#i have been thinking of old characters I used to like man

[manorinthewoods]

((This fits, almost exactly, the current ending of a character in one of my many start-and-finish-only plotlines I've come up with.))

Fifty years.

Fifty years I tracked Magister Bellos. Fifty years I grew up, fatherless, motherless, without guardian or bloodmate. Fifty years, adrift in the seas of the earth, without purpose except revenge. Fifty years training, working, honing whatever meager scraps of power I had, the sight of my mother's flesh melting from her bones in the fires of his army.

Twenty years I spent helpless, watching that man as he took control, went from nobody to everything. Twenty years watching every nation overthrown by this nobody. Watching him set the world like dominoes. Divide Kandemark. Conquer Maredan, weak from its new acquisition. Take that strength, and invade Laene, and Ellada, and Ishar.

I watched him burn cities. I watched him slay hundreds without a thought. I watched his men, armed with the fellest of magics, burning the corpses of those they slew to fuel the rings that gave them the strength of a hundred in the hands of ten.

And then he vanished. His castle fell. This Emperor - worshiped like a god! - gone, just like that. And yet his Empire did not fall. It stood, stronger than ever, the ghostly hand of the king of kings rendering it unassailable. I knew then, and know now, that nothing I can do can break what he forged. But I can punish him, if nothing else. I am strong enough. I know how he gained his power. And I have replicated it.

So what am I to do when I find old Nennos Corven, painting in the square, teaching children how to capture time? What do I do when this harmless old man looks at me and says, "Welcome"?

I am tempted - so very tempted - to simply strike him down. But something stays my hand. And so, I say, "Bellos." And he looks at me, cocks his head, and says, "Who?"

I scoff. The children look at me, concerned. They look back at the old man. But they think nothing of it. I am disheveled, weakening in my age. And he looks nothing like the statues.

"Don't kid me. I know who you are."

Nennos turns fully, setting down his brush, and says, "I'm not sure what you mean. Surely you must be mistaken? I'm certainly not the Emperor. Couldn't be!"

"You fell from your castle, and used a spell to change your appearance. Magister Akulesta identified a stranger fitting your appearance as possessing immense magical power, but revised the report two days later to state that this was a false alarm. An alarm repeated by two other magisters, both of whom assumed you to likely be a member of the Emperor's inner circle in disguise, given your level of power. They also revised their reports to false alarms.

"Those in the court believed you to likely be Archon Nimiter, hunting for the Emperor. But I happen to be aware that Nimiter was posing as Queen Cassidia IV of Maredan at the time, until her daughter was of age to inherit the kingdom. At the timeframe of your travel north through Kandemark, Archon Barley was preventing the succession crisis from destroying the Empire, of which he succeeded, and Archon Silverthorn was suppressing revolts in Laene. I suspected that you were Archon Kaul, but five years ago word reached the Continent that he had been captured and imprisoned in Cathay. None of the other Archons had the level of power mentioned in the suppressed reports. It would have to be you."

Nennos looks blankly. No - not blankly. It's calculated. The appearance of a blank look. But his eyes aren't quite blank enough. I can see a mind working back there.

I notice, too late, that he's watching my eyes.

A shadow falls upon the square. The children gaze blankly, then walk away, their trains of thought lost, returned to a carefree nothing. They skip away, and slow, and stop, some mid-stride. The whole air has turned dark, clammy, still and sludgy. Fires have ceased motion. Leaves hold in the air, wind silenced.

The Adamantine Emperor of the Hundred Kingdoms of Mediterra looks at me, all pretenses dropped. His eyes are cold. Very cold.

"...Why are you here?"

"Revenge."

He chuckles. It sounds sincere. It shouldn't sound sincere.

"Understandable. I'm sure I've wronged all too many people over the years."

"You killed my family!"

"Oh, did I? I've forgotten. I've killed a lot of people, you know. I was rather violent in my youth. Somewhat like you, I suspect. Only you never grew out of it."

"You're calling me violent? The blood of millions is on your hands!"

"The law judges men, but history judges kings. For it is the place of the common to work for the present, and kings to work for the future. I killed many, yes - perhaps too many. But the Empire I have forged has saved the lives of many more. Famines occurred thrice a decade before I reigned. Now, there has been one, in forty years, in an Empire I no longer rule. And consider all the petty wars that are not fought. It is impossible to know how many would have died had I not taken the throne, or whether the great war would have been bloodier, or less bloody, had I not seen fit to act. But I did act. Thus, the Empire."

I set my hand on my blade, that I have cultivated for thirty years. "And when the people came to strike you down, you fled your judgement."

"You can hardly call that band of ruffians 'the people'. Did you not see how they mourned me? They would not have deified me after my fall, if they had hated me, like you do. And besides - what good would judgement do?"

Bellos gestured to the frozen town. "Here, I am harming nobody. I have not used magic in thirty years - until now, thanks to you. I have not taken up arms, even against burglars. The people here trust me. I watch their children, and teach them.

"When I am not painting, I mix medicines, and take care of the ill. The plague twenty years hence slew only one man here, and I mourned him as much as everyone else did. All others survived, because I remembered an old potion my teacher taught me how to brew. And I sent word to my local magistrate that physicians should be taught to use it, and the magistrate sent it to the local prefecture, and the prefecture wrote it into law. And so we survived the next plague.

"What would be gained by punishing me for the crime of forging such an empire? What would be gained by striking me down, when I do not intend to hurt a soul?"

"Do you expect me to believe that? Believe that you wouldn't hurt anyone ever again? Believe the word of an immortal? You have a thousand years to change your mind, and then we're back to where we started. Better to strike you down now, and end this."

"What is the point?" He looked pained. "Killing me won't bring anyone back. I've tried resurrections before, and it's strictly two or more sacrificed trying to bring back the dead, killing one man wouldn't be enough. Do you want to set an example? To who? There is nobody on this earth who holds the power I held. Certainly there is nobody who would believe you for a righteous avenger and not a maddened, traumatised, murderous vagrant. And even if you could somehow make this truth appear to the world, nobody who walked my path would be deterred. I know this because I walked the path, and I know all too well how much such a conqueror can dismiss all doubts, ignore all risks and the inevitability of the fall. It was only twenty years after I fled my post that I realised how great the risk of my own death would be, had I retained the crown. I left because I was bored! No precedent would have kept me from the throne, and only unshakable dissatisfaction or a stronger foe could remove me.

"Besides, what would be the trade, to an aspirant? A century, two, of ruling like a god? The final days wouldn't be pleasant, but such a man would have already well outlived the time allotted him. They would find it a fair trade.

"So, you see, there is no real reason for you to strike me down, here. You would not reduce the risk of a tyrant like myself from rising again. I will teach no students the arts I learned. And if I were to die - how would that help? I would bind myself to an oath, if asked. In fact, I left a rather comprehensive one in the Book of Contemplation, and thirty years of discussion will have dealt with the holes. Any that remain can be patched, there's a clause for it. So demand I take the oath of my own design. It would keep me from harming others, from seeking power, from working for my own gain, from seeking to outwit the oath, from causing destruction, directly or indirectly, for any reason, with any justification, save the prevention of greater destruction, and even then only if no alternatives appear. And if my knowledge was needed, it could be used for whatever great goods are conceived.

"But, of course, that's not why you're here. You don't want to make this world better. You just want to satisfy yourself, to quell the urge of revenge, an old, fleshy thing, to keep the law in a lawless earth before kings proclaimed their kingdoms. You just want me to die."

"Yes."

I strike.

The most ancient blade of the House of Kandemark, wielded by hero after hero in service to the realm, until it ended in the hands of Archon Silverthorn and then myself, dissolves into ash. The hilt flies from my hands and lands, with the softest of noise, into the palm of Bellos. The dust of its blade collects there, and forms again, the sword renewed to its highest glory in an instant. He contemplates it, almost with contempt. Then he speaks, quietly, and I see the runes bind it, its edge shimmering.

"...I expected more of you," he says. "Please, give this blade back to Peregrine. It belongs to him, as the heir to Kandemark - you'll find the records, if you look. It does not need to kill. It is significant enough without that."

I howl in wordless rage. But it is nothing. The great viridian fire of my magic is gone. I cannot draw it forth. I remember how the power filled me, lent me a totality. But there is nothing now. It is there, but I cannot reach it.

"So presumptuous. You heroes always are. If you see me as deserving of death, merely for having the risk of rising to conquer the earth, then there is nothing you can do, for only those with a greater risk of doing so would be able to defeat me. So unless you wish to follow my path, and seek the throne of the earth, I suggest you walk to the city, and become a potter. I have much respect for potters. They do more good than a warrior can."

When you were a child, a mercenary made you watch as he killed your entire family in front of you. You swore revenge. Decades later, you've finally tracked them down- …only to find they're now a pacifistic geriatric who's beloved by his community.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

There’s no casket for the funeral. In this neighbourhood, that’s expected. After the usual affair at the church, all are invited back to the house to pay their respects. You put the only picture you have of your father on the mantel; his wedding photo. 

You dress in black but not for your father. You’re mourning your sisters. Yourself. You dress in sombre slate for the uncertainty of it all. The colour is as dark as your guilt. You brought this fear upon them. 

You didn’t think about any of this. Barnes was entirely right in that regard. You didn’t think any of it out. You weren’t thinking at all. You were angry and tired. Now, it’s done and there’s no going back to what was. You don’t truly want to do that but you don’t see a path ahead that’s much better. 

The people there are there because it’s expected. They are your father’s associates. Not family or friends. Funerals are part of their job description. 

You walk numbly from room to room. You haven’t cried. You haven’t had a tear for your father in years. You try to make yourself look distraught but all you feel is empty. 

Adrienne sways between bouts of bawling and soft sniffles. Kitty is stronger. She busies herself with the flowers and thanks every guest for attending. You accept their condolences but offer little in return. 

You’re all just pretending. You’re acting like you’ll miss him. You won’t. Even if your sisters are stunned and just as scared as you, you know they aren’t sad. You all wished for this the very night before the envelope showed up. The night that you... killed him. 

You sit in one of the mismatched chairs set out to accommodate the guests. The neighbours lent some of their own for the event. You are worn through. You haven’t slept more than an hour at a time since you pulled that trigger.  

You won’t tell yourself it’s regret, you were never more certain of anything in your life. No, you know exactly what it is. Dread. You have a debt to pay. 

A figure appears in the open door. You see him through the archway of the front room. You stand as the new arrival stops just within the frame. A slow hush rolls over each guest. You look at Kitty as she glances over from the tray of cookies she spent all night making. She sees him too. 

Your older sister goes to Adrienne and touches her shoulder. The youngest lifts her head and peers up as all attention aims at the arched doorway. Barnes fills it easily. He looks around. His suit seems blacker than usual. 

It isn’t a surprise. He’s the boss. He’s expected to see his men off. He nods at you, then your sisters. You go to them, standing with Kitty behind the sofa as she keeps her hand on Adrienne. 

“Please,” Barnes waves your younger sister from standing. “Stay. I’m sure it’s been a long day. I’ve only come to pay my respects.” 

He looks between you all then sidesteps the couch. He goes to the mantle and considers the wedding photo. He bows his head and reaches into his jacket. He sets a silver coin in front of the frame. It’s an old tradition. Back in the 30s, people would leave pennies on the church altar to help pay for the burial. 

He takes a deep breath and backs up. He turns to face the room. The people in it might be familiar but they are just as much strangers to you as someone on the street. They don’t care about you, they don’t even care about your father. They’re only there because that’s what you do. 

“Thank you all for coming. You may go,” Barnes says. 

There’s a moment of hesitation. Then, the men in suits and their wives, shuffle out obediently. Kitty grabs her hand and squeezes Adrienne’s shoulder. You watch the man they call the king. 

When the room is empty, he goes to shut the front door. He returns and stands just inside the archway. He peers around again. 

“Your father died as one of mine, that means you’re all under my protection. Consider the casket paid for,” he says. 

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes,” Kitty says. “That’s very generous.” 

“I do it for all my men. I try not to lose too many,” he replies grimly. “I want you girls to tell me if you need anything. Got it?” 

Adrienne smothers a sob and nods frantically. Kitty hushes her and leans in to pet her head. You stand staunchly beside them, staring at him. His eyes cling to you. 

“Catch your breath, doll,” Barnes says. “Calm her down.” He points at Kitty then you, “Your daddy got a gun safe?” 

You look at your sisters. You can see the glisten in Kitty’s eyes. She’s good at taking care of people. You’re not. Adrienne needs her. You did this. You gotta deal with it. 

“Yeah, upstairs,” you answer as you step around the couch. 

Barnes waits until you’re level with him before he turns. He lets you lead him out and follows you to the second floor. You take him to your father’s bedroom and push the door open. You can’t go inside. You were never allowed. Not unless you wanted a taste of your father’s belt. 

“I don’t know the code,” you say. 

“That’s fine. Just needa know it’s here. I’ll have my men sort that out,” he rocks on his feet. “We needa talk.” 

You nod. 

“Privately,” he glances over at the staircase. 

You look at your father’s door and take a step back, “not in there.” 

“Right, wherever you like,” he shows his palm indifferently. 

You turn and guide him to your room. You pause before you let him inside. You’re embarrassed as he enters. Your basket of laundry is overflowing and your makeup is still strewn all over from your erratic morning. 

He paces around your bed and you shut the door. He’s quiet. So are you. The tension is enough to make you squirm. You just want him to come out and say it. 

“It’s me. I owe you. Not my sisters--” 

He raises his index finger. “You do.” He stops and faces you. “And so did your daddy. He had his hands in my pockets. Deep. I coulda had him done for that. Coulda done it myself. Then I thought about it. I do that, I brand him a thief, and what does that mean for his girls?” 

You stare at him, chest aching as your heart pounds. 

“The house and what he actually brought in, it isn’t close to even with what he took,” he crosses his arms, setting his feet flat. He lifts his chin. “I really shoulda done it myself but you wanna know why I didn’t?” 

You can’t talk. He’s toying with you. You look down at the floor as if you might see your sisters through the boards. 

“Ah, eyes up here,” he comes closer until he’s right in front of you. Your eyes flick up and wet with tears. Finally. “I wanted to know if you would do what needs to be done. If when the hammer comes down, that you won’t crack.” His eyes flick up and down and he sucks his teeth. “You didn't. You didn’t fucking flinch either.” 

“He deserved it,” you whisper, voice wobbling. 

“I know he did, doll. And I know you deserved to do that,” he says. “And what I saw that night, I never seen that before. That’s a woman with steel in her gut. The kinda woman a man like me needs.” 

Your forehead creases in confusion. You don’t know what he means. 

“You want me to... take over for my dad? I can’t--” 

“Ha, no, no,” he startles you as he brings his hand up. You flinch and he keeps his hand aloft. His eyes spark and he tilts his palm, gently caressing your cheek as if coaxing a street cat. “This isn’t woman’s work. No, doll, all I want, is you.” 

Your eyes round and you shiver against his touch. He smirks. 

“And I know, just like in that warehouse, you’re going to do exactly what needs to be done,” his thumb strokes your cheekbone. “For your sisters.” 

[winchesterwild78]

An Unexpected Friendship

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, Jensen’s children

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Domestic Violence, Language, mention of death

A/N: This is a short story written in collaboration with @cheekygirl2309. In this story the reader is a widow who has a 4 year old daughter. She’s dating a very abusive man, so she enrolls her daughter in preschool to keep her as shielded as possible. At the preschool we find her daughter has made friends with a set of twins. At pick up one day the reader realizes the parent of her daughter’s best friend is none other than Jensen Ackles. A friendship forms, and decisions are made after a particularly nasty fight with her boyfriend. 

No disrespect to Jensen or his family. This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life.

*This chapter sets up the story-it’s a bit long due to this.*

Minors DNI 18+

You sat on the side of your bed rubbing your arm, trying to get the sting of the pain to go away. Another night, another argument with Robert, your boyfriend. You’d only been dating about 9 months, and at first everything seemed perfect. You felt the sting of the tears fill your eyes 

Knowing how much he hated when you cried, you fought to keep them at bay. Crying after he hit you only made things worse. You were thankful, however, your four year old daughter, Jazmyne was already in bed. 

You did your best to keep her shielded from the violence that plagued your life now. Your late husband, Josh, was a kind, gentle man. He wouldn’t lift a hand to you and was an amazing father to Jazmyne. Josh was so gentle that if a spider got into the house he’d scoop it up and carry it outside. He died unexpectedly after a workplace accident. Your heart was irrevocably broken when the two of you lost him. 

Now Robert was in your lives. You met him at a house party and he swept you off your feet. The first time he hit you, the two of you were arguing and things got heated quickly. Then he slapped you across your face, drawing blood from your mouth. You made him leave and told him it was over. 

For almost a month you kept him at bay. Then loneliness, apologies and manipulation took over. You took him back. Things were fine, and then a switch flipped again. 

The latest fight was over dinner. You’d come home late from work and he was mad because dinner was late. After picking Jazmyne up at your friend’s house you decided to stop and grab a pizza. When you got home, he was there and became angry when he saw the pizza box.

“What the fuck is that?” He growled as he motioned to the box. “It’s dinner, and I’ve asked you not to use that language in front of my daughter.” He stepped closer to you and grabbed your chin hard, “I’ll talk however the fuck I want you stupid bitch!” You jerked your face away and set the box down. 

Looking at Jazmyne you spoke softly, “Go play while mommy gets your dinner ready, okay?” Your beautiful little girl nodded and bounded down the hall to her room. 

You grabbed a plate for your toddler and started to cut up her slice of pizza. “You’re a lazy fucking whore, you know that. What kind of mother doesn’t cook for her family?” You ignored him and kept getting Jazmyne’s food ready. 

He grabbed your arm hard, pulling you around to face him and causing you to drop her plate. “Don’t you fucking ignore me. I asked you a question.” “Robert, I’m not in the mood to fight with you. I think you should leave. I’m exhausted and I need to get Jazzy ready for dinner and bed. I don’t have time to deal with this.”

You tried to pull your arm out of his grip, but it was too tight. “Let me the fuck go!” You yelled. 

Robert got in your face, his eyes dark with anger, “I’ll let you go when I feel like it. You belong to ME!” He let go of you, grabbed some food and went to sit in the living room. You walked towards Jazmyne’s room and found her crying.

You ran in and got on the floor, “Oh baby, what’s wrong?” “He hurt mommy.” She softly said. You scooped her up and held her tight, knowing you needed to make a change before it was too late. “I’m okay baby girl, I promise. Let’s go eat our pizza and we can play with your new bath paint tonight.” 

She smiled wide and nodded. You took her into the kitchen, put her at the table and got her a piece of pizza. You cut her slice and grabbed you one too. You noticed she kept looking towards Robert and you could see the fear in her eyes. You knew exactly what you needed to do. 

After dinner, you got Jazmyne in the tub and she played with her new bath paint. She talked about her new friends at preschool and how much fun they were. You had recently put her in preschool to help her socialize and to shield her from the crap between you and Robert. 

“So, Jazzy, what are their names?” You asked her as she excitedly talked about her new friends. “Arrow and Zeppy, they are twins, well his name is Zeppelin, but everyone calls him Zeppy.” She said with a smile on her face. You almost choked on air. There was no way these children are the children of the man you’d pined after, Jensen Ackles. You’d been a fan of his for years and watched everything he was in, at least twice. You were heartbroken when you heard his wife died during childbirth. She was giving birth to the twins, and there were complications. 

Jensen disappeared from public life after the death of his wife. He still acted on Supernatural, but his appearances in public and at conventions stopped. It wasn’t until recently he had started to make sporadic appearances and going back to conventions. 

After her bath you got her ready and into bed. Walking into the living room you saw Robert sitting on the couch. “We need to talk.” You said as you walked in. He looked up from his phone and his jaw clenched. 

“I’m going to record this conversation for my protection and yours. I don’t want any confusion as to what is being said tonight.” You told him as you hit record on your phone and he scoffed.

“I deserve better than to be with someone who puts their hands on me. My priority is my daughter, and she always will be. I don’t want her to grow up thinking it’s okay to be hit or grabbed by someone who says they love her. I want you to leave, and not come back. I’m not doing this anymore. We aren’t good for each other, so this, (you motioned between the two of you), is over.” 

Robert sat silently. The eerie silence sent a chill through your body. He sat up and started to speak low, “If that’s what you think, then I guess there isn’t anything I can do about it.” “That’s what I’m saying. I need your key.” He pulled out his keys and took the house key off his ring. Then he stood up, grabbed his stuff and left. 

You let out the breath you were holding and quickly went and locked up the house. You called your best friend and told her what happened. She was glad you finally kicked him out. “Do you need me to come over tonight?” She asked. “No, he left his key, so I’m sure it’s going to be okay.” You reassured her. “Okay, well I’m proud of you, if you need me, let me know.” “I will, I love you girl.” “Love you too, bye.” 

Hanging up you grabbed your pajamas and went to take a shower. Climbing in you felt the pain from Robert’s abuse. You cried. Your tears mixing with the water that cascaded from the showerhead. 

After your shower you climbed into bed and scrolled on your phone. You found yourself on Jensen’s Instagram page, smiling at the pictures he’d posted of himself and his children. A new post popped up and it made your heart flutter. It was a picture of his twins and he captioned it with “These two are rocking their first year of preschool. Zeppy has a new little friend he talks about all the time. He said she’s a princess because her name is Jasmine.” Your eyes went wide, was he talking about your Jazzy? You smiled and put your phone down, falling asleep.

The next morning you got Jazzy up and ready for school. On the drive there she was really quiet. “Jazzy, baby, what’s wrong?” You looked in the mirror and met your daughter’s big green eyes. They were full of sadness and fear, “I’m scared mommy.” A frown formed on your face, “What are you scared of baby?” “Robert. He hurt you.” “Oh baby, I’m okay. I made him leave. He won’t be back. It’s just you and me now.” A small smile formed on her face.

Getting her out of her seat at the school the two of you walked hand in hand towards the entrance. Your daughter squealed in excitement and dropped your hand, taking off towards two children. “Arrow, Zeppy!” She squealed. The two children turned around and smiled, running towards her. 

You continued walking and made it to the very excited children. Hugs were exchanged and giggles filled the air. Then there he was, Jensen Ackles. He chuckled as he walked up to you and the three children, “Oh this must be the little princess.” You smiled as your eyes met his. He extended his hand, “Hello, I’m Jensen, and these two are mine, Arrow and Zeppelin.” You extended your hand to shake his hand, not realizing there was a bruise on your arm or on the side of your face. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Y/N and this little one is Jazmyn. I’ve heard so much about your children from her. They are really sweet to her.” 

You noticed his eyes kept scanning you and that’s when you noticed the bruise. You pulled your arm back and felt the embarrassment fill your cheeks. Zeppelin spoke up, breaking the silence between you and Jensen, “Daddy, can we have a playdate after school? Pleeease.” The three children were looking up at Jensen and you. “Well, how about we plan something for the weekend, that way you three can have longer to play, I mean if it’s okay with you.” He looked at you. “Oh absolutely. Besides, I have to work late today and Jazzy will be at her Auntie Nichole’s house.” 

Jensen grabbed the twins’ hands and started to walk towards the door, “We probably should get them inside.” He gestured. “Yeah, don’t want them to be late.” 

After saying your goodbyes, you and Jensen walked towards the parking lot together. “Hey, Y/N. Let me give you my number so we can work out the details of the playdate, and if um, you need anything, please call me.” You offered him a soft smile, “That would be great, Jensen, thank you. I know Jazzy will love it.”

The two of you said your goodbyes, and as you started to walk away Jensen stopped and called your name. “Hey, Y/N.” He stepped closer to you, “He’s an asshole and you don’t deserve that. I promise we aren’t all like that. If you need anything, please call me.” “Thank you, Jensen. For everything, and just so you know I made him leave and broke up with him.” Jensen smiled and lightly touched your arm, “good”. 

Hours later your shift was done. Nichole had picked Jazzy up from school and she was going to bring her home later. You pulled into your driveway and walked in your house. Putting your stuff down you decided you’d take a quick shower before Jazmyne got home. 

Getting out of the shower and getting dressed you walked into the living room and turned on the television. Just as you sat down the doorbell rang. You thought it was Nichole with Jazmyne, but you were wrong. Standing in front of you with eyes full of rage was Robert. 

“Robert, what the hell are you doing here?” Before you could get an answer he came into the house and punched you across the face. You fell to the ground and he started kicking you and punching you. 

You put your hands up to defend yourself and screamed and cried for help and for him to stop. After what felt like hours, he finally left. You laid on the floor, bleeding and in so much pain. You found the strength to grab your phone and pushed the call button. 

“Hello?” The voice on the other end said. You were in and out of consciousness. You started to speak weakly, “Help me…” “Y/N!? Is that you? It was Jensen. You accidentally called Jensen. “Y/N! Answer me, what’s wrong?”

All you could get out was “Jazzy.” Before you passed out. Jensen hung up, called the headmaster at the preschool and told them what happened. They told Jensen they would call 911, he asked for your address but they wouldn’t give it to him. 

Panic filled his body. He called Jared and had him and Gen watch the kids. He was heading to the closest hospital to wait to see if you were brought there. 

The ambulance arrived and Jensen saw you. He tried to get the nurse to tell him what was going on with you, but she wouldn’t give him any information. He paced the waiting room floor and tried everything he could think of to get someone to give him information. 

About 30 minutes later he saw Jazmyne come in with a woman who was close to your age. Jazmyne immediately saw Jensen and ran to him. Nichole tried to grab her, but she was too quick. 

Jensen scooped her up and she threw her arms around his neck, “Hey Jazzy, are you okay? You’re not hurt are you?” Nichole stepped closer, “Oh hi, um how do you know Y/N and Jazzy?” “Hi, I’m Jensen. Jazzy goes to daycare with my twins, and that’s how I know Y/N. She and I just met today, but I’ve known Jazzy.” 

Nichole stretched her hand out, “Hi, I’m Nichole, Y/N’s best friend. Do you know what happened?”

“Not really. She called me and all she said was “Help me, then she said Jazzy’s name. I didn’t know her address so I called the headmaster and told her what happened. I can only assume this was her ex’s doing. She told me she kicked him out.” “She did, but I think he came back over tonight.”

Just then the doctor came out. “I’m here for the family of Ms Y/L/N” Jensen and Nichole stepped forward. “Hi, we’re her family. How is she?” “I’m Dr Fitzpatrick and I’ve been treating her. She has multiple lacerations, some broken ribs, a broken nose and orbital bone, and lots of bruising. She was beat up so badly we have to put her in a medically induced coma to help her body heal. She will be in it for a few days.” 

Jensen and Nichole gasped, “When can we see her?” Nichole asked softly. “You can see her one at a time, but I don’t recommend you take her in there.” The doctor nodded. They both nodded, “Nichole, you go and I’ll stay with Jazzy.” 

Nichole nodded, thanked Jensen and walked to your room. About 30 minutes later Nichole was walking back into the waiting room with red, puffy eyes.

Jensen walked up to her and gave her a hug. She sobbed into his chest. “Jensen, she looks so bad. How could anyone ever do something like that to her. She’s such an amazing person.” Jensen just held her tight. “Do you mind if I go see her?” He asked softly. She shook her head. 

As Jensen walked down the hallway his heart rate sped up. When he saw you laying in your bed, bloodied, bruised and broken his heart ached and anger filled his body. Robert had to pay. He sat beside your side and held your hand, “Hey Y/N, Jazzy is safe. We need you to get better. I can’t plan that playdate by myself.” He chuckled as he held you tight.

Before he left the room, he leaned over and kissed your forehead. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he felt the need to do it, “You’re safe Y/N, and so is Jazzy. I promise you both will be safe.”

Jensen walked back towards Nichole and Jazzy. He gave Nichole his number and told her if she needed anything, or any help with Jazzy to give him a call or send him a text. She nodded and said thank you. 

Jazzy clung tightly to his neck, and Nichole had to pry him off. Jensen stepped closer, “hey, Jazzy, maybe Auntie Nichole can bring you over tomorrow afternoon so you can play with the Arrow and Zeppy, would you like that? She nodded wildly, “Okay, see you tomorrow then.” 

Then Jensen was gone. A few hours later, when she was sure you were out of the woods, she and Jazzy left for the night. 

She was worried about you, but Jensen, oh Jensen was worried about you, Jazzy, and wanted to hurt Robert for hurting you. He couldn’t shake the feeling, but drove home. 

You were left laying in the bed, listening to the sounds of conversations and unable to react or speak to them. You heard Jensen, felt Jensen, and above all you felt his emotion behind his voice. That was something you were thankful to have heard and felt, at least that and Jazzy gave you something worth fighting for. 

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.  

Tags: 

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573 

@k-slla @jackles010378 

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx 

@roseblue373 @cheynovak 

@jassackles  @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa 

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27 

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2 

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi 

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@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @whimsyfinny

@bobbdylan

[violetasteracademic]

Velaris Memorial Hospital

A Grey's Anatomy x TTPD inspired Three Brothers and Three Sisters Three Part Fanfiction

Hey. Life is horrible and scary. I want to share a teaser for a project I have been pouring my heart and soul into that I hope some of you might find some joy and reprieve in.

These stories are tightly woven together and designed to be read in order. Fesyand, Nessian, and Elriel's journey's will be posted individually and chronologically, and occur on an overlapping but staggered timeline. However, there are incredibly heavy themes and topics that may not be suitable for all readers. I will do my best to ensure each individual story can be enjoyed on its own if there are topics you would rather avoid. Please read the content warning for all three stories and take care of yourself first. This collection is coming soon if I can pull myself out of this black hole, but here is a synopsis of each story ahead!

Part One:

Feyre Archeron is an art therapist for the children's cancer wing at Velaris Memorial Hospital. After leaving her abusive fiancé and moving back in with her sisters, her plans to heal and move on with peace and privacy go up in flames when women begin to come forward with sexual harassment allegations against her ex, Tamlin Thornwood.

If she doesn't come forward with her own story of abuse and testify against the man who harmed her and so many other women, he stands a chance at winning his countersuit for defamation and wrongful termination. Terrified of what her patient's families will think of her if they find out the truth, struggling to forgive herself, and suprised to be falling for the absolute wrong man, Feyre has to dig deeper than she ever has before to find her strength.

Rhysand Noctis is the owner and CEO of Eventide Enterprises. After losing his mother to cancer, he has felt adrift. No amount of money and acclaim has been able to give him the sense of home and belonging he has lost.

When an old family rival, Tamlin Thornwood, is tangled up in a scandal and lawsuits, Rhysand learns that Velaris Memorial Hospital is in trouble. The only non-profit hospital in Velaris and the place that cared for his mother has lost all of their donors and board members. Rhys decides to purchase the hospital and dedicate his time to restoring its reputation and making it a safe place for women and the community of Velaris to work and receive affordable care.

A chance encounter sends Feyre and Rhys colliding towards each other before they realize how inextricably their personal and professional lives are already intertwined.

CW: Domestic violence, sexual assault, sexual harassment, child death, trauma, mental health, explicit sexual content.

*Additional note: I don't typically like to use the term "anti" in this fandom, but it is best to be exceptionally clear that this is an abundantly anti-Tamlin piece. If seeing this character portrayed as a serial abuser makes you feel upset or uncomfortable in any way, please protect yourself (and me) by skipping this one.

Part Two:

Nesta Archeron doesn't need anyone to take care of her. After losing both her parents at age eighteen and becoming legal guardian to her two younger sisters, she gave up her dreams of going to law school and worked her way up from from an assistant with nothing more than a high school diploma and unmatched grit to become the head of public relations at Velaris Memorial Hospital.

When her younger sisters ex-fiancé scandalizes the hospital and leaves them without funding or a board of directors, she has to work closely with the new ownership, Eventide Enterprises, to save the hospital and prevent it from becoming for-profit like SkyView, their rival hospital in the financial district. She has full confidence in herself and her plan. However, Eris Vanserra, the head of PR and legacy staff at SkyView, is out for blood after Nesta won over the youngest Vanserra to Velaris Memorial and got an op ed published on the negative outcomes associated with for-profit care. That, and she now has to answer to Cassian- a man she has already sworn to hate before learning who he was, and is making her job- and life- an absolute pain in the ass.

Cassian is the lead financial strategist and project manager after Eventide Enterprises purchased Velaris Memorial Hospital. After having to drop out of college before sophomore year to deal with the death of his mother, he struggles to overcome the chip on his shoulder being in an industry where name, money, and education is everything. Restoring the reputation and the financial security of Velaris Memorial Hospital is not only personal, but professionally the largest responsibility he has had in his career thus far. Everything is on the line.

Complicating matters is his reliance on Nesta Archeron, the steely and fiery PR director working side by side with him to ensure the Starfall Ball is a massive success and wins back the hospitals donors. There is no denying that the difficulty maintaining their professional lines is fueled by both hate and attraction. But as they continue to work closely together, the layers peel back and they learn that they have more in common than they thought. Family secrets, generational trauma, and their deepest shames are somehow safe in each other's hands. However, lines are crossed that might be impossible to come back from.

CW: Extortion, blackmail, discussions of suicide, trauma, mental health, explicit sexual content.

Part Three:

Elain Archeron has always strived for perfection. After competing in pageants her entire childhood and teen years, she shocked everyone by using her scholarship to relentlessly pursue a career in the medical field as a labor and delivery nurse instead of fulfilling her mothers dream to go on to compete in the Miss Universe pageant.

She spent her early twenties working instead of dating, but her plan to get married and start a family is back on track now that has the "perfect" fiancé, Graysen Nolan.

However- the grueling hours, cracks in her relationship, and anxiety over what her life will look like when she becomes a Nolan begins to sink in. It's not easy for Elain to change her plans or take a leap, but when a tragic accident sends her life into a tailspin, she is forced to pick apart the shattered pieces of her soul and learn what unrealized dreams are truly hers and what belongs to the ghosts of her past.

Azriel Singer is an award winning photojournalist who has spent his life travelling the world. He has lived for the thrill of never knowing what comes next, being on the front lines of danger and history in the making. He is used to going to sleep in one city and waking up with a contract on the other side of the world, not knowing if he'll be headed into a war zone or march for justice.

When his brother Rhysand hires him for a six month corporate contract as the photographer on retainer for Velaris Memorial Hospital as they rebuild their image, his path crosses with Elain Archeron. In so many ways, she is his opposite. She has always wanted to travel, but has never left Velaris. She has always wanted to start a family, a thought that has only ever given Azriel night sweats. And she is engaged.

Azriel and Elain wind up forming a deep friendship, creating bets with each other to help push them outside of their respective comfort zones. The more they get to know each other more deeply than anyone has before, the more they question who they are. No amount of planning and on-paper perfection could have prepared them for a connection that pushes them both beyond the narratives they've written for themselves before meeting someone who can challenge them in all the most terrifying and most fulfilling ways.

CW: Fertility issues, child abuse, infant death, parent death, medical trauma associated with car accidents, birth, and premature birth, explicit sexual content.

This is my first time writing modern AU and contemporary romance. Thank you so much to @nikachansstuff and @rosanna-writer for offering to beta!

I truly hope I do it justice. I also want to reiterate that these are dark and very emotionally heavy stories. The characters will be dealing with issues that are deeply personal to me. They will sometimes be hard to understand and harder to love.

While I am not a mental health professional, I am a huge mental health advocate and that will come through in a blend of my own personal experiences and research, but mental health is extremely personal and not one size fits all. Nothing should be taken as mental health advice. Please reach out for professional help if you need, and don't give up.

This is by far the most terrifying but meaningful work I have done, and I am scared shitless and deeply excited to share it with you. This will not be for everyone, but I hope it will find where it is meant to go.

[diamondwerewolf]

A Quick Chat About AZ

Which won't be quick at all.

I've talked for a little about coming to understand Lysandre, and now I'd like to talk about AZ, who is still somewhat of a mystery to me. We know of his backstory, but what I'm missing is what defines his personality. We don't speak with him enough in game to know it, so I had to do some digging around so I can form some assumptions. Most of this post will be me using Canon and Non-Canon [But still official] sources to get a grasp on what kind of man AZ is, just in case we don't get more information about him in Legends ZA.

-I want to know what he's like, because I want to make more artwork with him. ^^'-

Before I get into what I've found, I want to first talk about a character who I think is clearly defined, by his sheer simplicity. That's right,

It's Larry.

Larry, for example, has very clear likes and dislikes. He's an overworked, professional, brooding, middle aged man, who has respect for rules and simplicity. He dresses plainly, and uses relatively ordinary or normal type pokemon. He's vocal and assertive of his preferred lifestyle, to the point of stubbornness [ of which is only thwarted by his desire for his paycheck]. He also loves food and the pursuit of an extraordinary meal. Despite his introvert-like demeanor, he's shown to be friendly, deeply contemplative, and hiding a quirky, dad joke-like sense of humor.

With all of this, I can extrapolate what kind of decisions Larry would make if I were to put him in a new non-canonical situation. And, I can also define where I'd like to bend or add on to his personality in my own form of fandom play.

--

Now, back to the main topic. All of this to digest with a grain of salt. I also apologize in advance if I hop around a little between sources.

AZ, I can only assume is underutilized because of his grand age. 3,000 years old, means 3,000 years of knowledge or a direct eye witness of history. He wondered in search of his best friend, gradually witnessing the world transition from ancient to modern. Chances are, he can answer regional mysteries that gamefreak wouldn't want to touch upon. So, he's here one moment, and then gone the next after serving his key purpose in the game narrative.

Which brings me to all of the other official items I looked into and some thoughts on his intelligence. I watched his appearance in the Pokemon Generations Episode 18: The Redemption. [ no one asked but i think i prefer the japanese voice much more ] And I also was given a data bank to look through Pokemon XY game script.

AZ build the ultimate weapon. Though, if he had any assistance with it, it's unspecified. IF I RECALL CORRECTLY, in the recent XY development leaks, Sycamore, Lysandre, and AZ were all the same character, before the role was properly divided into three. Still, I'm under the impression, that AZ wasn't just a king, but a well respected researcher.

There’s research material on the bookshelf [In Lysandre Labs] “The king was proud of the technology he had used to bring Kalos prosperity, but he couldn’t help but use it in a way that had never been intended... AZ, the man who was king, disappeared.”

I think, AZ being keenly intelligent, is an easy assertion to make. He could build and operate complicated machinery, and probably still can. There are even more side notes I can make about his more complex understanding of pokemon. I don't think I have the clarity of mind to pull out even more examples, so I'll use just this one:

AZ does have a Golurk of unspecified age on his small team. I wonder...is it possible he built his Golurk himself? There are many pokadex entries stating the creation of, and ancient use of pokemon in these old cities. AZ appears to understand the infinite energy that dwells within pokemon well enough to contribute to the society he ruled over. I don't think 'artificial' pokemon construction is beyond his understanding, if he knew well enough that he could bring one back to life.

---

Moving along.

After building the weapon to revive his friend:

"...his rage still had not subsided."

I absolutely love this flashback sequence. I love how they portrayed the rawness of AZ's emotions. The unnerving look in his eye as his horrific choice forms. You get the sense that he truly did just...snap.

Which Makes Me Wonder: How tethered is AZ to his emotions? Is he like Lysandre, who appears to allow himself to freely feel his own anger and frustration, letting it drive him to obssession. Does he have a slight sense of entitlement, too? Entitled to take the world's problems and other lives in his hands. If so, did he leave that wicked part of himself behind?

AZ is royalty. He's a former -literal- king during a time of war, unlike Lysandre who's a more metaphorical king during a time of general peace. That may be an excuse for him easily taking on, beyond important, harrowing decisions. I wonder if this was the most difficult point in his reign. That aside, AZ doesn't seem to be concerned with that title living in modern day.

He doesn't demand that he should be treated like his former title. I'm going to make another assumption that he has let that go a long time ago. He struggles with being forgiven, maybe even struggles with caring about himself. He's traded his old royal regalia, a robe, golden arm cuffs, and golden neck piece, for old, worn, patchy clothes. He doesn't care about his royalty, or his clothes, and AZ never makes any mention that I can remember about his own height.

None of it appears to matter to him. Only "where is she?"

---

Speaking of.

AZ's ability to hold on to hope is...something.

When yeh know for certain sure yeh ain’t never gonna meet again... Well, yeh can give in and accept it. But if yeh think there might be a chance, and yeh wander the world for 3,000 years tortured by that flicker of hope... I tell yeh, sprout. I couldn’t have stood it.

I don't think I could have stood it either. To not give up on his Floette for 3,000 years, to muscle through that torture until finally you meet again. What would you call the kind of 'grit' that would make you endure something like this? In the XY manga, he's plagued by nightmares of his past. He described his ordeal officially in the game as 'endless suffering'. Is it a certain kind of stubbornness? A kind of unconditional love? I'm not sure... AZ, in another one of my opinions, has got to be one of the series' most strong willed characters. You can't survive 3,000 years with weak resolve. He can't die of old age, but..well...

...

Despite the horrors he's capable of, he's got a gentle quality to him. I like the contrast, between a giant and a pokemon so delicate and tiny. I'm sure the juxtaposition of AZ and his Floette is purposeful, and in itself helps inform of his character.

This is from the Pokemon Adventure XY Manga, and isn't canonical, but...look at him. I found him greeting Trevor's Flabebe so sweet. He's respectful to the children also, and doesn't belittle them in the slightest.

His smile. He calls her beautiful, and she is! He has some stony expressions, but also some very softened ones in Anime, Game, and Manga. He hasn't lost his ability to smile after all this time. Which is nice...

OOF, I've been writing this for a long while, so I'll wrap things up. I can't trust myself to write a comprehensive summary, like Larry, at this time, but I hope to have one later. Again, I'm hoping Legends ZA will provide more before I start my true 'blorbo madness'.

Here are all of my assumptions in a list AZ is:

Extraordinarily Intelligent, capable of making and operating dangerous technology. I believe he wasn't just a King, but a contributing engineer/ researcher.

Deeply emotional, allowing himself to openly cry, feel anger, and sorrow. Despite his intelligence, his emotions can cloud his judgement. THOUGH, he may have much more emotional maturity now. [ i find it interesting both he and lysandre are allowed to shed tears ]

Strong of will, or is a person of unwavering conviction.

Stern, somewhat of a languisher, but gentle.

That's all I have for now. Let me know if anyone else has thoughts!

[lurkingshan]

Every You, Every Me

Story 3

A mechanic! Not my Last Twilight trauma

Actually, now that he's stood up and I see this black tshirt and coveralls taken halfway down, his look is more Payu than Mhok

HE'S COMING TO ME

Okay listen, who put these mismatched hair extensions on this boy I just wanna talk 🔪

FIAT!!! I missed him

I continue to recognize but not be able to place most of the background music in this show, it's driving me nuts

What's with all these March 19s... no way

Are you telling me he's been stalking this kid at the graveyard for years on his mother's death anniversary? And he asked the mom’s dead spirit to bless their union before he even talked to him?? You a weirdo for this, X

He's never even talked to him all these years but he says he likes him. Love at first sight, I guess. "His mismatched hair extensions have bewitched me body and soul"

Btw why has this kid Namping had the exact same haircut for so many years, seems unlikely

I have no theory on the significance of their family members changing universe to universe but I am noting it

Does the little brother get a side romance in this one? They have two whole eps this time they're getting ambitious

This Bad Buddy style phone flirting across the balcony/window is very good

There's a real ominous vibe happening here, something is def going on that we don't know about

Well, that sure was a wholly unnecessary full body lift 😏

I think I would have preferred they use the time to go deeper on the main pair in this story rather than squeeze in a side couple, but this is a Thai BL, so

Something very charming about X getting excited and hitting his head on the undercarriage of the car

The extensions look better in this almost kiss scene god bless (btw that was mean, Namping)

The chemistry!! When they let them flirt these two are excellent

Hmmm Namping is P' here, but he def wasn't older in the last story, what does it meeeeeeean

"Stop asking" boy what are you hiding

Sexiest back hug of all time in BL?? Perhaps

Man, what the hell happened to Namping? Crying during sex and then disappearing on X and sobbing as he leaves. Why can't he tell X what's going on?? (and also me, please tell me). This all feels really needlessly cruel and I am struggling to imagine a scenario that would excuse it.

Welp! Ton showing up after a time skip alone, wearing all black, carrying a box sure doesn't bode well

The way they are dragging this secret out has officially become irritating. Just say what the fuck is going on.

Well, at least Namping knows he's a coward. Ffs. I cannot imagine how he justified leaving X in such an abrupt way, telling him nothing, leaving him waiting, knowing he will never come back. A terminal illness is not a good excuse for what he did to him, especially because his supposed reason was not wanting to be selfish. But his choices here were far more selfish and cruel than telling the truth and staying to be happy while he could.

This show is not really what I expected based on the way people talk about it. It's not all that light, for one. I've heard it described as being a fun speed run of fanfic tropes, but it's pretty dramatic (in the sense of dealing with heavier themes), and this last story at least was very melodramatic. It's the kind of maudlin terminal illness plot line you'd see in a decades-old drama. I guess that's the idea? We're just running through classic tropes, including some that have been all but retired. I still don't know if or how these different universes are meant to connect, or what to make of these characters. Should I view each iteration as separate from the ones before, or am I meant to think of these as the same souls repeating lives? It's interesting for sure.

[joezworld]

Hey everyone seems real sad for some reason. Could not imagine why.

Anyways if you squint real hard you may notice a similarity to Thomas and the Jet Engine. That is intentional.

You can also squint and notice some similarity to several Traintober prompts. That is intentional.

Also, if you notice any similarity to any of SiF's character names... that's right! That is intentional. I did that and it's on purpose and I'm making fun of them. If you're from SiF either recognize that it was a dumb name or die mad about it.

Pip and Emma at The Top

2021 - The Summer

It was the longest summer since the last one. There weren’t any tourists - obviously - but even the inter-island traffic had died down considerably. The government on the mainland was skittishly enacting and then subsequently revoking plans to allow gatherings again, and the people of Sodor were prudently trying to keep the Island’s activities out of London’s sphere of notice. 

As events were curtailed and people limited their own travel, the railway cut back on services, as they’d done several times before. Pip and Emma were the first to be relegated to the yards; while they could run a much shorter train - and often did - a shortage-related spike in the price of diesel fuel meant that it was more economical for James or Henry to take the two diesels' trains instead. 

Henry had tried to make sense of how the economics on that worked out, but numbers were not his strong suit, and so he instead passed along his sympathies every time he passed the twins in the yard. 

James (and no-one else) thought that he was being rather magnanimous by not endlessly laughing about how he was cheaper to run than a diesel. Several cutting responses had been prepared if he ever got too full of himself, but shockingly he’d kept the snickering to a bare minimum. 

As the days stretched on into a week, and then two, a bigger problem soon began to present itself:

“I’m bored, Pip!”

“Me too!” 

Pip and Emma were getting restless.

“WILL YOU TWO KEEP IT DOWN?! IT IS THREE IN THE MORNING!”

And they were more than willing to make that everyone else’s problem. 

-

A few days later, and the diesels were overjoyed when an inspector came to them with instructions to report to the works. 

Equally overjoyed were the engines in the big shed. 

-

Pip and Emma arrived at the works in a right state, having been held up by trackwork along the main line. 

“Two hours! Can you believe it Emma?”

“I don’t like running light engine, they can push us around too much.”

“Right? We’re express engines, not a train of old rubbish!” “I think they prioritized the rubbish train over us, if that smell at Kellsthorpe Road was anything to go by.”

“Ugh!”

-

Mr. Tedfield, the Works Manager, eventually arrived, bringing an end to their complaining. “Right you two. Seems like we’ve got some work for you.”

“Here?” They chorused. 

“No,” he said quickly. “But the work is going to be a lot different from your usual job, and we’re gonna have to do some modifications.”

“Oh no,” Pip cried. “It’s going to be buffers, isn’t it?”

“How did you know?” The man was baffled. 

“It’s the only thing it could be, sir.” Emma explained. “That’s what they said on the Eastern Region, back in the 1980’s. ‘Just some little modifications!’ and they came back from Derby with the ugliest buffers ever!” 

“It was a hatchet job!” Pip agreed. “All their lower valances, gone!” 

“Easy, easy!” Mr. Tedfield yelped, not expecting that sort of response. “I’m sure that we can do a better job than that!”

“Promise?” they said in worried unison.

“Promise.”

-

A few days later, and the twins were relieved to discover that the works were as good as their word. Unlike the Eastern Region “hatchet jobs,” they still sported all their bodywork. Holes had been drilled through the lower valances, and buffers, couplings, and air hoses now poked through. The fibreglass was a little rough around the edges, but everyone agreed that it could also look a great deal worse. (Apparently, custom fibreglass was one of the only things the works staff couldn’t do in-house, and there was a concerning amount of murmuring from the staff about how they’d change that.)

Rolling out into the sun for the first time since they were “slightly modified,” they blinked the light from their eyes to find Mr. Tedfield, the Fat Controller, and another man who they didn’t know waiting for them. 

“Well,” Started Mr. Tedfield. “I’m glad to see that our concerns were unfounded.” 

The twins knew he was being diplomatic in front of the Fat Controller. He’d already said “I told you so!” several times earlier in the day. 

He continued. “So now we should probably tell you what we would like you to do!”

“Because somebody forgot to mention it earlier…” The other man muttered under his breath. 

The Fat Controller looked from one man to the other, and shook his head slightly. “Pip, Emma, as I’m sure you’re already aware, we are not going to be running the Express to London anytime soon. So, with that in mind, you two are going to be assigned to mixed traffic work until passenger numbers allow us to put you back into normal service.”

“Mixed traffic work?” They said as one. 

“Oh yes!” The Fat Controller looked quite pleased with himself. “We have quite a lot of cargo traffic coming in through the ports right now, and you two will help take the strain off everyone else.”

The man they didn’t know coughed slightly. 

“Of course, how foolish of me,” The Fat Controller rolled his eyes. “I also recognize that you two have some… special abilities that the other engines lack, namely your high-speed capabilities. With that in mind, Mr. Hargrave, from the coach and wagon department here at the works, has had an idea.”

“Yes, right.” Mr. Hargrave said with pride. “So, back when we first started coming back to work after the lockdowns, the government gave us a whole pile of Levelling-Up money, to “get us back on our feet.”” He paused, bouncing on his heels. “Thing is, we’d already fixed up everything beforehand, because we didn’t want anyone locked away in the works during the end of days with their bits in pieces, so we didn’t have anything to spend it on, but we had to spend it, otherwise they’d take it back!”

“Government logic at its finest…” Mr. Tedfield said under his breath. 

“Ain’t that the truth.” Mr. Hargrave agreed. “So anyways, we decided to just make everything as perfect as we could make it.”

He stopped for a moment, long enough for the Fat Controller to look at him. “Such as…?”

“Hm? Oh! Yes, the container wagons!” He said all at once. “We took all the container wagons that were sitting around idle - and some other stuff besides - and we took them and fitted high speed bogies and bearings to them.”

Pip blinked slowly. “High speed bogies?”

“That’s right! They ride like coaches now.” He said with childlike joy. “And they won’t weigh much more than them either, so it shouldn’t be much trouble for you two. High speed containers, all the way to the mainland!”

Pip looked at him, then at the Fat Controller. “Sir, why are we doing this?”

The Fat Controller looked much more reasoned. “Quite a few companies are willing to pay a premium for their shipments to arrive as quickly as possible. There’s a lot of congestion at the bigger ports in the south, and Liverpool is operating almost at capacity, so we have an opportunity to get some very lucrative traffic.” He smiled knowingly. “And if we play our cards right, some of the companies, like Amazon, might build a few warehouses just across the channel on the mainland, and then we can serve those in perpetuity.” 

The twins slowly digested this. “But sir, will it matter if we can go that fast?” Pip asked. “Once we cross the bridge, we’ve got to deal with Network Rail, and they don’t know anything.”

The Fat Controller looked as pleased as punch. “But you’re not dealing with Network rail.” He said with a satisfied smile. “Our contract for this ‘express freight’ is to get it as far as Barrow-in-Furness. If Freightliner or Colas Rail happen to be tardy after that…” he made a gesture with his hands. “That’s of no importance to us.”

Pip and Emma blinked slowly. “So, you want us to go as fast as we can?” Pip said with an expression that was rapidly passing “gleeful.”

“I do.” The Fat Controller agreed, before walking away.

---

Across the Island, the trucks and wagons shuddered.

--

A few weeks later

Pip and Emma fit in surprisingly well on goods trains, and could soon be found on everything from trundling pickup goods to the Flying Kipper. The Works really had made every truck as “perfect” as they could make them, and so every train, regardless of what it was or who was pulling it, was rolling on new bearings and freshly-trued wheels. Bear, BoCo, James, and Henry claimed it was some of the easiest work they’d ever had, and even the trucks agreed with them!

Pip and Emma, however, were mostly focused on one thing: speed. They’d been promised the ability to go as fast as they liked, but there was a significant obstacle to it:

“Oh come on! How long can it take to re-lay one set of points!”

The Permanent Way and Signaling departments had also received a great deal of this “use it or lose it” government funding, and were furiously working to replace, re-lay, and re-wire seemingly the entire island. 

Fortunately for the twins, the work was almost at an end, and as the summer began to wane, they soon found that more and more of the line was back up to full capacity. Shortly thereafter, the “Container Express” was a regularly scheduled train on the main line, running twice a day between Tidmouth Harbour and the yard in Barrow. Keen-eyed observers of the timetable would note that it was the exact same pair of slots previously occupied by the Wild Nor’Wester, which had last run in March of 2020. 

The Fat Controller promised anyone who asked him that it was absolutely a temporary measure, and most believed him, save for one group in particular…

“Lads,” A voice murmured in the container yard one morning. “I think this is forever… ‘s our purgatory for whatever it is we’ve done to the engines.”

“Nah, this ain’t purgatory,” whispered another, as a two-toned horn blasted in the distance. 

“Hi everyone!” “Ready for the trip?”

“This is hell. We’re in hell.”

  -

A few days later - Barrow

The lift bridge over the Walney Channel operated very differently than it did pre-COVID. A train would arrive at the Vicarstown side of the bridge, then it would lower. It would stay down while the engines were turned round, or were uncoupled from their train and connected to a new one. Then the train would leave, and the bridge would go back up. 

This happened two to four times a day, now that the lockdowns had lessened, but there was one constant - the same train that left the island would be the one to return to it. 

Then, one evening in the late summer, the bridge rolled down for a train coming from the mainland. 

There was a very familiar two-toned honk-honk as it rolled over the bridge and onto the Island, wheels click-clacking across the bridge joints in great numbers. 

The rear power car vanished with a roar of sound and a whoosh of diesel exhaust, and then the train was gone into the distance. 

The bridge slowly cycled back up. There was a new train on the Island of Sodor. 

-

The next morning 

Pip and Emma woke up much later than usual - the main line was undergoing its final “track geometry inspection”, and freight services had been curtailed for most of the day to allow the inspection to be done as quickly as possible. 

Eventually, they were rolled out of the diesel shed mostly on BoCo’s urging, (“You two are not allowed to get bored in here.”) and made their way to the platforms of the big station. 

“Oh, this is weird!” Pip exclaimed as she backed down onto a set of coaches. She and Emma had been coupled back-to-back for over a month now, and it seemed like nobody was in a hurry to position them “normally” for a short run down to Suddery and back. 

“Not as weird as your- oh my goodness it’s you two.” James started his sentence with a considerable amount of venom, but squeaked halfway through his sentence before stopping altogether. 

“What was that?” They both looked at him funny. 

“Nothing!” He said quickly. “Nothing at all. I, um, I thought that you were somebody else!” 

He vanished as though by magic, and neither Pip, Emma, nor the coaches had any idea of what to say until the guard waved his flag. 

-

Making their way down the line, they encountered several other engines, each of whom gave them some kind of funny look. As they headed down Edward’s branch line, it was all they could talk about.

“Maybe it’s just how strange we look back-to-back?”

“It can’t be, Pip! You saw how Edward looked! I think he was actually upset!”

“Goodness, I hope it wasn’t anything we did.”

“I don’t think so. They all seemed to stop once they saw us.”

“...”

“What?”

“I just had a thought.”

“What?”

“Who looks like us, but can make everyone hate them in no time flat?”

“Oh no!”

-

Later, they arrived back at Wellsworth station with the return service. The train terminated here, instead of returning to the big station, so once the passengers had disembarked, they had to shunt the coaches out of the way. It was somewhat novel for them, and Pip took great joy in being shown how a shunter’s pole worked. Emma, on the other buffer, was busy eavesdropping; Edward was getting ready to bank Bear’s goods train up Gordon’s Hill, and he was fuming about something to the stationmaster. 

“-that damn banana shows its face here again I will show them what for!” he hissed sternly, before puffing away in a huff.

The stationmaster didn’t say anything that Emma could hear, but he seemed to look very intently at the signals outside the station. There was one signal set for an arriving train. 

Emma didn’t like that, it felt very ominous. “Pip, look sharp. I think we’re going to have trouble soon.”

Pip didn’t have time to respond, because at that instant, the two-tone horn of an HST rang out in the near distance. The rails hummed with the noise of an approaching train, and a 5-coach HST set pulled into the station. 

The train was safety-yellow, and bristled with cameras, sensors, lasers, and measurement equipment of all kinds. Large “NETWORK RAIL” logos were plastered on every coach and both power cars, right next to the words “NEW MEASUREMENT TRAIN.”

 It was glossy. It was shiny. It was freshly washed. 

“Oh, must we dawdle around this dump? I know what sort of conditions this lot keeps!”

It was rude. 

“Will you stop already? I would like to not be thrown off this island, thanks.” 

Well, half of it was. 

Pip closed her eyes to steady herself. Emma ground her teeth audibly. Of course it was them. 

Quickly, quietly, they tried to reverse out of sight, but the camera-studded train saw all, and criticised everything. 

“Oh I say!” The lead power car laughed mockingly. “I thought those rumours were wrong but look at that! You two really have been demoted to common shunters!”

“Hi Pip. Hi Emma.” The rear power car said, utterly defeated. 

“Hi John,” They chorused, equally displeased. “Hi, Obs-”

“Do not use that name!” The lead power car snapped brusquely. On his side there was a big brass nameplate that read “The Railway Observer.” “Use my real name.”

“Not this again…” The rear power car moaned. He had “John Armitt” bolted to his side. “I know that you think it sounds better but I promise you it isn’t-”

“I’m sorry,” The lead power car snapped. “But are you undermining me in front of outsiders?”

“They’re our sisters, you numpty.”

“And they shall refer to me by the name of my choice!” 

“It’s a stupid name!” 

“It’s a regal name!” 

Pip and Emma observed the bickering train with muted resignation. “Why couldn’t he have been at Ladbroke Grove?” Pip said to nobody in particular. “Would’ve done the world a favour.”

Emma just wanted to get this over with. The coaches had been safely shunted away, so it was just a matter of getting out of the yard - then they could go down to Tidmouth and get their next train. “And what name would you like us to call you?” She said eventually. 

The lead power car puffed himself up like a self-important cockatoo. “I,” He proclaimed regally. “Am Murgatroyd. It is a noble name, with a rich history, and-” 

Pip almost swallowed her own tongue from the sudden outburst of laughter, while Emma couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. “Oh my god, that is the worst name I have ever heard of,” She said, barely audible over Pip’s gale-force guffaws. “Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you do that to us?” 

Murgatroyd turned red with indignation (which, thanks to his yellow paint, was actually a shade of orange) and started shouting. “How dare you, you- you- you low-class harlot! This is a regal name, chosen to signify-”

“How much of a pretentious twat you are?” John scoffed from the other end of the NMT. “Usually people can tell when you talk.”

The retort that followed was unprintable, and a vicious three-way argument soon struck up, lasting until Pip and Emma left Wellsworth for the harbour at Tidmouth. 

The New Measurement Train left a few minutes after that, an argument trailing in its wake. The yard was silent after that.

BoCo, who had been trying to nap in the shed, looked around the yard. “I don’t think anyone will believe me…” he said to himself. 

-----

At the harbour’s intermodal yard, Pip and Emma found their train already waiting for them… although it was slightly different from usual.

Fifteen container trucks sat mostly empty, with just a few loaded ones up at the front. Ahead of those were two low-loaders, one empty, the other… not. 

“Finally!” Thomas the Tank Engine groused from atop the front low-loader. “It’s been ages!” 

“It’s been two hours.” The low-loader rolled his eyes. “We left at 11:00. It’s barely past one.”

“Well, who asked you?!” 

Pip and Emma were surprised, to say the least. “What’s he doing here?” They asked the yard supervisor. “Can we take him on this train?”

“As a matter of fact,” He consulted his clipboard. “You can. I spoke to the works, and they’ve “improved” some of the flatcars with the high speed bogies they had left over. Should be fine.”

“Should be?” 

“That’s what they said.” He shrugged, flipping through the clipboard to a printout of an email. “They put it in writing.” 

Pip had to squint to see the small text. “I don’t like that they put “It should be fine!” on an official email…”

Behind her, Emma rolled her eyes, in the process noticing something above them. “Wait, what’s that?” 

The supervisor looked up. “Oh, that’s a jet engine for an airplane. Rolls Royce rebuilds them down in Derby.”

“Why is it here? This isn’t the airport.”

“Airport’s closed for a few days because they lost their electric transformer - surprised you didn’t ‘ear about it. Rolls didn’t wanna wait, and we’re quicker than a lorry it seems.” The man smiled at the last part. Everyone in the freight division was very pleased that this “hare-brained, half-baked, absolutely ridiculous” concept (as some “industry observers” had remarked) was proving successful.  

Emma watched as the jet engine was craned onto a flatcar behind Thomas. “Oh great!” He scoffed as it was chained down to the car. “Not only am I getting shuttled around this Island like a piece of lost mail, but now it’s air mail at that?”

“Oh shush!” Pip said, somewhat bemused by the whole situation. “We’ll get you to Barrow double quick!”

“Barrow?! I’m going to the works!” Thomas was irate. 

“If you ever listened,” The low-loader started. “You’d know that they don’t stop there, so we’re going to Barrow, and then back to Crovan’s on the pick-up goods.”

“Oh! Wonderful! I am a lost parcel! This is all Toby’s fault, the square-”

“Thomas,” Emma cut him off kindly. “It’ll be fine. Think about it this way - you can say that you went there on the Express! Won’t that be fun?”

“I’ve been on the express before…” Thomas said darkly.

“See? Then you know how fun it is!” 

Thomas looked like he wanted to say something else, but before he could, the shunters allowed Pip and Emma to back down onto the train, and connected the coupling chains and air hoses. 

Emma winked at him reassuringly, something which he felt was only unintentionally patronizing.

And then the train set off for the mainland. 

-

Leaving the port was a slow affair - the container yard was off to one side, and they had to dodge Marina and Salty as they shunted cars into the bulk terminals by the yard throat. There were a lot of low-speed switches to navigate as well, and the train rocked from side to side as they crossed over. Thomas thought about saying he was getting seasick, but chose not to tempt fate after the seventh such switch made him actually feel a little nauseous. 

After reaching the end of the harbour tracks, they came to a complete stop, and waited for several trains to leave the big station. 

First came Gordon, who stormed out of the station canopy with the mid-day semi-fast behind him. His expression was thunderous, as were his clouds of smoke and steam. He passed by with a roar and a clatter and vanished into the tunnel towards Knapford. 

Edward was a few minutes behind, with a train of ballast from the Little Western. The expression on his face was neutral, almost intentionally so - a clear sign to anyone that knew him that he was blisteringly furious. 

“Oh no…” Emma sighed. 

“What?” Thomas asked, watching Edward’s brake van disappear into the tunnel. 

“Not what, who.” She said, resigned. “And you’ll find out soon enough.”

Up front, Pip grit her teeth and waited. 

She didn’t have to wait long - another minute, and an unusual signal dropped into place: an up-bound train cleared for the down slow line. A very familiar two-note honk-honk sounded from inside the station, and then Murgatroyd appeared, a self-satisfied sneer on his face. 

He roared out of the station, New Measurement Train shining brightly behind him, John on the tail end calling apologies to someone. It would have been a rather splendid sight, had there not been a massive cloud of sooty clag hovering over the station entrance, and trailing in his wake. 

Pip smirked with a hint of schadenfreude - John wasn’t trailing any sooty exhaust smoke, and five empty coaches were not that heavy, so somebody was ignoring his fitters it seemed…

She would have been content to sit there smugly, her well-tuned engine firing cleanly on all cylinders saying more than she ever could with words, but naturally Murgatroyd had to make things worse. 

“Oh good god!” He bellowed in mean-spirited mirth, his mouth twisting into a cheshire-cat smile. “Look at that! They really are Valenta freighters now! And they’re slumming it with a tea kettle! I thought that I had seen it all!” 

He vanished out of sight before he could say anything else, the coaches streaming by in a yellow blur. 

Pip could just see her reflection in the passing windows - they moved so fast it looked like a solid mirror - and it was not a pretty sight. 

Emma, who’d heard everything, reckoned that if he’d gone on for one more sentence, her sister would be spitting fire and roaring loud enough to be heard in Cornwall. 

Thomas, who had said worse to Toby and Daisy just this morning, suddenly felt a great sense of unease…

-

A few tense minutes later, and the signal finally raised, giving the train access to the main line. Pip set off with a roar, Emma reluctantly following her lead through the multiple unit connection. Thomas choked and spluttered from the wave of hot exhaust gases going right into his face, and barely noticed as the train rocked and rolled onto the Up Fast line. 

Blinking and tearing up, his vision finally cleared just in time to see Pip’s cab roof disappear into the darkness of the tunnel to Knapford. It was much closer than it usually was, and with the train rapidly increasing in speed, Thomas yelped as it cleared his funnel by mere inches. “YIKES!”

Emma laughed, eyes shining in the darkness, and Thomas knew that the sooner he got off this train, the better!

-

After that, for a little while, the trip continued smoothly. Knapford, Crosby, and Wellsworth stations all slid past without issue. Traffic was extremely light, and they didn’t pass any down-bound trains in the entire period. In fact, if it weren’t for the occasional blot of Gordon’s smoke on the horizon, it would have seemed that they had the entire main line to themselves. 

-

It was just past Maron station when the trouble began. 

As they crested Gordon’s hill, the first signal past the summit had fallen to “approach” almost as they passed it, and some quick shouting at “control” on the radio had revealed that the last of the permanent way crews were taking longer than usual to clear the main line near Kellsthorpe Road station. 

This meant that Pip and Emma were practically at a crawl as they reached Maron, and the train eased to a stop at the signal bridge just past the platforms. 

Pip, still hot under the buffers from her encounter with Murgatroyd, was not exactly thrilled at the idea of “dawdling” in stations, and audibly fussed as they came to a halt.

Her poor temper didn’t help her train handling skills any, and the train lurched inelegantly to a halt, causing the slack in the couplings to run in, and the entire train banged against her and Emma. 

There was much shouting and complaining from the trucks and Thomas at this, and Pip growled menacingly.  

“Oh, well.” Emma said quickly, trying to put a positive spin on things. “At least it’s a nice day out-”

CLONK

Before she could even say anything, the signals rose to the “approach slow, expect stop” aspect. This meant that they were getting moved forward exactly one signal block, to the Cronk home signals near the Hawin Ab Viaduct. 

“Oh come on!” Emma cried in frustration. 

It was abundantly clear what was happening now: they were going to be yo-yo-ed up and down the main line. Yo-yo-ing was what happened when a fast train was stuck behind a slow one, and had to constantly stop at each signal and wait for it to clear. It was hard on an engine’s brakes, worse on their buffers and couplings, and worst of all, was annoying as sin. This was exactly the sort of constant, low-grade irritation that she (and Pip) did not need right now.

Pip’s driver was entirely unaware of this, though, and so he increased the throttle and watched with some bemusement as Pip let her engine furiously rev all the way to the top of the tachometer right from the jump. 

She and Emma lurched forwards, and the entire train crashed into motion, each car yanking the one behind it as they all set off. 

Thomas rocked back and forth against his tie-down chains. “Careful!” he shouted. 

“Shut up!” Pip and Emma scowled. 

Thomas frowned, ready to give them a piece of his mind. 

“It’s no use,” tThe low-loader sighed. “They’re in a strop right now - best you can do is make them forget that you’re here, til they calm down.”

“When will that happen?” 

“That, lad, is something that the smartest trucks in all the land have been searching for an answer to for many years.”

-

To add insult to perceived injury, Pip’s driver didn’t bother accelerating to any real speed, since they were only going one signal down the line. Pip and Emma stewed in their own irritation at twenty-five miles an hour as they rolled up the line towards the next signal. There was very little that could be done to make them more upset, but of course when there’s a will, (and a Murgatroyd) there’s a way.

-

“Oh, no…” John murmured to himself. 

The New Measurement Train had been caught at a signal for almost thirty minutes, as the Island’s P-Way team cleared out in front of them. The positioning of this particular signal was not ideal, as it left the tail of the train caught on the exposed tracks of a windy viaduct. Furthermore, the signal, like all signals on Sodor, was a relatively vintage semaphore design that still used colored filters over a white light. He knew this from experience, having been all over this island for the last day, however he was hearing all of it now because his royal Murgitude had been griping and whinging about it literally since the moment they stopped. 

And now, look at who was coming up to the signals on the fast line… 

“Hi Pip, Hi Emma,.” he said weakly. 

He almost wanted to tell them to stop further back, and be near him - away from the irritating mass at the front of the train - but looking at Pip’s enraged visage gave him pause. He stilled his tongue, and let them roll up to the signal mast next to Murg.

Judging from the way that the train screeched and bashed to a halt, Emma wasn’t happy either. A smart engine (or one with a functioning self-preservation instinct) would have kept quiet at that stage, however Murgatroyd was neither self-preserving nor intelligent, and John could hear his mocking tone from five coaches back. 

Pip said nothing, and at first neither did Emma, but as Moron-a-troyd went on and on and on, John could feel a shift in the container wagons next to him. It was almost like they were cringing, trying to keep themselves as far away from whatever was about to happen next. 

Finally, he could take the suspense no more. “Is it bad?” he asked the nearest truck. 

“SHUT UP. I AM TIRED OF HEARING YOU SPEAK,” Emma bellowed, loud enough to be heard clearly at the other end of the train. 

“It’s awful bad,” the truck whispered. “You can tell he’s never dealt with real engines before. One of us acts like that and we’d be the next Scruffey within a month!”

John didn’t know who “Scruffey” was, but he understood the sentiment regardless. 

Silence reigned after that… for all of ten seconds, before Murgatroyd said something about “decorum” that set off a screaming row between all three of them. 

It was bad enough that the Network Rail crew inside the coaches started making a fuss on the radio, and within a minute, the container train roared away, leaving the New Measurement Train in windy silence yet again. 

After a few short seconds, John felt a “poke” over the multiple unit connection. Clearly Murgatroyd wanted to say something. 

“Well,” he said, voice warbling from some damage in the connection that John hadn’t ever told anyone about. “I think they said their piece didn’t they? I tell you what John-old-boy, but this island produces some of the worst examples of engine-kind that I have ever seen. I think that one was breathing fire!”

-

At Cronk station, Pip and Emma were idling so loud and so roughly that the stationmaster radioed the crew to ask if something was wrong. 

“That damned flying banana got them in a state, that’s what’s wrong,” The driver snapped over the radio. That awful measurement train had been nothing but problems since it showed up on the island, and he was willing to do anything to see them gone. Heck, if it wasn’t likely to make his engines even angrier, he’d give that train his path to the mainland, just so it’d be gone faster. 

What they really needed was a good fast run, to get them back into their usual state, but with the P-Way team taking their sweet bloody time of it, it didn’t seem likely. 

“If they keep going like this, they’re going to burst a manifold somewhere,” the guard poked his head into the cab. “We’ve got to calm them down.”

“I would love to see you try!” the driver retorted. “They’re not gonna stop until they’re good and ready.”

“I can hear you, you know!” Pip huffed. 

“And? Are you going to calm down?” 

A slow growl that shook the entire cab was his only answer. 

“Go put the radio on,” he said to the wide-eyed guard. “They need something to keep their minds occupied.”

“Radio? Like, to control?”

“No, you nit! Like the radio radio! With music! There’s a circuit breaker on the electrical panel. Bottom row.”

Confused, the guard retreated from the cab and made his way to Pip’s electrical cabinet. Opening up the “low voltage” door, he traced his finger down the rows of breakers until he found what should have been immediately obvious: a handwritten label on some sellotape next to the last of the breakers. It said “TUNES” in shaky handwriting, and was one of the only ones not turned on. Hesitantly, he reached out and switched it on. 

“-and that was “No Diggity,” by Blackstreet, here on ManxPirate, the eternally annoying voice of the Sudrian Sea. Catch our sound wherever you are, on 107.9 FM, 927 AM, 13.68 Shortwave, DAB, DAB+, and online at ManxPirate.co.im. 

“Oh come on!” Pip groused. “Now they’re gonna do the adverts! This isn’t any better than listening to the moron!”

“And now that brings us up to about five minutes til’ the top of the hour, so we’re gonna run some adverts so we can keep the lights on. We’ll see ya on the flipside with DJ Geordie Poppers, who’s gonna run a very special block of music for us, right here on ManxPirate.”

“How often do they listen to this?” the guard asked with some astonishment. 

“Too much, if I had any say in it…” the driver mumbled.

“Are you tired of your washing up smelling like mildew? Are you sick of having to pull down the drying lines at the first sign of rain? Then the new automatic clothes dryers at B&Q are just for you…”

The radio continued on with an inane advertisement about tumble dryers, and the driver put his head in his hands. “We’ve just got to make it to a song… I hope.”

Pip and Emma continued to stew in their own irritation. 

-----

Far away, at Kellsthorpe Road station, the last of the P-Way Gang hauled their equipment off of the line, sharing a celebratory high-five as they did so. There was due cause for celebration: once the NMT traveled over this section of line, their yearslong work of relaying the entire main line would be finally over. In the station’s car park, a champagne bottle was popped, and the foreman revealed that he’d brought real crystal stemware for the occasion, instead of plastic.    

Presently, a radio handset buzzed. “Is that the lot of you off, then?” 

It was Control, sounding less than pleased with the delay… 

----

At Cronk, the signals for the down slow line rose into the “all clear” position, while the up fast signals remained red. 

Pip ground her teeth noisily. 

“HI, I’M BARRY SCOTT, AND I’M HERE TO TALK ABOUT THE ALL NEW CILLIT BANG UNIVERSAL DEGREASER! NOW WITH NEW FORMULATION! SAY GOODBYE TO LIMESCALE AND RUST STAINS…” 

The radio continued to play adverts.

Thomas was growing increasingly fearful of the look on Emma’s face. 

--

A few minutes later, as an insufferably bad advertisement about comparing your car insurance provider finally faded out, a two tone honk-honk sounded behind them, and the New Measurement Train roared past in a cloud of exhaust and dust. Pip and Emma didn’t say anything, or even look in the general direction, but the raucous laughter that trailed in its wake said enough. 

Mercifully, the radio had begun playing something else. “All right then, got those ads out of the way. So what’s up listeners? It’s DJ Geordie Poppers in the hooo-use, coming to you LIVE from our studios on the ever so beautiful radio ship Tharos out here in the Sudrian Sea. We’ve got a very special bit of music for you coming up now in the upcoming hour - it’s a rare daylight sighting of our After-Dark Eurobeat Power Hour! I’m gonna be spinning some CDs and MP3s with the most pulse-pounding beats this side of Mount Akina - so if you’re driving right now, sorry about this.”

As John got smaller and smaller in the distance, the music began to fade in, very gradually. 

“And a bit of housekeeping here - we’ve heard from the artist and they’ve had a bit of a name change. Out goes Ken, and in comes Kendra. This is the extended version of “The Top,” by  Ken (short for Kendra) Blast.”

Slowly, a piano track began to fill in. 

Pip raised an eyebrow, irritation momentarily sidetracked. “Is this really the Eurobeat block, Emma?”

“I think it is,” she said, starting to go along with the intro.  

Thomas, who couldn’t hear Pip or the radio, had no idea what she was talking about. He didn’t like the look on her face. 

The trucks didn’t either. 

“Lads,” the lead container wagon said with gravitas. “We may not make it through today unchanged. It has been an honor serving with you.”

“What?” The low loader that carried the jet engine coughed as the container wagons murmured about honor. He was relatively new, and this was not how he expected his day to be going.

“Laddie,” Thomas’ low loader said gravely, understanding at once what was about to happen. “You’re about to experience something that you’ve never been through before. I’d recommend preparing yourself.”

“What?!” Thomas yelped. 

---

Back in Tidmouth, the people in “Control” were staring at the “big board.” For weeks now, the section of line near Kellsthorpe road had been a mess of green, yellow, and red lights, as the P-Way gang slowly finished the banked curve on the station’s east end. Trains, represented by little markers on the computer screen, waited for a free path, oftentimes with large delays, which showed up in flashing red and white boxes. 

Now, though, their frustration was finally at an end. The last of the yellow was disappearing, section by section, as the P-Way gang reported that they were clear. Three of the four lines were bright red - clear but with no train signaled through - while the down slow line was a green and yellow stripe. It was getting shorter and shorter, as the little marker labeled 1Q01 moved steadily eastward. That was the New Measurement Train, finishing its final pass of the system.  

Behind it, with the box flashing red and white from the delay, was 1B07 - the “Container Express,” already twenty minutes late. More trains were lined up behind it and the NMT, and others were queuing in a line that started at Kellsthorpe Road and went all the way to the mainland. 

The yellow segments were almost entirely gone, with just one signal block outside of Kellsthorpe Road left. 

There was a five minute safety delay coded into the signal control computers, specifically for when crews were working on the line. 

It had been four minutes and fifty six seconds since they’d reported that they were clear. 

Four minutes and fifty seven seconds.

Four minutes and fifty eight.

Four minutes and fifty nine. 

---

The signal in front of Pip raised with a clonk. 

There was still a slight haze to the air from Murgatroyd’s exhaust. In the distance, the plume of sooty white smoke he was making stood out against the clear blue sky like a signal fire. 

“Emma?” Anyone with sense would recognize the danger in her tone.

“Yeah?” Unfortunately for everyone else on the train, they couldn’t do anything about it.

“I think we should catch him.”

“I think you’re right.”

--

In the cab, the driver looked nervously at the rev counter, which had started to climb rapidly. 

“Here goes nuthin’,” he said quietly to himself, before advancing the throttle.

--

The music, which had been slowly building over the last twenty seconds or so, abruptly kicked into a high gear, with a frenetic electronic beat that belted along at 160 beats per minute. 

White exhaust belched from the twins’ exhaust, before quickly turning black under the load. Their engines ramped up to an ear-piercing howl, obliterating any sense of quiet at Cronk station.

Thomas once again got a face full of noxious choking clag, and his eyes watered while his hearing was momentarily deafened by the noise of it all. 

The train began to pick up speed, and the container wagons groaned in fatalistic anticipation. “It’s all downhill from here!” one of them shouted. 

“What?” Thomas hacked from inside the cloud. He couldn’t see anything, and his hearing was ringing like a church bell. 

In front, Pip could feel the unrelenting wave of horsepower and diesel surging through her system. She laughed joyously, with Emma soon joining in. 

To everyone else, it seemed somewhat maniacal. 

🎶 Final lap I'm on top of the world

And I will never rest for second again!

One more time I have beaten them out

The scent of gasoline announces the end! 🎶

--

The train vanished from sight, on its way towards Killdane. The stationmaster poked his head out of the station door. 

“There goes trouble…”

--

The New Measurement Train rolled through Killdane with fleetfooted ease. The rails were clear and the light train was aided by the downhill gradient. From his position on the rear, John felt like the entire consist was weightless, with barely any effort required to keep the train at speed. 

“You think we should go any faster?” he called up the multiple unit connection to Murg. They usually ran at well over 120, but today they’d barely crested 90. 

There was a cough over the connection. “Oh, not today. We’re still the fastest train on this backwards island!” 

Ah yes. A sudden excuse. Surely that was completely unrelated to the plume of smoke trailing in their wake. 

“So, how’s cylinder four feeling today?”

“Shut up.”

John smiled pettily to himself. 

In the distance, Killdane got smaller and smaller. A small dot of yellow could just be seen…

---

🎶 They all said I'd best give it up

What a fool to believe their lies!

Now they've fallen and I'm at the top

Are you ready now to die-ie-ie?! 🎶

---

At Killdane, the sounds of the NMT had scarcely faded before the sound of howling diesel engines filled the air. Heads turned to the east just in time to see Pip and Emma hammering around the curve into the station at full throttle. 

The curve was banked, but not nearly as steeply as the ones to the west, and there was a piercing screeeeeech of steel on steel as the train whipped past. 

“Slowdownslowdownslowdownslowdownslowdown!” There was also a piercing screech coming from the train’s cargo, as Thomas the Tank Engine felt himself rock back and forth atop the low loader. It really did feel like he was going to fall off! 

Pip had a very determined look on her face, eyes focused well into the distance, but those who saw Emma in the brief moment she was in view noted an almost demented smile on her face. She was laughing. 

All this happened in just a moment, and then the train was gone, roaring off into the distance at just below the line speed limit. The wind from the train’s passage rattled a lineside sign. It was a white circle with several thin diagonal slashes through it. 

It was an “end of speed limit” sign.

--

🎶 I came up from the bottom

And into the top

For the first time I feel alive

I can fly like an eagle

And strike like a hawk

Do you think you can survive... the top?🎶

--

John noticed that the small yellow dot in the distance was getting bigger. Squinting, he couldn’t quite see what it was. 

Whatever it was, it was slowly gaining on them.

Hang on…He thought. 

The cameras that were blanketing his sides were supposed to be recording the lineside for defects, but nobody ever cared about the “going away” view. Very quietly, he “looked” through the lens mounted just above his eyes. It had a nice zoom, and could see much further than he could. 

What he saw made him blink and look again. Then a third time. Then a fourth. After looking for a fifth and final time. He finally wrapped his mind around what exactly he was seeing. 

“Hey Murg?” he said innocently. 

“Yes? What is it?” Murg sounded far more irritated than he should be. 

“Think you can get us into the triple digits? Some of the boffins are worried about their readings not being calibrated right.”

“Oh damn them all.” Murg cut the connection with a pained cough. John had a distinct feeling that the Infallible and Most Invulnerable King Murgatroyd was hiding exactly how bad cylinder four really was from everyone, lest he be seen as “weak” or “mortal” by his inferiors. 

Well, he thought to himself with a hint of smugness as the train slowly began to increase speed. If he wants to play the perfect king, he’ll have to deal with the locals.  

Behind them, Pip and Emma continued to get closer and closer…

---

James and his coaches had been waiting on the dratted P-Way gangers for over half an hour at Kellsthorpe Road, and set off with a will when the signal changed. 

Of course, the signaling was all out of sorts, and he was running “wrong main” on the Up Slow line, but he didn’t much care. There wasn’t anyone in front of him, and was making “good” time on his way to Killdane. “Maybe we’ll still make it to Tidmouth before tomorrow!” he joked to his driver, who had long since given up on making light of the situation. 

They leaned into the curve heading towards Killdane, and that awful banana of a measurement train streaked by in the other direction. James whistled derisively at it out of reflex more than anything else, and was quietly grateful that the unpleasant train had nothing to say in return. 

In the distance, a giddy-sounding honk-honk drew his attention back to the line ahead, and he had just enough time to make out something streaking on the next line over before something-

Honk-Honk! Honk-Honk!

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

-ripped past them with a honk, a roar, and a scream.

“What was that?!” He yelped as the wind buffeted him. 

“I think that was Pip and Emma!” his driver said, looking backward. “With a container train!”

“What?!”

---

🎶 One more turn and I'll settle the score

A rubber fire screams into the night

Crash and burn is what you're gonna do

I am the master of the asphalt fight 🎶

---

John watched as Pip and Emma got closer and closer. In a macabre way, he felt giddy about it. At their current speed, they were going to eat Murgatroyd for lunch and still have room for tea afterwards. 

He had been paying such close attention to the rapidly-closing distance between the two trains that he completely missed the start of the banked curve until he was leaning into it. The rails bent underneath him and the ties whipped past at an odd angle as the whole world tilted a few degrees. They weren’t going slow, by any means, but the sensitive equipment in the coaches (and his years of experience) told him that they could have been going much faster. 

“Oh Murg… you might want to speed up…” he sing-songed. “They’re gaining on us…”

“Who’s gaining on us? What?!” Murgatroyd was oblivious, as was his wont. 

John wanted to say something else, but his voice failed him as he watched the container train, with low-loaders on the front, rocket through the curve at speeds that he didn’t even want to contemplate. 

A train passed on one of the other lines, and he watched the smoke from its stack get whipped and roiled by air currents of the two trains passing each other. 

Seconds later, Pip and Emma passed the train, streaking through the remaining smoke, and the force of their passage tore the cloud to ribbons. 

---

🎶They all said I'd best give it up

What a fool, to believe their lie-ie-ies!

Now they've fallen, I'm at the top

Are you ready now to die-ie-ie?🎶

---

Pip was high on speed, and she was loving every second of it. 

Emma was right behind her, literally and metaphorically; the sensation of pure motion and velocity was coursing through their systems like a drug. 

In front of them, so close one could almost reach out and touch it, was the New Measurement Train. John was watching with restrained giddiness as they started to draw abreast of him. He said something, but the wind whipping by erased all sound. There was just speed, and that was more than enough. 

Slowly, they pulled even with the coaches, and with each window they passed, another Network Rail employee could be seen looking up in astonishment. 

In Pip’s cab, the driver was holding onto the controls with a white knuckle grip. Officially, he was the driver, he was in control of the train. Realistically, he was nothing more than a rider on a bucking bronco. He surveyed the line ahead, and gulped. 

Behind Pip and Emma, Thomas’s eyes were right in the most turbulent part of the wake that followed the diesels. Air, superheated and filled with grit and soot from twin exhausts, poured into his eyes and swirled around his face. He couldn’t hear, he could barely see. 

Behind him, the wind whipped through the turbine blades of the jet engine on the next low-loader. It had been secured for transport, so the blades didn’t move, but the wind rushing through it created a high-pitched howling noise that simply added to the cacophony. 

Lost in the chaos of the wind and the noise and the exhaust, the container wagons and the low-loaders were holding onto each other for dear life. 

“I’m not designed for thiiiiis!” one of them shrieked. 

“None of us are!” the wagon ahead of him bellowed. “Just keep holding on a little longer!” 

--

At the head of the NMT, Murgatroyd was trying very hard to ignore the slight off-beat throbbing coming from cylinder four. Something was amiss with it - what it was, he didn’t know for certain. Driver didn’t know either - blasted man hadn’t turned a wrench a day in his life; wouldn’t know the difference between an allen key and the keys to a house! 

Of course there weren’t any fitters on board - “economic savings” kept them at home base - so he just had to deal with it. 

Just so long as the underlings didn’t notice, everything would be fine-

“Oh Murgatroyd…”

“Yes, John?”

“You might want to look around...”

He looked off towards the Up lines, and was rendered momentarily speechless by the sight of Pip smiling wickedly at him. 

“T-that’s not possible,” he said once he found his tongue. “That isn’t possible!” 

---

🎶 I came up from the bottom

And into the top

For the first time I feel alive!

I can fly like an eagle

And strike like a hawk

Do you think you can survive...

I came up from the bottom

And into the top

For the first time I feel alive!

I can fly like an eagle

And strike like a hawk

Do you think you can survive... the top?🎶

----

Moments earlier

“So how late do you think we’re going to be?” Percy asked as the train rumbled through Kellsthorpe Road station. 

“Oh,” Henry pondered. “We’re only allowed to do 45, and we’ve got to drop off the aluminium at Killdane, so probably two or three hours if we lose our path at all. Which we will.”

“Thomas is going to be absolutely livid when I get back.” Percy said from atop his low loader. “He was supposed to go in for his new cylinder block today, so if I’m not back, they’re going to have him stay in steam all day.”

“Oh, he won’t be thrilled about that.” Henry chortled. “I swear, he’s the only engine who likes going to the works.” 

“They treat him the same way James treats himself. Of course he likes going there!”

“Hah! I hadn't considered that-oh dear…” Henry trailed off mid-sentence. 

“What?”

“It appears that we’re about to go down the middle between Pip and Emma, and their favorite siblings.”

“What? The banana? Oh great.”

“Yes, they- oh goodness they’re quick-”

Anything else Henry said was lost to the deafening thunderclap made as the New Measurement Train and the Container Express roared past on the opposing lines. The wind felt like it was going to knock him clean off the rails, and Percy yelped in surprise as debris and exhaust fumes swirled around him like a hurricane. His boiler, a stout construction that could hold hundreds of pounds of pressure, felt like it was flexing and bowing from the vibrations in the air. He watched in open-mouthed shock as Henry’s cab windows were sucked out of their frames from the differential pressure, and were hurled through the air followed by every loose object in the cab, from hats and coats, to papers and even a coal shovel!

Behind and in front of Percy, open wagons of stone, and the coal from Henry’s tender sent huge plumes of dust and debris into the air, swirling and mixing into a funnel cloud that wrapped around the rear of the train. It danced in the tornadic airflow for a few seconds, before dissipating as the trains parted once more. 

The silence afterwards was deafening. 

“DID I LOSE A WINDOW?” Henry asked, almost unable to hear himself speak, as his driver applied the brakes and stopped the train. 

Percy tried to make the ringing in his smokebox cease. Closing his eyes, he suddenly remembered seeing something in the fraction of a second before the world went topsy-turvy. “Wait a tic. Was that Thomas?”

“WHAT?”

---

🎶 What were you thinking, telling me to change my game?

This style wasn't going anywhere; it was kaput!

You want to see what I've done with this place; this whole thing?

You want to see that I changed the game?

No, I AM the game!

Before I knew where this was going, I would've listened to you

Right now, I distance myself from what you have to say!

I made this something way bigger than you're ever gonna be

I made it this far; and I'm taking it to the top 🎶

----

Pip and Emma laughed gaily as they overtook the NMT, and powered on towards Kellsthorpe Road like they weren’t towing several hundred tonnes of freight train behind them. 

Murgatroyd gaped in shock as he was passed by the steam engine they were carrying as cargo. 

The shock quickly turned into outrage, and he felt the red-hot sting of being one-upped surge through his system. His engine began to rev higher, urging the train to move faster damn it. 

“Whoa there,” his driver exclaimed, laying a firm hand on the controls. “We want to make it to the mainland, right?”

“I don’t care!” Murgatroyd ground his teeth, watching as the container wagons slipped past him. “They can’t win!” 

But no matter how he tried, his driver wouldn’t let him speed up. 

He howled and roared impotently as Pip and Emma got further and further ahead. 

---

On the platforms of Kellsthorpe Road station, several surveyors were getting measurements of the newly-relaid line. 

Looking down the magnified optics of a theodolite, the true character of the railway could be seen. What appeared to be a straight and flat section of line was actually a ribbon of steel that undulated and flowed over the terrain. While certain sections had just been flattened and graded, it was impossible to fully eliminate the contours of the earth without starting from scratch, and so the line rolled with the small hills and invisible valleys instead of cutting right through them.

“Hey, look at that.” One of the other surveyors said from behind an optical level. “You can see the NMT from here.”

“Can you?” asked his coworker, who quickly pointed his theodolite down the line. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s just gone behind the dip. Should be back in a moment.”

He fixed his eyes on the dip in the terrain. It was actually visible to the naked eye, but its height differential - deemed to be “within acceptable limits” - and its presence directly under a road bridge - meant that it had survived the recent track relaying unscathed.  

The surveyors waited for the train to reappear, the optics of their measurement devices making things appear much larger than they really were. 

With that in mind, it was something of a surprise to see an HST appear two tracks over from where the NMT had been. They both looked to that line just in time for the train to crest the hill.

There was a brief moment, no longer than a breath, where both men could see daylight shine underneath the train as all the wheels left the ground.

----

Pip and Emma hooted and hollered with glee as they roared through the approach to Kellsthorpe Road station. High speed crossovers and the new banked curve meant they didn’t have to check their speed in the slightest as they charged onwards. 

The station came and went in a flash, and they leaned into the new corner at unprecedented speeds. Behind them, Thomas wailed loud enough to be heard over their motors, but they paid him little mind; they didn’t realize - or understand - exactly what he was experiencing. 

Behind them, now far into the distance, the New Measurement Train was just rolling into the station. 

They had won. 

---

🎶 I came up from the bottom

And into the top

For the first time I feel alive!

I can fly like an eagle

And strike like a hawk

Do you think you can survive...

I came up from the bottom

And into the top

For the first time I feel alive!

I can fly like an eagle

And strike like a hawk

Do you think you can survive... the top? 🎶

----

Further up the line, Bertie the bus was pulling up to a level crossing, just as the gates went down. 

“That was a great song on the radio, wasn’t it?” he said to his driver, who was thoroughly regretting turning on ManxPirate, thanks very much. “I feel like I should be racing something! Ooh! I know! The next train that comes by, we’ll try and chase it, huh? Just like the old times with Thomas!”

Honk-Honk

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

Whooooooooooooooooooooosh

The train passed in just a few seconds. 

“Nevermind.”

-----

The song wound down to a stop, but Pip and Emma continued charging on. 

The guard went so far as to pull the fuse on the radio, hoping that it would calm them down, but they were too far gone to consider dropping their speed until they reached Crovan’s Gate station. There, the speed limit dropped to 90; normally a mild inconvenience, but today it felt like they’d dropped an anchor behind them. 

Still, they continued merrily along through the station as fast as was allowed (much to Thomas’s dismay) and continued east along the line. 

As they cleared the station and began to speed up again, they noticed a cloud of smoke on the horizon. 

There was still one more train they could catch…

-----

Compared to everyone else in this story, Gordon was having a blissfully uneventful day. He’d managed to put that vulgar measurement train almost totally out of his mind, and was making excellent time to the mainland when one considered the workmen-caused delay at Kellsthorpe Road. 

There was a farm lane that crossed the tracks near Henry’s tunnel, and he whistled for it. 

Honk-Honk

He was most surprised to hear a horn respond to him, and was flabbergasted to see Pip, then Emma, and then Thomas pass him like he was standing still!

“HiGordonByeGordon!” “HiGordonByeGordon!” “GORDON HELP ME!”

The train raced into the tunnel and vanished from sight. 

Gordon could not believe what he had seen!

----

Eventually, the speed limits dropped, and the four track main line merged into two just after Vicarstown. Rolling over the lift bridge at a sedate twenty miles an hour Pip and Emma finally began to come down off their “runner’s really high.”

“That was great!” Pip gushed. “Just the sort of run we needed to clear everything out, am I right?”

“Uh, Pip?” Emma began to notice the state of Thomas. “I think we miiiiight have overdone this a little.”

Thomas could only whimper in agreement! 

----

By the time the New Measurement Train rolled into Barrow station some thirty minutes later, Pip, Emma, and Gordon were all trying to console Thomas, to limited success. 

“...Ahem!” Murgatroyd tried to slink into the station totally unnoticed, but John had no compunctions about making sure they were seen. “So, I assume that you two will be conducting all of this railway’s freight services from now on?”

“Oh,” Pip’s smile was very guilty looking as she turned away from the still shell-shocked Thomas. “Yeah. About that…” She swallowed deeply. “I’m… sorry about… y’know. All of that. The overtake.”

“What, me? Overtaken?” Murgatroyd tried and failed to play dumb. Well, a different kind of dumb from usual. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Pip’s smile grew much harder edged, and Gordon took the moment to intercede. “Look, Pip. You don’t owe that any apology of any form.” 

Murgatroyd looked aggrieved. Gordon turned on him next. “And you. You are an uncouth abomination who have done nothing useful at all. Take the apology, cause no more trouble, and find yourself a better attitude elsewhere.”

Murgatroyd puffed himself up with self-righteous fury, and John regretted being an instigator. 

“WELL, I-” He started.

“Oh shut up!” Thomas bellowed. “Stop talking before I come down there and peel you, you great useless banana! Everything that’s happened to me today is all your fault!” 

 Murgatroyd quailed under the impressive amount of vitriol Thomas was spewing, and he left in a chastised burst of soot and clag. John followed in his wake, not sure what, if anything to say. “Bye Pip. Bye Emma.”

Once the NMT had vanished from sight, Pip, Emma, and Gordon turned their attention back to Thomas. 

“Great useless banana?” Gordon raised an eyebrow. 

Thomas didn’t have the energy for a proper comeback, and simply stared at him knowingly. 

“Fine, fine,” Gordon acknowledged the unsaid. “For an off-the-buffer moment after the day you’ve had, it was a fine jab. I’m just glad that you’re beginning to feel more like yourself.” He began to steam off towards the shed. “As such, I’ll be off.”

“Wait!” Thomas called. “Where are you going? Who’s taking me on the pick-up goods?”

“Thomas, I don’t take the pick-up goods,” Gordon called regally. “That’s what we have diesels for. I believe there’s two of them right in front of you!”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

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

Post script: Low-loaders were subsequently banned from Pip and Emma's trains

[princelylove]

Good day, your Highness! It has been hard work out in the fields as of late, due to the ground gardening in time for autumn and winter. I was wondering if you could write some poly bruabba for all of us, for a boost in morale? If I have wriggled out of line however, feel free to have me flogged..! I would rather die than disrespect you! Regards, your ever loyal degenerateworm x

You're too excited about getting flogged. I'd make you fight for your life in the coliseum if you offended me. After a groveling session, of course.

For buy one get one free requests, I like to think about if the characters are actually okay with sharing or not. Most possessives would sooner cut their own hand off, cook it, then shove it down their own throats than let their darling be anything other than solely theirs. There's different types of relationships and agreements, but I don't think these two specifically could ever truly, non-resentfully agree to share.

I don't really think Bruno wants to share his spouse. He's very old-fashioned when it comes to love, polyamory is a concept that wouldn't ever come to him naturally. He's thrilled his darling has a friend, though! He's really quite worried that they're not socializing enough, not getting adjusted into his little family. Leone's an odd choice, but as long as his little amore is getting their needs met.

Never mind the fact that Leone was interested in you first and also isn't suited for polyamory. Depending on his mental state, he'd consider it and actually try it to make his darling happy, but he'd hate it with Bruno so much that he'd end up in the news. He's no dayouth. Don't know why he even humored it. Already had a somewhat established relationship, although not dating.... Sigh. He can never have anything for himself.

Leone is the type of man that gets jealous before anything even happens, because he makes something up in his head and hates the mere concept. His face is right next to the definition of jealousy in the dictionary. He can't stand the idea of you with anyone else, but he isn't in a position to tell Bruno to fuck off right now. It just wouldn't go down well, but he's not about to just give up when he's overly anxious thinking about what could be happening. Heavy boots pacing up and down the hall keep Guido up all night. Go on anxiety medication, man...

Leone doesn't really know what to do. He just wants Bruno to get the fuck away from his things. It's not fair. It's so not fair. Why do these things always happen to him?? What'd he ever do???? It couldn't be more clear that you're his. He sits next to you! He lets you eat off of his plate! He doesn't scoff when you talk! He didn't even insult you when you said his music taste was shit!

It's not like he's going to just sit down and take it, but he's not going to do anything that'll move him anywhere, either. If he does make an advancement, it's because he didn't think about it previously and was feeling something so intensely that he had to get it out, like how you'd lean over to prepare to vomit regardless of if you want to or not. He won't acknowledge it if you bring it up. He puts his arm around you when you're standing next to him on the train, 'so you don't fall over.' He fixes your hair when it falls out of place, if he can. He kisses your forehead goodnight and leaves a lipstick mark, he'll pay for you if you're out together, but he won't let you touch his cd collection.

Bruno... doesn't really appreciate Leone being affectionate towards his darling in the slightest. It shouldn't irk him, Leone's obviously just attempting to socialize and still hasn't gotten over how awkward he is, despite his age, but it's so.... it's just bothersome. It makes his eye twitch every time Leone touches his darling in a socially appropriate way, there is absolutely no way lint or hair keeps getting on their shoulders, absolutely no way they need to be adjusted that many times within the hour. Leone's always the first to offer assistance, always the first to hand you something you need, frankly it's just starting to piss Bruno off.

Bruno has never really thought about the position he's in too much, or about the fact that he could just.... make Leone significantly more busy than he currently is. That changes with this recent fraternization. He's a mafioso, abuse of power is so common that I feel silly for pointing it out. Of course Leone's schedule is packed. What's he going to do, work less? You die if you don't do your job. Maybe he'd want that, he's not the most mentally stable. What? You have to consider all of these things when you're capo.

Leone drinks about it, mainly. And hurts himself. Well, same thing. He'd rather just drink his heart out than try to help his case. With anyone else, anyone else, Leone would just get aggressive about it. He's fine with telling somebody to beat it when it's not his boss that's obviously got a hard on for fucking him over. Great. Absolutely great.

Until he snaps, anyway.

[scintillyyy]

listen, i'm not trying to pick a fight here, but i do feel the need to respond because i feel like there is a bit of a misconception about me going on here-

for the record, i do actually dislike jack drake on a lot of levels & i'm not trying to give him a characterization he doesn't deserve as some sort of uber feminist hero or defend him or anything. in fact, i do think he's quite sexist & a large chunk of my brand is actually specifically trying to suss out the complexity of janet, janet's marriage to jack and how he was probably terrible to her, fanon's response to janet & the misogyny she faces as a mother character. i mean. i am also interested in jack as a flawed and terrible person (and sometimes like to make funnies about him) because i also do like to think about him as a complex person since i like to think about tim's complex relationship with his parents and upbringing and the complex facets of the drake family unit as a whole. but definitely less him than janet, who i'm very frequently trying to explore as a character and the multitude of possibilities and explanations for her and why i decided to start writing fic for her that's sympathetic to her.

i do think your read has merit and you can absolutely read it that way, but i will point out that i really don't think the panel in question indicates that janet thinks that suddenly has found out that her husband is a terrible person who doesn't truly believe in ideas women's liberation

he makes a gently sexist comment that he (admittedly, half heartedly) then apologizes for when she calls him out & rather than brush aside her concerns further goes to find some people to take a picture with in respect to calming her worries. in fact, her teasingly prodding him that him making a sexist comment when he's supposed to be "liberated" (which is very, very specific terminology to use in the year of 1989 flashing back to the late 70s/early 80s & the writers would have been aware of what "liberated" explicitly meant in this time era context to use for this), and the overall tone of this panel to me, at least, indicates that him making a sexist comment is actually contrary to what janet has experienced his usual behavior and ideas to be thus far in their marriage (which at this point they are in their late 20s/early 30s given jack was like 43 when tim died and he's 3-5 years old meaning they've been married at least that long and i doubt janet, who appears to be a feminist, would actually think he's supposed to be liberated in the 1970s without him expressing some form of support for it at some point in those previous years). which would me that historically in their conversations jack would have likely expressed support for the things that "liberated" meant at that specific time period such as all the things i listed. and, clearly, he's very okay with women working giving that *both* of his wives have been working women with minimal fuss, and he's okay with the idea of janet being a working mother given she's a co-CEO of his company and she travels frequently with him to work rather than jack expecting her in a traditional stay at home mom role. this is very much in line with a man who, like i said, at least seems to *nominally* support the idea of women's rights, especially in time era context, even if he doesn't actually espouse them completely himself.

now this doesn't mean he's not also a huge sexist. lots of sexist men support the idea of women working. lots of sexist men support a woman's right to an abortion. this is what i meant when i said he's a man of multitudes--he can very well at least pay lip service and somewhat believe and say "yea, i agree with women's rights those are good of course" and *still* also very much uphold sexist ideas in his personal life. in fact, i touched on this in my original tags where i say that tim would have grown up in a house where women's rights were respected while his dad disrespected the individual women in his life regardless.

and, like, i am a champion for the idea that jack's sexism and refusal to truly see women as equal ultimately probably played a role in the dissolution of the drakes' marriage due to jack and janet's ultimately diverging viewpoints and beliefs and jack's inability to truly believe his wife could be equal to him. but all i'm trying to say is that more than likely, imo, the jack in alpod, early in his marriage to jack is also a jack that is at least somewhat implied, along with janet, to believe in the ideas of women's liberation of the time frame. he is often cast as a total social conservative, but, more likely that not, if you had asked him "should women be able to work, have their own credit, etc" he'd be like "yea, of course". he might not be able to truly believe in it, but he probably wasn't against those ideals, likely supported them in conversation with janet, and wasn't out there railing against them. it doesn't mean he's not also sexist. because he definitely is. idk i guess to me my choice of the word support was not meant to mean he's a total feminist. just that if you had asked him, in the 1970s, whether or not women should have the right to work and own their own credit. he would have said yes to those things & meant it. he's just also incapable of truly respecting his own wife at the same time.

like. jack drake is so very, very republican. but also. in the alpod flashback that nebulously takes place 8-10 years prior to alpod in 1989, when janet says to jack "sexism, dear? and here i thought you were liberated" it is directly implying that jack was, despite his sexism, a supporter of the women's liberation movement. jack drake was nominally a supporter of women's rights to work, have their own credit, get abortions, etc. i mean. he was also sexist too, but. he is a man of multitudes. please understand this.

[butcher--bird]

im actually having a lot of fun drawing right now. that's fucking crazy to me after months and months of severe burnout. like yesterday? I was having so much fun I drew 2 pieces back to back. we might be so back guys

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“You look upset?” Rogers’ voice startles you. You sit straight and rub the stitch from your forehead. How long has he been there? 

“Do I?” You wonder.  

Three days in this place, sifting through scraps and musty old receipts, and it’s starting to bleed through. Oh, don’t think of the blood. You grip the desk and shift in the chair. 

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Something wrong? I can get you a different chair.” 

“Chair, uh?” You look down, “no, that’s fine. Actually, I think I’m probably almost done.” 

“Good,” he says.  

He crosses his arms and turns on his leather sole. He starts to pace. He does that a lot. If he’s not sat in the arm chair or disappearing to wreak havoc out of sight, he’s there, walking back and forth. Back and forth. Combing his fingers through his hair, waving his hand in a wordless argument, moving his lips silently. Even if you hadn’t witnessed it that first day, you could tell he’s a man with a lot of pent-up anger. 

You go back to tallying it all up. Your stomach somersaults as you hover the pencil along the columns and review the numbers. Honestly, you are done, you just don’t know how to say what you need to. To tell this man what you discovered. 

“You’re breathing heavy again,” he stops and turns to you, “what’s the matter?” 

“Asthma?” You lie. He grimaces. 

“You got something for that?” He asks. 

“No...” you look away guiltily. “Alright, I don’t have asthma,” you wiggle the pencil nervously then tap your nose without thinking. What are you doing? You still it and put it down. “I’m done, okay, and, er...” you suck in air through flared nostrils, “you gotta promise you’re not going to freak out.” 

“Freak out?” He echoes as if the concept is absurd to him. 

“Yeah, because it’s not good news.” 

“Spill it,” he steps closer to the desk. 

You lean back in the chair and look up at him. A shank of his dark hair slips past his ear and the sheen of silver strands on his chin catch the light. His jaw squares under his thick beard. 

“Okay, but like just remember that it’s this Warren guy...” You clasp onto the armrests as you talk. “Oh boy, right. I’m not sure how to say it...” your eyes skitter back and forth. When you look back to him, that vein is bulging in his head. Just say it before he explodes! “He stole. A lot of money. And he actually hid it quite well but... yeah, I can show you--” 

“Amazing!” He claps and his face lights up. You flinch and your eyes go wide. Huh? He looks almost happy. 

“It is?” You flutter your lashes as the fog fades away from the edge of your vision. 

“You did it,” he said. “Get up. You gotta tell the boss.” 

“Huh? Me? You can’t--” 

“You’re the one who knows numbers. Grab the book, let’s go,” he commands. 

You don’t dare disobey. You grab the ledger and stand so abruptly, the chair snaps on the axle. You give a sheepish smile and scurry around the desk. 

He waves you out of the office. You’re all too happy to oblige at the realisation that you’re close to being out of here. He takes you down the hall and stops you at that same door. He knocks and waits until he gets an answer from within. 

He ushers you in ahead of him and shuts the door with a heavy click. That man, Buck, or Bucky, or Barnes, or whatever he wants to be, sits behind his desk. He is just as unimpressed as the last time you saw him. 

“Steve,” he greets the other man. 

“Go on,” Rogers nudges you with his knuckles. “Tell him.” 

You hold the book up in front of your chest and sway, “may I?” You nod towards the desk. 

Barnes gestures to the empty space and you approach. You put the ledger down, flipping it to face him. You turn the pages back and start at the beginning. 

“So, I was going through it all. This Warren guy. You see, here are the expenses, then--” 

“I don’t need the exes and ohs, doll, just get to the business,” he insists. 

“Right, I know you’re a busy man so I wouldn’t want to waste your time,” you chuckle nervously. “Alright, well,” you stand straight. Your head feels bubbly. “He stole a whole bunch money!” You say it a bit more chipper than you mean too. “Oops, well, not that it’s a good thing but...” 

Barnes’ eyes narrow and his chin ticks. You gulp and chew your lip. Shoot. 

“Sorry, don’t be mad. It wasn’t me, you know, I just added it up and--” You rock backwards and tip.  

You’re saved from hitting the floor as Rogers catches you and puts you back on your feet. He keeps hold of you, an arm across your back and his other hand on your shoulder. Barnes watches with unyielding derision. 

“Holy hell, she got something going on in her head?” Barnes asks. 

“She’s fine.” Rogers insists. “Look, Buck. We figured it out. You got everything you need to off that guy.” 

“Off... you’re going to kill Warren?” You squeak. 

Barnes gives you a sharp look and you seal your lips. Why did you say that? Your vision pulses and the colours blur. You feel yourself tilting and your head falls back. You slip into darkness to the shallow noise of your own breaths. 

When you wake again, you’re in a car. Rogers’ car. It’s dark and he’s silent. You look over at his shadow as he drives. You don’t recognise the streets outside the windows. 

“Noooo,” you sit up and pull on the handle as panic course through you. “Nooo, please, don’t kill me--” 

“Hmph?” He grunts and grabs your arm, pulling you back against the seat. “Sweetheart, if I was gonna kill you, you wouldn’t be awake right now.” 

“Oh god, so you would?” You screech. “I don’t know anything. Consider it all forgotten. Out of my head... oooh, my head.” 

“Calm down. Have some water,” he points to the cupholder. Your water bottles firmly in it. “Boss is happy. You did a good job.” 

“Oh, okay, right. Yeah. I’m a good accountant,” you say. You cringe and take the water bottle. You uncap it and clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” 

You drink deeply as he keeps his foot on the gas. You feel a bit better. You put the water back and wipe your hands on your skirt. 

“Um, Mr. Rogers?” You eke out. “Where are we going? You don’t have to say but I’m just asking.” 

He snorts quietly, “gotta pick someone up. You just stay quiet and don’t move.” He pulls up in front of a house. It looks like a really normal one. “Can you do that without passing out?” 

“I...” you look between him and the window, “I’ll try.” 

[wu-wakfu-undertale]

Re-watching wakfu for the first time in years and s1 Yugo was so silly???

dude discovered he could make portals at will and his first thought after actually acknowledging it is "i can do so many cool pranks with this"

[kayden-i-guess]

Okok so I am WAY overdue for a reread of the series so I might be misremembering some things but anyway, a lot of people have mentioned this already but more fairy culture!!! I wanna know what life is like for them, I want deep world building!! There's just so much to explore man. What do fairies eat? How do they cultivate their food? Did they have to change their diet when they moved underground? What clothes do they wear? Do they have more traditional outfits? I wanna know about centaur clothes and sprite clothing!! Faerie bodies are so different, what kind of beauty standards do they have? Are there any cultural differences between fairies that live in different areas? Between different races? Are there more underwater faerie civilisations besides Atlantis? What holidays do they celebrate? What are faerie schools like? Etc etc I could go on and on.

It also would've been really cool to have more gnomish in the books!! The message at the bottom is more of a cipher than a language and the books have mentioned what the actual gnomish is like (eg. The Atlantis complex mentioned the faerie number 4 iirc and of course there is the infamous d'arvit). I'd like to know more about gnomish!! Plus considering how Artemis learnt all his Gnomish from the Book I think it would've been cool if he struggled with gnomish a lil as opposed to being fluent. I get that he's a genius but c'mon!!! Language evolves, there is no way every faerie speaks in the same way as an ancient book. I want Arty's gnomish to come across a bit stilted and old fashioned (like the gnomish equivalent of using thee and thy), I want arty to struggle understanding gnomish slang! For that matter, I'd also like it if there were various faerie dialects!! Given how fairies have hidden underground for centuries and how hard it is for them to travel I think it's natural that language would've evolved differently and that they'd have a lot of dialects! Maybe it wouldn't make sense given how fairies have the ability to understand every language but like still!!! Fhjdkskd I love linguistics and I think this would just given the world building a bit more depth.

Also more information about demons post TLC! How did they integrate into modern faerie society? Like they've missed out on centuries technological advancements!! There's so much the demons have to get adjusted to and I wonder if the faerie government helped them get adjusted to these things at all. Were there literacy programs set up for demons? How did the general faerie society react to demons? Imagine being a wee 20 year old fae heading to preschool and suddenly a whole new race of people exist. Demons would probably struggle to find jobs given how they aren't fluent in gnomish nor can they read or write. There's just so much they have to get used to jdnfjdkd.

While we are on the topic of demons! The TLC code mentions demon sign language!!! That's cool and makes me wish we knew more about what being disabled as a faerie would be like! I imagine that the People's ability to understand every language doesn't extend to sign language so it's probably difficult to communicate with sign language to the average fae. Given the advancements in faerie technology I'd like to imagine that they have a lot of disability aids. Prosthetic wings for a disabled sprite, wheelchairs for centaurs, a seeing-eye robot for a blind faerie just CMON IT WOULD'VE BEEN SO COOL TO HAVE DISABLED FAERIES. fhdjsk.

I'm just so deeply interested in every part of what life must be like for these fictional creatures. Fjdjjjddk

Moving on from world building! Here's some of what I'd change about the characters!

Im a big ol sucker for siblings so more interaction between Arty and the twins would've been nice. What little we got in the books lives rent free in my head and makes me so so ill... Canon already had such good interactions between them and I crave more.

MORE ORION FOWL. Colfer's depiction of mental illness is far from perfect but it would've been nice to have the main character of a children's book series have DID for more than one book. Really it would've been nice for Artemis to have the Atlantis complex for more than one book. It would've been nice to see Arty learn to cope with his OCD and DID. It would've been nice to see Orion get to experience more of the real world. It would've been nice to have Orion and Artemis learnt to live together. Plus we all agree that it's ludicrous for Artemis to be "cured" in less than a month (iirc) right?

MORE ANGELINEEEE

Also if we're extending this to the Fowl Twins, although I haven't finished the series I would change a lot about it. For one thing I wouldn't send Artemis to mars. It doesn't make sense, what happened to his goals of reducing the effects of climate change? Why on earth is he going off to Mars!!!! It was bad enough when they send my darling No 1 to the moon and now Arty!!!! EPIN COLFER STOP SENDING MY FAVS TO SPACE PLEASEE. Plus I really would've liked if there was more Artemis in the TFT because as I mentioned before, the brothers make me ill.

Y’know what? I’m curious, and I wanna talk again-

Fellow AF fans, tell me how you would make Artemis Fowl if you were behind the writing wheel. It can be anything from “Juliet features more heavily in the plot” to reframing the LEP and fairies as a whole. I want to know!

I’ll give you mine- I’d make Artemis more interested in magical creatures than tech alone, and I’d have him wear suits less!

[aimasup]

throws up my hands in mock resignation but also a hint of frustration Okay Valentino is a cool villain I guess

He's like. Genuinely unsettling. Wish the show struck a better balance with his character sometimes (like sometimes when he's onscreen I have to skip over because I feel queasy and sometimes he's so unsubtle he feels more like a prop than a guy who's going to be a Huge Deal in s2)

[secretlythatsme]

i've seen a lot of dp fans in the dpxdc fandom talk about not having access to comics so here. it's completely free, good quality scans (for most things), basically any dc comic you could want is there. you should have an adblocker but the ads aren't the worst if you don't, just noticeable and annoying. you're not gonna get a virus, i've been using the site for years, as have many other fans.

if you genuinely want to read the comics, take advantage of the sites comic fans have been using. there's new and old stuff and everything in between. crossovers too. whatever you want to read, you'll find there.

[pa-pa-plasma]

you just made the scientific discovery of the century & you want to tell everyone & your kids are first on that list but you can't find them. you manage to get a hold of your daughter & she says everything is fine but her voice gets tight when you try to mention your work & she sucks in a breath & says she won't keep you from it any longer than she already has & doesn't say bye as she hangs up the phone. you have a sinking feeling in your gut & you really want to get back to what you were doing but. something's wrong. where are your kids. why was your daughter not surprised when you told her. why was she so quick to hang up on you. your husband has the same type of mind & that's probably why neither of you can ignore this odd turn of events & so you decide to track them down. the research can wait. after all, the spook got away somehow afterwards. it's not like you have anything to go through but data & recordings.