#cj 001

[jiakim]

who: jia & @thecjwelfordwhere: the bright sparks stall

STILL HIGH ON THE ENERGY FROM THE PARADE, jia was beaming as she put down the finishing touches at the arts and crafts table before the event actually got started. she was buzzing with excitement, hoping that the kids from her class, as well as their parents of course, would show up to do some fun pieces of art. there were a few tables under their tent where different groups could sit and make their creations together. "now ... do we have enough glitter ?" she looked over, spotting cj dressed completely in silver, with stars adorning his face. "cj, are you following ? do we have glitter ? also, where is the self drying clay ?"

[liamalexanderr]

LIAM DECIDED THEN AND THERE TO JUST go for it. sure, nothing really made sense, but in a way, for cj, it was. "aw, dude, sweet," liam replied, grinning widely to "let's exchange numbers then, and we'll hook up sometime." now that he knew that the ... bro-bands ? weren't exclusive or even romantically involved liam felt better letting the vague statements fade away in favour of being blunt. he handed cj his phone to let him put his number in. "and we'll set a date for aurora ? can't wait to see you back on the dance floor." his heart felt a little lighter after talking to his old friend for a while, without the pitying looks, and he saw a distant future where he could possibly live life as he used to.

He repressed an indignant sigh at Liam’s line of questioning, because he didn’t understand how people didn’t get that his marriage to Seb was more of a footnote to everything else. It didn’t matter, not in the way others seemed to think so. “Nah dude, not like…taken. We’re just married but like, in a best friend way.” Sure there had been a few times where he and his room-spouse had locked lips, but again, CJ kissed a lot of people, it didn’t necessarily mean anything.

The owner of Thunder Road couldn’t help but frown at his friend’s comment. “Nothing’s changed, man. Like, we can still be us, y’know.”

[jaggybot3000]

I LOVE THE MIND ELECTRIC (INSTRUMENTALS) BY CHONNY JASH!!!!!! I LOVE NOISE IN MY EARS I LOVE ELECTRONIC MUSIC SAVE ME MIND ELECTRIC (INSTRUMENTAL) BY CHONNY JASH!!!!!!!!

[dailydanielchoi]

closed starter for @thecjwelford who: daniel choi and cj welford where: powerpulse

Daniel stepped inside of PowerPulse, the sound of weights clinking and machines humming creating an energy that immediately invigorated him. Having been an athlete during school, he found that working out was a great way to focus in, especially if he was facing a particularly challenging problem or case. As such, Daniel’s visits to PowerPulse were almost therapy and he rarely (read: never) missed a day. After stowing away his gym back in the locker room, he made his way into the open space of the gym to stretch, rolling his shoulders and preparing for his workout. Daniel glanced around as he began his light stretches, noticing a few familiar faces of regulars mixed with new faces, all absorbed into their own routines. Nearby, a group of people gathered around a new piece of equipment. Daniel, his curiosity getting the better of him, wandered over to get a better look. The machine in question was the tall, and striking piece of equipment that looked to be part treadmill, part climbing wall. It had handles and foot pedals that moved in a coordinated, vertical motion. Daniel noticed a familiar face in the group surrounding the machine and smiled. “Hey CJ,” he said, clapping a hand on CJ’s shoulder. “This looks pretty cool. Has anyone tried it yet? How does this thing work…? Do you just climb it?”

[henryxburnham]

― SETTING: lucky joe's stall, downtown square. ― AVAILABILITY: closed starter for cj welford. ( @cjwelford )

As a general rule, Henry tried to do everything in their power to make any given day a good one; it was easier said than done and sometimes it involved a fair amount of gritting their teeth and putting one foot in front of the other but it had served them well so far. Or, they'd thought it had until they'd turned away from the crowd in front of the stall for Lucky Joe's with a bagel perched between their teeth that promptly tumbled to the ground the moment someone jostled them. "Son of a bi―scuit," They grumbled, mindful of a woman with her kid in tow that was already glaring at them for even considering swearing for a fraction of a second. Henry sighed― collecting their bagel from the ground and chucking it into the nearest trashcan, momentarily disappointed until they caught sight of a familiar face and grinned broadly. "Yo! Ceej!" Henry called, cupping their hands around their mouth so their voice carried before they approached the other man. "What's up, dude? How ya been? You gettin' bagels or just enjoying the... impressive Beyonce discography that seems to be happenin' over here?" They asked brightly, energetic already at the prospect of catching up with CJ even if it was only brief.

[averydunn]

Avery grinned, shaking her head with a laugh. "Well, good thing we don't need to worry 'bout that, huh?" She took a sip of her drink. "You're welcome, suge." She nodded her head a bit towards the other. "Now, I know you said you're the volleyball coach, but what led you here? Like, I imagine you coulda found a coaching position anywhere, so why PSU?"

"Good thing I don't like boring then," she replied offering a toothy smile. Chandler was used to her own life, whatever image it came in, between training, volleyball games and parties with her college friends she led a perfectly fine life. But she knew there were things that she never got to experience and maybe never would. The thought of which would haunt her nightmares every now and then. "Yeah guess it would be a little hard to get a full cow into your room anywhere. Weighted blankets and animals can only do so much compared to the real thing." She shrugged, taking a glance at Avery happily.

Taking the cup with a grin she shook her head, "Thankfully I survived," she joked, "If it had been a few more minutes though, who knows," CJ winked taking her first sip of her second cup. "Thank you, beautiful."

[soulchronicity]

AU Masterlist

Mostly for personal use. Planned to get updated every so often. It's really long, so it's going under a cut. Please feel free to ask us about any of these AUs.

DS AU [made by Connor] Summary - Our first CJ AU, based on a roleplayed game of Minecraft Murder Mystery and then expanded by more Minecraft roleplay. Soul kills Mind, tries to kill Heart and fails. At least, that's the usual ending. Heart: Bullet (bad end) / Dim ("good" end) [they/them] Mind: Lag [he/it] Soul: DS [it/he] --- AU information and refs are on Artfight [here]. Be sure to read the warnings in the first section.

Chess AU [made by Connor] Summary - A disgraced god sees a chance to have some fun and takes three (meant to be two) mortals into his pocket dimension to play a chess themed death game. Heart: Artemis Acoustic [they/he/she] Mind: Apollo Electric [he/it] Soul: Atlas Eclectic [he/it/they] Whole: Harmonia [he/him] --- We don't post much about this one despite the copious amount of lore packed into it. [Here's a fic for it.]

Haunted AU [made by Connor] Summary - Two friends move into a new house as roommates, however they aren't alone. Heart: Juno Moon [they/he/she] Mind: Jupiter Storm [he/it] Soul: Grey Spring "Soul" [any pronouns] Whole: Hyde Concord [he/him] --- [Old refs + general information.] [Updated reference sheets.] Might get its own Masterpost depending on the direction we go with it?

Autotheist AU [made by Mind, taken over by Atom himself] Summary - Juno shot at the sun, he shot at the sun and he... didn't miss. Mind is left mentally broken due to his wires frying after the shot and a botched repair, and blames Whole for everything that is wrong with his life. Claiming himself as his own god, Mind sets out for revenge. Heart: Vol [he/they] Mind: Atom [he/it/she] Soul: Effigy [he/it] Whole: Idol [he/him] --- We also don't post much about this one. [Here's Atom's reference sheet, and a link to his AF page with more info and refs.]

Deal with the Devil / Swap AU [made by Connor?] Summary - During an argument, Mind and Heart make a deal to swap roles to try to prove something to the other. They didn't realise that Soul and Whole would be caught in the crossfire, or that all their memories would be damaged. Heart: Mind / Onis [they/he/it] Mind: Heart / Tali [she/he/it] Soul: Whole / Void [it/its] Whole: Soul / Prism [he/him] --- [Initial post.]

Siren AU [made by Connor] Summary - They are fish. Mostly. Maybe one of them is a decoy made to lure actual sirens to the government for experimentation. And maybe that one grew attached and abandoned it's purpose to stay with the group. Heart: no nickname availableMind: no nickname available Soul: no nickname available Whole: no nickname available --- [This is all I have to offer you.]

Mirror AU [made by Heart] Summary - [WIP] Two worlds live on the edge of each other, occasionally visible through mirrors. But what happens when you and your reflection self can't stop seeing each other? Someone needs to fix it. Heart: Cast [they/he/she] Mind: Echo [he/it/she] Soul: Shard [it/she/he] --- [Echo's ref.] Unnamed train murder mustery AU [made by Edagr] Summary - Heaviest WIP ever, Edgar needs to come back to finish it soon.

Mechanical Dissonance AU [made alongside H3xalios (Mind)] Summary - Mind is killed and revived as a robot. He isn't happy. Heart: Artemis / Project 002 / JUN0 Mind: Apollo / Project 001 / 4POLLO / JUP1TER [it/he/code] Soul: Atlas / CODENAME:SOUL --- [Designs, not refs.]

AU turned OCs, ignore. Kill Your Double AU [made by Connor] Summary - The world ends, and from the rubble emerge "Copies" of the survivors which set out to kill their "Bases". It's cold and snowing almost always.Heart: Judas Acoustic Jash [he/they/she] "Heart 2": Copy!Judas / Copycat [it/he]Mind: Jericho Electric Jash [any pronouns] "Mind 2": Copy!Jericho / Hazard [any pronouns]Soul: Abel "Soulful" Eclipse [it/he] "Soul 2": Copy!Abel / Cain [it/its]Whole: Job "Sneeb" Calamity [he/him] --- KYD is getting it's own masterpost whenever we start on the comic. For now, [here's the lineup.]

Lost Your Soul AU [made alongside Bluescreem (Mind)] Summary - Soul had always had a fascination with the forest around the trio's house, despite its dangers. This is something that had always concerned the other two, especially when they'd find it trying to enter the forest. One night, no one had been there to stop it. Now Heart and Mind have to save their Soul before something bad happens to it, or them. Heart: no nickname available [they/he] Mind: no nickname available [he/any] Soul: no nickname available [it/soul] Whole: I don't even know if he exists here, I'll ask Bluescreen later --- [The fic.] [Chapter 1+2 propaganda.] [Chapter 3 propaganda.]

[tamasin]

Part 2 of 3 Link to Part 1 Link to Part 3

Forewarning, a bit darker than the first part. I'll be putting trigger warnings in the tags, hopefully it works right. Blood and Death.

Chapter 2: Components Convict 019048: Hailey Bransen

-ponent Damage. Repair. Critical Component Damage. Repair. Critical Component Damage. Repair. Critical Component Damage. Repair.

Hailey woke with her head pounding and ears ringing. She looked around the cockpit in a daze, the running lights and screens seemed to smear in her vision as her eyes scanned over them. The ringing in her ears slowly faded and was replaced with the pounding rhythm of her pulse.

-itical Component Damage. Repair. Critical Component Damage. Repair. Critical Compo-

77’s automated damage report continued unimpeded.

No shit. Hailey thought to herself as she blinked rapidly to try and clear her vision so she could diagnose the issue.

“CJ, can we move or are we dead in the water here.” She shouted over her own pounding head and the ever-present damage report.

-Critical Component Damage. Repair. Critical Component Damage. Repair.

“77!” Hailey shouted, “Clear damage notification.”

-Repair. Critical Comp-. The report cut off mid word. A relative silence fell over the space.

“CJ, whats the status on that KV12.”

There was a moment before the speakers flared back to life with a warbling Klaxon alarm.

-Contact. Contact. Contact.

She felt her stomach sink, she squinted at the front sensor display. She still couldn’t make out the details, but she saw the blurry form of something moving in front of them.

“Shit,” she swore under her breath, “CJ, talk to me. How fucked are we.”

-Critical Component Damage. Repair.

This time the report came once. She heard nothing from CJ.

Fuck, he’s unconscious. Ok, what’s broken.

“77?” she called out, “Damage report, jumpseat screen”

The feed of the sensor display flickered out and a component layout of the RD-77 appeared in its place. The display still swam in her vision a bit, but it was definitely improving. On screen she could make out a smattering of green markers in a field mostly composed of yellow. Damaged but functional... Not great, but 77 could still run. However, one red light shone at the unit’s center of mass.

“Cockpit display,” Hailey barked as she gave her head a tentative shake to try and clear the last of the fuzziness. All she got in return was an immediate and intense flair of pain behind her eyes.

The display flickered again. The external view was replaced by a simplified view of the command column from above. All the lights in the cockpit were shining green, save two. Centered in the middle of the view were two bounding boxes. One box was filled with a searing red, the other a bright yellow.

She shook her head again, this time in confusion. She’d serviced these mechs before, hundreds of times, including this one specifically. In a more advanced mech those lights might have been an ejection system, but the RD class didn’t have those.

There wasn’t supposed to be a component in that area.

She reached over and tapped on the red light.

Custom component 001, read the display.

She tapped on the yellow.

Custom component 001-1.

“Fucking CJ installed hardware in one of my machines?” she muttered under her breath.

She manually cycled the display back to the primary sensor array. The hulking form of a KV12 filled the screen. She inhaled sharply; this was it.

“Shit, Shit, SHIT,” she whispered, even though there was no possible way for anyone to hear her though the mechanicals and armor plating.

On screen the mech loomed. She could see it’s primary, a heavy Vesper chaingun, the wide mouthed barrel pointed lazily towards 77’s hulking form.

Slowly the mass of the mech pulled back and turned away.

They think we’re scrap? She thought to herself in disbelief. She reached over to her auxiliary screen and cycled that one to running status. A list of functions and components pulled up with their operational status in a column to the right. She quickly scanned the list.

All exterior facing systems are off? Engine is switched into standby. All internal systems are running in low power off of battery. So we’re running dark. She thought.

Still, it didn’t make much sense. Any member of the 44th would double tap a downed mech no matter how dead it seemed.

New meat? She wondered. Even then that was sloppy standards for Cathedral. Hell, she wasn’t even a combatant, and she’d know better than to ignore a machine that wasn’t confirmed to be out of the fight.

Even so, she saw it start to turn away, she could faintly feel the corresponding tremors through 77’s frame. Painfully slowly the unit lumbered off, disappearing off the display, the reverberating footsteps gradually fading to nothing. A few seconds later she let loose a breath she didn’t even remember taking in the tense silence.

“Ok,” She said as she unclipped herself from the jumpseat, “Time to check on CJ and see what’s setting off that alarm.” As soon as the belts slid free she felt herself keel forward. Her midsection caught on the display console with a huff of expelled air.

The entire cockpit was tipped steeply. It wasn’t completely vertical, but damn close.

77 must be on it’s back.

She took a labored breath and righted herself. Now that she was free of the cradling foam and springs of the seat she could start to feel the extent of her own damage.

Her left knee screamed at her as she moved it. There was nowhere good to stand yet to test its ability to hold weight, but at the very least she was still able to move it. She felt down her lower chest for any obviously broken ribs. Thankfully, nothing barked out in pain at her. Overall, her entire right side was sore, the side of her head and arm stung where the rough exposed foam padding had caught her on impact.

Gingerly she pulled herself completely out of the seat. A net of mesh and dense foam wrapped the jumpseat just past the displays. She reached down and unfastened the clasps that held it in place and lowered herself through. Sharp pain shot through her knee as she felt her feet hit bulkhead, but it held.

She ducked down of the jump seat and netting. She was in the cockpit’s inertial space, a meter wide gap that surrounded the control column, allowing it to shift to mitigate some of the more intense motions the machine made as it moved. It was a space she was intimately familiar with. Plenty of hatches in this space accessed internal components and circuits.

Gently she slid down the back bulkhead, to where it joined the bottom in a wide bevel. The grated gantry that ran both sides of the control column was tucked away in its stowed position on the floor. Gingerly she moved off to the side of the space and stood. Now properly aligned with gravity she could confirm that 77 was indeed on it’s back.

She did her best to stretch in the cramped space. Most of the sting and ache was settling into simple background pain. She could ignore it for the most part.

The length of the cockpit rose up above her. She looked up at it.

Gotta check on CJ, get him up, if need be we can swap and I can pilot 77. Castle isn’t safe, see if we can regroup with the 44th, maybe see if the 35th are still up and running.

Climbing was easy enough, even with the pain in her knee, there was just enough space around the cage and the cockpit walls to wedge herself comfortably and it was simple finding handholds and footholds in the bracing and netting. All in all, the command column was only about ten feet from tip to tip. She was used to basically free climbing up three story tall machines with smooth plating and tight seams. This was nothing.

“Alright CJ, let’s get you up,” she grunted.

With a heave and a huff she pulled herself up to the edge of the crash cage around the primary controls. She peered past the netting and flack foam. She could see him, just barely. He wasn’t moving, but she expected that much.

She pulled herself up further, doing her best to keep to the foam covered parts that were easier to grip. With a final grunt of effort, she sat perched on the crash cage above CJ, looking down at her friend.

Her lungs drew another hissing inhale involuntarily, her eyes slammed shut. Her grip tightened on her handholds. She shook her head in the self-imposed darkness.

“No. No. No.” She whispered, “I’m going to open my eyes and you’re going to be ok. You’re going to get this mech back up on its feet and we’re going to regroup with the 44th. I’m just concussed and you’re ok and we’re going to laugh about this later.”

She opened her eyes again, knowing exactly what she’d see. She pulled a hand back from it’s hold on the foam-covered crash cage. A smear of blood stained her palm.

Dark stained gauze spilled from his gut and blood stains spread across his stomach and legs. His head was rolled back in the headrest, a neutral expression painted on his face. He wasn’t breathing.

There was no way he wasn’t dead.

In this position she could hear the hiss of static as the audio system flipped back on.

-Critical Component Damage. Repair.

Her heart sunk, “77, Identify Custom Component 001.”

-Custom Component 001. “Pilot. Chandler James Hampton.”

The last part of the audio was CJ’s voice. She felt tears start to break at the corners of her eyes and tried her best to blink them away.

-Critical Component Damage. Repair.

She shook her head. A useless gesture, the system could identify faces for security purposes but that’s where it ended. It couldn’t understand gestures.

-Critical Component Damage. Repair.

“77,” She said slowly, feeling the wavering in her voice, “Clear Custom Component 001 damage status.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I can’t fix this.”

She almost swore there was a longer pause than normal before the speakers came to life again.

-Confirmed.

She sat on her perch in silence. The tears came unimpeded, falling gently onto the foam and netting, a few of them likely making their way though the mess onto CJ’s lifeless form below.

She hadn’t really though of him as a friend until recently. He’d been just another pilot like all the others. Loud, Egotistical, Dirty, Temporary. In the end it wasn’t his piloting skills, goofy brand of humor or machismo that had gotten her to drop her guard.

It was his sentimentality. It was the care he so obviously took with 77. It was him listening to her when she did her repairs and criticized him for running his machine too hard.

CJ was a sentimental man. A kind man. He would be missed.

She wiped the tears from her face with the cuff of her sleeve. Grief would have to wait, it was time to get to work.

“77, confirm operational status.”

-Minor damage. Unit is operational.

She sighed and unlatched the crash cage, swinging the framework out and over to fully expose the pilot’s seat.

-Custom Component 001. Replace.

She paused a second and turned to consider the bulkhead of the cockpit. Maybe it was the damage to the mech or maybe it was the probable concussion and its headache accomplice, but she could have sworn that last syllable was lilted slightly, like a question.

She reached back down into the seat and undid CJ’s harness.

“Yea,” she said to nobody in particular, “Replace.” She paused, “If I can.”

She reached under the seat and pulled out the survival pack, retrieving the wrap of nylon rope from within. It was about 30 feet long, more than enough for what she needed. She looped it around his body, just under the arms and tightened it down. She removed her own belt and cinched his arms to his sides, locking the rope in place.

This wasn’t the first body she’d extracted from a cockpit and if lady luck wanted to start paying her back for the tremendously shitty hand she’d been dealt, it wouldn’t be her last.

She climbed back out of the cage and found a structurally sound beam in the superstructure to loop the rope over. She fastened the rope through the heavy straps of her jumpsuits integrated harness and gave it a tug. Everything felt secure.

With deep breaths she pulled, slowly hoisting CJ up. He was heavy, far larger and heavier than she was. It felt like she was going to be pulled up and into the bulkhead with the slightest slip.

Finally, just as the ache started settling into her biceps, he finally came clear of the cage. With a swift kick she swung the cage’s door closed and using him as a counterweight to lift herself to her feet, she let him come to rest on top of it.

She wiped a heavy sweat from her brow with her sleeve. The internal space was a little chilly, biting at the sweat soaking through her jumpsuit, but the air was feeling humid.

No time for rest quite yet.

Loosening the tension on the rope she slid the loop down the beam until it was over the space between the cage and the bulkhead.

Gently she pulled CJ into position, getting him out hadn’t been easy, this next part was going to be agonizing.

She climbed down the cage, releasing more slack into the rope as she went. At the bottom she pulled the rest free of her harness and slipped it under a bar that braced around the jumpseat. She reran the end through her harness once more, slipped it back over the bar and braced herself between the superstructure and the cage with her good leg. A rudimentary pulley, with her as a critical piece. With a deep breath and a grimace, she pulled hard, fist over fist, hoisting CJ up into the air above her.

Drops of blood started to patter on the bulkhead around her like the first drops of rain on a sheet metal roof, the muscles in her arms screamed as she did her best to gently let out the tension, lowering him foot by foot. She pressed her lower back into the steel bulkhead behind her, trying to put tension on the rope like a brake. It worked, slightly, it couldn’t stop the descent, but it did smooth things out as she gently started to feed slack into the system.

She forced herself to breathe slowly, looking up at the swaying form of her friend lowering towards her. It didn’t feel real, any of this. She wasn’t made for this. Elbow deep in an engine bay, tuning servo arrays, those were her home. This? This far off the line? She dealt with this one degree removed from it all. She dealt with the aftermath, cleaned out the blood, she fixed the machine, she got things running again so it could all repeat...

With a soft clank, his boots touched down on the metal floor. She gently lowered him the rest of the way, propping him against the cage. She collapsed to the floor and just stared at him. Like this, in the dark, backlit by the jumpseat’s screens, she couldn’t make out the damage. It honestly looked like he was just taking a rest.

She felt like crying again, but the tears wouldn’t come, so she just breathed. Deep and slow. She leaned her head back against the bulkhead and stared up at gap between the command column and bulkhead, the rope hanging loosely, barely lit by the ambient light from the consoles.

What the hell was she going to do.

She felt a burning ember light in her gut and force its way up into her throat. She let out a guttural scream and started kicking her boot into the cage.

FUCK. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck Olssen. Fuck Cathedral. Fuck Herald. Fuck everything that put us here. Fuck the whole damn system.

The scream tapered off as she let loose one final kick into the crash cage.

Slowly she drew a long, ragged, breath that fell into a rasping dry sob. She pulled herself close and small.

Nothing’s going to change. I can’t move on from here. I can’t get out of here. I can’t get of this planet. I can’t go home. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…

A low rumble shook the mech. The dull pinging sounds of something, several somethings, hitting the armor emanated from all around her. She pulled herself even tighter into a ball and waited for it all to end. 77 would make a fine tomb for the two of them.

But there was no flash, no searing heat, no generous release. After a few seconds the last of the sounds faded. She was still here. Still sitting in the bottom of the cockpit with the corpse of her friend.

I can’t do any of that if I don’t survive this first.

Slowly she pulled herself up. Her knee barked less intensely at her now.

She looked down at CJ and up at the jumpseat. The way the command column had come to rest, the jumpseat was stuck at a steep angle, but not directly overhead.

Thank you for small favors. She prayed to whoever was listening.

She pulled the rope free of it’s overhead wrapping. It fell with a thud in CJ’s lap. She slipped herself into the jumpseat cage and ran the rope behind the chair. She braced herself against the frame again and pulled CJ into place under it all.

Doing her best to shake out the aches in such a cramped space she firmly gripped the rope and gave it a yank. Agonizingly slowly and gracelessly she hoisted CJ up into at least the physical proximity of the chair. She tied of the end of the rope onto the cage to hold him up.

With a final effort she manhandled him properly into the chair, pressing her shoulder into his midsection and fastening each belt of the crash harness one at a time. Finally, he was secure. She undid the belt around his arms and untied the rope from around his chest. He hung there limply in the seat. Somehow this was the ghastliest he’d looked though this whole ordeal. She refastened the netting around the jump seat and closed up the cage.

She stood on the back wall of the cockpit and leaned against the sidewall, panting. She could feel the blood and sweat soaking though her jumpsuit and hated the fact that she could tell the difference between them. She unzipped it to her midsection and pulled it down, tying the sleeves around her hips like a low impromptu belt.

With shaking arms and an aching knee, she pulled herself back up to the top of the cockpit. She’d inspected every nut and bolt that kept this thing together, scrubbed it clean time and time again, but something about this time felt different.

She lowered herself into the primary seat with a minor squelching from the soaked padding. She grimaced as she pulled the crash cage shut above her and fastened the harness.

“Ok then 77,” she said to the empty darkness around her, “Operational power, on.”

The displays flared to life as a light rumble shook the cockpit. The displays flickered as they switched to full power mode. There was no sign of the KV12, though the heavy prints were visible leading away, North, if 77’s compass was still accurate after that impact.

Sounds of the city began to crackle over the seat’s dedicated speakers. The cracks of cannons and the thumping of rockets filtered though. Castle wasn’t going down without a fight. She wouldn’t expect them to.

She reached over to auxiliary screen 5 and navigated through the options until she found the pilot adjustments. She pushed the floorboard up to meet her feet and slipped her boots into the controls. She lowered the overhead auxiliary screens until they were in arms length. Something about it felt sacrilegious. As a mechanic, you never messed with the pilots’ configurations.

With a deep breath she righted 77, feeling the machine lurch under her. As far as getting the thing up and moving she wasn’t worried. She’d moved the units around Castle before.

Combat… Combat was going to be another thing entirely. She navigated Aux. 5 back through the options. Adjustments. Climate. Controls. There.

She pulled up a basic depiction of the control stick and throttle. Some things seemed simple. Big trigger in the front for the primary, button on the side for secondary, for 77 that would be a railgun. A dozen other buttons on the column were tied to a dizzying number of adjustments and advanced functions.

Better off ignoring for now. The 35th is stationed to the west, lets head that way and see if we can hail anyone.

She swung the bulk of the machine that direction and got it moving. The first few steps were full of anxiety and anticipation, but true to its self diagnosis, 77 was in working order. She pushed the mech forward in a slow plodding walk for a minute or two before ramping up the speed. Soon she had it moving at a steady jog. It was a surprisingly smooth ride for a bipedal gait. She had never pushed a mech this fast but was cautiously aware that the throttle was sitting shy of halfway though its full range of motion.

With the sounds of distant battles being fought all around her, she pushed 77 deeper into the city.

Link to Part 3

[midasfm]

✩　ninety9.com/artists/kiha

001: profile.

legal name: ra kiha age: 29 training period: 2 years company: ninety9 creative group & position: lead vocal of remedy skeleton key: rmd6 career focus: acting, solo music

002: background.

tw: cancer, death, infidelity, parental neglect, cults there is a finite amount of wisdom in the universe. ra dahye had none, so her portion went straight to her son, kiha. but even before his birth, she and common sense had a strained relationship. dahye genuinely believed an up-and-coming conservative politician would abandon his wife and child to be with her and their unborn son. by the time kiha was born, the man was nowhere to be seen — but at least the payouts for dahye’s silence and discretion were steady.

theoretically, they should want for nothing. there are a lot of zeroes hitting dahye’s account monthly, but none of them are spent on kiha. they’re spent on investments for his future. when he gestures to the new holes in his shoes, she promises she’ll see if anyone in her prayer group has hand-me-downs he can take. kiha’s glimpsed her bible before. it doesn’t look like any he’s ever seen, and the leader of their congregation seems to spend an awful lot of time talking about himself, but whatever. this just means kiha has to grow up faster than most. their lives are unsustainable. kiha’s mother loves him a lot and he loves her, but that alone is not enough to put food in their bellies.

as soon as he’s able, he picks up under-the-table odd jobs: courier work, basic carpentry, folding boxes, helping peers with homework, busking in his free time. at some point, he gets it into his head that celebrity is the fastest track to comfort. what’s a little trainee debt it you can get on tv and win a few endorsements, right? wrong.

he’s too scrawny, too coarse. even at just fourteen, cjs and ydh and a handful of other companies think his talent isn’t worth the trouble. but kevin yoon spies him about to walk home from the audition and hands him a business card. he’s got potential, kevin says, the glimmer of a promise in his eyes. kiha is his mother’s son, and so he offers a wry “sure” but makes certain never to put his faith in anyone but himself. the next five years pass in a blur. he moves from job to job, all making minimum wage. being a cashier at a convenience store is the most comfortable gig he’s had, even though the seat they gave him is twice his age and feels every bit of it. nothing’s changed much, except his mom’s found a new guru to latch onto after the old one fled the country with a bunch of people’s money. by chance, his coworker at the register mentions one kevin yoon has just founded his own agency whilst yammering about her favorite groups. she doesn’t believe kiha’s met him until he fishes out an old, yellowing business card from his ratty wallet. he’d forgotten it was even there.

as spring blossoms, kiha gives the man a call in front of her just to get her to stop bugging him about it. he fully expects kevin not to remember him. the sentence “i’ve been thinking about you” brings kiha to a screeching halt. there will have to be an audition, of course, kevin says. but if his last one is anything to go by, he’s got a pretty good chance at passing. kiha owes the rest of his life to his coworker — so when netizens assume they’re dating after a blurry photo of their heads bowed together during a walk along the han river hits every front page in the country a few years later, he kind of wishes it was true.

everyone else at ninety9 seems to live and breathe this stuff, which is a turn from kiha’s usual company. his rawness is his strength, whatever that means. his mother wistfully hums that he gets his dulcet tones from his father. kiha wouldn’t know. he has no lullabies to compare to. he sees the man on tv sometimes, and that’s enough for him.

kiha refuses to be anyone’s burden, so he makes the next two years count. it bothers him that they’re not raking in cash immediately after debut. when all the factors are laid out to him, it makes sense, but kiha’s still disappointed that his one flight of fancy didn’t pan out as hoped. the guerrilla concerts feel a little too close to his early teens, though there’s comfort in the nostalgia. kiha is no stranger to tucking his chin in and pushing through. outwardly, he snorts that “it was just a matter of time” when i need u becomes remedy’s big break. internally, he’s in tears that they finally have something to show for all those years of hard work.

then it all comes crashing down, and he’s part of (most of) the reason why. it starts at the beginning of 2019, dispatch gleefully sending the internet on a witch hunt for the woman who dared to put her hand on his elbow on a moonlit stroll. the gentle soul he shared the midday shifts of 2013 with calls him in tears and tells him never to contact her again. then surge rumors that he’s a cheat — tutoring sessions turn into the tale of essays and stolen exam answers, collectibles trading morphs into straight up scams. he’s told the truth will come out eventually, so there’s no point in apologizing and making himself look guilty. his fans are the best shields his blood, sweat, and tears can buy. downy and prada are symbolic — we talk with our wallets, and we say we’re for kiha. and more ammunition for haters who say he’s luring impressionable people into consumerism and excess. he takes the agency’s advice to keep mum, but it’s not like he would’ve spoken up anyway — not when his mother’s liver cancer diagnosis is a bigger fish to fry. it hits hard and fast, and he’s in the middle of a shoot trying to raise money for treatment (because of course everything he sent her over the years has slipped right through her fingers) when the hospital gives him that dreaded call. is it any wonder why his chooses a drama about a boy who’s lost his mother as his next project two years later? there are some doubts that he’s in the right headspace for a solo debut, resources not-so-subtly pushed at him from all angles, but kiha says — with that same wolfish grin — that his fans have waited long enough. he’s only broken one promise in his entire life, and he means to keep it that way.

003: image.

kiha once tread the razor-thin edge of charm and honesty. quietly confident and a little too honey-tongued, he tended flirt shamelessly with fans with lame puns and embarrassing jokes. while the general public sometimes took his cornier moments at face value, healers understood that it was all one big joke to him. rather, he could sometimes seem like he was mocking the concept of idols themselves, such as parodying ending fairies with exaggerated and heaving breaths. yet, underneath all the irreverent wisecracking was his solid commitment in remedy’s concept as the voice of the youth. he was quite candid about his lower-class background, though that earned him extra criticism during his scandals for proving stereotypes correct. while his name has been cleared of any wrongdoing, some are still wary of kiha’s temper and wonder (given all his acting credits) if he’s just playing everyone for a fool.

more charitable views of kiha paint him as respectful and protective, especially to female idols and his juniors. he’s a tad too uncouth to be seen as a perfect gentleman, but the general consensus for those unfazed by rumors is that he’s a considerate and thoughtful individual who highlights the positive aspects of masculinity. following his scandals, however, kiha has been encouraged to tone down his confidence and take up an air of humility. there has been a marked change in his personality toward the dour and subdued around early 2022, which many took as him being burdened by defamatory rumors. devoted fans, on the other hand, have started to get concerned that this is not so much growth and maturity (as ninety9 would have them believe) as it is disillusionment.

[tefibetancourt]

shit. even in her inebriated state, tefi knew she said too much—like in mean girls, she was becoming too much like cady and kept bringing up her version of regina george to anyone that would listen. she needed to lighten up. it was cj’s birthday, after all! no better time to forget her husband than getting super drunk in a small town bowling alley with her new friends. “ah, baby, you’re so right!” she gave a little spin in order to shake off her obsession just as the music changed, then cj suddenly disappeared from her side. “hey!” tefi called out softly, noticing him now on the ground. her indignation quickly evaporated when he suggested a drink. “yaaay!” she yelled, stretching her arms over her head before she jumped down and landed somewhat in cj’s arms. “birthday boy gets all the birthday drinks!” with that, the pair vacated the shoe rental desk, much to the employees’ gratitude.

END SCENE.

If CJ was a more insightful person, or if he let himself give a fuck about Foster more than necessarily needed (he was dating Phoebe, who was Seb's oldest friend, and thus had to sometimes expect him to be at group hangs), he'd maybe flag Tefi's question as somewhat suspicious. Like it'd be something to worry about. But because he liked himself too much to have that douche-canoe on his brain 24/7 he simply barked out a laugh. "I'm not, like, gonna waste my birthday wishes on him!" He had much more important needs for something he was only granted once a year.

The song changed again, and it was one CJ didn't vibe with as much, so he climbed down, holding out his arms for Tefi to use him as balance (or honestly, jump into) so she could also get down. "Let's get a drink!" He called out, because dancing on top of the shoe rental counter was definitely thirsty work.

[pmsticaret]

İŞ MAKİNALARI İÇİN HIZLI VE GÜVENİLİR YEDEK PARÇA ÇÖZÜMLERİ

Ankara Ostim’de bulunan şirketimiz, Carraro, ZF, DANA ve diğer iş makinaları yedek parçalarının satışında öncüdür. Türkiye ve dünyada birçok müşteri tarafından tercih edilen firmamız, orijinal ve OEM parçaları hızlı ve sorunsuz bir şekilde temin etmektedir. Carraro ve ZF OEM yedek parçaları konusunda uzman olan ekibimiz, diferansiyel ve şanzıman parçalarında geniş bilgi birikimine sahiptir. Carraro OEM parçalar, orijinal parçalarla aynı kalitede olup, %50 daha uygun fiyatlıdır. Yedek parça ihtiyaçlarınız için web sitemizden veya sosyal medya hesaplarımızdan bize ulaşabilirsiniz.

Carraro Axle

PMSC051-740 , PMSC029-676 , PMSC059-773 , 67120 , PMSC035-462 , 138032 , 1995413C2E , PMSC051-272 , 136026 , 2815371 , PMSC072-317 , 860228 , 066857 , 857428 , 66857 , 217-8716 , 134630 , 067024 , 857533 , PMSC068-548 , 20K-22-31001 , 123282 , PMSC036-946 , 142078 , 860229 , 147236A1 , 2807373 , 129986 , A021359 , 856380 , 142419 , 860335 , 134616 , 1406435 , PMSC133-883 , 2815370 , PMSC017-757 , PMSC044-747 , PMSC062-328 , 38469/002 , 137264 , PMSC047-820 , PMSC014-698 , 5186735 , 643609 , PMSC068-551 , 2815372 , 314-4924 , 20G23K1201 , PMSC059-661 , 134040 , PMSC007-976 , 856686 , PMSC060-240 , 860378 , 127599A5 , 37670/002 , PMSC007-900 , PMSC014-777 , 605872 , 857276 , 37670/001 , 067238 , 3507723M91 , PMSC006-412 , PMSC068-561 , 141502 , 249908A1 , 37669/001 , 122634 , PMSC023-143 , 181035A1 , PMSC044-508 , PMSC067-845 , 020857 , PMSC061-861 , PMSC061-909 , 857066 , I13B501801/AM , 77390 , 148456 , 20K-23-32001 , PMSC020-993 , 314-4924/GEUG43926 , 067258 , PMSC068-405 , PMSC059-792 , PMSC061-858 , 183-6376/HESO37875 , 201-8565 , PMSC044-563 , PMSC061-885 , PMSC007-650 , PMSC014-778 , 82851180 , 067064 , 0.900.0695.2 , PMSC029-722 , PMSC051-588 , E9NN3000CJ , 140-6435 / PO30847-7 , 856635 , 2810240 , 133631 , 135379 , 857318 , PMSC044-633 , 143817 , 129834 , PMSC061-895 , 2806985 , PMSC060-868 , 409799 , 2178713 , 6005031396 , PMSC060-886 , PMSC014-884 , 3100040 , 860208 , 2815811 , PMSC060-520 , 85821900 , 141396 , 178762A1 , 145300 , 20E22K1112 , 86981746 , 6000106072 , PMSC060-298 , 20E23K1112 , PMSC050-941 , 141316 , 143409 , 859963 , 125460 , 131064 , PMSC044-554 , 409753 , PMSC044-622 , A506810 , 3144925 , L 74 497.9 , 1836376 , 535619 , 135779 , 857485 , 2759631 , PMSC014-743 , 183-6376 , 03100040 , PMSC061-908 , 2816391 , 225055A1 , 5187823 , 3144924 , PMSC006-310 , 125819 , 275303A1 , PMSC052-012 , PMSC035-962 , PMSC059-778 , PMSC029-672 , 067050 , 31942 , PMSC060-328 , PMSC052-840 , 20857 , 85821902 , 147324 , PMSC068-554 , MN53.172.903 , 5186738 , 857496 , PMSC007-555 , 857482 , PMSC062-334 , 1995413C2. , 2809559 , 225063A1. , PMSC061-241 , 409752 , PMSC061-060 , PMSC061-243 , 140-6431 / PO33757-7 , PMSC037-907 , 134177 , PMSC018-054 , ML74497.9 , 2178716 , PMSC060-273 , PMSC062-326 , VOE11890344U01 , 134476 , 66340 , PMSC062-341 , PMSC014-903 , 86990836 , 156054 , PMSC063-776 , 135101 , 67258 , 11890344U01 , 42U-22-31010 , 87658174 , 177-3561 , 67238 , 716 FRONT , PMSC060-475 , PMSC033-002 , 249908A2 , PMSC061-964 , PMSC061-030 , 143852 , 389165A1 , B507659 , 857064 , 200040600 , 143219 , 1019310 , 67064 , PMSC060-532 , 132884 , 147613 , 857178 , PMSC060-133 , 149570 , 146141 , PMSC061-254 , PMSC073-577 , 145301 , 857492 , 133703 , 1 995 413 C2 , PMSC059-684 , 360919A1 , 217-8715 , 135378 , 066265 , 134418 , 146955 , PMSC037-836 , PMSC059-652 , 6190245M91 , 67087 , 132380 , 471266780 , 142953 , 137436 , PMSC056-763 , 857319 , 137476 , 8M105653100 , PMSC006-293 , 068213 , 131065 , 87658151 , PMSC133-877 , 125727 , 123892 , PMSC067-832 , 360928A1 , 134039 , 281639 , PMSC029-695 , 135861 , 857296 , 471266750 , PMSC061-084 , 5186741 , 181036A1 , 275303A2 , PMSC051-592 , PMSC061-085 , 140-6435/GETG95604 , 314-4926 , PMSC060-476 , E9NN 3000 CJ , 123072 , 134554 , PMSC006-772 , 857244 , PMSC029-724 , 2813651 , PMSC022-392 , PMSC007-885 , 128032 , 324682A1 , 134297 , PMSC044-736 , 311-8090 , 142656 , PMSC061-157 , 217-8714 , 147257 , 20G-23-K1200 , 140-6435 , 2815845 , 857540 , PMSC063-611 , 146958 , PMSC060-315 , PMSC061-896 , PMSC036-953 , 370663 , 135780 , ER021359 , 857429 , 132401 , PMSC052-554 , 856671 , PMSC029-705 , 2815809 , 2814083 , 067120 , 146753 , PMSC061-016 , PMSC068-242 , 2813395 , 2018565 , 178761A1 , 147611 , 314-4923/GEUG43854 , 412035 , 146524 , PMSC068-483 , PMSC013-257 , 067362

[vanaromaproduct]

Cajeput Oil (CJ-001) Van Aroma

Indonesia Cajeput Oil is produced locally by farmers on the island of Pulau Buru in Maluku and in some parts of Central Java.

Trees yielding this oil are mostly found around the warmer parts of Indonesia, Brunei, Vietnam, and East Malaysia. Average Yearly Production Quantity: 325-350 Tons per annum.

Indonesia is one of the largest producers of Cajeput Oil. The country also has the largest demand and consumption for Cajeput oil, which is considered a key component of traditional medicine.

Primarily used in massage oils, it is also used for soothing remedial facets in treating stomach aches, common cold, nausea, and insect bites. Over 90% of the essential oil produced is consumed by the local traditional medicine houses and domestic pharmaceutical industries in Indonesia.

Van Aroma leads in the production, and supply of standardized Cajeput Oil from the island of Maluku. Our Cajeput is fully traceable down to source and is guaranteed to be free from phthalates, and other adulterants. We work closely with our partner farmers and distillers to ensure fair pricing, and consistent sourcing of Cajeput oil all year round.

Melaleuca Cajuputi / White wood / Eucalyptol / 白千层油 / カヤプテ オイル / Huile essentielle de cajeput (55% + cinéole) / Aceite Esencial de Cajeput / Minyak Kayu Putih

CAS No: 8008-98-8

EC No: 287-316-4

FEMA No: 2225

Olfactive profile: Fresh, camphoraceous, eucalyptus-like, mint

Product synonyms: Cajuput, cajuput oil, melaleuca cajeput, minyak kayu putih

Certification: Kosher, Halal, COSMOS, FSSC 22000

For more info, visit our official website

[selincakar-archive]

Although she wouldn’t say it, Selin appreciated the way he took her little quips about the devices that, quite literally, saved her life in stride. Too many people in her orbit already  fixated on the fact that she was born with a useless pancreas and treated her differently. It was suffocating. 

Not that she told them that, either. 

That’s why she’d felt so rushed to get out of sight earlier. She wanted the chance to be a girl with a sore tailbone and bruised ego without her family making it into an entire ordeal. Or, worse, insisting she go be seen just in case her spill had more to do with her sugar and not just a lack of grace on wheels

“Is that how the whole maturing thing works?” Another crooked smile bloomed. “Never would���ve realized.” 

And then, deciding to cut him a break, she shook her head with a laugh. “Selin, actually. But close enough.” Even though people just called her Sey she’d let him make the choice for himself. 

“How’s Wren doing these days? I haven’t seen her since high school, probably.” Not probably. She knew it’d been that long, except it felt better to pretend maybe it hadn’t. (@cjwelford)

CJ shrugged, pretending to be a bit more unimpressed. “Eh, Sue Ellen isn’t as cool as a name, but I’ll give her props for being a team player.” He said, with a curt nod, though his grin gave him away.

He was amused at her reaction to how much he had grown in however long ago they had last seen each other, briefly wondering if he should tell Wren about it. He didn’t know if they had grown apart the way most friendships formed in school did, but he doubted they had an actual falling out.

“I mean, I’m only two years younger, when she grows, I grow after a bit, well until she reached 5’2 and now me and Em tower over her.” He chuckled. 

CJ was momentarily confused, about to correct her if that’s what she thought his name was, but realizing at the last second it was a taunt. Whilst he laughed at the singing, it was still frustrating to not know a name on the tip of the tongue.

“I mean, like, unless you were comic books or cars, no person really made an impact on me that long ago,” He admitted, clicking his fingers as a name came to him. “Serena!”

@selincakar

[clementinebriar]

Clementine has little patience for most people. That’s not something she hides — it’s even something she brags about, when the opportunity presents itself. It’s a trait she’s learned to dampen, however, since she’d started working for David. The man gave her a chance — a chance most people in this town would never have thought to give her — so she feels like she owes it to him to be a good bartender, all smiles and politeness and good conversation, whatever the fuck.

All this to say, CJ Ono-Welford would be one of the people you’d think she’d have little patience for — Clem’s not sure the guy can spell most words in the English language, on a good day — but she’s found trying to be irritated with him is like trying to be irritated with a stray puppy. Possible, sure, if it’s following you around when you can’t take it home, but ultimately moot, because you’re gonna help the fucking puppy, aren’t you?

She leans against the bar and raises an eyebrow at his comment. “It is French,” she points out. And it’s true — the origins of her name are rooted in the French language. Broken clock, twice a day, etcetera. “But it’s also another name for orange, yeah. Easier to rhyme with it,” she smirks. “What are you having, Ceej? Or are you just here to bask in the presence of my sparkling personality?” 

— o’shea’s. ft. clementine wood (@clementinebriar)

It turned out the week could be very long when you didn’t really do anything with your day. Sure, there was work, but showing people how to tackle the StairMaster was a lot different than like…whatever office people did. CJ often imagined it was a lot like The Wolf of Wall Street. Still, he had a long week, and decided to bid it farewell by hanging out in O’Shea’s.

He was leaning against the bar waiting to order, smiling wide as Clem approached him. The skateboarder supposed he wasn’t really allowed favorites and stuff, but she definitely was one of them. “Dude!” He exclaimed in greeting, stretching out the word.  “Y’know I just found out a clementine is like…an orange? Like your name is like, orange. I always thought it was just, like, French or something.”

[ripleyfm]

          * 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫  :  @spoiledveins​

     * TYPICAL COPING mechanisms from healthy adults don’t tend to include such vast levels of emotional repression , but part of why ripley and cj’s arrangement works so well is their mutual understanding that bottled feelings are much more successfully tucked away when 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 allowed to air out in drunken ramblings . though the two don’t claim to be anything remotely close to definable , their ability to get fucked up and let off even a tiny bit of emotional steam is something ripley is admittedly VERY grateful for .    “ on average , how many times a day is considered an acceptable amount to feel fucking pathetic ? ”   a snort leaves the blonde’s pursed lips , head thrown back as she lets out a groan , hair pulled into a messy bun with tendrils falling alongside cherubic features .    “ i hate being a downer but man what the literal 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 , ”     she breathes . her grasp on the neck of the jack daniels bottle tightens ever so slightly .     “ if i was not vehemently opposed to drinking and driving i would say we should go to the beach and enjoy the spray but — ”    she pauses in her rambles to peer over at the demigirl sitting with her on the rooftop of the decker house , where they admittedly shouldn’t even BE , but provides a welcome cover of privacy .    “ you’re tiny and it gets cold at night , and i’m not sure how much you’d 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 want me and my whiskey breath trying to hold you close for warmth . ”

[bastienfiore]

@alystudor​

He’d been working for the royals long enough that he recognized most of their faces, could name most of them- and rarely did the sight of any of them garner a reaction anymore. But the princess of Wales... Seeing her sitting in the drawing room nearly stopped him in his tracks. Bastien knew the story of the murdered Welsh prince, he’d seen the photos of the princess all over the Italian news for weeks afterwards. 

But he’d come here to see if anyone would be up for a game of chess, so he might as well ask. He approached her, trying his hardest not to sound like he pitied her as he spoke. “Excuse me, your highness? I’m sorry to bother you, feel free to say no to this, but I was wondering if you’d be willing to play chess with me.”