#fun fact: I thought it was Run Factory | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sundrop-writes · 5 months

Text

Your First Kiss With Jason Todd

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

Jason always thought he hated you. He did hate you.

Until he didn't.

Until his love for you ruined him in ways he couldn't even imagine.

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader. Frenemies to Lovers. Pure Angst (Hurt, No Comfort). Set during Season 3.

Word Count: 8,200

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This fic is almost entirely angst - hurt, no comfort. This fic does not have a happy ending!!! So be warned of that before you enter here. Jason and the reader are described as ‘hating’ each other, but they are more like frenemies/annoyances - they have a playful banter (at the time, even they don’t know that they like arguing because it’s sexual tension and passion for each other); the reader is completely gender neutral - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours; this is mostly written from Jason’s POV (which is where most of the angst comes from); Jason describes himself as a ‘zombie’ or ‘half-alive’ - but he is fully alive and has all of his mental faculties, he is just freaked out about the fact that he was resurrected; the reader does not have any meta powers, but is described as being very good at combat (this does not denote the reader’s body type); mentions of sex and some sexual themes - but there is no outright smut and no detailed descriptions of sex; mentions of negative stereotypes surrounding frat boys/frat houses - including STDs and group sex (mentioned in a negative light); mentions of Jason masturbating (and thinking about the reader while doing it); mentions of Jason’s canon trauma (being kidnapped and tortured by Deathstroke, dropped off the building); mentions of Jason being killed by the Joker (and being ressurected by Crane); mentions of the reader mourning Jason’s death; mentions of drugs and drug addiction (based around the canon storyline of the anti-fear gas); mentions of Jason’s trauma surround his mother’s drug addiction; mentions of Jason killing Hank (as in the canon); the reader is kidnapped (by Crane or someone who works for Crane) and held hostage, and later rescued by Jason; somewhat graphic descriptions of violence (Jason beating up Crane, other background instances), gory descriptions of a death toward the end (mentions of acid burns and choking on non-breathable air); major character death - the reader character does die. Like I said - no happy ending. Sorry not sorry.

A/N: This is set during Season 3 - and this does feature spoilers for Season 3 if you haven't seen Titans before. So if you wanna watch the show spoiler free, definitely avoid this fic. I was imagining this to be set around episode 6 or episode 7, before Crane's plan to use the ice cream factory is taken down by the Titans, but obviously Jason breaking away from Crane's control so early goes against the canon - so there's that. Also, if you wanna pair some music with this for something truly heartbreaking, I would highly recommend the classic Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush, or the highly underrated Colorado Sunrise by 3OH!3 (the lyrics are way more depressing than people realize, and I love it as a whump song. oomf). I also feel like the song Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny would go so well with this fic, but in like - the most devastating way. I haven't written something this cruel since I wrote Ghosting and I had so much fun doing it. You can't leave me alone with whump for too long, I turn into a monster. I need to go back to smut again quickly lmao.

...

Jason Todd was in love with you.

It was something that he hated himself for. Actually, it was one of the most infuriating, devastating facts in the world. But it was true. You were someone who was so entirely amazing. You were beautiful - literally the hottest person Jason had ever met who wasn’t photoshopped or catered to be some unrealistic daydream. You were clever and smart and strong. You could kick anybody’s ass on any day of the week and still have enough energy left to tell them how much of an idiot they were and list all of the reasons why.

And you would definitely never love Jason back. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he could ever have someone like you.

So he kept all of that stupid, idiotic love to himself. It was a secret that he had sworn to die with - and technically, he already had.

Jason tried not to linger on the very fucked up, seemingly impossible fact that he had come back from the dead. And now he was existing as some weird, fucked up zombie thing - resurrected from having his skull caved in by the Joker to do Jonathan Crane’s bidding. This definitely wasn’t what Jason would have wanted out of a renewed life - but hey: when an Arkham prisoner gives you rotten lemons.

When Jason wasn’t beating down drug dealers, stealing money, or strapping bombs to people - when he was trying his hardest not to focus on the fact that he had died and he was now living some strange half-life, reliant on Crane’s drugs, he was thinking about you. He thought about you a lot.

He hadn’t come into contact with you since his strange foray back into the land of the living. That was probably for the best. He knew that you had freshly come back to Gotham, upon Dick’s request. Nightwing had called for backup from all the ex-Titans to help end Red Hood’s reign of terror. Jason wanted to stay as far away from you as possible.

Genuinely, he didn’t want you getting caught in the crossfire of whatever Crane was planning. He wished you had stayed out of Gotham, but he knew that you were too loyal, too good not to come to the aid of the Titans when they needed you. He couldn’t reveal himself to you just for a taste of nostalgia - one last argument before you sold him down the river for good. But fuck - he thought about you a lot.

When the two of you had first met, you were the last person he ever thought that he would surrender that stupid, soft label of love to. Even months into first knowing you - he would have said that he hated you. He would have told anybody that he found you to be the most annoying person on earth.

Your relationship used to be the worst kind of dance.

Every single time that Jason opened his mouth, you said something to contradict him. To a point, he believed that you didn’t even fully stand behind the things you said - you just enjoyed arguing against him. That you did it for sport. You used every single last bit of your time and energy to get under his skin. From mocking him to calling him a fuckboy to prodding at his grammar, poking holes in his points by smugly correcting him. He always found you to be the most infuriating person in any room. But it seemed that the more frustrated he got with you, the more cool headed you remained.

He tried to mock you back, and you shrugged it off. Every time he became visibly annoyed in your presence - you giggled. He wanted to strangle you.

And it was one fated day that he realized the line between heat fueled by frustration and heat fueled by lust truly weren’t that different.

…

“Jason! I thought I smelled you coming down the hall!”

Jason groaned when he heard you make this comment.

He thought that for once, he could have some peace to train alone - but it appeared that he would have no such luck. You were already in the training room, holding a long bo-staff as you ran some drills. Apparently, you were eager to exercise your mouth too - already whipping off clever insults the minute that Jason entered the room.

When all he could muster was a glare in your direction, you let out a giggle. His blood boiled.

“Between that god awful Axe body wash and that alcohol based aftershave that you like to drown yourself in, you smell like a walking frat house.” You continued, blabbering on even though Jason had made no efforts to engage you. At least not yet. “Just throw in some Busch Light and weed, and I might be able to catch gonorrhea just from the stench.”

That was the nerve that hooked Jason into the conversation. First of all - he smelled fucking delightful. He always made hygiene one of his personal priorities. He was absolutely not one of those guys with crusty, sweaty balls. And second of all - he was not one of those STD spreading manwhores. He was clean in all senses. He always used a condom.

“Sounds like you’ve got experience with that.” Jason quipped back.

He looked to you for some kind of reaction, some inkling that he had gotten under your skin even a fraction of the way that you did his. His movements were rough with annoyance as he began wrapping his knuckles with tape so he could have a few rounds with the heavy bag - mostly out of a need to pound out his frustration on something. He was getting too angered with your presence in the room and not wanting to snap and take it out on you. (He already had enough on his record with Bruce, and despite popular opinion - he was trying to improve.)

When you weren’t quick to respond, Jason continued.

“You used to letting frat boys all over you? You seem like the type of person who would enjoy a good, sloppy frat house train. Twenty guys, one after the other, none of them knowing your name, just because you’re so needy for a good fuck.”

Jason grinned, feeling like he had won this conversation with the essence of shock alone.

But no. As always, you remained cool. You grinned right back at him, stepping toward him, crowding into his personal space as you said your next words in a low, smooth voice.

“Sounds like you spend an awful lot of time picturing me running a train.” You smirked. “Is that why you’re always so late getting up in the morning? You wake up and the first thing you do is get a hand on your dick, imagining me getting fucked by a lineup of guys? Probably just wishing that one of them was you.”

Jason’s face fell flat.

You were so strikingly confident in your words that it made his stomach twist. Facing him down, speaking such filthy words without flinching - embarrassment and heat collided inside of him. Even more so with what you did next.

You put a hand out in front of your crotch, mimicking the motions of jacking off while you mocked him in a broken voice.

“Oh, oh fuck Y/N! Come on! Take my sloppy, frat house cock!”

You then mocked a whiny series of moans that must have been Jason’s fake orgasm - and while Jason’s insides bubbled with a confusing heat, you quickly dissolved off into laughter.

“Shut up.” Jason snapped, forcing his eyes down to focus on the process of taping himself up - praying that you wouldn’t see the heat that had spread across his cheeks. “You’re the fucking worst.”

“Only when I’m with you.” You replied, blowing him a kiss - to which he stuck his middle finger up at you.

He was eternally thankful when you went back to your own training in silence, only taking occasional glances up in his direction.

…

After that point, Jason had to admit to himself that he was attracted to you, at the very least. He could no longer deny that you were insanely attractive; you were a very, very hot person. And somehow, even past your annoying habits, he was being drawn into the orbit of your gorgeous looks and your wonderfully cocky, filthy mouth.

But he still hated you. He definitely still hated you.

He hated it even more when you became right - and you did become the object of some of his more heated fantasies. He became downright annoyed at the times he had his hand around his cock and imagined himself hate fucking you - imagined forcing every cocky retort out of your mouth, imagining you breathless and needy beneath him, begging for more with every hard push of his hips.

He hated how everything changed after Doctor Light.

Jason wasn’t thinking about your stupid beautiful cocky mouth after that. His mind was full of glass and he was being shredded from the inside out. He came home broken. After everything that happened with Deathstroke and Doctor Light - he was some fragile bird; some chewed up, used, pitiful thing. He didn’t have the energy to fight you anymore, not even for sport.

So after he was rescued, still floating in numbness, he didn’t know what to do when you burst into his room unannounced. You practically shoved the door off its hinges, and stormed across the room toward him - tears hot in your eyes. You pounded curled fists against his chest, screaming at the top of your lungs. Half of your words were static in his ears, but the tone of your voice pierced through his heart like an arrow. You called him stupid, asking where in his empty head he had gotten the idea to go off by himself.

Jason didn’t have it in him to fight you. So he broke down.

He felt like the world’s biggest idiot for crying in front of you. But his throat was tight and he choked on the tears - he was too tired. He just couldn’t hold them back. He screamed back, and asked you to lay off. To get off his fucking back.

You looked shocked. Like you had swallowed a piece of glass.

You surprised him when you uncurled your fists and wrapped the most tender, gentle hands around his back, and for the first time since he had known you - you embraced him in a hug. He was weak and he needed it more than he was willing to admit, so he let you. He sobbed against your neck, his own cries too loud that he missed the timid sound of your apology.

That wasn’t the only time you surprised him that week.

He knew it was because he was some broken little bird, but you started taking care of him. You brought him plates of food without being asked, and when he attempted to shove them away - you refused. You told him to eat before you had to ‘shove it down his fucking throat’.

You didn’t mock him. You didn’t correct him. And you surprised him even more when you turned the sharpness of your tongue on the others when they tried attacking Jason. They accused him of planting booze in Hank’s room or drawing crosses on Rachel’s mirror to fuck with her, among other things. And you popped veins in your neck going on a winding rant about how stupid and baseless their accusations were.

Jason wasn’t sure if you knew it, but you jumping to his defense wrapped him in a blanket of protection that he had never before felt. It was so entirely strange, but welcomed coming from you. Especially because he knew that it was genuine. He knew that you didn’t have any ulterior motives for doing this - for some reason, you just wanted to help him.

When you extended an invitation toward him to come with you as the group dispersed, torn apart by Dick’s nasty, festering secret - Jason felt welcomed by you. He knew that the dynamic between the two of you was changing at a breakneck speed, and he had to embrace it. He found himself eager to follow the weird, newly developing kinship that he had with you rather than wanting to stay in the empty coldness of the Tower with a brooding Dick.

From there, it was really difficult for Jason to pin down the exact moment that his feelings transitioned toward you from casual lust to something more. He couldn’t tell exactly when it turned into that panic-inducing, ‘oh my god, I’m fucked’ feeling of being in love. After leaving San Francisco, during the entirety of the time that the two of you were in Gotham together, your relationship remained completely platonic.

It was a few short weeks spent kicking ass as the best vigilante duo the city had ever seen, but there wasn’t a single moment Jason could point to where the two of you lit up with that romantic spark. It wasn’t some romcom bullshit come to life. It was just the two of you being friendly for once. The two of you helping each other survive.

Back then - Jason wanted you, badly. Even if he didn’t know just how badly, he wasn’t going to fuck up the whole dynamic just to get laid. He felt safe with you. He kicked ass with you. He was good with you. And during that short time - he was happy. So he wasn’t going to do anything to risk that happiness. Happiness was too rare for him. So why the hell would he try putting the moves on you, scare you away, and fuck it all up?

…

A little slice of that happiness came in the form of Hal’s Diner. It was a place in downtown Gotham, open twenty four hours, and you and Jason had gotten into the habit of stopping there after your patrols.

The two of you would kick some ass - break the legs of some drug dealers, make sure that women got home safe if they were walking late at night, keep the streets a little safer. And then you would change out of your patrol outfits and head to the diner, just as the sun was rising over the scummy streets of Gotham. You would get breakfast and Jason would get dinner. He would steal one of your eggs and you would take half his burger, and you would always comment about him putting way too much ketchup on his plate.

It was harmony.

“You know, every time I see you make a grown man cry, it brings me such intense joy.” Jason grinned as he said this, reminiscing about a beautiful moment from earlier in the night.

He spoke about it in the same manner that someone might reminisce about seeing a relative or a cute puppy. But this was natural for the two of you - since you had taken up vigilantism as a duo, violence was a sweet art for the two of you.

“Well, if he would have left that girl alone the first time I asked, I wouldn’t have broken his arm.” You shrugged, speaking very casually about it yourself.

You then picked a piece of bacon up off your plate and took a bite, grinning at Jason fondly. You did appreciate it when he complimented your skills.

Jason chuckled.

“You know, it is nice to see you using your powers for good instead of evil.” He commented.

“My powers?” You parroted back, your mouth half busy with chewing, your words slightly muffled.

You didn’t have any metahuman powers, so this comment did leave you slightly confused.

“Yeah.” He nodded, entirely confident in the statement he had to follow. “Your endless amount of energy to harass people and be endlessly annoying. The powers you used to spend all your time using on me.”

“You used to deserve it.” You were quick with your tongue as usual, not missing a beat with this statement.

Jason’s only rebuttal was to pick up a french fry - one not doused in ketchup - and throw it at your head. You flinched slightly when it bounced off your forehead - but when it landed in your lap, you easily picked it up and put it in your mouth, not thinking twice about doing so as you tossed Jason a wicked grin.

That. That must have been the moment.

That was the moment he realized that he was truly in love with you. You grinning at him from across the table, your smile lighting up your whole face, playing around with him like he actually made you happy. Like he could spend the rest of his life making you happy.

That’s why it hurt so much more when your phone buzzed on the table a few minutes later. When you told him that it was the Titans - Gar in trouble. That’s why it hurt so fucking much when you left.

Jason knew, in hindsight, that he should have gone with you. But he flailed like a rabbit caught in a snare, and rather than just agreeing with you, he felt the trap tightening around him, and he opted to chew off his own foot rather than simply letting you help him free.

He stupidly argued that it was some test from Dick. That the Titans could deal with their own problems. Jason knew that deep down, he was still tender from everything that had happened - Dick dropping him, even by accident. The accusations, the secrets. The rejection. He felt like he was laying down a line - he was letting you make a choice.

Him or the Titans.

But it shouldn’t have been a choice. It was Gar. Jason should have stood by his friend. He should have gone with you.

Deep down, Jason feared that if he did go with you - the Titans wouldn’t want him back. He feared another cutting rejection. They would simply bench him again, they wouldn’t even need him to help save Gar. They wouldn’t want him to help. He was useless, after all. He was careless and stupid. That was why he needed you to choose him. To stay.

That was what his mind was screaming out as you looked at him, disappointment flooding your eyes as you questioned him about Gar, about going back to the Titans.

Stay. He silently begged. Pick me.

And watching you snatch up your jacket in a huff and get up from the table, your food barely touched - his eyes boring into your back as you retreated - it was like having his heart carved out of his chest. And because he was so fucked up, he just sat there. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He didn’t chase you.

He let you go.

Having you suddenly disappear from his life was like missing a limb. Jason was constantly aching around your non-presence, constantly missing you. He felt torn up from the inside out, wondering if his frayed nerve endings would ever heal themselves. When he went to Donna’s funeral, he stared at you from across the tarmac - telling himself that if you even so much as glanced in his direction, he would cross that sickly one hundred foot black sea and talk to you. He would make the leap and apologize.

But you were fettered and stubborn and you kept your head straight. You knew it was the ultimate punishment not to acknowledge him. So the moment that the plane took off, Jason shoved on his helmet and sped off on his bike.

He easily became numb after that.

He went back to Bruce - to lay low and lick his wounds, or because it was the only place he knew, he wasn’t sure. He tried to be a Robin that wasn’t with you. It didn’t work. He felt more broken than ever. It was cheesy, pathetic bullshit - but he talked about you in therapy. Leslie encouraged him to reach out to you, but every time Jason’s fingers hovered over your contact in his phone, his hands shook, and all he remembered was the look of pure scorn you had given him before you snatched up your things and left the diner that day.

He thought of you as he suited up to go after the Joker. He considered how easy it would be for the two of you to take down the stupid clown together - how flawlessly the two of you worked as a team.

Jason thought of you as he drew his last breath, soaked in blood and struggling past the world-ending pain. He wondered, in a haze, if you were warm in your bed in The Tower while he was pressed into the cold ground, taunted by the laughter that rung in his ears.

…

Jason didn’t know how hard you cried for him when you heard the news of his death.

You wouldn’t have dared to say that the hole in the middle of your chest was caused by love - caused by the heartbreak of a lover being stolen. But you certainly felt robbed when you heard that the Joker had killed him. You seethed and you heavily considered marching toward Gotham to seek revenge.

You knew that Dick was angry with Bruce for finally giving in to what the Joker wanted and killing him. For finally ending their sick, twisted game. But when you found out - you were glad that the clown was dead. You wrapped one of Jason’s stolen shirts around your pillow, and you slept a bit easier at night.

…

Jason knew that he should have left town.

Crane claimed that Red Hood was going to be the next Batman - that he was going to be something the Bat never could. That he was going to actually keep the streets safe. But so far, all Jason had done was steal, kill, terrorize, torture. Crane spoke of omelets and breaking eggs - pigs and bacon, and ‘marketing’ himself to the public. But truly, it never made any real sense to Jason.

Jason knew that now, he was the type of man lurking in the night whose arm you would have broken if he was lingering too closely to the vulnerable. And you would have been right for doing so.

Jason was tired. He felt lost - directionless. He was getting tired of Crane’s bullshit. He missed you. But he knew that he couldn’t just go running back to you. You likely wouldn’t have accepted him back into your life if he did.

When Crane called him in that night, wanting to discuss ‘the game plan’ - Jason was worn. His patience for all of it was already wearing thin, and what happened next - it truly caused him to snap.

Jason showed up in full gear, wearing the costume of an alias he no longer believed in; foolishly dressed up as someone he had truly begun to resent. He was holding his helmet in hand, his heavy boots clunking on the floor as he dodged around Crane’s egghead lackeys - a random group of people who were working to convert the anti-fear gas into a larger batch. He knew that they were aiming to get more and more people in the city hooked; if Jason hadn’t abandoned his morals in this new life, he might have cared more about the consequences.

Instead, he made a B-line for Crane, who was typing away at something on the computer.

“Jason, my boy!” Crane grinned at him, giving a false, performative grin over his shoulder. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“What do you want?” Jason asked, his tone flat.

He was far too tired of Crane to engage in more word play or stupid riddles.

“Never one for pleasantries, are you?” Crane chuckled.

Jason didn’t offer him a reply - seemingly confirming his theory with this simple act.

Truthfully, he wasn’t. He wasn’t feeling very pleasant today. He hadn’t felt very pleasant any day since he had been so rudely pulled from the morgue and zombified to do someone else’s bidding against his will. Being an undead puppet didn’t really make a person all that pleasant.

Crane reached into the pocket of his oddly quaint grandpa sweater and pulled something out - a small glass vial, containing some clear liquid. It looked harmless - like water. But Jason knew Crane, and he knew that whatever it was must have been entirely dangerous if Crane was carrying around such a small dose of it.

“Do you know what this is?” He asked, giving the vial a small shake, jostling the liquid inside to emphasize his point.

Jason hesitated before he shook his head in the negative. He hated to appear clueless and stupid around such an intelligent man, but he didn’t want to guess and be wrong. He knew that being misinformed around Crane was dangerous. But being cocky and pretending to know more than Crane was even more dangerous.

“This is a very highly concentrated form of liquid Methadone.” Crane explained. “It’s a highly addictive substance. And I think it’s going to give the mass market version of your formula that little extra kick that it needs, ya know? Keep the people coming back for more!”

He let out a bright chuckle, as though he was talking about a cleaning product that was marketed on an infomercial or some kind of great recipe for soup. That was one of the things that scared Jason the most about Crane - his ability to talk about life changing, deadly things with such jarring enthusiasm. He truly thought of bringing people their worst nightmares and their most painful deaths as ‘beautiful work’.

“What about it?” Jason prodded quietly.

He knew that Crane hadn’t called him here just to brag about a new idea to add something to the formula. He needed Jason for something.

Jason just hoped that he wasn’t looking to use him as a guinea pig again. He would likely rather die again than go down the path of heavy drugs. One thing he had vowed - he wouldn’t end up like his mother.

“Well, you see, my boy, that’s where you come in.” Crane grinned at him. “Due to its highly addictive qualities, Methadone is also a highly regulated substance. But because I am the wonderfully well-connected man that I am, I happen to know that there is a very large stash of it just sitting there, ripe for the taking, in this quaint little building uptown.”

Jason’s gut stirred with suspicion.

“Where uptown?” He asked.

“Well, it’s just-” Crane stuttered, and then sighed, deciding to get it out and over with. “The Wayne Memorial Cancer Research Facility.”

Jason glared at him.

“But see, it’s fine! Because I happen to know someone who knows their way around the Wayne Tech security systems very well. So Red Hood breaks in there, gets me my-”

“No.” Jason said flatly, before he turned and started to walk away. “Find somebody else. We’re done.”

Crane had threatened to replace him before. Crane had no-so-subtly threatened to kill him alongside being replaced. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Jason would be better off dead. Maybe Crane would find out that Jason was irreplaceable after all. Maybe Jason was a dirty, seedy criminal shaped by life for only one thing: ruining the lives of others. If Jason couldn’t do that, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

But he wasn’t going to fucking do this.

Killing was one thing. Stealing from drug dealers and mobsters was another. What he had done to Hank had crossed too many lines - but it didn’t even begin to approach the lines that this crossed.

Stealing from a facility that Thomas and Martha had set up when Bruce was just a child, shitting all over their legacy, using skills that Bruce had taught him in order to do it? That was too far. Jason couldn’t say that he had morals anymore, but he still had that voice of common decency in the back of his head yelling at him to stop it. Maybe it was your voice, correcting him at every turn the way you used to.

He should listen to that voice.

He should leave town.

“Hold on, hold on there, Jaybird!” Crane called after him.

The pure annoyance that the nickname caused was the only thing that stopped Jason. He considered turning around and shooting Crane just to shut him up.

“See, I think you forget how this works.” The man went off again - talking in that humming tone he always used that made Jason’s ears numb, made his brain switch off. “Every loyal dog gets a treat. A little motivation to get that Pavlovian mind barking in the right direction.”

Jason turned back around then.

“Nothing you say ever makes any fucking sense.” He barked out, ready to leave Crane with these as his last remarks before he left Gotham forever.

But then Crane tapped at a few things on his keyboard and pulled something up on the monitor - a dark, grainy video feed that had Jason squinting his eyes and walking closer to get a better look.

When Jason was able to truly take in the scene - his stomach dropped.

It was you.

You were sitting alone in some anonymous, concrete warehouse - probably in the industrial district of Gotham, if Jason had to guess. Crane didn’t like to keep his insurance policies too far away, he liked to play it close to the vest. You were tied to a chair, duct tape tight over your mouth, very much there against your will. You were looking straight ahead, with the camera angled down from the top corner of the room. Even through the grainy, black and white footage, Jason could see the wetness of tears streaking down your face.

You were terrified.

Jason’s helmet clattered to the floor, slipping from his grip as the shock overtook his system.

For the first time in weeks, fighting through the numbness of the drugs and the hazy shock of his new half-life - he was terrified too. Then he was angry. Rage bubbled up inside of him like a sharp, acidic bile.

“What the fuck have you done?” Jason growled out, the anger setting his jaw so tight that the words could barely escape between his teeth.

“I told you - every loyal dog gets a treat.” Crane said, a barely contained glee filtering through his voice as he peered over Jason’s shoulder at your weeping face on the screen.

He clapped a large hand on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason felt himself nearly choke on his own tongue - so swollen with anger that it barely fit in his mouth.

“So, go fetch, doggie.” Crane continued. “Go get me what I need. Otherwise, that sweet little treat of yours is gonna play dead.”

Crane leaned over and whispered those last words into Jason’s ear - and that was what truly caused him to snap.

In a flash, Jason grabbed the hand that was on his shoulder, whipped Crane around - there was a loud crack as Jason broke Crane’s arm. The egghead types who were working on the formula all paused; some of them gasped or hid behind things, but none of them were brave enough to intervene. Jason shoved Crane’s face into the monitor, cracking it out like a spider’s web but never fully obscuring the image of that dark, cold warehouse - the place where you were alone and terrified.

He twisted Crane’s broken arm, making a sound like glass grinding in on itself, and the man let out a howl.

“I think you forget how this works.” Jason barked at him, his voice so dark with rage that it almost sounded like he was wearing Red Hood’s voice modulator even though his helmet was on the floor at Crane’s feet. “When dogs get pissed off - they bite.”

He twisted the injury again, and Crane let out another bitter howl.

Jason demanded to know where you were, and Crane squeaked out an address. It was in the industrial district, so it checked out in Jason’s mind. It didn’t seem like a trap or a false answer to waste his time.

Jason shoved the pathetic, useless man to the ground, kicked him in the gut for good measure, and then leaned down to grab his helmet before shoving it on. He would need it in case Crane had anybody stationed there, guarding you.

Crane shouted something at him as he walked away, but Jason was barely paying attention - now very singular minded on his mission toward you.

“You have to learn to play by the rules, Red!” Crane choked out. “You won’t like how this ends! I made you! I fucking made you!”

…

Jason was surprised to find the building empty. No guards, seemingly no bombs, no gas canisters. At first, he thought it really was a trick, a misdirect to waste his time. But when he had just about given up hope of finding you, searching one of the back most rooms that used to serve as overflow storage for Ace Chemicals - he found you. Concrete and anonymous, some of the beams having eroded away in places from improper chemical storage.

When you saw him stalking toward you - his gun drawn, heavy boots thudding against the floor, modulator puffing out heavy, mechanical breaths - you let out a terrified whimper past the duct tape and more tears flowed freely down your face.

Jason felt a twinge of guilt. Of course. You had no clue it was him.

Perhaps he could get away with the mercy of never revealing himself to you. He could keep his mask on, release you, drop you back off with the Titans and then leave town. But eventually, Dick would tell you who he was.

At the very least, he could give you the comfort of seeing a familiar face after the hell you had been through. You were wearing a sweatshirt and simple cotton pants, and running shoes - it looked like you had been plucked off the street during a jogging session. He could only imagine how much Crane’s lackeys had scared you.

Once he was confident that the area was secure, he holstered his gun and then reached up, removing the face mask from his helmet and tossing it aside.

“Hey, hey, it’s me.” He told you - attempting to be gentle and soothing in his voice.

He approached you slowly, not wanting you to be scared as he reached to his belt for a knife - only with the intention to cut the ropes around your torso, wrists, and ankles.

He watched your expression as you flashed through a range of emotions - deep confusion, a bit of relief, sadness, and then strangely - burning anger. You glared at him with the most intense rage he had ever seen from you - more intense even than the day you had stormed into his room and called him stupid and suicidal for going after Doctor Light without backup.

Jason was slightly afraid of the lecture that would come next, but nonetheless, he knelt beside you and began cutting you free.

The minute that one of your hands was free, you reached up and ripped the duct tape off your mouth. You took only a fraction of a second to wince in pain from the tender skin of your lips being disturbed before you began verbally tearing into him.

“Jason Todd!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, so loudly that Jason was sure some of the edges of the corroded concrete pebbled off and fell down just from this. “Jason fucking Todd! I should have known you had something to do with this!”

“Wh-?”

Before Jason could question your odd choice of words or even recognize it as an accusation, you raised your other freshly free hand and slapped him squarely across the cheek - it was a hard, skull-shaking clatter. It had Jason dizzy, falling back onto his ass and dropping the knife before he could finish cutting the ropes around your legs.

“Fucking ow!” Jason griped, reaching up to grab his now very red cheek.

“You are such an asshole! Of all the completely idiotic, stupid things you have ever done-”

“I didn’t fucking kidnap you! Okay? I didn’t do shit!” Jason quickly argued back, finally now realizing that you thought he had put you here in the first place. “I’m here to rescue you!” He said each of these words slowly, looking you in the eyes, hoping that his point would get across more firmly this way.

There was a tense moment as you stared back at him with your jaw locked. It was likely that if your feet hadn’t still been tied, you would have run away - or kicked him. Jason was thankful that you couldn’t do either at the moment.

“Why?” You asked, finally breaking the tension.

“What?” Jason gaped.

This was the last thing he had been expecting.

He was saving you - why were you questioning him?

“Why are you ‘rescuing’ me?” You asked, taunting his phrasing of it with a mocking tone and large air quotes. He now regretted freeing your hands. “So you can bargain me off to Dick for ransom money? So you can put a bomb in my chest?”

You said the last part with intense disdain, tears dancing in your eyes.

So you did know what a monster he was.

He was surprised that you hadn’t hit him harder.

Jason heaved a sigh. He reached over and picked up the knife, very slowly, very tentatively resuming cutting the ropes on your legs to free you.

“I’m just freeing you so that you can be free. That’s it.” He said quietly, defeat lacing through every inch of his voice. “You don’t deserve this.”

He cut the last rope and folded the knife, sticking it back in his belt. He stood up then and caught a glimpse of your face - you were wearing the most complex expression he had ever seen. Perhaps confusion, perhaps anger. Maybe somewhere deep in your eyes - hurt.

He turned and moved to leave, hoping you would simply follow him out of the confusing maze of the building and he wouldn’t have to drag you out kicking and screaming.

“That’s not an answer.” You told him, your tone sharp and certain - the same tone you always used to correct him.

Jason whipped back around then, heaving a sigh as he looked at you - standing in the middle of the room now, arms folded over your chest, glaring at him on the spot. Cocky and so sure about yourself. Too damn certain and immobile in your points. Infuriating.

“Why the fuck do you have to make everything so damn complicated?” Jason shot back, annoyance and dread tight in every inch of him. “Why do you have to interrogate me about every damn thing that I do?”

“Because you make stupid ass decisions when I don’t.” You easily fired back. “Now tell me: why are you doing this?”

“Because I wanted to.” Jason huffed.

“Why?” You prodded again.

He let out another hot huff, and you didn’t let it go.

“Come on Jason!” You shouted, increasing in volume as you became more frustrated with his lack of an answer. “You didn’t just develop a conscience all of a sudden! Why did you feel the need to suddenly drop everything and come to my rescue? What makes me different than Hank? What makes me different than-?”

It was the annoyance grinding on him. It was a combination of your nagging voice, the lack of drugs in his system for the first time in weeks. The rawness of the world ragging on his last good nerve. The sound of your voice putting him in line - exactly where he was supposed to be. The way you reminded him of the truth now more than ever.

“Because I’m in love with you!” Jason shouted.

It was almost… angry. It was a declaration that hit you like a whip - more like an insult than something warm and kind. It wasn’t made of sweetness, like some moment from a film with a gentle piano riff wrapped around it. It was real - made of the haunting kind of passion that kept Jason awake at night.

Your eyes widened. Jason’s breathing stilled as he waited for you to react - to say something.

“Oh.” Your voice cracked around this syllable, and your eyes danced with more tears.

Jason felt his own heart crack apart inside of his chest, more terror flooding him.

He had died with the secret because he had never wanted to live up to the embarrassing vulnerability of confessing it. In the deepest part of his mind, he had lived this horror a thousand times. Him finally creeping out onto the edge of oblivion - speaking those words. Confessing. And then you stabbing him in the heart, rejecting him.

The reality of it ripped through him so much harder than it ever had in his nightmares.

Any last tiny piece of his soul that had survived being murdered by the Joker had just been shattered by you.

“Yeah. Fucking oh.” Jason echoed back, his own tears clutching at his throat.

Seeing him with that naked vulnerability dancing behind his eyes - it reminded you of the same person who came back from being kidnapped by Doctor Light. It reminded you of the real Jason you had gotten to know.

In that moment, it all came crashing toward you. You gasped harshly as you could barely breathe around it.

That hole in your chest had been shaped like a lover - it had been shaped like him. Filled with the pain of letting him get hurt, leaving him alone in Gotham to be murdered by the Joker. Filled with the doubt and confusion of never knowing what could have been between the two of you if you had chased those flirtations a little bit farther.

And now, he was standing right here in front of you, somehow perfectly alive and well - and there was only one possible thing you could do.

“Jason.” You gasped out his name, unable to fathom more words.

Before he could move, you reached out and grabbed both sides of his face, one of them still singed with a burning ache where you had slapped him so hard - and you pulled him into a kiss, hard.

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t dainty or smooth like some Hollywood love confession - it was hungry. Bordering on feral as you both fought to consume more of the other person, bleeding out little moans and fighting for breath past each other’s lips. Jason’s hands rushed to embrace you, wrapping around your back and grabbing a needy, possessive handful of your ass while you kept your grip tight on his face, keeping his face forcefully close to your own as you devoured his mouth.

You felt some of his tears escape - such a rush of emotions making him raw and unable to hold them back, and you moaned pitifully into his mouth as he wetness slipped underneath your palms. Whatever it was - his pain, his pleasure; you would take it. He was all yours now.

…

Far off, on the other side of Gotham, Crane chuckled quietly to himself as he watched the scene unfold. He had pulled up the camera feed on a separate tablet, seeing as Jason had used his head to crack the monitor. With his broken arm bound in a temporary sling, he used his one good hand to pull something out of a drawer - a remote with a single button.

“For these violent delights have violent ends,” He recited to himself, still grinning widely as he looked at the two lovers in the grainy, black and white footage. “And in their triumph, die like fire and powder. Which as they kiss, consume. Even the sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness, if the taste confounds the appetite.” Crane poised his finger on the button. “Therefore, love moderately.”

He pressed down, and dissolved into more epic laughter as he watched what came next.

…

You were only human, and you could only kiss Jason for a few minutes before your brain demanded oxygen. As much as you hated to pull away from the sweet, bruising sting of his lips, you forced yourself back and immediately took in a sharp breath that turned into a rolling pant - Jason let out a needy whine in protest.

With his arms holding you so securely and the dizzying heat now flowing through you - you almost didn’t catch it. But it was there, in the background, something steadily present that wasn’t there before.

Beeping. A small, electronic beeping.

“Do you hear that?” You asked Jason, squinting your eyes with confusion and looking around, trying to find the source of the noise.

He did hear it.

“Fuck.” Jason mumbled.

Panic flooded him. The whole thing had been a trap.

He pulled away from you hesitantly and grabbed his mask up off the ground, snapping it back on.

“We have to go. Now.” He told you, his voice now sharp and robotic through the voice filter as he grabbed your wrist and began dragging you away - you became limp to his direction for once and simply followed, fear tight in your gut once again.

Jason didn’t want to consider the possibilities, but he knew it could be anything from a large bomb, meant to tear you to shreds, to a large dose of fear gas waiting to be deployed. And he didn’t have an antidote at the moment. He needed to get you out of the building and transport you to safety.

When the two of you came to a door - one of the many that Jason had passed through on his way in - it snapped shut in Jason’s face. It was on some kind of mechanical locking system, that much was apparent. Jason rushed forward, trying to pry it open - but it was welded steel, and it wouldn’t budge.

Jason heard more slamming - more metal forcing itself shut on the same locking system.

“Jason?” You croaked, that unsure terror back in your voice again. Something so rare for you. You were looking to him for answers. You were looking to him to rescue you.

Overhead, the last bits of light were shut out - glimpses of the street lights outside - as thick metal shudders collapsed down over the windows. The room was sealing itself shut, becoming air tight.

“Stand back.” Jason told you, not waiting to see if you followed the instruction before he pulled out one of his guns and began shooting at the door’s heavy metal hinges. He knew it was futile and he feared that one of the bullets might ricochet off and hit you, but he didn’t have many options left.

Then he heard it. The gentle hissing of gas being released into the air.

Jason was naive to have hoped that it was Crane’s classic Fear Gas - that would have been a merciful walk in the park compared to what he had planned for you. Betraying Jonathan Crane meant that Jason had to be truly punished.

Jason turned to you, wrapping his arms around you, as if trying to shield you from the air itself - but it was too late. You began coughing and struggling to breathe, and Jason looked on with confusion as his chest twisted with guilt.

With his helmet on, he felt nothing. For the first few moments, he didn’t even understand what was going on as you gasped for air, struggling to form a word as you choked on each breath. Jason had no clue what the substance was or how he could fix it, looking on in horror as thick fog clouded around your ankles - your eyes bulging out of your head as you struggled for oxygen.

“Y/N?” Jason gasped, holding you by both shoulders as you became weaker and leaned on him. “Y/N?”

You couldn’t answer him.

You continued to wheeze, your breath hitching against your throat harshly. As the fog reached up to touch your face, it left angry, blistering marks in your skin. Unlike Jason, you had no armor to protect yourself - and somehow, Crane had turned the air itself acidic. Your eyes became wrecked with bloody red streaks and your face swelled as you continued to choke.

Jason’s insides screamed, but he felt too still.

As more of the fog touched you, some of the marks on your neck and your cheek blistered more and opened up, bleeding out pinkish bubbling puss as Jason continued to hold you - he didn’t know what else to do.

All he could do was hold you.

A harsh foam seeped out of your mouth as you choked on your last half-breath, and Jason felt a stinging pain consuming him - he wasn’t sure if it was the acidic fog finally breaching through his clothing, or the biting pain of having you limp in his arms - dead, as he huddled there on the floor.

“Come on.” Jason wept, steaming up the inside of his helmet as he recycled back his own breath now. He reached up to your cheek, accidentally skimming off a layer of your marred skin with his gloved thumb as he tried to wipe away some of the teary blood that had leaked from your eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Wake up.”

Jason simply wept. And he held you.

As he looked at the camera feed, Crane smiled.

“This is what happens when you don’t play by the rules, Red.”

...

A/N: SOOOO obviously this ending leaves us with a lot of questions - did Jason survive? I think this can be interpreted one of two ways: one, Jason did live. He managed to escape somehow, and he had scars all over his body from the acidic fog, and he enacted a very vicious, bloody, torturous revenge on Crane before going into hiding forever (or before using Red Hood to give actual justice to innocent people who needed it, his scars always a reminder of who he lost). Or - he sat there in shock and eventually choked to death as well. Or he pulled the whole 'my life is not worth living anymore' thing and just took off his helmet on purpose. So you can imagine that either of those things happened next.

Also, if you didn't catch it (or, if you're not a Saw person) - this situation was heavily inspired by the final plot twist trap in Saw X. I love the acidic fog, and I feel like Crane could be a trap guy. The Titans version of Crane could be good friends with John, imo.

Also, if you enjoyed this fic, check out my DC Titans Masterlist for more of my other fics!! And please consider reblogging and commenting on this fic to tell me what you liked about it.

#sundrop writes #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x gn!reader #titans fanfiction #dc titans #titans x reader #dc titans fanfiction

186 notes · View notes

ccycloneblogging · 2 months

Note

Idk way but seeing catnap chasing dogday is quite funny.

But idk way but I can see player/angle. Just standing there like it a normal day like there not even trap in the factory

I had a lot of fun drawing that little chase, but you are also so right.

In fact, that inspired me to actually write some fanfiction! All below the cut, but sadly no drawings to go along with it (for now).

"Angel!!!" It was a screech, mixed with a pitiful whining and another plee for help.

Only to be promptly followed by heavy footsteps and the sound of furious hissing.

Angel gave a heavy sigh, leaning against one of the upright picnic tables as they simply watched the scene before them.

DogDay, a small cartoon dog with sunny orange fur and a personality to match, was bouncing around. Desperately, he was trying to avoid the large purple paws of the feline chasing him down. Every clawless swipe had missed so far, but the cat's aim was getting better.

"Angel, Please!!!"

Angel sighed again, raising a hand to rub their temples. Two hours. Two hours ago, Angel had first found this little pup handing in a rotting cell. Two hours ago, they freed him and returned his legs. Two hours ago, their life was quiet.

They had begrudgingly allowed DogDay to follow them, concerned the pup would be helpless. They were pleasantly surprised to see he could handle himself, but his looney behavior leaved much to be desired. Simple tasks became jokes, stealth was no longer an option, and Angel was almost positive they could hear a faint laugh track playing every so often.

The worst part?

Ever since they freed the dog, CatNap became unpredictable. Ollie had warned them that this monstrous cat would hide in the shadows and hunt them, but this? This wasn't something any of them had expected.

CatNap gave a rather loud hiss, lunging forward with a powerful pounce. The orange pup was helpless, unable to dart to the side this time, and was tackled to the ground.

The two toppled over, again and again as they came to a stop on the hard paved floor of PlayCare. Once more, CatNap returned to a smaller size like DogDay, though he had him pinned to the ground.

DogDay wheezed, trying to force air back into his lungs. It wasn't easy, as CatNap firmly sat on his chest.

"Apologize." CatNap's voice was distorted, thanks to his voice box being broken long ago. His white eyes narrowed, his tail thrashing.

"You took my legs."

"You lost our game. You knew the risks."

"But you chained me to a wall! And left me there!"

"I came back for you." The cat huffed, his purple ears flat against his head. "It kept you safe from the minis. Or so... I thought it would."

"Angel!" The dog whined, tilting his head up to spot the human a few feet away. Without hesitation, he shot them the most pitiful looking puppy eyes he could manage.

Two hours of this.

Angel would have theorized that CatNap was simply territorial, but frankly? They didn't need to guess. Yes, CatNap wanted to serve the Prototype. Yes, horrible things occurred and he made efforts to stop Angel from cutting off the red gas.

But CatNap made no attempt to hurt them.

He watched them running around, only providing small obstacles to stop them - which only encouraged DogDay's wackier side to show more. Angel was convinced that this cat, though loyal to the prototype, had his heart set towards something more.

"You two are acting like children." They frowned. They shouldn't be scolding their enemy - if they could even call CatNap one. "If you two are going to do this, can you at least play a little quieter?"

"I thought he had died!" CatNap hissed. "You stole him from me! I thought -!"

"...What?" This got DogDay's attention as he snapped his head back to look up at the cat. "Angel freed me, and we were chased around by the minis for a bit. They saved me."

"I... I saw the human." CatNap's frown deepened as he flexed his claws. "I needed to see if they harmed you, so I went to your cage. I found minis, eating and bloodied orange fur scattered around the cell. I found your belts, torn and cut. I thought..."

"Oh, Moonbeam..." DogDay's voice softened, reaching over to the cat to gently pull him in for a hug.

Angel rolled their eyes again.

At least Huggy had been simple. Hungry beast, shove off catwalks. Miss Delight? Hungry creature who went insane? Smash into a wall.

But CatNap? He seemed to love only two things. The prototype, and this odd dog. Even the severed legs hadn't been an issue. They were in the next cell over, casually walking around on their own. DogDay hadn't experienced any pain reattaching them. The belt on his waist and some torn fur were the only signs that he had been ripped in half to begin with.

It didn't make sense to the human, and it certainly wasn't adding up how this cat needed comforting from the same one he had torn and held captive - or even why the dog was providing such tender moments so easily.

CatNap looked furious, still trying to stare daggers at the human. Though... It was impossible to take him seriously as DogDay nuzzled into him. Even more so when a soft purr escaped the cat.

Whatever.

So long as the cat wouldn't try to kill them, and Angel could escape this hellhole, they wouldn't ask any further questions. All they really wanted was to go back home and sleep in their own bed, preferably away from any sort of cartoon.

...Though deep down? Angel had a feeling that dream would be impossible now.

#thanks for stopping by the inbox!#toon logic au #ccyclone rambles #have some ppt fanfiction from me #maybe I'll post this on AO3 as well

80 notes · View notes

ougougougoug · 9 months

Text

😅👉🏽

this is a haiku that uses just two symbols.

so, let me explain:

(while editing this post i found out that a few emojis i use are not supported on certain browsers. clearly im being silenced.

if you paste them in discord, then they should display, otherwise, suffer?)

haikus are simple, but have a rigid structure, which is why they’re fun. just five syllables, then seven, then five again, arranged in three lines.

what I think is fun is what I like to call a ‘minimal haiku,' which is where you try to use as few symbols as possible to write all three lines of a haiku. so, for example, we start with numbers.

7 is so cool everybody likes 7 7 is funky

in this haiku here, although '7' is only one symbol, it counts as two syllables, because that's how it's pronounced. so, obviously, we can just kind of run with that, right?

so here is the smallest haiku i think you can make using numbers in this way.

here is the haiku:

77 707 77

"seventy seven seven hundred and seven seventy seven"

this haiku uses (fittingly) seven symbols, but it kind of sucks. we're playing fast and loose with what we're calling a haiku, but it would still be nice if the minimal haikus we wrote kind of, at least, sort of made sense, i think.

so here's the smallest haiku i have written so far using only numbers and letters.

alright, here is the haiku:

33 x 3 funny 700x 69 ha ha

"thirty three times three funny seven hundred times sixty nine ha ha"

its not exactly high art, but it's technically comprehensible as a series of words that express a full thought, and that's good enough.

obviously, you can go further than this, and the next logical step is ascii. I don't think there's any ascii symbols that can be pronounced as seven syllables, but there are a few that can do five.

so here's the smallest haiku i could make using just ascii symbols:

) :) !

"close parentheses colon, close parentheses exclamation mark"

wow! just four symbols, which tell the relatable story of a guy who wakes up and sees that he's slept through his alarm. (it conveys this thought pictorially, but it does convey a thought.)

of course, we can go further.

our next stop is emojis.

now, one thing that's problematic about these is that not everyone might agree on how they should be pronounced, but i say we just play with this, and use whatever makes our haikus work, because, well, it's more fun that way.

so, here's a fun haiku:

🌑 🌓 🌕

"new moon emoji first quarter moon emoji full moon emoji"

wow! just three symbols.

here's a haiku about a working class trans girl:

🧑‍🏭 👩‍🏭 ⚧️

"factory worker woman factory worker transgender symbol"

so, we've managed to make some haikus with just three symbols. but i think we can go smaller.

ive been limiting myself to writing haikus with three visible lines when written down, but you can't do that with just two symbols. so we're just gonna forget about that from this point on.

(as a quick little aside, i said before that, using just numbers,

77 707 77

was the best i could do, but if you ignore how it is written down,

77777

"seventy seven thousand seven hundred and seventy seven"

is a haiku in just one number. anyways, back to emojis)

😵‍💫 🤢

this is a haiku. let me explain to you why.

most emojis are single unicode characters. but some of them are secretly just combinations of two other emojis with a symbol called a 'zero width joiner' between them, which means, although they're displayed as just one symbol, you can break them up into three. here's the wiki page for 'face with spiral eyes', which lists the three unicode symbols that make up the emoji. with that knowledge, you can pronounce this fun haiku as:

"face with crossed out eyes zero width joiner, dizzy nauseated face"

which is a haiku about a person who's sick and might just frow up.

one common type of emoji sequence is for modifying the skin tone of certain emojis. for these, we won't think about what the zero width joiner is doing (in fact, i think some, but not all, of these don't even have one? it's unclear to me, but all the more reason to ignore them.) what we'll do instead is just use the 'CLDR Short Name', which you can find listed here and here on unicode.org. These are about as official as you can get with emoji names, and will cover the emojis i'll be using for the last haikus.

so let's look back at the haiku at the top of this post, shown again:

😅👉🏽

"grinning face with sweat backhand index pointing right medium skin tone"

this takes advantage of the skin colour of the pointing emoji.

so that's another haiku that uses just two symbols, which depicts an anxious person doing finger guns (perhaps they're anxious because they spilled some yellow paint on their face. who knows. like any great artist, my works are up to interpretation.) so this leaves us all asking...

is it possible?

we've done two symbol haikus, but what about...

one?

any emoji which shows a person can be modified both by skin colour and by gender. if there is more than one person in an emoji, then each person can be given their own modifiers.

This means it's just a matter of going through the list of emojis and hoping that you can find one that works.

and, well that's just what i did:

👨🏾‍❤️‍👨🏽

couple with heart: man, man, medium-dark skin tone, medium skin tone

this is the smallest haiku possible to write. it's just a single symbol.

and it's two gay men. a wonderful queer couple. and i think that's great.

#(technically haikus are not really this simple but the point of this post is not to teach you about real Japanese poetry #but to play with language #and the ‘haikubot-style haiku’ is an easy and already well known structure that I can use for that. aight? anyways.)#haiku #long post #this tag is here so that the tags can be a haiku

120 notes · View notes

beomgyuslilracha · 1 year

Text

the ceo's son ✧.* [ pt. 9 ]

⊹ pairing: choi soobin x f! reader

⊹ genre: strangers to friends to lovers

⊹ warnings: uhhh angst if you squint?? but i make up for it with fluff

⊹ wc: 5.4k

summary: you've been an intern at c company for roughly over four months now - directly under the ceo as his assistant. everything was going perfectly: you were saving up money to attend uni next year, and you knew that you were under the ceo's good graces to receive a great recommendation when the time came! in fact, he took a liking to you so much that he'd often joke that he wanted to set you up with his son. at least ... you thought it was a joke.

before continuing on to the 2nd floor, you excitedly pointed out the game factory area full of a multitude of arcade games that you thought would be fun for you and soobin to try. although, soobin had suggested that you wait to play any games until you reached the game village on the 3rd floor.

which is where the miscalculation soon comes into play.

at game village, he knew there were prize machines that he wanted to be able to win you a cute plushie from.

he didn't admit this to you, though, are you kidding?

instead he opted for the 'they have better games' excuse, which he honestly wasn't even sure if they did. he was especially glad you didn't question him further about it, since all he remembered was the prize machines.

he needed to win you a prize, and he was willing to lie to do that.

after quickly riding the french revolution rollercoaster on the 2nd floor, where you practically squeezed the blood out of soobin's hand from exhilaration and slight fear, you both then made your way to the 3rd floor for the arcade.

seeing as neither of you were all that interested in the jungle adventure ride, you ended up making a beeline straight for the game village.

that was up until soobin managed to catch sight of who was inside, causing him to freeze in his tracks.

they should've just stayed on the first floor.

"actually, why don't we give jungle adventure a chance anyway?" he suddenly suggested, confusing you from his quick change of mind.

"but i thought you said-"

"yeah, but it might be better than we remembered," soobin interrupted you, not wanting to give you a chance to speak and risk being caught.

"soobin hyung!!"

damn it.

although soobin had attempted to keep walking away, you whipped your head around to spot soobin's group of friends from yesterday all watching the two of you from inside the game village.

"aren't those your friends?" you questioned him, confused once again as he had tried to keep softly tugging at your hand to walk away with him.

unfortunately for him, the two of you couldn't get away fast enough before all four idiots came running up to greet you both.

"hi, you must be y/n, right?" kai was the first to speak, smiling down at you as he finally got to see you face-to-face.

you could only nod, suddenly feeling incredibly shy and tiny, seeing as there were now five men towering over you at once and reminding you of just how small you were.

"how funny, we didn't expect to see you here," yeonjun lied, poking soobin's shoulder playfully and causing the poor boy to grow even more upset.

"yeah, of all days, i didn't think any of you would be here either," soobin forced himself to play along, though practically speaking through clenched teeth as he glared at all of them.

he only hoped that they would catch the hint and leave, but, of course, they pretended not to.

"kai really wanted to come," taehyun explained with an amused smile, finding the situation rather funny.

believe it or not, there wasn't any secret intentions or malicious planning behind it - neither of them actually expected to run into either of you in such a niche place out of the entire park.

a happy coincidence!

at least, a happy coincidence for four of them.. not so much for a certain someone.

"hi, i'm beomgyu! soobin hyung told us so much about you," beomgyu introduced himself to you, commenting in a teasing tone. he didn't even suppress his laughter when soobin shot him a glare in return.

"hopefully all good things?" you said in more of a questioning tone, now glancing up at the embarrassed boy beside you.

this time, it was your turn to squeeze his hand gently. you weren't sure if he was upset with his friends suddenly crowding you both, which he was, but you hoped to silently let him know that you weren't bothered.

in fact, you couldn't help but to think it was rather nice to meet them in a more public setting rather than awkwardly back at the dorm.

"trust us, he goes on and on and on about how great you are," yeonjun reassured you, now being the one to laugh as he watched both yours and soobin's cheeks turn a matching shade of pink.

"we should probably leave them alone now," taehyun nudged yeonjun, being the only one out of the four to finally catch on to soobin's telepathic screaming for them to go away.

not that he actually heard it, but soobin thought for a split second that he might have.

"unless you want to join us, y/n?" kai interjected, perking up at his own suggestion.

truth be told, you really did want to join them. you wanted to jump at the opportunity to get to know them more and have a blast playing games with them as well. although, you knew that if you were to look at soobin, one look would convince you to say no and go on your way somewhere else.

against your better judgement, you chose not to look at soobin just this once.

"i'd love to join you!" you told the cute blonde, growing even more giddy as each one of their faces lit up and cheered after that.

as they all ran back into the arcade, fighting over which game you should play first, you took your time to hold both of soobin's hands in your own.

"come on, it'll only be for a little while, okay?"

soobin's cute pout shifted into a small smile after a minute, nodding his head slowly and allowing you to pull him along to the arcade room.

even though they set his plans back a bit, he supposed the experience wasn't all that bad. soobin got to watch all four of his friends warm up to you quickly, and it was enough to make him happy all over again.

he was especially glad that you weren't entirely turned off by them all - mostly beomgyu - screaming in your ear.

it wasn't exactly ideal for you, of course, but you didn't mind as much as you expected. instead, it felt rather nice to know that they felt comfortable enough to be themselves around you, despite having just met for the first time.

well, sort of for the first time.

in any case, seeing how easy it was for them to be themselves, you also found yourself warming up to them more and more by the second.

instead of flinching slightly every time they yelled in excitement, you found yourself laughing or jumping excitedly beside them. they were such a joy to be around and you couldn't believe soobin never introduced all of you sooner.

however, watching you now, soobin remembered exactly why he held back introducing you all to one another sooner. because now he was struggling way too much for your attention.

it was all fine and dandy at first, such as when the six of you agreed to play a few rounds of air hockey against one another.

it even surprised you to watch soobin transition from the sweet, shy boy you once knew to the sudden screaming one as he played a match against beomgyu.

of course, compared to the yells at the other end of the table, soobin was still remaining relatively mild.

the competition above all had you sweating for soobin's sake, but the screaming and excitement had you laughing like crazy. you felt as light as air, feeling nothing but genuine joy bubbling up inside of you the longer that you spent with them.

soobin was even letting out the cutest little laughs and screams that your heart almost couldn't take it.

for every sudden urge you got to risk it all and kiss him, you found yourself biting harshly at the edge of your thumb to push every thought away. you merely blamed it on the adrenaline, getting far too excited with the group beside you.

after an exhilarating tie breaker, soobin ended up winning the final round against beomgyu.

this then opened for an adorable game between you and kai.

neither of you wanted to play too roughly for the other, so it consisted of many cute giggles and tiny taps of the puck towards each other's side.

while yeonjun and beomgyu groaned for the game to hurry up, taehyun and soobin were both smiling at the adorableness between you both.

soobin more than taehyun, obviously, seeing as he gazed over at you like you were the most precious being on the planet. with every giggle that escaped your lips, he had to bite into his cheek in order to fight off every urge that wanted to race forward and kiss you.

he needed to get you to magic island quickly.

when the timer ran out, with an adorable score of 1 - 1, this was when soobin failed to beat the rest of the boys from earning your attention. regardless of how many times he had tried to call your name, it seemed like they all had something to tell you at the exact same time.

"aww, y/nie, let's try to win matching plushies!" kai cooed, making you giddy at the sudden use of a nickname, lightly grabbing your wrist and leading you to the machine that held the cutest pokémon plushies inside.

soobin's eyes widened in panic, spotting yet another flaw in his plan.

"ahh, kai, why don't we try a different machine first?" soobin had tried to suggest, looking around for any other game that they hadn't tried yet.

"no, hold on, y/nie and i want these snorlax plushies!" kai giggled beside you, both of your shoulders now rubbing together as your eyes focused intently on the game inside.

yeonjun, beomgyu, and taehyun weren't particularly interested in the prize machines, so they opted for a new round of air hockey to determine a champion between the three of them.

"y/n-"

soobin was quickly interrupted by yours and kai's cheerful squealing as the first snorlax was instantaneously won and dropped into the prize box.

kai rushed to pull the plush out of the machine, squeezing onto it tightly and squealing with you happily at how cute and soft it was.

"here, y/n, do you want-" kai trailed off on his sentence, having finally caught sight of soobin's death glare directed at him from behind you. "actually, uhh, i want to keep this one."

"that's alright, i can try to win one for myself!" you shrugged simply, not bothered at all. he did work hard to win the plush, so it wouldn't have been fair for you to accept it anyway.

"here, let me try," soobin finally found his chance to step in, his hand covering yours on the machine and sending sparks coursing up your arm.

your face warmed at the contact, and you failed to suppress the smile that overtook your face. "okay!" you agreed excitedly, swooning at the mere idea of soobin winning a plushie all for you.

at least, that was the plan, anyway.

quickly running threw 5 thousand won without even thinking, soobin still managed to fail time and time again to win the plush that you wanted. his head bonked against the machine glass, his frustrated focus being no help no matter how hard he tried.

"soobin, it's okay, i don't need it," you had tried to tell him, tugging lightly at his sleeve to try and earn his attention away from the machine.

soobin said nothing, mindlessly feeding another 500 won into the machine for just one more attempt.

why was it so hard??

he just wanted to win you a cute plush to see your precious smile. he just wanted you to think of him every time you hugged and looked at it. he just wanted to give you a cute memory where he won you a toy - so why was it so hard?!

just as you were trying to convince soobin to give up and that it was okay, beomgyu came hopping over to suddenly gain your attention again. apparently yeonjun and taehyun gave up playing against him, so he begged for you to play at least one round.

you would learn in a second that the other two gave up due to beomgyu being a horrific menace and a huge cheater.

it was funny, though, so you didn't mind.

once you were distracted, kai finally shoved a defeated soobin away from the machine and took over. in a matter of seconds, he won another plush.

with soobin gaping in absolute shock, unable to believe it, kai merely patted his friend's back and walked away - wordlessly allowing soobin to take all the credit.

even though he knew it wasn't the same, soobin was way too tired to try again. on top of that, he wasn't looking forward to wasting more money on that hell machine. he figured he would try some other day to win one for you fairly, but he was all too willing to take anything he could get for now.

thank you, sweet sweet kai!

grabbing the snorlax from the machine, soobin shyly made his way over to where you were still playing, with the plush now in hand.

at least it would still make you think of him, even if you didn't know that he wasn't actually the one that won it for you.

you were still midgame with beomgyu, giggling happily as you watched him practically use his entire body to cover his side of the goal. trying to keep things 'fair', you used your free arm to cover your side, now just having a game of hitting the puck and forth with no end in sight.

although, the second you caught the briefest glance of soobin finally standing beside you, you stopped everything to gasp in excitement — allowing beomgyu to take immediate advantage and score on you without hesitation.

"oh my gosh, no way! you finally won and i missed it??" you exclaimed, happily accepting the plush that he was now shyly handing over to you - making him look all the more adorable. despite how happy you were, though, you found yourself still pouting rather sadly. "i guess i'm just your bad luck charm."

"what? no!" soobin quickly denied, cupping your cute face in his large hands and tilting your head to look up at him. "you're my absolute favorite charm."

kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.

despite you both sharing the exact same thoughts and staring at each other with the same adoration in your eyes, you both ended up clearing your throats and quickly pulling away after beomgyu called for soobin to leave you alone and let you finish the game with him.

you lost miserably after that, not being able to focus at all with just the thought of soobin's lips putting you in a daze.

as desperately as he wanted to, soobin was far too afraid to rush things with you. he thought maybe the moment could have potentially been perfect, but he wasn't keen on the idea of his friends being around when it finally happened.

eventually, seeing as the time was getting later and later and you both still had the 4th floor to get through, soobin finally asked you privately if you were ready to move on without the others.

"oh yeah, let me just say bye to everyone first!" you told him with a smile.

which then lead to the second and a half miscalculation of the night.

the half miscalculation being the absolute failure that occurred at the prize machine a short while ago.

in which you were merely meant to say goodbye, suddenly beomgyu brought up the absolutely wonderful idea of joining you two as a group.

you didn't want to be rude and refuse, so you looked to soobin to see what he would prefer. obviously, he hated the idea and told them all to stay there and let you two move on alone.

apparently none of them got the hint - even though it was more of an outright protest than a hint, but they still didn't listen either way.

much to soobin's reluctance and dismay, the four nuisances ended up accompanying you both for the remainder of the 3rd and 4th floors anyway.

hell, they even convinced you to join them again on the 1st floor to repeat some of the rides together.

to make matters worse, beomgyu and kai found themselves naturally attaching to you so easily the more time you spent together. you were able to match beomgyu's hyper behavior and excitement for practically everything, as well as double the cuteness when paired with huening any time either of you did anything.

had it not been for the sake of you, soobin would have beaten them both for ruining everything for him.

in fact, he almost did whenever they both made it a habit to take what should have been his place beside you during the rides. it first happened during the pharaoh's fury ride back on the 4th floor, where you all split into groups of three for the front and back row.

he was forced to watch the three of you laugh and squeal in excitement altogether right in front of him, while yeonjun and taehyun mainly teased at his misery for the entirety of the ride.

soobin's thankfulness to kai from earlier quickly faded into that of anger, knowing full well that the boy hated rollercoasters yet still agreed to join - apparently just as long as he got to sit beside you.

meanwhile, you, on the other hand, were so surprised at how easily you got along with soobin's friends! all of them were so sweet and so funny, you couldn't help but to feel genuinely happy that you could blend well with them.

to your delight, you were ecstatic that they all seemed to really like you too!

they were all practically competing to gain your attention, even going as far as playing rock, paper, scissors to see who got to sit next to you during each ride — though the game never mattered, since beomgyu and kai would whine dramatically until they got to be the ones to sit with you.

on top of it all, soobin was pretty sure you forgot entirely who he was by this point.

not that you did, not one bit, but he was too busy sulking to understand.

you were simply trying to make sure that his friends genuinely liked you, hoping to get along well with them so that you could spend more time with soobin in the future. you thought that if they enjoyed your company now, maybe they'd convince soobin to invite you along to more things so that you could spend more time together with him.

you didn't mean to ignore him, truly. you merely thought that he'd be happy to see you and his friends getting along well with each other.

and he was, don't get him wrong at all, but that didn't mean he wanted you to spend more time with them instead of him.

unfortunately, soobin was on the verge of giving up.

after all that planning they did earlier, he couldn't believe his friends came along and ruined everything. they completely stole you away from him, and it didn't even dawn on any of them that the park would close soon without him ever having confessed to you.

luckily, there was still one person that kept their poor friend in mind.

taking one glance behind them to practically see a storm cloud hovering over soobin's gloomy head, taehyun then leaned over and whispered something in kai's ear.

after glancing back as well, kai tapped slyly on beomgyu's shoulder on the other side of you in order to silently signal him as well to look behind them. this followed with the same reaction from beomgyu to yeonjun, getting him to notice the poor boy trailing behind the five of you.

one by one, all four of them finally got the hint.

when you all had reached the 2nd floor on the way to ride the french revolution again, they conveniently stopped in front of the magic island entrance, where beomgyu let out the fakest and most dramatic yawn possible.

"woah, i'm getting tired," beomgyu acted loudly, going as far as rubbing his eyes like he were some sleepy cartoon character.

yeonjun rolled his eyes behind the boy, unable to believe anyone would buy his act.

but you did.

"oh no, should we stop here?" you asked him, hugging tightly to your snorlax plush to keep yourself from being sad. you were enjoying having fun with them, you didn't want it to end so soon.

"no, no, don't worry about us!" taehyun quickly cut in, smiling sweetly at you. "you and soobin hyung can go on ahead and we'll probably just head back to rest."

soobin finally perked up for the first time in the past hour, realizing now what was happening in front of him.

turning your head in time to spot how cute and eager soobin appeared to be from the idea, you giggled and happily agreed.

the boys all gave you gentle hugs goodbye, sent secret winks and thumbs up to soobin, then went on their merry way to secretly enjoy the lower levels of lotte world instead of going home.

you would find this out much later, though, after the four of them had to practically beg and convince soobin to let you hang out with them again - only under the promise that they would not steal you away like last time.

"your friends are a lot of fun," you told soobin, offering your hand cutely so that he could hold it.

he didn't waste a single second to interlock his fingers with yours, practically melting at the realization of how much he missed being with you. despite having been just a few steps away from him the whole time, it had felt like the two of you were still so far from each other.

now here you were again, your hands together, and walking side by side as you made your way across the long bridge leading to magic island.

"i'll be sure to tell them you thought they were all annoying," soobin teased, laughing adorably when you started to whine and protest for him not to lie.

when soobin had asked what you'd like to do first, you began looking through the guide map that you had picked up from the information desk on the way in.

you gulped nervously, though, as you read over every attraction. they all seemed to be a little too thrilling for your taste.

the gyro drop, the gyro swing, the bungee drop - anything they could possibly think of to make you nervous and sick to your stomach at the thought. you wondered if soobin would be up to the idea of going to the fantasy dream attraction just to look at a bunch of cute animals instead.

"actually," soobin spoke up through your silent worries, having glanced quickly at the time on his phone. "what if we, uh ... what if we, um, go on- on the moonboat?"

oh God, he was so nervous. his stomach was twisting in knots and he was starting to feel the slightest bit lightheaded just from trying to articulate what he was going to say.

did he stutter? did he even ask you right?

honestly, he was pretty sure he blacked out while trying to get the question out, so he seriously couldn't remember.

the brief second it took for you to answer felt like hours to him. "oh, yeah, that'd be so cute!" you cheered, purely happy at the idea of avoiding all the other scary rides that you were way too nervous to suggest.

as you first walked past the bungee drop and swing tree, soobin's stomach first felt like an entire nest of butterflies were fluttering around trying to look for an escape. once you reached the comet express and the dock was now in plain sight, the butterflies suddenly felt like a swarm of bees buzzing around and stinging every surface.

was it too late to suggest something else?

would it be okay to prolong the ride just a little bit longer?

he glanced over at you, taking in your cute smile and the little hums you would make as you mimicked the music you heard nearby.

he didn't want to wait anymore. he wanted you to be his. he wanted to sweep you off your feet and call you his girlfriend so absolutely no one else in the world could.

meanwhile, you were delighted in your own way. with soobin in his own little world, you were simply looking forward to sharing such a cute moment on the moonboat with him.

you couldn't help but to think it was a rather romantic suggestion, especially now that it was night time and all the boats were shining beautiful colors on the lake. you doubted it was his intention, but it still made your heart flutter at the thought nonetheless.

reaching the dock where the moon and ufo boats were waiting, you only had to wait just a few minutes before reaching the front, where soobin paid for the 20 minute ride and allowed the worker to escort you in ahead of him.

this was it.

everything soobin had planned has finally led him to the end of the night moment.

wanting to see your precious smile from excitement, he let you take full control of the boat settings to do whatever you pleased. after tucking snorlax in between the two of you in the seat, you then set the color of the boat to a beautiful shade of purple and used the arrow keys to start leading you around on the lake.

soobin's heart was swooning at the sound of your excited giggles, melting at every little thing you did and said while he connected his phone to play music for the two of you.

would it be too obvious to play a romantic song?

maybe too corny?

the second soobin noticed the song appear from his playlist, his heart flipped. it was all too perfect. the words, the voice, the melody, the meaning.

now playing: strawberry moon by IU

taking a deep breath, soobin locked his phone and put it away, now focusing his entire attention solely on you.

"it's so beautiful," you sighed happily, staring at all the other boats around you and the gorgeous lights shining from the park itself.

soobin agreed, but only because he was looking at you when he did. no other sight mattered to him. nothing else came close to how beautiful you were, with your eyes sparkling from all the different lights being reflected off of them.

"thank you for bringing me today, binnie! i had a lot of fun," you told him, finally looking over to meet his eyes.

the second you did, your breath hitched and your heart flipped entirely. he wasn't looking at you the same way he normally did, with his cute semi circle eyes and flashing dimples. no, this time was much more ... serious?

serious, but in a good way. at least, it felt like a good way. his gaze on you was soft, it practically made you melt into the seat. his small smile was so fond and gentle, for lack of a better word. almost like he was looking at something he deeply cared about.

but ... he was looking at you?

he was looking at you as if you had handpicked all the stars in the sky - the same stars now reflecting back to you in his eyes.

"y/n, can i tell you something?" his voice was low and calm, but it caused your heart to pound harder and louder in your chest. the music and noise from the park quickly became a muffled background, and all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart directly in your ears.

"yes, of course," you finally managed to say, though rather breathless.

without breaking eye contact, you felt his hand slowly trail along yours to intertwine them together once again. it felt as if he ignited a fire that started in your fingertips and traveled throughout the rest of your body.

time stood still. everything went quiet. all that either of you could hear was each other's breaths and the faint whisper of IU singing around you.

"y/n, i want you to know that i ... i really ...," soobin's words trailed off, his adoring gaze shifting from one of your eyes to the other as he soaked in just how beautiful you looked staring up at him.

meanwhile, your heart practically stopped beating. you couldn't even be sure if you were still breathing. every part of you was waiting.

you knew exactly what he was going to say, but you desperately needed to hear the words for yourself. you desperately needed to hear him confirm that everything you've ever felt for him was reciprocated and not just in your head.

"i really like you," soobin practically whispered, his following breath shaking from nerves.

there it is.

the words you never expected to ignite a show of fireworks in your heart, sparking every nerve to heat every inch of your body twice as much as before.

it was unbelievable how you never knew just how badly you needed to hear something until the words came out of his mouth.

"soobin," you spoke his name so softly, still at a lost for breath. "i really like you too."

though both your confessions were rather simple, it was enough. for you two, it was fitting. simple and easy, but meaning absolutely everything to one another.

soobin's free hand softly traced the shape of your cheek, allowing him to feel just how warm your face was to the touch as it turned a pretty light shade of pink.

his touch, though light, sent electricity running through the entirety of your face. you could only find yourself craving more.

with his fingers now tucked under your chin and his thumb lightly grazing your bottom lip, soobin's eyes flickered from your eyes, to your lips, and back again.

he was suddenly much closer to you now, though his lips still felt like they were miles away. your hearts were pounding in sync, and you could tell that he was still feeling just as nervous as you were.

"can i kiss you?"

"yes, please."

once the words escaped your lips and both your eyes fluttered shut, you half expected for soobin to roughly crash his lips against yours without any hesitation.

but that wasn't soobin.

instead, you were surprised.

his lips delicately brushed against yours before softly pressing closer. it started off as a precious little peck before his lips naturally parted, tilted his head, and deepened his kiss with you. it was slow, electrifying, and absolutely perfect.

it was so ... soobin.

your free hand instinctively reached out to grab the edge of his coat, yearning to pull him even closer to you. happily obliging, soobin's hand moved from under your chin to cradle your cheek and deepen his affection for you even further.

your lips practically fit together like a puzzle piece. connecting and moving together in sync, driving each other into a state of breathless euphoria.

soobin's forehead softly rested against yours as you both pulled away to finally catch your breath. simultaneously letting out small exhales of laughter, neither of you were able to think of any other way to express the absolute bliss you felt in that moment.

you had attempted to sit back, but soobin cutely shook his head and grinned as he leaned forward to follow you. "one more time," he whispered, earning cute giggles from you as he pecked tiny kisses all over your cheek before planting another kiss on your lips.

he had been waiting far too long for this moment, so he was planning to enjoy every second.

you didn't mind one bit. you wrapped both arms around his neck to keep him close, deepening the kiss with him even more than before.

when you first started working at c company, you had thought his father was absolutely crazy for suggesting something so bold as to set you up with the youngest member of his own family.

now here you were, just short of two months later, your lips slow dancing together with the ceo's son.

previous | masterlist | epilogue

a/n: (warning: long) (pls at least skip to the highlighted part for brief info!)

okay, can i just say ... the ceo's son was originally supposed to be a oneshot. when i first wrote it, i had absolutely NO idea that anyone would enjoy it as it was - much less encourage me to turn it into a 9 PART SERIES. i'm seriously... i have no words. i appreciate EVERY single one of you that liked, replied, reblogged, and sent multiple asks complimenting me for something i truly started on a whim. i appreciate all of you more than you could possibly understand. all the comments and tags had ME giggling and on the verge of CRYING. i seriously got so emotional with all of your sweet words and support, which gave me all the courage i needed to continue writing and posting as soon as i could <33

i truly hope you all have thoroughly enjoyed this little series, and i genuinely wish i could have dragged it on for longer - but i didn't want to risk burning myself out trying to come up with more ideas. (i do have a little idea of a bonus part, but i'm going to wait on that for now).

but alas, the ceo's son has reached its end 🥹 soobin and y/n finally came together as they were meant to be, with only a few hiccups along the way. i'm gonna miss these two kids, they were so dumb and adorable, i seriously loved writing them together. BUT, the good news is, i already have a TON more ideas i want to work on for other members (hehe peek the masterlist for a preview of what's on the way) and i really really hope that you all will continue to stay tuned and support me 🫶

AHH I KNOW I WROTE SO MUCH, BUT PLS IF YOU SKIP EVERYTHING ELSE, PAY ATTENTION HERE REALLY QUICK:

i want to create a permanent taglist for anyone who would be genuinely interested in what i come up with next - so for anyone already tagged here and anyone else that isn't, pls pls let me know if you would be interested in being a part of it !!!

okokok i'll shut up now, but omg thank you for everyone who read all of this - i appreciate YOU even more. much much much love <333

taglist:

@sha-aesthic @wccycc @yjusei @ihrtgyu @strawberrydaichi @seodami @sparkswhoz @o934pm @dongmeiii @cannedturtle @intrrverted @fanfangying1304 @n0tprettybutt1red @human-misery @baekberrie @softcabur @goldennika

[ bold = couldn't be tagged :( ]

#tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together imagine #tomorrow x together imagines #txt #txt imagine #txt imagines #txt fluff #choi soobin #soobin #choi soobin x reader #soobin x reader #soobin imagines #soobin fluff

192 notes · View notes

lokiondisneyplus · 9 months

Text

How Marvel officially added McDonalds to the MCU

On the very last day of filming on the first season of the Marvel Disney+ TV series Loki, executive producer Kevin Wright sat on the steps of The Citadel at the End of Time with costar Sophia Di Martino (Sylvie), and they started to chat about what might be next for her character. Not in any official script capacity, just as fans of the story they’d just finished filming.

“This character had been on a decades-long, maybe centuries-long revenge mission, and the classic trope of those stories is that it’s all-consuming and she’s not thinking about what comes next,” says Wright. “Now she has this moment of opportunity, where is she going to go?”

Di Martino thought about it for a moment, and said, “She’d probably be pretty hungry.

There are more than 13,000 McDonald’s across the United States right here in 2023, and untold more across the multiverse. In a new campaign launched this week, the fast-feeder gave Marvel and Loki fans a peek at its own cameo in the series’ upcoming second season, set to launch on October 6.

“As Featured In” is the Golden Arches latest Famous Orders meal campaign and, instead of being tied to a particular artist or character, it celebrates all the instances in TV and movies that McDonald’s has appeared or been mentioned by characters: Friends, The Office, Seinfeld, Space Jam, Coming to America, and many, many more. But at the center of the campaign is Loki, one that hasn’t even happened yet, which is probably appropriate for a show that revolves around the multiverse and many different timelines.

The meal itself—a choice of a 10-piece Chicken McNuggets, Quarter Pounder with Cheese, or Big Mac, with medium fries, a Loki-branded Sweet ‘N’ Sour Sauce, and a medium soda—is, like the Famous Meals before it, nothing all that special, but that has always been the point. The genius of Famous Orders is that it drives customers to McDonald’s core menu items rather than a limited-time stunt. There is, of course, also a merch collaboration, this time with streetwear darling Palace Skateboards. The packaging features QR codes that customers can scan to get fun Loki content and buy pieces from the Palace collaboration.

Long after his conversation with Di Martino on the Citadel set steps, Wright and his team were developing season two, and they were finding it difficult to pick up a new Sylvie storyline. She had just killed He Who Remains in season one, where does she go?

“When we stayed in the view of character, this woman who went on the run as a child, had been running through time, a fugitive of time, living in apocalypses, never being able to relax or slow down, the novelty of walking into a 1980s McDonald’s looked appealing,” say Wright. “You play a Little League game and go to McDonald’s. You go to a kid’s birthday party at McDonald’s. Someone like Sylvie would never have experienced that, and would be really taken by that.”

Marvel Studios has been a brand partnerships factory since Iron Man first ate a Whopper in 2008. Typically these things happen when there is a finished script, and producers go through it with the studio’s brand partnerships team to see where opportunities may be. A car chase, you say? What brand of car should we use? Maybe an Audi?

But this latest collaboration happened in reverse. A 1982 McDonald’s was specifically written into the script, so Wright approached Marvel’s partnerships people to talk to the brand about helping them out with the details. “I was worried that McDonald’s would think we wanted to do something ironic or make fun of them,” says Wright. “But we were selling an earnest story, a love letter to nostalgia through a character’s eyes who will see all of the novelty and joy of it.”

He needn’t have worried. “When I pitched it, our internal team said, ‘Uh, you realize we have a partnership with McDonald’s already, right? The fact we’re going to them wanting to do something makes it even better.”

Around that same time mid-last year, McDonald’s marketing execs were on a tour of sorts, meeting with content creators and creative teams at studios like Disney about the brand’s interest in participating in cultural moments beyond the typical product tie-in. That’s when the call from Marvel about Loki came in.

“We tend to embrace things like this,” says McDonald’s global chief marketing officer Morgan Flatley, “which we feel can be an opportunity for us to learn, especially because we felt that between Marvel and Loki, there was a real willingness to take their rabid fandom and mix it with a fan truth around McDonald’s and bring them together.”

The fan truth Flatley refers to is of McDonald’s as a congenial gathering place, a common experience for so many people. “Sylvie’s storyline perfectly aligned with how we think about our brand in terms of providing comfort and familiarity,” says Flatley. Familiarity is the key to the emotion of nostalgia and shelter that Wright was aiming for in the story.

That same familiarity is indicative of a brand so ubiquitous, it’s become a cultural touchpoint. Hence all the McDonald’s references in TV and movies. There’s a reason McDowell’s works as such a big bit in the classic comedy Coming to America. We all get it.

That all sounds great, but many brands get nervous or overprotective when they aren’t in full control of the creative. Not that long ago, McDonald’s was among them. The success of Famous Orders, allowing artists and partners like Cactus Plant Flea Market to play with its brand logos and characters, and the passionate response from fans—along with the sold-out merch and boosted sales—has given Flatley and the brand more confidence than ever in what she calls “sharing the pen.”

“I’ve become a big believer that if we lean into the right kind of creators in the right cultural phenomenon, and loosen some of our control on the brand, magic will happen,” says Flatley. “A few years ago, I don’t know that we would have felt as comfortable handing over key aspects of our brand to be part of a storyline like this, but today we’re really aware of the authenticity of our brand and the role that it can play.”

Wright is very familiar with the pitfalls of ill-conceived brand partnerships, and the impact they can have. “Wayne’s World was making fun of this stuff 30 years ago,” says Wright. “When it’s done poorly, it looks like business not driven by story. I don’t think that was ever a concern for us, mainly because we knew it was being driven by our story, and the more McDonald’s partnered with us, the better we were able to service the story.”

Multiversal marketing? Let’s see McDowell’s try that.

#loki #season 2 promo #mcdonald's

63 notes · View notes

red-write-hand · 5 months

Text

Frustration

pairing -> thomas shelby x f!oc (tony bentini)

word count -> 3.5k

warnings -> sexual frustration, dirty thoughts, modernized peaky blinders, dirty texting, tony bentini's great thighs, dom/sub themes, table sex, dirty talk, dirty pet names dumification (if you squint), praise, fingering

notes -> this is not a part two to ‘worship him’, this is a different one shot. i’ll make the part two soon, i promise!

reblogs, comments, and likes are much appreciated! this writer *points to the writer, curled up in a pile of blankets while watching the 2013 Gatsby* is a lil tired, be nice to them :]

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

Being sexually frustrated wasn't a good look on Tony Bentini. It made her be on edge and it hindered her focus. It wasn’t that her relationship was devoid of pleasure, but Tommy had been working much later into the night during the past couple weeks. This usually wasn’t a big deal, except for the fact that it left her feeling very satisfied. Her fingers could only do so much for her. She was never able to make it feel like it was his fingers deep inside her.

Of course she wasn’t giving up so she brought herself to her climax but it just didn’t feel as satisfying as when he did it. Maybe it was the way he would kiss her right afterwards, maybe it was the way his eyes seemed charged with some aphrodisiac energy. Like all he wanted to do was pull orgasms out of her, one after another, until she was thoroughly fucked out. She sat at her desk in her office that sat, lofted above her factory floor. She had been trying to read a document one of her business partners had sent her but her thoughts were on her tightly crossed legs and on her husband almost thirty minutes away. She recrossed her legs and tried to dispel the images in her mind. Hands running down thighs, glistening fingers, cornflower blue eyes, marks on her thighs, arched backs, dirty phrases in hoarse Romani, hair hastily pulled back so as not to interfere with making her husband feel good. She huffed and leaned back in her leather desk chair. She wasn't going to be able to get any work done at this rate. She needed him too much. Not that she’d let him know that. Then again, she did start pondering whether she should text him, see if he was able to have her jump on the tube to come see him. She lolled her head back and let it rest staring at the ceiling. She needed to do something but what exactly?

She didn’t want to get herself off in her own office, for fear of staining the furniture. She didn’t want to go to her husband, as he was probably working. What was she to do? She groaned and came to terms with the fact she would probably have to wait until she got home to do anything substantial, so for the time being, she would rub her thighs to create some idea of friction and just wait it out. Forced patience was also not a good look on Tony Bentini. She plugged in her earbuds and started blasting music to take her mind off her slightly soaked panties. She bobbed her head along to the music as she got work done, hoping this would be enough to let her have some peace from her lingering need for her gorgeous husband. It seemed that the universe just didn’t want her to have a peaceful day as she got a text from just the person she was trying not to think about.

How’s your day been going, my darling wife whom I love so much <;3

She sighed and kicked her feet up on the corner of her desk. She gave in to the universe. Maybe she could do all this work tomorrow. No, she totally could do all this work tomorrow.

I mean, besides being kinda lonely, perfectly fine. How’s your day been, my amazing husband whom I desire dearly?

She giggled as she sent the text. Hopefully, he would pick up on the fact that she needed him. They say it's better for a couple to be open with each other but sometimes it's more fun to have a bit of a chase, isn't it?

She recrossed her legs for the third time, it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable to be wearing pants, even though her pants were very baggy. She had bought them so they wouldn’t be super tight and revealing. Apparently, the super tight part was her own fault, damn her thick thighs. On the upside, Tommy did adore them. He loved holding them as he ate her out while she whimpered and whined for him to let her fall off that ledge that made her feel oh so good. She knew how much he liked when she sat in his lap, her thighs were the perfect size to fit on him without spilling over the edge. She knew that he loved leaving marks on them as much as possible, in the only place only he would see them, he liked doing things like that. It was like an inside joke for them, something only they knew was there. As much as liked being shown off as his, she loved having those things that only they knew. They sent a few innocuous texts back and forth but then she decided that she was going to play the odds.

Been thinking about you all day. Barely gotten anything done. It’s all your fault. <3

She knew this would either go flirty or sickeningly sweet. She could do both but oh how she wanted him to come and whisk her back to their big plush white bed. As if she could hear him chuckling from miles away,

Why do I feel like you’re feeling a little needy, my dear?

She laughed and bit her tongue so as not to make too much noise. She thought about thousands of things she could send to him but she settled on teasing him, at least she would get punished if she got him hot and bothered. What was that old saying about shooting for the moon and ending up in the stars? She smirked as her fingers flew over her keyboard.

Was I being too obvious that my panties are soaked? Or are you just so very perceptive?

Oh she was in for it now. Too late to back out. She then turned her phone off. No answering any of his texts. No nothing. She would leave him with that and nothing else. She was taking too much pleasure in this. She smiled mischievously. She opened her computer and started to do actual work, as she had satiated her naughty side for now. She opted to ignore her now fully soaked panties for her regular spreadsheets that she had meant to work on today. Much later, her eyes flashed up to the clock at the top of her screen. 8:16. Great! This means she could hop in her cherry red corvette and drive back to Arrow House and prepare dinner, satisfy herself until Tommy came home, then have dinner with her loving husband who loved her so very much! Except she hadn’t planned for when she came home, a very expectant looking Tommy leaning on the banister of the big dark oak stairs. He took a drag of his cigarette that had been hanging from his lips.

“Teasin’ me like that while I’m at work. Didn’t think a good girl like you had it in you.” His voice was gruff with a slight teasing edge to it, his thick Birmingham accent just tying it all up perfectly. Obviously, he was being a bit ironic, as both of them knew she was far from being what a stereotypical ‘good girl’ was. In fact, she was counting on the fact that he knew she wasn’t good to begin with. Her heels clicked on the wood paneled floor as she slowly walked up to her husband. She ran a finger down his right jacket lapel, gently caressing the edge of it.

“Who ever said I was trying to be good? Definitely not me.” She felt his hands wander and finally alight on her hips, which then became a much more dominant touch. She smiled as she kissed down his jaw. Her hands had been ghosting his chest as his were traveling down her back. She was delaying what she knew was coming next. She knew exactly what he was about to say. She did deserve it, but she was no bland bottom, she could be a bit of a brat if need be.

“You do know that you deserve to be punished for teasing me. Then not answering any of my texts. That’s two. Then not doing anything about those–” She felt his knee brush against her crotch, knowing exactly what he was checking for.

“Still very soaked panties of yours. You’ve always been so good with your hands Tony, why not deal with your own problem?” She could hear the slight growl of dominance in his voice. Her smirk only grew from there. She flashed her big gray eyes at him, she made them look all innocent. She hoped it looked like she would never do such a horrid thing. Her Irish accent never really gave way to anything vaguely innocent sounding but she tried.

“But it won’t feel as good as yours does. Your fingers…just feel–” She leaned close to his ear as she moaned the last two words.

“So good…” She could feel him getting hard. Since they were so close, she could feel him start to harden against her thigh. She brought a hand up to play with the back of his hair. She was intentionally trying to be sweet to see how long both of them could last until one broke. She was Tony Bentini, she never lost at anything. She gave a last lingering kiss on the sharp corner of his jaw before dropping her coat off and walking into the kitchen. She almost forgot to kick off her heels. He chuckled and brushed them to the side with his foot as she had kicked them off in the middle of the corridor. He followed her into the kitchen where she started preparing dinner. He knew that she was doing this to get out of her punishment, so he waited, like a cat. She was humming along with a song as she cooked. He leaned against the marble island behind her. He recognized what she was humming as she came to the chorus. It was ‘Gimme More’ by Britney Spears. His sister Ada had had the worst Britney phase when she was younger. Tony had gotten a kick out of the fact that every Shelby boy knew every word to every popular Britney Spears song from the first couple notes. She flitted around the kitchen, gathering supplies and making sure everything was perfect. Once she stopped for a full second, he snaked his arms around her waist and held her fast to chest.

“Just because you moved locations and now you’re cooking doesn’t mean you get out of your punishment. I could just take you on my marble countertops and you know that you would beg for it just the same. You would still be a blushing and moaning mess under me while I make you cum.” Blush started to bloom on her cheeks and she turned her head just a little to not show him how much his words affected her.

“I know you’re blushing. I know that my words are affecting you. You know that you’ve been a bad girl, not taking care of yourself then not letting me do it all day.” He started to pull her jacket off her. She shrugged it off and pulled her tie off too. He chuckled. He would usually be worried why she wasn’t talking but right now, he knew that if she tried to speak, her voice would be all cracked and breathy. He smirked and didn’t mention that she was dropping her clothes on his kitchen floor. She was down to her blouse and pants.

“You’re eager for someone who doesn’t want to lose. Do you want me inside you that badly?” She knew he was riling her up and she knew that she shouldn’t care but oh, how well it was working. She laughed and kept preparing dinner with a serene expression on her face, or at least that's what she hoped was on her face. She could still feel his arms around her waist, his amazing fingers fiddling at the buttons closest to her waistband. She giggled and kissed the top of his head. He smirked, knowing that she was trying to make him all soft and gooey so she could get her release, but he wasn’t to lose either. He started to nip and bite at her neck. He was going to win. He was sure of it.

“You’re holding up well for a pretty slut who wants me so badly that she’s practically leaking.” He kissed right under her ear, his Birmingham accent thick and infectious. It had made powerful women across the United Kingdom fall to their knees, he had perfected it for one unfortunate soul in particular, who by all accounts, was holding up rather well. Even though her knees had started to feel like jelly, she needed to stay strong. She sighed and put the chicken thighs in the oven and set it to 350 for one hour and thirty minutes. She turned to her husband with a fairly triumphant smile.

“I’ve got an entire hour and thirty minutes to myself now. I can now take care of myself.” She was intentionally not saying ‘Now you can take care of me!’ That sounded a little too desperate, which she was but she wasn't about to tell him that. He chuckled, and with little effort, set her on the marble countertop. She smirked and crossed her legs teasingly, as if to say, ‘You aren’t going to win. I am.’ He cocked his eyebrows and tapped her top knee with two fingers. She pouted and uncrossed her legs, she was a lot of things but disobedient was not one of them. She uncrossed his legs and he stood between them. He ran his hands, teasingly, down the length of her torso.

“So obedient. So put together for a good little whore. You know, it’s rather hot in ‘ere. I think you’d fare better if you didn’t have this on.” He had been unbuttoning her blouse as he hypnotized her with his words. His words that could move millions. His words that could bring queens to their knees. His words that could stop wars. She hung on every dropped consonant and every syllable he uttered. He pulled his blouse off fully which exposed the black lace bra she had on. He nipped right where he knew she was sensitive, which elicited such a pretty moan from her.

“What a good slut. Wearing such revealing lingerie under your work clothes. What–a–good—whore.” He punctuated every word with another mark he left on her good sized chest. She had started to let out strangled noises as well as a hand going to his hair, trying to steer him to no avail. He stood back for a moment and she knew what he wanted from her. She tugged her pants off and the expensive material dropped to the floor, neither of them caring. She shivered as now she was just in a black lace lingerie set and nothing else. He ran a strong hand down her thighs. She whimpered as his fingers came closer to her completely soaked panties. He shook his head and tutted.

“Look what a mess you made in this pretty set. How long have you been waiting to be fucked dumb?” She stuttered. She couldn’t get words out to say anything. She felt his hand, usually so soft and gentle, now hard and commanding come up and tilt her jaw to look at him.

“It would be wise to answer my question, my darling. Just because you’re my pretty wife does not exempt you from not answering when I ask things.” They both knew that she was much more than his pretty wife but currently, he was talking about who was right in front of him. Sitting on the counter wasn’t strong and powerful Tony Bentini, it was Thomas Shelby’s pretty wife who would do anything for him, which included sitting around and looking pretty for him. She smiled weakly. Her voice was breathy and was right on the edge of a whimper.

“Almost two weeks.” She felt his hand move up her thigh as his other hand brought her face up to look at him. She flashed him her obedient gray eyes. His voice was commanding and dominant, but had that edge of teasing that she loved so much.

“Two weeks, what?” He was teasing her even more now. She blushed and tried to instinctively rub her thighs but his hips stopped her efforts. She whined and tried again to the same result before she registered that she was supposed to say something.

“Two weeks, what?” He repeated, to drive home a point. He had two fingers under her chin. His cornflower blue eyes bore into her gray ones. His with that touch of dominance to them and hers with that hint of submission.

“Two weeks, M-Mr. Shelby.” She stuttered out. She couldn’t steady her voice out at all. He nodded and gave her a sultry kiss. A kiss that lingered and gave her a fleeting taste to something that she wanted so badly. Something she knew she wasn’t getting until he was satisfied.

“I was going to make you get on your knees and put that pretty mouth to good use but I think a good girl like you who’s probably wound so tight-” He flicked a single finger over the soaked part of her panties. She let out a whimper and buried her face in his neck. She could hear him sigh and kiss her jaw. She could feel him bending her onto the cold counter. She didn’t even register that her panties were being gently pulled off her. She only felt his fingers glide down and dance exactly where she needed them to be.

“I do apologize for leaving you so needy. The company has been so swamped and I don’t trust anyone else to do any of the important work, but right now, it’s just us. I’m going to make you feel so good. I promise, my pretty little slut.” She bucked her hips immediately when she felt two of his slender fingers enter her. She let out a few broken moans when she heard his chuckle. He kissed her right under her sensitive chest.

“You’re so wet. So needy. So good for me.” He leaned over the countertop and kissed her as tenderly as he possibly could. He did want her to tell him when he had been forgetting to make her feel good. He would gladly skip work to fuck her stupid.

“O-Oh Mr. Shelby…” She had one of her hands behind her head to make sure she didn’t hurt herself. He kept pumping his fingers into her at a sickening pace that made her back arch, one climax after another. All while he whispered sweet nothings in Romani. She had lost track of how many times she had finished on his fingers when she heard him chuckle.

“I would say your punishment is to clean up the absolute mess you’ve made on my expensive counters but I think I've been too hard on you my darling. Let’s get you up to bed and clean you up. I’ll even clean you off myself then you can fall asleep in my arms.” She nodded sleepily. She heard him walk over to the oven and turned it off. He chuckled and walked back between her legs. He kissed one more time between guiding her legs around his waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He walked both of them up to their master bedroom and set her down gently in the tub in their spacious bathroom. He kissed her forehead and as he stripped her fully.

After they had settled themselves in bed and she had come out of her Shelby-drunk stupor, she kissed his jaw.

“You know, I never did make you feel good. I’m supposed to be a good wife.” He laughed and kissed her hairline. His eyes were full of adoration and lust. A perfect combination for them.

“You’re a perfect wife. You still love me after I took your needs for granted for two weeks. I’m surprised how you’re even in my arms right now.” She giggled and squirmed a little to find a better position in his arms. He pulled her close and kissed her tenderly. Tender and full of love. Love with a dash of lust. Lust filled with all the love in the world. Her eyes were full of love and serenity.

“It’s because I’m such a good wife. The only woman who will put up with you.” He nipped at her neck for that comment. She laughed and they fell back into their normal rhythm. A joke, a flirt, an innuendo, a touch here, a touch there, a hand there, a shared hungry look. It was easy for them. Absolute peace. Absolutely perfect.

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

taglist: @birminghamshelbyboys@goosita@cillianthinker@hllywdwhre@hanawrites404@no-1peakyfan@forgottenpeakywriter@nick-carried-away@cilldistilled@atomicradiogirl@aphroditeslover11@thatwitchybitch420 @shelbybabysblog @no-fooking-fighting

#thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #cillian murphy #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby x f!oc #tommy shelby x f!oc #oc: tony bentini #thomas shelby x tony bentini

33 notes · View notes

archiethinking · 8 months

Text

I don't think Factorio is good.

That must come as a shock to the many fans that this game has. I know how much effort went into polishing it, how much thought was spent trying to perfect it. But I simply don't like it.

The issue I have with it, and that I also have with other games such Satisfactory or DSP, is that it gets stale. So stale. I cannot finish these games, I often don't even make it out of the mid-game.

I'm not sure why people like these games to be honest. Building belts and machines can only interest me for so long. After the 200th furnace I am spent mentally. It requires so much manual mental labor to sit there and do the same thing over-and-over again that my brain melts. It simply refuses. I get headaches and I stop: and I usually never pick it back up again.

It is in fact quite sad how neither satisfactory nor DSP seem able to effectively innovate upon the foundation of factorio in any meaningful way. Yes the third dimension is fun, but it does not fix it. It simply delays the inevitable.

In satisfactory I was genuinely saddened by the lack of anything new. I'd say that the beginning game of manually fueling Bio-reactors is even worse than factorio's mis-paced mess of a beginning, because its simply even more repetitive labor. But not even DSP is safe from this. The idea of having to walk and fly slower until you can develop tech that allows you to magically walk a meter per second quicker is tedious. In addition to the issues factorio poses, It is what kills these games for me.

So why has nobody fixed it? I think its very much a solvable issue. The features that are tedious are right there, out in the open. Simply salivating to be improved upon. Yet I think I've only found one project to have actually attempted to fix it.

That game is Minecraft. Now, hold on. Not just Minecraft. As fun as it is, its definitely no factory management game. But what makes it that is a mod for it called 'Create'. Despite the uninspired name this mod does what these other three games could not. It engages the player with innovative, actual third dimensional gameplay, unlike whatever garbage the other games have done, and does so while smoothly integrating minecraft within it. Nothing about it is repetitive in my mind. Every thing has a different way of being done, and different blocks required to do it.

I have spent 100+ hours on each of my two bases, having created factories that created everything for me and did so speedily. If you like the inherent puzzle-ness of factorio, and you want a fresh take on automation, please play this mod.

To give you a sneak-peek of what this mod does, I tell you only this: It adds rails with trains, it adds moving contraptions that can engage with the world, and it has many integrations with other mods.

It'd be an understatement to say that it keeps you engaged. It keeps you hooked, chained to the factory until your game runs out of frames.

It is a genuine 10/10.

https://www.curseforge.com/minecraft/mc-mods/create

#create #factorio #satisfactory #dsp #dyson sphere #games #gaming #the factory must grow #tumblr

29 notes · View notes

cuubism · 1 year

Note

Hi! I love your blog and how you write! And since you're my go-to for awesome dreamling content I wanted to share this random thought that's been haunting me lately:

Trans FTM Hob + Hob who doesn't keep any scars or change in body shape ever because his body is technically frozen in time since he became immortal = Hob who can't medically transition or who won't be affected by T in any significant way.

Now I know that Hob is a pretty chill guy who can run with anything and has been living in his body and passing as male for all his life so he's really used to it. But on the other hand? How frustrating it'd be to watch all these advances in the medicinal field happen over time and seeing other trans people like himself change their looks so drastically in a way he too has wanted since forever.. and STILL not be able to transition himself! Ever! I bet that'd bother him a lot in his bad days

Anyways I think that Dream would give Hob the ability to switch to a more masc body in his dreams after he finds out about it or something

ahh thank you! ❤️

this is making me wonder what the exact limits of Hob's body regenerative properties are. B/c all bodies produce testosterone, just in different amounts -- maybe if Hob just bombards his endocrine system with wayyyyyyy too much T he can trick it into thinking that's what it's supposed to be doing. (This post is not about medical accuracy). Then his own body will just start regenerating the T that it "doesn't have" and bingo presto problem solved.

(Death running into Hob later like: Hob are you trying to cheat the laws of mortality again? Hob: shh don't tell my endocrine system it doesn't know Death: rock on, dude)

Or depending on how fast his body reverses changes or injuries maybe he just tries like 10x the usual dosage of T

(Dream: this seems medically unwise Hob: i can't die. i can't even get permanently sick that's like the root problem. Dream:.....I suppose I have no counter to that)

Hob accidentally creating a full-on internal system meltdown because half of his body is trying to follow the hormonal cues and the other half is trying to revert to factory settings and the two halves just fight until they destroy each other. (Hob: turns out it was in fact medically unwise)

but yeah if he can't get any of it to stick that would be super frustrating for sure.

I wouldn't be surprised if Hob had been dreaming himself as a guy for pretty much his entire life, not necessarily lucid that's just what his subconscious goes for. (5 year old little kid Hob frolicking in the Dreaming as a boy and waking up like well that's fun, and continuing on with his day not really thinking about it yet 😂). so, maybe Dream helps him get better at lucid dreaming so he can manipulate it specifically how he wants to.

#ask #kail-lizuc #hob gadling #trans hob #sandman headcanons

46 notes · View notes

midnight-moth · 5 months

Note

Ghost Mutuals Tag Game 🦇 Send this to the last ten Ghesties in your notifications, then reply here with ten facts about yourself! Let's get to know each other!

Thank you @counting-eyerolls @cheerycherrycandy-resurrected @papaslittlesunshine and @alwaysjustmina for tagging me. I am a very boring person, and this will be a struggle.

1. I went to university for photography, however I also applied for fine arts in general and wish I had done that instead.

2. I moved out of my parents house when I was 17

3. I once wore a full cast on my leg for the entire summer because I sat down cross legged and heard a snap. It really hurt. My mom thought I was full of crap but the X-ray showed my patella was broken. Get the cast off and … still broken. They x-ray the other knee and patella also in pieces. Turns out I have trochlear dysplasia and that’s why my knees always hurt. Had a surgery to remove the scar tissue built up from pieces of knee cap floating around and wrecking things. In conclusion wore a fibreglass cast for two months in the summer heat for no reason. 11/10 itchy.

4. The first concert I ever went to was Fear Factory, Monster Magnet, and Rob Zombie. I was 14. I got hit in the face in the pit and bit the inside of my mouth. Blood and pain. 11/10 fun and good time.

5. I am the youngest of 5, I have 3 brothers and a sister

6. I have 14 tattoos, including an arm sleeve half leg sleeve which I suppose counts for more than 1? Per was right. But it’s been far more than 30 something hours of pleasure. Idk maybe 200 at this point?

7. I have a blind Jack Russell named Nova (Nova Stella). She is from Mexico. She’s the second blind JRT I’ve adopted. The first was Cahya - a breeder dog rescued from a puppy mill in Ohio. Rescue in general was a big part of my life and I have “liberated” animals from backyard breeders and live stock auctions. No, I’ve never been caught.

8. I play guitar and bass but my first instrument was violin. I want to try and play Ghost on it, naturally. I did have a drum set but I sucked. Real bad.

9. I used to love cooking and at some point wanted to be a chef. Until I decided to become very afraid of food.

10. Man I am running out of steam here… my first “fandom” obsession was interview with the vampire/the vampire chronicles by Anne Rice. I started reading them at an inappropriately young age and it was absolutely formative to my present day obsession with blood.

#ask game #this took so long I am very uninteresting

12 notes · View notes

0perfectimperfections0 · 10 months

Note

Hi fellow doll, I hope you're doing fine. I've been quite busy lately, college and life in general have been kicking my ass, so I was forced to take a step back from social media for a while to try to contain the chaos.

Firstly, I'd like to share a fun fact with you! I don't know if you're aware but did you know that Lou's Mansion has a Pool? You can see it more clearly in the Mansion's Concept Designs/Art on this site:

•https://www.claytonstillwell.com/ugly-dolls#23

However, the real reason for this ask is to present a possible answer/theory in regards to how the doll-sized phones came to be in the world of your stories (you can tell this is still related to our chat on Wattpad).

Recently, I came across the images you're seeing on Pinterest. They're Wide/Aerial Views of the Institute of Perfection and one thing that immediately stood out to me is that Giant Eye-Catching Dome behind the TV.

I mean what's its purpose, why is it even there to begin with and what's inside of it? I've been thinking about this for a while and would like to hear your thoughts about it as well, if you're willing to share them.

By any chance, have you seen the movie Wreck-it Ralph? There was a part where the villain enters the code of the game he's in and I think the Dome's purpose could follow a similar, if not equal, vein.

Now that I think about it, Lou and Vanellope's circunstances are almost identical, trapped in the same place for years without the option to leave, simply because of who they are and the traits they were born with, but didn't choose to have.

Sorry, I let my mind run on tangent there for a while, it wanders frequently which makes it hard to keep track of my line of thought.

To circle back to the main topic of discussion, what if the Dome is a Central Station of the Institute, like a Panel or Center for Command Control (or Command Control Center)? CCC for short? Ok, I'll stop trying to be funny...

Perhaps it could be a subroutine of the factory's software, a program linked to its network and wifi that contains all guidelines and rules that govern the Institute and must be followed and executed to keep it functional - a blueprint if you will - and is in charge of all commands, protocols, activities and operations being compiled and run by its machinery, such as the doll-scanner, the robots, the washing machine, the recycling, the Gauntlet plus the mechanical baby and dog and the Portal, just to name a few.

This means that it'd also take care of overseeing the integrity and performance of said machinery as well as its maintenance. It'd even be responsible for generating clouds and the artificial weather because apparently weather is still a thing, even though the Institute is inside of a factory.

I wonder if this subroutine would be run by an AI or simply an intelligent system/computer program. This world's version of Siri? 🤣

Or maybe I'm greatly exaggerating its function/letting my imagination run wild and it literally only gives Electricity for TV and Institute. Where was I going with this? /were we again?

Morever, it could be a storage unit that contains all collected, analysed and reviewed data regarding the inhabitants of the Institute and their responses, physical or emotional, to certain pre-determined stimuli.

It could also have a list of the factory's Perfection Standards: what consists/constitutes a Perfect Doll / product, its traits...

what can go to the market and which flaws/imperfections can't be ignored/overlooked and have to go to the recycling immediately, kinda like separating fruit/food

To sum up, it's the Institute's "rulebook", but instead of being specifically made for the prototype, it's more expansive and focuses on the Institute as a whole.

After the events of the movie, dolls with engineer role job created phones with recicled parts dangerous/turned the recycling into a good thing/while recycling was turned of and parts are human sized, plenty to spare and create phone since dolls come back now, have free time to assemble the parts and construct them and connected them to the signals/frequency emitted by the dome or they hack/steal or find out the password/'hijack' the signals🤣, use it to make them connect with each other but can't enter the dome without proper authorizations/permissions

Fun fact #2: Lou animatronic, would be a hipocrite if he called the Uglydolls "Ugly" has never seen a Mirror before

•https://www.indigobluepencil.com/ugly

Scroll almost to the middle (pre-planned concepts: dome by TV and washing machine, Big baby, Lou, Mandy, Tuesday and Kitty, Victoria, Perfection Council/of Dolls=board of investors directors reference)

•https://www.scottfassett.com/uglydolls-gallery

Had to restart Two Times... I hope you found this ask both entertaining and informative. Hopefully it'll give you Inspiration for your stories...

Okay, I had to do quite a bit of research and asked someone who knows a lot more about computers than I do.

So, I do agree that the dome has an electronic purpose. It really surprises me that STX animated an entire dome within the Institute and literally spoke nothing of it or what's inside of it. Like, seriously, it's huge and can't just be empty on the inside.

My theory, after some research, is that the inside of the dome is essentially a hard drive computer tower. For you younger folk who weren't raised in a 90's home, here's what I'm talking about:

These things right here used to be what would get hooked up to older Dell/Windows computers. The ones that weighed, like, 50 pounds and took up an entire desk.

Instead of a dvd player (which I didn't get one until maybe 8 years old) I would stick my Kidz Bop cd or movie into that slot at the top and watch the movie on the computer with Video Player.

Count your blessings.

But this is what I believe is inside that dome. These things are what holds the CPU (central processing unit), GPU (graphic processing unit), and stores the memory, data, audio, and everything of the computer.

@natalie-the-writer and I have a running fanon that the company is older. The technology is older, the building is older, and everything is set in a pretty retro time period. So, this hard drive tower is connected to those bulky take-up-all-the-space-on-the-desk-computers.

The GPU in this system is also what control the day/night cycle in the Institute and the weather. It essentially simulates a troposphere and an environment that makes the dolls comfortable and prepared for the Big World.

The CPU is how the data is transferred. Info from the robots is controlled and processed, the Individualization scanners are monitored, the portal is opened and closed, the TV runs, and the holographic tutorials Moxy and her friends see in the beginning are kept on, all of it.

It basically functions as the brain of the Institute, but the sole controller and monitor of it is the CEO (Greyson Everett).

I also like to think that Lou's microchip (another fanon thought between Natalie and I) is also monitored via this hard drive tower. Any information that Lou learns and processes is sent into separate files on the computers back in the company building.

This is why in my Shell-Shock series, when Lou's emotions go south, the Institute begins to get windy when he's hyperventilating or rains when he cries. The ground trembles when he has body tremors and the lights flicker when his powers are used. He is literally connected to the whole Institute because his microchip and its data accidentally grow and manifest themselves into the files of the other Institute functions. His programming basically goes rogue and infects the Institute system like a virus.

I'm veering toward the explanation that results in Lou being the first successful form of Artificial Intelligence. But, for the moment, he is basically acting like a virus and it's not until he learns to control this new system he's connected to that it stops becoming a deadly thing.

#uglydolls #lou #writing #ask #answer #theories #fanon theories #feel free to have your own thoughts #I'm just ranting #this is so interesting thank you for asking this

23 notes · View notes

teekays · 11 months

Note

bless us with your ekky thoughts please and thank you 😌

EKKYYYY my terrible son. my horrible son who hates and bites me

First impression

my first impression of ekky was literally like the comic that's like "awww how cute! OH! he's a little bit fucked up actually!" i saw like. pictures of him and then i actually saw him committing atrocities and i was like wow... a princess who bites. i can get into this

Impression now

more than probably anyone else ekky's whole deal is SO FUNNY to me. because like. he has a terrible personality actually in many ways. he's SO competitive like WILDLY competitive which is saying something because he literally works at the competitive guy factory. not letting your two year old brother win at things to "teach him to appreciate winning more later" is CRAZYYY. he is pouty and insane and a little bit evil but in a fun and silly way. he has bitten before and he will bite again, gladly. and he does all this while looking like a disney prince with those bright pink kissable lips. the way that he made himself a hockey player out of sheer force of will is so fascinating to me like the fact that he will readily admit that he was not good at hockey at all until he was like, 16 but he just worked and worked at it and now he's the guy you want on the ice when you need someone to go unbridled beast mode... in many ways so much more interesting than someone who has heaps of natural talent. descended from a Vibes Guy and becoming his own special brand of Vibes Guy but the Vibes in question are kind of scary? he's my favorite teen mom <3

Favorite moment

this video where he's like. genuinely pissy and mad about his brother "letting their dad win" like bro you are beefing with a teenager 😭😭😭 i don't even speak swedish and i can tell he's mad. something so wrong with him

Idea for a story

the funniest thing about the san jose barracuda is that fundamentally they are just a bunch of coworkers which is true about all hockey teams but the cuda have a vibe that would translate really well to like, an actual job which a lot of teams don't. but i simply think they should all work at a restaurant together complete with the insane interpersonal sexual politics of working at a restaurant. vanderpump cuda ekky is stassi. this has just devolved into saying words but the restaurant idea is so real and true to me. ekky would love unfettered access to a bar soda gun

Unpopular opinion

maybe only unpopular to the sharks front office but give my man a contract. a big one. full time. run him his check. let him bite at the pro level. come on.

Favorite relationship

him and bordy for sure because narratively there is some crazyyy stuff happening there like the previously mentioned "they're destined to play together" and the way that they are both nepo babies but in different ways... fascinating. the alex holtz relationship is also up there tho because like... it could be very "you're the star and i'm just your weird friend" but ekky is like yes i am the weird friend. what about it. the weird friend can control their own narrative.

Favorite headcanon

i think he is, like many of us, a little treat girlie. like he needs a little beverage and a snack to get him through the horrors. you know how it is

#have been dying for a venue to discuss cudas. thank you.#asks

23 notes · View notes

ironcladrhett · 5 months

Text

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Still an abandoned soap factory

PARTIES: Inge (@nightmaretist), Siobhan (@banisheed), Emilio (@mortemoppetere), & Rhett (@ironcladrhett)

SUMMARY: On the night that Rhett is to lose his second foot and probably his life, Emilio makes a daring entrance and tries to bargain with his captors for his freedom.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Suicidal ideation (of the life exchange variety)

—

It wasn’t really like Inge was short on nutrition at the moment, with Rhett providing a steady supply of snacks, but there were still those human cravings. Besides, Siobhan presumably did require human sustenance (or did Banshees sustain themselves on screams?) and so a grocery store run seemed fitting. The mundanity of overhead lights and inflation were a stark contrast to the blood that had just coated Siobhan’s fingers, but it came with important rewards. Lollipops.

As the pair walked to Siobhan’s non-conspicuous car, Inge was sure to continue the point she’d been trying to make. “I think you’ve– we’ve had our fun. The longer go on like this, the riskier it gets.” She pulled open the passenger side door, tossing the groceries in before taking a seat. “Someone’s bound to look for even such a sorry sod at some point.” She pulled the door close, muffling any other words from any sharp ears, looking at Siobhan sharply. “I want him dead before sunrise. Can you settle with that?”

—

Torturing Rhett had given Siobhan an emotional and creative fulfillment that she’d never felt before. It had also—though she would never admit it—given her a friend. A friend she hated and a friend that was an abomination and a friend that, perhaps, didn’t see her as a friend at all but a friend nonetheless. It would be embarrassing to admit that she had prolonged Rhett’s torture not just because it was fun but because she was having fun with Ingeborg. She thought they were really bonding. Violence was what made true friends; so it had been in her aos sí, so it was in that soap factory.

“Oh.” Siobhan leaned against the driver’s side door; one arm spread on top of the hearse, which she rested her chin upon. “What risks? He’s hardly a danger. Risks of having too much fun?” Following Ingeborg—could she just call her Inge now? They were friends, after all—lead, Siobhan ducked into the car. “You’re such a bore. I wish someone would come for him. That’d really make it interesting. I could use one of the other saws on them. I was thinking about the circular one; it’s brand-new.” Siobhan turned to her accomplice and noted the lack of amusement. “Fine.” The car sputtered to life, wheezing and coughing up black exhaust. “Dead tonight, meanie. Give me one of the candies.”

—

Ever since he’d found Rhett’s cane abandoned on the street, Emilio had been a flurry of activity and nervous energy. No time had been taken to pause for stupid things like sleep or meals, and any responses to texts or messages from friends had been brief and curt. He wasn’t stupid. He knew how this was likely to end, knew he was probably looking for a corpse more than he was looking for a man, but even so, he searched tirelessly. If a corpse was all that was left of his brother, he’d still bring it home. He’d still do for Rhett what Rhett had done for Juliana and Flora in Mexico two years ago, even if he was the only one who’d care enough to visit the patch of dirt he planted him in.

And he’d still make sure whoever was responsible paid for it.

That anticipatory grief in his chest was matched only by the anger, the rage that warmed him like a furnace in the dead of winter. On some level, he knew it was a stupid thing to feel. Rhett had been reckless since coming to town, had gone after too many people and let too many go. The fact that most of them were people who didn’t deserve it ached in a different sort of way, but it wasn’t relevant to the point. This town was probably full of people who’d like to hurt Rhett, and Emilio shouldn’t have been surprised that one of them took a shot. But the grief was there anyway. The rage was there anyway. So he did the only thing he’d ever really been good at — he followed the trail.

Javier heard from Lara who heard from Beto that a professor at the college hadn’t been in in a few days. The professor was one with a familiar name — if anyone would go after Rhett, Emilio thought, it would be the mare he’d locked in his bunker. But wherever she was hiding, she was hard to find. In a way, that gave him hope; it meant Rhett might still be alive, though it promised he’d be in bad shape. Still, Emilio did his best to douse the feeling. Hope would do nothing but get him killed here.

It was funny; when he finally found her, it wasn’t even intentional. He stopped by the store to pick up a protein bar when his stomach finally began to cramp in protest of its emptiness, and there she was. It was something of a surprise to see her with Siobhan; maybe it shouldn’t have been. He hadn’t heard anything about Rhett going after the banshee, but a fae would have every reason to want a warden dead regardless. Neither of them spotted him. He wasn’t sure either of them would know to look for him. It was easy enough to fall into step behind them, far enough away to avoid detection but close enough to keep from losing them. Inge’s presence helped with that; all he had to do was follow that pull in his gut towards the undead thing ahead of him, ignore the way it mingled with the dread there.

One way or another, he’d get his brother back tonight.

—

Siobhan’s complete apathy to the risks was something that made Inge feel inferior. She was not overreacting, was she, in assuming that this could lead to more trouble? Violence begot violence. That was why they were here now. That was why she tended to run rather than face the people who chased her tail. She dug around for a lollipop of a flavor she liked and unwrapped it with a note of frustration, telling herself she was wary and that was good and that it wasn’t really that Siobhan was better than her, she was just … unhinged. Yes. That was a good term.

She popped the lollipop in her mouth and got a cola-flavored one for the banshee (this was, in her opinion, the worst flavor), undoing the wrapping for her as well before holding it out. “The best hunter is a dead one,” she said sagely, wondering if Siobhan would simply bite down on the lollipop or if she’d reach for it with her hand. Inge kicked up her legs, licking her own candy merrily. “We can have our fun another way.”

The drive was quickly over and done with, the hearse pulling up to the abandoned factory with fitting noise. The place had grown familiar, but the sight that was Rhett the Warden hadn’t. Inge’s torments and her horrors existed somewhere else, on a plane not bound by earthly harm. Or so, at least, she had told herself. So Sanne had told her, eons ago. It was different. It was more sophisticated. It was a gift. Her eyes flicked over the sight of him before tossing the bag of groceries on the ground. This was hardly a gift. The only thing left was to kill him in a poetic manner and move on. “Told you we’d be back soon,” she said to Rhett, wondering if he’d want a lollipop. “Do you like artificial sweeteners?”

—

The best hunter is a dead one. Inge’s simple statement rattled in Siobhan’s head; bouncing around with each rumble of her hearse and each jump over cracked concrete. The clever retort that she felt obligated to have didn’t leave her mouth—it hadn’t even been formed. Instead, Siobhan watched the shifting landscape as they approached the factory. There was a time where she believed in the practical minimizing of harm; a time when Fate’s course seemed linear. Life existed in a tangle: webs and threads interwoven, pulled through space-time, woven again, transported into unknowable, unthinkable dimensions. When she’d tried to minimize harm, when she’d tried to be kind, she cost her people seven other lives. The best hunter was a living one, until Fate came. And Fate had not yet called for Rhett.

Lost in her thoughts, Siobhan hadn’t realized that she’d entered the factory at all. Had she remembered to turn the hearse off? Park it in the overgrown bushes where it couldn’t be seen from the road? She shook her head. She tried to bring back the face of the woman who adored violence, who only knew it, but instead a woman who mourned controlled her features. She saw Rhett as he was: bloody, broken, miserable. She wondered if he’d ever forgive her one day—then she castigated herself for thinking that. And, anyway, he would be dead soon. But she hadn’t screamed for him yet, and until then, she wondered if he would forgive her and if he’d think it was silly that she cared about that at all.

Siobhan knelt to the bag, crinkling plastic cutting through the air thick with the acrid scent of old blood. Off to the side, the bits of Rhett’s lost leg buzzed with a swarm of happy flies. “What flavour do you want, Rhett?” She smiled for him; dead men deserved kindnesses, sometimes. “We got everything because I said—well, it won’t be funny now if I retell it—but I wanted all of them. And there’s jellybeans…” Siobhan held up the little bag full of them—a plastic bag inside of another plastic bag. Did humans hate the world this much? “I don’t know anyone that likes jelly beans. They’re an abomination.” She pointed to Inge. “Worse than her, actually.”

—

He couldn’t be absent for everything, unfortunately. While his tendency to slip into altered states of consciousness had done him some favors over the last few days, sending the two creatures off in the wee hours of the morning to resume their activities the next day, he always came back out of it. The first time they’d decided to take a break, they’d left him secured to a pole that ran from floor to ceiling so he didn’t excuse himself without their consent. He’d been stuck there since, sitting with head bowed and long hair framing his face, silent until he heard the sound of them returning.

Rhett drew a long, shaky breath as their footsteps grew louder. They’d taken his leg, cut it off just above the knee and cauterized it about as well as you’d expect, and he was pretty sure he had an infection on top of the constant, agonizing pain of nerve endings being ripped to shreds by less than surgically precise methods. He stared down at it, down at the bloodstain where his limb should have been, at the frayed edges of pants hurriedly cut away, stained a blackish-brown. His right leg, while still attached to him, wouldn’t be for long. Siobhan had started in on the toenails of that foot last night, which meant that tonight, if she was working in a pattern... It was a miracle he hadn’t died from blood loss already, but maybe that’s what the breaks were really for. And maybe, he thought as his captors questioned him about sucker flavors, that was the only reason they were giving him any kind of sustenance.

Rather than answer on the subject of his liking of artificial sweeteners or his preferred synthetic flavor, he just lifted his chin and stared. If you didn’t count all the tormented hollering, he hadn’t spoken a word to them in two days. He just shivered, underdressed for the frigid weather, and blinked blearily at them.

“You ain’t screamed,” he finally said pointedly and in a hoarse voice. That meant he wasn’t going to die… yet. He knew the amount of time that could pass before the banshee let one rip was highly variable—it could happen days before he departed from this mortal coil, or it could happen seconds before what remained of the light in his eyes was snuffed out. It would happen, but there wasn’t much comfort in that unless he was on his way to someplace safe. This was not someplace safe. This was… hell.

His gaze jumped to Inge.

“Why am I here? This about you? This about revenge?” he growled, lowering his chin again. His hands, now more loosely tied behind his back and keeping him from wandering far from the pole, twisted against each other at the wrist. His frustration was building, unexpectedly, since he’d more or less been floating through the last few days in a quiet haze or full dissociative state. He was frozen half to death, he was starved, exhausted from lack of sleep and blood loss, and everything hurt. How long were they going to drag this out? Even he didn’t torture fae for this long. Once they told him what he wanted to know, he killed them.

“What d’you want?” the warden snarled before giving them time to actually respond. “Just fucking—get it over with. Just fucking get it over with.” He wasn’t begging. Rhett would never beg for his own life. But maybe that was only because he tried to mask the desperation with anger. He snapped his head up to look at Siobhan, looking furious. “Scream, already!” he commanded, like that would help anything.

—

It was agony, following them. Keeping back, suffocating that rage in his chest to something that had him acting tactical instead of lashing out… it wasn’t in his nature. Emilio had always been a flurry of fury, with a style of fighting that could only really be described as animalistic. His advantage always came in the way he kept fighting until consciousness left him, not in anything resembling planning. He knew he was no good at that. He’d proven it time and time and time again. And, right now, everything he had wanted to launch himself at these women who’d taken his brother from him, wanted to rip them into pieces, wanted to tear their throats out with his fucking teeth.

But then, he stopped to listen.

He eavesdropped, he let their conversation wash over him. They spoke about Rhett like he was still alive, and Emilio knew he’d never get his brother back before it was too late if he killed his captors now. The way they spoke implied that Rhett was in bad shape; there would be no time to look for him, especially not when he knew he’d have to do it alone. He couldn’t ask anyone to help him with this. Not Wynne, who had good reason to hate him. Not Teddy, who he’d seen having pleasant conversations with Siobhan online. Not Jade, who was so interconnected with Regan that going after the other banshee in any way was bound to cause complications. The only person he could realistically expect assistance from was Parker, and he was pretty sure his rage at him matched his rage towards Rhett’s tormentors at this point. He’d never be able to trust the other warden in a fight.

And so, Emilio was on his own. It was hardly a rarity, hardly an experience he was unfamiliar with. He’d spent two years on his own after he and Rhett parted ways in Mexico, would have kept at it if not for Wicked’s Rest and its citizens’ strange habit of giving a shit about people they shouldn’t. Emilio was fine on his own, could handle himself in a fight just fine. He’d get his brother back or he’d die trying, but either way, at least he’d be saved the grief of losing him.

So, he followed. To the parking lot, watching what car they slipped into. It was recognizable, hard to mistake for anything else on the road. Not many hearses driving around. That was good. He slipped into the driver’s seat of the car he’d once again ‘borrowed’ from Teddy, maintaining a slight distance behind the hearse as he drove with his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. His heart stuttered uncomfortably. Left turn. Nausea tugged at his gut. Right turn. He saw a flash of Edgar’s body on the road, crumpled and bloody. Stoplight. Victor sat beside him in the passengers’ seat, sporting every injury his mind could imagine since he’d been spared the knowledge of knowing what killed him. Accelerate. Edgar’s corpse again, but his hair was longer now. Gray. His head tilted, and it was Rhett’s face there instead. Victor, in the seat beside him, morphed in a similar manner.

The hearse pulled off the road, and Emilio did the same. Into a parking lot, with no one else around. He switched off the headlights, parked a ways away. He watched them enter, and he waited. One heartbeat. Two. He couldn’t stomach the thought of a third, moved from the driver’s seat and onto the concrete. The ache in his bad leg was a long-forgotten thing, his mind forcibly pushing it aside. Pain is a message, his mother told him once. Messages can be ignored. He was getting better at it with practice.

He unpacked the trunk. Iron blades, weapons borrowed from Teddy’s basement. He grabbed a knife Rhett had gifted him years ago, the handle worn but the blade kept sharp. He thought it might be poetic to kill one of them with it. Both of them, maybe. Everything in the damn factory, if Rhett was dead inside of it.

The closer he got to the door, the clearer he could hear the murmurs. The sensation of the dead thing inside made his stomach turn just as much as the smell of blood did. The two of them combined had his mind reeling, skipping back and forth between here and there. The factory was a living room was a street. Long dead corpses rotted scentlessly in the corner. His daughter’s body was crumpled in the center of the room. Rhett was missing a leg. Juliana was screaming. Siobhan was silent.

For a moment, he thought he was too late. He thought he’d gotten here just to collect a corpse, just to give himself something else to bury. But then, Rhett shifted. He spoke. He sounded rough, sounded more pained than Emilio had ever heard him, and the world fell apart and fell back together at the same time. It was strange, seeing his brother this way. For so long, he’d thought of Rhett as invincible by necessity. Victor was dead. Edgar was dead. So Rhett couldn’t be. His other brothers died screaming, too young or too old, so he made Rhett a monument to them in their absence, created an immortal thing out of a husk. He’d been proven wrong before, of course; Rhett was already down an eye, had needed a cane even before the monsters in the shadows had taken his fucking leg. But even so, Emilio had never seen him like this.

He looked small. Emilio wanted to tear the world apart with his bare hands.

There was no time to waste, he knew. The first thing he needed to do was take care of the mare. Prevent her from using the astral to her advantage, keep her from slipping into the shadows to attack him from behind. If she got one hand on him, put him to sleep, this whole thing would be over. The banshee’s scream was a concern, too, but the mare needed to be grounded first. Fighting deaf would still be easier than fighting unconscious.

Slipping the sword off his back, he tested its weight momentarily. Balanced. High quality. If he survived this, he’d have to thank Teddy for letting him borrow it. He waited until Inge moved a little, waited until she was lined up the way he needed her to be with the wall. And then, in a flurry of rage, he went in for the strike.

He made no sound as he stormed into the room, offered none of his usual dry humor as he shoved the blade through the mare’s stomach and into the wall behind her with all the strength he had. It went in deep, stuck hard. It would take enhanced strength to pull it out again. Otherwise, she’d have to peel herself off it by slicing through herself, sliding to the side. It would hurt either way. Emilio was glad for that.

—

She never stuck around to see the results of her actions when it came to her sleepers. She visited them on a schedule, slowly pushing further and further into their minds to make it her own playground. Sometimes she witnessed them wake, but that was it — Inge always disappeared until they could fully react. And here was Rhett, tied like a stray, wounded dog with blood sticking to him and the surface below him. He was reduced in a multitude of ways.

It was a strange thing, to be so confronted with her actions. To have the harm done by her collaborator (not her — for all her assistance, Inge remained convinced it was Siobhan responsible for that missing leg) so clearly on display. It wasn’t that it gave her pause, but it was a sensation she wasn’t sure she’d intend to experience again. Even if she’d gained material for new works. She turned the lollipop around in her mouth while considering the sight, distantly glad that it would be done before dawn. It was not a feeling she had any interest in investigating.

So she simply stared back at him, popping the lollipop from her mouth to answer his growled questions. Questions. He had barely spoken these past days, an impressive feat that Inge would not have achieved had the places been reversed. They had been, once, though not for as long. Humans were easier to trap. “Well, the idea started when you hurt a mutual …” She thought for a moment, “Student of ours. I’m not generally one for vengeance like this, but Siobhan is an inspiring woman and well, I really would like to see you and your experimental ways out of this world.” It would be bad praxis to reveal that Siobhan and her hadn’t really agreed on what had occurred, but Inge wasn’t tactical, nor was Rhett long for this world. “So we agreed to put our differences aside to kill you. We’ll get there.”

She had judged him, hadn’t she? For locking her in that bunker. For putting Ariadne in that van for a week. For the cruelty of it — not just a quick axe to the head, but something drawn out. But this was different. This was retribution. “I don’t like to limit my fellow creatives, though.” With the way he was asking for it, for that inevitable end, Inge almost felt inclined to let Siobhan follow her whims and let this draw out. Even if she was growing antsy from this space, her mind bending in strange ways, leaving her giddy and nervous and wondering if she should start packing, wondering if she should try to help Siobhan with the next toe and whether she could even handle such a thing. Whether she was weaker, for not being able to fight or maim in such a way, or whether it just made her more sophisticated. Whether she was worse than the hunters for this. Whether it mattered.

She’d blame that spiraling mind for not noticing what came next until it was too late.

The blade reached her only a few seconds after she’d caught sight of Cortez, eyes widening and mind preparing to reach for her beloved astral — but she couldn’t. The sword ran through the full depth of her and a sound fell from her lips, somewhere between a scream and a roar. Her fingers let go from the lollipop, which shattered like glass onto the ground. Eyes dropped to what had been slid through her insides, wide and frightened and furious. She tried to focus, not entirely convinced that this should lock her in place but it wasn’t there, her connection to her favored place of existence.

Panic was an emotion spread easily, especially when it went hand in hand with adrenaline, and Inge reached forward to try and claw at the now-free hilt, but she only cut herself deeper. Another wail of pain, eyes dancing through the room, “Do it, Siobhan.” Surely the banshee knew what she meant by that.

—

It was interesting being told what to do. Siobhan had spent so much of her life listening, obeying, deferring. She was, by her very nature, a vehicle for choices that weren’t hers. Rhett wanted her to scream, as though his death was up to her—well, it was up to her but it wasn’t up to her. Another banshee would understand (but not Regan, Regan understood nothing). Inge also wanted her to scream and that one tickled in the back of her throat; she almost did it reflexively, just because some woman told her to. She thought it was all a little funny.

Emilio burst in like a rabid dog—remarkably silent—and honed on Inge as though she had personally eaten the kibble from his bowl. Siobhan watched it all in slow motion: Inge’s expression, the sword, the wall. The sword was a nice touch, Inge obviously trying to blink away from the scene wasn’t. Did she plan on leaving her here? With the hunters? And she was telling her what to do? Yes, do it. She ought to do it. It was always about her and needing to do it; all her life, a series of things to do. All it would take was one scream, in a matter of seconds, to rid the world of Emilio, Rhett and Ingeborg. Did they understand that? Did they ever once think about her generosity? Or, perhaps, why was it that she just didn’t go around screaming? Was any intelligent thought spared for her? Considering the people surrounding her, probably not. It was embarrassing that she’d considered Ingeborg a friend for a moment; she’d be blocking that memory out.

Siobhan knelt to Rhett’s level, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Any of you move and I scream,” she said. “Except you, Ingeborg, feel free to squirm.” She looked along the bloody factory ground to Emilio, and the pinned mare; he was bundled up, she was oozing glitter. “I shouldn’t have to remind you, Emilio, that all it takes is one breath for Rhett to turn into pudding. Rhett, you tell him.” With her free hand, she rummaged around the grocery bag, freeing a lollipop. Ripping the plastic with her teeth, she slid the treat against her tongue. “Ugh.” She frowned. “Grape.” The plastic stick danced from one end of her mouth to the other as she thought about their situation.

Ingeborg probably felt very good about herself, impalement aside; she should have listened to her and killed Rhett on that first night. Emilio seemed very upset. Rhett seemed….pale and sticky; torture had that effect. Was he relieved? Scared? He still hasn’t told her what flavour he liked best; she guessed lemon. “I think we should relax.” Siobhan smiled sweetly. “Get acquainted. Emilio, this is Rhett, maybe you know him: he’s a child torturer. That’s a Ingeborg, you can kill her if you want but keep in mind that you will be robbing the world of her attractiveness—she has material value. In addition, she does smell strangely nice.” Siobhan turned to look at Rhett. “Are you sure you don’t want candy, darling?”

—

A mutual student? The girl, then. The blonde with the flower. He frowned, his gaze dancing between the two of them as that momentary spike of adrenaline seeped away again, leaving him hollowed and hurting. They wanted him dead, but they wanted it done slow—maybe for each day he’d held that young mare in his van. Maybe more. For as long as it was interesting to them. Well, he could try to keep it uninteresting by being mute again, taking their abuse without complaint. They’d get bored eventually.

He was just about to slump back against the pole when there was a sudden explosion of movement, and the warden jerked away from it on reflex before realizing it wasn’t Siobhan. In fact, she was crouched in front of him now, hand on his shoulder, and—

His one-eyed gaze fell on Emilio and was fixed there as the banshee voiced her threats. She was right, he knew—Emilio probably didn’t. Why was he here? He should have been home, he—

“No,” Rhett moaned woefully. Tears sprang unbidden to his eye and he shook his head, staring at his brother. “Get out of here. You shouldn’t be here.” He could hardly speak above a whisper, throat raw from all the screaming he’d been doing, worsened by his outburst only moments before. He sucked in a gasping breath, glancing away from the other hunter to meet Siobhan’s gaze. “Let him go, he’s not—he ain’t like me. He’s good. He’s a good person, please, let him go, he made a mistake—” He looked back at Emilio sharply with that final word, teeth bared in a grimace. “A mistake,” he repeated. “Go home.”

He would never beg for his own life, but he'd be the first to beg for Emilio’s.

Logic and reasoning was not something he’d ever had a strong grasp on, but that was even farther from the truth now. In some desperate attempt to appeal to Siobhan’s chaotic nature and hopefully get his brother out of there in one piece, Rhett gave her a stoic nod. “I like lemon,” he confirmed unknowingly. He spared one last quick glance at his last remaining family, feeling sick to his stomach. “We’re fine here, hua. Havin’ a great time.”

—

It was hard to focus. His mind was still bouncing, still half in the present and half in the past. Flora’s body was still in the corner, crumpled and bloodless and so small. Juliana’s was a few feet away. Edgar was there, too; Rosa, his mother. Even Lucio’s ghost haunted the scene, staring on with the same stricken expression he’d worn when Emilio buried his knife in his gut. None of it was right, he knew; everyone he loved was two years gone, rotting in holes someone else had dug for them.

Everyone but Rhett.

His eyes darted to his brother, who was clearly far more out of it than Emilio himself and with far better reason. It was hard not to focus on the place where his leg ended, on the too-long pant leg and the bloodied concrete beneath it. He wanted to think, what kind of a monster does that to a person? He wanted to condemn it, wanted to think that it was an unforgivable thing. But Rhett had locked a kid in a van for days just to see what would happen. Emilio had tortured so many vampires that he’d lost count now, had done worse than this to them for days and days on end until even their already-dead bodies couldn’t hold on a moment longer and gave out under his hands. There were monsters in this room; there were nothing but monsters in this room.

In the far corner, his daughter’s body continued to rot.

The mare was screaming. Her — Its blood touched the edge of the sword, sparkling in the dim light of the factory. In a way, it grounded him a little. The screams, the glittery substance. He tried to focus on it instead of Rhett’s blood, tried to ground himself in the present as best he could. Edgar was dead. Victor was dead. Rhett wasn’t. Rhett wouldn’t be. Not as long as there was breath left in Emilio’s lungs.

His chest heaved as he glared at the banshee. The mare was forgotten now, an afterthought; no longer a threat, and therefore no longer worth looking at. He gripped Rhett’s iron knife in his hand, tight enough to stop it shaking. He wanted to slice the banshee open, wanted its guts to spill on the floor as if that might somehow cover up his brother’s blood that stained it, as if the presence of one would chase away the presence of the other.

The banshee put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. It made threats. Emilio continued to glare. “Si haces eso te mataré,” he growled. Juliana laughed, a harsh and unnatural sound. He blinked once, hard, trying to remind himself of where he was. When he was. He pushed his tongue against the bottom of his canine, tasting blood in his mouth. Opening it, he tried again. “If you do that, I will kill you,” he said, the words slow and heavily accented as he forced them out in the language that still felt unnatural behind his teeth. “I promise, I’ll kill you if you do that.” Rhett would hate that. You weren’t supposed to make promises to fae; Emilio knew that. But this promise was one he intended to keep, anyway. It didn’t matter if Rhett was a monster; Emilio loved him all the same. He’d do anything for him. He’d tear the world apart with only his teeth.

His eyes darted back to his brother as he spoke, surprised to see him aware. Not quite himself — Emilio was fairly sure he’d only seen Rhett with tears in his eyes once, in the woods just outside Etla — but here all the same. His chest ached as Rhett ordered him to leave, and he wondered if this was what his brother had felt in those woods when Emilio begged him to let him die. He’d give the same answer to Rhett as Rhett had given him back then: “Fuck off with that shit.” There was nothing in the goddamn world that would convince him to leave Rhett here. If Rhett died here, Emilio would either kill the things responsible or die trying. His glare made that much pretty clear.

Said glare returned to the banshee now, eating its candy like none of it mattered, like it hadn’t mutilated his brother in the floor of an old factory, like all of this was a joke. Like Rhett wasn’t the only family Emilio had, like he wasn’t the last piece of a unit that was otherwise irreparably broken. “I’m not leaving here without him. Whether you’re alive or not when I go is up to you.”

—

She felt like a fly that someone had swatted and left to die stuck to the wall. Not fully dead but incapacitated in a way where there was little to do for her but watch in growing agitation and continued pain what played out before her. Inge wanted to scream, but only if the scream could have the impact that a banshee’s would have. In stead she followed Siobhan’s instruction (when she should be following hers!) and squirmed, fingers trying to grasp at the blade but getting nothing out of it.

The warden was crying. Putting up a show of emotion, cracking the way he’d not been cracked before despite the horrors Siobhan and her had put him through. This could be perfect. This could be perfect. If the banshee only used her head and did what needed to be done, this could be two birds with one stone — or rather one scream.

But the banshee was impossible to understand, a strange combination of motivations that Inge didn’t get. (Not that she got her own.) They were all talking as if there was something to talk about. Why wasn’t she doing it? She grasped the blade once more, the metal cutting into the palm of her hand as she tried to gain purchase. But to get to the hilt she’d have to bend over and to bend over was to slice into herself deeper. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure what kind of organs remained inside her and if they had any function. She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out today, here.

She was shrieking, though not with any intention. Just out of instinct. Her hands were covered in that useless glittery solid now and she was useless. A fly on the wall, left to observe the inaction of a banshee who had once proclaimed to love murder. “Siobhan!” It was a bellow more than a scream, lower than the previous expressions of panic and pain. “Get it over with!”

—

Amusement fluttered inside Siobhan’s chest: this was the sort of situation that reminded her of her greatest hobby. Emilio’s anger delighted her—his gaze could become so sharp, his words could drip with such acid, he could promise her silly things just to keep himself from charging at her (he was like a dog right now, but with just enough sense to keep himself alive). Ingeborg squirmed on the sword—how wonderful it was to watch her expressions dance, flickering with rage (was that fear under the red glow of her eyes or more anger?). And Rhett—as silly as it was, she’d come to like the man. Over the last two nights she studied his expressions: anguish, sadness, fatigue, acceptance. Her greatest hobby was to watch the ways life existed. What made torture fun was seeing how far she could push an emotion, seeing how she could twist a feeling. And here was something she coveted, something she hardly understood: affection, the most curious of human conditions.

She waved Emilio’s words away. “I don’t accept your promise. You’ll end up hurting yourself with that one: it’s too vague.” Siobhan’s gaze then flicked to Ingeborg. “That sword looks really cute on you, it brings out your eyes. You should consider it as a permanent look.”

Siobhan smiled, rummaging through the plastic grocery bag: orange, cherry (her favorite), cola, watermelon, peach, something neon green. “I knew you were a lemon man.” Eventually, she found a bright yellow lollipop and tongued hers into the other side of her mouth so she could rip the plastic wrapping open with her teeth. She held the piece of candy out by Rhett’s mouth. “You are a very astute man. I like this awareness: you’ve always understood how pitiful you are, haven’t you?” She looked at Emilio. “But that’s not a ‘good man’, that’s a selfish one. He holds more compassion for you than he does for poor Ingeborg on the nice sword. Who, for all my knowledge, has never tortured any anxiety ridden blonde children. Emilio’s selective, isn’t he? You don’t charge in here, promise to kill someone to save someone else, unless you’re selectively compassionate. Of course, most humans are like this, but it hardly makes him ‘good’ does it?”

Her grip tightened on Rhett’s shoulder. “I don’t like selfish men, Rhett.” And Siobhan knew she was cruel enough to kill Rhett only to anger Emilio. Then she’d tie him up and…well, maybe she’d go for the arms this time. And who would come to save him? Would this be a never ending cycle of interrupted torture? The idea exhausted her. “Emilio, are you aware this is a terrible man? Objectively terrible. He won’t argue—tell him, Rhett. Why don’t you? Tell him all the terrible things you’ve done…or does he already know?” She looked at him, wondering if he was the sort of man to share his secrets or if he had any shame for his duty. Did Emilio want to save him regardless? Why? Why?

Why would anyone want to save this wretched man?

“Emilio.” In her curiosity, Siobhan’s head cocked to the side. “Why should I let you go? Why should I let Rhett go?” She blinked. “Don’t try to threaten me again, or threaten Ingeborg, it’s juvenile. If I cared about staying alive, I wouldn’t be here. If I cared about Ingeborg staying alive, I would have screamed already. Use your brain, I know you have one.”

—

Wincing beneath her tightened grip, Rhett stared at the lollipop still held aloft in front of him as he spoke. “Emilio. Shut up,” he ordered his little brother, knowing that the man’s temper would not do them any favors in this situation. Then, with the smallest tilt of his head in Siobhan’s direction, he began speaking to her, answering her questions slowly, making sure he didn’t miss anything. If he missed something, she might think he was trying to ignore it, and she might do something rash. Something unhinged, like she was. He had to be careful about what he said for once in his stupid life.

“Pitiful, aye. N’ he knows all ‘bout all the things that make me like that.” Most of them, anyway. “He is bein’ selfish, right now. He should’ve let me go days ago. But he’s family, n’ he don’t let family go easy.” His head was swimming, vision blurred. He felt like passing out, but he had to keep going. “He’s the one that got her out. The blonde girl, the mare. He’s the one that let her out of the van, the one that made me promise… not to go after her again. No one else woulda been able to convince me, so… if ya… care about ‘er, ya got Emilio to thank. Ya should… let him go ‘cuz he’s got more green than red on his ledger. Does more good than bad. Only does bad when… when it involves me, or the people that took away our family.” It was surprisingly introspective for Rhett, but he’d had a lot of time to think about it. The warden sucked in a wavering breath, squinting his eye closed. “I don’t wanna leave here.” He’d tried to run once, back before it had gotten really bad, but now… “But that don’t matter, ‘cuz ‘Milio ain’t gonna leave this place without me.” He finally brought his gaze up to look at Siobhan, and for all the world, he looked genuinely apologetic.

“I get why ya did what ya did. But don’t make my brother pay for the wrong shit I done. I know he’s bein’ selfish right now, but he is a good man. I promise he is. I promise.” That’s how sure he felt, despite what Emilio might say, what he might think. He knew the last living Cortez was a better person than he himself believed. “I’ll be dead next year anyway. He just wants a few more months.” With that, Rhett deflated from the effort of remaining coherent, bending forward to bite the sucker from Siobhan’s grip and then lean back against the pole, closing his eye like he was relaxing into a nap. He should’ve still been worried for Emilio, and he was, but he was too damn tired to do much more about it. As it was, his grip on consciousness felt weak—held only by one pinkie finger. He hoped that he’d still have a pinkie finger as he slipped away from them, his mind carrying him elsewhere just in case things went wrong and they all had their guts liquified by a pissed off banshee.

—

The mare was screaming; Emilio ignored it. With the threat of its escape through the astral plane eliminated, it would be simple enough to take its head off when he finished with the banshee. Or he’d leave it here to starve, focus more on getting Rhett to safety instead. He needed some kind of medical care, though Emilio wasn’t sure how to provide it. (If he took his brother to the hospital, what questions would he have to field? Would Zane help him out, understand that Emilio’s presence would need to be an under the radar thing?) Either way, the mare wasn’t important at the moment. Its screeching, its pleas for the banshee to act and its fear disguised as rage. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered at all was sitting in the floor with a goddamn lollipop stuck in front of his face.

The banshee spoke, and Emilio kept his steely gaze on it, body tense and ready to strike at any moment. It would do him no good, he knew. The iron knife in his hand could be thrown with accuracy, but it wouldn’t be faster than a scream if the banshee chose to release one. The most he could hope for was for the blade to find the banshee’s throat just a moment after its scream obliterated him. Maybe if the sound was focused on him, Rhett would survive with only his eardrums ruptured. Maybe someone would come looking, would find him before infection took him. Or maybe they’d both turn to mist with the echo of the banshee’s cry. Maybe they all would. It still felt better than the thought of walking out of here alone.

There were insults, there were implications. This was about the other mare, the kid. Wynne’s girlfriend, the one who hadn’t deserved what Rhett had done to her. But the kid hadn’t even wanted to speak poorly about Rhett; Emilio doubted she would approve of someone being tortured in her name, of someone being killed. He thought of Flora, of the blood he’d spilled and the dust he’d stirred up because she was gone and he was here and things like that needed retribution. Maybe she wouldn’t have approved, either. Maybe she’d never gotten to be old enough to understand the idea of approval. Either way, the blood on his hands remained just as present as his brother’s blood on the floor. His eyes flickered briefly to the corner. She was rotting. She was always rotting.

The banshee kept saying his name, and he wished it would stop. The syllables exiting its tongue felt wrong, felt different. Even when Rhett said it — that fond, shortened version, the one only Rhett was still alive to use — it didn’t feel right. The name reminded him that he was a person, and he didn’t feel like one now. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be one. People ached. People struggled with the things Emilio needed to do. People hurt when you hit them, and he thought something was probably going to hit him soon. He stayed quiet as the banshee spoke, eyes darting to Rhett as his brother joined in. I’ll be dead next year anyway, he said, like it didn’t matter. Like there weren’t little girls rotting in corners and long-dead wives screaming in the distance, like he wasn’t the only family Emilio had who hadn’t decayed long past the point of recognition. Emilio wanted him to shut up, but he was afraid of what might happen when he stopped talking. He was afraid that if Rhett stopped speaking now, he’d never hear his brother’s voice again. The thought made him nauseous.

He let the silence stretch, periodically looking from the banshee to his brother to the empty corner where his mind conjured up long buried corpses and long silenced screams. He knew he should say something. He was supposed to. He knew that.

“I’m not good,” he confirmed, looking at Rhett as he said it. “Neither is he. Neither are you. Or that.” He gestured to the mare like an afterthought, like he’d almost forgotten it was there at all. (Would Teddy want the sword back? He should leave it in place until he’d killed the thing, at least, but he probably ought to clean it after. The thought felt laughably mundane, even as his mind clung to it.) “But he’s my brother. And I’m not the only one who needs him. He’s got a kid who wants him around, who wants to know him. She’s good, and she deserves to keep him. To get to know him, to decide for herself if she wants him in her life. You can —” He looked to Rhett, to the empty gap on the floor where his leg should have been. “You can do what you want with me. Let me call an ambulance for him, and I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Take my lungs, my liver, my heart, take whatever, but not him. You can take me apart like a goddamn puzzle, but let my brother go. Please. Just let him live, and I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

—

Siobhan was accosting her with a compliment that made Inge just shout an expletive her way, “Kutwijf!” Her mother tongue, because maybe that would shield the truth of her frustration. The truth of her dread, her — well, her fear, really. It was an ugly thing to admit, but as she was stuck on the wall and her ally in all this seemed to be negotiating with the two hunters rather than killing them, she was afraid. She tried to lean into her anger more. Even as Siobhan revealed her hand. She cared not about what might happen to either of them, had no intention as of yet to commit the murders that seemed to Inge as the only logical next step.

Why were they here? Why had Rhett put her in that basement, Ariadne in that van? What was the point? Inge had thought that perhaps this all could lead to one less hunter, that a proactive stance against a monster like Rhett would lead to the erasure of him — but here she was, pinned to that wall, waves of cold pain radiating from that wound. She and Siobhan had done what she condemned all hunters for. Played with their food and not pulled through.

And then there was the revelation that Emilio had been the one to save Ariadne. The man with the murderous eyes of his mother had saved a girl better than them all. It didn’t add up. There was an angle to it. There was some motive she didn’t understand.

What was the point? Emilio may have saved Ariadne and Rhett may not have killed her, but there was still blood on all their hands. Emilio had a point — none of them were good. But Inge didn’t want to die, whereas these hunters seemed all to ready to lay themselves down to rest out of some kind of sentiment that she’d perhaps never felt. Her siblings were like strangers. Her late partner she had let die so she could get out. (A price deserved, considering she’d killed her once.) And even now, she had no interest in dying for another. “Well, I guess that makes it simple, doesn’t it?” Her voice was shrill and ugly, directed at Siobhan only. She would be damned if she would stop trying to make her demands. “They’re both down to die for the other, so why not do them that favor?” She wasn’t quiet after she stopped speaking, another shriek of pain accompanying her words from the strain her words had put on her abdomen. She wanted this to end.

—

Siobhan wasn’t sure it made anything simple. The word ‘family’ caught in her head, stuck in a warped loop. The bloody factory floor morphed into long, soft blades of green—the fields of Ireland. Muffled cries echoed behind her ears—smothered, she knew, by biting down into the flesh of her palm, sweet blood filling her mouth. Mother hated it when she cried. She turned to Rhett and waited for the pain that would follow his broken promise—Emilio wasn’t a good man—but there was nothing but fatigue and honesty. He believed it and that was enough. She looked at Emilio, listened to his plea. He really would have given her anything, just like that. And why? Why? Siobhan’s hand trembled against Rhett’s shoulder; under her gloves, under the myriad of scars on her palm, was the half-moon carved by her small teeth and it throbbed. “I don’t understand.” Her voice dropped to an almost whisper. “I don’t understand.” And then her grip tightened all at once, and she crushed Rhett’s tired body under her fingers. “What does family matter? You knew! This is a bad man!” Her voice rushed over itself, vibrating through her. “Family isn’t above punishment!”

The scars down her back throbbed as her body trembled. The grass and the crying withered away and instead it was her own screams, her own blood and her mother’s heel between her shoulder blades. Siobhan still remembered what the dirt tasted like the day she lost her wings: sulfur, wet clay and saliva. It was a temporary loss, she reminded herself. The same essence of family that Rhett and Emilio were on about was the one that meant her mother was waiting for her, keeping her wings safe, eager to reattach them and be with her daughter again. Yet, even as Siobhan told herself this, her face continued to twist. Her back was on fire; her mother had insisted on pulling them out like a weed, roots and all. “You knew… You knew and you let him live. You know and you come here demanding his life? This man?” She jostled him. “This putrid man?” She heard one of her own bones pop in her hand as she squeezed his shoulder. “What does it mean that he’s family? What does that mean?” How could he be saved? How could he be loved? How could he be forgiven?

Siobhan’s watery gaze snapped to Rhett. “What does it mean? How can he want to save you? How can he give himself away to save you? You, who are not worth saving. How can he? Why? What is—what is that? I don’t—I don’t understand.” She looked at Inge, still stuck on her wall, and blinked rapidly at her, trying to ask without words. Inge was a mother, so she must understand better than these men. If Inge child’s betrayed their family, she would rip their wings out, ruin their beauty, cast them out and strip them of familial title—no longer a daughter. She would. She had to. Good mothers did that. Family would watch it happen too: grandmothers, cousins, aunts. Family was just. “I don’t understand, Inge.”

—

He was only marginally aware of what was happening in the room after he’d stopped speaking. He could hear Emilio talking, probably refuting everything he’d said in some stupid attempt to swap their positions—they didn’t want Emilio, they wanted Rhett, for the shit he’d done to that girl. For the shit he’d done to the one pinned to the wall, still screaming her threats and pleas. But of course, just because a plan was stupid didn’t mean that would stop Emilio from trying it. He knew that much about his little brother.

That is, until the banshee’s grip on his shoulder threatened to break his collarbone and he snapped back into the moment, groaning and weakly trying to tug himself away from her as her words caught up to his addled mind. She shook him, sparking the anger that had fizzled out to little more than embers. She was demanding to know what they meant, to know how someone like Rhett could still have someone like Emilio who cared for him, in spite of everything.

He was annoyed. He spit out the lollipop to better speak.

“Rack off,” he barked angrily, sinking lower to try and relieve the pain that was her fierce grip on him. Something snapped, and he roared the next words in response. “This ain’t a fuckin’ therapy session, you stupid bitch. It ain’t a negotiation, neither! Fuck, all’ah you, just—” His words caught in his throat as Desmond crouched beside him, a large hunting knife protruding from his back. In his arms was little Flora, eyes vacant as the day he’d buried her. The warden stammered, gasping for breath as his fury was diluted by fear and sorrow. “Ya choose family, ya dense slag. Yer mama ain’t got no skin in the game. Fuck’s sake, let go.” Of his shoulder, of her fucked up relationship with her mother… or both. He didn’t really care. He just wanted this over.

—

The banshee was angry. Yelling (but still not screaming), tightening its grip. And it was hurting him, hurting Rhett. Emilio could see it in his brother’s eyes, in the way he came back to himself. He wished he’d stay in his head, stay out of the conversation. It would be easier to convince the banshee that Emilio was the better toy to play with if Rhett went silent. He doubted a hunter who was already broken would be nearly as much fun to pick apart as one still standing, and that was what the banshee was after here, wasn’t it? Fun. The thought of it — that his brother was a game they’d played for days now, that everything he’d gone through had been for the entertainment of the creatures in this room — made him a little sick. The thought that Wynne’s girlfriend in that van had been the victim of a similar game with Rhett as the creature entertained didn’t help.

The banshee was still talking and Rhett was yelling and Emilio couldn’t make out any of it, couldn’t pick apart the words over the rush of blood in his head. Flora was dead and here and rotting. Juliana was glaring and decaying and gone. Rhett was on the living room floor with blood all around him. The banshee had sharp teeth. The mare was shedding dust. Victor had been dead for twenty years now, and Emilio still heard him laughing.

“Stop.” He didn’t know who — what he was talking to. To Rhett, who was going to make things worse for himself in some misguided attempt to make things better for Emilio? To the banshee, whose grip was too tight? To the mare, whose voice was too shrill? To the ghosts that existed only in the confines of his own mind, or to his mind and itself and its awful method of time travel that he’d never consented to? He took a step forward, and it was a risky move. The banshee only needed to scream. But it had Rhett locked in its grip, and if it was going to kill him, Emilio thought it might as well kill him, too. If Rhett was going to die, he wasn’t going to die alone.

Another step, and then another. His feet made a sickening squelching sound as they moved through the blood, his brother’s blood, that soaked the ground. He kept walking anyway, until he was right in front of them, until he was reaching out and grabbing the banshee’s wrist where its hand held his brother’s shoulder, until he was squeezing it to loosen that grip in any way he could.

“It doesn’t matter why,” he said hoarsely. “It — there is no why. He’s my brother. He’s my brother, and I love him. Let him go, and I’ll do anything you want. I promise, I will. I’ll stay here with you. Or I’ll go with him, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone anymore. I’ll make whatever fucking promise you want me to make, just let him go. Please. He’s my brother. He’s the only family I have. You don’t have to understand. I don’t know how to make you understand. But that doesn’t matter. I’m — Christ, I’m fucking begging here. Anything you want, I swear. Just let him go.”

—

They were talking of family and punishment and Inge squirmed on her sword with no stakes in the game. Her parents had been distant and quiet in their love. Her siblings had been companions of silence, each of them haunted by the dead sibling most of them had never met and none of them spoke of. She must have loved them, once, when they were kids. She never really stopped loving them, maybe — but there was no liking them. No sacrifice. No grand gestures. They were not parts to hold over her, they were just abandoned limbs from a past life she didn’t think of much. They weren’t to her like Rhett was to Emilio. So she didn’t understand, either.

And the ones that mattered, the truly familial – chosen and blood – that had once existed had already been severed. She’d watched both her daughter and partner die. For Vera she would have done what Emilio was doing, but there was no comparing Rhett and her child. There was no common ground, besides perhaps the love that existed. And Inge didn’t much care for such sentiments as a sword throbbed in her belly. She didn’t much care for it because love was a wound that could not be tended to. It remained bleeding and raw much like her abdomen.

And above all, there had been no space for heroics in the face of the disease that had taken her daughter. There had been no space for morals or punishments, no use for them. They’d made up and they’d waited it out, the spread of disease. There had been no people to plead with, unless you accosted the doctors who were already on your side. Did Emilio understand how lucky he was, that he got to at least try? That there was at least something to do? That he could drive a sword through an antagonistic body and carry his weapons and make an attempt to sway a woman who could not understand the love he wielded? He was so lucky. He was so undeserving of it.

“I don’t care,” she retorted, mostly to Siobhan, “You don’t have to understand. It doesn’t matter. The love doesn’t matter. The punishment doesn’t matter unless you do what you gotta. Just end it. It doesn’t fucking matter, Siobhan.”

—

“Bitch? Slag?” Siobhan shook Rhett violently, rattling his body against the rusted pipe, ringing it like a gong. “A slag? I hold your life in my hands and you’re calling me a slag? Where’s the respect? I’m twice your age!” She leaned to the side and spat out her grape lollipop, which had been mostly crushed under her hurried conversation. “A promise?” She perked up, then, self conscious about how typical of her species she was being—it was just like a fae to lunge at the first chance for promised favors—and in front of a warden, she cleared her throat. The tendrils of the Gaes, warmed up her stomach. She exhaled on the memory of Emilio’s words—I promise. He would do anything she wanted, he promised. She snapped her jaw shut, clamping down on his words. “I accept your promise.” She had claimed something more valuable than a leg and yet, where she expected and waited for glee, ice knocked through her body.

In her head, her tearful words still cried out for answers: I don’t understand. Siobhan’s gaze fluttered between the bodies: Emilio, so certain and sacrificing in his love; Ingeborg, who understood something that she wasn’t sharing; Rhett, who had given up on himself but not once on his brother. Hollowed out, she was observing something beyond her; each of them spoke an unknowable language. Rhett said family was chosen—Siobhan didn’t understand. Emilio and Ingeborg said it didn’t matter if she understood, but their idea of what did matter was opposed—Emilio wanted Rhett free, Inge wanted them both dead. How could both opinions exist in the same space? How could someone be loved this much? To be begged for? What was love? How did it relate to being a family? What did these words mean other than nonsense? Emilio and Ingeborg were right, what did it matter to her? Why did she care? She ought to kill them; all three.

She stared at her accomplice, still stuck on the damned wall. If she found herself missing a leg, tied to a pole, would Ingeborg beg for her life? Of course not, they were hardly friends on a good day and after this, she was certain that would have many, many bad days. And if Ingeborg happened to be stuck on a wall, what would she do? “I want promises from you both,” Siobhan said, rising from the floor to grab nearby bolt cutters—she’d been hoping to use it to chomp through Rhett’s toes. “Neither of you will personally end or help to end Ingeborg’s undead existence. You may hurt her, I don’t care, but you will not kill her; give me promises.” This was a kindness and she hoped to feel something; a sudden invitation into their secret language. With this act of what she assumed to be love, she waited for the sudden clarity of family and affection. Instead, her arms trembled holding the bolt cutter to Rhett’s ropes. “And promises not to disclose the identities of Rhett’s torturers with anyone—you will not tell anyone about Ingeborg or myself. I want this too.”

—

All he could do was stare up at Emilio miserably as his brother made promises he shouldn’t have, but all the fight had left him with those final insults in Siobhan’s direction. He dropped his head, resigning himself to whatever was to come.

The mare stuck to the wall was doing her best to get them both killed, and Rhett couldn't blame her. But as blind luck would have it, the banshee wasn't interested. He didn't move as she requested promises from them, feeling himself start to slip away again. And as tempting as it was to give in to the out of body experience, he couldn't bear the thought of Emilio suffering for his inability to remain in the present moment. He didn't want to promise the banshee anything, that went against everything he'd ever stood for since Mariela had used it against him, but… this wasn't about him. He knew that. It was about making sure Emilio got out of here safely, and if he had to abandon his principles to do that, he would. He always would.

“I promise I won't kill Ingeborg,” he muttered without looking up, his voice raw. There was no emotion in it, nothing snide nor sad, just a statement of fact. “N’ I promise I won't tell no one who so generously hacked off half my bad leg for me.” Okay, there was a bit of sarcasm in that one, but it couldn't be helped. Finally, the warden angled his chin up at Siobhan again, realizing that he couldn't see her at all — she was nothing more than a silhouette against a dim background in his limited field of view.

He smirked, letting his gaze wander uselessly. He knew Emilio wouldn't have any issue promising these things; he'd already given the fucking thing a freebie, after all. Idiot.

—

It took the promise; he figured it would. It didn’t matter, anyway. All that mattered was the man trapped in the banshee’s grip, the only family Emilio had left. Emilio kept his eyes locked on Rhett’s, expression still and icy as the banshee took the promise. He wondered, almost distantly, if Rhett was disappointed in him. If he still thought Emilio was worth it, even now, or if whatever remained of the respect he held for him vanished the moment he started to beg.

The banshee would use the promise, he knew, but only if it allowed him to survive the experience. He thought that might still be in question, thought it was the kind of thing he ought to be worried about. He wasn’t. He didn’t care what happened to him, meant every word of his stupid pleading. If the banshee let Rhett go, he’d do whatever it asked. He’d pull his heart out of his chest and hand it over. He’d put the saw it had used to hack off his brother’s leg to his own throat. He’d do anything, anything if it meant Rhett got to leave here, if it meant he could go home. Rhett, after all, had a daughter waiting for his return. Emilio had nothing.

Another promise was asked of him, and his eyes darted over to the mare stuck to the wall. He’d almost forgotten about it there; it wasn’t a threat anymore, and it had been written off as a result. An afterthought, a concept not worth his attention. Distantly, he thought it was interesting that the banshee cared enough to request such a promise. There was no request that they not kill the banshee, after all; only that the mare’s head stay on its worthless corpse. Emilio regarded it for a moment but, in truth, he knew it didn’t matter. He said he’d give anything, and he’d meant it. This was included in that.

“I promise I won’t kill your mare,” he replied, letting his eyes move back to the banshee, “or tell anyone who did this, just as long as neither of you hurts him again.” Tacked on the end, a condition of his own. He wouldn’t make a promise only for them to track Rhett down as soon as he was gone to slit his throat. It was a fair enough trade, he thought, especially since he didn’t bother including himself in the conditional. Something like that might have threatened the other promise the banshee had taken; he doubted it would go for that. But Rhett… They’d had their fun there. Emilio wouldn’t risk the chance of them having any more.

—

“She’s not my…oh whatever.” Siobhan sighed, taking her promises from Emilio and Rhett with a forced smile. “Yes, I agree to your deal: I will not physically harm Rhett again.” She waited for Ingeborg’s voice, confirming, before she pulled the final thread of magic and bound them all together; for better or for worse, though usually, it was worse.

The bolt cutter went through the rope, sawing and snapping at the threads; there was something to be said about her insistence on using the wrong tools for every job. Eventually, Rhett was free. Siobhan stepped back, leaned up against her table of supplies and watched them. Love was no more clear to her seeing Emilio take Rhett away. Something, however, sparked watching Rhett’s blanket drop from his shoulder and Emilio’s rough hands pull the fabric over him again. In seeing the man’s arm steadied so carefully on his brother’s shoulder; their steps done in time together, Emilio’s limp and Rhett’s tired hops. Emilio’s body angled towards them, using his body—his life—as a shield. Their soft voices—or was it just Emilios?—too quiet for her to understand. Despite the bloody floor, Rhett’s haphazardly bandaged stump and the pieces of his leg, buzzing with flies, there was a strange peace; a delicate pace. Until the edges of the factory stole the family from her view, she considered if that was love: if it was those two broken men, tethered, going on to live another day knowing they’d both be in it. If it was Rhett’s weight on Emilio, Emilio’s arms around him. If it was knowing that they both would have given their bodies—limbs, ligaments, organs—just to be certain the other would breathe for one more night. Love seemed to be violent in its sacrifices and selfish in its stubbornness.

She didn’t understand it, but she knew they did.

Siobhan looked at Ingeborg, still on the wall. She wondered if anyone loved her—maybe they were the same, in that sense. Silently, she gripped the saw beside her, painted with Rhett’s dried blood, and approached the mare. Her strides were long and deliberate, the blade knocking against her thigh. She made it halfway across the factory floor before she dissolved into laughter. “You should look at yourself; it’s hilarious.” Siobhan bent down and picked up Rhett’s rotten foot. “This one’s for me….” And his rotted calf. “And this…” She pointed at the pile of bloody toenails. “You can have those.” Blowing Ingeborg a kiss, she was gone, not feeling much of anything: not remorse, not confusion, and certainly not love.

—

She was puzzled by these developments, confusion washing over her face as Siobhan made the moves to keep the two hunters from killing her down the line. Inge wondered why she wasn’t throwing her own life into the promise — did she care so little for it? Or did she think herself so invincible? Though she had gotten to know Siobhan a little more intimately over the past few days, this shed another light on the banshee. She squirmed on her sword. Three promises were made and she spoke in a quieter tone as she too, agreed, “I promise not to harm him again.” It was hard to hide the defeat in her voice.

So the banshee, the harbinger of death, was letting them all go. Was keeping them from killing one another in revenge, even. What a miserable turn of events. What a worthless twist. Inge had expected this to end with a corpse to get rid of, but in stead there was the stains of blood that Rhett left as he and his brother moved away. She watched them for a moment, then looked at the blood and flesh, then at Siobhan. Her cruel ally. Her protector, in a way. But also her traitor. She’d wanted a corpse. She’d made that abundantly clear. All she had was her ripped open gut.

She watched her near closer, toying with her saw like a child holding scissors. Not rushing over to come to her rescue, to peel her off the sword. Menacing. “You —” Inge’s face grew furious. “What was – why are you not – you …” She was laughing. The high ceiling made the sounds echo, round and round and round. Was a banshee’s cackle also magical? It had to be, with how miserable it made her feel.

It dawned on her when the kiss was blown that Siobhan was not just pulling her leg and Inge inched forward, eliciting a scream of pain as she hurled words at the other, “Get me off here, you can’t just leave me here, you absolute — SIOBHAN!” The name was repeated a few more times, losing volume every time and Inge remained. Like a fly stuck on the wall, with no purpose and no accomplishments, made witness to a scene that had already ended.

#. thread ;#. with ; emilio cortez #. with ; siobhan dolan #. with ; ingeborg endeman #. the rhescue mission ;#suicidal ideation tw

9 notes · View notes

stories-of-the-nrm · 6 months

Text

The RWS 75th Anniversary - 3's A Crowd

Narrator: The next day when all the engines finished their work, they arrived at Tidmouth Sheds. Henry decided to tell everyone his own story.

(Zoom in on Henry).

Henry: Hello, everyone. I have something I want to say.

Edward: Oh, what is it, Henry?

Henry: Well Edward, I was thinking about the story you told last night. I've been doing some thinking and I realized that I wanted to tell everyone my own story.

Gordon: Copy cat.

(Henry rolls his eyes).

Henry: You see I was built somewhere.

Thomas: I didn't know you were from somewhere else. I thought you were built on Sodor.

Henry: Oh no, Thomas. I wasn't built on Sodor. When Sir Topham Hatt bought me, I was in the works to be mended.

Gordon: That's right. You were built off of my stolen plans.

Engines: What?!

Percy: Where were you stolen from Henry?

James: Did the builders sell you because of your paintwork?

Henry: Well to start, only the plans were stolen, Percy. In a way you're right Gordon. While there was some basis for your design, I was meant to be an attempt of the LNER's first hybrid engine between the prototype for the A1 and a C1. As for my paintwork, I had worse problems than that. But, I better start with when I was built.

(Fade to the past where we see an old abandoned factory).

Henry: You know the old saying “three’s a crowd”? Well for a long time I had known exactly how that felt. I was the third engine built from a series of stolen plans. The people that built me didn't just steal plans from the LNER but the LB&SCR as well. Unlike the first two that were built, I was made out of incomplete plans. I was meant to be built after Sir Nigel Gresley completed his prototype for the LNER A1.

(Back to the present).

Gordon: So you were supposed to have been built after me? No wonder the plans were incomplete. The main basis of your design wasn't even built yet.

Henry: That's right, Gordon. In fact, I think those plans were meant to be experimental and not something that should've been actually built.

Gordon: What happened to the other 2 engines who were built from stolen plans?

(Fade to the factory where we see two engines. One is green and the other is blue).

Henry: The first one was an actual design for the LNER’s B12 named Alfred. His design was stolen from the original GER. He was very rude and would often make fun of me for being an incomplete engine. The other engine was actually a hybrid that was based on the K class of the former LB&SCR engines. He was simply named by his number 87546, and also made fun of me. I think that was because he didn’t want Alfred to make fun of him for being a hybrid engine like me.

(Back to the present).

Edward: That must have been terrible, Henry. I can imagine how it would have felt to have just been built and have to experience that. I know you were a poor steamer when you first came to the island. Surely, it must have been worse back then?

(Fade to the factory where we see Henry open his eyes for the first time).

Henry: Since the plans for the hybrid weren’t finished when they were stolen, naturally things didn’t go well when I was built. I was amazed that the builders even let me see the light of day. When I first opened my eyes, I couldn’t even describe how I felt. I felt about every emotion at once. Then I started to feel very sick. My boiler was hurting me. My firebox, no pun intended, burned. It was so bad, I started to cry. The builders didn’t listen to me when I told them how much pain I was in. They tried to put me to work but they didn’t realize I was going to be a bad steamer until after I had my first run. Everything was wrong with me.

(Back to the present).

Thomas: It sounds like those no good thieves just wanted to build you just to make money. They sound like they didn't care about you at all.

Henry: You're right, Thomas. It actually gets worse from there.

Thomas: What do you mean, Henry?

(Fade into the set of tracks by the old factory where there were some trucks and an old shed).

Henry: They named me C*nt as I was nothing but a very crude engine that wasn’t meant to exist. At least in their eyes. They would also say rude things to me that quite frankly I don’t want to repeat. Everyone on the railway said rude things to me. Even my own crew told me how much they didn’t want to work with me. The only reason why they worked with me to begin with is because they were getting paid and that was it.

(Back to the present. All of the engines look horrified as that's a very offensive word).

Percy: Oh Henry, that must have been awful.

Gordon: Indeed, such behavior is simply disgraceful!

James: Disgusting!

Henry: Despicable, I know.

Thomas: How were you able to handle it?

(Fade into the sheds where it's night time. There is a forest clearing nearby Henry's shed).

Henry: The only peace I would get was looking out of my shed at night towards the forest clearing. I would look at the clearing every night until I fell asleep. It made all of my bad days more bearable. But then, something terrible happened.

(Henry paused).

Edward: What happened, Henry?

(Henry just stared).

Gordon: Henry?

(Henry closed his eyes and took a deep breath and continued as we fade back to Henry leaving his shed).

Henry: One night while I still had some steam left, I snuck out of the shed to the line by the clearing. I took in the night air and it was the happiest I've ever been. I could have sworn that all of my aches in pains disappeared. At least by a little. I thought at that point that everything was going to get better! Until of course, the owner found me. When he found out that I snuck out of the shed well … they put my fire out and I was forced to stay out there while it started to rain. At the time I didn’t know what rain was so when I heard the thunder crash and the lightning flash, I never felt more scared in my life.

(Henry shuddered).

Gordon: Oh dear, Henry. I know that you were treated disgracefully, but this is even more disgraceful!

James: Disgusting!

(They all waited for Henry to say his line but he never did. Instead, he took another deep breath).

Thomas: Are you alright, Henry?

Henry: Yes, Thomas. I just need to take my time with this next part.

(Fade into Henry being in his shed).

Henry: The next morning I was taken back to my shed. This time it was permanent. I was so traumatized by what happened that night that I cried myself to sleep. I stayed in the shed for a year but I only remember the first month. All I could only think of was that night. Eventually, I shut myself away in my own mind. The last thing I remember hearing before shutting myself away was that I should have never been created.

(Back to the present).

Percy: That's awful!

Thomas: I know, Percy. So what happened next, Henry?

(Fade into Henry opening his eyes).

Henry: I woke up a whole year later to the sound of cheering and people saying that STH wanted to see me. Probably because it meant that I was someone else's problem if STH did buy me. So they opened the door and all I could see was a man with a smile on his face.

(He takes a breath).

Henry: He asked me my name and I just burst into tears. I said my name was C*nt and that he shouldn’t buy me because I’m a terrible steamer. That I can’t do anything. That I’m nothing more than just an improper engine meant for nothing more than the scrap yard. I told him about my incident with the rain and the forest clearing and I couldn’t say anything else as I just couldn’t stop crying.

(Back to the present).

James: What about your paintwork?

Engines: James!

Henry: No, no. He has a point. Since a year had past and the shed I was in so run down, rain and snow came in through the cracks. My paintwork was all rusted and peeling. That's all the more reason why I was so embarrassed to meet STH.

Edward: What happened next?

(Fade into Henry and STH. Henry's paintwork was now a dull gray covered in rust).

Henry: A few minutes later I felt a hand on my buffer. I opened my eyes and saw STH with a hand patting me on the buffer. I asked what he was doing and why he was doing this. He told me that no engine should have to experience what I did. He told me that he had no intention of scraping me and that he will buy me. I asked him why and he said that he was amazed that I was such a poor steamer. Then he told me this was not my fault and that he’ll do his best to find a way to help me.

Thomas(As a voice over): What did you say?

Henry: Well I thought for a few minutes and all I ever knew was the forest clearing. I asked if his railway had a forest. He said yes and I told him that I wanted to work there. He agreed and I asked him about my name. I did wonder if I was still going to be C*nt. He said not anymore. He said that my name was Henry as a reference to many great English kings. I didn’t cry again but I was close. Then he said that I was going to be painted green with red stripes and have the number three. I can’t believe it. I'm Henry the green engine or Henry, STH’s number three engine.

(Back to the present as all the engines toot their whistles with joy).

Edward: That was a great story, Henry.

Gordon: Indeed, after all this time we finally know why you were afraid of the rain.

James: Gee, I feel bad that we would tease you about.

Thomas: Yeah, we're sorry.

Percy: It was like when we left you with all those freight cars, we didn't think there was anything wrong.

Henry: It's ok. None of you knew. I was scared about telling anyone that story for a long time.

Edward: So what happened to the other engines?

Henry: I don't know. I remember joining the railway in 1922, but I was in the works for a long time though. I think they were on a trial run in 1923, but were sent away. Either way, I would find out that three is no longer a crowd. I am glad that I met all of you and I wouldn't have changed anything.

(Everyone cheered. It's now night time).

Henry: Well Gordon, it's your turn.

Gordon: I beg your pardon?

Henry: Well, you were the last one of the original three to arrive on Sodor. Thomas was in the works for a couple of years before he started his service and James didn't join us until 1925. I think it's time that you tell your story about what happened before you came to Sodor.

Gordon: Yes, I see your point. However, I don't think it's time to do that now. It's late and I have to get some sleep.

(And one by one, all the engines fell asleep).

Narrator: As the engines slept, Henry had a peaceful sleep. He was relieved that he had finally shared his story. As for Gordon, he had a terrible night. He had nightmare after nightmare about his life before coming to Sodor. But that's a story for another day.

#tw language #use of the c-word #ttte henry #ttte fandom #rws fanfiction

9 notes · View notes

thenebulochaoticwriter · 19 days

Text

Chapter Three: Watana-Bae's Club

“Doe.” Stephen greeted, even though he had frowned immediately upon seeing her, which was the polar opposite of Moira’s expression herself.

Moira tapped her fingers on her skirt. She always made sure that she looked nice, but regardless of when or where, she always hoped that she would get a compliment from Stephen. Well, not even specifically a compliment, but some sort of comment or acknowledgment- as she hardly gets even that when he attends her shows.

“I didn’t expect to run into you here!” Moira said, leaning back and forth on her heels. “I guess it makes sense that you like books, though, since you judge them all the time.”

Moira had left her house for the sake of meeting with Ai- regardless of if he begged or not. Unfortunately, one of his co-workers informed her that he was busy at the moment, so she’d have to wait. She was a bit disappointed, but all of that was immediately erased when she ran into Stephen.

Stephen hummed disapprovingly, raising a hand to his hip as he arched an eyebrow in Moira’s direction. “I don’t ‘judge’, Doe, I critique.” He claimed.

“Yeah..” Moira paused, pretending to be in thought, but really she just didn’t want to move on to her next topic too quickly, lest Stephen felt ignored. “...sooooo, do you have a favorite book?”

“Your sister’s book is not my favorite, no.” Stephen said, furrowing his eyebrows. Moira immediately sighed, bummed out by the fact that he cut the conversation so short by predicting exactly what she’d say.

“Come on, you’re cutting me off short here.” Moira huffed- and thankfully, Stephen didn’t bother telling her that that was his point. “Do you have a favorite book, at least?” Stephen gave her a look with his infamous raised eyebrow. “I’m asking because I’m curious, don’t worry. I have no ulterior motive whatsoever.”

Moira gives a big grin, raising her eyebrows up and down in an attempt to look as suspicious as possible. This makes Stephen sigh, and he hands her the vhs tape tucked beneath his arm. “I don’t like many books. I’d prefer it if this movie had a book variant for me to read but it isn’t available here.”

“Oh!” Moira gasps, smiling brightly at the movie he’d handed her. “William’s Chocolatier!” Stephen gives her a frown- silently telling her not to raise her voice in their current setting. “I love this movie!” She says in a quieter, albeit still just as excited manner.

“Do you?” Stephen asks, although his voice was dull in what seemed to be disinterest.

William’s Chocolatier was one of Moira’s favorite movies, simply because it was a movie made for absolutely everyone- including a horror obsessor like her. The movie itself follows a young boy who’s taken to a popular chocolatier with his friends. The whole movie is them getting trapped in the underground factory and having to escape while they have a bunch of fun activities with the sentient treats throughout the factory.

What Moira loved so much about it is the constant reminder that the owner of the factory, William, is coming after them. While he comes silently, whenever he leaves a section of the factory while following the kids, he’ll actively destroy the treats that helped the children continue on their journey. He does it in ways that make it confusing for kids and disturbing for adults.

On top of that aspect, while the executions (seen more as simply “escaping” to the kids) of the children are seen as funny for kids watching, it’s made incredibly disturbing for adults who actually know what’s going on.

“My favorite scene was when, that, um.. The gummy worm- I can’t remember his name- but how his little execution was just, like.. Getting his tail and lower body cut off over and over again. You know?” Moira explained, pointing to the gummy worm in the background of the cover.

“His name was Geronimo.” Stephen commented, before nodding. “Yes, I think that was one of the scenes that actually scared the kids who watched it.” He paused, before sitting down in a nearby chair and continuing. “My favorite was the candy cane scene.”

Moira claps excitedly, albeit not actually slamming her hands together so as to not cause too much noise. “Yes! Is it because it foreshadows what happened with William and his wife?” She asked.

Resting his elbows on the counter, Stephen avoided his gaze. He paused for a bit too long, but eventually said. “Sure. Yes, that’s why.”

“Is it cuz the candy cane lady was hot, then?” Moira asked, bouncing her leg in her lap in excitement.

Stephen sighs at her accusation. “No.” He pauses for another quick second, before deciding to explain. “I appreciated the intimacy of the scene. It was far more satisfying to watch than any sexual scenes I’ve seen in adult films.”

Moira cupped her face in her hands and leaned her elbows onto the table. “That’s funny to say considering the candy cane lady was literally getting murdered.”

“Don’t act stupid. I’ll feel obligated to treat you as such.” Stephen warns in a faux threatening manner.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Moira leaned back in her chair, but then sat up straight, noticing that she had changed her position at least three times, and Stephen had kept his throughout the entire conversation. “Last night I watched this semi-erotica. None of the spicy bits were really entertaining to look at, though. Then again, none really are.”

“I take it you don’t quite like erotic movies.” Stephen guesses, and correctly so as Moira shrugs.

“I prefer to read them. The same with horror. I like watching that kind of stuff, but I don’t like it when it isn’t exactly how I want it to be, you know?” Moira asks, crossing her leg over the other. “Even if the author explains a scene, whether horrific or erotic, I feel like writing leaves enough blanks for me to imagine the scene how I like. But at the same time it’s explained in such detail that it comes off in a really creative way. I think.”

Stephen stared at Moira with a stoic, albeit interested expression as she spoke. “I agree.” He nods, pauses for a moment and then stands up silently. “I’ll return in just a moment.”

Moira nodded, and true to his word he did come back, holding a book he must’ve grabbed from off one of the many shelves in the library.

“I hear you’re religious.” Stephen states bluntly, sitting across from her once again. He was usually pretty stiff, but he seemed far more stiff and uncomfortable as he handed her the book.

“Mhm. Does this book have something to do with it?” Moira asks, tapping the cover and looking up at him. As if awaiting him to give her any disclaimers.

Stephen nods, furrowing his eyebrows, although not at her. Rather, to the window showing outside- not that there was anything other than nearby buildings in that regard as well.

Seeing as Stephen didn’t seem as if he was going to elaborate any further, Moira turned the book to examine the back. From what she read, it featured two young kids, both religious, both under similar families, but still being completely different in their own right. One of the kids, the boy, is unnecessarily rebellious against their religion, and the other, a girl, was unnecessarily strict with their religion.

“So is this inappropriate in any way, Steph?” Moira asked, leaning her face in her hand, trying her best to immediately address the elephant in the room- the elephant itself being Stephen’s strange stiffness. Stephen frowned, seemingly less nervous as he glared at her.

He swiftly snatches the book back. “Don’t insult me, Doe.”

“I’m just asking!” Moira says, stretching her arms out to slowly pick off each of Steph’s fingers from the book. In the end he just let go of it, acting as if he was disgusted by being touched by her. “You were stiff. I wanted to attempt to address the problem.”

Stephen simply huffs, although the return of his somewhat stiff movements seemed to indicate that he was less upset at Moira now. Part of Moira assumed that he was worried about there being some sort of misunderstanding, but additionally, Moira wasn’t that stupid. And neither was Stephen, of course.

Moira tilted her head to the side. “Well, in any case. Can you give me some insight into what the book’s about? The back of it only says so much.” She asks, attempting to shift from the topic that made Stephen uncomfortably quiet.

Stephen looked back at her for a moment, eying her in a somewhat suspicious manner. Moira in return smiled, and Stephen scoffed, although she didn’t know exactly why. He opened his mouth- either to ridicule Moira or to elaborate, as she asked, but Moira wouldn’t figure that out as a light voice rose from behind her.

“Omo- ah, Moira.”

Moira turned her head, and Ai stood behind her. “Sorry for the wait, Moira.” He bowed his head lightly. “We’re ready for you now.”

“Ah.” Moira turned back to Stephen, who was already standing up. “You’re free to call me and visit whenever, Stephen.” She offered, as she did often, despite the fact that he always denied. She stood up as well.

“I’ll make sure to not do that.” Stephen said, turning away from her as her shoulders fell in disappointment. He briefly flicked his wrist in a lazy goodbye and parted from the two.

Ai allowed Moira to sigh before smiling sneakily. “You seem quite quick to invite him over to your house, hm?” He asks in a kidding manner.

Moira scoffs, throwing her hands up. “I invite everyone to my house. It means I can stay inside more often.”

Ai gasps dramatically and Moira realizes her mistake. “Everyone?” As Moira opens her mouth to defend herself, Ai adds. “And yet you exclude me? Shame on you, Moira. After everything I’ve done for you?”

The designer’s attempt in defending herself immediately switches to laughter and she covers her mouth as to not laugh too loud. “I..” Moira sighs, taking a second, before deciding to not comment on that. “..I don’t? Are you sure?”

“If you did, I'd probably be over. At all.” Ai responds, raising a hand to grab a nearby book in a lax manner.

It was true, now that Moira thought about it that Ai hardly ever came over. It was weird why that was. It’s not as if she specifically excluded him, of course, if anything having Ai around was always something she enjoyed in the back of her mind.

Moira raises a hand to her chin in thought. “..that’s weird, I feel like I invite everyone.” She says, before allowing that fact to drift from her mind. She smiles, “It’s probably because whenever I speak with you I feel, uhh…” Moira thinks for a moment. “..full?”

She knew that that didn’t make much sense, but she was trying her best. It was often that whenever Moira visited Ai in the library, they’d usually talk for a lengthy amount of time. They would start topics of conversation and finish them to their entirety in that length of time, so there was no need for any other questions or alternate answers. Maybe extra comments, but Moira felt like Ai made sure to properly finish the topic of conversation before the two parted ways, where that was intentional or not.

Ai chuckles at her sloppy words, putting the book back and instead looking to the one in her hand. Moira hands it to him as she continues speaking. “It’s like eating a bunch of baked potatoes. Or a bunch of boiled eggs. With a side of salad, or something.”

Lifting an eyebrow at Moira, Ai reads the back of the book she previously had. “I make you feel healthy?” He guesses sarcastically. Before Moira can retort, he chuckles. “I’m joking.” He tucks the book beneath his arm. “I’m glad I, uh, fill you up.”

“I-” Moira sighs, placing her face in her hands. “-okay, where are you leading me?” She asks, looking up at Ai in an attempt to look upset, but only being able to smile at his smug grin.

“It’s actually underneath the library.” Ai leads Moira to the front desk, and opens the counter’s swinging door for her to walk through. “After you.” He bows his head lightly, and Moira gives him a small curtsey in return before walking through. Ai places down the book beneath his arm and leads Moira to the behind the desk area.

Inside, there were a couple other staff members, doing their work as per usual. A woman nodded at Ai and then waved to Moira with a smile, before returning to her work. At the end of a short hallway, there looked to be a fancy looking elevator door. It looked a bit too old to fit in with the library’s general appearance, but it seemed to be painted and decorated to blend in at least a bit. Ai pressed the singular button, and the door immediately opened to them.

Once the two had entered, Moira admired the decorative carvings of the inside. Floral patterns seemed to be a regular pattern found everywhere in the libraries decorations. And it seemed that the same could be said about this unknown elevator shaft. “It’s weird to see an elevator like this in a library.” Moira claims, tilting her head as she looked at Ai curiously. “This has been here the whole time?”

Ai smiled, looking proud. “It was here even before I became the owner of the library. The elevator used to be broken, but we decided to fix it up- along with the area beneath the library. I think you’ll like what we’ve done with it.”

“Well, now I’m excited.” Moira said, smiling and tapping her fingers together excitedly. “Do you know what the area used to be, then? A basement or bunker?”

Ai hums in thought, folding his arms behind his back. “Well, it’s worth noting that this building used to be a luxury hotel before the top floors were burned. A year or so later it was renovated into the smaller building that we know and love as the library.”

Suddenly, a golden light spilled between the textured metal gates of the elevator. As Moira stepped forward to get a better look at the area- that was much larger than she expected- Ai continued. “We think it used to be a large casino or auction house.”

Below, there were many people dressed in fancy clothes, some donning masks. Many that she didn’t recognize at all- with or without the mask. They must all be visitors from outside of the town. The area was large, with several large chandeliers lighting up the top of the high ceiling, and more light sources climbing down the wall to continue the shining gold that reflected off of the room.

“Oh, wow..” Moira folded her hands together, an even more exciting smile on her face as she blushed lightly in excitment. Truthfully, she didn’t expect something so grand to be held anywhere in the small town she lived in, just due to its simplicity. Not that the simplicity was bad by any means, but even the library’s comfy atmosphere didn’t match the extravagant one that this area shone onto Moira.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Ai asked, smiling at Moira expectantly, although her face showed enough what she thought of it.

“I..” Moira paused, her face suddenly going red. “..jeez, I feel underdressed.” She says, raising her hands to her cheeks in embarrassment. What she’d put together was a black and white striped dress that hung off her shoulders, with similar stockings, and slightly more cute-looking white heels.

Ai laughs lightly as the door opens to the elevator, allowing the light to properly shine into the elevator shaft. “Welcome to my clubhouse.” He joked. He lifted his hand up to large letters encrusted on the wall above the large stage.

“Watanabe’s Bun-ra-ku-za.” Moira spelled out slowly, looking to Ai just in case she pronounced it wrong, which from the proud look on his face, it didn’t seem like she did. “What’s that mean?”

“Theatre.” Ai replied simply. “I only call it that because I’m most proud of the operas, performances and plays we hold here often.” He said, offering Moira his arm, which she gladly took as they walked through the large room. “As you can see, there are many different kinds of people here from all over the world. We have stands available for said people to rent to sell their valuables, as well as for others to buy from.”

He raises a hand to the stage, which was currently playing a snazzy jazz tune that Moira swears she’d heard before somewhere. “If it’s not a performance of some sort, we also hold auctions when we have a large amount of valuable items to sell.”

Moira recalled going to all sorts of auctions with her grandmother when she was younger. A lot of the things that she bought were old, rundown things that her grandfather would take and make it look new again. As a child, Moira never understood the value of such things or why her grandmother would pay so much for it. When she got older she was taught about how much people would pay for antiques and how valuable old things were to some people due to its age alone. Now she realizes how valuable things like that were. Her house, for instance, was considered pretty old and valuable, and had a less modern build than other houses in the town. To Moira it was valuable due to its unique design, since it was the same kind of house she grew up in.

Moira looks around, trying her best to be discreet and not stare too long at any of the beautiful fabrics or people around her. She hums a bit in thought, noticing something. “..you know, this is a small town.” She looks to Ai, “I feel like I would’ve realized that we had so many visitors. It’s not like we have any fancy hotel to hold all of these people.”

“That’s because the hotel is down here.” Ai said, holding his other arm out to large doorways on either side of them. “Plenty of room for the amount of staying guests we have. And of course a great deal of food to offer them as well.”

“Jesus..” Moira raised her free hand to her chest with a nervous but excited frown on her face. “And- and how long has this been around? There’s no way you just put this together last night!”

Ai smiles at her. “Of course not. If you want an estimate of how long it took, I’ll say it’s much longer than you’ve been in town.” He uses his free hand to pat Moira’s hand that was resting on his arm. “And, no, I’ve never mentioned this to you.”

“Oh, thank God.” Moira exhales loudly, causing Ai to laugh. He did expect her to be worried about that, but not quite as animated about it as she had been at that moment. “I honestly might’ve cried if you had- might’ve become a hermit, too.”

Ai raises a hand to his face, quieting down his laughter as he looks down and away in order to hide his face from her view. Moira scoffs, bending down a bit in an attempt to look at his face, “Well, why haven’t I known about this? I feel like I would notice a big.. Organization..? Like this, regardless.”

“Because it was only yesterday that we finished all of our preparations.” Ai claims. Moira takes another second to look up and around at the large area. On a higher balcony, it looked like one of the employees had just finished shining the wood railing. “..with small fixer-uppers.” Ai speaks, bringing Moira’s attention back to him. “I waited quite a while to get this perfect enough for you to come and see, but in that process I suppose I got a bit impatient.” He admits.

“Why was it so important that I saw it when it was completely finished?” Moira asks. Sure, he could want to show off the place when it’s finished, as anyone would want after working so hard on something. But if that were the case, then why open the place up at all if it weren’t 100% complete?

Ai smiles a bit mischievously. “Because I value your opinion, Moira. Obviously.” He says simply. Moira huffs out a laugh and comments, “You say that as if this isn’t more extravagant than anything else in town.”

“Well, don’t feed my ego. I’ll pull this up in every argument.” The shorter man says, tugging on Moira’s arm lightly. This pulled a light laugh out of her, as the two never argued at all. In all honesty, Moira doubted that it was possible to argue with Ai- in the couple years she’d known him, it seemed impossible to be able to argue with him simply because of how agreeable he was.

“Oh, please. He already does.” Another voice suddenly popped up behind the two- the deep-ish voice of a woman. Moira turned to face the unknown woman, but Ai already seemed to know her quite well. He walked up to her and hugged her tightly, and she was happy to return it as well.

The woman herself was shorter than Moira herself- as were most people- but still taller than Ai. She couldn’t tell if it was due to the woman’s heels or not. She was dressed in the same fashion as the other guests, but stood out slightly due to her lack of a mask. The woman’s dress was nice, but it also looked really simple- something that Moira might use for a base dress. Of course, Moira wouldn’t dare say this out loud. And what the woman’s dress lacked in charm, her makeup and hair- even just her face made up for it just fine.

“Mavis.” Ai greeted simply, patting her on her back after their hug. “I’m elated you could make it- I was hoping I could introduce you to my favorite patron.” He looked up to Moira and smiled brightly.

Moira held a hand out to the woman with her usual smile. “A pleasure to meet you! I’m Moira Doe-”

“- the designer, I’ve heard.” Mavis smiled casually, taking Moira’s hand for just a moment before taking her gloved hand away quickly. “I’m Mavis Marter. Popular singer where I come from.” Moira blinked, her hand still held out as she processed what Mavis had just said. Mavis lifted an eyebrow at her and Ai tilted his head lightly, confused by her own confusion. Moira clears her throat, muttering a quiet ‘sorry’ before straightening her back. “..Mavis what?”

#nechwr #literature #my writing #reading #books #thriller #writeblr #in stereo rhapsody

2 notes · View notes