#I'm fine with whatever he's trying to achieve

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! Want to double check that I've done a decent job of avoiding disfiguremisia, and try to turn it into great counter to hatred instead of just an okay one.

Preface: I have a form of memory loss and likely brain damage so I cannot always phrase things clearly although I will try my best.

Personally I do not feel happy reading escapist stories as that happy ending is not achievable for real people. We don't get to live in a place that's completely safe and free from judgement. I'd like to write people in a hostile world who find love and safety and community, however this does necessite writing hostility. I want to make sure I'm doing so with care.

I would like to make sure that the hostility written as tension does not tar how I write how one of the main characters. He should be written with dignity and respect even when he is not being treated well by those around him.

One of my characters is blind and develops severe burn scars. He wears a blindfold to help with photophobia and sensory overwhelm, but takes it off when its dim. (CVI plus autism.)

While he does wear a cloth coverings in public due to ugly laws, he views it as a ridiculous requirement and happily removes this mask when with friends. He also enjoys that being visibly strange or somewhat unnerving to most people means that shallow people who judge by appearances avoid him.

Question: what other things might I be able to employ to counter disfiguremisia? I have him being content with his face as it tells a story of his life and he's a blunt, forward person, not covering his face for most of the story despite laws necessitating that he do so, and a few other things too (and many side characters with facial differences and deformities also).

Also none of the central plotlines centre around facial difference. He's joining a servant rebellion, befriending a bitter exile intent on status at all costs, and discovering the truth of history. (Also a mind controlling octopus being is involved and a semi sentient moon amalgam thing but don't worry about it everything's fine.)

I think later books will be a more effective counter due to lack of ugly laws and him finding a lovely interest. I will also do my best to make the counters feel real and feasible - I want it to feel like an achievable option for those who deal with prejudice in the real world. I want his happy ending to feel real.

I respect the hell out of escapist fantasies it's just that they do nothing for me personally. I really want to write someone dealing with a lot - more than I ever have - and coming out the other end happy. Yes this world is hostile and will judge me but I can find joy despite it all. Some say the world is universally cruel but I have not found this to be the case. It is wise to be wary but myself and friends can create small sections of time and space where no precautions are necessary. Am I not part of the world? Are not they? The world is not universally cruel as long as I and those I treasure live in and we are not extraordinary, simply uncommon, and what is uncommon is still a great bounty. (Something to that effect.)

I'm set on what I want to write but the specifics I'm more than happy to change in order to bring joy. Do you have ideas on how I can do this full idea full justice?

Hello,

before getting to your actual ask, I have a "few" questions about the premise of the story itself.

You mention that you don't like escapist fantasies - that's fair. Taste differs; you can write whatever and that's great. But I do find the insistence to write a story about a specific type of discrimination as an outsider rather strange. If you want to have facial difference representation, I assume you want to have readers with facial differences, correct? I mean, I don't think that many able-bodied people would be too interested in it specifically considering most don't know what it is. So okay, this is supposed to be a story of characters with facial differences overcoming centuries worth of hatred and all that. Arguably more, considering that disfiguremisia and ableism go all the way back to Biblical times.

Why are you the person who needs to tell this story?

Just as people with facial differences are readers, we can be authors as well. We tell our stories. I will take an #OwnVoices book over a one that isn't that any day, and this fact will influence the rest of this answer. I'm a firm believer in #NothingAboutUsWithoutUs and all when it comes to this stuff.

Have you talked to people with facial differences who would be interested in the kind of story you want to tell? Do you know what they want to see from an author that's not taking it from their own experience? I don't count here, because as I made clear before, I'm not and won't be interested in it. I also don't know anyone in the community who has ever said "I wish more people without our experiences wrote about how hard it is to be us!". You need to make sure there are people who want this.

So, have, or will you, reach out to those that could like it? Sensitivity readers, random people online who like to read about disfiguremisia in their free time, advocates who work on media-centric problems? Anyone who would enjoy it is automatically a better candidate to help than me. I'm too jaded, I suppose.

If you want to talk about people with facial differences in such detail and setting, you need to get to know us. One guy with a specific set of opinions from a blog on Tumblr isn't that (thank god), but I guess I can serve as a reminder that not everyone will be excited to read a book that represents them in some way. We still have preferences.

To write it, you need to involve yourself in the community, start actually spreading activism about our issues. Preach about Face Equality and celebrate when our once-a-year week happens in May. See what disfiguremisia causes. Share our efforts to get all the problematic garbage off the big screen. Read our stories. Understand us as people who are incredibly diverse, and that not all of us like to be described as strange or unnerving.

If you only want to talk about our suffering as some quota to fill on a "types of discrimination" list, it will always be flat and inauthentic, and if you don't put in the effort it's pointless. We don't want tragedy porn, and we don't need to be included in every story about struggles that just wants some brand-new type of bigotry in it. We want authors who care about us, the living and breathing people. And sometimes it might mean respecting our opinions on writing disfiguremisia.

Here is a great post by @writingwithcolor explaining the effects of tragedy exploitation. Not everything there applies, but I would consider it a very valuable read.

If you think about all this, and decide that you are ready to write such a heavy, community-based story, go ahead to...

Actual Answers! Hooray

what other things might I be able to employ to counter disfiguremisia?

Sympathize with him. Disfiguremisia is a tragedy, it's brutal and it hurts. It's traumatic and impossible to forget, even if it wasn't happening constantly just to remind us that it's still there. On this note, I would recommend you research writing characters with PTSD.

Have him think about it. Sometimes I get home after getting stared down on the street and just want to yell. You don't forget a microaggression or a hate crime after five minutes. Let him vent and let him be upset. He can have flashbacks or recall similar situations that happened in the past.

I'm glad that he's aware of disfiguremisia unlike a ton of characters who are somehow always unable to figure out that it's a problem. If the ableism he's facing is so systemic and severe, individual people will be even more extreme. You can have him remember that the shop owner was a slur-spitting bigot, or that his neighbors avoid even talking to him. I want him to call them out - in retrospective, at the moment, in his head, whatever - on what they're doing. Throw a "not this fucking thing again" or something in there.

The minimum is to make him feel like a human with an internal thought process, who is able to actually experience what's happening to him, and for it to have long-term effects.

Also, outside of the whole disfiguremisia thing and me being overdramatic, check out our #blindness tag, and research burn scar care. If you don't show the boring and mundane, it will only feel closer to tragedy porn; just a sad thing one after another.

I will also do my best to make the counters feel real and feasible - I want it to feel like an achievable option for those who deal with prejudice in the real world.

This I think is the part of the ask that made me the saddest, and not because of what you wrote. I tried to think of achievable ways; ways that we did it, tried to do it, and are doing it, and one-by-one I crossed them out as "didn't work", "no one cared enough" or "kinda worked but honestly, it didn't". Face Equality is basically non-existent, not matter how much it hurts me to admit it! We are trying our best, and it doesn't work. It's just plain hard for me to come up with suggestions for this.

In fiction, I suppose that personal resistance is the way when it comes to this. I don't think there are feasible systemic changes that could happen that don't border on magical thinking or get into the "singular glorious revolution that somehow fixes everything and everyone lived happy ever after. We fixed racism, yay!". This just sucks.He could try to educate the people who are willing to listen - that's somewhat what I'm trying to pull off here on this blog, I guess. Sometimes it works, often it doesn't, but in his situation it wouldn't hurt to try.

The fundamental part here will be whether your character is able to find a way to make the ordinary person care in the end. To me, society who still hates us just as much, with a small group that thinks we're okay isn't a happy ending. The opposite, rather. It's cold and isolating to know only your friends could value you as a human being, and downright sad to imply that we should be happy for that. I don't mean that everyone should love us in every story, but there's a difference between The Ableism being represented by an antagonist or two versus the entire world except for the main characters.

If you decide to go forward with this story, I do hope your other readers with facial differences enjoy it!

mod Sasza

[This ask was submitted before my announcement of not taking questions regarding this subject matter. As of publishing this, it still applies.]

#mod sasza #anonymous #face difference #disfiguremisia #tw ableism #long post

[kakashi-fangirl-ita-blog]

I SWEAR

NOT ZENO

PLEASE

OK, HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN SUS, BUT NOT HIM- NOT MY SON

I FEEL BETRAYED

KUSANAGI, WHEN I CATCH YOU KUSANAGI

#I'm fine with whatever he's trying to achieve #BUT KILLING THE OTHER DRAGONS??? #NU-UH #NOT HIM #HE WOULDN'T DO THAT RIGHT??? #RIGHT???????? #I NEED A BREAK #zeno #akatsuki no yona #Akatsuki no yona 250 #shin ah #yona of the dawn #akayona #yona #hak #Yoon #kija #jaeha #raga io

[cuntwrap--supreme]

The fucking audacity of this man to tell me he's never cared about me, then ignore me when I say that it was unfair to lie to me when I've clearly been in love with him for years, only to come back almost 2 months later asking me how work is. I can't do this shit. I'm too stressed as is. Too few spoons for my own day to day.

#leon bitches #I'm ignoring him until i can think of something to even say. if i ever do. #all i asked is clarity on what he wants from me because I've wanted nothing more than to worship at his altar for years #that i was the saddest most groveling mutt to ever be born and he was the hand providing sustainance to me #literally everything I've done since i met him was to try to impress him. every job. every achievement. just to get his attention. #and it was so fucking obvious that he has to be lying when he says he didn't notice #and he just thinks it's ok to ignore me when i ask tough questions. just ignore me and pick back up in a month #once I've had time to cool down or whatever #but i haven't cooled down. i can't. #he's hurt me so badly and so many times #and yet i continue to come back to him like the addict i am. and he's the drug. #i want nothing more than whatever scraps he can bother to toss my way. yet i know this will be my downfall. #my ultimate perdition #and i know i should wisen up and tell him to go fuck himself... but i can't bring myself to do so #because losing him is losing the person I've been for so long now. i don't know who i am without his influence.. #if he had just wanted something physical he should have said so to begin with #I'm a pretty understanding person. i know how people work and some people just want to fuck. that's fine. #but instead he made it sound as if he wanted to date me. and then didn't talk to me for over 3 months. #this cycle has been going on for almost a year now. i can't even begin to guess at how many years the stress of it has sheared from my life #so I'm ignoring him for now. perhaps in perpetuity. i haven't decided which will hurt less.

[idk-bruh-20]

Tony, the futurist

Buckle in folks, I've had some thoughts and I'm about to make it ✨everyone's✨ problem.

Been thinking about Tony Stark, the futurist who saw the end of the world.

Tony, who in IM1 escapes kidnapping and torture and says, "I shouldn't be alive. Unless if was for a reason."

who, in The Avengers, has this exchange with Bruce Banner:

Tony: You know, I've got a cluster of shrapnel, trying every second to crawl its way into my heart. This stops it. This little circle of light. It's part of me now, not just armor. It's a… terrible privilege. Bruce: But you can control it. Tony: Because I learned how. Bruce: It's different. Tony: Hey, I've read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure should've killed you. Bruce: So you're saying that the Hulk… the other guy… saved my life? That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. Saved it for what? Tony: I guess we'll find out. Bruce: You might not like that. Tony: You just might.

Right after this, Cap tells Tony, "You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you."

And then Tony flies a nuke into a wormhole, tries to call his girlfriend because he thinks these are his last moments, did not go in there expecting to survive.

Although he survives, he witnesses an alien army so terrifying, so unbeatable, it gives him crippling PTSD nightmares and panic attacks, knowing they are not prepared to defend the earth.

I'm thinking about Tony who, in AOU, gets manipulated by Wanda into witnessing his worst nightmare.

Which, by the way, involves losing all of his newfound friends.

Later, he has this exchange with Nick Fury:

Tony: And I'm the man who killed the Avengers. I saw it. I didn't tell the team, how could I? I saw them all dead, Nick. I felt it. The whole world, too. It's because of me. I wasn't ready. I didn't do all I could. Fury: The Maximoff girl, she's working you, Stark. Playing on your fear. Tony: I wasn't tricked, I was shown. It wasn't a nightmare, it was my legacy. The end of the path I started us on. Fury: You've come up with some pretty impressive inventions, Tony. War isn't one of them. Tony: I watched my friends die. You'd think that'd be as bad as it gets, right? Nope. Wasn't the worst part. Fury: The worst part is that you didn't.

Tony's worst fear is to survive in a world he's failed to save. He has to "do all [he] could" or else the future he's terrified of will happen and it will be his fault.

(Not to put too fine a point on it, but there's a reason why Tony and Peter are so compatible as mentor and mentee.)

Tony's seen what's coming, and he's willing to do whatever it takes.

Here's the thing, though:

Tony doesn't actually want to die.

In AOU, when they're arguing about why he created Ultron, Tony says this to Cap:

"Isn't that the mission? Isn't that the 'why we fight'? So we get to go home?"

He tells Bruce that the reason they should create Ultron is to have "peace in our time."

He tells Pepper that his constant tinkering, his inability to ever, ever rest is because he needs to keep her safe from the oncoming threat.

Tony has a life he wants to protect, people he wants to keep safe. And, unlike the other Avengers, he knows exactly how impossible this will be to achieve.

Tony is the only Avenger who understands how severely outmatched they are. Maybe Thor understands the threat, but he has no ability to imagine losing.

Tony tries to get them to understand:

Tony: Recall that? A hostile alien army came charging through a hole in space. We're standing three hundred feet below it. We're the Avengers. We can bust arms dealers all the live long day, but, that up there? That's… that's the end game. How were you guys planning on beating that? Steve: Together. Tony: We'll lose. Steve: Then we'll do that together, too.

Well, they do lose. And they don't do it together.

And it turns out Tony was right about everything.

He was right that he would survive to face his world that he'd failed to save.

He was right that the Avengers would not be enough.

He was right that Bruce's powers would be worthwhile someday.

And, apparently,

some people think he was right that he was only alive for this reason.

Because, obviously, the only "reason" for someone like Tony Stark to be alive is to eventually sacrifice himself, right?

A character so traumatized can only find peace in death.

Right?

No.

Stop that.

Tony Stark may have been willing to risk his life for his family, but that doesn't mean he wanted that to be his end.

Remember when this happened?

Bruce: Saved it for what? Tony: I guess we'll find out. Bruce: You might not like that. Tony: You just might.

Bruce gets to live long enough to like his ending.

Remember when this happened?

All Tony ever wanted to do was make the world a better place.

And, what about this?

You're telling me that Yinsen didn't value family above all else?

That he thought Tony should die and leave them behind?

No.

Tony Stark is a futurist.

He is the Cassandra of the MCU. He warns the others constantly of the oncoming threat that only he, apparently, can see. (Even Thanos calls him "cursed with knowledge.")

No one believes him. Alone, he tries to prepare for the threat that he has witnessed. He sits with his nightmares and tries to find a way around them, constantly.

He builds a life worth living, finds people worth protecting, just like Yinsen told him to.

To protect the future, he does all he possibly can.

Tony deserved to be part of the future too.

#this is messy as hell but I'm UPSET and I need ALL OF YOU TO BE UPSET WITH ME TOO #say it louder for the people in the back #TONY STARK DESERVED A HAPPY ENDING #FUCK THE RUSSOS #thoughts #tony stark #he just. he knew he was going to die. that whole time! #and he was fine with it but also he was NOT FINE WITH IT. #GOD. #let tony be with his fucking CHILDREN. his FAMILY. #you're saying CAP got to be with his family??? WHAT FAMILY??? peggy already HAD A FAMILY #never going to be over this #peace out y'all I'm going to go stew on this in silence again #just had to cause pain to others and as usual I shall now depart #irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #iron dad and spider son #peter parker #ironfam #tony stark deserved a happy ending #avengers #endgame

[kurain-genealogy]

i said i was gonna post about it and i am. i don't think william afton hates his kids. i don't think william afton is a mad scientist that kidnapped and put children in hallucinogenic gas chambers. whatever the fuck dittophobia said about afton doing all that, plus not stopping/furthering the bullying between michael and cc, is just dumb & wrong. william wanting his kids to fight, even die, is comically evil in the "bad writing" way. him being characterized as someone who experiments on children (including his own with no regard for their lives) in order to achieve immortality or whatever his supposed motivation is, is just really... nothing? as a character there is nothing to make him feel real. in an attempt to flesh out this character, they made him into a cartoon villain with "evil" being his only defining trait. whatever, i could talk for so long about how dumb i think all the dittophobia stuff is but i think most ppl on tumblr are on the same page regarding that.

to me, william afton is best characterized as someone who, at the Very Least, Doesn't Want His Own Children To Die. he can be a shitty father all around, or he can be a genuine loving father who is also a serial killer, as long as he Cares if they Die? most of what makes william afton an interesting villain, and where a lot of people interpret his motivation comes from, is how despite all his best efforts, he cannot prevent the death or downfall of his own family. he is in a tragedy of his own making, a self-imposed hell crafted by his hubris and violence. if you take this away, why should i care what happens to him? william afton was scariest when he was just purple guy and we knew nothing. william afton is most interesting when we have all these relationships and dynamics where we can seriously study and speculate the circumstances behind/around his actions, when he has something to lose (and will lose). william afton is most stale when more things are added to his story without purpose, filling in gaps that were better unfilled or we didn't even know were there – anything after UCN, basically. bro isn't scary anymore because he's either peepaw afton who's brought back despite his story being over, or he's cartoon network's newest over-the-top villian that you can't take seriously.

okay anyway. ANYWAY. william doesn't hate his kids. even if he's a shitty father, i think he still loves his kids. why else would he try and scare his kids away from the robots if he didn't want them to die? why would he design circus baby after his daughter if he didn't care for her, adore her, even? if you believe the theory that he talked to cc through the fredbear plush (idr if that's actually canon), why would he be trying to protect/comfort him?

i don't think he's a perfect, or even a good father, by any means. if you interpret him to be on the better side, that's great and fine. i'd love to hear how other people interpret/characterize afton if you wanna share! continuing on for this post, i'm going to lay out how i personally see william afton.

to me, he is someone who is very concerned and preoccupied with his image and how others view him & his family. even if he's super shitty and awful towards his kids, he at least cares that they all look good as a family unit, that they're well behaved, that he can send family portrait holiday cards to all his business partners and investors.

he strikes me very much as the typical authoritarian parent of the 80s. harsher on his sons because "men don't cry," wants his kids to say "yes, sir," and "no, sir," believes in "tough love," often says "my house, my rules," he has the final say in everything, maybe thinks hitting them from time to time is a normal, necessary punishment. not all entirely malicious, but thinks he's doing what's best, what's right, acting like a parent and father Should act, perhaps how he himself was raised. unfortunately, a very common parental mindset (even outside of serial killers). maybe he was a little scarier sometimes though, a little more unhinged or violently angry. who's to say.

but he's still just a guy who could exist in real life. he still eats dinner with his family every night, hangs his kids' drawings on the fridge, had to turn the car around because they wouldn't stop fighting in the backseat, attended awkward parent-teacher conferences, everything. he was once a new father who happily came home with his first newborn, lost countless nights of sleep over the course of two more, loves them because they're his.

meticulously and senselessly killed children, then came home and tucked his own into bed and kissed them goodnight.

he can be abusive and still love his kids. he can be a murderer and still care for his own kids' lives. maybe the loss of his own kids is what triggered his actions, or maybe it was something else. i'm fine with not knowing because we don't need to know everything, and it's more interesting when we don't.

Something Is Seriously Wrong With This Guy And We Don't Know What or Why. when acquaintances find out he's a suspected murderer, it should be shocking and upsetting. he's such a great man and father, he wouldn't murder those kids! when michael discovers his father's crimes, he should be in denial. sure, he could be scary sometimes, but he wouldn't kill anyone... right? there's a great cognitive dissonance between who he appears to be and who he actually is.

whether william descended into grief-induced madness and obsession, or was just always some kind of freak, or both, i don't think he saw his own family as disposable. even if he didn't truly love them, he at least needed to keep up his own facade as a friendly family man. personally i like to see him as someone who was a shitty father but still loved his kids, because people like that exist, and it makes him a much more interesting, realistic, and nuanced character than if he just didn't care about them At All.

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #william afton #purple guy #dontlistento me #sorry if this is so incoherent or all over the place or rambly. im insane. #fuck it im posting

[daidonzo]

Doctor, thanks for seeing me today

"She hit her head."

You looked at Usagi, wondering what the best way to kill her would be. Maybe strangling her? No, no way. She was way too strong for that. Drowning her or asphyxiating her with a pillow while she slept were also out of the question. Maybe you could throw her down some stairs or something. If you were at her back and gave her a little push…

"I did not." You pronounced each word clearly, as if they were a sentence on their own, shooting daggers at her.

You had gone bouldering with your friend. She had been asking for a while and you had finally agreed, although you were nowhere near as physically active as she was and were a little bit scared of heights. Not too much, just like any other sane person would be. And boy, were some of those walls high.

She had taught you the basics before getting started.

"It's basically a game of balance, technique, strength and brain."

"I have maybe like one and a half of those things." You had said, not very convinced.

It had actually been quite fun. The place you had visited had the circuits' difficulty organized by colors: white, yellow, orange, red and black, white being the easiest and black being the hardest. You had manage to do all the white ones, and Usagi was nearly beaming with pride.

You had got a little bit too confident, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

"Now I'm going for a red one!"

"I think… Maybe you should just take it slow, progressively. Let's go with yellow?"

But once you set your mind set on something, you always found a way to achieve it.

So you walked towards the artificial rock walls where those were, with your extremely uncomfortable climbing shoes and hands full of chalk to get a better grip on the fake rocks.

Usagi had given up.

"Well, at least there are safety mats…" And shrugged. She knew you too well by now.

You kind of wish she had kept insisting, because while you managed to get pretty far on the red circuit, you also lost balance at some point in time and hit your head against one of the fake rocks. And then you fell. Pathetic. Utterly awful.

It didn't hurt that much, but Usagi still insisted on taking you to the hospital.

"Slow down, cowboy. This is not my first rodeo. You know how clumsy I am, I fall all the time!"

But just like it happened with you, there was nobody stopping her when it came to worrying for her friends. And you loved her for that.

What you didn't love her for was for telling your long-haired, blonde, extremely-handsome doctor every detail about your ridiculous fall.

"She did hit her head. And then she fell. She also scratched her hands, trying to grip at anything while she was falling, but she couldn't do it so…"

"No. That didn't happen like that. I decided to let myself fall because…"

The doctor's brown eyes moved from Usagi to you and from you to Usagi. Was there… A hint of entertainment in his face? Was he actually enjoying this?

"If you don't tell me what happens, I cannot do a proper examination." He finally said, his intense gaze focusing on you.

You looked at his identification badge, squinting your eyes to read what it said.

"You see, Dr. Chishiya…" You started, curving your lips upwards, into the most charming and seductive smile you could manage. "Nothing happened. I'm fine."

He kept looking at you, without changing his expression. He was kind of intimidating.

"Whatever, I hit my head." You finally agreed, rolling your eyes. Usagi laughed, but covered her mouth with her hand, and had the decency to mask it as a cough, at least.

"Could you wait outside?" Chishiya said to your friend, who nodded and left the room.

He started his examination. He checked your vision, your hearing, asked you simple questions, and touched your head to see how it felt. You felt shivers down your spine when his skin came in contact with yours, but didn't say anything.

He was just a doctor, doing his job. There was nothing strange about this. However, you couldn't help but imagine that his fingers lingered for a moment longer on your skin because he liked you, that maybe he was not required to touch you but he also felt the connection, the attraction…

Of course, that was not the case. But there was nothing wrong with creating fake scenarios in your head, as long as you were realistic about it. One had to be.

"You are alright." He determined after the examination, sitting behind his desk. "The spot where you hit yourself is inflamed. It shouldn't hurt more than it does already, but you can take ibuprofen if it does."

"Thanks, doc."

"If there is nothing else…"

But there was something else. You didn't want to just leave. You wanted to get to know him. Maybe get his number? Was it ethical to ask for a doctor's number?

No, really, was it? Maybe since he was not your doctor, but someone who simply had to work today in emergency care…

Your brain was spiraling, fast and furious, trying to find a way.

"What if I hit my head again?" You asked, trying to gain some time.

He lifted his eyes from the piece of paper he was writing something on, perplexed. "Is that something that happens often?"

"More often than you think. It's quite big so I guess it has its own gravitational field and you know, objects get attracted to it."

You didn't have a particularly big head. You used to, back when you were a kid, but your body had grown as well and now everything was more or less balanced.

You still made jokes about it, from time to time.

He looked as if he didn't know how to react.

"Well, then…"

"Do I just come back and ask for Dr. Chishiya?"

"No."

Damn, that was fast. He could have pretended at least to think about it for a few seconds.

"I'm actually still a student."

"Ah."

"Specializing in pediatric cardiac surgery."

"None of those words have anything to do with me, I get it."

One of the corners of his mouth lifted up. Well, at least he found you funny.

"And it wouldn't be very moral."

"What do you mean? Repeating an appointment with the same doctor is not moral?"

"I meant I was waiting until after your visit was over to ask you if you wanted to get coffee. And it would not be appropriate for me to do so if you were my patient."

You blinked, unsure of what you were hearing.

He wanted to ask you for coffee?

"Ah… Okay, sure. Are you…"

"I'm free in half an hour."

"Okay, yeah. I'll… Be by the entrance?"

"See you then."

Was he serious?

You left his office, still not believing what just happened. Usagi was waiting for you by the door.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, don't worry. I'm having coffee with him in thirty minutes."

"You are what!?"

You lifted your shoulders, your mind devoid of thought. "I don't know…"

Usagi let out a bubbly laugh, feeling all the excitement you should have been experiencing.

She agreed to wait with you by the entrance.

Arisu, her boyfriend, would come pick her up in thirty minutes and you could leave with them if it all turned out to be a cruel joke the handsome doctor Chishiya was playing on you.

It wasn't, because exactly twenty-eight minutes later you heard his voice coming from behind.

"Are you ready to go?"

#chishiya x fem!reader #chishiya x reader #chishiya fanfic #chishiya #aib chishiya #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya imagine #chishiya fic #chishiya angst #shuntaro chishiya #shuntaro chishiya x reader #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x you #chishiya x y/n #chishiya fluff #trapped in your spider web #chishiya oneshot

[ladyluscinia]

Draft clearing. I think I had more of a point on the topic of Jenkins and genre I wanted to make when I gathered these, but I'm not feeling it anymore. However, I need spread awareness of his absolutely baffling ideas about pirate media and how he sounds half-convinced it must be a formulaic action/adventure. I only picked up on this by reading way too many interviews back to back so I'm not surprised I've never seen anyone else mention it, but like. It's wild. And he's SO additionally weird about how showrunning a piece of media about pirates relates to whatever concept he has of pirate media in his head.

Here's the link to my interview compilation if you want to check my sources on these.

Jenkins Quotes on "Pirate Genre"

"I think actual pirate stuff is fine, but it's not necessarily my cup of tea. And I think Taika [Waititi] felt similarly.

[...]

Showrunner Jenkins sees Our Flag Means Death as having "joy. A lot of joy. I like Stede because Stede is, to me, the outsider artist of pirates. And I think in designing the show, I was conscious [of the fact that it's] a hard genre to do anything to. It's a very stubborn genre because it's been done so well and so often. So I kind of tried to look at, like New York, like Alphabet City in the '80s via a pirate genre via Mad Max and try to throw all these different things at it. So I think you'll get a different feel than you'd get on a normal pirate thing. I think we achieved that with our amazing crew." - (Gizmodo, 2/22/22)

"I guess I really… I get kind of bored. How much pirate can you do? They're going to rob stuff. They're going to steal ships. There's only so many pirate stories you can do." - (Collider, 3/24/22)

Despite creating a pirate show, he himself says he's not a huge fan of pirate movies. - (EW.com, 12/13/22)

"I don't want to see a bunch of pirate things that I've seen in other things, I'll just go watch another thing if I want to see that. That's not really my thing. I like the genre, but it's a very hard genre to budge. I want to see relationships in a pirate world." - (TV Guide, 10/5/23)

"The pirate genre is fun, but I wasn't dying to make a pirate show. Taika wasn't dying to make a pirate show. But the thing that was interesting to me was that Stede finds love, and he finds it with Blackbeard." - (Variety, 10/13/23)

"I think there is something in the show about how piracy is a brutal way of life. It's essentially Mad Max, this world. There's no law, there's just strong and weak." - (Polygon, 10/21/23)

"And it’s also a pirate show, so he’s got to die." - (Vanity Fair, 10/26/23)

"Another thing I love is what I call shaggy stories, stories about people navigating each other. When you plug them into different genres, you get this great engine that comes with it. I'm not particularly dying to write a pirate thing, but I want to write a bunch of characters trying to navigate each other in a pirate thing." - (Vulture, 10/28/23)

"But I'm like you. I'm not a big pirate person. In general, it's a big creaky genre that's hard to budge, but I think the show benefits from we can pull pirate stuff out when we need it. Ultimately, yeah, I want to see these different relationships and perspectives on different relationships. Then it's fun to plug it into an overwrought genre.

[...]

Pirates of the Caribbean, those movies are great. That's not necessarily what I hunger to see, but in that genre, it's great. You're not going to beat that, especially on something that's lower budget. We've seen a lot of this stuff, so it's fun to take it then and don't do any of that stuff." - (Metro Weekly, 11/1/23)

"I think it's more interesting to me that I've never seen a love story like this in this genre, and you dream for that. Really, pirates, what can you do that's different with pirates?

[...]

To me, to tell the story about these two men in this very hetero action genre, falling for each other..." - (Metro Weekly, 11/1/23)

---

...This is the same guy who just ended a season on the British Navy blowing up Nassau for symbolism reasons that I'm pretty sure have nothing to do with the love story. 🤨

#good news - his forest fight is probably not intentionally a weak parody of black sails #because despite being a known tragedy enjoyer i don't think he would watch black sails #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd piracy #david jenkins #i'll also do just to be safe #ofmd critical #even though this is 90% just pulling his own words together for you to make your own conclusion #ladyluscinia

[jokingmisfit]

Not Yet Forgotten

Platonic Future Hamato Brothers x Neglected Reader

Warnings- Angst with Happy Ending, Reader is Casey Jr's Sibling, Neglectful Parental Figures, Severe Injuries, Mentions of Blood and Broken Bones, Near Death Experience, Hurt with Comfort, Head Injury, Mention of Reader having Mystic Powers

Notes- I may make a different version from 3rd person pov to show how bad the boys felt. I don't know anything about medicine so please forgive me for any incorrect everything. Wrote this right before therapy and I think it shows. Lol, Enjoy!

Your breathing was fast, but muffled through your hand. It felt like your lungs were on fire. You don't know how far you've run, but you hope that it's far enough.

Only an hour earlier, Krang dogs surrounded you and your crew. The rest were already dead... You were frightened and angry. You knew that if only they'd taught you how to fight as well as they had Casey, then you wouldn't be in this situation. They didn't care for you. Your brother being far too important, apparently, for you to be cared for at all. 

Made sense in your mind. You didn't look like your mother like Casey did. Didn't share a name or even blood. Just another "stray" she'd picked up, but she loved you. In her own way. Too bad when she died the knowledge she left you with was all you'd be given. No sessions with Leonardo. No kind words from Michelangelo or Raphael. No scolding on health or knowledge from Donatello. It was like you were invisible. Unimportant. 

You and your team had done so much. Achieved amazing things, but every achievement was overlooked. Every injury was ignored. Perhaps you did learn a few things... Fending for yourself. That didn't help now, though.

Climbing the rubble. You could feel the parts of your body move in ways they weren't made for. You were strong but how strong would you have to be to defy death itself. You had sent out the SOS so long ago, yet it seems as if nobody will come.

Your blood stained broken concrete rocks. You prayed to whatever higher being was above that, just this once, they wouldn't overlook you. That the people who were supposed to care the most would save you.

You finally collapsed at the top of the heap. Only small peaks of the red sky could be seen. You were safe, for now, but you were bloodied and broken. Your stash of medical supplies were carried by a dead man. You wouldn't last, not long, at least.

You hit the alert again seeing as the purple light went out. Hitting the button over and over as your breath thinned. It felt harder to breathe with every second. 

An alert came back to you. A communication. You heard April once say it was like a phone call. Whatever that was. You pressed the button to hear the voice on the other end. It was Donatellos.

"Are you there? Can you hear me?" His voice was wavering. Something you'd never heard before.

With a raspy tone you whispered out your response. "You got... got te loc-location right?"

He sighed on the other end. "Yes we have it. A rescue team has already found the rest. Where are you hurt?"

"Hehe." Your laugh is cut off by coughing. Blood bubbling up in your lungs and throat. Looking at the gashes and stuck out bones, you answer. "Every- Everywhere..."

Silence met you on the other end. Silence and the clicking of the keyboard.

A deep breath, and you talk again. "I know... I- I know you all... Probably don't- don't care... but I don't wanna die... I don wanna die." A sob escapes your mouth, cutting off your sentence.

The pain and fear causing tears to cascade down your face.

The clicking stopped at your words.

Donatello responds after a few seconds. "They're almost there... I- You need to stay awake and you'll be fine. We- I won't let you die."

"I'm- I'm so sorry..." Your breath stops in your chest. "I shoulda- should of done better... I try- tried so hard... Was never good enough. I can't- can't breathe." Your words are heavy and painful as you sob them out.

"HELLO!" You heard Leonardo yell.

Before you had a chance to answer a light came from your gear. The communication line ending and sends an alert to the other mutant.

Footsteps could be heard from multiple beings. Talking and panic is heard as you stare at the broken roof with blurry eyes.

Raphael's face coming into view before anything else. If you weren't in so much pain you'd smile at him. Instead you stare as he picks you up gently. His words sound soft but melt in your head making them unknown. He holds you close and moves quickly. 

A whisper escapes you. "you came..." The statement soft and broken from your lips. The only evidence he heard you being the tilt of his head as he stares with worried eyes.

You held on tightly to your consciences. You held on for however long it took to be laid on a table. Long enough to have something put over your face. Long enough to feel a hand pet your head slightly as your eyes finally close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It hurt. Everything hurt. Your eyes flutter open, but they're unfocused.

"They're awake!" You heard someone yell.

You flinch at the noise. A whine escaping the back of your throat from the pain.

"Be quiet. They're not going to react well to loud noises." You heard another voice scolds matter-of-factly.

You huff out heavy breaths. You try sitting up only for a large hand to, gently, hold you down. You blink several times to try and see better. Figures, shapes, and colors bounced around but nothing appeared sensical. 

"How are they?" A voice says nervously and stern at the same time. Their footsteps stop towards you.

The hands that were moving on and around you pause for a moment before an answer. "They're discombobulated."

"What the hell? English, Donnie." The voice answers.

Your voice is scratchy and comes out in squeaks. "Don- Donnie?"

Your question goes unanswered, but you were glad you finally knew who one of the voices belonged to. You were with Donatello.

"They had a head injury, so their brains jumbled. They can't see straight... At least we can be sure that they can hear fine." He answers with distaste.

A hand sets itself on your head and plays with your hair. The voice above you talks nervously. "So shouldn't we be talking to them? They're probably so scared right now. Aren't you?"

You realize that the end was directed at you, but you lost the energy to answer. You tried to speak, but nothing came out, as if your body didn't agree with your mind."

"Mikey’s right," The deep voice spoke. "We need to comfort them right now."

You wanted to tell them not to force themselves. That you knew they were only here because you were hurt. That once you were better they'd go back to the way it was before. But you couldn't speak, and the feeling of actually being cared for felt so nice.

The weight in your chest may have been painful, but it felt so good to be loved. If your head wasn't so fuzzy you might have cried.

Your name was called, almost urgently. You hadn't realized you weren't listening. So caught up in your own head that you forgot to listen.

You looked slightly to the person calling out to you.

"You still in there, kid? Lost ya there for a second huh?" You could hear the smile in his voice.

That was Leonardo right. He's the one to smile when things are bad. That means the deep voice was Raphael... All four of them were there for you.

You wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. Maybe you were imagining things?

"You need to relax. Your heart rate is spiking..." Donatello tells you strictly.

Raphael's voice picked up from the foot of your bed. "Don, I don't think they can necessarily control that... Y'know?"

"Sigh," Donatello answers him. "I'll fix it myself."

You felt the bed adjust, setting you up slightly. You felt his hand on your arm fiddle with something sticking out of it.

You felt calmer, almost, instantly. Surprisingly, your vision cleared slightly. Things still blurred but you could make out their faces so much more.

A crowd of turtles that left no space to see what room you were in. The lights still felt too bright, yet they were dimmer than any room you’ve been to. The blue lights gave you more of a clue. The screens lights bouncing and reflecting off the men. Was this Donatello’s lab? It had to be.

With your eyes now clearer you were able to hold them onto the figures separately. Their blurred faces held concern, fear… It was definitely a sight.

“You feelin’ better?” Raphael asked sweetly. He loomed over the edge of the bed, yet still he managed to keep a distance.

Despite the medicine making you feel better your head and chest still layed heavy on the bed. The only response you could manage was a broken noise from the back of your throat.

Leonardo laughs sadly. “Y’know maybe we shouldn’t ask them too many questions, heh.”

If you could shake your head in agreement you would. The other three certainly did, or at least it looked like they did. 

You took a deep breath in and out letting everything sink into your skin, into your bones. You had your own list of questions you wanted to ask them. Like, how bad is the damage? Why are all four of you here, there’s more important things to do? Did any of the others live?

You could feel all four eyes on you. Feel them stare like you were the only thing worth looking at. It confused you, so you turned your eyes to the only one who you knew had all the answers, Donatello. 

“Right, well I suppose you want answers. Yes?” He asked, oddly nervous. “Where to start,” he whispered to his screen before sighing. “You have a major concussion, obviously, you have two broken ribs, a broken leg, a sprain in your right arm, you have large lacerations on your abdomen, and you had punctured one of your lungs.” He lists off easily. “All of which have been cared for, however you will be immobile for quite a while. I estimate approximately 12 weeks and 3 days. Do you understand?” He asks you calmly.

You huffed at him, hoping he would understand that you were listening. He seemed satisfied with your response and went back to typing on the screen. Of course you were slightly confused by this as you hoped he’d elaborate on why they were all there.

Clearly noticing your confusion Raphael talks with guilt. “I think they’re confused on why we’re here…”

He says it like he can read your mind. 

“Why would they be confused about that?” Michelangelo laughs out shakily.

“Probably, because we’ve neglected them for years.” Donatello answers within seconds.

Leonardo being the next to speak, like they were taking turns. “We really fucked up that bad, huh kid?”

You couldn’t hold his gaze. The guilt was so evident on his face. You’d never imagined they’d realize what they’ve done. You pictured you’d grow into an adult and leave the Resistance without anyone knowing you were gone.

“Listen, I know- We know we should’ve done better for you…” Leonardo sighs. “You are just as important as everyone else. As the Resistance. As Casey Jr. I was always so caught up with him and being a leader I forgot that I had to be there for you. You always seem to have a hold on everything. Always seemed so sure. So confident… I never thought you might need help to. It was such a terrible mistake and I should have known better, should’ve been more and done more for you,” He leans over and grabs your hand gently. “I promise to never act like that again. I will never let anything hurt you like this. I will never leave you alone again. I swear on my life kid I will do anything, everything to make this up to you.” Tears from his eyes fell onto your clasped hands.

You couldn’t hide the shock from your eyes as you were crying too. It was like your body finally jump started and tears fell so freely.

“You were always so strong,” Raphael starts. “I don’t think any of us thought that our lack of attention would hurt you so much. You always shined so brightly on your own.” He chuckled sadly. “I never thought you’d need us so much, Jr’s strong too, but he relied on your mom more than you so when she died we- I thought you could handle yourself. You’d never seemed to waver. I’m so sorry.” 

The regret he held in his words weighed heavy on your mind causing more tears to fall from your eyes.

“My turn already?” Michelangelo laughed, tears in his own eyes. “Heh, I remember this one time I was talking to one of your group members, she seemed so excited to join your team. I remember I asked her what she was so excited for… It was you. She told me that she had seen you and your team fight. Saw how well you worked together, but she was mesmerized by you. She told me years ago she idolized me for my mystic abilities,” He laughs quietly. “But she admitted in this conversation that she idolized you even more. Because you were more like her than I was and your mystic abilities were so strong…” He pauses with a sad silence. “A part of that conversation fortified in my mind that you didn’t need anyone. You were able to figure everything out all on your own. Lead your own team. Fight and save lives like a pro. I should have taken into perspective your feelings. I used to be so good at feelings, but it seems I’ve lost my way a little bit. But I promise not anymore. You’re never going to feel left out again. I guarantee it!” He ends off happily

Silence fills the room. The only thing truly heard was the buzz of machines and various sniffles.

The silence was cut off again by Raphael. “Donnie… Are you going to say anything?” He asked both encouragingly and authoritatively.

“Sigh.” Donatello stated tiredly. He turned to face you more. “I’m not good with emotions. They were never something I could grasp fully. I’ve worked hard on fixing that, but I see in some areas I have… failed. I personally assumed if you needed help you would come to me, however looking back it’s clear you had and I pushed you away.” He states uncomfortably. “As an adult I should have been more prepared and I wasn’t… You were just a child, you are a child, and you’ve experienced so much on your own. I can assure that we plan on remedying that.” He ends sincerely.

After listening carefully to all their words your heart swelled with happiness. You were still afraid that they may not be true, but you were hopeful and so glad to finally be seen. The love you felt radiate off them in blissful waves made you smile. You forgave them as soon as their words left their mouths. As soon as they told you they cared. There was nothing better than feeling true love for what felt like the first time. You couldn’t help but be happy.

“Get some sleep, Kid,” Leonardo says. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

#rottmnt #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rise of the tmnt #rottmnt x reader #platonic rottmnt x reader #future rottmnt x reader #platonic future rottmnt x reader #platonic donatello x reader #platonic leonardo x reader #platonic raphael x reader #platonic michelangelo x reader

[asterrrific]

lee chan x reader

Idk what to title this

Dino x reader (ft. 95z)

Warnings: none, just loads of fluff

unedited so i apologize for any grammatical errors or whatever. i made this bc a sudden idea came to me🥹

---

It was around 1am when y/n felt herself sway in her seat.

Books, answersheets, pens, sticky notes, her laptop, and a variety of snacks to keep her awake but failed were scattered at desk. It was the last week of the first semester and she's trying to rush all of her academic backlogs.

Such is the life of a senior student leader with other commitments. Always the last to catch up with academic requirements and classes because of her duties.

She shook herself awake, forcing her hand to continue writing. Her eyes were drooping, but she persevered.

"Get it together, y/n. One last chapter THEN you can go to bed." she willed herself.

But she's been staying up for weeks now. Dark circles are more than evident under her eyes. She's lost weight as well, and she's been easily stressed nowadays.

So it was hard to battle sleep.

"Bub?" came a familiar voice. Normally, she'd get excited and awake whenever she hears the endearment, but tonight, she's a dead man.

Chan cups her cheeks gently, stilling her from swaying in her seat as she battled sleep. His eyes strayed to her paper, words not evident, but random squiggles she perhaps thought were answers.

"Baby, you're not even writing answers anymore." He chuckles lightly as he takes away the pen from her hand. Y/n tries to grab it back... weakly.

"No, I can make it... I'm almost thereeee." she whines, eyes half closed, trying to reach for her pen. Chan keeps one hand on her cheek while the other puts the pen away.

"Y/N Baby, it's been three weeks. You've been busy since the start of the month. Your body is probably hating you right now. Let me take care of you please?" Chan gently prods, almost whispering.

Y/n and Chan's friends have all been concerned about her state. She's NEVER had decent sleep since the start of the month, BARELY eats her meals and snacks on time, and RARELY goes out with them.

It worried them so much that even Chan excuses himself from practices earlier than the rest now so he could monitor y/n.

"But I need all these. I wanted all these." she counters.

"I know, bub, and I appreciate that and I'm so so proud of you... but what's the whole point of achieving all these if you're gonna lose yourself in the process, hmm?"

At this, y/n's eyes flutter open, now aware of where this is going.

She knows damn well that he's right. But she just can't help but panic sometimes, knowing that the rest of her classmates have already submitted theirs and she's probably the last one left, although she's been given a grace period.

"Let's go to bed, please? It's already Sunday. We can sleep in. You can get some rest, and I'll be with you since we won't have practice. We can do anything you want except these academics. Please, baby? Have time for yourself too?" Chan barters. He tries his best at making puppy eyes at y/n, hoping his aegyo would work on her like it does with his hyungs.

Y/n sighs as she leans her forehead on Chan's. He closes his eyes and nuzzles his nose gently on to hers, then giving it a small kiss later.

"Whatchu think, bub? Like my proposal?"

"Fine, you win. But only because I'm so so drained now. How do you do it, Channie? How do you get things done and not get guilty and tired at all?" she asks, eyes closed.

"Who told you I don't get tired and guilty? I do. I just don't show it that much." He admits.

"Why though?"

"Because I don't want to worry any of you guys."

Y/N looks at Chan, his eyes on hers, his hands finding their way back to her cheek.

"I've learned to handle myself earlier on because of the nature of my career. And the hyungs helped me a lot too. If you'll allow me, I can help you work that out as well. Because I love you and I am concerned and I want to take care of you the way you derserve to." he lovingly explains.

Y/n smiles sleepily, allowing her whole body to lose its tension. She drops forward to surrender to Chan, who giggles on the floor as he catches her.

"There's my baby girl." he coos, as he sits up, caressing her hair carefully. She snuggles closer to him.

"Oh my God, I've been craving this for a whole week. I really DO deserve this." she exclaims, making Chan laugh lovingly.

He adjusts to carry her towards their shared bedroom in y/n's apartment. Gently, he lays her down before climbing in after her. Y/n immediately attaches herself to him the minute he settles in.

Chan lets y/n lay her head on his chest. He showers her head with little kisses while he rubbed random shapes on her back, lulling her to sleep.

"We'll talk more in the morning bubs. Get some rest, hmm?" Chan says, grabbing a blanket to tuck them both in.

"Mmkay..." y/n sleepily agrees.

Chan was about to close his eyes when his phone rings. A call.

"Hello-?"

"WHERE'S THE UPDATE, CHILD? IT'S BEEN TEN MINUTES. ARE YOU HOME YET?" comes Seungcheol's prodding voice. Apparently, because of his worry for Y/N, Chan forgot to update his hyungs who were still probably hanging out together after practice.

"Sorry, hyung." Chan fumbles, as he sets the call on video, showing y/n on his chest, hoping it'd serve as an explanation.

"You got us worried here you know? How can we have ber when- Oh my God, am I seeing this correctly?" asks the older male.

Chan chuckles as he brings the phone back to his face.

"Yep. She almost fell from her seat when I came in. That's why I wasn't able to call. Sorry."

"No, it's okay. What's important is she's getting rest now goddamn... she's hard to take care of sometimes. Proud of you for being patient with her, Lee Chan." Seungcheol salutes from the other side.

"Did I hear right?" Comes Jeonghan's voice as he and Joshua comes into the picture. The three eldest are like real brothers to Chan and even y/n. They worry for them like real siblings would, that's why Chan can always go home earlier than the rest, so he can care for y/n too.

And when y/n is with them, they surround her protectively, along with the other members especially when they're out, since fans can get really pushy sometimes.

"Finally, she's getting sleep. I hope tomorrow we can go out too." Joshua sighs.

"Nope. I promised her we can sleep in and we'll do whatever we want- except those freaking acads."

"Then maybe we could go there instead? We'd bring snacks for her and whatever else she needs. Tell her in the morn-"

Joshua and the other boys stop when they all saw y/n stir in her sleep. Chan immediately caressed her hair to lull her back.

"Channie?" she blinks, trying to lift herself away from him. The boys on the screen signal him to end the call and just message instead but y/n sees them.

"Oh..." she starts as her eyes adjust to the screen.

"Heyyy, y/n! We were just checking in. Go back to sleep." Seungcheol smiles.

Still really tired and sleep drunk, y/n hums. Chan smiles as he helps her lie back down.

"We'll message tomorrow Chan. Get some sleep too. It's been a long day." Seungcheol orders, his leadership shining through the older brother figure that Chan sees in him.

Chan does a salute as the call ends. He puts the phone on dnd on the bed side table and snuggles lower to cuddle with y/n, already going deeper in her sleep.

---

The next morning, Chan wakes up first. Y/N is no longer on him, but is still asleep soundly next to his chest. Her arms wrapped around his middle while her legs tangled with his. He blinks as rays of light sneaks through the blinds, and smiles as his eyes start to focus on the sleeping beauty next to him.

Gently, he carefully carressed her face, using his finger to trace out her freckles that he loved.

Y/n hums and stirs, and Chan freezes for a second. Slowly like a cat basking in daylight, she stretches, hitting Chan's chin on the process.

This was enough to wake her up.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry Channie." she goes, caressing the spot she just hit.

Chan laughs it off as he catches her hands, kissing them both gently.

"It's good morning first before that, my love." He says, pulling her close and settling his lips to the top of her head. With a contented sigh, he inhales her scent like his morning coffee.

"Good morning, bub." she giggles. It was music to his ears.

"Good morning, bub. How was your sleep?" He asks, brushing her hair away from her face and tucking strays behind her ear.

"It was good. Really good. I think I dreamed of the oppas..."

Chan laughs loudly at this, his laugh tickling y/n's ears. God, how she loved his laugh.

"It wasn't a dream, my love. They called last night and you saw them." he explains, pinching her cheeks softly then booping her nose.

He was overflowing with love for her so early in the morning, and he couldn't stop himself. Especially now that y/n has finally gotten some rest that she so much deserved.

"Oh they did? So they're coming over?"

"Uh huh. Later in the afternoon."

Y/n reaches over to Chan's side, where her phone was also placed. He gently holds on to her waist as she lifted herself on top of him.

"It's 9am..." she announces.

"Wanna have breakfast? Or brunch?"

"Uhm... I still kinda wanna sleep more." she admits sheepishly as she sinks back to her place besides Chan.

"Then let's sleep more."

"How about the guys?" she worries. "We might oversleep. How are we gonna prepare?"

"Well, I could tell them to come for dinner instead so we could still have more time to sleep and prepare after. What do you think, bub?" he asks, pulling her close.

Y/n takes her time to answer, and stays silent. It fooled Chan into thinking she fell back to sleep.

He was about to snuggle closer and go back to sleep when suddenly, y/n jerks up, her head hitting the same spot on Chan's chin she already hit earlier.

"Owwwww" they both say in unison.

"I'm so so so sorry bubby." She frantically says, laughing. "I was going to try to kiss you!" she worries.

"Double that then." he teases her, tending to his aching chin.

Y/n caresses the spot, then kisses it. She then locks eyes with Chan.

"You can hit my chin one million times and I'd still be head over heels for you after." he whispers.

"I'll kiss all your pain away a million times more then." she whispers back.

"Why are you whispering?"

"Because you just did. Why ARE we whispering?" she giggles. Chan sighs.

Gently, he grabs her face in his hands, and softly lands a kiss to her forehead.

He stayed there for a bit, savoring the moment. Y/n closes her eyes and runs her hands on Chan's arms, enjoying the vulnerability and sweetness of the moment.

"I love you-" they say in unison again, after Chan breaks off. They laugh again.

This time, it was y/n's turn.

As they giggled at their antics, she pulled Chan by the collar of his shirt, and gently crashed her lips on his. It took him by surprise, but he quickly adjusts, burrying his hands into her hair and softly playing with them as he returned the kiss.

"God, I love you." He speaks first as they broke it off to catch their breaths. He peppers her face with little kisses, making her smile.

"I love you..." she replies, kissing the top of his nose in return. Chan pulls her back to his chest. His heartbeat drumming loudly, lulling her back to sleep after all the fluff.

"Go back to sleep, my love. We've got a lot of time." he tells her. Y/n nods, loving every moment of her rest. Her deadlines flying out of her thoughts.

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

a/n: guyyyyys it's been so long since i last wrote something here😭 uni has been so stressful lately. Maybe that's why I wrote this in this light and theme. I badly need a Dino in my life too.

Anyways, I want to write more😭 someone give me prompts or something.

And as always, if you loved this as much as I loved writing it, please leave a comment or reblog so other people would see my works too🥹👉🏻👈🏻🤍

lot's of love,

aster🫡

#svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen #svt au #svt x reader #svt fanfic #svt fluff #svt oneshot #dino x reader #dino x you #dino x y/n #lee chan #lee chan svt

[lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit]

Hello!

I would like to request a Rocky x reader (romantic) oneshot. A fluffy one with a bit of spice would be nice ;) I don't really have a specific plot in mind, but maybe something on the topic of affection? Whatever the story, i'm sure it will be amazing ❤

Thank u, and have a nice day/night!

Hello, Anon!! Thank you for dropping by!! Your request just so happened to align with an idea I've had, and... I got a bit carried away, I suppose. This is well over three thousand words.

Hope you'll find as much entertainment in reading as I did in writing, anyhow!! (I missed crafting dialogue for this silly cat, even if it's equal parts shameless purple prose fun and an absolute pain in the neck.)

“Absolutely not.”

The pose of cheerful enthusiasm he presented the idea with didn’t falter, although his grin seemed to by a sliver.

“Aww, why?”

“It’s not gonna work.”

“We can’t know that until we try!”

You’d come down before opening hour, when many of the lights framing the red-curtained stage and finely carved pillars hadn’t been ignited yet in order to lessen electricity bills, leaving the grandiose speakeasy hall to ruminate in a mellow, warm late afternoon dusk. Leaning against one of the pool tables webbed with gilded patterns on the sides, you glanced him up and down in half-lidded skepticism. It was brief, yet defeating.

“I say this with all the love in my heart,” you prefaced the ruthless confession with a teasing smile, “but you don’t look like you could lift a cornstalk.”

“And you have a point! But consider this,” he countered, gesturing passionately with his hands as if materializing a vision of success before the both of you, and that’s when you recognized this conversation was about to shimmy beyond the bounds of reality. “What wonders can be achieved through the power of love? It can avail you to weather a sea of infernal blazes, crumble ancient mounts to their innermost cores, compel the course of celestial bodies–”

“But it can’t give you muscles.”

The conjurations of poetic fancies promptly shattered, and he gave you a disheartened look.

“Oh, come on, dearest,” he pleaded, all gleaming blue eyes and droopy ears. “Have you no faith in your one and only chevalier?”

“Concerning any other situation… a hard maybe. Depends if anything flammable’s involved.”

You put a finger to your chin in lighthearted contemplation.

“But this… well, I trust you in pulling this off without either of us getting hurt about as far as I could throw you with one hand.”

“I don’t weigh much,” he perked up assuringly. “You could toss me a good few feet, I reckon.”

“So then we should try this the other way around.”

A glint of curiosity hinted he may not have been entirely opposed. Nonetheless, you could tell he wouldn’t let himself be so easily shot down in his steadfast ambitions, about which you happened to be right.

“Your suggestions are appreciated,” he placated upon your prompt sigh of disappointment, “but in the name of chivalry I must persist with my vision. Because I am certain that there is a way, as there is a will, to achieve it.”

He pondered aloud whilst leant against the pool table opposite to yours, tail swishing figure eights in the air as if stirring up the brainworks.

“Just let me think about it…”

A bit to the left, two of the local employment were spectating from their usual spots by the bar. Zib, who had draped himself half-across the counter while Viktor was cleaning it around him, regarded the scene from under his hat with a caustic glance. The smoke simmering from the cigarette he was languidly tasting occasionally wafted your way.

“Looks like chivalry’s not dead yet after all,” he grumbled, the corners of his lips teasing amusement, “but he’s about to be.”

The burly slovak continued with his somewhat menial task in dutiful disinterest, intimidating all unsightly dirt spots off the wooden surface with an effortless glare.

“Idiot vill break own spine vid effort,” he stated matter-of-factly, then after a thoughtful pause, shrugged. “Saves me the trouble.”

“Oh, such searing pessimism!”

Rocky turned to theatrically retort, rejoining your circles from the far reaches of whatever realms his mind had been venturing.

“Well I regret to inform you, gentlemen,” he gave an easygoing little smirk, “that the only sort of spectacle you’ll be getting today is the glorious display of romance’s incandescent triumph.”

“You should heed your sweetheart’s advice, kid,” Zib warned over his glassful of a somewhat suspicious golden beverage. “Artists like you and I just weren’t built for these kinds of strenuous feats. You’ll get a hernia and then the boss lady will be down one questionable bootlegger.”

“Pff… Nonsense talk!”

He waved off the notion as if swatting away a bug, and you pinched your brow in exasperation.

“Waste not such paltry concerns on me, my friend! You see, it might not leave that impression at first glance…” he flexed a bit to show off his bicep then stared at it with a blank expression once it failed to strengthen his argument, “nor perhaps second… but these spindly sinews are rife with untapped potential! Why, you think the Atlas of mythology had trained in advance to support the whole world on his shoulders? And yet, it still goes ‘round smoothly to this day. Which is to say that, hopefully helped by Fortuna’s favor, the release of a comparable innate strength shall aid me in this fated task of carrying mine.”

Despite his conspicuous lack of visible musculature he gave a grin of such radiant certainty it could’ve powered the rest of the lights. Zib blinked slowly, unimpressed in his fermentative, cigarette-stink skepticism. Viktor kept cleaning.

“Albeit I suppose there’s more point in a show rather than tell.”

Rocky stretched his arms in a somewhat comically overstated manner.

“So the old-fashionated way it is!” He then took up a stance and spread them in anticipation. “Come hither, my darling love, let’s prove those naysayers wrong! Leap into the arms of your favorite bard!”

“I still don’t condone this idea.”

You crossed your arms, resolution as hard as the wood digging into your lower back. Unstoppable force smiling baffledly at the inmovable object.

“You don’t?”

“Not really.”

He pouted. Oh, how you couldn’t stand it when those gorgeous sapphires looked at you so coyly despondent. And of course, he was aware.

“You mean you won’t even give it a chance?” he implored, tail gingerly lowering. “Not even if I’ll sooner have my organs be crushed into a fine sludge than let one hair on your head bend the wrong way?”

“Especially not then.”

Patiently, you stood, the twitch of your ears and your own tail’s gentle whipping behind your legs and brushing up to the smooth block of wood being your only movement. You watched him deflate in a slowly progressing manner not unlike that of a balloon animal leaking from a small opening; you could even imagine the characteristic sound to go with.

You tried not to laugh.

“Not even if,” he attempted once more, “it could be a most passionful pageantry of courteousness?”

“More like foolishness.”

Irritated by his snark for a change, you tilted your head in Zib’s direction. When he earned both of your attention by extension the resident nicotine eater, chin resting on the heel of his palm, flicked a huge ear and leisurely presented his back to you as though he’d never cared.

“Just picture it for a second!” Rocky suggested, snapping back to the conversation and taking your hand in his to help transmit the mental imagery through skin-to-skin contact. “A most consummate culmination of chivalrous custom!”

“Certainly,” you rolled your eyes yet didn’t resist when he snuck up close to grab a hold of your waist with an almost imperceptible delicacy.

“I’d gather you in my arms,” he narrated, “a most beauteous royal rose, pooling in your eyes the glimmers of a star-speckled galaxy, a divine black ether brimming with a variegated, dazzling cavalcade of celestial hues… oh, what fair nobility of ephemeral grace, molded in the realms above from the finest marble and ambrosia by lilium-scented, angelic hands…”

His face was close to yours, and your gazes intertwined; you could be quite sure he was just describing what he saw. You averted your eyes, slightly flustered.

“You sure know your words,” you nipped without any real teeth to it.

“I try,” he acknowledged cheerfully, nonetheless keeping proximate. “And me, no more than a humbled troubadour, a mere mortal permitted by Providence to embrace salvation itself,” you made an inarticulate noise of incredulity, “gentle tethering of your mass serving to remind that this resplendent scene is no meager illusion, a cruel trick of the light, but bona fide reality…”

You squirmed half-heartedly away in your chagrin, yet each bit of distance you created between the two of you he kept closing just as effortlessly, drinking in your expressions.

“In rapt entrancement we’d behold each other’s countenance,” you could feel his words on your whiskers, “honey-glaze lusters dancing across our lips in nectareal beckoning, your arms entangling my nape with fervor as you pull me under to merge our souls by way of osculation in the heart of the Earth–”

“Enough rhapsodizing,” you entreated with a wide, mildly embarrassed smile you couldn’t fight, “you poetaster.”

“Now, don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy that.”

You exhaled in a burst, gripping the wooden brim you were leant on. Tail curling and uncurling in thought.

“It sounds fine,” you emphatically minced, “but I don’t require it. You know you can just talk sweet to me like that or give me a kiss when I’m still on my feet and you’ll just as easily sweep me off them.”

“But there’s no harm in experimenting, right?”

“That’s… a very dubious statement.”

“Well, if it does work, it shall surely be memorable.”

Across the way, over ornate red carpet and leather seats, Viktor had since taken to polishing glasses while Zib ever-industriously continued to metabolize the establishment’s embalming fluid reserves in spite of the hour.

“…And if it doesn’t,” Rocky proposed the possibility with great hesitation, “as far as I can recall, bone fractures actually heal a lot quicker than you’d expect.”

With the band backstage, that’d be only two direct witnesses to your loss of dignity.

“You’re not about to let this go until I oblige,” you observed with a heavy heart and patted his arm, “so go ahead. I’ll give you a chance to enter history records as the world’s first cooked pasta-based organism to princess carry a whole person.”

You adjusted yourself in front of him at a roughly ninety-degree angle and put your arm around his shoulders. Enthusiasm flawlessly rekindled he took swift hold of your back in return, biting his lip in anticipation like a giddy kid.

“But if you sprain a muscle, I’m not bringing you the ice,” you stated firmly to his face.

“You can’t sprain what’s scarcely there,” he beamed back like it was of any reassurance.

“Well, alright.”

That obnoxious smoke hit your nose again. Beneath the golden glow of red lampshades, Zib had unexpectedly honored your ambitions by sitting marginally more erect, pushing up the brim of his hat to ensure his sight wasn’t failing him.

“Wouldn’t you look at that,” he grunted, pointy eyebrows raised. “They’re doing it for real.”

Viktor stopped in his surprisingly gentle handiwork and fixed a sharp, singular eye on the pair of you. When your clumsy preparations and nervous fidgeting painted a confirmatory enough picture, he set the glass and rag down with a thud, leisurely slapping two huge paws on the clean oak counter to lean on it.

“Dis vill be amusing.”

You gulped at the audience, blooming in your chest a severe doubt. You squeezed Rocky’s shoulder and felt the pointed conjunction of bones digging into your palm without any real effort.

“Whenever you’re ready…”

He smiled at you with those sweet blue eyes that drew your attention like a magnet, adamant on dissolving your worries within themselves. It almost convinced you that what you were about to do wasn’t both ridiculously asinine and physically unsafe… albeit still rather mild by the standards of dating Rocky Rickaby.

You looked at one of the curling, wrought iron chandeliers and sucked in a resolute breath.

“…Here goes nothing.”

In clenched-fist concentration, you jumped and threw your legs in the air for him to catch. He grabbed after them in wide-eyed startlement and as the momentum flung you at him, you prayed.

There was a grunting noise. Something in-between the squeak of a strangled rubber chicken and the aghast chuff of a scuffed, abused bagpipe as every last square inch of air is violently crushed out of it; you’d heard naught of such a combination before yet were instantly able to identify it. Arms clasped tight around his neck you hung on for dear life whilst he gripped your side and thighs in a no less firm desperation, fingers unintendedly clawing into tense flesh. He stood taut as a bowstring, you could feel as much beneath the clothes, though unfortunately nowhere near as straight and with every slight tremble and corrective squirm you feared yourselves tipping over in his direction and giving the carpeted limestone a sore greeting.

Time collapsed to a halt under the weight of anticipation. Cautious in your breaths, wide-eyed and blatantly uncomforted by his palpable quaking, you watched as his rigid expression of concentration strained on a half-hearted grin for your sake to mask what very much still was mortal terror hatching from amongst the shards of hubris.

And then… nothing.

You blinked a few times. Other than your own heartbeat, and what amounted to the whimpers of a heavy wooden chair being dragged across the floor that you soon confirmed to be coming from him instead, all sounds of impending doom receded. You took a deep inhale of the stagnant cave air and held it in bewilderment, knees squished close to one another.

Well, you’d be damned.

Flush to his torso and clutching the cheap fabric of his shirt, you stared on, trying to comprehend the situation. As was he, evidently, with how amidst his tight-lipped yet valiant bearing of the ramifications his eyes darted around the room as if disaster was running unusually late. No gears turn at such a pace however, for when at last the ice in your tendons began to melt in contemplation of asking whether he could move enough to put you down safely or if you should just jump for it, he exerted a small huff of accomplishment and it changed something, because you began to dip rapidly forward. Some indiscernible profanity escaped your mouth.

At least he gallantly broke your fall… and a rib as well, by the sound of it.

The ground was about as soft as you’d imagined when it kissed your limbs and left you with your hands splayed on velvety carpet. You caught glimpse of your audience and, lo and behold, Viktor for a brief second appeared to possess something of a smile behind the bar. Of schadenfreude, naturally. Nonetheless the witnessing of such an evanescent miracle left you nothing short of humbled.

“Well, that surprised nobody,” Zib sneered, a whiff of smoke leaving his nostrils. “We’ll hold him a tasteful funeral.”

“He’s not dead,” you indignantly countered, blowing tousled locks of hair out of your face, then turned to your knight in shoddy armor just to be sure. “You’re not dead, right?”

With that, you recognized that the reason your posterior ached less than the rest of you was his organs still being smushed under it, so you hastily clambered off. Sweetly enough, he hadn’t mentioned, though it may have just been that he’d yet to recover from getting the wind knocked out of him enough to form a sentence.

“Never felt more alive,” he wheezed in affirmation, clutching his torso. “I’ve come to sense fibers of my physique I didn’t know existed.”

“No wonder. Did you dislocate something?”

Crouched over your boyfriend on all fours, you scrutinized him whilst your tail lashed back and forth in acute concern regarding his lack of attempts to get up despite having him practically caged under you. Considering his talent for looking pathetic while curled up on the floor, you couldn’t be blamed.

“Well, all of my bones are still inside,” he tilted his head without raising it to look over himself. “That’s their designated place, I believe.”

“You’re such a twit.”

Bright blue eyes flicked up at you innocently, arms clasped together in a protective self-embrace. Your features softened with a sigh.

“I heard a crack,” you explained, gaze lingering over his ribcage. “I thought I’d hurt you.”

“Oh, that was just my pride,” he dismissed jovially. “Nothing worth the bewailment. Poor thing wasn’t about to survive the winter anyhow.”

That restless, puffy tail of yours came to a tentative pause upon his knees, drawn only halfway up to accomodate your presence as he squirmed lightly in his restricted position. Though the barely lit murk of underground, his grin still shined as disarming as any other.

“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

Whether he meant that remark as a pacification or a challenge, you preferred not to dispute. You let go of the tension in your shoulders however, easing off to settle down next to him and allow him some space to do the same.

“Well, this was just stupid,” you concluded, listlessly examining your bruised appendages. “I have no idea what drove you to something so pointless.”

He carefully rolled up off the ground then simply sat there, blinking at you in a way that betrayed neither any particular discomfort nor the absence of it. You observed him in ponderance. Due to the lack of any concrete signals from upstairs you decided you’d just have to assume the best.

“Unless,” you teased with a squint of suspicion, minding your volume, “you just wanted me on top of you that bad.”

Now that definitely reached the headquarters. When it did, he responded with one of those downright sinful grins that made the notion of punching him in the face sound vastly appealing.

“It wasn’t according to my plan, per se,” he gestured in a sly manner, “but it’s certainly not a development you’ll catch me complaining about.”

“You cad.”

You regarded him with a scolding glare you didn’t really mean but perhaps should’ve. He stood or, well, sat his ground, and it didn’t take a medium to guess anymore what newfound visions might’ve been stirring on behind that striped forehead of his; you only hoped he wouldn’t start waxing poetics about it.

“Could’ve just asked me nicely,” you murmured with a smirk.

You noted the proximity all of a sudden; his nose couldn’t have been two inches away from touching yours. He peered down at you in awareness, chuckling.

“Ah, but the overture's half the merriment.”

“This place has marvelous acoustics, by the way,” Zib spoke out of nowhere and made every bone in your body flinch, “so you might wanna consider taking this somewhere else before our sparse patronage arrives–”

“Oh, shut it, Zibowsky.”

You snapped at him, ears pinned, feeling rather deserving of some soap in your mouth. Rocky got over the interruption with a more careless ease and disregarded the air of awkwardness he helped create in favor of lighting up in triumph.

“But our labour for love wasn’t in vain, after all!” he exclaimed over your shoulder. “We all saw it, right? My romantically inspired exhibition of unprecedented prowress? I must’ve held on for a good minute there!”

“How long did it last, by the way?” you inquired, watching as Viktor continued cleaning glasses. “I was too busy panicking to count.”

“Two seconds.”

Your face stretched in astonishment. Zib took out a lighter.

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“No, really,” he reiterated, igniting another cigarette with a series of clicks while the previous butt laid crumpled beside him on the counter, “two seconds. I was just about to congratulate you.”

You stared on at the sprawling carpet, befuddled, yet the intricate patterns held no explanation for this anomaly. Time does simply happen to slow to a crawl when you’re fearing for your life, as it turned out. Rocky slumped in dejection.

“Ah well,” he lamented, bushy brows descending. “It would appear that my hopes to beguile you with a debonair display could not come true after all.”

His tail gingerly curled around him, saddened to an equal degree. You pouted along in playful endearment.

“You’re so silly,” you ascertained. “I don’t mind that you’re a weakling.”

You took his hand balled up on the ground, enveloping it with your own. He watched in slight trepidation.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you locked eyes amidst the magnificent cavern of bygone extravagance; the ‘heart of the Earth’, as he’d put it. Decked in hues of crimson and gold and marinating in a mystiqueful twilight, a regrettably vacant wonder of architectural design honoring the arts décoratifs, all the dazzling sights of the establishment couldn't have hoped to draw you away from the one instrictic extension of it you delighted in looking at the most.

“And I wouldn’t trade you in for the brawniest of gallants,” you pressed a tingling kiss on his cheek, “my noodle-limbed prince.”

#{💌 mod rory 💌} #{didn't remember my mod tag being so extra hahhah} #Oneshot On The Rocks #lackadaisy #lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy reader insert #lackadaisy rocky #rocky lackadaisy #rocky rickaby #rocky rickaby x reader #{feels good to have made something for you all again. hope you enjoy <3}

[gothic-thoughts]

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

now me personally, I don't have a mask kink but this man is just...attractive...for some reason

König x Black Fem Reader Fluff (angst?)

Medic!Reader, Mutual Pining, Drabble

CW: Ghost pops in (lmao), she/her pronouns

I walk into Ghost’s quarters to give him his results only to freeze in place when I hear light snoring. Is he sleep? I just told him I'd be back later. I place his test results on the dresser and step around the foot of the bottom bunk to see König's giant leg hanging off, boot firmly planted on the floor. Oh! Oh. The other one was tucked under his massive thigh while his chest rose and fell evenly under his crossed arms.

What are you doing here? And how are you fitting on his bed like this? His phone was on the floor with earbuds still attached so I sneak closer, hoping he wouldn’t wake up as I pick it up. Ghost steps into the room and before he can open his mouth, I shush him.

“The fuck are you doing?” He asks in a whisper.

"I was just picking up his phone. What are you doing?"

“It’s my room. You get the results?”

“On the dresser. And like I said, you don't have any allergies."

"Bullshit."

The screen turns on, revealing his Spotify playing Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy from a playlist called "Ask Her" making me gasp softly.

"What, now?" Ghost asks.

König...likes somebody? Is it me? Way to jump to conclusions, but it's not like he talks to many people. Who could it be? He must have it bad—he even made a whole playlist with this song. I look over at him to see him lifting his hat from his eyes. Before I knew it, he was towering over me with a soul-piercing glare from the eyeholes in his mask. He grabs his phone from me, letting both headphones hang to his knees.

"Shit--"

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, I just came to see Ghost and I saw your phone was on the floor."

"Doesn’t explain why you’re on it."

"I wasn’t. It just turned on."

König's eyes narrowed briefly before he looks away. He sighs as he stepped around me and left the room wordlessly. I look over at Ghost with narrow eyes and crossed arms.

"Gee, thanks."

"For...?"

"Backing me up there."

He shrugs, putting the papers down. “I didn’t even know what you trying to achieve to help.”

“I wasn’t going through his phone! I was just on his lock screen!”

"Looks like you were from over here.”

 I suck my teeth and lean against the bunk with a groan. He’s definitely not gonna like me now, great. Not like it'd make sense anyway, I'm a medic.

“He’ll get over it.”

I gasped, getting an idea. “So...Ghost~”

“No.”

“I- what? I didn’t even say anything.”

“You want to know who his playlist is about and no.”

"So you do know?!"

"Never said that."

"Simon--"

"Not only do I not know, I also don't care."

“That’s...fair. But it’s König.”

“Why are you so curious all of a sudden, huh?”

“Well cuz...um..."

"Because...?"

"Because who the hell could a faceless, anxious man possibly have a crush on?” I play off, “Is it someone you know?”

“What part of ‘don't know, don't care’ was confusing?”

"Ugh, fine. Whatever."

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

After (Y/n) leaves, I wait a bit before walking the opposite way to knock on König's door. Once I hear his muffled voice tell me to come in, I walk inside to see him cleaning his knives. I lean against the wall, watching the cloth move along the blade of his dagger as the door shuts next to me.

"Subtle."

"Shut up."

"Just saying. I think you should just tell her, you're a grown man."

"Right, because you're so good with feelings like these."

I shrug slightly, “Maybe your phone has it out for you.”

“Who’s side are you on?”

“Neither.”

He groans, staying silent as he puts down the knife and begins to clean another.

“Well, after you stomped away, she pressed me for a bit. I think she likes you too.”

“I don’t need your false hope, Ghost.”

“I mean it. She was asking me who it was about, she sounded pretty desperate—jealous if you look deep enough into it.”

“Or she's just curious.”

“She thinks it’s someone we know.”

"Ja?" He flips a knife and cleans the handle, “Well, she's not exactly wrong.”

“You have to say something eventually, I can't have you this distracted on our next mission.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Whatever, do something about it...." I start to walk out the door, "Preferably before she meets someone she knows.”

His eyes flick from the knife to me, glaringly, “Don’t put that in my head.”

“Then do something about it.”

#konig modern warfare #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig x black reader #cod konig #konig x y/n #x black reader #black reader #black writers #könig x reader #könig call of duty #call of duty konig #konig fluff

[mediocreanomaly]

Love your soulmate au for vashwood so much. What if it was with reader and knives?

Knives would be so confused with feeling random pains like a stubbed toe or a random pinch.

🌻Hope you have a good day🌻

Authors note: Yo! ofcourse I had to turn this into a post!!! My main story will be Vashwood but I'm basing this in the same world as the Vashwood x reader stuff, consider this a little side story I might expand on if it gets enough love lol you don't have to read the other parts to understand this tho

Read the Vashwood Parts Here!: Part 1 | Part 2

Read Part 2 Here!

Knives X Reader Soulmate AU

•Knives had learned about soulmates during his studies with Rem, a person all humans had that was tethered to them in some sort of spiritual or metaphysical sense, one that could feel your pain.

•It was stupid. In all honesty he was glad he wasn't human so he didn't have to deal with something so tedious. It would only slow him down, he couldn't imagine how humans dealt with such a hinderance

•He often listened to Vash ramble on about soulmates and offered little assurance, often saying things like "We aren't human Vash we don't have soulmates", "You shouldn't want a soulmate anyways it's pain for no reason", "Will you stop talking about it already? it's beneath us"

•After the fall Knives all but forgets soulmates even exist. He's focused on bigger things and he doesn't have a soulmate anyways so the thought is nonexistent

•Then the oddest thing happens. He's busy destroying a town attempting to take their plant, it's a routine stop, when he swears he feels a pain shoot through his foot

•He quickly whips his head around, looking around to figure out what exactly could have done that but there's nothing but his own destruction. weird.

•He thinks about it for a couple days because he isn't used to getting hurt but reluctantly chalks it up to him some how being careless with his blades, even though that explanation doesn't really sit right with him it's the only thing that makes sense

•Then a couple months later in the sanctuary of his own quarters he feels a burn across his hand. He furrows his brow and slowly looks over his hand over and over to see where the burn is coming from yet there's no mark, just the feeling

•Fool him once shame on him fool him twice....

•He marches down to Conrads office irritated about whatever's happening. Conrad listens as he explains the two incidents, how there's no mark, how it's annoying and distracting him from more important matters

•Conrad nods and says he's going to run an experiment, before Knives can fully ask what says experiment is Conrad reaches over and roughly jabs him in the side

•Safe to say Conrad almost lost his head that day. In fact Knives blades where pressed to his neck when he felt a returning jab in his arm

•Once Knives realizes what's happening he's furious. He's a superior being he doesn't need a soulmate he's been fine with out one for a century, he doesn't even understand, why now? Why when he's so close to achieving his plans?

•After this he makes it a top priority to kill you. What? you thought he was going to be merciful just because your his soulmate? This whole thing is just a bump in the road of his plans, it'll be easy. He'll kill you and then he doesn't have to worry about feeling your pain. Besides, right now it's just a stubbed toe or a burn but come tomorrow he can't afford to be distracted if you break an arm or get shot

•So he rampages towns non-stop, trying to find you, hoping he'll feel his own blade for a split second before it can go back to normal

•During his rampages...is when you join Dr.Conrad in his studies. You were a plant specialist, the most renowned in your field, yet...the most you studied plants, the more you interacted and saw...the more you hated humans for how you used them

•You felt humans didn't deserve plants, didn't deserve the sentient life force the human race had created, so when you found out about Dr.Conrad you'd practically begged him to let you join the cause

•So ironically Knives was pretty much wasting his time being out causing mass destruction, if he had stayed he might've put the pieces together a bit faster, but he didn't

•Unlike Vash Knives doesn't really let himself get hurt, he does the hurting so Knives doesn't realize you're his soulmate for a long time, but this is good because if he realized right off the bat you'd probably be dead

•Instead he slowly comes to learn of your existence. He doesn't really care much about you one was or the other when he first meets you. Your Conrads help? Okay. That's it, that's all there is really he doesn't care

•Yet for some reason...every time he passes through to speak with Conrad he can't help but watch you work while he pretends to be focusing on whatever the man was saying

•It's almost maddening because he doesn't understand why you of all people have caught he attention so he starts trying to interact with you more. It's a little unnerving at first, I mean...it's Knives. He either silently stands over you as you work or makes less that nice comments about how your doing things wrong

•But you aren't deterred in fact you're pretty interested by Knives. You've studied plants your whole life but Knives...Knives is something different, something more. So you use the time he hovers to ask him questions about himself, how his gate works, if he sleeps or eats, logging each difference between him and humans and him and other plants

•Maybe it's the way your brain is wired from interacting with so many plants, maybe it's the fact Knives seems to pay particular attention to you,(maybe it's the fact you're soulmates lmao) but you're basically the only one who can read him. You don't know how but you pick up on the slight mouth twitches, the shifts in his shoulders, the difference between his "i'm annoyed" grimace and his "i'm enjoying this but I don't want you to know" grimace

•He won't admit it to you, not yet, but he's starting to feel...fond of you. He'll pretend he needs to speak to Conrad about the progress of his experiments but really he's just there to answer whatever questions you have and to talk to you in return

•Now don't forget, you can feel your soulmates pain...and this is Trigun. You are the first to realize you're soulmates. How you might ask? Well let's put it this way, would you want to feel yourself getting destroyed during the events of Ja'Lai?

•The Ja'Lai incident. It's possibly the worst pain you've ever felt in your life, despite the way Knives grits his teeth through it till the end to an average person? It's unbearable. You black out multiple times from the feeling, body laying in a heap as you try to figure out what's happening

•Once you hear about what happened in Ja'Lai...you instantly know. Luckily (and much to his protest) Legato eventually lets you help nurse Knives back to health

•You sit on the side of Knives bed, your own body still feeling like you have third degree burns as you watch the body of the man you'd been falling for. You knew he didn't want a soulmate, part of you wondered if you should even tell him when he wakes up...

•Well...who knows how he'll respond. Doesn't matter now though, he wont be waking up any time soon, so you have time to come up with a plan. Let's just hope your previous time with him has proved enough to win him over.

#knives x reader #knives x you #trigun x reader #knives millions #soulmate au

[ezziefae]

Thoughts on Chap 2 of The Prisoner's Throne.

"Oak takes the stairs, careful now. He has the surreal feeling of being in a video game. He played enough of them, sitting on Vivi’s couch. Creeping through pixelated rooms that had more of the appearance of Madoc’s stronghold where he grew up than anywhere they went in the mortal world. Leaning on Heather’s shoulder, controller in his hands. Killing people. Hiding the bodies."

Okay, starting off strong already. I squealed when I read the part where Oak has his head leaning on Heather's shoulder. The "Killing people. Hiding the bodies" part was an obvious reference to Oak's blood thirst.

This is a stupid, ugly, violent game, Vivi said. Life isn’t like that. And Jude, who was visiting, raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

JUDEEEEEE

a few selkies hang around at the edges, no doubt gathering news of a rising power to take back to the Undersea.

These selkies are snitches. Holly did confirm that we were gonna see many familar faces from TFOTA, so I am definitely expecting to see Nicasia or Orlagh.

But after he and Vivi and Heather had to carry bags of laundry to the basement of their apartment building and feed quarters into a machine, along with detergent and fabric softener, he realized that someone must have been performing a related service for him in Faerie.

AWEEEE! how humble Oak has become. I'm so happy we're not only getting more Jude and Cardan but also Vivi and Heather.

He feels a bit foolish as he wades into a vat, naked. Should he be discovered, he will doubtless have to play the silly, carefree prince, so vain that he escaped his prison for a bath. It would be a crowning achievement of embarrassment.

LMAO! I can just imagine how hilarious this would be.

Oak knows it’s ridiculous, and yet he can’t help feeling as though they have an understanding of each other

Oak had the bridle placed on him, he was imprisoned for three weeks, he was starved and neglected, and he still thinks this way of Wren. This boy is soooo in love.

Nor is he sure what it means about him that he finds hope in the fact that Wren has kept him. Fine, not everyone would see being thrown into a dungeon as a romantic gesture, but he’s choosing to at least consider the possibility that she put him there because she wants something more from him.

Oak is absolutely DELUSIONAL, DE LU LUUU. LIKE BOY FINDS BEING IMPRISIONED A ROMANTIC GESTURE. THAT IS VERY CONCERNING. IM CRYING

since Hyacinthe was the one who stole Damsel Fly

NO! NOT DAMSEL FLY TOOO! Oh a war is definitely coming.

Hyacinthe is now Wren’s second-in-command

oh this will not be a fun discovery for Tiernan.

Either way, he’d be free. Free to not need rescuing. Free to attempt to talk his sister out of whatever homicidal plan she might foment against the Citadel. Free to return home and go back to performing fecklessness, back to sharing the bed of anyone he thought might be planning a political coup, back to being an heir who never wants to inherit.

The way Oak believes he can talk Jude out of battling with Wren. Like does he not know his sister?

"Back to sharing the bed of anyone he thought might be planning a political coup" WHATTT!!! okay this is a huge deal, Oak has been sleeping with people to find out if they are a threat to him or elfhame. My poor boy, does oriona not watch over him??? or jude?? how did it get so bad that he had to start doing that???

Not that he knows how to stop either of them if he remains here. He’s not sure anyone knows how to stop Jude. And Wren has the power of annihilation. She can break curses and tear spells to pieces with barely any effort. She took apart Lady Nore as though she were a stick creature and spread her insides over the snow.

Yeah so when I finished The Stolen Heir, I feared for Jude and Cardan. Oak is right, Jude is dangerous and she will try to fight ANYTHING that gets in her way, but Wren is horrifically dangerous as well. I fear for both Jude and Wren. This is gonna be chaos.

Then he sees Wren, and longing shoots through him like a kick to the gut. He forgets about risk. Forgets about schemes.

OH OAKKK STOPPPPP.

“Not my future.” There is a hollowness to Wren’s cheeks, Oak notices. She’s thinner than she was, and her eyes shine with a feverish brightness. Has she been ill? Is this because of the wound in her side when she was struck by an arrow?

Oh no.

Bogdana does not contradict her this time. “You have need of my strength. And you have need of my companions if you hope to continue as you are.” Oak stiffens at those words, wondering at their meaning.

so wren is not doing so well, and bogdana hope she listens and gets help from her companions. the real question here is what is the problem?????

Mother Marrow does not seem discomfited in the least. She walks to Wren and deposits the white walnut in her hand. “Remember these words, then. To conjure it, say: We are weary and wish to rest our bones. Broken shell, bring me a cottage of stones.”

So wren can make a cottage appear and dissaper with the shell she received from mother marrow. Im assuming that this shell will be used in the story somehow. But what would get to that point? wren already lives in a palace of her own, so why give her a shell that can make a cottage house appear? will Oak use it when he escapes? will wren run away and use it???? im guessing this cottage house will be used significantly.

And yet, Oak notices that she sways a little before gripping the arm of her throne. Forcing herself upright. Something is very wrong.

Yikes.

The man steps forward. “Though I do not like to be outdone, I have nothing so fine to give you. But Bogdana summoned me here to see if I can undo what—”

So from what I'm getting, there's something more about wren we don't know about. something that's hurting her or affecting her deeply. Her power? stress and anxiety? I might need some time to crack this one.

Her eyes move restlessly under their lids, as though she doesn’t even feel safe in dreams. Her skin has a glassy quality, as though from sweat or possibly ice. What has she been doing to herself ?

I'm starting to feel very overprotective of Wren. With Jude and Cardan coming to the citadel to save Oak I fear for both sides.

But as though she can sense him, Wren opens her eyes.

SERIOUSLY THIS IS HOW THE CHAPTER ENDS??? At this point Oak is asking to be killed, he could've had the oppurtunity to escape, yet he chose to follow wren to her room. This chapter made me feel very empathetic of Wren, she looks like a villain, but she's really not. She has been betrayed, tortured, abused, neglected for many years, her actions of becoming queen and imprisoning Oak all come from hurt.

#I cant wait for march 5th #i need more #ahhhhhh #screaming #I love wren #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #holly black #the folk of the air #the prisoners throne #elfhame #jurdan #the stolen heir #the cruel prince #oak greenbriar #Wren #queen suren #wren x oak #vivi duarte #heather #vivi x heather #the prisoners throne snippet

[strawberrymilk-sunshine]

Stay away from him.

So like, octopi eat shrimp, right? And morays have a symbiotic relationship with a certain species of shrimp, RIGHT? So please consider. The tweels constantly thinking Azul's gonna hurt their "precious little shrimpy" in some way and being super over protective of them :) (btw this is definitely one of the more tame yandere fics I've written)

And oh my goodness I'm running out of Octavinelle gifs to use.

Warning(s): male reader, over-protectiveness, some minor injuries

You didn't exactly want to be sorted into Octavinelle, but hey, it is what it is.

Your family owns a cafe back home, so working at the on-campus cafe your dorm ran was a cinch, easy, no problem at all!

You earned the title of 'employee of the month' (whatever that means) in only your first month of being a student of Night Raven College. Nice.

Thanks to your... impressive achievement, you caught the eyes of two people. Octavinelle's Vice Housewarden and his twin brother.

You didn't want to get tangled up with them in any way... but, it happened regardless.

"Hey, Shrimpy, wanna sit with Jade and I during lunch~?" Floyd playfully asked you. "It'll be fun!"

"No, I was actually thinking-" But before you could finish your sentence, Floyd had grabbed your hand and was already dragging you to the cafeteria with him.

You didn't get to get your own food, but Jade and Floyd shared theirs with you.

"Here, have some of my takoyaki, Shrimpy!"

"Would you like some of my carpaccio? I don't mind sharing with you."

You don't exactly like the taste of octopus, but you appreciate them giving you food.

"Hello Jade, Floyd..." Azul sat down opposite to you. "...and (Y/N). Why is he here?"

"Because he's a tiny little shrimp who needs protection!" Floyd wrapped his arms around you, causing you to choke a bit.

"We've decided to protect him. Of course, in return for certain things..." Jade added, causing you to feel, well, uncomfortable to say the least.

"...ok. Well, (Y/N), I can tell you're..." Azul sorta trailed off, either not knowing what to say or not wanting to say it. "But the three of us have some important things regarding our business we need to discuss, and I would appreciate it if you could leave."

"I'm ok with that." You said, standing up.

But then, both of your arms were grabbed by the twins.

"No, (Y/N) can listen." Jade insisted. "He's a model employee, I'm sure it's fine if he listens in on our business plans."

"Yeah... why're you trying to separate him from us, Azul?" Floyd asked. "It's almost like you want to get him alone so you can catch him by surprise and hurt him."

"What?! No, obviously not!" Azul yelled.

"Well I don't believe you!" Floyd yelled back. They were causing a scene... you'd really rather not be in this situation right now.

"I don't either." Jade calmly added. "Now, Azul, let's discuss our business."

Unfortunately. This is how the rest of your week would go as well.

Those weird twins were very protective of you.

And, they would come to you with problems like injuries and... well, mostly just injuries. Bad ones too.

For example: one night, Floyd entered your room, covered in bite marks, scratch marks, and other various injuries.

"What the hell happened to you?!" You yelled at him.

"Jade and I had a fight." He rolled his eyes. "I'm really huuuuuuuuurt, Shrimpy!"

"Yeah, no shit, Floyd!" You exclaimed. "W-wait here, I'll be right back."

After half an hour or so, you came back with some disinfectant and bandages you bought from the school store.

After everything was all said and done, Floyd laughed at your choice in bandages.

"What?" You asked.

"Nothing, just lookin' at these cute little sea creature bandages ya got." He smirked. "They're kinda funny looking!" He giggled at the silly little fish illustrations.

"Oh, yeah, I saw 'em at Sam's shop and I just had to buy them!" You explained. "You can keep the box of them, if you want. I-I don't think I'll use them very much..."

"Eh, I don't see why not. Sure, I'll take your silly little bandages!"

Things like this kept happening. Whenever the two of them had bad things happen, they'd immediately go to you for help. Your classmates and others view of you changed significantly when they saw the fucking Leech brothers following you around like baby ducks.

It was very off-putting to everyone else.

You, Floyd, and Jade had (what they described as) a symbiotic relationship. You took care of them and they took care of you.

One time you were sick with a really bad fever, and Jade took care of you! He got you tea, soup, a cold towel for your forehead, he even put on a movie for you on one of those old portable DVD players because you couldn't get out of bed.

One time you fell down the stairs, and you got a bad scrape on your knee. Nothing serious, but it definitely hurt. When Floyd noticed your scrape, he gave you one of the sea creature bandages you gave him a few days ago. Specifically, it was one with a moray eel on it (you're almost 100% sure he gave you that one on purpose.)

They also really didn't want you to be anywhere near Azul.

They'd do everything in their power to keep you as far away from Azul as possible. The only time you saw Azul without the twins supervising you was board game club meetings. But even then, Azul avoided you. So during board game club you kinda just sat by yourself in the corner, browsing your phone.

One time, you tried to make a deal with Azul, but he declined! He, Azul Ashengrotto, known for pushing deals to people and pressuring them into contracts, declined to make a deal with you!

One night, as you were watching a movie with Floyd, he said something to you.

"Listen, Shrimpy... we need to talk." He began. "You should really try to stay away from Azul. He's dangerous."

What you didn't know was that Jade was having a very similar conversation with Azul.

"We want you to stay away from him, Azul." Jade said. "I'm sure you know how Floyd and I feel about (Y/N), and I'm sure you know he can barely defend himself... so please stay away from him from now on."

You didn't know why Floyd was telling you to avoid Azul, he's harmless! And, even though he can be kinda cruel with his contracts, he's usually really nice.

"Floyd, he's our Housewarden! He's kinda hard to avoid because of that..." You mentioned.

"So? Just try to avoid him as best as you can. You don't have to perfectly avoid him, since most of the time Jade and I will be around to keep ya safe... you just have to be extra careful when we aren't around, kay~?"

"N-no? That's insane, I'll be fine!" You responded.

"Hm... well, I won't force you to do anything. I just want you to stay safe, 'cause Azul's a dangerous guy!" Floyd gave you a very tight hug. "You should stay away from him."

Jade had his magic pen pressed against Azul's throat like a knife, though it was just a bit more threatening since, with the magic pen, Jade could burn Azul to a crisp in two seconds.

"You know Floyd and I appreciate your friendship... I would hate to hurt you, I truly would... but if you hurt (Y/N), you will force my hand." Jade backed off slightly. "Please don't hurt him in any way. If you do, you know what will happen. I will know what you did. Floyd and I will both know what you did to our little darling (Y/N). So please... stay away from him."

#jade leech #floyd leech #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #yandere #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst x reader #yandere jade leech #yandere floyd leech #yandere floyd x reader #yandere jade x reader #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere floyd leech x reader #yandere floyd #yandere jade

[alovelyburn]

If Griffith gave Guts an answer he wanted to hear on the hill of swords how do you think he would have reacted? Do you think Guts would ever have ever forgiven him?

(Not quite as old as the other one but still way too old to be acceptable, sorry).

I think he would've been conflicted, and he would've been pissed off at himself for being conflicted, and he would've been pissed off at Griffith for making him conflicted. But he still would have forgiven him, because he couldn't not do it.

Or maybe "forgive" is the wrong word, because I'm sure he'd still be pissed off. Maybe "made up with" is better? I've pretty sure I've talked about it at greater length in the past but I'm genuinely feeling too lazy to go look it up, so I guess the somewhat concise logic is:

Even now, his current mission - his drive to destroy the apostles and drag himself up to Femto's level and theoretically kill him is all informed by Griffith's stupid speech - to this day he is trying to be the kind of person that Griffith (the original Griffith, but by extension the current one as well) could value and respect as an equal.

IMO, this is a huge part of the reason for his breakdown about being unable to hit Griffith. It's easy to assume that this is because he realized he can't kill the man he's been trying to kill, and I'm sure that is part of it. But another big issue for Guts is that he's been living to catch up with Griffith ever since Promrose, and he just realized that not only has he utterly failed to accomplish that, he's actually so far behind that catching him may be physically impossible.

The drive to earn a place next to him became a drive to fight him because of the changing circumstances around the relationship, but it's evident from say the Black Swordman arc or the Hill of Swords that Guts is still looking for that validation, and still looking for Griffith inside Femto/Neo.

Furthermore, for at least a fair stretch of time (leaving open room for the idea that this changed at some point, although I don't think it has), even his determination to take care of Casca was primarily attributed to his wanting to have her around to remind him of Griffith. Obviously this doesn't mean he doesn't care about her, it's just that what he actually wants, more than anything else, according to his own mind... is to hold onto, and become further/more deeply entangled with, Griffith.

Given all that, why wouldn't he make nice with Griffith if Griffith gave him any reason to think there was a point to doing so?

Obviously the argument is that he couldn't forgive the atrocities of the Eclipse, but the thing is, Guts is largely amoral - people love to attribute noble/selfless/moral qualities to him, but he routinely proves that he doesn't give a damn about anyone he doesn't have a personal connection to - he will literally just let them die if it's more convenient that way.

He's also proven that he has an internal hierarchy of significance - he does prioritize his current companions, for example, over strangers, but he prioritizes Casca over them, in turn. I think the Hawks as a whole were one massive "ingroup" - he cared about them, even the ones he didn't know very well, because they were Hawks, and that's all fine...

...but who does he consistently prioritize over everyone else, including all the Hawks and Casca?

Obviously, Griffith. He's the one Guts literally just ignored the Eclipse to try and save, the one he once abandoned Casca in a cave to chase, and the one he legitimately left her to burn to death to search out during Conviction.

My point is, whatever it is he's trying to achieve with Griffith is always going to be the most important thing in his life, and thus will take priority over other things in his life, even things he also feels strongly (but not as strongly) about. And what he tries to achieve with Griffith is heavily dependent on what he thinks he can achieve with Griffith.

One of my favorite Miura quotes is something to the effect that Guts and Griffith's relationship isn't stagnant and won't necessarily remain the same over the course of the story - that Guts remains the way he is as long as Griffith remains the way he is (and vice versa, presumably). He said at the time that he was looking forward to depicting the changes between them as the relationship evolved. Unfortunately he didn't get to it, of course, but it's still a relevant point... that the way Guts is toward Griffith can still change, if Griffith changes, too.

#anonymous #ask #ariel talks about berserk

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Wilbert's Worst

Right, so I really was open to having my mind changed on The Worst One but nobody’s argument has budged me.

I was going to write a complete, balanced essay on The Worst W. Awdry Book, but I’m a) mired in the research phase (hey if anyone knows someone with an encyclopedic knowledge of Tom and Jerry hit me up, for real) and b) right now I wanna talk about the characters and their Beloved Dynamics instead. 

So I'm just gonna get this out of the way so I can post the poll and move on to answering fun asks and watching Tom and Jerry in peace. Behold: a salty and unbalanced review.

Wilbert’s biggest failure of a children’s storybook? 

Henry the Green Engine 

Ohhh… because of the, uh, ra —?

Because of the racism, yes!

Oh. You do know that since 1972 they’ve republished it without the n-slur? 

Good for them. Two things: 

1. I know it used to be there, I’m never able to read it without knowing it was there in the first edition.

2. I consistently try, when ranking the books, to consider them in the context in which they came out. Because of this, I don’t like using “things that happened later” (like a new character never being properly used again or whatever) against the book. This helps me evaluate the author’s successes and failures against what they were trying to achieve when they wrote it vs what I would most want (blorbo content). It helps me not bring to bear the whole weight of fanon and fandom on a text that should be able to stand or fall on its own. Tl;dr I try to read the books like a guy who picked it up in 1951, or whatever. 

And yeah, if I’d bought this when it came out it would have had the slur. I’m going to judge it accordingly. 

Look, racism is bad, no argument, but does that mean the book as a whole must be condemned? 

Yeah, I think the slur and the “aaaand suddenly, blackface! heeheehee” bullshit fuck over the entire book, game over. Go directly to jail, do not collect $200. 

The Railway Series is not a work of high art or deep thorny complex literature. The books are meant for children — small children, at that. Children small enough to get bedtime stories read to them. The main goal of each book (especially this early on — you do have to manage secondary priorities like “pleasing the long-time fanbase” the longer you go, but right now we’re only 6 books into the series) is to create a happy imaginary world to enhance childhoods and family lives… to impart to other parents and kids a similar cosy happiness to that the author and his own kids enjoyed when he was workshopping/drafting the stories for them. When we say “children’s book” we really do mean little’uns — these average 1.25 full-color illustrations per page!

And these books sold in large numbers. This means it’s a certainty that somewhere in 1951 there was a Black family who owned the whole series, who went out to the shops, whose kid was like “ooh! Henry gets a book, neat…,” who like everyone else enjoyed the wild ride of Henry’s inspection and coal and wreck and rebuild… only to get verbally spat on one page from the end. 

Real mood-killer there. Epic fail, as the cool kids used to say in my youth. 

All right, fine, cool kids never said that. Anyway, statistically speaking there was certainly even more than one family that got that experience. Not to mention the non-Black families who even in 1951 were like “... wtf? i’d smack my kid if they ever said a word like that around me, geez. no.” Just a lot of people who had the light the book was kindling in them snuffed out all at once. 

You can actually be totally racist and your book not commit creative suicide on the penultimate page! Awdry flubbed his job of 'bestselling books-for-six-year-olds' here. Creative failure. Unforced error. Automatic zero. 

But times were different then, you have to consider it in the context of the time. 

1951 U.K. was not the nadir of multiracial equality or Black power, but jfc. I can assure you that over 99% of children’s books published that year in the Anglosphere managed to not use the n-slur. 

All right, all right. That was bad. But this feels off-topic. If you had never known about what used to be “Henry’s Sneeze,” would you still rank the entire book as dead last in the Wilbert Awdry corpus? 

Not dead last, but it is not a strong book. “Coal” and “The Flying Kipper” are super-interesting as material for Henry, but after that the book kind of falls off a cliff; the intrigue drops dramatically. The railway incidents chosen to make stories of are all solid choices, but it was not only “Sneeze” where Awdry’s handling of the material feels clumsy and weird. (And I’m not even talking here of the “heehee blackface — ain’t i a stinker?” gag in “Sneeze.”) 

But… “The Flying Kipper”? C’mon. It’s a superb story and no book that contains it can be the absolute worst in the series. 

“TFK” remains easily the best single TVS episode ever – but a lot of that is down to Britt and David’s artistry and judgment. 

Don’t get me wrong, a full-on railway wreck makes interesting material. But I don’t think the book does nearly as much with it as it could (and I’m trying sooooo hard here to forget about the amazing TVS adaptation, as I think it REALLY shows Awdry up. Even so, the storytelling here is surprisingly tepid and low-stakes). I get that Awdry probably wanted to lean into the comic angle and not make Henry’s condition afterwards seem too grave, in order to ensure the material wasn’t too dark for his young audience? (*mutters* again, a level of tender consideration for his readers’ youth that went right out the window when it came to small Black kids, evidently coz he couldn’t imagine that they read) Understandable, laudable — but if he outright refuses* to make the wreck too dramatic or scary then, well, then the wreck isn’t real scary or dramatic. And it can’t save the rest of the book from its flaws. 

*For all I know it could have been the publishers who insisted that the wreck be made preschooler-safe, that’s possible (although it’s also consistent with Awdry’s brand of humor and his overall low degree of emotionalism in his writing). Either way, though, the end result book is what it is and it will be judged accordingly. 

In addition to not being as exciting as many remember... @trainsupessandhuntresses asked me once if I thought some of Awdry's stories were "mean-spirited." I had to assent vigorously. And a surprisingly high proportion of those "mean" moments are in Henry the Green Engine? For some reason? It’s not just the racism. Awdry was not in the game to give Henry a deserved happy ending, he’d wanted to kill him off (the fuck?) and when his publishers prevented him (I don’t say this often, especially since I love how salty the Awdrys get about their publishers, but this in case good job, publishers!!) he wrote “TFK” with the primary motivation of giving Henry a new engine basis. Any soft or hearty emotions we get out of the deal are a side-effect — the only emotion that was fueling Awdry as he wrote this was spite, spite and a weird resentment towards his poor, long-suffering, invaluable illustrator. (I don’t blame Awdry for being frustrated that the engine illustrations were continually inaccurate or confusing, but I do think it’s weird to read all this great Henry material knowing that it was written with such poor grace.) 

So his ‘happy Henry’ stuff feels perfunctory; his Percy interlude is just brutal (why did you have to drag Percy into Henry’s book purely to give him a fuck-up, a scolding, and a messy dunce cap?); Gordon’s savaging of Henry for being too happy after recovering from a near-death experience is such an incredibly low point for Gordon that it’s hard for me to accept it as canon (there’s being proud, boastful, and self-absorbed, and then there’s being the straight-up raccoon dumpster fire Gordon is in that scene). Oh, and I think “call the police [local constabulary, doesn’t bear firearms]” woulda probably a less reckless way of dealing with the rock-throwing youths than the sneeze of hot locomotive ashes, which of course the Fat Controller doesn’t like, that shit coulda been real dangerous! Mind, there are small rays of kindness throughout that do get me (the interactions between Henry and his crew feeling to me the least perfunctory and most heartfelt), but this is overall such a mean-spirited book. God. It starts off with such a gentle story (almost a non-story, if you’re in it purely for the “railway incidents” game and not character drama), but in short order the vibes just sorta suck. At least in other RWS books, when the vibes are off, they’re usually off near the beginning and then improve by the end. This one gets worse as it goes on. Oof. Don’t like that. 

Also, the last page is sooooo lame. I suspect the publisher strong-armed Awdry into writing most of it so that at least the slur wasn’t on the last page of the book... and if Awdry had any idea of how much he’d just empowered Henry and all his fans in this book he shouldn’t have found it hard to find 50 extra words to sum things up. As it was, he’s just filling space and running out the clock, lol. Lame wrap-up. Boring. As usual when it comes to every little thing about this book, Britt and David closed this up better (mind, their closer – “He had taught Gordon and silly boys a lesson, with a whistle and a sneeze” – also sucked. But at least it was blessedly short.)

Didn’t you once list HtGE on a list of your favorite Wilbert Awdry books? 

I did list it as one of the books that “at one time or another” have been my favorite in the series. Unfortunately in the case of HtGE, that was back when I really couldn’t read a story that I knew from the TVS without mentally substituting the adaptation into my brain as I read… largely overriding the actual text. Plus, everything I knew from TVS as a kid kind of automatically got a halo effect. Plus, I was super into Henry’s arc. 

The first time I read HtGE after calming down and actually reading all the books as books... massive disappointment. There is such a gap there between what I'd thought the book said (all our incredible fanon work overanalyzing and headcanoning Henry and building this beautiful fantasy arc about disability!) vs. what it actually said (limp and careless writing, mean vibes, airbrushed n-slur, bad aftertaste). 

I do think there is some stuff about the development of Awdry’s storytelling technique here that is interesting (again, Tom and Jerry superfans reading this, please shoot me a message!) but it doesn’t counteract everything else. 

At least we’re over the racism stuff? 

Nah, I’m not over it, actually. 

#showed his whole ass #an rws book shouldn’t leave a nasty taste in your mouth #but! here we are #okay this rant was not as short as i thought it'd be #but again. there will be a proper analysis in the fullness of time. #henry the green engine (rws) #rws discussion #racism tw #slur mention tw