#but it is a fairly major component of the rest of the story

[talenlee]

Story Pile: Person Of Interest, Season 3

Story Pile: Person Of Interest, Season 3

Person of Interest is a show that started its existence talking about the hypothetical possibility of a mass surveillance state and the power that merely having your information in the control of a single consolidating source could represent. It started wanting to talk about the way that data aggregation, and even just the point of ‘here is where this data was collected’ was a powerful tool that could be used to extrapolate information you never meant to share. The world in which Person of Interest was conceived was one where the idea of imagine what a world with government surveillance would be like, and the terrors it could produce.

In 2013, Edward Snowden happened.

Spoilers ahead!

Season 3 can be seen as snapping together into two solid stories. Season 2 was about conflicting conspiracies, war between forces that want to maintain power in ghost governments, in the form of HR, the gangs, and the government secret operations department. This season is about closing some of those threats off, shutting them down, and showing the way that the Machine’s ability to confront threats like criminal organisations slowly concentrates the criminal attention away from irrelevant and immaterial threats.

At the midpoint of Season 3, we have two major changes to the status quo; first, the death of Taraji Henderson’s Carter, and second, the end of the HR Storyline. Carter’s death is a big deal, it’s very affecting and it shows how the rest of the narrative of the season has been changed. This is a story that started out about the fantasy of ‘what if someone was looking out for everyone (and could deploy a CIA kill team to save them),’ and has by this season gone into crime conspiracy and surrogate governments and finally broken as the next layer of power above gangs and cops gets involved.

Corporations.

This season introduces you to Vigilance, a fake group of real idealists that want to stop the government surveillance. Their position is treated as a good one. Their methods, where they kidnap and shoot people involved in data entry positions at companies that sell private information, that’s framed as a bad one. Now normally I would take this as a counter-revolutionary stance but it’s revealed that Vigilance are being manipulated into doing things in a bad way, and that the people who complain about Vigilance killing people kill people. It’s a bit team sports, is what I mean.

What I especially like about the Vigilance plot this season, though, and its eventual failure is the way that Vigilance is shown to be the way it is because it didn’t actually come about from grassroots development, and was instead, something made by a corporation, then co-opted, and that their proper course of action should be to distrust when a corporation hands you your new secret identity.

This is where this spycraft and paranoia and conspiracy narrative all starts to coagulate in a way I find interesting in a way most conspiracy narratives don’t. The people involved in the conspiracy aren’t doing something small scale and specific and coincidentally queer-coded. It’s honestly pleasant that the conspiracy in this conspiracy TV show seems to manage to avoid looking too much like Protocols of Elders of Zion, which is a shockingly low bar!

This is a really sharp change, and if you tune into the series after this point, they’re very much two different series. What started out as crime-of-the-week solve-the-puzzle, cops-as-complication story component, has become full blown spy nonsense with a corrupt cop (in a good way) working against the actions of a malicious corporation with the guidance of a spacey girl acting in the name of a machine god, and it does this all with a fairly seamless flow. Throughout this you have this recurrent idea of different people from different genres of story getting involved who seem to be completely unequipped to contend with a story outside their own.

In the same way that Season 2 built ideas around alienation that capitalism brings (and I swear to god, I am not saying this is intentional it’s just something that the story uses without necessarily realising it), Season 3 shows all these problems of class. Gangs are fighting with one another because that’s what they’ve got, HR is corrupt to exploit their position of power and perceived lack of reward for it, and all of their concerns from the top to the bottom are irritations to the actions of Decima technologies. Our heroes get to transcend these layers of the system, where they see the gangsters, then the cops, then the government, then the government’s higher levels and then the corporations, all operating in these aerosolised ways apart from one another.

It’s also just unavoidably weird that this show was made to be about things that were at best ‘paranoia’ when the show started and provably, demonstrably true when the show was going. There’s a plot in season 3 about dealing with the government fallout of a leak, and that fallout is in fact, more narratively believable than what really happened. See, in the real world, Edward Snowden had to run to another country and that whole situation is super fucked up, and … that was kind of it.

Like, an enormous breach of public trust happened and nobody set anything on fire.

In Person of Interest, the eventual leak of the proof of not the Machine but the organisation designed to protect the existence of the Machine results in the sudden and immediate shutdown of that service with everyone involved gone to ground. People grow paranoid and there’s an actual resistance to continuing that kind of project. And this is also in a world where The Machine has been so good at preventing terrorism that people need to have their fear of terrorism reignited with an entirely manufacted terror act.

In the world of Person of Interest, the system the government made was good, but only coincidentally; it was kind, but not because it had to be; and it failed, because a corporation was more convenient.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Media #StoryPile #PersonOfInterest

[kinetic-elaboration]

August 6: Short Story

Up too late AGAIN even though I had a fairly restful post-work evening, which largely involved lounging in bed with my Christmas lights on and reading fanfiction. But then somehow the hours got away from me...

It’s supposed to thunder all day tomorrow, which will put a major crimp in my plans to go to the Farmer’s Market and/or... out in general. Perhaps I will write instead? I’ve been having that vague desire again--but perhaps too vague. Like.. wouldn’t it be nice to create? And also I feel like I got some good stories in me, rattling around this brain. Unfortunately, the barriers to actually writing remain high.

I finished reading Ted Chiang’s “Tower of Babylon” today, which I picked because I wanted to read a short story and it was the first in the book. The way B described it to me, I was a little wary, but I honestly loved it. I found it intensely moving, and I got teary-eyed at the end. I’ve been disillusioned with the short story form, in published/professional works for some time now...like, years. I’ve just been really struggling with seeing THE POINT in any short fiction I try. (To be completely honest, I haven’t tried that much, but still.) But this one really hit. I just felt such a longing in it. That was what really affected me most. The combination of the practical, the very human, earthly components of building, mining, creating, with the spiritual, the whole endeavor in the service of the Creator, the aforementioned longing and desire for God... it really got to me. It was all so beautifully human, both the methods and the goal. The tension throughout is, is this mission one of hubris or one of devotion? And it seems like it will inevitably revealed as the first, because of the outcome in the Biblical version, and also because this fear that the whole project is in fact unnatural and wrong haunts Hillalum throughout, and yet at the end there is no real resolution between the two strands. They are both true. Ultimately, the people cannot be greater than God or reach above Creation; no human ever could. But you don’t feel that it’s all in vain... I guess that’s what I took from it. The great effort, even toward an unexpected goal, is valuable in itself, reaching the limits of human discovery and invention, man simultaneously proving how much he can do and discovering the awesomeness of powers greater than himself. It’s rather awe-inspiring and beautiful.

I don’t know if that’s what I’m supposed to get from it. I sorta suspect not, tbh, based on the notes, and also... I do see the other reading, where the conclusion is ironic, where Heaven is unreachable because Heaven does not exist, where no miracles occurred because there is no God to form them. But that’s like... literally never going to be my reading, lbr. And if I thought it was the only fair or correct reading I wouldn’t like the story. The truth is that it did move me and I found it very beautiful, and I think it will stay with me for a while.

[aion-rsa]

The Horror Influences of Thus Spoke Kishibe Rohan

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This article contains spoilers for JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure and Thus Spoke Kishibe Rohan.

JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure is beloved by shounen anime fans for its nonstop action, absurd and over-the-top showdowns, and creative Stands (physical manifestations of one’s true self). It’s a bombastic series that defies predictions. We’re still waiting for the fifth part of the manga, Stone Ocean, to be released as an anime adaptation, and the story is still ongoing. Strangely, there’s still no confirmation that a fifth season is even coming yet.

In the meantime, however, we got something of a holdover: Thus Spoke Kishibe Rohan. An adaptation of a series of one-shot chapters from JoJo creator Hirohiko Araki, it bridges the gap between the fourth season, Diamond is Unbreakable, and the fifth season, Vento Aureo. But while it follows manga artist Kishibe Rohan and what he’s been up to between both seasons, it takes on a decidedly different slant than the vanilla anime. Thus Spoke Kishibe Rohan takes more inspiration from episodic horror anthologies, like that of The Twilight Zone or The Outer Limits. It is, by all counts, a horror series. 

It’s a new direction for JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, though not completely unexpected. The thing is, JoJo has always been riddled with disturbing, horrific, and downright chilling moments. They’ve just been couched between action-packed showdowns and bombastic character design so that the terror creeps in without you even realizing it’s there. Thus Spoke Kishibe Rohan approaches the genre in a much more straightforward manner, though, wearing its influences on its sleeve. Both series, including JoJo to a staggering degree, are inherently spine-tingling properties, even if they don’t seem so at first blush.

Creator Hirohiko Araki is a ravenous horror fan, after all, and makes no secret of his passion for the genre. In his book, Hirohiko Araki’s Bizarre Horror Movie Analysis, he cites some of his top 20 favorite films as Misery, Alien, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The work itself is divided into several parts, each exploring a different branch of chilling media, such as “Bizarre Murderers,” “Animal Horror,” or “Sci-Fi Horror.” It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility to think that, despite Thus Spoke Kishibe Rohan originally being meant to be unrelated to JoJo, Araki created it to satisfy his love for the macabre.

The episode “Mutsu-kabe Hill” follows a woman named Naoko Osato, who belongs to a well-to-do family. She’s living in a house that belongs to said family along with boyfriend Gunpei Kamafusa. But she can’t be with Gunpei, as she’s already betrothed to a man her father has chosen. Plus, Gunpei is a family gardener, a profession her father won’t abide. The two end up arguing, and Nao tries to pay off Gunpei to get him to leave, as she knows her father and fiancé are on their way to the home. But tensions escalate as the two become violent. 

Nao pushes him into a set of golf clubs and Gunpei dies instantly. He’s bleeding, and while Nao struggles to figure out what to do with his body, her father and fiancé are approaching her home. No matter what she does, she can’t get Gunpei’s corpse to stop bleeding. In the end, she lives with this bizarre phenomenon, telling no one about her plight, and doting on Gunpei’s corpse, disposing of the blood he continues to generate for the rest of her life.

Several comparisons can be drawn from this episode to Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart,” in which the narrator commits a murder, dismembers a body, and hides it beneath some floorboards. Despite having seemingly gotten away with the perfect crime, the narrator is driven insane by the sound of his victim’s heartbeat. He ends up confessing to the authorities as he believes they can hear it, too. It’s the story of an unreliable narrator whose sanity is slipping. 

Though the narrator in that story ended up confessing to ease his suffering, Nao chose to live with the consequences of her crime, succumbing to a monster that lives off of people’s affection. The stories are quite similar in tone, though with very different outcomes. 

In “At a Confessional,” Rohan recounts a story of how he met a man who confided in him while in an Italian confessional. The man spoke of a beggar to whom he refused food and instead forced to work until he died. The beggar returned as a ghost, swearing revenge on the man who wronged him, promising he’d return on the happiest day of the man’s life. Return he does, as the man has enjoyed riches beyond belief, a beautiful marriage, and the birth of a daughter. 

The beggar appears in the form of an apparition in the man’s daughter’s tongue. He forces the man to toss pieces of popcorn his daughter was eating into the air and catch them with his mouth three times in a row in an absurd challenge. If the man succeeds, his life will be spared. If not, he’s beheaded instantly.

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This tale immediately recalls Stephen King’s Thinner, a similar story about a man who’s committed several wrongs, cursed the father of someone he’s murdered — this time, because he runs over a woman while driving and engaged in a sexual act with his wife. The curse finds the man, who is obese, becoming thinner and thinner at an uncontrollable rate. 

Eventually, there are options available to the man, who pleads for a resolution. He’s informed by the same person who cursed him that he can eat a strawberry pie with his blood in it and die, or give it to someone else for him to be spared. It’s just as gruesome as forcing the rich victim in Kishibe Rohan to munch popcorn or die. 

In JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, the scares seem to come directly from a series of inspirations for Araki instead of new stories based on the media he’s obviously consumed. 

The first JoJo arc, Phantom Blood, sets the stage by introducing a swath of Gothic horror elements. It introduces the eventual vampiric rise of DIO in a Victorian society, which directly references classic novels like Dracula and Frankenstein. There’s even a serial killer named Jack the Ripper, who faces off against Jonathan and his allies, pulled straight out of history — a perpetrator of grisly murders who ends up transformed into a zombie. The undead are also a major component of Phantom Blood, likely due in part to Araki’s love for classic zombie cinema.

In the arc Stardust Crusaders, Jean-Paul Polnareff finds himself de-aged by a Stand user named Alessi. A young woman named Malèna nurses him back to health, up until Alessi uses his Stand, Sethan, unceremoniously de-ages her to that of a fetus outside of the womb. A few of Araki’s favorite horror movies of all time, including Basket Case, center on body horror, which doesn’t make this narrative decision surprising. But for those reaching that point in the story for the first time, it’s chilling in a way that even some of the most nightmarish films can’t even touch. 

While the visual of a fetus itself isn’t as offensive as some gnarled, disfigured victim, its implications are disturbing, to say the least. A fetus outside of a mother’s womb will eventually succumb to a slow death, especially one of Malèna’s apparent age. That makes Polnareff’s eventual victory over Alessi and his Stand so bittersweet.

The entirety of the fourth arc, Diamond is Unbreakable, plays out like a classic slasher flick with the introduction of Yoshikage Kira, a man with a powerful obsession with hands to the point of fetishism. He murders women with “beautiful hands,” then keeps the hands as his “girlfriends.” It wouldn’t be a stretch to compare Kira to classic killers like Psycho‘s Norman Bates or The Silence of the Lambs’ Hannibal Lecter, as Kira is believable and charming when he isn’t committing grisly murders.

Most of JoJo’s Stands are horrific on their own, and even though their story arcs enhance their terrifying power, there’s a fair amount of fridge horror to be found in these beings. The Freddy Krueger-like Death 13 can kill you in a nightmarish dream world while you sleep. Metallica (yes, named after the heavy metal band) forces you to cough up razor blades or have scissors burst from your chest. 

Another Stand, Green Day, can secrete a deadly mold that will rot and destroy the flesh of anything it touches in an instant. Lastly, Rohan Kishibe himself has a fairly disconcerting Stand: Heaven’s Door. It allows him to literally read someone like a book, then erase parts of their being, or add in what he pleases, like the ability to learn a new language as his pal Koichi asks in Thus Spoke Kishibe Rohan.

It’s easy to see how Araki has masterfully melded horror into every space when it comes to both JoJo as well as Kishibe Rohan. With that in mind, it’s strange that the former has been relegated only to a series of one-shots when it shows so much potential as its own project, in which Araki gets to stretch his Rod Serling-esque legs or impart some very Argento-like stylings into his works. For now, we can appreciate what’s there — and continue finding parallels to additional well-loved classics in the genre. 

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Thus Spoke Kishibe Rohan is available to stream on Netflix now.

The post The Horror Influences of Thus Spoke Kishibe Rohan appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[ghoste-catte]

15, 17 and 19 for the meta ask

Thanks for the ask!!!

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Gosh, this is a tricky one. So, to start, I don't find tagging very difficult at all. I have some very basic principles that I think of when I tag:

1. Is the story about this thing? Does this tag encompass a genre, trope, or main theme?

2. Would someone searching for a story by this tag be satisfied with my fic showing in the results?

3. Is this a common trigger that is a major component of this work?

4. Does this tag give readers a sense of what's inside, even if it's not a 'canonical' tag (in the Ao3 sense of a searchable, indexable tag)?

1-3 are really just variations on a theme, and obviously anyone can tag any way they like, but that's how I think of tags. And I do give myself laterality to add one or two humorous tags if it fits the tone of the fic.

An example I've given before is: Hunting is a trigger for some people. If I've written a fic where a side character happens to go hunting and mentions it, or has hunting trophies on their wall, that doesn't warrant a tag, but I'll stick it in the warnings in the header note. If the fic is about hunting - the main characters are hunters, or they spend 5k words stalking a deer around the woods, then that warrants a tag.

Titles and summaries, on the other hand, are variable in their difficulty. Some titles walk right into my head before I've even written the fic, or the fic is inspired by some particular song or line of verse or whatever that makes a title simple to figure out. A lot of the rest of the time, though, I get to the end of writing the story and go "fuck, what the hell do I call this?" For fluff and humor fics, I often resort to googling "X jokes", where X is the main topic of the fic, and looking at the image search results since those tend to be pithy and easy to visually scan. So, like, for example, 'Chop it Like it's Hot' was a thanks-to-Google title (I googled "lumberjack puns"). I'm also not shy about crowdsourcing titles in the GaaLee Discord (shout out to Whazzername specifically for coming up with the titles for, like, a BUNCH of my fics).

Summaries are kind of similar: sometimes I know exactly which line or paragraph I want to pull or exactly how to sum the story up, and sometimes I have to agonizingly workshop it. It's much easier to write a summary for something plotty than it is for something more emotionally driven.

17. Do you think readers perceive your work - or you - differently to you? What do you think would surprise your readers about your writing or your motivations?

The weirdest bit of feedback that I've often received about my persona is people finding me intimidating to start up a conversation with? Which feels crazy to me because in my mind I'm just a simple idiot wizard who spends way too much brainspace and man hours on writing a truly ridiculous amount of fic for a single niche pairing. Like, all I did was hop on this train and refuse to disembark. So I don't really know where that comes from or how to, like ... fix it. I don't necessarily want to be intimidating, and I feel sort of bad that people find me unapproachable. Like yes I'm abrasive and a shitty conversationalist but also I'm not scary!

As far as my fics ... no, I think people generally get out of my fics what I put into them. There's been one or two times where readers glommed on to a detail that I intended to be a bit throwaway and not especially salient, particularly in multi-chapter works where the irrelevance isn't clear until later, but those moments are fairly rare.

I think what people would find surprising about my writing is just how often I latch on to a stupid sort of flight of fancy conversational whim in Discord and spin it out into like 10k+ of fanfic. Prompts and other people's ideas are actually one of my favorite ways to drum up fic concepts! I'm not that of a creative person on my own, so it helps me to have someone else's skeleton to flesh out.

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)

Ugh, yes! The bane of my existence is these little phrases I can't seem to stop repeating. I often re-read my own work and sometimes I'll come across a line and I'm like =_= "how is this already in here, I just used this in something I'm writing right this moment!" The one that's been stuck in my craw recently (and thank you so much to a reader who brought it to my attention!) is how much I talk about how small Gaara's hands are? I don't know why that's a fixation point--I think partially it's because I just can't stand to have a noun without an adjective attached--but it's something I'm trying to be more thoughtful about excising moving forward.

Trope-wise, I love an AU, especially sci-fi and fantasy AUs. They're some of my least popular fics, but they're usually the ones I have the most fun researching and writing for, and many of them number among what I consider to be my best works. I would go batshit if other people wrote GaaLee fic in those genres tbh.

[soulmanifestation0]

Soul manifestation 2.0 review : is it scam ?

Before we begin, let me state that I am an atheist, or at least that is what I believe; yet, like any other person, I believe in a higher purpose for life. Like many others, I searched for my higher purpose and inner calling but never found the appropriate answer until I discovered Soul Manifestation. After discovering and trying Soul Manifestation, I felt a lot closer to my mission than before.

(1) HOW DO I FIND SOUL MANIFESTATION ?

To be honest, I only discovered it a few weeks ago, thanks to someone who had posted about Soul Manifestation and their experiences on a Facebook group that I was a member of.

Now, my initial reaction was fairly typical, and I assumed it was a scam. After all, there are already plenty of similar programmes that teach you about Love (Law of Attraction), Physics (and one would think that religion is all about faith), the subconscious mind (I especially love this and the ‘Flow State'), and a variety of other topics that rarely help you figure out the exact Despite the fact that some of them helped me reach the pinnacle of my attention.

I asked a few questions to that person and a few others in the group who had also attempted Soul Manifestation before out of curiosity. I was still hesitant, but as an inquisitive writer who enjoys writing real reviews (and other things) about things that can help people, I decided to give it a shot, and here's what I learned. Of course, Soul Manifestation isn't sponsoring this review in any manner.

CLICK HERE TO GET IT NOW WITH SPECIAL DISCOUNT

(2) WHAT IS SOUL MANIFESTATION ?

Soul Manifestation is likely one of the best programmes for assisting you in discovering your unique soul path, but it can also teach you the secrets of attracting your soulmate and having a fulfilling and passionate relationship with them. Soul Manifestation will assist you in discovering your health and teaching you how to overcome health obstacles.

It will also assist you in breaking free from the shackles that bind you and prevent you from obtaining success and prosperity by throwing light on hidden reality, allowing you to follow your soul path.

(3) WHAT INSIDE SOUL MANIFESTATION 2.0 ?

I couldn't believe how much information was shared with me when I initially discovered this service. The number of practical, real-world tools included was astounding:

(1) Your Personal Soul Path Report

(2) your Vibrant Health Soul Code

(3) our Love and Romance Soul Code

(4) our Material Abundance Soul Code

(5) daily Guided Vibrational Meditation

(6)Alpha and Theta Wave Stimulation

(6) inner Child Work and Rediscovery

(7) tep-By-Step Guide To Building Your Dream Life

Guide to Visualization Mastery

Bonus #1: Soul Sleep Restoration

Bonus #2: Soul Affirmations

Bonus #3: Magical Signs & Numbers Handbook

Bonus #4: Melt Away Stress

Bonus #5: The Flow State

Bonus #6: Purify and Cleanse

60-Day Money-Back Guarantee!

Most of those supplementary tools are easily worth more than $40-$50 each, and they're all provided for free in this wonderful package.

You're probably still unsure if a programme like this will be beneficial to you...

And you're probably thinking if it'll make a long-term difference in your life.

(4) THE BENEFITS AND DRAWBACKS OF SOUL MANIFESTATION

Now that we understand what Soul Manifestation is and what it provides, we can go on to the meat of the matter: the Benefits and Drawbacks of Soul Manifestation, which are as follows:

(1) BENEFITS

User-friendly: Because the Personalized Soul Report contains a lot of useful and intriguing information, it is a lengthy read. However, contrary to popular belief, it has been written in such a way that it is simple to read and comprehend. The action stages are considerably simpler to comprehend and put into practise.

Backed by historical evidence: As I previously stated, the historical component of the Soul Manifestation Report is pretty interesting and takes you back in time to both teach and authenticate its practise with original historical and ancestral knowledge

Speaks about all of life's big circles: Normally, products or programmes that claim to teach you about Soul Manifestation leave out crucial information, leaving you unsatisfied; but, with this soul Manifestation report, you'll learn practically everything because it provides significant information on all aspects of life. Health, relationships, and prosperity are all part of these circles.

Discusses the darker side of your soul: Life isn't all about light, and the soul manifestation report understands this. As a result, it also discusses the darker side of your soul. If you want to materialise your soul's wishes, you must first understand this portion of your soul.

One of the best aspects of Soul Manifestation Report is that it includes many success stories from people who have used it. There are several accounts of people who moved from being alone and unsatisfied to meeting a lovely partner and living a happy life while maintaining financial stability.

Yes, there is a money-back guarantee. You read that correctly: if you're not satisfied with Soul Manifestation Report, you can get your money back. Not only that, but they also provide a 365-day money-back guarantee.

(2) DRAWBACKS

Only available in book form: Your soul reading the report, as amazing as it is, is only available in ebook format, which is a bit difficult, especially if you want to bookmark some parts. Although, by printing a tangible copy of your report, you can solve this problem (which is equally frustrating).

Too much reading: If you are a person who rarely reads or reads very slowly, the size of your soul reading report will irritate you greatly.

(5) WHAT CAN YOU EXPECT IN THE SOUL MANIFESTATION ?

Your individual Soul analysis will reveal a number of impediments that are preventing you from achieving true progress. This one-of-a-kind Soul report will illuminate–

(1) PERSONALITY SOUL CODE:

You'll learn everything there is to know about yourself in your own Soul code. The section contains items such as blind spots, presents, and other obstacles to your achievement.

(2) MATERIAL ABUNDANCE SOUL CODE:

As the name implies, this section will assist you in uncovering secrets regarding money and other abundant materials, as well as achieving a life free of financial stress. You must now be thinking, "Yes!" after reading this. I'm going to make a billion dollars! Finally!”. Sorry, but you won't be getting them, as much as it would have been nice if you did.

(3) VIBRANT HEALTH SOUL CODE:

The Vibrant Health Soul section will assist you in better understanding and overcoming your major health concerns. In other words, it will assist you in living a physically happy existence. I know it sounds dramatic, but if it works, how can you call it stupid?

(4) LOVE & ROMANCE SOUL CODE:

Are you someone who has had a dreadful romantic life full with heartbreaks? Then this section will undoubtedly assist you, as it will show you how to build a deep connection with no compromises on love. In a nutshell, living the life of your dreams with a lovely companion by your side.

(5) HEALING POWER OF MUSIC:

Ha! We already know the therapeutic power of music, whether consciously or unconsciously, therefore we don't need a unique description. Music is so powerful that it may help you heal from past traumas while simultaneously filling you with joy.

(6) HISTORY OF ASTROLOGY:

I'm a history nerd, so this area piqued my interest because it includes material on astrology in the ancient Egyptian, Chinese, Celtic, and Mayan periods. Check out this area if you're a history nerd like me. You will not be sorry.

(7) THE VALIDITY OF ASTROLOGY:

This part is unusual in that it explains how astrology enhanced decision-making and business through scientific evidence.

THE FINAL WORD

was hoping to put this programme to the test and roast it if it was a hoax, but the Soul Manifestation Report turned out to be quite interesting and weirdly peaceful. Now that all has been said and done, it's time for the ultimate decision.

But first, let me address one minor nagging idea concerning Soul Manifestation: if you're wondering if it's a fraud, you may rest assured that it isn't (although I was hoping it was). If you give it a shot, I'm confident you'll see a difference in your life sooner or later.

I really hope that this review has helped you decide whether or not soul Manifestation is worth your time.

CLICK HERE TO GET IT NOW WITH SPECIAL DISCOUNT

[the-light-finds-its-way]

Kahun Tu’mak

Guardians name: Kahun Tu’mak

Age: Entirely unknown, but seems young, somewhere in his mid adult years.

Race: Cabal

Call signs/alias: Traitor, Son of Zavala, The Pale Titan

Pronouns: He/him

Class: Titan

Preferred subclass(es): Arc

Ghost's name: Gul’tan

Their Vanguard: Zavala, Ikora, Cayde-6

Fireteam name: Harbingers of Destiny

Fireteam teammates: Magnus, Dominus Ghaul, Anthem-99, Velliks, Gadrax, Kahun

Favorite legendary weapon: The Messenger

Favorite exotic weapon: Memoriae, a custom exotic I came up with for his backstory. It’s a rocket launcher made from Ghost shell fragments. The gun is made to represent the combined might of every fallen Guardian, and to keep their memory alive. Its name is from Latin, a dead language, because “Things may be dead, but they aren’t gone so long as we continue to hold onto them.” It’s a metaphor for the fallen Guardians, and how their identities cannot be forgotten, either.

Favorite exotic armor: Curiass of the Falling Star

Favorite ornament armor set: Phenotype Plasticity

Favorite weapon ornament: Bloodline Memorial

What stats do they focus on: Resilience, Mobility, Intellect

Are they offense, defence, or support: Offense and defense equally

Do they prefer being close, mid, or long range: Close to mid range

Do they lean more "Element of Surprise" or "Upfront and Aggressive": Upfront and aggressive

Strikes, Gambit, or Crucible: Crucible

Who was their mentor(if they had one. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Zavala

Who are they mentoring(if they are. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Nobody, Kahun is a fairly new Guardian, and thus doesn’t have the knowledge or skill to mentor anyone yet.

What ship do they have: High Gravitas

What is their Sparrow: Golden Pride

Favorite Ghost shell: Predator Sun

Favorite shader: Horizon Blush

Favorite color: Red/gold

Favorite food: Popcorn

Favorite piece of Pre-Collapse tech(if they've seen any): Laptops. Kahun is fascinated with computer technology from before the Collapse began, but especially the first portable computers. They’re slow bricks compared to what is available now, but they’re still full of interesting components and mechanisms!

Favorite Pre-Collapse music(if they've heard any): Finntroll

Favorite place in The Last City(if it's a place you created, give a little description!): The Tower

Favorite NPC(s): Zavala, Saint-14, Lord Shaxx, Ikora, Amanda Holliday, Ada-1, Tess Everis, Eris Morn, Asher Mir

Favorite patrol location: The Crater on Io. It’s quiet, lonely, he can think, and it’s relatively close to the Traveler, which he always desires to bond and connect deeper with.

5 things your Guardian likes(can be anything): Solitude, combat, allies/friends (they’re one in the same to him), learning, kids

Least favorite food: Fish of any sort

Least favorite shader: Dead Zone Bark

Least favorite patrol location: Anywhere on Mars

Least favorite Pre-Collapse tech(if they've seen any): Corded telephones

Least favorite NPC(s): Emperor Calus, Mara Sov, Lakshmi-2

Least favorite weapon ornament: Coup de Main

Least favorite ornament armor set: Luxe Titan

Least favorite legendary weapon: Timelines’ Vertex

Least favorite exotic weapon: Devil’s Ruin

Least favorite exotic armor: Eternal Warrior

5 things your Guardian dislikes(this can be anything): Disloyalty, mistrust, betrayal, ignorance, malignance

Your Guardian has to rest. What is their living space like: It’s very neat, very minimalistic as Zavala has inadvertently influenced him to be. It’s across the hall from Zavala’s room, and is rather large to fit his huge size.

Does your Guardian have any casual wear?(Y'all remember Polyvore? The website URSTYLE works very similar if that helps!):

What hobbies and/or skills does you Guardian have: Translating Ulurent, construction and architecture, astrophysics

What would your Guardian's lore book be called: Solemnity and Turbulence

Where was your Guardian reborn?(If you created the location, give us a little description!): Frigid Wastes. It’s a now-destroyed Cabal base on Mars, most notable for its gladiator arena where Cabal would kidnap Guardians, slay their Ghosts, then challenge the Lightless to their death in attempt to show the universe what Guardians are truly worth. The place used to be grand, almost like a castle, but has now become rubble and dust coated in layers of pemafrost.

What were they wearing when they were reborn: Busted Cabal power armor, and a broken rebreather.

What was their reaction to being reborn: Absolute confusion

What was their reaction to their first rez: Kahun had no idea what was going on, and couldn’t understand what was happening to him.

After being reborn, did they meet friendlies first or hostiles: One friendly person, and lots of hostile people. The only friendly person was Zavala, whom Kahun stood up in front of with a blank look of sheer confusion on his face, not knowing why everyone else held a gun aimed at him.

Who was the first other Guardian they met?(Same thing! If you made them, give a little description!): Going before res, Kahun met countless Guardians whom he never knew the names of, sadly, and all of whom were slain by his comrades. After res, there were many Guardians in a whole legion, swarming him cautiously except, again, Zavala.

Did your Guardian get reborn with, or find, any indication of their past life? If so what do they have/found: Kahun has learned a LOT about his past life, despite Zavala constantly deterring him from this. First and foremost, Kahun was resurrected in the remains of his base, with lots of dead Cabal around him, leading Kahun to question what he was doing there. From this question sprang many others, eventually drawing Kahun back to his former base whereupon he learned he was formerly a Gladiator, forced to be there by Calus’s orders, and slay Guardians for their Final Deaths. Kahun looked in the rubble of the arena and located thousands of Ghost shell fragments, all of which scattered about, and he knew he unwillingly partook in this. There, Zavala told him Kahun jumped in front of a rocket to protect Zavala’s Ghost because he wanted no more pointless deaths, and died on impact, therein protecting the commander and his Ghost. This is why Zavala feels a major duty to raise and protect Kahun: a debt repaid. Kahun now uses those Ghost fragments and has made Memoriae with them to defend every Guardian and innocent soul in the galaxy with the combined might of everyone who’d been slain in the arena.

How did your Guardian get their name(if they didn't rez with past life momentos): Kahun remembered his name upon being resurrected. When him and Zavala formed a tight enough bond, Kahun suggested a last name for the both of them so they could be considered family: Tu’mak. In Ulurent, this name means “United”.

Going back to your Guardian's lore book, what would be some some quotes or passages from their book: One text would certainly be about forging Memoriae. I’m currently working on his lorebook and compiling the passages in it on AO3. It’ll contain record logs of his training with Zavala when both met, tales of Kahun discovering his past and lamenting over it, and his endeavors as a Guardian to make the galaxy safe against anyone who dares threaten the innocent.

Does your Guardian have a significant other: No, not at the moment. I can’t decide on one.

Did your Guardian go explore first before going to The Last City? If so, where to: He did! Zavala kept him in the EDZ for a while before going to the Tower, and trained him there so nobody would panic upon seeing a Cabal Guardian.

What was their reaction to first seeing The Last City: Sheer awe and wonder. Kahun had never seen anything like this, and never knew such unity or peace. In fact, he never knew peace at all, he wasn’t taught it as a militaristic Cabal. He was entirely shocked, and in love!

Is your Guardian a part of a clan: The Traveler’s Legion

Does your Guardian's clan have a back story? If so, what is it?(if you want to or able to share): After Dominus Ghaul was resurrected, and worked with Magnus to unite the Cabal under one banner, Ghaul offered Kahun to form his own Legion of Guardians who’d be ambassadors to the Cabal, and thus Kahun formed The Traveler’s Legion.

If your Guardian would have a quote as a flavor text for a weapon and/or piece of armor, what would they be: “To have and to hold... I’ll hold your Light, I promise. Until we meet again.”

If your Guardian has had any interactions with any civilians (The Last City/The Farm), Eliksni, Cabal, Vex, Hive, Taken, Scorn, Rouge Lightbearers, or Iron Lords/War Lords(if your Guardian is an Old Light) tell us about it!: Kahun’s first interactions within The Last City were entirely hostile, full of people trying to hurt and hunt him down. Kahun was not allowed out alone, and it took years for anyone of Humankind to accept a Cabal is a Guardian. Cabal around the galaxy hated Kahun and attempted to slay him for having gone against his kin, until the unity came and Kahun was given position as a Primus. Kahun has befriended many Eliksni, and he thinks they’re adorable. He loves children from The Last City, and many come swarming him curiously during his patrols to ask questions about him being a Cabal. Kahun always answers happily, and teaches the children that no species is entirely, inherently evil, and anyone is capable of doing great things. Kahun is devoted to the Crucible, so he doesn’t enjoy seeing Lord Saladin or any of the Iron Lords around. But he believes Saladin may someday come to his senses and recognize what he’s done.

Does your Guardian have any unconventional allies or connections(By Vanguard standards): His connections to Ghaul and Magnus. Kahun tries to separate himself from most of Cabalkind due to his past, but he maintains his connections in the form of The Traveler’s Legion in hopes that other Cabal will someday be seen as worthy by the Traveler’s standards as he and Ghaul were.

How does your Guardian feel about themselves or others using Stasis: Kahun doesn’t trust it himself. He sees and understands why others use it, but he couldn’t be paid to use Stasis himself.

Did they run The Last Wish raid? How did they react to seeing a live Ahamkara a.k.a Riven: N/A since Kahun isn’t actually playable :(

Did they run The Deep Stone Crypt raid? How did they react to the Crypt and seeing Exo Eliskni: N/A

Is your Guardian from D1? How did they react to seeing Taniks alive once again: Kahun isn’t from D1, so seeing Taniks alive was just a sort of “Who are you?” moment.

Where did they go and what did they do during The Red War: Kahun was still enslaved on the Gladiator base on Mars. He was avoiding fighting Guardians at all costs, and in fact, worked to set many of them free before their final fights.

Here are some characters that are either polarizing or have created a strong enough mass emotion within the community. What opinion does your Guardian hold on each of them(These are only a handful of characters!)>>>

Osiris, First Warlock Vanguard, originally exiled: Kahun admires him and looks to Osiris for wisdom.

Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm: Pity. Kahun wishes she still had the Light, that she was still safe, and untouched by the Darkness. He truly feels bad for her, and just wants her to be ok but knows Eris will never know peace again.

Cayde-6, Sixth Hunter Vanguard: Insane and utterly self-destructive. Kahun wonders how he’s still alive...

Ikora Rey, Second Warlock Vanguard: An absolute guiding force. Ikora has taught him lots, and give him great insight into the Light.

Commander Zavala, Second Titan Vanguard: Dad.

Saint-14, legendary Titan, First Titan Vanguard: Absolute admiration. Kahun deeply appreciates and aspires to be like Saint, even trying so hard as to mimic his moves in the Crucible.

Lord Saladin, Iron Banner handler, One of the last remaining Iron Lords: Kahun hopes Saladin will realize the error of his ways someday, and make amends as he is doing himself.

Lord Shaxx, Crucible handler, Hero of Twilight Gap, living megaphone: His teacher and other guidance. Like Ikora, Shaxx taught Kahun how to vent his feelings in the Crucible by fighting and using his adrenaline.

The Crow, New Light, Ex-Enforcer to The Spider: A friend and child who MUST be protected at all costs. Kahun knows who Crow truly is, and he wants Crow to be safe as a Guardian.

The Spider, The Shore's Only Law, founder of "House" Spider: Untrustworthy, and not somebody whom he’d turn to unless absolutely necessary.

Uldren Sov, Prince of the Reef, Master of Crows: A disaster who, like him, was manipulated and controlled.

Mara Sov, Queen of the Reef, Queen of the Awoken, Ex-Kell of Wolves: She must pay for her crimes by death.

Variks, the Loyal, founder of House Judgement: Indifferent. If he hadn’t released Uldren, then Crow wouldn’t exist. But at the same time, what Uldren’s release cost the galaxy might not be worth Crow. Kahun doesn’t know what to think of Variks’s past actions, and certainly doesn’t let them go or forgive them.

Mithrax, the Forsaken, Kell of Light, founder of House Light: Kahun trusts him entirely and wholeheartedly. Mithrax is an ally and friend.

The Exo Stranger/Elizabeth "Elsie" Bray, Granddaughter of Clovis I and Sister to Ana Bray: She can be an ally, someone to rely on if necessary, but he’d rather not trifle with the Darkness in any way.

Eramis, of House Salvation, Kell of Darkness: Nope nope nope, he will fight her on site because the Darkness isn’t something he’d like to have hanging around, even if it can be harnessed by others.

Empress Caiatl of the Cabal Imperial Empire: Hhhhhhh don't trust!!! Calus bad, therefore Calus family bad! Right? RIGHT??!! HHHHHHHEEEELLLLLPPP!

Taniks the Scarred, the Perfected, the Abomination, the Shadow Thief: “Who the everloving fuck is this dude, and why is he after me???”

The Darkness is fast approaching. How is your Guardian handling it: Kahun is anxious, but ready to go head-on. He’ll fight as best as he can, no matter how hard that may be to do. Kahun will stave the Darkness off at literally any cost, including his own life. Ride or die.

And finally, does your Guardian have any advice for any New Lights: “The Traveler chose us for a reason, and it’s our duty to uphold that reason. Debts are repaid only to make new ones, but just maintain your duties as a Guardian, and you can someday die knowing you’ve done the right thing.”

[soyosauce]

Cyberpunk 2077: Is This To Be An Empathy Test?

Cyberpunk 2077 is an adaptation and extrapolation of the popular tabletop pen-and-paper role-playing game Cyberpunk, originally published in 1988. The video game uses an extrapolation of the setting and Interlock system, translated to video game format.

When I finished the game, credits rolled. And rolled. And rolled. More than 15 minutes went by.

Now, days later, as I reflect on more than 70 hours of playtime, Cyberpunk 2077 feels like many people have had their hands in the pie. Its strengths and weaknesses stem from its massive ambition, marketing, and promises.

Different Experiences

I played CP2077 on a Ryzen 7 3700x with 32 gigs of RAM and an RX 2700 GPU. I was able to get around 35 FPS at 1440p without noticeable drops (except when looking in mirrors), and I played on ultra-settings without ray tracing on. I began playing it with the rest of the PC consumers with the day 1 patch.

As a crafted experience, I can say that it is the most impressive looking game I've ever played, and my playthrough seems to be a fortunate one, with maybe a handful of glitches or bugs across the entire 70 hours. None of which were remotely game-breaking. I was never unable to progress in the story. I never had a crash. The most annoying thing I experienced was sometimes crosshairs from a gun would continue to stay onscreen after it was holstered.

I mention this because I think a major component of why I come away with a positive experience is because my computer could deliver the intended experience. And Cyberpunk 2077 is unrivaled in its execution of a funneled narrative. Characters and environments have never felt more genuine and cinematic.

The sound design is some of the best I've heard, and it's perfect in every aspect of the game. From the sound of a throaty exhaust to the scraping of metal-tipped hands against hardwood, the sound is superb and adds to the immersion.

 The World

With a setting as old as Cyberpunk, there will be consumers who are familiar with the setting and have a grasp on the worldbuilding. For the uninitiated, however—of which, I think most customers will be—the aesthetic and gameplay elements the marketing team used in advertisements will be the primary hook. The game doesn’t go out of its way to communicate that it is anything more than that, either.

What was most compelling about Night City was the meticulous detail and care devs clearly put into every nook and cranny of the city. Distinct and disparate, no part of it feels reused or like its filler. It is the most gorgeous and well-realized environment I've encountered in a video game.

Yet the gangs, fixers, and side jobs located within it feel one dimensional when viewed from a macro, worldbuilding perspective.

Typical fixer missions are varied enough and have different small bits of story, but usually just elucidating that specific mission and its characters. You’ll find little bits of lore some of the time, which augment the siloed stories, but often don’t give a wider context to help situate the faction you’re interacting with.

The gangs seem to have a central theme, but I never learned why they were actually there from a worldbuilding perspective, beyond the fact that the game wants you to be looting and shooting.

Culturally, the gang elements are too often a pastiche and don’t feel real. They have scripted lines that are often dehumanizing and feel unrealistic. Some of them don't even make any sense. They'll find a dead body and start yelling for you to come out, "cunt", or some other misogynistic pejorative. How do they know it's a woman? Making them all say and act that way feels so cheap, encouraging you to take them out because they're demonstrably “bad” people. And it doesn’t matter what kind of mission it is. Context doesn’t matter.

With the bits of lore you’ll find all over the place (often repeated), it feels like a missed opportunity to not humanize and characterize the gang identities as a whole; even if you are spending most of your time mowing them down, at least you’d come to understand why the city is the way it is and what its general makeup is better than just knowing which gang claims which area of the city.

The world feels overly concerned with aesthetics that the player never gets context for, so it feels like a caricature used for aesthetic purposes only.

For instance, Arasaka, the megacorporation controlling/running Night City, has a highly traditional, tyrannical, Japanese businessman who has had his life extended with cybernetics. He’s over one hundred years old and controls Arasaka with an iron fist. The inference on my part is that locations in Night City with heavy Asian aesthetics are there because of this megacorp’s influence. But it still feels strange because, in other lore given, the city has been run by other corporations not that long ago and had other cultural influences asserted. So why is Little China, Japantown, and Kabuki a weird pastiche and the only place that seems to assert its cultural influence on the city? When you enter other areas, they don’t look like they’re trying to recreate foreign cultures. Is it because of the Arasaka influence? Possibly, but I never found any lore that explained it. Visually, this aesthetic dominated my playthrough.

The result is a siloed microworld that feels like it might be there simply to justify some of the predominantly Asian gangs, who seem to be basically just cyberized yakuza and come up fairly often in fixer missions. The main story also springboards off some of these locations, so the game really wants this look to make an impression on the player.

When you explore in-depth, all of the interactable, consumable portions of the city have a faux quality because you can only look at them. Sometimes you can buy food from a couple of vendors and clothes, but everything exists solely to be interacted with in a hyper-specific way, rather than extrapolated from a perspective divorced from what would be merely aesthetically interesting and actually realistic enough to let V feel like a character that is a part of this world.

You can sleep with and date a few different people, depending on your gender presentation, but the relationship's extent beyond that varies. There are some texts between characters, but you don't get to, say, go home and do anything with them. Their interactions with you in person are the same as though you had phoned them.

You can talk to people on the sidewalk, but they have a regurgitated one-liner and then go back to what they're doing. You can't go up to a gang member and talk to them because once they see you, they’ll attack you if you get too close.

The only things that feel genuinely next level are the prescriptive story elements. And that's okay! It just doesn't jive with the level of detail or how much you think you'll be able to interact with things when you first see them. Marketing makes it seem like the world at large may be something you can interact with, but those all end up being the curated narratives.

Because the worldbuilding framework is from a first-wave cyberpunk perspective, unfortunately, pitfalls like techno-orientalism are prevalent.

The themes around the commodification of those things that make us human, from our body, faith, and art, are all interesting themes present in the genre—but here they are skewed toward fetishizing minorities and subcultures, just as first-wave cyberpunk texts tended to do.

V is ostensibly a cyberpunk and it follows that they would be a part of the same subgroup as the minorities who are underrepresented and lacking nuance in the CP2077 world, but V is actually traversing the story with their only integration into a subculture being that they’re a mercenary. With few exceptions, they all seem to not really share punk values, either. Some take jobs from corps (you certainly can if you want), some don’t like the corps but aren’t particularly anti-establishment or pro direct action. Most just seem to hang out at a bar. You don’t hear about what they do on the news or in the world. You don’t get jobs from fixers that are ideologically aligned with being punk. And you don’t integrate with any other subcultures when out of the main narratives.

The exploitation of people and the world's general themes and sensibilities still feel firmly rooted in the late 80s, early 90s. It is not aware enough to fully realize an actual subculture or even the dynamics of criminal elements in the city, so it frames the story from a mainstream perspective for mass appeal.

The problem is that, with so many people consuming the game, this becomes the default that those consumers will adopt. It has a responsibility precisely because it is so popular and will become a part of the general intellect. Rather than be progressive with its themes and push mainstream depiction of cyberpunk to something in line with what can be found in literature today, it is regressive.

Ultimately, the worldbuilding is the most disappointing aspect of Cyberpunk 2077. The main narratives, however, are a different story.

 Story

Arguably, the most important thing for a role-playing game experience is the story. In 2077, you play V, a mercenary on the edges of society trying to make it big in Night City. In classic cyberpunk genre fashion, a chance at a big score drops into your relatively inexperienced hands, and you seize it. A heist is planned; it doesn't go as planned—and Johnny Silverhand, a long-dead anarchist and misogynistic jerk—basically a proto-typical embodiment of 70’s rock ethos—ends up in your head. He has his own agenda, and V can either go along, get along, or make their own decisions about what to do next. For the most part.

The story beats are as meticulously crafted as corners of Night City. The character animations are the most advanced I’ve ever seen—: they’ll smoke a cigarette for a portion of the conversation, stub it out, then get up and pace nervously while delivering their lines. Their emotions will be written on their face and flow naturally. They'll touch items or other people in the scene. They look and act like real people and sound like it too.

There’s a 4-part storyline with a trans character in which you just won’t ever learn their story unless you talk with them and earn their trust. You can go through the whole narrative and help them out (or not), and never learn much about them. But if you spend the time and ask questions, you'll always get something from these storylines, even if they initially seem to be just another gig on the map.

Because the game's worldbuilding, including in-game ads, is blind to its own defaultism, stories like this are absolutely vital. I wish there were more of them and I hope the free DLC forthcoming are things like this.

2077 is populated with genuine, human moments. They communicate why you should care about the city and the people you encounter. And most importantly: these moments define V as much as the main storyline.

Whether intentional or purely a byproduct of how each facet of the game was developed, these stories augment the play experience a tremendous amount.

What I remember most is finding out if Johnny can, and will, actually change or if he's just trying to manipulate me, discovering how my decisions alter the way he interacts with me, and going down a rabbit-hole, sex trafficking narrative that initially feels a bit too archetypical, only to have it morph into a multi-part story that rooted V's narrative in an emotional and impactful way.

These are the stories that you can actually, meaningfully change. And because I did them all before the main storyline, they all felt like they meshed well with my V’s overall story.

Of course, you could do the main story right away and then go back and do these side stories. I think the experience would be quite different because of the knowledge and relationship you have with Johnny at the end of the main story experience, though.

The main storyline has multiple endings; I've experienced four of them, and they all deliver fairly well on expectations. These endings do not consider anything that isn’t a main or side job, which is labeled as such in your log. Your relationships with the main characters do change the endings slightly, but they don't change the overall outcomes for V and Johnny. This made the game's main attraction for me the fleshed-out side narratives and a few other mysterious side jobs that crop up without a fixer giving them to you.

These other stories were more enjoyable because I felt like I really mattered and could actually mess them up. The main storyline is only preoccupied with whether or not you did X and, if so, you can see the Y ending. It felt like it had lower stakes.

 Conclusion

I do feel like 2077 is a new way to consume an immersive role-playing video game experience. It's unfortunate and unfair to many people that multiple promises the game makes cannot be fulfilled unless they can experience it on a particular platform (with a fairly sizeable amount of money in the investment). A decent computer to play it on is the best way, and it’s expensive if you want to max out absolutely everything. Next-generation consoles aren't even optimized for it yet. Last generation consoles are struggling. Crashes, bugs, poor textures, and framerates.

What is Cyberpunk 2077 when it can’t replicate the ideal delivery for its desired experience?

So much of what made the experience singular and noteworthy for me comes down to how life-like and human the people I came to care about the most in the game looked and acted. Take that veneer away, and the cracks in the façade appear.

Doing most of the side content before the main jobs gave my V a meta-narrative: they were a ruthless killer that would do pretty much whatever a fixer asked of them. Those were the expectations set by the world outside of the story. But then V morphs into a person confronting that life, questions who they want to be, and what it takes to thrive in Night City when you hit the main narratives. That’s why I had a positive experience. And that’s why I’ll return to the city and do things differently.

Ironically, Cyberpunk 2077's overall game experience relies on technology to build empathy between the player and the main cast. Yet, the world outside of the main narrative denies that same empathy to the denizens and factions it populates Night City with. If the platform you’re playing on can’t effectively utilize the demanding Red Engine developed for Cyberpunk 2077, the most likely outcome is an experience devoid of the only substantive thing it has to offer.

[bigskydreaming]

Setting up a side blog  at @bigskywritings to have a place to put all my original work, commissioned work, and commissioning guidelines for both fanfic and original work, as well as other services offered like developmental edits, etc.

That’s why I’m going through so many old files, lol. Probably gonna be a lot of posting going on over on that one today. Got a lot to go through, and not to be dramatic on main, but there’ve been enough points over the past several years where I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to actually do anything with any of this, that tbh, I’d rather just have it out there in some form that can actually be enjoyed by people rather than just sitting in my files. I’ve always been heavy on the world-building, with that usually being considered one of my strengths, that I’ve got a ton of settings that could work for any number of short stories that wouldn’t take anything away from the longer novels or projects I have going for them. 

*Shrugs* Or maybe they’ll just sit there like they do in my files, lol, its honestly not a big deal either way, its just I’d rather err on the side of potential interest these days.

Here’s a snippet set in one of my primary shared universes, something I call the Citadel ‘verse. Basic premise is its a fantasy universe where the universe itself is sentient, but more of a raw, primal sentience than having a fully formed consciousness. But it derives and evolves its own consciousness from the presence of sentient beings, after the first ones evolved on their own without design, and so it knows it wants to be more than it is, but the only way to do that is through sentient beings. So long ago, it shaped the focal point of its power and consciousness into something that would be seen as embodying power to anyone who saw it, and thus the Citadel was made. The Citadel is the universe, the universe is the Citadel. Its all the power of creation, of godhood, contained in one place....but just lacking the will and the imagination to make use of it on its own. For that it needs people, and those people are whomever end up within the walls of the Citadel, claiming the various Rooms and the forces each embody for their own, and in doing so, becoming gods.

But entropy is the natural state of all universes and the one thing the Citadel can’t abide is stagnation, so whenever a god or gods becomes bored or content with whatever they’ve done with that power, whenever they stop creating, changing, manipulating, and just sit back and rest on the fruits of what they’ve already done, the Citadel takes back its power and begins a new cycle of someone new coming across it or seeking it out, and becoming the next god or gods. Some cycles there’s only one occupant of the Citadel, sometimes two or three, sometimes entire pantheons of gods each with their own Room or Rooms, it varies. The last cycle of importance only had one god, and upon his death, the entire First World erupted into war and chaos as people vied to find the Citadel and claim its power. 

Many Rooms were claimed by people whose first acts of godhood were to attempt to seize as many more for themselves as they could, and the whole world was being torn apart and in danger of being destroyed.....so when one of their number, Seshan, finally seized control of the Throne Room, the ultimate seat of power within the Citadel, she sealed each of the other new gods in the Rooms they’d already claimed, and split the Citadel and cast its various pieces to the edges of the universe, where reality was still shapeless and unformed. The exiled gods used this to form new worlds of their own making, via the power of their individual Rooms. And thus their war has continued throughout the eons, as they continue to try and seize control of more and more Rooms and consolidate enough of the Citadel’s power that they can finally force open the doors Seshan locked behind them and challenge her for the Throne Room itself.

(Just FYI, before anyone asks if I’ve read Brandon Sanderson, the answer is yes, I’ve read some of his earlier stuff. This universe was in no way influenced by his work, as I started building this setting back in high school, lol. What I think IS likely is that we were probably both inspired by the same works. I was a big fan of the multi-world nature of The Deathgate Cycle, and I really liked the shared multi-verse setting Michael Moorcock uses for his various protagonists like Elric and Corum, and those and more are pretty clear inspirations, lol. Like....I don’t have an issue with being accused of ripping off someone else, I just want to be accused of ripping off the right people, the people I’m actually ripping off of, loooool).

This particular world, the setting for the snippet below, is one of the worlds created by Pelk the Harper, the god of music (among other things). One of his claimed Rooms is what amounts to a concert hall, and its hidden away on this world, the one he formed from it before moving on to make new worlds. A wide range of cultures and religions formed in his absence, but a common concept many of them circle back to is the idea that all of creation has two parts, existing as both a Shape and a Sound. Some have different names for this, some call it the Shape and the Voice or the Shape and the Song, or Form and Function or Substance and Speech, its defined differently in various parts of the world, but all ultimately contain the idea that there’s a physical component to existence, and a non-physical.

A small percentage of people on this world, usually called something like unbinders, have the ability to find the thread that binds the physical and non-physical aspects of a thing together, and temporarily unweave it, leaving two separated parts. The Shape, which exists unbound as an image without substance, a seeming illusion that has no mass, sound, scent, etc....and the Song, which exists unbound as the essence of a thing, but without form to concentrate it and define it. Once created, its the nature of a created thing to exist as a complete whole, and so being Unbound is an imperfect state of existence. Meaning as soon as an unbinder stops concentrating on keeping the two halves apart, they’ll snap back together and rejoin the way they’re supposed to.

Except centuries ago, people invented devices called mirrorflasks and echo-catchers.....to catch and contain these separated halves of an unbound thing, and keep them separated. Mirrorflasks are glass vials of any size, whose interiors are coated with an alchemical mixture that acts as a mirror that keeps a Shape eternally reflected and never fading, as long as the flask is corked. Echo-catchers are metallic vials whose interiors are coated with a similar mixture, that keeps a Sound or Song eternally echoing and never fading, as long as the stopper is in place. An unbinder is necessary to separate the two halves so they can be caught and contained, but after that, anyone can uncork the containers, the effect is the same no matter the person: the Shape and Sound will immediately rejoin, no matter how physically distant the mirrorflask and echo-catcher are from each other. 

That’s irrelevant, the important part is that both flask and catcher need to be opened, and so they’re fairly useless except in pairs. If you uncork a mirrorflask but not its accompanying echo-catcher, the Shape or image of the thing will be released, just as if you uncork the catcher but not the flask, its Sound will escape as a formless thing that briefly can be heard or smelled or even felt, before its lack of a Shape leads it to spread out in all directions without boundaries, diluting it to the point of non-existence then.

So a fire that’s unbound and contained, will just be the illusion of flames if just its flask is opened, while if just the echo-catcher is uncorked, there’d be the sound of flames, the sensation of heat, but it’d be there and gone in a matter of moments. Anything can be unbound and contained, physical objects like weapons or forces like fires or even storms (the trick of unbinding is seeing something as a whole thing unto itself. An unbinder who sees a storm as disparate elements will never be able to unbind the whole storm, just pieces of it like a lightning bolt. But one who sees the storm as one singular thing can unbind that whole storm and store it in a flask and catcher.) Even animals can be unbound. The only thing that can’t is human beings, but with one exception....unbinders can’t unbind anyone else, but they can unbind themselves. Separate themselves into a bodiless voice and essence as well as a substanceless image...a kind of astral projection that’s exceedingly rare as its viewed as extremely reckless and dangerous....because while in that state, even an unbinder can be trapped in a mirrorflask and echo-catcher, the same as anything else.

Anyway, that’s the scoop on the below snippet. Gonna try and be better about tagging things on the sideblog because yay organization, lol, so the tag for things Citadel related will be ‘tales of the Citadel’ and specific to this setting will be ‘The Chaos Vault.’

(That’s the title to the bigger project linked to this setting. There are legends on this world of a vault that was hidden away or lost centuries ago, but in it was stored all the greatest natural disasters and cataclysmic forces that had ever been unbound. Unbinding things like that is basically a lost art, as older civilizations could do things with unbinding that ‘modern’ inhabitants of this world can’t even dream of....as the more scientifically advanced they became, the harder it was for them to see major cumulative things like storms and other disasters as just being one single thing that could be unbound, rather than a lot of smaller, individual elements. So there’s lots of legends about something called the Chaos Vault existing somewhere. Which eventually culminates in a high fantasy heist caper FTW).

Snippet from The Chaos Vault, in which Miya kills people cuz that’s kinda her thing:

Choosing a spot a few steps from the door that separated the kitchen from the hall - close enough to get a clear view of the servers coming and going from it, far enough away for her to time things just right - Miya braced herself against the far wall, leaning as if she needed its support to keep her upright. Less than a minute later, a server emerged from the kitchen bearing a full tray of dishes, and she straightened and pivoted just as he came within reach.

Her seemingly wine-drunk stumble was nothing short of artful, if she did say so herself, and their collision tipped the man’s tray just enough that the outermost dishes cascaded to the red-tiled floor. The sounds of shattering dishware echoed loudly thanks to the vaulted ceiling overhead. The shattering of a small mirrorflask was a trivial thing in comparison, when she let it fall from her clenched fist. A minor tinkling easily lost in the chaos she’d caused, just as the sound of broken dishes was drowned out by the much louder revels taking place down the hall.

And much like the shards of the broken flask were effectively camouflaged by the mess on the floor.

“Oh, Shape and Song, I’m so clumsy!” She bubbled exaggerated apologies at the man and clung to his shoulder, keeping his attention firmly on her and away from the red and black banded firesnake that slithered rapidly away from the noise. It reached the escape offered by the ballroom at the end of the hall, and vanished into the forest of dancing legs and swirling skirts.

“Its quite alright,” he assured while attempting to be graceful about dislodging her. It most assuredly was not, if the grimace he couldn’t quite hide was anything to go by. Then again, Miya mused, anyone likely to give him grief about the matter would be concerned with far greater things in a few moments.

But only if she made sure her little friend got his Voice back before he was spotted by the revelers. With no physical mass to trip over and coloring fairly well disguised against the tile, she had some time, but not much. 

Miya heaved herself off her unknowing accomplice, and with a few more incomprehensible mutterings, she staggered toward the other end of the hall. Making use of the wall once again, both for “support” and her charade, she came to a rest near a window left open so the heated air from the kitchen wouldn’t circulate. 

She dipped her head and unclasped her right earring. Its intricate array of tiny chiming windpipes, while annoying, hid the equally tiny echo-catcher among them. With a single smooth motion deftly hidden by her hunched stance, she uncorked it and tossed both vial and earring out the window and into the canal below, glad to be rid of both.

A Song once released needs no direction to find its other half, and rejoining its Shape and binding itself back together took but an instant. It would only take a few seconds more for it to be drawn to the scented-oil she’d dabbed her target’s sleeve with when brushing up against him earlier. With that thought, Miya pushed herself off the wall and started down the hall again, this time at a much quicker pace.

3…2…1…

A single scream cut through all other noise and carried horrified silence in its wake.

There we go.

And then it was the silence that was shattered. People spilled out of the kitchen and into the hallway like so many confused and frantic ants. But ones with their eyes all drawn towards the ballroom, leaving nothing but backsides watching her. Her steps straightened and took back their usual confidence, her stride made short work of the rest of the hallway, and she vanished through a side-door at the end of it before anyone thought to look around.

She skipped as sprightly down the steps to the garden as her garments would allow - which is to say, not very - and reached behind her head to release her hair from that ridiculous style. Mussing it just enough to let it flow freely down her back, she sank deeper into the night’s shadows and allowed a smile of satisfaction to curve her lips.

Surely there was nothing wrong with taking a little pride in one’s work.

[joaquinwhorres]

The Fool (Ch. 2) {Fred Weasley x F!OC}

SUMMARY ››››› After getting tangled up with the Weasley Twins during the events of the Quidditch World Cup, Wren Collings’ life takes a turn for the chaotic. It threatens everything she has going for her, but she’s not convinced that’s entirely a bad thing.

PAIRING ››››› Fred Weasley x Female OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 7,000-ish

WARNINGS ››››› There is no depression or mental health issues in this story, but there are mentions of death, violence, abuse, some PTSD, etc. As most of the specific warnings revolve around major plot points or are found throughout most chapters, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG-13.

A/N ››››› This chapter is dedicated to my lovely friend Emma. You KNOW why.

Series Masterlist | Read on ff.net

Wren wasn’t sure who was right, if it was Simon or the cards or her gut feeling about this year: all she knew for sure was that NEWT classes, and not the Triwizard Tournament, would be the death of her.

The last part was a bit of a disappointment, not so much that she wanted to die in a blaze of glory, but she would have at least liked the chance. Sadly, her June birthday saw to the fact that she would be a supporter and not a competitor.

Her small silver lining (more dull grey than a true silver) was that it was one less thing to worry about on top of her classes. McGonagall’s warning when passing over her time table that this year would have a “demanding workload” was apparently code for “grueling affair with death itself.”

Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed fixated on killing her through the traditional means of excessive school work, but the rest seemed to approach her death in a more “hands on” manner.

Herbology seemed intent on strangulation as Professor Sprout has decided to begin with snargaluffs and venomous tentacula. Dodging the slippery and spiky spines soon became second nature.

Hagrid has decided to introduce them to, if not venomous, exceedingly dangerous animals. Currently the class was in the process of telling jokes to Fwoopers as an alternative method to the silencing charm. Leave it to Hagrid to find out that they just click their beak when laughing. Of course, the untraditional method had already put Kenneth Towler and Amina Qureshi into the hospital wing to treat their minor insanity. But, all things considered it was a nice reprieve.

For its part, Potions had started off the year with poisons and their antidotes, which while extremely fascinating was somewhat nerve racking. Wren was fairly certain that at some point Snape would attempt to poison her as the lone Gryffindor in NEWT level potions. That minor fear, in addition to her particular love for the magic, drove her to devoting most of her studying hours to the class.

Which seemed to come in handy now as Snape began to pass out his unannounced quiz to the class. To Wren's surprise and mild relief, it was not a practical quiz but instead a written one. She assumed this was in an attempt to catch out students with trick questions which could otherwise be avoided as long as their potions worked.

In fact, as Wren reached question four, she was sure of it:

I am called in to the Hospital Wing once again because a careless Herbology student has failed to properly cork the juice of a Venomous Tentacula and has gotten some on their skin. What condition do I find him in, and how will I cure it?

She remembered this one as it had been a precaution Professor Sprout had failed to give them. She had simply instructed them not to let any get on their skin, and it was only in potions that Snape had revealed why. It had been more of a side comment in his lecture antidotes for the plant's other means of attack: bite, spike, and venom.

The student will be a bright shade of purple, and depending on how much juice he has come in contact with, complain of a faint burning sensation. The student should also feel quite embarrassed about their negligence. No antidote is truly needed except time which will hopefully make them more careful. Should you choose to cure them, however, the quickest effective cure would be a tincture of  muddled fluxweed, shredded boomslang skin, and leech juice. The student will be extremely pale instead for a few days, but it might be preferable to the purple colour.

Wren reread her answer and felt that all loopholes were closed before she moved on to the next question.

A student suddenly collapses in the middle of class during last hour and slowly turns to stone. She has come into contact with no plants or creatures and eaten and drank of nothing since lunch. What were they poisoned with and what is the antidote?

Wren twirled her quill in her hands. Come into contact with nothing but suddenly turned into stone. They could have seen a basilisk? No, that only petrified people, it didn't turn them into stone. Could they have a Gorgon run into their class? Unlikely unless the student was in the Grecian Isles. And that was a sudden turning. This student slowly turned into stone.

It hit her, thinking of islands. Naghinbato Brew.

The student was likely dosed with Naghinbato Brew during their lunch. This poison is undetectable aside from its slight tang and it takes approximately four hours to begin affecting the person poisoned. If the student was lucky enough to fall over with her mouth open, a Wiggenweld potion with some Mandrake roots brewed in after the salamander's blood would reverse the effects. If not, an Adarna must be brought in to sing the student awake.

The remainder of the questions proved to be more and more tricky so that by the end Wren hoped for nothing but essays and practical exams for the rest of the year. The wording of each question proved difficult to navigate and at the end as she packed up her bag to leave for Defense Against the Dark Arts, she found herself casting a look at Snape who had begun to grade the quizzes and looked very much like he had just smelled something unpleasant.

Wren turned and headed out the door, eager to put the past hour behind her.

"Hey, Wren." Quick footsteps caught up to her as Cedric appeared to her left. As the only Hufflepuff in Potions, the pair had taken to sitting together as the sole representatives of their respective houses. Wren had to admit, she hadn't expected to see him on the first day of class. Nora had always claimed he was brilliant, but it had never quite shown through in any of the classes they had together. "How do you think it went?" Cedric asked, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

Wren shook her head. "I don't know. Has he even taught us any antidotes involving the dirt of a child's grave? Or was that just a veiled threat?"

Cedric chuckled. "They use it against Amnetias."

"Of course," Wren moaned.

"What combination of poisons did you list as the components for that last one. I got Angel's Trumpet Draught but what caused the vertigo?

"I said Syrup of Hellebore."

Cedric winced. "Missed that one."

"Your antidote could still work," Wren shrugged, making her way up the stairs as Cedric walked behind her. The two of them pressed close to the walls as a flood of nervous looking Hufflepuff first-years descended down the stairs. Poor kids.

"Not likely," Cedric said. "I used a creature-based remedy for the vertigo."

"Ah well," Wren sighed. "At least we'll all get D's together." Cedric laughed at this and they continued the rest of the way up. The two exited the stairwell, heading towards the classroom that had been the talk of the school recently.

Quite frankly, Dumbledore should have hired an ex-Auror much sooner. Professor Lupin had been good--loads better than Lockhart or Quirrell, or Merlin-forbid, the ghoulish woman Wren had her first year--but Moody, he had lived this. His very first lesson for all of the students 4th through 6th year had been showing the Unforgiveable Curses. Today they were supposed to be practicing resisting the Imperius Curse. This was real education.

Wren entered the classroom, peeling off from Cedric who walked over towards where Nora was sitting with their other Hufflepuff friends. Instead Wren sat at the desk across the aisle from her dorm mates-- Angelina and Alicia.

It was pitiful how quickly Wren had given into the Imperius Curse.

Unsurprisingly, Fred Weasley had been the longest hold out, beating George by a full twenty seconds. Wren suspected it had something to do with their natural inclination to ignore any given directive, but Lee Jordan hadn't done as well as Angelina, and she was by far the most rule-abiding in their friend group.

Wren spent a good portion of the rest of her week practising fortifying herself against being Imperiused so as not to embarrass herself the next lesson.

Her timing wasn't much better.

She largely chalked this up to mental exhaustion after the previous afternoon's brutal double Potions lesson. Snape had clearly been seeking retribution for the class's quiz scores. While Wren had managed to earn an E on hers, it seemed the rest of the class had not been so careful reading the questions if Snape's rant about their inattention to the finer details and nuances of potion making was any indication.

So, after that lesson on Wednesday, being Imperiused on Thursday, and failing to to transfigure her raccoon on Friday, Wren felt completely spent and ill prepared for the mountain of homework awaiting her this weekend.

"I'm not going to survive NEWT classes," Wren griped, laying her head down on her arm and giving her eyes a rest from her Charms textbook, instead gazing at a sideways Simon who looked up at her from across the table.

"You're not going to die," he shook his head, returning his eyes to his parchment. "Nora didn't read it in your cards."

Wren rolled her eyes at the sarcastic joke and propped her head back up on her palm. She might have been more annoyed at the lack of sympathy if it weren't for the fact that she brought up how busy and stressed she was each time he saw her. It was a miracle he put up with her, really. She doubted anyone else would.

"You're right," she agreed. "But, a study break couldn't hurt. We've got ten minutes 'til dinner. Plenty of time to pack up and go to our corner..." She dropped her hand and leaned towards him. Simon looked up from his work again, this time giving her a small smile as he came forward and kissed her gently and far, far too briefly. He sat back into his chair, leaving Wren hovering over the center of the table.

"I wish we could," he sighed, picking up his quill. "Truly." His eyes raked down her face to the opening of her blouse. Wren's face heated up, and she returned to her chair. "But I have to get this done. My weekend's packed as is, and they rescheduled Wizard's Chess Club to tonight so I already have less time than usual."

Wren pouted "I know," she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "I just miss you is all. I haven't seen you all week."

It hadn't been that either of them was avoiding the other--this year it just seemed like their time tables filled up too quickly with barely enough room to squeeze in each other. Each of their classes seemed to meet at opposite times so they never had a free period together. Time after dinner was largely devoted to clubs, homework, studying, and prefect duties with the weekends looking largely the same with the addition of Simon's commitments to his Ravenclaw friends and tutoring of younger students. The only small bit of time they had together during the week was the hour right before dinner on Fridays.

"Wren," Simon said, his voice taking on a slight edge. "I'm doing my best, ok?"

Wren's cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. She hadn't meant to insinuate that he wasn't. She wanted to whine about how Hogwarts seemed to be plotting against them, not whine about him.

"It's my seventh year. I sit NEWTs in June. If you think professors are giving you too much, just wait 'til next year. It's all I can do to keep my head above the water. Between that and my duties," he paused, running a hand through his hair and breaking off the sentence. "When we meet to study, all I can do is study. I want to spend time with you, but I can't afford to just muck about this year."

Wren nodded, sinking back into her chair. She needed to stop complaining. She needed to make the most of their time together. She needed to remember the lessons she had learned from her parents' own marriage dynamic of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. That the Ravenclaw would always focus on the goals and achievements, but couldn't function without the Gryffindor by their side. He did need her. He did want her. She had to just get over this.

This wasn't last year.

For the remainder of their time together, the pair worked in silence. Or, at least, Simon worked. Wren re-read the same paragraph out of her textbook three different times. The silence continued even as they packed up to go to dinner and most of the way down the corridor.

Suddenly Simon tugged Wren by the arm to the side of the hall, the movement leading her to gasp in surprise. He stood before her for a second, looking down at his shoes. "I'm sorry," he apologized, dropping his hand from her arm to hold her hand. "I'm just stressed."

Wren nodded quietly, her eyes also on his navy blue and white wing tips.

"I already hate how little we get to see each other, and when you brought it up--it felt like you were trying to make me feel guilty. And it worked."

"I wasn't trying," Wren said, smally. "I was being honest."

Simon tucked a finger under her chin, tilting it up so he could press another kiss to her lips. This one was far harder than the one in the library, and soon his hands moved to her waist and behind her neck, pulling her against him. Wren's brain had just caught up with the moment, allowing her to tug at the front of his robes when he broke away and leaned his forehead against hers. Tingles still raced to her nerve endings as her body buzzed from the kiss. Simon's kisses always seemed to linger--or perhaps, echo was the right word. The sweetness of the library had lasted longer than the kiss, and the dizziness of this kiss…

"We'll figure it out, ok?" Simon asked. "It's the beginning of the year. Once things settle, we'll find more time."

Wren hummed in agreement, kissing him quickly and chastely before following him off towards dinner.

Weekends hardly felt like the weekend anymore. No time with Simon. No sightings of Nora. Even her dorm mates were out of the Gryffindor tower in various parts of the castle. Everything seemed to pass in a blur. One moment she was eating breakfast on Saturday morning, and the next it was Sunday evening and she was hunched over a stack of Transfigurations books in a corner of the common room. Wren sighed as a fifth year boy burst out laughing as an Exploding Snap tower blew up in his friend's face. The noise was getting too much for both her concentration and her nerves, so, gathering up her books, she retreated up to her dorm, spreading out the materials on her bed.

An hour later, she jolted awake to the door flying open. Wren's pulse raced as she extracted her cheek from the page of her textbook and blinked around to see what had happened. Alicia stood just inside, tears streaming down her face. She also seemed surprised to see Wren, half sitting up amongst her materials with her hair sticking to her face.

"Oh, hullo, Wren," she greeted, hastily wiping at her eyes while studiously avoiding Wren's gaze.

Wren lifted herself up to a seating position, her face creasing in worry. She wished she had Nora's natural instinct to know what to do in situations like this. Did she ask questions? Pretend like she didn't notice the tears? Leave?

"Hi," Wren said gently.

Alicia walked over to her bed, bending over to pull off her shoes. She succeeded in unlacing one and threw it to the floor with much more aggression than the shoe could possibly have deserved.

"Are you all right?" Wren asked dumbly, cringing the second the question came out of her mouth. It was exceedingly obvious, even to her, that Alicia was very much not all right.

"I'll be ok," Alicia brushed aside, fighting with the other shoe.

"Ok," Wren nodded, despite the fact that Alicia still refused to look at Wren.

"Is Angelina around?" Alicia's voice came out tight and high.

Wren winced. "I think she's in the library with Lee."

Alicia nodded, evidently not trusting her voice for a response.

"If you'd like, I'll fetch her," Wren offered. Because that was the decent thing to do right? That was the right solution? Before she could get a response, Wren hedged her bets. "But also if you want, I'm a decent listener."

"It's stupid," Alicia dismissed, despite the fact that her voice seemed to crack around the word.

"Given the fact that I haven't seen you cry more than twice over the past six years, I doubt that."

"It's just...boys are morons," Alicia sat down on her bed, and Wren got up from hers, humming in agreement with Alicia's statement as she crossed the room, sinking down into the bed next to her dorm mate. She lifted her arm to put it around Alicia's shoulders before moving to pull her hair back over her shoulder as if that's what she had always intended to do. She couldn't remember: was it Angelina or Alicia who didn't like to be touched? She had to be the world's worst dorm mate. It was a miracle they even tolerated her.

"And which boy in specific is the moron that made you cry?"

Wren had a sinking feeling she already knew the answer.

"Thom Spiro."

While she had expected it, she still had no idea what to say  hearing the name of the boy Alicia fancied fall from her lips. Guessing what he did hardly seemed appropriate, but given the wide range of idiocy common in the teenage boys of Hogwarts, asking seemed to be a dangerous option too. So instead, she sat next to Alicia and tentatively looped her arms around her in what she hoped was not the most awkward hug to ever be given. Whether or not it was, Alicia fell into Wren, her crying picking up.

"I caught him kissing Louisa Finch."

Wren's spine straightened, but she didn't say anything.

"Last night--we were fooling around, and he wanted--" Alicia sobbed, seemingly unable to continue as she buried herself into Wren's shoulder. "I said no. I shouldn't have--"

"No," Wren said, firmly. "Absolutely not. You're not finishing that thought."

Alicia sniffed. "But--maybe--"

"No," Wren repeated, shaking her head. "You're not for his use. Obviously he doesn't want a companion, he just wants something he can stick his knob into. You're more than that."

Alicia let out a watery laugh. "I can't believe you said knob."

"What else do you call it?" Wren asked, and Alicia laughed a bit harder. Spotting a bit of success, Wren smiled. "He's a wanker. A tosser. A prick. A dickhead. A pants thinker. A broomstick with no lift. A magicless wand. I'm just guessing on the last two."

Alicia wiped at her eyes, extracting herself from Wren's hug. "I wouldn't know."

"Because you're smart,"  Wren said, grabbing Alicia's hand and squeezing it. "If you're not ready, you're not ready. It's better to wait than dive in too soon."

A pause settled between them as Alicia silently nodded seeming to think over the statement. "You're right, but--" she swallowed, and Wren could see the tears begin to gather in her eyes again. "It still hurts."

Behind her Wren heard the door to the dorm open and she looked over her shoulder to see Angelina.

"What happened?" she asked, the tone of her voice hinting that she already suspected exactly the story she was going to hear. Alicia filled her in quickly, adding a few more details that had been lost to sobs when she told Wren. All the while, Angelina listened, her face growing stonier and stonier. "Well, you know what we have to do now," she said simply.

Alicia nodded. "Can you?"

Wren looked between the two girls, her brow creased in confusion. "Sorry, I feel like I'm missing something."

Angelina turned her attention to Wren with an echo of amusement on her face. "We have to tell the twins."

It was impressive how much food Fred and George were able to knick in just a half hour. Crisps, popcorn, apple tarts, pumpkin pasties, oranges, treacle fudge, nut brittle, and butterbeer were all placed in the center of the floor of the boys' dorm. Wren and Katie had managed to scrape together a decent stash of other candies like Fizzing Whizzbees, Sugar Quills, Liquorice Wands, and Acid Pops while Lee had convinced the other sixth year boys to leave the dorm and done an impressive job cleaning. Either that, or the boys were a lot neater than Wren would have ever expected.

Wren reached forward, grabbing a new bottle of butter beer and tapping her wand to the top so the bottle cap flipped off.

"Alright are we going to keep avoiding it or should we get to the business of bashing Spiro?" Fred asked, rubbing his hands together. "I've got some excellent remarks on the spelling of his name."

"Come on Freddie, that’s too easy," George admonished, plucking up a handful of crisps. "Let’s get straight to the point that he's a disgrace to Ravenclaw House."

Wren choked on her butterbeer, and Katie reached over to pat her back some as she attempted to pull herself together. Angelina looked more amused at Wren's reaction than the comment, and Alicia turned rather glum as she twirled a sugar quill between her fingers.

"I'm sure there's plenty of boys in Ravenclaw who have done the same," Alicia sighed, lifting the tip of the quill so she could nibble on it.

"No doubt. Boys are horrid," George agreed. "But even amongst the ranks of Roger Davies and Hector Martín-Delgado,  Spiro has a particular brain. One might even liken it to a troll's."

Fred nodded. "He's got to be the dullest of the lot. Not quite sure how he got in, frankly."

"No bloke in their right mind would choose Louisa Finch over you," Lee added, nudging Alicia with his shoulder. The corner of her mouth ticked up.

"That's one thing for sure, but the larger issue is--why snog in a public corridor if you're attempting to run around with as many girls as possible?" George asked.

Even Alicia laughed this time, spitting bits of sugar quill out of her mouth before clamping a hand over it.

"A fair question, George," Fred acknowledged, toasting him with his butterbeer. "There are plenty of empty classrooms for that."

"Or any of the not-so-secret passages," Katie added.

"Behind a tapestry," Angelina shrugged.

"In the woods at night," George suggested.

"Anyone on the grounds, really." Wren put in quickly.

Alicia smiled. "He's not exactly the best at finding spots for...rendezvous. Last time I tried to meet him, I ended up with you and Norah Randolph." Alicia gestured at Wren. This thought seemed to deflate her a bit. "It must be nice to have a boyfriend. You don't have to worry about the running around together bit."

“I wouldn’t know,” George quipped, popping some Fizzing Whizzbees into his mouth.

Alicia reached over and smacked his arm. George flinched away with a chuckle, his body slowly lifting off the floor as he tossed the rest of the sweets in his hand into his mouth. “I was talking to Wren,” Alicia corrected.

“You have a boyfriend?” Fred’s eyebrows shot up as he looked over at her, locking eyes. Her stomach flipped and she paused mid lick of her Acid Pop.

“Where was he at the Cup?” George asked. She felt more than saw his eyes on her.

Wren swallowed, clearing her throat of all sugar. This was not a conversation she wanted to be having. Not ever really, but particularly not now. “He was on holiday.”

“You may very well be on holiday, but you come back for the Cup!” Fred said, indignantly. As if Simon’s absence from the Quidditch World Cup was a particular affront to Fred’s own honor as a fan of the sport.

Wren returned her focus to the acid pop at hand. With any luck it would burn a hole through her tongue in the next twenty seconds, and she’d have an excuse to end this conversation before it steered into unwanted territory. “Well, he’s not particularly a Quidditch fan.”

“What particularly is he then?” George asked.

“Simon Chambers,” Wren answered, sticking the lollipop back into her mouth and deciding that she would not take it out under any circumstances.

“Simon Chambers? Really? You and him?” Fred asked. The shock in his voice was a bit offensive.

Before Wren could break her own resolve–which might have had something to do with why she couldn’t manage to stay un-Imperiused-- Angelina stepped in. “They’ve been dating almost two years,” Angelina looked between the twins. “How did you not know?”

The twins shared a look, and shit, shit, shit.

“Well, I just never would have seen it. You, George?”

“No, never.” No one asked Lee, but he shook his head.

Despite the small wave of relief, her stomach still felt as if it was twisted in knots, and she wished very much that all of the attention was off of her. “Look this isn’t about my love life, this is about celebrating Alicia for narrowly avoiding dating a troll’s tit.”

“Collings! Your language!” George gasped, holding a hand to his chest.

“You should have heard her earlier tirade,” Alicia said, grabbing a licorice wand from Lee’s hand.

Wren once again took the acid pop out of her mouth to defend herself. “It was hardly a tirade. None of the words I said were that bad.”

Alicia crossed her arms. “Would you use them in front of your mother?”

Wren opened her mouth but before she could get a word in, Fred followed up the question.

“Would you use them in front of McGonagall.”

Wren’s mouth snapped shut and the boys laughed.

Katie shook her head. “Never would have expected that out of you, Wren.”

“I never would have expected it out of Simon Chambers’ girlfriend,” Fred remarked.

Wren cast him a sour look, and he laughed loudly, but the subject was dropped, and they returned to eating unhealthy amounts of junk, devising new insults for Thom Spiro, and escaping all of the things that truly sucked about being a 6th year.

Despite the fact that she had to spend two hours, first thing in the morning, avoiding plants attempting to kill her, Wren found Herbology to be a bit of a reprieve. Even today as Professor Sprout taught them to wrangle with a Venomous Tentacula in order to effectively and moderately safely collect the plant’s juice, Wren felt as if she was able to breathe in the Greenhouse.

Part of this she attributed to her mother. Having grown up with a Herbologist of some note, a good amount of Wren’s childhood was spent in the gardens and greenhouses her mother tended. Of course, her mother had never let her get near anything quite so interesting as the plants at Hogwarts, but she’d always quite enjoyed tending to the honking daffodils and umbrella flowers.

Her young training had certainly come in handy during the early years of Herbology, but even now as she collected vial after vial of the juice. Wren backed away from the plant, casting an eye around the greenhouse. Many students seemed to still be struggling getting near the plants, while others, like Fred Weasley, seemed to have no issue getting near the plant but couldn’t quite figure out how to draw out the juice. She continued looking around, her eyes landing on Thom Spiro who was currently standing far too close to Caroline Purvis. She giggled as she held the vial up to the plant, and he stepped even closer, almost forgetting his role as a distractor for the plant.

Wren’s jaw clenched. George was right. Boys were horrid, and Thom Spiro was a special sort. He deserved a serious bit of justice.

As she set the vials in their holder to be brought up to Professor Sprout when class ended, an awful idea struck Wren.

It made her smile.

With one eye on Professor Sprout who was busy helping Arlan Summers and Tom Dalgliesh with their plant, Wren corked a vial, wrapped it in cloth, and stuck it in her bag.

Herbology ended soon after, some pairs, like Wren, scoring as many as four while others had nothing but a few tears in their robes to show for their morning.

Quickly, Wren made her way up the hill towards the courtyard where she could study before lunch. She had just picked out a spot lawn when something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned, staring harder as if that would make things make more sense.

Alicia and Nora were….hugging?

It was none of her business. She should really sit down and open up a textbook and focus on her studies and not be walking across the courtyard right now.

"Hi?" Wren cast a look between the two girls.

"Hullo Wren," Alicia said, the words coming out a bit muffled because of the sweet she was chewing. Wren turned her attention to Nora, squinting at her cousin as if that would explain why she was suddenly such close friends to Alicia. Alicia, Wren's dorm mate, whom Nora had had maybe three classes with in her entire Hogwarts career.

As both girls looked at Wren somewhat expectantly, it hit her that she probably should have come up with some excuse to be coming over to say hello. "Hi," Wren repeated again, this time more as a statement than a question. "I just wanted to catch Nora, for a second."

"Yes?" Nora asked, tilting her head slightly.

Shit.

"Mum said to ask if Aunt Kathleen had sent you my color changing ink. She thinks I must have left it at your house when we got back from shopping."

Nora shook her head. "No, mum hasn't sent anything yet...I thought I saw that in your trunk?"

Shit. Shit.  Wren was saved from having to attempt another lie by Alicia.

"Wait--are you two cousins? I always thought you were neighbors or met on the train."

Nora laughed heartily. "I know it's hard for me to believe this moody one is my blood," she teased, poking Wren.

"To be fair, we are practically neighbors. It's just the two houses between us," Wren said, batting Nora's hand away as the other girl continued to poke Wren in the arm.

"Blimey," Alicia shook her head. "I'm just as bad as Fred and George aren't I?"

Wren wanted to assure her that she wasn't. The fact that Alicia even knew Wren was dating Simon was purely because Wren  had asked her for advice to help get dressed for their first date. The only reason Wren had known that Alicia fancied Thom was more due to Lee announcing it to the common room one afternoon at the end of last year than because of any kind of closeness between the girls. But Wren didn't get the chance because Nora spun to face her.

"Oh?" she asked, her voice going up an octave. "How's that?"

"They didn't know she was dating Simon Chambers."

“Well can’t blame them for that one,” Nora's voice returned to normal as she once more turned to Alicia, ignoring Wren's glare. “You two are never around each other.”

“Our schedules don’t match," Wren defended flatly.

Even though she wasn't facing her, Wren could see the small twinkle in Nora's eyes. “Would you say it’s…'an unavoidable conflict'?”

Wren groaned, and Nora laughed again. "Told you Wren. Divination is serious magic. Anyway," Nora flipped her plait over her shoulder. "I'm supposed to meet Arlan and Cedric so we can do some Astronomy work before lunch. Keep me updated," she added to Alicia who nodded in agreement. With that, Nora was off leaving Wren and Alicia together.

"I can't believe I didn't know Nora Randolph was your cousin!" Alicia shook her head, moving out into the courtyard. Wren followed her.

"I didn't know you were friends."

"We're not really. Or at least, we weren't," Alicia said, selecting a shady spot under a tree and sitting down. Wren hesitated before putting her own bag down and sitting beside the other girl. "We have Ancient Runes together. With Thom."

Wren's eyes widened. "Oh."

"She saw me looking miserable yesterday and made her partner switch chairs with me. Next thing I know, she's passing me toffees and I'm telling her the whole story."

Wren shook her head with a small laugh. “That sounds like Nora.”

Alicia began unpacking some parchment and books from her own bag. "There's not anything in those toffees is there? Veritaserum or something of the sort?"

Wren shook her head again. “That’s just Nora. People'll tell her anything.”

“I think we might be best mates now.” Alicia commented and Wren laughed before taking out her own work, and settling into a studious silence next to Alicia.

She hadn't planned how to get the juice into Thom Spiro' drink.

That was the primary thought running through Wren's head as she sat at the Gryffindor table, picking at her food. She had waved Alicia on to lunch before her, claiming she was just going to finish the chapter before she went in and the other girl didn't have to wait. She'd waited fifteen minutes to enter the Great Hall, sitting far along the table so as not to be seen by professors or any of the prefects who tended to group together at the middle of the table whether consciously or not.

It was about then that the thought hit her for the first time, and she had eaten most of her food and was in the final quarter or so of lunch without the faintest clue as to how to get this vial in his drink.

She couldn't very well just walk up to the Ravenclaw table and slip some in his goblet. The most interaction she'd ever had with him was holding a door open to Charms. They'd never even so much as spoken. Wren half considered dropping a knut on the floor and picking it up and handing it to him. But, passing off a knut and simultaneously pouring something into his goblet seemed just short of impossible.

Wren took a bite out of her roll, watching as more Ravenclaws came in and filled the table. She caught sight of a familiar tall and lean boy with copper hair, and her eyes lit up. Simon. She would walk over under the perfectly reasonable guise of saying hello to her boyfriend, and swap her own goblet with Thom’.

This plan quickly crashed as Simon passed Thom, picking an empty spot, naturally towards the center of the table.

Of course, Wren had considered switching her plan to a simple Pepper Breath Hex, which certainly would have put an end to his romantic endeavors at least for the next couple of days or so. But compared to her initial plan, this idea seemed so inadequate. And how could she even be sure that Alicia got to enjoy the justice? There had to be some way, some excuse, for her to switch goblets--

Of course.

It was so simple, really.

It was unlikely the teachers would expect it. If anything, it'd be written off as an unhappy accident from Herbology. If only he had properly corked his vial or used gloves to pass it along like Professor Sprout had said. Quickly glancing around to see if anyone was looking at her, which of course they weren't, Wren pulled the Venomous Tentacula juice from her bag and poured it in her own cup.

Subtly, she took her wand out of her pocket and with another quick glance up at the professor's table, tapped her own goblet, muttering the spell.

She peered inside and noticed her cup was slightly emptier than it had been.

She'd switched them. A rush of victory swelled in Wren's chest and she almost wished that someone near her would give her a high five.

It took five minutes to determine that her plan worked. A small commotion rose at the Ravenclaw table which seemed like normal lunch nonsense before the group of boys around Thom parted. Wren watched as Thom’s skin slowly shifted from its beautiful shade of lilac to a darker lavender. Giggles began to echo through the Great Hall as Thom’s distress grew more and more apparent. Wren cast a quick look up at the professors' table. Professor Snape  looked particularly unamused, but Dumbledore had a small quirk of his lips.

Wren took this as permission for herself to smile as Thom’s friends rushed a now violet Thom Spiro out of the hall and towards, undoubtedly, the Hospital Wing. Sensing this was as good a time as any to dismiss from lunch, the food vanished from the table, and the students began to file out. Wren picked up her bag, ready to go to Transfiguration and feeling particularly pleased with herself as all around her students whispered about that purple Ravenclaw!

"Fine work, Collings." Wren nearly jumped out of her skin, fumbling her books.  She succeeded in catching them back onto her arms, but one slid out, bouncing against the ground in front of her. Before she could bend over to retrieve it, one of the twins scooped it up and placed it on top of his own, significantly shorter stack of books. If two books could be called a stack.

"What?" Wren asked, her head turning to each of the twins.

"I was wondering what you were up to in Herbology," Fred, the one who was not holding her book, remarked.

"Sorry, you've lost me." Wren shrugged and gave a jerky shake of her head.

Fred gave her a wolfish grin. "Have I?" He waved his wand, and the empty vial shot out of her bag and into his hand. Because of course he could do nonverbal spells already. He wiggled it in front of her, and Wren snatched at it, surprising herself by actually wrenching it from his hands.

Wren stuffed it back into her bag, glaring at him--although the fact that he was absolutely correct took all of the heat out of her look. "That's for potions."

"And apparently poisoning Ravenclaw dickheads,"  Fred remarked.

"I didn't poison him."

She did. Technically.

"I don't even understand why you think it was me." She succeeded in making her voice slightly more casual this time which did nothing but make the boys' smiles grow.

"It's not a suspicion," Fred dismissed. " I know it was you. Saw you in Herbology."

"There's a plant that does that?" George asked with widened eyes.

"Apparently the Venomous Tentacula,"  Fred said. "Sprout said it was a poisonous juice, but I never reckoned I'd actually see someone poisoned with it."

"Stop saying I poisoned him!" Wren hissed.

George's brow wrinkled. "Is there another word for it?"

"Empoisoned?" Fred suggested.

"Envenomed?"

"Would this count as drugging?"

Wren brushed past the twins, entering the Transfigurations classroom. They followed her in laughing.

Alicia looked up from where she and Angelina were gathered together giggling. "Wren!" she called, waving her over quickly. Wren approached, dropping her books off at her desk along the way and  trying very hard to keep the smile off of her face, seeing Alicia positively beaming.

"Tell me you didn't miss it."

"Thom Spiro turning bright purple? How could I?"

"Merlin, it was glorious," Alicia exclaimed looking happily up at the ceiling as if attempting to thank Merlin himself up in heaven. When she looked back down, her eyes fell on the Weasley twins who had followed Wren over. "You two, you did this, didn't you?"

"Us? No," George shook his head.

"We'd never dope a student," Fred added, pausing for a second. "That's the word we're going with, right?"

George shook his head. "Doesn't seem quite right. I still think poison's the best fit."

Alicia's face creased in confusion, and perhaps if Wren hadn't seen fit to cast a dark look at the two, the other girls might have assumed they were lying.

"Wren Collings, what did you do?" Angelina asked, and Wren's face went slack with surprise. It was just her luck that Angelina, the one observant enough to have taught Wren and Alicia how to tell the twins apart, would have caught the look.

"Me?" Wren asked, perhaps too defensively because now Alicia's eyes were on her.

"Wren," Alicia looked at her wide-eyed. "Did you....?"

Wren made a sound of disbelief. "You think I poisoned a Ravenclaw student? I'm dating a prefect! A Ravenclaw one."

"You did!" Alicia gasped, grabbing Wren into a tight hug. "You're bloody brilliant. Honestly, Wren. I could kiss you."

"Doubt she'd let you," Fred quipped.

Alicia released Wren who stepped back, taking her book from George and hitting Fred with it. "So violent, Collings," he flinched away laughing.  "They're going to lock you up in Azkaban. You maniac."

"So if he wasn't poisoned," Angelina said, "What exactly happened to him?"

All eyes fell on Wren. "He didn't wash his hands properly after handling the Venomous Tentacula juice in Herbology today. Or maybe the cork wasn't on right and some got on his skin," she shrugged. "Professor Snape said it happens every year."

Fred opened his mouth to remark but was cut off by Professor McGonagall walking in, signaling to the students to stop talking and find their seats. Her gaze fell on Fred.

“Mr. Weasley, as you are not taking this class, please find your way to the door.”

Fred gave McGonagall a salute, and turned to leave, making sure to gesture to Wren that he had his eyes on her before heading out of the room. Wren's cheeks tinged pink as she made her way to her desk.

The light poisoning might have been a mistake.

[katierosefun]

quick writing q! how do you plot out your stories? i noticed whenever you post something new, you already know exactly how many chapters there will be and the length, and that's a level of planning i never seem to be able to accomplis

thanks for the ask, anon!! i’m more than happy to explain!

so when i have a longform fic, i usually have a general idea of where i want the story to go. i don’t have all the parts planned out, but i usually have at least two components of the story in mind first--for me, i often seem to know where i want the story to begin, and i know what i want the middle of the story to be, but the ending is always a little trickier for me to find out (and sometimes i wind up going off the rails and changing the ending completely because i’ll realize in the middle of writing the fic that another ending would actually be more fitting). 

once i at least have those components figured out, i’ll sit down and start outlining. depending on the story i want to write, i’ll have a rough approximation of how many chapters i want. (for instance, i knew that i wanted to these memories to have 20+ chapters, and i wanted ever in our favor to be fairly short, maybe 10 or so chapters. another thing i kind of think about (although this is really not at all required), is just word count for most genres? so like, most romance novels are anywhere between 50k to 90k words, and even though fanfiction is incredible because there are no word count limits, i see those parameters as somewhat useful in terms of pacing! again, this is totally not required at all, and this is honestly a personal preference more than anything, mostly because i tend to struggle with pacing asfsd)

i tend to almost always write about 3k/3.5k words per chapter though (that’s the length that i’m personally most comfortable with in terms of brainpower, although really, word count per chapter is entirely up to the writer!), so i keep that in mind when i’m outlining--i usually ask, “okay, how many major scenes can i cover in this word count?” 

but for the most part, that’s how i outline! i just go chapter through chapter with a rough summary of the scenes that i want. (ie. my notes for most ardently chapter 1 goes something like, “anakin and ahsoka talk obi-wan into taking a holiday. palpatine, anakin’s guardian, comes along. anakin meets padme, and anakin talks to obi-wan about satine, *cue the famous p & p line*. obi-wan doesn’t notice satine getting up.”)  

once i go through the chapters, it also becomes a lot easier for me to see where the rest of the story is going, and then i’ll have a whole outline in front of me of every single scene i want per chapter--from chapter 1 to the very last chapter. 

so uhh,,,,tl; dr: outlines are your best friend!!! 

i hope that helped!! <3

[judgmentofcorruption]

Episode 6–The Sinking Story; Scene 1

Judgment of Corruption, pages 172-181

Yo, long time no see!

…Yes. It has been quite a long time.

Because over fourteen years have passed since then.

.

Gallerian was doing alright.

He had finally managed to reach the top.

This was the birth of USE Dark Star Bureau Director Gallerian Marlon.

.

At the same time as he was inaugurated into the position, he announced the formation of a new special organization within the bureau.

Given the antagonistic relationship that they’d had with the world police that was a concern before, and the people’s dissatisfaction with them—

This organization was created as a result of that.

Its name was “Police Neutrality”—meaning a neutral police force, in essence. It was a name loaded with cynicism towards the World Police. It went by “PN” for short.

The position of its leader was taken by a commissioned officer of the USE allied forces.

Shiro Netsuma…The white-haired woman who had once shot Gallerian, and delivered the killing blow to Loki. She had not retired from her role in the USE united army, and held her post there concurrently with her position as PN’s leader.

Only, Shiro had the weakness of being poor in normal communication. In order to combat this, Hel Jaakko was appointed her vice-commander, as someone who could be well-versed in the internal state of affairs within the Dark Star Bureau.

Part of the Yarera Zusco Conglomerate’s private army was dispatched to make up PN’s forces. They already had a strong relationship with Gallerian, and on top of that had no connection to the World Police at all.

Leading these forces was Feng Li. Having worked for a long time as Gusuma Yarera’s bodyguard, he was not one to be treated like a simple tiger. He was a fine human being, and had a great deal of respect among his unit as their commander.

.

The fact remained that the Freezis Conglomerate was a massively powerful trade organization, but its power had begun to weaken compared to how it had once been.

A war had started in the Republic of Maistia over liberation of its slaves—and thanks to that, the conglomerate had lost their footing in the continent.

One could argue that, now, the position of top organization in the Evillious region had shifted from the Freezises to the Yarera Zusco Conglomerate.

.

Contrary to the enrichment of Gallerian’s professional self, his private life wasn’t especially satisfactory for him.

He made sure that no one could tell from the surface, but his marriage with Mira had completely fallen apart. They hardly ever talked in the house anymore. They had added three more servants to their staff outside of Bruno, and Gallerian’s estate was fairly bustling, but with Gallerian and Mira there was always a cold atmosphere between them.

Gallerian devoted all of that affection to his one daughter, Michelle. It was a level of doting that exceeded words like “spoiling” and “over-fond parent”, to where even Bruno would be amazed at times.

At sixteen years old, Michelle had grown into a beautiful girl, with the same pretty green hair as her mother and the graceful features of her father.

There were times when one of Bruno’s fellow servants, Rennert, would idly grumble, “I shudder to think about what’ll happen when she gets a boyfriend.”

That was because Gallerian was liable to go half-mad no matter what kind of man it was.

Michelle herself always seemed to be worrying about the poor relationship between her parents, but she never let those feelings come forth publicly. For she knew that could be scandalous to her father as the director of the Dark Star Bureau. She was a kind, intelligent girl. And she was slated to enroll in Levin University that upcoming spring.

.

The doorbell rang through Gallerian’s home.

“Just a secooond,” replied Larisa, one of Gallerian’s servants.

But at that moment she was in the middle of roasting a Rollam bird in the oven, so she couldn’t leave to answer the door.

“Could someone get that for me! Katerina! …Wait, I think she’s out shopping. Rennert! Bruno!”

But she received no reply from the other two servants who should have been in the house.

“Good grief. Those men are as unthoughtful as always.”

Just as Larisa was growing more flummoxed, Michelle appeared, cheery as can be.

“I’ll go get the door for you, Larisa.”

“Miss Michelle! …No, it would be a disgrace for a servant to make the young woman of the house do such a thing. Just get Rennert or Bruno to—”

“They both seem busy--Rennert is trimming the grass in the back garden and Bruno is helping Papa with his work in the study—Don’t worry, you just focus on cooking the Rollam bird, ha ha.”

“Thank you kindly, young miss. Well then, with my apologies, I leave it to you.”

The doorbell rang again.

“Got it, I’m coming!”

Michelle lifted up the ends of her skirt and delightedly ran to the foyer.

When she opened the door, she saw a tall, thin man standing there next to a white-haired woman. Both of them were wearing USE army uniforms.

“Hey, Uncle Tony! And you have Miss Shiro with you.”

“My my, as precious as ever, little Michelle.”

Gallerian’s friend Tony Ausdin smiled as he greeted her.

Shiro Netsuma silently bobbed her head, a shy smile on her face.

“Is Gallerian in?”

“Papa’s with Bruno in the study right now…Papa! Uncle Tony and Miss Shiro are here!” Michelle yelled, racing further down the hall.

Tony gave a sarcastic laugh as he watched her go. “…She’s healthy, that one!” Then he glanced over at Shiro, standing beside him. “—You could stand to be a little bit more like that.”

“Um…Uh…Sorry.”

“…Well, whatever.”

The two of them stepped inside and headed for the study.

.

After managing to graduate without much trouble from university, Tony Ausdin enlisted into the USE allied forces as planned.

Though at first he had merely seemed a poor student, he had come to show more alert, active behavior, as though having awakened since gaining some experience in small-scale warfare.

He had offered up great military gains such as in the suppression war against the Asmodean guerillas and in the sixteenth search and destroy operation against the dead soldiers, and was soundly promoted through the ranks as a result of that—

Currently, he had somehow managed to achieve the rank of major general in the USE army.

“That you could achieve such distinction despite your youth…Frankly I could never have imagined it when we were students,” Gallerian said in honest praise of Tony.

“Hey now. Didn’t you say that I was a ‘future general’ and all that nonsense? Was that a lie?”

“Did I? …I must have been trying to spare your feelings back then or something.”

“Ha ha ha—Well, we’ve both moved up in the world, Mister Dark Star Bureau Director.”

Gallerian and Tony had seen each other frequently over the past few years.

There was the fact that they were childhood friends. But more than that--there was a great deal of meaning in a companionship between two people who stood at the core of two components so essential to the USE as law and military. The foundation of PN by Gallerian likely wouldn’t have been possible without Tony’s cooperation.

“By the by…What business do you have here today that Shiro would bring you along for?” Gallerian asked Tony, getting down to business.

“Ah, well there is an issue. We have a favor to ask of you. And given Shiro’s personality she’s not liable to get to the point.”

“…?”

“—It’s ‘Ma’. I…or rather, the USE allied forces, requires her aid now.”

“…”

Upon hearing that name Gallerian’s expression clouded, as well as Bruno’s beside him.

“Ma, huh…As I remember she was a collaborator of mine. Not just me, but for Bruno and Shiro here as well. But nowadays I have no idea where she is or what she’s doing. One day she just up and disappeared. Around the same time as Hanma Baldured went missing.”

Gallerian looked to Shiro. She shook her head, as though to say that she didn’t know either.

“Bruno…What about you? Do you know anything of her whereabouts?”

“No—It’s been fourteen years since she vanished. During that time I have not heard so much as a rumor of her. I don’t even know if she’s still alive…” Bruno replied somewhat uncomfortably.

He had not told Gallerian that he was the one to drive Ma away.

“Sigh…So even you don’t know…”

Tony’s shoulders drooped in disappointment.

“Tony. Why are the USE allied forces searching for Ma?”

“…It’s the ‘dead soldiers’.”

“You mean those corpses that have risen from their graves to attack people. That’s one of the more dangerous occurrences amidst all the changes in the world.”

“They’ve been carrying on their activity for a while now, and each time the army has suppressed them. …But they aren’t decreasing in number. After all is said and done, they were originally human corpses. And as long as humans aren’t immortal, as long as there’s still corpses being made, then the dead soldiers will continue to increase without end.”

Hearing that, Bruno’s brow furrowed.

“You can’t mean…you intend to get the secret of immortality from Ma?”

“If she knows such a secret I would certainly want to ask her, true. But that’s not it. Though they’re called dead soldiers, their battle potential is frankly not all that impressive. Their movements are sluggish, and it’s not all that difficult to fell them just by sustained attacks—Until now.”

“So then…you’re saying that’s no longer the case?”

“We now have ‘dead soldier mutants’. These creatures have begun to appear lately that have different powers from the rest. Some are excessively strong, some are fast like a monkey—Fortunately they are few in number at present, but whenever they show up on the battlefield our casualties go up immediately.”

“That—sounds dangerous.”

“The worst of the lot is a variety that we’ve come to call the ‘Worldeater’. We’ve only seen it once, on the eastern front, but according to reports its height is estimated to be over four meters tall…There are some people saying it was larger than that. At such a height, it’s doubtful that it was ever originally a human being. This one was able to drive back the entire battalion before it could be destroyed.”

“…This sounds like something out of a fairytale.” Gallerian leaned forward with great interest. “Then—how did you repel that one?”

“We didn’t. It returned to wherever it had come from on its own. Under the persuasion of another variety of mutant that’s appeared.”

“Persuasion? But I’d always heard the dead soldiers had no intelligence.”

“That’s right. But this one is different. Its body isn’t all that big, but this dead soldier—it can speak like a person. Among the top brass there’s murmurs that this may in fact be the leader of the dead soldiers…. At any rate, thanks to the existence of these mutants the USE allied forces are stuck in a hard fight. And so we want to borrow Lady Ma’s wisdom, given she distinguished herself during the witch trial reforms.”

Gallerian folded his arms and thought.

“Hmm…It’s true that Ma has a great deal of magical knowledge. But what would she know about dead soldiers?”

“There’s documents that claim that dead soldiers appeared in the Beelzenian Empire centuries ago, around the time of the Retasan Coup. Legends says that the woman named Gumillia who opposed them was actually a sorceress.”

“And so you think Ma could have that power too…I see. That’s a very vague prospect. There was a theory long ago that the dead soldiers were being controlled by magic, but that’s been definitively disproven nowadays—by none other than Ma herself.”

“Even so, there’s still a slight possibility. As we have no other options, we have to pursue that slim chance that it can be done.”

“…Whatever the case may be, you still don’t know where she…”

At that moment, someone knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

The person who entered then was one of the servants, Katerina.

“Ah, Katerina. Have you finished shopping?”

“I have—and at the entrance I met with our mail carrier. Though they weren’t the normal person who brings it over. They gave me a letter for you, Sir.”

Katerina held out a letter for him. Gallerian took it and cut the seal with a pair of scissors.

“This is…” After looking at the contents, Gallerian’s expression turned to one of mute amazement. “Speak of the devil—what excellent timing.”

The letter was from Ma.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[geekns]

last night’s breakdown or...spectrum confessions

So i just wanted to saying something about the meltdown that some of you might have noticed last night (i know a couple of you did, though i think i managed to keep most of it under wraps).

I have a medical condition. It causes me to feel anxious and depressed. Constantly. To varying degrees. I take medication for it. I’ve tried to learn how to manage it. I try to hide it because the general public does not understand this condition. Furthermore, i don’t want to share the underlying trauma with anyone and everyone. I want to come across as a functioning adult as much as possible.

So even while I have spent fifteen years learning how to forgive the people who hurt me. And something like six months in therapy. And around two years being medicated...I still have occasional breakdowns.

Sometimes i still have a night where everything that i’m trying to keep copacetic, and acknowledged but not given free reign, takes over. It refuses to be medicated or meditated or prayed into compliance. It takes over me and pours out of me whether i want it or not. Suddenly i am not functioning, i am sobbing uncontrollably, and terrified, and feel guilty, and unloved, and imprisoned. And in those moments i want nothing more than to die. A part of me does not even trust myself not to harm myself. I want to be held (but am always alone). I want to protected (but never am). I am normally the person who takes care of others, no one ever takes care of me.

And i feel physically sick. Nausea, a headache, and body aches. Full body grief. Last night i was seeing flashing lights behind my eyelids as if i was having a seizure or on a bad trip. And the panic: the panic is in control, I cannot think straight. Even if i tell myself positive things, or try to use strategies for calming down, try to quiet my raging thoughts, the panic has free reign. It is in full control. And the only thing i can do is curl up in bed hugging my stuffed animal, clutching my blanket, waiting for it to end. And it won’t end until after I’ve slept it off. And I can’t sleep because I’m in fight or flight mode.

Maybe I should do some kickboxing when I get like this.

I’m going to confess, it was probably the worst it’s been in years last night. I was even trying to go to my safe place, and was kind of getting there (i usually can’t do my best safe place visualizing anymore, i think it’s the meds), but the person who normally talks me down from these things was not feeling safe last night. (His likeness was part of the reason i was freaking out tbh.) But even though i didn’t really want him there he didn’t go away, he stayed with me until i fell asleep.

I have imaginary friends sort of. Apparently they’re called tulpa? Though i don’t create or really control them, they just show up fully formed. Mostly when i’m panicking or worried. Whenever i need to talk things through that i have no one to talk to. The thing is, they always wear the likeness of real people, usually celebrities that play characters i strongly identify with. I used to get advice from Picard and Gandalf and Archer for instance. All of us sitting around a campfire on a beach. They’re always men, i don’t know why. (Hmm maybe that goes to daimons?) 

For example: one time i was on a train in Japan, underground, and a drunk man started yelling at two women halfway down the car. And i had a panic attack. And suddenly i was visualizing Twelve/PC talking me down from it, telling me to breathe, that i was safe, etc. Distracting me from the danger. (Two things: i read a story about him talking another fan down from a panic attack outside a convention later. And another male passenger escorted the drunk off the train at the next stop, but i was still panicking for a while. I still had to change trains and it would take me another hour to get home for the night.)

So part of the thing is that the thoughts i usually keep under control, don’t allow myself to dwell on, acknowledge but keep muted with optimism, become deafening and take over when this happens. I think way back when it would be 1-2 times a month, then 1-2 times a quarter, and now it’s 1-2 times a year, but it still happens. I used to just let all of the darkness come pouring out, usually through writing. I’m always alone. And i suppose it’s cathartic, but it’s horrific while it’s happening. I don’t recognize myself, the girl who never gives up and is always glass is 100% full. I don’t want to let others see it even as i’m desperate to be loved and held and accepted as i am.

It’s hard to explain.

When i wake up the next morning the darkness is gone. It’s quiet again, and i feel “normal” (normal for me). It’s hold is gone. Now i always live with a baseline amount of anxiety and depression, even while medicated. If i take too much medication i can’t sleep (i’m already an insomniac, i don’t need drugs making it worse) and so i can’t feel any sexual arousal at all...it really bothers me. It’s hard enough for me to become properly aroused without suppressing it entirely. I generally have to fantasize about something very specific (which let me tell you, the majority of you wouldn’t find to be sexy at all).

When i first went on the meds i spent months where i didn’t feel anything (other than that i was suddenly very chatty and animated in a completely uncharacteristic way) and i hated it. My mom doesn’t understand, doesn’t see repressed sexuality as a downside when i’m not married.

Re: asexuality. My grandma was on the spectrum (we always joke she had sex at least four times...resulting in four kids) and my mother probably is, too. I have had two short-lived dating relationships in which my only sexual desire was to satisfy my partner really. I don’t enjoy kissing. I do have a libido that’s greater than either my mother or grandma’s...but like i said, it’s fucked up and not initiated by any of the conventional methods. Kissing doesn’t make me feel like getting down, for instance. At least in my (so far limited) experience. I keep hoping that i’m actually demi and just need to meet the right person to make this a little bit easier for me. But it will probably just be something i have to work through for the rest of my life. 

Perhaps i should stipulate that I want to want to have sex. And when i do want to have sex i am always alone. And when i am with someone else the things that attract me are just odd. Being read aloud to, or talked to about nerdy things, got me farther than anything else. But it’s not the content so much as the mind that’s behind what’s being expressed.

I am certainly no expert on this subject. My therapist had never heard of demisexuality and had no input on asexuality. In other words, they were absolutely no help when it came to working through these issues, which is where I wanted to go (partially because i feel it may be tied in with my PTSD and is being repressed by fear).

Five types of attraction:

Romantic attraction: desiring a romantic relationship with someone

Aesthetic attraction: being attracted to someone based on how they look

Sensual or physical attraction: wanting to touch, hold, or cuddle someone

Platonic attraction: wanting to be friends with someone

Emotional attraction: wanting an emotional connection with someone

Most of my attraction is towards fictional characters (and to a varying extent the actors who play them). Both of my RL partners would only be physically expressive in private. They wouldn’t touch me in public. Or even in private spaces with others present. There was one i didn’t really know all that well and another who had hidden a lot from me up to that point even though he claimed he didn’t believe in hiding things from the person you’re dating. And we would be physical in private to varying degrees but i was left feeling largely unfulfilled. I kind of struggle with these definitions. Both of the guys I dated i had zero aesthetic attraction to but did have physical attraction to whereas they only wanted to express themselves sexually.

I strongly desire having a romantic relationship with someone but have for a very long time only had romantic attraction for fictional characters. I fairly recently had a physical and romantic attraction to someone for the first time, at first based on sapiosexual attraction that later became aesthetic attraction (why is there no listed attraction for this? I am usually attracted to people’s minds first).

I have very strong aesthetic attraction to certain actors...and this is a large part of the reason that i know i’m bi. But it isn’t only aesthetic for really strong attraction because i am sapiosexual and also strongly attracted to damaged, often misunderstood, people/characters. Case in point: Loki and Missy. In these cases i have strong physical attraction but not sexual attraction. I cannot fathom having sex with most characters or actors or people I meet in RL. I sometimes wonder what casual sex would be like but know that i could never...

I can only remember kissing someone (also a character) in a dream once and immediately put a stop to it, not because i wasn’t attracted to that person, but because they were unavailable in my mind. They were part of an OTP that i was not in. So there’s a strong romantic component for me.

Sensual or physical attraction is actually something I fantasize about a lot but have never experienced...outside of one platonic relationship. I had a friend when I lived in Japan who I wasn’t even particularly close to. But right away she would ask me if she could lean on me, lay against my lap, later link arms with. I can’t remember if we ever held hands. She was Chinese, and for an Asian girl this is very normal to do with platonic friends. Koreans call this “skin sisters.”

It was really weird for me because my own sisters don’t even want to do those sorts of things with me. I sometimes want to lean against my mother but most of my sisters would punch me rather than let me touch them affectionately. My youngest sister, once I came back from Japan, had reached a point where she was bolder and will goose, grope, grab, poke, pinch, try to pop my toes...it’s very disconcerting. She does things to me in front of others that i consider to be more sexual than platonic. Possibly because my only frame of reference is my father doing the same to my mother. She’s the only sister who will sometimes lean against me. But that was only after this friendship in Japan that was more physical than any of my “romantic” but-definitely-not-romantic partners. No kissing, but the sort of physical expression that i most long for.

Platonic attraction is rare for me. Extremely rare. Any platonic relationship i have pursued has always inevitably ended with spectacular heartbreak. In high school i was always on the outside. One platonic friendship ended dramatically (she had been hiding things from me, which is fine, but it ended badly and she moved away suddenly). Another platonic relationship fizzled because she was my best friend but i was just another friend for her. And whenever this happens to me, i am the friend that all plans will be cancelled with because the other friends have preference. And there was no big break there, i was old enough to not be heartbroken by it as i had by earlier examples of this. We still converse on FB and i am the person she came to first when she accidentally got pregnant in college. Have i mentioned that i’m the should people come to when they need emotional support? I’m a good listener and not judgmental and know when to give advice and when to stay mum.

Which brings me to spiritual attraction. We aren’t merely physical or mental beings. There is something else there. And my empathy, my spiritual center...there are times that i know things that i have no logical business knowing. I don’t always understand it, sometimes it’s a feeling, but my intuition is something that i’ve learned not to ignore. 

My last boss, i could tell he had anger issues. I only caught a glimpse of them once. He really liked me so i was fortunate. But every conversation we had after our initial meeting i could tell (spiritually) that he was potentially very dangerous to me emotionally. The more we interacted the more nervous it made me. Familiarity could lead to a loss of professional discretion.

Latter friend: i knew when she IMed me out of the blue after a six month drought that something big was up. She demurred that she couldn’t talk about it. I knew that the only reason that she had come to me was because she needed to tell me. Again, i had a feeling, and it turned out to be correct. She was pregnant. BF wanted her to abort. She didn’t believe in abortion. One conversation gave her the strength to stand up for herself and give her baby up for adoption.

Grandma: I was unable to go home for thanksgiving. Sister (roommate situation) went to her in-laws. I stayed home alone and worked. I was having panic attacks. I had the most heinous period of my entire life. A couple days later my dad calls me up and says: “Has anyone told you that Grandma is in the hospital? She had a heart attack.” No one had told me anything, I somehow knew something was wrong anyway. My brain just couldn’t make sense of it.

Kate Mulgrew: I somehow knew that she was looking for her daughter. Then-me interpreted this as Janeway having a missing daughter, expecting her to show up on the show and join the crew. What i didn’t realize that this was a real longing and need. I have carried this knowledge with me for over twenty years. I found out sometime within the past year that she had become pregnant early in her acting career, while on Ryan’s Hope, given her daughter up for closed adoption, regret it, and it was while she was on Voyager and coming into my awareness she was desperately searching for her, trying to find her, and did in fact find her. I had no rational way knowing any of that deeply personal information. I felt it anyway; deeply. In fact, it changed my life.

Which comes to emotional attraction. I really wanted to be an actor or an author. I don’t think I can memorize or anymore, my aphasia makes it extremely difficult to ad lib/improvise because there are road blocks where i cannot spontaneously retrieve the words i’m looking for. I don’t know if i’ll ever finish a novel, i’m hoping just to finish a lengthy fanfic at this point and then see what comes. A year ago i was doing much better, now it just feels like i’m under attack on all sides. But i feel a strong emotional attraction to artistic people in general.

This sometimes manifests as a sexual attraction for a short time. Sometimes. I can fantasize about a physical attraction...usually in the form of me comforting or being comforted. Sharing burdens. If i know that someone i’m attracted to or love is hurting then it hurts me, often with actual physical sensations (again with the spiritual connections). This tends to cause me to feel as if i “know people” or am kindred spirits with actors, authors, singers, etc. Again, i will sometimes know things that there’s no reason for me to know and is often pointless since it doesn’t enable me to comfort them when they don’t even know i exist.

I am generally okay with this, though it’s sometimes overwhelming. Sometime it feels like an inside joke or shared experience (rare for me outside family members) and gives me ecstatic joy. It’s really weird being an empath.

But again back to being demi: characters (or even the actors who play them) will sometimes feel like friends or family. Sometimes it translates to romantic or sexual attraction: this is very rare. It’s happened a handful of times, but it leaves me feeling completely broken. Why can’t i just be a normal person with normal relationships? Generally it is a positive thing because getting to share their experiences (through reading or watching) gives me a fair amount of feeling accepted, having someone to care for, and hope.

I am a very isolated person. I don’t currently have any RL friends. Most of my support network tends to be online but i don’t really have that going on for me since my last breakup (mutual friends seemed to stick with him, though one friend that was my friend first has since decided that he’s completely nuts and conveniently forgotten that she was the one to introduce us and encourage the pairing). And i know i’m weird but i actually don’t mind that. Having friends that live around the world? That have similar interests? But that i don’t have to get dressed and go outside my comfort zone to hang out with? Awesome.

A year ago i was living somewhere very isolated but i was in a good place because i was supporting myself, had been working full time and making career progress for the better part of a year, was okayish with being single, I had my new kitten, I was mostly happy. It would have been the ideal time for me to start a relationship. And i was actually feeling attracted to a coworker! Like that hadn’t happened for me in nearly twenty years!

But he didn’t want to be more. He wanted me to be the friend he went to to unload his emotional issues on. He didn’t want others to know. He didn’t want to be more than “professional” (it wasn’t professional what was going on, not really). And then COVID hit and everything started falling apart. Things had been wrong with that job that i was trying to stay separate from. Drama, potentially criminal actions, emotional outbursts. I got singed a few times. I knew that another coworker hated me. 

The second time they laid me off i packed everything up and moved back home. Upper management had been getting scary. I could tell that Grandma was reaching the end of her life and wanted to be near family. Which led to my last job, which i loved at first but couldn’t keep up with physically and that started to degrade my mental/emotional state. And then grandma died and i fell apart.

I’ve been trying to pull things back together. I really enjoy my current job but i don’t know if it will work out in the long term. The way the economy is going again...it’s scary. When Obama became president his policies were really punishing for the area. I had just graduated from college and couldn’t find full time work. I worked 2-3 part time jobs and lived with my parents because that was all i could afford. 

I went out on a couple of very large limbs trying to better my situation (teaching in Japan, CLD school) and neither has really. They were amazing opportunities but i get homesick. But then when i am here that’s bad for me emotionally. I need to find some sort of balance, and it’s looking like that balance is for me to live somewhere removed from family and only visit a couple times of years. Which i hate to do but i think i need those boundaries for my emotional well being. But i don’t know how i have a hope in hell of affording any of that. I have a couple of months left to figure it out before my lease is up on my apartment, i need to figure things out by then.

So all of this...i’m not trying to complain here. I know that i tend to come off that way because i’m just honest and matter of fact about things. This is the way things are in my experience. I’ve tried various ways to improve them. The reason i’m recording them is not to illicit pity. It’s so people who don’t have to deal with these issues can catch a glimpse of what it’s like and for others who deal with anxiety and depression can see that they’re not alone. That’s a huge deal. Wherever you are in your journey, you’re not alone, it may be a fight unique to your situation, but you’re not alone. Other people are suffering, too, and it’s not a competition. It’s okay.

I know that being single has its benefits. Living alone with a cat is not something i hate as a rule, let me tell you. What i do hate is not having two or more incomes coming into a household. It is extremely difficult in this day and age to make it alone. I don’t want to worry about anything but money is probably that biggest temptation. It leads to feeling like i’m trapped.

That’s probably why many relationships develop (a need for security) but i’m...i say it is like being broken. Maybe i am because of the PTSD. Maybe it’s just my normal for someone on the spectrum (and let me tell you that even claiming this as part of my identity triggers my imposter syndrome...all of this does really. I didn’t have to deal with the same level of physical abuse that many do so why can’t i just get over it, right?). But i dealt with enough that i cannot form relationships on convenience. I have to feel safe. I want to find someone who i could trust to raise kids with, to go the distance with.

Have i said yet that i tend to overthink things? 

I know that there’s not many of you who will have read this far. Thank you. Writing is part of my process in getting things reorganized in my shit show of a brain/heart/etc. The bottom line of this...i am improving grief wise, last night not withstanding. But i still want more. It’s my birthday and Christmas and it’s the hardest time for me in a way. Because it feels like i’m out of time. Another year has been lost forever. Have i made any progress at all? And it feels as if it’s already too late. My main goal in life was to become a mother and i can’t even have casual sex to manage it. I just can’t.

But there are spiritual things i’m trying to work through. That i don’t feel comfortable sharing here, really. Just i wonder about soul mates and twin flames and dreams/visions. I don’t know what the right choice is. Not for sure. And that is killing me because i want to know God’s will and do it. And i’m an impatient person who’s been waiting a particularly long time and i can’t say that i’ve gotten any better at it.

[rose-director]

Networking

Content warnings:

Lots of technical jargon

Sexually explicit activity

Mention of surgical scars

Abrupt end

Description:

Two professional ‘runners’ hack a cybernetics kingpin and, and manage to entertain themselves in the process. ~ 950 words

Story:

"Got everything we paid for?" Morgan's head peeks out from the rig they were prepping, noticing your footsteps as you enter your shared workshop. On second thought, 'workshop' isn't exactly the word for it. The shop's a studio apartment, piled with tools on all open surfaces and draped with electrical equipment hanging from racks strewn across the walls. Underfoot, a jerry-rigged power delivery system that would probably give a workplace safety inspector a heart attack carpeted the floor. You sigh fondly, soaking in the sight of the shop you'd spent the majority of your last month within. 

"Yeah, Morgs, got it all," you say, carefully navigating the link cables and power lines as you walk to their side, "working on our rig?"

"Just opening up some space for that fancy new net-circuit in your hand."

You place your new bag of components on the workbench and extricate your partner from their project. Their eyes look back at you in confusion as you pull them in for a kiss, cupping their cheek with your calloused hand as you feel their warm blush growing. As your lips part, they look at you eyes-wide in an expression somewhere between confused and enamored.

"What... Can't I enjoy a kiss from my little worker bee?" That stunt earns you a stifled squeak and an even brighter blush. A moment of comfortable togetherness transpires between you as your eyes lock, then you're quickly back to work. 

The components filling the insides of the bag you'd just returned with are devices known as net-circuits. When used for its intended purpose, a net-circuit bridges the gap between its connected device and the outside network. This liaison work, however, is overlooked by anyone who isn't in the business of maintaining system networks. Of course, there is one more demographic of individuals whose interest rests very firmly on the use of such devices; runners like you and Morgs. The two of you had been planning a run on Rose Cybernetics for nearly two years now, and in the last six months, stumbled upon the perfect vector. 

Sure, the vulnerability you're exploiting now had consumed every waking second since you'd discovered it, but this run would be worth the struggle. Exploiting the vulnerability would utilize your painstakingly-acquired net-circuits to tunnel into the developer backdoor in the target system. Through a stroke of blind luck (and considerable expense), you had procured each of the original system developers' net-circuits. There were four of the devices in total, and each would be necessary for performing the run. One client session would elevate permissions for two of the others, modifying their system status to administrators. Between these two, one administrator would run an active search-and-infiltrate of any protected trade secret data. Meanwhile, its twin would await an acquisition on its target and begin a mentally invasive data-link. The final, unaccounted for net-circuit would monitor warning logs; better to detect any system traces that could immediately blow the operation before they jeopardized your safety.

A couple of hours and shared mixtures of ambiguous stimulants later, the net-circuits were seated happily in their respective systems. The run itself relies heavily on multiple network clients working in concert, so each rig in use meshes into a single virtual machine. The architecture of the previously-mentioned device was a genuine point of pride for you; you'd spent several sleepless nights splicing all of the systems into a cohesive whole. As you run the startup process on this monstrosity that you and Morgs had built, a spark of pride lights up your chest. Status readouts illuminate your working area, the spark becomes a flame as your code executes successfully. The first net-circuit connection would take several hours to complete its task, and you don't exactly feel like waiting for updates on the part of the plan that you know will succeed. So, you decide to do something more productive with your time.

Caught in the moment, Morgan excitedly pulls you tight and blushes as she realizes the automatic response she'd given.

"Aww, you always look so cute with that blush on your face. We should celebrate, yeah?"

"W-what do you have in mind?" In case you'd forgotten, their pouting lip reminds you of just how much fun it was to get them flustered.

With the backdrop of your run's progress, you show them exactly what you were thinking. You grab Morgs' hand and pull them out from the electrocution-hazard ridden portion of the workshop and press them down against a couch that functions as your sleeping amenities, as well as other, more adult, activities. Activities, which you were planning to engage in promptly. Your fingers gingerly trace the base of their top, as you work the obtrusive fabric up along their enchanting body. You see them fairly often, of course, but the curve of their sides against your hands always drives you crazy. You bend down to kiss them, hearing a slight whimper as you bite at their lower lip. Fuck, you love it when they whimper for you. 

You run a hand under the remaining cloth against their chest, feeling the scars of cut-rate but necessary incisions, before you move up further and press against their collarbone. The new pressure releases a full moan, and you grin as you push your free hand between their legs. Their hips start to grind against you, then hasten as you work your fingers just enough to drive them crazy. Pulling your lips away from theirs, you bring your kisses down across their neck and leave a trail of rosy red marks as you do. Morgan's moaning circulates in the air, and you're contemplating removing a bit more clothing; you pull your hand away from their grinding advances, and-

"Process complete."

The two of you decouple and stumble back to work.

[enchantedbride]

Get to Know A Little About Joey’s Self-Ships!: Lucifer/Obey Me!Joey

So I’ve talked a little about my main ship (which I made do a little follow-up post for since have a Human!Joanna AU for Three Houses). 

But! The next ship I’m going to talk about is my newest ship and the one I’m currently hyperfixating on at the time of writing this. 

Tagging: @goldenworldsabound, @foreveryours-mouse

Lucifer/Joey Andrews (also known as Obey Me!Joey)

Note: Lucifer from Obey Me! does share his name and part of his backstory with the biblical/Christian figure Lucifer. I myself was raised in a Christian household, so my upbringing initially made me feel very weird and uncomfortable about my attraction to the Obey Me! character Lucifer.  However, I eventually realized (thanks to support from my best friend and what I remembered learning growing up) that Obey Me!Lucifer and biblical Lucifer share little in common aside from those two major points. And eventually I became comfortable with it because to me, Obey Me!Lucifer (and the characters/world of Obey Me! in general) are kind of their own thing. 

And honestly? This ship has turned out to be crazy therapeutic for me. But also, I just really loved some of the stuff I’ve come up with for it concept wise.

(Warning for a Death Mention and talk of demons and angels below the cut, but otherwise there are no major warnings I can think to put atm.)

So to start off with, while Obey Me! has a pre-built self-insert for the player in the form of the MC, I didn’t really like the backstory/lore and story arc associated with the MC as far as making my own self-insert was concerned. So, Obey Me!Joey is a separate character from the MC with her own backstory and character arc and interactions. The MC is still a character though, just an OC instead of self-insert (whom I named Katherine or ‘Kat’ for short). And I did wind up messing around somewhat with the plot too to make everything work.

ANYWAY

So, Joey is one of three human students sent to the Devildom (where demons live) as part of the Royal Academy of Diavolo’s exchange program with the human world and Celestial Realm (the academy to my understanding is supposed to resemble a college/university). The exchange program was pioneered by Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom and head of the academy’s student council, in hopes to build positive relationships and understanding between demons, humans and angels.  

However, because she and Kat seem to be ordinary humans with no magic powers to protect themselves, rather than having them live with the third human exchange student and the three angelic exchange students from the Celestial Realm, Joey and Kat are instead assigned to live in the House of Lamentation. The house to the seven members of RAD’s student council (aside from Diavolo), including Prince Diavolo’s right hand man, Lucifer. 

Lucifer and Joey are both people who tend to push themselves quite hard, often neglecting to take care of themselves in pursuit of their goals. But they can and will go out of their way for others. They both deal with a lot of shame and concerns about how they appear to others, but the way it manifests in each of them in completely different. It causes them to grate against each other in the beginning, especially when compounded with the ways in which they’re different. But, over time the both of them come to deeply affect one another, and not just because of developing romantic feelings, but because they force each other to reevaluate themselves and their own perspectives. 

During the course of the year Joey is to spend at the academy, a terrible conflict breaks out between demons who support and oppose Diavolo’s exchange program. Joey attempts to protect Lucifer, Diavolo, and one of her fellow exchange students and loses her life in the process. 

However, she returns to life as an angel, and not only does she cope with the trauma of death and coming back to life, but she has to cope with her new life changing in a lot of dramatic ways. And, instead of returning to the human world, she instead is to go with the angels to the Celestial Realm at the end of her stay in the Devildom.

And as for Lucifer, he worries about not only her well-being, but what what might become of their relationship once she leaves for the Celestial Realm. 

How to best summarize their dynamic:

Lucifer doesn’t like to admit it, but Joey has him wrapped around her little finger. But even if he won’t admit it, it’s obvious from his behavior. He’d do just about anything for her. She not only challenges his perspective and changes him, but she gives him the sort of affection, validation, and space to be honest and vulnerable he has gotten from few others. He loves spoiling her when they have a chance to spend time alone together and when they’re not alone he enjoys keeping her close at hand if he can, as often as he can.

Joey’s perspective is also challenged in kind, and she receives from Lucifer a lot of care and affection that were sorely missing from her life. She is confronted with tempering her kindness and compassion with being able to think of herself and her own needs, and to develop a strength of heart to confront things she didn’t think she had the courage to face. She likes helping Lucifer step away from his work so he can rest once in a while, and to coax him to be honest, vulnerable and to treat other’s with more respect than he initially does. 

They both care for each other, and are strongly affectionate and devoted to each other. They butt heads quite a bit, though. But, usually they are able to resolve their conflicts, even the longer-lived ones.

Some Lucifer/Joey Facts: 

Part way through her stay in the Devildom, while she was still human, Lucifer and Joey made a pact as a guard against the possibility of those who opposed Diavolo and the exchange program gaining a hold magic that could allow them to control Lucifer and his brothers and turn them unwillingly against Diavolo. This pact dissolved when Joey died as a human and became an angel.

Joey doesn’t like Lucifer calling her ‘Master’ (a human who makes a pact with a demon is technically their ‘master’ for the duration of the pact). Lucifer sometimes refers to her as such in order to tease her, but only when the two of them are in private. 

Lucifer initially doesn’t like video games, but he becomes somewhat interested in strategy games after Joey slowly introduces him to them, starting with virtual chess and working her way up to a Devildom game that’s similar to Fire Emblem but has a PVP component somewhat similar to Fates. 

Lucifer winds up teaching Joey a bit about the plants that grow in the Devildom because of his interest in gardening. She can’t take care of all of his plants for him, but she can help out with a couple of them if he’s got a lot of work to do.

Cerberus (Lucifer’s dog) likes, trusts, and is very friendly towards Joey. 

Lucifer also teaches her some of the basics of being an angel after she dies and comes back as one, revealing some pieces of his time in the Celestial Realm that he normally would be reluctant to share with others.

Joey considers herself a pretty good cook. Lucifer disagrees. In his opinion, she is an excellent cook. 

I headcanon that Lucifer is actually fairly decent at mending clothing in a pinch and has fixed a couple articles of Joey’s clothing in the past. 

Joey also encourages Lucifer to be more respectful of people’s boundaries and to ask for things more often rather than demand them. He’s gotten better about this with several folks (Joey being the person he’s best about it with), but it’s trickier when it comes to his brothers since they tend not to listen to him unless he’s being a dick. It’s a work in progress. 

Simeon was Lucifer’s wingman and Diavolo was Joey’s wingman for Lucifer and Joey getting together. 

Simeon’s The Seven Lords novels are based on Lucifer and his brothers, and he eventually added a character based on Joey (named Lady Fortitude) whose in a relationship with Lucifer’s stand in character in the series, the Lord of Corruption. 

Joey becomes one of the few people besides Diavolo who can get through to Lucifer when he’s in a rage. Initially, she can only keep him talking long enough for Diavolo to come and calm him down, but as she and Lucifer get closer, she gains the ability to calm him down herself. 

[yupuffin]

Food for thought - was discussing this earlier - if Edelgard DID remember her past with Dimitri, how would that have changed things? For each of them?

First of all, forgive me for taking a couple of days to answer this! I wanted to give this thought-provoking question the consideration it deserved. I also apologize in advance for my understanding of Edelgard’s character being potentially on the shallower side, since I only experienced the Crimson Flower route vicariously through my twin rather than playing it myself, so it’s likely I missed some potentially important details, especially if they’re fairly subtle.

I rolled this question around in my head for quite some time and unfortunately I can’t say I have a particularly exciting answer. The TL;DR is that I couldn’t actually come up with a whole lot of stuff that would change based on my (admittedly, fairly limited) knowledge. As the narrative stands with no modifications, even if Edelgard doesn’t remember Dimitri himself, she seems to recall at least the sentiment behind him gifting her the dagger; in Azure Moon chapter 22, she tells him “Thanks to you, I never lost my heart,” which to me suggests the echoes of his action had a lasting impact on her frame of mind moving forward in the rest of the story.

Additionally, I don’t think it’s likely that Dimitri would initiate reconnection with her in any scenario, as indicated by his conversation with Byleth in chapter 9 of the Blue Lions route (“things are different now; she’s different; I’m different”), so the choice to do so would rest entirely with Edelgard should she indeed remember him as an individual. Even in that case, though, I don’t think it’s probable that Edelgard would fully recognize Dimitri upon sight immediately after arriving at Garreg Mach simply because so much would have changed. He might remind her of the Dimitri she once knew, but only after that creeping suspicion stuck in her brain for a while might she start to believe there’s a chance that he could actually be the same individual from her childhood. Rather than approach him upfront about this realization, she would probably address him subtly, or perhaps bring it up in one of her jabs, since she clearly likes to sass him (side note, I adore the “Do you need a few moments?” exchange between then in the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion. There’s so much personality there). 

That said, I can’t see White Clouds wholly being too different save for the potential development of a more amicable relationship between the two of them. I gather that Edelgard is firmly committed to forging her chosen path alone, and it’s clear she holds a deeply integrated belief that her past self is “dead and gone.” I figure the potentially most major impact such a relationship could have would be in the moment where Dimitri finds out about Edelgard being the Flame Emperor -- albeit I’m thinking about this primarily from a Blue Lions perspective in which Dimitri is actually physically present for the epiphany. I think that could potentially go in a lot of different directions depending on how you want to look at the story, so you could probably make an argument for almost whatever you want. Maybe Edelgard having an increased positive presence in Dimitri’s life at the Officers’ Academy makes him more level-headed in the moment so that he has the chance to attempt negotiation with Edelgard before she declares war on the church, similar to what happens in Azure Moon chapter 22. Alternatively, you could go the other direction and say such a relationship with Edelgard would make his reaction even more catastrophic. And then of course you could say it wouldn’t have enough of an impact to ultimately make a difference and he still goes straight for her head.

This all is just my personal interpretation, but I’m always totally open and interested to see what other people come up with for this question, especially since there are probably plenty of fans out there who know Edelgard better than I do ( X’D ). And honestly seeing different interpretations and what components of the characters and stories versus others stand out to different people has been one of my favorite things about Three Houses so far.

[workofthediesel]

Like Starting Over

Read also on ao3!

Warnings: Major Character Injury, Graphic Depictions of Injury, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt

Summary: As far as everyone else was concerned, CB was nothing more than a heartless cheater. They had all loved the friendly and helpful caboose he pretended to be; no one liked the real him. And now that the secret was out, there was no going back. He was completely unwanted at the yard, and that’s how it was always going to stay. So why was he bothering to stick around a yard where he was universally hated? Wouldn’t it be easier to just… leave? To disappear while no one was watching and spare himself the pain?

Word Count: 21,706

The trainyard was quiet as CB finished another lap around the old, unused tracks. Of course it was, he mused, trying to rub the ache out of his wrist as he continued his listless pacing. He could hear in the distance the hubbub of trains returning to the yard after a long day’s work, but by the time it reached him, secluded way at the far edge of the yard, it was little more than a muted hum.

He wasn’t welcome there. He knew that for a fact. Ever since his little… stunt in the championship, since the crash that left him in constant pain that no one else seemed to understand, he’d been all alone. Not even Greaseball or Electra, his partners in crime, would deign to spend any time with him. Compared to him, the engines had made it out of the crash relatively unscathed. Sure, they hadn’t exactly received hero’s welcomes either, but Greaseball still had Dinah, and Electra had his components, and CB was left with no one.

It was fine, he told himself. He didn’t like any of the other trains anyway. He’d never needed them before, and he certainly didn’t need them now. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he was alright, however, the yawning pit of loneliness he felt never went away.

Maybe it would have been easier if he hadn’t been suspended. The yard couldn’t function with only one engine, so Greaseball and Electra were back to work almost as soon as they had been repaired. But no one really needed a caboose anymore, so here he was: left behind, useless and unwanted. If he could still go out with the rest of the freight, he’d at least have something to do all day other than sit and stew in his own thoughts. He didn’t know why he even bothered getting up in the mornings—though half the time he didn’t, just stayed in bed until the night came, trying to convince himself tomorrow would be better.

It’d been so long since CB had heard wheels approaching him that it took him a second to recognize the sound. When he looked up, he was surprised to see Electra heading straight for him. He had a moment of panic, trying to figure out if he’d done anything to piss Electra off recently, but relaxed as the engine got closer. He didn’t look mad, just determined—though for what, CB had no idea.

He stopped his pacing, waiting where he was for Electra to come to him. He couldn’t think of any particular reason Electra might want to talk to him. Something big might have happened in the yard, he supposed—though if that was the case, no one had bothered to tell him.

Electra rolled to a stop in front of him, not wasting time with any pleasantries. “Are you busy?”

CB thought it was fairly obvious that he wasn’t. “I’ve been suspended,” he deadpanned, staring the engine straight in the eye.

Electra looked wrong-footed for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “Right. Well, good, because we need you for the race.”

“What race?”

“The rematch for the championship.”

That made sense, CB supposed. He knew Electra and Greaseball had been goading Rusty for a rematch for a while now, so the steamer must have finally said yes. But CB couldn’t figure out what that had to do with him. “Okay. And?”

“You’ll be racing with me.”

“What? No.” No way. Absolutely not. CB was done with racing. And even if he wasn’t, he wasn’t exactly in the best shape now. As nice as it felt to be asked—if “asked” was even the right word for what was happening here—he’d be no good for Electra.

“It’s already been decided,” Electra told him, though how it could have been decided without even asking CB was beyond him.

“Well, too bad, because I’m not doing it. Take one of your components.”

“Purse, Joule, and Volta are on an overnight run, Krupp doesn’t race, and Wrench needs to be available as a medic in case someone gets hurt.”

Of course Electra would have already asked his components. He should have known better than to think he’d actually be someone’s first choice. “Why can’t you take one of the coaches? Or Flat-Top, or one of the Rockys, or literally anyone else?”

Electra gave him a strict look. “I told you,” he said firmly, “it’s already been decided. We’re racing together, end of story.”

As much as he really didn’t want to race, CB just didn’t have the energy to keep fighting. He sighed heavily, shoulders slouching with the motion. “Now?”

Electra looked at him like he was an idiot. “Of course not! My route today was much more taxing than Rusty’s or Greaseball’s; racing now wouldn’t be fair. That’s what we’re looking for this time: a fair race.”

CB rolled his eyes at Electra’s pointed glare. If he was still upset about CB crashing them at the championship, why partner with him for the race? Even if none of his components were available, any coach and at least half the freight would be over the moon to race with him. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he said, rather than bring that fact up. “Tomorrow, then. What time do I have to be there?”

“The race starts at eleven on the north-east track.”

“Fantastic,” he said flatly, not bothering to even try to put any emotion into it.

Electra stared at him for a moment, like he was studying him, and CB wondered what he saw. “Rest well,” he said eventually. “I need you on your best tomorrow.” With that, he turned on his heel and sped away.

CB watched him go, feeling tired already. He immediately regretted agreeing to race. He didn’t have the energy to deal with it, physical or otherwise. He sighed, massaging his wrist absently. Maybe he could get out of it tomorrow, he thought. And if he couldn’t… well, it was just one day. He’d survive.

Probably.

***

It hadn’t been a good night for CB. No matter what he tried, sleep just wasn’t coming, and he was left tossing and turning into the early hours of the morning. This wasn’t anything new, but for the first time in a long time he actually had something to do that day, and showing up for a race after getting no sleep was a recipe for disaster.

As he watched the sun rise through his window, he wondered if it was too late for him to back out. Electra would be pissed, but he could easily find a replacement partner. The race would go on just fine without him; in fact, he was sure everyone would agree that the race would be better if he didn’t show up.

The weak early-morning light grew steadily stronger, but CB made no move to get up. The race didn’t start for another few hours, and if he fell asleep right now, he could still get two and a half hours of sleep.

He had just closed his eyes again—although he doubted it would do any good—when he heard a knock at his door. In the minute he spent deciding whether he should answer it or just wait until whoever it was went away, the knocking turned into pounding. As he wondered who would be so insistent on seeing him—before nine in the morning, no less—they started shouting.

“CB!” Electra roared from outside, slamming his fist so hard against the door CB thought he might actually break it down.

CB almost didn’t get up, but the minutes ticked by and Electra kept shouting. He wondered how long he would keep at it before he just gave up, but didn’t want to risk racing with a thoroughly angered Electra. Heaving a heavy sigh, CB pushed himself out of bed. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he muttered, though he could barely hear himself over the racket Electra was making.

When CB opened the door, Electra was standing there looking rather put out. The engine looked him down and up, raising an eyebrow at the fact that he had clearly just rolled out of bed. “What?” CB asked.

“You’re late,” Electra said, sounding as annoyed as he looked.

“I thought you said the race wasn’t until eleven.”

“It’s not. You’re late for warm ups.”

CB groaned, dropping his head to rest on the doorframe. “Seriously?”

“Don’t tell me you were planning on racing without warming up.”

“Ugh, I don’t know.” He knew that he should, but the race itself sounded draining enough. The thought of adding more time onto that, more movement around more people who he knew didn’t like him, was torturous. “Can’t I just warm up here?”

Electra looked unamused. “No. We’re warming up at the track with everyone else. Go get ready.”

CB took a deep breath. “Electra, I don’t think I even want to race.”

Immediately, Electra’s face darkened. “What?” he said, his voice quiet and dangerous.

CB tried to think of a suitable lie, but his tired brain wasn’t coming up with anything. Without a better idea, he opted for the truth. “I’m not feeling well. Seriously. I didn’t get any sleep, and my arm hurts—I’d be a terrible partner. I know it’s last minute, but you’ll be able to find someone else to race with. I’m just gonna go back to bed.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Electra spat, curling his fingers around the collar of CB’s chest plate and pulling him in close. “We went over this yesterday: it’s been decided. My strategies have been planned for pulling you, not someone else. You agreed to this, and it’s far too late to back out now, so you’re racing with me whether you like it or not! Now get ready, you’ve already cost me enough time.”

Electra released him with a shove, and CB had to hold onto the doorframe to catch his balance. He tried to keep the hurt off his face, not wanting Electra to see his weakness. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference either way, though, because Electra had already turned away, beginning to do his stretches on CB’s doorstep.

CB sighed, feeling exhaustion pulling him down like an anchor. He knew Electra wouldn’t let him give into it, no matter how hard he tried, so he did as he was told and went back inside to get ready. He threw on his scarf and hat, not bothering to fix his hair or polish up like he normally would. He didn’t have the energy for it, and besides, he didn’t want to make Electra any angrier than he already was.

Electra didn’t say a word when he came back outside. He barely even glanced CB’s way before turning around, letting CB hitch on before starting off towards the race track.

As they got closer to the north-east track, CB could see a large group of trains milling about near the starting line. From this distance, he could just make out Greaseball doing lunges off to the side. Flat-Top and the Rockys were gathered loosely around him, and CB figured they’d be chatting about everyone’s odds in the race, but their conversation came to a dead stop once he and Electra drew near enough.

CB followed Electra into the crowd, feeling entirely unwelcome. Everyone they passed turned to stare at him, and quite a few of them glared, not that Electra seemed to notice. He held his head high as he rolled through the throng, only coming to a stop when he found Wrench waiting for him.

CB hung back as Electra started running through his warm up routine, talking strategy with Wrench. Whatever he was doing was a lot more involved than CB’s usual warm ups, and he didn’t feel like trying to keep up. Instead, he turned around to scan the crowd.

Right in the center, he could see Dinah, Pearl, and Rusty huddled together as they did their stretches. Ashley and Buffy were with them, laughing at something one of them had said. Dinah noticed him first, flashing him a smile and a small wave. He raised his hand to wave back, but stopped as the rest of the group turned to see who Dinah was looking at. None of them looked remotely happy to see him: Ashley was sending him the stink-eye, Rusty looked wary, and Pearl couldn’t quite hide her scowl.

CB dropped his arm and looked away. Any thoughts he might have had about joining Dinah while they warmed up were immediately scratched out. He wouldn’t force himself where he so clearly wasn’t wanted. Instead, he rolled off to the side, finding an empty area to warm up alone in. He could feel the eyes of the other trains on him as he worked through his stretches, but he didn’t dare look up at them. He already knew the sort of faces he’d find—either angry or disgusted—and he didn’t want to deal with any more of that than he absolutely had to.

The spot he had picked was still within earshot of Electra and Wrench, and he listened idly to the plans they were going over. From what he could gather, the race consisted of them starting on the north-east track, taking it halfway to the end of the line, then switching tracks to loop around and finish back at the yard. He consoled himself with the fact that at least that meant he could go home after all of this, rather than being stuck in an unfamiliar yard for the night. It would make dealing with the aftermath easier, too, especially if Electra didn’t win.

The rest of their conversation didn’t matter to him much—Electra could do whatever he felt was best, all CB had to do was just hold on—and he let their words wash over him. Between the meaningless background noise and familiar routine of the stretches, he must have zoned out. The next thing he knew, Electra was coming over to bring him to the starting line.

“Race time minus one minute. Race time minus one minute,” Control called over the speakers. Electra got into position on the track, and CB took his place behind him. He tested his grip on Electra’s couplers as the sirens started up, frowning slightly. It was never exactly comfortable holding on for a whole race, especially with an engine as fast as Electra, but he could already tell it was going to be particularly painful on his bad wrist. He’d just have to deal with it, he supposed, readying himself as Control worked his way through the count down.

“… four, three, two, one. Trains gone!” Control shouted, and Electra was off like a rocket.

CB hadn’t been prepared for such an intense start, and it wrenched his wrist as he tried to hold on. He couldn’t stifle his gasp of pain, but as soon as it left his mouth it was whisked away by the wind. Electra never even heard it.

CB scrambled to match the break-neck speed Electra had started them out at. It was a struggle, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it for long.

“I thought,” he shouted, “you were supposed to pace yourself at the beginning of a race!”

Electra shot him a look over his shoulder. “No one ever won a race by going slow, CB.”

“I can’t go this fast!”

“You don’t have to. You’re only here to be pulled.”

And that wouldn’t be a problem, CB thought, if he could handle being pulled. But if he wanted to actually make it to the end of the track in one piece, he needed to put as little strain on his bad wrist as possible.

He glanced at the others on the track. Electra, Greaseball, and Rusty were all keeping pace with each other. CB had expected one of them to pull ahead as an early leader, but so far, they were basically tied. It would make for an interesting race, and keep everyone on their toes, but unfortunately for CB, it meant that Electra wasn’t likely to slow down at all.

CB took a deep breath and tried to put on a brave face. It would be over soon enough, he reminded himself, but as he quickly began to tire out, leaving himself with no other option but to be pulled, the seconds seemed to stretch on for hours. For a moment, he considered trying to hang on one-handed, but as Electra took the first turn and CB was thrown almost dangerously off-balance, he knew it was a bad idea. CB bit his lip; he’d just have to tough it out.

The race dragged by for CB, each second worse than the last. He tried to pay attention to what was happening on the track—Greaseball pulled ahead, but Electra caught up, then Rusty fell behind, but caught up again a few minutes later—but it wasn’t working as a distraction. Pretty soon, the pain of being pulled was all he could think about. It wiped out any other thought, eating up his focus and blotting out the rest of the world. He couldn’t even focus on the track, leaving him caught off guard for every turn they made. As a racer, it was sloppy, and he could tell Electra was getting frustrated.

The pain in his wrist flared, radiating into his hand and turning his grasp weak and shaky. If they came into any tight corners with him like this, he would surely break loose. He knew this stretch of track. It wasn’t too far off from where Greaseball had disconnected Pearl in the championship. She’d been sent careening towards the edge of a cliff, and CB knew that if he didn’t hold on the same would happen to him. Somehow, that thought didn’t scare him as much as it should have.

He followed Electra through a right turn, putting on just enough break to keep them at a controlled speed. He would have preferred to go much slower, so there wouldn’t be as much of a strain on his bad wrist, but he knew doing so would just make Electra mad. Well, madder.

“What was that for?” the engine snapped over his shoulder as Greaseball took the lead.

“You can’t take turns that fast,” CB shouted back. “You’ll flip us over if you aren’t careful!”

Electra harrumphed and sped back up anyway.

CB groaned. If Electra wasn’t going to let him break, then holding on for the rest of the race was going to be impossible. In a futile attempt to alleviate some of his pain, he flexed his left hand. It didn’t do any good, but hopefully it would at least prevent his fingers from locking up.

Electra kept pushing the speed, going even faster than before. Whether it was to make up for what he considered lost time or to get back at CB for slowing him down in the first place, CB didn’t know. But CB couldn’t go that fast on his own, and letting himself be pulled was pushing the limits of what he could tolerate. He considered asking Electra to slow down a bit, just for a minute so he could collect himself, but he knew what the engine’s answer would be.

It was clear that Electra didn’t care about him. Nobody did. And why should they? In their eyes he was nothing more than a heartless cheater. They had all loved the friendly and helpful caboose he pretended to be; no one liked the real him. And now that the secret was out, there was no going back. He was completely unwanted at the yard, and that’s how it was always going to stay.

CB shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they’d been rooted firmly in place for a while now. It was true: no one liked him, no one was ever going to like him, so what was the point? Why was he bothering to stick around a yard where he was universally hated? Wouldn’t it be easier to just… leave? To disappear while no one was watching and spare himself the pain?

They were coming up on a sharp left now, and Electra showed no signs of slowing down. He was far too focused on winning to consider the safety of his racing partner. CB eyed the turn over Electra’s shoulder and thought. Thought about how badly his arm hurt. Thought about how badly his heart hurt. Thought about how quickly he’d go over the edge, how long he’d be in the air as he fell, how he’d be nothing more than a mangled pile of scrap once he hit the ground. How no one would even care.

Then Electra took the turn.

And CB let go.

***

Much to his satisfaction, Electra was the first one across the finish line. The other trains weren’t far behind him, and he puffed his chest out with pride at the knowledge that he had won. It had been a good race—and a fair one this time, too. He, Greaseball, and Rusty had been neck-in-neck for most of it, but the challenge made his victory all the sweeter.

He looked around at the group that had gathered at the finish line, expecting the crowd to be ready to congratulate him on his win, but found nothing but concern and confusion on every face. Electra frowned; this wasn’t at all the energy he was expecting to come back to. He was just about to ask the nearest car what was happening when Control came back over the speakers.

“Penalty, penalty! Electra unconnected! Victory defaults to the runner-up!”

“What?!” Electra roared. Unconnected?! He whipped around to find CB and demand answers, but the caboose car wasn’t behind him. Taken aback, he scanned the area, but CB was nowhere to be found.

Electra scowled. He should have known better than to expect a fair race. CB and Greaseball had been cheating for years. He thought they’d learned their lesson at the championship, but apparently not. A low growl escaped his throat as he plotted all the ways he would make CB pay for stealing his victory again.

He was still fuming when Rusty rolled up to him, looking worried. “Where’s CB?”

“How should I know?” Electra snapped back.

Pearl chimed in, hands on her hips like she was ready to tell the engine off, “Well, you were racing with him!”

“Hmph. If you’re so concerned, why don’t you ask Greaseball? I’m sure they worked out a meeting point when they made their little plan.”

“What plan?” Greaseball asked, coming over to the group when he heard his name being mentioned.

“Your plan to cheat. Again! Even though we agreed to a fair race this time!” Electra shouted, rounding on the diesel engine.

“Hey now, who said anything about cheating? It’s not my fault you lost your partner!”

“Lost?” Dinah echoed. “CB’s lost?” No one paid her any mind.

Electra scoffed. “As if. Are you really so insecure about losing that you’d run right back to your old tricks?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?!”

“Don’t fight!” Dinah pleaded, trying to pull Greaseball away. “Is he really missing?”

Dinah looked at Rusty helplessly, but all he could do was shrug. It was true, but he was reluctant to admit it.  Admitting it would make it real, and he wasn’t sure he could handle that.

“Do you really not know where he got disconnected?” Pearl asked Electra. When the engine shook his head, her tone became tinged with anger. “How could you not notice that?!”

“Because he didn’t want me to notice! It was all a part of their little scheme, and—”

“Stop saying that!” Greaseball broke in. “I wasn’t involved in this!”

Electra shot him a glare. “If you would just admit it, we could have this whole thing sorted out in minutes.”

“I. Didn’t. Cheat!”

“None of that matters right now!” Rusty burst out. “We can find out what happened later, but we still don’t even know where he is!” He took a deep breath, trying to quell his mounting anxiety, before turning back towards the yard’s entrance. “I’m going to look for him.”

“I’m coming with you,” Pearl said, hitching on behind him. She turned to look over her shoulder at Electra, narrowing her eyes at the engine. “You better be coming, too.”

Electra looked affronted. “Why me?”

“Because you were racing with him! You’re the one who’s supposed to know where he is, so you’re going to help us find him.”

Electra rolled his eyes, but Dinah spoke up before he could answer. “We’re all going to look for him. Right, Greaseball?”

Greaseball looked as if he wanted to object, but at the look he received from Dinah he relented. “Yeah, sure. At least when we find him, he’ll be able to tell you that I had nothing to do with this.”

It didn’t make much of a difference to Rusty if the other engines came with them. All he wanted to do was go out and start looking, and the longer it took them to decide, the more antsy he felt. At the very least, he told himself, there would be less of a chance of missing something with a larger group.

By the time everything was settled, Rusty was itching to be off. He pushed himself down the track, planning to follow the race course in reverse. He knew Electra had had CB with him for at least the first half of the race; with any luck, they’d be able to find him quickly.

On their way out of the yard they passed Poppa, coming over to congratulate Rusty on a good race. But Rusty didn’t have time to talk, rolling right past Poppa, much to the older engine’s shock. “Hold up, Rusty! Where are you going?”

Rusty didn’t slow down. “We have to find CB!” he called over his shoulder.

“CB?” The next time Rusty looked back, Poppa had joined the group following behind him. “What happened to CB?!”

“He didn’t come back with Electra,” Pearl answered.

“And you don’t know where he is?” The question was directed at Electra.

“For the last time, no! The little cheat is probably out there celebrating making me lose.”

Rusty tried his best to tune the other engine out. Electra seemed certain that this whole thing was intentional, that CB was fine and would come back on his own, and as much as Rusty would have liked to believe that he couldn’t shake the dread that had settled deep in his chest.

The scenery on the side of the tracks was peaceful, but Rusty was in no mood to appreciate it as they sped through. He scanned the area, looking for any indication that CB might have rolled through, but couldn’t find anything. Reassuring himself that there were five other sets of eyes looking, he let his focus turn inward, searching his memory for answers. When had CB unhitched? He couldn’t remember any commotion on the track, and he’d thought CB was with Electra the whole time. If he hadn’t noticed CB breaking loose, what else had he missed? Could CB have gotten hurt? Could he have needed help during the race, and Rusty just didn’t see?

From over Rusty’s shoulder, Pearl cried, “There!” Shaken out of his thoughts, Rusty followed her pointing finger, spotting a speck of red on the edge of the cliff.

“No,” he muttered to himself, picking up speed. Fear gripped him like a vice, and all he could think was that CB was so close to the edge, and he wasn’t moving.

As they got closer to the spot CB must have been thrown from the track, the scene only got worse. The earth on the side of the track was churned up in a grisly path, leading to where CB had skidded to a halt at the cliffside. He was splayed out on his back, body folded in on itself in an unnatural position. The upper half of his body was dangling precariously over the edge. It looked like he was seconds away from slipping off entirely. Without even thinking about it, Rusty disconnected from Pearl, leaving her behind on safe ground as he dashed forward. He grabbed CB’s shoulder and heaved him away from the edge. The metal on CB’s arm gave way beneath his grip but he didn’t stop to worry about it; right now, he had to focus on getting CB out of danger of falling off. Any injuries he had would have to wait.

As soon as CB was away from the edge, Rusty’s mind scrambled to figure out what to do next. He’d never been trained in first response and was feeling horrifyingly out of his depth. But there was no one else there who knew any better than he did. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer that there was no one there who could help.

Before he could think of anything, Dinah came rushing over. She dropped to her knees at CB’s side and reached out towards him. Her hand hovered just above his cheek, like she was afraid to touch in case she made his injuries worse. The tears that had gathered in her eyes spilled over and her breath hitched, a tremble starting up in her hands.

Rusty knelt on CB’s other side, trying to make sense of his injuries. But there were just so many, and he looked so mangled Rusty didn’t know where to begin. Pearl came up behind him and laid a trembling hand on his back. “Is… is he…?”

Is he still alive? The question was eating away at Rusty, too. CB looked even worse than he did after his crash in the championship. His crumpled chest plate caved sickeningly inward, his left arm was crushed, and his legs were snapped and bent at alarming angles. His right shoulder had been violently wrenched from its socket, leaving his arm connected only by a few bare chords. Large chunks of metal had been ripped from all over his body, littering the cliff with scraps of red and exposing his internal mechanisms to the open air. And it didn’t look like he was breathing.

Terror seizing him, Rusty pressed his ear against CB’s chest plate. His breaths were still there, barely, but they were weak and wheezy. The rumble of his engine was faint and rattley, sputtering like it was going to give out at any second. Rusty’s breath caught in his throat as he pulled back, but he still managed to choke out the only think he could think to do: “We need to get him to Wrench.”

Pearl looked up at him, distress clear in her eyes. “Is it even safe to move him?”

Rusty glanced at Dinah, who was trying and failing to stifle her sobs, and bit his lip. He tried to think of a gentle way to voice what he was thinking—that it didn’t matter if it was safe because they didn’t have enough time, that CB could be gone by the time someone left and came back with Wrench—but couldn’t come up with anything. The look he shared with Pearl managed to convey everything he couldn’t say.

Pearl took a deep breath and nodded. “Right. Someone’s going to have to carry him.”

“Let me,” Electra said, taking a step forward. His usual commanding tone of voice was gone; instead, he sounded almost desperate.

In the panic of the search, Rusty had forgotten Electra had come with them. He looked back at the other engine—Electra’s face was ashen, and there was a tremble in his outstretched hand, but try as he might Rusty couldn’t feel anything for him other than simmering rage. It had been Electra’s responsibility to keep CB safe while they raced, and look what he had let happen.

Oblivious to Rusty’s anger, Electra continued, “I can get him back in half the time it took to get here.”

“Hold on, now,” Greaseball butt in. “Why should you be the one to take him? Everyone knows I’m the strongest.”

“We don’t need strength,” Electra fought back, “we need speed.”

“And? I could get him back just as quick as you could.”

“I’m obviously the fastest. I finished first!”

“Only because you weren’t pulling any weight!”

“Stop it, both of you!” Poppa shouted, stunning the engines into silence. “It doesn’t matter who’s faster, but we need to get him back and we need to get him back now!”

“I’ll take him,” Rusty said, already getting to his feet. He ignored Greaseball’s sputtered “You?!”, making sure he had good balance before crouching back down and carefully gathering CB into his arms. The weight was heavy and awkward, but Rusty knew he could manage. He’d have to.

“Really, Rusty, I can—” Electra started, reaching out for CB again, but Rusty resolutely ignored him.

Rusty readjusted his grip, trying to make sure CB would be jostled as little as possible on the way back. The other trains parted to make way for him as he carried CB carefully back to the track. “Pearl, can you go with Poppa? I don’t think I’ll be able to take you both.”

Pearl nodded, and that was all Rusty needed. Without another word, he set off down the track. He couldn’t go as fast as he felt he needed to—after the exertion of the race and the rush of the search, he was starting to feel tired out. Still, he pushed himself as much as he was able, the desperate thoughts of Save CB screaming louder than the exhaustion.

He trusted the others to fall in line behind him, but he didn’t look back to check. If worst came to worst, they would all be able to get back on their own. The same couldn’t be said for CB. The most important thing now was making sure he was brought back to the yard as quickly as possible.

Rusty was so focused on CB that he almost didn’t notice Electra pulling up beside him. He spared a glance to the electric engine, only to make sure he wasn’t about to get in his way. Rusty didn’t want anything more to do with Electra at that moment, but it didn’t seem like the other engine was going to leave him alone.

Electra looked back and forth between Rusty and the group behind them. It took a moment before he spoke. “Poppa’s looking tired.”

“I’m sure he’s alright,” Rusty said, not even looking back.

He wanted that to be the end of the conversation, but unfortunately for him, Electra was persistent. “This is too much for an engine his age. Let me carry CB, then you can take Pearl and give Poppa a break.”

Electra was seriously getting on his nerves, but Rusty grit his teeth and stamped down hard on his anger. “Poppa’s fine with Pearl, and I’m fine with CB. We’re not that far from the yard; we can all manage the rest of the way.”

“But you don’t have to manage,” Electra pressed. “It would be easier for me.”

“Electra—"

“It won’t be a problem for me to take him, and you know I can get back much faster.”

Rusty had had enough. “Then go ahead and warn Wrench that we’re coming!” he snapped. “Tell her to be ready, because we’ll have to act fast.”

On any other day, Electra wouldn’t take being ordered around like that, especially not by Rusty. But now, he pressed his lips together tightly and sped ahead at top speed. It was clear that he was worried, and Rusty almost felt bad for being so short with him. Almost.

No one else spoke for the rest of the trip back. As much as Rusty preferred the quiet usually, the silence now only added to the tension that felt like it was trying to choke him. When he finally caught sight of the yard in the distance, he almost cried with relief.

He had expected to find the yard in chaos when they got back—finding CB like that had shaken him to the core, and he couldn’t imagine a place being calm while his world was in turmoil. But the only thing out of the ordinary was Wrench waiting for them at the yard’s entrance, field repair kit slung over her shoulder, and Dustin just behind her, ready to help any way he could.

As soon as she spotted their group, Wrench came forward to meet them. Her face was focused and emotionless, exuding an air of detached professionalism, but as she looked over CB, still cradled in Rusty’s arms, Rusty could see worry creep into her eyes and the pinch of her brow. She pursed her lips, pressing her hands on CB’s neck and feeling down his sides. Whatever she found clearly didn’t please her, and she whipped a stethoscope out of her repair kit. She placed the end on CB’s ruined chest plate, listening for something Rusty didn’t know.

Finally, after a few more excruciating seconds of silence, she looked up and met Rusty’s anxious gaze. “Bring him to the repair room,” she said, turning on her heel and leading the way.

Rusty rushed to follow her, Pearl and Dinah hot on his heels. None of them said anything, but he could hear Dinah’s quiet sobs start back up. Later, he was sure, someone would comfort her. Right now, he had to focus on CB.

Wrench was already inside when they reached the repair room. Dustin was holding the door open for them. There was only one bed there, and Rusty went straight for it, laying CB down on it as gently as he could. He looked so small and helpless, laying there in little more than a crumpled wreck. Tears sprung to his eyes, and he blinked hard to clear them away.

Before he could even register any movement, Wrench was at his side, pushing him out of the way as she looked over CB on the bed. “Good. Now go.”

“Go?” Rusty echoed. Logically, he knew that he’d be leaving CB with Wrench once they got back—Wrench was the only one who could help him, and she worked alone—but now that the time had come to do so, it felt wrong.

“Leave. I need to work.”

“But—” Dinah protested, only to be immediately cut off.

“No buts,” Wrench said, brooking no arguments. “Everybody out.”

The orders made sense, but Rusty couldn’t move. He felt frozen in place, unable to leave CB after everything that had happened. After a long moment Pearl grabbed his arm, tugging him gently towards the door. Off to the side, Dustin was leading Dinah out in the same manner. Still, Rusty couldn’t tear his eyes away from CB laying helplessly on the bed. The last thing he saw was Wrench leaning over CB, bolt cutters in hand, before the door swung shut in their faces.

Outside, no one said a word.

Dinah stared at the door, pale and shaken. She wrapped her arms around herself, making no move to wipe away the tear tracks drying on her face. The deep breaths she was taking to calm herself down from hysterics didn’t seem to be doing much.

Pearl came up beside her, gently putting an arm around Dinah’s shoulders. “He’s in good hands,” she said softly, pulling Dinah in close for a hug. “He’ll be alright.”

Dinah nodded absently. It didn’t seem like the words had much meaning to her, but she let herself be led away without complaint. Even as she left, she never looked away from the door, as if taking her eyes off it for a second would lead to the worst outcome for her friend.

Rusty couldn’t fault her logic, because he was doing the same thing. He knew that there wasn’t anything more he could do, but it still didn’t feel like he’d done enough. Electra had been within his sights for nearly the whole race—how hadn’t he realized that CB wasn’t with him? How hadn’t he seen the signs? He should have noticed CB on the edge of that cliff. He should have brought him back sooner. If he hadn’t been so focused on proving himself again—

“She’s right, you know.”

“Huh?” Abruptly shaken out of his spiraling thoughts, Rusty turned to figure out who had spoken to him. Dustin was at his side, watching him carefully.

“Pearl,” Dustin clarified. “She’s right. Wrench is going to take care of him, Rusty. He’ll be okay.”

Rusty drew in a long, slow breath. “I know,” he said, but just because he knew Wrench would be doing everything she could to save him didn’t mean Rusty wasn’t still worried. There were still so many things that could go wrong, so much that not even Wrench could fix, and Rusty was terrified of all of them. His eyes gravitated back to the door, and he tried not to think about what could be going on behind it. “I just… can’t help feeling like there’s something more I could have done.”

“You did everything you could.”

Rusty gave Dustin a humorless smile. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“You found him,” Dustin reassured him. “You brought him back. You probably saved his life.”

Rusty’s thoughts were still racing, but he didn’t dare speak any of them out loud. Instead, he took another deep breath and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, repeating the words in his head, trying to believe them.

Dustin was watching him like he could tell Rusty didn’t mean it. Thankfully, he didn’t push the matter. “Why don’t we at least go sit down for a bit? You look pretty worn out.”

Rusty glanced down at his hands. They were shaking, though whether that was from emotion or exhaustion he didn’t know. The adrenaline was ebbing away now that there wasn’t anything more he could do, and he was starting to feel the toll of the afternoon.

“Yeah,” Rusty said, because Dustin seemed to be waiting for a reply, “that sounds like a good idea.”

Dustin gave him a small smile and took his arm to lead him away. Rusty gave one last glance to the repair room door, and then they were gone.

***

CB awoke to an intense wave of pain. It swept up his arm, down his side, and through his legs, crackling on every nerve it hit like a jolt of electricity trapped beneath his skin. He wanted to scream, but it was as if his throat wasn’t working properly; the only sound that passed his lips was a pathetic groan, like the creaking of old metal that was about to give. He could feel dents and scrapes all over, places where his joints ground together and would undoubtedly be locked up if he tried to move them.

With much difficulty, he managed to pry his eyes open. His eyelids felt heavier than normal, and he couldn’t pull them open more than a sliver, but even the miniscule amount of light that passed by his lashes sent stabs of agony lancing through his skull.

When the headache abated enough for him to try to get a glimpse at his surroundings, he was mildly surprised to find himself inside what looked like one of the electrics’ sheds. It was clean, white, and bright, and not at all what he was expecting. He would have thought, if anything, that he’d be at the bottom of that cliff—or if he wasn’t dead, perhaps forgotten at the top. He tried to turn his head, to get a look at something that wasn’t the ceiling, but found his neck stiff and uncooperative.

There was a hand loosely wrapped around his in a small gesture of comfort. Somewhere off to his side, someone was humming a familiar melody. CB let his eyes slip closed as he listened. It was soothing, the gentle notes lulling him back towards sleep. It went on for a few minutes before the peaceful scene was broken.

“Come on, Dinah, we’ve been here for hours. If he’s gonna wake up, it’s not gonna be anytime soon. Let’s just go.”

“Greaseball! We can’t just leave him!” The hand in his tightened, and CB winced at the fresh wave of pain it sent shooting up his arm. “He’s really hurt.”

“He’s asleep. What difference will it make if we’re here or not?”

“Don’t say things like that,” Dinah chided. “If it was you, wouldn’t you want to know that you hadn’t been left alone, not even for a second? Wouldn’t you want someone there for you the whole time?”

Greaseball didn’t say anything in response, but CB could practically see his eyeroll. Without even opening his eyes, he knew what the scene around him looked like. Greaseball would be slouched in a chair on the far side of the room, arms crossed and legs splayed wide. Dinah would be pouting at him, obviously upset but not willing to back down, not on this. There was a tension in the air that left CB feeling uncomfortable, an unknown observer to their little spat. Finally, something gave.

“Can’t we wait a little longer?” Dinah pleaded. “At least until someone else can come sit with him?”

Greaseball huffed, but Dinah’s hand didn’t pull away so CB figured he’d agreed to stay. Unhappily, to be sure, but at least he didn’t seem in the mood to pick a fight. “And how long’s that gonna be?” he asked, but CB could hear in his voice that he was resigned to the wait.

Dinah rubbed her thumb along the back of CB’s hand, loving and gentle in contrast with her remonstrating tone of voice. “He’s your friend, Greaseball. Sitting with him is the least you could do.”

“I know, I know. I just…” he trailed off with a sigh. “I don’t want to be here, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear me say? Because I don’t, not with him like this. I mean, Starlight, Dinah, look at him! He looks—”

CB’s mind raced thinking up all the ways Greaseball could have ended the sentence. But the engine didn’t say anything else. Silence rang loud in the room, and for a long moment no one broke it.

“Hey,” Dinah said eventually. “Come here.” It was a soft call, like someone trying to coax a frightened child out of hiding. There was a hesitation in the air, then a quiet shuffle as Greaseball got up and came closer. A hand was laid on CB’s chest, larger and warmer than Dinah’s.

“You feel that?” Dinah said. “He’s still here. He’s just resting, and all we need to do is wait for him to wake up. He’s going to wake up, Greaseball. He’s going to be okay.”

Greaseball sniffed. “Yeah, sure,” he said thickly. CB kept waiting for him to take his hand away but he didn’t; he let it rest there, feeling the only signs of life CB was showing. In fact, he pushed his hand against CB’s chest a little harder, like he was desperate for every sensation he could pick up.

The minutes ticked by, and a small tremble built up in Greaseball’s fingers, but he still never pulled back. The only sound in the room was someone’s shaky breathing, quiet but still distressed.

“Wrench will probably be back in a few minutes,” Dinah said lowly, “if you still want to go.”

CB fell back asleep before he could hear a response.

***

The next time CB woke up, the pain was muffled. His body still ached, but the sharp, stabbing pains had been replaced with the pins-and-needles sensation of circulation returning to a limb that had fallen asleep. Not exactly comfortable, but much more manageable.

It was easier to open his eyes this time. The light was still far too bright, but it wasn’t unbearable. He blinked a few times, trying to clear away the spots floating in his vision. The room was silent this time, and there was no hand in his, so CB figured that Dinah must have left. But just because she wasn’t there didn’t mean that he was alone.

There was a speck of brown in the corner of CB’s eye. His vision was blurry, and his body was still uncooperative, but he managed to just barely tilt his head in its direction.

The movement caught the attention of whoever was sitting with him. “CB?”

That was Poppa’s voice. Not even a moment later, the engine leaned over him, bringing his face directly into CB’s line of sight and, as CB’s vision sharpened, there was no mistaking his features.

“CB!” Poppa exclaimed, and CB winced at the volume. Poppa’s face was ecstatic before it softened with relief. Thankfully his tone voice softened, too. “Thank Starlight you’re awake.”

“What are you doing here?” CB asked; or at least, he tried to. His voice petered out after the first syllable, leaving only a faint “Wha—?” drifting through the air.

“Now don’t strain yourself,” Poppa said, moving a little closer. “You’re in Wrench’s repair room. You took a nasty tumble, do you remember?”

CB made a noise that he supposed could be taken as an affirmative. He craned his neck, trying to take a look around the room, but couldn’t manage more than a few centimeters in any direction without the pain spiking. It wasn’t worth it, he decided, and settled for dropping his head back to look at Poppa. “Time ‘s it?” he asked, voice soft and shaky.

“It’s a little after two, Thursday afternoon.”

“Thursday?” That didn’t make sense to CB. After all, the race had been on Saturday. There was no way he’d slept for almost a week, was there?

Poppa fixed him with a serious look. “You gave us all a real fright, there,” he said. “You’ve been asleep for quite some time.”

What could CB say to that? “Mm.”

Silence settled between them for a minute before Poppa spoke up again. “CB, what happened? Do you remember?”

This wasn’t a conversation CB wanted to have, especially not now. “I crashed,” he said, trying to evade the true meaning of Poppa’s question. “Got thrown from the track.”

“Yes, but why? What happened?”

CB sighed. “Just couldn’t hold on anymore,” he said. It was true, just not in the way Poppa would take it.

“You should have told Electra. He would have stopped.” CB rolled his eyes, and Poppa’s tone became a little firmer. “He feels awful about what happened.”

Electra? Feel bad about what he did to someone else? “I’m sure.” Even through the weakness in his voice, the sarcasm was strong.

“Oh, I know he’s got a funny was of showing it,” Poppa agreed, “but he really does feel bad.”

CB wasn’t convinced. He thought about telling Poppa how he had asked Electra to slow down, how the engine hadn’t listened because he only cared about winning, but he was too tired to argue about it. “Okay,” he said, letting the subject drop.

Poppa didn’t seem like he was going to let it go. He opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say, CB didn’t want to hear it. “’m gonna go back to sleep.”

Immediately, Poppa was on a different track. “Stay up just a minute,” he said, heaving himself up out of his seat. “I need to tell Wrench you’re awake. She’ll want to look you over.”

CB scoffed. As if that was any incentive to stay awake. As soon as Poppa was out of the room, CB closed his eyes and tried to drift off. Despite the bone-deep exhaustion he felt, his old insomnia was hard to overcome. Hopefully if everyone at least thought he was asleep they’d leave him alone.

It wasn’t long before Poppa came back with Wrench. They were talking about him, but Poppa broke himself off with a disappointed “Oh,” when they came in. “I told him he needed to stay up for you, but…”

Wrench was undeterred, remaining as professional as ever. “How long was he awake for?”

“Only a couple of minutes. He said he was feeling tired, but after how long he’d just been out, I didn’t think he’d fall back asleep that fast.”

CB felt Wrench’s hands on him, probing along the areas she must have repaired. He tried to remain unresponsive, but couldn’t suppress the wince that arose when she reached his shoulder. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to elicit any suspicion.

“Anything else? Pain, confusion, trouble moving?”

“He didn’t say.”

Wrench hummed thoughtfully as she continued her examination. “It’s normal for a patient to be tired after undergoing such extensive repairs. He’ll be awake longer next time.”

Poppa clearly took the certainty of there being a next time as good news. “So he’s going to be alright, then?” he asked, voice full of optimism.

“The fact that he was conscious is a good sign, but we’ll have to wait and see if there will be any lasting damage.” Wrench finally pulled her hands away, and CB could hear the sound of her wheels turning as she rolled back towards the door. “Call me if he wakes up again,” she said. With that, she was gone.

CB heard the chair creak as Poppa settled back down. He sighed, and after a long moment he laid his hand gently on CB’s arm. “You hear that, son? You’re going to be just fine.”

Poppa pulled his hand away, but CB never heard him get up to leave. As the minutes ticked by, he sat in silence, just watching over the caboose. It was getting to the point where CB was getting uncomfortable with the attention, and he wished he could actually fall asleep to escape the situation.

Luckily, he had an unknown savior on the way. “Poppa?” Rusty’s voice called from the doorway.

“Hey, Rusty. Come on in,” Poppa said, and Rusty’s wheels squeaked as he came closer. “He’s asleep right now, you just missed him.”

“He woke up?” There was a hope in Rusty’s voice that CB wasn’t expecting. It tugged at something in his chest and he frowned, unable to make sense of it.

“Mmhmm. He wasn’t up for long, but Wrench said that’s to be expected. All those repairs must have left him exhausted.”

“I’m not surprised.” Rusty was quiet, like he was worried he might wake CB up if he spoke too loudly. It wasn’t a sentiment CB particularly understood, but with how much his head was hurting, he appreciated it nonetheless. “Did Wrench say anything else?”

“Not really. He fell back asleep before she could take a look at him, so we still don’t know a whole lot about how he’s really doing.”

“But he seemed alright?”

“Alright as can be expected, as far as I can tell.”

Rusty sighed, relief evident in his tone. “Good.”

His fingertips touched down gently on CB’s arm for a moment, and CB wondered what it was about being asleep that made everyone think that they could just touch him whenever they wanted. First Dinah and Greaseball, then Poppa, now Rusty; this was getting excessive. If the pull of sleep hadn’t been getting so strong, he would have said something. It would have roped him back into their conversation, but at least it would also get the touching to stop.

The two steamers were quiet for a moment before Poppa spoke again. “Did you want to sit with him for a bit?”

“I was planning on it,” Rusty said, sounding a little torn, “but if he woke up, I should probably go let everybody know.”

“I can take care of that.” Poppa said as he got up. “Here, sit. I’ll go spread the good news.”

Rusty chuckled as he was ushered into the chair. “Everyone will be so relieved.”

“I’ll tell you how it all goes,” Poppa promised, and CB heard his wheels turning as he rolled out of the room.

There was a moment of silence before Rusty leaned forward, taking CB’s hand in both of his. “You couldn’t have waited until I got here to wake up?” he whispered ruefully. CB could easily picture his sad little smile, but he couldn’t figure out why anyone—especially Rusty—would have wanted to see him awake. After everything that happened, why would he be happy that he was still here?

Nothing was making sense to CB, and he wanted it all to stop. He twitched his hand in Rusty’s, trying to make him to let go, but all that made Rusty do was run one hand along CB’s arm, rubbing soothingly.

After another moment, Rusty began whistling softly. It sounded like a lullaby, hauntingly familiar, like something out of a distant memory that he just couldn’t place.

CB wanted to be mad that Rusty was still touching him, that he was still sitting here without permission, but the melody was nice. It was calming, and he felt himself relaxing slowly despite himself.

Rusty kept whistling, kept up the gentle strokes on CB’s arm, and within minutes, CB was finally able to drift back to sleep.

***

Ever since he’d first woken up, CB rarely had a moment alone. There was usually someone sitting by his bed when he woke up, and more often than not there was someone with him when he fell asleep. Someone was always coming in for a visit or poking their head in for a minute to make sure he was okay. It was such a drastic change from how things had been before he crashed that it almost gave him whiplash.

Rusty, Dinah, and Poppa were his most frequent visitors, each of them coming to see him at least three times a week. Pearl came in sometimes with Rusty or Dinah, but never on her own. Flat-Top found his way in a few times, too, as did Dustin. Poppa had managed to round up the Rockys for a visit once or twice, and Dinah had done the same with the rest of the coaches.

Greaseball seemed very reluctant to see him. Dinah would often tell CB when she came in that she had invited Greaseball to come with her, but he never did. He always had some excuse ready: he was working, or he was working out, or he was tired from working or working out. CB tried to convince himself that it didn’t hurt. Once upon a time, Greaseball had been one of his closest friends. CB was willing to cheat for him in every race; it didn’t matter to him what he had to do, or how much it was going to hurt him, just as long as his friend got the victory his deserved. Now Greaseball wanted nothing to do with him. CB had known for a while that their days of friendship were through, but he thought that maybe, just maybe, if everyone else was coming in to make sure he was alright, Greaseball might come in too.

Although, he supposed, it wasn’t everyone who came to check on him. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the electrics since he woke up. Wrench was always there, of course, but that was because she had to take care of him. She never stopped to chat or check in with him on anything other than how he was recovering; CB knew that if there were anyone else qualified to take care of him, she’d be as elusive as the rest of her group.

CB was sick of being stuck in the repair room, but he consoled himself with the face that he was—albeit slowly—getting better. He was getting stronger, finally able to sit up on his own, and he had more energy every day. He was able to stay awake for most of his visits, now—when he wanted to, anyway. He was getting rapidly fed up with the careful tiptoeing everyone took part in when they were here, and even more so with all the questions he didn’t want to answer. Trapped in bed as he was, sleep was his only escape.

This morning was one of the few where there was no one there when he woke up. He barely had any time alone recently, so he tried to savor the peace while it lasted. He’d gotten so used to being on his own that the constant presence of other trains was exhausting.

Of course, just as he expected, it didn’t last long. Soon enough, the all too familiar sound of wheels approaching the repair room reached his ears. No one seemed to think they needed to knock anymore, so his visitor’s presence was only announced when Dinah poked her head in through the doorway, breaking out into a bright smile when she saw he was awake. “Good morning, CB!”

“Morning,” he said, not even trying to match her enthusiasm.

If Dinah minded his lack of energy, she didn’t say anything. She rolled into the room, as chipper as ever. Not far behind her were Buffy and, much to CB’s surprise, a very reluctant Greaseball.

As the group came over to the bed, CB only had eyes for the diesel. He looked extremely uncomfortable, and CB knew that there was no way he was here of his own volition. Dinah must have finally found a way to strong-arm him into coming.

Buffy took a seat in the empty chair by his bed, and Greaseball stood just off to the side. Dinah, the most comfortable there by far, hopped onto the foot of the bed, sitting next to CB’s legs. She gently rested a hand just below his knee, tracing soothing circles with her thumb. “You feeling any better today?”

Yesterday had been a bad day for CB, and of course Dinah had been there to see it. He’d gotten used to the constant pain in his wrist, but recently it’d been joined by more pain in his shoulder and lower back. Yesterday the pain had been particularly bad, so much so that CB had had a hard time focusing on what Dinah was saying. He’d tried to pretend it was nothing, but he had to admit the truth the sixth time he asked her to repeat something.

“Yeah, much,” CB said, even though it wasn’t quite true. The pain was still there, it was just more bearable.

She gave his leg a little squeeze. “Good!”

He looked over at Buffy, and she gave him a smile that felt a little forced. “Dinah’s been keeping us updated on how well you’re doing,” she told him.

CB wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that—there were lots of things Dinah had seen that he would have preferred they both forget. “I didn’t think there was that much to tell.”

“Oh, of course there is!” Dinah said, sounding a bit like a mother ready to brag about her kid. “You’ve been staying awake so much longer, and you can sit up on your own, and just the other day, Wrench was talking about having you try to walk soon!”

When she said it like that, it made him sound like a baby, CB thought. A twinge of embarrassment shot through him and he glanced over at Greaseball, almost fearing the expression he might find on his face. But the engine was staring resolutely at the floor, so CB could only guess at what he thought of all of this.

“Besides,” Dinah continued, “it’s only fair. You’re always getting stories about how everyone else is doing; it’s only right that they hear a few stories about you in return.”

The first part of that statement was true, at least. Dinah liked to tell him about everything he was missing out in the yard, right down to the tiniest thing. He probably knew more about what everyone was up to now than he ever had before.

“Speaking of,” CB said, wanting to change the topic of conversation, “what’s the news for today?”

“Hmm, let’s see...” Dinah trailed off, thinking it over. CB couldn’t imagine that a whole lot had happened since she left last night, but she always managed to come up with plenty to tell him every visit. “There’s a rumor going around that a new coach might be transferring to the yard. Have I told you about that yet?”

CB shook his head as Buffy chimed in, “Oh, yeah! I heard that, too. Ashley and I were talking about it just the other day; she doesn’t think it’s actually going to happen, but I don’t see why not.”

“I guess it’s possible,” Dinah agreed skeptically, “but it still hasn’t been that long since Electra and all them came in. Do you really think we’d get someone else in so soon?”

CB zoned out as Dinah and Buffy debated the probability of the transfer. It didn’t matter so much to him if they got a new coach in the yard, and he was fine with letting their voices fade into background noise. He figured the possibility of a new coach would be of interest to Greaseball, but the engine remained silent. Anytime CB glanced over at him, the engine was staring at the floor, or the ceiling, or out the door; it was obvious he didn’t want to be there.

Eventually, Dinah switched over to talking about other happenings in the yard: Poppa was threatening Rusty with a good scrub-down again, Ashley and Buffy were planning a picnic for later that afternoon, the electrics had received a huge shipment of something and everyone was taking bets on what it was.

“I’m telling you, it’s glitter,” Buffy insisted. “The whole thing. Just glitter.”

“There were, like, twelve boxes!” Dinah countered.

“Yeah, twelve boxes of glitter.”

Dinah still seemed skeptical. “That’s an awful lot.”

“Have you seen them? Have you seen how sparkly they are? Trust me, they’ll use it.”

“I don’t know, I still think it’s more likely that Wrench just got spare parts to restock the repair room. Don’t you think so, Greaseball?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.”

CB looked over at the diesel, but he wasn’t looking at any of them. He was staring at the far wall, obviously trying to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. Thinking back over the visit, CB realized Greaseball hadn’t even looked in his direction once since he’d been here, and CB knew why.

He’d seen his reflection. He knew what he looked like now. Wrench had worked miracles with the repairs—not only had she pulled him back from a wreck that should have killed him, she was certain he’d be able to work his way back up to top form eventually—but she was more worried about his functionality than his appearance.

There was an unsightly network of ridges left from all the welding Wrench had to do to put him back together, odd colored patches of metal where she had to replace the holes ripped from his plating with whatever she had on hand, dents in his shoulder plates that just couldn’t be worked out, and the paint job on the left side of his face was almost completely scratched off. He couldn’t stand to look at himself for more than a few seconds, why should he expect anyone else to do better?

It hurt. He knew he should have expected it, but it still cut deep. He didn’t know if he wanted to cry or scream, but he did know that he wanted everyone to leave. And the best way he knew to accomplish that was to sleep.

He let out a yawn that was only half-fake and let his head loll against the pillow. By this point, he was an expert at pretending to fall asleep. In another two minutes, he could let his eyes slip closed, and then a few minutes after that, everyone would be gone.

All according to plan, Dinah picked up on his low energy. “You getting tired?” she asked in a motherly tone.

“Hmm? No, I’m okay. I’m listening.” He yawned again, doing an intentionally poor job of trying to hide it.

Dinah gave him a small smile, like she knew he’d be asleep in a matter of minutes. Good, CB thought, letting his eyelids droop as Dinah launched into another story about the going-ons in the yard that he was missing. She kept it animated, but he noticed that she was slowly decreasing her volume. He nodded his head once, twice, then closed his eyes and forced his body to relax into the mattress. He deepened his breathing, keeping it steady and even. This was the final stage of his act, and now all he had to do was wait for everyone to notice.

Dinah kept the story going for a few more minutes before cutting herself off. He felt her slide off the bed, and moments later the blanket was pulled up to his chest. She tucked him in gently, then ran a loving hand along the side of his face.

The room was quiet for a moment before Buffy spoke up. “He really wasn’t up for long.”

“He’s healing,” Dinah defended. “What did you expect?” There was a pause before she spoke again. “Greaseball, what’s with that face?”

Greaseball huffed. “You said he was getting better.”

“He is. It’s just going to take a while, that’s all.”

“Well, how long?”

“Oh, come on, Greaseball,” Buffy groaned.

“It was a really bad crash,” Dinah told him, her voice quiet but firm. “You can’t expect him to just be okay right away.” She sighed before continuing, “You really have to do better.”

“What do you mean, do better?”

“He’s your friend, Greaseball. Were you even trying at all?”

“What are you talking about? I came, didn’t I?”

"You barely said two words to him the entire time!”

“You said I had to come, so I came. You didn’t say anything about talking.”

CB bit back a groan. He had wanted everyone to leave, not start arguing. He tried to think of a way to get them to stop without revealing he was awake. Dinah was usually so courteous when he was pretending to be asleep, keeping everyone quiet so he wouldn’t be disturbed. Not having a better idea, he threw his head to the side and moaned quietly, shifting on the bed like something was bothering him while he slept.

Buffy noticed his discomfort immediately. “You guys,” she broke in, “shh.” In the silence that followed, CB could picture her gesturing to him, and he tossed his head back to the other side with a frown.

Dinah sighed softly. “Sorry,” she said, though CB didn’t know who she was apologizing to.

“Yeah, sorry,” Greaseball echoed.

The tension still hung in the air, and for a moment no one said anything. CB could only imagine what was going on between the three of them. It felt like he was missing something, but he couldn’t guess what it could be.

Greaseball was the one who broke the silence. “Listen, he’s asleep, so I’m just gonna go.”

“Greaseball…” Dinah sighed.

“Dinah, please.”

CB was shocked. He’d never heard Greaseball say please before, and he couldn’t figure out what warranted it now. Whatever it was, Dinah must have been able to see it, because he heard Greaseball roll away and she didn’t say a word.

There was silence for a moment before Buffy asked, “Are you gonna stay?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to, though.”

“I will if you want me to.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Go have fun.”

CB heard Buffy get up and start rolling towards the door. “You sure?” she asked, even though it seemed clear to him she was planning on leaving.

“Mmhmm,” Dinah hummed. “Tell Ashley I said hi.”

“Will do.”

Dinah sat down in the chair Buffy had just left and gently laid her hand on CB’s arm. She didn’t say another word, letting him sleep in peace.

He’d give it about half an hour, CB decided, then he would “wake up” and enjoy the rest of Dinah’s visit, just the two of them. He really did appreciate her company, not to mention how much time she’d dedicated to him while he was recovering. He didn’t want to repay her kindness by ignoring her the whole time she was here, not that he thought she’d really mind if he did. She’d been so patient and understanding so far that, sometimes, it made CB want to cry.

Dinah stroked his arm lightly, and CB promised himself that he wouldn’t keep her waiting too much longer. She’d been kinder to him than he really deserved; appreciating her visit seemed like the least he could do.

***

CB had come to dread seeing Wrench show up in the repair room. There were only two reasons she came: either to perform a routine check-up, making sure he was recovering alright, or to work him through another physical therapy session.

The sessions with Wrench were painful and frustrating, but unfortunately necessary. He couldn’t leave the repair room until he was able to at least move on his own, and it was clear that Wrench was getting tired of having him there. Their sessions were his least favorite part of the day, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted to get out of the repair room just as much as Wrench wanted to see him go.

Still, it was only with great reluctance—and no small amount of swearing—that Wrench managed to haul him to his feet to have him work on moving again. It took him an embarrassingly long time to find his balance, even with leaning on Wrench for support. The only consolation he had was that no one else was there to see it.

By now, they had a regular position they took whenever CB was on his feet. His left arm went around Wrench’s shoulders, and Wrench kept a steadying hand on the small of his back. When they’d first started, CB had hated having to depend so completely on someone else, but they’d been at this long enough that he had gotten used to it.

His first few steps were shaky. They always were. The longer he spent on his feet, the more assured his steps would become, but it was always difficult starting out.

Today Wrench had the goal of him walking to the door of the repair room and back. CB was skeptical—the most he’d managed so far was only about half of that—but Wrench was determined, and he didn’t dare cross her.

A little after the half-way point, though, CB knew it would be impossible. By now, he’d come to learn what the sort of pain he could work through was, and this wasn’t it. If he had to make it all the way to the door, he’d surely collapse on the way back. As it was, he didn’t think he’d be able to make it back to the bed on his feet from here. “Wrench,” he panted, “I need to stop.”

Wrench shot him a look, clearly displeased. “You’re not done yet.”

“I can’t—I can’t do it.” CB shook his head. Even just standing still was too much. He was trying not to rest too much of his weight on Wrench, but his legs felt set to give out at any moment.

“You’re fine.” She took another step forward and tried to tug CB to match. He resisted, disrupting his already precarious balance and sending him tipping over towards her.

“I’m not—I can’t—” He took a shaky breath. “Please, can we just go back to the bed?” He felt pathetic, breathless and begging after not even ten minutes on his feet, but he really couldn’t do it anymore. Every muscle in his body was screaming in pain, and his legs were trembling under his weight.

Wrench stared deep into his eyes for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. Whatever she saw there must have reassured her that he wasn’t exaggerating, that he really couldn’t continue, because she relented with a sigh. “Alright,” she said, switching positions to help him turn around.

If CB had been capable of feeling anything other than complete exhaustion, he would have given her a grateful smile. As it was, he could barely manage to think, Thank Starlight, and keep on his feet as Wrench turned him back towards the bed.

They took the walk back at a much slower pace than the walk out. Wrench made sure to give him breaks when he needed them; she knew how much damage it would do if he pushed himself too hard in one of their sessions.

It was during one of these pauses, while CB was leaning heavily on Wrench and trying to catch his breath, that a sound from behind them caught Wrench’s attention. She looked back at the door over their shoulders and CB spared a glance her way, trying to guess by her reaction what was going on.

He was still clueless by the time Wrench spoke. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

CB’s stomach sank. Someone was here. He had specifically told Wrench that he didn’t want anyone there when he was doing his physical therapy and, going by the fact that no one else had ever come in during one of their sessions, that was something she enforced. But now someone was here, and the only trains in the yard CB could ever see ignoring Wrench’s orders would be the other electrics. With dread clawing its way up his throat, he turned to look over his shoulder at who it was.

Anyone coming to witness his indignity would have been bad enough for CB, but to make matters worse, it wasn’t just one train watching him from the doorway; it was three. Electra, Volta, and Krupp were standing there together, and CB froze like a deer in headlights. For a few seconds, no one made a sound.

It was Volta who spoke first. “Are we interrupting?”

Wrench shook her head and braced herself to take most of CB’s weight so he could take another step forward. “No,” she said, “we’re just finishing up for the day.”

CB turned his face away from the door, trying to hide his humiliation. Of all the days for Electra to come visit, he just had to pick the one where CB had to admit to himself he was too weak to even walk. He could feel Electra’s eyes on him as he struggled to push himself back to the bed, and his cheeks burned with mortification.

The group fell into silence once more, but CB couldn’t decide if that made the situation better or worse. He tried to steady his breathing so no one would hear him desperately gasp for air after walking just twenty-five feet. Wrench nudged him forward, and he managed to take a few more steps before his knees buckled beneath him. Wrench was caught off guard, but she still managed to catch him on the way down. It was a small blessing that she was able to handle his whole weight—he didn’t know what he would have done if he’d fallen on his face in front of the electrics. He squeezed his eyes shut to hide the tears that had sprung up, a mixture of pain and shame.

He heard wheels approaching and when he looked up, Volta was at his other side. Without a word she grabbed his free arm and slung it over her shoulder. Together, she and Wrench helped him get back on his feet. It was easier going with the two of them supporting him, but he still felt he couldn’t get back to the bed fast enough.

As soon as they were close enough, CB let go of Volta. He was embarrassed enough having to rely on Wrench for help, he didn’t need to add anyone else to the list. He pushed himself the last bit forward, gratefully collapsing onto the mattress. Wrench helped him swing his legs up as he scooted back to lean against the pillows. His whole body ached, and he knew he’d still be hurting come morning, but he was glad to let his muscles relax as he sank into the mattress.

Volta stood at the foot of the bed, watching him carefully as he got settled. She shared a look with Wrench, then addressed him, “How are you feeling?”

It was the first question everyone asked him, but he still wasn’t sure how to answer. “Fine, I guess,” he said, even though it wasn’t quite true. Honestly, he was tired and frustrated and in pain, but no one ever wanted to hear that. Wrench must have known he was lying—he always complained about being sore after their sessions, and by this point she had learned to expect it—but she didn’t say anything.

Another look passed between the components at his bedside before they shared it with the pair at the door. CB often got the feeling when he was around the electrics that there was some sort of unspoken communication going on between them. There was something meaningful in the way Krupp was looking at Wrench, some significance tied to how Electra was facing away, but CB couldn’t tell what any of it meant.

He sat up a bit, starting to get uncomfortable with being the only one left out of the conversation. He leaned forward, trying to catch Electra’s eye. “Are you coming in, or…?”

Electra looked as though he really didn’t want to be there, but Krupp gave him a push forward, sending him rolling into the room. For a second, a flash of terror crossed his features, but he quickly schooled his expression and straightened his back. He was putting on the air of his usual confidence, but CB thought he was falling short.

Electra came to a stop next to Volta, Krupp not far behind. CB was used to seeing the electrics stick together, but today they seemed to be huddled even closer than normal. They were acting strange, Electra in particular, but try as he might CB couldn’t think of a reason why.

Volta tilted her head towards CB, and Electra cleared his throat. “So, you’re doing well then?”

“Um, sure.”

“Good,” Electra said with a nod. For a moment it seemed like that was all he was going to say, but after a pointed look from Krupp he continued, “That was a… bad crash.”

Awkward was never a word CB would have used to describe Electra, but so far this visit was almost as painful as one of Wrench’s therapy sessions. “Yep,” CB said, not knowing how else to respond to that. “It was.”

Electra cringed, but Volta swooped in to salvage the conversation. “We’re very lucky to have a medic as skilled as Wrench here with us.”

“It’s true,” Krupp chimed in. “I got in a fight last year that messed up my shoulder real bad. Wrench fixed me up so well, it was like I’d never been hurt.”

Electra relaxed minutely. Even though he was still obviously uncomfortable there, he was always happy to talk about his components. “Yes. Of course, I only have the best on my team. To have anyone other than Wrench with us would be unacceptable; she truly is at the top of her field.”

Wrench smiled at the praise as she fussed with CB’s pillows, making sure he was properly propped up. CB wondered if she was planning on staying. She usually left when he had visitors—he suspected that her motivations for doing so were less to give them privacy and more because, with someone else there to look after him, she could take a break and have some time to herself—but he figured she might want to stay if it was the other electrics who came in. Electra would certainly appreciate it, if the way he was practically clinging to the other two was any indication.

Regardless of how much any of them may have wanted it, it wasn’t going to happen. Before anyone could say anything else, Volta turned to Wrench. “By the way,” she said, “Joule wanted to see you. She twisted her ankle, and she’s worried it’s sprained.”

“Again?” Wrench said, as if this was something that happened often. Volta nodded, and Wrench sighed. “I told her to stop doing those flips,” she said, crossing over to the other side of the room to grab her field repair kit.

Electra watched her as she left, looking almost panicked. Krupp laid a reassuring hand on his back, rubbing gently, although it didn’t seem to be doing much good. He let his hand rest there, turning to CB to say, “It was good to see you up and about.”

“It felt good.” If he ignored the intense pain and lingering soreness, anyway. He hated Wrench’s sessions with a passion, but he had to admit it was a relief to not be stuck in bed all the time. Wrench was even starting to talk about when he might be able to leave the repair room.

“I’m sure,” Volta said. “I imagine you must be getting rather fed up with bed rest, by now.”

“Yeah, it’s not fun,” CB said, shifting to lean more comfortably on the pillows. He couldn’t help the little grimace that broke out on his face as he moved his sore muscles. The electrics at his bedside were watching him like hawks, and he knew there was no way they had missed it. Thankfully, no one commented on it, though Electra as if it was physically paining him too.

“You looked like you were moving well,” Krupp said, trying to steer the conversation back onto a positive note.

Yeah, up until I nearly fell on my ass, CB thought. “Better than I have been, at least.”

Krupp gave him a small smile. “Good.”

CB forced a smile onto his own face in return. Electra’s nervous energy was rubbing off, and he was starting to feel like something about this visit was going wrong somehow. He sank back into the pillows, trying to think of what it could be, but couldn’t come up with anything.

Volta was watching him carefully. “You seem tired.”

“Yeah, a little bit,” CB said. It wasn’t anything new—he was tired all the time. Wrench said that was normal and that he’d have more energy as he recovered, but he’d been feeling tired since before his crash, so he wasn’t as sure of that as she was.

“We won’t keep you up, then. We just wanted to come in and see how you’re doing.”

CB stared at the trio. “All of you?”

Krupp nodded and nudged Electra’s shoulder until he spoke. “Yes. I—we’ve been worried.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t something CB ever expected to hear, especially not from Electra. A knot of guilt began twisting up in his chest—he’d never meant to make anyone worry about him. He couldn’t quite figure out why everyone cared so much, but he was starting to feel bad about putting them through this. “Thanks. But you can relax, I’m doing alright.”

Electra nodded, looking as far from relaxed as he could get. “Good.”

“That’s very reassuring to hear,” Volta said, giving him a small smile.

“Wrench hasn’t been telling us much,” Krupp added. “She’s very strict on doctor-patient confidentiality.”

That was surprising to CB. “I would’ve thought she told you guys everything.”

Krupp shook his head. “Not when it comes to someone’s private information.”

That was good to know, CB thought. There had been a lot of low points in his recovery so far that he didn’t want to be shared. “Well, as you can see, I’m getting better.”

“Yes,” Volta agreed, “much.”

“At this rate, you’ll be back in working order in no time,” Electra said, clapping his hand down on CB’s leg a little too roughly. Unfortunately for them both, he hit exactly on one of CB’s still-sensitive weld lines. CB couldn’t bite back the pained yelp that rose to his lips, and Electra snatched his hand back like he’d been burned. There was a look in his eyes CB couldn’t decipher, a mixture of fear and guilt and who knows what else. It was so far from the confidence CB was used to seeing from Electra that he didn’t know how to react. He just stared, completely confused.

Without another word, Electra turned and fled from the room. Bewildered, CB watched as Volta and Krupp rushed after him. The door swung closed behind them, but even still, CB could hear the sound of heavy, distressed breathing coming from just outside. If he didn’t know better, he would have said Electra was hyperventilating out there. There were hushed words of comfort from the components, trying to calm their engine down, but it didn’t seem like it was working.

For a moment, CB considered trying to get up and go out there. It felt like everyone was leaving him out of the loop with what was going on in the yard and he didn’t like it. But he couldn’t even make it to the door with Wrench’s support; he had no hope of getting there on his own. Frustrated, he threw his head back onto the pillows, feeling more useless than ever.

Hours passed before anyone came back into the room. It was the longest period of time he’d been left alone for since he woke up. But it wasn’t any visitor who came; it was just Wrench, there to do her usual evening checkup.

“What happened to Electra?” he asked as Wrench examined his leg, making sure the repairs were holding up after his fall earlier that afternoon.

“Nothing happened,” she said, not even looking up from what she was doing. “He’s fine.”

“He didn’t look fine when he left.”

Wrench shrugged and didn’t say anything else.

CB huffed, throwing himself back into the pillows with his arms crossed. It felt like everyone was intentionally keeping him in the dark about what was happening in the yard, and he was sick of it. Sure, Dinah came in with all the daily gossip, but when it came to things that actually mattered, no one said a word. All of this careful tiptoeing and treating him like he was made of glass was making him feel more useless than ever. “I’m not weak,” he told her petulantly. “You don’t have to shelter me.”

“What are you talking about?” Wrench asked, raising a brow.

“Everyone is treating me like some fragile little thing. The only things anyone will ever talk to me about are just sunshine and roses, but I know that’s fake. I know serious things have been happening, but whenever I ask, it’s always ‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ and ‘You just focus on yourself right now.’ No one will actually tell me what’s going on, and I’m sick of it!” He scowled. “Just because I crashed doesn’t mean I can’t handle serious topics. I’m not going to break over a bit of bad news.”

Wrench stared at him for a moment. “You think I’m trying to protect you?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

By this point, CB was practically shouting in frustration. “Then why won’t you tell me?”

“You wouldn’t want me sharing any of your personal information without consent, would you?” Wrench replied, as calmly as ever.

“Well, no, but—”

“Then don’t try to get me to share anyone else’s.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and left.

CB wanted to stop her, to argue that it wasn’t the same thing, but the words died in his throat. After all, were the situations truly all that different. If their roles had been reversed, if he had had a panic attack in front of Electra and his components, he wouldn’t want anyone talking about it.

On the other hand, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Electra’s sudden departure had something to do with him. If that was the case, didn’t he deserve to know? He didn’t like being left out of the loop on matters than concerned him. At the very least, he wanted to know what not to do the next time he saw Electra. But if being told that meant violating Electra’s privacy…

CB sighed. His mind was spinning in circles, and it was beginning to tire him out. He wanted someone else to come in so he could have some sort of distraction, but for the rest of the night, no one did.

***

It’d been a long time coming—far too long, in CB’s opinion—but Wrench had finally deemed him recovered enough to leave the repair room. He still had a ways to go before he was back up to top form, but for now he was steady enough on his feet, and stable enough in his health, that Wrench felt comfortable sending him home.

He was spending the morning collecting his things from the room, not that there was really much. His hat and scarf hadn’t survived the crash, but Dinah had brought him new ones. Other than that, there were only a few get-well gifts that he’d been given that he wanted to bring with him. He rubbed a corner of the blanket Rusty had given him between his fingers as he folded it. It was an unfortunate shade of orange, but oh so soft. It looked like it was hand-made, and—though he’d fight against ever saying so out loud—CB loved it.

When he looked up, Wrench was standing in the doorway, watching him carefully. He had no idea how long she’d been there, but she waited until their eyes met to speak. “May I come in?”

CB was caught off-guard. No one had asked him if they could come in before, and it made him suspicious. “Sure.”

He watched her warily as she rolled into the room, taking a seat next to him on the bed. Something was obviously on her mind, and it looked like she was struggling to figure out how to bring it up. CB kept an eye on her as she thought, waiting in silence for her to begin.

"CB, I’ve been thinking,” she said eventually.

Well, that told him nothing. “About what?” he asked, trying to think of where she could be headed with this.

“Your crash.”

“Oh.”

Wrench was quiet for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “The details just aren’t making sense to me. Electra’s a very experienced racer; he knows what speeds are unsafe. He may push it sometimes but he’s never reckless, especially not with a partner. I can’t imagine he took a turn fast enough to throw you off and not realize it.”

CB had an excuse ready for this. “My left hand’s been weak since the championship. I told you that.”

“Still,” Wrench said, keeping her face carefully neutral, “if you’d been thrown off by force, I’d expect to see damage to Electra’s couplers, or at the very least to your hand. But both of them were fine.”

“What are you talking about? You said my arm got crushed.”

“Your arm, yes, but not your hand.”

“Is there a difference?”

Wrench gave him a serious look. “Yes.”

CB shrugged, feigning that he didn’t have the answers she was looking for. He had a sinking feeling that he knew where she was going with this, and he didn’t want to have that conversation. Not here, not now, not ever.

He’d always known that Wrench was clever. He should have guessed that she would suspect something. But it had been weeks since the crash, and she never said anything. He thought he’d gotten away with it. He should have known better.

The silence was thick between them, so oppressive that CB was finding it hard to breathe. When Wrench finally spoke, her voice was softer than he’d ever heard before.

“You let go on purpose, didn’t you?”

CB looked away and didn’t say anything, but it was all the confirmation Wrench needed. Silently, she held out a card to him. CB looked at it suspiciously for a moment before taking it.

The only thing written on the card was a phone number. There was no name attached, no extra information, just the number. CB stared at it, trying to figure out the connection.

Wrench must have sensed his confusion, because she started explaining before he even looked up. “It’s for an old friend of mine’s office. They have more experience in this sort of thing than I do; they’ll be able to help you.”

CB looked up at her, emotion clogging his throat. She held his gaze as she continued, “I can’t make you call, but I really hope you will. You have a lot of friends here who care about you, and we all want to see you get better.” She reached over and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. There was a soft smile on her face, equal parts sad and reassuring. She waited for a moment, giving him the opportunity to say something, but CB couldn’t think of anything to say.

The silence dragged on for a few seconds before Wrench gave his hand another squeeze. She got up from the bed and rolled towards the door, taking her time in case CB wanted to stop her. He didn’t.

He stared after her for a moment before turning his attention back to the card in his hand. Part of him wanted to crumple it up and throw it away, but the other part was frozen in place. Could this friend of Wrench’s really help him? Did he even want help?

Everyone had been so sad after his crash, and he’d only been hurt in it. What would have happened if he’d actually died? He hadn’t thought anyone would care, but now all he could picture was that haunted look in Electra’s eyes increasing ten-fold and never leaving; Rusty’s hands around his, holding on like a life line even though he knew it would do no good; Dinah crying, desperately needing someone there to comfort her but having no one. CB frowned. The images were twisting something inside his chest, and he didn’t like it one bit.

He carefully folded the card in half and slipped it in with the rest of his things. He would call. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon enough he would call, and things would get better. He would get better. He wouldn’t accept anything else.

***

The sun was already fairly high in the sky by the time CB finally woke up. He’d slept in later than he’d meant to, and for a moment almost felt bad about it. But he’d been talking with the therapist friend Wrench had directed him to, and he knew exactly what they would say about that line of thinking. He was still recovering, as they loved to remind him; if anyone else had been in a crash like that, he wouldn’t expect them to be back in perfect order yet, so why should he expect that of himself?

He sat up, enjoying the light that was streaming into the room for a moment before pushing himself out of bed.  He rolled over to the window and threw it open, breathing in the fresh air. The air was crisp and the sun was warm, and the longer he stood there, the more refreshed he felt.

He’d been wanting to re-do his paint ever since he left the repair room. He’d had enough of the unsightly scratches and mismatched patches, and he wanted them gone. Today, he decided, was as good a day as any to do it.

He searched through the drawers in his room, grabbing all the paint he had. It was a big job he had to do, and he knew he was going to need every drop of paint he could find.

Before he could find some excuse for himself not to, he grabbed a brush and ran the first line of fresh paint along his chest plate. He let out a long, slow breath, staring at the stripe of wet paint. It was the first step; now all he had to do was keep going.

It was going slower than he would have liked. He hadn’t regained his full range of motion yet, and all of the bending, reaching, and twisting he had to do to reach the spots he needed was starting to hurt.

After about an hour, he put the brush down and examined his work. He’d gotten every spot he could reach on his own, and he was looking much better. Of course, he still needed to do his stripes and his face, but it was a start.

He twisted around as best he could, trying to get a glimpse of his back in the mirror. It was no better than his front had been, and he frowned at his reflection. He wouldn’t be able to reach that on his own, even if he could still move like he needed to.

Now that he’d started, he didn’t want to stop. He ran over his options in his head. The thing to do now would probably be to ask someone to help. He thought over everyone he knew, and who on that list he trusted enough to help him. It didn’t take him long to decide that Dinah would be best. He grabbed his phone, pulling up her contact and dialing.

Dinah picked up on the second ring. “Hi, CB! What’s up?”

“I need your help with something.”

“Is everything okay?” she rushed out before he’d even finished talking, sounding worried.

CB had to admit, he was a little amused by her concern, though he tried to keep it out of his voice. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he reassured her. “I’m just trying to re-do my paint, and I need someone to get my back.”

Dinah let out an excited gasp. “I’ll be right there!” She hung up without another word.

Dinah was at his door not even ten minutes later, a smile already on her face. Her eyes lit up even brighter when she saw CB. “Look at you!” she exclaimed, gesturing excitedly at his fresh paint.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He opened the door a little wider, waving her inside. “Thanks for coming.”

“My pleasure!”

As far as CB could tell, she really meant that. She seemed eager to help, which CB didn’t understand—repainting was never a particularly exciting job—but appreciated nonetheless. He started off down the hall, leading the way back to his room. His movements were still a bit slow and stiff, but Dinah patiently kept pace with him as they made their way back to his room. He was getting better by the day, but it still hurt to be up on his feet sometimes. He was glad to be able to drop back down onto the chair he had pulled in front of the mirror.

“Paint’s on the dresser,” he said, waving a hand towards the bottle he’d been using.

Dinah immediately grabbed the wet brush and got to work. She started chatting as she began to paint, starting just below the base of his neck. “So what made you choose today for getting a re-paint?”

CB thought over the question, trying to figure out how to answer when his main line of reasoning had been why not? “I’ve been meaning to for a while,” he said after a moment. “Guess I just woke up in the mood to get it done.”

“Good!” she said, sounding genuinely happy for him. “It’s nice to see you having energy again.”

Personally, CB agreed. Stuck in bed in the repair room—and if he was being honest with himself, even before that—he hadn’t felt at all like himself. But since he’d started talking to Wrench’s therapist friend, things had started looking better.

Dinah kept up a friendly conversation while she worked, and after a while, she pulled the brush away. CB waited for it to touch back down again, but a few moments passed and nothing happened. Confused, he glanced at Dinah in the mirror, finding her staring into the bottle of paint she had been using. She flipped it over and shook over her hand a few times, but nothing came out. “Do you have any more?”

CB gestured to the paints he had lined up on the dresser. He had pulled out every bottle he owned for this, but it still wasn’t an impressive array. He’d used just about all of his paint fixing himself up after the crash at the championship, and after that he hadn’t had the energy to go out and buy more. All he had left were a few small bottles, the kind he used for detail work and small touch-ups.

Dinah bit her lip, looking over the selection of bottles. “I don’t think this is going to be enough.”

“Probably not,” CB agreed, “but it’ll be a start, at least.”

There was only one other bottle of red on the dresser, and Dinah grabbed it. She held it in her hand for a moment before twisting the cap off and looking inside. “There isn’t really a lot left in here,” she said eventually.

“I know.”

“I could probably finish your back, or maybe your face, but definitely not both.” She didn’t actually ask him anything, but CB heard the question nonetheless.

CB studied his face in the mirror, thinking it over. This was something he had wanted to have finished today, and he didn’t like the idea of having to pick one. “Finish my back, I guess. I’ll get more for my face later.”

“Are you sure?”

CB shrugged. “You already started,” he said. “Might as well finish.”

“Alright.” Bottle still in hand, Dinah circled back behind him, picking up where she left off.

CB watched her in the mirror. She seemed a little less optimistic now, and much less chatty. He could tell that she was trying to stretch the paint out and do as much as she could for him, but he couldn’t tell how successful she was.

After several minutes more, she was finished. “That’s the end of that,” she said, plunking the empty paint bottle down on the dresser.

“How’s it look back there?”

“I was able to get everything covered,” she said with a slight hesitation, making CB suspect it wasn’t good, “but it’ll definitely need a second coat.”

It wasn’t too hard for CB to put together what she wasn’t saying. “So, pretty bad, then?”

Dinah shrugged one shoulder. “If you have another mirror, we could probably angle them so you could see for yourself.”

“Thanks, but I don’t actually care that much.”

Dinah chuckled, looking over CB’s collection of paint another time. She picked up a few bottles, checking the color, but CB already knew that she wouldn’t find any more red. However, that wasn’t what she was looking for. “You know, just because we can’t do any details doesn’t mean we can’t at least base coat your face. You’ve definitely got enough paint for that.”

Go out with only half of his face detailed? “Won’t that look weird?”

Dinah shrugged. “Like you said, it’ll at least be a start.”

CB thought about it, staring at his face in the mirror. He really did hate those scratches. Every time he talked to someone, he could tell that they were staring, no matter how hard they tried not to—those scratches were all anyone ever saw. He dug his fingers hard into his arms, glaring at his reflection. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” The sooner they were gone, the better.

Dinah gave him a warm smile and grabbed a clean brush for the color she was holding. CB raised a hand to take them from her, but she lightly slapped it away. “Let me,” she said, already opening the bottle.

“I only asked you here to do my back.”

“Oh, I know. But I want to!”

Can’t argue with that, CB thought as Dinah brought the brush down on his cheek. She seemed genuinely happy to be helping him, and CB appreciated her enthusiasm. “This is going to look so good,” she told him on loop. “Don’t worry, you’re going to look amazing.”

The knock at the door came as a surprise to them both. Dinah looked up at him, confusion plain on her face. “Were you expecting someone else?”

CB shook his head, equally confused.

“Hmm.” She set the brush down and left the room, going to answer the door even though it wasn’t her house.

CB stared after her, wondering if he should get up and get the door instead. It probably didn’t matter, he decided, already hearing Dinah open the door. The sound of distant voices reached him, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Now that he had a moment to himself, he took the opportunity to check out his reflection. It didn’t look as bad as he had feared.

Dinah was smiling brightly when she came back. “CB, you have a visitor!”

CB leaned back in his chair, trying to look through the doorway to see who was behind her. She glanced over her shoulder as well before rolling into the room and out of the way, letting whoever was with her through.

To CB’s mild shock, Electra appeared in the doorway. He didn’t come in right away, hovering hesitantly just outside the room like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome.

“Hey,” CB said, trying not to sound as surprised as he felt.

“Hello, CB,” Electra returned. He still looked conflicted, but when Dinah waved him into the room, he came. “You’re looking better.”

“A fresh coat of paint will go a long way,” Dinah chimed in cheerfully.

CB snuck another glance at the mirror. He had to admit, they were right. His face looked strange with only one side detailed, but at least those hideous scratches were gone. It was like a blank slate, a fresh start.

Dinah and Electra were both watching him, and he turned away from the mirror to face Electra. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Not to be rude or anything,” Dinah rushed to add on, “but we weren’t expecting you, so…”

For a moment, Electra looked almost scared. “Yes, well.” He fidgeted in place for a moment—CB still found it totally bizarre to see Electra being anything other than completely confident—then held out his hand to him. Still hung up on Electra’s behavior, it took CB a moment to realize he was offering him something. It was a small bottle of paint, sparkly and red, the one Electra must use for his facial detail.

Slightly confused, CB took it from him. He stared at the bottle for a moment before looking back up at Electra, searching for some sort of explanation.

Electra cleared his throat awkwardly. “I know it isn’t exactly your shade, but I thought you might be able to make use of it.”

“Oh.” A bubble of emotion was rising in CB’s throat, and he couldn’t even begin to identify it. He swallowed it down thickly. “Thank you.”

“That’s perfect!” Dinah exclaimed. “We were just talking about how we needed to get more paint.”

“Were you?” Electra said, in a way that made CB suspect he had heard that particular part of their conversation. “I’m glad I was able to help, then.”

The gesture was turning gears in Dinah’s head, and her face lit up as an idea came to her. “You know, Greaseball has tons of black paint. Maybe he’ll let us borrow some.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Electra agreed.

Dinah beamed. “I’ll go ask him!” Without another word, she rushed out of the room, leaving CB and Electra alone.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. CB turned the bottle of red around in his hand. It was a deeper than his own color, not to mention all the glitter. There was no way he could use it for his body work without it looking strange, but he might be able to get away with using it to re-do his face.  

He twisted the cap off, grabbing a small brush from off the table and dipping it into the paint. It looked even more sparkly on the brush. CB considered it for a moment—glitter really wasn’t his style, but at the same time, he didn’t want to turn down Electra’s gift. It felt like the engine was tiptoeing on eggshells around him, and he didn’t want to do anything to upset the precarious equilibrium they had found.

Maybe it wouldn’t look so bad, he told himself, bringing the brush up to his face. He was intending to start with repainting his eyes, but the moment he tried to raise his hand above the base of his neck, a sharp pain stabbed through his shoulder. Unable to bear it, CB dropped his arm with a hiss.

When CB glanced over at Electra, the engine was staring at him with concern plain on his face. He looked torn between wanting to step forward and make sure CB was okay and wanting to turn tail and run. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. I just still can’t raise my arm that high,” CB admitted, a feeling of defeat creeping up on him.

Electra chewed on his lip for a moment, as if he was unsure of his next course of action, before hesitantly holding out a hand in CB’s direction. “May I?”

Wordlessly, CB handed over the paint and brush. Electra took them from him and set them down on the table behind him. He took a deep breath, like he was steadying himself, before gently taking hold of CB’s chin and leaning in close. He tilted CB’s head to the side, carefully studying his surviving paint job. CB wanted to squirm under the intense scrutiny, but he forced himself to sit still.

After a few moments, Electra tilted CB’s head to the other side. He kept hold of CB’s chin as he reached behind him, grabbing the brush. “Close your eyes,” he said, and CB did.

The first touch of paint on his eyelid was cold. CB pressed his lips together, working hard to keep his face still so as not to mess up Electra’s work.

Electra’s ministrations were slow and careful. It was clear he was considering every stroke, trying to make it perfect. All of his touches were feather-light, and CB was surprised by how soft Electra could be. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had paid him such tender attention, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips; he’d forgotten how nice it felt to be taken care of.

He heard the cap being twisted off another bottle, and moments later felt a different brush touch down on the center of his eyelid. Electra must have been doing his white stripe. After a minute, Electra brought the brush up to re-paint his eyebrow. He couldn’t line them without black paint, but carefully filled them in with the white, taking the time to make sure he matched the angle of his remaining brow as best he could.

As the minutes ticked on, CB felt his whole body relax. Electra tilted his head back and forth, checking his work against CB’s original paint job, and CB put up no resistance. Electra must have been satisfied, and he blew gently on the wet paint to dry it faster. “Keep your eyes closed,” he said. “It still needs a few minutes to dry.”

CB hummed to let Electra know he’d heard him. He was fighting not to let his head loll back and fall asleep. He wondered if Electra would mind if he did—while he was in the repair room, everyone seemed to take him falling asleep as their cue to leave. Would the same rule apply now that he was out?

As he pondered the question, Electra tipped his head to the side to start on his cheek. CB knew those perfect circles were nearly impossible to free-hand, and he wanted to open his eyes to check how Electra was doing, but he didn’t dare mess up his fresh paint. From what he could tell, at least, it felt like Electra was doing fine.

Electra worked in silence, moving on from his cheek to the tip of his nose, then to the spots on his chin. There was no detail too small to escape his attention, and each one received the same amount of thought and care.

CB lost track of time as he sat there, letting himself soak up Electra’s attention. Eventually, Electra pulled the brush away. He tilted CB’s head back and forth one last time, presumably checking his work, before removing his hand as well. “There,” he said, followed by the sound of the cap being screwed back onto a bottle. “What do you think?”

CB opened his eyes slowly, wary just in case the paint on his eye hadn’t dried fully yet. Electra stepped to the side so that he could see himself in the mirror. CB had never considered glitter to be his style, but now that it was on his face, he was surprised by how much he didn’t mind.

He leaned in closer to the mirror, examining the fresh paint. Electra had done a remarkable job matching his original paint job—not that he had expected anything different—and the longer he looked at it, the better he felt. He tilted his head at different angles, admiring Electra’s work, and cracked a small smile. He was starting to look like himself again.

The whole time CB was studying his reflection, Electra watched him. CB couldn’t tell what he wanted, but it was getting to the point where he felt he had to at least say something. “It looks good. Really good.”

Electra gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you.”

CB glanced over at him and thought. Something about Electra’s unexpected arrival was still bothering him, and CB took a moment to try to find the words he needed for the questions swirling through his mind. “Not that I’m complaining,” he said eventually, “but why are you here? I know you didn’t come over just to help me re-do my paint.”

“Ah, no,” Electra admitted. “Though I can’t say I’m displeased with the turn of events. Your paint looks fantastic, if I do say so myself. If you wanted, I might even be able to improve the design.”

CB was too familiar with that diversion tactic to let it work. “Don’t change the subject. I know you were listening to Dinah and me talk before you came.” Electra looked guilty, and CB knew he had him. “So, what’s going on? Why did you come?”

Electra rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding CB’s eyes for a moment before he forced himself to look at him. There was pain in his eyes, but he soldiered through. “I know it’s been a while since your crash, but I still feel bad. And I haven’t said it yet, so I just wanted to say… I’m sorry, CB.”

“Oh,” was all CB could think to say. He looked away, starting to feel a little guilty himself. “Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

Electra shook his head. “You kept telling me to slow down, and I didn’t listen. It made sense; I knew I should have, it was obvious that it was a bad idea to keep pushing it, but I ignored you. I knew the race was hard on you, and I did nothing to make it easier.”

"Electra—”

“I wasn’t thinking about your safety at all. I’ve been in dozens of races, I know how important it is to take care of your partner. But I wasn’t taking care of you, and you paid the price for it.”

“Electra!”

“And I didn’t even notice when you broke loose! I didn’t even realize you weren’t with me until after I’d finished. How awful is that? You were the only one I was pulling, and I lost you, and I didn’t even notice! You were hurt so badly; you needed help and I just left you there. Anything could have happened to you, all because of my selfishness. I don’t know how you could ever forgive me.”

“I don’t have to forgive you, I was never mad at you in the first place.”

Electra shook his head, like there was something he was trying to say that CB just wasn’t getting. He dropped down onto CB’s bed, hanging his head in his hands. He drew in a shaky breath, and when he spoke again his voice was so soft CB could barely hear him. “You nearly died.”

CB stared at him. That wasn’t what he was expecting to hear, and he certainly didn’t know how to respond.

Luckily, Electra wasn’t looking for him to say anything. He took another deep breath and lifted his head, but he still wasn’t looking at CB. “I—you were barely breathing when we found you, and we were so far from the yard. I couldn’t stop thinking that something was going to happen to you before we could get back, and it would be all my fault.

“And then, when we did get you back—” Electra broke himself off, sounding close to tears. “Nobody knew if you were going to be okay. Wrench, she… she did her best, but even she… she said that we should be prepared, in case…”

A quiet sob slipped past his lips. He buried his face in his hands and forced himself to take deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

CB watched on in shock. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, wanting to say something but having no idea what. He never thought of himself as the comforting type. To have Electra, who usually acted so above it all, openly crying on his bed was making CB feel in way over his head.

Minutes passed before Electra was okay enough to continue. When he lifted his head, there were tear tracks on his cheeks, but his voice was remarkably controlled. “I really can’t say enough how sorry I am. I know the words on their own don’t mean much, and I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to ever make it up to you, but I’m sorry. You said you don’t have anything to forgive me for, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself. And… I’d understand if you want me to go.”

For a long moment, CB couldn’t think of what to say. Electra seemed to take his silence as confirmation that he didn’t want him there, nodding resignedly before hanging his head. That wasn’t what CB had intended at all, and in a moment of panic he blurted out the only thing he could think of: “Aren’t you going to do the other side, too?”

Electra looked up at him, confusion written across his features. “Huh?”

CB examined his face in the mirror so he wouldn’t have to meet Electra’s eyes. “I’ll look stupid if only one side of my face is sparkly.”

Silence stretched between them, but when CB risked a glance to the side, a slow smile was spreading across Electra’s face. There was still sorrow buried deep in his eyes, but he no longer looked so pained. “I can’t imagine it’d be any worse than how you normally look,” he teased.

“Wow. Rude.”

Electra shrugged. “You’re the one whose paint looks like clown makeup.”

CB drew an exaggerated gasp. “Electra, I’m hurt!”

Electra chuckled as he pushed himself off the bed. He took his previous position in front of CB, grabbing the bottle of red paint and the brush he had been using. Before he could say anything, CB closed his eyes, ready for Electra to start.

It must have been much easier painting over his existing paint job, but Electra was no less careful. His strokes were measured, keeping the layer of paint even on CB’s skin. He leaned in so close that CB could feel his breath on his skin.

CB couldn’t help the little contented smile that broke out on his face. Electra must have noticed, because he gently ran his thumb along the corner of CB’s lips, but he didn’t say anything. The silence was comforting, peaceful, and CB let himself enjoy the moment as Electra moved on to repaint his cheek.

CB lost track of time after that, floating in the moment until he heard the door open in the front hall, shortly followed by Dinah calling, “I’m back!”

“We’re still here,” Electra called back, not looking up from what he was doing.

The sound of wheels turning grew closer and, moments later, Dinah poked her head through the doorway. Her eyes lit up when she saw CB. “Aww! CB, you look so good!”

CB opened his mouth to respond, but Electra tightened his grip on CB’s jaw, holding it in place. “Don’t talk,” he admonished. “You’ll mess up your lips.”

CB rolled his eyes. On any other day, he would have ignored Electra just to annoy him, but he did actually care about how his paint turned out. He relaxed his face back into a neutral position, trying to thank Dinah with his eyes alone.

Dinah came closer, examining Electra’s work over his shoulder. “It really does look good,” she told him.

“Thank you.” Electra kept his eyes on CB, completely absorbed in what he was doing. “Did Greaseball have any paint?

“Oh, yeah!” She held out her hand, displaying the three bottles of black paint she had brought with her. “He said we could take as much as we needed, so I can run back and get more if it’s not enough.”

“That’s very kind of him,” Electra said, taking one of the bottles and setting it down next to the red he was using. “Do you want to start on his stripes while I finish up his face?”

“Sure thing!”

CB raised an eyebrow, simultaneously amused and annoyed that he was being talked about like he wasn’t even there. Rather than trying to comment on it, he followed Dinah’s movement with his eyes as she disappeared around his back.

From behind him, Dinah said, “I’m going to start on your back, CB, okay?”

Electra was taking his time painting CB’s lips, so he still couldn’t talk. He gave Dinah a thumbs-up, and moments later felt the tip of a brush touch down on the back of his shoulder.

Dinah was no less careful than Electra, connecting the lines that had been broken by the scratches on his back. Her strokes were slow and methodical, and CB got the impression that she was being extra cautious to make sure everything turned out perfect. It was touching, honestly, and he couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips. Electra shot him a look, a silent reprimand for his continued movement. CB waggled his eyebrow in return, a glint of mischief in his eyes. Electra huffed and forced CB’s lips back into a more neutral position with his thumb, but there was a small smile on his face as well.

While Electra preferred to work in silence, Dinah did not. As soon as she hit a rhythm painting CB’s stripes, she started telling them about the latest updates she’d heard from Turnov and Bobo. CB knew she’d kept in contact with the national trains after the championship, and although he hadn’t been particularly close with them, he enjoyed hearing what was happening in the foreign yards.

As she talked, Electra switched over to the black paint. He started off lining CB’s eyebrows, then his eyes, taking extra care as he ran the brush along CB’s lash line. He worked his way down CB’s face, constantly checking his own work against CB’s old paint job. It was cute how careful he was being, CB thought. He peeked one eye open, only to see Electra with his tongue stuck out in concentration. CB swallowed back a giggle and shut his eye before Electra could notice he was looking.

Between the two of them, CB’s paint job was finished much faster than he had expected when he started that morning. It was still early-afternoon when Electra and Dinah screwed the caps back onto their bottles and began to clean up. Electra grabbed all the brushes they had used, bringing them into the bathroom to be washed.

Without the engine in front of him, blocking his view, CB could finally see himself in the mirror. When he raised his eyes to check out his reflection, he couldn’t help but stare. He didn’t look like just the victim of a bad crash anymore; he finally looked like himself again.

Of course, it wasn’t quite like nothing had ever happened. There were still raised weld lines and dents that couldn’t be worked out, but they weren’t so glaringly obvious anymore. Anyone who looked at him would see more than his scars, now.

Dinah hovered over his shoulder, meeting his eyes in the mirror with a bright smile. “It came out pretty good, don’t you think?”

CB turned his head from side to side, admiring the way the glitter caught the light. It was a new look for him, but honestly, he liked it. It felt fitting: a new look for a new him.

Electra was back, watching CB from the doorway. He looked more relaxed than CB had seen him since the rematch, the smile on his face small but genuine.

CB took a deep breath, matching Dinah and Electra’s smiles with one of his own. He was feeling better than he had in ages. “It looks perfect,” he said, and he truly meant it.