#wilford industries

[oswidower]

When I tell you this was the most exciting package I've ever received, I mean it:

[ray-green-wicked4good]

Wilford: Please remember that there will be a company-wide New Year's Eve party this evening. And everyone is invited.

Ben: What happens if we decline?

Wilford: I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, Ben.

Javi: But what if we can't make it?

Wilford: Lets just say as your employer I will be greatly disappointed if you fail to arrive.

Boki: You mean you will cut our pay?

Wilford: Or...other essential things.

Ruth: What will be happening at this event?

Wilford: We dance, we drink champagne, we play a few rounds of Jenga, and then we all kiss at midnight.

Audrey: We...all kiss?

Wilford: Yes.

Jinju: All of us?

Wilford: Yes.

Commander Grey: Like...all at once?

Wilford: Yes, God, am I the only one who's ever been to one of these parties before? We dance with abandon, we drink with gusto, we kiss everyone we can reach at midnight, which is why I would like Audrey on my left, Melanie on my right. And Kevin, if you behave you can--

Melanie: Don't get your hopes up, Joseph. I'm not going to your stupid party.

Wilford: Why not?! Give me one good reason.

Melanie: Because it's not New Year's Eve.

Wilford:...Are you sure?

Ben: Of course, she's sure, you idiot.

Wilford: ...

Wilford: Kevin, what is today's date?

Kevin: January 1st.

Wilford:

Ruth: I'm afraid you missed it, Sir.

Audrey: Better luck next year, Joe.

Javi: Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow, boss, but I've got plans tonight.

Boki: You mean we don't get to go dance and drink and kiss again?

Wilford: Now wait just a minute--what does he mean AGAIN?!

Ben:

Javi:

Boki:

Ruth:

Audrey:

Jinju:

Commander Grey:

Kevin:

Wilford: Melanie?! Did you all have a New Year's Eve Party without me?!

Melanie: ...maybe.

Wilford: How could you?!

Melanie: Very easily since you don't even know how to read a calendar.

*Bonus*

Wilford: I'm going to take Jupiter and have my own Night After New Year's Eve Party.

Kevin: Why don't you just call it a New Year's Party, Sir? It's still a special night, the first night of the new year--well, I guess technically it's the first full night of the new year because last night was the first night. Starting at midnight. You know, when you usually stay up to greet the new year--

Wilford: Oh, shut up! My party is gonna be so much better than yours!

Melanie: I doubt that. The Headwoods hosted.

Wilford: What does that even mean?!

Ben: It means we all got high, you moron. And we put glitter and nitro-glycerin in a bunch of beakers and drank it with some railmans ale. And Audrey taught us all how to dance to a song called Cotton-Eyed Joe. And then we played Twister for four hours while the Headwoods went around poking us with scalpels and sticking cotton swabs in our mouths asking for DNA.

Boki: It was amazing.

Jinju: They served charred kale. I love charred kale.

Audrey: I liked the part where we got to experiment on each other.

Javi: I didn't. They said they'd run out of buccal swabs.

Commander Grey: What kind did they use on you then? I don't remember much after the fireworks came out of the cake--

Ruth: I rather enjoyed that bit myself. I always like a good sparkler or two.

Boki: And the song! I love it when we sing that song!

Wilford: Just stop! I've heard enough. Come on Jupiter. We don't need these traitors.

Melanie: I think my favorite part was the balloons. And watching Jupiter chase them. All. Night. Long.

Wilford: *anguished scream* NNNNOOOOOO!

[hiding-under-the-willow]

Thinking about how in date he makes himself look like Mark and so the implication is that he can just make himself look human when he needs to

[krirebr]

I Know I Should Know Better 6

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Female Reader

Word Count: ~3.5k

Summary: Curtis has been working as your body guard for almost two years now. Standing by and watching you work and party your life away is becoming more and more difficult, but is there anything he can do about it?

Warnings: Angst, adult themes, complicated power dynamics, minor age difference (not explicit in this part, but reader is mid-twenties and Curtis is early thirties), explicit language, anxiety, negative self-talk. They're both having a bad time, you guys. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Finally back with this one! And it's the penultimate chapter!! We're so close to the happy ending, you guys!!

Huge thanks to @bigtreefest and @stargazingfangirl18 who talked me through this when I was struggling with the last scene.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screaming at me. 😄 As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You were lounging right next to your pool, dragging your fingertips through the water. It was the last day before you flew to New York to start the publicity tour for the last movie you had in the hopper. It had been made very clear that you needed to have your next project figured out and signed by the time this tour was done. Right now, you were supposed to be reading a script Wilford had sent over, but you hadn’t even opened it yet. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Curtis had asked you the night before. Did you even like acting? You were embarrassed, still, that you hadn’t had an answer for him. You’d started doing it so young, it had always just been what you did. Liking it or not had never been part of the equation. And if you were good at it, shouldn’t you like it? Didn’t those things go hand in hand? You were less sure of that now.

Last night had been eye-opening in many ways. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a night where you felt so much like yourself. None of the performance, none of the image. Just you. You’d been a little worried that the performance was all that was left of you. It was nice to see that that wasn’t true.

And then there was Curtis. Fuck, he was beautiful. On the outside, obviously, but inside – it sounded so dumb, but he had such a beautiful soul. You groaned at yourself internally. Very, very dumb. But seeing him in his house, with Edgar, in his kitchen, in his bedroom on his knees in front of you? Shit, he may have been the most beautiful person that had ever lived. And you were maybe in love with him.

Fuck. It’d hit you last night, during dinner. You’d looked over at him, sitting across from you, blushing as he watched you eat the food he’d made and it’d just popped into your head – I love this man. You didn’t think that’d ever happened to you before. So of course you’d dragged him into his bedroom. But even that was different. You weren’t used to sex not being the point of the whole thing. But Curtis made you feel like it was just one of a thousand things he wanted to do with you. That it was just one of the worthwhile things about you. It was overwhelming. He was so overwhelming.

And so, that thought. I love him I love him I love him just on a loop in your head since it’d first entered your mind. You grabbed your phone next to you and typed out and sent the message quickly before you could think better of it. 

I think I might be in love.

The reply from Marnie was immediate. 

That’s exciting, isn’t it?

You bit your lip as you answered.

I guess. I mean, yeah, it is. It’s really great! But he’s not in the industry, not really, and I don’t know. I’ve never felt this way before and so much could go wrong.

There was no pause before you had her answer.

Don’t borrow trouble, sweetheart. It’s ok to just let yourself be happy now.

You stared at her message. Be happy now. Before you could figure out what to even do with that, another text came through.

Is he good to you?

You smiled automatically.

He is. He’s so good to me. The best.

I’m happy for you.

And you knew she was. She was one of the only friends you’d ever had whose motivations you never questioned, compliments you never doubted. She just wanted good things for you. Because she liked you. That was it. Between Marnie and Curtis, you weren’t sure you’d ever felt so well-liked before. It was nice, to have multiple people who genuinely cared about you. 

You typed out a quick thank you and then checked the time and smiled to yourself before making your way back inside. Sure enough, Curtis was there, settled on a couch in the living room.

You lowered yourself onto the couch next to him, on top of him, really. You both cut a wary glance toward the kitchen but Michelle was engrossed in her computer at the kitchen island, answering emails, and managing your schedule. Jensen was out doing something with the car. There was no one else around, no one paying attention. “Hi,” you whispered softly, right in his ear.

“Hi,” he whispered back and smiled, that private one that was only for you. He wrapped his arm around you and twined his fingers through yours. You rested your head on his shoulder and hummed contentedly. You both just rested there, taking a quiet moment together before the day got busy and you’d have to pretend that you hadn’t woken up next to him, able to watch the sun rise on his face.

The quiet calm was punctured when, from the kitchen, you heard Michelle’s phone blow up and a moment later she cried out “What the actual fuck?!”

Your phone quickly followed suit and, most worryingly, so did Curtis’s. You both scrambled to check what on earth was going on as Michelle marched into the living room. As soon as she’d rounded the couch, she yelled at Curtis, “Are you seriously fucking her?!”

You stared at her, your eyes round. “What?” you gasped. You stood up, trying to put some distance between all of you as you opened your phone. The notifications were still pinging. Multiple calls coming in at once, texts, Twitter, Instagram. You opened Twitter and tried to find the root of everything. And there it was, on TMZ a zoomed-in shot of you and Curtis on the corner by his house. His hands were on your waist, you were leaning in for a kiss, a happy smile on your face. Whoever took it had gotten both your faces. It was obviously the two of you, clear as day. “No, no, no,” you started to chant. 

Curtis was in front of you in an instant.  “It’s gonna be ok,” he said, just to you, and grabbed your hand and squeezed it.

Michelle was still standing at the end of the couch, freaking out. She was focused on Curtis, mostly ignoring you. “This is a complete disaster!” she yelled. “I’d expect this from her,” she said throwing a hand in your direction without actually looking at you, “but I never thought you’d do something this monumentally stupid, Curtis!”

“Hey!” You yelled, finally getting her attention. “This isn’t his fault, ok? Leave him alone.”

She stared at you, her mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out, before her phone rang insistently. She glanced at it and grimaced. “Tanya,” she said, accusingly, “Of course! I have to go fucking deal with this.”  

Curtis stayed where he was and silently rubbed your back as you scrolled through Twitter. This was so, so bad. People had immediately started speculating about who you were with in the picture and it hadn’t taken long for someone to link to pictures of you with Curtis in the background. They’d have his name soon, if they didn’t already. And then the hounding would start. He was never going to forgive you for this. You’d never forgive yourself. 

You were pulled out of your spiral by his hand on your cheek. “Hey,” he said lowly, looking you right in the eye. “Stop. It’s going to be okay.”

You shook your head. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what it’s gonna be like.”

“Neither do you,” he said with so much confidence you almost believed him. He must have seen at least part of what you were worried about because his next words were “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

You wanted to be reassured, but you knew that he didn’t really understand, couldn’t understand, all of the things that were going to happen now. And he was going to hate you for it.

His phone rang again, still, and when he checked it, he grimaced. You did too when you saw your manager, Lloyd’s name, on the screen. He answered the call as he stepped away from you, trailing a gentle hand down your arm as he went. 

You watched him carefully. His expression was serious, but he didn’t raise his voice at all. Just nodded several times and gave short answers that were low enough you couldn’t hear them. With one final nod, he hung up and came back to you.

“I’m being called in,” he said quietly. He looked up and you followed his gaze to find Michelle standing in the transition space to the kitchen. “Yeah,” he sighed, “looks like you are too. All hands on deck.”

Curtis drove separately on his motorcycle. You tried not to read too much into it for his current state of mind. 

He rejoined you as you and your entire team were ushered into a conference room. You knew it was bad when no one moved to sit. Curtis came up and stood behind you, pressing himself into your back with a soft hand on your hip. You exhaled at the contact and leaned your head against him. 

Lloyd spoke first, narrowing his eyes at the two of you. “I take it from this display there was no coercion involved in this mess?”

You looked down at the implication you could have used your power or influence against Curtis, ashamed even though you knew that wasn’t the case. You opened your mouth to try to defend yourself when Curtis just growled out, “No. Definitely not.”

Lloyd gave a grim smile. “Perfect,” he said. “Then you’re fired. Obviously.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Curtis’s hand tightened on your hip. His voice was strong and clear when he said, “Yes, of course.” 

Your head whipped back and forth between Curtis and Lloyd. “What? No!” you cried. “Not obviously! Not of course! He’s my bodyguard. This should be my decision!”

“No, actually,” Lloyd said. “He works for me, not you, so I’m the one who decides what we do with him. Thank god, since you’ve shown such a shocking lack of judgment here.” 

Your head drooped in shame as Curtis’s other hand came up to hold you on both sides now. “Hey,” he growled. “She isn’t a child. Don’t speak to her like one.” 

“Watch it!” Lloyd took a step forward, but Curtis held steady behind you.

“Why?” Curtis asked. “I don’t work for you anymore, so fuck you and watch how you speak to her. It’s her work that pays you.”

Tanya stepped forward, putting her hands out to try to de-escalate the situation. “And it’s our hard work that keeps her employable.” She looked to you now. “You have to see what a mess this is. The day before you start a national press tour. Now this will be all anyone wants to know about. And someone who works for you. It’s not a good look and it’s going to take a lot for us all to clean it up.” She looked around the room at everyone gathered. “So we’re all going to sit down now and hammer out our strategy for the next several weeks. Media training obviously,” she said with a side-eye to Curtis, “lining up sympathetic profiles. We’ll need to figure out what’s on our ‘do not ask’ list and what we’ll have to let slip through…”

Her voice faded away as you stopped listening. You’d fucked everything up. You’d ruined Curtis’s life. Thrust him into the spotlight  Cratered your own career. Caused endless headaches for everyone around you. You could feel the tears pushing against the rims of your eyes, but you couldn’t let them fall. Not yet. You wouldn’t cry in this room with these people. “Whatever,” you said, your voice shaking. “Figure out what we need to do. You don’t need me for that. You can tell me on the fucking plane.” Without waiting for any kind of response, you stormed out of the conference room, Curtis right on your heels. 

You didn’t stop until you were in the parking lot, next to his motorcycle. The moment you stopped moving, you burst into tears. “I’m so sorry,” you gasped. “I’m so fucking sorry!”

“Hey.” Curtis’s hands gently, tentatively landed on your shoulders. “It’s going to be ok. Shh, it’s alright.”

“I got you fired!”

“Hey, I got me fired, ok? I made this choice too, knowing full well what the consequences would be. I–” He was interrupted by his phone ringing. He ignored the call without looking but it immediately rang again. He grimaced, irritated, but his face softened into concern when he saw who it was. “Just a–” he started to you, “I have to take this.” Then he stepped away, his phone pressed to his ear. “Hold on,” you heard him say as he left. “Edgar, calm down.”

You grew more and more uneasy as you watched Curtis pace around. You could clearly tell it was bad news. Of course, it was. What else would it be today? You wondered what else you had ruined for him, how else you’d made his life worse. You didn’t have to wait long to find out, as only a few minutes later he came back to you.

“So, uh,” he began, his hand on the back of his neck, “I was going to suggest we go to my house, but it sounds like there are a bunch of paps camped out there. If we go to yours, we can at least go in the back way on my bike and avoid them.”

He couldn’t go home. Of course, they’d figured out who he was and where he lived. You knew they would. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he said, his voice firm. “This isn’t your fault. It just– It just is.” He sighed and his whole body drooped with it. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

You were both quiet as you got off his bike and made your way into your house. Curtis was right behind you as you climbed the stairs to your bedroom. All the way home all you’d been able to think about was what a disaster this was and how you should’ve known it was the only way it could turn out. You should’ve expected it. You rarely got to keep nice things.

 When you got into your room, you crawled into the middle of the bed and folded into yourself. Curtis lingered by your dresser, leaning against the wall, his arms stiff at his sides, his face tight. It felt like there was an ocean between you. “Would you please just get mad at me already?” you whispered.

“What?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“I know you’re mad at me. You have to be! I deserve it. So, please, just do it. Get it over with. I can’t wait anymore.”

“I don’t want to be mad at you,” he sighed. “Today is already terrible. Don’t make me be mad at you too, on top of it all.”

 “I got you fired! And now you can’t go home! This– I–” You deflated a little, and much more quietly, said, “None of this would have happened if I were someone else. I know that it’s my fault. So if you’re going to go, just do it, already.” 

“I’m not going to go” he said, firmly. 

“Why not?” you pleaded. “Everyone else does!”

“Well, I'm not like everyone else. You know that. Stop trying to make me more like them.” He leaned his head back against the wall, and looked up at the ceiling. “I love you,” he said so softly. He moved to the foot of the bed, where he kneeled down and reached out to grasp your ankle. “All of you. Even this part. I wish you’d believe me.”

Your eyes filled with tears again and a little voice inside your head chanted tell him tell him tell him but you couldn’t get the words out, so instead you just whispered, again, “I'm sorry.”

He sighed again. He seemed so tired. “Stop apologizing, please. None of today was your fault.”

“You wanted to quit that first morning. I should have let you. But I was selfish.”

“You weren’t selfish,” he said, rubbing his thumb in a soothing circle on your skin. “You were scared. And you were right. I loved that this just got to belong to the two of us for a little while. No one else. That you just belonged to me.”

Say it say it say it, the voice chanted. Instead, you leaned over and kissed him. You tried to put everything you were feeling into the kiss. All of the things you couldn’t yet say. And you felt him tell you everything he felt about you back. It was overwhelming. 

Eventually you pulled away, but twined your fingers with his. “I wish we didn’t have to go to New York tomorrow. Wish we could just hide out here for a little while.”

He breathed your name and when you looked up at him, you were startled by the sadness in his eyes. “I’m not coming to New York with you.”

“What?” you asked, panic rising in your voice. “Why not?”

“I’m not your bodyguard anymore.”

And even though you knew—you were there when it happened—it still hit you like a ton of bricks. You had to force yourself to keep breathing. “Come anyway,” you begged.

He shook his head. “With everything that’s happened, there’s a lot for me to figure out here.”

You pulled your hand away and curled up so that your chin rested on your knees. “I don’t want to go,” you said, and even you could hear how small you sounded.

“Then don’t,” Curtis said, like anything had ever been that easy.

You let out a humorless chuckle. “I have to go.” He just scowled. “Curtis, I have obligations! You act like you’ve never had to do something you didn’t want to.”

He nodded as he stood up. “Sure, I have. Sometimes. Not all the time. Not everything I do.” 

You got up on your knees on the bed. “I can’t just not do the press tour! They won’t let me!” 

He said your name again and it sounded desperate this time. “This is your life! Aren’t you tired of letting everyone else live it for you? I know I’m tired of watching it!”

“I’m not–” you started, but Curtis couldn’t seem to stop now that he’d started.

“If you don’t want to act anymore, then quit! If you just want to take a break, then do that! The only control they have over you is what you’ve given them. Your team, your mom, your fans, the press. This is your life, not theirs. Please, take it back.” He got on the bed with you, right in front of you so that your knees touched. “I’m begging you,” he whispered, “live your life. Please.”

You just stared at him and he stared back, unflinching. You felt something crack open inside of you and you started crying in earnest now. You couldn’t stop. He envelolped you in his arms, holding you tight. Which only made you cry harder because you felt so safe there. 

Everything always seemed so simple when he laid it out like that. But this was your life. It was the only life you’d ever known. Could it really be that easy just to take back everything you felt like you’d lost? Looking into his eyes, it seemed like maybe it could be.

Very gently he layed you down on the bed, pushing your pillow under your head and laying down right next to you. “Will you stay?” you asked. “Tonight, will you stay?”

“Of course,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

You sniffled, your eyes still wet. “Will you hold me? I just want to be close to you.”

“Always,” he said, wrapping his arms around you again. “Always.”

Your alarm went off early in the morning. As you got up Curtis started to rouse as well. You gently pushed him back into the bed. “You don’t need to get up,” you said softly. “Go back to sleep. Stay as long as you want. I’ll see you soon. I’ll miss you.”

Still half asleep, he lifted his head enough to kiss you. When you pulled away, he fell back onto his pillow and closed his eyes.

As quietly as you could, you got ready, then grabbed the bag Michelle had packed for you and went out to where Jensen had the car waiting for you. As the car drove away with you in the backseat, something about the moment felt significant in a way you didn’t really understand.

Tag list is open

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[abe-the-detective-blog]

It's been a long day for Actor Mark. And it wasn't even that late, it's just that filming has been going awfully. It didn't help that the industry changed so much during the time he was away.

Whenever they were done, he just left without saying a word to anyone. He needed a smoke, if anyone wanted to find him, that's their problem.

The streets were empty, no one else in sight. But Mark didn't really pay attention to that, just walking into an alleyway in hopes no one will disturb him there. Then he fished out a pack of cigarettes from one of his pockets, along with a lighter from another.

"You've been awfully quiet today." He said to seemingly no one as he took out a cigarette. He only continued after he lit it. "Not even a single remark about what I'm doing. Spill it, what are you trying to achieve with this?"

He took a drag on his cigarette, glancing around. He was aware how risky it was to talk to the entity out in the open. Anyone could overhear.

@your-beloved-actor

Abe arguably had just as a long day as actor for having to track him down for the past few weeks, after finding out that man was still alive was a shock to him. Been years since he heard his name till he heard about him in a ad for a movie.

Looking up all the information on actor now wasn’t hard, blame everything being on the internet nowadays. Pretty good perk in all honesty. First he had found Wilford…well been tracking him and now here he was..tracking down actor.

Abe had a car but since the place he would suspect actor to be was in the same city as him be just decided to walk. Less suspicious to ya know. He walked around the city smoking a cigarette with his coat on and obviously his hat.

After a few hours of walking he groans and walked into an alleyway and took a rest for a bit. Jeez this was so annoying to him. That was till he heard people talking well just a man, he looked down to the noise and it was him.. Abe got up and walked to him. “Mark E iplier. Your ass isn’t dead.” He more or less hissed to actor.

[lounaticm]

So I've been massively obsessed with listening to FNAF songs lately I'm definitely very mentally well about it, ah. anywAYYY

Music headcanons about what the egos listen to??? 😁 Feel free to do as many as you want to, but I'm most curious about Murdock, Illinois, engineer Mark, and Wilford. (Also, I have some idea of what's in ur brain with Dark, but any more details would be welcome~) (Also also, Y a n c y)

Murdock - Industrial and Aggrotech are his shit, but also very much into Power Metal and Rock, the heavier the better. Appreciates Classical and Jazz, though prefers songs that sound more brooding and ominous in both cases.

Illinois - Definitely listens to and enjoys all sorts of cultural folk songs and the like native to the places he visits in his travels. Indie, Blues, and Jazz round out his typical tastes. People who don't know him tend to assume he'll like Country music, but he can't say he cares much for it.

Wilford - Disco is a very obvious choice here and it is true, but Wilford's been around for quite a while and has an appreciation for pretty much all types of music. He does, however, have quite a strong fondness specifically for Electroswing.

Engineer - Listens to a lot of sub-genres of Electronic and EDM. Like Wilford, a big fan of Electroswing, and also likes Chiptune a lot. Will put on heavier music like Industrial when he's angry or frustrated and trying to work something out. If he gets too strung out, though, he'll find some sort of rain or - especially after the Wormhole Incident - heartbeat ambience to put on and go decompress. Preferably with the Captain nearby.

Yancy - Musicals is really on the nose but also so very apt. Also Rock'n'Roll, Rockabilly, and Doo-wop, considering the whole 'greaser' vibes he's got. Also likes some sub-genres of Rock and Alternative. Doesn't actively dislike any genre of music, even if it's something that isn't to his tastes. Boy just loves music too much.

Damien/Dark - Classical, Oldies, and some Blues and Jazz are all very obvious and fitting picks (all moony and lovesick), but only very close friends and family know that he also adores Metal, with Symphonic Metal being his favorite of the genre. You'd be hard-pressed to catch him listening to it, though, especially after the events of the Party. It reminds him a little too much of a certain someone who used to listen to and play it with him...

Bonus (cause his music taste jumped out at me):

Bing - Vaporwave and Chiptune are his favorites, but he likes almost all kinds of Electronic and EDM. Always surprises people when they find him listening to Industrial music and its sub-genres, of which Dark Electro is his go-to.

[Partially me projecting really hard here, partially honestly striking me as making sense, but I can see pretty much all the Egos enjoying Post Rock. Some more than others, and some only when they want something to help them wind down, but still.]

[ruthiesrambles2]

It didn't take long for the passage of time to change.

It has been 28 days since departure.

Seasons replicated artificially in the greenhouse cars, but otherwise hours rolled into hours, days into days. Every morning, a voice from above, from ahead: Wilford Industries wishes you good morning, and the sun creeping in if you were blessed with a window. Otherwise the long night: the belly of the train, the storage cars, sanitation. Every evening the same: Wilford Industries wishes you good night.

It has been 109 days since departure.

A calendar was hardly an essential item, nor a sentimental one.

And so, weeks, months, years ceased to exist.

It has been 431 days since departure.

And so it was, in third class, amongst the working folk. Dates were like a distant memory. Some family heirloom in the attic that you know you'll probably never touch or use or think of. But you hold onto it. For posterity.

It has been 796 days since departure.

The doctor knows her wedding anniversary is soon. But she's skipped a day, she thinks, somewhere in her calculations. She tries to work it out again, presses the heel of her hand into her eyes. She's tired. Everyone is tired.

It has been 1126 days since departure.

Ruth knows the days of the week by their menu. Coq au vin, she writes in neat script. Tuesday, she thinks. And she knows - or at least, she's read in the event planner - that it is Tuesday the 12th July. The birthday celebration has been planned for 60 days or more. A cake, abhorrent in its splendour, waits at the bakery (she'll collect it herself, and take some brakemen with her, she thinks).

It has been 1126 days since departure.

There's a part of her that hates this. The part that knows half the world starves so this 13 year old rich girl gets to eat cake with mummy and daddy. Ruth works hard to squash that part.

It has been 1126 days since departure.

The room is resplendent, cherry blossom branches adorn the tables and Ruth sighs as she smells them. Some childhood dream flits vaguely in and out of her conscious mind.

It has been 1126 days since departure.

The party goes off without a hitch. Wilford sends his regards by way of a note in Melanie's hand. The Folgers show their gratitude by barely complaining when the champagne limit is reached.

It has been 1126 days since departure.

Ruth slips off her heels as the office door closes behind her. She doesn't bother with a light; the full moon illuminates her footsteps through the wide window. Wilford would be proud, she thinks.

The reflection of the moonlight on a plate catches her eye. A slice of cake, left on her desk. And that squashed part threatens to become unsquashed - a single tear wiped swiftly away. A peak at an heirloom left in an attic.

It is 12th July.

Happy birthday Ruth, the note reads, and Ruth stares at it.

Behind her, on the panelled wall, the clock hand passes midnight.

It has been 1127 days since departure.

[snowpiercersengine]

In a world where Wilford Industries was NOT known for industrial manufacturing but was in fact a TRAVELING CIRCUS...

Who was Audrey's trapeze partner that she could trust to catch her every time? (And did they have matching outfits?)

Ooo definitely Bess. I feel like Audrey would definitely make them wear matching outfits and Bess would pretend to hate it but secretly love it.

[olivish]

Would you rather have Melanie Cavill as your neighbor or coworker?

Well if she were my co-worker that means I work at Wilford Industries... and have a non-zero chance of making it on the train when the world ends... so yeah, I'm gonna say co-worker!

[punemy-spotted]

for the unannounced 16 tons 👁👄👁

16. Write the next 5 sentences and share.

17. Share the previous 5 sentences. 

You enable me, Brandybean, and I love you so. I'm blending this response into a total of ten sentences to make it easy!

Superintendent Wilford rarely graced town with his presence, usually preferrin’ to speak to the congregation of Snowpiercer through the church you rarely — if ever — attended, lettin’ Minister Mason spread that Iron Gospel of industry at her molten slag of a pulpit. As a result, you never spoke to him, not since the very first day you arrived in town, advertisin’ both the services of that boardin’ house you’d just finished building at the edge of town and the medical services you were now licensed to provide. For the most part, that suited you just fine. You were no stranger to the dangers of the world of men, or the things that crawled outta that path to it your daddy’d once thrown open — an’ subsequently sealed shut, once your momma found out about _that_ particular Pandora’s Box — but seein’ ‘em walkin’ about, calm as you please, as if they were not tears in the fabric of this universe meant to be squashed out lest they spread their wrongness to the rest of this world you’d been tasked with keepin… well, that don’t please you one bit. Which is why, when you walk in to see Superintendent Wilford sittin’ in the waiting room of your clinic, flanked by two of his grim-faced guards, you… Well. Don’t exactly show him deference. Unless this is an emergency, I’m appointment only. Wilford don’t seem too bothered by your… rudeness, though you catch one of his guards snarling somethin’ about teachin’ you to mind your manners. All you get outta him though is an oozin’ smile and a tilt of his head, I think you might want to hear what I have to say, Doctor… Rogers, is it? I know that’s not what they call you around here but— Fine! Your voice is diamond-tipped fury as you cut him off, thankful you gave your secretary the day off as you wave him into your office, slammin’ the door just before his ‘guards’ get a chance to follow.

Okay so I... blame my run-on sentences for this. Don't judge me.

Talk to Me About the WIP I’m Currently Writing

[maskofmilves]

If you could add giant googly eyes to one of the Snowpiercer props (like on Mel's little finger smashing hammer or Layton's conversation battle axe, etc) which prop would it be AND more importantly, which scene would it feature in to add a bit whimsy to an otherwise fraught situation?

Okay here me out: googly eyes on all the wilford industry pins on the teal blazers. All of them🤩

[oswidower]

In a world where Wilford Industries was NOT known for industrial manufacturing but was in fact a TRAVELING CIRCUS...

Which Wilford circus clown did Osweiller punch because they were scaring LJ?

a) Roche

b) Kevin

c) Terrence

d) Javi

Terrence. LJ never liked that man. Always gave her the heebee jeebies. 🤜🏽🤡

[ray-green-wicked4good]

Roche: Oh, there you are Engineer Knox. Thank God. You have to help me with this woman.

Ben: What woman?

*overhead, musical notes sound*

Melanie's voice: Attention all passengers, Wilford Industries wishes you good morning...

Layton: *points up* That one.

Till: Yeah, that-that Head of Hospitality ice queen is interfering with our investigation!

Layton: You ever deal with her before?

Ben: ...

Ben: On and off.

Till: Yeah, she's a real piece of work.

Roche: Honestly? I think she just needs to get laid.

Ben: I can assure you with 100% certainty that that is not the problem.

Layton: Interesting.

[enginire]

@nightcars // five times kissed.

001. ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS. EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN IN EFFECT. AS WE PREPARE FOR POSSIBLE DERAILMENT, WE ASK THAT YOU PLEASE REMEMBER YOUR IN-TRANSIT SAFETY DIRECTIVE: BRACE IN PLACE. I REPEAT, BRACE IN PLACE.

a stray bead of sweat tracks its way down the side of her face as the car jolts, quickly, heavily, flinging an overpacked toolbox halfway along the metal grate between two steel carts. (the suit is heavy. unyielding. it's a cocoon and two inches of reinforced woven plastic that keep her fingers from the track and limbs from the cold.)

BRACE IN PLACE. BRACE IN PLACE.

there is a chandelier swinging in the nightcar, and a bitten inner cheek as audrey directs women and children into the warmth, peeling off with heavy blankets and fur coats. don't worry. wiIford will save us. the eternal engineer will save us, is a quiet child's hum under screeching brakes and sparks flicking up into the windows. the eternal engineer will save us is whispered from mother to child, you'll see, you'll see. mr wiIford will save us.

hydraulic fluid stains through breachman gear, slipping between fingers as she drags her body further and further out of the bottom of the car. the wind is rabid, furious, spitting up driftsnow and chipped ice from each edge of the track as she reaches. it's quick. hard. two inches too far. one inch too far. one foot slips from the airlock. fingers press — stretch — shoulder threatens to dislodge —

you got this, meI. you got this. you can do this. she can do this. come on, girl, we can do this — we can — GOT IT.

there's a particularly heavy rock that tumbles down between the slats in the track as her body is hoisted back up, airlock snapped shut, and boki hauls her over to the nearest wall to gain her bearings again. heavy. jesus fucking christ, heavy. (she doesn't know how long it takes for her heart to stop pounding so quickly in her chest, but she twitches each finger to check circulation, and before long, she hears unmistakable taptaptap of heels and an are we going to make it? mumbled almost indistinctly from the corner of the room.)

her helmet's off soon after, a gasped breath hisses from her lips, and when she opens her mouth to talk, it's hushed immediately. two hands on her cheeks, splayed wide and bracing, and a hard line of red lipstick presses into her lower lip.

"thank you, meIanie."

002. ATTENTION ALL TICKETED PASSENGERS. WILFORD INDUSTRIES WOULD LIKE TO REMIND YOU TO PLEASE DIRECT ALL REQUESTS TO YOUR HOSPITALITY REPRESENTATIVE, LOCATED AT THE FRONT OF YOUR CAR.

teal is not her colour. the fabric is starched within an inch of its life and seems to turn her a ghastly shade of pale when the collar presses hard up against her throat. the wants and needs of the train are different beasts — first want cognac, third want better access to medicines, first want tempered ice and cocktail garnish, second want better gym access, third want reproductive rights and ration sanctions lifted —

the bees are the real first tragedy. there's a picked cuticle on her left hand that, when her mind wanders, she scratches at, and colony collapse has unprecedented effects that she's not sure people truly comprehend. no bees, no pollination. no pollination, poor crops. lower crop yields. starvation from the guts of the train and out. the bees are sacred, and yet — fuck, and yet.

first want honey, and that's the last straw. she has spent the past hour arguing with sweet, passive nods and apologies on mr wiIford's behalf about the extinction of the bees, and her head is beginning to pound with robert foIger's unmistakable legalese of a man who still thinks he's in a highrise office block in san francisco. there are no more bees! there just aren't! you can't have any! because! there aren't! any more! bees!

it doesn't come out quite like that, but she leaves with that same gnawing feeling in her gut and marches, red-sole charging from car to car, straight toward the nightcar.

it's not late enough for audrey to have retired to her room, but she tries the door anyway. two knocks, solid, fast, and the door's open. it's hard, when meI all but stumbles through the doorframe and grabs the other woman close. (the kiss is hard — she is all thumbs and all fists, gripping at the back of her corset and tugging her in behind the door with a ferocity that won't stop. she needs this now, fast, hard, in whatever fucking way possible because there's that stone in her stomach and the knot in her chest.)

the door slams shut.

003. ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS. WE ARE ALL HAUNTED BY OUR CHOICES. MAY WE ALL MOVE FORWARD WITH GREATER AWARENESS OF THE CHOICES THAT WE MAKE. WE ARE ONE TRAIN. TODAY, THAT TRAIN CHOOSES CHANGE. I HEREBY RELINQUISH GOVERNANCE OF SNOWPIERCER TO THE REBEL FORCES. THESE ARE OUR REVOLUTIONS, 994 CARS LONG.

it's not pretty being on the outs. the teals are shifted back into circulation, ripped out from the closet and folded haphazardly into a pile next to the intercom. the change in tide comes slowly, then all at once — from fascist bitch to chief engineer. one hundred and forty seven people have died unnecessarily over the past few weeks, and she's sure Iayton is compiling his own statistics from the tail up; a rebellion is nothing short of a massacre in a tin can, but the more she frequents the nightcar, the more she can see its improvements. rebuilding — scrubbing dried blood from engraved railings, sanding down the W insignias that drive this place fucking crazy. recouping resources, reinstating services, and seeing a greater incline in quality of life — not just for first. it's... hopeful.

the first drink is a solo one, and it lines the back of her throat with an unfamiliar warmth. the second is one shared with the only bartender on the train who doesn't wish her dead. the third takes her into miss audrey's room, and the fourth places a careful kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"what are we doing here?" tired and warm at the end of a bed — what are we doing here? what does the world have to do to put them together? the nightcar's changed, but so has meIanie. peel back the wiIford mask, and there's a woman clinging to the i in survival, and kicking at the a until it keeps her upright.

"living, meI. you should try it."

004. ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS. THE TIME IS TEN O'CLOCK. WILFORD INDUSTRIES WOULD LIKE TO WISH YOU A GOODNIGHT.

there's a steady hum coming from beneath her fingers, and a bowl of ramen steaming away quietly on the side of the console. javi would have a fit, but as her eyes blur and sting from being open too long, and as the monitor blares back a hazy 03:00, she lifts the phone and dials in straight.

"— 'henry hunter starred as dick sherwood in this 1936 american crime film'. eleven letters." it's become a tradition — or at least a comfort. audrey's voice on the other end of a phone, and four hours left on shift feels a little too saccharine.

"yeIIowstone, meIanie." y-e-I-I— perfect. she slinks back in the chair, resting her head back against its shoulder, and she thinks. pauses. sets the autopilot with a quick tap and breathes a deep sigh down the other side of the phone.

"come up?"

ten minutes later, there's a woman straddling her lap and pressing soft, careful kisses into her collar. (engineering is neat). fingers slowly coax the zip of her suit down, and meI stops her hands for a moment. just for long enough to tip the underside of audrey's chin and press a languid kiss into her mouth.

005. there is no announcement today.

she's fitted with a volt sled and a suit that swallows her entirely. battery packs, ration packs, water packs — everything packed, slotted into each available space away from the doppler and thermal blanket combo. (it's wrapped in there — keep the science safe. trust the science.)

she is not a meteorologist. seven years, and she still doesn't understand how they truly got to this point. they hurt her. boiled her. froze her, then held their hands up to say sorry guys, our bad while the vast majority of the global population froze in their beds and rioted amongst one another. she is not a meteorologist, but she's become quite attuned with the concept of survival. if there's anything out there, they need to know.

the cold lock is empty as she finishes packing everything up — enough supplies for a couple of months, just in case, but the plan is good. sound. the data is more important, and as long as she can make it there, and set up each probe — that's good enough for her. it's been a long time coming, and a long time taking arms and subduing human need. this will be good for everyone.

"you weren't going to go without saying goodbye now, were you?"

the voice comes from the doorway. she may as well have been in mourning dress, for the solemn cut of dark lipstick and the nearly-but-not-quite tears brimming in her eyes. (meI hadn't been avoiding this, but she's never been particularly good at goodbyes. so she straightens, closes the gap between them, and brushes her finger over the back of audrey's hand.)

"it's not a goodbye." it's a ninety five percent chance of being a goodbye. "— keep her safe, please? and keep yourself safe." it runs the risk of becoming more and more like a goodbye the longer they're there.

(ninety six percent)

when audrey catches meI's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and a sombre nod (yes, of course she'll look after aIex), she plants a final, certain, fervid kiss against her lips.

ninety eight percent.

[julesnichols]

In a world where Wilford Industries was NOT known for industrial manufacturing but was in fact a TRAVELING CIRCUS...

What animals did Sykes work with? (And did she give them names?)

This is another tough one because I don't know much about circuses! What animals do they even have.

[anywhr-but-home]

1. WRTH Corp Project 6: 00 : 00 : 00, Oppenheimer XVX.

2. The Anoname.

3. Wilford Industry.

4. WRTH Corp Project 14: XOXO.

5. Buried Chamber.

6. Florum Litterae.

7. The Ellensburg.