clocainiac

[clocainiac]

Electra showing off their 24k Killerwatt

(based off of asher’s tiktok and yes i got lazy 💔more fics are coming i promise 🙏)

[clocainiac]

‘I TRIED, MOMMA’

(so i know i wanted to write more happy fics like with electraboose and actually write sweet greasedinah for once but its a rainy day so rusty angst it is! Also this is based off the garfield audio iykyk and it can work for either bochum or wembley it’s up to you!)

The sounds of the Greaseball’s group still thundered in the distance, cackles and hollers echoing in the yard.

He wished he was stronger, louder and most of all a somebody. But now Rusty was laid on the hard ground, the familiar metallic twang of blood filling his mouth. If his body wasn’t bruised enough, the beating he got from the other Engines definitely finished the job.

Pearl tried to help. Key word: tried. But Greaseball knew all the ins and outs of the crashing business, they had Pearl under their thumb. So Pearl was racing without him. Again.

Rusty pressed his palms against his eyes as if that could stop the sting of tears. A soft chuff of steam filled his ears before he saw her. A warm shadow loomed beside him gentle and steady.

“Rusty,” came that deep, familiar voice. Momma.

She didn’t need to ask what happened. She’d seen it from the sidelines. Everyone had. A sharp turn, loose track and a whole lot of smoke.

“I crashed,” Rusty croaked. His voice was hoarse. “But it wasn’t my fault, I swear!”

Momma moved closer, her massive frame curling protectively around him. Her voice was deep and smooth, like the softest velvet.

“I saw, baby. You were trying so hard.”

He shook his head violently. “It wasn’t enough.”

Silence for a moment. The sounds of the yard felt impossibly distant, like they were happening in another world.

“I wanted to race with her, Momma,” he whispered. “Not just for her. With her. That’s all I wanted. Just…once.”

Momma lowered herself down, so her voice came from closer to his level, even though she could never truly shrink to his size. Her great wheels groaned gently as she settled beside him.

“Tell me what’s hurting, child,” she said softly.

Rusty exhaled, a broken sound escaping him. “Everything.”

She waited.

So he told her.

“I’m sorry I let you down, Momma.” Rusty lamented, squeezing his eyes tight to will the tears away.

“Oh, there’s nothing to be sorry about Rusty. Not all of us are cut out to be racers.” She said cradling him close, like she use to when he was a trainlet; when she was able to protect him from all the monsters he couldn’t quite see.

Rusty scoffed bitterly, “I’ll say.”

Momma tutted, “Rusty, maybe this is for the best…” It choked her up to say, but this was a realisation for her aswell as Rusty. Her baby was getting hurt from a dream she kept pushing him to achieve, a dream she already achieved herself. “You can barely survive here.”

“I wish I could be more like you.” He whispered softly.

“Honey, you’re more like me than you know.”

Rusty sniffled now his steam coming out in slow weak puffs, “How so?”

“You’re a dreamer, you’ve always been a dreamer. Rusty there is so many things I could say about you but I don’t think you would listen.”

“Momma,” he said softly, “can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Did you ever know when it was your time to stop?”

Momma blinked slowly and she didn’t answer right away. She shifted a little, as if testing her own old joints, then leaned in.

“I felt it,” she said quietly. “Not all at once. It was little things. Slower starts. Shorter pulls. Days I couldn’t climb the hill without a break.”

Rusty swallowed, throat tightening.

“I didn’t crash or break down,” she continued. “But I knew. I wasn’t what I used to be. Not out there, anyway.”

Rusty nodded, biting his bottom lip.

“I’m scared, Momma.”

That broke her. She turned fully toward him, her great eyes glimmering. “Tell me what you’re feeling, baby.”

“I don’t know how to be if I’m not racing,” Rusty whispered. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted the one who never gave up? But now I can feel it. My limbs stick. I lose speed. There’s this ache under my chest plate that won’t go away. The rust’s creeping in, Momma I just…All this dreaming was for what?”

Momma moved closer, slow and deliberate, until her broad side was pressed against his back. He leaned into her, instinctively.

“I’m scared I won’t be useful anymore,” he continued, voice cracking. “I’ll be nothing if I can’t-“

“You will never be nothing,” Momma said fiercely.

Rusty looked up, surprised by the steel in her voice.

“You listen to me,” she said, turning her face toward his, eyes glowing soft but strong. “You are not your speed. You are not your shine. You’re not just some engine to be run ‘til you break.”

“But if I can’t race-“

“Then you rest. Then you teach. Then you live,” Momma said firmly. “There’s a whole life past the finish line, baby. And it’s just as full.”

Rusty blinked rapidly. “But I don’t know what that looks like.”

“Of course you don’t,” she said gently. “You’ve been pushing since you were a boy. Always desperate to prove something. But there’s a time when it’s okay to slow down. It ain’t failure. It’s growth.”

He looked away, ashamed.

Momma softened again. “You think I never feared this, Rusty? When I retired, I sat right where you are now. Same moon, same wind, same fears. I thought, ‘If I’m not the engine everyone cheers for, what’s left of me?’”

“And?” Rusty asked quietly.

She smiled. “Turns out, I was still me. Still Momma. Still full of stories and love and memories. Still needed. Maybe more than ever.”

He didn’t answer for a while. He just leaned against her, his rusted arm resting across his lap.

“We just gotta get through it day by day, as slow as that takes.” Momma finished off solidly.

“You could still ask them, you know.”

Rusty turned to look at her. “…Who?”

She smiled knowingly. “The Starlight. They’re always listening. Even when you ain’t sure what to say.”

“I don’t know if they’d answer,” Rusty admitted. “Not anymore. Not now.”

Momma looked up at the stars, eyes reflecting their glow. “Baby, the Starlight don’t fade just ‘cause you’re afraid. They don’t stop shining when you get older. Sometimes they wait for you to be quiet enough to listen.”

Rusty stared at the sky, heart thudding.

“What would I even say?” he whispered.

Momma’s voice came soft, steady. “Whatever’s heavy.”

She stood slowly, with the grace only years could teach. As she turned to leave, she paused.

“Ain’t nothing weak about wanting peace, Rusty,” she said. “Go on and talk to them. Might be they’re already answering, you just gotta be still enough to hear it.”

And then she was gone.

Rusty stayed, looking skyward.

“…Starlight?” he whispered, his voice barely more than breath. “Are you still there?”

A breeze stirred through the yard. The stars above flickered gently, and for a moment, he could’ve sworn one moved just for him.

He closed his eyes.

And listened.

[clocainiac]

Electra showing off their one and only 24k Caboose

(please have this doo doo drawing as an apology for not being active in ages! also yes i know it looks awful im a writer not an artist 💔 but i think you can see the vision)

[clocainiac]

‘A RAT IN A MAZE IS FREE TO GO ANYWHERE, AS LONG AS IT STAYS INSIDE THE MAZE’ -> GREASEDINAH ONESHOT

(re listened to the ‘84 album and the 2017 workshop and decided do you know what the stex fandom needs? A hurt/no comfort greasedinah oneshot because fuck me is greaseball a misogynistic asshole) (also also rustedbrakes whump and Electraboose is en route AND the discord is so close to being finished!)

TW: Abuse, Lots and lots of gaslighting, Domestic Abuse, Cheating.

The championship was over. The lights had dimmed, the race track had cooled, still echoing with the ghosts of screaming engines and singed metal.

And instead of being in the limelight, Greaseball was hidden in the shadows.

He didn’t care if the ash got in his eyes anymore. Didn’t care that his body ached from the wreckage, literal and emotional that the race had left behind or that Pearl had chosen Rusty or that Electra had slithered off with their crew.

Greaseball was supposed to have Dinah by his side. He didn’t, not anymore.

The stares and whispers were manageable, after all gossip was really the only source of entertainment in the yard. But the fact the Dinah wouldn’t even spare him a glance? That was the worst part.

She used to follow him everywhere. A baby blue and cream shadow, with a glossy smile that always filled out her cheeks leaving two dimples that he use to kiss. Dinah was like an extension of him. Always loyal, always willing. She wasn’t above getting her hands dirty either like sassing out the competition in favour of him.

So it’s not crazy to think yeah, maybe he liked that. Maybe he leaned into it too much or craved the validation. She was his carriage, wasn’t she?

But now? She passed him like a stranger. The waft of hairspray and a flowery perfume that always made Greaseball sneeze being the only trace she left. She didn’t even want him to whistle at her anymore.

He still remembered how she looked at him after the crash. His paint scraped, wheels bent, just everything falling apart like his cocky attitude. She flinched when he reached for her, it led to many sleepless nights of replaying their relationship.

He hadn’t even hit her. Not really. Not hard. Just raised his voice, okay he shouted… a lot. But sometimes it was the only way to get her to stand down and listen, she could be a feisty little bitch sometimes.

But he’d seen it. That moment. The crack in her poise. The part where her pretty eyes widened and she drew back, like he might do more than yell.

Rusty was the hero now, the steaming golden boy of the yard with Pearl draped herself over him like a victory banner. The other engines rallied around him with admiration. Dumbasses. A couple hours ago and they wouldn’t even give Rusty the time of day, to them Rusty was akin to the dirt under their wheels; even Electra looked shabby next to the Starlight blessed dreamboat.

And Greaseball? He was the has been, the long gone busted brute. The champion that failed, but what haunted him most wasn’t the loss of the title or the shame of the crash.

It was the silence in his shed at night. The silence Dinah use to fill.

They first crossed paths again near the freight shed. She was helping Buffy get her thoroughly wedged wheel out of the sticky mud that was like a moat around the shed. They were both laughing light and bright like they hadn’t even seen him.

He couldn’t take it.

“You got time to smile now, huh?” he said, stepping into her line of sight.

Her laugh faded instantly. Her gaze swept over him, but she didn’t stop tugging Buffy.

“I got no time for engines who treat me like second class scum,” she said sharply, a judgemental finality to her words. His jaw twitched.

“You think I didn’t treat you right?”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Come on, babe.”

“Don’t!” Her voice cracked emotion starting to seep through, Buffy stiffened nearby but didn’t interfere. Dinah turned and looked him dead in the face, defiance was clear all over her features.

“You only ever saw me when I was useful! When I smiled, served and backed you up. The second I had my own thoughts, you called me a ‘drag.’ You uncoupled me away because I had my own opinions!”

He flinched like she’d struck him, maybe this was how Dinah use to feel after he berated her, the thought left a sour tang in his mouth. However, her face stayed sharp; the softness he used to mold like wax was long gone. She turned away again. “Don’t talk to me unless you’ve figured out how to apologise.”

But he didn’t. Because the apology meant admitting he wasn’t just broken, it meant admitting he’d done the breaking.

At night, he would purposely pass by the Coaches shed, just as a punishment to see what he now doesn’t have. And every time it made the frustration boil in him to a new record.

The yard changed, but Greaseball didn’t.

He painted over his scrapes, polished his uniform, swaggered through the yard like nothing had happened. He liked to pretend he didn’t notice that the paint peeled faster these days and that the shine never held.

Maybe that’s why it hurt so much more when Dinah would be coupled up with the other coaches and instead of giving him a reaction there was nothing. No pause. No recognition. No hate. Just the kind of look you would give a cloud of smoke, it’s there, but meaningless.

The sleepless nights got worse as summer came in full swing.

He’d gone over it in his mind too many times. How it started, how it broke, how the race didn’t end at the finish line. How he assumed deep down, that she’d come back once the heat wore off. That she’d miss him.

But she didn’t.

Didn’t even flinch when there was whispered hushes and laughs about his fall from grace. Didn’t say a word when CB muttered something about Greaseball losing more than just a race. Didn’t care when a new Diesel engine from another yard started sniffing around her.

He saw her talk to him. Smiling.

He wanted to scream at her but hug her all at the same time. He waited near her frequented spots the next day, he didn’t even know why. When she approached, alone this time, he rolled into her path with a kind of practiced cockiness that almost fooled him.

“Hey,” he said. “You got a minute?”

Dinah’s expression didn’t change. She didn’t roll her eyes, didn’t huff. Just looked at him the way you look at a tunnel you’re never going down again.

“I don’t think there’s anything left for us to say.”

“I do.”

She exhaled through her nose. “Unless it starts with ‘I’m sorry,’ and ends with ‘I was wrong,’ I doubt it.” He tried to smirk but it failed.

“I messed up.”

“You did more than that.”

“I was under pressure.”

“We were all under pressure.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“You never mean to. That’s the problem.”

Her voice was steady. Not angry, not hurt, just done. He hated it more than the yelling.

“You think I’m the villain now,” he said, stepping closer. “Is that it? You think I’m just some washed up racer with a temper?”

“I think you only regret losing me, not how you treated me.”

That stopped him. Like a tree in the track.

Dinah turned her head. Just to the side, as if he weren’t even worth her full attention anymore.

“I was always your accessory,” she said quietly. “Your dining car. Your ‘gal.’ Your property. You liked how I looked next to you, how I raced, how I smiled. But when I needed space? When I had thoughts of my own? You didn’t like that.”

His throat was dry. He didn’t know what to say. He thought coming here would be enough. That just showing up, like the old days, would fix it.

But there were no ‘old days’ anymore.

There was no ‘them’.

“You were supposed to back me up,” he finally said.

She blinked. Then nodded slowly, like it finally made sense.

“There it is,” she whispered. “You still think this was about loyalty.”

He said nothing.

“Greaseball,” she said, almost gently, “You never wanted a partner, you wanted a passenger.”

“You could’ve said something sooner,” he muttered. “If you didn’t like the way I acted.”

“I did.” She stepped past him. Her wheels didn’t hesitate. “You just didn’t hear it.”

He didn’t follow her.

Couldn’t.

He didn’t even know her anymore.

There were things he didn’t want to remember about their relationship.

But they came anyway.

The first time he cheated on Dinah, it didn’t feel like cheating. Not to him.

The girl, some showy little city coach from the next yard over, had practically offered herself up on a silver platter. She giggled at everything he said, constantly pushing her tits up against him and Dinah had been in one of her moods again, asking too many questions, wanting to ‘talk’.

He told himself it didn’t count.

She never found out, not that time.

And even if she had…

He’d have found a way to make it her fault.

It hadn’t been a one-time thing.

He knew that now. Internalised it.

Looking back, he doesn’t even remember their names. Just paint colors, vague scents of perfume and the high pitched moans of his name that grated on him even then.

But Dinah? He remembered everything.

The hurt. The way her voice trembled when she asked him, softly, if there was something going on.

He just laughed.

“Jealousy don’t look good on you, babe,” he’d said.

She’d cried that night. Quietly, knees tucked under her chin, trying not to shake.

He heard it all.

He’d gone to sleep anyway.

Albeit, the shouting had started small.

At first, it was just snipes. “Don’t be so sensitive.”,“You always do this.” and “Why can’t you just let it go?”

But later…

Later, it got louder.

He remembered the way she flinched the first time he yelled so hard the windows rattled. Her face had gone pale. Hands drawn in, like she’d been slapped.

He hadn’t touched her.

But maybe he didn’t need to.

He never hit her. He told himself that a lot. Like it was some kind of moral high ground. As if screaming her into submission somehow didn’t count.

The worst was after their first time trying out for the championship title together.

He doesn’t remember what the fight was even about. Some comment she made, some criticism that was meant to improve not berate. But he snapped, really snapped, slamming doors with a voice like a thunderclap.

He remembers the look she gave him. Like she didn’t recognize him. Or maybe she finally did.

She stayed, though. For a while.

All because he fed her pretty lines after every fight, whispered apologies like oil. Slick and thick.

She forgave him. Over and over.

He had to try one more time to get her back. If not to save face, but for himself.

She was beautiful when he next saw her. Not in the way he used to shape her into, the freshly painted and buffed, obedient arm candy at his side. But in the quiet, composed way she held herself now. Every movement was precise, light on the rails. Effortless in a way he never understood before.

She didn’t see him right away.

He rolled forward. Slowly. Painfully. As if every wheel turn cost something.

“Dinah.”

Her body tensed, just barely. She turned. No surprise in her face. Just… exhaustion. Like she’d known this was coming; like she’d braced for it.

“What do you want, Greaseball?”

He hated the way she said his name now. Flat. No warmth. Like she was reading it off an old schedule.

“I just…” he faltered. “I needed to say some things.”

“You’ve had years.”

“I know.”

There was a pause. Her eyes didn’t soften, but she didn’t leave. So he kept going.

“I was wrong,” he said. “About everything, how I treated you and what we were. I thought… I thought you’d always be there. I took you for granted. I hurt you. I used you.”

He didn’t mean to choke up. But the words tasted like muck, something rotten finally being coughed out.

“I cheated. Lied. Screamed at you. I blamed you for my failure. I treated you like property.”

“Stop.”

Her voice was soft but firm. She stepped closer and for a hopeful second, he thought she was going to touch him. She didn’t.

“You’re not wrong,” she said.

That was somehow worse.

“I was there for you. Through it all, even when you didn’t deserve it. I waited, I listened, I forgave over and over because I thought maybe you’d see me. Not as a prize. Not as an accessory. Just me.” She paused. “You never did.”

“I do now.”

“It’s too late.”

He stared at her, really stared. As if looking hard enough might make her change her mind. Might remind her of what they were, might melt that cold, hard line in her face.

“You’re sorry now because you lost,” she said. “Because you’re alone.”

“I cared about you.”

“You used me. You manipulated me. You made me feel small and then called it love.”

“I don’t want your apology, Greaseball. I don’t need it. I don’t need you. Not anymore.”

That last part did it.

“I’m not asking for everything,” he said hoarsely. “Just… something. A piece. A second chance. Anything.”

“No.”

“Dinah,”

“No.”

“You were the only one who ever saw me,” he whispered.

“I saw who you pretended to be,” she replied. “And I kept hoping the real you was better.”

“Please,” he said. One last time. “Tell me I meant something.”

She stopped.

Then, quietly:

“You did.”

A pause.

“Once.”

[clocainiac]

you’ll have to be a chronic reels user to understand this one 💔

(also currently debating wether posting extreme angst hurt/no comfort greasedlightning or whump rustedbrakes or electraboose fluff, which one would you want to see the quickest?)

[clocainiac]

CB after a long day of being public enemy no.1

[clocainiac]

so my mate Kenji wanted to learn more about stex but needed a bit of help understanding the final race as he’s never watched it, i made this abomination and i hope tumblr finds it as hilarious as we did…

[clocainiac]

‘HOLDING ON FOR DEAR LIFE’

(so i couldn’t stop myself, here’s more greasybrakes, this is pt.2 to ‘put on the red light’ but i’m 90% sure you could read this just as a standalone and if you thought that was sad? this is soul crushingly awful so i hope you are hungry but there is a happy ending because i couldn’t leave it the way it was as im sure you would’ve all killed me…also im so sorry for the crappy accents im british i dont know how southern accents work💔)

TW: implied smut but it’s literally right at the end so it’s easily skippable and it’s just sounds nothing is described!

Dinah wasn’t dumb.

Sure, she was quite forgiving and loyal to the point it was her Achille’s heel, but she was not dumb.

Instead she was sharp, under that gleaming smile, she had an eye for everything her man wasn’t saying and lately that hasn’t been a whole lot.

He still did the big gestures, giving her roses spontaneously, kissing her cheek every goodbye and sliding a hand around her waist when others were watching. But something was missing. Every time his eyes would scan the yard, desperately searching for something.

Dinah was tired of pretending not to notice it.

So she kept focusing on Greaseball, analysing every single falter in their interactions up until the early hours. That’s when she spotted it. It started small, CB was stood at the edge of the track having a laugh with Joule about Rusty falling over, and Greaseball just couldn’t keep his eyes off them. He would keep falling silent or ‘uhming’ and ‘ahhing’ while talking to Dinah as his eyes desperately drifted over to the duo, which set off alarm bells in her head. Greaseball was always sure of what he was going to say, so why was he acting like this?

At first, Dinah thought that it was Joule making him act up, but as she kept watching she realised his eyes only landed on him. CB.

It got more obvious as time went on, Greaseball would tense if CB laughed a little too hard with Electra or if he patted Dustin on the shoulder. The worst offence was when she caught him watching CB skate away, his eyes followed each sway of the Caboose’s hips and he even had the gall to lick his lips.

God she was such a fool.

One night she got brave enough just to throw a couple questions out there, see if he would be honest with her or at least have an explanation. They were both laid in bed, this time Dinah was not saddled by his side or resting upon his chest, instead she laid on her side of the bed.

“Did you see him today?” She asked softly, trying to be as casual as possible when confronting your partner about their wandering eyes. “CB, I mean.”

Greaseball flinched just slightly, “Why?”

Dinah hummed. “Just wonderin’. He’s always round these parts, thought maybe you’d talked.”

“Nah,” Greaseball said gruffly just a tad too quick. “Ain’t seen him.”

“Huh, that’s funny.” Was all she said after, just a tiny little dig.

Silence.

Greaseball soon shifted turning his body to the side so he wasn’t facing her and Dinah guessed that was that. The awful bloom of nausea and loneliness started to build up in her gut as she turned to the side herself. The bed started to shake as she cried in her pillow, pining for Greaseball to turn around and hold her or console her. Anything would’ve been enough. But he did nothing.

That was the breaking point and what finally convinced her to corner him. She waited until he got home from a long day, Greaseball was always more vulnerable when tired, too tired to put up a fight she supposed.

“Greaseball?” She said softly but deadly, as he slumped on the settee. “Who is it?” She finished off once she got his attention.

He blinked at her, startled he replied quickly. “What?”

That ticked her off, “Don’t lie to me!”

His jaw clenched, “Dinah, what’re you on about?”

“You and your restless groin and wanderin’ eyes!” She screamed, voice cracking from the sheer volume of her frustration. Tears already started to form, she’s always been too emotional for her own good.

“I’m here aren’t I?” He retorted, standing up now, showing off his full height.

Maybe if it was a different argument she would’ve shrunk under his display, not now though. Not when she was so close to finding out the truth. “Physically maybe, but your minds clearly off somewhere else! Just tell me who it is!”

“Drop it.” Greaseball said shakily, running a hand through his previously gelled hair which was now tousled looking more akin to a curly mop.

“No!” She snapped. “No, I won’t. I’ve stood by you, i’ve raced with you, even when you treated me like dirt. I deserve the truth!”

He turned away, pacing like a trapped animal and Dinah? Pressed the knife in even further.

“…Is it CB?”

The air went stagnant, Greaseball stopped moving. He didn’t turn, didn’t speak, didn’t even breathe. The silence was louder than any answer he could’ve given.

“Oh Starlight,” she whimpered covering her mouth. “It is.”

Greaseballs knuckles cracked as he gripped the edge of the sofa. “It ain’t like that,” he growled, low and strained. “You don’t understand-”

“Then make me!” Dinah yelled, fully sobbing at this point. “Tell me how long you been lookin’ at him like that! Tell me when I stopped bein’ enough…”

“It’s not you!” Greaseball shouted back, whirling to face her. “It’s me, alright!? I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t want it!”

He was crumbling, right in front of her eyes. All that bravado, the swagger. Gone.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” He rasped, voice cracked open and raw like Dinah personally tore out the truth. “Wantin’ someone you ain’t supposed to? Knowin’ that if the yard found out you were lookin’ at them like that they would all laugh at you?”

“Because he’s a freight?” Dinah questioned naively.

“Because he’s a he!” Greaseball screamed, not at Dinah, but as a reminder to himself of why it was so wrong.

Dinah’s lips parted to try and comfort him but he kept going, words tumbling as if she opened pandora’s box.

“I tried. I tried so hard to be what you wanted. What the yard wanted. All muscle and pride, but every time I see him… I feel like i’m burning from the inside out.” He slumped back on the settee now, head cradled in the hands. “I didn’t want to do this to you, but I can’t stop starin’ or dreamin’. I hate myself for it.”

For once, Dinah didn’t have any quick wit left to respond, so she sat beside him instead. “Do you hate yourself because you’re with me and you want him? or is it because well, he’s a guy?”

“Both,” it was snappy and quick. Quite possibly the quickest and bluntest response she has had this whole conversation.

“But do you love him?” She asked softly. Greaseball swallowed, smearing his hands all over his face.

“I think so, the most likely answer is yes.”

Dinah’s eyes squeezed tight to try and will the tears away. “That’s the worst part,” she choked out. “You should’ve said somethin’ sooner.”

“I couldn’t,” he muttered, broken. “Not here. Not with everythin’ and everyone.”

When Dinah opened her eyes she saw him, I mean truly saw him for who he was.

Sure he was technically a cheating, no-good, asshole but… through all her anger, heartbreak and frustration, she saw the little boy in him. The one who was scared. Scared of what society would do if he dared be truthful. Who didn’t have the words or courage to say who he was.

“Have you always felt this way? Y’know, a friend of Dorothy’s?”

“I don’t know. I do love you Dinah, just not in the way you want it.”

“You gotta figure out who you do love Greaseball, ‘cause I don’t think CB will wait around for you much longer.” Was the last thing Dinah said before leaving the shed.

Greaseball was alone now, sat in the dark and haunted by that damn Caboose’s smile.

The next day, after very little sleep, Greaseball managed to hype himself up enough to go see CB. Dinah’s departure gave Greaseball that boost of courage he needed. He stopped wandering the yard like a zombie as if he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with himself.

He raised his fist and knocked a couple times, sweating with each tap of his knuckles. Soon, the door slipped open and there he was. In all his glory, there stood CB. He was half lit from the light spilling out the inside of his shed, and he looked as gorgeous as Greaseball dreamed.

However, he looked at Greaseball like he was a stranger.

“You lost?” He asked flatly, his signature smirk now absent from his face.

“I need to talk.”

CB snorted, “That so?”

Greaseball nodded desperately, “Please.”

There was a long pause as CB’s eyes narrowed, lingering on Greaseball’s face. Then without a word, he stepped back inside the shed, leaving just enough room as an invitation for Greaseball to come in.

Inside was exactly as Greaseball remembered; cluttered, messy but cozy in a way only CB could pull off. Maps and notes haphazardly hanging off the walls, coffee mugs stacked on eachother like the leaning Tower of Pisa and a cracked photo of all the freight from back in the day.

CB didn’t offer a drink or a seat, he just leaned against the wall. “Well?”

“I broke up with Dinah,” Greaseball blurted out.

CB raised a brow, “That meant to impress me?”

“No,” Greaseball said downtrodden. “Just the truth.”

“Try the whole truth, which I know is hard for you,” CB snapped back coldly. “Or better yet, explain why the hell you’ve come here after months of looking at me like i’m the nastiest piece of shit you’ve ever laid your eyes on.”

Greaseball winced at that, “I know, I was wrong for leaving you in the dust like that after the championship’s, I just… I didn’t know what to do, I went back to what I always knew was safe.”

CB sighed chewing his fingernails, “So what changed?”

“I couldn’t lie to her anymore,” he said. “Or to myself.”

That second admission seemed to have caught CB’s attention as he listened much more intently as Greaseball continued, “I was scared. Of what it meant, of what I was. I thought if I buried it, it’d go away. That if I stayed loud enough, fast enough, man enough… I could outrace it.”

“And now?” CB asked after a long pause.

“I’m done runnin’.”

CB’s jaw tightened and for the first time that night, he looked away from Greaseball.

“Well,” he said strained. “Good for you.”

“…That all?”

CB sniffled, obviously agitated now. “What do you want Greaseball?” Shit, he just got full named, that wasn’t a good sign. “You want me to pat you on the back for finally growing some balls? You think i’m just like Dinah and the moment you apologise i’m gonna come running to your aid?”

“I don’t expect that,” Greaseball said hurriedly. “I don’t expect anything.”

“Then why the hell are you here?”

“Because I miss you.”

CB stared at him, cold, unreadable except for his wavering bottom lip.

“I think about you all the time,” Greaseball whispered, not in fear but in vulnerability. “I hate how I treated you, that I made you feel like you didn’t matter to me or you were my dirty secret. I let everyone else dictate how I was supposed to feel.”

CB didn’t speak.

“I just… I just wanna to make things right,” Greaseball finished softly.

And for the first time in years, Greaseball let himself show it. The longing. The ache. The guilt. It bled from him, but he didn’t cover the wounds, not anymore.

CB’s arms were crossed, but his expression had softened, just a little. The fire in his eyes had dimmed not from forgiveness but by something slower, sadder.

“…You hurt me,” CB said quite now. “You made me feel like I was a damn joke, like I was dirty for even thinking there could be something between us.”

“I know,” Greaseball whispered. “I’ll carry that, forever if I have to. But if there’s any part of ya’ that still wants me around, even just as a friend, i’ll take it.”

“I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

“I’ll earn it.”

CB chewed his lip before speaking, “You still like coke floats?”

Greaseball blinked, “…Yeah?”

CB huffed but actually smirked for the first time during this encounter, before grabbing Greaseball by the collar. “Come on then, you always knew how to make ‘em the best.”

It wasn’t easy at first. CB didn’t smile like he use too, he didn’t flirt, he didn’t even let Greaseball sit near him without some kind of sarcastic jab. But he did let him stay, that was everything.

Greaseball stopped trying to prove things to the yard, stopped flexing when there was no need, or pretending that he was the pinnacle of masculinity.

“No offence,” CB said dryly skating up behind him. “But you suck at trying not to show off.”

Greaseball huffed but he couldn’t help but laugh, “Didn’t realise you were watchin’?”

“You’re kinda hard not to watch.”

“Oh?” Greaseball questioned playfully, now locking eyes with CB, who actually looked happy to see him.

“I’m not the same guy I was,” Greaseball said softly.

CB nodded, “Good, neither am I.”

Finally, CB reached his hand out and Greaseball met it with his own hand halfway.

Since then something had been building for weeks.

Greaseball and CB weren’t a secret anymore, not exactly; but they weren’t broadcasting it either. They worked together, talked together, sat together during breaks like it was no big deal.

No kissing. No touching. But the tension?

It was undeniable and very, very hard to ignore if you were in the vicinity of the duo. Whispers were being shared all throughout the yard, even Pearl started talking, not unkindly just curious.

“You think they’re y’know?” She whispered to the other coaches one lunch break, to which Dinah replied.

“They got things to work out. Let ‘em”

But as quietly supportive most trains were, the yard didn’t change overnight. There were still whispers and side eyes, from more traditional Engines. Especially when Greaseball started being seen with CB more openly and turned down other Coaches advances in favour of the Caboose.

And one day, on a long haul it all boiled over. Greaseball was helping the Freight (as Rusty called in sick) offload in another yard and without thinking he and CB were a little too close to be passed off as friends in the whole ordeal; which is most likely why the Engine spoke in the first place.

“Didn’t expect a Diesel like you to be piping a Caboose, guess looks don’t matter to fairies.”

The laughter that erupted was sharp and uncomfortable, what made it even worse was someone else joined in. “He probably found him in a bog anyways,” which led to another wave of jeers.

Greaseball’s heart ached as he saw CB under all the facade shrink a little, joining the back of the freight. He couldn’t let that slide. He stormed right up to the Engine and yanked him up so they were face to face, “You think you’re funny?”

“Hey now, it’s just a bit of banter-”

“What is? Laughing at someone for who they love? You better be ready to get laughed right back at for bein’ a miserable, lonely sack of scrap whose idea of humour died a long time ago.”

The ride home was silent that day.

Once they arrived back at their yard, the Freights (except CB) quickly dispersed.

“Hey,” CB said. “You didn’t have to do that today.”

Greaseball shrugged, “Yeah I did.”

“I’m not usually that quiet, I know how to stand up for myself”

“I know.”

“It was just that…”

“This is all still raw?”

“Yeah.” CB stepped closer, “You scared me, when you grabbed him like that.”

Greaseball winced, he knew he had to get his anger under control. “Sorry, I just couldn’t stand him talking about us like that-”

CB interrupted him with a kiss, slow and full of yearning. When they parted Greaseball could tell CB wasn’t mad at him, “You didn’t scare me cause of what you did, I was scared because I realised I was falling in love with you all over again.”

“Does it feel like a mistake?”

“God, no.”

There was no shame or guilt just warmth, just them.

Which is why it’s no surprise they got caught, in the most comprising situation of all.

Rusty and Pearl finally had the same day off, which was perfect because both of them definitely needed some alone time. Rusty had made a picnic for both of them, it was in a tucked away siding, a little away from behind the sheds. Pearl had even brought a little stereo so they could slow dance, which they were doing before they heard…

“Oh Greaseball, don’t stop!” A mewl that was unmistakably by CB rung out from the only window that was cracked ajar, on Greaseball’s shed.

Rusty froze mid spin, Pearl buffered, hand still in his. “What. What was that?”

“Been wantin’ to do this all week to you baby, just hold still for me-” Clangs and thuds soon escaped from the shed, mixed with groans and grunts.

Rusty’s face went red immediately, pulling Pearl close as if she could make the sounds stop. There was a louder bang before a gruff voice rang out, “Tell me who you belong too.”

“You! Geez it’s you! Just don’t stop!”

“I think they’re uhm…” Pearl whispered.

“Yeah, no doubt about that,” Rusty murmured.

“Mmm, you like when I do that?” CB asked, causing Rusty’s lunch to nearly come out his stomach.

“Don’t be so full of yourself,”

“I’m just full of you.”

Right that’s it. “Pearl, we’ve gotta go now!” Rusty whispered, grabbing her hand and yanking them both away until they were far enough so they couldn’t hear anymore.

They were never going to unhear any of that were they?

[clocainiac]

‘PUT ON THE RED LIGHT’

(extremely angsty greasybrakes, where greaseball yearns for cb but has so much internalised homophobia he wants to rip his own heart out and jump off a cliff, and dinahs there too! yes i cried while making this… i genuinely think this is one of my best works)

The yard was rowdy tonight. Still booming from the previous race of the day, good times were being celebrated all over. Soon the sun dipped low, bathing everything in a bleeding gold that seeped into the cracks and crevices of the yard like an old wound.

Greaseball stood at the far edge of the yard, one arm braced against the steel support of a lamppost, the other holding a battered oil can he hadn’t touched in twenty minutes.

He’d told Dinah he needed air.

He hadn’t told her where he was going, he hadn’t needed to; Dinah never questioned where he went. She thought she knew, thought he was just blowing off steam or punching someone, it was always a gamble when it came to Greaseball’s anger and who he would take it out on.

But she never guessed he came here.

That he always came here.

To watch him.

The Red Caboose was just beyond the track, his silhouette against the grass, backlit by the yard lights. He was leaning on the barrier, one skate tucked under the other, arms crossed lazily over his chest as he smoked.

Greaseball hated how natural he looked like that, How damn casual he always was, like the whole world didn’t touch him the way it touched everyone else. Like he never had to pretend.

Greaseball took a long, hard breath and let it out through his nose. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to start anything, not tonight.

But then CB shifted, just a little, flicking his cigarette away with little care to its landing. And he looked straight at him. Greaseball’s stomach lurched, twisting uncomfortably with tender hatred.

For a split second, he saw it in the Caboose’s eyes. That damned glint. Like CB knew exactly what he was thinking, like he’s always known, like he enjoyed knowing.

Greaseball turned away so fast he almost knocked over the oil can. ‘He shouldn’t have come’, was his mantra as he raced home. Dinah was waiting for him when he got back, like always.

“You went off again,” she scolded softly. “Just a heads up if you’re going to leave would be nice.” Greaseball rubbed the back of his neck and muttered something about needing to calm down after racing. Dinah wasn’t stupid, she knew he was lying but she was torn between not wanting to find out the truth and losing her already wavering trust in him for good.

“Are you mad at me, Sugar?”

He hated how her voice could do that. She always sounded honey sweet but had an undertone of warning, like syrup covering something rotten. The guilt wriggled inside, making everything feel uncomfortable and queasy.

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Just tired.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, placing a perfectly manicured hand on his arm. “‘Cause if there’s something wrong, I wanna fix it. You know I only want the best for us.”

Greaseball didn’t move. He let her rest her head against him, let her thread her fingers through his. He felt hollow. This was so wrong, Dinah was a sweet, strong girl who deserved an Engine that would worship that ground she walked on. Not Greaseball, who was so scummy he still pined over a shitty sleaze bag while having everything he ever wanted.

It wasn’t always like this; lies, shame, embarrassment.

There was a time when he and CB were just two roughhousing teens, shooting banter and racing down the yard together fuelled off impulse and rebellion. They fought, scraped, bled together, drank together. Slept under the same covers when the night was cold, and they would somehow always manage to wake up fully entwined, faces only a whisper apart.

They were just boys who didn’t know what they wanted, but something shifted.

CB had figured it out first.

And Greaseball hadn’t.

Couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

Because what did that mean? If he liked how CB grinned at him when they were pressed up too close for a brawl? If he flushed when that damned Caboose’s voice lowered as they leaned in? If he could relive the moments where CB was beneath him?

What did it make him, less of a man? Not a true Engine?

It made his skin crawl.

The worst part? CB never said a damn thing.

Because everytime Greaseball looked at CB, he saw it. The knowing. The soft, unbearable ache of someone who had long since accepted what Greaseball couldn’t even say out loud.

Greaseball hated him for that. Hated how free he looked, how whole, how confident.

So he dated Dinah, proved something to the yard and to himself.

He’d grab her in front of everyone, make her squeal, flash that cocky grin he wore like armour. Let the Coaches whisper about how strong he was, how masculine.

All the while, CB would be nearby watching. A crooked smirk slapped on his face, like he was watching a train wreck in slow motion, like he pitied him.

Greaseball had never wanted to taste him so bad.

It got worse when CB started his crashing.

His so called ‘accidents’ that left him with eye popping cash. One crash in particular shook Greaseball, the Engine who was in front of CB was too rash. A loose coupling later, CB got thrown off the rails. It wasn’t fatal, not even close, but CB got sidelined. Greaseball felt sick for weeks after that.

It wasn’t the crash that shook Greaseball, it was what happened in CB’s shed, while he was still recovering.

“You shouldn’t be here,” were the first words CB uttered.

“You look like hell,” Greaseball responded skating in the shed like he owned it. In some ways he did with how often he slept round there.

CB snorted, “You should see the Engine.”

Greaseball looked like he hadn’t slept in days, shadows carved under his eyes, jaw too tight.

“Why’d you come?” CB asked, voice low.

“I-I don’t know…”

“Bullshit.” CB said bluntly, “I just thought you would be able to admit it by now.”

CB stared at Greaseball, like he was looking through in him. “Does Dinah know you’re here?”

“No, she’s asleep, didn’t feel a need to wake her.”

“Right.”

The tension was strong, choking even. Every breath strangling the room even more. There wasn’t much more to say, so they used their bodies to speak to eachother for the rest of the night. The last thing CB said before Greaseball left always stuck.

“Do you remember when you first kissed me? It was like you wanted to eat me whole, but then you punched a wall and told me it didn’t mean anything. You’ve always felt too much and you think that makes you less of a man.”

They never spoke about that night again.

But that didn’t stop their continuous meetings.

Greaseball would unconsciously follow the trail that led him to the Caboose again and again.

“You gonna keep staring?” CB asked one night, voice dry after taking a drag of his cigarette. “Or you gonna finally admit what we both know?”

Greaseball clenched his fists, “Don’t.”

CB raised a brow, “Don’t what?”

“I said don’t, you don’t get to act like this is my fault.”

“I’m not the one lying to everybody.”

Greaseball laughed bitter, “You think it’s that easy? That I can just be like you?”

CB stayed where he was, “I think you want to.”

“I can’t,” the words were being ripping out of him by CB’s claws. “I’ve got Dinah, i’ve got a reputation-”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, I said you wanted too.”

Shit, by now Greaseball should’ve known. CB was always good at finding loopholes.

More races started to pop up, Dinah was desperate to join them, always begging Greaseball to take her along. He always agreed, barely remembering what he said half the time.

She always looked so pleased after a win, looping her arms around Greaseball’s neck like she belonged there. She didn’t. Greaseball knew who did, but he never dared to say it or even think it.

Every night, when the lights were low and Dinah was snuggled up on his chest. He imagined it was CB instead, his hands on his jaw, small but sneaky. In his dreams, CB never spoke, only took. He would always wake up with wet cheeks, and his fists desperately grabbing the closest thing to him.

After the championships when Rusty finally won, everything got so much worse.

There CB was again, this time the cigarette was tucked behind his ear. “Hey,” Greaseball said before he could stop himself.

CB looked at him long and level, “You still with her?”

“…Yeah”

“Then you’ve got nothing to say to me.”

Greaseballs throat closed up.

The yard never knew.

Dinah never asked.

But he never stopped staring for a certain shade of red.

(ITS DONE MWAHAHA, i hope you’re as sad as me, and for proof that i actually cried during this

@dove-bunny-love this is what my moots have to deal with, i’m so sorry buddy)

[clocainiac]

will never get over greaseballs goonface in this photo…

[clocainiac]

does anyone else doodle creatures while on call? My mate always forces me to send him the finished creations even though he doesn’t understand who anyone is. I apologise this graced your eyes Kenji 💔💔 I’m a writer at heart NOT an artist

[clocainiac]

For the pride event thing, Transfem rusty please?

Maybe about her coming out to the yard/other characters

PRIDE ONESHOTS PT.3

(I love the way i’m doing part 3 on the 13th :3 as you can see i’m a procrastinator and i apologise so much so have this as a sorry 🙏 ALSO rusty starts off with they/them pronouns before they start to get more comfortable with their transition and use she/her! there may be a bit of prusty… also also peep the way ive managed to add electra in again, so sorry but i must for if i don’t they will tie me on the tracks)

(Not only that, but i’m not trans so trying to figure out how to word this took alot of consulting with my trans mates, so if some of this sounds a bit awkward during the read I apologise profusely as obviously I have never been in this position myself, but I hope i’ve tried my best as i’ve only gone off what my mates have told me!)

Poppa was the first.

They were both sat in Poppa’s shed, the comforting heat from their boilers encompassing the room. Still Rusty felt a creeping sense of unease, a twisting terrible feeling in their stomach.

“You alright, Son?” Poppa’s deep voice questioned, almost sounding like a hymn.

It was an innocent question from an outsiders perspective, but to Rusty? It felt like sick jab. The nickname itself prodded at something they tried to keep hidden, a feeling they knew wouldn’t go away. Although they tried to forget about it, you can’t slap a plaster on a gaping wound and expect it to heal. There was always this feeling of being wrong, looking wrong, sounding wrong; everything about Rusty was just wrong.

Soon they realised Poppa was still looking at them for an answer, now he had more of a concerned look on his face.

“I need to tell you something,” Rusty blurted out.

Poppa hummed, “Go on then.”

“I’ve been… thinking about myself. A lot. For a long time really, even before the race.” Rusty took a shaky breath, wetting their lips, “I think I always knew. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Poppa listened intently, letting Rusty take their time. Although he was set in his traditional ways, he was a very good listener and advisor.

“I’m not going to be the Engine you’ve always seen,” their voice trembled. “I’m going to transition, to live as who I want to be. Poppa, i’m a woman.”

The silence that followed stretched.

But then Poppa bumped their shoulder, “Soon you may not look like the same Engine i’ve always seen, but you will be the same Engine i’ve always known.”

Rusty couldn’t help the tears that started to build. After all, Poppa was like a father to them and to have not only validation but acceptance from him? Rusty couldn’t even describe the feeling.

“I’ve already got a lot to thank the Starlight for and helping you realise who you truly want to be will be amongst them.”

“Oh, Poppa,” Rusty whimpered sniffling.

They hugged for a long time that day.

It was harder with Pearl.

Not because Pearl wasn’t kind; she was the best. But because Rusty loved her.

She’d practiced saying it a hundred times. Out loud. To herself. She had even started referring to herself as She/Her in her head!

But now, sat beside Pearl, who was bathed in the moonlight. All previous bravado had disappeared.

“Pearl, can I tell you something?”

“Sure!” She chirped back, always merry even at the most mundane questions or actions.

“I’m not going to be the Rusty you see for much longer…”

Pearl’s head tilted to the side, “How? Not to sound impolite but once you’re corroded there isn’t really a way to go back.”

Rusty laughed awkwardly, praying for the butterflies to go away. “Let me explain it better, i’m still going to have rust physically but not i’m not going to look like the Rusty you’ve always seen.”

Pearl waited, her eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“Pearl, i’m a woman and i’m going to start transitioning.”

Just akin to Poppa’s reaction there was silence. This time however, Rusty felt the need to fill it.

“I know i’m not fancy or sleek or modern; but when I look in the mirror, I feel so trapped under all these layers not from the rust but from looking so masculine. Pearl you may think this is out of the blue after all i’m quite old now but I have always felt this way, I just didn’t figure out what it was until recently and being a Steamer has been bad enough let alone wanting to transition too-”

Rusty stopped rambling as Pearl put her hand on her trembling fist.

“Pearl, i’m scared. That no one will believe I feel this way, that they’ll laugh, that i’ll be shunned for this.”

Pearl didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked down, pink lips parted, the gears in her mind turning.

Rusty braced for rejection. Even though Pearl was kind, she was naive and this was vulnerable news.

When Pearl finally spoke, her voice cracked. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Rusty blinked, “I… What?”

“You were hurting this whole time and I didn’t know, that… I never want you to feel like that.”

Rusty’s throat tightened, “I didn’t even know why I was hurting so much myself until recently.”

Pearl turned to her and placed her own polished hands against Rusty’s calloused ones. “You’re still you. You’re still the brave Engine who stood up to Greaseball, who sang to the Starlight when no one else believed in…”

Pearl paused, “Her.” Rusty finished the sentence for her softly, just a gentle push in the right direction.

“Her,” Pearl repeated, “I quite like that.”

“Me too.” Rusty sniffled, “I thought you’d leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Rusty and i’m going to keep loving you.”

“Even her?”

“Especially her.” Pearl said softly before leaning in for a chaste kiss.

When Rusty pulled away she realised they were both crying. It was pretty fitting.

The next person who Rusty told was not who she had in mind.

The race was over. She came second, Electra was first. Rusty huffed sitting on a small grass patch as Electra skated around showboating.

“You sulking, Steam Train?” They teased skating over; surprisingly without their components.

“No, well done.”

Electra’s lips pursed together, “I don’t believe you.”

“What?” Rusty questioned baffled.

“You’re sulking but…it’s not about the races, is it?” They questioned.

Rusty spluttered trying to find an excuse before Electra chuckled triumphantly.

“I’m correct aren’t I? Well now you have to tell me, it’s the rules.”

“What rules?”

“The ‘I know you have a secret’ rules, now tell me!”

Rusty bit her bottom lip, “You ever feel like your whole body is screaming at you that it’s wrong? Like you were built backwards?”

That caught Electra and their brows furrowed, not in judgement but in thought.

“Electra, i’m transitioning. You can tell people, it won’t be a secret for much longer.”

“I understand,” Electra said softly.

Rusty stared.

“I’m fluid,” they said. “Gender is… too static for someone like me. I shift and i’m proud of who I am. But I found it hard to start telling people too.”

“I am proud of who I am, just scared of the reactions.”

“Don’t be. You’re becoming you. That’s one of the bravest things someone can do.”

This time the silence was comforting, no shock, no rambling, just a mutual understanding.

[clocainiac]

me as a stex fan summed up

[clocainiac]

‘MY RED LIGHT’

(Is this a play on my green light from great gatsby? …maybe ANYWAYS more Mykal Rand Electra with dysphoria because they need to be in pain god i love them so much, with implied electraboose because I have an addiction that cannot be quelled. So can I have a thank you for making them implied and not making them kiss? BECAUSE it was so hard not making them kiss. Just for you @prideandvain :3)

*also if some of this doesn’t make sense i was so sleepy so im sorry :( but transfem rusty is coming so mwahaha

TW: Panic Attack!

It had been a good day.

That’s what Electra had been internalising anyways.

Pearl had smiled at them when they passed by. Rusty had waved. Even Greaseball had patted them on the shoulder like they were passive competitors again. The yard hadn’t looked at them any differently. No slurs. No jabs.

No one knew what they went through.

But it still felt wrong.

And worst of all, they still didn’t recognise themself.

The mirror had become unbearable. The lights too harsh. Even their voice felt like it belonged to someone else.

Electra needed a way out, so without another thought they snuck past the components and escaped their shed; heading to the farthest part of the yard, where the light was low and the ground smelled like old steel and wet gravel.

They sat slumped against a rusted shed, hands clutched tight in fists, face vulnerable to the chilly breeze. Their chest started to hitch in broken sobs, Electra’s throat burning like karma for not being able to communicate.

They wanted to scream.

They wanted to be seen for who they were, but the thought of being perceived made a thick bile rise up. Electra couldn’t even conceive who or what they wanted to be and soon everything was too much but not enough.

The tightness made an appearance again, every crevice and curve being sucked in, like their body was trying to crush itself. Being smaller meant less mess, less noise. Their extravagant, gorgeous outfit now felt like a prison not a statement. Or maybe it was a statement?

A statement of how fake they were.

Electra had never felt so ugly and alienated.

They were just an amalgamation of glitter and neon lights to cover up the tragedy of what inhabited it.

Electra’s hands unclenched, now they pressed against their temples, rubbing in a clockwise motion to silence the internal crowd of thoughts. Sounds built behind their ears, rising like an AMP.

But something was different this time, it actually started to feel painful. Panic erupted as the sharp spikes from not breathing properly started to set in; their vision blurred, not from tears but dizziness.

They clawed at their chest monitor like they could free themself, as if the buzzing would finally escape. The gravel started to dig in, the smoky night air started to wrap around their body and it felt like the rust from the shed was slowly seeping onto them connecting them like some sick symbolism for the future.

“Electra?”

They flinched. It was CB.

“No, don’t!” Electra managed to gasp out, damn that Caboose! Why did he have to be so lithe and quiet, “Don’t look at me!”

He didn’t leave but he didn’t come closer either. He just stayed. The only stagnant thing in the moment. Or he was, before he kneeled down beside Electra, his knees making an unholy grating sound.

“Breathe.” CB said gently, not teasing or cocky, just gentle. “Try to match me.”

He started breathing slow, audible and on purpose.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Electra tried to follow, it came in shudders at first, drowning gasps that were just downright painful. But they still focused on the rhythm and the pattern, even the lilts in CB’s voice.

“That’s it.” CB murmured, “You’ve got it.”

Minutes passed and the buzzing settled.

“I- I’m sorry,” Electra choked out. “You weren’t supposed to see me like this.”

The Caboose moved again, now saddling up beside Electra; the Electric looked up their lashes damp and cheeks stained.

“Bad day?” He probed softly.

Electra scoffed, “More like bad existence.”

CB hummed, chewing on his bottom lip. “Wanna be alone?”

Electra hesitated, then very quietly said, “Not really.”

That was all it took.

CB didn’t say anything quirky or menacing. He just stayed. It was so profound, after all CB was always busy in the yard with less than normal tasks.

Eventually, Electra spoke again with leftover tears. “I thought I could do it. I thought if I wished hard enough and tried to tweak myself, i’d feel like me.”

“And instead?”

Electra laughed bitterly, “I feel like i’m in a play I haven’t auditioned for. I don’t know what’s me or fake, or what I like since that seems to change everyday. How ironic is it that me the symbol of the future can’t handle change…”

CB was quiet for a a moment before responding. “It’s not that you can’t handle change, it’s that it’s too much at the same time. I get that you want to feel yourself, that’s a desire for everyone, but you can’t change it overnight. Sometimes the best things take awhile to come into fruition, so just take your time to adjust and see what needs to happen, you’ll always have support.”

Electra glanced over at him, CB’s expression was neutral with a hint of softness around the edges. “I’m not use to you being so raw,” Electra croaked out.

CB gave a small shrug, “I’m not use to you crying either. Guess we are both full of surprises.”

They shared a long look.

Electra’s breath caught in their throat, god the way CB looked at them. It wasn’t pitiful or confused it was warm and admiring. CB looked at them like they were beautiful as if they were already perfect.

“…I’m scared,” Electra admitted, barely audible.

“I know, but you’re still here. You haven’t run away.”

And then very slowly, CB reached his hand to rest on Electra’s. They didn’t pull away. Their fingers didn’t intertwine, not yet. Just simply resting and grounding eachother.

Electra could finally breathe again. They didn’t say ‘Thank you’, they didn’t need to.

Just like how CB didn’t say, “I like you,” or “I see you.” But somehow, Electra heard that all anyway when CB’s thumb brushed gently against their knuckles.

[clocainiac]

Lowkey was about to yap about your insanely good fic without knowing it was you and I deleted it so I didn't look dumb. IM ACTUALLY GOING INSANE OVER THE GENDER DYSPHORIA ELECTRA WANTING TO BE PEARL WITHIN HER FEMININITY MAKES ME ACTUALLY INSANE!!! makes me want to make my verison of Electra less feminine so I can give that struggle to her because it actually makes me ill and sick and twisted. Like oh my god how you wrote it so just so jaw droppingly good im in utter shock I adore it. Im ACTUALLY GOING INSANE RAHHHHHHHH please please please if you ever do write something like that again with Electra or if you already wrote smth else I haven't seen please at me I ADORE IT SO MUCH IM ACTUALLY JUST UAGGGGHHGHHHH ITS SO CANON TRUST PLEASE TRUST I ADORE YOUR WRITING GOD YOU ARE SO PEAK I NEED TO EAT YOUR BRAIN THANK YOU FOR WRITING THAT OMGGGGG 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 MUCH LOVE/ALL POSITIVE AND PLATONIC

I must give the public what they want…

more gender dysphoria for Electra because I love them and they must suffer for that (with possible Electraboose which doesn’t even need an explanation) AND for a bargain offer I will also give you transfem Rusty because someone requested the idea and my brain needs to make it real TONIGHT, be there or be square.

Sincerely, From Clo (who must make every stex character suffer in agony because i can, they are my little experiments, also this is insanely sweet tysm!! 💕)

[clocainiac]

Starlight Express: The Musical (1984) acted out by Dubstep Guy

[clocainiac]

spot the difference

god i wish mykal rand was real