what an unlawful attack on democracy in the digital age looks like. It didn’t take armed men, just Musk’s taskforce of boy-men who may be dweebs and nerds but all the better to plunder the country’s digital resources. This was an organised, systematic, jailbreak on one of the United States’ most precious and sensitive resources: the private data of its citizens.

In 2019, I appeared in a Netflix documentary, The Great Hack. That’s a good place to start to understand what is going on now, but it wasn’t the great hack. It was among the first wave of major tech exploits of global elections. It was an exemplar of what was possible: the theft and weaponization of 87 million people’s personal data. But this now is the Great Hack. This week is when the operating system of the US was wrenched open and is now controlled by a private citizen under the protection of the President.

If you think I’ve completely lost it, please be advised that I’m far from alone in saying this. The small pools of light in the darkness of this week has been stumbling across individual commentators saying this for the last week. Just because these words are not on the front page in banner headlines of any newspaper doesn’t mean this isn’t not happening. It is.

In fact, there has been relentless, assiduous, detailed reporting in all outlets across America. There are journalists who aren’t eating or sleeping and doing amazing work tracking what’s happening. There is fact after fact after fact about Musk’s illegal pillaging of the federal government. But news organisation leaders are either falling for the distraction story - the most obviously insane one this week being rebuilding Gaza as a luxury resort, a story that dominated headlines and political oxygen for days. Or…what? Being unable to actually believe that this is what an authoritarian takeover looks like? Being unsure of whether you put the headline about the illegal coup d’etat next to a spring season fashion report? Above or below the round-up of best rice cookers? The fact is the front pages look like it’s business as normal when it’s anything but.

This was Ruth Ben-Ghiat on Tuesday. She’s a historian of fascism and authoritarianism at New York University and she said this even before some of this week’s most extreme events had taken place. (A transcript of the rest of her words here.)

“It’s very unusual. In my study of authoritarian states, it's only really after a coup that you see such a speed, such obsessive haste to purge bureaucracy so quickly. Or when somebody is defending themselves, like Erdogan after the coup attempt against him, massive purge immediately. So that's unusual. I don't have another reference point for a private individual coming in, infiltrating, trying to turn government to the benefit of his businesses and locking out and federal employees. It is a coup. I'm a historian of coups, and I would also use that word. So we're in a real emergency situation for our democracy.”

A day later, this was Tim Snyder, Yale, a Yale professor and another great historian of authoritarianism, here: “Of course it’s a coup.”

History was made this week and while reporters are doing incredible work, to understand it our guides are historians, those who’ve lived in authoritarian states and Silicon Valley watchers. They are saying it. What I’ve learned from investigating and reporting on Silicon Valley’s system-level hack of our democracy for eight long years and seeing up close the breathtaking impunity and entitlement of the men who control these companies is that they break laws and they get away with it. And then lie about it afterwards. That’s the model here.

Everything that I’ve ever warned about is happening now. This is it. It’s just happening faster than anyone could have imagined.

It’s not that what’s happening is simply unlawful. This is what David Super, an administrative law professor at Georgetown Law School told the Washington Post.

“So many of these things are so wildly illegal that I think they’re playing a quantity game and assuming the system can’t react to all this illegality at once.”

And he’s right. The system can’t and isn’t. Legal challenges are being made and even upheld but there’s no guarantee or even sign that Musk is going to honour them. That’s one of the most chilling points my friend, Mark Bergman, made to me over the weekend.

Last week, I included a voice note from my friend, tech investor turned tech campaigner, Roger McNamee, so you could hear direct from an expert about the latest developments in AI. This week I’ve asked Mark to do the honours.

He’s a lawyer, Washington political insider, and since last summer, he’s been participating in ‘War Game’ exercises with Defense Department officials, three-star generals, former Cabinet Secretaries and governors. In five exercises involving 175 people, they situation-tested possible scenarios of a Trump win. But they didn’t see this. It’s even worse than they feared.

“Those challenges have been in respect of shutting down agencies, firing federal employees and engaging in the most egregious hack of government. It all at the hand hands of DOGE, Musk and his band of tech engineers. DC right now is shell-shocked. It is a government town, USA, ID, the FBI, the Department of Justice, Department of Homeland Security, CIA, no federal agency will be spared the revenge and retribution tours in full swing, and huge numbers have been put on administrative leave, reassigned or fired, and the private sector is as much at risk, particularly NGOs and civil society organizations. The more high-profile violate the law, which is why the courts have been quick to enjoin actions. “So yes, we've experienced a coup, not the old fashioned kind, no tanks or mobs, but an undemocratic and hostile takeover of government. It is cruel, it is petty. It can be brutal. It is at once chaotic and surgical. We said the institutions held in 2020 but behind institutions or people, and the extent to which all manner of power structures have preemptively obeyed is hugely worrying. There are legions ready to carry out the Trump agenda. The question is, will the rule of law hold?”

Last Tuesday, Musk tried to lay off the entire CIA. That’s the government body with the slogan ‘We are the nation’s first line of defense’. Every single employee has been offered an unlawful ‘buyout’ - what we call redundancy in the UK - or what 200 former employees - spies - have said is blatant attempt to rebuild it as a political enforcement unit. Over the weekend, the Washington Post reports that new appointees are being presented with “loyalty tests”.

Musk’s troops - because that’s what they are, mercenaries - are acting in criminal, unlawful, unconstitutional ways. Organisations are acting quickly, taking lawsuits, and for now the courts are holding. But the key essential question is whether their rulings can be enforced with a political weaponized Department of Justice and FBI. What Mark Bergman told me (and is in the extended note below) is that they’ve known since the summer that there would be almost no way of pushing back against Trump. This politicisation of all branches of law enforcement creates a vacuum at the heart of the state. As he says in that note, the ramifications of this are little understood outside the people inside Washington who study this for a living.

And at least some of what DOGE is doing can never be undone. Musk, a private citizen, now has vast clouds of citizens’ data, their personal information and it seems likely, classified material. When data is out there, it’s out there. That genie can never be put back into the bottle.

Itt’s what it’s possible to do with that data, that the real nightmare begins. What machine learning algorithms and highly personalised targeting can do. It’s a digital coup. An information coup. And we have to understand what that means. Our fleshy bodies still inhabit earthly spaces but we are all, also, digital beings too. We live in a hybrid reality. And for more than a decade we have been targets of hybrid warfare, waged by hostile nation states whose methodology has been aped and used against us by political parties in a series of disrupted elections marked by illegal behaviour and a lack of any enforcement. But this now takes it to the next level.

It facilitates a concentration of wealth and power - because data is power - of a kind the world has never seen before.

Facebook’s actual corporate motto until 2014 taken from words Mark Zuckerberg spoke was “Move fast and break things”. That phrase has passed into commonplace: we know it, we quote it, we also fail to understand what that means. It means: act illegally and get away with it.

And that is the history of Silicon Valley. Its development and cancerous growth is marked by series of larcenous acts each more grotesque than the last. And Musk’s career is an exemplar of that, a career that has involved rampant criminality, gross invasions of privacy, stock market manipulation. And lies. The Securities and Exchange Commission is currently suing Musk for failing to disclose his ownership stock before he bought Twitter. The biggest mistake right now is to believe anything he says.

Every time, these companies have broken the law, they have simply gotten away with it. I know I’m repeating this, but it’s central to understanding both the mindset and what’s happening on the ground. And no-one exemplifies that more than Musk. The worst that has happened to him is a fine. A slap on the wrist. An insignificant line on a balance sheet. The “cost of doing business”.

On Friday, Robert Reich, the former United States Secretary of Labor, who’s been an essential voice this week, told the readers of his Substack to act now and call their representatives.

“Friends, we are in a national emergency. This is a coup d’etat. Elon Musk was never authorized by Congress to do anything that he’s doing, he was never even confirmed by Congress, his so-called Department of Government Efficiency was never authorized by Congress. Your representatives, your senators and Congressmen have never given him authority to do what he is doing, to take over government departments, to take over entire government agencies, to take over government payments system itself to determine for himself what is an appropriate payment. To arrogate to himself the authority to have your social security number, your private information? Please. Listen, call Congress now.”

It’s a coup

I found myself completely poleaxed on Wednesday. I read this piece on the New York Times website first thing in the morning, a thorough and alarming analysis of headlined “Trump Brazenly Defies Laws in Escalating Executive Power Grab”. It quoted Peter M. Shane, who is a legal scholar in residence at New York University, “programmatic sabotage and rampant lawlessness.” It was displayed prominently on the front page of the New York Times but it was also just one piece among many, a small weak signal amid the overpowering noise.

There’s another word for an “Executive Power Grab”, it’s a coup. And newspapers need to actually write that in big black letters on their front pages and tell their tired, busy, overwhelmed, distracted, scared readers what is happening. That none of this is “business as usual.”

Over on the Guardian’s UK website on Wednesday, there was not a single mention on the front page of what was happening. Trump’s Gaza spectacular diversion strategy drowned out its quotient of American news. We just weren’t seeing what’s happening in the seat of government of our closest ally. As a private citizen mounted a takeover of the cornerstone superpower of the international rules-based order, our crucial NATO ally, our biggest single trading partner, the UK government didn’t even apparently notice.

The downstream potential international consequences of what is happening in America are profound and terrifying. That our government and much of the media is asleep at the wheel is a reason to be more not less terrified. Musk has made his intentions towards our democracy and national security quite clear. What he hasn’t yet had is the backing of the US state. That is shortly going to change. One of the first major stand-offs will be UK and EU tech regulation. I hope I’m wrong but it seems pretty obvious that’s what Musk’s Starmer-aimed tweets are all about. There seems no world in which the EU and the UK aren’t headed for the mother of all trade wars.

And that’s before we even consider the national security ramifications. The prime minister should be convening Cobra now. The Five Eyes - the intelligence sharing network of the US, UK, New Zealand, Australia and Canada - is already likely breached. Trump is going to do individual deals with all major trading partners that’s going to involve preposterous but real threats, including likely dangling the US’s membership of NATO over our heads all while Russia watches, waits and knows that we’ve done almost nothing to prepare. Plans to increase our defence spending have been made but not yet implemented. Our intelligence agencies do understand the precipice we’re on but there’s no indication the government is paying any attention to them. The risks are profound. The international order as we know it is collapsing in real time.

It’s a coup

We all know that the the first thing that happens when a dictator seizes power is that he (it’s always a he) takes control of the radio station. Musk did that months ago. It wasn’t that Elon Musk buying Twitter pre-ordained what is now happening but it made it possible. And it was the moment, minutes after Trump was shot and he went full-in on his campaign that signalled the first shot fired in his digital takeover.

It’s both a mass propaganda machine and also the equivalent of an information drone with a deadly payload. It’s a weapon that’s already been turned on journalists and news organisations this week. There’s much more to come.

On Friday, Musk started following Wikileaks on Twitter. Hours later, twisted, weaponized leaks from USAID began.

This is going to get so much worse. Musk and MAGA will see this as the opening of the Stasi archive. It’s not. It’s rocketfuel for a witchhunt. It’s hybrid warfare against the enemies of the state. It’s going to be ugly and cruel and its targets are going to need help and support. Hands across the water to my friends at OCCRP, the Overseas Crime and Corruption Reporting Project, an investigative journalism organisation that uncovers transnational crime, that’s been in Musk’s sights this weekend, one of hundreds of media organisations around the world whose funding has been slashed overnight.

It’s a coup

By now you may feel scared and helpless. It’s how I felt this week. I had the same sick feeling I had watching UK political coverage before the pandemic. The government was just going to ignore the wave of deaths rippling from China to Italy and pretend it wasn’t happening? Really? That’s the plan?

This is another pandemic. Or a Chernobyl. It’s a bomb at the heart of the international order whose toxic fallout is going to inevitably drift our way.

My internal alarm bell, a sense of urgency and anxiety goes even further back. To early 2017, when I uncovered information about Cambridge Analytica’s illegal hack of data from Facebook while the company’s VP, Steve Bannon, was then on the National Security Council. That concept of highly personalised data in the control of a ruthless and political operator was what tripped my emergency wires. That is a reality now.

The point is that the shock and awe is meant to make us feel helpless. So I’m telling a bit of my own personal story here. Because part of what temporarily paralyzed me last week was that this is all happening while my own small corner of the mainstream media is collapsing in on itself too. The event that I’ve spent the last eight years warning about has come to pass and in a month, 100+ of my colleagues at the Guardian will be out of the door and my employment will be terminated. I will no longer have the platform of the news organisation where I’ve done my entire body of work to date and was able to communicate to a global audience.

But then, it’s all connected. We are living through an information crisis. It’s what underpins everything. In some ways, this happening now is not surprising at all. Moreover, many of the people who I see as essential voices during this crisis (including those above) are doing that effectively and independently from Substack as I will try to continue to do.

And, the key thing that the last eight years has given me is information. The lawsuit I fought for four years as a result of doing this work very almost floored me. But it didn’t. And I’ve learned essential skills during those years. It was part of what powered me to fight for the rights of Guardian journalists during our strike this December.

The next fightback against Musk and the Broligarchy has to draw from the long, long fight for workers rights which in turn influenced the fight for civil rights that must now power us on as we face the great unknown. What comes next has to be a fight for our data rights, our human rights.

This was former Guardian journalist Gary Younge on our picket line and I’ve thought about these words a lot. You have to fight even if you won’t necessarily win. Power is almost never given up freely.

If you value any of this and want me to be able to continue, I’d be really grateful if you signed up, free, or even better, paid subscription. And I’d also urge you to sign up also for the Citizen Dispatch, that’s the newsletter from the non-profit I founded that campaigns around these issues. There is much more it can and needs to do.

[sunrisecaminus]

Hello again bbg I hope you're okay o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o may I request shockwave x fem! human reader who he kidnapped for experiment but oh no this one-eyed big BOI falls in love~ you can make NSFW 😉✋🏻😌🤚🏻

Take your time bbg love you 🎀✨

Message - I cooked you some good shit, now eat your dinner. Shockwave is such an interesting weirdo, I like this giant piece of crap. Love you too!

Shockwave x Human Reader NSFW

Summary - Shockwave using his kidnapped human woman as his next "experiment".

Warnings - NSFW

You have been stuck in this testing chamber for weeks now. Being fed and cleaned wasn't the issue, it was that you have not been able to walk around or do anything for forever. Holy crap has it been so long since you have been able to even change into different clothes, they have just been cleaning the same ones over and over. When you complained about it last time, the big purple mech gave you pjs. It was nice, but now you have been wearing this thing for eight days. Even if you hate your life right now, you are still very much terrified of Shockwave. He has tested a lot of things, but Megatron told him to test your pain tolerance or anything that is more "useful to him". If not, you would be disposed of, which is something you wish to never happen to you. What you didn't know, was that Shockwave has taken an interest in you. Whenever he has done his tests, you try your very best even if you were kidnapped. Honestly, he was theorizing you were going to try to escape and fight back, but you were not stupid. Shockwave underestimated you, and is now intrigued by your character and personality. You both have talked before, telling him that you were in college, about to graduate with a n/d (name of degree). He thought it was interesting how humans were kind of similar with Cybertronians, even if their physical appearances were much different.

Now, understanding your history and emotions, he won't admit how much he adores you. Shockwave hated himself for a long time, falling in love with such a disgusting creature…but it has been millions of years since he has cared for someone. He tries to give you better food, and even has been looking up trending clothes he should buy for you. Shockwave has told Megatron that they should be using you as a pet and not a disposable experiment, but it got him no where. Starscream thought you were the grosses thing in the world and told Shockwave multiple times to destroy you. You would get confused why there would be random times Shockwave threatens or hits Starscream, but its because Starscream would tell him how much he hated you quietly so you wouldn't freak out and try to escape. Shockwave is very protective of you and keeps you in that tube for a reason…but he understands that he has a job to do. He has been thinking for a while on how to save himself while also not hurting you…which got him to design a lovely plan. He now has a new test, which he asked Megatron if he should be able to do, and was excepted. Finally, time to get back to work.

You are right now laying on the floor of the tube, trying to take a nap, when you hear a door open and see the purple mech again. Opening your eyes, you get up and watch him going to his desk and grabbing data pads, graphs, and a camera. Crap, its time for the experiment. "Um…can we talk about this? Maybe we can do the running experiment again?" You press your hands on the glass and look at him with pleading eyes, oh how cute you look begging for him. "I have other plans, Ms.l/n (last name)." Oh no you had to think of something. All you can think of is knives cutting you, being smacked around, or maybe even being smooshed. Pain tolerance is something that an experiment could do many ways with, which is not helping your imagination going crazy. "I promise not to complain! Please, I don't want to be killed!" Shockwave didn't look at you, setting up the camera to face you. "Megatron changed the experiment to something else. You will not be harmed…though it is an experiment that can be seen as vulgar." Well that made you relieved at first, but than made you curious on what was about to happen. He already saw you naked when you had to get changed. You didn't feel too much shame about your body, as these bots had different beauty standards than humans…at least you hope. You didn't want to look ugly to them, but why would you care about what they think?! Maybe he will have you eat something gross? You rather do that then be physically abused. Shockwave grabs a data pad and walks ups to the tube, hooking up some wires to it that was connected to a control panel. Oh, he did this once to have you test your swimming abilities by pouring water into the tube with whatever machine he uses. "The question we are about to experiment today on is your mental compacity. We will test how well your brain can function on your ability to read or answer questions while being distracted in other things". You felt as though this was just a normal test, maybe it was vulgar because it has to do with your brain? "Oh, so like multitasking, right"? You asked, trying to sound as respectful as you can to not make him mad. Shockwave wished he could laugh, you were smarter with your vocabulary than he thought. "Something like that, yes."

The big mech goes up to the control panel and starts to press buttons, once he flipped a little switch, you see little wired tendrils coming from the top of the testing chamber. This was very new and you poked one, letting it slide around your hand a little. Shockwave grabs some cards and watches you play with the new machine he made. "I will be showing you pictures of colors or items on these cards. Try to answer them as best as you can without being distracted by anything that goes on inside the chamber. Do not react and stay focused if they poke you, you understand?" After explaining the rules to you, he sees you nodding without any questions as he pulls out of the cards. "Square" You feel one of the tendrils wrap itself around your ankle as you answer the question. You don't move and keep your eyes on Shockwave. He pulls up another card. "Magnify Glass". One of the other tendrils wrap around your stomach. You gasp as it slowly slips under your shirt and slides around. "Sir! Are you sure this is necessary for the test?" Shockwave takes another card out before he looks up at you. Goodness thank god he is recording you, he was probably going to watch this tape more than once. "Of course, I need to test how well you can pay attention. Now name what is on the card." You couldn't believe what was happening, but you didn't mind too much. Your cheeks get red and kept naming the cards. The tendril in your shirt tightens around your lower chest while another goes under the cloth, pulling the shirt off over your head. "Ah! Sh-shockwave wait-"! When you called his name out, his head looks down. He didn't want you to know how much this was making him go nuts. He never gave you a bra to wear for today so your boobs were out already. The tendril wrapped around you starts to wrap around your breasts, squeezing and massaging them. You moan from the sensitive touching and start to get weak in the knees. "Mhmm! U-um car~" You kneels down, feeling the one around your ankle goes up your leg and pulls on it, making you naturally spread your legs on the ground. Thankfully you had nice pants, because then Shockwave would have seen how soaked you were from what was happened. Being in such a sensual position was making your mind think of so many things.

Shockwave watches you, basically saving the picture of your body in his mind. You are right now having your legs spread while kneeling on the ground, having one of his machine tendrils touch your boobs. He hesitated before he pulls out another card. "Y-yellow." You were still going, how smart you seemed to him. Human creatures were so simple and dumb in his eyes, seeing you being able to control yourself while having, what humans would consider, such a distracting experience. You were way stronger mentally than a lot of the soldiers on this ship. He wanted to make it harder, so he flips another switch and out comes another tendril. This one goes up to your pants and slides under the layers of clothes that cover your nether region. "Ngnn! Holy shi-ah!" You feel the tendril rubbing itself in between your folds and that is what makes you feel like your going to lose this experiment. Your hands press against the glass, leaning against to help yourself get more support from kneeling on the ground. You needed to finish the test or he was just going to continue this sinful act. "Cat…mhmm." Shockwave knew you were getting too weak, your eyes were getting dazed and blurry. He had one more card left, but he wants to know if you can focus when you are getting 100% attention. He presses on one of the buttons and the tendril enters into your vagina, going as deep as it can to figure out what it was working with. Shockwave sees your eyes get wide from the sudden pressure and you moan out his name. Shockwave couldn't believe this, but he felt his spike press against his panel, but he was going to wait until after the experiment to treat it. He shows you the last card. "This is the final card. Can you read it?" You couldn't believe what was happening, this tendril was slamming into your walls like it was no ones business…but if this is what he wanted, you were not going to lose this. You press your face against the glass to try and focus, blinking your eyes to keep your vision from giving out. "Purple! It's Purple!" You finally did it, now he could stop before you became a mess. The tendrils stop moving as you try to get the one off your boobs. Your hands shakily grab it, but it wouldn't move. You see shockwave flip another switch as another tendril comes down…oh no. You completed the test, you got all of them right! Why was he adding more?! You see the tendril going down into your pants like the other one. "W-wait sir, I did the test! Did I do well?" That was when you see Shockwave's eye brightens a little, watching as he puts his hand on the On button. "You did very well y/n. Now it is time for your reward." He turns it on again and you feel the second tendril push itself inside you, making your vagina now have two of them sliding in and out of your walls. You moan loudly, feeling your eyes start to water from the pleasure you were feeling. Your brain gets clouded, only thinking about your lower half getting destroyed. It only took a few minutes for you to cum all over the floor. The tendrils stay inside you when you started to slide off the glass and onto the floor. Your chest gets unwrapped, while the ones inside you slide out carefully and put themselves away. This was so embarrassing, you were laying on your stomach in your own liquids. Shockwave ends the recording and looks at the masterpiece he just made. "You surprise me, human. My processor is changing its opinion on you at this very moment. You should be proud."

[clxja16]

Enough

Charles Leclerc X Wolff!Reader

Genre: betrayal (?)

Warnings: I think there's some swearing, angst

Word Count: 5K+

Author's Note: Okay you guys voted for this one, and honestly I thought that the fake dating trope was going to win but I guess not. also I kind of need help with the genre, because its not really forbidden lovers. Like is there a genre of your parents betraying your trust in the name of protecting you??? but anyway lmk what you guys think. Actually please tell me what you think, because I'm scared I made this too dramatic. enjoy though <3

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

You lingered in one of the back halls before the start of qualifying.  It was the Austrian Grand Prix.  You looked around making sure that no one was in sight.  Charles started to giggle at your antics of keeping this under wraps.  You pulled at him, trying to push him right out the door. 

“Go back to your garage,” you say gently pushing Charles further out the back entry of the Mercedes garage. 

“After I get a good luck kiss?” Charles asks, as he holds his hands up in surrender.  

You shake your head at him, before saying, “quickly, before someone sees us,” pulling Charles into a kiss, by his race suit.  Charles grabs your face with both hands, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss further.  You pull away first, worried about who might catch you sneaking about the garage halls, “okay now go, I’ll see you tonight.” 

Charles doesn’t let go of your face, pulling you back in for a quick peck on the lips, “okay I’m going.”  Charles finally lets you go, and shoots you a quick wink before walking off.  

You turn back around to take your place in the garage next to your father, when you hear him calling out for you.  You look back to see Charles has walked just far enough away to be out of sight, as your father turns the corner to come face to face with you.  You let out a breath of relief that they missed each other.  “y/n,” your father calls to your attention, “let’s get settled, qualifying is about to start.” 

“Yes, daddy,” you answer, following after your father, to watch qualifying.  

You have just finished your degree, a Masters in Business Administration from HBS and a Masters of Science from Harvard John A. Paulson SEAS.  It took you nearly 5 and a half years to complete, but you did it regardless.  Now, you attend the races to better learn how to apply the knowledge learnt in school to running a formula one team.  This is all so that one day you will take over the formula one team from your father. 

As you watched George and Lewis set out to do their first few qualifying laps of the session, you longed for it to be you in those cars.  You really didn't dream of being behind the scenes, you dream of being up front and center, in the limelight, in the car.  You wanted to set the fastest lap, you wanted to be getting grand prix victories, you wanted to win championships.  However, you didn’t get a seat in formula 2, so your parents did the ‘reasonable’ thing and sent you off to school, instead of waiting around for the chance of a seat opening up.  

“Look here,” your father spoke to you, as he pointed at some data on one of the many monitors in front of him.  

“George is a tenth too early,” you say, trying your best to understand the data in front of you.  

“Yes, exactly, good,” your father praises, before speaking with a couple of the race engineers.  “Now we don’t want George to overly focus on what is going wrong, so we praise, advice and praise again.” You listen to the radio as the engineer, compliments George on his turn 3 and 4, critiques his turn 7, and compliments his turn 10 and 11.  “When you take over, you have to remember that you are going to have to manage the drivers' psyche as well as their driving.” 

“Father, I won’t be taking over for a long time, you’re gonna need to find someone in between you and me, to manage the team.” 

“No,” your father declares, like his decision is final, “I will retire late, and you will start early.” 

“Yes Father,” you say, no reason to start an argument now. 

-

“Congratulations on another podium,” you spoke sweetly to Charles at the end of the Austrian grand prix weekend. You and him were hiding out in his hotel room, trying your best to stay away from the cameras, from fans and most importantly from your father. 

“It’s only the second podium of the season,” Charles said as he dried his hair with the towel while walking out of the bathroom.  “We’re so far behind this season, it’s laughable.” 

“You could always make the move to Mercedes, Daddy would love to have you racing for him,” you say, as you wrap your arms around Charles, after he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.  

You can hear Charles chuckle a little, before turning around to face you. “Never,” he says with a smile, pushing you back down on the bed, kissing you deeply.  You can’t contain the laughter that spills from your lips.  

“We would make sure you win championships,” you argue, teasing Charles once again. 

“And who’s giving up a seat for me?” Charles asks, as he moves from your lips down your neck, spreading his kisses all around.  

“Lewis isn’t going to stay much longer,” you reveal.  

“What?” Charles asked, as he pulled away to look at you.  The seriousness setting in. 

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” you start off, as you sit up in the bed, looking at Charles deeply, “Daddy offered Lewis another four years, Lewis said he only wanted to sign on for two more right now.”  

“Why?” 

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, “believe it or not, Lewis does not reveal his intentions to me like you do.”  

Charles cracks a smile hearing you tease, “well, maybe I could do Mercedes silver,” he says as he goes back to kissing you. 

You and Charles spend the night together, as the two of you have done many times before.  The next morning, you try to sneak out early enough where no one notices your empty hotel room.  Charles makes your heart feel full, being around him makes you feel at peace, he wears your worries like his own.  He’s everything you ever wanted and needed, and more.  You know that there was no plausible way you could keep this a secret any longer.  You love him too much to pretend nothing is going on.  Although, you also know that your father would not be the happiest, he always said drivers weren’t the type of people you bring home.  However Charles is different, you know he’s what you need, you know that you can bring him home. 

When you did make it back to your own hotel room, you don’t think anyone checked in on the empty room.  You made quick work of packing up your belongings, your father was flying out of Vienna this afternoon, to get a jumpstart on Silverstone.  It being a home grand prix for both of your drivers, the entire week was packed with events.  All events in which you had to attend.  

-

After arriving in Silverstone, did you finally take a breather.  George and Lewis both went to visit their families for the first day.  This allowed you and your father to spend some time away from the race track.  Father instead just went to the factory, and spent some time in the office.  You on the other hand went out with Mamma, before she had to head down to Monza for the F1 Academy race.  

“Mamma,” you called out to Susie,  “do you think Daddy is serious about me taking over the team one day?” 

Your question was enough to stop Susie in her tracks, “yes, I do think he’s serious about it.”  She gave you a perplexed look.  Your father has been talking about you taking over the team since you went off to college.  He is determined that with his recommendation the board will approve for the team principal position. 

“I don’t know if that’s what I want to do though,” you say truthfully.  “I don’t know if I can handle being so close, but not being able to race.” As much as your mind was focused on being a team principal, your heart wanted to drive. 

Susie came up to you, pushing your hair behind your ear, holding your face. She had a gentle smile on her face, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that you couldn’t place.  “You are racing, if you take over the team, you are still a part of the race, but if you walk away, you will only be a spectator.” 

You sigh, you know she’s right, “you’re right, like you always are.” 

Susie laughs at your joke, “tell your Father because he never seems convinced that I’m always right.”  

You laugh, as you and Susie enter the restaurant for lunch.  “Mamma, can I ask you another question?” 

“Of course sweetheart,” Susie answers worryingly, you are not normally this ominous.  

“Would you be upset if I started seeing a driver?”  

Susie doesn’t hide the shock on her face, after your question, “who is it?”  She smirks at you, you weren’t the best at hiding your feelings from Susie.  She was the first to know about your first boyfriend in High school.  She was the first to know about the guy who cheated on you.  She was the first to know about the college boy you wanted to bring home.  And she was the first to know that none of them were enough to match you.  

“It’s no one, it's just a hypothetical, Mamma.” 

“Who, sweetheart?” 

You debate for a second about how to answer, but you know you can’t lie.  You gave away too much, and Susie knows you only use ‘hypothetical’ when it's real.  “Charles.” 

“Leclerc?”  Susie doesn’t mask her shock for a single second.  

“Mamma,” you whine at her reaction.  

“Sweetheart, your father is gonna have an aneurysm when he hears this.” 

“Mamma,” you whine again, this time more seriously, as you feel the water works coming on.  

“Sweetheart?” Susie questions, her face going from shock to stone cold serious as she sees how upset you are.  “This is serious.” 

You sigh, “I really like him, Mamma.  He makes me very happy.”  You look at Susie, and you don’t like the look she has even more.  

She looks very seriously at you, while also having the ‘its not good’ look.  “Your father is not going to like this,” she says honestly, “but,” you watch Susie as she begins to smile, “if you’re happy, that is what's important.” 

You begin to smile as well, “Daddy will get over it right?” 

“I hope so,” Susie says truthfully.  You were Toto’s oldest, nothing would ever be good enough for you.  You were his pride and joy, you were the first, and as the first, you are everything to your father.  Susie knows this, and she knows that no matter how much Charles tries, Toto still won’t think he’s good enough for you.  

-

Susie reminds you that the best way to handle this, is to inform your father sooner rather than later. You agree, but you want to make sure that you and Charles are on the same page as well.  Thursday night, once again you are hiding out in Charles' hotel room, instead of staying in your own room.  The two of you cuddle together on the bed as a movie plays on the TV. 

“Charles,” you start off softly, afraid to disturb the delicate peace that’s settled across the room, “where do you see this going?” 

“What do you mean by that?” Charles asked, as he glanced at you.  

“Us, our relationship, where do you see it going?”  You stared at Charles, while listening to his steady heartbeat. 

“I don’t know,” Charles answers, his answer holds a brutal truth that you don’t like, you sit up to look at Charles, “but, I hope it goes far and long.”  Charles continues to lay in bed while you stare at him, “ I hope that it gets out of hotel rooms, and garage halls, and private phone calls.  I hope it gets you into some red Ferrari gear,” you smile at Charles’ preposterous hope, “I hope that it gets further than this. I love you y/n.”

“I love you too,” you reassure.   

“Why do you ask me that ma chère?” 

“I’m going to tell my father about us,” you say, “and your plans to move to Mercedes.”  You just have to tease him a little bit.  

Charles laughs at you, “you mean your plans to be a Ferrari fan from now on.”  And he always knew how to handle your teasing. 

You laugh going to kiss Charles, “that’s so much work,” you say with another kiss, “you should just switch teams.” 

Charles laughs sarcastically, he loves the banter.  “y/n,” he calls.  It stops you, he never uses your name, “I really do love you.”  He’s probably told you this same sentiment over a thousand times, but each time, it still feels like the first time.  

Your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling, “I love you too.”  Somehow these ‘I love you's' are different, they’re more significant, more meaningful, more genuine, more heartfelt, more profound.  They’re more serious, because they’re not just ‘I love you,’ they’re a promise, a commitment, a lifetime, together.  

-

“Daddy, please can you be rational about this?” You ask as you follow your father about the Monaco home.  Trying to get him to stop complaining about your choices in men.  

“Why couldn’t you date George, at least you would still be supporting Mercedes,” your Father says as the two of you make your way into the kitchen to see Mamma and Jack. 

“Mamma do you hear him?” You ask, indicating your father as ‘him.’ “George is very much in a relationship, Father” 

“And what’s wrong with Lewis?” Your father clearly is not thinking about the age difference between you and Lewis.  

You looked to Mamma to see if your father was serious, and even she was shocked with the suggestion, “you would be okay with me dating someone that is 14 years my senior?” you ask with a brow raised to your father, “you’ve convinced me Daddy, I will stop seeing Charles and start seeing Lewis.” 

Your father sighs, “that is not what I…” 

“Daddy, I invited Charles over for dinner, tomorrow night, that way you can properly meet him as my partner, instead of as a driver.” You tell your father, hoping that you're just imagining the steaming coming out of his ears, “one dinner, Daddy, that’s all.  He makes me really happy.” 

“Okay,” your Father says.  You don’t miss the slight eye roll he gives though.  

“Thank you Daddy,” you say, giving him a hug, before running off to your room like a teenage girl to call Charles and let him know about dinner tomorrow night.  

After your father hears your bedroom door shut, does he turn to his wife.  “Susie,” he calls out, still listening for you, to see if you were coming back out. “A word, privately.” 

“Okay,” Susie answers a bit confused about the request, she turns to Jack, “why don’t you go play for right now.”  Jack nods along excitedly, before running out the room.  “Toto, what is it?” 

“She can’t date Charles.” Toto says, turning his full attention to his wife. 

“What?” 

“Susie, I have seen the drivers in relationships.  They have their girlfriend one weekend, then they have a club girl the next weekend, and then some lucky fan the following weekend.  Charles is no different.” Toto doesn’t hold back in his recounting of the drivers stepping out on their partners, “y/n is gonna get hurt, and her entire image will be tainted by being cheated on by Charles.” 

“Toto don’t you think you’re being a little unfair.” Susie tries her best to defend Charles, but she knows Toto is telling the truth.  She’s seen it too, from a number of drivers amongst the ranks throughout the years.  

“Charles is a hell of a driver, but I'm not gonna allow him to ruin my daughter.”  Toto declares as final, “we need to find a way to stop them from seeing each other before the public catches wind of their relationship.” 

“Toto,” Susie takes a breath, if they do this, they would have to tread very carefully, or they could end more than just your relationship with Charles.  “If she ever finds out that we are interfering in her life like this, she won’t forgive us, she's not a kid anymore.” 

“She wasn’t a kid when we pulled her from racing,” Toto drags up a long forgotten and regretted moment, “we do what we have to, to protect our children, regardless of how it may look.” 

“We’ll need to play this close to the vest.” 

-

To say the evening was filled with tension and awkwardness would be an understatement.  Your father continuously gave Charles dirty looks throughout the night, and you wanted to slap him for being so childish.  Susie was pleasant throughout the evening.  Jack was just being Jack.  He probably talked the most, asking Charles about what it was like to be a real race car driver. 

“This is a very lovely meal,” Charles says to Susie.  You appreciate him trying his best to not ruffle your father’s feathers. 

“Thank you Charles,” Susie appreciates the compliments.  She doesn’t know what is best, because Toto is determined to stop you and Charles from seeing each other.  

“Charles, did you ever pee in the car?” Jack asks, as he shovels another pile of food in his mother.  

“Jack,” you say in a scolding manner, while Charles just laughs at the question.  

Charles has to take a sip of water before answering, “I try my best to make sure I use the bathroom before I get into the car.”  

“Enough questions Jack,” you say to your little brother, getting irritated with how much he was talking.  

“I just wanted to ask the racecar driver,” Jack pouts.  He makes that face with an exaggerated frown, that almost makes you feel guilty.  

“Jack, we’re all race car drivers.  Me, Mamma and Daddy have all raced cars before and you never ask us.” you argue back, you almost feel stupid that you have to argue with a five year old.  

“But you didn’t make it to formula 1,” Jack points out, and now you don’t feel guilty, you just feel sad that Jack had to point out one of your biggest regrets in life.  

“Jack,” Susie says, scolding your brother.  

“I didn’t know you raced,” Charles says, turning to look at you.  

You smile, thinking back to the time, “Yeah, I did karting for years, then I did formula renault, F4 and F3.” 

“Why did you stop?” Charles asks, wondering how you could give it up. 

“I didn’t get a seat in Formula two, and the agreement was if I could get a seat I could race, but I wouldn’t pass up opportunities to race. I got into college, so I gave up racing and went back to school.”  You reveal to Charles, he can hear the regret in your voice, but he chooses not to point it out.  You don’t see that look Susie and Toto exchange when they hear your retelling of events. 

“I see,” Charles says, “It’s a shame, I think you would’ve been a hell of a driver.” 

You chuckle at Charles, “I would definitely have more wins than you by now,” you tease.  

“Oh?” Charles smirks at you, “you would?” 

“Of course I would, because I would be driving for Mercedes, for sure.” You chuckle at your own joke.  

Charles shakes his head at you, his smile spreading far and wide.  Susie watches you and Charles, she's been watching you throughout the night and she knows Charles is enough for you.  She knows that this is your person, that they will never be another that will be able to compete with Charles.  It's him or nothing.  

-

You skip the Hungarian grand prix, especially as the media releases pictures of you and Charles, going back to the Monaco Grand Prix.  Your father thought it best that you stay home, he wasn’t sure how people would react to the relationship news.  You spent a few days before your father left for Hungary, arguing with him that it was unfair to bench you, because of the possibility that fans won’t like the news. 

Clearly, your father won that argument as you sat at home in Monaco, watching the sessions through the TV, instead of being there in person.  What Toto doesn’t tell you, is that he wants you home, so that he can meet with Fred without you getting suspicious. 

After the qualifying session, Toto asked Fred, the team principal of Ferrari, to join him for dinner.  As the two men met away from the paddock, away from the cameras, from the drivers, from the team.  They sat in a private dining room, in an elite restaurant.  Only here did Toto feel comfortable asking what he was about to ask.  

“What are we doing here Toto?” Fred asks, as he sips the beer he ordered.  Fred wouldn’t say it, betraying his French roots, but he always preferred a bottle of beer over a glass of wine.  

“Fred, I have a favor to ask,” Toto requests, he ignores his gut feeling telling him that this is wrong, and continues on, “I want you to delay Charles' contract signing.” 

“Why would I do that?” Fred asks, delaying a contract signing seems like it’s not a big deal, but there's many implications to what that could mean.  

“You would do it, because then I will be in debt to you,” Toto says, he's thought about this, he knows his way through a negotiation. 

“Okay,” Fred says, he has a reason to do so, but what is Toto’s reason for asking? “Now why do you need me to do this?”  

Toto sighs, “y/n.” 

“Your daughter, I saw the news about her Charles,” Fred pauses, taking another sip of the beer, “well actually Charles told me about the relationship back in Miami.” 

“Miami?” Toto questions, “she didn’t tell me until after silverstone.” 

“Charles said he wanted me to know before the public knew, would like to know what else he said?” 

“What?” Toto sighs, once more. 

“Charles said he wants to do this right, that he is serious about her,” Fred offers. 

“We’ve both heard drivers say one thing and do another,” Toto fixes his posture, sitting up in the chair, “I won’t allow my daughter’s image to be run through by Charles.” 

“So you want me to delay a contract signing, to do what?  So you can scare Charles into picking a seat over your daughter? And what happens when he picks your daughter over his seat?”  Fred sits up in his chair as well, looking Toto square in the eyes.  

“If he picks my daughter over his seat, then I know he’s serious about her,” Toto stands upm buttoning his jacket, “but we both know he won’t do that.”  Toto sticks out his hand for Fred to shake.  

Fred stands to shake Toto’s hand, “this doesn’t mean I agreed to anything.”  

“You will agree,” Toto smiles, a little amused at the situation, “we both know me in debt to you is too valuable to pass up.” 

-

Since the news of your relationship has been made public, you and Charles are seen together around the paddock during the Belgian Grand Prix a lot more.  Although you guys did try to keep it as professional as possible, there weren't any public displays of affection between the two of you.  However, that went straight out the window after the race podium celebration.  

Instead of watching the podium you stayed in the garage with your father, since there wasn’t a Mercedes on the podium.  As soon as Charles was done with the podium celebration, he ran straight into the Mercedes garage to collect a celebratory kiss from you.  His, sweaty, champagne-covered, sticky self, pulling you into a tight hug with a deep kiss.   He had one arm wrapped around your waist, while his other hand held onto his trophy.  You were taken aback by the initial kiss, but soon you cupped his cheek and held him close.  

Charles would’ve kissed you longer, but he could feel the cameras on the two of you.  When he finally did pull away, you were a giggling mess that you didn’t even notice the cameras at first.  “Let’s go,” Charles whispers to you, “let’s get out of here.” 

You wanted desperately to leave right then and there with Charles, “I can’t,” you say.  You watch his smile drop just a little, “I have work to finish,” you say while giving the side eye to where your father sat in the Mercedes garage, watching you and Charles.  “And you have a press conference.” 

“Okay, after that then.” Charles says, kissing you on the cheek this time.  

“After that.” 

-

That night, while you and Charles celebrated his podium finish, the picture of you and him making out in the Mercedes garage after his podium celebrations, hit social media. That photo is more talked about than Max’s 8th grand prix win in a row.  That photo is in all the group chats around the paddock.  That photo makes it to the official formula 1 social media pages.  And the biggest take away is your father’s face in the background of the photo.  Everytime you look at it, you laugh knowing that your father most likely made that face subconsciously.  

Since summer break has begun, you spend more time with Charles than at home with your family.  Today, you just so happen to need a few things from your closet, that you stopped in the Monaco home.  That is when you could overhear your parents talking in your father’s office.  

“We need to be more discreet about this now,” your father says to Mamma. 

“Toto, I don’t think this is right.  It’s not fair to y/n or Charles,” Susie says.  Normally you wouldn’t eavesdrop on your parents, but the mention of you and Charles caught your attention.  

“I am trying to protect our daughter,” Toto says, and you can’t help but think. What is your father trying to protect you from? 

“This isn’t protecting her, this is your fear about what could happen,” Susie says.  You can hear in your mamma voice, she’s getting defensive.  

“Like how your fear pulled her from racing,” Toto says in a raised voice.  You’re completely confused as to what your father could mean with that statement.  

There’s a pause.  It goes silent for a second, and you listen closer.  “I was saving her life, we weren’t sure what the FIA would do after Jules.”  There’s a pain in Susie’s voice.  

“Safety measures were put in place,” Toto argues.  

“After you pushed back on them.” 

“I have changed my position on the halo, you know that,” Toto says.  Even though the wood doors separate you from seeing your parents, you can clearly imagine what this fight is looking like. 

“After Lewis almost dies!”  Mamma never shouts, is your singular thought after hearing that statement.  “What if you had gotten your way and the halo was never placed?  What if it was our daughter in that car?  I pulled her from racing to save her life, because you sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.”  Susie pulls open the office door to see you standing on the other side.  You watch her face drop from anger to sadness quickly.  “Sweetheart…” 

“Mamma… you pulled me from racing?” You question as the tears begin to well in your eyes. 

“Sweetheart…” Susie repeats, shes at a complete loss for words.  

“You told me that I wasn’t picked up for a seat.” you take a breath before you start crying, “was that the truth?” 

“Darling,” Toto calls out to you.  

“Was it the truth?” You ask again, this time you make the hurt evident in your voice, “you told me a team didn’t want to pick me for F2, was that the truth?” 

“You weren’t anybody’s first choice,” Susie pauses, “but you were on the list.”  You feel your break, as you start to cry.  “We worked a few negotiations to ensure that you didn’t get picked.  We worked to pull you from racing.”  

You were a hyperventilating mess, you couldn’t stop the tears, the sobs, the heartbreak from happening. “You told me…You told me, if I earned my seat without you or daddy interfering I could keep racing.  You promised that you would let me race.” 

“We wanted to protect you, we didn’t want what happened to Jules.” 

“Don’t you dare,” you snap at Susie, “don’t use what happened to Jules as an excuse.”  You walked away, racing up the stairs.  Towards your bedroom, you could hear your parents rushed footsteps as they followed after you.  You began to shove clothes into a bag, as you tried to violently wipe away the tears.  

“Where are you going?” Your father asks in a calm voice.  

“I’m gonna stay with Charles for a while.”  When you mention Charles, you remembered the beginning of the conversation.  You stopped packing your clothes.  Slowly you turned to face your parents.  “What did you do?” 

“Excuse me?” your father questions. 

“What did you do to Charles?  Mamma said it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, whatever you were doing.  What did you do to Charles daddy?” You’re out of breath, you fear whatever your father has to say.   

You watch as your father sighs, he hangs his head.  “I asked Fred to delay his contract signing.  Ferrari wants to keep Charles, they’re going to give him whatever he wants.  I asked for Fred to just hold off on signing the contract.” 

You scoff at the revelation.  “Just long enough to scare Charles into picking a seat over me.  This is rich from the both of you.”  

“Sweetheart…” Susie calls out to you as she reaches to hold you.  

“Don’t touch me,” you snap once again.  You couldn’t tell if you were really angry or sad or shocked, but you did know you were just hurt.  Your parents had taken away your dreams, and they were trying to take away your love.  “You took away racing,” you take a breath, you strip away all the excess, you let them hear the hurt in your voice, “I won’t let you take Charles away too.”  

When you do make it Charles’ place.  When he opens the door for you, he sees you silently crying and shaking.  Your voice is hoarse already, that it’s only a whisper when you ask, “can I stay with you for a few days?” 

“Of course,” Charles says as he welcomes you inside.  When he finally closes the door, you drop your bag to the floor, and just hold onto Charles tightly.  He wraps his arms around you, providing you with the comfort you longed for.

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

Part II

[joezworld]

Express Engines

This one is very long, and has Formatting.™ Be aware of that.

The next week

“Oh, that reminds me,” Gordon said one night. “Samarkand, I have been meaning to commend you on your performance with the Northern Belle last week. Three minutes ahead of schedule, with a full train of Pullman coaches? Well done.”

Sam blushed, while James’s brows furrowed. “Three minutes? Her? She’s got wheels the size of pie tins!” 

“And look at how well she does with them!” Caerphilly exclaimed from the other side of the shed. “If we had ten more of her the rest of us could sleep until noon.”

Sam’s blush deepend. “Guys…”

“James,” Gordon said in a faux-whisper. “You are aware that you and Samarkand have identically-sized wheels, correct?”

Aghast spluttering met this, and was ignored with some bemusement. 

“I say,” Caerphilly raised an eyebrow. “How fast did you get, Sam?”

Sam now resembled a tomato, but a pleased expression worked its way across her smokebox. “Faster than I’ve ever been before, is all I’ll say.”   

“Oh that’s hardly scientific, don’t you think?” Caerphilly was all smiles, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes that Gordon and Sam both caught. (James remained clueless) “Don’t you want to know?”

“Know what?” The conversation was interrupted by Delta rumbling into the shed. “And what’s with him?” She asked as the turntable swung past James.

“... My wheels are not small!” James squeaked, red in the face and thoroughly humiliated.

“Well they’re bigger than mine, so you’ve got that going for you. Who said they were small?”

“... I-I did.”

“What? Jamie… how?” 

----

The discussion waned for a while, as the other engines returned to the shed, but eventually it started back up again. 

For the engines on one side of the shed, it was a perfectly normal conversation about the high-speed capabilities of themselves and the other engines. 

For the engines on the other side of the shed, it was a terrifying and mind-bending experience as Gordon and Caerphilly continued to claim that the other was the better express engine. 

“And you’re sure?” Delta whispered to Bear as the clock swung past 11. 

“I’m not sure of anything. Am I even here? Am I real? Is this actually happening? Maybe I’m dead and this is all a test to decide if I go to heaven or not.”

“Oh don’t be dramatic.” Henry rolled his eyes, having been trying (and failing) to sleep for some time.

“Samarkand, I think you’re underselling yourself.” Gordon lectured across the room, voice echoing through the rafters. “With a minimal amount of instruction, you could substitute for Caerphilly and I with no issues.”

“Oh, without question.” Caerphilly chimed in. “And before you try and downplay that idea - just remember that this is not a two-way system. I doubt that either of us could do your work as well as you can. It’s a rare gift you have, being a jack of all trades.”

“You know Caerphilly,” Gordon pondered. “If you are that dead-set on evidence and data, we may have to take a goods turn or two, in order to see how our performance differs.”

Sam laughed out loud at that, and when the two protested, she started explaining exactly what they’d be in for. 

“Maybe we’re all dead.” Henry whispered. “Have we considered that? Maybe we all were killed in a tragic accident, and none of this is actually happening.”

---

The clock ticked past Midnight. 

“Didn’t Pendennis melt his firebars once? I seem to recall that anecdote floating around.”

“Oh yes, Scotsman told me all about it, once he returned from Australia. You weren’t there of course, but in those last years everyone’s state of repair was poor at best. I’m sure that with modern metallurgy there would be no issues.”

-------

1 in the morning came and went. Delta stopped being able to understand them, words blurring together into a mush of syllables.  

“Well, I had thought that it was King’s Cross, but then they sent me to St. Pancras! And goodness me there’s more of them still! Euston, Waterloo, Marylebone, Fenchurch Street…”

“And here I thought Paddington was enough. How many are there now?”

“Oh my, they’ve added so many commuter lines now - or so Pip and Emma tell me. I think there’s 17 or 20!”

----

At half past one, Henry’s eye started twitching again. Bear was asleep, but muttering something about Cannon Street station in between snores. 

“Speaking of Pip and Emma, I feel like they could shave a few minutes off their current timings, but at the cost of running afoul of the Limited, among other trains. Heh. As loath as I am to admit it, the express doesn’t run in a vacuum, and extra space in the pathings can work wonders for unnecessary delays.”

“You don’t think that it would be a better point to simply improve the on-time percentages of the other trains on the network?”

“Hah, wait until you take an all-stops service during the summer bank holidays. I swear the passengers will coordinate ways to delay you.”

“It was never that bad on the Great Western…”

“The Great Western was a service. We are an attraction, and the passengers act accordingly.”

---------

The two distant rings of a church bell bounced around James’s smokebox. 

“You don’t think the old loco tests matter?” 

“I think it’s a matter of mechanical fitness. I’ve been built and rebuilt by Crewe and Crovan’s Gate so many times that I may as well be an entirely different engine. We all are, except you - the one thing that museum did do is preserve you exactly as you had been after your last rebuild. It wouldn’t be so much a test of North Eastern versus Great Western as it would be of Crovan's Gate versus Swindon.”

“When did Crewe rebuild you?”

“Oh, Samarkand, did we wake you? I’m sorry.”

“Nah, I was only dozing, it’s fine.”

“Ah, well, I was rebuilt just before the second world war - what a boon that was for us. Sir Topham was close friends with Mr. Stanier from the LMS, and after he saw the work they did to Henry, he sent me over as well. Of course, I didn’t enjoy the process, being younger and even more prideful, but in hindsight it has served me well.”

“So hang on, wasn’t Stanier at the Great Western before?”

“He was. He was in charge of Swindon works when they built me. As a matter of fact, he was one of the first faces I ever saw.”

“So, he built you, then he re-built you, and then he taught Mr. Riddles everything he knew, and that led to… me.”

“It seems that greatness has a very distinct path through the railway system.”

“That’s a strong word for it.”

“Well, what would you call it?” 

“I couldn’t say. Good engineering? Longevity?”

“Immortality?”

“Now that is a strong word for it indeed…”

----------

Two Thirty. Henry was losing his mind. 

“I feel like it may come down to train composition. Any engine can make a speed record attempt with three coaches. It takes a real powerhouse to do so with six.”

“Route knowledge may also be required - after all, going fast on a downhill straight is something that anyone can do.”

“Well isn’t that sort of the-”

“OH FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!” Henry finally snapped. “You’ve been going on about this for almost five hours! I want to go to sleep! If you don’t know which one of you is faster then organize a time trial or something, but do it in the morning so I can go to bed!”

There was a period of shocked silence that lasted for a few minutes, just long enough for Henry’s eyes to slam shut. The rest of the engines followed suit soon after, and the sound of snoring filled the air. 

Gordon looked contemplative. “You know, a time trial might just work.”

“It could, but on what? The express and the limited change in length on a daily basis.”

“Have either of you taken the Boat Train recently..?”

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

Part two: The Boat Train

The Island of Sodor was not only connected to the outside world by rail; befitting its status as an Island, Sodor was served by a plethora of ferry services, with sailings to locales as near as Barrow-In-Furness, and as far as France and Spain. The three largest ferry companies serving the island were P&O Stena Line, Irish Ferries, and the Isle of Man Steam Packet Company. The 1990s had been a very turbulent time for the ferry industry in Britain and Ireland as a whole, and ferry lines of varying sizes had been purchased and incorporated into the bigger companies. Many of these, like Sealink, B&I Line, European Ferries, and several smaller operators, had served Sodor through ferry terminals at Tidmouth, and their new owners soon found themselves having double or triple the amount of facilities they needed - even worse, not any one terminal was big enough to handle all of the consolidated traffic. As the 1990s wore on, and the new millennium dawned, competition from both the North Western Railway and the airport at Dryaw meant that the ferry companies had to move quickly. 

For some, this wasn’t an issue. Irish Ferries had bought B&I, and their terminals were next door, meaning that it took very little construction to combine the two facilities. Similarly, the Isle of Man Steam Packet Company hadn’t bought anyone, and their cozy but still usable terminal on Tidmouth’s waterfront remained unchanged.

However, P&O Stena was not as lucky. Created as a joint venture of the two largest ferry companies on the Dover-Calais route, both of whom had fallen on hard times after the opening of the Channel Tunnel, it was a massive tangle of international and domestic ferry services operating under five different brand names. Formed just three years ago in 1998, the union was troubled from the start, and there were already rumblings of yet another name change; supposedly P&O wanted to buy out Stena Lines and then rename everything so as to simplify its corporate structure. 

On Sodor, simplifying things was rather complicated. To start, Stena Line had previously bought most of SeaLink - the ferry division of British Rail - and so served four ex-BR routes from Wales and Ireland to the island, none of which terminated in Tidmouth:

Knapford-Dublin (Ireland)

Knapford-Belfast (N. Ireland)

Knapford-Fishguard (Wales) 

Kirk Ronan-Holyhead (Wales)

Additionally, Stena Line had its own services from before it bought Sealink, which all left from Tidmouth:

Tidmouth-Cairnryan (Scotland)

Tidmouth-Cherbourg (France)

Tidmouth-Santander (Spain)

Then, on top of all of this, P&O had its own set of pre-merger services, which left mostly from Tidmouth: 

Tidmouth-Troon (Scotland)

Tidmouth-Holyhead (Wales)

Tidmouth-Belfast (N. Ireland)

Tidmouth-Dublin (Ireland)

Kirk Ronan-Larne (N. Ireland)

Kirk Ronan-Fishguard (Wales)

As one might be able to tell, this web of ferry services was complex and resource intensive. Unlike Irish Ferries/B&I, the P&O and Stena terminals were nowhere near each other in Tidmouth, and even if they had been, Stena’s ex-Sealink facilities had been built cheaply in the 1970s, and were falling apart at the seams. Furthermore, having half the Stena routes in Knapford was undesirable, as P&O wanted to issue connecting tickets, allowing Scottish and Irish travelers a more direct route to France and Spain. If a new terminal was to be built, it would have to involve either the construction of an entire new ferry port, or the total closure and reconstruction of one of the existing ones. Surprisingly, P&O Stena was more than willing to spend money on an entirely new terminal if it meant everything going smoothly, but with the expansion of Tidmouth Docks well underway, no such space was available. They would have to build a new “super terminal” on the spot of one of the existing terminals, big enough to hold all the passengers for all the Tidmouth/Knapford routes under one roof. 

More problems followed. The Stena Terminal was huge, but falling to bits, while the P&O terminal was scarcely big enough for the routes it already had, and was hemmed in on all sides by new industrial developments surrounding the harbour. Worse still, the extra space in Stena’s Knapford terminal was being rented by cruise ship companies, and the local council had made it very clear that this lucrative source of local income was not to be meddled with. It was therefore decided that the Stena terminal at Tidmouth would be demolished, and the new Super Terminal built in its place. 

The complication then became how they would fit all of the Stena traffic into the waterfront shoebox that was the P&O terminal. 

The short answer was that they didn’t. 

The long answer was that the North Western Railway made a lot of money off of P&O Stena between 2000 and 2002. 

The even longer answer was that while there were significant space constraints at Tidmouth, no such thing existed at the ex-Sealink Terminal in Kirk Ronan. Sealink had purposely overbuilt the place in the late 1970s, assuming that the aborted M590 motorway project would bring a six-lane superhighway right to Sodor’s eastern coast, and allow for a much smoother connection to the Irish ferry services. Of course, that never happened, and the only ferries that serve the massive facility are small ones that primarily benefit Sodor’s eastern communities. 

But, in 2000, P&O Stena had an idea. They would re-route most of the Stena sailings to Kirk Ronan, and offer connection tickets to Ireland and Scotland from that point. However, due to ticketing agreements between Stena and The Isle of Man Steam Packet Company, along with some passenger’s rather fervent desire to go to the biggest city on Sodor instead of a sleepy fishing town where seagulls outnumbered people 4 to 1, there would be a connection service between the two ports using the North Western Railway. 

Each morning, a seven-car train would leave Tidmouth Docks after the inbound Irish and Scottish ferries had docked, and run as an express to Kirk Ronan station, before continuing to the coach yards in Barrow as an empty stock working. Later in the day a different engine would then collect the empty coaches from Barrow, and return the train under a similar express working, now carrying passengers from the Spanish, French, and Welsh ferries. 

Known on timetables as “The Kirk Ronan Boat Train”, and on advertising material as “THE P&O STENA EXPLORER”, it was technically a charter train, and stayed at the same fixed length and timing every day for the duration of the service, as P&O Stena’s internal research showed that this would be well-suited for “all but the worst-case scenarios.” 

What this fixed-length, identically timed, charter train was also well suited for… was a time trial.

----  

It took surprisingly little effort to convince the Fat Controller to allow this - since nobody was attempting to break a record (or act unsafely while attempting to break a record), he felt it would be little different from the normal runs, except for the inclusion of very precise timing and speed measurement equipment in the baggage compartment of the lead coach. In order for everything to be done exactly the same, the down-bound service from Kirk Ronan to Tidmouth Docks would be the only one used for the trial. 

The engines were fairly excited for this - Sam was chomping at the bit for her turn, James was trying very hard (and failing) to pretend like he wasn’t interested, Delta outright said that she wanted a go, and Caerphilly was ecstatic that this was proceeding without any major fuss. 

Gordon and Henry were the sole outliers - Henry thought this was idiotic, and wanted no part of it, while Gordon was mercurial about his actual feelings on the subject, saying little but being supportive of everyone. 

James attempted to needle Gordon about being “worried that he’d lose his title,” and the subsequent dressing-down could have stripped the paint off a wall. Those with more than a single brain cell bouncing around their smokebox like an errant bumblebee took it to mean that Gordon was, if nothing else, willing to be a gracious loser no matter how unlikely the chances may be. 

----

A few days later

The timing equipment was placed inside the baggage coach and calibrated just in time for the Thursday run of the Boat Train.  

First to be rostered on the “time trial” trains was Henry, and once he remembered that this was technically his idea, he went from “annoyed” to “incensed.” “I don’t want to do this!” he complained to Caerphilly, as he collected the empty coaches from the yard in Barrow. “This is entirely for your benefit, not mine!”

“Oh, but that’s the thing!” The science museum had really rubbed off on Caerphilly. “You’re the control subject!”

“Control subject? What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re the marker that we measure against. An unmotivated subject, acting without any-”

“UNMOTIVATED?!”

“Not like that!” 

But it was too late. 

“Unmotivated! Is that what this is about? I’m not some layabout! Is that what you think of me?! Just you wait and see, Castle! I’ll put you and Gordon into the dirt!” 

And Henry stormed away, “I’ll show them! I’ll show them!” trailing in his wake. 

“... that is not at all what I meant.” Caerphilly said lamely as the coaches vanished over the bridge. “Well, there goes our control sample.”

-------

Maron Station

🎼 Raucous guitar solo 🎼 

Gordon was not enjoying the stopping train duties today. The passengers seemed to be conspiring with each other today, and there was a massive group of foolish tourists standing on the platform, attempting to make sure that nobody was left on the train. 

🎼 Like the last of the good ol' puffer trains 🎼

“I swear, if they do not know how to disembark from a train at the correct station, they deserve to be sent to Barrow.” The big engine grumbled, but didn’t urge the guard to hurry the process up - he knew from experience this would do the opposite. 

🎼I'm the last of the soot and scum brigade🎼

The only positive to this situation was that the station’s tannoy system was playing Radio 2. Fortunately it wasn’t any of that modern nonsense with the young men singing in harmony, and while Gordon wasn’t entirely fond of groups like the Kinks, this song was perhaps best viewed as a guilty pleasure. 

🎼And all this peaceful living is drivin' me insane 🎼

As the song entered the last few lines, a whistle sounded in the distance, and Henry came into view. His face was red, his cloud of steam was laid flat against his boiler, and he rocked from side to side under force of his own connecting rods. 

With seven coaches behind him, he roared through the station at what seemed to be just under the speed of sound, whistling like a banshee as he went. 

🎼 I'm the last of the good old fashioned steam-powered trains 🎼 

And then, as quickly as he’d appeared, he’d gone. The song hadn’t even ended, and the marker lamps were already disappearing into the distance. All that was left of its passage was a few windblown newspapers flying off the platform. 

“What was that?” Yelped Gordon’s driver. 

“That,” Gordon remarked. “Is Caerphilly not getting her control sample for the time trial.”

🎼 I'm the last of the good old fashioned steam-powered trains… 🎼 

---

The timetable put the boat train’s run at 1 hour and 2 minutes. Due to traffic on the Kirk Ronan branch line, Kellsthorpe Road station, and the junction leading to the harbour, the time trials only covered the section of the route on the main line - that is, from the junction at Kellsthorpe Road station to the tunnel between Tidmouth and Knapford. This portion of the journey was timetabled at 41 minutes, and Gordon and Caerphilly thought that it would be possible to shave up to five minutes off that time while still obeying the speed limits. 

Henry’s run was actually over the timetable, at 1 hour and 5 minutes. However, this was due to meeting another train on the Kirk Ronan branch, and his time between Kellsthorpe and Knapford was a much more impressive 38 minutes. The train recorded an average speed of 83 miles an hour down the main line, and the top speed was recorded near Cronk station - a whopping 101.34 miles per hour.

“And you thought this was idiotic…” Gordon teased that night in the sheds, as the other engines raised a fuss. 

“I still think it’s idiotic.” Henry said with a hidden smile. “I just happen to be an idiot.”

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

Henry’s run sent shockwaves up and down the main line. Aside from scientific-minded passengers with stopwatches (and the odd railway inspector who needed a specific result), nobody had ever bothered to collect detailed data on train speeds before. Gordon had always been “the fastest and the best” based purely off of his ability to, well, be faster, even if nobody knew what faster was. Learning that Henry, who was slightly smaller and ever-so less powerful than Gordon, cracked 100 miles an hour in a fit of pique suddenly made everyone else on the Island wonder exactly what they were capable of.

The Barrow stationmaster was the official “keeper” of the sign-up sheet for the time trials, and over the next few days he watched in amazement as the list of engines got longer and longer…

----

The next day

Up next was… well, it was supposed to be Gordon, but James had kicked up such a fuss that the big engine eventually relented - it was far easier to let James have this small victory than deal with a week’s worth of whinging, pleading, and wheedling. 

Of course, karma was not willing to let James off easy. Leaving the yard in Barrow with the coaches, he was delayed - ironically enough - by a different ferry boat sailing into Barrow harbour. The bridge had some difficulty locking into place afterwards, and Henry saw (and heard) James impatiently yelling at the fitters as they banged on the locking mechanism with sledgehammers.

“It only took twenty minutes to fix it,” he said to Gordon when they met at Knapford some time later. “But you’d think they’d held him three hours!” 

“Yes, well, I suppose better him than me.” Gordon’s amusement was confined to a slight upturn of his lips. “I do hope that his tardiness doesn’t interfere with the results, though. I would hate for him to have to do this again.”

“I didn’t think he’d be that late?” Henry said. “The train sits there for an hour before leaving.” 

“Yes, I am aware,” Gordon said. “But I must note that there are more than a few ferries at the harbour waiting somewhat impatiently for their guaranteed connection.”

“So he hasn’t come through then?” Henry was aghast and on the verge of laughter at the same time. “How?” 

“I’ll tell you how!” Bear rolled into the station with a container train, a smile stretching across his face. “Simon’s train came off in the Rolf’s Castle passing loop. James was there for an hour! I could hear him yelling from the junction!” 

Henry and Gordon were big engines, but not big enough that they were above laughing at James’ misfortune. “Oh heavens,” Gordon chuckled. “Perhaps next time he should take the schedule as intended!” 

“Oh, I feel bad for Delta, she’s going to have to calm him down all night!” Henry chortled, sending misshapen smoke rings into the sky. 

Just then, the signal for the down fast line dropped to clear. “Oh goodness, I bet this is him. Should we be supportive?”

The three engines looked at each other for a second, and then burst out laughing again. The guffaws continued as James rattled through the station, face as red as his boiler. 

-

That night, James refused to talk about it with anyone, and as predicted, Delta was up half the night soothing his ego. Gordon and Henry (and to a lesser extent, Bear) were predictably unhelpful. 

The next morning, Delta was entirely too tired to do anything, and proved this by accidentally backing through a set of buffers and ending up in the station car park. She wasn’t badly damaged, but she still needed to be looked over by the mechanical staff (and spoken to by the Fat Controller), and so didn’t take the Boat Train that day. 

Nobody was quite sure who would end up taking the train, and so it was quite a surprise when a triumphant Wendell rolled into the coach yards a few hours later. “I think I’ve done it!” he crowed. “Certainly the fastest I’ve ever gone, but I think I may have beaten the class record!” 

And he had. 

That night the shed foreman put up a corkboard, and pinned up all the times so far. 

ENGINE | TOTAL TIME | TIMED PORTION | AVG. SPEED | MAX SPEED ▼ WENDELL | 1:01 | 36:42 | 86.11 MPH | 102.04 MPH  HENRY   | 1:05 | 38:00 | 83.01 MPH | 101.34 MPH JAMES   | 2:17 | 40:09 | 78.60 MPH |  97.29 MPH

--------

The next day, Delta was up for the train. (The Fat Controller had been surprisingly understanding about the whole situation - after all, her driver could have stopped her well before the buffers.)

“Doesn’t your class have a speed limiter?” the lead coach asked as the train pulled out of the yard. 

“I did!” Delta said brightly as the train clattered across the bridge.

“Whatever does that mean?” the coach said quietly, before she was bumped by one of her fellows. 

“You nit!” The coach behind her sniffed. “You think the works is going to care about a speed limiter?”

-

There was a work crew on the lineside by Killdane, clearing weeds and vegetation, and they took a number of steps back to be clear of passing trains. 

Even at that distance, the wind from Delta’s passage was so great that two men fell over and tumbled down the embankment. The foreman turned to look, and felt a thock! against his hard hat as a rock kicked up by the train’s passage bounced off his head! 

--

The train flew down the line towards Maron. A swarm of insects was hovering over the warm rails, and the train plowed through them at speed. 

“It sounds like we’re being shot at!” the second man yelped, as pings and clacks echoed through the cab. 

“It’s only bees!” the driver said, activating the windscreen wipers to clear the gunk. 

“If those are bees then I need to tell my exterminator to get an anti-aircraft gun!”

---

At Wellsworth Station, the train was so early that the signalman had assumed he’d have a few minutes to use the loo. He had to run back to his box and set the signals with his trousers undone and his belt flying in the breeze!

----

Marina recoiled as the train pulled into the docks. “Do I even want to know what happened to you?”

Delta, who was covered from buffers to roof with bug splats, dust, and dirt, didn’t say anything. The fact that she was smiling like an idiot was more than enough.

ENGINE | TOTAL TIME | TIMED PORTION | AVG. SPEED | MAX SPEED ▼ DELTA   | 1:03 | 34:01 | 90.22 MPH | 107.85 MPH WENDELL | 1:01 | 36:42 | 86.11 MPH | 102.04 MPH  HENRY   | 1:05 | 38:00 | 83.01 MPH | 101.34 MPH JAMES   | 2:17 | 40:09 | 78.60 MPH |  97.29 MPH

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

The next day 

“Shall I wish you the best of Western Luck?” Caerphilly ventured hesitantly. She really hadn’t spent any time with Bear alone, and the ramifications of what Truro had done to him loomed large even still. 

“I think you’re about sixteen years too late for that,” the Hymek chuckled. “But I’ll take it in spirit.”

“Ah, yes, well… it’s only-”

He continued to laugh, cutting her off. “I understand completely. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, and all. You should talk to Duck about that sometime… he’d understand.”

“Ah, yes, well… he and I have-” Caerphilly continued to trip over her own words. 

“Oh please don’t be awkward around me.” Unlike Caerphilly, Bear was relaxing more and more as the conversation went. “You’re a co-worker now, we have to work together, so consider everything that’s done as done.” 

His gaze became conspiratorial. “And, any engine that threatens to feed City of Truro his own boiler tubes is a friend of mine.”

“You heard about that?!” Caerphilly let out a shocked bark of laughter. 

“I hear many things about him. For example, did you know that he was deported from the Netherlands for being a miserable toerag?”

“No!” 

“Oh yes! He’ll never talk about it, but that’s why he came back so quickly from that continental excursion tour…”

They kept talking until it was time for the two engines to collect their coaches. Despite Bear’s… complicated history with the Great Western, the two engines’ shared upbringing soon led to an impenetrable string of “Western-isms” that was capable of repelling even Bloomer, who eyed them with suspicion from the other side of the shed. 

“So, any thoughts on this before you head off? Any crucial information I should know about?” Now that she was thinking about the speed trials, Caerphilly really, really, really could not turn off Science Museum Docent Voice even if she wanted to. (She didn’t)

“Yes, actually,” Bear smiled as something occurred to him. “You went into the museum before I was built, didn’t you?”

“Yes?” This was worrying from a data-collection standpoint. Don’t let the books on diesels be wrong again… Just let him be mechanically normal!

“The works tried a lot of things to get my engine to work the way they wanted it to. Eventually they just replaced it with one that was better. One from a Western.” He looked simultaneously smug and predatory at that. It was a good look on him. 

“A Western… like Fusilier at the museum?” 

The predatory smile was incredibly good-natured, but it was still distressing to watch it grow even larger. “Exactly like Fuse. He’s certainly not using them.”

Whatever Caerphilly was going to say next was stopped in its tracks by Bear’s signal raising to a clear aspect. With a loud mechanical rumble, Bear’s engine revved to the redline, and the empty train powered out of the station and over the bridge faster than Caerphilly ever would have expected. 

“I don’t know why I’m even bothering with this anymore,” Caerphilly said to nobody in particular. “The data will be so corrupted that I’m going to be the control sample.”

There was a distant horn blast, as Bear cleared the crossings near Vicarstown station. For him to have gone that far that quickly… I hope Henry knows how lucky he is.

--------

ENGINE | TOTAL TIME | TIMED PORTION | AVG. SPEED | MAX SPEED ▼ DELTA   | 1:03 | 34:01 | 90.22 MPH | 107.85 MPH BEAR    | 1:01 | 36:12 | 86.74 MPH | 104.36 MPH WENDELL | 1:01 | 36:42 | 86.11 MPH | 102.04 MPH  HENRY   | 1:05 | 38:00 | 83.01 MPH | 101.34 MPH JAMES   | 2:17 | 40:09 | 78.60 MPH |  97.29 MPH

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

The next day was Sunday, and the express didn’t run to the mainland. Usually, Pip and Emma spent the downtime getting essential work done, but a power outage in Crovan’s Gate town meant that the facility was running mostly off of backup generators. This left Pip and Emma at somewhat of a loose end. 

About three hours later, the staff in the diesel shed had decided that a pair of diesels looking at them like lost puppies had gone on for long enough, and went to find them something to do. 

An hour after that, and they were being coupled up to the coaches for the Boat Train.  Caerphilly saw them go by as she stopped at Crovan’s Gate station. “I’m getting so much data that I don’t need,” she said to no-one in particular. “What on earth am I going to do with it?”

---------

ENGINE | TOTAL TIME | TIMED PORTION | AVG. SPEED | MAX SPEED ▼ PIP/EMMA | 0:56 | 29:31 | 107.17 MPH | 127.23 MPH DELTA    | 1:03 | 34:01 |  90.22 MPH | 107.85 MPH BEAR     | 1:01 | 36:12 |  86.74 MPH | 104.36 MPH WENDELL  | 1:01 | 36:42 |  86.11 MPH | 102.04 MPH  HENRY    | 1:05 | 38:00 |  83.01 MPH | 101.34 MPH JAMES    | 2:17 | 40:09 |  78.60 MPH |  97.29 MPH

-------

Monday morning rolled around, and no-one was more surprised than Gordon to find BoCo heading a stopper train into Barrow station around noon. “BoCo? Has someone failed?”

“Not at all,” BoCo replied. “I’m just doing someone a favour.” 

“And who might that be?” The only one lazy enough to suggest such a thing was James, and considering that going to Barrow meant an opportunity to wheedle his way onto another Boat Train turn, it seemed highly unlikely that he’d pass on the chance.

“Me,” BoCo said firmly. “I’m doing this for me.” He said it with such firm resolution that Gordon found that he had no response to give. 

BoCo spent the next half hour in the shed, deep in thought, or perhaps meditation. Gordon had an inkling of what was going on, and did his best to shoo Bloomer away. 

Sure enough, when the time came, BoCo was on the point of the Boat Train, and was staring at the signal with deep intensity. 

“Are you sure that this is… a favour?” Gordon asked hesitantly, backing down onto the Limited. 

“It’s something like that.” BoCo never took his eyes off the signal. 

“Do you think that you’re… ready for this?” 

“I don’t care if I’m not.”

“BoCo… what is this about?”

The diesel finally looked away from the signal bridge, and Gordon was struck by the expression on his face. It was both one of youthful determination, and aged resignation. Vitality and fragility. Contentment and loss. Fear and calm. It was like looking back into the late 1960s, as the world fell apart. 

“I’m the last Condor, and I need to know if I can still fly.” 

The signal rose, and BoCo was bathed in the green light as he departed. Gordon sounded his whistle as the coaches rolled out of sight. “Good luck, my friend…”

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

ENGINE | TOTAL TIME | TIMED PORTION | AVG. SPEED | MAX SPEED ▼ PIP/EMMA | 0:56 | 29:31 | 107.17 MPH | 127.23 MPH DELTA    | 1:03 | 34:01 |  90.22 MPH | 107.85 MPH BEAR     | 1:01 | 36:12 |  86.74 MPH | 104.36 MPH WENDELL  | 1:01 | 36:42 |  86.11 MPH | 102.04 MPH  HENRY    | 1:05 | 38:00 |  83.01 MPH | 101.34 MPH BOCO     | 1:02 | 36:22 |  86.64 MPH | 100.81 MPH  JAMES    | 2:17 | 40:09 |  78.60 MPH |  97.29 MPH

---------

The next morning, Gordon took the up-bound Boat Train to Kirk Ronan. While the passengers boarded at the docks in Tidmouth, he noticed a strange sight and sound - James was cursing and yelling like an engine twice his size as he bashed and bumped lines of container cars and fish vans around. “You don’t get Marina today! You get me! You know what that means? ORDER!” 

Gordon wisely decided not to get involved, but wondered where Marina was all the way to Kirk Ronan, and then wondered some more as he took the empty coaches to Barrow. 

When he got to the yard, everything became clear. Marina was asleep in the middle of the yard, still connected to the now-empty fish vans from the Flying Kipper. She slowly woke up as he shunted the coaches next to her. “G’morning.” 

“Afternoon, more like it.” Gordon raised an eyebrow. 

“Has it been that long?” She yawned. “Don’t think I’ve slept in like that in years.”

“James seems set on waging war with the trucks down at the harbor.” Gordon held the eyebrow where it was. 

“It’s fine, he and Delta both owe me favors.”

“Whatever for?” 

“... I don’t think you want to know. I barely want to know.”

“...” Gordon didn’t know how to respond to that, and elected to change the subject. “I don’t recall you showing any interest in these trials.” 

“Well,” she said, engine kicking over as she began to wake up fully. “I remember when BoCo’s class was new, and while I never met any of them at the time, I remember hearing all the reasons why I was better than them, not least of which was that they were type 2s, and I was a type 3.” 

She paused for a moment, remembering something. “Then, thirty years later, I came here and I met him, and that odd-looking type 2 proceeded to best me in every conceivable way there was. And I asked him how, and all he did was laugh and say that the works here were just that good. At first I thought that maybe they had fixed him, made him whole, but later, I began to realize that they made him… more.” 

Her eyes sparkled in the midday sun. Gordon began to wonder if he needed to have longer and more regular conversations with the diesels.

She continued. “And then, a few years later, the works called for me, and they called for him at the same time. They told me that they were going to “improve me.” And while I was being taken apart, I saw them take him apart.” Her eyes flashed, and Gordon began to wonder if maybe this trial was having effects on engines in ways he didn’t know about. 

“He’s not a type 2, not anymore,” She said with reverence. “Just like I’m not a type 3. Now I’m more, and I need to know how much more I am.”

With a fine-tuned roar of exhaust, she powered away to the diesel pumps, leaving Gordon feeling overwhelmed, yet contemplative.

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

ENGINE | TOTAL TIME | TIMED PORTION | AVG. SPEED | MAX SPEED ▼ PIP/EMMA | 0:56 | 29:31 | 107.17 MPH | 127.23 MPH DELTA    | 1:03 | 34:01 |  90.22 MPH | 107.85 MPH BEAR     | 1:01 | 36:12 |  86.74 MPH | 104.36 MPH WENDELL  | 1:01 | 36:42 |  86.11 MPH | 102.04 MPH  MARINA   | 1:06 | 37:11 |  85.00 MPH | 101.73 MPH HENRY    | 1:05 | 38:00 |  83.01 MPH | 101.34 MPH BOCO     | 1:02 | 36:22 |  86.64 MPH | 100.81 MPH  JAMES    | 2:17 | 40:09 |  78.60 MPH |  97.29 MPH

-----------

The next day, everything was quiet. Gordon and Caerphilly had both assumed that Sam would be taking her turn at the boat train today, and had strategically placed themselves on the line to offer encouragement. For Caerphilly, this meant moving a line of empty china clay trucks from the works to the clay pits at Brendam, a job that would involve spending lots of time in sidings letting more important trains go by. For Gordon…

“Have you ever done this before?” In a complete reversal of his demeanour just a few days ago, BoCo was chipper and all smiles, although this may have had something to do with watching Gordon shunt the pick-up goods. 

“Yes, rarely, and I would like to keep it that way,” Gordon huffed. The trucks had known exactly  how uncommon of an occurrence this was, and were reveling in the opportunity to cause trouble for “the big cheese,” as they’d taken to calling him. Even worse, there had been some sort of dispute between the usual express crews and the crews from Cargo Operations, and the end result meant that he had three men far more used to express passenger trains making an absolute hash of things on his footplate. They were twenty minutes late and they hadn’t even reached the hill yet.

“Well, think of it as a way to broaden your horizons!” 

“Yes, Caerphilly said something very similar.”

“Oh good! Great minds think alike!” 

“Let me tell you the same thing I told her.” Gordon’s eyes narrowed. “It would be in your best interest to broaden the number of ways you can keep your mouth shut.”

“Uh huh.”

Gordon’s eyes narrowed further, and he grumbled something about bilgewater drinking Westerners and their diesel-swilling compatriots…

--

Later 

Caerphilly was in yet another passing loop near Killdane station, and was waiting patiently for the boat train to come by. 

Presently, she heard Sam’s whistle in the distance, and perked up. She looked towards the signals, and found them all at Danger. “What?” she said to no-one. “Where is she?”

A moment later, she found out when Sam came steaming into the station from the other direction with a container train. Confusion writ large across Caerphilly’s face, and it was quickly mirrored by the big decapod. “Why do you and Gordon look so surprised to see me?”

“Weren’t you taking the boat train today?” 

“No? I’m taking it over the weekend. I’ve been out on the Little Western, shifting ballast all morning.” She took notice of the line of clay “hoods” behind Caerphilly. “And Gordon had to take the pick-up goods because of that… were you two waiting for me?”

“Merely to offer support-”

“Oh my god!” Sam’s whistle was shrill, and she blushed deeply. “That’s so kind of both of you. You didn’t need to do that!”

“Yes, I did,” Caerphilly started, and then caught herself. “But apparently I didn’t. If you didn’t take the express, then who did?”

As if by divine provenance, a whistle sounded in the distance, just as the signal above - one of the newest color-light models that the P-Way gang were very excited to have - changed to green. 

Both engines turned all of their attention to the east. “He can’t be.” Sam said, voice full of disbelief. 

“He’s an antique.” Caerphilly wished she was facing the other direction. She needed to see what sort of mania was gripping this fool. 

“The works here are good, but they can’t be that good, can they?” 

“We’ll see when they have to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.” 

 The whistle sounded again, and a great cacophony of chuffing and puffing made further conversation impossible. The train appeared over the horizon trailing a huge plume of smoke and steam, engine whistling fit to burst. It stormed over the high-speed turnouts connecting the down slow and the down fast lines, and vanished into the distance as quickly as it had come. 

“I stand corrected.” Caerphilly said as the smoke wafted away. “He’s suicidal.”

----------

“Don’t you have to be inside the box?” Gordon sniffed at the Wellsworth signalman. 

“Eh, the points are set,” the man said, taking a long slow drag on a cigarette. “Won’t take a second to bell them through once they’ve gone.”

“I hope to one day live my life with the lackadaisical grace that you live yours,” Gordon said pointedly. 

The signalman took no notice. “Besides, this train, I have to see up close.”

“It’s only Samarkand,” Gordon harrumphed. “Wait until I go in for overhaul and you’ll be seeing her on the express somewhat frequently.” 

The signalman turned and raised an eyebrow in Gordon’s direction. He said nothing, but Gordon felt like he was missing something deeply important. “What? What is it?”

There was a distant whistle, and his confusion turned to annoyance. “That’s not the boat train, you buffoon! That’s Edward! What kind of a signalman are you?”

The signalman didn’t say anything, and pulled a small camera out of his pocket. 

Edward’s whistle sounded again less than two minutes later, presumably for the distant signal, and it took Gordon several all-too-short seconds to realize that any train stopping at Wellsworth wouldn’t have been able to go from Maron to the Wellsworth distant in that short of a time.

“No…” 

From behind him, deep in the yard, there was a tidal wave of swearing as BoCo did the same math and came to the same conclusion. 

Edward’s whistle sounded a third time, for the foot crossing near the station, and then the train was hurtling past. Edward was red in the face and working hard enough to turn his smoke sooty black, but his wheels were turning so fast that his con-rods were a blur. The coaches stretched behind him, seeming impossibly large against his small tender. The train streaked through the station at lightning speed, and roared away towards Crosby with all the noise and circumstance of a proper express. 

Dead silence fell over the station as the lamps of the train receded around the corner. Gordon and BoCo were in shock. The passengers waiting for the next train (most of whom knew Edward personally) were clutching their pearls, their chests, their heads, each other, or the nearest lamp post. The stationmaster had been in the middle of a phone call, and the handset fell from his limp grasp, dangling on the cord. In the signal box, the signalman had clearly not been expecting Edward to be going that fast, and was a little rattled by it; he tried to throw open the door to the box, and the handle came off in his hand as he did. In the deafening silence, Gordon had a thought. I think that Caerphilly should really be studying what the time trials are doing to us, rather than what we are actually accomplishing.

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

ENGINE | TOTAL TIME | TIMED PORTION | AVG. SPEED | MAX SPEED ▼ PIP/EMMA | 0:56 | 29:31 | 107.17 MPH | 127.23 MPH DELTA    | 1:03 | 34:01 |  90.22 MPH | 107.85 MPH BEAR     | 1:01 | 36:12 |  86.74 MPH | 104.36 MPH WENDELL  | 1:01 | 36:42 |  86.11 MPH | 102.04 MPH  MARINA   | 1:06 | 37:11 |  85.00 MPH | 101.73 MPH HENRY    | 1:05 | 38:00 |  83.01 MPH | 101.34 MPH BOCO     | 1:02 | 36:22 |  86.64 MPH | 100.81 MPH  EDWARD   | 1:05 | 38:55 |  80.52 MPH | 100.00 MPH JAMES    | 2:17 | 40:09 |  78.60 MPH |  97.29 MPH

----------- 

The Next Day

The noise that had started when Edward backed into the shed that evening didn’t stop until the morning, and everyone was slightly bleary come sunrise. As such, nobody really paid attention to the engines rostered on Barrow-bound trains until almost noon, when Henry (who had taken the morning boat train to Kirk Ronan) returned with empty fish vans from the Flying Kipper. 

“Well if it’s not you,” he said to a perplexed Gordon. “And if Caerphilly just left, who is it?”

----

“Lassie, I don’t know who you are, but I know that you definitely don’t belong here,” Bloomer said slowly, trying and failing to comprehend what was going on. 

The crowd of men in “CROVAN’S GATE TMD” jumpsuits on the platform glared at him. “Would you shush?” the foreman asked, before turning back to the thick bundle of cables connecting the engine to the first coach. “This is a perfectly legitimate maintenance procedure! We have to have a shakedown run.”

“On a train with passengers? While she’s hooked up to a load of AA batteries like a child’s toy?” 

“It’s not batteries!” The men snapped as one. 

“Well then what is it then? Magic? Because that’s an electric locomotive, and you’ve got no wires!” Bloomer scoffed. 

“Actually, it’s a diesel generator,” the electric engine said. Her name was Abbey, and she was looking around the mainland terminal like she’d never been there before. It was entirely possible she hadn’t been. “They’re very excited to see if this could work long term.” 

“Lassie,” Bloomer said slowly. “No disrespect, but I think an electric motor hooked up to a diesel generator has already been invented. They call it the diesel locomotive.”

Abbey laughed. “I know, but wouldn’t you agree to something daft if it meant getting the chance to do something incredible?”

“To be honest with ya, the last time I agreed to anything daft I got locked in a shed for what felt like a hundred years, so no.”

She laughed again, and kept lightly needling Bloomer over his lack of an “adventurer’s spirit” until the men declared her fit to move. The generator, which had been mounted inside an old baggage car, clattered to life, and Bloomer watched with no small amount of amazement as an electric train moved (not at all) silently out of the yard.

--

At Kirk Ronan, a few passengers boarding the train seemed to understand what was missing from their train, and the departure was delayed a few minutes as they got photos of Abbey with no wires above her, the diesel engine shoehorned into the baggage coach, or the thick bundles of wires that were attached to Abbey’s pantograph. 

Simon, one of the engines who worked the Kirk Ronan branch, looked on with bemusement. “I can’t blame them. That is the strangest looking diesel I have ever seen.”

----

At Killdane, James was stopped at the platforms with a passenger train, and tried to figure out why all the electric engines were lined up on electrified platforms. 

“You’ll see,” Dane, one of the electrics, said in a suspiciously calm tone. “Just wait until Abbey gets here.”

That had been several minutes ago, and James was now thoroughly worried about what was going to happen when Abbey got there. 

A horn sounded in the distance, and James was promptly deafened by all the engines honking theirs loudly in response. Worse yet, they didn’t stop honking, so he couldn’t ask them what in blazes they were doing. 

Then, a train appeared in the distance. It got bigger very quickly, and James suddenly had an out-of-body experience as he watched an electric engine zip past on the wrong side of the station from the electric line! 

------

Caerphilly was at Maron when the lights of the boat train appeared over the curve of the next hill. The engine honked gaily at her as it passed with a woosh and a roar, and then the train vanished over the crest of Gordon’s hill. 

“... Did I just get passed by an electric train??!”

-------

At Crosby station, Gordon was waiting for parcels to be unloaded from the mail train. He was distracted by the stationmaster asking him a question, and so only paid partial attention to the boat train passing by with a cheerful “Hi Gordon!” 

“Yes, hello Ab-bb-ab-Abbey…?” Gordon trailed to a stop mid-word as his mind caught up with what he’d just seen. 

-------

Sam and Marina were chatting idly at the docks as the boat train rolled in. Both engines trailed off to a stop and looked at Abbey as she pulled up next to the P&O terminal. 

“So, what you were saying about us being made… more?” Sam said slowly. “I get it now.”

“And this island does grant immortality.” Marina blinked quickly. “We’ve all drunk from the fountain of youth…”

--------

Later that evening, Abbey was at the big station being connected to a short goods train bound for the works. The trucks had no idea what was going on, and were too scared to cause trouble. Across the station, the Fat Controller exited his office. He made it about halfway down the platform before doing first a double, then a triple-take at the sight of an electric engine under the station canopy. He turned, as if to walk over and investigate the matter, made it about ten steps in that direction, and then seemingly thought better of it, and turned back the way he’d come. 

----------

ENGINE | TOTAL TIME | TIMED PORTION | AVG. SPEED | MAX SPEED ▼ PIP/EMMA | 0:56 | 29:31 | 107.17 MPH | 127.23 MPH ABBEY??  | 0:59 | 30:59 | 102.98 MPH | 111.68 MPH DELTA    | 1:03 | 34:01 |  90.22 MPH | 107.85 MPH BEAR     | 1:01 | 36:12 |  86.74 MPH | 104.36 MPH WENDELL  | 1:01 | 36:42 |  86.11 MPH | 102.04 MPH  MARINA   | 1:06 | 37:11 |  85.00 MPH | 101.73 MPH HENRY    | 1:05 | 38:00 |  83.01 MPH | 101.34 MPH BOCO     | 1:02 | 36:22 |  86.64 MPH | 100.81 MPH  EDWARD   | 1:05 | 38:55 |  80.52 MPH | 100.00 MPH JAMES    | 2:17 | 40:09 |  78.60 MPH |  97.29 MPH

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

The next day… again

Finally the weekend came, and it was Sam’s turn on the boat train. Gordon and Caerphilly were optimistic, and spent most of the night before giving her pointers on various parts of the route. Sam started out as somewhat “normal” about the whole affair, but as the time got closer, she started to feel a tickle of anxiety down in the bottom of her boiler. 

Henry, of all engines, was the one to offer reassurances, and the two engines spent quite a while in Barrow yard talking amongst themselves. At the end of it, Sam was feeling rather upbeat and optimistic. 

On the flip side of this, Siobhan and Wilma were experiencing the dual sensations of “looming dread” and “deep regret.” They had assumed that, as Cargo Ops crew, they wouldn’t be anywhere near the speed trial runs; however, after several main line crew members called in sick (For once it was legitimate - there was a rather virulent strain of Norovirus running through Barrow at the moment) the crew assigned for Sam’s time trial were Rupert and Clancy. Once Sam found that out, she refused to go anywhere, and Will and Siobhan were rousted from the crew rest area with minimal explanation and less preparation. 

“How fast does she wanna go?” Will asked hesitantly, as the train rolled out of Barrow. 

“Well,” Siobhan muttered, looking down Sam’s long boiler towards the tracks ahead. “Passenger trains are allowed up to 110 on most of the line, sooooo…”

Will took a moment to be absolutely stunned, before she quickly crossed herself and resumed shoveling. “Father, son, holy spirit, what the fuck am I doing?!” 

---------

The train got off to a good start out of Kirk Ronan, and made excellent time to the junction at Kellsthorpe Road. A lot of the time trial trains had to wait here for cross traffic to clear, but fortunately for Sam (and unfortunately for Will and Siobhan) there was a green signal all the way to the down fast line, and Sam sprinted up the line with a 50 mile an hour running start. 

Will was stoking the fire constantly, pouring every last ounce of skill into feeding Sam’s fiery heart as the floor of the cab rocked underneath her. It was much smoother than she’d expected, the floor acting more like a ship rocking in the swells than the bucking bronco she’d been dreading. 

“This is a lot more normal,” she shouted across the cab to Siobhan as she took a break to check the water glasses. The cab may have been steady, but the wind was at near hurricane strength, and both women were wearing protective earplugs. “I was expecting worse. How fast’re we going?”

Siobhan didn’t bother responding, and instead pointed towards something on her side of the cab. Will made her way across, and found Siobhan’s gloved hand pointing at the digital speedometer tucked into a nest of pipes and wiring. 

What Will said next was lost in the roar of the wind as the train neared Killdane station, but the speedometer was clear: The train was doing 109 miles an hour on an uphill grade. 

-------

Once again, James was at the Killdane platforms as the boat train drew near. This time, he was with the Limited on the up fast line, and the engine on the boat train was mercifully a steam engine, not some bizarre electric. 

He blew his whistle in support as Samarkand drew closer, and was rewarded for this with a gale-force wind that buffeted him from seemingly all directions. Rocks and dirt thrown up by the train’s passage bounced off of him, scoring and marking his shiny red paint. On the platform, several passengers dove to the ground as Sam’s passage caused the concrete platforms to vibrate like a distant earthquake. Loose paper and rubbish swirled around the platforms like a tornado. 

Then, as suddenly as she’d arrived, Sam was gone, whistling into the distance. James and his passengers tried to adjust to the sudden quiet. 

They did not succeed.

-----

Gordon and Caerphilly had felt quite clever in timing their stopping services to meet at Cronk. 

“It is her turn today, isn’t it?” Gordon murmured. “And we won’t be witnessing Ivor the engine, or Skarloey, or something else equally improbable?” 

“Oh hush!” Caerphilly grinned. “I can hear her coming.”

They could hear her whistle sound, a long, delirious shout of joy as the train cleared Killdane. Gordon raised an eyebrow - he knew what an engine needed to be going through in order to produce that sound. 

“You’ll need to be quick if you wish to inspect her technique,” he said sagely. “She’s moving quickly.”

Caerphilly was facing the other direction, towards Killdane, and whistled softly. “You’re right. Bloody Nora, she’s coming on quick!” 

Before either of them could say anything else, the helicopter-like sound of a steam engine at full chat drowned out all other sound. Sam and the boat train screamed around the corner from Killdane in a flurry of noise, dust, and steam. Her whistle sounded again, shrill and barely coherent, as she saw the two of them. 

As the train passed, Gordon had the experience of being buzzed by a low-flying airliner; Caerphilly felt like she’d been hit by a bomb, complete with the dust and debris. 

The train was gone into the distance before either of them could speak again, and they stared slightly agog at the cloud it left in its wake. 

“Now,” Caerphilly said slowly, spitting dust and rocks as she spoke. “I know that this isn’t a competition, or at least we didn’t mean it as one, but… we are going to have to step up our game if we want to beat that.”

Gordon had to agree. 

-----

This time, the Wellsworth signalman was in his box when the train thundered through, but Will peered out of the cab window just long enough to see the man staring slack-jawed at the train as it whipped through the station at triple-digit speeds, a half-eaten sandwich falling from his mouth. 

-----

The train slowed slightly as it passed Crosby station. Knapford wasn’t far off, and after that was the restricting signals to let them into the dock. Its speed was now merely fast instead of the relativistic velocities it had been achieving earlier in the run. 

“Oi!” Will called across the cab. Now that the speed was firmly in the high double digits, speech was intelligible again. “We need water! I’m dropping the scoop!” 

“Now?” Siobhan called back. “We’re almost there!”

“We won’t get there unless we fill the tender! I don’t wanna get caught short!” Will was insistent, and dropped the scoop regardless of what Siobhan really wanted. 

---

On the slow line, Percy was making his way up the line towards Crosby with a short train of vans for the goods platform. He saw Samarkand - that new goods engine, who was absolutely gargantuan - racing towards him. Oh great, just what we need. Another big engine who wants to be some big important passenger engine because of course she fuc- wait what’s that. 

That was a plume of water appearing from underneath the big engine’s tender. 

Percy had just enough time to realize that he was puffing over the Crosby water troughs before: 

SPLASH “Acksbughifhsithtjighngthhtgtbbbthblughsaaachkkk!”

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

ENGINE | TOTAL TIME | TIMED PORTION | AVG. SPEED | MAX SPEED ▼ PIP/EMMA  | 0:56 | 29:31 | 107.17 MPH | 127.23 MPH ABBEY??   | 0:59 | 30:59 | 102.98 MPH | 111.68 MPH SAMARKAND | 0:59 | 33:11 |  95.61 MPH | 110.09 MPH DELTA     | 1:03 | 34:01 |  90.22 MPH | 107.85 MPH BEAR      | 1:01 | 36:12 |  86.74 MPH | 104.36 MPH WENDELL   | 1:01 | 36:42 |  86.11 MPH | 102.04 MPH  MARINA    | 1:06 | 37:11 |  85.00 MPH | 101.73 MPH HENRY     | 1:05 | 38:00 |  83.01 MPH | 101.34 MPH BOCO      | 1:02 | 36:22 |  86.64 MPH | 100.81 MPH  EDWARD    | 1:05 | 38:55 |  80.52 MPH | 100.00 MPH JAMES     | 2:17 | 40:09 |  78.60 MPH |  97.29 MPH

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

The next day - for the penultimate time.

Considering the lunatic heights this time trial had reached, everyone else was thrilled that Caerphilly was finally on the boat train. Among other things, it meant that the trials were almost at an end, but more importantly, it meant that the “big ones” were finally going up against the clock. 

The main line crews, who were scandalized to have been so so thoroughly trounced by Sam, Will, Siobhan, and by extension the rest of Cargo Ops, had fought amongst each other for the “honor” of manning Caerphilly’s footplate. The big engine thought it bemusing that they were so eager, and couldn’t quite keep a straight face when the two men (not Clancy and Rupert) who eventually emerged from the station bore scrapes, cuts, and a very noticeable black eye. 

“I didn’t think you actually meant fisticuffs!” she squeaked, trying to keep the cackling at bay. 

On the next platform, Siobhan was on James’ footplate with a van train, and didn’t even look up. “Ah tell ya,” she said to James. “Cargo Ops was the smartest fuckin’ decision Ah have made in years. Certainly is smarter than bashing someone’s face in to get a good driving spot on the express.”

“Didn’t you take the express last week? With Caerphilly?” James asked as Caerphilly’s crew scowled at her and then each other before sullenly clambering into the cab. 

“Like ah said.” Siobhan oozed smugness at near-Gordon levels. “Smartest thing ah have done in years.”

------

Despite a small, petty voice in the back of her mind suggesting that she should slow down the train to upset her crew, Caerphilly found the prospect of letting herself fly down the line to be exhilarating, and was straining against her own brakes as the passengers boarded in Kirk Ronan. 

“Easy there,” the driver said as the guard waved his flag. “We’ve got to wait for the signal!” 

“You’ll have to keep an eye on her,” the fireman said, attempting to sound knowledgeable. “She’s liable to run away from you.”

The driver nodded in agreement, and got a firm hold on the controls as the signal - a GNR style model that “somersaulted” to vertical - flipped upwards to a clear aspect. He was ready for whatever this engine could throw at him. 

Caerphilly proceeded to rip the throttle and reverser out of his hands anyways, and set off with a flurry of wheelslip and black smoke. 

Gwen, the small tank engine who worked in the Kirk Ronan dockyard, watched the train leave. “Those idiots have no idea what they’re up against, do they?” she said to herself as Caerphilly’s driver tried and mostly failed to reign in his engine. 

-------

Donald and Douglas were working on a slow goods train to the mainland. It wasn’t the pick up goods, but it still made a few stops between Arlesburgh and Barrow, one of which was Killdane. Douglas was working in the yard, collecting a line of aluminum trucks while Donald worked the motorail terminal.  Located a few hundred feet away from the station itself, the motorail terminal served the Sodor Motorail passenger services, as well as goods trains that dropped off shipments of new cars bound for dealers and customers across the island. 

The main line was elevated above the electric line and the yard on an embankment, and so Douglas didn’t see the boat train pass so much as he heard it - a shrill whistle sounding, followed by the deafening roar of a steam engine at full throttle, and then the coaches whooshing by. He paid it little mind, and once he’d collected the trucks he needed, he puffed up the embankment to the motorail terminal. 

“Ach, for land’s sake! Wha’s happened ‘ere!” he gasped. 

Donald’s tender was laying astride the rails, the cartic wagon behind him bent almost completely in half. Scattered around him were a half dozen Ford sedans, upside down or sideways, smashed half flat. As an explanation, Donald yelled something in Scots that was almost untranslatable to English. Roughly paraphrased, he said: “That stupid great cruise missile scared the living bejesus out of me!” 

---------

Caerphilly flew down the line, at speeds she was not properly able to comprehend. The experience of it though, that was something she understood just fine. Her motion was fluid, the individual cranks and rods whirring away at speeds faster than they had ever been designed for. The feeling of it was indescribable, and she found herself hoping against hope that every signal would be green from here to eternity - so that she could keep going on like this forever. 

Inside the cab, her crew were having a very different experience. The cab was noisy, bouncy, loud, and hotter than some furnaces. The draft from the firebox was so great that opening the firebox door would suck the coal off the shovel, and threatened to take the shovel with it. By the time they cleared Cronk station, the fireman had developed blisters on his hands from holding it tightly. His gloves were already starting to wear thin. At one point the firebox door stuck open, and the driver watched in morbid fascination as a loose lump of coal bounced out of the tender, onto the footplate, and was promptly sucked across the cab and into the inferno. Both men were sweating through their clothes, but they worried that removing them would only end with the garments being unintentionally fed into Caerphilly’s ravenous fire. 

Whistling for the Maron signal box was perhaps the greatest indication of the dichotomy between engine and crew. The driver pulled the whistle lever for a short blast - just long enough to acknowledge their presence. Caerphilly held the whistle open until they stormed over the crest of the hill. The sound was jubilant, triumphant, ecstatic - a sign that the engine was experiencing the closest thing to heaven one could on the mortal plane. 

To the crew, the sound of the whistle was a demonic howl that clawed away at their waning sanity. As the train crested the hill they went light in their boots, and for a moment both men would have sworn that the sound was not that of an engine, but that of Satan’s chariot. 

In a macabre bit of efficiency, her heaven was their hell. Both were ongoing as the train raced towards Wellsworth. 

--------

By this stage, BoCo was ready and willing to accept anything occurring when the boat train went through Wellsworth. Even still, it was somewhat embarrassing to see the signalman make a fool of himself yet again. This time, the daft idiot had fallen prey to the smell of freshly baked apple turnovers in the station cafe, and was trying to wave off a curious bee that was trying to inspect the man’s sticky, sugar-coated fingers. 

With a cry of frustration (or perhaps fear, maybe the man didn’t like bees), the bee was swatted from the air just as Caerphilly’s whistle shrieked for the crossing outside the station. The signalman hurried into the box, and would have managed to actually be in position for when the train passed by if he hadn’t caught his shirt tail on the edge of the lever frame. With a ripping sound and a thump, the shirt gave way and the man fell to the floor, just in time for the Boat Train to hurtle through at near-relativistic speeds. 

After the train had passed, BoCo had to bite back a bark of laughter as the now shirtless man peeled himself off the floor and belled the train through to the next signal box. 

-------

At Knapford, a very bored Thomas was attempting to needle Gordon in an attempt to amuse himself. “And so Percy smelled like the water trough the rest of the day, which I must say isn’t quite as bad as ditch water, but…”

He trailed off when Gordon failed to respond. The big engine wasn’t even paying attention, instead staring down the line towards the next station, and Thomas scowled at the perceived slight. He began thinking of something that might get under Gordon’s paintwork when a whistle sounded in the distance. 

In just a second, Caerphilly Castle thundered out of the tunnel that led to Crosby, wreathed in an angelic cloud of smoke and steam. Smiling broadly, she whistled long and loud as the train raced through the station and disappeared from sight. 

Thomas’ eye glinted at the sudden opportunity, and he whistled softly. “Wow, I can see why the Fat Controller chose her to be the new Express.”

Gordon didn’t respond, but in a way that made Thomas hopeful of a reaction. 

Finally, after a few seconds: “Indeed. There is only one other engine on this island I would choose to be my successor.” Gordon was calm and collected, and once the guard’s whistle blew, he steamed away in a regal cloud of steam. 

A bewildered Thomas watched him go. 

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

ENGINE | TOTAL TIME | TIMED PORTION | AVG. SPEED | MAX SPEED ▼ PIP/EMMA   | 0:56 | 29:31 | 107.17 MPH | 127.23 MPH CAERPHILLY | 1:00 | 32:71 |  97.22 MPH | 115.16 MPH ABBEY??    | 0:59 | 30:59 | 102.98 MPH | 111.68 MPH SAMARKAND  | 0:59 | 33:11 |  95.61 MPH | 110.09 MPH DELTA      | 1:03 | 34:01 |  90.22 MPH | 107.85 MPH BEAR       | 1:01 | 36:12 |  86.74 MPH | 104.36 MPH WENDELL    | 1:01 | 36:42 |  86.11 MPH | 102.04 MPH  MARINA     | 1:06 | 37:11 |  85.00 MPH | 101.73 MPH HENRY      | 1:05 | 38:00 |  83.01 MPH | 101.34 MPH BOCO       | 1:02 | 36:22 |  86.64 MPH | 100.81 MPH  EDWARD     | 1:05 | 38:55 |  80.52 MPH | 100.00 MPH JAMES      | 2:17 | 40:09 |  78.60 MPH |  97.29 MPH

----------

The next day - for the last time 

The morning brought an overcast gloom that worsened as the day went on. By the time Gordon backed down on the coaches at Barrow yard, stationmaster Burton was carrying around an umbrella. He strode down to the train, skillfully avoiding the damp patches of earth that threatened to soil his wingtip shoes, and handed a document up to Gordon’s driver. 

“Heads up, you two,” the driver said after donning his reading glasses. “There’s a change in schedule. We’re leaving 20 minutes early from Kirk Ronan.”

“Twenty minutes early?” Gordon was befuddled. “What on earth could they have done that for?”

“Track work on the main line, it looks like. They want to get us and the Express through before they close off anything.”

Gordon grumbled something about the passengers complaining, but said nothing else. Meanwhile, the driver turned to the fireman. “Any complaints from you, Rupert?” 

Rupert, still sporting a bruised cheek from yesterday, tried and failed to look imperious. “Not at all, Daniel.”

Daniel (please, his friends call him Dan) rolled his eyes. “Are we going to have a problem with anything else?” 

“I don’t see why we should,” Rupert scoffed. “After all, it wasn’t you who put Clancy in hos-”

“We’re not going to talk about that during work hours, alright?” Dan cut him off. “I believe the Fat Controller said much more to you lot yesterday.” 

Gordon heard all of this and rolled his eyes. I wonder if those funny automated trains on the Docklands Light Railway are interested in giving lessons on driving oneself…

----

The rain started about an hour later, as the train stood at Kirk Ronan. Inside the cab, Rupert and Dan looked upwards with dismay. “Just our luck,” Daniel muttered. “Wet rails and slick running in the middle of a damned time trial.”

Rupert snorted dismissively. 

“What? What’s that noise supposed to mean?”

“I suppose it means that you should use the skills you supposedly have, then?” Rupert sniffed. “Two children in a freight engine beat three quarters of the damned railway down the Killdane straight on dry rails, so two men of our calibre should be able to achieve the same in these conditions just fine.”

Dan glared. “I feel like discounting Siobhan like that is really a-”

“Children in a freight engine.” Rupert said with a serious look in his eye. “Nothing more. We are gods compared to them.”

“Your speeches leave much to be desired, fireman.” Gordon rumbled. “If any of us is a god, it would be me, so perhaps you should allow someone else to take charge of this endeavour.” 

He waited a beat, just long enough for Rupert’s face to twist into an ugly scowl. “Unless you would like to inform both Daniel and myself that you happen to have over one hundred and seven years of experience working on express passenger trains, at which point we will happily cede control to you.”

To his credit, Rupert took the tongue lashing like a man, and didn’t throw a tantrum, but he also didn’t say a word for the rest of the time they spent in the station. 

Dan managed to keep his petty smile hidden throughout this time, although he gave Gordon’s throttle lever an affectionate pat when Rupert’s back was turned. 

-------

Like Caerphilly and Sam’s runs, the signal at the main line junction was clear, the four-aspect colour-light model going from two yellows to a single green as they approached it. The AWS gave a cheerful all-clear chime and Dan opened the throttle fully. Given free reign, Gordon responded with a will, charging forwards towards the down fast line. 

Before they’d even cleared the signal, still moving at a relatively slow pace, there was a shrill whistle from Kellsthorpe Road station, and Caerphilly streaked out of the rain-slicked gloom with the midday express. The train was already at a fast clip, and it roared past, running opposite-main on the up fast line. 

Gordon’s wheels spun for a moment as the last coaches of the express streaked by, before digging in. Like a greyhound out of the gate, Gordon powered forward, each turn of his 7-foot drivers adding speed at a fantastic rate. 

Despite the reduced visibility from the rain, the tail lamp of the express never faded away. Gordon was quickly catching up to the train, reaching over one hundred miles an hour within minutes of entering the main line. 

Caerphilly wasn’t lazing around, and the express coaches passed by slowly as Gordon’s acceleration began to trail off. The speedometer needle was practically dancing around in its housing, but Dan could just make out an indicated one hundred ten on the dial as the two trains leaned into the curve that marked the ⅜ point of the Kellsthorpe-Killdane section of the main line. 

Gordon was just about level with Caerphilly’s tender, and sounded a long blast of his whistle. Caerphilly’s drivers spun frantically for a half-second, while her crew almost jumped out of their skin at the noise. 

“Funny running into you here!” Gordon shouted. “Lovely weather we’re having!”

“What are you doing?!” Caerphilly yelped. “You’re not due for another 20 minutes!” 

“Perhaps I’m just that much faster than everyone else!” Gordon was full of mirth, and was only now starting to show that he was getting winded. 

“Including me?” Caerphilly was momentarily the picture of innocence. 

“Especially you!” Gordon was still accelerating, and was a few buffer-lengths ahead at this point. The speedometer needle was bouncing so much that Dan couldn’t read it. 

“Well then!” The innocence turned into a strange combination of sincerity and deviousness. “Let’s see how fast you can go!” 

Caerphilly whistled, long and loud, and began pulling ahead of Gordon, inch by inch.

Gordon responded with a burst of acceleration that would have made Nigel Gresley faint. 

“Oh god!” Rupert shouted over the wind and the noise from two sets of valve gear whirring away. “She’s goading him on!” 

------

The rain was an intense downpour across most of the island, and many passengers had retreated inside station waiting rooms. The rain had also delayed the planned track work, with many of the P-way gang retreating inside their warm vans and Land Rovers to wait out the storm. 

This meant that very few people were on the platforms at Killdane, Cronk, and Maron stations as the two trains roared by with the intensity of a hurricane. Some even mistook the noise as a thunderstorm. At Cronk station, a group of tourists from the American midwest made a spectacle of themselves as they started yelling about there being a tornado. 

-----

Possibly the best view of the two trains was the signalman at Maron. Sitting in his small brick signal box near the top of Gordon’s hill, he saw both trains emerge from the rain like spectres. They screamed towards him, trailing clouds of smoke and mist that stretched for hundreds of feet. His box’s territory was small - literally Maron station and nothing else - so by the time he’d sent the bells acknowledging that the trains were in section, he had to bell them out just as quickly. 

For once, the layabout running the Wellsworth box was on the ball and in his box, and the bells chimed with his acceptance of two down-bound fast trains into his section. 

The lamps of the express rocked and rolled over the hill, and then both trains were gone. 

The signalman wanted to ruminate on the sight he’d just witnessed, but the railway waits for no-one, and within seconds of him logging the two trains’ passage, the Cronk signalman was ringing him. Slow goods train, down-bound. 

He rang the bell to accept it. The railway kept on running, even as the express and the boat train remained fresh in his memory. 

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

Gordon and Caerphilly were having the times of their lives as the two trains screamed down the hill towards Wellsworth. 

“Feeling tired yet, old iron?” Caerphilly teased. 

“Tired? Never!” Gordon declared with some bombastic flair. “This is the standard pace for all express engines. Or did you not know that?” 

Caerphilly’s response was an enthusiastic whistle as the two trains passed the Wellsworth distant signals at speed. “This pace is perfect for me!” 

At the speeds they were going, a mile was flying by every 35-40 seconds, and a single casual tease could fill a signal block. Gordon opened his mouth to retort, but the words caught in his throat as the sudden feeling of something being very wrong filled him. 

“What? What’s the matter?” Caerphilly saw his face fall, and the teasing stopped in its tracks. 

“Something’s wrong-” Gordon started, before all the breath left him. 

-

The two trains were rounding the corner separating the hill and Wellsworth station. Time seemed to slow down, and Gordon could see multiple things happening in slow motion. 

First, he saw Edward at the platforms, colour draining from the old engine’s face. 

Next, he saw the Wellsworth home signal, located in the center of the platforms, dropping to red. 

Then, he heard the AWS alarm start to scream a signal warning. 

In the corner of his vision, he saw the Wellsworth signalman staring out of the windows of the signal box in abject horror. 

And finally, he saw BoCo, slowly pulling onto the down fast line with the midday Suddery-Tidmouth service. 

-

Time stopped, and became meaningless as Gordon, Dan, and the AWS all acted on their base instincts at the same time. The train brakes came on hard, and Gordon threw every ounce of steam he had into his pistons. The reverser - a massive steel screw that had to be turned a dozen times to change from forward to reverse - spun wildly in the opposite direction before Dan could even reach for it. It slammed into the stops in full reverse, and Gordon’s wheels began to spin wildly in the other direction, even as momentum and the wet rails continued to push him forwards, towards the rear coach of the train. The train screeched through the station, past the signals, and Dan heaved on the whistle, letting Gordon’s yell of terror be broadcast for thousands of feet. 

BoCo had no idea that anything was wrong until shouting and yelling broke out behind him. His driver began to advance the throttle slowly. Then, in a matter of seconds, Edward bellowed “RUN BOCO!” at the top of his voice, the coaches started screaming, and Caerphilly rocketed by with a shriek of “What are you doing!?!.  

The throttle was ripped from his driver’s hand and slammed into the forward stop, exhaust poured from his vents, and the train lurched forwards just as Gordon’s whistle began blowing behind them with all the urgency of the horns that heralded the apocalypse. 

Inside Gordon’s cab, there was a sudden shout of “save yourself!” as the speed dropped below forty miles an hour, and Dan turned to see Rupert fling himself out of the cab like a professional gymnast. He managed to clear the rails of the slow line, but landed hard and tumbled to a stop in a puddle, at least one arm pointing the wrong way. Dan didn’t have time to be shocked, and instead braced himself as best he could, holding on for dear life. 

Gordon shut his eyes. 

BoCo willed himself to go faster. 

The sounds of screeching metal got louder and louder. 

And then everything stopped. 

---

Gordon couldn’t hear anything but his own heaving breaths, and he opened one eye to see that he’d come to a stop on top of a level crossing some three thousand feet beyond the platforms at Wellsworth. BoCo’s train was racing away into the distance, and further beyond was the glinting lamps of Caerphilly’s express. 

Behind him, the coaches were babbling incoherently to each other, which presumably meant they were okay. 

“Daniel, Rupert? Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine, but Rupert jumped!” Dan was already clambering down the ladder. “He’s… oooh that’s not good. Stay right here!” he sprinted off down the line to check on the fallen fireman. 

“Are you alright?” a small, shaking voice said next to him. “What happened? That was so close…”

Gordon looked, and there at the gates was Bertie the bus, shaking on his suspension like a leaf. 

“I…” Gordon had to stop and think about the questions. “I don’t know.”

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

Later 

Gordon was shunted into the engine shed at Wellsworth for examination. A few hours later, a very pale BoCo joined him. 

“I’m telling you,” the diesel said in shaky tones. “The signal was green. It wasn’t even a semaphore - they replaced it last month. It was a colour light and it was green.”

“I believe you,” Gordon said quietly. “But the distant was up, and the AWS did not sound a warning.”

BoCo looked at him. “Then how did this happen?”

“I don’t know…” Gordon didn’t like how haunted he sounded. 

-----

A few hours after that, the Fat Controller came to see them, followed by a number of men in windbreakers and polo shirts marked with “HMRI” and “HSE”. They examined Gordon and BoCo closely, took a great many notes, asked a few questions, and took the AWS boxes from both engines. Occasionally a man from the railway would come in, escorted by one of the HMRI men, and examine something, or offer an opinion. It took several hours for them to be satisfied, and it was nearly midnight by the time the last of them left. 

The Fat Controller had stayed during the entire time, sitting quietly on a chair in the corner. Once the last polo-shirted man had departed, the Fat Controller stood up and faced the two engines.  

“Sir,” Gordon said immediately, all thoughts of propriety forgotten. “What happened?”

The Fat Controller looked exhausted. “We don’t have the specifics yet, but it appears that at some point after your train cleared the AWS magnet for the distant signal, the signalman was somehow able to change the points and signals, and allow BoCo access to the main line.” He took a deep breath, and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Whether this was due to incompetence, malfunction, mistake, or… malice, we don’t know. We likely won’t know for some time, maybe months, or even a year.”

BoCo made a noise. “I can’t… I mean, this is - I should have-”

“Absolutely not.” The Fat Controller thundered. “We may not know what did occur, but we certainly do know what did not, and that was any rule-breaking on either of your parts. The blame is entirely on the signaling system, and by extension, the railway.”

“Sir-” BoCo and Gordon both tried to say something, but the Fat Controller held up his hand. 

“No. Even if this was an act of pure malice on the part of the signalman, it should have been impossible for him to do so. Something failed today, whether it was our training regimen, a safety interlock, or some other thing, and we will find out what it was so it can never happen again.”

BoCo was cowed into silence, but Gordon still had one question. “Was… was anyone hurt, sir?”

The Fat Controller exhaled deeply, and relaxed his posture slightly. “Only a few passengers who happened to be standing up at the time. They mostly had cuts and bruises. One man has a concussion from falling down. The only substantial injuries were to your crew, Gordon; Rupert, your fireman, took quite a nasty fall when he jumped from the footplate. He’s in hospital in serious condition, but the doctors say he should make a full recovery by winter.”

“Very good, sir,” Gordon couldn’t help but feel guilty. 

“However, Gordon,” The Fat Controller kept going. “The most injured party in this whole affair… is you.”

“Me?” Gordon was shocked. He did hurt all over, but he had assumed it was normal wear and stress, not an actual injury…

“Oh yes,” The Fat Controller was serious. “I might not be the mechanical engineer my grandfather was, but even a lay person would agree that your connecting rods are not supposed to look like that.”

“My connecting rods..?” Gordon was suddenly very aware that maybe he wasn’t supposed to feel the way he was. 

“Oh yes,” The Fat Controller continued. “Not to mention the flat spots on every wheel you have, the damage to both your cylinders, and your motion - on both sides, may I add. I could go on, but I will summarize: You are going to the works in the morning, and your overhaul is starting early.”

“S-sir?”

“It makes no sense to fix all this for a few months of service before your boiler ticket expires.” The Fat Controller was becoming slightly more animated, walking back and forth, trying to stretch out his legs after the long sit in the chair. 

“O-of course, sir.” Gordon felt slightly overwhelmed. Not only did all of… this happen, but he was supposedly free of blame, and getting overhauled immediately? 

“I know that this may be a lot to deal with all at once, Gordon, but you prevented a ghastly accident from occurring.” The Fat Controller at once became still, and looked the big engine in the eyes. “People likely would have died if not for your quick action. This is the least that we can do for you.” 

“Yes sir,” Gordon said quietly, a lump forming in his throat. “Of course sir. Thank you, sir.”

The Fat Controller made his way to the door. “I have to leave you both now. Have a pleasant night.”

“You as well, sir.” BoCo and Gordon chorused out of habit as the door shut behind him.

The Fat Controller’s footsteps made it a few feet away, before stopping and returning to the building. “Ah yes, one other thing.” He said through the re-opened door. “I must congratulate you, Gordon.” 

“Sir? On what?” 

There was the barest hint of a smile on the Fat Controller’s lips. “Well, you obviously did not complete your time trial, but we were able to analyze the raw speed data.” A pause followed, with a small amount of glee coloring his face. “Aside from Pip and Emma, you remain the fastest engine on this Island. Well done.”

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

ENGINE | TOTAL TIME | TIMED PORTION | AVG. SPEED | MAX SPEED ▼ PIP/EMMA   | 0:56 | 29:31 | 107.17 MPH | 127.23 MPH GORDON     | DNF  |  DNF  |     DNF    | 121.63 MPH  CAERPHILLY | 1:00 | 32:71 |  97.22 MPH | 115.16 MPH ABBEY??    | 0:59 | 30:59 | 102.98 MPH | 111.68 MPH SAMARKAND  | 0:59 | 33:11 |  95.61 MPH | 110.09 MPH DELTA      | 1:03 | 34:01 |  90.22 MPH | 107.85 MPH BEAR       | 1:01 | 36:12 |  86.74 MPH | 104.36 MPH WENDELL    | 1:01 | 36:42 |  86.11 MPH | 102.04 MPH  MARINA     | 1:06 | 37:11 |  85.00 MPH | 101.73 MPH HENRY      | 1:05 | 38:00 |  83.01 MPH | 101.34 MPH BOCO       | 1:02 | 36:22 |  86.64 MPH | 100.81 MPH  EDWARD     | 1:05 | 38:55 |  80.52 MPH | 100.00 MPH JAMES      | 2:17 | 40:09 |  78.60 MPH |  97.29 MPH

[xuterboo]

Good time everyone!

The cutting and analysis of images continues, and today my hands finally reached the Lost Paradise.

Let's meet our beauties!

Let's start with the broken king. Lost Paradise has quite a motley crew. Also, everything on the clothes is very scattered. Lucifer is wearing a strict black suit and a white striped shirt. An interesting observation: for Luci, both when he was still an angel and when he fell, The chest is open, emphasizing the scar. And he did not appear because of a fall from heaven. The scar was probably received before these events. (Fight for Seraphim's place?)

As shown in Liouifer's stories, his snake is alive, or rather, can come to life and move on its own.

I just want to throw in one thought: the biblical seraphim were created only to fly next to God and sing into his ears that he is so wonderful. This means that all Seraphim, including Luci, have a beautiful voice)

Well first of all, gooooospaby, how I love this dragon!!

And secondly, doesn’t it seem strange to anyone that the staff of Gamigin (the dragon) are different from Gamigin (the demon)? As you know, Gamigin (dragon) devoured the demon who slept with him, and apparently the dragon's pearl greatly changed the staff.

The gamigin himself is dressed in formal attire. But the casual look of directional sleeves makes the look looser. And also sneakers. Sneakers, damn it. Okay, if he likes it, then I won't mind. Blue color evokes pleasant and gentle sensations, but also helps reduce the desire to sleep. Nice contrast between Gamigin's activity and tenderness

Marbas... His clothes are more like ordinary clothes in a mental hospital, but the factory did not have white fabric, and they took some kind of black one. I still don’t quite understand why he would chain himself in this during a fight. This is inconvenient and even dangerous. Either I don't understand something, or I don't understand something. But nevertheless, he has a very interesting design.

No shoes. My pants are constantly falling down (my friend: Was it too weak to lower my pants any lower?) I have a long-sleeve shirt that reveals my shoulders almost completely. Acts as a straitjacket, but looks good in everyday life. (I hope it doesn't hurt for him to walk😔)

My sunshine Morax!☺️ I love him so much, I just can’t 🥹

He already has a more strict form of someone like a general. It can be assumed that he is more responsible for the military part of Lost Paradise .

He is probably in the same position as Glasialabolas (I hope I wrote it correctly), but as we have already noticed, PL is a more modest country than in Hades. Origin unknown. Most likely born in LP

He's covered in bandages. God, please give him a rest. Tie him down, but let him recover.

Next up is Buer. One of two demons, behind which there is some kind of creature. You can guess from his clothes that he is from Tartarus. But with feet stained with the gold of the Tartarus River, his origins are confirmed.

Dressed in a kimono of gold, red and black. In China these colors mean wealth (who would doubt it), joy and prosperity. (Buer makes me feel like he is a Chinese healer living high in the mountains. Healing, only those who have a pure soul, hee hee hee)

Also, according to official data from the Belphegor event, I am adding Batin to this collection, since he was born in the Lost Paradise.

He is a laid back lover of travel. Like most of the demons of Paradise Lost, he is dressed in black. Apparently in Nifelheim, Batin is also something of a general. In every country, one way or another there is a demon responsible for the troops, but in Gehenna this is not visible, since everyone has the same uniform.

I'm not entirely sure what culture Paradise Lost represents, as there's a lot going on there. I think this is the people who came together piece by piece from other countries. They brought something of their own to the new lands, combining knowledge with others, and this is how they turned out to be a unique nation. Friendly and quiet by nature. But as soon as you get to know them better, you will immediately see the warmth,which they emit. Although there is another facet that is in the shadows - their cruelty and indifference. It is shown when Adu or their loved ones.

The text turned out longer than I thought. OK...Thank you for reading! Write your interesting observations or thoughts about Paradise Lost!

[bad268]

HELLO

I'm in love with ur arvid linblad stories...

Could u please do one where its the first time he brings reader to a race and shes a bit shy and the other guys are teasing him abt it cos they didn't think he could pull someone and then they see how cute they are

+ Heyy I loved ur arvid linblad x reader!!

Could u do one where he is super excited for Silverstone and no one knows why until the weekend where he walks in with his gf and all the prema guys are surprised and then they see how cute they are together. -@romantic-stylezz

Passenger Princess (Arvid Lindblad X Fem! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (HELLO THANK YOU ILY BOTH <3 I hope yall don't mind that I combined these)

Warnings: Aged up Arvid (and Dino, Gabriele, Sebastian, Luke, Laurens, and Tim by association)

POV: Third Person (She/her)

W.C. 1424

Summary: Arvid's friends didn't think he could pull her.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^@/Arvid’s insta from May 26, 2024)

Every British driver was excited for Silverstone, but Dino was convinced that Arvid was a little over the top. Dino could not figure it out for the life of him, and Arvid did not peg him as the ultra-patriotic type. Dino was going to get to the bottom of it.

When they arrived in the United Kingdom, it was like Arvid disappeared anytime they were not at the track. Dino even tried looking around the hotel for Arvid, but he was just gone. The team didn’t know either. They just assumed he was staying with family.

Media day came around, and Arvid came running into the trailer almost late. He tried his best to sneak in through the back, but Dino caught him immediately.

“So you think that since you’re at your home race, you can sleep in and stay with your family longer?” Dino chuckled as he shoved against Arvid’s shoulder. Dino didn’t notice the blush spreading on Arvid’s cheeks as he continued teasing. “Did you enjoy a calm morning and breakfast with your family? Are they gonna come pick you up after too for supper?”

“Actually, my morning was pretty hectic,” Arvid chuckled as he walked in step with Dino for the track walk. “My alarm didn’t go off, so I didn’t wake up my girlfriend for her test-”

“Woah, don’t get all delusional on me,” Dino joked, “You’ve never mentioned a girlfriend before.”

“No one’s ever asked,” Arvid shrugged as he ran to catch up with his engineer to look over data. Dino didn’t even have a chance to question it. Did he believe it? No. Did he think it was a cheap coverup? Oh yeah, Dino just needed to get to the bottom of it.

They didn’t have a free chance until they were wrapping up after qualifying. Both of them did well, qualifying first (Arvid) and third (Dino). They had just finished up the debrief, and Arvid dipped out faster than any of the team could blink. It wasn’t until Dino went out to the employee parking lot with Gabriele and Sebastian that he saw Arvid still hanging around. Dino was about to run up and scare him, but he noticed Arvid was on the phone. Like a normal group of friends, they all decided to listen in on his call.

“Qualifying was good,” He chuckled as he kicked at a few rocks on the asphalt. He paused for a second before chuckling again, “Yes. I know. Thank you, lovey.” The boys were confused. Who the hell was he talking to? Maybe Arvid wasn’t talking out of his ass about a girlfriend earlier in the week. The trio looked between each other before Arvid started talking again. “Are you almost here? We can go out tonight and celebrate your test…Okay, I’ll let you drive safely for the rest of the way. I have to confront some eavesdroppers. I’ll see you when you get here. I love you.”

Busted, they all thought. 

Arvid hung up the phone with his beloved girlfriend, who he would have rather talked to for eternity, but he also knew his friends would have questions. He can understand why. He never mentioned a girlfriend, nor has he mentioned any interest in a girl. It’s mainly because he always had you, and he never felt the need to say anything. Also, no one asked him about a girlfriend.

Now, he was going to come clean. 

“You can ask now,” Arvid sighed as he turned around and looked straight at the group of three.

“Who, what, when, where, why,” Dino rattled off quickly as he approached Arvid.

“And how!” Sebastian shouted running to catch up with Dino and Arvid, leaving Gabriele to calmly walk over on his own. “I need the tea!”

“Who, her name is Y/n. What, she’s my my girlfriend. When, since 2022. Where and why, I don’t know the questions,” Arvid rattled back quickly as all three boys surrounded him.

“Where you met and why you hid it, obviously,” Gabriele stated in a blatant tone. 

“We grew up together. She was my neighbor for the longest time, and when I left for the Italian F4 championship, she confessed and ended up joining me toward the end of the season. Why I didn’t tell you, you didn’t ask.”

“You two were dating when we were F3 teammates, and I didn’t even know?”

“She confessed first? That’s cute.”

“Why are we just now finding out?”

“Tough luck,” Arvid laughed as he started going through the follow-up questions of his friends. “Yeah, she confessed. Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just I thought you would have been the one to confess,” Sebastian replied quickly, thinking he offended Arvid. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Arvid chuckled, “And you’re just now finding out because you decided to listen in on my phone call now. If you would have waited about 12 more hours, you would’ve met her in person.”

“Is this her first race?” Dino asked still in shock.

“No, did you not listen?” Arvid teased. “She came for the last half of my Italian F4 season in 2022, and a couple of F4 and Euro 4 races in 2023. Whatever ones she could do with her schedule since she was still in secondary school. She was also at the MACAU race in 2023, I forgot about that.”

“So she just didn’t come to your first or second F3 seasons?” Dino didn’t mean to sound so snappy, but he was confused. Just as Arvid was getting ready to reply, a car honking caught all of their attention. The driver rolled down their window, they were met with a random girl except she wasn’t random to Arvid.

“It’s a lot easier to go to European races than it is to go everywhere, especially during my last years of secondary school,” She said with a laugh. “Do you boys need a ride? I’ve got space. It’s not some fancy car, but it gets the job done.”

She wasn’t kidding. Her old Honda Civic looked like it had seen better days, but it still ran, and that’s what mattered. Arvid shook his head dismissively as he walked around to the passenger side.

“Oh, first you say she confessed, and now you’re saying you’re the passenger princess? That’s crazy,” Sebastian teased as he walked up to the door.

“Passenger princess and proud,” Arvid boasted as he immediately took over the music. “Are you guys getting in or not?”

“Hold up, I’m still wrapping my head around this.”

“Dino, either get in the car, and we’ll drop you off at the hotel or we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Ok, I’m getting in.”

The following day, the talk of the F2 paddock was that Arvid had a girlfriend. Once again, no one believed it. Dino was the one running around telling anyone who would listen, and they definitely thought he was going crazy. Sebastian and Gabriele weren’t making a big deal, so everyone thought Dino was making it up. There was no way Arvid had a girlfriend. He was the type to want to flaunt a girlfriend if he had one, so clearly, he didn’t have one. It wasn’t until the two walked into the paddock that, suddenly, everyone went quiet.

Arvid walked through the scanner in his Red Bull kit and waited for Y/n to scan her pass. It was obvious to everyone that the Prema kit she was wearing was not her own. Once she got through, her hand was in Arvid’s as he led her to the Prema trailer. No one could believe their eyes.

Dino stood off to the side with a couple of drivers as they all watched the two lovers laugh at something before disappearing in the trailer.

“I don’t get it,” Luke cleared the air as he still focused on the now-closed door they went in. “I don’t believe they’re together.”

“Yeah,” Laurens chuckled in agreement. “I don’t see him as the type to pull her.”

“Oh, just wait until you find out the racing driver is a passenger princess,” Dino chuckled off-handedly as he started to walk away.

“You are lying!” Tim shouted after him, wanting to hear more details.

“Nope,” Dino stated with a pop. “I’m not spilling everything. You all thought I was lying about his girlfriend! Why would I give you more tea?”

“Fine, I’ll just ask Sebastian,” Tim shrugged off as he walked off with Laurens and Luke following closely behind him.

“No!” Dino shouted as he ran after them. “Wait for me!”

~~~ Part 2->

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[tinydefector]

Hooray!!! Omg i’m so happy lol. I’m definitely going to be smiling for the rest of my day. I finally had time to think about it and how about a platonic familial scenario with mtmte magnus and the ambassador on break and casually chatting, fluff please. let me know if you need more details, and take your time <3

(i’ve been having data problems so hopefully this ask sends through 😅)

Out of the bag - human effects

I had so much fun writing this Buddee and I hope you like it!.

Word count 1.6k

Ultra Magnus x human reader

Fic Masterlist

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________________

The ambassador sat quietly working through files while on the desk, fingers pinching their temple as they re-read the text. A hot drink beside them as they worked. Ultra Magnus sat at the desk as he too worked. It would have been rather funny to look at, A large alien robot sitting at his desk working while his co-worker who was much smaller sat on the same desk on their own seat with a desk. They looked almost like they were a toy figure. 

They take a sip of their drink and roll their shoulders slightly. "Please tell me I don't have to fix another 15 files of Rodimus getting side tracked again and typing out random words like Chinchilla?" They mumble almost like a pray.

Ultra Magnus cycled a weary ex-vent, field rippling with long-suffering patience. "I'm afraid so, Ambassador. The captain seems...incapable of submitting forms in any semblance of proper order." He pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor, nearly the same pose as them. an unmistakably human mannerism picked up from long acquaintance. "At this rate, reconciling his haphazard paperwork will occupy the majority of your work cycle."

Magnus observed the ambassador's flagging energy levels with mild concern. "Perhaps you should take a brief respite. Overexerting yourself serves no purpose - I can handle the captain's responsibilities for the time being."

His tone, while stern, held an undercurrent of genuine care. Despite their differences, he cared deeply for the ambassador; their well-being remained in everyone's best interests. 

"The schedules can wait. I suspect you've had enough excitement for one orn already." A hint of dryly amused. "I'll be alright Magnus, Just got a headache and sore. Really wasn't planning on dealing with reports, but it beats having to do holovids with Prowl, I want to strangle that mech some times." They reply leaning back in their seat, bringing their drink up and holding it in their hands as they close their eyes for a moment.

Prowl's combative nature makes diplomatic discourse a...trial, to say the least." He cycled another heavy ex-vent. "Though I must say, your own entanglements have proven equally...taxing, of late." Magnus leveled them with a pointed look, with a hint of mild disapproval.

"I trust you understand the risks involved, consorting so closely with the crew. Propriety and protocol exist for good reason - to maintain order and prevent compromising our mission." 

Yet beneath the stern admonishment, a thread of genuine concern shone through. "I only caution you to tread carefully, little one. The games played aboard this ship can be...treacherous, for those caught unawares."

His gaze softened marginally. "I would not see you come to harm, simply for wishing to find companionship in these trying times. Despite what you and others may think i do care about you" 

Embarrassment slowly works its way into their system as they look down as if they were a child who just got caught stealing something. "How.. how did you" they start not knowing how to continue talking. "Come now, Ambassador - did you truly think your...activities would escape my notice?" Magnus replied, a hint of wryness in tone.

He shook his helm slightly. "I may be strict, but I'm not blind. The signs were...quite evident.” Leaning back in his chair, Magnus fixed the ambassador with a measured look. "I'll not lecture you on proper conduct - Primus knows life aboard this ship is complicated enough as it is." Attempting to soothe their clear discomfort. "However, I must urge caution. Entanglements with subordinates."

They continue to look down for a moment processing his words. "I know, I wasn't planning on getting involved with anyone, it just sort of happened. Told Ratchet that it was to stay on the down low, and Ratchet had the same concern about risk, he wanted to make sure if something did happen with other bots outside of him and Drift that i had someone to trust if something happened. I was just worried that if you, Rodimus or Megatron found out. My job was gone" they mumble, they were filled with so much anxiety and panic over the situation only for the mech they feared the most about it to just say he knew. 

Magnus cycled a heavy vent. "I see. That...explains certain observations, I must admit." He rubbed a servo over his faceplate. "Ratchet and Drift, of all mechs. I confess, I had not anticipated that particular entanglement."

Fixing the ambassador with a level stare, Magnus continued, "However, you needn't fear repercussions from myself or the others." A hint of wryness entered his tone. " We've all been there, at one point or another." 

They let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you Magnus, and I'm making sure to look after myself. Woah just wasn't expecting to be having this conversation with you is all. You have no idea how much fear I had about you finding out about my um.. 'activities'. You bots aren't exactly subtle about your 'human fucker' content  " they state before slowly having another mouthful of their drink.

He nodded in acknowledgement. "I understand your concern. confess, even I am not entirely immune to the temptations that arise. However, I endeavor to maintain strict protocols."  Magnus continued solemnly, "I cannot - and will not - control the personal affairs of my crew. That is a burden I do not wish to bear."

A hint of wryness entered his tone. "Though I must admit, the antics of Megatron and Rodimus have certainly tested my patience on more than one occasion. They are both very fond of you"

“I had a feeling they were. Magnus you being tempted, now that's new to me, I'm sorry they are causing you trouble” they chuckle, smiling up at him, enjoying the banter.  

"Ratchet and Drift both know I'm not interested in a relationship, it's mainly just stress relief, and i think Sunstreaker just has a bjt of a kink for someone who isn't going to scratch his paint" they confirm, making him aware of yet another bot involved. Magnus's optics widened fractionally at the mention of Sunstreaker - another unexpected development in this tangled web. "I see. So Sunstreaker as well, hmm?"

”It would appear you...ambassador has been quite diligent in cultivating a support network aboard this ship." Fixing the human with a measured look, Magnus continued, "And you are certain this...arrangement suits you? Entanglements with the crew, regardless of intent, can prove...complicated."

The nod. “Yes, I'm content and want to keep this on the down low, I don't need it getting back to my superiors on earth, nor do I need Prowl making issues of it.” They explain. In truth they were very happy with the arrangement, and felt less guilty now that they were talking with Ultra Magnus over the situation. 

"I merely wish to ensure you are not inadvertently placing yourself in jeopardy, little one." Magnus paused, considering his next words carefully. "However, if this provides you the stress relief you require, then I shall refrain from further commentary." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Though I must admit, I'm somewhat impressed by your...resilience, in the face of such formidable suitors."

It makes their face fluster as they look away from him quickly. “That's not funny and you know it” they huff under their breath only for him to let out a soft rumbled noise. Shaking his helm ruefully, the Autobot commander returned his attention to the ever-present datapads. "Very well. You have my discretion and, should you need, my counsel as well."

"They have all been good to me, very respectful and accommodating. They mainly have been dead quiet about involvement because of you actually." They hum. "Well technically you, Megatron and Rodimus. You three I do look up to alot, and your opinion means alot to me. I was just worried you would have me court martialled and shipped back to earth for fraternization "

Magnus's field rippled with a mix of surprise and begrudging respect. "I see." 

"While I cannot condone such...personal entanglements, I confess I am impressed by your discretion thus far. It speaks to a level of maturity and pragmatism I had not anticipated." Magnus met their gaze steadily. "You have proven yourself a valuable asset to this ship. I would not see that jeopardized, simply due to youthful indiscretions." 

With that now out of the way they sit there quietly before looking up at ultra Magnus from their spot sitting on the desk. "Could I have a hug, at the moment I can feel myself shaking from the fear and anxiety " they try to joke and make light of how afraid they were of him finding out. 

Magnus regarded the ambassador with a soft expression, field pulsing understanding. "Of course." He gently scooped them up, cradling their small frame against his chest in a rare display of tenderness. "There is no need to fear, Ambassador." His deep voice rumbled with reassurance as he lightly stroked their back.

They lean their head against his plating, relaxing against him.  "Thank you, you're a real one Magnus. No one will ever change that" Magnus rumbled softly, the vibration soothing against the ambassador's frame. "You are most welcome. I am merely doing what I believe is right."

He gently adjusted his hold, ensuring their comfort as they leaned into him. A rare, small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You have earned my trust, Ambassador. That is no small feat."

With that, Magnus simply held the ambassador, allowing them the chance to find solace in the steadiness of his frame. And in truth he rather enjoyed holding them close. 

_______________

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[blackwaves]

shakes you by the shoulders DAZAI AND AKUTAGAWAAAA please talk about them omg i’m losing it. that part of the new chapter where akutagawa says he didn’t feel any pain under dazai’s mentoring and calls HIMSELF deplorable… akutagawa searching for dazai desperately after he vanished… and then that followed by atsushi wanting nothing to do with the headmaster and refusing to talk to him. sskk each processing their toxic relationships with their mentors in completely opposite ways … atsushi pitying akutagawa over treatment that akutagawa himself likely doesn’t even see as abuse. i’m so insane. anyway. please do expand upon your thoughts about dazai & akutagawa’s relationship in the context of atsushi’s with the headmaster i beg

hi i am typing this out on my phone on data feeling incomprehensible emotions so i can't provide screenshots rn (aka source trust me; i can provide sources from the text later tbh. fascinating how often i have dived into the bsd manga to reread for dazai-akutagawa. i'm insane over them.) but.

okay so: important premise and foundation stone. the thing about bsd and abuse to me forever is that it's once again the fact that bsd as a manga hates labels. i'm being facetious, but— labels placed in a toolbox to describe and communicate mutually-understood concepts, but which don't dictate behavior or lead to like... assumptions of, this is how you should feel or the actions you should be taking. anyway this is to say disclaimer it's never incorrect to me to say dazai abused akutagawa (i generally stick with terms like, put his entire brain in a pasta machine and turned the handle, instead, but like yeah he Did fuck up that kid forever in a way characterized by his power over him. heartemoji.) but simultaneously i am always tilting my head at a lot of specifically fanon interpretation of their dynamic as abuser-victim because i simultaneously think asagiri is never, ever playing that simple with it.

this applies to a lesser extent with the orphanage director & atsushi, but is present in some ways. because they make me insane and again, asagiri is never playing that simple + i think placing it into (v western-centric, but that's a discussion for another time) boxes of what victims should be feeling is reductive and misses the point, especially given that the characters themselves are not working inside that framework. this is primarily important to me with the discussion of like... resentment and anger in relation to the abuse, and how it ties into the way that bsd does not absolve wrongs done but looks at them with understanding and says, always. what now. what will you do with the aftermath and what's left. you have to move forward; what now?

so. the chapter where the orphanage director dies and its portrait of abuse lives rent free in my head. akutagawa directly parallels dazai and the orphanage director for their roles in his own and atsushi's lives respectively; it's the same sentiment through the way they treated akutagawa and atsushi respectively, as well. akutagawa in heartless cur mirrors the same emptiness constantly described in dazai; dazai offers the suicidal kid on the verge of self-destruction a reason to live, which is a temporary liferaft and messy and fucked up and does horrible at it, but: it is dazai looking at the kid he chose to pick up and trying to save him. it doesn't work because dazai himself is a fucked up teenager who doesn't have a reason to live, but it's an attempt (he takes it so seriously that he is akutagawa's mentor btw, even if it looks otherwise. that's his kid. that's literally his kid).

(to some extent, it's the same thing as kouyou-kyouka, and it's the same thing as akutagawa-kyouka— you offer someone looking to you a way to live, and you fuck it up (because you urself are not that good at living), but you're trying and it's driven by that fact. it’s a common thread i’m always, always fascinated by, but more relevantly— )

which is just to lead up to: atsushi and the orphanage director are paralleled to dazai-akutagawa. explicitly. and atsushi hates the orphanage director for what he did to him and he's narratively allowed to, bsd is never going to tell you his motivations cancel out what he did, but it doesn't undo that the orphanage director is realer than being just the 2d monster of atsushi's childhood. there’s something important to me forever in beast atsushi experiencing the same realization that canon atsushi does wrt the shattering realization that the blanket resentment+fury covers over how he does have more complicated feelings for the orphanage director and vice versa, the sudden realization of humanity and this time warped, vs the way again it does not ever absolve the orphanage director of what he did. the conversation with mori at the end of beast lives in my head forever.

it’s just. someone who forms ur framework of what it means to live. someone rooted deep in the bedrock of how you define yourself and who twisted your head about it forever and who you have eternally messy undefinable feelings about, who is infinitely infinitely human and who was still trying so hard to save you as best as they could, who saw themself in you and gave you the tools they themself had and it didn’t work but. it was something. it’s important to me, and i think it’s fascinating as a thread to draw back on as sskk adapt and grow and learn together to find new reasons to live. atsushi pushing through the door With the orphanage director matters so much to me— not in the sense of forgiveness, but in the sense of, his feelings have never been as simple as he wanted them to be and he is looking at that rn as he finds better ways to be alive.

[jedipoodoo]

Bring Them Home (Sergeant Hunter x Reader)

Notes: SPOILERS FOR SEASON THREE EPISODE TWO: PATHS UNKNOWN. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE SEASON THREE PREMIERE. Children, angsty Hunter Edit: STUPID TUNGLR POSTED THIS WHEN I MEANT TO SAVE IT SO PSA-- If you read this before 10pm EST on Feb 27, this one-shot is officially completed so please reread it again and enjoy it in its full glory.

gif by @dreamswithghosts

It had been months since you'd seen Hunter, so of course you and Phee were there when the Marauder touched down in the Archium. Wrecker waved to you both as the ramp lowered, beckoning to someone inside the ship.

Hunter said they were bringing someone with them, but you didn't expect the cadets-- the children --to look so bewildered when they stepped off the ship.

"They're so young," Shep said softly, and you wondered how round and baby-faced they must have been when they left Kamino, the only home they'd ever known.

The three cadets lingered on the steps of the ramp, looking around in earnest while Wrecker waited patiently.

"It smells like Kamino," the tallest said as you approached.

"Mox, did you see the ocean? D'you think they'll let us go swimming?"

"You can do whatever you want here!" Wrecker laughed encouragingly. He gave you his classic thump on the shoulders, and you smiled. It was the happiest you'd seen him since they lost Tech and Omega.

"Hi," You introduced yourself to the cadets, "What're your names?"

"I'm Deke. This is Mox, and that's Stak." The shortest of them stepped forward, while his brothers watched you warily.

"And I'm Phee Genoa, liberator of ancient wonders," Phee smiled warmly at them all.

"Welcome to Pabu," Shep said, "I'm the mayor here. We have a warm bed and fresh food for all of you."

"Thanks," Mox, the tallest, said softly. His arms were crossed over his chest, and Stak's hands fidgeted at his side.

"Wrecker, why don't you and Phee show them the island? I reckon they're as hungry as you."

Wrecker chuckled softly and nodded towards the ship, catching your drift. He beckoned for the kids to follow him. They seemed to trust a clone more than other humans, but that was understandable.

"Have you boys ever heard of Skara Nol?" you heard Phee asking them.

"What's that?" Deke asked.

"It's a big mountain, filled with lots of puzzles!" Wrecker said, waving his arms to demonstrate.

At that point, you'd stepped aboard. The warmth of the sun dissipated as you were enveloped in the Marauder's dim lighting. Hunter sat at the navicomputer to your right, half asleep and blanketed by a hazy blue glow.

"Those boys aren't the only ones who could use a home-cooked meal, you know." You said, putting more weight into your steps so he wouldn't be surprised by your approach.

"I assume you've brought some, then?" He said.

You rolled your eyes and took the canteen of gumbo from your bag.

"Only when you step away from the computer. It won't do you any good to spill it all over Tech's equipment now."

Hunter sighed, and set another diagnostic to run through the files.

"We've got another lead," He said, turning away from the computer. Your heart fluttered at the note of hope in his voice.

"The Intel from the Durands was too old, the kids were all that's left of that lab, but we scraped some data from one of the data banks. We think it could tell us where Hemlock took Omega."

You handed him the spoon, and Hunter tried to eat politely, but it soon gave way to his hunger as he shoveled spoonfuls into his mouth without waiting to chew.

"Careful, you'll make yourself sick," You warned him, "You've been eating too many rations. I'll have to send you off with some real food this time."

Hunter looked up at you, and you used your thumb to wipe some sauce from his chin, but you couldn't quite meet his eyes.

"You could always come with us. How's your leg doing?"

The only reason you hadn't gone with Hunter and Wrecker when they set out to find Omega was because your femur was broken in the same railcar crash that took Tech. Phee had promised to look out for you and keep you from getting too bored while they scoured the galaxy. Despite your protests, you knew that in your injured state, you couldn't be much help at all.

So you made yourself useful in Pabu. You sewed clothes to replace those lost in the tsunami, you looked after children while their parents rebuilt, you made your family's old gumbo recipe for those who were too tired to cook at the end of the day.

Those like Hunter.

"What about the kids? Deke, Mox and...Stak?"

Hunter nodded, "Shep said there were some families on Pabu who could take care of them for now, he even offered to take two of them into his own house."

"Oh," You said softly, "That's kind of him."

Setting the empty canteen to the side, Hunter squeezed one of your hands as it hung at your side.

"Everything alright, cyare?"

"Oh!" After so long without him, you forgot how well he knew you.

"I just...I was hoping we could take them in, take care of them."

Hunter's eyes softened, and finally stood. "I'll admit I thought about it myself, but..."

"Not while Omega's still captured," You finished for him, dropping his hand and folding your arms.

Hunter's thumb brushed against your cheek, begging for you to look at him.

"You remember that night on Ord Mantell, right?" He asked.

You pouted, bottom lip jutting out, "We spent a lot of nights on Ord Mantell." Too many, to be precise.

"You know the one I'm talking about," He cupped your face in both hands, and you looked up at the dark circles beneath his eyes.

And you did know the night he mentioned. It was a full moon, so you could actually see the moon high above all the neons and smoke from the city. Hunter had made you a promise then and there, and you made one to him too. Nothing like marriage, but something like it.

Biting your lip, you reached up to run your thumb over his crows' feet. His eyes closed, blissfully relaxed beneath your touch. You knew how much he needed to find her. He could never forgive himself if anything happened to you, to Wrecker, or any of the cadets they'd just saved.

"I meant what I said that night," He whispered, eyes glistening as his forehead rested against yours, "We'll have our own family some day, something Kamino and the Empire won't ever be able to take from us. We just have to wait a bit longer."

You sniffled just a bit, and buried your face in his chest. You wrapped your arms around his torso, and when he wrapped his arms around you he leaned more of his body weight on you than he usually did. He felt frail, delicate even, like too much pressure in one place would snap him in half.

Hunter needed you, and you needed him.

"I'm coming with you," You whispered. He sighed with relief.

"Let's bring her home."

[sidhebeingbrand]

I just finished reading the extant Murderbot properties and I read them all while playing Tears of the Kingdom so please enjoy this howevermany unbetaed words of 'Link would actually understand MurderBot Completely here's secunit Link'

Restart

I woke up face down in a puddle, though a probe arm had lifted said face out of the water.

It wasn't the first time, although it should have been. Or I shouldn't have woken up at all, even the first time, I mean. My organics had been damaged beyond repair and there was a hole through my processor the size of my fist.

I didn't have time to be upset about it, or surprised. Maybe someday I would wake up and be in a good position to process and then everything would go to shit, who knows, but since the first Impossible Restart these things have always happened in the middle of crises so I was fine.

My organic senses popped back online back first, which was annoying, because now I knew things but couldn't do anything about them. The data inputs to my processor were taking longer.

I was lying on a soft planetary surface-- soft because it was dirt saturated with water, which meant I'd fallen off the rail-bridge between the two habitat domes when I'd been shot, which meant the hostiles (three corporate humans and two corporate combat-bots) were moving unimpeded to the unsecured dome with my human and her shuttle inside it. I could hear the humans bickering. Combat bots don't bicker where you can hear them.

A drone was bouncing gently against my cheek. There was more cheek there for it to bounce off of then there had been when I went down, due to the wide-beam energy rifle one of the hostile corporates had hit me with.

A normal Secunit's drone would have shut down with it unless they cut it free and then gave it a 'pester my corpse' subroutine, but NaviDrone isn't a Secunit’s drone becausw I'm not a Secunit. I'm a Linked Interface Construct, which translates into 'someone had a good idea that didn't pan out'. I'm the thinking killing part of a big friendly swarm of mostly non-killing brains that's supposed to be good at everything.

I wasn't good at much except anxiety right then . Fortunately, Navigation and Mid-combat Navigation are autonomous units that do whatever they want when I'm down, and usually when I'm up. Mid-combat, a sleek black thing like a -- on the documentaries, intvertebrates with lots of arms, in the ocean-- a sleek black unit with four flexible arms-- was sitting on my back and keeping my air intake clear.

Oh, there was my audio feed. Supervisor Z was calling my designation desperately across feed, and NaviDrone was pinging for my attention just as desperately and MidNav was insulting me in its worried way.

I sent them all the glyph for 'thumbs up'. I was fine.

Navi locked onto three feeds for me, processing them and pulling them to the side of my processor where I pay attention to feeds. One was the empty line where Z had been talking to her ground team (hopefully in the shielded detainment unit they'd threatened Z with on first comm contact, hopefully not dead.) One was Z's feed to me, full of her pleading voice. The third one was the Hostiles'. It was an echo of the organic sound of the humans bickering, actually. They'd left comms on but gone air-to-air talking which was stupid and redundant.

One of the hostiles said, out loud and across the shared feed a microsecond later-- ugh, echoey-- "What's that light down there?"

Unknown, said the combat units in unison, just across the feed.

"Unit one, go down and check it out," said lead-hostile, the pale-skinned, chrome-haired male-maybe(?) human who had introduced himself with a kill order the second he saw Z. He’d been talking prison and negotiations over feed but stopped when he recognized her and I don’t know what it meant but I didn’t like it.

Them investigating the light was a problem, because the light was me, streaming out of the hole in my chest. My processor was stitching itself back together with golden threads of energy that solidified into circuitry and solid-state media that somehow contained the data they had had before they were completely sublimated into a fine silicate powder.

I don't know how I do that. I'm not supposed to do that, it's not in any of the specs. Only Supervisor Z knows that I can, and she was running out of ways to explain away 'my Secunit got destroyed but I don't need another one it's fine no it just was actually restarting nevermind'.

LInC! Z cried into my feed. It's coming for you!

She sounded scared and angry. I hate that.

I sent back up another thumbs up, and then a 'stop' oct. I don't know why a red octagon means hold position, but it does. Docs use it all the time.

I won't leave you alone to fight it!

Oh fuck me. I pinged the bot pilot to seal her shuttle and prep for emergency takeoff.

It pinged me back: Query: damaged processor?

As in what it would have to have to try to stop her, very funny.

I pinged back that she was in danger.

It pinged back LInC unit: under threat

That's my job. I take the threats and die and my client lives. Nobody around me seems to understand that. And now Z was going to come out and get into trouble before I could kill the hostiles, and she might get hurt and I could not actually handle that.

Shit. Crap. Uh.

I'm set up with the organic and cybernetic components to speak and obviously I can parse into several written languages. On paper. I just don't like it. Words Hard.

I mean, I don't mind words, obviously. You're reading this. They're fine for archival data but for real time communication they are shit. There's tone and nuance and I can't even guarantee I'm using the right ones for the situation and it drops my performance capacity by up to 30% trying to translate it. Bot-pilots have it right; data and pictures.

But it makes it really hard to explain to humans why they should not do things that are going to get them killed.

I have a drone for this, though.

I pinged ProxyDrone to break its patrol pattern around the shuttle, armed it with my threat assessment, my action plan, and gave it a directive to stall Z until I had taken down the enemy combatants.

Okay! No problem!

ProxyDrone has no threat-assessment or way to interpret the scale of difficulty of a task which is very useful. MidNav would have smacked me if I gave it an impossible objective like that.

I sent it the thumbs up glyph and reassessed.

HostileCombatUnitOne was descending the scaffolding from the now-defunct rail line with catlike grace. Mean, and bouncing from point to point and being really smug about it, I mean. I've seen documentaries, I know what a cat is.

I looked around for a weapon, and, hooray, the wide-angle energy beam had provided me one. A big chunk of structural metal twisted at an angle, pulled a jagged point where it had failed under tension on one side. It wasn't my preferred non-projectile combat tool, but it would do.

Energy weapons are so destructive, and projectiles are so efficient, that 90% of armor capacity boils down to deflecting those, and only 10% is for other stuff like 'don't fail when hit by a big sharpened metal lever'.

I love big sharpened metal levers.

Functional Interface lives in my hand; it assessed the lever, found it lacking, and -- did something glowy that isn't in its specs either. The metal straightened and stiffened and eroded away from one side until it had a sharp edge and fit really satisfyingly into my hand.

Combat Ready, it chimed.

MidNav gave one of its creepy little giggles and locked onto three structurally sound points on the broken bridge support nearby intersecting HostileCombatOne's downward trajectory.

Navi highlighted its processor and sub processor for me in clean golden circles.

It was not expecting me to come rocketing up at it, MidNav's extended arms slinging me from contact point to contact point point. It reacted quickly because it was a fucking Combat Bot, but it was expecting a SecUnit's response time, which is VERY GOOD I know some very good SecUnits, but I was operating with the processing capacity of a web of dedicated friends and I was the kind of calming angry that makes things quiet in my brain.

I slid into sync with Fi, and all the movement around me went very slow as I dodged its first projectile mid-air, got a foothold on the last support point, jumped and came at the hostile from above.

I don't like words, they're hard and stupid except in retrospect, but there's something really focusing and satisfying about making noise like an organic, big air move through hummy bits and filter through processor for loud. Good.

Its head turned up to me in slow slow motion as I brought my big sharp metal lever down with my full weight--

"HYAH!"

[dark-frosted-heart]

From a Mean Lie, Love Begins - Roger Barel

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. Secondhand embarrassment ahead.

After finishing dinner, I had some free time and so I decided to help Roger with his research.

As I descended the stairs leading to the basement like usual, I heard two people talking and stopped in my tracks.

(Roger and…Harrison?)

Their expressions were so serious that I couldn’t find the right time to call out to them.

Harrison: …In such a bad shape?

Roger: Yeah. Heard from experts that it can’t be returned to its original state. Spine’s so wrecked and can’t stand without support.

Harrison: So caught up in research that you can’t even take care of yourself. What a laugh. …Could’ve done something about it if it was caught sooner.

(What does he mean…? Roger, are you in such a bad state that you can’t stand…?)

He looked fine last night while happily drinking.

(But…there are some illnesses out there that are invisible)

(Was he self-destructing by drinking so much because he couldn’t save himself…?)

Roger: Well, I’ll see what I can do for now. I got a reputation of not being a quitter. Just gotta hang in there ‘til the end. If you can’t…then we’ll deal with it when the time comes.

As I secretly peeped at them, I saw Roger give a weak smile.

(Roger’s body really is wrecked…)

(He couldn’t have been lying if Harrison’s there…)

I couldn’t bring myself to say anything and quietly left before they could notice.

–

(I wasn’t aware that Roger’s condition was that bad…)

(But now that I know…I can change my behavior)

(Tomorrow, I’ll do my best to support Roger so that he doesn’t suffer)

The day after learning about Roger’s condition, I secretly made a decision. I’ll immediately start helping him out.

–

Kate: Here, Roger. Open your mouth please.

After cutting the meat on the plate into bite-sized pieces, I held it up to Roger’s mouth.

Roger: …? I can eat by myself, lil’ lady.

Kate: Please don’t overwork yourself! I’ll be supporting you throughout your life! 

Roger: The hell’s gotten into you?

Roger tried to stand up with a puzzled look on his face, and I rushed to stop him.

Kate: Ah, please don’t force yourself to stand!

Roger: I just wanna get a drink…

Kate: I’ll get it for you!

I stood up instead and got Roger a glass of water.

Kate: Here you go Roger.

Roger: Thanks…

Alfons: Good grief…Stop worrying about that muscle-headed, research-obsessed idiot and feed me, little robin?

Kate: …You’re feeling fine, aren’t you Alfons? You don’t need help, do you?

Alfons: I’m certainly feeling rather energized this morning, however…

With the way you’re speaking…You make it sound as if Roger’s not well.

Kate: …

I became depressed as I thought back to yesterday’s conversation.

Roger: …Lil’ lady?

Kate: I heard it yesterday. The conversation between you and Harrison… That your body was so wrecked that you couldn’t stand…!

Roger: Hm? That’s…

Alfons: Oh? I knew you wouldn’t live long but is it finally time to kick the bucket?

Roger: …

At the question, Roger exchanged glances with Harrison and then let out a sigh.

Roger: …Everyone’s gonna wind up six feet under eventually. It just depends on when.

(If you’re not denying it, then it’s true…?)

Kate: Please don’t talk about giving up like that…! I may not understand your condition, but I’ll be supporting you from today onward!

Roger: That’s helpful. Well I got some research I’d like you to help me with now…

Kate: Please leave it to me!

–

I was helping Roger out with his research like he’d asked and it was approaching midnight.

Roger: It’s getting late. Why don’t you get back to your room, lil’ lady?

Kate: What about you?

Roger: …I’ll get some rest too.

Kate: Liar. You’re going to keep working, aren’t you?

When I glared at Roger for that impromptu lie, he just shrugged.

Roger: …I got some interesting data so I wanna work on it for a bit longer.

Kate: It’s not like the data’s going anywhere tomorrow and the numbers won’t change. Take it easy and look after yourself.

I forced Roger out of his chair and onto an infirmary bed.

Roger: Are you planning on helping me not just today, but the next day onward too?

Kate: Yes. I’m worried about your health so that’s my intention.

Roger: Heh, your thoughts never fail to surprise me. You’d agree to anything I’d ask you right now, wouldn’t you?

Kate: Is there anything else you want me to do?!

Roger asked me to help with his research today, but…that’s just an extension of how I usually help him.

(If I could do anything for Roger since he’s not physically well…I’d do it)

Roger: Yeah…How about this. Kiss me. Roger grabbed my hand as he sat up in bed.

(Why a kiss…ah)

(If you don’t feel well, then you’ll feel even more lonely or hopeless…)

No doubt the kiss wouldn’t have any special feeling behind it…rather, it’d  just be some physical contact to fill the loneliness.

(Roger’s selfishly kissed me numerous times before)

(No point in rejecting him at this point)

(More importantly, I’d like to help Roger when I can…)

Because I’m standing, I don’t have to go on my tiptoes to kiss him today.

To keep it from getting in the way,I tucked my hair behind my ear with the hand not being held by Roger.

Kate: Nn…

I gave Roger a light peck.

Though it was just a brief, I filled Roger’s heart with all the compassion I could muster.

Roger: Ha…it’s still not enough.

Roger tugged hard on the hand he was holding.

Kate: …Oof

Roger was pushed down onto the bed as he pulled me toward him.

Kate: A-are you alright?! Does it hurt anywhere?

Roger: Nothing hurts so just leave it. That aside, do it again.

Kate: …

At his begging, I pushed Roger down and kissed him again.

This time, his hand went up to the back of my head to keep me from pulling away too soon.

Kate: Nn…haaa…

Roger’s tongue slid into my mouth and tangled with mine.

Breathtaking kisses were something Roger had shown me.

(I don’t know how many more kisses like this I’ll get…)

The thought of it made my heart ache…I continued to kiss Roger to make him happy.

Roger: …You’d really do anything, wouldn’t you?

Roger mumbled as our lips parted.

Roger: Do you do this with anyone you know is weak…?

(I tried to imagine it but…it’d be difficult to do this with anyone but Roger)

(Roger’s touched me before, so it’s a different set of obstacles from others…I think)

Kate: I think it’s normal to want to do things for someone who’s suffering.

Roger: …If that’s the case, then I can’t just go quietly.

Kate: …Huh?

Roger: Who’ll take care of Crown when I’m gone? They could call in a doctor from the outside, but it’d be hard to respond at my speed. And if that does happen, you’d have a lot of weak men lying around you. Don’t wanna put you in a situation where you’d be compassionate toward weak men besides me.

(Are you saying this to protect me…? But…)

Kate: But even if you say that, your body’s already…

Roger: Ah…Think it’s time I cleared up this misunderstanding.

Kate: Misunderstanding…?

Roger: That conversation you heard between Harrison and me was actually about—

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: …?

Harrison: What’s up?

Roger: Nothing, just heard the lil’ lady’s footsteps…But she turned back.

Harrison: She probably read the air when she saw how serious we looked.

Roger: We weren’t talking about anything important so she could’ve just come in.

Harrison: Not important…Roger, do you really understand the value of this book? It’s a book signed by Edgar Allan Poe and it got ruined by chemicals…! The spine’s falling apart and the chemical’s made the text fade so much it’s unreadable. It couldn’t even stand on its own when I put it on a bookshelf…

Roger: It was a gift, but I got so caught up in my research that I got careless.

Harrison: *sigh*...This is why people only interested in research are nothing but trouble.

~~ End flashback ~~

Roger: So…It wasn’t me that got wrecked but a book.

Kate: Really…?

Roger: Yeah, really. As you can see, I’m healthy as a horse. Sorry for playing around with you without clearing it up right away. Thought it’d be a good excuse to get you to help with some research. I’ll take all your complaints.

Kate: Y-you’re the worst!!

With a singular curse, I ran out and to my room.

After closing the door, I collapsed on the spot.

Kate: That’s a relief… At least Roger isn’t dying…!

Feeling relieved, uncontrollable feelings spilled out in the form of tears.

I ran from Roger because I didn’t want him to see me cry. 

Roger’s voice: …Lil’ lady.

Roger’s voice could be heard from out in the hallway.

Kate: W-what is it? I’m mad at you right now…!

Roger’s voice: I wanna apologize, so open the door.

Kate: Don’t want to…

Roger’s voice: That so. …With the lie I told, I don’t blame you.

I thought Roger would give up once I refused him, but he showed no signs of leaving.

Kate: Um…You’re not going back to your room?

Roger: I’m gonna wait ‘til you open the door for me.

(If you say that, then i have no choice but to open the door…)

I wiped my eyes and opened the door.

Roger: …

Kate: D-did you by chance…hear anything when I came back to my room?

Roger’s curse gave him supernatural hearing.

“At least Roger isn’t dying…”

If he heard me say that as I cried, then my angry act would be all for nothing.

Roger: No? Didn’t hear anything. Anyway, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that misunderstanding about my life go that far.

Kate: … …You said you lied to get me to help you. So why the kiss?

Roger: You were worrying so much over taking care of me that it was endearing. I wanted to dote on you.

Kate: That wasn’t doting?! I’d call that making things difficult for me!

Roger: Really? I always thought you enjoyed the kisses. If I got the wrong idea then sorry. Let’s try again to be sure.

Kate: Why are you always taking things in that direction!  Do you even actually feel sorry at all?

Roger: I think so…Sorry.

Roger’s sudden, touching apology distracted me from my anger.

Roger: I won’t lie to you anymore. If me living longer makes you happy, then I’ll do just that.

Kate: I-I knew it. You did hear what I said when I got back to my room!

Roger: Whoops, that’s right. I didn’t hear a thing.

Kate: If you’re going to lie, then go through with it…!

Roger: Pfft…Haha.

Kate: …What are you laughing at?

Roger: Though I love how you look when you cry, I think I also love the way you yell with so much energy. Sorry for worrying you the whole day.

Roger roughly patted my head.

As I begrudgingly looked up at him, I realized that my heart was racing again.

(Roger already heard me say that I was relieved that he wasn’t going to die, but…)

(...I hope he doesn’t notice the sound of my heart racing as he pats my head)

[insufferableprotagonistpoll]

Insufferable Comic Relief Round 1

Propaganda why Neelix is an insufferable Comic Relief:

"I hate him. His narratives are probably not even that bad he just annoys me so much I can't watch scenes with him in them"

"I read this mfer only had one submission; I assumed he was already 1000x submitted but I guess if you want something done right you gotta do it yourself. He's supposed to have scavenged around for ages, but all he does is play stupid, be a jealous asshole, eat hot bacteria cheese, and lie. He's got the intellectual capacity of a toddler, the maturity of a sixteen year old incel, and the discipline of an orange cat. And frankly it's a WASTE of Ethan Phillips' talent, too. He's got a couple good episodes where he gets to have depth, but noooo, for the rest of the show, he's just annoyingly goofy. "I'm the senior Talaxian on board" you are the senior CLOWN on board. Sit the fuck down Pagliacci. "Neelix is dumb and lied his way into the job and can't tell left from right" is fun once, maybe twice, but seven seasons of it? Yeet that mfer out the airlock I beg you. They tried sooo hard to make a Spock/Data/Odo type character who doesn't get humans and mix some Quark fun hijinks into it but all they got was a fucked up Wesley Crusher. Get him off this show ASAP. The website I got the picture from says "Why Neelix Leaving The USS Voyager Is A Perfect Star Trek Ending" BECAUSE HE FINALLY LEFT THAT'S WHY.

AU where Neelix actually got to have character development, Neelix (Star Trek) Redemption, Slow Build, Alternate Universe: what if VOY didn't waste one of its best actors, PLEASE"

"Seconding Neelix Voyager because UGH is he fucking annoying. He's inconvenient and he wants to "help" people all the time but doesn't care if they want to be helped which leads to SO MANY awkward scenes. Completely ignores his coworker Tuvok's comfort and culture and just DECIDES he's going to help Tuvok be more chill even though Tuvok never implied he wanted that and actually prides himself in following Vulcan culture. Besides he's annoyingly jealous of his girlfriend Kes in earlier seasons, leading to him fighting with one of her few friends for... being nice to her? Spending time with her? I hate that fucker honestly, sorry to any Neelix fans, he only grows on me when Naomi gets introduced"

Propaganda why Lobbo is an insufferable Comic Relief:

"Everything about him makes me wanna kick like the ball he is shaped like

I can't even begin to explain why I hate him, it's one of those things where you have to see him and hear him to understand

He doesn't need to be there, and he will never need to be there

His only reason to exist is to cause my suffering, I'm sure of it at this point "

"He is annoying and rude as the joke, as well as constantly saying his own name as if it’s supposed to be funny."

"I don't know how easily I can condense my hatred towards this ball-shaped thing into words, but I will try my best. He is the most immensely frustrating and annoying character within the confines of this show. Every time he unfortunately floats onto the screen, I want to lob him across the Merged Lands. His entire personality and speech patterns are irksome. I genuinely, truly, from the bottom of my Undertale heart soul, wish that he was never included in the show."